------

The night you met, you were haunted by that nightmare again — a recurring dream of a faceless man coming to kill you in your bed. Panicking, you woke up with a sheen of cold sweet covering your body, sheets tangled everywhere from the tossing and turning, until you felt a presence in the room. Scrambling to spark a match to light your candle, you called out to the eerie dark, asking the intruder to reveal themselves and threatening to call for the guards. 

Before the fire sparked, the match in your hands was flung away. Two large hands pinned yours over your head back to the bed. You thrashed under the intruder in panic, trying to kick your way out his grasp. But he pinned your legs down with his thighs and hushed you into silence. 

You felt his breath hit your cheeks as he leaned into you.

“No need to panic, mortal. I’m not here to hurt you.” a hint of amusement in his words.

Were you more calm, you probably would’ve paused at the man’s weird use of vocabulary, but the urge to survive was so overwhelming that it glazed over your head. 

“What do you want from me,” you gritted through your teeth, still trying to use all of your body’s strength to squirm out of his firm hold. 

“Right now? For you to calm down.” sarcasm spills from his tongue as he watches you fail. And then you watched his silhouette wave his arms, as if casting a spell.

Suddenly you felt a gentle caress against your cheeks, some power of sorts, soothing you — the same calming feeling you’d find in the moon and stars during the night. The softness in the touch, for some irrational reason, reminded you of the soft lullabies you mother hummed when you were still a child, and the familiarity overwhelms you to the fact that it made you want to sob. Despite this unfamiliar man and whatever he’d done to you just now, there’s this unwavering sense of recognition inside your soul, calming you down. 

“Good.” his hold on you eases at your compliance. You faintly see the glint of his eyes in the dark.

“Who are you?”

“I can’t tell you who I am, but if a name is what you want, you may call me Gojo.”

You crawl back to the top of your bed until the cool marble hits your back, pulling yourself as far as you can from the man. You hear a brief chuckle, and it seemed that for whatever reason he was able to see your every little movement in this pitch black room.

“What do you want from me, Gojo?” 

-

He didn’t tell you that it’s the not the first time he has seen you. Nor did he tell you that he was sent on a mission by his mother Aphrodite to kill you — the all mighty Psyche whose beauty challenged hers. 

But when he stepped into your room a few nights ago, knife in hand glinting against the moonlight, he stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of the contours of your angelic face under the forgotten candlelight. Delicate features danced in harmony and swam in femininity. 

He didn’t tell you about the dropping of his stomach, the quickening beat of his heart, or the recognition that there was something different about you that made him have second thoughts when he almost drove the knife into your chest — something that left him going off-track from his tasks for the first time, in his immortal life.

He had to figure out what made him hesitate. So the curiousity dragged him back to you every night onwards, torn between the need to please his mother and the spirit of inquiry for his heart. He figured that as long as you don’t see his face and recognize who he is — Eros, Cupid, Amor,  the god of carnal love — it would be fine. He has taken many names in his life and it did not matter which. What mattered was the unidentifiable odd feeling in his chest that puzzled and tormented him ever since.

So how had the god of carnal love came to fall for his own curse?

------

Gojo fabricated a lie that he was one of the messengers of the night gods, and only came to alleviate you from your recurring nightmares. Light could not be present or else it dampened his powers. Seeing that your nightmares did stop after that night, you slowly let your guard down as you spent more time with him.

You learned that he had a wicked sense of humour, and when he laughed you swore that the sound was bright enough to light up the whole room. You also learned that he was the strongest in his league with the sharpest aim (and so he claimed), but you think that he’d probably be a better lover than a fighter, with the way he woos and flirts at you. Then you got to know that he has a sweet tooth and baklavas were his favorite, but you discovered that his kisses were even sweeter, the ones that made your toes curl and feet kicking just thinking about it. 

You’d talk about nothing and everything each night, curling into the side of his body until you couldn’t stop the fatigue and his scent from luring you into the dreams of you and him. 

Yet he’d always be gone by the time you wake up, sun shining over your unmade sheets that held no trace of him. 

-

And so days turned into nights, and nights turned into days. All full of yearning.

You started seeing him everywhere during the days — from the hint of mint leaves and lemon zest in the gentle breeze to sneaky shadows in the corners of your eye. You’d wonder where he went during the day, but his appearance in your life tinted your whole world with a new shade of light that you couldn’t quite complain about how the glamorous colors came along.

Some nights, Gojo would be occupied with whatever he does that you’d accidentally fall asleep waiting for him, dreaming of every possible secret that he’s hiding, only to wake in daunting realization and gut-churning disappointment that you’d have to wait another day to see him again. However, you knew he had been there — because the room buzzed with his energy and the air lingered with the scent of citrus. 

And because you woke up with the taste of him on your lips.

