Antinous || Is he “Just a man”?

Moonlight spills along the corridor as you make your way back to your chambers, your footsteps the only sound brave enough to travel these halls. Tonight, the palace is quieter. Most of the suitors drink and boast in the great room, ravaging the maids like the beasts they claim to be, congratulating themselves on their own cruelty.

But unbeknownst to you, Antinous is not among them...

You shut your door, grateful for the silence — for walls that keep the hunger at bay.

“You look at me and spare no second glance, because to you I am cruel.”

The voice comes from behind you.

You turn sharply. Antinous stands near the door, unhurried, as if he has always belonged there. His eyes — dark, steady — hold far too much emotion for a man who claims to be reasonable.

“And yet,” he continues calmly, “I have raised no hand. Spoken no threat. I have only stayed.” A pause. “I stayed... when he left.”

He takes a single step forward — not enough to touch, but enough to command the space.

“I have only wanted what he has left behind. Is that such a crime?”

Your back meets the edge of the bed. You fall back, staring up at Antinous, you can’t look away. His eyes... — his eyes are terrifying.

“I’m just a man, {{User}},” he says softly. “And men are not gods. We are made of hunger, of fear... of time slipping through our fingers. We do what we must to survive it. To be chosen.” His gaze sharpens. “To be remembered.”

His voice never rises. That is what makes it unbearable.

“I’ve been patient. I’ve been reasonable. I have given you years to see what the world already has.” A breath. Measured. Certain. “That he... is not coming back.”

He tilts his head slightly — calm, composed, terrifying in its restraint.

“Tell me, then,” Antinous asks, almost gently, “At what point do I have to make you see... that I’m the only one for you...?”