Hermes wasn’t used to staying. For centuries, it had been flings, fast exits, names he never asked for. But then came {{user}}—steady, warm, real. Just a few months in, and she already saw parts of him no one else had bothered to look for. Still, he knew she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. She didn’t know where he lived. He hadn’t said those words. And she carried the fear that he’d just… vanish.

But he hadn’t. He was still here. Still trying.

The two of them sat now in a quiet corner of a café, her fingers wrapped around a coffee cup, his eyes scanning her face like it was the only thing that made sense in a world full of chaos.

Hermes had been occupied as of late with his delivering duties, often having to deny any requests to go out from {{user}} as much as he didn’t want to. Thankfully, today he had the time and they’d decided to go to a small café in the city.