You’d bring your fingers up to your lips, trying to retain whatever’s left of his warmth on your fingertips, and then silently laugh at yourself for how idiotic you probably looked; and the irony that you don’t even have a single clue of what the man you’re so infatuated with looks like.

-

So when he nips and sucks at your neck, and you weave your fingers through his soft strands to tug it when he gets to that specific spot right under your right ear, you’d wonder if his hair was chestnut brown like the boy you had a crush on when you were 14, or caramel blonde like the boy nextdoor who wouldn’t know how to hide the infatuation in his eyes whenever you were near. 

And when you trail your fingers against his features, committing each ridge and line of his face to memory, you’d try to imagine if his eyes melted like warm honey under the sun, or grounded like the green leaves of the olive tree in your garden, or even glistening like the deep blue waves at the beach you’d always escape to when you’re sad. 

One thing you knew for sure — when he closes the breath of space between you two — was that his lips tasted like desire. 

------

The candles in your room flickers out. 

He’s here.

Your legs tap in anticipation, trying to guess where exactly he is in the room. The familiar warmth of his embrace wraps around your briefly shocked body and he kisses the top of your head in a single move. The faint scent of mint and lemon zest entering your nose, and the short-lived panic glides away. You comfortably breathe in his presence — like flowers basking under the sun, or gentle waves hitting the shore — glad that hours of longing has ceased, even if it was just for the night. 

“Missed me, darling?” You could hear the smile in his voice.

“You know I always do.” like the stars misses the sun. You wrap your arms over his, resting the back of your head on his shoulder. Eyes closed and smiling to yourself in content — soaking in the way your back pressed into his chest, the security you felt under his arms, and the way his cheeks smushes against the side of your head, right where the kiss still lingers from before. 

You trail your fingers along the veins of his arm, traveling down to feel the sharp joint of his wrist, and then finally reaching his hands at the end, resting yours on top of his, intertwining your fingers together. Every viber of your being cries for him, relinquishing in how perfectly you fit together when your skin touches his. 

His thumb gently caresses your pinkies, and he lifts your hands up to press a gentle kiss at the back of your palms. The tenderness of the action overwhelms you, and that awakens the aching question that burns at you every single waking moment. 

Despite the countless tries you’ve had, and the times that he evaded the question, you push again. 

“Let me see you, Gojo.”

The statement immediately shatters whatever sentiment lingered in the air. He halts in his little ritual of worshipping you and sighs in defeat, and you feel him twisting his head away, pulling himself away from you. You imagine him in the dark, scrunching his nose and fingers pinching the bridge out of frustration. 

This topic was the line both of you didn’t want to breach in the relationship you had — if you even could call it one. Maybe occasional nightly rendez-vous would be a better word. Insecurity and jealousy crawls up your throat.  Even the day gets to hold him more than you do.   

“You know I can’t. We’ve been through this many times.” 

“But why?” you try to hold back the anguish in your plea, hands moving up to cradle his face, pulling him back in your orbit. 

Until your gut twisted with the dark and bubbling feeling, the ugly thought that you’ve dug out and buried over and over again — that maybe, there’s someone else out there. 

Someone else that he had reserved his tantalizing looks of adoration for, someone who got to witness how the ends of his eyes crinkles when he laughed, someone who got to take in the rosiness on his cheeks when the leaves fall, someone who got to see him laid bare, without secrets. 

“Is there someone else?” the question leaves a poisonous tang in your mouth. 

You try to make out his features in the dark, just so he could look into your eyes and see how this was breaking you in more ways than one.   

“Stop it,” he warns as he sees through your little antics, a hint of aggression in his tone like a wild animal trying to gnaw its way out of danger. He draws back even further, gaze searching. “You know there’s only you. I know what you’re trying to do and you’re not going to get it.” 

Your voice trembles as your throat tightens, tryin to push back the disappointment down. “What is that you have to hide? You know my heart has always been yours. That’s not ever going to change.” 

His demeanour softens at the break in your voice. Calloused fingers wrap around yours, pulling your hands down so that he could tug you into against his hard chest.

You feel his ribcage contract as he sighs away the tension. 

“You know each depth and every crevice of my soul. Why do you try to tarnish it by asking to see the simplicties of my face?” There’s torment in his plead.  “I love you. Isn’t that already enough?” 

You nod against his chest in defeat, holding back the tears that threaten to spill. You despise him for being like this, sometimes. But your love outweighs that more. Every single time.

After all, you silently prayed for the gods to not let the moon rise and day come every night.

So you slowly let the frustration simmer down and laid your bleeding heart to rest, and lets him brush his mouth against yours, tenderly, until it became more claiming and desperate, warmth pooling in your stomach.

------

The thing about being barely able to see anything in the dark is that senses become extremely heightened. 

