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The winter sky is a bright, honest blue, as Eurydice tramps through the woods to retrieve her husband for the fifth time. It’s been two weeks since they walked out of hell. Frost still crunches underfoot where the sun throws shadows across the glade, but there is a sharp scent of snowmelt and blossoms on the air. She’d dearly missed this, afraid that the factory had blinded her senses to anything but the acrid tang of smoke and dead metal.
She’s not dressed warmly enough under her coat, too hopeful for Spring for the first time in her life. Everywhere she looks, pale green shoots peek out from the frozen ground, and odd clusters of bluebells and yolk-yellow celandine tumble amongst nodding snowdrops. The sparrows chatter and perch overhead in their clockwork fashion, and the earth thrums with potential life. Really, Orpheus did a wonderful job. The only problem is that he hasn’t stopped.
That first breathless day they returned, his eyes were shut in terror for the final few steps into safety, even as she barrelled into his back. He’d allowed himself one night of rest, then, hand in hand with her, he’d sang until the earth trembled, until wildflowers burst fearfully from the stones beneath his feet, until he left a meadow of strange, verdant green that never frosted again, where they had stood. From that day on, he’d worked like a man possessed - in the farmers’ fields and local woods from dawn to dusk, coaxing the world back into health with song.
It’s not like he’s been inattentive to her - he returns to the tavern and sits at the bar while she works the evening shift she’d insisted on taking over from him, pouring drinks until the early hours (people are more jolly, nowadays, and daring to be hopeful), looking up from his scribblings to smile at her, plucking flowers from air and song and slipping them into her apron when she passes. More often than not, he nods off on his papers and awakens with music imprinted on his cheek.
Still, he’s always out singing in the fields before sunrise, leaving notes of apology and phantom kisses pressed to her hair. Orpheus has always been an earnest person. But now an edge of desperation seems to haunt him, as if he’s making up for a failure that never was. Even worse, they still haven’t talked about Hadestown.
Eurydice is deep in thought as she finally arrives at a stately whitewashed farmhouse, attached to a few swathes of fields. She finds Orpheus standing with the farmer in the midst of brave, shivery-looking yellow shoots, clearly her husband’s handiwork.
‘-And McLeod over in the next town, he’s a fantastic dancer now, but he had a man approached him, offered these new-fangled seeds they said would bloom e’en in the frost, and he hadn’t the sense or sensibility to say no, mind, ‘cept that I caught wind of this, see, and when I went to visit, I told him these promises weren’t here nor there, frost-blooming seeds being unnatural and whatnot, and besides, I did know another farmer who gave in, and d’you know what happened?’
‘No, Mr. Rafferty, I don’t,’ Orpheus admits politely.
‘Well he planted them, on account of his children were starving, so you can hardly blame the man, and they were good harvest that first year, but they never grew thereafter, and when I tell you he could have been ruined, had Rafferty not had his back. So now McLeod knows the same, and do you know what the man says to me?’
‘Eurydice!’ Orpheus waves, shooting her a glance with eyes imperceptibly wider than usual.
She considers ignoring this plea for help and letting the monologue continue for her own amusement, but for the shadows underneath his eyes.
‘My love, I believe we’re wanted back in town’, she says, looping her arm firmly through his and directing a winning smile at Mr. Rafferty.
He beams back. 'Ah-ha! The raison d’etre, as the poets say! Your young poet here has been doing a splendid job, yes, but I will not take up anymore of your time - the days do pass by so quickly when you’re in the bloom of youth, though mind you when you’re much, much older—'
With much bowing and smiling, Eurydice drags her poet away, leaving the farmer still chuckling to himself.
Orpheus scrubs his face ruefully as soon as they’re out of view.
‘I didn’t listen to any of that. Have I told you how I don’t deserve you? I can tell you again.’
She snorts. ‘Did you tell this stranger that I’m your reason for living or did he assume that himself?’
‘He assumed, that and many things besides, and I’ve never been so glad to see you.’
‘Really? Never?’
