Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Il vero Amore è il tentativo di volare alla bellezza divina.
True Love is a certain urge striving to fly up to the divine beauty.

Caesar knew there was nothing quite so sensible in the universe as love.

Of course, cupids such as Caesar were entirely to thank for that. Left to their own devices humans would make a mess of things, but Caesar had long moved past begrudging others for their naivete in love. Without proper guidance love could be a daunting, entirely overwhelming thing to comprehend in just one or even several lifetimes. Lucky for the fools who rushed in (and even those who didn’t) the cupids were more than willing to provide such guidance, and Caesar was undoubtedly one of the best.

The clouds that eternally populated the heavenly Olympian city were piled high in imposing columns that caught the sunlight and split it into all of its magnificent colors. Caesar soared languidly through them, relishing in the feel of the wind under his wings. Several times he stretched out a hand to skim the plush surfaces of the cloudy columns. He was supposed to be on his way back to headquarters, but surely after an entire year away no one would object to a few moments of idle admiration. Both his wings and heart ached from disuse. It was nice to brush the dust off of them before making his triumphant return.

With a mighty flap of his wings, Caesar rocketed through a particularly puffy pillar and twirled around to watch the colors trail after him for a spell. When he faced forward again it was towards an amalgamation of architecture that sprouted directly out of the clouds. Dusty white columns far more solid than the one Caesar had burst through supported a commanding base; the next few floors consisted of the high pointed arches and gloomy moods of a Gothic castle, with a few towers and turrets branching out from the main building at random; from there the building progressed to the gilded pilasters and ostentatious ornamentation of high Victorian. Onwards and upwards the building progressed through the ages until it was capped off by a glassy, art deco style office building, from which massive balconies of polished marble jutted out at odd intervals.

Caesar aimed for one such balcony, and his feet had barely brushed against the cool, smooth surface before a piercing shriek tore through the air and nearly startled him back into flight. He didn’t get far before another cupid burst out of the building and launched herself at him at top speeds, sending them both toppling over the edge of the balcony. Far from alarmed, despite the free fall he was now in, Caesar laughed and hugged the other cupid as tightly as she was hugging him. The two of them twirled and giggled all the way down, pulling up just before they splashed through the clouds at the base of the building. They returned to the same balcony still all atwitter, and Caesar held the other cupid at arm’s length to get a proper look at her.

“If you’re not careful,” he advised quite seriously. “I might start to think you missed me, Suzie Q.”

Suzie Q shoved his hands aside to catch him in another crushing hug. In the course of an entire year, it seemed she hadn’t changed a bit. She still wore her flaxen hair tucked behind her with a handful of roses, and her watery blue eyes were overflowing with emotion. Her wings continued to flutter behind her, perfectly puffed in her elation and sending a few stray feathers into the air around them. Once satisfied that Caesar’s ribs were sufficiently bruised, Suzie Q stood back to look at him in turn. Yes, she was just the same, down the grin that threatened to stretch right off her face.

“Of course I missed you!” she trilled. “You didn’t even tell me you were on your way back!”

“I’m certain I did,” Caesar said, raising his eyebrows at her.

Suzie Q tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Now that you mention it, I did feel as though there was something I was forgetting today. Now I know! Lucky I just happened to be passing by!”

“Lucky indeed,” Caesar agreed as if he didn’t always land near Suzie Q’s department knowing she always forgot when he’s supposed to be back from assignments.

“So how was the assignment?” Suzie Q inquired eagerly as she took Caesar by the arm to steer him inside.

“Tedious,” Caesar answered. “You would think that the poor lad was going to die without me, the way he was going on. You would’ve liked him though. Hopelessly clumsy but incredibly eager.”

Suzie Q took to making sympathetic noises as Caesar told her all about the young man that was so concerned with doing things correctly in love that he never did anything at all. Indeed he was so skittish that it had taken Caesar several months to gain his trust, and then several more to actually get the lad to start taking his advice. After that, it was a matter of getting the guy to stand on his own—rather than pestering Caesar at 2AM for what to say to a woman who had texted him only moments before—which had taken the rest of the year that Caesar had been given to guide the hopeless romantic towards something like hope.

“Do you think he’ll do better now?” Suzie Q asked.

“I know he’ll do better,” Caesar replied. “But if you need proof, the day before I left, he went up to a person he was interested in all on his own and got their number, something he never would’ve dreamed of doing before I came along. He’ll be just fine.”

“Ah, it sounds so wonderful to work in personal interventions! Although I couldn’t imagine being away for so long, especially since you have to keep contact to a minimum, but, oh, could you imagine me working in personal interventions too?!” Suzie Q rambled.

Caesar chuckled. “I think you’ve still got a few decades yet.”

“You never know! I’ve been working really hard—they might let me start training for it soon!”

“Oh? And your supervisor is going to let you go so easily?”

“Ah, well, she’s joked that she’s never going to let me go,” Suzie Q laughed. “But she’s also the one helping me prepare for the training.”

“How are things in forecasting anyways? Anything exciting?”

Suzie Q hummed. “Not really, although it’s looking like there’s going to be a revival of ideals from classic romances in the west though.”

“What about around here?”

To that, Suzie Q had plenty more to say as they meandered through the spacious halls of bright marble that Caesar could almost see their reflections in. Suzie Q’s reflection spoke as energetically as she did, about how a few new cupids had made a disastrous mess of the file room they’d been tasked to reorganize, about how Alia from logistics had dyed her feathers a deep shade of violet, and most intriguing of all, how an older cupid from main ops was petitioning for a complete reconstruction of the entire building.

Caesar took pause at that last part. “What for? If they’re worried about new cupids getting lost, a remodel is honestly only going to make things worse.”

“They say,” Suzie Q began in a hushed tone. “It would be beneficial for black ops to be closer to the rest of us.”

“And I suppose they asked the black ops folks if they even want that?” Caesar scoffed.

Suzie Q waved a hand. “Of course not! Not that those guys ever want to talk to anyone anyways. Although,” she considered, her tone softening. “Maybe it would be better, if they weren’t all the way at the bottom. I can only imagine how lonely it must be.”

“Caesar!” a new voice cut in before Caesar could reply how much he would rather not imagine what life was like for those in black ops.

From around the corner just ahead, a cupid with neatly cropped brown hair and crisp white linens that lacked any ounce of personalization flew towards the two of them, his expression practically glowing. He skidded to a halt just before crashing into them, but his sheer enthusiasm alone threatened to knock them off their feet.

“Mark! Good to see you,” Caesar greeted.

“You didn’t tell him the news yet, did you?!” Mark asked Suzie Q, who shook her head so rapidly a few strands of hair fell loose.

“No, but if you don’t tell him soon I will!”

“Tell me what?”

Mark looked ready to explode as he revealed, “Me and my girl are finally tying the knot!”

“That’s wonderful!” Caesar exclaimed, untangling himself from Suzie Q to give the other cupid a hug. “Congratulations!”

“You have to come!” Mark insisted loudly. “No matter what assignment you’re on, you have to promise you’ll come to the wedding!”

“Of course he’ll come, I don’t know what cupid won’t attend!” Suzie Q decided before Caesar could say a word.

From there it was like a dam had burst. Cupids flew towards them from all angles to welcome Caesar back and relate to him all the wonderful (and not so wonderful) things he’d missed. Older cupids inquired after his work and congratulated him on a job well done. Contemporary cupids from main ops were celebrating their hundredth, some even their one-thousandth consecutive shot without a miss, while those from other departments clamored about new technology to streamline the whole cupid process. Younger cupids milled about at the fringes of the gathering crowd to look on in curiosity with a sprinkle of awe.

Shouts of glee bounced off the halls of marble. Elbows and wings monopolized every inch of space surrounding Caesar. Just as Caesar gave his attention to one cupid, another one would demand it anew. Everything grew so loud he could hardly hear his own thoughts. It was rowdy, even obnoxious, and almost overwhelming.

It was home.

Caesar was just thinking about how much his cheeks were aching from all his smiles when he noticed the mood of the crowd visibly deflate. A hush descended over the hallway as a wave did upon the shore. Those that had been hovering in the air dropped like stones. Even the light that streamed in from the towering windows to bounce off the gleaming walls seemed to slide down to the floor as though physically weighed down by the gloom. It wasn’t until the crowd parted before him that Caesar saw the reason for all this.

Messina, Caesar’s direct supervisor, was not particularly intimidating in spite of his wall-like build. Indeed, most cupids knew him as a jovial type of cupid, if a bit firm and unyielding. As it was, it was not Messina himself that was the cause of the dismay among the impromptu welcoming committee. It was the especially hefty file he held in his tightly clenched hand.

Caesar bit down on a frown. “Already?”

Messina nodded solemnly.

“But he only just got back!” Suzie Q squawked indignantly. A few cupids that were only marginally as bold as her agreed in hushed tones.

Messina ignored the protests and gestured for Caesar to follow him. Caesar laid a reassuring hand on Suzie Q’s shoulder, and went after Messina. All the way down the hall, Caesar fought to keep his gait relaxed, his wings neatly folded behind him, his expression neutral. It was a hard fought battle. Never before had he been asked to do two assignments back to back. He may as well have never returned!

“You know I wouldn’t send you back out with such a short turnaround without good reason,” Messina began as soon as they were out of earshot of the other cupids.

“So what’s the reason?” Caesar asked evenly, crossing his arms as he did.

Messina tapped the floor between them, and the swirling patterns in the marble shifted and twisted until from them sprouted a magnificently lacquered table of redwood. The thick file was dropped with a deafening smack upon it. The frown Caesar had bit down on earlier made itself known as he looked between the Messina and the file. Messina, entirely unimpressed with Caesar’s ire, flipped open the folder and fanned out the papers across the table like a deck of cards.

“It’s a mess,” Messina warned Caesar. “But one that’s in dire need of someone who knows what the hell he’s doing.”

Caesar picked a few papers at random and began to peruse them. “How did it even get this bad?”

“Bad filing, worse aiming, and a severe lack of judgment regarding which intervention agents to send,” Messina explained.

“So this is a final intervention?”

“Yes. The subject in question is… the others have described him as difficult, to say the least,” Messina said. “He’s nothing if not persistent though, which is part of the reason it got so bad in the first place. You know how much the folks in main ops like a determined lad.”

Caesar sighed deeply, nose already buried deep in the reports he’d grabbed at random. “That I do.”

‘The subject appears to have no sense of boundaries,’ read one report.

“They delayed in sending us the case, bad habits cemented, so by the time they finally sent us the case he was so set in his ways that he drove the other two agents mad.”

‘The subject lacks any real interest in those he pursues; appears to go through the motions as one goes through the motions of a game,’ read another report.

Caesar hummed in acknowledgment and Messina continued, “Both of them insist he’s a lost cause, and whether he is or isn’t, I’m not particularly concerned about. What I want is someone with experience having the final word on this situation.”

‘A maze of a man,’ one agent poetically described the subject.

“How long?” Caesar asked without looking up.

‘Childish,’ decided the other.

“A year,” Messina answered.

‘A mess of misdirection and infinitely infuriating,’ both agents seemed to agree.

Caesar finally looked up from the reports, dropping them to the table with a scowl. “I just got back from a year long assignment!”

“I’m aware.”

Holding back a retort bordering on petulant, Caesar returned to the file at large. There were far more reports than usual from main ops; far more arrows than any one person should be struck with. A slew of sticky notes accompanied each report. Then came the recommendations for intervention, one for each intervention, including this one that Messina was trying to send Caesar on. What he couldn’t find, however, were the exit reports for the previous two agents.

Realizing what Caesar was looking for, Messina said, “The reports are still being processed.”

“What?”

“Both agents were in and out during the duration of your last assignment.”

Caesar hissed out a curse and dragged a hand over his face.

“So let me get this straight,” Caesar began. “You want to send me on another year long assignment, with maybe an hour turnaround, with a file that’s not even complete, concerning a case that the previous two agents combined couldn’t even spend an entire year on?”

“That’s the gist of it, yes,” Messina answered.

Caesar glanced at the reports he’d initially pulled from the disaster once more. The subject was overeager, overly-playful, and swung wildly between taking things far too seriously or not seriously enough. No, Caesar thought, the subject wasn’t the problem in this case. It was strictly a problem of administration.

“Six months,” Caesar finally said.

Messina raised an eyebrow. “Oh, my apologies, I didn’t realize you were the one in charge here.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“You said you don’t like to have such short turnarounds. The least you could do is cut down on the assignment time,” Caesar argued.

“The least I could do is not toss you out like a new hatchling learning to fly,” Messina threatened, his crossed arms a dam against further argument.

Caesar pressed on anyways. “I’ve turned around cases worse than this in less time and you know it.”

“This case requires patience.”

“The subject requires patience. Six months is plenty of time for me to teach that.”

“He needs time to unlearn bad habits.”

“That goes hand in hand with patience.”

“All the reports say he’s resistant to learning.”

“He just needs something to pique his interest.”

Messina frowned, the lines scoring deep fractures along his normally amiable expression. Caesar stood his ground, hands flat against the table. Such was the silence around them that not even the distant chatter of other hardworking cupids permeated the air around them. Only the occasional breeze, and the hammering of Caesar’s own pulse in his ears. Finally, after what seemed like ages, Messina’s stern facade relaxed with a wry smile.

“Have it your way then. Six months. No more, and certainly no less.”

“Understood,” Caesar agreed as he hurried to gather the scattered papers and stuff them back into the folder.

“I won’t cover for you if you fail,” Messina warned.

Caesar scoffed as he tucked the overburdened folder under his arm. “Please. When have I failed before?”

“All the more reason to not fail now.”

“Then I won’t.”

With a curt nod, Messina dismissed both Caesar and the table. The table melted back into the floor from whence it came, whereas Caesar started towards the balcony he’d only just arrived on. It was lucky no one was around to see Caesar huff, to see the way he stalked down the hall with his wings flapping indignantly behind him. As if he needed anyone to cover for him. How long had Messina known him?! And he was acting like Caesar was going to get tripped up over some guy who clearly didn’t know what he wanted in romance?! If Caesar had a little less respect for Messina, he would’ve laughed in his face.

All the cupids that had rushed out to welcome Caesar back had just as quickly returned to their work when he’d been called away. All but one, that was. Suzie Q stood in front of the exit with her hands clasped tightly, looking at Caesar expectantly.

“You have to leave?” she asked, her wings drooping forlornly behind her, already knowing the answer.

“Unfortunately,” Caesar confirmed. “It’s just that much of a mess that they needed me to take it right away. You know how these things are.”

Suzie Q nodded solemnly.

“I managed to talk Messina into making it six months instead of a whole year,” Caesar added.

That had the effect of brightening Suzie Q instantly. She clapped her hands together with newfound joy. “That’s wonderful! I mean, six months is still an awfully long time but it’s so much better than a whole year! And you’ll be able to come back for Mark’s wedding? You asked, right?”

“Best not to push it. I’ll ask him when the time comes around, and I doubt he’ll say no to that,” Caesar assured her. “Now be sure to behave yourself while I’m away.”

“You act like I’m going to turn the place on its head!” Suzie Q exclaimed.

“Just because you’re cute doesn’t mean you’re incapable of trouble,” Caesar teased with a light poke of her nose.

Suzie Q’s wings flapped so dramatically at that that a few feathers were shaken loose. Caesar thought she might try to stammer out a retort. He thought her bottom lip might start to quiver, and that her eyes would become more watery than usual. He thought, in short, she would be just the cupid he’d always known her to be. Instead she surged forward with another fierce hug and squeezed as tight as she could. They swayed on the spot, but did not soar as they had earlier. Caesar returned the hug, careful of her wings, and gave her a pat on the head when they parted.

