still here in the underworld
waiting for your next visit.
I don’t expect a reply anymore. That’s not why I send it. The act itself feelslike her, the brush of warmth, the ghost of her voice.It’s a ritual now, an offering. My way of placing flowers at her feet, even from here.
The phone lights up.
Goodnight, Hades. I’ll have to avoid your pomegranatebetter next time.
I laugh, broken, disbelieving, almost ragged on the inhale. Because just like that, the world turns back on. The silence isn’t gone, but it glows instead of crushing. As I stare at that small line of text, something shifts inside me. I finally understand what it costs to be careless with time, how precious it feels when it’s given back.
I’ll never take it for granted again.
Morning comes easier, a smile so broad on my face it hurts. One text and I’m alive again, my heart hammering like I’ve won an award, climbed a mountain, finished the Tour de France. I wake before the alarm, the apartment is dim, but now the stillness doesn’t hurt. I make coffee, open the window. Seattle’s washed clean from the night before, a thin layer of sun spilling over the buildings. I snap a photo, light breaking through cloud, the city barely awake and send it to her with a simple line:
for when you’re between patients.
proof the world’s still turning.
By noon I can’t take it anymore. Her little crack let the light in and now I’m desperate for more. I glance at my watch, her lunch break. I tell myself I’ll wait, give her space, but my fingers are already on her number before I finish the lie. It rings twice.
“Rafe?”
Her voice is professional, clipped for office hours, but it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. I run a hand through my hair, pacing, heat rising in me at the sound of her breath against the phone, soft and near, like it’s against my skin.
“Hey,” I say, softer than I mean to. “You free for a minute, or am I interrupting heroics?”
A small sigh, somewhere between amusement and warning. “Five minutes.Maybesix if you’re incredibly charming.”
“I’ll try not to abuse my power.” I rub the back of my neck, still pacing. “Listen… it’s not Wednesday anymore.”
“No. It’sThursday. That’s how time works.” Her tone isn’t cruel; it’s tired, and the thought that maybe she’s slept as poorly as I have all week gives me courage.
“So, by that theory of time, we can plan something now that Wednesday’s over, right?” I pause, swallow. “I still have something to show you. That picture I told you about in Miami,” I say. “Proof of my obscene poet era. Thought maybe you could come by tonight. I’ll make dinner.”
She laughs. “Will it be better than your attempt at breakfast?”
“That was purely alack-of-ingredientsissue, not a skill assessment.” I grin. “Maybe mandu, though I can’t promise it’s as good as my mum’s.” I try for lightness, but my throat’s dry. “Or whatever you want. It won’t be great, but it’ll be made with—”
The word catches before it can escape,love.It hangs there between us, unsaid but heard.
“—made by me,” I finish. “I’m not the worst cook ever. Honestly. I’d surprise you, better than you’d expect from someone who lives half his life in studios and hotels. I’ve been teaching myself basic human skills.”
The contemplation that follows is long enough for me to hear my heartbeat in it. Then she exhales, and I swear I feel it through the phone.
“Alright, Hades,” she says at last. “I’ll bring the wine.”
I smile, then laugh with relief, can’t help it. “Then I’ll see you tonight. Seven work for you?”
When the call ends, I stand there for a long time, staring at nothing, the phone still in my hand. It isn’t forgiveness, not yet, but it’s a door cracked open, a light in the underworld. I take a breath, look out at the washed-blue sky, and think about how last night ended, how her message lit up the dark, how her light makes me realize I want to be the kind of man who never makes her wonder again.
Chapter 46
Kindling
Rafe
When she opens the door, I’m standing there with a stick in my mouth. One I found earlier while grabbing ingredients for dinner at the little corner shop that never makes a fuss about me. I go in, get a nod, that’s it, no photos, no questions, just silent understanding.
