Cupid sighed as he looked down on the silly children whispering to their friends about what they’d do for their crushes. Why did Venus have to get him stuck with this job? What use was there for these shallow stirrings of attraction? Cupid fingered the string of his bow, which was taut but relaxedly slung over his shoulder with his quiver of golden arrows. He just wanted to get this job over with so he can return home to Psyche and have a decent day (and night) with her.
The west wind blew softly against his wings, and he muttered, “Anything worthwhile here, Favonius?”
The wind seemed to sigh at Cupid’s bored tone. Before him, wisps of clouds collected quickly before dissipating to reveal his sworn helper.
“You really should have more faith in these people; we have centuries to go before they change mindsets again,” the auburn-haired god remarked.
“Just answer the question.”
“Eh. A few promising ones, but I don’t know if Venus would approve.”
“Why in the name of the gods would she disapprove? She doesn’t give horseshit for them. She only cares for ‘unique’ lovers. I’m stuck with the boring ones,” Cupid complained.
“They’re all… so normal. Nothing like Medea and Jason.”
Cupid sighed at the memory. He really wanted that shiny ball. “That story was tragic.”
“Don’t you ever think you should make their lives happy? They may be mere mortals, but they still feel. Remember when your beloved Psyche was still mortal?” Favonius replied, hands on his hips as he raised an eyebrow at Cupid. “Besides where were you when I was in love with Apollo?”
“I’m pretty sure you’re the one who promised to help me. And you’re still in love with him, and you still got revenge for that.” Cupid groaned as he sat up on his cloud. He winced at the soft giggling noises that sounded from the clouds. “Alright. Lead the way.” Might as well get it over with.
Favonius grinned and merged with the wind again, and Cupid rode on the gentle breeze. It was nice to stretch his wings after laying sprawled on those insufferably damp clouds. They spiraled downwards toward the school’s backyard. They even had a banner with gods-damned hearts on it—for a chocolate fair, no less. How these mortals ruin romance.
“There.” A gust of wind blew at a trio of mortal boys. “The blonde one.”
Cupid narrowed his eyes at the boy as he descended, unseen by mortal eyes. Hmm… He had harbored feelings for a girl for a few years already. Cupid looked through the windows to his soul. Those green eyes revealed much about his emotions…
“Good, huh?” Favonius whistled.
Whistling was pleasant sound when it came from the gentlest of winds. Despite that, Cupid snapped, “Shut up. I need to focus.”
The wind stopped blowing for a moment, and Cupid found it suddenly harder to fly.
The boy had tried to subtly gain the girl’s attention and affections for a while now. Loyalty, check.
The group moved on, and Cupid followed them. As they neared the doors, a girl walked out. The girl. She wasn’t beautiful, and Cupid was surprised. Well, these people are mortals. The most beautiful are reserved for the gods. Perhaps this guy was more interesting than he thought. And more likely to keep in his own pants unlike some mighty, immortal beings he knew.
Cupid readied his bow and continued watching the scene unfold.
The girl looked over at boy; his efforts had not been wasted, the immortal supposed.
He greeted her, and she greeted him back. His companions were walking away, snickering. A blush made its way up her neck. Cupid paused and lowered his bow.
Favonius, though it was unnecessary, whispered into his ear, “Which one are you going to shoot?”
She was already in love with him, and he with her. They did not need his blessing, and he did not want to bind one to the other. He couldn’t shoot both because only the first one would go into effect. Or he could—
“Don’t even think about it. Remember what happened to Daphne? And don’t ruin these rare little moments.” The wind stilled as if it could lash out at any mo—was he actually thinking about thwarting Cupid if he shot a revulsion arrow?
He sighed. “I wasn’t going to anyway.”
Favonius sounded baffled when he asked, “Why not?”
Cupid’s gaze fell to the now linked hands of the boy and girl. “They don’t need my intervention.”
The wind sighed. “They don’t need us anymore.”
“With love like that, they never will.”
---
“Cupid?”
Oh. He had been dying to hear that voice after his trip around the world. How he hated Romans—why in the name of the gods had they invented Valentine’s Day?
He flapped down to the window and slipped through into the marble bedroom. He had been using this entrance lately. He grabbed Psyche and kissed her perfect sheet of blonde hair.
“Was it that bad?” Her voice was like rippling water.
“I didn’t use a single arrow.” Cupid stepped away from his wife and folded back his wings.
She looked at her with those big, brown eyes that looked so much like… like… chocolate.
Cupid averted his gaze.
“What’s wrong, love?” Psyche padded closer to him, her sky blue dress rippling along.
“Most of the mortals don’t deserve love, and the few who do don’t need it,” he blurted, returning his focus to her face. That perfect, perfect face.
Psyche smiled at him. Gods, it got to him every time. “Mortals need more love. I think… I think that they’ve lost meaning in love in the recent decades.”
“Damn right.”
Unbothered, Psyche continued, “They all deserve love. I think that mortals have hope left.”
“I thought Pandora left that in her box,” Cupid muttered.
She glared at him. “The problem is… I know that the gods and goddesses are losing power. I know that mortals need… help. But you are not the one to give it.”
Cupid raised an eyebrow, and with that silent communication, asked, Are you doubting my abilities?
No. She smirked at him and said, “It’s beyond your power. Besides, Valentine’s Day is only one day.” Then, she added, “You’ll live.”
He snorted and tossed his bow and quiver into some corner of the room. “Your mortal jokes tired out a couple millenniums ago.”
“I know you still love me,” Psyche retorted and sat on the soft sheets.
Cupid sat down next to her. “How can you be sure?”
She grabbed a pillow—it had a freaking heart on it—with immortal speed and threw it at him. “Don’t you dare!”
They had a pillow fight for a few more moments before Cupid toppled down onto the bed, dragging her down on top of him.
Her eyes, dark chocolate, stared deep into his. “Really, Cupid. Don’t worry about it.”
He seemed to ignore her, but the light had started to return to his eyes. “I’m going to get you back for that first pillow.”
