Chapter Text
The first time Orpheus sees her, he’s not quite sure she’s real. She’s a dream, maybe, or some strange hallucination, and he haphazardly reaches up to his cheek to pinch it, half expecting to wake up with a gasp and the feeling of his face smushed against the cold counter. He doesn’t, though, and when he blinks and shifts his gaze he sees Hermes, looking at him fondly with a tinge of amusement. The god has witnessed all his past romantic misadventures, after all, so he knows all too well how this is going to go. Orpheus doesn’t blame him for finding it funny—he probably would, too, had he not been himself. His complete inability to interact with other people normally may be unfortunate to him, but to others, it must be quite hilarious.
His eyes wander almost unconsciously back to the girl and he stares as she makes herself comfortable on one of the tables, leaning back in a chair. Her hair falls in front of her face, curly strands covering her eyes. She’s magnetizing, like a flame, and he’s perfectly happy to become a moth, stumbling, uncontrollably drawn to her, and— what was he doing again? He fumbles with the bright red cloth in his hands, feeling the heat in his cheeks as he takes a step forward and—oh. She’s there. Right there, because he just bumped into her.
He opens his mouth to say something, apologize, but he’s seemingly rendered incapable of making any coherent sound, so he shuts it quickly before he croaks out something stupid and embarrasses himself further. He realizes she’s staring at him just like he is at her, not moving a muscle. She doesn’t even seem to be breathing. The bar moves on around them, people chattering joyfully all around, drinking and shouting, but the two of them, Orpheus and the mysterious girl, they stay frozen in time as they look at each other. He’s scared to even blink under the intense scrutiny of her gaze. She snaps out of it first, because of course she does, and she goes back to her table without a word, not even turning back to look at him.
He feels a bit raw.
He feels a hand on his back and he turns around with a gasp, seeing Mr. Hermes smiling kindly at him. He hadn’t noticed the god coming up to him, but he never notices much of anything. That’s no surprise. He looks up at Hermes, his breathing still thrown out of its regular order. Who is this girl? It’s like he has been in love with her his whole life, and until now, he had only been waiting for her to come along and find him. His fate is with her, he can feel it.
The grin Hermes is wearing is all too knowing for Orpheus' tastes. It's humiliating, the way the god can read him like a book with only a look, the way he can see how off-kilter he feels after only a simple first meeting that hadn't even involved any talking. Oh, gods, he doesn't even want to think of what might happen when he is inevitably obligated to talk to her about something.
"Orpheus," the god says in a low voice as he leans forward to place a wrinkled hand on his shoulder. "You shouldn't be ashamed of how strongly you feel. It is a gift."
"I'm not—" Orpheus starts to protest, but his voice catches in his throat and falters as Hermes gives him a look.
"Come, let's take a break, catch a breather outside. You need it, anyhow."
Orpheus almost trips over his feet as he moves to follow Hermes through the door. Outside, he leans against the brick wall, watching as his exhaled breath turns white in the frigid air. It's so cold; the wind blows against him and forces a violent shiver through him, his thin white shirt offering barely any protection against the harsh weather. He takes a crumpled strip of newspaper out of his pocket and slowly begins to fashion it into a flower, something that he likes doing when he's nervous, watching Hermes settle himself next to him and adjust his silver blazer with utmost care.
"This girl… whoever she is, do you think, um— do you think she'll come by here again?"
"Why not simply talk to her now?" Hermes' eyes are kind, curious.
"I need— time to prepare, I think." Orpheus' cheeks warm as he smiles bashfully, embarrassed. "I wouldn't want to mess it up before it's even begun, and you know that I can't really… talk to people."
"I think you can talk to people just fine," Hermes murmurs and Orpheus shifts, uncomfortable. "You can sense that she will be someone important to you, can you not?"
"Yes."
"Then why wait? Why risk it all just because your first conversation might not be perfect? You should talk to her."
"Mr. Hermes…" Orpheus swallows. "Do you know? What will happen, with me and her?"
It takes the god a while to respond to that, longer than Orpheus would've expected. That's a bit of an answer in itself, isn't it? He watches as something akin to sadness, or maybe resignation, glimmers in Hermes' eyes for a split second, before he blinks much harder than necessary and sighs. "You know that I can't give you an answer to that question, my boy."
"Right. Well, I'll just—" Orpheus points his thumb towards the bar door awkwardly.
Hermes laughs, the skin around his eyes crinkling.
"Come," he says as he opens the door and motions for Orpheus to go back into the building, claps his hand on the boy's back as he passes through, then follows him.
"Orpheus?" Hermes calls out.
Orpheus turns from where he was heading towards the gorgeous girl's table. "Yes?"
Hermes smiles at him. "Don't come on too strong."
Orpheus laughs a little, a nervous sound, squeezing both hands into fists and releasing them as he nods once, twice. Right. Not too strong. Don't come on too strong.
But—really, who can blame him if he's a little distracted? Because he's looking at her again, and she's really just the most stunning being to ever walk this Earth, obviously, so it's no surprise that she makes him forget himself, just a bit. Who wouldn't, if they were faced with the sight of her huge doe-like eyes, her slender fingers cupping the top part of her candle, her perfectly-twisted braids half-covering full, slightly pursed lips, if they felt just a fraction of the strange magnetic pull that Orpheus feels towards her? They would be a bit dazed, too!
