Altar of Hades

By Peter Ellis

Evaristus sat in the corner of his new home’s local cafe; its inner walls were lined with oak wood and the windows stretched from the floor to the ceiling. There were a few people dotted around the chairs and tables, a few young parents, and some older folk reuniting based on their slightly elevated volume of conversation.

Apparently, cafes were quite popular in “modern times”. Hades had informed them that these “modern times” were several thousand years beyond Evar’s old life.

Greece still existed, but its empire had long crumbled, and its gods had become myth. Getting used to this new way of living had taken some time. Hades had stayed with them for a few weeks. It was a kindness, he assured, that few were privy to. It was until Evar felt settled. Though Evar had trouble wrapping their head around being able to speak and read a language that wasn’t their own without having to practice it. A gift from the pantheon.

Provided with enough money to live excessively, Evar still opted for a small apartment, which was, apparently, overpriced. It reminded them of their old room in hell; a few inches below ideal, but comfortable to make do with. After Hades returned to marshalling over the Underworld, the first few nights alone had been restless. Evar spent most of the time staring up at their new ceiling.

In the weeks that followed, they’d found clothes that looked good and felt comfortable. They found new foods and recipes to enjoy. Even dedicated establishments for improving their fitness, too. Things were on the up. Hades had even set them up with a therapist, and she was a reincarnation of their doctor in the Underworld.

Evar was doing everything they could to better themselves, but they were still working on being truly happy about it.

Playwrights were still a profession, so Evaristus continued where they left off, creating stories born from their experiences, helping process things left unfinished. The story they had been working on, though, was too thorough, with too many words for it to be a functional script. It’d become a novella, they learned. On their trips into town, they’d befriended a young woman at the library. They wowed her with their “vast” knowledge of Greek mythology and allowed it to paste over their lack of knowledge of what a “book” actually was. She had a kind smile, one that grew a little broader every time Evar returned with more questions about stories. They enjoyed her company, but when her questions turned to Evar’s personal life, they grew coy.

The staff of the cafe had grown accustomed to Evar’s near-daily appearances. They had a particular corner they’d liked, and aimed for it every time. 

Evaristus was reading their final draft as they occasionally sipped at their new favourite beverage, a salted caramel iced latte. A concoction of flavours that felt as magical as the device they’d written their novella on. None of the finest delicacies in all of “Ancient” Greece compared. Not the bread, not the wine, none of it. 

In a moment of absentmindedness, Evaristus squeezed the plastic cup too tightly. The rattling of the ice brought them back to reading the story with renewed focus. 

The words had tumbled out of Evar easily over a few weeks. They’d opted to take their experiences with Philokrates, and create something out of it. The more they wrote, the easier it got to write. It’d be a fantasy story to the people of today. They would be none the wiser about the truths woven through it. 

But Evar hadn’t been happy with where it ended. They added another chapter, an epilogue, of a situation very similar to the one they found themselves in. Their main character was sitting in a cafe in the modern era… waiting. Waiting for the end of the story, waiting for Philo’s character to show up. Why had they written this in? What did the story need it for? When Philo’s character showed up, their words were gentle, like a welcoming breeze on a summer day.

“Is this seat taken?”

Evar didn’t remember writing that line; the voice sounded too clear, too… present.

They looked up. Philo was standing opposite their table. All of their experiences flashed through Evar’s brain. Their heart didn’t sink, didn’t skip a beat, but their hands tightened around their drink again. Not enough to compress the plastic, but enough for Philo’s eyes to flicker in its direction. 

“No,” they said, setting their draft aside.

“Are you okay for me to join you, then?”

They could cut Philo off right there and then; Evar knew they should. There were too many questions, too many things left unsaid, and too many nights of little sleep for them to do that. 

“Sure.”

Philokrates took their seat timidly, placing their coffee on the table between them. Their spiky exterior had receded into a studded belt at their midsection, all black t-shirt and jeans contrasting with their fiery blonde and red hair. They looked good, but then Evaristus had always thought that about them. It didn't matter what era they were in. 

“So… how’ve you been?” Philo asked.