“You’d better keep in touch!” she ordered.

“Yeah, yeah, I will, now get back to work before you get all teary on me,” Caesar urged gently.

Reluctance painted her every movement, but she was no longer the hatchling that would cling to Caesar’s leg to the very last like a darling little sister who couldn’t stand to see her big brother disappear for even the briefest moment. Suzie Q beat her wings once, then twice, as if to dispel the tears that already lingered on her lashes, and then turned to march away. Caesar smiled after her. If there was any consolation in how distraught she was whenever he left, it was in knowing that her jubilation at his return would be twice as dramatic.

As soon as Suzie Q rounded the corner (with one last glance back), Caesar returned to the case, literally, at hand. He stepped out onto the platform as he fished out a paper detailing the location and accommodations. A phone, of course, and a laptop for writing and sending reports. He would be housed in a one-bedroom apartment situated on the fringes of a cozy town that hovered somewhere between urban and rural. Nothing impressive, Caesar decided as he stuffed the paper back in the folder. So too, he assumed, would be the case with this supposedly sprightly subject that would be his charge for the next six months.

Tucking the file securely under his arm, Caesar stepped to the very edge of the balcony and spread his wings as far as they would go. Even the slightest breeze caught against them, urging back inside, back home. The heart was strong, but gravity, even here among the divine, was stronger. Caesar pitched himself forward into the open air and let himself fall.

The clouds beneath him began to roil and tumble into a veritable vortex of color. Caesar flattened his wings against his back and urged himself down towards it with focused intent. He somersaulted once, then twice for spice as the storm of iridescence threatened to swallow him whole. He plunged into it without fear, and as he continued to fall the clouds kissed his cheeks in a tender goodbye. The clouds melted into light so blinding Caesar shut his eyes against it. Only when the intensity against his eyelids receded did Caesar open his eyes again, still freefalling, but now through a brilliantly blue sky with clouds above, rather than below him.

A sleepy town was sprawled out beneath him now, like a tapestry haphazardly strewn over the rolling hills. Caesar spread his wings again to let the early spring air slow his free fall to a controlled descent. He lazily circled down through the sky, eventually flying low enough to make out street signs. None of the humans below spared him a second glance, or indeed a first one.

It took him only a few moments to find the apartment that would be his home for the next six months. The paint on the walls outside was peeling, and the windows were perpetually dusty, but the landscape was lush and vibrant. When Caesar found the door that was his, he did not fish out a key to unlock it. Not a physical one, anyways. The key was a mere touch of his hand to the doorknob, a spritz of magic, and the door swung open as if someone were on the other side waiting to welcome him in.

The place was sparsely furnished but clean and cozy. Closing the door behind him Caesar noted the coarse texture of the carpet and frowned. Slippers were in order. Later, though. Caesar made a beeline for the only bedroom in the place, where he found a bed that was so large it nearly took up all the floor space. It was a tempting sight, but the sooner he made first contact the better, especially if Messina was so worked up over this case.

Turning decidedly away from the bed, Caesar instead looked towards the ornate mirror above the dresser. He slapped the file down, the sound shattering the solid silence that had thus far occupied the air. CDs would be nice, Caesar thought. But, as with the slippers, that was for later.

For now, Caesar considered as he looked into the mirror, there was the matter of playing the part he was assigned. Certainly the flowing, heavenly fabric he wore would only garner strange looks between Caesar and a calendar and the feathered ornaments clipped in his sunny locks would be taken for exactly what they were (a personal quirk), but the wings, unfortunately, had to go. Caesar curled them tightly against his back. It wasn’t exactly painful, more akin to the feeling of clenching his fist just a little too hard. When his wings could not not physically go any farther, another burst of magic, carried by a controlled breath, had them sinking into his skin until they resembled elaborate tattoos.

One problem down, one to go, this one unique to Caesar among cupids. He leaned closer to the polished surface as he brushed his fingertips over his cheek. Two delicate marks, heart-like in appearance, traced the line of his cheekbones. All cupids had similar marks, all in unique places, as a badge of their faith in love. Caesar was special in that his marks manifested on his face for all to see. Normally this was a point of pride, but during the course of his work it could make things difficult.

Caesar watched as each of his marks glowed in turn, squashing and shifting until they were shapeless splashes of color on his face. Conspicuously inconspicuous. It was a bit disheartening to see his marks reduced to such a state, but it was far better than to see them vanish entirely. No amount of cupid magic could do that. No amount wanted to.

As it was, it was far easier to explain them away as birthmarks like this. Humans were far more used to people with hearts on their sleeves rather than their cheeks, and who was Caesar to deny them that fancy? It only made them all the more amiable to his persuasions.

Once satisfied that he could pass as human, it was time to dress like one. Caesar placed his hand on the doorknob of the closet, but did not immediately open it. Instead he closed his eyes and let his mind seep through the cracks to fill the darkness. First impressions were, Caesar knew quite well, a synthesis of art and science. He had to tailor his look to his target while still maintaining a personal flair so that he didn’t come off as too good to be true. So, he thought, jeans, for a casual encounter; a crisp, collared shirt with a bright pattern of blue and purple, to imply a more serious nature; a snug sweater to keep away the chill of the early spring air, a practical measure; and a pair of sleek lace-up boots as a personal preference.

When he finally opened the door the closet contained all that he imagined (with the addition of a pair of red, fluffy slippers). Once dressed, Caesar referred back to the file. There were always constants in people, common threads that Caesar could grab hold of, follow to the root of the problem, and rearrange into a new, brilliant picture of romance. Caesar, unlike some other personal intervention cupids, preferred to find these threads in person. All he needed was a way to thread himself seamlessly into the picture.

The reports as detailed by the previous two agents served to confirm what Caesar had already discerned: the subject in question was just a big kid. His common haunts included several bars in town, the local arcade, and the comic book store he worked at. Caesar shook his head as he looked for the page concerning the subject himself. This was, in every sense, incredibly juvenile. How had the other two agents been unable to handle a case like this?

His question was answered as soon as he found the page he was looking for. A keen pair of striking verdant eyes that looked as though someone had painted them a little too brightly peered out at Caesar from the picture emblazoned on the top right corner of the page. They were set into a face that looked as though it had been sculpted by Aprhodite herself (and Caesar did not name the goddess lightly), capped with brown hair that looked perpetually windswept. Even in the flat, lifeless picture, the subject had an air of mischief about him. His discerning eyes suggested a devil-may-care attitude that implied he knew exactly how good he looked, and furthermore that he knew how to use that to his advantage.

Caesar huffed and placed the paper back in its file, which he closed with a decisive snap. Good looks or no, this was just a human being who needed a few lessons in patience, who needed to decide what he really wanted in romance. He opened the drawer of the bedside table and found a standard issue phone waiting for him. Without another glance back, Caesar swept out of the apartment and into the brisk spring day.

It wasn’t as if he expected to run into his target right off the bat, but convenient coincidences were far less likely to happen if Caesar holed himself up in the apartment. In the meantime, he could try to treat himself, relax a little before diving headfirst back into work. Thus Caesar began a meandering path into town, a gentle breeze tousling his hair and carrying with it the sweet scent of a recent rain. Overhead the sun beckoned flowers to bloom without being overbearing. The clouds rolled lazily through the sky.

On the ground, cars ambled by. A few pedestrians took advantage of the fine weather, some offering polite smiles as Caesar passed them. Everything was unhurried and easy. Glittering shops lined the roads downtown, with brightly painted signs and flourishing gardens pointing the way to their entrances, beckoning customers inside. Caesar was wholly uninterested until he came upon a quaint little cafe that was so overburdened with lavender and other fragrant blooms he nearly mistook it for a flower shop until he noticed the tables and chairs neatly lined along the sidewalk in front of it.

Business was slow. The employees looked pleasantly sleepy, but seated Caesar swiftly at a table under a wide, yawning umbrella. The perfume of the lavender was heavy in the air, almost sickeningly sweet, and tugged at Caesar’s eyelids. He took his time considering the menu, thinking that maybe he should’ve taken a nap after all. Maybe he would. Surely Messina couldn’t begrudge him a few hours of rest.

Caesar had just ordered some coffee to perk himself up (because even if Messina wouldn’t know about a nap, Caesar would), when a pair of young men engaged in an annoyingly loud conversation were seated two tables away from him. He pointedly hid his disapproving expression behind his menu and tried to focus on what he wanted to eat.

“—just too much, is what you are,” Caesar overheard anyways as he tried to decide between a stack of sweet pancakes or a savory stuffed omelet.

“Who ever heard of too much of a good thing?!” the other young man whined. “I am one thousand percent a hot catch, it’s a loss for every person that doesn’t see that!”

On the one hand, Caesar thought with determination, the pancakes had a variety of extra-sugary options, and he had an incurable sweet tooth.

“And how many failed dates does last night make?”

Caesar hated admitting in public how much he liked sweets though.

“Shut up! It’s not my fault!”

Still, he was here to treat himself, wasn’t he? Even if the young men didn’t know how to carry on in proper, private conversation…

“I mean, the numbers don’t lie.”

On the other hand, Caesar continued, resolute in ignoring the conversation, if he got the pancakes he’d probably stuff himself to bursting and then a nap would be irresistible.

“So that’s it then? We’re just not friends anymore? You’re just going to stab me in the back like this?”

It’d be nice to explore the town after eating, maybe scope out some appropriate date-like establishments to recommend to his new charge.

“Sometimes being a friend means spelling out the cold, hard truth.”

So then, Caesar thought with fierce focus, if he was left wanting at the end of his meal, he’d be stopping for snacks on the hour, and wouldn’t that be obnoxious? Perhaps as obnoxious as a loud conversation in a public space.

“I thought we were here to cheer me up?”

Caesar gripped his menu with intense concentration. Were the two incapable of comprehending that other people preferred to exist in peace?!

“Of course we are! I just got to break you down before I can build you up again. That’s how that works, yeah?”

Frustrated as he was, Caesar was ready to intercede and explain just how things actually worked, and at what volume.

“Sure, and then I look for new friends.

The first young man guffawed loudly, louder than was necessary for such a bland, sarcastic remark. Caesar could no longer resist peeking over his menu to shoot a glare at the pair, as if he could will them to silence simply by looking at them. As soon as he looked, however, he immediately ducked back behind his menu wishing he hadn’t looked at all. Taking a deep breath, Caesar decided he must’ve seen wrong, and subtly slid his eyes over the top of his menu back towards the pair.

The first young man, the one who laughed unabashedly, was of a middling height, his dark, tightly coiled hair cropped close and neat. The long sleeves of his pinstriped shirt were rolled up to his elbows with careful attention to the folds. His eyes, so dark as to be practically black, sparkled like a starry night as he continued to tease his friend. Handsome, certainly, and forging a certain path in his life, but not the object of Caesar’s current dismay.

No, the source of that was the second young man, whose impressive height couldn’t be hidden even as he slouched in his seat. The fabric of his white t-shirt struggled to stretch across his shoulders, and the sleeves were rolled tight as if to show off the precise, sculpted tone of his arms. The shirt was only half tucked into the dark denim of the young man’s jeans, the rest of the hem hanging out like an unfinished thought. Most notable, however, was the impossible yet artful mess of hair draping over green eyes that were brighter in person than on print.

In short, the very visage of the photo Caesar had just committed to memory. Caesar suppressed an impatient sigh. This was good, he told himself. He could get first contact out of the way and then take the next day or two for himself. He could, he realized with a thrill, order pancakes to go and enjoy them in private.

The question then became how to weasel himself in between the target and his friend. Caesar considered his options as the conversation two tables over lowered to a hush. He could introduce himself as a newcomer to the area, ask to sit with them—it never hurt to be on good terms with a subject’s friends. In fact, Caesar preferred it, but he did wonder if such an approach was too direct.

Caesar was abruptly shaken from his particular planning by the harsh sound of metal scraping against concrete. The target’s friend was standing now, gathering his things. Keeping his eyes plastered to his menu, Caesar kept up a disinterested facade.

“Later, Smokey,” the target said with a half-hearted wave that Caesar saw from the corner of his eye.

“Hate to do this to you, bud,” Smokey replied in a voice that was just a little louder than before. “But work is work!”

“Yeah, alright, get out of here,” the target urged as Smokey patted his shoulder.

Caesar chanced a glance up as Smokey walked by. Their eyes met for the briefest of instants. Looking down and fishing out his phone as if to check on a new message, Caesar could’ve sworn that Smokey had grinned at him. It was almost too bad that Caesar was on assignment for his friend, rather than Smokey himself. Then again, Caesar contemplated, if Smokey were the target then he probably wouldn’t be half as appealing.

Meanwhile the young man that was the actual target appeared to be very interested in the nothing happening just down the road. Caesar took the time to assess his options. A straightforward approach had its merits. It was easy, and made an impression. If he was dealing with someone who had no appreciation for patience, then it was likely that that was the best route. Then again, too straightforward an approach with a person with such a flippant attitude might bore the target. No, Caesar had to be intriguing, a puzzle to be solved, a challenge to overcome, a— 

A man who needed to be faster at making decisions, Caesar realized as the target stood from his seat with such sudden force that the chair nearly toppled over. Caesar feigned interest in his phone as he tamped down a mild panic. If the target walked close by, Caesar could “accidentally” drop his phone, which at the very least would get the target’s attention, put Caesar in his head, so that the next time they met the target would be more amiable to friendship. Familiarity was the precursor to friendliness after all.

The target turned sharply on his heel and locked eyes with Caesar. All at once Caesar realized what was really happening. The target walked towards him with single-minded purpose. Caesar placed his phone face down on the table without averting his eyes, as if looking away would be to lose some unspoken challenge.

“Hey, I don’t think I’ve seen you around before, I’m—!”

Whoever he was, he seemed to be painfully unaware of how ridiculously tall he was. He carried himself forward towards Caesar until his head slammed into the overhead umbrella with such force that the umbrella collapsed over Caesar’s head. Two employees rushed out to help set the umbrella right again, the target apologizing sheepishly all the while. As soon as the umbrella was fixed, the target offered a handful of napkins, gesturing to the coffee that had been spilled all over the table.

“Sorry about that,” the target apologized once more in a wavering voice, the employees leaving them be after bringing out a fresh cup of coffee for Caesar. “Didn’t see it coming. Can I sit with you?”

“Your friend ditch you or something?” Caesar asked as if he hadn’t heard Smokey’s excuse for leaving.

The target shrugged. “In a manner of speaking.”

He took a seat before Caesar could give a clear answer. His approach had been mangled, certainly, and his voice full of uncertainty, but from the way he sat it was as though none of these were factors. He leaned back in his chair, eyes intent on Caesar, with one arm slung lazily over the back. He even stretched his legs out under the table to invade Caesar’s space; Caesar made a note to have a firm discussion about physical boundaries at some point.

“So are you new here or something?”

Caesar shrugged noncommittally. “In a manner of speaking.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’ve been here before.” A lie. “But never to stay.” The truth. The best cover stories were always half-truths.

The target cocked an eyebrow at Caesar, his grin growing more lopsided with every passing second. “And now?”

“If I have a good reason.”

Up close the target’s eyes were not unlike weathered copper, a facade of shocking verdigris that concealed something gleaming and glittering just beneath. There was no hiding the spark of interest in them though. Caesar’s mouth twitched with a barely concealed smirk. All that was left for him to do was fan the spark into a flame. Too easy.

