Seoul came alive in a way William had never experienced before. The city was no longer just a blur of sounds and lights; it had become a mosaic of moments, each one painted with the vibrant presence of Julius.

Every street they walked, every corner they turned, held a new story waiting to unfold, and for once, William was living it rather than merely observing from afar.

Their first stop was Insadong, where narrow streets bustled with life and stalls overflowed with handcrafted goods. Julius’s eyes lit up as he guided William through the maze of vendors, pointing out trinkets and artwork that caught his attention.

“Look at this,” Julius said, holding up a small, intricately carved wooden bird. “I used to have something like this when I was a kid. My mom got it for me at a fair.”

William smiled, his heart warming at the sight of Julius’s nostalgia. “It’s beautiful,” he said, gently touching the bird’s smooth surface. “You should get it.”

Julius hesitated, his fingers brushing over the carving. “Maybe,” he murmured, his gaze distant. “It’d be nice to have something like this again.”

William watched him, realizing how deeply these small moments shaped Julius’s world. For centuries, he had overlooked the significance of such things—ordinary objects imbued with extraordinary meaning.

Later, Julius led William to a tiny, tucked-away bookstore that smelled of paper and ink. The shelves were crammed with books of every genre, their spines worn from countless hands.

“This place saved me during my university days,” 

Julius said, running his fingers over the edge of a shelf. “I’d come here whenever I needed to get away. Just me and a book.”

William picked up a slim volume, flipping through its pages as he listened. “What did you read back then?”

“Anything that helped me escape,” Julius replied with a quiet laugh. “Fantasy, mostly. Stories about people who could change the world.”

William glanced at him, his chest tightening. “Maybe you were looking for a way to change your own world.”

Julius paused, his hand lingering on a book’s cover. “Maybe,” he said softly. “But sometimes, I think it’s enough just to live in someone else’s story for a while.”

As the afternoon waned, they stopped at a food stall that lined one of the busier streets. The air was rich with the smell of grilled meats and spicy tteokbokki, the kind of scent that made William’s mouth water despite his discomfort with mortal hunger.

“Try this,” Julius said, handing William a skewer of fish cakes. “It’s a classic.”

William took a hesitant bite, his eyes widening at the burst of flavor. “This is amazing,” he said through a mouthful, earning a laugh from Julius.

“You’re like a kid experiencing everything for the first time,” Julius teased, his grin broad and unguarded.

William grinned back, the sound of Julius’s laughter echoing in his chest like a melody he never wanted to forget.

Their final stop was the Han River, where the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting the water in hues of gold and pink. They sat on the grass, the city’s skyline glittering in the distance.

“This is my favorite place,” Julius said, his voice quieter now. “It’s where I go when I need to think. Or when I need to feel small.”

“Small?” William asked, tilting his head.

Julius nodded. “Yeah. Like... when the world feels overwhelming, it helps to remember that I’m just one person in this big, messy universe. It makes the problems seem... smaller.”

William watched him, his heart aching with affection. “You have a way of seeing things that’s... remarkable,” he said softly.

Julius glanced at him, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I think you’re the remarkable one.”

As night fell, they stayed by the river, sharing stories about their lives. William spoke in half-truths, weaving a past that felt real enough to satisfy Julius’s curiosity without revealing his divine origins. Julius, in turn, opened up about his dreams, his struggles, and the lingering ache of his losses.

“You make it easier,” Julius said at one point, his voice barely above a whisper. “Being here. Living. You make it all easier.”

William’s breath hitched, his chest tight with emotion. He wanted to tell Julius how much he had given him in return—how he had shown him the beauty of life, even in its fleeting moments. But the words remained lodged in his throat.

Instead, he reached over and took Julius’s hand, their fingers intertwining. “I think we make it easier for each other,” he said softly.

Julius looked at him, his dark eyes filled with something that made William’s heart ache. “Maybe we do,” he murmured.

That night, as they walked back to the city, their hands still entwined, William felt a deep, bittersweet joy. The bond between them had grown into something undeniable, something that made every moment feel brighter, every step feel lighter.

And yet, beneath it all, the weight of William’s secret remained, a shadow that threatened to darken the light they had found together.

But for now, William let himself hold on to the present, the world seen through Julius’s eyes as vivid and beautiful as he had ever known it to be.