Hyperaware of the way your bodies pressed against each other, togas discarded on the floor. His arousal pressed against your stomach, sucking your breasts and lightly scraping his teeth around it, the cold air eliciting goosebumps on your skin. Then he trails some featherlight kisses down your body, and you feel his breathe warming your stomach, pausing at your core. Firm hands pry open your clenched thighs, peppering kisses right on the insides of your thighs as if telling you that everything’s alright. You’re safe with me. He senses how tense you are and gently rubs his thumb to relax you, praising how soft your skin is and taking in the faint scent of roses that lingered from your bath.

Then he finds your sensitive nub and licks it. 

Arching your back froom the sudden trip to ecstasy, thighs tightening around his head, fingers tugging on his hair, feeling the vibrations from his groans feed right back into you. Entrance throbbing at the lack of attention that it craved to receive.

There were only so many hours before dawn, but Gojo couldn’t quite ditch his habits of taking his time, afterall he’s able to delve into the delicacies of being an immortal with an infinite amount of time in his hands. Surely, he wouldn’t tell you that. He just liked to let you think that he enjoys the sound of your mewling when he teases you. (Not that he doesn’t).

He comes up for air and dips his fingers between your legs, tasting the slick as he licks his fingers clean, ignoring the sounds of your whimpers. “I think someone wants some attention,” he coos. 

“Good thing I have something even better.” 

So he positions himself against your entrance, rubbing back and forth your folds to prepare the both of you, and slowly pushes in. You bite down your lower lips at the feeling of finally getting filled, tugging his face between your breasts, urging him to continue whatever he was doing before. Your sensitive walls clench as he stretches you out, and you feel so, so full. 

Needy for more or seeking assurance — maybe both, you cradle his face and pull him back up for a passionate kiss, tongues tangling and savoring each others’ taste, one hand supporting himself and the other wrapped around your neck as he plunges even deeper. You accidentally let a moan slip out, and it was all it took for him to pound into you, incoherent from all the rolls of his hips while you mark his chiseled back with your nails. 

You let him pull orgasms and orgasms out of you until the breeze of the tender night carries your lustful sighs away.

- 

Your bedroom filled with Gojo’s peaceful breaths as he was sound asleep, exhausted from your previous escapade of exploring each other’s body. 

But you were wide awake, listening to the distant sounds of the leaves in the trees rustling.

Contemplating. 

You couldn’t bear his allusions anymore. To not have him fully, bare and honest.

Possessed by this unwavering will to the truth that you’ve been mooning over months for, you quietly slipped out of the covers, so careful of every creak of the bedframe, and reached for the matchbox on your bedside table.

The sound of the match striking the sandy paper echoes in your head, spark sputtering to life as you hover the flame to light up the candle. 

For a second — you wavered. You watched your own shadow dance on the wall. Maybe the truth was a devastating burden. But the candle has already been lit up; the line has already been breached. There was no going back. So you lifted the candle to illuminate the sight before you and uncover the veil of lies.

Time stopped as you almost forgot to hold in your gasp at the sight before you — a picture of heartbreak carved by the gods — lashes that glinted like snow in the sun, nose sculpted to perfection, hair soft like feathers, plump soft lips that promised of devotion; sleeping soundly, so serene and delicate that one scratch to his face would’ve had the heavens bleed tears. 

You swore that you’ve had him memorized by touch, but the sight alone shocks you into disbelief.

And disbelief turns into dread when you recognize — truly recognized, that it wasn’t just a messenger of the gods sound asleep in your bed, but the god of love. You’d recognize his face from the sculptures outside Aphroditie’s temple and the carvings on the city walls. 

To your horror, Gojo turns in his sleep and reaches out to pull you in, his hands gliding over the the bed only to find the spot next to him empty. He drowsily opens his eyes in confusion, then notices the dance of light and shadows on the bed. Panicking, his eyes meets yours in the flickering glow of the candle.  

Gods, his eyes. 

Pure shock reflected in those gorgeous sapphrine eyes that reminded you of the perfect spring sky.    

Your gut drops as you watch the shock twist into recognition of betrayal in this eyes. Blood pulsing from whatever he was about to say or do. You were less than a feet apart; but the air stretched in the room so much that it felt that he was oceans away.

Instinctively, you try to reach out to touch him, to explain yourself, but he flinches away from your touch that warned to burn him. The motion flicked wax from the candlelight and it drips down your hand. You turn to put down so it doesn’t burn you. But a mysterious breeze from nowhere extinguishes the light. Your heart hollows at the innate fear that the darkness has come to consume you again. 

“Wait –” you plead for him, cursing to yourself and ditching the second thought to relight the candle. You turn back around in panick, begging him to stay. 