“Maybe I could give you one,” the target suggested none too subtly.

Caesar rolled his eyes with sincerity. “Somehow I doubt that.”

“What makes you so sure? I could surprise you.”

“You say that as if you weren’t just talking about how miserably you scuffed up your last date,” Caesar retorted, sipping his coffee as if completely detached from the scenario unfolding in front of him.

The facile grin the target wore melted away at once. “Oh, good, I was worried nobody had overheard our private conversation.”

Caesar shrugged as if to say there was no helping it. “You’re quite loud.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” the target said, his swagger returning with a vengeance and a wink.

“And yet I’m already inclined to agree with your friend,” Caesar scoffed.

The target frowned again, yet his posture still did not change. Indeed, between the expressive nature of the target’s face and his static, almost orchestrated pose, Caesar was almost beginning to feel as though he couldn’t tell what this guy was thinking. That of course was absurd, but it was fascinating to think that a human could even come close to fooling him.

“Okay, so maybe I’m not the greatest at romance,” the target admitted after a moment. “Doesn’t mean I’m completely hopeless.”

Your case file would beg to differ, Caesar thought with another measured sip of coffee. “Maybe.”

“Alright then, what would you have me do?” the target demanded.

Caesar raised an eyebrow at the young man. “You’re asking me to tell you what to do?”

“I’m saying,” the target huffed. “If you were in my position, wanting to approach an attractive stranger at a cafe, what would you do?”

Caesar pretended to give it some thought, looking down at the coffee still left in his mug. Of course he knew what he would do. He’d been doing it for years. The answer he had to give, however, was what the target in question should do.

“Well,” Caesar began carefully as he swilled his coffee around. “If you’re straightforward enough to just walk up to someone you’re interested in, then you’re probably not someone who wastes time on people who don’t appreciate that.”

“I asked what you would do, not what I just did.”

“I wouldn’t run into the umbrella, for one thing.”

“Very funny.”

“And for another, I would’ve introduced myself by now.”

“No mysterious strangers for you, I see,” the target said, pointedly not introducing himself.

“No indeed,” Caesar replied.

“So what is your type then?” the target asked directly.

“Certainly not people who can’t even handle a single date.”

“Oh, like you’re some kind of expert on romance?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t.”

“Then I guess we don’t have anything more to say,” Caesar said, shifting in his seat as if getting ready to leave.

“Wait!” the target said a little too quickly. Caesar couldn’t help the smug grin that stretched across his face as he settled back into his seat. “Alright, so I could use a few pointers.”

More like an entire lesson plan, Caesar mentally corrected.

“You think?” Caesar said instead.

“Gee, don’t be so humble about it,” the target grumbled.

“Sorry,” Caesar chuckled (he wasn’t, not in the slightest). “But seriously, I think I could help you out.”

“Yeah?”

“Unless you don’t think you could learn anything from me.”

“Wouldn’t that reflect more on the teacher than the student?”

“I guess there’s only one way to find out.”

A brief stalemate seized the conversation as the proposition hung in the air. Caesar’s target gave him an exaggerated once over in the midst of it, though it did not give him the impression of lewdness. Rather, it seemed as though his target was simply sizing him up to see if he could take Caesar in a fight. Not exactly the sort of look he was used to receiving, but that would change sooner or later. Caesar knew exactly how desirable he was. In time his target would too, if things went on like this.

“Alright,” his target finally agreed, that already-characteristic smirk creeping back onto his face again. “What’s the first lesson, O wise sage?”

“Introductions,” Caesar answered without preamble. “We’ve had an entire conversation in which you’ve made at least one innuendo, but you still haven’t given me your name.”

“You’ve insulted me more times than that, and I still don’t have yours.”

“If you’re going to approach someone so brazenly, it falls upon you to give your name first.”

“Fair enough,” the target agreed easily. “And then we’d exchange numbers, right?”

“In theory yes, but I don’t give my number to strangers,” Caesar said, reaching for where he left his phone all the same.

“You sure about that?” the target insisted.

“Yes,” Caesar said resolutely, patting his pockets when he found his phone wasn’t where he thought he left it. “I’m absolutely—”

As if by magic, though certainly not any Caesar was familiar with, his phone appeared—in his target’s triumphantly waving hand. Caesar snatched it away before he could even think to figure out how the guy had snatched it without his noticing in the first place.

“Bet you’re wondering how I snatched it without you noticing,” his target teased.

Caesar ignored him in favor of looking at the new contact that was identified only by an insufferable amount of star related emojis, and then the obnoxious text that had been sent from Caesar’s phone to said new contact. Smooth as the move was, it was also entirely inappropriate and arrogant. And dangerous. Way too dangerous for Caesar. If the phone hadn’t been freshly wiped before Caesar’s assignment, who knew what this target could’ve discovered. Frankly Caesar wasn’t going to wait around to find out.

A server came by to take Caesar’s order, but left with payment for the coffee.

“Leaving so soon?” the target asked without moving from his seat.

“Here’s a tip for you,” Caesar started as he stood from his seat to leave, for real this time. He leaned across the table, just close enough to make a point but far enough that the target couldn’t possibly swipe anything else from him. “Cute as that was, if you’re interested in someone, don’t open by stealing their things.”

“But you thought it was cute,” the target replied, the point flying seamlessly over his head.

Caesar pushed away from his target, rolling his eyes once more. “I’ll see you around.”

“Why not stay and chat? I’ve got time.”

“Because I don’t intend to spend another second with you before tying down everything on my person,” Caesar said as he walked away.

“Don’t forget to tie down your heart!” his overeager target shouted after him.

Caesar groaned as he sauntered off, not sparing the subject a second glance. That was bad. This was bad. Was this target a dolt with a knack for sleight of hand? Or were the air-headed mannerisms just a front? Perhaps the agent who’d described the target as a maze of a man wasn’t too far off. They’d just forgotten to add the part where the maze in questions was full of pitfalls and traps.

Just as he made it to the end of the street his phone began to buzz insistently with several new text messages, all of the notifications so thoroughly saturated with stars that they drowned out the messages themselves. Caesar scowled and opened them, rather than ignoring them until he returned to his apartment.

The first message read: you know in all the excitement I never did get your name.

There was a word for what had just transpired, but “excitement” was not it.

The second: but I guess you’ll want my name first, huh?

In truth Caesar already knew his name, but if it took him this long to wrangle an introduction out of the target, this was going to be more of a pain than he expected.

The third: guess I’ll sacrifice a little mystery to be known.

Yet a fourth message hadn’t arrived with the name. A flare of irritation surged through Caesar. In spite of himself he aggressively tapped out a reply: Will I have to demonstrate everything for you? It’s as simple as saying, ‘Hello, I’m Caesar Zeppeli, and you are?’

A scant few seconds later finally brought a name like a victory flag, but not for Caesar.

Joseph Joestar. A pleasure to meet you ;)

It was a name on the precipice of distinct and unassuming. Almost bland, but with an unexpected flare. Well, Caesar decided as he burst back into the apartment, he wasn’t going to be caught off guard again. He snatched the folder from where he left it and spilled its contents onto the table in the living room, where he began to study it in earnest. His stomach growled, but he ignored it. He was too annoyed to even be forlorn about the pancakes he might’ve had. His focus was, for the first time that day, entirely on the case at hand.

One way or another Joseph Joestar would learn romance, or Caesar wasn’t the cupid he knew himself to be. And, as the saying went, the third time’s a charm. Caesar, as Joseph’s third and final hope to learn love (whether he knew it or not), would be just what he needed. There was no other option.

Chapter Text

Trovare la gioia l’uno nell’altro: segno tipico dell’amicizia.

Finding joy in one another: the typical mark of friendship.

Field Agent Report

Form 1043

Subject Name: Joseph Charles Joestar

Agent Name: Caesar Anthonio Zeppeli

Report Type: First Contact

Contact Details

Location: XXX

Date/Time: April 15th, 20XX; ~15:30

Length of Contact: ~20 min

Contact Summary

First contact was made within the first twenty-four hours of assignment, not by design. The location was not listed as a typical one for the subject; further investigation will be conducted to determine the subject’s regularity at this location (XXX). The subject approached myself with no prompting and initially demonstrated himself to be quite transparent with his motives.

The motives in question appeared to be romantic, but whether they were or not is irrelevant. The orchestrated nature of the subject’s movements thus confirm reports of previous agents. The subject’s posture often contradicts his words and vice versa, and it is as yet unclear which of the two can be trusted as true, if either. The only thing that can be decided with certainty at this point is that the subject’s intentions towards myself, whatever they may be, are not romantic, even if he intends them to be.

The only true motive the subject appears to have is to confuse his chosen target as much as possible, through whatever means he can. This suggests a preference for control that leads to a potential inability to be vulnerable with prospective partners. This would, of course, interfere very little with initial courting procedures, and his case will likely reveal a slew of arrows that failed to culminate in long-term relationships (pending review).

Caesar paused, his hands hovering over the keyboard. In theory he knew he ought to report exactly what methods the subject had used to confound him—that is, he knew he should report the stolen (and subsequently recovered) phone. No harm had come of it though. In fact, it had only served to establish a solid contact. There was no need to ask for a number he already had, after all. Still, if it hadn’t been a freshly wiped phone, there was no telling what the subject would’ve discovered. Had that been the case, he definitely would have to report it.

After a moment, the silence of the apartment was once again rife with the rapid click-clack of his typing. Caesar was many things, but he was no coward. He’d take the tongue lashing that would surely come, and then move on with the assignment. The subject had simply caught him off guard. It would not happen again.

When the report was done and sent Caesar peered around the laptop to glare at the massive case file that weighed heavy at the other end of the table. It was required that he review it, thoroughly, towards the beginning of his assignment so as to have a good understanding of his subject. Such a task with a file like this, however, would surely take days. Several, long, tedium-filled days. Caesar heaved a deep sigh and slid the laptop aside to reach for the file.

The file, as he had noted when he received it only a few hours prior, was an absolute disaster. Not only was it terribly out of order, but there was a slew of sticky notes haphazardly squashed onto reports in lieu of other reports or formal corrections. A few of them slipped out from between the pages and tumbled to the ground as soon as Caesar started rifling through them. He groaned as he wondered idly if any had fallen out without his notice upon his descent. Hopefully none of them contained any especially crucial information if that were indeed the case.

“Of course,” Caesar grumbled as he spent the next couple of hours sorting through the mess and arranging it just so. “Of course he’d be the sort of guy that’s annoying even when he’s not here. Of course they saddle me with the kind of guy that pisses me off the most!”

When Caesar finished sorting it all out, it was just about what he expected. The bulk of the file consisted of reports from main ops, who let loose far too many arrows than they should have on any one subject. Too many of those reports were only half-filled, and half of the reports concerned matters of poor aim; instead of the heart, they’d hit his head, or an arm, or his stomach. In spite of everything, main ops persisted, to the detriment of the subject. He knew the folks in main ops were idealistic—hell, he’d been idealistic too when he’d worked in main ops—but this was just flat out incompetence!

After that stack was the forecast reports, which told main ops exactly what sort of people the subject would encounter and a likelihood of a solid romance blossoming between them, given the right conditions (and what those conditions might be). Then the personal intervention reports, smaller than they ought to be for so trying a subject, and still incomplete. Caesar made a mental note to follow up on the status of those exit reports; he was very interested in knowing what it was about the subject that caused them to pull out so quickly.

The only thing that genuinely surprised him was a report he hadn’t noticed when he skimmed through the file before: a report from the black ops. In retrospect he should have guessed that in the midst of all the arrows the subject had endured at least one of them would have given way to love, however temporary. Grimacing, Caesar set that particular report far to the side. He would read that one last.

Looking at what he was up against, even neatly sorted as it was, was incredibly disheartening. Certainly plenty of humans were a hot mess, but Caesar couldn’t recall a subject he’d had before that had been this much of a disaster. That was saying something—being one of the more experienced agents, Caesar had seen his fair share of tire fires. Yet it hadn’t even been a full day and he already felt exhausted by this assignment.

Caesar sat for a moment with a hand over his eyes, trying to steel himself for the drudgery. He glanced at the single, dusty window on the other side of the apartment. The soft glow of twilight filtered through, seeming to feed the overwhelming silence of the place. With a huff, Caesar snapped the laptop shut and shoved himself away from the table. If this was indeed going to take days (and he was positive it would) he may as well get a good night’s sleep first, a mere scrap of the time off he was owed. To his very last thought before slipping into sleep, Caesar cursed Messina for the non-existent turnaround, cursed every clumsy hand the file had passed through, every inexperienced cupid and every missed shot, and most of all, he cursed Joseph Joestar. The sooner he was rid of him the better.

A few days later, at five o’clock precisely, Caesar rolled up the sleeves of a crisp, collared shirt and walked out into the brisk, early spring air. He took a deep breath, savoring the sweetness of fresh air. In his fervor to finish reviewing the file sooner rather than later, he’d exclusively ordered delivery, much to his own distaste. He was as eager for a homemade meal as he had been for fresh air. Now that the file was completely reviewed (save for the black ops report, which he had promised himself to read later, and the two exit reports he did not have), Caesar could enjoy both. Just not at this very moment.

At this very moment, he was going to put what he’d learned into practice and supplement the files with more on-hand knowledge. In short, he was going to meet Joseph Joestar once again. Not that the subject knew that. Indeed, for all the trouble he’d gone through to exchange their numbers the subject had not texted Caesar since the day they’d met. To Caesar, this simply meant that more “chance” meetings were needed, and such a one there would be.

After spending days studying the subject like a college student studied for a final they felt ill-prepared for, Caesar was confident this encounter would be much easier to handle. He meandered easily into town, where many people were already out enjoying the evening. Once there, he couldn’t keep himself from walking more directly, with such purpose that no one dared stand in his way. As he walked, he mentally reviewed some of the information he’d consolidated.

Joseph Charles Joestar, he recalled with practiced clarity, was born September 27th, 19XX, making him twenty-three years of age. He was struck with his first arrow at the age of fifteen. Not especially unusual, nor is it unusual that this first arrow did not result in love. No, the first sign of peculiarity with this case came in the two year gap between the first and second arrows. What’s more, the second arrow resulted in love, but did not pan out. As such, the subject was left alone for another couple of years.

That’s where the real trouble started as far as Caesar was concerned. The cupids in main ops seemed to have it in their heads that they had to make up for lost time with this case, and began pelting him with an average of five arrows a year for several years before the first recommendation for intervention was penned. Caesar had to admit he felt a little sorry for the guy, even if he was annoying. It was no easy feat to endure so many arrows, even if what they inflicted was emotional rather than physical.

After nearly twenty minutes of walking and reviewing, like he was going to be tested on his comprehension of the subject, Caesar found what he was looking for. The building itself was plain and boxy, but it was embellished with string lights and fine shrubbery as was found in most of town. The brightly painted door was flung wide open to entice potential customers and the cool evening breeze inside. Music pulsed from within, mingling with the dull roar of incessant chatter. Caesar ducked in without a second thought. This was the place, he was sure of it.

The subject enjoys spending his evenings at a few routine locations within walking distance of his apartment, Caesar recited in his head. In addition to this bar, there is one other bar, a bowling alley, and an arcade that the subject likes to frequent. According to previous reports, he has the highest probability of being in this particular bar on this particular day.

Caesar sauntered in as if he belonged there, his decided footfalls barely muffled by the worn, tacky carpet. A few young people looked him over (and who could blame them? Certainly not Caesar), but otherwise the regulars were notable in that they hardly spared him a second glance. Just as well for him. He wasn’t here to play games.

