Archive of Our Own ^beta

"You're coming with us."

Charon stubs out his cigarette on the balcony railing with annoyance. He should have seen an ambush like this coming when he accepted an invitation to the twins' apartment.

"You haven't been out and done anything social in ages, all you do is work. You're coming with us," Thanatos continues, jaw out to dare his older brother to disagree.

"You never know, you might enjoy it!" came a call from inside the apartment, Hypnos' face popping up to look at them over the back of the sofa.

"Don't like loud music," Charon signs.

"Didn't ask, don't care, L plus ratio!" Hypnos sing-songs, flopping back onto the sofa.

"If whatever he said means you're still coming with us, then I agree," Thanatos nods, crossing his arms.

"I'm too old," Charon replies, looking more agitated by the second.

Thanatos rolls his eyes, "you're 36, not 86, there will be plenty of people there in your age bracket."

Charon huffs and leans on the balcony railing, staring out at the rest of the city. Thanatos remains stood staring him down.

"Fine," he eventually signs, and a small smile graces his brother's usually sullen expression.

"Did he say yes?" Hypnos calls.

"He did," Thanatos replies, walking back inside the apartment.

Hypnos cheers and Charon groans.

That Friday, Charon finishes work early (a measly 11 hours spent at his desk, he laments), and emerges from his office to get ready to join his brothers at the concert for an up and coming band.

His phone is blowing up from his group chat with the twins, neither of them letting him forget he had a social engagement for the first time in…

Charon pauses flicking through his shirts to think. Discounting family dinners (a forced affair every other month at their mother's where he would sit and let the mayhem of his siblings happen around him), had it really been that long? Didn't he go for drinks with some people for his birthday?

He sighs. Right, it was for his 30th. 6 years ago.

But can you blame him? He can't talk, he looks weird, all lanky and ominous like a spectre of the grave hanging around in people's periphery, he likes being at home and doing his work. In his home office, plugging away at his well paying but high stress financial consultancy work, he doesn't have time to spend his evenings with people, and the weekends where he's not working, he'd rather peruse the local antique stores alone, or relax with a cigarette and a good book. He has a nice house, it’s big and quiet but he’s not lonely. This is just the way he is. A bit awkward, a bit difficult, a bit of an outsider. All the things his mother thought of him and more. And it was fine, living his quiet miserly life, content in his own company. It was fine.

Selecting a shirt, he begins opening drawers to pick his jewellery for the night.

As he slides on a multitude of thick gold rings, memento moris with black onyx, clasped buckles, and skull designs, he thinks back to when his mother last interrogated him about, ugh. Dating.

He winces with the memory of her judgement as he had stiltedly signed that no he still wasn't seeing anyone, and hadn't since college. A sweet deaf boy who he had gone on a few dates with. When they were together they signed, in their own little world. But it hadn't worked out. Even at college he had been somewhat of a shut-in, and the sweet boy had become frustrated with trying to get Charon to go places, do things.

He runs his fingers over the detailing of the ring he wears on his left fourth finger, letting the cool metal warm under his touch, feeling the dents and nicks in the gold. It’s just one evening. It’ll be over before he knows it, then he will be home safe, his family will be pleased to have seen him out for once, and it’ll get everyone off his back for at least a while. It’ll be fine. Nothing will happen.

Breathing more evenly, he finishes getting dressed and goes to grab his hat, and hesitates.

He’s already six foot nine, and adding a wide brimmed hat to his silhouette in a crowd is just asking to become a social pariah at an event where you need to be able to see the stage. His phone buzzes and he checks it.

[8:48pm] Hypnos: do u think hell wear the hat lol

[8:53pm] Thanatos: Oh gods, I hadn’t even considered that. @Charon please don’t wear the hat, I’m trying to make a good impression tonight.

Charon huffs, picks up the hat, and leaves.

The walk into the centre of the city is cool, the heat of the day burning off into a darkening sky, and he tries to concentrate on the sound of the click of his shoes on the pavement instead of the people he can feel looking at him, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his long black coat.

Dressing the way he did was an awful catch-22. Leaning heavy into gothic fashion had helped him craft his own identity as a recently-disfigured teen, distinct in style but not in palette from the things his family would wear. Thick gold chains, rings, black layers, skull motifs, the big hat, it helped him feel safer, he was the walking equivalent of a sign that says ‘don’t fucking talk to me’, which he had found he definitely needed as the scarring healed and strangers got overly familiar asking about what had happened, only raising their voices when he tried to stiltedly reply in a language that was, to him, both very new and completely unintuitive.

But the downside was the staring. Even with head down, the eyes on him burn. He just always has to remind himself they would be staring anyway, the lumbering giant with the gnarly facial scars, he might as well give them something to look at. It’s strange how sometimes something he does to feel safer can make him even more self-conscious.

He puts his head down and walks quicker.

"There he is! Charon! Hey!"

Hypnos is the first to notice him, and as Thanatos turns to look he sighs loudly.

"You had to wear the hat, didn't you," he demands as Charon approaches.

Charon smirks and ruffles his little brother's hair, leading to indignant squawking from Thanatos and giggles from Hypnos.

"Go inside," Charon signs as Thanatos fixes his hair.

"All right, all right, just because you want to get this over with," Than grumbles.

Hypnos holds Charon's arm to pull him back as their brother goes ahead to show their tickets.

"Psst, Charon," Hypnos giggles, pointing conspiratorially, "See how he's dressed?"

Charon nods. Now he thinks about it, Thanatos is dressed up more than usual, he's wearing a smattering of silver eyeshadow, has a new pair of thick black boots, and Charon is sure he's never seen that hoodie before, with its arms that are slightly too short for him.

"He's dating one of the band guys, met him at work. Kid does security shifts at the medical school."

Charon raises an eyebrow, "You met him?" he signs.

Hypnos nods, "Yep, that's the only way I found out about tonight! Than looked like he wanted to kill him when he invited me, then looked like he wanted to kill me when I said yes."

"Why bring me too?"

The question is met with giggles and Hypnos rushes to catch up with Thanatos who is glaring at them expectantly.

Fully aware of what omens a reaction like that from Hypnos can bode, Charon can do nothing but sigh and follow them inside.

He immediately notices that it’s dim and claustrophobic, with bright strobing lights, and the thick smell of old sweat. One of the warm up bands is already playing, and to Charon it's just noise. A terrifying looking woman with her hair in a high tight ponytail is screaming gutterally into the mic.

Hypnos immediately beelines to the front of the small crowd, leaving Charon following after Thanatos towards the desk for the cloakroom. After handing over his coat, Than motions to his hat.

“Come on, hand it over.”

Charon scowls and signs back sharply, “If you tell me about musician boy.”

Than flushes pink and mutters ‘Hypnos you…’ before tutting, “Fine. Keep it on,” and handing over their coats.

They wander to the back of the crowd to see the still-screaming female band, and immediately Charon feels people huffing and walking past him very deliberately, occasionally even bumping into him. He taps Than’s shoulder to get his attention and signs “I make a better door than window. Going for a drink,” and slinks away to the back of the venue by the bar.

It’s much less crowded over here, and for a moment he just stands with his back to the wall, looking towards the stage and trying to breathe. It’s still so loud and he truly hates it. Sometimes he thinks it would be easier to be deaf with how loud sounds and crowds grate on him like sharp splinters.

He loiters at the back for longer than he means to, trying to calm his breathing and focus on something beyond how the waves of sound make him tense with every beat the green-haired woman on drums is assaulting the air with. His fingers itch for a cigarette, but it’s bad enough he’s already immediately abandoned the twins, if he spends the evening outside the venue chain-smoking they’ll be disappointed in him.

Just like everyone else, he thinks bitterly, scuffing his shoe against the floor.

Looking back over the crowd, he sees Thanatos and Hypnos’ pale hair catching the strobe lights. Than is looking around, and when he catches Charon’s eye he signs ‘drink, right’ and shakes his head.

Something cold that feels and sounds like his mother’s sigh cuts through him and he stands up from slouching on the wall, signing back petulantly a quick ‘was resting’, just to get the last word in, even if Than isn’t looking anymore.

Fuck it, he decides, he might as well actually get that drink.

Maneuvering around the couple of people at the bar, he’s about to step forward and order from the bored-looking bar staff when the obvious reality hits, that outside of his family, very few people sign. He pats down his pockets and groans, realising his phone is in his coat. Which is in the cloakroom. Which Than has the ticket for.

Frustration fraying the edges of his already threadbare patience, he’s about to just turn and leave the whole stupid night behind him when there’s a tap on his elbow, catching him off guard.

He turns and almost jumps. There’s a guy next to him, close and peering up under the brim of his hat with big brown eyes, face framed by soft dark hair that curls at the edges, several long gold earrings glinting in the light, and a huge smile splitting his face like a silver lining of sunlight through the thick clouds of Charon’s bad mood. He is, Charon notices immediately, absolutely gorgeous.

Charon’s shock at being approached by such a cute young thing has his face going pink, and he gawks as the man starts signing energetically.

“Deaf at a concert? Weirdo,” the man teases, grin turning cheeky and eyes sparkling with mirth.

Charon flushes even redder just stares into the molten amber eyes surveying him through thick black eyelashes. The man starts to raise an eyebrow at Charon’s total body freeze, and it kicks his brain into gear, replying messily, “Not deaf. Mute.”

“Oh! Right, interesting,” the man muses, totally unperturbed by the revelation, in a smooth voice with a cadence like birdsong and windchimes that has Charon blinking stupidly in response.

“Easier to sign when loud,” the man replies by hand, and Charon’s eyes are drawn to those hands as they move.

He has sparkling gold nail polish, skin that seems lightly tan (if Charon is seeing through the red and blue strobes correctly) with thin wrists and thick toned arms.

“Besides, I think you need an interpreter. Drink?” and then the wicked little nymph by his side has the gall to wink and Charon wants to collapse, feeling like his knees have been replaced with gelatin.

The short man doesn’t wait for an answer, and gently pushes Charon towards the bar with a hand on his arm, guiding the absolute behemoth as easily as one would a child. He chatters to the bar staff happily, before asking for three cups of ice water, “And ..?” he adds, turning to look up at Charon.

“Whisky,” Charon signs.

“And a whisky for my associate here.”

Charon continues to gawk as the short man chitters and chats to the bar staff as they pour the ice waters and a splash of whisky into clear plastic cups. It barely even registers that they don’t ask the man for payment.

“Nice to meet you,” the siren signs, giggling loudly, before scooping up the three cups, and all but disappearing with the speed he takes off towards the edge of the room and into the crowd.

Charon stares at the last spot in his vision where he saw the man, blinking as his hot blush recedes, replaced by a cold sort of ache around his chest. Just a sweet stranger. Just wanted to be nice. Just wanted to practice his signing, maybe. Not actually interested in talking to Charon. Not interested in..

He grabs his whisky and downs it, wincing at the disgusting cheap taste. He feels stupid, simultaneously tiny and taking up far too much space. He returns to his patch of wall and leans back with his arms folded, looking at his shoes, letting the loud music turn to static in his head.

“We were The Furies. Buy our merch at the back, and don’t fucking talk to us,” the lead singer pants, her voice still sultry, but thinner from spending the last 45 minutes singing and screaming.

As the three women exit the stage, the guitarist fully throws her instrument, tipping her head back in a cackle as a terrified techie rushes forward to catch it.

The lights come up slightly and the crowd begins to disperse as (blessedly) quieter music starts playing over the PA. Charon watches as the twins weave through the hoard of people heading to the bar. Thanatos seems to be whispering furtively, and Hypnos is nodding slightly in response.

“Enjoy that band?” Charon asks as they squeeze in beside him at the wall.

Hypnos holds his own face in his hands and swoons, “The Furies are amazing! The lead singer, Megaera, isn’t she terrifying? She’s a black belt martial artist and does competitive axe throwing, she’s the perfect woman!”

“If you say so,” Charon signs, a single eyebrow raised in amusement.

“So, how are you finding it?” Thanatos asks.

Charon falters for a second, the threat of disappointment still looms large.

“Fine,” he replies, noncommittal.

“You’ll like the next band more I’m sure, it’s the one Zag’s boy toy is in!” Hypnos grins, inciting loud noises of protest from Thanatos.

“Boy toy?” Charon repeats, incredulous, “How old is he?”

Than runs his hand through his hair, turning pink and huffing, “He’s nearly 21 all right? It’s fine. Anyone want a drink? I want a drink,” and rushes off to join the end of the bar queue, not even waiting for an answer.

“I wonder if they do pina coladas here,” Hypnos muses, slouching beside Charon and yawning.

There’s quiet between the two for a moment.

“Zagreus,” Hypnos suddenly chirps, drawing his brother’s attention.

Charon tilts his head in question.

“Than’s boyfriend. His name is Zagreus. I’ve been giving him this evening to actually tell you more about him, but it seems like Than is even more secretive than you are.”

Charon scoffs, “Not secretive, just boring.”

Hypnos stares him down for a moment and Charon is forced to confront that of the two twins, it’s maybe not Thanatos who has inherited their mother's uncanny ability to look through someone’s entire being with a glance.

Charon feels the pull to defend himself against silence, “I like how things are. Like my house, like my work.”

“I never said you didn’t,” Hypnos replies, still just looking at him.

“I’m not lonely,” Charon adds.

“Never said you were.”

Charon nods definitively and flops back against the wall, crossing his arms.

‘Not lonely,’ he mouths to himself.

Thanatos reappears from the crowd, “We should start heading to the front to get a good space, they’ll be on in a minute,” and takes Hypnos’ hand to pull him through the crowd.

“You coming?” Hypnos turns to ask Charon before he can be dragged away.

Charon looks between the youthful unblemished faces of his younger brothers, Hypnos with his soft curls and still slightly round cheeks, Thanatos with his strong jaw and bright eyes, and he feels even older and stranger than he has all evening. He stares down the barrel of the catch-22 again. Dress as he does, face stares, but not questions. Stay back here, disappoint them, but don’t get in anyone’s way.

He shakes his head, “You have fun.”

Than looks like he expected it, which hurts, but Hypnos looks like he didn’t, which is somehow worse.

“Meet you back here after their set,” Than tells him, before they head out towards the stage where the crowd is thickening and buzzing louder with anticipation.

The twins are tall, but only between 6 foot 2 and 3. People won’t be delighted about them pushing through to get as far forward as possible, but it’s a more expected fall on the bell curve of human size than he is. Charon pushes his back further into the wall.

The crowd has all pushed forward, compacting together in their excitement, leaving a space between him and the beginnings of the mass of people. The chatter is getting louder and the tension is palpable as techies finish their last checks and runs of cables, before dashing off the darkened stage.

The PA system of music goes quiet and the crowd roars, making Charon’s face twist in physical discomfort.

There’s movement in the dark of the stage, a few people are coming on and picking up instruments, Charon catches the flash of jewellery on some of them in the low lights as the crowd continues screeching and screaming. The short shape of a man runs to the front of the stage, bouncing energetically, and his presence has the first few rows of women in the crowd screaming so loud and high pitched Charon wonders if he would look totally stupid to just put his hands over his ears.

But the gait and the bounce of the shadow at the front of the stage is strangely familiar, recent in his mind somehow. He stands up straight off the wall. It couldn’t be… could it?

Someone strums a note on the bass and the crowd goes ballistic, surging forward even more, making the gap between Charon’s safe wall at the back of the venue and the edge of the people feel like the parting of the Red Sea, a chasm between him and everyone else. The air is electric with that one note, and then soft orange light goes up on stage, flooding it with sunset tones.

Stood at the front of the stage, grinning, eyes alight with delight and mischief, holding the microphone with both hands, is the man.

Charon’s eyes drink him down like he's dying of thirst, raking over all of him at this distance. He’s wearing a tight orange tshirt with a large yellow and gold wing design on it, his acid wash jeans are loose and torn with holes at the knees, and his high-top sneakers also have large gold wings pinned to the ankles. His dark hair is swept back off his face, still rakish and enticing, with wisps of the curls catching under his ears and at his neck. His earrings are glinting in the light, and he now has sparkling orange eyeshadow with sharp black liquid cat eyes. The guitar slung around his neck continues the theme, from sunset pinks and vibrant reds and oranges, blazing yellow and white, a pattern like either feathers or flames, from this distance Charon can’t tell which. He thought he was gorgeous before. He thinks he’s ethereal now.

Distantly he’s aware he’s pushed off the wall and is moving closer, that one bass note still buzzing as the man’s eyes flash, searching the crowd.

Someone on keys starts tapping away a slow arpeggio, the man’s chest swells as he breathes in, and then, in a voice that sweeps over Charon like a monsoon after a drought, he sings.

