Eros clicked his tongue in frustration, his sharp gaze trailing on the retreating figure of the Queen. A heavy sigh escaped him as he pushed himself up from his seat, exhaling annoyance through flared nostrils. Under his breath, he muttered every curse he could conjure, each syllable said through gritted teeth, as if the mere act of speaking her name left a bad taste on his tongue. Aretha always had a way of twisting his mood into knots.
Restless energy coursed through him, compelling his feet to move. He wandered aimlessly toward the park, his pace slow at first, hands stuffed into his pockets. The crisp afternoon air carried the scent of fresh grass and blooming petals, a stark contrast to the heavy mood he was in. He hadn't realized just how close Heartwood's botanical garden was to this spot.
As he ventured farther in, the world around him played out in gentle harmony. Children shrieked with laughter as they raced across the playground, their little feet kicking up specks of dust. Groups of friends lounged on the benches, chatting lazily as time slipped past unnoticed. A pair of teenagers strolled by, tugged along by an eager golden retriever, its tail wagging in pure delight. Of course, couples were there; sat together, sharing whispered conversations over steaming cups of coffee, with their shoulders brushing in quiet intimacy.
Eros inhaled deeply, allowing the peaceful atmosphere to smooth over the frayed edges of his irritation. His steps slowed, the tension in his body easing as he followed the winding path. Then, his gaze caught on the entrance to the botanical garden.
Verdant Elysium.
The name alone felt like poetry on his tongue.
The garden sprawled wide, a spacious stretch of greenery and color, each bloom standing as a proof to nature's artistry. It was a sanctuary—open to all but especially cherished by the customers and staff of Heartwood. Here, time seemed to move differently, unhurried and serene. Eros strolled deeper inside, crossing a small wooden bridge arching over a small river. The water shimmered beneath him, reflecting the soft hues of the late afternoon sky.
He took in everything—the towering narra trees swaying with the breeze, their golden-hued trunks glowing in the sunlight; the delicate petals of flowers that only revealed their true beauty to those who looked closely enough. Butterflies flitted between blossoms, their wings like tiny stained-glass windows catching the light. Birds perched along the garden's stone pathways, singing soft melodies that blended seamlessly with the rustling leaves.
A sense of content wrapped around him, soothing the last remnants of his earlier frustration. This garden was untouched purity, a reminder that even in a world filled with complications, places like this still existed—places that allowed him to simply breathe.
Eros strolled deeper into the botanical garden, his steps slow and deliberate as he moved toward one of its most secluded corners. Not many visitors knew about this part of the garden—it was almost like a hidden sanctuary, tucked away where only the observant or the wandering ever found it. The stone path beneath his feet was uneven, softened by time and scattered with fallen leaves. The further he walked, the quieter the world became, until he finally caught sight of the entrance.
An archway stood before him, its thin metal frame almost swallowed by the vines coiling around it. The greenery had thickened over time, tangling into a canopy that swayed with the breeze, as if guarding the space beyond. As he passed under it, a familiar sense of peace washed over him.
At the heart of the clearing, a grand fountain rose from within a fish pond, its stone edges softened by time and crawling ivy. Water spilled over the edges in gentle streams, the sound blending seamlessly with the rustling trees. Red spider lilies clustered at the base of the fountain, their fiery petals curling toward the rippling water, while vines trailed just beneath the spout, framing the falling streams like nature's own design. Towering trees formed a protective circle around the clearing, their thick trunks standing like quiet sentinels.
A few wooden benches sat scattered along the edges, some empty, some occupied by a handful of people who lingered here—some who had likely known of this place for years, returning like old lovers to a familiar embrace, and others who had stumbled upon it by chance, drawn in by its quiet allure.
Eros felt a small smile tug at the corner of his lips. He had lost count of how many times he had come here, each visit a reflection of a different version of himself. Sometimes grieving. Often frustrated. Once, happy. But never in love.
This was a place where the world slowed down, where his thoughts could spill out in silent chaos, where he could just sit down and think.
His gaze drifted slowly across the space—the left from the gentle ripples in the pond to the right with trees standing like silent reepers—until something caught his eye.
Almost to his right. Almost. Cause just as his eyes were about to turn completely to the right his breath hitched as his eyes settled on the back silhouette of a familiar figure.
