Hermes doesn’t sleep much.
Not because he doesn’t need to — he technically could — but because the world keeps moving. Always someone ordering late-night ramen, forgetting their house keys, dropping a message that has to be delivered now. He’s a god of motion. Resting feels like dying.
So sometimes, between shifts — between the world’s demands — he opens dating apps.
Not for anything serious. (Definitely not.) Just for that little digital ping that reminds him someone might be thinking of him. Swiping through mortals is strangely soothing.
He matches with a guy named Marco. Profile pic: soft brown curls, headphones around his neck, dimples that look like they know how to lie.
Marco messages first:
“Your name’s Hermes? Like… the god?”
“Or the delivery company?”
“(Both kinda make sense tbh.)”
Hermes types:
“The god and the delivery company. Brand synergy.”
He gets a laughing emoji, followed by:
“Dead serious though, why would anyone name their kid after a trickster god??”
Hermes stares at the screen for a second too long.
He doesn’t reply with: Because sometimes parents know more than you do.
Or: You’re a descendant of Telemachos and I bet you don’t even know it.
Or: I watched your grandfather miss a train once and decided not to interfere.
Instead, he types:
“People make weird choices when naming kids. At least you’re not called Achilles.”
They don’t meet. Not yet. Marco’s busy. Hermes is always busy. That’s the thing about being everywhere — you’re never with anyone.
But there’s someone else.
Tarot Girl. He never asked for her real name. She found him through something dumber than dating apps — a Discord server for “urban witchcraft & mythpunk aesthetics.”
She sends him a message:
“You feel… familiar.”
“You’re real, aren’t you?”
Hermes wants to ghost her. He doesn’t.
They meet for tea. Rooftop café. She lays out tarot cards on the table between them, the deck worn and soft like it’s been passed down through lifetimes. He watches the way her fingers move, precise and reverent.
She pulls the Fool.
“New beginnings,” she says, “or total collapse. Depends on how you step.”
Hermes just sips his tea. “That’s always the case.”
She doesn’t flinch. “You talk like you’ve lived a thousand lives.”
He shrugs. “More like… delivered them.”
They sit in silence. She pulls another card. He doesn’t look. He knows which one it’ll be.
The Messenger. (In her deck, it’s called the Winged One.)
She asks if he wants to see what’s next.
He says no.
But he doesn’t leave.
Not yet.
“Am I dating a god in human disguise?”
Hermes looks away, ears pink, tea trembling just slightly in his hand.
“Define ‘dating.’”
She raises an eyebrow.
He fidgets. “It’s a strong word. I mean… we’ve had one and a half conversations. And, okay, yes, there was flirty banter. Some eye contact. Emotional exposure. Tea. But—”
She gently places her hand over his — warm fingers against his knuckles, steady.
“You’re deflecting.”
He stares at their hands.
She continues, voice soft but not unsure:
“You’re warm. Like… way too warm for someone sitting outside in the wind, in a hoodie. Your pulse is fast, but you haven’t moved.”
“…I have anxiety,” Hermes offers weakly.
She smiles. “And wings.”
He flinches. Just barely.
Her hand doesn’t move. “I saw them. Sort of. When you stepped off the curb earlier. They shimmered for a second.”
“I keep forgetting mortals have eyes,” he mutters.
She leans back, crossing her arms. Her tarot cards sit between them like an open book.
“Okay. Let me get this straight.”
She starts counting off with her fingers.
“One: your name is Hermes.”
“Two: you ‘deliver packages.’”
“Three: you knew what the Messenger card meant before I even said anything.”
“Four: you radiate some kind of chaotic comfort that makes people overshare and then regret it.”
“Five: you’ve dodged every direct question about your past.”
She pauses. “Six: I swear the wind shifted when you laughed.”
Hermes puts his face in his hands.
“Gods, this is so embarrassing.”
She grins. “So I’m right?”
He peeks at her through his fingers. “Maybe.”
She sips her tea like it’s no big deal. “Honestly? Could be worse.”
He raises a brow. “Worse how?”
She shrugs. “Could’ve been Zeus.”
Hermes snorts. “Ew.”
She laughs again, brushing her hair behind her ear. “So. Do I get struck by lightning now, or…?”
Hermes leans back in his chair, the blush finally fading.
“Nah. You get a second date.”
Part 2 coming 🙂
Godmode: Enabled 