Fate has brought us here.

Charon’s moving still and he doesn’t know how or why. The crowd is loud but this siren is so much louder, held aloft before him both on the stage and in the infinite kaleidoscope of phone screens that mirror it.

Beneath the pale afterglow of my despair.

Light behind your eyes,

Seems to flash across the skin of my disguise.

It’s like he’s moving through water, held aloft by something other than his legs which surely must have given out. The man is even more beautiful like this, sparkling under the stage lights, positively glowing with the attention, but his eyes are still flashing around the crowd as he sings, never pausing or resting, foveating on each face.

And I've got chills down to my bones,

With a weight above the clouds that built your throne.

Real, this can’t be real.

Charon’s reached the very back of the crowd now, he can make out more of the man’s face, watch his eyes more closely as they dart around the crowd, still searching.

As you cast me from the mountain to your feet,

The man’s eyes finally lock on to his target and he grins, feral and predatory. He raises his hand… and points. Directly at Charon.

I'm yours to keep.

The chorus kicks in and Charon realises too late he’s drifted too far into the mass of people, caught up in the tide of bodies as everyone begins jumping and screaming with delight. It’s hard to tell what’s going on with how his heart is in his throat, desperate to keep his eyes on the stage as the man unleashes an unholy amount of energy, bouncing around and whipping the crowd into a fervour, skipping between his bandmates at their other instruments as he sings with a voice Charon wants to drown in.

On keys there’s a green haired girl with her hair in two long thick braids, a starburst of green makeup over her left eye. Her expression seems stuck in a slight frown, but she smiles slightly at the man as he practically skips past her synth.

The bassist has long purple curls and a serious case of bass face, the kid’s either drunk or high or both, and looks totally at home in it.

Then on drums is clearly the youngest of them, playing with the flailing delight of someone not totally used to performing yet, spiky black hair flying, and when the singer turns to him he openly laughs, a picture of pure joy.

The man skips back to centre stage, sliding the microphone back into its stand as the second verse begins and oh gods Charon’s either going to be sick or pass out or both because the rhythm has changed, mellowing out from the frantic chorus and the man is swaying his hips from side to side, the movement pulling the edges of his tight t-shirt up until Charon catches a flash of tan hip. Several women’s screams break through his concentration at this, and Charon can’t help but agree, certain this man could spit on him and he’d be grateful.

Then, to add insult to injury, the man finds Charon’s face in the crowd again just as he sings

It’s your tainted innocence that devours me,

And just as Charon is fighting with the idea that this cannot be happening, it cannot be him he’s looking at, the man winks, the same mischievous sparkle in his expression from about an hour ago when he played interpreter for him.

The only thing keeping Charon on his feet is the crush of the crowd, he’s certain of it, watching utterly rapt as the singer falls to his knees and crawls towards the front of the stage, into a sea of scrambling female hands, singing out so loud and so pure, like he’s tearing open his chest and pouring his heart into those manicured waiting hands that writhe and grasp at nothing.

And you're the howling winds of the roaring sea,

You shake me to the core of reality,

Weathered down by pouring rain,

my soul is yours to own.

The singer leaps back to his feet like he’s weightless, dancing and running around the stage, strumming at his guitar with almost religious zeal.

The drums drop out for the instrumental bridge and Charon feels a hand grab his wrist. Jerked from his reverie, he sees Hypnos in front of him. His brother pulls him a couple of people forward to where he and Thanatos are in the crowd.

Than does a double take and yells, “Charon?!”, over the din, to which the eldest brother can only shrug and go back to staring at the stage, looking up at the singer who is leaning back-to-back with the bassist. This close he can see the sweat glistening on the man’s bronze skin.

He feels two fingers press to the bottom of his chin and snap his jaw shut.

“Didn’t mom tell you you’ll catch flies like that?” Hypnos giggles into his ear, and Charon turns pink.

Before Charon can even think of a defence, the singer is taking centre stage again, eyes searching the crowd. When he looks down and sees how close Charon is now, his eyebrows raise a touch and he laughs before belting out the final chorus.

On the last chord the lights cut out, drenching the stage in darkness, and now Charon is among the first few rows the screaming women are even louder and shriller, but next to him his brother takes his hand and squeezes. He turns to see Hypnos smiling at him as the lights come back up on the stage.

“Hi,” the lead singer laughs, to more whoops and yells, “As you might know, we’re Pantheon.”

Whatever he’s about to say is cut off by more cheering and screaming so he leans back from the microphone to laugh again. Charon doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone look like that, so at home in attention with utter joy radiating from him. This man lives to perform, and is clearly very good at it.

“My name’s Hermes,” the man continues, “Or rather, Hermes,” he repeats, glancing down at Charon as he flutters his index finger and thumb of his right hand down the index of his left, the sign for ‘feather’.

Charon feels both the twins’ attention snap to him and his face floods scarlet, but Hermes has looked away and is carrying on, unaware of the heart attack (and utter interrogation) he has just guaranteed in Charon’s future.

“On keys we have my dearest sister Artemis,” he announces, and the green haired girl nods awkwardly at the crowd as they cheer for her, “Bass is my lovely brother Dionysus,” the purple-haired man bows dramatically and Charon hears shrieks and sighs from all around, “And then on drums-”

Hermes is cut off by a drum roll and everyone laughs.

“On drums,” Hermes tries again, “Is a new addition to this family affair, my annoyingly talented little cousin Zagreus.”

Hypnos whoops loudly and Thanatos looks like he wants to hide as it draws some glances from people around them, while the rest of the crowd cheer in welcome.

“I’m a sucker for chatter, so before Arty kills me and we have to find another new band member, that’s it for introductions. Except, let me just say that I am so very honoured you’re all spending your precious Friday night with us,” Hermes smiles, and for a moment, glances down at Charon.

Then Zagreus is clicking his drumsticks together, and they take off into the rest of their set.

Charon’s not sure how he makes it through the rest of the concert, but it goes by in a flash, drum beats shaking his heart in his chest, bass notes searing in his blood, all the while gazing up at Hermes as he leaps and bounds around the stage like he was born for it, energy never even threatening to lull. He tries not to stare as the sheen of sweat sticks the flyaways of his hair to his forehead and neck, and his t-shirt to his chest, but when the singer lifts the front of it to wipe off his forehead, showcasing taut and downright delicious looking stomach muscles, Charon’s mouth goes dry as the desert to the soundtrack of every woman in the crowd shrieking like they’ve been communally stabbed.

Only a couple of songs they perform are less frenetic, but Hermes adjusts his seemingly endless well of energy accordingly, swaying his hips and eyes half-closed, the picture of debauchery with his wild hair and glittering skin.

Before Charon realises, they’ve played their last song and the four of them are dashing off stage, Hermes giving a little wink and wave as he skips off last.

Stamping down a rush of disappointment, Charon turns to his brothers, but they’re not moving, and neither is anyone else, cheering and applause still sweeping through the crowd. He waits a minute, the heat and the noise of the last hour finally setting in to make him realise quite how uncomfortable he is. He’s about to tap one of the twins and ask what's going on, when there’s movement on the dark stage, causing more shrieking around him. Charon looks back up as a single spotlight illuminates Hermes, now back at the mic.

“I guess we could give you one more…” he purrs, “If you say please.”

The crowd erupts, cheering and yells of ‘please’. Charon doesn’t know how any of these people have anything left of their vocal chords to still be shouting like this.

“You can do better than that,” Hermes giggles, and the crowd gets even louder, more frantic, desperate for one last song before the night is over.

Charon finds himself drawn to it as well. One more, he thinks, just one more.

It’s like Hermes reads his mind. Without turning his head to save from signalling his intentions to the rest of the crowd, Hermes’ gaze flickers down to where Charon is and he holds eye contact.

“Go on,” he whines, deliberately breathless, arching his back and clutching the microphone tightly as his eyelashes flutter, “Say please.”

Charon floods scarlet, looking around for some sort of explanation for Hermes' gaze still on him. But everyone around him, including his brothers are just cheering for more, even moody Thanatos is clapping and smiling. No one else around him is paying attention to him, and there's no one else the lead singer could be looking at.

He glances back up to the stage where Hermes waits for an answer, his sweet face now pulled into an expectant pout.

Hermes is clearly a man who always gets his way. It surrounds him, in his expression and how he holds himself, the way he’s clearly never been told ‘no’. Charon is not about to be the first. In the tiniest movement possible, praying he hasn’t read this wrong, Charon raises a hand to his chin, touches it with his fingertips, and moves it away.

“Please.”

Hermes’ grin splits across his face, wild with delight, “Oh, go on then,” he says, and the lights flood up, showing the rest of the band back in their places.

Their final song is even louder and faster, and Charon doesn’t want it to end, sorely dismayed as the final chord rings out. Dionysus crumples up his set list and tosses it out into the crowd where it causes a mad dash for it somewhere behind and to the right of where Charon is.

They start to leave, with Hermes lingering on, blowing exaggerated kisses into the crowd, including one in Charon’s direction, before Artemis comes back on and grabs Hermes to drag him away, to more laughter and hoarse cheering from the crowd as the house lights go up. It’s then that Hypnos takes his wrist, and Charon realises he is the tail of a line of brothers being led away by Thanatos.

Now the cheering and music has died down, Charon’s ears are ringing and he feels sick from dehydration. His clothes are sticking to him, and sweating this much can’t have been good for his hat. Thanatos deposits him and Hypnos by the edge of the room and goes to pick up their coats, giving Charon a moment to decompress, steering his thoughts away from the obvious problem (that his brother’s boyfriend is in a band with someone manifested by Charon’s frustrated subconscious) and focusing on his breathing. He thinks he hears Hypnos say something to him, but between the ringing ears and his buzzing thoughts, he misses it.

Thanatos reappears and pushes his coat into his arms, back to glaring at him and Hypnos.

“Do you promise to behave?” he asks.

Hypnos whoops, and Charon feels like he’s missed something, signing a confused ‘what?’.

“He’s going to take us to meet his boyfriend,” Hypnos explains, “And the rest of the band,” he adds, elbowing Charon in the ribs.

Charon’s mind screeches to a halt, crashing full force into all the thoughts he’s definitely not having about how much of an issue developing a crush on his brother’s boyfriend’s cousin is, even if that brother’s boyfriend’s cousin is the first man in over a decade that makes Charon’s insides feel like they’ve been torn out and pulped.

A door opens in the wall near them, and the exhausted grin of Zagreus pokes out, looking around furtively to make sure he’s not noticed. Before Charon can make an excuse, say he’s tired, has to go now (right now! Right now!! The alarms in the back of his mind add), Thanatos is ushering them through the door and into one of the venue’s labyrinthine backstage corridors.

Charon’s eyes sting in the sudden fluorescent lights of the corridor and he blinks to adjust, only just catching it as Zagreus leaps up to wrap his arms around Thanatos’ neck in a hug. He blinks. Not only is the display of affection utterly bizarre for his dour little brother, the other immediately obvious fact is that Zagreus is tiny in comparison to the twins, let alone Charon.

“I’m so glad you made it,” Zagreus says, leaning back and resting his hands on Thanatos’ shoulders, but his attention almost immediately turns to Hypnos and Charon.

“Hypnos!” he laughs, gripping the other twin in another embrace.

“Wow, Zag, you’re really sweaty!” Hypnos replies, patting Zagreus’ head.

“And you must be Charon,” Zagreus announces, turning to look up at the eldest brother, “I’m Zagreus.”

He sticks out a hand for him to shake, which Charon does, and he shouldn’t be surprised how someone with the stamina to play 90 minutes of frantic drums has a grip like that, but Zagreus clearly means nothing by the intensity of the hold, his face betrays an easy-going nature that wouldn’t hurt a fly. This close, Charon can see he has mismatched eyes, one a vibrant green, the other a deep reddish brown.

“Come on, come on, I want to introduce you to the others!” Zagreus takes Thanatos’ hand and rushes off down the corridor, leaving Hypnos and Charon to hurry after them.

Zagreus leads them down another corridor, and knocks on a door which has a laminated sign on it that declares ‘Pantheon’, bursting in before waiting for a response, dragging Thanatos by the hand.

The room is small, with a wall of mirrors and desks strewn with makeup and clothes, a couple of chairs, and a small sofa. As the four of them enter, Charon immediately spots Dionysus lounging on a chair, and Artemis in front of one of the mirrors, brushing out her long hair. There is a conspicuous lack of gorgeous lead singer in this dressing room.

“Dio, Art, this is Thanatos, Hypnos, and Charon,” Zagreus beams, motioning to the brothers in turn.

Artemis gives them a small smile, but Dionysus hops up from his seat, letting out a cheer.

“So good to meet you all!” he laughs, clapping Thanatos on the back, “Come on, make yourselves comfortable.”

“Don’t mind if I do!” Hypnos swans straight to the sofa and tucks up into the corner of it. Zagreus and Dionysus sit with him, both leaning back into the cushions, and Thanatos perches on the arm rest next to Zagreus.

Just as Charon is about to move from beside the doorway to take one of the small plastic chairs, the door bursts open again.

“I’ve got the-” Hermes begins, before noticing the nearly seven feet of shadow to his left.

Hermes drops the wireless mic he is holding with a clatter.

“Hermes, those cost a thousand dollars!” Artemis fusses, rushing over and picking up the mic off the floor.

Charon can't decipher the look on Hermes face as he gapes up at him, eyes wide with a slight flush across his cheeks. But in a flash it’s gone and replaced with the same wild laughter from on stage. Here under the fluorescent lights of the backstage rooms, Charon can see Hermes more clearly than he has all night, the smudge of his makeup, the flurry of flyaway hairs, the slit cutting through his right eyebrow. Even after what would have exhausted a normal person several times over, energy is still radiating off him, and Charon’s caught in his gravity, unable to look away.

“Hermes,” Zagreus announces, “This is Thanatos’ brother, Charon.”

Distantly, he hears Artemis whisper, “Is he the..?” and Dionysus chuckle back, “Must be.”

“Thanatos’ brother, of course,” Hermes steps closer, peering up under the brim of his hat again and offers his hand, “Nice to meet you again, Charon.”

Ignoring how good his name sounds in Hermes' voice, Charon takes his hand. It’s warm and rough, the fingertips have large calluses from hours of guitar playing that rub pleasantly at the back of Charon’s hand. Hermes’ hold is gentle and slightly tacky from the drying sweat. Charon drops it quickly after a single shake.

“I’m here, too!” Hypnos chirps, and Hermes whirls around.

“Thanatos’ twin! Hypnos! Of course! Hello to you, too, my good man, so pleased you could make it,” Hermes flutters across the room to take Hypnos’ hand, shaking it enthusiastically, “And Thanatos, good to see you again, you've been introduced to Dio and Arty? Excellent! Listen, our lovely roadies have packed everything up, and the venue is about to kick us out, I don’t know about the rest of you but I am completely starving after all of that,” Hermes looks around the room, “What do you all say to some well deserved grub? Zagreus’ honoured guests are more than welcome to join us,” he adds, winking at Charon, who looks away.

“I should get going,” Charon replies in sign automatically, causing an unintentional stir.

“Wait, man, you’re deaf?!” Dionysus exclaims, sitting up straight, “He’s deaf??” he repeats, looking between Hermes and Thanatos.

“Dio!” Artemis hisses.

“My brother’s mute,” Thanatos replies, voice even icier than usual.

"Oh! My bad, man, my bad!" Dionysus is polite enough to look incredibly embarrassed at his outburst, rubbing the back of his neck as Artemis smacks his shoulder chastisingly.

Hermes looks mortified and hops into Charon’s eyeline, hands up in plaintive apology, “I am so sorry about my utterly braindead half-brother, I’d pin it on his parents but his mom’s a stand up lady and we share a Dad, but please, you have to come with us now, I absolutely insist.”

With Hermes looking up at him like that, seeming so genuine in his horror and regret, big brown eyes sparkling, Charon feels his chest tighten. Usually, he would go home, in fact this is a perfect encapsulation of why he never goes out, standing in the corner of this bright room, gone from all eyes on him to knowing everyone is avoiding looking at him in exaggerated politeness, knowing he can’t contribute to the conversation unless his brothers translate, and even then he’s awkward, anxious, exhausted. It would be better for everyone if he went home, let the twins get to know Zagreus’ family. It would be better if he removed himself from being near Hermes' insatiable gravity.

But then Hermes is still looking at him, quiet pleading in the back of those eyes, thick eyebrows pulled together in concern. He falters.

“Please,” Hermes signs, quick and small as Charon had done in the crowd, and Charon feels his resolve break. He nods.

