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"The marketing for their last book was missing the timing that's critical around successful campaigns," Hermes says while gesturing with his half-full triple shot in the dark. "Coins deserves their work to shine, and their publisher did them dirty on this last go around."
Artemis makes a noise of acknowledgment from across the table. The ambient soundscape of the Seven Sisters cafe is relatively calm at 6 in the morning. Light hasn't even crept through the windows yet, the tragedy of being in the depths of fall.
"I just hope my copy of Deep Restless Waters comes home, y'know? The people tabling for Coins made it seem like they'd do their best to get it to him. I wonder if they're personal friends or just colleagues." There's a pause just long enough for Artemis to cut in when Hermes takes a sip of his drink.
"You've been writing S.H. Coins for how long now?" she starts, brows furrowed in contemplation. "At least four or five years, right? And they've never gotten back to you. Makes me wonder if their publishing company controls what they see. Maybe you shouldn't be bad-mouthing the marketing so much in your letters."
"Coins is also deeply private. Has been since the very beginning," Hermes starts. This is, perhaps, a conversation they have had a dozen times. "Maybe Coins doesn't write back because it might give something away, or take away from the mystique. In any case, I'll keep writing them as long as their writing keeps inspiring me."
"Never let anyone tell you you're not persistent," Artemis replies and finishes off her smoothie. It was an impressively green thing, rivaled only by the color of the loose tank under her leather jacket. A quick check of her phone reveals the time. She frowns and stands up, giving the table a musical series of pats. "I need to run. Reminding you now that I'm going out of town for a few days."
"Your talk on sustainable hunting practices, right?" Hermes only briefly draws out the words before gaining confidence in them and pushing on full steam ahead. "At that conference. Good luck, Sis. I'll catch you when you get back as long as nothing Earth-shattering drops in the next three days."
"One of Zeus' tantrums does not constitute 'Earth-shattering' either," Artemis says and gives Hermes a long look. "Love you lots though, see you in a couple days."
"Love. Give my best to Callisto."
Artemis waves and shoulders her duffel and backpack. Traveling light as always. Her ethos around travel is something Hermes has always agreed with. What's the point of hauling your entire world with you when you're venturing out to see something new?
An alert on his phone shakes Hermes from his thoughts. New email, personal, mail delivery—looks like a package is due in today. Probably another batch of test prints for the physical ads Zeus wants to run. The original design drafted by his office was an explosion of text, with somehow none of it being legible. Hermes worked on the copy, and his design team cleaned up the five different fonts and seven different sizes.
Ugh. Work. Hermes sighs and fishes his laptop out of his messenger bag in the seat beside him. While he's grateful to have a job where he can get the majority of his work for the day done quickly and spend the rest of the time reading between answering nagging messages from Zeus, he does sometimes wonder what it would be like to pursue something outside his father's realm of influence. Alas. A thought to ponder after leafing through client emails and new requests.
The day passes at a surprising clip. Hermes moves from the cafe to the nearby library after lunch, and by the time he signs off, he's reviewed over a dozen requested changes and drafted full fresh copy for two digital campaigns. It was busy enough, in fact, that he's taken by surprise when there's a package slip waiting in his mailbox. The tiny thing is one of two dozen boxes for the apartments, all neatly lined up in a grid with metal doors and locks that could probably be taken out with one good pry of a screwdriver. It's an old building, but it has character and Hermes hasn't met a neighbor he dislikes. Plus it's only a few blocks from Artemis.
Ixi is at the front desk as normal, looking equal parts bored and put out. The broad bearded man barely spares Hermes a glance before thrusting a hand out for the yellow package slip.
"Lively as always I see, friend," Hermes chimes and smiles despite the brooding figure. A neatly wrapped parcel is set on the counter and Hermes tilts his head. Not a tube, so not the test prints. "Thanks for that, Ixi."
"Ixion," he corrects, but Hermes is already halfway up the first set of stairs with the package tucked under his arm.
"Chelly, I'm home," Hermes announces and shoulders the door open. He promptly deposits his keys in the catchall inside the door—an abalone shell Dite gave him forever ago. The apartment is full of little reminders of his family. Items given or borrowed or outright stolen over the years. A piece of art, a trinket, a book or three—the space brims with them.
A large section of the modestly sized living room is devoted to Chelly's raised enclosure. It's a wooden pen with walls tall enough that she can't crawl out, two types of lamps, hides, water, and everything else the little tortoise could need. Hermes sets the package on his coffee table as he passes by and gives Chelly a wave before continuing to the kitchen. Her dinner is a healthy serving of collard greens, freshly washed and dusted with calcium, which Hermes sets in her pen with fresh water.