She means it to be playful, but something shutters behind his eyes, and she falls silent.
—————————
Next on the list is a little cottage with a sky-blue fence and a tulip-shaped window set in the door. Eurydice finds herself immediately charmed. She helps the farmer’s wife scatter feed for their hens in the garden as Orpheus kneels among the beetroot, the farmer explaining which plants are growing strongly, and which plants need additional help. It’s surprisingly physical work, she thinks, as she watches him dig his fingers into the dark, dense soil, singing a lilting melody for each row (the beetroot will grow richer, sweeter).
She’s sitting and stroking a particularly cuddly hen when the farmer’s wife comes out with tea.
‘It’s pure magic, isn’t it?’
Eurydice looks over to where Orpheus is raising his voice to set the early apple buds shaking, to shock gnarled branches into holding themselves more proudly.
‘I thought it was,’ she says carefully. ‘But the seasons themselves are some kind of a miracle, aren’t they? All of life and death hinging on the changeable moods of gods, it’s a wonder that we hope at all.’
‘Did you hope? When you were down there.’
‘Not at first,’ Eurydice says, feeling faintly uncomfortable under her keen, observant gaze. ‘And I’m still not sure hope is what Orpheus brought to Hadestown. It’s more like he taught me how to live in its absence. The winds are fickle. Why do we stay and build a home? Why do we sow seeds into the hardened earth, and build winter nests where we dream of Spring? We live past hope.’
When she looks up, the farmer’s wife is smiling at her.
’I’ve always wanted to see magic.’
The farmer and her wife won’t let them leave empty-handed, plying them with loaves, fresh eggs, and last summer’s preserves, the generosity overflowing now that there’s a promise of future abundance. Orpheus’ breathing is heavier than usual, his face pale and drawn, so she carries the basket and wrestles the lyre from him, too.
—————————
By the third farm, his face has taken on a haunted look, though his voice rings clearly and his fingers strum the harmonies as steadily as ever. Eurydice busies herself with slathering apple jam onto thick slices of bread and feeding him whenever he pauses for breath.
The farmer insists that they take some flower bulbs as thanks, cramming them into her basket. It’s nice, knowing that her neighbours aren’t only planting for subsistence anymore, but for beauty. She’s already thinking of where to put them - window planters, perhaps - when Orpheus turns off the main path again.
‘Isn’t it time to go home?’ she tries.
‘I have another few households to visit,’ he says, half absorbed in the list. ‘You can go back first if you’re tired.’
‘I’m tired? You’ve been doing this for days without a break! You lose something every time you sing, I can see it.’ She wants to say - and we haven’t talked - but stops, humiliated by the sudden tears clouding her vision.
‘I’ve been neglecting you. I’m sorry.’ He sounds horrified, taking both her hands in his.
‘You’ve actually been a fantastic partner and model citizen. Ten out of ten,’ she says thickly, ‘but I don’t know why you’re not letting yourself rest. Persephone will be back in a fortnight and Spring will come anyway.’
‘I want it to be a success. I— I need to be a certainty.’
‘And you’ve done that! You’re very good at it. But you’re not— leading others out of the dark anymore.’
His face is unreadable. She wants to shake him.
‘Why are you acting like you’re still walking alone?’
He wipes her tears consolingly and brings her hands up - but when he kisses them, there’s still a worried twist around his mouth.
—————————
To his credit, Orpheus lets her take him home and fill him up with soup. He’s perked up after the second bowl, the gaunt expression gone, though he clearly still needs a few good nights of sleep. She clatters about, stacking cutlery - it’s a comforting routine and she can’t believe she’s grateful for it now, the minutiae and boredom of chores that make up the backdrop of a home.
‘Have I thanked you for taking care of me?’
‘Yes, every day. You’re very consistent with it,’ Eurydice says, distracted by the dishes. She glances over her shoulder at his fond expression, the way his half-lidded gaze follows her.
‘Really? I can’t remember the last time. Actually, I’m certain I haven’t thanked you. How can I make up for it?’