The tension in the room is broken and a smile breaks out across Hermes’ face, “Perfect, let’s get out of here.”

The group makes their way through the winding back halls of the venue, Hermes is chattering away, continuing to be effortlessly charming as he leads them out. He high fives and calls greetings to every member of backstage crew they pass, receiving various replies of ‘well done’ and ‘great set’, which he laughs off genially with honest reciprocations for the hidden work that went into the night. Dionysus has struck up a conversation with Hypnos, the topic appears to be substances that are less than legal, and duly acting as a good older brother, Charon tunes them out so as to accurately plead ignorance if interrogated by their mother. Artemis is hanging on beside Zagreus, who has Thanatos on his other side, and they make a hilarious trio, Zagreus, tiny and laughing loudly, with two very serious looking bodyguards. Charon, as is his usual way, hangs back and watches.

Hermes throws open a back fire door, and they emerge into the cold night, air immediately chilling Charon’s skin where it touches his damp clothes, and causing his knees to try and seize up a little.

Just as he’s trying to shake out his leg a little while he walks, he feels another tap to his elbow, startling slightly at how Hermes has appeared from nowhere to walk beside him.

“Hey, boss,” he smiles, “How are you doing?”

Hermes’ gait has a spring to it, slightly rushed, just like his speech, with a little bounce, energetic and youthful.

“Fine, you?” Charon replies.

“I’m good, I’m good, genuinely very sorry again about Dionysus’ complete lack of filter, I’m going to write his next bass solo in the worst possible key signature just for that little display, scout’s honour. Not that I think you can’t defend yourself, what with you being,” Hermes gestures to his height, cheeks going a little pink, from the cold of course, Charon thinks.

“I appreciate that, saves me having to break his fingers.”

Hermes barks out a loud laugh, which makes Charon’s stomach jolt pleasantly.

“Go ahead,” Hermes signs back, “he’s replaceable.”

Charon huffs a chuckle and Hermes grins wider.

The diner they head to is hidden down a side street, it’s warm and empty inside and smells of greasy junk food. It’s clearly somewhere the band frequents often, as they gravitate to a booth and spread out like they own it, grabbing laminated menus that crackle as they unstick from the table. Thanatos slides in next to Zagreus, with Artemis tucked by the wall, and opposite them Dionysus and Hypnos laze into place. Hermes is about to sit when he realises their numbers and drags over a chair for Charon, who signs a quick ‘thank you’ and perches at the end.

As the others start talking, Zagreus enthusiastically ranking each of the burgers on the menu, he’s content to just sit back and let conversation happen around him, but Hermes leans into his space.

“What you thinking, boss? I already know you’re a whisky man, but I don’t think I can quite get a read on what your typical fare from the local greasy spoon is going to be. Anything you want, my treat.”

Charon shrugs, thanking him for the offer but explaining he was just going to steal some chips from Thanatos before heading home. This answer doesn’t fly with Hermes who hops up and tells Charon to wait there.

Artemis, Dionysus, and Zagreus rush after him, clamouring loudly for Hermes to get theirs (and the twins’) food too.

“Soooo….” Hypnos sidles across to beside Charon, “Hermes, huh?” he asks, signing a feather.

Charon blushes, “He ordered for me, bar couldn’t sign.”

“You seemed grateful! Came all the way to the front of the crowd just to say thanks!” Hypnos continues.

“Leave him be, Hypnos,” Thanatos scolds, clearly forgetting the precarious position he himself is in.

“You’re right, you’re right,” Hypnos nods, “It’s much more interesting to talk about you and Zagreus, he seems nice, doesn’t he seem so nice, Charon?”

Charon stifles a laugh as Thanatos and Hypnos begin bickering, interrupted only by various trays of burgers and fries being dumped in front of them as the band return.

“Zagreus! You’re back!” Hypnos declares as the food is distributed, “Tell us again how you and Thanatos met!”

Thanatos hides his head in his hands as Zagreus begins a long explanation of his security shifts at the University hospital, and this serious looking lab technician he would constantly see working until about three am, going from quiet hellos as he did his rounds of the basement morgue and laboratories, to bringing Thanatos a coffee and a pastry each night. Than goes pink as everyone is told in detail how he would stiltedly say thank you and then immediately rush off, meaning several nights where Zagreus finally tried to ask him out, he was left stood stupidly alone, surrounded only by centrifuges of blood and his own disappointment.

Charon listens and laughs along, snacking idly on the food he's been bought, which is obviously exactly what the band needed, hearty and salty and unexpectedly delicious.

Hermes nudges his wrist and signs a little “Good, right?”

Charon nods and replies, “It's delicious, thank you. You're very kind.”

Hermes smiles at him, something softer and more genuine as he signs back, “My pleasure, boss,” and Charon has to look away, deciding to closely inspect his fries instead.

The group continue chatting and getting to know one another, every so often someone will direct a question to Charon, who signs back and waits for one of his brothers to translate, but Hermes is too quick for them, getting in each time with what's been said before either of the twins can open their mouths.

He learns that Hermes, Artemis, and Dionysus are all half siblings, and there's plenty more where they came from by the sound of it. Zagreus had been raised with no knowledge of that side of the family, and only recently discovered his innumerable cousins, going overnight from the only child of a single father, to part of a sprawling dynasty.

The band in turn learn more about Thanatos, with Hermes being the only one who had met him before tonight, bumping into both him and Zagreus while they were out on a date one evening. Thanatos explains he's been a lab tech at the University's hospital since he started his PhD, living on the outskirts of the city with Hypnos who is finishing up his Masters.

It's pleasant and social, two things Charon was not expecting the night to be in the slightest, but he's constantly aware that as everyone chats, Hermes is looking at him. It feels different from how people usually look at him when he's not paying attention, igniting something in his stomach, the gaze feeling more like fascination than scrutiny.

"So, tell me about these, boss," Hermes begins, breaking the two of them away into their own little conversation by tapping one of Charon’s huge gold rings, "You have a fantastic sense of style I must say."

"My rings? I collect them. Mostly Victorian. Memento moris," he explains.

"Wow, they're gorgeous," Hermes sidles closer, "May I see?"

Charon nods and is about to take some of them off to give over when Hermes just takes his hands, pulling them (and Charon) closer.

He goes red, feeling suddenly far too warm as Hermes' rough fingers go exploring over the metal and details of the rings, gently holding and moving his hands around to get a better look. He's leant so close Charon can feel the warmth from his face and every breath that skims his hand.

"I love them," Hermes declares, "Which one is your favourite?"

Charon blinks and waits, Hermes starts to look confused until he looks down at his hands still grasping Charon’s and drops them quickly.

"Oh, sorry boss, forgot for a second I had you the equivalent of tongue tied!" Hermes laughs, “Not that I would mind that,” he adds with a wink.

Charon blushes and is struck again by the absurdity of having Hermes’ attention on him. His brothers are here, infinitely more interesting, more pleasing to look at, but this sweet thing, this gorgeous man is talking to him, translating for him to the rest of them, buying him dinner, asking more about his strange clothes. It’s like being an ant under a magnifying glass, something terrifying and gigantic looms large over him, threatening to set him ablaze, a whisper of something he has left behind for a long time. That Hermes might like him.

He takes off a certain ring and drops it in Hermes’ waiting palm, letting the younger man twist and inspect it in the light. Its band is decorated with skulls, each with small onyx eyes, pinpricks of pure night in the shining gold, their jaws open wide, spilling gold smoke and swirls out onto the rest of the ring. He leans closer to Hermes and points to the inside of the ring.

There, worn down by time, is some lettering.

“Is that Greek?” Hermes asks, leaning closer still, both to the ring and to Charon, “That’s so strange, boss, the Victorians were all about Latin, however did you find something like this? And what does it mean? I’d ask how much it cost as well but I’m smarter than that.”

Charon doesn’t answer for a moment, taken in by the sheer fascination in Hermes’ expression, the way he cradles the ring carefully in his hands, tilting it this way and that. The onyx eyes of the skulls flash in the buzzing fluorescent lights of the diner, a world away from the soft candle light and flickering gas lamps for which they were crafted, carried on various hands through time until here it sits, in the palm of something else golden.

Hermes’ eyes flick up, and Charon startles slightly, going pink. Hermes is so close he can see the bright gold and amber flecks in his dark brown iris, they’re leaned together conspiratorially, and the chatter of the rest of the group feels like it’s fallen away.

“Know thyself,” Charon replies, fingerspelling each word.

Hermes’ eyes glitter, “Socrates. Perfect.”

Suddenly, there’s another face beside theirs, as Zagreus appears out of nowhere, causing them to jolt back from each other.

“Fuck, coz!” Hermes complains, clutching his chest and flushing pink, “What was that for?”

“Milkshakes?” Zagreus replies, a strange smug smile on his face, “I called but I don’t think you heard, you seemed busy,”

“Busy laying it on a bit thick,” Charon hears Dionysus whisper, and Hermes’ head whips around to glare daggers.

“Yes, Zag, I’d love one, the usual thanks, since you’re offering,” Hermes turns back to his cousin, who sighs in a put-upon way and drags Thanatos with him.

Hermes places the ring in Charon’s hand and he slides it back on his left index finger.

“So, anyway boss, if that’s anything to go by,” Hermes nods his head toward where Zagreus is holding Thanatos’ hand as they wait by the counter, “we’ll all be seeing a lot more of each other. You should take my number, just so we can work together to bail them out of the trouble they’re clearly going to get into.”

Hermes slides his phone over to him, open on the new contact card, cheeks still pink for some reason.

Charon enters his number, confused by the utterly winning smile Hermes gives him as he hands it back. Hermes taps something out and he feels his own phone buzz in his pocket, checking it to see a new message from an unknown number, a single feather emoji.

“By the way,” Hermes adds, slipping his phone back into his pocket, “Did you, uh, like the set? From the way you’re dressed I thought the Furies’ stuff might be more up your alley, so I just wanted to know,” he giggles nervously.

Charon doesn’t need to think about his response, Hermes seems eager to get feedback, and there’s only one honest answer.

“It was amazing,” Charon signs earnestly, “You’re all very talented, your voice is beautiful.”

Hermes beams, that big wide grin from when he was on stage that positively glows from the attention, a soft pink flush lighting up his cheeks, and Charon gets it, it must mean a lot for something as personal as your voice to be judged positively.

“Really? Well now I’ve got to know, did you have a favourite? I’ll dedicate it to you next time if you do," Hermes leans forward, propping his chin in his hand, blinking his long eyelashes slowly.

“The first one,” Charon replies, then his hands falter.

“Yeah?” Hermes tilts his head to the side encouragingly, long earrings jingling pleasantly against each other. Charon feels himself throw caution to the wind.

“Never heard anything like it. You drew me in.”

Hermes giggles with delirious delight, the sound is just as hypnotising as his singing. Charon entertains the fleeting and dangerous thought that he wants to hear it again, and again, and always.

"It's true," Charon insists, emboldened by Hermes' sweet laugh, and chuckling lightly, "You're a beautiful siren."

Hermes gasps softly and the flush on his cheeks gets darker, eyes wide. Charon goes pink as well, worried he's overstepped, got too familiar and forward, but Hermes scoots closer almost imperceptibly, lifting his hand to sign something, but he never gets there.

“Psst, Herm,” Dionysus whispers abruptly, drawing both their attentions, “Hate to interrupt but I think we’ve got some visitors,” he motions with his head to another booth, which has since filled with three young women, late teens or early twenties if Charon had to guess, and they’re whispering excitedly to each other, glancing furtively over to the band's table and giggling. Charon can hear snippets of ‘No, I couldn’t, you do it!’ as the girls push each other’s shoulders.

Hermes is on his feet in an instant, sauntering over to them, causing their tittering to get louder and more frantic until he stops by their table, leans down to rest his elbows on their table, and starts talking to them.

Charon can hear bits of what’s said, the girls are complimenting the set, saying how much they like the band, but the speed at which Hermes dashed off has left him a little numb and he’s struggling to take in anything at all through the ice that’s coalescing in his chest, unable to look away as Hermes lays the charm offensive on thick, running his hand through his hair and winking at the girls as he thanks them for coming along, causing them to giggle louder.

He turns to Dionysus and signs, flickering his eyes between him and Hypnos so he can translate.

“Charon’s asking if this happens often,” Hypnos relays, and Dionysus laughs, a hearty and pleasant sound, but it puts Charon on edge, almost knowing what comes next before it’s said.

“Oh, yeah, man, all the time,” Dionysus gestures at the other table, where Hermes is having various pieces of paper thrust at him to sign, and others with numbers on clearly to keep, “Sometimes I think the only reason he started this band was to max out his body c-ow!”

Artemis’ knee moves so fast it bumps the table, she had clearly trod on some toes, hard. A look between siblings is exchanged, but Charon doesn’t catch it, feeling freezing cold and utterly stupid.

He’s an easy target for someone that thrives on attention, after all, he thinks. It's obvious that if you give the awkward outcast a bit of your time, it'll be returned tenfold. He watches as Hermes laughs and smiles, chatting pleasantly with the girls as he slides their numbers into his pocket and perches on the booth edge with them for a picture, effortlessly hooking his arm around them causing them to all blush and titter louder.

Everything comes flooding back at once. His headache, his sore limbs, the dried sweat on his skin and clothes, how he’s in his mid thirties eating at a greasy diner in the middle of the night with his brothers' friends who are all a decade younger than him, how he’s just too-long limbs folded haphazardly on an uncomfortable plastic chair, like his rings, a gaudy and grim reminder of unpleasant things people would rather weren’t around. He feels sick.

He gets to his feet as Thanatos and Zagreus return to their table.

“Charon, are you going?” Thanatos asks, brows furrowed in concern.

Charon nods and hurriedly waves goodbye to the rest of the table, signing a quick ‘nice to meet you’ to Dionysus and Artemis that Hypnos translates. He turns as Hermes appears again.

“We should make a move,” he explains, “They said they wouldn’t but those lovely ladies are probably about to post that picture on social media. I know where we can head next, that cafe on 9th Avenue is open for another few hours.”

The group make sounds of agreement and begin pulling their things together, but Charon taps Hermes’ shoulder.

“I have to go. Got work tomorrow.”

“What?” Hermes laughs, “Tomorrow's Saturday, boss! Come on,” he sidles up close to Charon and it just makes him feel more sick, the way he grins up under the brim of his hat, mischievous and inviting, “You’re welcome to join.”

Charon’s head throbs and his chest aches. He steps back quickly, shakes his head, tips his hat, and rushes out of the diner, missing the way Hermes’ smile falls completely.

Charon wakes on Saturday, ears still ringing, with the singular thought that he can and will get through this.

He has a crush on someone lightyears out of his league who showed him the slightest bit of attention. It doesn’t mean anything, and he can just ignore it. Hermes is clearly like that with everyone, friendly, charming, effortlessly attractive, with available partners throwing themselves at his feet. His excessive kindness, buying him dinner and asking about his rings, must have been borne of a sense of guilt and debt, an attempt to make up for his brother's accidental insult. After all, it would be terrible for Zagreus if the families couldn't stand each other. As for everything else, Charon was just in the wrong place at the wrong time to have drawn his eye for a bit. Like how a lighthouse will inevitably throw its gaze past even the most disinteresting of rocky outcrops. Maybe Charon’s frustration and desperation is more obvious than he thought. Maybe, he thinks, in a rare show of unkindness, this is how the band got so popular. Besides, Hermes is his brother’s boyfriend’s cousin, and that’s a tenuous connection at best which will be easy to avoid, he won’t have to see him again, won’t have to wonder about it.

Won’t have to think about big brown eyes and soft dark hair, the sparkling intellect and glittering nail polish, or, gods forbid, about those taut stomach muscles and that honey sweet voice.

True to his word, he spends the rest of his weekend at his desk, working overtime on various projects. He barely eats, and smokes a bit more than usual.

His phone buzzes a few times. He ignores it.

On Sunday morning when he sits down for coffee, he finally checks his phone and is disheartened by the sheer number of messages from Hermes waiting for him. It makes him feel almost a little bitter. Hasn't he found someone more interesting to shake down for attention yet?

The messages are a bunch of little things. Asking if he got home safe Friday, checking in about his weekend work, and sending a sneaky candid of Thanatos and Zagreus sat on the sofa together with several eye emojis.

Charon hates how his insides warm as he reads them through. He can feel himself about to do something stupid like-

His phone buzzes and he nearly drops it. Another text has come in.

[9:46am] Hermes 🪶: happy sunday, boss! 🌞 you better not be working today or so help me ill set the twins on you

He stares it down. Something stupid like reply.