"Hope you had an easier day than I did," he says and watches as she immediately descends upon her food. "Glad your appetite hasn't slowed." The package on the table draws Hermes' attention again and he picks it up before sitting on the little velvet loveseat he'd managed to win in a game of cards against one of his siblings.
By weight and shape, Hermes suspects a book. The return address is a P.O. box he thinks he recognizes, but Hermes doesn't place it until he tears the cardboard strip from the back and a familiar book slips out. A copy of Deep Restless Waters. His copy.
A shock of excitement grips at his throat and Hermes stares for a long moment. This is it, this is really it. The momentary paralysis eases and he drops the box back on the table before thumbing open the cover. There on the inside, just below the date and happy birthday note from Artemis, is a new signature.
To Hermes, my most ardent supporter. — S.H. Coins
Something slips from the book, but Hermes reads and rereads the little inscription with a growing smile. They really got it. They got the book and signed it and sent it back!
"My most ardent supporter," Hermes says to himself, and even goes so far as to repeat it a few times in different voices ranging from a posh accent to something more country. What do they sound like? The train of thought only halts when he finally looks down at his lap. There's an unassuming slip of paper—it actually puts him in mind of one of the bleed margins cut from a sample. On it is a phone number, five words, and a signature in the same flowing script as what's in his book.
Text me if you'd like. — Coins
"What do you mean they gave you their phone number?" Hermes can hear the barely restrained frustration in Artemis' voice. She's cranky from travel and it's a miracle she even picked up.
"Hi, Hermes!" Callisto calls in the background. On speaker, noted.
"Hey, Callisto! Try to keep Artemis from working herself up too much, okay?" Hermes replies. Artemis sighs on the other side of the line. "But they did, they gave me their number. I know it's the copy I handed over because you wrote in it. Your handwriting, then theirs."
"Yeah, but how do you know it's actually their number?" Artemis says.
"Could be an intern playing a joke," Callisto adds.
"It's something I would do," Hermes agrees. "I guess I don't really know if it is. I looked it up online and couldn't find anything. The writing matches the other signed copy of one of their earlier books, but that doesn't say too much."
"Doesn't hurt to try though, does it?" It's Callisto who interrupts his train of thought. There's a moment of silence, and Hermes can clearly picture the glare Artemis is giving her. He's been on the receiving end of it too many times to count.
"Promise me you'll block them the second they ask for anything sketchy," Artemis says.
"Who do you take me for, Sis? Of course I will. And probably post their number on some unsavory sites for good measure." There's laughter then, almost certainly Callisto.
"Alright," Artemis relents. "I need to get some sleep before tomorrow. Make good choices."
"I always do. Much love to you both." They give their final goodbyes and Hermes taps his screen to end the call. It's not as though he needs Artemis' blessing, but he did absolutely need to share his excitement with someone who would care. Callisto was a nice bonus.
Hermes bounces his knee and tucks his face into his scarf. Even inside, he's pressed to take it off, the weight of the orange and red fabric on his shoulders a quiet comfort.
"Here goes nothing," he says to himself and enters the number in his contacts with the label 'S.H. Coins???'
H: Fan who pestered your booth staffers into giving you their book here. Thanks for sending it back!
The timestamp is a little after 7 in the evening, and Hermes stares at the little 'Delivered' message beneath it for far too long as his thoughts race. This could actually be them, his favorite author. Someone whose writing has inspired him for years, actual years of his life. Inspired and frankly helped him through a tragedy he wasn't sure he'd recover from.
Hermes grips the end of the scarf with his free hand and takes a deep breath. He needs to move. Just as the tension in his chest begins to fade, the message lights up with the telltale ellipses of someone typing and anticipation's grip tightens like a vice.
C: I'm glad it reached you safely, Hermes.
Hermes reads over the words again then taps out a reply.
H: So is this…?
C: S.H. Coins, yes.
Well, it seems he has the right number. Whether it's really his favorite author is to be seen, but at the very least, it's the number of the person who wrote in his book. Hermes prides himself on being able to spot a liar a mile off—growing up with Zeus as a father gave him a lot of practice on that front—but he knows this is different. All text, Hermes is incredibly invested in this actually being them, and the way his heart skips at each notification is going to be difficult to ignore.
Very quickly his thoughts start racing faster than his thumbs can keep up, and he swaps to talk-to-text.
