Chapter Text
One thing Hermes has learned in his ten months in Styx Beach is that Charon is a sneaky bastard.
Well, no, scratch that. Hermes was already well aware of his scheming and his enjoyment of surprising Hermes. Whether it’s tickets to some show, a little birthday get-together, food, an orange scarf that Charon claims is because of the weather turning sour and nothing to do with his fixation regarding leaving love bites all over Hermes’ neck, Charon is always up to something. And if there’s one thing Hermes can say about that, it’s definitely kept on his toes these past five months.
It's a quiet December morning as Hermes blearily opens his eyes. There's little to be heard in the room besides the lapping of the ocean just outside the closed window and the soft clinking of shuffling coming from the kitchen. It was the smell of coffee and the gas of the stove being turned on that brought Hermes round this time, dragging him easily from a deep restful sleep as the last dregs of a dream begin to fade from his conscious.
Waking up in Charon’s apartment has become just as normal, just as comfortable as waking up in his own bed; a fact that shouldn't be shocking considering he does it at least once or twice a week. There’s been a bit of a discussion on if either of them are going to move, but it’s fallen to the wayside as the weeks have passed. They’ve found a strange sort of rhythm that works for them, just staying over at whoever’s place seems fine for that night, and being rather open if they just need some time alone for an evening.
Hermes can’t complain much about it. They get their spaces that feel both shared and private if needed, extra room made in dressers and closets and on bathroom counters for each other in forms of toothbrushes and outfits leftover. It’s a nice compromise, feeling more like Hermes has two residences, a few blocks apart, one he pays for and one he doesn't, and leaves enough plausible deniability for anyone who decides to look too closely at what the mailman and the general store owner/tour boat guy are doing.
The sky is dark still, the early morning fading the stars over the ocean as Hermes sits up, stretching. The space beside him is still warm, Charon probably having woken up just a few moments ago. He usually is the first to wake up, a man with a better internal clock than Hermes could ever attest to, so much so, he doesn’t even need an alarm. Hermes doesn’t mind, being able to sleep through the end of the world once he’s unconscious, and honestly he prefers Charon acting as his wake up call if he sleeps in, the gentle kiss or touch he uses an excellent start to his day.
This morning however, he pads around the bedroom alone, blindly grabbing his spare uniform from the drawer he’s claimed for himself in the dresser and fixing the hat on the bear's head that had become askew. Usually, he’d be going for a run before work, but with a certain soreness to his limbs from the previous evening, he’ll leave it for after his shift, a regular habit that’s cropped up for Mondays. There's a lot of habits that have cropped up, a routine of sorts being set, one that is both comfortable and comforting, spending his days working as efficiently as he can to spend his evenings either with Charon, Eurydice, or the other people in the little social he's made a niche for himself in.
He never thought he could be happy doing this, being almost domestic, employed in a simple career, his name well known only to the people on his route, spending more time thinking about taking a nap or playing poker at the gas station than anything else. But he likes his job, likes the people on his route, likes his few friends, likes the town, like Charon's brothers and Zagreus, and, of course likes Charon. Maybe that last one more that the others, but he can't forget them in leiu of being extremely, horribly head over heels for the boatman and his hat and his rings and his sunglasses and his everything.
Speaking of which-
Groggily, Hermes walks out of the bedroom, eyes still mostly closed as he trudges a familiar path towards the kitchen, led by the smell of eggs and shivering in the cool air of the apartment on his bare chest. The kitchen is nothing more than a small room someone stuffed some off white cupboards and appliances into and Charon in here only makes it seem smaller. Hermes sets the clothes on the tiny dining table crammed into the corner of the cramped room, before turning his attention to the man currently looming over the stove making breakfast. Charon’s already dressed for the day, clad in his usual dark sweater and jeans as he signs a short greeting with a spatula in hand.
Without hesitation, Hermes' arms slip round Charon’s waist, head coming to rest upon his broad back as he lets Charon support his weight, sighing. Charon pats the arm pressing into his stomach, continuing his attendance over the stove as if he didn’t have a guy just hanging off of him while he fried some eggs.
“Don’t want to go to work.” Hermes whines into Charon’s back, enjoying the warmth of him against his chest and cheek, squeezing him tighter as he wards away the goosebumps on his skin. His support beam says nothing, waiting patiently for Hermes' usual morning neediness to fade with the weight of his grogginess. “Should take me back to bed. Sleep a few more hours.”