[9:47am] Me: Hey. No, I'm taking the day off.

The reply is immediate.

[9:47 am] Hermes 🪶: 😱😱😱 he lives!!!! you had me worried old man, thought that one friday night was too much for you

[9:47am] Hermes 🪶: that or you didnt like me or something 🥺😜

Charon feels like an idiot. An utter mark. But he can't help himself.

[9:48am] Me: Not at all. To both. I guess the twins told you how old I am then.

Again, the reply is almost instantaneous.

[9:48am] Hermes 🪶: they did, imagine being 36 rip 💀💀💀

Charon laughs despite himself.

[9:48am] Me: Okay then, kid, how old are you?

[9:49am] Hermes 🪶: 25… hopefully thats not too young for you

Charon chokes on his coffee.

[9:49am] Hermes 🪶: to be friends with i mean!! shit that came out wrong 💀💀💀💀

The next few messages appear rapid fire.

[9:49am] Hermes 🪶: cos i know your brothers are like 26

[9:49am] Hermes 🪶: and some people dont like being friends with their siblings peers???

[9:49am] Hermes 🪶: like dio is 23 but if he was like 16 i woukdbt want to hang with his friends

[9:50am] Hermes 🪶: … i am making this so much worse

Charon composes himself, coughing the last bits of coffee away.

[9:51am] Me: You're fine. We can be friends.

Hermes replies with a plethora of party face emojis and Charon sighs, fully aware of how he's reached the bottom and has started digging.

It becomes apparent over the next few days that Hermes texts a lot. When Charon isn't there to reply immediately, they're slightly more interspersed, but as soon as he taps out a reply, Hermes is talking back within seconds.

He must be the type to just always have his phone on him, Charon muses, flicking the ash off his cigarette into the plant pot by his back door. Charon learns that Hermes has a linguistics degree, and learned to sign as an extra curricular. He's a runner, impressively quick in both marathon and sprint, and has been playing guitar since he stole one from his sibling when he was 6. Aside from the band, he has various side gigs to keep him going while they wait for their big break, things like being a courier and interpreter.

In return, Charon thinks he is a poor conversation partner, replying in short sentences, with nothing anywhere near as interesting as Hermes has to tell him. But Hermes keeps texting anyway, he laughs at his dry sense of humour, and needles Charon with questions about his short answers.

And all the while Charon knows this is not how you go about distancing yourself from a crush, but the stupid warm feeling in his stomach and hopeless soft smiles he feels himself get whenever his phone buzzes is addicting. He constantly tells himself he'll stop replying tomorrow, or start easing himself off gently, but when he wakes up to yet another cheery 'morning, boss!' he puts it off another day.

Hermes sends pictures as well, shots from rehearsal, sneaky candids when he meets up with Zagreus and Thanatos, his pet tortoise munching on celery, even the odd sunrise from his runs.

Trying not to be charmed by Hermes is an impossible feat, and each day Charon's orbit around him deteriorates further.

It's Friday again already when Charon ends up having an impossibly busy day at work, several last minute deadlines all suddenly dropped on him at once. It means he doesn't even touch his phone from when he wakes up at 7, to when he claws his way back to bed at 2am, eyes burning and back aching from hunching over staring at screens all day.

When he wakes up late morning on Saturday, he blearily grabs for his phone to start reading any messages he might have missed.

The day had begun as normal, with a good morning, a picture over the river on Hermes’ 5 mile run, updates on his courier shift, a picture of the bubble tea he got to go with lunch, where he thinks Zag and Than might be going for their next date and if he and Dio should ‘coincidentally’ turn up to gatecrash. They had rehearsal in the afternoon, and Hermes had continued sending little updates, including a 30 second clip of them playing their opener from the concert, with a message saying ‘heard this was someone’s favourite’, that has Charon’s heart fluttering in his chest.

After rehearsal, Hermes had said he was going to walk the long way home, going through the district of the town with the second hand jewellery stores, sending lots of little photos and messages about the kinds of things he saw, rings he thought might interest Charon, questions about the styles and gems.

By this time it was after normal work hours, and Hermes wouldn’t have heard from Charon since they said goodnight the evening before. The messages start getting more sparse, and if Charon had to say, almost nervous.

[Friday, 6:57pm] Hermes 🪶: i guess you must be super busy today, huh boss!

[Friday, 7:40pm] Hermes 🪶: i hope it’s all going okay

[Friday, 8:02pm] Hermes 🪶: and if it’s not going okay i hope you’re giving the other guy hell

[Friday, 9:16pm] Hermes 🪶: my guitar string just broke rip me

[Friday, 10:33pm] Hermes 🪶: hey, are you okay out there boss?

[12:19am] Hermes 🪶: Charon?

And then there’s the most recent, and Charon’s heart aches as he reads it.

[3:28am] Hermes 🪶: hey i just wanted to say i know i’ve been texting you a lot and if it’s been getting annoying i promise you can just tell me and i’ll cool it, everyone does and it doesn’t bother me honestly all of my friends have asked me to shut up at some point and definitely all of my family so like i get it that i’m a lot and.. yeah. sorry.

Charon’s not sure how to deal with it, this isn’t like how Hermes has been at all the rest of the time they’ve been talking, he’s so energetic and positive, like a sunbeam bursting through Charon’s dull samey days, the attention is addictive and warm and has made him want to curl up in it. To think that other people listen to his chirping and chattering and get annoyed seems anathema to Charon. The idea that Hermes is upset is driving him mad, he’s desperate to fix it, and types out a reply without thinking.

[10:14am] Me: I love listening to you, I like that you text me so much, please don’t stop. I had the worst day at work yesterday, I’m sorry. I don’t know how anyone could ever tell you to shut up, keep telling me everything.

Charon presses the phone to his chest, waiting. When it buzzes a minute later, he whips it away like it’s burned him, eyes frantic.

[10:16am] Hermes 🪶: oh boss.. thank you.. that means so much..

[10:17am] Hermes 🪶: ❤️

Charon’s face is pink and his heart is in his throat, just from the few red pixels on his screen. It makes him honest. Too honest.

[10:18am] Me: Anytime. Hearing from you is the best part of my day.

[10:19am] Hermes 🪶: 😳😳 you sweetheart! you're such a gentleman!! 😘

Charon tries not to choke, face burning.

[10:19am] Hermes 🪶: i’m so lucky to have made a friend like you 🥰🥰🥰

It feels like he’s been slapped.

[10:19am] Hermes 🪶: now tell me all about this terrible day yesterday, did someone ask you to start money laundering? wait, do you already money launder???

He flops back onto his pillow.

“Stupid,” he signs to himself.

Charon becomes aware as the next couple of weeks press on that he’s given an inch, and Hermes will now take a mile. He texts just as much, but now is even flirtier, even sweeter, with bolder compliments and even the occasional slightly suggestive selfie in his running gear. It tugs on Charon’s insides and makes his head spin until he thinks he’s going insane, clutching desperately to the idea that Hermes is like this with everyone and it doesn't, it can't, mean anything. He realises he misses Hermes’ voice and starts listening to Pantheon’s music, sitting out smoking on the wooden bench outside his back door, phone speakers not doing real justice to the sheer power and tone of the music when it was live. He remembers looking up at the siren, how the stage was a pedestal for the loveliest creature he had ever laid eyes on, how nimble fingers danced across the guitar to tease out melodies that set something on fire inside him.

They’ve kept talking, kept getting closer, and now Charon’s skimming the upper atmosphere of Hermes’ bright life, painfully aware of how easily it could burn him alive. There’s a war in his head, between the forces of tempered expectations and foolhardy hope.

He has to remind himself always, Hermes will stop talking to him as quickly as he had started, once he finds someone more pleasant to be with. Someone more attractive, someone younger. Someone who he could actually speak to, he thinks, huffing out smoke from what is already his second cigarette of the morning.

That had been an awful moment. The evening before they’d been texting while Hermes was out at a house party somewhere. Hermes was getting drunk and bold, things like sending a picture of a bottle of nice whisky that he’d apparently stolen from a locked drinks cabinet in an off-limits area of the house, and saying he wished Charon was there to try it with him. Then Charon’s phone had started buzzing angrily with an incoming call where it sat on the bedsheets next to him as he read. It was cancelled before Charon could even blink and a flurry of texts came in.

[11:23pm] Hermes 🪶: omfggggg boss

[11:23pm] Hermes 🪶: im so so sorry that was so stupid of me wtf

[11:23pm] Hermes 🪶: i knoww you cant pick up a voice call obviusly im so sorry

[11:23pm] Hermes 🪶: imjust drunk and i wanted to talk to you ahahhaha

Charon had replied that it was fine, but he would be lying to say it didn’t hurt at all. Just another reminder why he should keep his distance. He had said goodnight and went to sleep trying not to think about it.

The last message he had woken up to find was from about 4am when Hermes finally got to bed, clearly drunk out of his mind. It was a very blurry selfie of him lying in bed, hair splayed out wildly on the pillow, covering his eyes with his forearm, tongue stuck out, face flushed rosy red from the alcohol. He looked so good it hurt.

Charon holds the smoke in his lungs, closing his eyes in the sunshine. Even with his eyes closed he can still see it, still see him. The front doorbell rings and he breathes out all the smoke, stubbing out his cigarette in the plant pot, unsure of who it could even be on a Saturday morning.

To his surprise, when it opens, Hypnos is on his doorstep, looking his usual unbothered and comfortable self in a thick soft hoodie and sweatpants.

“Hi, broo,” he sweeps past Charon and tucks up on the sofa, immediately grabbing all of Charon’s blankets to cover himself with.

Charon blinks, confused, and Hypnos laughs.

“Didn’t see my message?” he asks.

Charon shakes his head and fishes out his phone. Navigating to his chat with Hypnos, he sees a few messages saying he would be coming over on Saturday morning ‘to make sure you haven’t died!!’.

“Sorry,” Charon signs, putting his phone on the coffee table and sitting beside Hypnos.

“That’s okay! You’ve had other people to message recently, after all,” Hypnos’ face is the picture of smug, his sleepy half-closed eyes paired with a big shit-eating grin.

Charon blushes and waves Hypnos’ comment away.

“Now, Charon, don’t be like that! Tell me all about it! A little birdie told me last night you’ve been texting non-stop since the concert!”

“Who told you that?” Charon signs, miffed.

Hypnos keeps grinning and signs a feather.

Charon rolls his eyes, “You were at the party?”

“Sure was! Can’t say Hermes really was with the way he was glued to his phone all night, though!”

Charon shakes his head and stands up, “I’ll make us coffee,” he signs, firmly changing the subject.

“Aw, don’t be like that, bro,” Hypnos says, following Charon into the kitchen, “You’re getting your own boy toy just like Thanatos!”

Charon flushes red and turns back to face Hypnos, “It’s not like that.”

“I dunno, he seems to really like you,” Hypnos continues, “And you seemed to like him, too! Hey, does this mean you’ll come to more of the concerts? We can all start hanging out together, the band, me, Than, and you! Won’t that be great?”

Memories of being shoulder checked by annoyed members of the crowd flood him. He feels claustrophobic, the burn of too many eyes on him. Facing down the bar knowing no one could sign. He thinks of his sore limbs and the headache, ringing ears and his clothes tacky with sweat. Charon tries to ignore it, fetching mugs and coffee grounds, but Hypnos is not one to be brushed off.

"I think you two will look super cute together you know!"

Charon catches sight of his reflection in the door of the microwave in front of his face. His scars and anxious grimace stare back at him. He still tries to ignore it.

Hypnos lounges on the worktop beside him, "Think how funny it would be then, for him still to be getting numbers from desperate girls when he's with someone like you!"

He remembers tittering laughter, freely given winks, the flirtatious brushing back of dark hair, the speed at which he was left for something better as soon as it came along.

"Oh, wow, and mom will be so pleased to hear you're dating again, too! She'll want you to bring him over for dinner as soon as possible."

He feels his mother's pitying gaze on him, feels the flood of panic at the possibility of Hypnos telling her about Hermes, getting her hopes up, and leaving her even more disappointed when inevitably, obviously, nothing comes of it. The embarrassment and humiliation rises like nausea.

Charon slams down the mug he is holding and rounds on his brother.

"Stop it," he signs, movements sharp and quick, face contorted in fury, "I'm never going again. I hated the concert, I hated the music, I hated the band, I hated Hermes."

The brothers stare each other down. There is quiet, broken only by Charon's shallow, rattling breathing. Hypnos to most would look the same as always, relaxed and unbothered, but Charon is his big brother. He catches the slight quirk of his eyebrows and tilt of a frown before they are swept away under a seamless guise of sleepy laissez-faire.

"You got any of those dark chocolate cookies you had last time?" Hypnos asks, suddenly, practically floating over to the cupboards and starting to rummage.

Charon breathes a heavy sigh and turns back to the mugs. As they sit together at the kitchen table with coffee and cookies, they don't speak of it again.

Hermes stares down at his phone, dissecting the last text he received. He’s confused, is he doing something wrong? He doesn’t remember finding out if a boy likes you being this hard ever before. But then again, he’s never met a boy like him ever before either.

[09:21] Me: meeting up with your brothers and zag for coffee this morning! wanna join? <3

[09:26] tall drink of gorgeous: Sorry, I’m busy. Have a good time with them.

He wants to prod and poke at that answer. Busy doing what? He’s got precious few facts from Charon in the few weeks they’ve known each other, but he’s loved everything he’s learned. He has a sharp wit and a dry humour, he remembers the useless little bits of prattle Hermes drops into his chatter, he’s got a kind heart and a keen eye, eclectic taste and a unique style. He’s the most fascinating person Hermes thinks he has ever come across, but he cannot for the life of him get a read on if he’s really interested! And at this point, Hermes has been about as subtle as a brick through a window, but Charon dodges it all artfully, skillfully sidestepping flirty comments and compliments, changing the subject, and distracting Hermes with questions and tangents. It’s beginning to get infuriating.

But today that ends. He’s going right to the source. Or, rather, the younger twins of the source. He’ll have to be subtle about it. Chill. Cool. Unbothered. He doubts Thanatos especially would appreciate being interrogated about if his older brother is dtf.

No, this requires social skill and grace. He can do that. He’ll start with something innocuous, and build up to asking if Charon is single. Because if he’s not, well, that would explain it, really, the responses he’s been getting work with the theory of him just being gentlemanly and politely ignoring how Hermes is practically throwing his underwear at him. Sparing Hermes the embarrassment of being told Charon already has someone. Letting him down easy by not even acknowledging it is a solid tactic. Especially with this morning’s ‘Sorry, I’m busy’. Busy already out on a date, maybe?

Someone nudges his shoulder.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so quiet, Hermes, and I know that’s not saying a huge amount considering I’ve only known you for about a year, but I think I’m on the right track. You’re staring at your phone like it’s gonna explode. Come on, what’s up?” Zagreus asks, bringing him back to the present, the comfy sofa in the corner of the café where they’re waiting for the twins.

“It’s nothing, Coz, don’t worry about it,” Hermes smiles.

“Is it something to do with who’s had you smiling at your phone like a puppy the last couple of weeks, you know, Than’s brother?”

Hermes blushes, “No,” he lies.

Zagreus laughs, “You’re not fooling anyone. What was it you said when you came back after bumping into him at the bar?”

Hermes groans and hides his face in his arms, “Zag, stop..”

He knows they both remember perfectly well how Hermes had burst into the room where they were warming up, clutching the three waters, and breathlessly declaring, “There’s a fucking Greek god out there.”

But, ugh! Can you blame him? Catching sight of a six-foot-ridiculous, strappingly handsome man in all black, cutting that striking silhouette out of his vision, with wide shoulders, trim waist, big hat, and legs that went on for ever? A god was the only comparison when faced with such a tower of a man. Then he’d noticed him sign to someone in the crowd, and Hermes’ polylingual brain had kicked into overdrive, combining with his ability to always see an opportunity when it presented itself when he noticed the man falter as he went to approach the bar. Clearly there would be a language barrier. And clearly, Hermes could help.

Gods, then he’d seen his face close up, shadowed mostly by that big hat, but he made out long pale hair, pale eyes, pale skin, a cluster of scarring over the left side of his face, and Hermes was gone. Forget visually striking, this man’s look was a thunderbolt, fifty thousand volts applied directly to the centre of his brain and every synapse sparking into overdrive to come up with some sort of deviously romantic plan to swoop this guy off his feet.