"I really appreciate you taking the time to sign it and send it back. I was afraid I'd just pushed the folks tabling for you into taking it and they weren't actually going to give it to you, y'know? Glad it got to you though." The words pop into existence on the screen one at a time, sometimes backspacing and reappearing as context is added. He hits send and waits.
C: Dusa and Orpheus are a reliable sort.
That's right, those were their names. Dusa was the nervous one who seemed very eager to help. Orpheus had his demo CDs on the corner of the table. Actually, Hermes might still have that CD. He would have felt bad not buying one after Orpheus agreed to take the book. Another text comes in as he's pondering where exactly he put the CD.
C: Plus you sent money for shipping, it would be rude not to return it.
"All the same, thanks. I really can't believe I'm getting to chat with you live. Or at least somewhat live. It feels taboo. Not because I think you're some kind of untouchable being or anything, just because of how private you are as a person."
Hermes finds himself on his feet, pacing the living room as he waits for the reply. And that's exactly how the night continues until Hermes looks at the corner of his phone and spots the time. It's 10 and he hasn't eaten. He's done a lot of pacing and cleaning and rearranging and has gone back and forth with, allegedly, S.H. Coins. The supposed author is brief in their exchanges, and there are sometimes stretches between messages, but he offers curiosity about whatever Hermes has to say.
In spite of everything, it's fun. Even if it isn't the author, it's someone who is engaged and friendly enough. Sure, this person has some of Hermes' identifying information, but it's not like it's anything ultra sensitive, and he's not planning on providing anything that couldn't be found with a quick internet search.
H: Gotta get up early for work, Boss. Hope you have a good night.
C: You as well.
The next week continues in a similar fashion. Rather than just reading, Hermes also spends his downtime at work texting Coins. It's surreal, and he has to tamp down the excitement that wells up when a notification from them lights up his phone. About two hours after a particularly long text about the themes of Deep Restless Waters, Hermes gets a message that makes him balk.
C: You were right, the publishing company botched the marketing for it.
Now that isn't something he posted online. In fact, most of Hermes' enjoyment of S.H. Coins' books is kept offline and private. His thoughts are his own, and shared with family and select friends in person—and Coins in the form of letters, of course. But not once in the texts with this person has he mentioned the marketing campaign.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," Artemis says over her sandwich. There's more of a crowd at Seven Sisters today, but her voice cuts through it. "Still texting that number?"
"Yeah," Hermes replies and tries to will away the lightheaded feeling. "Remember how I wrote Coins about the marketing for his last book? They just referenced it."
"So it's definitely someone at the publishing company then."
"Or it's actually Coins." It's clear Artemis is hesitant to entertain his reply, but Hermes can't shake the feeling that this is the author. There's something about the communication style, the curiosity. "Well, regardless of who it is, they're fun to talk to."
"And they haven't asked you for anything?" Artemis says, looking dubious.
"Not a thing." Hermes locks his phone and turns it over. It's their first real visit since Artemis got back from the conference and he doesn't want to spend the entire time distracted by this mysterious figure. "But you never told me how the conference went."
"Well if they do, remember what we talked about. I know you're smart."
"Then trust me. I won't be buying them gift cards or bringing a bag of my savings in cash to an unmarked car. Just tell me how you've been."
Artemis relents then, and Hermes can almost see her hackles lower. "It was good, really good. I got some good questions, a lot of people interested in more information. Callisto is sure I'll be invited back."
"Callisto is right. If you had the patience for writing that you do hunting, you'd be a fantastic author." Artemis rolls her eyes and Hermes chuckles. "I'm serious!"
"I'm sure you are." Artemis glances to Hermes' phone and Hermes can practically smell the curiosity. "So if you haven't been forking over savings, what have you been talking about with them?"
"Everything? Nothing? Books—Coins' and others. Food. Vague descriptions of family drama. It seems like they might be adjacent to some of that themself." Hermes shifts a little when he recalls a few of Coins' messages. They seemed almost flirtatious. Nothing brazen, just little things that made Hermes' stomach twist into especially tight knots.
"Sounds pretty harmless." Artemis takes a bite and chews thoughtfully.
"It has been! And it's been nice to bother someone other than you and Chelly with every thought that crosses my mind," Hermes teases with a grin. Artemis snorts.
"You don't tell anyone half the thoughts that cross your mind," she says. "Maybe not even a quarter. It's a nonstop production up there and I know it."
"Maybe so."
