"Earth—where love forgot how to breathe properly."
He said it aloud once. Not to anyone, really. Just into the wind, standing outside the retreat as the world turned dusky pink behind him.
Eros never thought he'd spend his immortal days behind a polished reception desk, filing surveys and sipping bad coffee while watching mortals argue over how someone 'liked their ex's photo at 2am.' He used to dance between gods and galaxies, send kingdoms into war with a flick of his finger. Now? Now he organized couple's scavenger hunts and "communication workshops."
It was humbling. Infuriating. Kinda funny, if he let it be.
Somewhere in the distance, laughter spilled from the therapy gardens. A couple trailed behind, bickering half-heartedly over where the map ended. It was always like that—arguments first, then a spark. Or nothing at all.
"Another maybe," he muttered, spinning a pen across his fingers. "Or maybe not."
He watched people fall in love every day—quietly, desperately, messily. And though he was supposed to help them, guide them, fix them, he didn't understand how something so simple had become so complicated.
A woman once asked him if love was still real.
He told her, "Only if you're not looking for it."
She blinked at him, laughed like he told a joke. He hadn't.
These people, they clung to love like it was glass. Fractured, sharp, impossible to hold for long. But they still tried. And watching them—watching their attempts to stitch something broken back together—made something hurt inside him. Faint, barely there.
He told himself it was curiosity. Just that.
So he stayed.
To observe. To orchestrate. To check off names on a guest list and maybe—just maybe—understand what made love survive in a world that kept killing it. This was his mission now: repair what he could, witness what he couldn't.
Some days, he forgot to care. Other days, he caught himself staring too long at someone else's quiet smile, wondering what it felt like to be the reason behind it.
And when the night fell, and all the guests disappeared into candlelit rooms, Eros remained—alone at the front desk, scrolling through profiles, watching the stars blink through the window like old friends too far away to reach.
Earth was messy. But it was honest.
Until her.
She's human. Hardened by loss. Hopeful despite it. And maddeningly familiar.
When she smiles—genuinely, unknowingly—something inside him stirs.
And for the first time in a very long time that was enough reason to stay.
It's not power. It's not victory. It's not divine.
It's worse.
It's human.
Disclaimer
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
While certain characters may be visually or conceptually inspired by public figures or celebrities—such as Jeon Jungkook of BTS and Min Yoongi of BTS—these portrayals are entirely fictional and are not intended to represent, associate with, or comment on the real individuals. The author does not claim any connection to these individuals, nor is there any intent to harm, misrepresent, or exploit their likenesses. These choices are purely creative and made for illustrative storytelling purposes.
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This book exists solely for storytelling and entertainment purposes.