Hermes would never have minded if he was deaf, but mute gave him a little more to work with for this plan. He would dash off without even leaving his name, create a bit of mystery and intrigue, leaving the man to see him again on stage where Hermes would perform, harder and better than he ever had before, and single out this colossus in the crowd. Then at the end, he would dash off and loiter unseen by the exits, grab his hand (because no one that tall could ever escape anywhere unnoticed) and lead him away to their first of hopefully many dates.

It was perfect. It was foolproof. It had seemed like it worked with the way the man got closer and closer in the crowd during the first song until he was right at Hermes’ feet for their whole set! Maybe what he said before the encore had been pushing it, but he really wanted this guy to know that playing it up like this was for him.

Then someone (Dionysus) had left one of the venue’s wireless mics somewhere and of course because he’s the fastest he had to run around and find it, and he was worried he wouldn’t get back to the front of the venue in time to find his new favourite walking skyscraper but… there he was. Already in his fucking dressing room.

And he was Thanatos’ brother, of course, because fate would play him like that. His cousin’s boyfriend’s insanely handsome brother. Charon.

Hermes sighs heavily and Zagreus gives up trying to break him from his trance.

It had been going well afterwards, too, right? Getting a little closer, a little flirtier, and he had called him beautiful. That had to mean something, they were finally getting somewhere! Well, before Hermes had been forced to hurriedly deal with the wildlife, shall we say. Better that than let what happened last time occur again, where he and Dio had sat on the floor of a disabled bathroom with Artemis while she had the mother of all panic attacks. Hermes had felt like the worst brother in the world, pressuring his shy and introverted older sister into the band in the first place, then not protecting her from being swarmed by people who want to talk to her, knowing full well that’s her worst nightmare? Never again. Maybe seeing that girls were willing to follow them around was a bit much for Charon, too. He seemed shy, and Hermes knows now he doesn’t get out much at all.

Well. Until today. Out there being ‘busy’, whatever that means. Probably not a date.

Gods, Hermes so hopes it’s not a date.

He’s roused from thought by Zagreus jumping up to greet the twins, hooking them both around the neck in a hug, giving Thanatos a big kiss on the cheek. Hermes hops up and goes to get their coffees. The sooner he can ease everyone into a nice normal conversation, the sooner he can find out about Charon.

He approaches the counter and smiles at the barista, a young guy with blue hair, who blinks.

“Hi, can I get-”

“Wait, sorry,” the barista interrupts, “Are you the singer from that band? Pantheon?”

Hermes laughs, “Yeah, yeah I am! Hermes.”

“That’s so cool, my friends and I were at the gig a few weeks ago, it was really good. Sorry, what can I get you?”

Hermes orders their drinks and starts chatting to the barista, answering his questions about how long the band has been together and what got him into music.

“Here you go, Hermes,” the barista smiles, cheeks pink as he hands over a tray.

“Thank you!” Hermes replies, heading back to their table. As he takes his seat and hands out the drinks, he notices a scrawl on the side of his latte’s cardboard carry sleeve. It’s a number, and the barista’s name. He smiles, flattered but uninterested, and plans to tear it up and dump it in a bin, like he does with all of them. He takes off the sleeve so he doesn’t have to look at it the whole time. Hypnos’ eyes glance down to it as he moves.

“Wow, someone’s popular!” he comments, stirring the whipped cream into his mocha frappuccino.

Zagreus laughs, noticing it as well, craning around to look at where the barista is serving other customers, “Dio was right, you’re a real heartbreaker, Herm.”

“Comes with the territory, Coz, our genes are irresistible,” he laughs, “Anyway, Thanatos, how’s work?”

Hermes nods along and listens as best he can and he really is trying, but as soon as he sees an opening in the conversation he pounces.

“So,” he starts, twisting the coffee cup in his hands, “Do you think we’ll be seeing your brother at another one of our shows?”

Hypnos laughs.

“Charon? Oh, man, no way, he said he hated it!”

The seconds of silence as Hermes can only stare at Hypnos feels like an eternity.

“He… what?” Hermes tries.

“Yeah, said he hated it, seemed like he really meant it as well, I’ve not seen him that mad about something in years!”

“Hypnos,” Thanatos warns, quietly.

Zagreus is looking between Hypnos and Hermes, head whipping between the two, “Well, now, I’m sure he didn’t say he hated it-”

“Nope, said he hated the concert, hated the music, hated the band, and hated-”

“Hypnos!” Thanatos hisses, which finally quiets his twin.

Hermes is staring down at the table, face painted with a confused frown, eyebrows furrowed and mouth slightly ajar. His brain is working double time, not like it needs to. It's obvious where Hypnos was going. He hated the concert, hated the music, hated the band, and hated…

Him.

His eyes flicker over the coffee stains in the wood.

The whole world has shifted, freezing cold and silent around him. His throat is closing up and his eyes burn. His vision of the coffee table starts to blur. He needs to move, he will not start crying here, he won’t.

Unsteadily, he gets to his feet, and hears Zagreus say his name through the blood roaring in his ears.

“Sorry, boys. Rem’mbered some stuff,” he blurts out, dizzy and tripping over syllables, “Gotta run, sorry. See you.”

He’s out the door of the cafe in a flash, feet pounding the pavement, a deep-seated desire to be anywhere, away, just not there anymore, only just about making it home before he finds his cheeks are wet.

[Sunday 9:21am] Hermes 🪶: meeting up with your brothers and zag for coffee this morning! wanna join? <3

[Sunday 9:26am] Me: Sorry, I’m busy. Have a good time with them.

[Sunday 6:03pm] Me: Did you have a nice time?

[Monday 10:35am] Me: Hermes?

He's not upset about it.

Not in the slightest. Why be upset about what he knew would happen? That Hermes would lose interest and go as quick as he came.

His phone sits at the bottom of his bedlinen drawer, out of sight and out of mind, a desperate attempt to stop checking it every five minutes, typing out message after message just to delete them, over and over.

He doesn't want to bug Hermes. He'll be texting his newest catch now instead, anyway.

Charon taps his unlit cigarette on the kitchen counter. It's raining outside and he doesn't like smoking in the house, but it's a rule he's considering breaking with how his insides buzz with discomfort and unhappiness.

Maybe it was one of the girls from the diner, he'd finally got in touch with them, or they just started to hit it off more, and he knows Hermes isn't the type to look back when his attention is elsewhere.

Maybe it was someone Hermes met while out for coffee with the twins and Zagreus. One sweet young thing approached by another, yet another number freely given, someone else desperate for attention from bright brown eyes and soft dark hair, because, gods, who wouldn't be.

Maybe it was someone he met at the party. Maybe they were tucked away in a corner together, sharing drinks and soft touches. Maybe he split the whisky he stole with them. Maybe they kissed.

The cigarette snaps in half from a particularly violent tap, spilling shreds of brown tobacco over the counter top.

He stares at it for a moment.

He's not upset. He knew this would happen.

Lumbering, lurching, grotesque Charon, catching the eye of some drop dead gorgeous musician a decade his junior? As if.

He returns to work, pulling longer days, smoking more. Getting less sleep, deliberately not listening to any music at all. His house is back to how it was before, but somehow it feels worse, the quiet is less comforting and more suffocating. Eventually he retrieves his phone from the linen drawer and begrudgingly putting it on to charge. It buzzes with messages as it turns on, and he curses how his stomach lurches with hope only to find it's from his chat with the twins. He tamps down the disappointment.

He’s not upset about it.

He’s not.

Wherever Charon is right now, he can hear distant music, the sweet voice of a siren is drawing him somewhere, down a corridor lit with orange sunlight that’s coming from nowhere. He’s warm and as he tries to find the source of the music, everything feels soft and gentle. He’s being drawn closer in, heading toward a door he can’t help but try the handle of.

When he pulls it open, sparkling brown eyes and a sweet smile greet him. The singing is getting louder, and louder, the edges distorting, fraying into an uncomfortable low drone.

Charon blinks awake, his phone on the nightstand is buzzing loudly, shaking the table. Head heavy with the agony of being wrenched from REM sleep, he bats at the table until he can grab his phone.

Thanatos is calling.

His brothers know calling him is a last resort, he can’t make a sound, but they know he can hear them, and that’s good enough in an emergency. Which it clearly must have been with the way he already has a couple of missed calls and a plethora of unread messages.

He sits up quickly and accepts the call, pressing the phone to his ear…

Which he immediately regrets as the thud of an impossibly loud bass causes him to flinch it away. He gingerly moves it back towards himself to where the sound is not totally deafening.

“Charon?” he hears Thanatos slur down the line, “Charon did you pick up? Can you hear me?”

Than’s having to shout over the sound of the music, and Charon clicks his fingers close to the phone as a response, both nervous and a little annoyed to hear what the hell is going on, what with how completely out of character this is for uptight and responsible Thanatos.

“Ohthankgods, listen, Charon, could you-? Wait, wait, I’ll message you, I’ll message you,” Thanatos sounds stressed, and before the call rings off, Charon can hear Zagreus’ voice slurring something utterly unintelligible.

He navigates to his messages with Thanatos, glancing over twenty or so unread ones asking Charon if he’s still awake, telling him to pick up the phone, all with an unconscionable number of spelling errors.

[4:07am] Me: Here now. What is it?

As soon as his message sends he grunts with surprise at the time, what could even be going on at four in the goddamn morning.

[4:08am] Thanatos: Charon iM so sorry i woke yuo

[4:09am] Thanatos: i need yeoe help plwase

Charon’s heart clenches with worry and he waits as Thanatos texts an explanation; that he’s out with Zagreus on a side of town he doesn’t know, they drank too much and now he doesn’t know how to get home, taxis won’t take them because Zagreus keeps being sick, the buses only run until 2am, he couldn’t call their mom, she would be so disappointed, and will he please help them?

Charon thinks of being 10 years old and handed two tiny bundles with pale hair that squirm and gurgle, remembers two gangly laughing toddlers crawling over him like a climbing frame as his growth spurt saw him reach 6 foot at age 13, remembers watching them also learn to sign as they learned to read. There is only one thing he would ever do in this situation. He kicks off the duvet as he types.

[4:12am] Me: Stay where you are, I’m on my way.

Forty minutes later, Charon is rolling up on the sidewalk beside the Acheron Lounge. He has blankets, a bucket, tissues, and a water bottle in the back seat. There are a couple of groups of people milling around, starting to stumble their way home, and he can hear the bass thudding out from inside the Lounge, but no immediate sign of his brother.

As he gets out the car, he notices Thanatos, leaning over where Zagreus is sitting on the ground with his head in his hands. Than is rubbing Zag’s back gently, and looks up as Charon approaches.

“Charon, you came,” Than sighs in relief, less slurring than on the phone, having clearly sobered up at least a little in the meantime.

“Are you ok?” Charon signs, before resting a hand on Than’s shoulder.

“I’ll explain more in the car,” Than replies, before his eyes widen, “Wait, Zag might be sick again, will that be-”

Charon cuts him off by holding up his hands, “Don’t worry about it, I have it covered.”

The two of them work together to hoist up Zagreus who is mumbling lightly. The height difference hurts Charon’s back to deal with, but they get him over to the car and bundle him into the back, strapping him into his seatbelt. Charon hands him the bucket, and he just about understands that he’s being handed something to hold, so he clutches it to his chest, head lolling forward.

Charon gives the water bottle to Than and tells him to drink some, before getting back in the front seat.

“What happened? Explain while I drive,” he instructs, before getting into gear and pulling away.

The movement immediately causes Zagreus to groan and retch, and Charon cringes at the sound. After Zag settles down a bit, Thanatos scoots forward in the back seat so Charon can hear him better.

“Zag really wanted to go out, just the two of us,” he sighs, “He’s never been out drinking before and wanted to go with me.”

“Twenty,” Charon signs back quickly, glancing at Thanatos through the rear view mirror, expression stern.

“I know, I know,” Than replies, “The rest of all his cousins are well over 21, he’d never been out before, he wanted to get used to it before he turns 21. I borrowed a student ID from one of the other lab techs who looks a bit like him. We were just going to have a couple of drinks. I’m sorry. It was irresponsible of me.”

Than sits back in his seat and sips the water.

“I didn’t realise quite how much he doesn’t know his own limits,” Thanatos says, quietly.

Charon looks in the rear view mirror again, at Zagreus who is trying to raise his head, eyes barely open and skin sickly pale with a sheen of sweat.

“Yu’rebrthr?” Zag mumbles.

“Yeah, Zag, it’s my brother,” Thanatos rubs his back again soothingly.

“Thanks f’r not… callin’ my fam’ly,” he just about gets out, before they go over a small speed bump and Zagreus returns to retching into the bucket.

Charon drives carefully, slower than usual to be gentle on his thoroughly inebriated passengers, and the car is quiet for a bit, until it’s broken by the sounds of quiet crying.

He checks the rear view mirror again and catches Thanatos’ eye, the brothers share a look of confusion and concern, before Than scoots closer to the source of the tears and pulls him into his chest gently.

“What is it, Zag?” Than asks, voice softer than Charon has ever heard before.

“They’re gon’be mad at me,” Zagreus chokes out, voice still slightly echoey in the plastic bucket, “I only jus’ found ‘em and they’re gonna want me gone.”

“Who will? I’m not mad at you, Zagreus,” Than soothes, “No one’s mad at you.”

“M’family,” Zagreus sobs, “They’ll think I’m stupid and irresponsible, jus’ like dad does, and they’ll want me to go away too. I jus’ wanted to find a side of the family that liked me, I knew I’d screw it up immediately, I can’t do anything right. It was too good to be true.”

As Thanatos soothes and comforts the sobbing Zagreus, Charon tries to just concentrate on the road, to not intrude on such a personal moment between his brother and his boyfriend who clearly has a lot going on, but it’s hard in a quiet car not to hear what’s being said, especially when a certain name catches his ear.

“They’ll all be so angry with me, especially Hermes, he’s already seemed so upset lately, I don’t want him to feel worse, I don’t want them to hate me, I don’t want to leave the band, but they’ll kick me out for sure, they won’t want to hang out with someone so pathetic,” Zagreus babbles, sniffling, “They don’t even know I went out, and we’ve got rehearsal tomorrow morning, oh god what if I miss rehearsal? I’ve never missed one since they asked me to join.”

Thanatos rocks Zagreus gently in his arms, “They love you, Zagreus. It’s just a mistake, they’ll understand. Everything with the band will be fine.”

“I don’t want to have to go back,” Zagreus says very quietly, before dissolving into a shuddering mess of tears, clutching at his bucket and his boyfriend like they’re his lifelines.

The rest of the drive is quiet, with Zagreus’ hiccupping sobs slowly quieting into the occasional sniffle. It leaves Charon to think, head busy with thoughts. Sympathy and concern for Zagreus, slight disappointment in both of them, and confusion about Hermes. He had been upset lately? But why? Had someone else told him they found his chatting too much?

Maybe the unknown person he had moved onto from Charon had rebuffed him. It made his heart ache, thinking of that nervous, agitated tone Hermes had when he explained that he would shut up if Charon wanted, that he was used to it. Maybe Hermes had really liked them and the rejection had stung.

He was still wondering about it as they helped Zagreus into the house. Charon pulled the spare bed together quickly, leaving Thanatos to get Zagreus through the bathroom and ready for bed in some spare pyjamas before they tucked him in, bucket on the floor beside him, large glass of water and painkillers on the nightstand, at the ready for the next morning’s inevitable agonies.

The two brothers then retreat to the kitchen, where Charon starts making tea for them both.

As he clatters around with mugs and green teabags, Thanatos leans against the worktop with his arms folded, until he clears his throat, giving Charon pause.

“Thank you,” Thanatos says, slightly stiltedly, and looking quite uncomfortable about the whole thing, a sure sign that he was nearly fully sober now, “I.. I didn’t know who else to turn to. I didn’t know if you would come.”

Charon steps forward and immediately draws his brother into a hug, which after a moment Thanatos relaxes into.

He draws back to sign, “I will always be there for you and Hypnos. Whenever you need me.”

Thanatos smiles slightly and nods. He looked exhausted.

“Come on now, let’s get you to bed.”

"What about Zag’s rehearsal? It’s at 10, there’s no way he’ll make it, not when it’s..” Thanatos glances at the clock and sees it’s just after 6am, grimacing lightly.

“I’ll text Hermes,” Charon replies, “Let him know he’s here.”

Thanatos sighs, shoulders deflating, “Thank you, Charon.”

Charon hands him the mug of tea and sends him off to bed in the spare room, with a final instruction to ‘please don’t let Zagreus puke on my floor’, which gets a small chuckle from him at least.