Seated on one of the benches before the fountain was a woman, her back turned to him, shoulders drawn up in a quiet tension. Her head hung low, strands of midnight-blue hair tumbling forward in a mess, the dark waves an untamed contrast against the crisp white of her office blouse. She was still, yet the air around her felt heavy.
Tilting his head slightly, hands clasped behind his back, Eros took a step closer. Then another.
The world around him faded into a hush, the rhythmic sound of the fountain blending with the steady beat of his own heart.
Eros knew those shoulders. The delicate slope, the way they tensed even when at rest, the subtle lean of her back, even the way she leaned forward as if trying to shrink into herself. His gaze lingered, recognizing the quiet tension she carried in her posture alone. The faint sound of sniffles and choked-back hiccups met his ears, a sound too fragile that it gave him pause. His feet stalled instinctively—was this the right moment to approach?
Selene was huddled in on herself, arms wrapped around her own frame as if holding herself together. The way her body trembled with every stifled sob told him everything: today had been tough. She wasn't the type to cry in public, at least not where others could see. She tried, so desperately, to muffle the sights of her sorrow, swallowing down cries that still managed to slip through the cracks of her composure.
Finally, with a sharp inhale, she lifted her head, her breath shuddering as she hastily wiped at her damp cheeks. The gesture was rough, hurried, her fingertips dragging across her skin as though she could erase the pain altogether. Strands of her fringe, tousled and damp, clung messily to her forehead, as she horribly attempted to smooth them down with trembling hands.
That was his cue.
Eros hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. They weren't close, not really. They were mere colleagues, coworkers who occasionally crossed paths, nothing more—but leaving her like this felt wrong. Even if he couldn't offer much, maybe his presence alone could be something. Anything.
Slowly, he stepped forward, stopping beside the bench where she sat. He left just enough space between them—not too close to startle her, but not far enough to feel like he was just passing through. He didn't speak. His throat felt tight, and then he cleared it, just loud enough for her to notice him.
Selene stiffened, her breath hitching as she slowly lifted her head. Her swollen, glassy eyes met his, wide with surprise, her lips parted slightly as if caught mid-breath. Sweat and saltwater glistened on her skin, painting her grief in the dim light. Eros glanced away instinctively. Not out of discomfort, but out of quiet respect—giving her the space to compose herself, to hold on to whatever dignity she had left. He pretended not to see the way she clenched her jaw, as if trying to keep her emotions from spilling over again.
He reached into his pocket, pulling out a neatly folded handkerchief. It wasn't anything special—plain, light-colored fabric, the edges slightly frayed from use. But it was clean. It was something. One hand tucked into his pocket, the other extended, wordlessly he held it out to her.
Selene blinked at it, her breath still uneven, as if unsure whether to accept the gesture or push it away. Still, he nudged the handkerchief a little closer, his fingers barely brushing the air between them. Take it.
Selene took the handkerchief slowly, her fingers curling around the fabric with a hesitance that made Eros wonder if she'd ever been offered such a simple kindness before. She pressed it to her face, dabbing at the damp trails of tears before wiping away the snot threatening to spill. It was an ungraceful, human moment, but she didn't seem to care. The fabric trembled slightly in her grasp, her breaths uneven, catching in the back of her throat.
Eros watched her in silence, shifting his weight slightly where he stood. He wasn't sure how to console her—wasn't even sure if she wanted to be consoled. He didn't know exactly what to do—or if there was anything he could do—but the thought of leaving didn't sit right with him.
Slowly, he lowered himself onto the bench beside her, though he left a noticeable space between them. Not too close. Not too far.
"I was never good at comforting people," he admitted, his voice quiet, uncertain. His fingers fidgeted against his knee. "But I could be a great listener."
The words hung between them, hesitant and clumsy, as if he were offering them with open palms, unsure if she would take them. He stole a glance at her through his peripherals, wondering if he'd overstepped. After all, they were barely more than colleagues, exchanging the occasional small talk in passing. He studied the way she sat, curled slightly inward, as if trying to hold herself together.
Selene had always seemed… composed. Not cold, not closed off, but level-headed in a way that made her feel untouchable.
If Elara was a spark of boundless energy, always burning at full brightness, and Silas was the quiet, ever-watchful presence in the background, Selene was the balance between them—steady, measured. With her line of work, she exuded approachability, warmth, a calm assurance that drew people in. Patients came to her for guidance, for a sense of security, and she never failed to provide it. She was the kind of person you'd assume had it all figured out.
