The room was dimly lit, a faint flicker from the streetlamp outside casting shadows that danced on the cracked walls of William’s motel. He sat slumped on the edge of the rickety bed, his fingers trembling as they pressed against his chest. His breathing was shallow, each inhale feeling as though it scraped against the inside of his lungs. Pain radiated through his body, an ever-present reminder of the curse Zeus had woven into his mortal form.

He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, his gaze falling to the coffee-stained journal on the bedside table. It was filled with his observations of Julius—notes on the artist’s habits, his favorite haunts, and the quiet, guarded way he spoke of his past. Each page was a testament to William’s mission, yet now it felt like a damning record of his deception.

“I’m lying to him,” William whispered to the silence, his voice hoarse and laced with regret. “Every word, every gesture... it’s all a lie.”

He dropped his head into his hands, the weight of his actions pressing down on him like a stone. Julius deserved better. He deserved honesty, not the carefully crafted facade of a mortal man who wasn’t truly mortal, who had entered his life not by chance but by a divine scheme.

And yet, William’s feelings for Julius were no longer part of the scheme. They had become something deeper, something unshakably real. It was no longer about Zeus’s decree or reclaiming his immortality—it was about Julius.

But how could love born from deception ever be pure?

William groaned softly, leaning back against the creaking bedframe. His body was failing him faster than he anticipated. Each day left him weaker, his illness advancing like a storm creeping closer with every hour. 

He had grown skilled at hiding it in Julius’s presence, masking his fatigue with lighthearted smiles and hiding the sharp pangs of pain behind quiet gestures.

Still, he knew it wouldn’t last. His reflection in the mirror betrayed him—his cheeks were hollowing, dark circles clung to his eyes, and his skin had taken on an unnatural pallor.

He thought of the café, of Julius’s guarded smile as they talked, the flicker of curiosity in his dark eyes. It had been a rare moment of connection, one that had filled William with a fragile sense of hope. Yet that hope was now tangled in the growing web of lies he had spun to get close to Julius.

“What am I doing?” William muttered, running a hand through his hair. “How can I expect him to love me when I can’t even show him who I truly am?”

The next day, William forced himself to leave the motel, though his body protested with every step. His joints ached, his breath came short, and the nausea that roiled in his stomach was relentless. But he had to see Julius. It was the only thing keeping him moving forward, the fragile thread that tethered him to this life.

Julius was at the riverside, seated on a bench with his sketchbook balanced on his lap. His pencil moved fluidly across the page, his expression focused yet calm. The sight of him against the backdrop of the sunlit water was enough to momentarily dull William’s pain.

“Mind if I join you?” William asked as he approached, his voice steady despite the effort it took to sound normal.

Julius looked up, surprised but not displeased. “William,” he said, his tone softening. “Of course. Sit.”

William lowered himself onto the bench, careful to mask the strain it took. “What are you working on?”

Julius tilted the sketchbook slightly, revealing a rough yet striking sketch of the river. “Just something to clear my mind,” he said, shrugging. “Sometimes it helps.”

William nodded, his gaze lingering on Julius’s profile. “It’s beautiful,” he said sincerely. “You have a way of capturing things most people miss.”

Julius glanced at him, a faint smile touching his lips. “You always say things like that,” he said, his voice tinged with curiosity. “It’s like... you see more than what’s in front of you.”

William froze for a moment, the weight of his deception tightening like a noose around his chest. He wanted to tell Julius everything—the truth about who he was, why he was here, and the curse that hung over him like a dark cloud. But the words lodged in his throat, held back by fear.

Instead, he said, “Maybe I just like to look deeper.”

Julius studied him for a moment, as if trying to decipher a puzzle. Then he nodded, returning his attention to his sketch. “It’s not a bad thing,” he said quietly. “Sometimes I wish more people did.”

As the afternoon wore on, they talked about art, life, and the small, fleeting joys that made the world feel less heavy. William laughed at Julius’s dry humor, savoring the rare moments when the artist’s smile reached his eyes.

But beneath the warmth of their conversation, William’s guilt festered. Every word felt like a betrayal, every laugh like a lie. The closer he grew to Julius, the harder it became to ignore the truth: their connection was built on a foundation of deceit.

When the sun dipped below the horizon and Julius rose to leave, William stayed seated, watching him walk away. His body ached, his head swam, but it was his heart that hurt the most.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to the empty bench beside him. “I’m sorry for all of this.”

As the stars began to emerge, William resolved to keep moving forward, no matter how impossible the task felt. He couldn’t undo the lies he had told, but he could try to make his feelings true. Even if it meant risking everything, he would give Julius the love he deserved.

And perhaps, if the fates were merciful, Julius might one day forgive him for the lies that had brought them together.