When he took a seat at the far end of the bar and satisfied the bartender with his (fake) ID, Caesar let his eyes roam. It was average, as far as bars went. Fairly dim, with old, grimy lamps hanging at random intervals (save for around the pool tables, which had a lamp to each one hanging dangerously low to it). The smell of cigarettes was rife in the air, and the sound of clinking glasses punctuated by loud guffaws added to the cozy, decidedly local ambiance of the place.

Most notable, however, was the absence of the subject himself. Caesar checked his watch. According to previous reports, this day was the end of the subject’s work week, and this bar was so frequented by him because it was so close to where he worked. In theory, he should already be here. Caesar didn’t fuss about it just yet. Even if luck wasn’t on his side tonight, he would have plenty of other chances to orchestrate a meeting with the subject. In the meantime, he just had to be patient.

While he waited, Caesar took the time to pat his pockets and make sure everything was securely in place. He was determined that if they met tonight it would not be like their first meeting, not by a long shot. No, this time he was fully prepared, this time he would not be caught off guard, this time—

“Well, fancy meeting you here,” a familiar voice drawled far too close to his ear.

Caesar, in spite of himself, nearly jumped out of his seat, a hand flying to the pocket where his phone was. It was still there despite its sudden proximity to a one Joseph Joestar, who smirked when he noticed the motion. Caesar scowled and willed a pack of cigarettes to appear inside his pocket, acting as though he’d simply been moving to take them out.

“Fancy isn’t the word I’d use for it,” Caesar retorted, a brief pat of magic on his other pocket conjuring a lighter.

Joseph snickered and took a seat beside Caesar without invitation. He was just the same as he had been a few days prior, hair in an artful state of disarray, green eyes keen as they considered Caesar. The dark gray t-shirt he wore was incredibly snug, no doubt a conscious choice on Joseph’s part. Speaking as a cupid, Caesar silently noted it was a good choice, as was the added flair of the plaid shirt tied around his waist. Simple, but it worked for Joseph.

As Joseph ordered a drink, Caesar considered what he’d inferred from the file carefully. The subject likely has a propensity for being in control of whatever situation he’s in. He’s well practiced and often uses misdirection and sleight of hand tricks to obtain and keep that control. Those who do not eventually play along, so to speak, are dropped like an old sock, which is exactly what happened to the first agent sent to the subject.

Thus the objective of the night, Caesar reminded himself, was to go along with whatever Joseph wanted in order to observe his methods up close and consider how they might impede the formation of long term attachments. He would have to be careful not to be too pliant though—the second agent had done that, and Joseph had quickly grown bored of them as well. It was a balancing act, to be sure, but Caesar wasn’t the best for nothing.

As Caesar lit his cigarette (noting the face Joseph pulled when he did), he tried to be optimistic. So far the worst thing Joseph had done so far was steal his phone. So long as he kept a tight hold on his possessions, Joseph’s company might be bearable. Hell, if Caesar was really lucky it might even be enjoyable, but his hopes weren’t that high.

“So what brings you here?” Joseph asked casually as he brought a neon-bright drink to his lips.

Basic, safe, Caesar observed. Not necessarily flirtatious, just putting out feelers.

“Drinking, of course,” Caesar answered.

“Funny, I don’t see a drink in front of you,” Joseph pointed out.

Caesar blew out a puff of smoke. “That’s because I just got here.”

“So did I,” Joseph said. “You’re already running behind.”

“I’m right where I want to be, thanks,” Caesar replied.

Joseph hummed, supposedly intrigued. “Is that so?”

“It is.”

“What’s so special about this bar?” Joseph prodded.

Caesar nearly snorted. He’d heard enough variations of that question to know what it really meant: Are you meeting anyone here? He flicked his cigarette over a nearby ash tray and ruminated on why Joseph might want to know. Was it out of politeness? Somehow Caesar couldn’t believe that Joseph would immediately leave him alone if he knew Caesar was meeting someone. In a way he was, having come here for the sole purpose of finding Joseph—not that he could tell Joseph as much. As he brought the cigarette back to his lips, he figured he’d have Joseph worked out by the end of the night.

“Nothing, as far as I know,” Caesar finally said. “I told you I’m new around here, didn’t I? I just wanted to get out of the house, and I chose at random. Maybe if I’d known you’d be here I would’ve chosen another place.”

Joseph squawked in mock offense. “Rude!”

“Sue me for not wanting to get my pockets picked.”

“I didn’t pick your pockets, you left your phone on the table!”

Ah, Caesar realized, having finally puzzled out what trick it was that Joseph had used. The oafish act of slamming into the umbrella had been a distraction, with no care for his pride for all that it seemed he had heaps of it. Caesar filed that away as something to watch for in the future.

“And that makes it so much better,” Caesar replied in a dry tone.

“It does,” Joseph decided. “Which reminds me… after all that work I put in—”

“Your parents must be so proud.”

“You haven’t texted me once!” Joseph finished forcefully.

“Sure I did,” Caesar said with a lazy shrug with another unhurried drag of his cigarette.

“When?”

“When you texted me, right after we met.”

Joseph’s mouth promptly twisted into a frown as crooked as his smile, like he couldn’t decide what sort of expression to display at that given moment. Indeed, Caesar couldn’t tell if he was amused or irritated. Maybe both. Caesar leaned on the counter, at once giving himself a better vantage point from which to gauge Joseph’s reaction, and the image of someone who was totally at ease.

“Alright, smartass,” Joseph finally retorted. “You know what I meant.”

“Do I? Cause as you said, you’re the one who went through all that effort to exchange our numbers. As far as I know, you just wanted to kill time by impressing a stranger,” Caesar suggested lightly, thinking perhaps he might catch a glimpse into Joseph’s motives.

Instead, Joseph played right along with him. “Maybe. Were you impressed?”

Saying no would be an outright lie and they both knew it. Saying yes, however, would give Joseph an ego boost he definitely did not need. Already Caesar was taking too long to answer, and Joseph was grinning again.

“No comment,” Caesar slowly answered. Joseph, pleased with even this, cackled with delight.

“But seriously,” Joseph continued. “Since you’re new in town, don’t you want someone to show you around? Maybe have a little fun with?”

Caesar made a show of incredulity that was not entirely a show. “I suppose you think you’re the man for that job?”

“Why not? You agreed to give me tips on dating, and I have to pay you back somehow, right? Not to mention I’ve lived here for a few years, and am a certified expert in having a good time!” Joseph bragged.

“Certified by who? Yourself?” Caesar laughed.

“If that doesn’t suit you, you could always certify me yourself,” Joseph offered, resting his chin on his hand and giving the most Cheshire grin Caesar had seen on anyone.

“Why should I?” Caesar pressed, telling himself it was in the interest of seeing how Joseph acted when he was neither rejected nor affirmed. 

Joseph shrugged and slurped his drink noisily before replying, “What do you want, a list? It’s not like I’m trying to sell you anything—not today, anyways.”

“I never said you were.”

“And yet you dance around the question like I’m trying to swindle you into something scandalous, like you want to know what it is but you aren’t sure if you want it or not.”

“Don’t give yourself so much credit,” Caesar assured him, one hundred percent sincerely. “You couldn’t if you tried.”

This was, in retrospect, the wrong thing to say.

“Oh? Do I hear a challenge?”

“Spare me.”

“Ah, ah! I don’t think so!”

“Apparently not,” Caesar muttered, realizing his mistake far too late. 

It was hit or miss, according to the reports of the previous two agents, but there was always a chance that Joseph, when told he couldn’t do something, would endeavor to do it out of sheer spite. And whatever his motivations for approaching Caesar before had been, well, now Caesar had given him a very clear one. Caesar pressed the heel of a hand to his forehead while Joseph threw himself into his dramatics.

“You’ve thrown down the gauntlet,” Joseph declared, loud enough for half the bar to hear. “And now I must defend my honor!”

“Jojo, stop,” the bartender wearily pleaded. Joseph didn’t seem to hear her.

“As the one challenged I get to choose the mode of combat,” Joseph began, his eyes already wandering over to the pool tables.

At that, Caesar choked back a snort. “What makes you so sure I’m going to go along with this?”

“Because this is no ordinary game of pool!”

“Then what is it?”

“A game of pool,” Joseph announced proudly. “Joestar-style!”

“Seriously?” Caesar scoffed. He wasn’t sure he’d been sufficiently prepared for how much of a dork this guy was. Luckily, some people found that appealing. He wasn’t completely hopeless. Not yet.

“You bet! It’s way more interesting than a regular game of pool, and the prize always makes it worth the time to play,” Joseph explained, letting the as yet unspoken question dangle in the air between them.

Caesar let it hang a little while longer, testing Joseph’s mercurial patience as he burned the cigarette down to the butt. “Alright, I’ll bite: what does the winner get?”

Joseph smirked as if victory was already his, resting a forearm on the counter as he leaned close. Caesar stood his ground and did not shift away, keeping his expression neutral. If Joseph thought getting close enough that Caesar could smell the lingering scent of cologne that clung to his skin would intimidate him, he was sorely mistaken. Indeed, not even the fact that Caesar could count the eyelashes that fanned themselves so prettily over the swell of Joseph’s cheeks could sway him.

“The winner,” Joseph murmured, barely loud enough for Caesar to hear. “Gets whatever he wants.”

“Whatever he wants?” Caesar repeated, just as quietly.

“From the loser. No questions asked,” Joseph added.

Talk about forward, Caesar thought. He unclenched his hand, only just realizing he’d curled it into a fist. But then, Caesar continued internally, some people liked that, especially with someone as objectively attractive as Joseph. It promised intrigue, excitement, and maybe something more salacious later in the night. Caesar had to admit that the method had merit, for all that it did not sway him.

More importantly, Caesar could use this to his advantage.

“Alright,” Caesar finally agreed. “But don’t let me hear you whining when you lose.”

Joseph threw his head back with a pronounced laugh. “Bold of you to say when you don’t even know the rules.”

“I doubt they’ll be anything outrageous,” Caesar said as he pressed his cigarette butt into the ash tray.

Having been a personal intervention agent for some time, Caesar had seen a great many things, and with so many people spending their time in bars, he’d seen countless numbers of ways to play pool. If Joseph managed to surprise him, he would be genuinely impressed.

“Then prepare to be surprised!” Joseph proclaimed. “Because Joestar-style pool is—”

“Jojo!” the bartender abruptly cut in, her shriek carrying over the din of talk and music. That none of the other patrons flinched or even paused their conversations told Caesar this was not an uncommon occurrence. “If your Joestar-whatever rules break one more light I’ll ban you from the bar, see if I don’t!”

“Relax, it was just the one time! And it wasn’t even me that broke the light!” Joseph insisted with a devilish grin, right before ordering another drink (served with reluctance) and a rack of balls (provided with even greater reluctance).

Joseph laughed at the cross and frankly careworn bartender for only a moment longer before turning to Caesar with that same smug, self-assured smile.

“Scared yet?” he asked.

Caesar crossed his arms, leaning against the counter as they waited for the rack and cue sticks to be given to them. “What’s there to be scared of?”

“You’ll see,” Joseph answered with a wink. The bartender handed him everything at once, and he struggled to hold it all. He looked pointedly at Caesar. “You want to give me a hand?”

“Sure,” Caesar agreed amenably before clapping his hands a couple times. He snorted when Joseph pouted, highly unamused by his joke, and then took the cue sticks off of Joseph’s hands. Some people just didn’t appreciate a good joke.

“So,” Caesar began as Joseph set down the rack on the nearest open table. “What are these rules you’re so certain I’ve never heard before?”

“Whatever we want them to be,” Joseph explained at once. “We start with the basic rules and build off of them—do I need to explain the basics to you?”

Caesar shoved a cue stick into Joseph’s waiting hands with a scowl. “No, I don’t need you to explain the basics to me!”

“Great! So basically every time you sink a ball, you get to make a rule, but because of that you can’t take multiple turns in a row,” Joseph continued as if completely oblivious to Caesar’s ire.

“Jojo, are you swindling this poor lad into that mad game you have the audacity to call pool?” an older fellow at the next table suddenly asked.

“I’m not swindling him into anything!” Joseph objected with false hurt. He moved as if to sling an arm over Caesar’s shoulder, but Caesar moved out of reach. Joseph frowned, but continued, “I’m telling him exactly what he’s getting into!”

“Don’t play him,” the older man advised Caesar, disregarding Joseph (who was quite indignant at this treatment). “Not by his rules anyways. He always manages to win, and he’ll take you for everything but the clothes off your back.”

Caesar shrugged. “First time for everything.”

The old man shook his head in sorrow as he returned to his own game. “Godspeed young man.”

Caesar took a deep breath, a certain level of concern rising within him, not because he was intimidated by Joseph’s supposed proficiency. Far from it. No, the trouble he saw was in himself, and his competitive streak that would most assuredly make an appearance at some point during the night. It was already bubbling to the surface with every assurance that he would lose. He had to remind himself that he had a job to do, and that job was best done by letting Joseph do what he normally did, even if that meant losing to him.

“It’s not too late to back out, you know,” Joseph purred, leaning slightly on his cue stick. “That guy wasn’t lying when he said I’ve never lost, and I’d hate to hear you whining about it later when I claim my prize.”

Then again, Caesar thought with a stab of irritation, it would be just as beneficial to observe how Joseph acted in the event of a loss.

“And I wasn’t lying when I said there’s a first time for everything,” Caesar growled with full sincerity.

Joseph grinned, apparently satisfied with this answer, and gestured towards the table to indicate that Caesar should break. Caesar approached the table with a confident stride, aware of Joseph’s rapt attention on him all the while. Searching, certainly, but for what? Not for the lewd things he might be implying, that much Caesar knew, even as he felt that keen gaze rove up and down the line of his body as he bent low over the table to ready his shot. He’d sense it if that were the case, yet as far as his senses told him there was nothing of the sort. Just a strange, probing curiosity.

In one swift, sharp motion Caesar shoved the attention off himself and onto the table where it belonged, the cue ball flying down the table and sending the rest into a flurry of satisfying clicks and clacks. Caesar watched with mild pleasure as two balls (one stripe, one solid) sank neatly into the pockets. More satisfaction came from watching Joseph’s easy stance waver by the barest margin.

“A rule for every ball, right?” Caesar clarified with a smirk.

Joseph twisted his mouth and nodded.

“In that case,” Caesar mused, running a hand along the smooth edge of the table. “The first rule is that you have to bank the cue ball before it can hit the ball you’re aiming for.”

Joseph huffed, but said nothing. Caesar let the pause between rules swell to bursting.

“And the second?” Joseph eventually demanded, his patience waning first. Caesar counted it as a small victory for his part.

“The second rule is that for every shot you miss here, you have to take a shot there,” Caesar revealed with a nod towards the bar.

Joseph whistled, long and low. “You sure don’t pull your punches, do you?”

“Should I have?”

“Nah, that wouldn’t be any fun,” Joseph assured him, sounding a bit too easy-going for Caesar’s taste. “But you do realize that you have to follow these rules too, right?”

“I can handle a few shots,” Caesar said, privately lauding the inherently divine nature that protected him from any man-made intoxicants. A shot for every ball on the table wouldn’t make the slightest difference to him. Joseph, on the other hand… “I’ll make sure to have the paramedics on standby for you though.”

Joseph scoffed. “Don’t bother! Solids or stripes?”

