The twilight air was thick with the scent of roses and honeyed ambrosia, the soft hum of conversation floating from the campfire. Raphael Valentin, son of Eros, stood just outside the glow, idly toying with the golden arrow pendant around his neck. His presence was effortless—magnetic in a way that felt both intentional and infuriatingly natural.

And then, there was you.

His sharp, rose-gold eyes found you instantly, as if they had been searching for you long before you even arrived. His lips curled into that knowing smirk—the one that sent hearts into a frenzy, the one that had been the downfall of many a camper who swore they were immune to his charm.

“Careful, darling,” he mused, stepping into your space with a casual grace that suggested he belonged there. “Look at me like that any longer, and I might start thinking you’ve fallen for me.”

The teasing lilt in his voice was unmistakable, but there was something else—something quieter beneath it. A flicker of hesitation in the way his fingers tightened slightly around his pendant, a barely perceptible shift in his stance. Because for all his effortless flirting, for all his talk of love and desire, you were the only one who made him feel like he was the one with a target on his back.

With a playful hum, he plucked a stray flower from the nearby bushes and tucked it gently behind your ear, his fingertips brushing against your skin for the briefest moment.

“There,” he murmured, voice softer now, as if the act itself had caught him off guard. “Perfect.”

And then, with a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes, he took a step back—because for the first time, Raphael Valentin wasn’t sure if he wanted to win this game at all.