She knows without turning that he’s giving her that coy, liquid look under long eyelashes, a look that usually ends with him on his knees.
She stops. Stares incredulously at him, the still-exhausted slump of his shoulders and the bruised shadows under his eyes.
‘Go to bed, Orpheus.’
‘I’d love to.’
God, his eyes are pretty. A warm dark brown, set off by faintly pink cheeks - he’s bashful, sometimes, even after everything they’ve been through.
Eurydice rounds the countertop, stepping into his space. He’s leaning towards her, swaying slightly, whether from a ghostly melody in his head or from sheer exhaustion, she can’t tell. But she’s certain that he shouldn’t be taking the lead on this.
She slides her palms under his thighs, ignoring his huff of surprise, and lifts him easily off the stool, his legs wrapped around her waist. All that factory work was good for something, after all. But they’re in the reverse position much more often, and the unexpected centre of gravity sends her careening towards the bed, him landing hard on his back with a startled laugh.
‘You’re quite strong,’ Orpheus observes mildly. His pupils are blown wide.
Eurydice kisses him, licks into his mouth, and he lets her in easily, so responsive when he doesn’t have to voice his own emotions. Tension bleeds out of him as he wraps his arms languidly around her neck, warm and pliable and so alive under her. Kissing him always feels familiar and new all at once, like seeing a perfect stranger and knowing them instantly. He also tastes a bit like soup.
He’s giving her that half-lidded stare again, so she cards a hand through thick brown curls and pulls his head to the side. He lets out a soft breathy noise that she files away for later, as she sucks a neat line of hickeys onto one taut side of his neck, then the other just to even it out. Pleased, she runs her thumbs over her handiwork, pressing hard in little circles.
Orpheus pushes her away slightly, laughing. ‘Are you trying to give me a neck massage?’
‘…Maybe.’
He surges up and kisses her again and again, purposefully this time, catching her by the waist. She grinds down and the kiss turns filthy, open-mouthed and breathless. She tries to calm her racing heart, remembering his exhaustion, but it’s really quite difficult when he’s brushing his thumbs over her hipbones, clearly wanting to yank her down further but letting her control the pace. Always so courteous. He tugs at her shirt, a tacit request, and suddenly they’re both stripping furiously, needing to be as close to each other as humanly possible.
When she’s finally kicked off the last sock, he’s sitting by the edge of the bed, looking up at her innocently. It would be so easy to pin his pretty hips to the mattress and suck him off, or get on his lap and ride him into oblivion, but Eurydice wants him to truly relax. Selflessly, of course, she thinks he deserves it.
‘Where are you going?’
She shoots him a grin from where she’s rummaging through their drawers, finding the box and accompanying vial of clear liquid.
‘Oh. Oh.’
When Persephone had shown up to their wedding day in a flurry of blossoms and golden leaves, she’d delivered the box, wrapped in expensive lace, straight into Orpheus’ hands with a salacious wink. They’d taken a peek, curious as to what a God could deign to gift to mortals, and Orpheus had immediately shoved it to the bottom of the pile, cheeks as red as his neckerchief.
They forgot about it for the first few months, too wrapped up in the simple joy of each other’s company to need any additions. The first time it resurfaced, they spent a great deal of time cackling with laughter over the confusing straps and buckles on the contraption. When they finally worked it out, she’d insisted that he be on top and in control, terrified of hurting him somehow. She’d never forget the sight. He’d had one hand gripping the headboard for leverage, the other splayed over his face, flushed and overwhelmed as he stifled his cries. It was over embarrassingly quick for both of them.
There hadn’t been a second time - Eurydice took the train a few weeks later. She was hungry, then. She’s hungry now.
Orpheus is attempting to open the vial while she messes with straps and buckles around her waist. His hands are trembling, and he drops it with a faint curse. Strange, how jittery he seems. Abandoning her task, Eurydice clambers over and gives him a firm shove, sending him sprawling on the comforter. Up close, his chest is heaving, breath coming out in stutters.
‘Sure you’re okay to do this?’