"So why don't you do public events? A lot of authors these days will disguise themselves if they want to remain anonymous. You could even use a voice modulator. They're pretty inexpensive." Hermes hits send on the message without really thinking about it, truly just wanting to fulfill some idle curiosity. Sometime during the second week of texting, Hermes had switched from voice-to-text to sending voice messages. Maybe against better judgment. It is just faster than text most of the time—and there's a little less room for miscommunication when they can hear his tone.
C: I don't speak.
That would certainly make public speaking engagements difficult.
"Well if you ever want to meet up, I can do the talking for the both of us," he replies without really considering the weight of his words. Perhaps if he had thought the message through, he could have avoided the shock of panic that follows as soon as 'Delivered' appears below the waveforms.
That panic manages to intensify when a little message displaying 'Kept 8:13 PM' replaces the original 'Delivered'.
"Oh no," Hermes says, all wit temporarily leaving his body in favor of base anxiety. "Chelly, I may have just made a mistake." Chelly provides no respite from the curling dread in Hermes' gut, staring at him with unaffected eyes while chewing a piece of zucchini. At the very least, Chelly's dispassionate stare distracts Hermes long enough that he misses the ellipsis that indicates a reply. What he doesn't miss is the notification chime.
C: Are you available tomorrow night?
In for a penny, Hermes supposes. He gets up and paces the living room and—just like that—the momentary spike of nervousness mellows into a thrumming excitement. His mouth goes dry and his voice of reason, specifically Artemis' voice, is shouting at him to say no, absolutely not. He ignores it. Hermes begins to move around the space more, Chelly watching him as he goes to the kitchen and returns with fresh water.
"Yeah, after 7," Hermes says and hits send before he can second guess it.
C: Do you mind if I send a car?
Any alarm bells that should be going off are quickly silenced, and Hermes settles into a state of giddiness that propels him into sending his next message.
"Sure, you have my address. Where are we going to meet though?" The thought of not having a single exit strategy finally catches up with him, and Hermes quickly adds. "I'll be sending a picture of the car to my sister when it gets here. For safety. If you're uncomfortable with that I can get to the place myself."
In an attempt to stay in his state of relative calm, Hermes begins to remake his bed. The response takes a little longer, but Hermes uses the couple of minutes to finish tucking in his sheets and changing out his pillow sham. Just as he's looking for his next task, Hermes' phone lights up and he takes a seat on the freshly made bed.
C: That's fine. I ask she not share it. We'll meet at a bar called Lethe.
"Sounds good. I need to get some sleep, but I'll see you tomorrow, Boss."
C: Rest well, Hermes.
"You are being so unbelievably reckless!" Artemis doesn't quite shout at him through the video call, but it's the closest she's come in a while.
"I'm not bringing any money with me aside from my card," Hermes replies and quickly tumbles through the rest of the precautions he's taking for the third time. "I'll have my ID, you'll have a picture of the car, and I'll text you a description of anyone in it with me. Plus you have the name of the place we're going, my number, the number of the bar, and I looped in Zag since he's working at our dear moody uncle's place nearby." Artemis makes a very dissatisfied grunt, but doesn't push back this time.
"I only have about fifteen minutes left until 9 when my ride is supposed to show, can you please tell me if this shirt says 'I'm trying a little too hard to get you to notice my well-cared-for skin' or not?" Hermes steps back from the phone and adjusts the hem of his shirt. The black top he's chosen is sleeveless with mesh cutouts along the sides. Not his normal choice, but Lethe looks to be a little more on the alt side than where he typically frequents.
"Are you going to wear the wing necklace and your scarf?" Artemis asks after a moment of consideration.
"Was planning on it."
"I think you're good then," Artemis replies with a sense of confidence and finality that starts to push down the little bit of unease Hermes might have been feeling. "Hermes? Be safe, okay? If they do anything weird at all, get out of there."
"I know, I know. I won't leave my drink unattended either," Hermes says in a placating tone. "Alright, I've gotta go Sis. I'll text."
"You better. Talk soon." Artemis sighs heavily before Hermes disconnects the call. For all of her worry, Artemis is good about letting Hermes do what he will, even if it might be disastrous. Hopefully this date—meetup?—won't qualify for one of his self-made disasters.
It's one minute until 9 when his phone lights up with a call from a number with a nearby area code. The voice on the other line is relaxed and chipper in equal amounts—and somewhat familiar. "Hello? Is this Hermes? Hi there, I'm downstairs. I'll be riding with you to Lethe."
"I'll be out in a second, just locking up," Hermes answers and tugs his jacket on fully.