His voice is thick as he continues, scratchy and slow in the wake of a new day, eight hours of rest always difficult to pull himself back out of even as Charon sways them, his shoulders quaking in a laugh. Eventually, he switches off the burner, putting a lid over the eggs to keep them warm as he steps back from the stove, Hermes having to shuffle with him to maintain his hold on Charon. Fingers pluck at his arms, and Hermes loosens his grip enough for Charon to face him, pulling them back together smoothly so he can hold Hermes to him.
“Nobody needs mail on Monday, anyhow.” Hermes mutters, happy as a hand rubs his back and his cheek is pressed to the rough black fabric of Charon’s sweater. “Could just call in, go back to bed. You can come back up when Skelly gets in...”
Charon moves back a bit to give himself some space, hands coming to Hermes’ face so he can lean down and press his mouth to Hermes’, a soft, sweet thing that Hermes could know for a million more times and never tire of. It fills him with such affection, such care, a simple action, just a kiss, but it always leaves him a little warmer, a little lighter, a little breathless.
When they separate, Charon is staring at him in that way he does in these unguarded moments, eyes half-lidded, serene in every way as his thumbs stroke Hermes’ cheeks with the same reverence as the first time, the second, the tenth. It’s as if he could not fathom anyone else here, in his hands, who fits between them better and Hermes can only hope he can see the same expression mirrored back at him. He never thought he could be so crushingly in love, so consistently dazed by it, but he is, simply, easily, as he whispers it to Charon in the quiet kitchen.
“Not skipping work today.” Charon signs, letting him go with a small smile and Hermes lets out a put upon noise as Charon steps to the side to open a cupboard to pull out some bread.
“Rude.” Hermes sniffs, frowning, pouting. Outside the window by the tiny table, the world is beginning to light up in grey, a heavy fog having settled over the town and the rolling sea. “Exceptionally rude, actually. Declare my undying love for you and you tell me to go to work.”
“Get moving.” Is Charon’s response, shooing Hermes back into the living room to get ready for the day. He gets him to the open door frame, before Hermes is turning back, arms crossed over his chest, hips cocked brattily.
“And what’ll you do if I don’t?” He asks, sticking his chin up in defiance as Charon stares down at him. “Can be very stubborn when I need to be, you know.” Charon huffs, shaking his head.
“Toss you into the ocean again.” He signs, leaving Hermes in the door frame as he returns to his breakfast vigil, grabbing the butter dish.
“You could toss me in other ways…” Hermes suggests as he backs up into the living room, smirking when Charon waves him off with a final ‘get’.
Charon’s bathroom is relatively bare as the rest of the apartment; a sink with a generous amount of counter, the toilet, a full length mirror, and an old off white bathtub Hermes has learned Charon will spend hours in when he’s had a long day. The stall shower is a recent addition it would seem given it’s shinier piping and the lack of creaking as water spits out of the head steadily. Hermes shivers again as he drops his sweatpants, the warm spray an immediate relief.
He doesn’t know what he expected from a relationship like this, didn’t really think they'd fall into a routine like this so easily. There’s a part of him waiting for the shoe to drop, for the curtain to fall, but it hasn’t. He hasn’t chased Charon away yet, they haven’t had any real arguments, he isn’t feeling the same burnout as he had with any of his other relationships, Charon hasn’t suddenly revealed he’s a secret murderer.
This, all of this, just works. They just work. And Hermes can only hope it stays that way, that he will always want it to stay that way.
There has been one argument, though it’s less of an argument, and more of a disagreement. Erebus Manor will be hosting a family reunion of sorts over Christmas, a day rapidly approaching. Charon’s siblings will be there, and not just the twins and Zagreus, but also the middle brother and his three sisters. Even some of his extended family will be making the trip, and, most notably, Hades might be making an appearance, if just for Zagreus.
On a list of people who know about he and Charon’s relationship, Hades has so far been spared that information. Actually, Hermes isn’t even sure Nyx knows; Charon has never elucidated him on that fact nor her having ever made any sort of comment toward the nature of their ‘friendship’ these past few months.
Now Charon has been quite adamant about taking Hermes along, to which Hermes has been, understandably, anxiously hesitant. While he still wishes he could be more open in public with Charon, there’s something too intimate, too risky about doing so around his family. And Hermes has already been barred from his own family reunions. The last thing he wants is for Charon to be the same.
“I mean, makes it a bit obvious, doesn’t it?” He had said during another little back and forth about it, hanging out on Charon’s boat during another lazy Sunday a few weeks ago. Being here while Charon does whatever has become just another regular activity; Hermes will bring a book he would fail to read while Charon does some maintenance on his vessel when the weather was nice enough for it. “Bringing me as a plus one.”
Charon had shrugged, sitting next to Hermes as he took a break, arm slung over his shoulder casually enough to be friendly as he watched the waves push and pull around them.