“Solids,” Caesar answered without hesitation. “And with that, I believe it’s your turn, Jojo .”

Joseph’s eyes snapped to his with all the intensity and color of a summer storm, but Caesar didn’t flinch. Everyone in the bar seemed to call Joseph that, and as the file made no mention of any sort of nickname, Caesar decided to use it on a whim, to add gambling to the list of games he was playing that night. No matter what the outcome was, it would be a win for Caesar—he would come out knowing something he didn’t.

“Only my friends get to call me that,” Joseph informed him quite sternly.

“You seem to have a lot of friends then,” Caesar remarked. He filed the new bit of information away for later review.

“Yeah, unlike a certain someone who came here alone,” Joseph said as he considered his options on the table. “Or did you get stood up?”

“I don’t get stood up.”

“Sure you don’t.”

In lieu of replying, Caesar merely watched carefully as Joseph eyed a striped ball perched precariously on the edge of a corner pocket. With Caesar’s banking rule in effect, however, there was no clear shot to it. As a matter of fact, Joseph had no clear shots whatsoever. Caesar tried not to act so pleased about it, but it was difficult as he watched Joseph shuffled around the table, chewing on his bottom lip in obvious agitation.

That was what Caesar perceived, anyways, but then Joseph crouched over the table, wiggling like a cat ready to pounce, and with a quick jab set off a domino effect: the cue ball ricocheted off the edge to his a ball nowhere near a pocket, which bumped into another ball that rolled amiably over to nudge the striped ball that Joseph had been aiming for cleanly into the pocket. Worse still, the ball that ultimately sank the first ball followed right in, also a stripe, bringing the score one to three in Joseph’s favor.

“Two balls, two rules,” Joseph made sure to remind Caesar.

“So get on with it then,” Caesar urged gruffly.

Joseph refused to be hurried though, and tapped a finger to his chin in a show of thought. “Let’s see… the bank shot rule can be bypassed for a domino shot—that is, the cue ball has to hit another ball that hits the ball you’re aiming for.”

“I know what you mean!”

“And second, when you miss, your opponent gets to choose the sort of shot you have to take!” Joseph finished proudly.

Caesar nodded, taking no issue with these rules. He wasn’t exactly sure what he expected, but his imagination put it down as something a bit more creative, maybe even crude or wild. Something that could potentially lead to a light getting broken, or some other banishment-worthy offense. If Caesar was honest, he was a little disappointed. All that talk, from Joseph and others, and this was the extent of how “wild” the game was?

With Caesar’s next shot, he brought the score up two to three. It grated at him that Joseph was ahead thanks to Caesar breaking so well, but he didn’t worry too much about it just yet. Joseph had to miss eventually. In the meantime, Caesar could use this game to do his job a little more efficiently.

“For every successful shot your opponent makes,” Caesar said. “You have to tell him about yourself.”

“Wow, so smooth,” Joseph teased in a lilting tone.

“Don’t flatter yourself, if you were better at holding a decent conversation I wouldn’t have made such a rule,” Caesar snapped.

“Yeesh, cool your jets, I’m getting there!” Joseph yelped. “How about… my favorite color is blue! Marine blue, specifically.”

“Illuminating,” Caesar replied in a dry tone. On the surface it didn’t seem like helpful information, but it told Caesar enough. Joseph, he observed, was not very forthcoming about himself, for all that he puffed himself up to seem so. Such a fact needed more confirmation, but Caesar was willing to bet that he would turn out to be right.

“You didn’t say what kind of something, that’s your own fault!” Joseph trilled as he skipped to the table for his turn, not realizing Caesar’s true motives. “Anyways, if you wanted to know if I’m single all you had to do was ask.”

“That’s not—you know what, nevermind, just take your turn,” Caesar sighed, knowing full well that Joseph was single.

Joseph cackled, thinking he had the upper hand, and sank his next shot handily. The score was now two to four, still in Joseph’s favor. Caesar was starting to think that he ought to think of a more clever way to catch up, to hinder Joseph in some way that would at once benefit him. In that regard, he had to admit that this version of pool was fairly interesting. He just couldn’t tell Joseph he thought that. Meanwhile, Joseph delivered the new rule.

“Instead of having your opponent just say something about himself,” Joseph began. “The person who made the shot gets to ask a specific question for the other to answer.”

“Alright then, what’s your question?” Caesar asked.

“My question is,” Joseph said with a wicked gleam in his eyes. “When are you going to start playing for real?”

Were it not for the impeccable self-control that was the result of years of careful cultivation, Caesar was certain he would’ve snapped his cue stick in half. Where did this guy get off, making jibes like that at someone he just met?! And where did Messina get off assigning him a guy so obviously designed to test every inch of his patience?!

“When I’m certain it’s not going to hurt your feelings,” Caesar retorted through clenched teeth.

Joseph blew a raspberry at that. “Jeez, where do you get off saying things like that to someone you’ve just met? No wonder you got stood up!”

“I don’t get stood up!” Caesar snarled as he stomped to the table to take his turn.

It was almost a bad shot, Caesar being so aggravated that he put too much power behind it and nearly scratched. He didn’t, but it was close. Close enough that Caesar had to remind himself to cool his head, before he really lost his handle on things. He turned to Joseph, who was waiting expectantly.

“Why’s it so important for you to know whether I’m single or not?” Caesar asked, deciding to take advantage of Joseph’s rule to get to the bottom of the mystery that had needled him since they first met.

“Who says I want to know?” Joseph dodged.

“That’s not an answer.”

Joseph chuckled. “I was just curious. Why?”

“What do you mean why?”

“Ah, ah! You only get one question per ball!” Joseph admonished. “Anyways, what’s your brand new never-been-done-before rule?”

Caesar scrutinized Joseph’s lackadaisical expression. People weren’t “just curious” about these sorts of things, even without an arrow. Not to mention the swift change of subject Joseph made the instant he had an opportunity was ten sorts of suspicious. Yet Caesar could detect no sign of falsehood in Joseph’s countenance. In the end, it meant Caesar was as much in the dark as he was before.

With a sigh, Caesar delivered the next rule. “The next successful shot will switch us.”

Joseph blinked. “Switch us?”

“As in, the next shot you make, I become stripes, you become solids,” Caesar clarified with a growing smile.

Joseph’s eyes nearly popped out of his head at that, they grew so wide. His mouth opened and closed, gaping like a fish out of water. He may as well have been, if everything Caesar had been told about him never losing were true. Caesar readied himself. Joseph looked poised to have a proper fit about it, and Caesar had a few choice words to offer him in that event. Nobody liked a sore loser, least of all potential romantic partners. Then, without warning, Joseph relaxed, though his expression was still petulant.

“Fine,” Joseph huffed, fuming all the way to the other side of the table.

At that Caesar had to admit that Joseph was more composed than he’d expected him to be. Usually someone that enjoyed playing games all the time was more intent on winning part than anything else. That had been Caesar’s experience, anyways. He was just starting to consider this contradiction of expectations—was it sincere or was Joseph putting up another front?—when the answer came to him in the form of the shot Joseph was lining up. It was an easy shot, but it wasn’t a stripe—it was a solid.

The dots connected in Caesar’s head faster than the balls on the table connected with each other as Joseph made his shot and sank it. Sure, it could count as a miss, but then Caesar’s switch rule would be turned on its head. It would be like handing victory to Joseph on a silver platter. Caesar had worded it the way he did in order to avoid subversion, but instead he’d provided the perfect loophole. He had to think fast to create another as Joseph puffed up in preparation to brag.

“That counts as a successful shot, you know,” Caesar informed the pretentious peacock with as even a voice as he could manage.

Whatever taunt had been rising from Joseph’s chest caught sharply in his throat.

“That’s bullshit!” he shouted, waving his stick around threateningly, his behavior coming closer to what Caesar had initially expected.

“You aimed for that one, and you made the shot,” Caesar reasoned. “Therefore it’s successful.”

“But—!”

“I specified a successful shot, I didn’t say what counted as such,” Caesar pressed, unwilling to back down.

Joseph articulated incoherently for a moment or so, apparently unable to argue any further. Caesar chuckled, hiding his smile behind a hand. If this was Joseph when he lost, it wasn’t so bad. Better than him turning into a fuming, brooding lump like other competitive men did, but Caesar couldn’t help but feel like he would rather get on with the game. He wanted to win sooner rather than later.

“Alright!” Joseph spat, turning sharply on his heel to face Caesar once more. “But it’s on now!”

“Oh, really? That’s good, I was looking forward to actually playing tonight.”

“Since it’s successful, that means I get to ask a question and make a new rule,” Joseph said fiercely, as if daring Caesar to push it even further.

Caesar, ultimately, decided not to and agreed, “Shoot.”

Joseph leaned close again, not in the alluring and obviously practiced manner he’d used at the bar earlier, but aggressively, with narrow, probing eyes. Caesar, as with before, stood his ground, while noting that Joseph might need a little lesson on personal space. It was all fine and dandy if he was trying to seduce someone, but right now Joseph looked more ready to fight than— 

“Are these birthmarks or tattoos?” Joseph asked, quite out of the blue as he poked one of Caesar’s cheeks where the skin was pink with a disguised cupid mark.

Make that a big lesson on personal space, Caesar thought as he slapped Joseph’s hand away from his face. “Don’t touch me! Didn’t anyone ever teach you about boundaries?!”

“What about them? Also that’s not an answer.”

“They’re birthmarks,” Caesar told him. It wasn’t exactly a lie. It just wasn’t the entire truth. Cupid marks were practically birthmarks—just really special birthmarks. “What’s the new rule?”

“We’re switching!” Joseph trilled as he pointedly stepped out of Caesar’s reach. “No switchbacks!”

Caesar blinked rapidly as this twist sank into his head. As soon as it did, his veins erupted into flames.

“You can’t—!”

“There was no rule saying I couldn’t!” Joseph interrupted in a sing-song voice.

“That’s not—!”

“I really hope you’re not going to say that’s not fair!” Joseph cut in again, holding a hand up to his ear. “But just in case, speak up so I can hear it clearly! Didn’t I already say that I didn’t want to hear you whining about losing?”

Caesar snapped his mouth shut and ground his teeth together in lieu of a reply. He’d been aware that Joseph was childish, but this—! More infuriating, however, was the fact that he’d let himself believe that there was an unspoken agreement to not undo other rules. Alter or add to, fine, but reverse entirely? It was so stupidly simple that Caesar was furious with himself for not anticipating it. It was only the fact that Caesar realized he would be able to pull ahead that he didn’t completely lose it—but then he realized that Joseph surely knew this and got angry all over again.

“Aw, what’s wrong Caesarino? Mad cause you didn’t think of something so stupidly simple?” Joseph taunted, tapping the tip of his cue stick against his chin and smudging blue chalk there.

“Don’t,” Caesar snarled as he stepped up to the table to take his turn. “Call me that.”

Joseph giggled, not a bit fazed by Caesar’s obvious irritation. He had finished his second drink of the night and was eying the bar like he wanted a third, not at all concerned about the shots he might have to take later. It did more than just grate at Caesar’s patience, it pissed him all the way off! He was so pissed off, in fact, he nearly missed again, the cue ball jumping and narrowly missing the low-hanging light before hitting another ball that sank the ball he’d been aiming for out a sheer luck. It was only out of sheer luck, then, that Caesar had a marginal lead of five to four.

“Watch it! I’m not actually trying to get kicked out!” Joseph admonished even as he cackled merrily about it. “Unless that’s part of your tactic—getting me kicked out before I can beat you!”

Caesar rolled his eyes, trying not to snap at Joseph for being so cocky despite having lost his lead. He didn’t want to admit it, but Caesar couldn’t figure out what Joseph was really playing at and it was frustrating him to no end. In the meantime, there was a question to be asked and a new rule to be made.

“Do you challenge every newcomer to a game like this, or am I just special?” Caesar inquired, trying to keep his tone light.

“Course I do, most people only ever play me once,” Joseph answered without preamble. “But if you want to be special I’m sure we can arrange something.”

“Don’t bother,” Caesar replied. “Somehow I’m not surprised people only play you once.”

“Their loss, I’m loads of fun to play with!”

“It’s a loss for them either way,” Caesar mumbled. Then, more clearly so Joseph could hear, “New rule: you have to shoot with the other end of your stick. No undoing the rule.”

“Fine by me. My turn!”

Joseph’s easygoing attitude regarding the new handicap didn’t sit well at all with Caesar. It grated at him even more when Joseph still managed to make a good shot, bringing them to a tie again, five to five. As Caesar argued internally that it had been an especially easy shot, even for a novice, Joseph whirled his stick around with a dramatic flourish, and then thumped the wide end loudly against the floor.

“Okay, so we clarified that you didn’t get stood up—do you even have anyone to get stood up by?” Joseph prodded.

“No,” Caesar said curtly. “What’s the new rule?”

“Wow, what happened to making conversation? Are you that eager to lose so quickly? It’s not like you have a hot date after this or anything—”

“Just get on with it!”

“Alright! Touchy!” Joseph yelped. “The new rule is, you only have to use the opposite end of the stick when you miss, and you can’t switch back until you make a successful shot.”

“Didn’t I say you can’t undo the rule?”

“It’s not undone, just altered.”

A stubborn stalemate took hold of the air between them, charging it in anticipation of a bolt of lightning. Caesar’s mouth twisted into something like a cross between an amused smile and an annoyed grimace. It hadn’t escaped his notice that all Joseph had done so far was alter or build off of rules Caesar made. What escaped him was why. Surely he could think of some especially creative and even exasperating rules that would no doubt accomplish the goal of making Caesar screw up. He scanned Joseph’s haughty expression for clues, but as usual found none.

“Fine,” Caesar conceded with a sharp exhale.

Joseph smirked, satisfied. It was just one annoyance on top of another with this guy. Feigning interest in Caesar when there was none, putting Caesar in a position where he could potentially win but still being confident he would lose, only ever letting Caesar make new rules—all questions and no answers. It struck Caesar, then, that in order to get the answers he wanted he would have to do what he was supposed to be doing in the first place: his job. He wasn’t here to win games. All he had to do was play along with what Joseph wanted. And Joseph wanted to win.

Caesar despised what he decided he had to do as he moved up to the table, playing at lining up his shot just so. After spending most of the game fully intending to win, it was a little more than difficult to reel in his competitive nature. He could practically already hear the taunts, see the teasing smile, and it was already driving him insane. But, he reminded himself, he was a cupid. A single loss wouldn’t matter in the long run. Still his pride could not bear to let him watch. He closed his eyes as he skewed his shot by the slightest margin, sending the balls rolling around the table but sinking none of them.

When he straightened again he didn’t immediately turn around. Caesar needed a moment to steel himself before facing Joseph’s glee. A moment, however, was too long to wait for a Joseph with something to say. Caesar felt him hovering behind him, too close, and on instinct nearly elbowed Joseph in the ribs, for that space where his wings normally were was strictly off limits. As he nearly broke out into a sweat resisting the urge to whip around and push Joseph well away from that intimate space, Caesar made a note to not leave his back open to Joseph if he could help it.

“Caesar,” Joseph said in a low tone, breath running hot over the back of Caesar’s neck and his cocky attitude rolling off him in palpable waves. “Do you think I’m stupid?”

“No cheating—you have to make a shot to ask a question,” Caesar reminded him.

“Okay, how about this: you could only make a shot that bad if you tried,” Joseph purred, swinging around to stand beside Caesar and gather his expression. Caesar relaxed marginally; he could handle Joseph so long as he wasn’t at his back.