Yet here she was, crumbling in silence. Breaking apart in the quietest way possible.
Eros exhaled softly, turning his gaze forward. He didn't want to push her to speak. He didn't need her to.
She didn't respond. Didn't acknowledge his words. Instead, her shoulders shook again after a long pause, and another quiet sob escaped her lips. Her shoulders shook as fresh tears spilled over, her breath hitching in soft, uneven sobs. But this time, she didn't try to hide it. She let herself cry—not alone, not unnoticed, but with someone there.
And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.
Eros turned his gaze toward Selene, his breath catching for just a moment. Unable to ignore how her light green eyes, normally sharp and composed, were now glassy with tears, they glistened like dew-covered leaves, catching the sun's light as it traced down her freckled cheeks, following paths that had likely been carved many times before. Each droplet seems to reflect memories only she knew of.
Just beneath her right eye, at the very end of her tear duct, was a small mole. It sat there like a quiet witness, as if marking the place where tears had always fallen—as if crying had once been a routine so familiar that even her skin had learned to keep record of it.
Her skin, a warm honeyed tan, glowed under the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves above, warm and golden. Strands of her deep midnight-blue hair brushed against her cheeks and neck, catching slightly on the moisture there before falling away. And her scent—Eros noticed it now. It was something familiar, something grounding. Petrichor.
She smelled like the earth after a rainstorm, that fleeting, sacred scent that came only after the sky had wept. It suited her. A person who carried both the storm and the quiet that followed.
Selene shifted slightly, gathering her hair up to fix it into a ponytail, an almost habitual motion as if it would somehow make her feel more put together, as if she could hide the mess of emotions that ran through her. Eros watched, unsure of how to help, but something caught his attention then—just at the curve of her collarbone, barely peeking past the loose neckline of her blouse, an arrow-shaped scar. The sight froze him for a moment, His eyes narrowed slightly, caught between confusion and something deeper—curiosity, concern. It was oddly shaped, distinct enough that it didn't seem like an accident, yet he had no context for what it meant. It seemed out of place, as though it had a story of its own, but before he could dwell on it further, his concern for her deepened, seeing how hard she was trying to suppress her emotions.
Selene exhaled shakily and lowered her face into her palms, as if shielding her eyes could somehow stop the torrent of tears she couldn't control. Her body trembled as she continued to fight the flood, though it was clear her strength was fading.
Eros' gaze drifted once more, catching another detail he hadn't noticed before.
At the left side of the nape of her neck, just barely visible beneath her neatly gathered hair, was a crescent moon-shaped birthmark.
It was an intriguing little detail, adding to the collection of things about her that stirred his curiosity—things he hadn't noticed before, things he never had the courage to ask about. The scars, the marks, the scent of rain. But then he remembered the clear invisible line drawn between them, they weren't close. Not really. And maybe it wasn't his place to ask.
At this moment, it felt wrong to pry. She needed space, not questions.
Eros sighed, brushing off the lingering urge to reach out. "I'll leave you be," Eros spoke softly, his voice almost a whisper. "I just thought some company might help."
Eros had barely risen from his seat, awkwardly shifting his weight to leave when—
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!"
A banshee-level wail shattered the peace, sending birds scattering from the trees and nearly knocking Eros' soul straight out of his body. He jolted so violently he might as well have been electrocuted, whipping around to find Selene—except she was no longer the composed, emotionally repressed woman he had been speaking to. No, before him sat a full-grown toddler in meltdown mode, fists clenched, face scrunched, and tears gushing down like how that very water fountain might look like malfunctioning.
Her sobs were as relentless as a car alarm at 3 a.m., echoing through the park, earning scandalized glances from nearby visitors. Some whispered, some pointed, and one elderly woman clasped her chest like she was witnessing a crime.
Eros stood there, frozen, mouth slightly agape, looking like a deer caught in the headlights of a very dramatic truck. "H-Hey? What's—" He barely got two words out before Selene escalated to full-blown siren mode, another ear-piercing shriek rattling his eardrums.
"You said company? Then you'll leave?!" she sobbed, her face contorted in an expression so pained it could put soap opera actresses to shame. Her tears streamed down in hot, fat droplets, and her deep frown was sharp enough to slice through solid metal.