"Great! See you soon." Before the person on the other line can hang up, Hermes is flying down the stairs two at a time. When he comes to a stop, it's out the doors and in front of a familiar young man with a mop of white curls for hair and an easy smile. "Wow! You really meant it when you said you'd only be a second."
"Wait, you're Hypnos, aren't you?" Hermes says and tilts his head, curiosity mostly overriding any awe he might feel over the very expensive town car behind Hypnos.
"Yeah! And you're Hermes, right? Hi, nice to meet you." Hypnos gives Hermes a friendly, open smile and gestures to the open door. "We can talk more in the car. My brother gets cranky when I'm too late. Not as cranky as my other brother, but that's a whole other can of worms."
"Right, one second." Hermes brings up his phone and snaps a couple of quick pictures, including one that features the license plate. "Sorry, not that I don't trust you or anything," Hermes says and slides into the back seat, shortly followed by Hypnos.
"No worries at all," Hypnos replies and shuts the door. The car eases forward, and Hermes can't quite believe this is all happening. "Ch—, uh—, S.H. already told me you'd need to text someone a picture of the car. I told him I could just text you one, but he said that would defeat the purpose. Can't say I really understand why it would, but oh well! Hey, wait, you know Zag, right?"
"Yeah, he's my cousin. And you work with his dad, my uncle, if I'm not mistaken." The plush leather of the interior hugs Hermes in a way that almost keeps him from bouncing his knee. Almost. "Thanatos is your brother."
"He sure is. We're twins even, if you can believe it. I didn't realize you're who S.H. has been chatting so excitedly with. What a small world."
Curiosity pricks at Hermes, and he can't resist asking. "Has S.H. mentioned me?"
"Oh man, has he ever. I mean, aside from asking me to come ride with you. Which, I'm really glad he did. You seem like a nice guy, and if he's willing to meet you that says a lot—at least to me." Hypnos tilts his head back and lets his eyes rest. "He already told you he doesn't talk, right? I mean he signs, but do you know sign language?"
"I do, yes. I know a few languages," Hermes replies, gears turning as he starts to piece together the quickly developing picture of who S.H. Coins is. Hypnos referred to him offhandedly as his brother, possibly without even realizing it. He's a member of the Chthonic family who has close ties with his uncle, Hades. One of the family members had been in a serious car accident some years ago, he remembers. But what was his name? Had Zag mentioned him?
"Oh, that's great," Hypnos says and cracks an eye open. "The bar is a little dark, but I suppose if he has anything he really wants to say and you can't make it out there's always your phone, right? Say, weren't you supposed to text that picture to someone?"
"Right, thank you," Hermes replies. He unlocks his phone and quickly texts the pictures to Artemis along with a quick Almost there. While he did promise a description of anyone who rode with, Hermes is beginning to see how easily that could lead Artemis to the same answer he is coming up on.
"We're here. Have fun, Hermes, it was nice meeting you," Hypnos says as the car stops in front of a storefront for a psychic shop called Forgotten Dreams. "And, hey, you have my number now. Text anytime."
"Nice to meet you too, Hypnos. See you soon, alright?" Before Hypnos can respond, the door on Hermes side opens. An elegant, pale hand with fingers laden in golden bands appears around it, and Hermes takes the assistance up and out. "Thank you very much there, Boss," he says with a bright grin. One that stays even as his breath catches at the sight of the man looming over him.
A wide-brim hat, purple-tinted circle glasses, and long platinum blonde hair that falls past his shoulders and down his back in waves make a strong first impression. Hermes swallows dryly as Coins—Charon—nods in acknowledgment. Despite the chill of the autumn air, Coins wears his black button up open to the middle of his chest, a dark jacket with gold accent stitching hanging from his broad shoulders.
When Hermes doesn't move, Coins gestures to the door of the psychic shop.
"Oh," Hermes says, his brain finally returning to him with more than static and garbled excitement. "Right! This place is a speakeasy. I wonder if anyone ever wanders in actually looking for a psychic. I bet the bottom of a glass could be used for divining. Tea leaves are already a thing." Coins' shoulders ease a little and he places one hand on Hermes' lower back, leading him inside. Hermes bites down a more obvious reaction to the gentle touch in favor of a little teasing. "Did you find this place looking for your fortune to be told?"
They pause in the little faux parlor and all its tapestries and aged velvet, the music from the bar still just a muffled beat coming from the back wall. Coins seems to consider the question a moment before shaking his head.