“Never know what family will do. What if they think we-”
“They can think what they want.” Charon signed rather quickly at first, slowing at the end. Hermes nodded at that, dropping his head, taking in a breath before admitting to the floor of the boat:
“I want to go, don’t get me wrong. Would love to meet everyone. I just," He paused, gnawing his cheek. "…don’t want to ruin it. For you.” Hermes rubbed the back of his neck, turning head to stare out into the water past the side of the vessel. “Make everything awkward or worse.”
Hermes had found himself being squeezed rather tightly after that admission, and the subject hadn’t been brought up since, though Hermes knows it hasn't been dropped. Just put to the side for the time being. He really would like to attend, the idea of Christmas with Nyx and the boys sounding nice albeit awkward, but with the inclusion of everyone else...
Toweling himself off from the shower, trying to stave off the return of the goosebumps, Hermes frowns as he looks around the bathroom. Did he leave his clothes in the kitchen? Wouldn't be the first time, getting distracted like he did, and he wraps the towel around his waist, hoping to God Skelly hasn’t made another sudden early appearance to tell Charon about something the cops are doing.
“Charon,” Hermes calls, stepping out into the living room, “Did I leave my cl-”
There’s only been a few times in Hermes’ life that he would’ve just liked to stop existing immediately. One was when his brother found out he’d slept with Aphrodite. Another was when he was told he could no longer compete professionally. More recently was when he remembered drunkenly propositioning Charon and the subsequent rejection.
Seeing Nyx in all her finery and expensive clothes and her perfectly plucked eyebrows raised just so staring directly at Hermes from across the living room having halted her conversation with her son definitely counts as one of those ‘please just let me pop out of existence’ moments.
“Good morning, Hermes.” She says coolly, giving his frozen state a once over. Next to her, Charon is quick to school his features, holding two bottles of wine in one hand, clearly intent on giving them to his mother. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“Hey!” Hermes yelps, sidestepping behind the nearest stack of crates, pulling the towel tighter around his waist. It’s one of Charon’s, and it might as well be a beach towel given the width and length of it, so it isn’t as if he’s overly exposed in any capacity but, still… “Sorry, don’t mind me. Just, uh, got out of the shower, here. At Charon’s, clearly. Think I left my clothes-” He points as he stumbles over himself to the kitchen, looking anywhere but Nyx with her one raised brow or Charon with his stifled laughter. “In there.”
He escapes into the kitchen, redder than a cherry, resisting the temptation to smack his own forehead when he sees the pile of clothes still seated innocently on the tiny pocked dining table. Not exactly how he wanted his morning to go. Seemed pretty nice so far; slept in a bit, got a little kiss, Charon’s making breakf-
Hermes stops his frantic scratching at the back of his head, realization dawning on him as he shifts on the kitchen floor. Usually Charon would wait a bit to make food in the morning, not starting until Hermes had confirmed if he was going on a run or not to make sure he’s actually going to eat whatever Charon’s cooking. He wouldn’t...invite his mother over specifically when Hermes was going to be here, would he?
“Hermes,” Hermes freezes, hands going back to the towel to ensure it's still covering him, only relaxing when he realizes Nyx is talking to him from behind the wall, preserving what little modesty he has left.
“Y-yeah?” He squeaks, voice as strangled as Charon is going to be in a minute. He watches the door frame cautiously, not sure what he’ll do if Nyx actually decides to enter the kitchen. Anxiously, he shuffles the towel a little higher up, covering most of the hickey that had been enthusiastically placed on his hip last night.
Not much he can do about the other ones. He probably should’ve thrown on his undershirt while he was standing here awkwardly...
“You will be attending the Christmas gathering next week, I should hope?” Taken aback at the simple question, Hermes flounders for a moment, thoughts stalling out. It’s not exactly difficult to discern why Hermes is here, showering. He lives less than a five minute walk away; it's not like he has much of an excuse for being here this early and using Charon's facilities unless he stayed over last night.
Shouldn’t she be, he doesn’t know, a bit more reactive to this new fact?
“Yes,” He says after some lip flapping, “Yeah, absolutely. Wouldn’t, ah, wouldn’t miss it for the world.” It comes out rather lamely, hopefully in some way enthusiastic and not as woefully humiliated as he thinks he sounds.
“Wonderful.” She replies simply, seeming pleased in her usual neutral tone. “I will be awaiting your appearance there.”
With that, she wishes him a good day, tale-tell click of her heels on the old wooden floor followed by the soft snikt of the door closing gently behind her. Hermes rubs his hands over his face, groaning as he hears Charon lumbering over and glaring as he ducks through the kitchen door frame.
