Chapter Text
“Orpheus, stay still, ” Hermes said as he brushed the boy’s bangs back. The boy looked up at him, sunlight catching in his brown eyes.
When Orpheus was 6, he found his new home in the room by the window on the top floor of Hermes’ place. It wasn’t big or luxurious, and the loud downstairs never seemed to let up, but he didn’t mind much. He never really minded anything. After all, it was one of the easier changes to get used to.
Despite the roof over his head and the care he received under Mr. Hermes, he’d stare out the window plenty, longing for his mother. As a child, he never really accepted that she wasn’t returning, not until he was older.
And, well… Hermes couldn’t say he didn’t ever feel the same. Really, he still wasn’t sure why Calliope had trusted him with Orpheus. Him of all people? He had never seen himself as the parental type. Not even close.
But those thoughts didn’t stop him from having to try. There was still a boy under his roof in desperate need of care, and so he’d try anyways. And that’s what had led him to this moment: standing behind Orpheus in the bathroom on the second floor, in front of a water stained mirror with a brush in hand.
The pressing matter at the moment was the untameable, uncooperative mess that was Orpheus’ hair. Turns out, the messenger god was handsy and tricksy with everything…except a hairbrush. What he’d give for anybody else to take care of this part.
But he wasn’t going to let his pride dip so far as to ask for help on such a menial task, so he took some hair in the brush, tried, failed, tried again, and then settled on “good enough” thirty minutes into the endeavor. It wasn’t the most thorough job, but he figured as long as it wasn’t unruly, it was fine. At least it was over.
Thankfully, as the boy grew, Orpheus became more than capable of doing it himself. It was never sophisticated or exquisite, but it was socially acceptable and out of his eyes (mostly. Those pesky bangs still fell across his face every now and then). The only thing Hermes would have to do now, maintenance-wise, was occasionally push them out of the way to see those eyes.
Even as the boy grew to his teenage years, said eyes remained unchanged by the world. They were wide with curiosity and wonder with that childlike innocence still preserved.
The most prominent feature in those eyes, though, was the light they gained when the band would strike up a tune, or when he would excitedly scribble notes and musical jargon down in his notebook. He’d spend hours in the furthest left corner of the bar, happily plucking away on his lyre, a gift from Mr. Hermes.
Hermes would smile. He figured anybody in the Gods’ almighty world could instantly see the boy’s fascination with music: How it was as if the rest of the world fell away at the sound of a melody, or how he hummed nearly every second of every day (and every night, too. Hermes could tell you, these walls weren’t that thick).
Some said he was touched by the Gods.
What a title, Hermes thought, especially for such a peculiar kid, one too quiet for most people’s liking. Yes, Orpheus rarely spoke to strangers, but it wasn’t that he had nothing to say. He was just too busy listening.
Listening to what most couldn’t hear. Tuning into the chords that shifted in the dirt, the pattering rhythms of raindrops, and the phrasing of the trees swaying in the wind. Even the silences in the world were never empty. There was always something singing in his ear, taking up that space. And those melodies that came to him from the world were his favorites.
One early morning, Orpheus had a thought, a line of music, come into his head before he even got out of bed. Now, downstairs in his usual spot, he’d spent the better half of the day trying to complete it. But it was a slow and rough process.
Really, it was a mix of moving from string to string, not even bothering to look at the frets, and staring into nothingness (out of inspiration or despair? Who knows…). It was like trying to coax out a stubborn animal.
It was just– there had to be more to the melodies than what came to him initially. He’d known from past melodies- He’d hear something, and when he found that extra layer, that next part, it was like magic happened. He supposed that those stubborn ones were stubborn for a reason: because they were beautiful inside.
They were those tunes that would effortlessly lift your spirit and flood you with joy. Light up a room and make you forget everything else. If it were his choice, he’d gladly play them all day…
…If he could figure them out.
Some days, completing those songs was a long and aching process. But time and tears were things Orpheus was willing to devote. Between him and his lyre, he had all the time in the world and enough passion to keep going no matter what.
So all was well in his world for years.
…Then, something started happening.
When Orpheus was 14, he stood in front of the standing mirror, quickly running a comb through his hair. The morning was light and delicate as sunlight seeped into the creaky room. He took his time, humming faintly. He was also failing to remember he only had five minutes to be downstairs, but he continued his routine and kept at it. ‘Til he accidentally ran the comb through his hair a bit too fast, and he heard a snap.
He cringed. Oops. He took the comb up slower this time.
But he paused. Something on the actual teeth of it caught his eye.
