Page 26 of Loved By Aphrodite

He leaned back, staring at the cascading streams of data on the screens, but his mind wasn’t on the app. It drifted, unbidden, to last night.

For years, he had kept what he felt for her buried beneath layers of resentment and careful detachment. But the walls had come down. It wasn’t just the intensity of the moment that stayed with him; it was how she had looked at him like he was more than just the god of the forge, more than the shadow of their complicated past. It had felt like they could be something real.

He dragged a hand through his hair, hating how he felt. Frustration simmered beneath the surface, mixing with something deeper—fear, maybe? Why did he feel this way? Why did doubt cling to him after something so perfect? They should’ve talked last night and laid everything bare while the moment still held its clarity. Now, it was like standing on the edge of a crumbling cliff, the ground unsteady beneath him, unsure if they would fall together or find something solid to stand on.

He leaned against the workbench, absentmindedly fiddling with a small gear in his hand. His mind wandered back to Thessaly, to a time when life had been simpler but no less challenging. Back then, he and Aphrodite had been consumed with raising Eros, trying to give the boy a sense of stability despite the stormy circumstances of his early years.

The boy had been an unexpected variable. He was small, quiet, and watchful—an odd juxtaposition of cherubic innocence and the untapped potential of a godling. At first, Eros kept his distance, observing Hephaestus from the shadows of doorways or the far edges of the workshop. Hephaestus noticed but said nothing as he had no intention of forcing a bond.

One afternoon, while Hephaestus was bent over a drafting table sketching ideas for a new prosthetic leg, he heard the softpatter of small footsteps. He didn’t look up, allowing the boy his space.

But this time, Eros didn’t stop at the threshold. He walked up to the table, his big, curious eyes fixed on the design. “What’s that?”

Hephaestus glanced up, surprised. “This?” He gestured to the blueprint. “It’s a prosthetic leg. For me.”

Eros frowned and pointed to the prosthesis, which rested nearby on the bench, detached for maintenance. “That one’s not good?”

“It’s good. Very good, actually. It’s infused with magic, so it works well. But I’m working on something different now—one that doesn’t rely so much on magic, but on pure engineering.”

Eros’s brows furrowed as he considered this. “Why? Isn’t magic easier?”

“Sometimes,” Hephaestus admitted. “But not always better. Magic fades or falters. Engineering? It’s reliable. It’s something I can improve, piece by piece.”

Eros leaned closer, his fingers tracing the drawing. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” Hephaestus said gently, setting down his tools. “I was born this way. It’s not like someone who loses a limb in battle—it’s just how I’ve always been. The prosthetic is a way to make things easier, not to fix something broken.”

Eros’s gaze lingered on the leg before he looked up at Hephaestus. From that day on, Eros began to visit more often, his initial shyness giving way to cautious curiosity. He’d tinker with metal scraps, ask questions about tools, and even attempt to sketch his own ideas.

Hephaestus remembered the first time Eros showed interest in a bow and arrow. It had been after a hunting trip, one Hephaestus had reluctantly agreed to take him on, thinking it might help channel some of the boy’s endless energy.

“Do you think I can get a rabbit next time?” Eros had asked, his young face lit with determination despite having missed every target that day.

“You almost got one,” Hephaestus had replied, crouching to Eros’s eye level. “It’s all about focus. If you can learn that, you’ll be unstoppable.”

Eros had grinned, the kind of unguarded, toothy smile that always caught Hephaestus off guard. It reminded him that despite everything, Eros was still a kid—a kid who had seen too much but somehow hadn’t lost his spark.

Hephaestus had thrown himself into crafting a bow suitable for a child, one that was durable but lightweight. Aphrodite, meanwhile, had focused on teaching Eros to handle his emotions. She’d sit with him for hours, her voice calm but firm.

“Your feelings aren’t bad,agóri mou,” she’d told Eros during one of his tantrums. “But you have to learn how to steer them. Otherwise, they’ll steer you.”

Their parenting styles couldn’t have been more different—her warmth balancing his practicality—but it worked. Over time, they began to see the changes in Eros.

Hephaestus had found a tutor for the boy, a mortal archer with a reputation for patience. Under his guidance, Eros began to channel not just his energy but his thoughts and emotions into his practice. He went from clumsy and frustrated to focused and determined.

One evening, as Hephaestus worked in the forge, Eros burst in, holding up a rabbit. “Look, Hephaestus! I did it!”

Hephaestus had turned, his heart swelling with pride despite himself. “You did. Nice work, son.”

Aphrodite had appeared in the doorway, her expression a mix of pride and relief. She’d ruffled Eros’s hair, her eyes meeting Hephaestus’s for a brief moment. There had beensomething unspoken in that look—a rare moment of shared understanding between them.

As time passed, Eros improved with his aim, focus, and temperament, but his moments of recklessness still shone through like cracks in a polished surface. Those were when Hephaestus and Aphrodite came together, rallying around him, and guiding him through his struggles with steady hands and gentle words.

Hephaestus remembered one particularly wild moment when Eros, frustrated with a lesson, had thrown his bow down and stormed off to the cliffs near their home. Aphrodite had been the one to find him, her calm voice breaking through his stony silence, while Hephaestus waited nearby, giving them space but ready to step in if needed. Moments like those showed how much they both cared for the boy—and, inadvertently, brought them closer together.

Raising Eros was how they truly got to know each other. Late into the nights, when the boy was finally sleeping, they’d sit together and talk. They discussed Eros’s progress, his struggles, and what to do next. But as the months turned into years, their conversations drifted to other topics. They talked about their lives before Thessaly, their hopes, and even their frustrations.

Soon enough, there were unguarded moments between them. Aphrodite would laugh at something Hephaestus said, her laughter bright and unrestrained. He’d catch her glancing at him when she thought he wasn’t looking. For Hephaestus, those moments felt like small treasures, even if they were fleeting.

---