"Well, who knows. Maybe you'll find a different kind of fortune tonight." Coins arches a brow at that, an amused curl to his lips, but before either of them can move, the little door on the back wall slides open and the full force of the music hits. A couple of laughing twenty-somethings step in, one pulling out a pack of cigarettes, the other glued to her side. Hermes tucks himself a little closer to Coins to allow the other two to get by, and his breath catches when Coins holds him there. The two pass, and Hermes has to make himself move before he does something drastic.
With a wide smile, he turns in Coins' hold and takes his hand. "C'mon, Boss. Let's get drinks going. I'm a sucker for a novelty drink and I'm betting a place like this has a few." Despite being a whole head taller than Hermes, Coins moves easily with a gentle tug, following the little ray of sunshine as he takes in the Please seat yourself sign and quickly spots the upstairs seating that appears a little less crowded.
All manner of art covers the dark walls, much of it being themed around memento mori and water. It's broken up by exposed brick and lit minimally with candles, a single chandelier, and a sparse few neon signs. Once upstairs, Hermes zeros in on a little booth tucked toward the back. "This good?" he says finally when the two stop in front of it. Coins nods his approval and Hermes reluctantly lets go of his hand before he shrugs off his jacket and takes a seat at the table that's inlaid with a spirit board.
To his surprise, Coins stands there a moment longer, seeming to consider something. Whatever the thought is, he doesn't express it, and takes a seat across from Hermes.
"This place is entirely too cool for me, I'm afraid," Hermes says with a mock grave expression and a solemn nod. "I do not ooze nearly enough bad-boy energy to be here regularly." Coins raises his brows and points at himself. A question. "You definitely do, don't worry about that. I mean, come on? That hat? Your boots have gold tips. If you aren't cool enough to be here, no one is." Even in the dim light, Hermes can see his lips curve into a smile.
"Hey there, hon!" A waitress with a laid-back smile and dark hair in braids approaches their table with a carafe of water and two glasses in hand. "You have company tonight, what a surprise. I'll grab you your regular." The woman turns her gaze to Hermes and hands over a thin, leather-bound menu. "I'm Ari, I'll be keeping your drinks full tonight. Take a minute with this and I'll be back, alright?"
"Thanks, Ari," Hermes replies and cracks open the menu. When she heads off, Hermes glances up at Coins with a wry smile. "See? I knew you fit in here. A regular, even. Well, knowing that, and that you know some of my tastes, what would you recommend?" Hermes lays the menu down on the table between them, facing it toward Coins. He considers it for a long moment and flips a few pages. Hermes can't help the way his gaze catches on Coins' index finger as he trails it across one of the pages, clearly on the hunt for something specific.
"The 'Wheel of Fortune'?" Hermes says when Coins finally comes to a stop and turns the menu back toward him. "Oh, they literally have a wheel. That's actually incredible. I have to give it a shot." Hermes looks up from the menu and catches Coins' eyes. "Hypnos mentioned you communicate through sign. I know it's dark in here, but I am fluent in it. You can use it with me if you'd like. But only if you want to." Coins' expression evens out at the mention of Hypnos deciding to share a bit about him, and Hermes can't help but smile.
What else?
The question takes Hermes a second, but he laughs when he finally gets it. "He also may have let slip that you're his brother. And I happen to know your other brother's not-quite boyfriend. So I may have put two and four together and gotten to your other name. Do you mind if I use it? I understand if you do mind."
Yes. Don't mind here.
Ari returns just as Hermes is about to continue. "So, what can I get you?"
"Wheel of Fortune, please," Hermes replies, sharing a humored look with Coins—no, Charon.
"Alright, hon, one second." Ari crosses the floor to a corner where she adjusts something before carting over a two-sided wheel. "Two spins, first one will be your base."
"Luck be with me tonight," Hermes says and takes hold of one of the wooden pegs before giving it a good spin. The wheel turns and turns before landing squarely on 'Infused white rum'. The second spin on the back yields the descriptors 'Luxurious' and 'Romantic'. Ari takes note and leaves with the wheel once more, promising to return with a real treat from the bar.
"I am so incredibly curious how this is going to turn out," Hermes says and leans his elbows on the table. "I don't think I've ever had an alcohol I could describe as 'romantic' before. They're setting themselves up for quite the task. But before that." Despite himself, Hermes nearly squirms from the anticipation of getting to test his theory. "You're really fine with me calling you Charon?"
It's my name. Don't mind.
"As long as I don't go drawing lines between your name and the other name, right?" Charon nods then and Hermes makes a noise of understanding. "I'll keep a lid on it, no worries there. My sister and Zagreus are the only two who know I'm meeting you, and I'll make sure Artemis doesn't connect the two. I also only told Zag I was meeting someone for the first time, not the circumstances. All that to say I have your back, Boss." Charon tips the carafe of water and pours them each a glass before looking to Hermes again.