He returns to sit at the kitchen table with his tea, watching out the window as the sky begins to lighten. He’ll give it a minute and then text Hermes, he usually gets up early for his runs, so he should see it. Charon frowns at his tea, all the tiny things he knows about Hermes returning unbidden to his mind. It’ll be awkward seeing him, but needs must. This is more like what he was expecting for the connection between him and his brother’s boyfriend’s cousin. Something utilitarian, functional and nothing more. It seems almost silly that he felt like they got so close so quickly. Or, well, Charon felt like they were close. Hermes must not have felt the same with how he ghosted him like that. He assumed they were at least friends.

Charon rests his chin in his hand, watching the stars dim into the glow of the day, tiny diamond pinpoints slowly overwhelmed by the emerging sun.

He has to rip the bandaid off. Just text him. Get it over with. This is for Zagreus after all. The text takes several attempts to write. Not wanting to incriminate Zagreus, not wanting to be too wordy. Just let him know the basics.

[6:21am] Me: Hey. If you’re looking for Zagreus, he and Than are at mine. Picked them up from town in the night. They said you have rehearsal, wanted you to know Zagreus won’t make it. If you want to pick him up, here’s the address:

There. That’ll do.

Charon sits and waits, but there’s no reply. He sips his tea and pretends he doesn’t care.

The house is quiet for the next couple of hours, Thanatos and Zagreus are out cold in the spare room while Charon gets started on his work for the day, he might as well since he’s up so early.

At 9:30 there’s a banging on the front door and a quick double press of the doorbell, breaking the calm silence of the house with its shrill cry and making Charon sit up straight with a start.

He rushes down the stairs with his heart in his throat, unsure if he wants it to be him. He didn’t text back, he could have sent one of the other cousins, he probably doesn’t want to come by, but what if he did and what if it is.

Charon catches sight of himself in a hallway mirror as he gets to the door and curses how he looks, hair dishevelled, unshaved, in basic black jeans with an old grey t-shirt, should he have brushed his hair? Grabbed a jacket? His upper arms look especially pale and pasty, and with no hat his scars are openly on full display.

Before he can falter and turn around, the bell rings again three times in quick succession, impatience of the person on the other side clearly evident.

He steels himself and takes a deep breath, and pulls open the front door.

Tiny Hermes stands on his doorstep, and Charon’s head spins, he had forgotten just how attractive he was. His arms are crossed, emphasising the muscle under his tshirt, and he’s wearing leggings that hug at thick shapely legs in an almost indecent fashion. His sneaker-clad foot is tapping, exuding impatience and annoyance, thick eyebrows furrowed. Charon’s about to sign hello but can’t even lift his hands before Hermes is shoving past him, stomping inside. He has a face like a thunder cloud, deep bags under his eyes. He looks exhausted and utterly furious.

“Where is he,” Hermes demands, tone curt.

Charon blinks and is on autopilot as he points up the stairs.

Hermes huffs and turns to start heading up when Charon’s assaulted with memories from the night before. Zagreus’ desperate crying, how his sullen and emotionally-distant younger brother had consoled this poor kid as he wept in Charon’s backseat, overcome with the idea that his family would be angry with him, that so soon after finding them they’ll be done with him. Zagreus will take this to heart, it’ll crush him seeing Hermes so angry. What if he is going to kick him out the band? Zagreus doesn’t deserve that kind of rejection, not after going through whatever his dad had said to him. Irresponsible, stupid, and pathetic Zagreus had said, deeply hurtful insults that had clearly been aimed at him from his sole caregiver for who knows how much of his life. Being angry at him now will just cement those insults deeper. He doesn’t deserve it. All Charon’s big brother instincts are howling.

He moves quicker than he thought he could, stepping in front of Hermes and blocking him from going up the stairs. Hermes scowls up at him, and Charon gets a better look at his face. His eyes are pink around the edges, splotched with red and purple dots almost like bruising, indicative of a lot of recent crying, and Charon doesn’t know why Hermes has been so upset lately, but he’s not going to let him take it out on Zagreus, he’s not going to put that kid in front of someone so clearly on the warpath.

Hermes opens his mouth to speak and Charon raises his hands, palms out in a desperate attempt to mollify Hermes’ fury, praying his partially mangled face is coming across as pleading as he hopes.

“Please, don’t be angry at Zagreus,” he signs emphatically, hoping his hands aren’t shaking, “He’s a good kid, he just made a mistake, everyone does. He was so upset last night. It’s not his fault. He was so scared you would be upset, the hangover will be lesson enough. He looks up to you and the others so much, he loves the band, he loves his family, it was just a mistake. He’s just a kid. Don’t be angry at him.”

Hermes’ chest is heaving with heavy breaths, his scowl has deepened, eyes flicking between Charon’s as he looks up at him.

Charon holds his gaze for a moment, then signs, slowly, fingertips to his chin then pulled away.

“Please.”

Hermes looks away and scoffs. “Unbelievable,” he mutters under his breath, shaking his head, “Fine,” he adds, looking back at Charon, “I’m not angry at him. Just let me past.”

Charon hesitates, not sure he believes him entirely, but Hermes’ breathing is less intense, and though he’s still scowling, his shoulders aren’t hiked quite so high.

“Second door on the left,” Charon signs, stepping aside.

Hermes heads past him and up the stairs. Charon waits and listens.

There’s a gentle knocking sound, followed by a soft voice saying “Zag? Thanatos? You guys awake?”

Charon's shoulders sag with the deep exhale of a breath he didn’t know he was holding quite so tight. Hermes doesn’t sound angry. In fact, his tone is soothing and kind. Thank the gods.

His hands are still shaking slightly from having to face down someone so angry. Charon was never any good at confrontation. He grabs his cigarettes and flops down on the bench outside his back door, smoking steadily until his heart rate calms down.

He can hear distant cars and the chirping of a couple of birds in the trees nearby. Charon got used to sitting listening to Pantheon’s music while he smoked, but just the possibility of Hermes overhearing him listening to it is mortifying. He'd look desperate and obsessed, which maybe he is, but he has to get over it. Hermes has moved on, just because he was the first person to give Charon a second glance since his college days doesn't mean anything.

More than all that, Charon is worried about him. Hermes looked utterly exhausted, perhaps he had been up all night wondering where Zagreus was. It would explain why he was so angry, Charon knows he's had moments of panic about the twins' safety, he can't imagine the stress of trying to find them all night. Or it could be what Zagreus had alluded to, him just being upset lately. Charon wishes he could help, Hermes is so bright and lively, everything about the man on his doorstep was dimmed and tired. He could try asking, maybe? If Hermes would want to talk to him at all, that is, which he didn't so far.

Sighing, he stubs out his finished cigarette and heads back inside just as Hermes gets back downstairs.

"Zagreus ok?" he signs, still nervous to draw Hermes' ire.

The short man huffs lightly, "Yeah, he's fine. We got him in the shower. I'll take him home and get some breakfast in him."

Charon nods and shifts his weight from one foot to the other awkwardly.

"Coffee?" he asks after a moment.

Hermes shrugs, "If you're offering," he replies, cold and noncommittal.

Charon nods again and heads to the kitchen, Hermes trailing behind. The oppressive weight of his bad mood hangs heavy in the air, and Charon has no idea how to pacify it.

As the kettle boils they lean against the worktops on opposite sides of the kitchen. Hermes still has his arms crossed and is glaring daggers at Charon.

Charon’s feeling even more awkward and nervous now, it seems like Hermes is angry at him? But he has no idea why. He tries to break the silence with a question, just a bit of small talk, perhaps encouraging Hermes to talk will help. Quiet seems so wrong on him.

"How is the band doing?"

Hermes barks out a laugh, sharp and cruel, shaking his head, expression incredulous, and Charon is both a little hurt and totally lost.

"You know, boss, I have to hand it to you, I thought I was a convincing liar, but I clearly have nothing on you."

Charon blinks. He has no idea what's going on.

This lack of response and look of surprise just works to irritate Hermes further, simmering rage threatening to boil over.

"You thought I wouldn't find out, huh? What you really think of me?" Hermes demands.

Charon feels like he's been plunged into ice water. His heart stops. Oh shit. Hermes knows he has a crush on him? That's what he was so mad about?

He understands, of course, who would want to feel pursued by someone like him, it's definitely brought reactions like this before… But does that explain quite how angry Hermes is? Usually it's disgust and ridicule, not rage. His heart clenches in his chest, feeling utterly grotesque and desperate to hide. Charon tips his head forward slightly, trying to obscure his scars under his hair, and hunches over, making himself smaller. He knows he's shaking and feels like if he's not careful he might run away.

"Nothing to say for yourself?" Hermes continues, scoffing again at Charon's continued silence, making him flinch. What should he even do? Apologise? Insist he doesn't have a crush on him? Promise to leave him alone now?

"I've never met anyone so two-faced, acting so kind and sweet to me, saying you liked the music, saying we're so talented, making me believe you, being so fucking nice, then going to your brother and telling him you hated it? Where do you get off on that, boss?"

Charon's head snaps up, but Hermes keeps ranting.

"You let me make a fool of myself in front of you, were you laughing at me behind my back the entire time? I guess I'm lucky Hypnos even told me how you felt, how long would you have kept.. Kept playing with me? Letting me be all desperate and obvious to you, meanwhile you hate the music, you hate me? Giving me attention while… You made me feel… I… I really… Ugh!" Hermes throws his hands up in the air in frustration.

Charon is dumbstruck, gaping stupidly at Hermes, brain nothing but useless static.

"I really liked you," Hermes admits quietly, looking back at Charon, cheeks pink and eyes watery.

It's like a car crash the way time slows. Charon is frozen in place as Hermes screws up his eyes and looks away, rubbing at his face to disguise the first tears that are escaping. Charon’s mind is fuzzy, barely aware of where he is, he knows he needs to move, needs to say something, but his limbs are like cement, and he watches in an almost out of body experience as Hermes turns to Zagreus who has just appeared in the doorway, before pushing off from the counter top and looking Charon up and down one last time, face a picture of disgust.

"Whatever. You don't care," Hermes says, "Let's go, Zag."

He rushes out, pulling a wobbly and hungover Zagreus with him, and slamming the door behind him.

Charon’s knees fail him and he slides down to sit on the floor, holding his head in his hands.

"Have they headed ho- Charon?" Thanatos starts as he comes in and rushes over to where his brother sits on the floor in a daze, expression blank.

Charon's ears are ringing and he can't feel his hands. What the fuck just happened.

Charon gets through the rest of the day still in a daze. He waves off Than's questions and concern, responding with his own worry about Thanatos' hangover, insisting on making him a good breakfast, and driving him back to his and Hypnos’ apartment.

He denies Than's request to come upstairs and spend some time with them. He doesn't think he could handle seeing Hypnos right now, and instead drives home, sighing deeply when he closes the front door behind him and leaning on it heavily.

Charon is exhausted from a maelstrom of emotions. Simultaneously feeling everything and nothing. Betrayal at Hypnos' actions. Heartbreak over hurting Hermes. Anger and guilt and nauseating acidic sorrow, all of it burning in his chest like poison.

He keeps thinking of Hermes' teary eyes looking at him, quiet voice repeating over and over, 'I really liked you.'

Liked.

Past tense.

He feels it tear at his chest again like an open wound, grabs a bottle of whisky and his cigarettes and sits outside letting continued self sabotage win the day. Why not, after lying to Hypnos like that and then getting his comeuppance so swiftly and justly.

But what was he supposed to do? Hypnos had kept pushing and pushing, he just needed him to be quiet about it, he just needed it to go away, he needed his brother to understand that nothing could happen between them, and if he wouldn't see what Charon did then he would have to lie. Partially. Because he did hate it, he hated how busy it was, he hated how loud it had been, he hated the headache and the judgemental looks and the inability to communicate. But not Hermes. Never him.

He just wanted his brother to shut up.

He takes a deep swig from the bottle, adding to the burn in his chest.

Well then. Hermes had liked him. Not anymore, obviously. Not now he thinks Charon is some twisted janus, spewing honey from one mouth and poison from the other.

It's like Hermes has disappeared from him all over again. The useless hope he had been fostering torn away once, and now again.

Part of him wants to text again, apologise, explain himself, if not to assuage his own guilt then just to ease Hermes' pain and humiliation. He's a tiny thunderbolt, a firecracker, a ray of sunshine, and he doesn't deserve to feel like he's been mocked and manipulated. He deserves everything. Wonderful things.

That's the problem though, isn't it. Hermes deserves wonderful things. And even if Charon had liked him in return (which, despite pushing it down and fighting it tooth and nail, he did, so much), his reasons for the lie remain the same. Charon is awkward to be around and unpleasant to look at. He's boring and introverted. Not the correct match for an outgoing, gorgeous, talented musician who thrives on attention.

Hopefully, he thinks, breathing out a long stream of smoke into the air, Hermes' upset is more a bruised ego than bruised heart. He'll get over it, and be back dancing and leaping around the stage in no time, fending off admirers with a bargepole, chatter and delight running off him in waves, lights in his soft curls, earrings tinkling and eyes sparkling. And Charon will be alone, locked in his quiet house, with his dark clothes, gold rings, and scars. Just where they both should be.

“Hermes, that’s the third time you’ve missed that entrance,” Artemis chastises, pulling him from his stupor.

“Sorry, sorry,” he rushes out, shaking his head and trying to bring himself back to where they are.

“Honestly, this isn’t like you,” Artemis continues, softer, “Do you want to take an evening off?”

“Yeah, man, we gave Zagreus a pass the other day for his virginal hangover,” Dionysus says, laying down his bass on a chair, as Zag lets out a small ‘hey!’.

“No, no,” Hermes insists, “We’ll keep going, just, give me a minute. I need a drink, I’ll go get something.”

Artemis shares a quick look with Zagreus and Dionysus and says a quiet, “Okay…" but Hermes has already dashed off to the corridor in the rehearsal venue with the vending machines.

“Get it together,” he scolds his reflection in the vending machine’s glass as he waits for a bottle of water to fall out.

It's stupid to still be so cut up about it. He had his opportunity to say his piece, and though he didn't get an apology from Charon, he had looked sufficiently bewildered and horrified that maybe he will have learnt his lesson. No matter how tall and handsome you are, you can't treat people like that. He could always ask Zag to ask Thanatos how he took it. It's a bit high school, but he wants to know, get just a little bit of catharsis. He'll get over it, then. It won't hurt so much. It'll make sense.

He rubs his face angrily. But it doesn't make sense. Charon had seemed so genuine. And the way he stepped in front of Hermes to stop him storming up the stairs, thinking he was angry at Zagreus? Protective and caring, the sort of kindness that sits bone deep. Wholly different from saying how much he hated them all. It made Hermes even angrier, Charon acting so lovely, making something that's almost jealousy burn in him, hot and unpleasant. Wanting to beg on his knees - be kind to me, care about me, treat me like you did before. But Hypnos has absolutely no reason to have lied, in fact he seems incapable of it, which leaves Hermes in the position that Charon is just like that. He just hates him.

It's infuriating, it makes no sense, and worst of all Hermes had still wanted to fucking jump him when he opened the door, despite how often and how hard he had cried over it lately, making the mistake of rereading their texts, revelling in Charon’s little jokes, how he would always ask how he was, let him chatter about anything. He had to fight to not just swoon and pretend nothing had changed, get close and chatty and flirty. Instead he worked hard to draw on all the hurt and keep it close, to push past the ethereal giant so he didn't have to look at his striking features and soft eyes anymore. And his tousled long hair. And his porcelain skin. And his casual clothes. And how his scars looked arresting in the sunlight. And how he clearly hadn't shaved and had a rugged suave air from the pale stubble. Fuck.

Hermes realises he has been stood just staring at the water bottle that waits for him at the bottom of the vending machine, and he snatches it up, glowering at the innocent machine.

He leans back against the wall beside the machine and drinks some water, hoping it'll clear his head.

"Hermes? You down here?" he hears Zagreus' voice echo down the stairwell, his footfalls slapping on the concrete.

"Yeah, I'm here," he replies, "Was just coming back up."

"Ah, I'm afraid you've been tricked by your siblings," Zagreus laughs, coming to lean against the wall beside him, "While you were down here they packed up and left. Artemis said she knew you'd never cancel a rehearsal for your own sake, so they've just bailed. They want you to take the evening off."

Hermes blinks. He should be annoyed. They should be practicing, even more now they're getting popular! If it was up to Dionysus they wouldn't ever rehearse at all, for gods' sake.

But he can't find the energy to be angry. Or even upset. He can't find the energy for anything much, lately. He missed a run the other morning for the first time since high school. Wallowing in bed hadn't made him feel any better, so he pushed on the next day, but it wasn't a good sign.

He sighs, "Okay, fine."