“Managing,” Evaristus responded bluntly. “You?”

“I’m good, settled… this time is weird, huh?”

“There’s… a lot to take in.”

Evaristus shoved the straw of their iced latte into their mouth; their eyes dropped to the table. Philo shuffled in their seat several times, fighting to find a position they could relax in. They reached for their coffee and took a long sip.

“Have you thought about trying to find where we used to live?” Philo asked.

“It’s buried. Checked on my phone.”

“Phones are something, right? I’m still trying to-”

“Why are you here?”

The cafe quietened. Eyes from all corners were looking in their direction. Evaristus had spoken louder than they’d planned. People slowly began returning to their own conversations. Evar waited patiently.

“Why are you here?” they repeated, softer this time.

“Well, I heard you got out,” Philokrates said, slowly turning their coffee cup in their left hand. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”

Evaristus’ chest tightened. Their throat was impossibly dry. They could tell Philokrates knew they were avoiding their eyes. Evar worried about what would come out if they looked at them for too long. 

“So, how did you get out?” Evar asked. “Find another soul worth loving?”

“Something like that… Turns out you’re not the only one who can bend the rules.”

“A little hypocritical after our last conversation, no?”

Evaristus felt a laugh escaping them. It wasn’t entirely intentional, but it was better than the alternative — that they were fighting back every second. Another slurp of latte. 

“I chose the love that was hardest for me to accept, the same as you.”

“How long has it been for you?”

“Just over two years… How long have you been out?”

“Three months.”

Philokrates’ eyes sank to the table this time. Their shoulders sank too, not from comfort… an unusual lack of assuredness. The pair sat in silence; neither knew for how long. Occasionally, they sipped their drinks. The cafe’s door seemed so far away now. Except the urge to stay equaled the urge to leave, neutralising the panic in a gentle balm. Evar took a slow, soft breath in and out. 

“So, what did you tell Hades?” they asked. 

“I told him the love I wanted had already left, and I wanted to find it again.”

Each successive word split Evar’s heart back open. Tears were threatening the corners of their eyelids. It took too much energy to keep them at bay.

“Fuck you,” came the huffed reply.

“I know it’s not worth anything, but I am so sorry for the way I hurt you. What I said… what I did, you didn’t deserve any of it.”

“You’re right.”

“I am ready to make amends. I don’t know how to start, but I want to try. For you.”

“... Do you have any idea what that sounds like? You took your time to burn me from your life and ran and ran and ran. And then, and only then, when you realised not all distant fields are as Elysium, you now have the audacity to draw the same conclusions you punished me for entertaining.” 

Evar’s words seemed to knock Philokrates back in their chair, like a flurry of fists Evar had been reluctant to throw in the Arena of Tartarus. 

“I know exactly what it sounds like,” Philokrates replied finally. “I was wrong, afraid, you know? There was this… fear of being hurt again.”

“So was I, Philo, but I grew around that through you. I felt safe. And then yo-... you broke me in front of the entire realm.”

“I can’t take back what I did; I know that. But I’m here now. No more running, not from you, not from me. I’m here for you, Evar. Maybe, maybe we can find our way back to how things were.”

There is no going back. // I would love that. // Don’t give me hope again, please.

Evaristus could feel some irony in the way the two of them appeared to have switched roles. The smile Philo wore when they finally purged their connection in the Underworld cut deeper than their blades ever could. Yet, when Evaristus looked them in the eye now, that cruel streak had gone. Their eyes didn’t have the same sparkle they used to. 

“I don’t know if I am ready to forgive you,” Evar said with a sigh. “And I think that means we can’t be friends right now, either.”

Philo nodded quietly. And again. And again. And again. Each one was slower than the last. Each one brought more tears to their eyes, and one by one, they rolled down their cheeks. Evar had to look away, pulling their draft closer to them on the bench. As they gently stroked a thumb over the title page, the stack of papers caught Philo’s eye.

“Maybe going back would be wrong,” they said. “Do you think there’s a way for us to move forward?”

“Moving forward means I have to be on my own for a while,” Evaristus replied. “Through choice, not forced by someone else.”