Eros blinked. Once. Twice. Processing, still processing.
Eventually, he pressed his lips into a tight line and sighed in defeat, sinking back onto the bench—closer this time, as if proximity might somehow contain the crisis. "Okay, okay, calm down. I'll stay now, yeah?" His voice was gentle, but given the volume of her sobbing, it was questionable whether she even heard him or if his words were lost in the storm of her distress.
Rubbing the back of his neck, he averted his gaze, struggling to find a way to handle this. "I'm not really sure how to…" his voice dropped to an embarrassed mumble, "…comfort."
He glanced back at her, only to be met with a glare so intense it could turn milk sour. Her brows were furrowed deeper than the pacific ocean, and Eros physically recoiled. What the hell? Does she have bipolar disorder or something?! His brain scrambled for answers as his face contorted into a mix of alarm and bewilderment.
And then—
"WAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!"
Another wail. Louder. Somehow.
"Hey! Calm down!" he yelped, hands flailing in distress. If he had been clueless before, he was now a malfunctioning GPS in the chaos of Selene's meltdown—recalculating, rerouting, and still crashing straight into a wall of confusion. He couldn't tell if his words had made things worse or if this was just her way of silently telling him, You suck at this.
Just as Selene sucked in a dramatic breath, ready to unleash another siren-worthy wail, Eros' instincts kicked in. Without thinking, he grabbed her face—his large hands completely engulfing her cheeks, squeezing them with enough force to turn her tantrum into an involuntary pout.
Silence.
Time seemed to pause as both of them processed what had just happened. Selene's lips jutted out exaggeratedly, her wide eyes darting from Eros' hands to his face, then back again. She looked like an overfed chipmunk caught mid-chew—adorable, infuriated, and utterly confused. And then there was Eros, mirroring her pout with a look of sheer desperation, his shoulders stiff, his entire body frozen in damage-control mode.
"Shhh," he muttered instinctively, still cupping her face as if she were a ticking time bomb.
They stayed like that. Suspended in a bubble of pure awkwardness. Neither moving. Neither breathing. Both wondering the same thing—What the hell just happened?
A minute stretched into two.
Selene blinked. Eros blinked.
Finally, it hit them both at the same time—he was still holding her face.
Her skin was soft, warm beneath his palms. His fingers were firm, yet oddly gentle. A slow, creeping blush started forming on both their faces as the realization settled in.
Eros was the first to break. His entire body tensed like he had just realized he was holding a live grenade. With a sharp inhale, he yanked his hands away from Selene's face as if her skin had suddenly turned scorching hot. "Uh—" he started, his voice cracking slightly.
Selene, now free from his grip, blinked slowly, her expression blank. The lingering squish on her cheeks made her lips remain in a faint, exaggerated pout. She pressed her fingers to them as if checking whether they were still attached, then turned to him with a flat, unimpressed look.
"…Did you just squish me?" she deadpanned.
Eros, who had strategically chosen to look anywhere but at her, rubbed the back of his neck in clear discomfort. "I— Look, you were loud, okay?" His voice held a defensive edge, but his ears betrayed him, turning a shade of red that only deepened when Selene's lips twitched.
She narrowed her eyes, tilting her head slightly, the absurdity of the situation finally hitting her. And then—
A soft snort.
Eros turned just in time to see her bite her lip, trying to contain it. But it was useless. The laughter bubbled up before she could stop it, starting as a breathy chuckle before spilling into a full, melodic laugh.
Eros blinked.
Stunned.
Cute.
He frowned at his own thoughts taking a step back.
Wait. No. Not cute—weird. This whole situation was weird. Why was she laughing? She was literally wailing two minutes ago.
"Did you just shush me like a toddler?" she giggled, her voice teasing as she poked at her own still-puffed-out cheeks.
Eros groaned loudly and buried his face in his hands. "I panicked, alright?" His voice was muffled, but the embarrassment was crystal clear.
Selene's giggle turned into full-on laughter, her earlier frustration melting away like cotton candy in the rain. And despite himself—despite every logical bone in his body telling him not to—Eros felt his own lips betray him. The corners curled upward, a reluctant smirk forming as he peeked at her from between his fingers.