Zagreus frowns, "Herm.. You're not okay, are you?"

Hermes laughs hollowly, the sound echoing in the stairwell, and sits down beside the vending machine, prompting Zag to sit beside him.

"I guess not," he says.

"Listen, not to admit to gossiping about you," Hermes rolls his eyes but Zagreus barrels on, "but I was talking to Dio and Art. I.. I told them what Hypnos said, and how that's when your mood changed. They were concerned, but confused, too. You've never taken rejection this badly before ever, Dio says you're back on your feet in no time, usually."

Dionysus had actually said he was back into someone else's (or several someone else's) bed in no time, and added that in college he had made his way around an entire sorority before his ex even went on a date with someone new, but Zagreus thought it was best to keep that to himself.

"He…" Hermes begins, but falters, "he said he thought we were really talented. He said my voice was beautiful."

Hermes drops his head and sighs.

"He called me beautiful," he whispers.

Zagreus loops an arm around his cousin's shoulder, "I'm sorry, Herm, I can't believe he turned out to be such a heel. Don't tell Than I said that."

Hermes leans into his arm, "He was so sweet, though," he laments, "like when I picked you up from his. I was so angry and upset about seeing him again, and I was going to hurry upstairs and grab you and get out of there, but…" he trails off.

"But?"

"He thought I was going to yell at you. He stepped in front of me and begged me not to be angry at you."

Zagreus stills and Hermes lifts his head, confused.

"What is it, Zag?"

Zagreus shifts slightly. "I.. got a bit upset when I was drunk. Than said I was crying about you guys kicking me out the band, I thought you'd all be furious at me and not want me around anymore."

"Zagreus," Hermes sits up straight and hugs his cousin close, "Mate.. No way. Never. You're blood. You're stuck with us now, every single one of us."

Zagreus laughs wetly, "Hang on, I'm consoling you from being all moody!"

Hermes ruffles his hair harshly and Zag yelps, pulling away and shoving, making Hermes laugh loudly.

The cousins sit and chat for a bit longer. Hermes is cajoled into handing over his phone so Zagreus can inspect his conversations with Charon, to get a better read on things.

"Oh so it was him you took that selfie for, huh?" Zagreus teases, showing Hermes the screen which displays him in his running gear one morning.

Hermes groans and hides his face, going red, making Zagreus laugh louder, "No, it's okay, Herm! This level of dedication to showcase yourself as available is frankly impressive!"

Hermes squawks in embarrassment and hides his face further.

Zagreus then goes quiet as he keeps scrolling. Hermes watches his face carefully, as eyebrows furrow over mismatched eyes, mouth down turned in confusion.

"He really did seem sweet on you…" Zagreus says, handing back the phone, open to when Hermes had tried apologising for talking too much, only to be told hearing from him was the best part of Charon’s day.

Hermes shrugs, ignoring the pang in his chest, and pockets his phone while standing up, "It's like you said, guess not."

He offers Zagreus a hand and hauls him to his feet, "Onwards and upwards, yeah?"

Zag nods, "I'm going to head off as well then, since Dio and Art have scarpered. You coming?"

Hermes shakes his head, "We paid for the three hours, one of us is going to use them," he jokes, but the smile doesn't reach his eyes.

Zagreus sees him back to the room they were in and says goodbye. He waits for a moment and hears Hermes check his tuning and then start playing something slow and melancholy. It stirs something in his busybody heart.

He needs to talk to Thanatos.

[5:24pm] Hypnos: charon

[5:26pm] Hypnos: charon

[5:28pm] Hypnos: charon charon charon CHARON

[5:30pm] Me: What.

[5:31pm] Hypnos: Than and i dont wanna cook you should come over, we’re gonna order pizzaaaa

Charon rubs his eyes and sighs. He’s still not entirely pleased with Hypnos, but it’s silly to hold it against him. All he did was tell Hermes what Charon had said. He can’t avoid his own brother forever.

[5:34pm] Me: Sure. With you in an hour.

He partially packs up his work day, there will be more to get done when he gets home later, and it’ll be a good distraction. He hasn’t been sleeping well. His dreams are too warm and sunny with sweet music and hurt, teary brown eyes. He wakes most nights multiple times in a tangle of blankets, drenched in sweat, chest aching with loneliness and quiet. Not only is it desperately teenage, it’s getting decidedly old, so he’s resigned to just working until he collapses from exhaustion each night.

A break will be good. So he sets off, braving the rush hour traffic across the city and pulling into an open spot on the street outside their building.

It isn't until the door to their apartment opens and he is let inside by Thanatos that he realises this is a set-up.

In front of him on the sofa sits Zagreus, arms folded, expression expectant, and as soon as Charon has stepped inside, Thanatos and Hypnos rush past him, with Hypnos calling out, “Oh no the pizza place is only doing pickup today guess we’ll be back soon byeee!” and the door thudding shut and locking with a decisive click.

Charon groans, frustration mounting, and flops into his usual armchair of choice. He looks at Zagreus who has leant forward, hands clasped together, expression open and encouraging. It feels a little like therapy. It feels a little like an execution.

“Sorry mate, I didn’t think that was their plan either. Thought they might stick around while I chat to you, but, uh, guess not!”

Charon scoffs and pulls out his cigarettes, considering lighting up inside just to annoy the twins for this further act of betrayal. What good can come of this? Is Zagreus going to shout at him as well for upsetting Hermes? As if he doesn’t feel bad enough about it, Hermes having left on such a sour note. He doesn’t need this. And Zagreus is both 16 years his junior and half his height, getting a dressing down from him will feel ridiculous. Humiliating. Maybe that’s the point, though, Hermes did say he thought he had been laughing at him behind his back. That stung. Charon knows he looks awful, but he didn’t think it would be so easy to think he’s the same inside as out.

Zagreus shifts and Charon sighs again, slotting the unlit cigarette into his mouth, but not lighting up yet. Might as well get this shit show over with. Zagreus and the rest of the band probably want to warn Charon off from ever going near them again, a reminder he doesn’t need or want.

“Can you sign?” Charon asks.

“I’m going to assume you just asked if I can sign, that much I can work out, and unfortunately the answer is no, but I am learning, I know the alphabet, look!” Zagreus beams, slowly and stutteringly signing his way through the alphabet for Charon.

“Why?” he asks, despite himself.

“Oh, that was ‘why’ right? I’m learning the question words too, hang on hang on let me try this…” Zagreus sits up straighter, and signs back, clunky and choppy, “I want… to learn to.. communicate with you.”

Charon’s heart softens, “Why?” he asks again.

Zagreus stops, lifts his hands, then drops them.

“No, I think that’s a bit advanced for me. It’s because, well, you’re Than’s brother. I’ve heard wonderful things about you from both him and Hypnos. I… I really like Than, and I already kind of want to stick around him for as long as I can, and as part of that I want to be able to talk to you, as well.”

Charon’s softened heart threatens to break. This stupid kid.

“Thank you,” Charon replies.

Zagreus laughs, “No, wait, that’s what I wanted to say to you! Because, well, speaking of hearing great things about you.. Hermes told me you stopped him coming to get me when Than and I stayed over unexpectedly the other day, that you didn’t want him to be angry at me. I know that’s because of what I said when I was utterly off my tits. Total mortification aside, I wanted to say thank you.”

The smile on Zagreus’ face is so genuine in its brightness and gratitude, Charon sees the family resemblance between him and Hermes. He waves off the thanks, but Zagreus isn’t having it.

“I mean it. That was truly kind of you, Charon,” he says, holding Charon’s shifty and nervous eye contact with his serious two-tone gaze.

Charon tips his hat slightly in lieu of an answer.

“However, that being said,” Zagreus leans back and folds his arms, expression as close to stern as it can get for an anthropomorphised puppy, “I don’t believe for a second you actually hate Hermes. Your brothers adore you, and Hermes thought you were a real gentleman. I’ve read the messages between the two of you,” Charon flushes red and hides his face at this, but Zagreus barrels on, “Never once did you speak to him like you hated him. I wanted to hear it from you, I trust Hypnos, of course, but did you really say that?”

Charon huffs a sigh and plucks the cigarette from his mouth, just to have something to do with his hands. He nods once, stilted and awkward.

“Hmm,” Zagreus muses, “You don’t actually, though, do you?”

Possibilities flood him. He could lie again, but he’s been caught. Zagreus’ emotional intelligence obviously outstrips him and the twins combined. He seems kind enough that if he were to keep up the lie, insist he can’t stand Hermes, Zagreus would know he wasn’t telling the truth, but perhaps wouldn’t push him on it. The divergent paths are back. Say he hates Hermes, disappoint Zagreus, but remain safe, abandon this evening, go back to his quiet house, never listen to Pantheon’s music again, avoid their concerts, avoid gatherings where the families might mingle, keep himself away.

Or.

Or tell Zagreus the truth. Risk word getting back to Hermes. Stop hiding.

His hands are shaking slightly as he rolls the cigarette in between his fingers.

Charon shakes his head and then drops it, still expecting ridicule.

Zagreus laughs, warm and encouraging, “I knew it!” he declares, “Listen, Charon, mate,” he sits forward on the sofa, leaning towards Charon, “Hermes really likes you, too!”

“Still?” Charon signs, incredulous.

“Wait, hang on, I don’t know that one, can you spell it?”

Charon duly fingerspells slowly.

“Still? Still?! Yes, still! None of us have ever seen him so quiet before, Dio and Art especially, they’ve never known him so down, he’s totally hung up on you, you’ve got to do something!”

Charon scoffs and tries waving Zagreus’ words away, but Zagreus again won’t accept this, jumping up and starting to pace the room.

“How can I get you to believe me, he’s been a shadow of himself, I don’t think he’s sleeping properly, he’s been downright sluggish and apathetic, it’s wildly out of character, the only thing he has been doing is…” Zagreus stops and whirls around to face Charon, eyes wild, “Writing music! That’s it!”

Charon raises an eyebrow as Zagreus laughs madly and dashes back across the room, grabbing his phone.

“Hermes has a live acoustic set coming up this Saturday at the coffee shop near the centre of town,” he declares, showing Charon the web page for the coffee shop where it announces in a soft legible cursive that their monthly acoustic session will be this Saturday, a 45-minute slot at the end of the day, this time performed by one Hermes Olympia, lead singer of the local band Pantheon.

Charon takes the phone and ostensibly scrolls through the information on the page, when in fact he is looking at the promo shots of Hermes they have displayed. Sepia toned professional headshots of him looking soft and alluring, in a loose t-shirt and soft eye makeup, looking away from the camera, expression coy.

This man, this nymph, this little siren cannot be interested in Charon.

He hands back the phone and looks away, shrugging.

“Please, Charon,” Zagreus pleads, “Just go to the set. You’ll see what I mean. It’s obvious he misses talking to you. I won’t tell him you’re going, you can sit at the back, lie low, and if after seeing him you still don’t believe me you can just sneak out. But you won’t. It’ll be obvious he’s crazy about you.”

Charon makes a noncommittal grunt. He shouldn’t give in to this. Just seeing a picture of Hermes has weakened his defences, he needs to stand firm, seeing him in person would be too much.

But… he does miss his voice. He could do as Zagreus said, just sit at the back, listen in, appreciate his beautiful voice and skillful guitar, then sneak out. Hermes never needs to know he was there.

Charon’s shoulders slump, “Fine,” he signs.

Zagreus cheers and claps him on the shoulder, “You won’t regret this, mate, honestly.”

Charon is stubbornly already regretting it just as the front door is thrown open, announcing the twins’ triumphant return with pizza. Zagreus doesn’t mention the outcome of their chat, but Charon has a feeling they know anyway, Zag’s big grin gives it away.

“I don’t think this is going to work,” Charon signs in the mirror.

“He said he doesn’t think it’ll work,” Thanatos translates for Zagreus, who is searching through a backpack full of baseball caps.

“Nonsense,” Zagreus beams, leaping up and handing one of the caps to Charon to put on.

He dutifully places it over his head and observes his new look in the mirror.

Zagreus and the twins had been right, he supposes, wearing his usual attire would be far too obvious, he’d be noticed immediately, but he’s not delighted with the alternative. An old pair of loose faded jeans he forgot he had slouch around his legs, a far cry from the tight black skinny jeans he frequents. He’s wearing a large grey hoodie, it has some paint smudges on it, he must have used it for decorating the house at some point. His hair is tied back in a low ponytail, and now a dark grey baseball cap sits on his head. He looks different, sure, but his height is still the biggest giveaway, this attempt at espionage will be over before it begins as he still has to duck through the door of the café, he’s sure of it.

Charon turns to Hypnos and Thanatos who are sat on his bed, observing his transformation like the side characters in a teen romcom, and he holds his hands out as if to present the outfit.

“Perfect!” Hypnos declares, “You look totally forgettable. He won’t notice you at all.”

Charon hums noncommittally and fidgets with his hands. They're not even letting him wear his rings.

“You’re second-guessing it,” Thanatos observes and Charon grimaces as this immediately causes Zagreus to clap him on the shoulders encouragingly.

“Charon, mate, trust me. You’ll see what we all mean when you hear him.”

“Couldn’t I just text and apologise?”

Thanatos translates and Zagreus huffs indignantly, practically dragging him down the stairs and shoving him out the front door, “No! Now come on, you need to leave to get there before Hermes does!”

The walk to the café is agonising, Charon feels more ill with every step. This is a horrible idea, Hermes will definitely notice him immediately, and then the jury is out for what horrible scenario plays out next. Will Hermes yell at him in front of everyone there? Refuse to play until he leaves? Will he be a performer and soldier on despite how utterly awkward Charon's presence makes him feel? Maybe he would get one of the café staff to ask him to leave.

He feels hot and uncomfortable under the hoodie, blood fizzing with anxiety as he approaches the café. He could still give up, he could go home, hide out there until the day is over, tell Zagreus he's sorry but he didn't want to see Hermes, that everyone must have it wrong.

The café is in front of him. Imposing with its adorable kitschy decor and extensive use of potted plants. Threatening with the looming face of Hermes pasted in the window for the session, the same disarming sepia toned headshots printed full size, declaring the shop staying open slightly later for his set. He’s wearing the earrings from the concert, the long gold ones that make the tiniest noise when he laughs or tilts his head, an endless well of inquisitive energy.

Would it be so bad to go in and see him from afar one last time?

Charon slips inside the café. It’s quiet, the muted chatter of just a couple of people and the clink of spoons against porcelain. It smells like warm bitter coffee and sweet pastries, the decor is mostly rough wood tables and mismatching armchairs, with large Edison bulbs giving a little slightly orange light where the sun doesn’t reach. There’s a small stage made out of a slightly raised section of floor by the side wall, the chairs and tables from it are stacked beside the bar, and there’s a single empty stool and microphone stand in the middle, facing out towards the rest of the shop.

There’s no Hermes around yet, so Charon makes his way to the bar, typing up a small message in his phone notes to hand to the barista, a kind looking woman who has her tight curls in a high puffy ponytail. She greets him and then looks to the phone screen he is presenting awkwardly.

“Black coffee and a custard tart coming right up, hon,” she smiles.

He nods his thanks and hides down the end of the bar to wait for his drink, taking a moment to scout out where to sit.

As you come into the glass fronted shop, the raised section with the stool and microphone is to your right, tucked into a corner. The bar is to your left, on the centre of the wall, with space enough for a couple of small tables and armchairs to line across the glass. The middle of the room is scattered with tables, but towards the back there are a couple of booths, tucked away in the less well lit section of the cafe. By picking the one just to the right of centre, he’ll be out of Hermes’ direct eyeline, can keep his head low, obscured by his disguise, but still see him. It’s perfect.

He checks his phone for the time. 5:50, the set starts in forty minutes, Hermes will be here soon to set up. As the waitress places his tray on the end of the bar he nods again in thanks and hands over some cash before hurrying carefully away with his tray to his selected table.

The timing is impeccable, as he settles huddled into the corner of the booth by the wall, the bell over the door chimes merrily, and someone arrives in a flurry of energy.

“Hey, ‘Dice, sorry I’m late,” Hermes announces, going over to the waitress who greets him with a peck on the cheek.

“No problem, you’re still way earlier than Orphy ever turns up,” she laughs, “Go ahead and set up.”

Charon steals a glance up from boring a hole in the wood of the table, and his breath catches in his throat at the sight. Hermes is by the door, shucking off his jacket to hang on the coat stand, lit by the gold sunset starting to pour through the glass. It makes his hair glow and his long earrings catch the light. He’s wearing black skinny jeans and a dark brown shirt with the sleeves rolled up over his elbows. It’s fully open at the front revealing the tight white t-shirt he wears underneath. He has the same high top sneakers with the gold wings pinned on them. He leans over to pick up his guitar case and small amp, and Charon looks away hurriedly, face burning. He pushes back into the seat and pulls the brim of the cap down slightly.