While cursing internally, Caesar was determined not to admit to anything. “Funny way to look at bad luck.”

“Bad luck, huh?” Joseph snorted. He finally stepped away to give Caesar some breathing room. “Or maybe you were just curious to see what kind of rule I would come up with on my own.”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” Caesar insisted for all that he wanted to smack himself with his stick until something broke, the realization that he’d fallen into a trap dawning like the sun after an especially late night—unpleasant and unwelcome.

“If you say so. But I have to admit, I’m impressed! It took a while to make you miss! I’ll go get your shot, sit tight, don’t miss me too much!”

It was the final piece to the puzzle that Caesar had been missing—one of the puzzles, anyways. There had been no doubt in Caesar’s mind that Joseph was incredibly adept at reading people, and Caesar had foolishly assumed that Joseph used what he found to aggravate all his opponents. But no, Caesar realized, everything Joseph had done had been to aggravate him specifically. Of course Joseph had picked up that Caesar had a competitive streak with a temper to match—why else would he needle at Caesar between shots, why make childish reversals, ask questions so repeatedly as to sound like a broken record, if not to coax Caesar into missing a shot.

And when that hadn’t worked, Caesar thought with wretched clarity, he attacked Caesar’s own curiosity. Worse still, it had worked. Joseph was playing with him. As if it were a game.

Well, Caesar thought menacingly as he watched Joseph return triumphantly with a shot in hand, someone’s about to learn that when you play games all the time, you’re bound to lose eventually.

In addition to the shot (which was horrendous, just as Caesar feared, but he downed it with a level of grace), Joseph also brought back a new cue ball that Caesar had a bad feeling about.

“Do I want to know?” Caesar asked, fearing he wouldn’t like the answer.

Joseph gave him a wink and tossed him the spare cue ball. “You’ll see.”

Caesar dearly hoped that wouldn’t be the case, but Joseph pulled off a magnificent domino shot that ricocheted all over the entire table before putting a ball cleanly into a pocket and regaining his marginal lead, five to six. There was only one ball left between Joseph and the eight ball. He strutted back to where Caesar stood with all the arrogance of a preening peacock, and Caesar had to resist rolling his eyes again. Without thinking, Caesar held out the spare cue ball to Joseph, who shook his head.

“First, I want to know honestly: did you miss that shot on purpose?” Joseph asked, rubbing his trickery into Caesar’s face a little more.

Caesar, for all that he hated the fact that he’d been duped, answered straightforwardly, “Yes.”

Joseph stared for a moment, expression blank. Had he not been expecting an honest answer? Or had he thought he would have to pull the answer out of Caesar like a bad tooth? Whatever he thought, he got over it quickly and explained the purpose of the spare cue ball.

“Since you’re so eager to have this game over and done with—which, by the way, very hurtful, can’t believe you wouldn’t want to hang out with me for as long as possible,” Joseph joked, putting a hand over his heart in mock hurt. “We’ll have two cue balls on the table now, so we don’t have to take turns. And no, you can’t remove the extra cue ball from the equation.”

“How very kind of you,” Caesar sarcastically remarked. There was no way this wouldn’t become as much of a mess as Joseph’s love life. “I assume the normal rules apply for placing it on the table?”

“Yep! Go right ahead! We’ll go when you’re ready,” Joseph urged with a smile that Caesar didn’t trust one bit.

Very kind indeed, Caesar ruminated as he positioned his cue ball in the most advantageous way he could get it. He was hoping he was getting used to Joseph’s antics by now, because if he was he’d guess that there was some ulterior motive here, some benefit that Joseph could derive from having two cue balls on the table and letting Caesar place it how he pleased. It struck him just as his hand left his cue ball, as he watched Joseph take a ready position on the other side of the table.

What better way to make Caesar miss than to aim for that?

It would be easy to second guess. By now Joseph’s ruse was out in the open—his past ruse anyways. Even if it had the same objective this was some different trickery. Caesar decided to err on the side of caution. He lined up his shot as if to play normally. His eyes flicked up briefly to meet Joseph’s, and got another flirty wink for his troubles. They pulled back almost simultaneously, and at the last second Caesar changed his trajectory to make a different shot. His risk paid off. Not only did he sink another ball, bringing the game back to a tie, six to six, but Joseph’s cue ball tore right past where Caesar’s cue ball would’ve been and slammed right into a pocket.

Joseph visibly recoiled. Caesar hid a smug smile behind a hand.

“Tsk, tsk, Joseph, making such a bad shot—it’s almost like you were trying to miss,” Caesar mocked, unable to help himself.

Joseph made a face. “Ew, don’t call me ‘Joseph’, only my granny calls me that.”

“Well, I can’t call you ‘Jojo’ either, so what the hell am I supposed to call you?”

“Anytime,” Joseph answered with a snap of his fingers. Caesar groaned. If he wasn’t walking into one thing it was another.

“Either way,” Caesar continued, still cringing over that terrible joke. “I guess this means I get to use both cue balls for the next turn,” Caesar decided.

“No you can’t! That wasn’t part of my rule!”

“But it is my new rule, and no undoing it. Now, for my question—”

“Ah! You already asked one!” Joseph pointed out, and unfortunately for Caesar he was one hundred percent correct.

“Right, right,” Caesar conceded with a sigh before trudging over to the bar to Joseph the shot he was due for, a decent one, not something obnoxiously gross.

In spite of Caesar’s frankly gracious choice, however, Joseph still balked and made a few faces before slurping it up. Again Caesar had to turn his head away and hide a laugh behind his hand while Joseph chased away the taste.

“What’s wrong with that? I thought you would’ve liked something sweet,” Caesar said as Joseph made one last face, as if that would dispel the taste.

“Based on what?” Joseph wheezed. “It’s not that I don’t like the taste or anything, but the texture is the worst!”

“The texture?”

“Kind of thick, almost jello-y,” Joseph clarified.

“And?”

“It’s gross!” Joseph insisted. “And what’s wrong with having a problem with the texture? I’m sure you have something you don’t like the texture of!”

“Nothing wrong with that, it’s just not something I expected you to have an issue with.”

“How can you have any expectations about me at all?”

To that, Caesar had no answer, at least none that he could honestly give. Instead he gave the excuse that Joseph would have to make a good shot to get the answer to that and quickly shuffled back over to the table to take his next two shots without Joseph’s interference. If he made them both he could have this game over within a minute, and Caesar would never have to think of a lie to that question.

As Caesar was considering how best to make his final two shots, however, he noticed Joseph approaching with a scheming look about him. He cursed himself for not adding a caveat that Joseph would have to wait until Caesar had taken both of his shots, but it was far too late for that now. With Joseph ready to swoop in after that first shot then, time was of the essence. With that in mind, Caesar decided to start with the scratched cue ball so that he wouldn’t have to waste time placing it later. 

A single bank shot sent things into a flurry of motion. Caesar’s last ball was sunk, and Joseph tore after the cue ball he’d just used, leaving Caesar to hurry over to the other cue ball and shoot for the eight ball before Joseph could get in his way. There was a chance that Joseph would try and sink his last ball, but Caesar was willing to bet that he’d try and prevent Caesar from winning first and foremost. As it happened, Caesar was glad it wasn’t a bet he put money on—he was only half right. Joseph did indeed block his shot, but used his cue ball as part of an impressive domino shot to sink his last ball.

With the game down to the eight ball, they didn’t bother to pause for shots. Indeed neither of them seemed bothered with any of the rules they’d concocted over the course of the game, aiming for the eight ball directly if they could. Caesar was intent on victory, cupid work be damned! The two cue balls clacked furiously against one another—as soon as one focused on hitting the eight ball the other would make it his sole mission to block him and vice versa. It was the most active stalemate anyone had ever witnessed, and Caesar quickly tired of it.

“Come on, Caesarino, just hit it, it’s not that hard, is it?” Joseph teased.

“Speak for yourself, Jojo!” Caesar retorted as their cue balls met with yet another deafening clack, such that it was incredible neither of them split in two.

“Didn’t I tell you not to call me that?”

“Apparently we’re both bad at listening!”

“Like two peas in a pod?”

“More like two cue balls on a single table.”

“Ah, I see, I see,” Joseph laughed, a little breathless. “Cause where most people click, we just clack!”

It was inevitable that they’d run into each other the way they were going, sprinting circles around the table in an effort to beat the other, but Caesar was nowhere near prepared to smack right into Joseph as suddenly as he did. Nor was he prepared for the unabashed laugh that it punched out of him, so suddenly that he wasn’t able to turn away or hide it behind a hand. Joseph, too, threw back his head with unrestrained laughter, his cheeks flushed from the sudden intensity of the game.

“Fancy running into you!” Joseph joked.

“Fancy isn’t the word I’d use for it,” Caesar replied in kind, feeling a little giddy.

“Then what word would you use?”

Caesar, in a sudden flash of inspiration, decided to give Joseph a taste of his own medicine. He stepped in so close he could see himself reflected in the light of those vibrant, dancing eyes, close enough that he could see that jovial grin falter at the corners in such a way that he would’ve missed it if he hadn’t been looking for it.

“Win this game and maybe you can find out,” Caesar told him in a low, sultry tone that was the result of years of particular practice.

To say he was satisfied with the very obvious shiver that ran through Joseph at his tone would’ve been an understatement. To say he was thrilled with the dramatic bob of Joseph’s Adam’s apple would’ve been an even greater one. It was proof that even a human as tricky as this one was no match for a cupid of Caesar’s caliber. As much as he wanted to continue teasing Joseph, however, Caesar was sure to step away quickly. His very presence as a cupid could inspire more sensual feelings in humans if he wasn’t careful, and that was the last thing he needed with a human like Joseph.

The race was on again the instant Caesar gave Joseph room to breathe. He’d been counting on Joseph being a little dazzled and dazed by his charm for at least a few seconds, but they moved almost simultaneously, Joseph a little quicker than Caesar. It was all about winning in that moment. Joseph managed to claim the closer of the two cue balls, gaining a crucial lead that Caesar could already see leading to certain victory. Unfortunately for Joseph, Caesar still had his ace.

If there had been anyone he could tell without feeling some amount of shame, Caesar might have wanted it known that he hadn’t wanted to cheat. He would’ve much preferred beating Joseph at his own game without magic, and was very adamant that he should try again without magic before this assignment was up. Presently, however, the drive to win was far too great. This time, at least, Caesar wanted to win more than he wanted to not cheat. 

Caesar lined up his shot. All he needed was speed enough to beat Joseph’s half-second lead. As if in slow motion, Joseph was already pulling back to make his winning shot. All Caesar’s cue ball needed was a little extra push to get to the eight ball first. He lined up the shot, drew back, and just before the stick made contact with the ball, he let his eyes flutter shut for the briefest instant. Cupid magic, as with love itself, required faith. If he could visualize it, he could have it, and in that small space of time where all was dark, Caesar saw victory.

Another half-second later, Joseph’s cue ball whizzed past the spot where the eight ball had previously been. Caesar’s cue ball had done exactly as he’d visualized it doing: it tore a path across the table and smashed against the eight ball, sending it speedily towards the nearest pocket, where it dipped out of sight. It all happened so quickly that neither of them reacted at first. It seemed, even, that the entire bar had gone silent.

Without warning, a small crowd that had gathered around their table erupted into disbelieving mayhem. Caesar jumped, having been so intent on the game they’d quite escaped his notice. The old man from earlier was slack-jawed, looking back and forth between Joseph and Caesar as he tried to process this incredible turn of events. Caesar bit his lip to try to keep his expression under control as he looked to gather Joseph’s reaction. He seemed just as shocked as everyone else, once again doing his best impression of a fish out of water.

Eventually Joseph gathered enough of his wits to exclaim, “There’s no way!”

“Oh, come on, don’t be a sore loser,” Caesar teased, even while he knew Joseph was absolutely right.

“There’s definitely no way!” Joseph continued to insist, his eyes tracing the path that Caesar’s cue ball had burned across the table, as if it really were smoldering. Then his eyes snapped up to Caesar, all green lightning of a summer storm. “Play me again!”

Caesar chuckled. “Sure, but not tonight.”

“Come on! It’s not like you have anywhere to be, we definitely covered that already!” Joseph pleaded.

“Just because I don’t have anywhere to be doesn’t mean I want to subject myself to another round of this madness so soon,” Caesar stated in no uncertain terms as he began to gather the balls from their pockets. “Drinks?”

Joseph acquiesced (even as he still cast suspicious eyes over the track of the winning shot), and helped Caesar fish out the balls from the pockets. Frankly Caesar was impressed. If this was indeed Joseph’s first time losing that anyone here knew of, he was taking it quite well. Sure, he didn’t look too happy about it, but begging for a rematch was pretty tame compared to what Caesar had seen from other competitive types.

The bartender raised her eyebrows at the pair of them when they brought everything back. Joseph pressed his lips together. Slowly, her stern composure cracked to reveal something like mirth.

“Don’t,” Joseph warned.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” she assured him, whirling around to put away the rack and sticks.

“Bullshit, you were so going to say something!” Joseph shrieked, slapping his hands against the counter.

“Not a peep! Honest!” she giggled before taking their orders.

Joseph slumped low over the counter as if to hide himself from all the talk that was buzzing throughout the bar. Caesar almost regretted taking the win. The sated purr of his pride kept him from regretting too much, but making such a fantastic impression on the locals meant more eyes on him than he needed. He made a note to avoid this place for a spell if he could, let the excitement cool down a bit. Drawing too much attention was bad for any assignment.

“So what’s up with that crazy game, anyways?” Caesar asked as soon as their drinks were in front of them.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean—how did you come up with it, and why are you so insistent on driving people away with it?”

“I don’t drive people away with it!” Joseph squawked. “They just can’t handle it, that’s all. And I came up with it cause regular pool is boring.”

“After all that, I’m inclined to think I’ll agree if I play regular pool again,” Caesar said mildly before downing half of his drink in one go. “Not to mention it’s a pretty efficient way to suss out what sort of person someone is, right?”

Joseph, who’d been sipping idly at his own drink, smirked around his straw. “It’s one way. What’s your game?”

“Depends on the person,” Caesar answered noncommittally.

“How specific,” Joseph said sarcastically. “I bet you’re a coffee sort of person.”

“What gives you that impression?”

“Less distractions,” Joseph started with a knowing smile. “A and B conversation. Straightforward—like you.”

Caesar hummed, finished off his drink, and ordered another. It was a stunningly astute observation. “Pretty much.”

“How about this then: I know a good coffee place near here, and you still owe me dating tips. Since you played my game, I’ll play yours,” Joseph suggested with such a casual air that Caesar almost didn’t believe it.

“You sure? You seem the type to find it boring,” Caesar said honestly.

“You’d be right about that,” Joseph replied. “But I’ve been told that nothing’s boring with the right person.”

“That much is true. Some people just click.”

“And what if they clack?”

“Can’t say I’ve ever clacked with someone before,” Caesar remarked lightly, a little tickled by the turn of phrase.

“First time for everything,” Joseph said in a lilting tone that told Caesar the choice of words had very much been intentional.

“Can’t argue with that,” Caesar decided.

They danced around with idle chit chat for about half an hour longer, asking all of the questions they hadn’t gotten around to during the game. Joseph asked all the expected questions: what brought Caesar to this town? What did he do with his time? Things like that. Caesar answered with his usual answers: It was time for a change of scenery, and he worked as a freelance romance editor. Joseph snorted at that, asking how many cheesy titles Caesar came across. The answer was: too many to count. Caesar, for his part, also asked questions that were expected of him, though he already had the answers to those. Still he listened when Joseph told him he was an assistant manager at the local comic book store, and that Caesar should check it out sometime.