I know.
Hermes does his best not to beam at the confidence Charon has in him. "I have to say, I was surprised you even agreed to meet me." Charon tilts his head and listens, curiosity coloring his expression. "Not that I'm not a delight to talk to and have around—you wouldn't have kept texting with me week after week if you thought otherwise—just that you're such a private person. You've gone to some pretty big lengths to stay anonymous."
Ari appears beside their table once again, this time with two drinks in hand. One is in a simple whiskey glass, which she sets in front of Charon. The second is a rather beautiful looking concoction served up in a fluted coupe glass. It's purple, and there seems to be a sparkle to the liquid within. A few flower petals top the whole thing off, and Hermes has to smother the urge to take a picture of the beautiful creation.
"Enjoy, you two. Flag me down if you need anything else or head to the bar if I don't get back here quick enough."
"Thank you," Hermes replies and turns the glass a few times, looking at the way the cocktail shimmers. "Well, I would probably classify this as romantic just on looks alone. And there seems to be a bit of glitter or gold in there, so we're getting the luxurious notes as well already." Charon nods in agreement, then raises his glass to Hermes. He meets it with a soft clink and smiles. "Cheers." The first sip is a curious one, but as Hermes lets it coat his tongue, he begins to really enjoy the mixture. Floral notes mingle with the spice of the rum and something creamy.
"I haven't had something this well balanced since the last time Dionysus took pity on me at one of the family parties and actually made something I would like." Hermes sets the glass back down and trails his fingers along the base idly. "You would not believe some of the rancid stuff my family will try to pass off as delicious just because it's rare."
Quality over price. Charon signs and gives a nod.
"You said it." Hermes sighs and looks from the table back up to Charon. It hits him then, in the dancing light of the candles. Somehow he has conned his way into a date with his favorite author. His favorite author who he now knows for certain is drop-dead gorgeous, stylish, and probably lives just across town. There's no way this can actually be real, and definitely no way it could be happening to him of all people.
Unfortunately for Hermes, Charon already seems to be aware that silence is outside the norm. Especially contemplative silence.
Penny for your thoughts?
"It's surreal is all," Hermes says, fighting to find the right words. "I've been writing you for years. Your writing has given me new perspectives." Hermes reaches up and gently grips one of the tails of his scarf, the orange of the fabric still bold and beautiful in the low light. "Your books even helped me make it through the loss of my mother. I knew by the sheer volume of my letters you would have to know at least something about me, but I never dreamed I would get to know more about you.
"I guess that's the big question though, isn't it? Why are you willing to give me the power to completely expose you?"
Because you won't.
"You don't know that for sure though."
Sometimes being known is worth the risk.
Charon swallows another sip of his drink and Hermes is momentarily caught speechless. Instead of trying to fill the silence—to recover, to crack a joke—Hermes takes another drink. The thump of the music provides something steady to focus on, while the cocktail gives him varied sensations to chase. In concert, the two make it easier to navigate the welling feelings sitting firmly in his chest.
"I'll do my best to make sure you don't regret putting your trust in me, Boss," Hermes finally says after another minute of them quietly savoring their respective drinks. Charon nods and reaches over to cover Hermes' hand with his own. The touch is gentle, and Charon draws his thumb over Hermes' knuckles. "Careful there. Keep being handsy with me and I'll have to return the favor."
Charon tilts his head, corners of his lips upturned. He gives Hermes a long, meaningful look and proceeds to shift his hold to slip his hand under Hermes', palm up, and drags his fingertips across the soft skin of his wrist and forearm. A shiver runs directly down Hermes' spine and he lets out a measured breath. Just as he's about to make another quip, Charon slides his hand free.
Only if you want to.
Hermes having his own words reflected back at him in such a teasing way makes the already difficult task of remaining outwardly unaffected even harder. Charon gives him a knowing smile and Hermes bites the inside of his lip.
"Looks like you two are low on drinks." Ari seems to materialize next to the table again and Hermes is suddenly grateful for the distraction. "How are you liking what the fates picked out for you?"
"It's perfect," Hermes answers with a bright smile. "Absolutely fits the description, and I really like the flavors used. There's a bit of rose in there and I was hesitant about that, but it's not overwhelming. As far as additional drinks though"—Hermes makes eye contact with Charon who nods toward the exit—"I think I'll have to cap it at one tonight. Though I'm hoping I can bribe my associate here into another trip soon. It's a fun place."