Hermes flutters around the cafe, fetching cables and a couple of small speakers to set up, offering small greetings to people as they start trickling in. A small queue appears at the bar where the waitress is producing an impressive number of drinks. Charon sips his coffee and steals more glances at Hermes, getting bolder the longer he seems to not notice him. It’s nearly 6:30, and Hermes is finishing tuning up his guitar, perched on the high stool, occasionally strumming a note and fiddling with dials on the amp on the floor, and tapping the mic to test its sound.

The murmur of chatter subsides into something even quieter as the lights in the cafe dim slightly. Charon is now well hidden, free to look as Hermes is bathed in the golden hour pouring in through the window.

“Good evening,” Hermes greets, smooth melodious voice filling the air like warmth, breathing through the atmosphere to calm the unpleasant feeling Charon has in his bones. He is glad he is here. If nothing else, just to hear him.

“Thank you for coming out tonight, I really appreciate it,” he continues, foot bouncing slightly on the crossbar of the stool. His voice is different from on stage with the band, genuine and friendly rather than exuberant and seductive. He still seems tired, even from afar Charon notices the shadows under his eyes, his slower movement.

Hermes introduces himself and his set, letting everyone know he’ll be playing some folk covers and some of his own work, encouraging them to try the myriad of wonderful treats that the owner (Eurydice, he calls her) bakes, and reminding people these evenings of music at the cafe are low stress, no need to stay silent.

“Talk to your date, hold their hand, catch their eye, I don’t mind. If you’re here with friends, I still won’t mind, in fact I encourage some of you to try holding a friend’s hand, have you ever tried it?” he grins cheekily and there’s a warm smattering of laughter, but Hermes’ smile falls quickly, turning into something rueful. Something lonely.

Charon glances around and does notice that most people are grouped in twos, leant together, some arms around shoulders on the sofas by the window. He is the only person there by himself.

“Without further ado,” Hermes continues, setting a capo onto the frets of his guitar, “Let me begin by taking you to Scarborough Fair.”

He begins plucking masterfully at the strings, further filling the air with his beautiful music. His chest swells with a deep breath, and the floodgates open. Charon closes his eyes and lets himself drown.

Hermes’ voice is a smooth tenor, totally exposed without the rest of the band, accompanied by his light plucks and strums, but it shines like a beacon, totally flawless as it floats through the air to curl around Charon like heady smoke.

Charon cracks open his eyes and rests his chin on his palm, letting himself gaze with open adoration at the siren whose voice has lured him out of his shell to be dashed on the rocks. If this is the last time he sees him, he wants to commit it to memory, then he can slip away. Content to have just this, the echo of a siren.

As Hermes strums out the last chord, there is a gentle ripple of applause. He smiles graciously, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Charon sighs lightly, chest aching with seeing up close just how much he has hurt Hermes.

The waitress, Eurydice, passes his table and replaces his empty coffee with another. Charon goes to his pocket for his wallet when she leans closer and whispers, “On the house,” and gives him a sly wink, adding, “He’s single, you know,” before bustling off to collect plates and mugs from other tables, causing Charon to flush pink and shift uncomfortably in his seat.

He clutches the hot coffee, letting it warm his permanently cool hands, and looks back to Hermes who has begun his next song, another rendition of a sweet folk tune, evoking visions of freezing rolling waves and steel-grey skies. It’s a stark contrast to how he sits, bathed in the slowly fading sunset light, all warm bronze and molten gold as it catches through his dark hair and sparkles on his earrings. As he sings, he casts his gaze around the room a little, and Charon’s heart skips a beat as he looks closer and closer, then past him without a second glance. Charon lifts the coffee to take a sip, hands only shaking a little from the close call, but he soon settles back into the softness of just listening and watching.

The time passes quickly, watching closely as Hermes lulls his way through another 8 songs, all of them drawing on some kind of soft melancholy that permeates his voice and pushes at Charon’s heart. Is this really how Hermes feels? Zagreus had said he still liked him, that he missed them talking, that this sadness was because of him, but surely it can’t be. Charon feels ill turning over the last time they spoke in his mind. ‘Desperate and obvious’, he had said. Had Hermes been trying to actually get his attention, drop hints that he liked him? Things Charon had shrugged off as him just being another flirty, friendly extrovert who had identified him as an easy well of positive affirmation.

Charon had treated him unkindly. To have thought so little of him, to justify how he feels about himself by making the Hermes that existed in his own mind be so spiteful, when really he liked him. He had called him a sweetheart. A gentleman. Sent him pictures of his day and of his smile. And Charon had responded by making him think he hated him.

Rejection like that stings deep, but somehow Charon was still hopeful for the singer to bounce back quickly and absolve him of even needing to apologise. By convincing himself Hermes was fine, it would allow him to go back into perpetual social hiding. But now he’s sat in this cafe, listening to him pour out from a well of something deeply hurt, full of a restless longing.

Is it really him that’s inspired these deep currents in the ocean this golden siren commands?

Hermes finishes up a song and the soft applause makes its rounds again.

“This is the last one I have for you,” Hermes says, running his fingers through his hair, curls catching the last of the light as dusk and twilight sweep into the cafe, “It’s something new, never heard before, not even played it for my band members,” he laughs lightly, sadly.

Hermes pauses and Charon can’t help but lean slightly closer, not wanting to miss a thing.

The singer exhales heavily, as if summing up the courage to continue.

“I wrote this about getting too attached to someone too quickly,” he explains, smile soft and faraway as he moves the capo to another fret, “which I thought I understood already, but the universe has been so kind as to illuminate the unpleasant details recently, and let me know what it really means to lose a future with someone before you should have even been imagining it.”

Charon’s heart feels like it’s stopped and his world has shrunk to a pinpoint, the image of the sweet musician in his vision burning into the stillness of his blood, watching in devastation as the man on the stool laughs sadly again and says, “Anyway, here you are,” and begins to play.

If the rest of the songs skirted the edge of melancholy, this one reaches deep in Charon’s chest, seizes his heart, and pulls. Hermes teases soft modal melodies and beautiful chord progressions from his instrument, and when he starts singing, the edge of his voice slightly raw, Charon knows.

This is for him.

Hermes sings like it’s the only way to show the yearning that has woven itself deep into every part of him, sings about how he saw the echoes of a world where everything felt right and the restless parts of his soul were finally soothed into submission, sings about for all the years of being listened to, he was finally heard.

This song is heartbreak and confusion, an open book into how Hermes has been left mourning something that wasn’t even alive, the ghost of a connection he’ll never replicate.

Despite Charon knowing the insides of the music more intimately than anyone else there, he still blindly hopes for a different end, a key modulation, even the tiniest hint in the music or the lyrics that this won’t be forever. But the song ends softly, quiet and retreating back into itself, resigned and tired. Just as they both have been.

The end chord hangs in the air, dissipating slowly like a glittering haze into the atmosphere, followed by a total silence, unbroken by even the tiniest movement from the patrons of the café.

Then Hermes lifts his head, and people begin applauding. The smile that graces his face is the closest thing to genuine Charon has seen all night. Then all too quickly, Hermes is thanking everyone, and the small crowd is filing out, leaving tips in a jar on the end of the bar and taking the little cards that tell people where they can listen to Pantheon and the rest of Hermes’ music.

Charon jerks to life, seeing an opening to leave unnoticed as Hermes begins unplugging his guitar and amp. He slouches to disguise his height and leaves before the last one out.

Outside in the chill of the night air, the stars are coming out, blinking sleepily into existence. The cold makes the evening real, rushing deep into his lungs and waking him up from the soft warm stupor of the café. Charon glances back through the glass front of the shop and sees Hermes packing up, tired sadness still surrounding him like a shroud.

He hears in the back of his mind an earnest voice declaring, ‘he’s crazy about you,’ lets himself stare a moment longer at the short figure gently placing the guitar in its case, and a moment longer is all it takes. The finality of leaving now and never seeing him again hits all at once, slamming into Charon like a freight train. He has to talk to him. This can’t be how it ends.

Charon notices a wooden bench just by the door and sets himself on it. No matter how this goes, he has to at least say sorry, has to let Hermes know the truth.

As he waits, the cool of the evening sets into his bones, and after a few minutes he’s not sure if he’s shivering from cold or shaking with nerves.

The bell on the door of the cafe jingles and Charon’s head whips up to see Hermes appears in a rush, weighed down by his guitar case and amp. He begins speaking immediately, not even looking up as he exits the shop.

“Hi, listen I saw you waiting out here, thank you so much for coming, I’ll gladly sign something if you want but I really just want to get home and-”

Hermes raises his head from fussing with the guitar case just as Charon stands from the bench, unfurling to his full height, pulling off the cap and taking his hair out of the ponytail at the same time, revealing himself fully. Hermes’ voice cuts off in a choke as he sees who it is.

Charon isn’t sure what reaction he expected, but Hermes goes still and turns white as a sheet, then he flushes dark red, and almost shouts, “Charon!?”

Charon flinches slightly and nods.

“What are you.. Why are you…” Hermes tries, shaking with fury, “You heard everything, didn’t you?”

Charon nods and Hermes' voice breaks on an almost manic sarcastic laugh.

“Great. Wonderful. Well, I’m so embarrassed I could just fucking die, so if you’ll excuse me..” Hermes goes to sidestep Charon and rush away, but he lifts his hands, and it gives him the second he needs to get his hands to start moving, to try and start explaining.

“I lied-” he begins, but is immediately cut off.

“I know you lied! I know you lied about liking the music and everything-” Hermes interrupts, and Charon has to wave his hands almost frantically.

“Hermes,” he signs, earnesty, “Listen to me.”

The shorter man huffs and looks up at Charon. The starlight is glittering in his shining eyes, embarrassed and furious tears threatening to spill. Charon can see the internal conflict playing out, he has to get him to stay and listen.

“Please,” he signs, fingertips moving smoothly from his chin into the air, and he watches Hermes’ resolve break.

“You get five minutes,” Hermes snaps, setting down his guitar and amp and flopping heavily onto the bench, arms crossed.

Charon sits on the other end of the bench, aware that Hermes has pushed himself into the corner as far away from him as he can.

“I lied to Hypnos,” he explains, “He wanted me to come to more of the concerts. It was..” his hands falter, “It was too loud, too many people. I was nervous and uncomfortable.”

Hermes hums, unimpressed, but lets him continue.

"I hate crowds," he admits, "It was suffocating, but your music was beautiful, I meant that, I promise."

"Not wanting to come to another concert doesn't explain why you said what you said about me, though," Hermes huffs, "I still don't understand. If you didn't want to see me again, or talk to me, or be my friend, or any of it, that would have been fine. But you didn't. You told me you liked hearing from me, and that.. I.." Hermes flounders for a moment, then takes a deep breath. "No one does what you did. No family, no friends, and definitely no one I've ever been interested in, hell, not even people who were interested in me. You're the first and only person to indulge me like that, the way I go on and on. I don't understand, what else happened? What else did your brother do to make you say you hated me?"

Charon’s hands shake as he tries to find the next words.

“Hypnos said you liked me. I didn’t believe him. He was convinced there was something between us. I lied to get him off my back about it. I never wanted you to hear it, I’m so sorry.”

Hermes’ brows furrow, “He was right, though. Why didn’t you believe him?”

Charon shifts uncomfortably, “Me,” he signs, “You. Everything.”

Slowly, he pushes back his hair from the scarred side of his face, tapping the hard skin with a fingertip, then moving to his throat, tapping that, too. He looks away, feeling torn open, exhausted and vulnerable.

With a shuddering exhale, he lays the last of himself at Hermes' feet, signing small and close to his chest, "It didn't matter how I felt about you, I'm not right for you."

He doesn’t look up as Hermes speaks again.

“But.. how do you feel about me?”

Charon flushes pink, and if he was looking, he’d see the quirk of a tiny hopeful smile break out on Hermes’ face as he scoots slightly closer.

“You’re talented, smart, funny, lively.. You’re a beautiful siren. You drew me in,” he admits again, signing slowly, nervous.

“Oh,” Hermes breathes, expression soft, “Charon..”

There’s quiet for a moment, Hermes moves a little closer.

“Even if you don’t want to go back to talking to me,” he explains, still not making eye contact, “I needed you to know I was sorry for hurting you.”

A gentle finger hooks under his chin and lifts his head. Hermes is so close now, and gazing at him with eyes full of a war between devastation and adoration. Charon can’t believe it’s being levelled on him.

“You don’t know anything about yourself, do you,” he whispers, and Charon tips his head slightly in confusion, not wanting to move too much and risk losing the blessing of this tiny amount of contact from the warm fingertip under his jaw.

Hermes smiles and it’s like the night around them cracks open and floods with sunlight from the other side of the world. Charon can’t take his eyes off him, those big sparkling eyes and the cherry red flush on his cheeks, the curls of his dark hair, the bronze of his skin.

“It’s okay,” Hermes speaks reverently, quietly, as he leans even closer, “I’ll teach you.”

Charon lets himself succumb to the gravity of the most perfect creature he’s ever seen.

Hermes kisses him softly, rough pads of his guitar-playing fingertips sliding up the side of his face and holding him steady, an anchor in the tumult. Charon’s heart is seizing, cracking and splintering as the gentle press of lips tears it from his chest. It no longer belongs to him, and he’s glad for it.

When Hermes pulls back slightly and opens his eyes, his hands are still holding Charon’s face, running a thumb over the scars on his cheekbone. His big brown eyes are filled with the stars from overhead.

"You don't get to decide what's right for me, or what I want," Hermes breathes, barely audible, "I do. And I want you."

The whimpering sound Charon makes as he is kissed again is slightly pathetic, out of his mind with affection and disbelief, but he somehow finds the will to move, resting one tentative hand on Hermes' hip, the other on his neck, hooking his fingers into the ends of the curls behind his ear. He can feel the deepening blush warming the other's skin as he hesitantly kisses back. Hermes rewards him by moving even closer, thumb still running over his scars encouragingly.

Hermes pulls away first, and Charon is embarrassed by the way he instinctively moves forward with half lidded eyes to chase more kisses, but Hermes doesn't go far, giggling sweetly.

“I should go,” he whispers, still so close his breath tickles Charon’s lips with every word.

Charon nods despite the disappointment and pulls back, hands lingering on Hermes' neck and hip, loathe to move away. It makes sense, they’ve been through a lot, should take some time to process it. He can’t help but blindly and desperately hope his phone will be alight with messages again when he checks it next.

“Let me walk you home?” he asks.

Hermes giggles, airy and delighted, “How can I say no to such a gentleman?”

He picks up Hermes’ amp as the other man goes for his guitar case. It leaves them both with a free hand.

They drift closer as Charon walks him home, until their sides are bumping, until their fingertips brush, until their hands are clasped tight with fingers intertwined. Hermes chatters happily the entire way, Charon hanging on his every word.

Charon stands, cloaked in shadow, next to thick black curtains that his clothes camouflage him in, face barely visible under the wide brim of his hat. His arms are folded and he leans against a small table that has several bottles of water on it.

The earplugs are musician-grade, he can hear everything perfectly clearly, but at a level that doesn’t make his skin crawl, and it doesn’t matter how tall he is standing in the wings of the stage looking out.

The view is spectacular, gazing out at the lead singer who is dancing and leaping around the stage, a picture of wild untamed joy, youth and beauty incarnate. As the band finish up their last song, the four of them rush off stage and Charon dutifully hands them all one of the bottles of water. Zagreus signs an enthusiastic ‘thank you!’ and Artemis and Dionysus attempt to copy him with varying levels of success.

As he hands one to Hermes, he receives a wink in response.

“Enjoying it?” Hermes asks, sidling up close, body radiating heat from the exertion of performing.

“Always,” Charon responds, taking Hermes’ hand and kissing the gold ring on his thumb, the onyx eyes of the skulls sparkling in the low light like his boyfriend’s do.

Outside the wings, the crowd is chanting and screaming for one more song.

“What do you think, have they earned it?” Hermes asks his bandmates, who laugh and finish up their water, preparing to head back on.

Hermes squeezes his hand and leans up to whisper in Charon’s ear, voice making the soft earplug buzz pleasantly, “You better be waiting for me at the end, handsome,” he tells him, before kissing him deeply, and dashing back onto the darkened stage as the crowd’s chanting reaches fever pitch.

Charon sighs happily and watches him go, dizzy with love and a heart full to bursting.