A Flame Named Circe

Part XIV - Of Quiet and Closeness

Circe’s POV

It had been six days since Apollo left her island.

Once, she might have marked his absence with curiosity—maybe even disappointment. But now… the thought of him came only as a passing breeze, not a storm. She knew he was likely buried in temples, poems, sunlit duties that stretched across the mortal world like his own rays.

But that didn’t matter anymore.

Because Hermes was still here.

He hadn’t said when he’d planned to leave. He simply hadn’t. And Circe hadn’t asked. She just let the days pass like petals floating in calm water—one after the other, golden and quiet.

And in the calm, she’d started to smile.

At him.

And he noticed every single one.

---

Hermes’ POV

It was dangerous, how easy it felt now.

Waking up to her laughter echoing across the halls.

Watching her curl her hair around her finger as she read by the window.

Noticing how she no longer avoided his gaze, how her lips curved more often, softer than before.

He didn’t know what had changed exactly—but something had shifted between them. Subtle, like a string pulled tighter, but not snapping.

Sometimes she laughed when he made a joke.

Sometimes she didn’t even need the joke—just his presence seemed to do it.

And that scared him more than her silence ever had.

Because it was no longer about falling.

He had already fallen. And now, every small smile from her felt like a net pulling him in deeper.

---

Circe’s POV

They were in the garden when it happened.

She was bent over her herbs, gently crushing leaves between her fingers when Hermes appeared behind her with a curious sound.

“Is that the same blend you used on my wound?” he asked.

She looked over her shoulder, arching a brow. “Are you pretending you remember that just to impress me?”

He grinned. “Is it working?”

Circe rolled her eyes, but the smile tugged at her lips before she could stop it.

“I never took you for a persistent patient.”

“I’m not. Just... observant when it comes to certain witches.”

She snorted and returned to her leaves, trying to hide her blush.

But he moved closer, not to touch her—but just to watch.

“You laugh more these days,” he said, voice gentler now. “At least... around me.”

She paused.

Did she?

Maybe.

She hadn’t even noticed. But her walls had begun to lower without her permission. And somehow, it didn’t feel dangerous.

It felt... warm.

Comfortable.

She turned to him, eyes softer. “Maybe that’s your fault.”

Hermes’ breath caught.

He hadn’t expected her to say that.

And he certainly hadn’t expected her to smile like that while saying it.

So he did the only thing he could do without shattering.

He sat down beside her.

Close—but not touching.

Letting the silence fill with something that wasn’t awkward anymore.

Just soft.

---

Hermes’ POV

“I used to hate stillness,” he said quietly.

Circe looked at him, curious. “Why?”

“Because it meant I’d have to feel whatever I was running from.”

She watched him for a moment, eyes unreadable.

“And now?”

He turned his head to her. “Now... I’m not running.”

Their eyes met.

And for once, there was no teasing. No tension. Just truth.

It hung in the air between them like ripe fruit neither dared to pick—but both stared at longingly.

Circe didn’t respond. She just leaned back into the soft grass, hands behind her head, gazing up at the sky.

“You’re strange for a god.”

Hermes chuckled. “You’re strange for a witch.”

A beat passed.

Then she said, “Good strange.”

And Hermes felt like his heart was learning how to beat all over again.

---

Circe’s POV

Later that evening, she found herself watching him without realizing it.

He was sitting on the ledge near the western cliff, legs dangling over the edge, playing with a sprig of thyme between his fingers.

His profile was bathed in the last light of the sun, and there was a softness to him she rarely allowed herself to see.

And something in her chest shifted.

Apollo hadn’t returned.

But Hermes hadn’t left.

And she was beginning to understand which one mattered more.

She walked over quietly, settling beside him without a word.

He looked at her.

And she smiled.

Without hesitation.

Without hiding.

And that—that—was when Hermes knew.

He was hers.

Entirely.

Utterly.

Willingly.

And maybe, just maybe—

She was starting to be his too.