He nods frantically, as if terrified that she’ll change her mind. So she simply kisses him, running warm palms up and and down his sides, trying to be soothing. He’s smiling again when she pulls back, eyes mischievous, lips bitten red, a blush high across his cheekbones. Her own lovely poet. She can’t believe her luck sometimes. The thought leaves her momentarily speechless, so she just focuses on slicking up her fingers.
‘Ready?’
‘Mm-hmm.’
Eurydice goes carefully - she’s never tried it and can’t imagine what it feels like, but it must be strange. He looks like a dream, eyes too bright, panting, brown curls falling over his forehead. On the second finger, his shoulders begin to tense up again, so she leans over and runs her tongue over a nipple.
‘God, Eurydice—!’
She toys with the other one with her free hand, just because she wants to, and also because he’s arching into it. He’s shifting now, canting his hips in little movements deeper onto her fingers. Getting greedy. She curls them at the end of a thrust, watches him flinch as his breath flies out of him in a whine. His hand is suddenly around her wrist in a vice grip.
‘Um. This might be over soon if you keep going?’
It blindsides her, how quickly she can take him out of his head, how much he’s willing to give to her. She turns away to slick up the heft between her legs, suddenly nervous. It must show on her face, because Orpheus takes her free hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. His eyes are utterly trusting. Something raw and bleeding rips through Eurydice. She’s betrayed that trust before - but she can’t think about that right now, so she pushes him back down. Squeezes him tight.
‘I like you so much, I hope you know-,’ she mutters nonsensically, as he pats her back, ‘-and I’m going to be so good to you.’
He’s about to protest, she can tell - so she chooses that moment to push in. Nose to nose, his face flushes sweetly, holding her gaze for a moment before it all becomes too much and he screws his eyes shut. It’s too intense too soon, even for her - his hands are claws on her back. She runs her thumbs over his cheekbones, grounding him.
‘Alright?’ she whispers, sheer affection threatening to shatter her.
He nods, legs falling wider. Fuck, he looks wrecked already. She moves, feels him sink and roll against it, matching her rhythm perfectly, just taking it. So compliant. He’s been in control for too long and she’s going to take care of him and she’s going to fuck him silly.
Orpheus has finally opened his eyes again, dazedly watching where their bodies are connected, the slick pull and slide of them. He’s clearly drunk on sensation, only half-aware as he reaches down to stroke himself from root to tip - and something primal snaps in Eurydice. She lunges and pins down his wrists hard, more forcefully than she means to, but he makes a noise that she’s never heard before and would do anything to hear again. He’s leaking now too, she can feel it on her stomach, and she realises with a faint hysteria that her husband really likes being manhandled. All that time in Hadestown and they could have been doing this every night.
Eurydice ducks down to kiss him hard, sloppy and messy and perfect. Orpheus is whining now in between his panting. Almost gone. She lets go of his wrists just to touch more of him, all of him. But then he pulls back, locks eyes with her for one lucid moment and deliberately twines his arms around her neck. Fuck. She understands with an instant, searing thrill that he won’t touch himself again, the tacit promise as good as if he’d tied himself to the headboard. She’s going to die here.
Biting the inside of her cheek to keep in some semblance of control, she slows them into a steady, liquid roll. Her dear poet has given her the reins completely, would let her drag him to the edge in increments and drop him off whenever she likes, and she’s going to do it. She’s concentrating, making tiny adjustments with each thrust, when he suddenly keens and throws his head back. Perfect. She holds him in place, feeling absolutely feral, and grinds into that spot over and over. His expression goes glassy and panicked, hands scrabbling at her shoulders.
‘Wait- Eurydice, I’m- Fuck!’
He throws his arms over his face, realising she’s not going to slow down. Eurydice wishes she could see his dark, pretty eyes, the startled tears when he comes, but she’ll settle for watching kiss-bitten lips and a blush that blooms down to his neck. She reaches down and strokes once, twice, and then he’s sobbing as he comes hard between them. She’s struck dumb at the sight, she’s going to think about this for months, but she rallies and rolls through it, punching hurt little noises out of him.