"I think so too," Ari replies and giggles. "I can get you cashed out now so you're not waiting on me when you're ready to go. Together or separate?"
"Separate is f—, oh." Hermes is cut off by Charon signing a quick and emphatic No. Before Hermes can think to argue, Charon tugs a wallet from his inner jacket pocket along with a pitch-black pack of cigarettes. Rather than pulling out a card, Charon counts out cash. The total he hands over to Ari is the cost of the drinks and a twenty percent tip, rounded up. She thanks him for it and Hermes has the good sense to simply say thank you rather than argue it.
"You two have a great night, okay? Come back soon." Hermes waves and Charon gives a nod.
"We definitely will. Thanks." Ari smiles brightly and tucks the cash away before departing for the final time from their table. It's only once she's fully downstairs that Hermes looks back to Charon. "Thanks for covering our drinks. I'll get us next time." There's only a sip left in his glass, and he finds himself loathe to finish it. Once it is done, they leave. Likely go their separate ways. Sure he'll probably still text with Charon, but the echo of Charon's fingers on his wrist are still far too vivid to make that satisfying.
"Come home with me." It's the only option that doesn't require Charon to reveal more of his private life to Hermes yet that also doesn't involve going to another public or semi-public place. Though the tension building in Hermes' gut is making semi-public seem increasingly more acceptable. "You can meet Chelly. And if you want another drink, I have some pretty good whiskey."
Charon seems to take a moment to consider this. He pulls out his phone and taps out something, then picks up his glass and finishes off the drink.
Our ride will be here in fifteen. Mind if I smoke?
'Our' amps Hermes up like he hasn't felt in years. Excitement dances across his arms and down his back like electricity. "I don't mind at all. Shall we?" Hermes slips out of the booth and grabs his jacket, sliding it on quickly. Once everything is in place and his scarf is resituated, he nods to Charon. The two make their way back downstairs and out through the little fake psychic shop, the bass of the music bidding them farewell in rhythmic thumps.
Once they're out in the cold, Hermes almost regrets saying he doesn't mind. The temperature definitely dropped by a few degrees while they enjoyed each other and their drinks, and Hermes finds himself drawing closer to Charon as he lights up. Once the cigarette is lit, Charon tucks his lighter away and—without so much of an ounce of hesitation—slips his free arm around Hermes' shoulders.
"Thank you. It's so cold out here and this jacket isn't doing as much as I'd hoped. It was a gift so I keep trying to find reasons to wear it and keep getting surprised when it doesn't keep the cold out. At least the color looks good on me." Hermes shifts his weight and leans against Charon's side in what he hopes is a casual way. The scent of the cigarette—it's clove and vanilla, definitely—drifts around him and he licks his lips. "You probably know how it is though, since you have brothers too. You've been given a gift that could be your style, but there's just one small thing off about it." Hermes continues to chatter away, trying his best to push away the desire clinging to the inside of his chest.
When Charon is about halfway through the cigarette, Hermes caves and clears his throat. "Say, would you mind sharing?"
Charon looks down at Hermes and a flash of something in his eyes causes that tension in his gut to spark. He takes a long draw from the cigarette and leans down, inviting Hermes nearer. It's Hermes turn to move with confidence. He takes Charon by the lapels and draws as close as he can without their mouths brushing. Smoke unfurls from Charon's lips, past Hermes', and he breathes it in. Hermes isn't able to play coy for long, weak against the temptation so beautifully laid out for him. He meets Charon's lips for a few light, teasing kisses before drawing back and giving him a wry smile.
Before he can go back in for more, the familiar black town car pulls up. Charon signs 'One second.' and unwinds from Hermes so he can put out the cigarette and bin it. Hermes pulls his jacket a little tighter, but Charon isn't long—he opens the door and gestures, welcoming Hermes to go first. The two settle in and Hermes instantly relaxes into the warmth of the vehicle.
"Maybe we can try that again without the smoke when we're not as likely to be interrupted," Hermes says. "Just an idea," he adds, knee bouncing as the car pulls away from the curb. Rosiness clings to his cheeks and ears, but Hermes is quick to pass it off as the cold taking its tole. Definitely not the way Charon looks at him with equal parts amusement and desire.
A good idea, little bird.
"I'm full of good ideas," Hermes replies, trying not to think about how nice it feels to be called 'little bird' by Charon. "And some bad ones, but mostly good. I bet I have quite a few ideas you'd like." Charon grins and Hermes knows he's in for a long night.
Thank the stars for that.