Philokrates sniffed as they wiped the tears from their cheeks.

“You waited for me, so the least I can do is wait for you?”

“Philo… don’t do that to yourself. I… I need time and I need space… I can’t guarantee we’ll ever be anything to each other ever again.”

They grabbed a napkin from the table across from them to dab at their eyes and nose, before stuffing it away in a pocket. Philokrates stood up, but they hesitated to leave. Evaristus couldn’t settle on what they truly wanted Philo to do more. But their leaving meant the interaction was nearly over, and they could finally relax again. 

“Hades gave me your number,” Philo said. “I’ll text you to let you know it’s me. After that, if you are ever ready, you know where to find me, okay?”

“Okay.”

They stood there, looking down at Evaristus, tears quivering at the edges of their eyes.

“Can we… Can we embrace? Like we used to?” they asked.

Don’t do it, you fool. // Tell them how you really feel. // You are free. // 

Let them go. // Hold on.  

“Okay.” 

Evaristus finished the last of their iced latte and stood up. Moving a few feet towards Philo’s open arms felt like another lifetime passed. Memories swam back to the shores of their mind. Their first time meeting Philo, their first kiss… all the good, but all the bad too. That smile, when they cut Evar out of their space in the Underworld, they could feel its burn simmer on their skin. 

And then, Philokrates stepped forward and wrapped their arms around them, like they used to. Those painful memories didn’t float away, but they stopped hurting. Evar responded in kind, and loosely embraced them. 

“I’m truly sorry, Evar,” Philo whispered. “For everything. You deserved so much more.”

Evaristus didn’t, couldn’t reply. They could only pull Philokrates in closer, tighter. Their bodies formed a cohesive whole. Their heartbeats knocking at their ribs in unison. Philo’s head found its perfect place in Evar’s chest, as Evar rested their chin within the curls of Philo’s hair. The pair were breathing so delicately, so quietly, as not to disrupt one another from the moment. Warmth spread throughout their bodies. They dared to hug each other a little tighter. That familiar longing reared its head. They could stay like that forever. 

I am afraid. // I am doomed to love you. // I can’t do this.

Evaristus adjusted their chin, their lips now brushing against Philo’s hair. If they moved any further down, they knew they’d likely abandon themselves all over again. They couldn’t risk it. To each other, perhaps they were the sun and the moon; destined to dance around one another endlessly. Spinning in that gravity where Evaristus had once found their home. 

“Look after yourself, Philo,” they said, breaking the silence.

Philokrates loosened their grip, and released Evar back to their seat. It became all too clear their embrace had an audience. The whole cafe was looking their way again. Evar’s eyes scanned the families in the cafe, and they all quickly returned to their own conversations. Philo had yet to move from where they stood; they were wiping away another tear as their eyes met Evar’s. The pair of them both looked like they wished to say something more, but both refrained. Then, Philo stepped towards Evaristus, reaching out to run their hand through their hair. Evaristus felt themselves ever so slightly lean into it, enough that Philo noticed.

Then they leaned down, gently pressing their lips to Evar’s forehead in a kiss. 

“I… you know I’m a call away, if you want to find me,” they whispered.

Philokrates stood back up, wiping away tears and sniffling as they left. That was it. Encounter over. Evar took their right hand to their chest and focused on nothing but breathing until they felt their heart slow. From the moment Philo’s lips left their forehead, Evaristus had imagined following them. They’d also imagined never seeing them again, or seeing them around town and feeling the need to shy away. When they tried to seek some peace in the quiet of Philo’s wake, they couldn’t find it. 

A barista placed another iced latte in front of them.

“I… didn’t order another one?” Evar said, puzzled. 

“It’s from us. Thought you could do with it,” the barista replied. 

“...Thank you.”

The barista gave a curt nod and left Evar alone. Now, the cafe felt colder, and it wasn’t just the iced drink in their hands. They set it down on the table in front of them and picked up their story draft. A shaky breath escaped them. There would be more edits in the future, but Evar tried to take one positive from their conversation with Philokrates:

They knew how to end the story now.

A tear splashed onto the front page.

By Peter Ellis