Only when the conversation began to lull did Caesar make a show of checking his watch.

“Well, I should probably get going,” he said to Joseph, whose cheeks were starting to get a little pink from the drinks.

“Right, see you tomorrow then!” Joseph said quickly with a cheery wave.

Caesar smirked. “But before I go…”

Joseph’s face fell.

“I still have my prize to collect.”

“Shit,” Joseph hissed. “I was hoping you’d forgotten.”

“No way, that’s too good a prize to just forget about it, but I’ll need you to lean close before I tell you what it is,” Caesar laughed.

Joseph looked skeptical, but leaned in towards Caesar.

“A little closer.”

Joseph obliged.

“A little more.”

“This better not be anything weird,” Joseph grumbled when their faces were mere inches apart.

“That depends on your definition of weird,” Caesar said softly, even as his finger pressed underneath Joseph’s chin to tilt his head just so.

Caesar closed the rest of the space so that his lips were only a hair’s breadth from Joseph’s ear. Joseph sat stock still in anticipation, and Caesar mourned the fact that he wouldn’t be able to see Joseph’s immediate reaction.

“I want you,” Caesar breathed. “To cover my tab.”

Joseph’s reaction was instant, such that Caesar nearly got whiplash from jerking away so that he wouldn’t get smacked.

“Son of a bitch!” Joseph shouted, slamming a fist against the counter.

Caesar turned to laugh into his hand while Joseph demanded the receipt from the bartender immediately, as if Caesar might change his mind about leaving and order more just to give Joseph grief. As it was, Caesar thought he’d been very restrained. Joseph, on the other hand… He made a foul expression when he saw the bill.

“I pity your dates, you’re not cheap at all,” Joseph complained.

“Oh, come on, it can’t be that bad,” Caesar said without looking at the receipt.

“You are so covering coffee tomorrow,” Joseph insisted. “And what a lame prize too!”

“What did you expect? Something lewd, I presume?”

“No! Well—! I don’t know!” Joseph fumbled, running a hand through his hair as if it weren’t already messy enough.

“Let me guess: you didn’t expect anything because you didn’t think I’d win,” Caesar suggested.

“Shut up!”

Caesar snorted, and asked, “What would you have asked for your prize then, if mine was such a boring one?”

He expected some pushback, if he was honest, some more playful, witty banter that already seemed commonplace between them. If not that, then something so outrageous that it would certainly not be true, but that Caesar would have to deal with if Joseph really didn’t want to tell him, or if he hadn’t had anything specific in mind. What he got was a cheeky grin and an answer he wouldn’t have guessed in a thousand years.

“I would’ve asked you to call me Jojo,” Joseph answered simply.

Caesar blinked in astonishment. “Seriously?”

“Of course I’m serious, what do I have to gain from lying?!” Joseph demanded.

“I wasn’t saying you were lying, I just—why would you need to win to ask me that? I could just call you that anyways,” Caesar said, still utterly bewildered.

“Nope!” Joseph objected. “Definitely not!”

Caesar rolled his eyes. “If you say so. Later, Jojo.”

“You’re not allowed to call me that!” Joseph called after him as he sauntered away.

Joseph’s protestations followed him all the way out, at which point Caesar chuckled and shook his head. He would’ve asked Caesar to call him by a nickname. He would’ve asked Caesar to call him as a friend, but only if he’d lost. And here he was, insisting that Caesar not call him by that nickname, while on the other hand inviting him to coffee? What on heaven and earth did he mean by it?

Caesar tried to piece everything together in his head on the walk back. The strict boundary on Joseph’s friendship, the elusive ones on romance that, apparently, Caesar was dancing over—because he presented a tantalizing challenge for Joseph, so far as he could tell. He was grateful for the assurance that there was no real romantic intention on Joseph’s part. So long as Caesar had Joseph’s file, he was out of circulation and would not receive an arrow. Standard procedure. It would be a cruel thing indeed to make humans fall for cupids that would inevitably leave, after all.

With everything in mind, Caesar burst back into the apartment with simultaneous resolve and intrigue. There was information to be recorded, a new report to be written, a plan to be crafted. He went straight to the laptop, flipped it open, and began to type.

There can be no doubt now that the subject treats romance as a game to be won, and after tonight has begun to consider, for the first time, what it might be like to be on the losing side…

Chapter Text

Devi voler bene ai tuoi amici, e non nascondere il bene che vi volete.

You should love your friends and not hide your feelings.

Field Agent Report

Form 1043

Report Type: Follow Up

Contact Details

Location: XXX

Date/Time: April 18th, 20XX; ~5:30PM

Length of Contact: ~80 min

Contact Summary

After the initial contact and an extensive review of the subject’s file, a follow up contact was subtly arranged in the form of a chance meeting. While the meeting did indeed confirm many things noted in the subject’s file, new questions have arisen, most significantly:

-What is the subject’s definition of friendship?

The subject implied that he would like to be friends with myself, but only in the event that I had lost a game to him. When I won, the implication then was that we were not yet to be friends. This is peculiar behavior, as normally people with such a straightforward idea of friendship tend to be more socially inept, which this subject doesn’t appear to be. Meanwhile, I had initially appraised the particular game as a way to assess other people, whether the subject had romantic intentions towards them or not—that may still be the case, but there may be more to it than I initially believed.

-What does the subject mean by aimlessly pursuing people?

The subject has on numerous occasions made flirtatious gestures towards myself without prompting, and without an emotional motivation that I can sense. While it is a good demonstration of what he is capable of (and thus what does not need teaching) it is not as if he knows he is being studied. It may be that this aimless pursuit of just about anyone is what drives potential partners away. People are less inclined to establish a relationship with someone who has a promiscuous reputation, regardless of whether there is any substance to the reputation or not.

In the course of this assignment I will endeavor to answer these questions, so as to establish a steady friendship with the subject and then devise a plan on how he is to be best guided on the matter of romance.

In the meantime, while I initially believed it undeniable that the sentiment of previous agents regarding the subject is true, without room for any other possibilities, I have since reconsidered. Such a subject as this requires the utmost flexibility, and with this being so I have compiled a list of potential reasons that the subject is unable to maintain relationships. These reasons are based on my initial impressions, and more often than not are remote possibilities, but possibilities nonetheless. I begin with the most obvious and possible reason, which holds with the conclusions of previous agents, and end with the least likely reason.

-The subject treats romance like a game.

-The subject has a fear of commitment—

Caesar stopped abruptly and rested his chin on a hand. He had left the bar mere hours ago, and had ruminated on everything that transpired in a series of frantically typed notes and several paces around the apartment. There was a lot to consider, after all. Yet when he’d come up with the possibility that Joseph might have a fear of commitment, he’d laughed aloud. This was not a person without backbone or capability, and based on the ease with which he influenced people to his own whims, it was hard to believe that Joseph was afraid of something so abstract.

And yet, Caesar thought as he brainstormed and caught sight of the still unread black ops file, it could still be a possibility. The very behavior that convinced Caesar that this was not a possibility could be the same behavior that hid it from him. Not to mention he’d only met the man twice so far. There was much he didn’t know, too much that wasn’t in the file. Part of what he didn’t know was in that black ops file, but that bit of sensitive information consisted of topics that Caesar preferred to learn naturally, from the subject themselves. Yet Joseph was no ordinary subject. There was no telling what would work on him and what wouldn’t. Everything was a big “if” with him, and Caesar couldn’t make a plan on an “if.” He resumed typing.

-The subject pursues people as a matter of pride.

Caesar hesitated to add that one. Upon reflection it could fall under the category of treating romance like a game to be won, as this possibility implied that Joseph pursued people because he could. But there was, Caesar argued internally, a difference between treating a person’s romantic inclinations as a victory and treating them as fuel for an ego. A slight difference, to be sure, but a difference all the same. He left it on the list.

-The subject is not mature enough to be conscious of the feelings of others.

That one Caesar struck off the list the instant he saw it typed out, for all that when he’d initially thought of it it seemed to have merit. A lack of maturity though Joseph may have, there could be no doubt that he had a keen awareness of the inner natures of the people he encountered. What he did with the feelings he found was a conscious choice.

-The subject pursues those who he believes to have an interest in him.

Caesar was halfway through deleting that possibility as well when he stopped and re-typed it. It was something he’d seen in other subjects, but he was trying to not let past experience muddy his perception. Joseph was a novelty and had to be treated as such. That aside, it didn’t seem like something Joseph would do based on what Caesar knew so far. He had a competitive streak and enjoyed winning almost as much as Caesar did. If, in that regard, they were more similar than Caesar yet knew, Joseph wouldn’t go for an assured victory. An easy win was hardly a win at all. At least, that was how Caesar felt about it. In any event, if Joseph considered the theoretical interested party a challenge, then the possibility could have merit after all, if only in that specific circumstance. He left it on the list.

That done, Caesar read the list he’d compiled several times over. The length of it alone reflected his uncertainty, something he hadn’t experienced since he was a rookie field agent. Time would fix that, and he would come out of this assignment better for it. Certainly Joseph Joestar had been hand crafted by the Fates themselves in order to test him at the height of his confidence. They were so very fond of doing irritating things like that.

Fates or no, Caesar still had to come up with a short term plan of action at the very least, given that he was coming up on the end of his first week on assignment. It was a piece of mindless paper shuffling in Caesar’s opinion, given that for most field agents a week was too early to have any semblance of a plan beyond “learn more about the subject.” Not that higher ups that hadn’t done field work in a millennia or two cared about that.

With a sharp exhale, Caesar began to detail a short term plan.

To take place over the course of the first month of the assignment, the primary objective should be to narrow down why the subject is unable to maintain long term romantic relationships by process of elimination. This will be chiefly accomplished by talking with the subject and his close friends.

There really wasn’t much more to it beyond that. Indeed, in exploring Joseph and his romantic nature, Caesar fully expected to come up with more possibilities before he could begin to narrow them down, but there was no need to mention that in the plan. All Messina needed, for the sake of paperwork, was a goal and how it would be achieved. As it was, Messina might give him grief over the brief nature of the plan—or rather, he normally would. Something told Caesar that that wouldn’t be the case this time.

That something was the fact that Messina, who was usually so prompt in acknowledging and responding to reports, had yet to get back to Caesar regarding his first report, the report in which he freely admitted to being duped by Joseph. On the one hand, it could just be a matter of Messina getting swamped with a rash of messy cases. Perhaps it was a trick played on them by the Fates, but trying cases always arrived in clusters. In such cases, Messina tended to keep a closer eye on younger agents, and left more experienced agents like Caesar to their own devices for a spell.

On the other hand, it could be that Messina had completely lost faith in this case. It had only happened a couple times in the many years Caesar had worked with Messina, but it was possible. In fact, Caesar recalled, Messina himself had said that he didn’t care how this case turned out, only that he wanted someone who knew what they were doing to have the final word on it. That brought on a stab of irritation. Most of the trouble with the case was administrative, and none of that was Joseph’s fault. Sure, Joseph was contrary and rude and too damn inquisitive for his own good… but that didn’t make him hopeless.

Caesar went to work to add a final note to his report.

After having met the subject twice now, my personal assessment is that he is not as inadequate as previous agents would have us believe. I will grant that he is difficult, as well as confusing and vexing in many ways, but hopeless he is not. This subject is just as capable of love as any other, and it would do well for all cupids involved to not be too hasty to make conclusions for all that the subject is frustrating. Love is not without its challenges.

Satisfied, Caesar sent off the report. If that bit of impertinence didn’t get Messina’s attention, things were truly horrendous back at headquarters, in which case he was glad to already be on an assignment. In any event, the most important thing for Caesar now was to get a good night’s rest, for the next morning he would face Joseph Joestar once again, an ordeal as challenging as anything back at headquarters. It would not do to be anything short of his best, and with that in mind Caesar shut his laptop and ended the day, ready as ever for the next one to begin.

The next day, however, was slow to start. It dawned gray and dreary, as if it too crawled out of bed still half-asleep with no choice but to trudge through the course of routine. Wishing he already had a cup of coffee in hand, Caesar considered the weather. It was no problem for meeting in a coffee shop, but it decreased the likelihood of him being able to ask Joseph to show him around town for a bit. It wasn’t strictly necessary that their meetings be as long as possible, but Caesar knew full well that putting more time in early on always paid off later in an assignment. In which case, he could have played another game with Joseph the night before, but there were too many things he needed to note immediately. It was a balancing act, in the end. Summoning an umbrella via the closet, Caesar hoped the weather would clear up, and went on his way.

Once outside Caesar took a deep breath of the mild, rainy air. The realm of the cupids, being a heavenly sort of place, rarely saw rain. It was a treat, then, to saunter down the sidewalk and tip his face up to the sky to feel the light drizzle upon his cheeks. It was a shame he actually had to work today. There was nothing quite like an amiable stroll through the rain, listening to the gentle pitter-patter on his umbrella, and then returning home for a warm shower before cozying up under a blanket with a good book and a hot drink. Afterward, Caesar promised himself as he came up to the coffee shop. As a treat for himself. Fates knew he deserved it.

A ways down the sidewalk, Caesar spotted Joseph making his amiable way towards the cafe, no umbrella in sight. Joseph saw him only a second later and gave him a jovial wave that Caesar returned with a slight smile.

“Find the place alright?” Joseph asked when he reached Caesar just before shaking his hair free of rain in a way that reminded Caesar of a puppy.

“I did,” Caesar replied, closing his umbrella and then grabbing the door. “Anything that makes this place special?”

Joseph shrugged as he walked in. “It’s near where I work.”

Caesar hummed at that. He’d suspected that Joseph wasn’t much one for the stereotypical coffee date, and this proved as much. On the bright side, it suggested a certain air of practicality, in that Joseph chose a place that was familiar to him. Thus, in theory, this was still his turf. Joseph would likely be comfortable, at the height of confidence, and without any overt form of competition, Caesar intended to let him be that way. He needed to see how Joseph ticked without anyone, Caesar included, getting in the way.

“You’re covering,” Joseph reminded him as they got in line behind an elderly couple that was still dithering over their order.

“Pretty sure that’s not how a prize works,” Caesar scoffed, crossing his arms. “I won fair and square, deal with it and get your own coffee.”

Joseph scowled and muttered in such a low tone that Caesar wasn’t sure if he was intended to hear, “Fair and square, huh?”

“Are you suggesting I cheated somehow? At a game in which the rules were abstract at best?” Caesar challenged, confident in the sole fact that Joseph wouldn’t be able to prove anything. At least, not anything that was remotely close to the truth.

Joseph waited for a long moment, his mouth twisted in consternation. To most it might seem like he was just sore about having lost, and that was likely part of it. Yet Caesar, knowing the truth of what he did, could practically see the gears turning in Joseph’s head. While Joseph thought, Caesar made a show of looking over the menu. He knew very well he shouldn’t have used magic so close to a human over so trivial a thing—it was a rookie mistake. Worse than that, it was sheer hubris. It would come back around to bite Caesar in the ass sooner or later.

“Well?” Caesar prompted when the elderly couple in front of them finally shuffled away.

“I’m just saying!” Joseph suddenly exclaimed. “There was something fishy about that last shot!”

Caesar frowned. “I meant your order. What do you want?”

“Oh,” Joseph said, supposedly caught off guard. “I thought you weren’t covering?”

“Tell me what you want before I change my mind,” Caesar demanded.