The knot snagged on the comb was catching the light differently, reflecting it with a slightly harsher glint. He moved it into the shadow, examining it. It looked a lot lighter than his normal brown... And, well, maybe it was just the lighting… but he looked back into his reflection. As he stepped back into the sun, he caught something. Something that wasn’t normally there. He blinked and looked closer, brushing his bangs over.
Right…there.
Huh.
It looked like dust coating a tiny part of his hair. Dirt, maybe. But it felt rougher. Maybe some chalk from the bar? He rubbed it between his fingers. It didn’t come off.
Not chalk. He brushed his bangs back completely this time. Then he stopped humming.
…
Gray?
…
Gray hair.
…
That… wasn’t right.
He pushed more of his hair back, looking around at the extent. It was only a thin line against the brown…but brittle and discolored nonetheless.
His brow furrowed. He bit his lip and let his hair fall forward again and the streak was gone, covered by the rest of his hair.
Okay… It was small, just one strand.
He thought of asking Mr. Hermes. But an uneasy feeling settled in his chest. Maybe later.
For now, he grabbed the comb again and ran it through this time in softer, more controlled strokes until his five minutes were up and he heard his name from downstairs. Shaking out his shoulders, he double checked his reflection one last time. He looked the same, with nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing visible, at least.
So, down the stairs he went, tying his apron, humming along.
—
As summer ventured into winter’s bareness, the small, hidden streak deepened, becoming just barely noticeable. Noticeable enough for Hermes to catch on. Now, he didn’t say anything about it. Not yet. But something was off.
After the bar closed for the night, it was just him and Orpheus on cleanup. He made his way over to the boy, who was trying to carry too many cups at once. Hermes chuckled as Orpheus shook his head, refusing help. Hermes ignored it and took some of them off his hands anyways, dropping them into the sink alongside him. As he turned the faucet on, Orpheus leaned over the sink, his bangs falling forward. Hermes brushed them back out of habit.
Oh. There it was. Right there. He’d only seen the small highlight that peeked out the side every now and then, but from here, he could see the ones beneath, too.
He cleared his throat. “You know, It’s too early to start looking like me–handsome as I am.”
Orpheus looked confused until he followed Mr. Hermes’ gaze. His hand immediately flew up to his hairline. Then he tried to take his hand back down.
Too late.
Hermes came closer and slowly lifted the visible pale strand between his own fingers. The first thing he noticed was the texture.
“Brittle… ain’t it, Orpheus?”
Orpheus hesitantly nodded. At Hermes’ gesture, he took a seat at the bartop, looking downward with his hands resting in his lap.
He shrugged. “I- yes. It… it snaps when I brush it too hard sometimes. ” Hermes nodded, taking a seat before studying it for a moment longer.
“Does it look bad?” Orpheus said softly.
“Does mine?” Hermes smirked. “No, it don’t look bad, kid. ”
Orpheus nodded, a thin smile on his face. “I— I was gonna ask you at some point. “Cause- this isn’t… normal, I’m pretty sure. Or- or is it?” His voice trailed off.
Hermes shook his head. “Well, it’s hard to say for mortals. You all got all kinds of stuff going on.”
A pause.
“ ...But it don’t look like regular aging.”
“Then what is it?”
Hermes took a moment to think. “Could be some kind of strain. Happens. ”
“Strain?” Orpheus echoed quietly.
“Yeah. Not quite good, not quite…bad, just something to notice, ” He said slowly, his tone shifting slightly.
Orpheus’ accepting nod said one thing. His body said another. His shoulders didn’t untense and his eyes didn’t soften. Hermes clicked his tongue and brushed the boy’s bangs back into place, putting on a lighthearted smile.
“Take it easy. That’s probably all it’s sayin’. Nothing to lose sleep about.” He got up.
He paused a moment longer, a thought coming into his head. He wanted to say more… but decided against it.
“Speaking of, it’s late. Head on up. And make sure you hang up that apron. ” He said instead.
Orpheus’ shoulders relaxed as he nodded, heading towards the stairs. He looked back at Hermes, attempting to smile. It was one of those smiles that was less toothy and more lips pressed together uncomfortably tight.
Better than nothing.
Hermes watched him go up, smile resolving into a neutral expression. He’d make sure keep an eye on that all this.
Up in his room, Orpheus took a breath. He placed his things on his rack, kicked off his shoes, and laid his head down on the pillow.
Just some hair. Hermes wasn’t worried, so he wouldn’t be either.
He dozed off. In his dreams, another melody waited. Laaaa… laaa… la-la-la.