The first fainting spell struck without warning.

William was walking through the bustling streets of Seoul after one of his meetings with Julius, the warmth of their shared time lingering like an ember in his chest. But as he crossed the street, a wave of dizziness swept over him, and his vision blurred. His legs buckled beneath him, sending him crashing to the pavement.

Gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd as strangers helped him to his feet. His head throbbed, and his body felt impossibly heavy, as though Zeus’s curse had doubled its weight in an instant. William forced a weak smile and waved off their concern, muttering that he was fine.

But he wasn’t.

That night, William sat in the dim light of his motel room, staring at his reflection in the cracked mirror. His face was pale and drawn, his lips tinged with an unnatural blue. The pain in his chest had grown sharper, like a dagger lodged beneath his ribs, and the simple act of breathing left him winded.

“How much longer do I have?” he whispered to the empty room, his voice trembling.

The silence was his only answer, but he didn’t need words to know the truth. The curse was advancing. Zeus’s decree had not been idle—it was a reminder of the finite time he had left, a cruel countdown that ticked louder with every passing day.

The next time William saw Julius, he masked his weakness with a carefully rehearsed ease. He smiled, laughed, and carried their conversation as though nothing had changed. But every step felt like a battle, and every breath carried the weight of an invisible burden.

“Are you feeling okay?” Julius asked at one point, his sharp eyes narrowing in concern.

William froze for a fraction of a second before offering a disarming smile. “Just tired,” he said lightly. “I didn’t sleep much last night.”

Julius frowned but didn’t press further, though William could see the flicker of doubt in his expression.

As the days wore on, the fainting spells became more frequent, and the pain grew unbearable. William found himself clutching at walls for support, his breaths coming in shallow gasps.

One evening, as he walked back to his motel after leaving Julius’s studio, the world tilted again. His knees hit the pavement, and for a terrifying moment, darkness clawed at the edges of his vision.

When he finally regained his strength, he stumbled into the motel room and collapsed onto the bed, his chest heaving as tears pricked his eyes.

“I can’t let him see this,” William whispered hoarsely, his voice breaking. “He’s just starting to open up. I can’t let my weakness ruin that.”

But the truth was unavoidable: his mortal body was failing faster than he anticipated.

In the stillness of the night, as William lay curled on the bed, a familiar voice echoed through his mind—a voice that carried the weight of thunder.

“You are running out of time,” Zeus’s voice boomed, cold and unyielding. “Mortality is not so forgiving, Eros. Do not forget the terms of your punishment. Love is fleeting, and so are you.”

William clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. “I know,” he whispered, his voice filled with quiet defiance. “But you don’t understand what this feels like. I’m not just doing this for me anymore.”

Zeus’s voice faded into the ether, leaving William alone with the silence and the weight of his crumbling body.

The next time he saw Julius, William felt the familiar stirrings of joy and guilt that always accompanied their time together. They were sitting on the riverbank, watching the sun dip below the horizon in a wash of gold and pink.

Julius had brought his sketchbook, and as he worked, William watched him with a bittersweet ache in his chest. This—this fleeting connection, this fragile moment of peace—was worth every ounce of suffering.

But when William stood to leave, his legs wavered beneath him, and he nearly stumbled. Julius caught his arm, his grip steady and firm.

“William,” Julius said, his voice laced with concern. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve seemed... off lately.”

William forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m fine,” he said, his voice steady despite the lie. “Just clumsy.”

Julius didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push the matter. William was grateful for that, though he knew it was only a matter of time before his facade began to crack.

That night, as William lay awake in the darkness, the weight of the curse pressed heavily on his chest. He thought of Julius’s guarded smile, the way his voice softened when he spoke of his art, and the tentative trust that was beginning to blossom between them.

“I won’t let this stop me,” William whispered to himself, his voice filled with quiet determination. “No matter how much it hurts, I’ll keep going. For him.”

But even as he made his vow, the ache in his chest deepened, a cruel reminder that time was slipping through his fingers like sand.