The tension from before? Gone, the awkwardness? Oh, it was still there—lingering in the air between them. But now, it wasn't the uncomfortable kind. It was softer, warmer, something neither of them could quite name.
However during the stir of the moment, Eros shot up from the bench like someone had just pressed an eject button beneath him. His movements were sharp, frantic—like a man who had just realized he had publicly tripped and was desperately trying to style it out.
Oh, hell no.
He had just let his cool, nonchalant, too-casual-to-care image shatter in front of Selene. A workmate, no less. Not a friend, not someone he was close to—just a colleague who now had firsthand proof that he, Eros, had no idea how to handle a crying woman.
His hands flew to his hips as he shifted his weight, biting down on his entire bottom lip like it might physically stop him from saying something stupid. His brows lifted, his eyes flickering toward Selene, who was still giggling—though it was starting to die down now, her shoulders settling, her lips pursed in amusement.
Eros inhaled sharply, his chest rising like he was about to deliver the speech of a lifetime. Then, exhaling with a dramatic drop of his shoulders, he pointed an accusatory finger at her, his other hand still firmly on his hip.
"You definitely have bipolar disorder."
Selene's smile froze. Her head tilted slightly.
Eros squinted, reconsidering. "Wait—no, scratch that." He threw both hands into the air, exasperated. "You probably have something psychotic!"
Selene blinked. Stunned.
Eros ignored the warning signs of an incoming death glare and kept going. He tilted his head, his brows furrowing again as he studied her like a science experiment gone rogue. "Shouldn't you get that checked with a co-doctor?" His voice was genuinely curious, like he was actually concerned for the safety of humanity.
Selene's lips parted slightly, her expression unreadable—until her eyes sharpened. The air between them shifted, but instead of exploding, she leaned in slightly, her gaze locking onto his with the precision of a sniper about to take the shot.
"Oh?" she hummed, her voice dangerously smooth. "Why don't we book you a therapy session instead? Y'know, to finally unpack all that emotional detachment, suppressed emotions, and—" she gestured vaguely at him, "—that little issue you have with over-rationalizing everything?"
Eros' mouth snapped shut.
Haha okay that's it, my grave's waiting for me.
How the hell had she read through him like an open book when he had tried so hard to be written in an indecipherable foreign language?
Selene smiled sweetly, her head tilting. "Therapist by yours truly," she added, her grin turning downright mocking.
Eros blinked, still processing. "HA!?" He exhaled loudly, shock plastered on his face still frozen on his pose.
Was it possible to feel attacked and flustered at the same time? Because somehow, she had just managed to roast his entire personality, make it sound like a medical diagnosis, and still look cute while doing it. Selene let out a soft, genuine chuckle, flicking her wrist dismissively. "Relax, I'm just messing with you." Her voice dripped with smooth amusement, carrying the slightest teasing lilt—almost sultry, like she knew exactly how to keep him on edge.
Eros narrowed his eyes at her, unsure if he should let his guard down just yet.
"And don't you feel bad for me?" Selene continued, her bottom lip jutting out in an exaggerated pout. "You literally saw me crashout just a moment ago."
Eros finally exhaled, his shoulders dropping as he remembered the mess of tears, wails, and dramatic declarations from earlier. Right. That happened. As much as he wanted to pretend otherwise, he did feel bad for her. But, oddly enough, there was also a strange sense of relief seeing her laugh now—like she had bounced back in record time.
Maybe too fast. Was this normal? Did she have a reset button he wasn't aware of?
"O-Of course… I do," he mumbled, his voice quiet, hesitant—like the words themselves felt too unfamiliar coming from his mouth.
Selene's lips curled into a smirk, the kind that sent an unexplainable chill down Eros' spine. Before he could dwell on it, she suddenly sprang up from the bench, stretching her arms high above her head before turning to him with a wide, mischievous grin.
"So, because of that…" She rocked on her heels, hands clasped behind her back. "You owe me ice cream."
Eros blinked. "What?"
Selene shrugged casually. "Emotional distress. Public humiliation. You kinda manhandled my face." She listed each crime on her fingers. "I'd say an ice cream bribe is the least you could do."
Eros stared at her, trying to find the logic in that statement—and failing miserably.
But before he could argue, Selene was already grabbing his wrist, tugging him along like this had been his idea all along.
And of course, he let her.
He didn't wanna lose his job.