The days that followed felt like a dream William never wanted to wake from. His world, once weighed down by the curse of mortality, began to bloom with the kind of joy he had only ever observed from the distant vantage of Olympus. For the first time, life felt vibrant, every moment carrying a new kind of significance.

Mornings became their sanctuary. Julius often invited William to his apartment, the space filled with the faint aroma of coffee and the sound of soft music playing from an old speaker. They’d sit at the small kitchen table, sharing quiet conversations that felt intimate in their simplicity.

One morning, Julius handed William a steaming mug of coffee, his hair still tousled from sleep. “I don’t think I’ve ever let someone this close before,” Julius admitted, his voice quiet but honest.

William looked up from his mug, warmth spreading through his chest. “What made you change your mind?”

Julius shrugged, a faint smile tugging at his lips. 

“You.”

The words settled over William like a gentle breeze, stirring something deep within him. He realized that these moments—the laughter, the trust, the quiet vulnerability—were more precious than any eternity he had known.

They spent their afternoons exploring the city together, finding joy in the little things William had never thought to notice before. They wandered through bustling markets, shared street food at tiny stalls, and sat in parks where children’s laughter filled the air.

William was particularly fascinated by a carousel they passed in a small square one afternoon. Its painted horses turned slowly, their colors worn but still charming, as music spilled into the air.

“Have you ever ridden one?” Julius asked, amusement dancing in his eyes as he noticed William staring.

William shook his head, his lips curving into a sheepish smile. “Never.”

Julius grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the ride. “Then today’s the day.”

As the carousel spun, William found himself laughing, the sound unguarded and free. Julius’s laughter joined his, their voices mingling with the music as the world blurred around them. For a moment, William forgot about the curse, the ticking clock, and the weight of his secrets. There was only this—this fleeting, beautiful moment.

Their evenings often brought deeper conversations, moments where they shared their fears and dreams with an honesty that left both of them vulnerable. Julius spoke more openly about his grief, the pain of losing his closest friend and how it had left him feeling adrift.

“You’ve helped me see that it’s okay to keep going,” Julius confessed one night as they sat by the river, the water reflecting the glow of the streetlights. “That there’s still beauty in life, even after everything falls apart.”

William’s chest tightened at the words. He wanted to tell Julius how much he had given him in return—how Julius had made him see the value of every moment, every fleeting joy. But the words caught in his throat, tangled with the truth he wasn’t ready to reveal.

Instead, he reached over, his fingers brushing against Julius’s. “You’ve given me more than you know,” he said softly.

Julius turned to him, his gaze steady. “You mean that?”

“I do,” William replied, his voice trembling with emotion.

As their bond deepened, William found himself questioning everything he had once believed. For centuries, he had thought of mortality as a limitation, a fleeting existence bound by time and suffering. But now, living as a mortal with Julius, he began to see it differently.

He saw the beauty in impermanence—the way every moment felt more precious because it couldn’t last forever. He felt it in the warmth of Julius’s laughter, the tenderness of his touch, and the quiet understanding that passed between them in their shared silences.

And for the first time, William wondered if eternity was worth giving up this fragile, fleeting life. Could he return to Olympus, to his cold, immortal existence, knowing what he would leave behind?

One evening, Julius surprised William with a blanket and a thermos of tea, leading him to a secluded hill just outside the city. They lay side by side beneath the stars, their hands entwined as they gazed at the endless sky.

“Do you ever think about forever?” Julius asked quietly, his voice carrying a hint of wistfulness.

William hesitated, his heart aching at the question. “Forever can be... lonely,” he said finally, his voice soft. “It’s the moments that matter, not how long they last.”

Julius turned to look at him, his expression thoughtful. “I never thought about it that way.”

William smiled, though his chest felt heavy. “You’ve taught me that.”

They lay in silence after that, the stars above them shimmering like tiny fragments of eternity. William closed his eyes, the warmth of Julius’s hand in his filling him with a bittersweet kind of peace.

As the days turned into weeks, William felt his love for Julius deepen into something he had never known before. It was messy and imperfect, filled with both joy and sorrow, but it was real. And with every passing moment, he found himself more reluctant to let it go.

For the first time, William began to wonder if the curse Zeus had placed upon him was not a punishment, but a gift. And for the first time, he allowed himself to imagine a future not as Eros, the god of love, but as William—a mortal man who had found something worth living, and perhaps even dying, for.