"Come home with me," he blurts out, holding his paper flower out before him as a crude offering. Oh, gods. He can see Hermes turn away and pinch his nose out of the corner of his eye and suppresses the urge to cringe.
Her head snaps up and her eyes find his. "Who are you?"
That's… not good. He scrambles for a response, preferably something normal, though he'd settle for something that assures her that he's not some creep. And now he's taken too long and he feels as though her stare is boring into his soul even though it's only been a few seconds at most.
"The man who's gonna marry you," he exclaims. "I'm Orpheus!"
The girl smirks to herself a little, or maybe it's more of a scoff, he can't quite tell, and turns to Hermes, who has somehow wound up right beside her. She must have seen him and Orpheus talking, seen that they were close, Orpheus figures through the haze that his thoughts are. "Is he always like this?"
She seems amused, at least; both of them do. Hermes folds his hands in front of his lap and answers with a simple "yes".
Orpheus watches, fascinated, the way her lashes brush her cheek as she blinks.
"I'm Eurydice," she says.
Eurydice. Oh, that's pretty. Suits her well.
"Your name is like a melody," he manages, and the words sound a bit like a song, rising and falling in a way that he thinks could've been beautiful if only his voice hadn't cracked from how nervous he was.
This awards him a wider, more genuine smile, at least. "A singer? Is that what you are?"
He goes to agree before he sees Hermes' hand, pointing lazily in the general direction of his lyre. "I- I also play the lyre!"
He points as well, dropping his hand quickly when he realizes it's a bit redundant.
"Oh, a liar and a player too?" Eurydice's gasp is animated. "I've met too many men like you."
Orpheus' stomach drops, and he can taste acid in his mouth as he swallows. "Oh, no, I'm not like that!"
Too late, he realizes that she must be teasing him. Not being literal. He forces himself to breathe.
"He's not like any man you've met," Hermes adds. Orpheus makes a mental note to thank him later for at least trying to save him from certain death caused by an incredibly awkward and embarrassing conversation. "Tell her what you're working on."
"I'm working on a song," he says immediately, seating himself on the table, right next to Eurydice. She recoils from where his side touched hers, scooting away, and guilt swirls in his stomach. He probably shouldn't have done that—he probably shouldn't have done a lot of the things that he's done today. But he has to tell her about his song, now. "It isn't finished yet— but when it's done, and when I sing it, spring will come again!"
"Come again?" Eurydice says, and her face is startled. He thinks he may have finally managed to pique her interest in a good way, rather than just humiliating himself over and over again. His song is his pride and joy, after all.
"Spring will come."
"When? I haven't seen a spring or fall since… I can't recall."
Orpheus winces at the sadness in her voice. He understands it—he thinks everyone sitting in the bar must, to some degree at least. He misses watching the trees break into full bloom and Earth slowly repaint herself from the white that had covered her during the winter, colors gradually becoming brighter and more vibrant. He misses the royal reds and oranges and golds of autumn, the rains that drummed at his window and the leaves that covered the ground in a picturesque carpet. He misses knowing that the world is in balance and that all living beings are in harmony with each other, that the flowers will bloom when it is their turn to and that they will wilt only when their time comes. Now, he doesn't see many flowers at all.
"That's what I'm working on," he says, desperate to reassure her. "A song that'll fix what's wrong—take what's broken and make it whole. A song so beautiful it brings the world back into tune, back into time, and all the flowers will bloom—" he gets on one knee, right in front of her "—when you become my wife."
"Oh, he's crazy," Eurydice whispers, covering her laugh with her hands. "Why would I become his wife?"
"Maybe because he'll make you feel alive," Hermes tells her, gently taking the candle from her hands and placing it on a nearby table.
Judging by the way Eurydice's mouth falls slightly open, lips forming a small "O", she hadn't expected that answer.
"Alive? That's worth a lot." The words are careful, measured. She leaps off the table, long braids swinging in a wide arc after her, and the heels of her boots clack on the ground as she lands. "I guess I'll have to see if you'll be able to live up to that, Orpheus."
He likes the way she says his name. It sounds pretty on her lips, like some kind of incantation, something worth saying with care. He scrambles to his feet, not quite sure where she's going but willing to follow her to the end. "Wait, you're— you're leaving? Are you leaving?"
"Yep," she says, popping the P in the end of a word. "Don't worry, pretty boy. I'll see you around, yeah?"
"Yeah, um, right," he stutters, momentarily stunned by the term of endearment (is it even endearment? or is she mocking him?) and the abrupt end that she is putting to their conversation. Pretty boy? Really? "Um. Yes."
Eurydice only laughs and reaches a hand up to mess up his hair, before turning on her heel and swiftly exiting, pushing the door open with both hands. Orpheus watches the door close behind her and carefully touches his hair, which now sticks out in all directions. He feels that his face is probably about as red as a tomato. Somewhere behind him, Hermes is laughing as well.
"Well, that went—" Orpheus sighs, hiding his face in his hands and tipping his head back. He can't stop a small, lovesick grin from appearing. "Actually, um, I have no idea how that went."
Hermes laughs again.