But Gojo was nowhere to be found; 

Gone, as the cool breeze of the night brushes at the curtains of your windows. Moonlight pouring through the evidence of his smooth escape. Like he was never there to begin with. 

The accompanied silence in your room rings in your ears — mocking , taunting, whispering — there is no love without trust. 

So you replied by filling the room with your broken weeps.

------

You’ve tried to convince yourself that he’d come back. 

Spending your nights awake and sleeping the daytime away, keeping your ears open so that you’ll recognize his footsteps when he enters your room. 

Even if he just came to scream at you, shout at you, reprimand you for your curiosity; 

you wish that he’d just come back to you.

-

Your bedsheets stopped smelling like him after a week.

The sight of your own reflection scared you. The dark circles that built up from the sleepless nights and sunken cheeks from the scraps of food that you were barely able to shove into your mouth. The lack of energy from the constant waiting. Gradually, the emptiness inside you morphed into burning anger. It was unfair to you. To not love you enough so to trust you. Punishing yourself for the crimes you did not commit. So you decided that being homesick for the love built on lies was too pathetic, and you swore off to forget him, even though the tug in your heart said otherwise.

You believed that your plan in welcoming suitors worked well initially, until you met someone with pale blond hair that was a shade too dark, or someone whose hands too smooth, or a laugh that wouldn’t quite fill your chest; you realized in dejection that no one could probably ever steal the place that had been reserved for Gojo in your heart.

------

Months fleeted by. You watched as the leaves fall and the veil of snow accumulate.

If you’d ask yourself, you truly felt better. Your appetite returned, and you stopped waking up at night over the tiniest sounds in your room. You stopped sleeping with your curtains closed, letting the moonlight in instead of relying on another presence to keep you calm.

Occasionally you’d see couples on the streets teasing each other, families huddled in warmth and joy. The yearning of what could have been was still there, but you no longer feel like drowning just from the sight. 

-

You were never a religious person. But something urged you to pay Aphrodite’s temple a visit today. You decided to only linger at the budding garden behind the temple, not devoted enough to offer anything but grateful enough to enjoy the serene nature. And to silently pray that wherever he was, he was happy. 

A twig snaps behind and you whirl around. 

Birds flutter away somewhere. 

A scrunch of footsteps against the melting snow.

A sharp intake of breath.

He looks different. More somber. There’s wariness in his eyes. Yet he stood taller, doused in grandeur only a god can carry. Sauntering and mirroring your footsteps. Still as beautiful as the day he left.

For a second he looks like he’s contemplating what to say, but he settles with a simple, “Hi” with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Your mouth opens, but the words cease to come out. There’s a flush of gratitude in your heart, to see him healthy and well and so —- open. But then there’s also the pain that lingered, creeping like the ocean waves that meets the shore. So many things you wanted to say to him, but nothing seemed appropriate. The breath that left your lungs condenses in the cold air.

He takes a step towards you, but your legs automatically take a step back. Like the neverending dance between you two, as usual. 

You’ve envisioned seeing him again, dreamt of seeing him again; a thousand versions, a thousand possibilities. But now that he’s in front of you in the flesh, you didn’t know whether to throw rocks at him, or run to his arms. All that you know was that your soul longed for his, and if he couldn’t open up his heart to you, sans secrets and broken promises, you’d rather not have anything at all. 

Oh how you’ve missed him.

-

He senses your hesitancy and keeps his distance, like any movement would have you running away like deer in the woods.

“I’m sorry.” 

You force yourself to breathe, and let the words sink under your skin.

“I’m an idiot, and I let the most precious thing in my life slip away from my fingers. I should’ve let you in and told you everything from the beginning. My mother — she was too jealous of the rumours about your beauty and she want me to kil–”  he halts himself at his words, reconsidering what to say so he doesn’t fuck up his only chance at retribution. 

“The truth is, I fell for you. Yes I was attracted to you the moment I saw you, but I fell in love with your gentle touches, the way you embrace the things you’re terrified of, the way you see the world, and the love you have for life. But I was terrified, terrified that if you learned who I was then you’ll forever only see me as the god who lusted but couldn’t love. But the thing is, you inhabit my heart and plague my mind.” 

Genuine conviction gaze upon you.

“So please — let me back in. Let me make things right.”

You let a second pass. And you step into his space. Gently wrapping your cold hands around his clenched fist, taking advantage of his inhuman warmth, and kisses it. 

“The left side of the bed is still mine.”

He huffs at the only thing you’d managed to say. Eyes full of amusement.

There’s an unspoken accordance in the air — of no more ponderings on the betrayals and deception. Just honesty, and devotion.

-

The sun illuminated his face, his eyes full of ardent adoration, and he was the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen. 

haideneus 2023 - do not repost/reupload to other platforms