“Looks like I’m going after all.” Hermes sighs when Charon stops just before him, incredibly smug as the floor creaks under his final step. Hermes crosses his arms over his chest, lips pursed as he searches the amused quirk to Charon’s gnarled mouth. “And your mom knows about us, so that's fun.”
“She has for a while.” He admits, hands slow as he signs and the unremarkable brown of his good eye sparkling with mirth. Hermes’ brow shoots into the ceiling, blinking at Charon in disbelief, having to crane his neck this angle.
“Oh,” He frowns, trying to piece together a puzzle he doesn’t have half the parts for. “She has? Since when?” Charon tilts his head this way and that, mocking thinking on it as the echos of ship’s horn finds it way into the quiet apartment from the docks.
“Late June?” He signs finally, stepping a bit closer until there’s scant an inch between them. He’s invitingly warm in the chill of the apartment, and if Hermes wasn’t a touch ticked off, he’d be molding himself back to Charon’s front again. He knows that look Charon has as he surveys Hermes in just his towel, still damp from the shower.
“That’s quite an elaborate scheme you cooked up there.” His voice is low despite himself, very much enjoying how Charon’s hands find his hips. But it’s the principle of the thing as he keeps his arms crossed, not budging. “Getting your mom over here while I'm hanging about. Imagining me being in a towel wasn’t part of that.”
“Kind of a bonus.” Charon signs, terribly handsome as he does so before putting his hands back in their place, thumbing the line of the towel and even going so far as to press into the mark he’d left last night. Hermes bites back a gasp when a tug pulls him a bit closer to Charon, fingers spanning out over the curve of his ass.
“You’re trying to distract me.” Hermes mutters, eyes fluttering closed for a moment as Charon leans in and softly kisses behind his ear. It’s tempting to just unfold his arms and let Charon get away with it, but that little tinge of annoyance is still there, and he so rarely has a reason to hold on to it.
With every ounce of his resolve, he ducks out of Charon’s loose grip, grabbing his clothes as he does so. Charon lets him, shaking his head as Hermes leaves him and turning to watch him go.
“Have to go to work, my good boatman.” Hermes points out as he walks out of the kitchen backwards, smirking. “Can’t stick around here all morning, as we discussed. Remember?”
He dresses himself in the bedroom, half-expecting Charon to come waltzing in to really test him his sudden determination and only a little disappointed as he’s buttoning up his top that he finishes uncontested. Breakfast is a little cool by the time he can eat it, but Hermes snarfs it down all the same, grateful for it as always and never one to turn his nose up at Charon going through the effort to make him food. There is an apology as Charon sips some coffee, but Hermes waves it off between bites of toast.
“You can make it up to me later.” He suggests with a wink, grabbing the scarf and his work hat from the chair where he left them on Saturday after wiping his mouth and standing. They can talk about it later, in any case. He’s running late after all as he eyes the clock on the stove.
Charon follows him down the stairs as he always does on days such as these, not only to begin opening his shop but to catch Hermes at the door with a final goodbye kiss. There’s an ‘I love you’ being pressed into his back as he is held one last time, and signed once more when they part, the gold Charon's ring twinkling as he does so. Hermes returns it in kind as they say their goodbyes, meaning every syllable no matter how many times he says it before he is gone with the tinkling of the bell into the dreary December day.
There’s no one on the streets as he heads to work, the tourist season long over and the town resting until next spring, but Hermes has found the quiet mornings invigorating. It’s a ten minute walk in the cold thick fog from the shop to the post office, but he doesn’t mind, wrapping the orange scarf around his neck before he jams the hat onto his head. The hat took a while to grow on him, much like the town, but he’s grown fond of it after one of the old ladies on his route stitched little wings on the sides as a thank you for his continued speedy service.
The meditative quiet of these mornings and the kindness of the people on his route are among the many things he’s come to learn about Styx Beach in his ten month’s time here. He adds them to the list of others: the many little shortcuts he can pass through to make his deliveries faster, the way Eurydice sings less when Orpheus leaves for his annual travels, how Zagreus excitedly waves at him from the back of the schoolbus if they pass each other while he’s working, how Charon gazes upon him so tenderly if Hermes is lucky enough to awaken him on Sunday morning...
But there's a more important thing he's learned as he turns the corner to the post office and wonders over what kind of gift he should get Nyx for Christmas that won’t immediately get him kicked out of the festivities. It's the thing he’s learned for certain. A fact that he knows without a shadow of a doubt,and that he will do his damndest to be sure never changes:
That he couldn’t imagine himself anywhere else.