Finally, they slow. Orpheus’ chest is heaving, but he looks entirely languid, fucked out and coming down from it. Well. Maybe now he’ll go to bed and sleep the entire night for once. She peppers gentle kisses on his chest, his chin, and the sweet little nose poking out between his hands. Her heart feels too big for her chest.
‘I’m going to go get us cleaned up.’
—————————
When she returns, Orpheus’ hands are still hiding his eyes. The blush has spread into a blotchier red and he’s breathing shakily through his nose. His mouth is pressed in a small, trembling line, like he’s trying hard not to cry.
‘Orpheus?’
No response.
Eurydice carefully pinches his nose shut.
His spluttered laugh turns into a hiccup, then a sob, and then Eurydice has a lapful of distraught, weeping husband. Baffled, she holds him as tightly as she can, feeling monstrous. He can’t even bear to look at her. He’s hiding his face even now, hiccuping into her shoulder. If she’s hurt him in some way, she’ll stop at nothing to make things right.
She waits patiently for the sobs to ebb away, stroking the feathery hair at the back of his neck, the way he likes it.
‘Orpheus,’ she murmurs, ‘love, I’m sorry, I— I really thought you were too tired for edging.’
He snorts wetly into her shoulder. ‘That’s absolutely not what I’m crying about.’
He sits back, gazing at his lap like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. Eurydice waits. For all that Orpheus transcribes the hearts of strangers as clearly and easily as song, he struggles to name his own emotions.
‘It was too close,’ he eventually says, so quiet that Eurydice barely catches it. ‘It wasn’t— trust that got us out of Hadestown. I had nothing left. I had no hope that you were behind me. It was an accident, Eurydice, we walked out because I shut my eyes and shut everything out and just kept going-‘
It finally dawns on her. ‘And now you can’t stop or you’ll fall apart.’
‘I couldn’t look,’ he says, miserably, ‘-and it still scares me to look at you. It was too close and I can’t fail again-‘
‘Look at me now.’
She tries again, gentler.
‘Orpheus.’
He raises his eyes with difficulty. Eurydice wipes the remaining tears off his cheek, holds his head still so he can’t hide.
‘I would have welcomed it-,’ she says, slowly and deliberately. She needs him to understand. ‘-to see your face for the last time before I went. I would have been happy. It doesn’t matter if you failed, or think you failed. When you walked into Hadestown, you already saved me. Isn’t that enough?’
He looks stricken. She’s not doing this right at all.
‘I’m here.’ Eurydice raises his hands, presses his knuckles to her brow. ‘You brought me back, you brought the world back into tune, and you can rest now. Spring will come.’
‘And if it doesn’t?’
‘Then we live in the time we have, even so. We build a home and we walk together, Orpheus, you taught me that.’
Orpheus is silent, but she can tell that he’s contemplative rather than upset, trying to make sense of it. It will take time. They need mornings of waking up in each others’ arms under hazy golden sunlight. They need long, honeyed days in the fields helping with the neighbours’ harvests, and warm evenings with drink and laughter drawing them to dance under an ink-blue sky. They’ll talk tomorrow, and the day after, and eventually let the spring breeze clear away the shadows from his mind. She squeezes his hand.
‘I can’t believe I fucked a difficult conversation out of you.’
Instead of laughing, his head shoots up in dismay.
‘We didn’t take care of you yet!’
Eurydice thumps him with a pillow.
—————————
The stars run overhead in their tracks, as inevitable as the turning of the earth, and the poet and songbird hold each other close. Soon, she’ll get up to draw the curtains, hanging an extra blanket so there’s no chance of the dawn waking him. She’ll fall asleep half-sprawled on him, trusting that he won’t have the heart to disentangle them while she still slumbers. Later, she’ll tie his wrists with his neckerchief, a shock of red on pale skin, so that she can watch his eyes.
Far below them, worms nudge blindly through the soil - nourishing the new roots around them, paving the way for flowers, without any certainty of success - preparing, even so, for the coming of Spring.