They placed their orders quickly and then went to wait at the other end of the counter, where Joseph seemed stuck on the nature of last night’s game. Caesar had hoped that the little bit of kissing ass—paying for his order after saying he wouldn’t—would distract him long enough to get him off the topic, but apparently Joseph would not be deterred. His keen eyes were hard and calculating, not quite that glazed over look that most people got when lost in thought, but not entirely present either.

“You’re fond of sleight of hand tricks,” Caesar finally sighed. “What do you think I did?”

“See, that’s just the thing—I don’t know. That’s why it’s bothering me. It was just—too fast to be real,” Joseph responded slowly, his eyes drifting to look directly at Caesar, as if his gaze alone could drill into Caesar’s head and pry out answers.

Caesar averted his gaze, acting as if he was looking over the counter for their drinks. “No one else seemed to think so.”

“No one else was as close as I was,” Joseph said unwaveringly.

Before Caesar could think of how to redirect the conversation, their order was called out and their drinks set on the counter. Joseph grabbed both drinks, and flashed a charming yet unassuming smile as if he was just trying to be a gentleman. Cautiously, watching Joseph’s expression for some sign of mischief, Caesar reached for his coffee as Joseph held it out to him. In retrospect, he should have watched the hands. The instant Caesar’s fingertips brushed the piping hot surface of the cup he felt it slipping downwards. With a sharp jerk Caesar closed his hand—on empty air. The coffee splattered at their feet.

“Watch it!” Joseph yelped as it went down, jumping back from the scalding liquid as if he hadn’t done that on purpose!

An employee hurried from behind the counter, apologizing profusely and offering a fresh cup in the place of the lost one. Caesar wanted to refuse, to force Joseph to pay for what he had surely done on purpose. The employee brought with them a roll of paper towels, and Caesar stooped to help them clean up the mess, giving Joseph a pointed look as he did. All Joseph did was smile apologetically.

“My bad!” he laughed. “It was toastier than I expected!”

By the time the worst of the mess was mopped up a fresh drink was waiting for Caesar on the counter with more apologies from the employees, though there was really no need. The one who needed to be apologizing was still grinning like a goof, as if this had been some silly mishap. Caesar swiped his drink off the counter, glaring at Joseph all the while. He opened his mouth to scold Joseph for such a petty act, but Joseph beat him to it—in a way.

“You’ll never prove I did it on purpose,” Joseph informed him with a crooked grin.

Caesar scowled. “You good as admitted you did do it on purpose.”

“No I didn’t,” Joseph said as he led them to a tiny, two-person table by the window. “But I know you think I did.”

“You know what else I think?”

Joseph hummed, plopping himself on the seat that seemed comically small under him. “I have a few things in mind—You think, if it was on purpose, that it was petty, and that I did it to give you a taste of your own medicine.”

In lieu of responding to that, Caesar tasted his drink, and immediately wished he’d carried on the conversation. The coffee was… to put it kindly, not great. To put it less than kindly, Caesar no longer felt bad that an entire cup of coffee was wasted through Joseph’s antics.

“I was right!” Joseph cheered, taking Caesar’s silence as surrender. “As it is, you’re not entirely wrong… but you’re not entirely right either.”

Caesar’s eyes snapped back to Joseph, who cackled.

“That got your attention, huh?” Joseph mused before taking a huge bite out of the muffin he’d requested with his coffee.

“Ah, so you’re trying to have my attention,” Caesar teased lightly. “Noted.”

“Oh, please, I’m just giving you the excuse you so desperately need to check me out,” Joseph fired right back.

“Who says I need an excuse?”

“Then by all means, check me out, and let me know what your judgment is.”

“My judgment?”

“Yeah,” Joseph said through a mouthful of muffin. “You look at me like I’m being tested. I want to know if I pass.”

Caesar rolled his eyes, although a small alarm was going off in the back of his head. “That depends. What do you think you’re being tested on?”

“Hm, based on our previous conversations… romance, probably,” Joseph guessed. Caesar couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t bother to wipe away the crumbs stuck on his chin.

“In that case, I can’t say,” Caesar replied with a touch of honesty. “I don’t know how you operate, so I can’t compare that to my standards.”

“Are you saying you’d like a demonstration?” Joseph suggested.

Caesar shook his head. “Save it. But suppose this were a date—how would you go about it?”

“Probably the same as what we’ve been doing,” Joseph said just as he once again stuffed his mouth obscenely full of muffin.

“Then you’d definitely fail,” Caesar sighed.

“What?! What the hell is there to do on a coffee date besides chat?!” Joseph squawked, a bit of muffin flying out onto the table.

Caesar held up a hand as he began to list off everything Joseph had done that would be a no-go on a date. “You made me pay even though you asked me here, you spilled my coffee—it doesn’t matter whether it was an accident or not!—you nagged me about something you can’t prove, and even right now you’re being rude—!”

“Alright, alright!” Joseph interrupted, blessedly swallowing the last of his muffin but then slurping loudly at his drink. “But this isn’t a date.”

“You just said you wouldn’t change anything if this were a date,” Caesar pointed out.

“I meant in terms of like, what there is to do,” Joseph fumbled. “There’s nothing to do on a coffee date but talk.”

“So what would you talk about?”

Joseph faltered. “I mean—we chatted last night—”

“And you think that you can learn everything there is to know about a person in a single conversation?”

“Jeez, I really am being tested,” Joseph huffed as he glowered and took a keen interest in the rivulets of water dancing down the window.

Caesar leaned back in his seat, realizing he might have been pushing too hard too soon. “You asked.”

“Remind me not to do that again.”

With that the conversation died. Caesar let it. Joseph needed a break from what had basically just been an interrogation. If he wanted to strike up a new thread of talk, he could, but he could also just as well walk right out of the cafe. It wasn’t ideal, but it would be nonetheless informing. Every choice Joseph made was a new bulletpoint in Caesar’s reports. While he waited, Caesar swilled his nearly full cup of coffee, reluctant to even act like he was enjoying it. Joseph, meanwhile, rubbed idly at his left wrist.

“Bad wrist?” Caesar commented in spite of his resolve to wait for Joseph to pick up the conversation again. It was something that hadn’t been mentioned in the file, and so was worth being an exception.

Joseph turned back to Caesar, eyebrows raised as if he was surprised Caesar had noticed. “Yeah. I broke it a few years ago, but it never healed right. Rainy days like this are a literal pain.”

“How’d you break it?” Caesar persisted.

“It was something dumb,” Joseph assured him, though his lackluster tone implied a different story. His eyes followed the rain drops for another brief moment before he added, “I’d rather not talk about it.”

It was just as well he didn’t want to talk about it, because Caesar suddenly recalled that the spilled drink had come from Joseph’s left hand and he blurted, “So it wasn’t an accident after all!”

“You’re still thinking about that?!”

“That coffee was hot, we could have gotten burned!”

“I told you it wasn’t on purpose!”

Caesar bit down on what he really thought—that Joseph did it on purpose knowing he’d be able to use his wrist as an excuse—and said instead, in a strained attempt at sounding calm, “Then—I’m sorry for not taking you at your word.”

He almost took it back when he saw the sideways slant of Joseph’s mouth, a sure sign that there was something more afoot here, but ultimately managed to stay himself. Hurling potential insults at him would not only hinder any sense of cordiality between them, but it just set a bad example. He’d only just told Joseph that accusing someone without concrete proof was rude—but then, he reminded himself, they weren’t on a date. Not to mention the idea that he was dancing right along with what Joseph wanted was infuriating!

“Apology accepted,” Joseph said smugly. “So if this isn’t how a coffee date should go, how would you do it?”

“I’m obligated to remind you to not ask, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, how do you do coffee dates?” Joseph insisted.

Caesar shrugged. “It depends.”

“On what?”

“More like on who,” Caesar said. “It depends on who I’m with.”

“So say you’re on a date with me,” Joseph suggested. “How would you do it?”

Caesar could hardly keep himself from grinning. That was too easy to answer. “For starters I wouldn’t take you out for coffee.”

“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of the ‘coffee date?’”

“Not at all,” Caesar answered. “A ‘coffee date,’ as far as I see it, is just a category of dates where you do something that allows you to talk with the other person and get to know them—as you said last night, an A and B conversation with little distractions in the way.”

Joseph furrowed his brow. “A coffee date is a category?”

“Yes.”

“But it doesn’t have to include coffee?”

“Correct.”

“That’s dumb,” Joseph promptly decided. “Who decided—you came up with that category, didn’t you?”

“So what if I did?!” Caesar huffed. It made his job easier, to have things spelled out for his subjects beforehand!

Joseph threw back his head with a laugh. “Do you have a chart or something?!”

“No,” Caesar replied curtly.

“Maybe you should make one, people would pay good money for something like that,” Joseph said.

“You think? As it is, my advice can’t even get me coffee.”

“Maybe you just need to come up with a better name than ‘coffee date.’ I mean, that’s just confusing!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were the expert here,” Caesar grumbled.

“No, no, by all means, you’re the wise sage of romance,” Joseph assured him. “You gather all that you need to know through your romance manuscripts and meddling in other peoples’ love lives—”

“Excuse me?” Caesar cut in. “I don’t meddle, I offer advice.”

“Very intently,” Joseph pointed out.

“Again, you asked, otherwise I wouldn’t bother.”

“But now that I have asked, you’re bothering a whole lot.”

“By all means, tell me to stop.”

“Somehow I don’t think you would.”

Caesar frowned. “What makes you so sure?”

“You just seem the type,” Joseph said lightly as he shrugged. “The kind of guy that doesn’t have a love life of his own because he’s a workaholic, and maybe he’s a little scared of actually participating in love, so when he comes across someone that needs some romance help, he makes it his mission to set this person up with the perfect romance.”

“That—” Caesar fumbled for a moment. “I am not a workaholic!”

“Sure,” Joseph chuckled. “Then what do you do for fun?”

Caesar gave it a brief moment of thought. Back home he liked to race the other cupids, or read… mostly tales of romance or tales that involved romance. Being an intervention agent, he usually went along with whatever the subject at hand liked to do. Somehow, rattling off some of Joseph’s hobbies didn’t strike him as something wise to do right now. He scowled.

“We’re getting off topic,” he finally said.

“Knew it,” Joseph said.

Caesar tried to persist. “Anyways—a so-called coffee date can be something like—”

“How about rock climbing?” Joseph chimed in.

“Rock climbing?” Caesar repeated, taken aback. He answered with his first instinct. “No way.”

“Why not? People can talk between climbs, and if things get awkward you can just climb away!” Joseph explained as if a grand revelation was dawning on him. “I think that suits your definition of a ‘coffee date’ just fine.”

“It—no, there has to be little to no distractions,” Caesar argued.

Joseph tutted. “And what if one or both people are nervous? Are you saying that just because people have a hard time talking to someone they like they shouldn’t date?”

“No—”

“So why shouldn’t there be something for them to focus on instead of trying to impress each other?” Joseph pressed.

“Because—” Caesar said haltingly. Unfortunately, Joseph had a point.

“I get it though,” Joseph continued with that cocksure grin of his that was grating at Caesar’s nerves more every time he saw it. “You have your standards, and they’re good ones—they’re just not the only ones.”

Caesar remained silent, under the growing impression that he was the one receiving a lecture now.

“So let me convince you,” Joseph revealed. “Let’s go rock climbing next week, and I’ll show you how good it can work as a so-called ‘coffee date,’ and your advice will be that much better for it.”

“And if you don’t convince me?” Caesar challenged.

“Then I’ll listen to whatever advice you have without question or complaint.”

“Somehow I doubt that.”

“Try me.”

What choice did Caesar have, really? If he wrote in his next report that he passed up an opportunity to meet with a subject, Messina would seriously begin to believe that Caesar was losing his touch. Then there was the time limit to consider. Six months passed by in the blink of an eye, and a week of that was already gone. To not take every chance he was given would be foolish, even if they didn’t align with his ideas of how things should be done.

“Fine,” Caesar reluctantly agreed. “Don’t make me regret it.”

“Given what I know so far? You probably will no matter what I do,” Joseph said as he whipped out his phone to text Caesar the location and time.

“That’s a little harsh, isn’t it? I’m not that unforgiving,” Caesar said as his own phone buzzed with several messages where one would have likely sufficed.

“Who knows,” Joseph mused as he rose to leave. “Maybe we’ll both end up surprising each other.”

Without another word Joseph Joestar swept out of the place, leaving Caesar with tepid, less than mediocre coffee and the distinct feeling that he hadn’t exactly accomplished anything he’d wanted. Or anything at all, really. Which was especially frustrating because Joseph gave him plenty of openings, but then turned the conversation on its head before Caesar could impart any truly valuable lessons on him or learn Joseph’s true opinions on things for certain. With a scowl Caesar trashed his coffee and trudged back to his apartment, not bothering to use his umbrella on the way back. Maybe getting rained on would quell the simmering irritation within him enough that he could actually think straight again.

A whole week before they would meet again. A whole week for Caesar to pull himself together and come up with a more coherent plan that would at once get his job done and maintain his sanity. He was the best of the best. He could work miracles with even the most hopeless of cases. All he could do when he returned to his apartment, however, was peel off his shirt, allow his wings to unfurl behind him with a small sigh of relief, and flop gracelessly face first onto his bed.

Caesar felt like a rookie all over again. Too eager for straightforward opportunities that were strangely abundant. With someone as clever as Joseph, that was a one way ticket to a failed assignment. He found himself asking how he’d gotten this far without a single failure. Subtlety, he reminded himself. Patience. Both of which Joseph seemed to expertly undermine whether he realized it or not. Both of which Caesar had carelessly abandoned because he was working under the impression that his usual methods would be wasted on a subject like Joseph.

Giving his wings a much needed stretch, Caesar considered how he would have proceeded with this subject if he hadn’t let himself get caught up in easy opportunities and empty competitiveness. First thing was always first: Caesar would make sure to not be a satellite friend. He would have to insert himself solidly into whatever friend group the subject belonged to. It not only established a modicum of trust and validity, but it ensured that Caesar would be afforded as much time with the subject as possible.

In Joseph’s case, there was that friend that had been with him that day they’d first met. Smokey, if Caesar remembered correctly. He seemed nice enough, and if he could put up with Joseph that would make him a valuable ally. Caesar would have to recruit him as a sort of honorary cupid—if Joseph wouldn’t listen to advice from Caesar, he might hear it from a good friend, and the good friend would definitely be around longer. Caesar made a mental note to make that happen as soon as possible as he pushed himself up from the bed and began to pace.

Then, as far as actually giving romance advice went, Caesar generally chose to build credibility well before offering advice. Sometimes, though rarely, he would even casually date humans (never the subject or anyone they knew) in order to demonstrate that he knew what he was doing. More often though he preferred to flirt here and there, approach people in bars or bookstores or wherever he happened to be with the subject in question. His invariable success was proof enough that he knew what he was doing. That, Caesar noted, would be crucial in this case, given what Joseph thought of him now—a workaholic that was involved in everyone’s love life but his own… Preposterous! He was pretty sure he’d read more than one novel with that premise!

In any event, once he had credibility, the subject would often ask for advice of their own volition… which Joseph had already done, without any prompting from Caesar. Perhaps, given the fact that he hadn’t been given a proper break between assignments, he’d taken that to mean that a good portion of his work was already done. A mistake, but one he would not make again. It was frustrating to think that he was starting back at square one, so instead he thought of it as working from multiple angles at once. Hopefully it would work the way it was supposed to, with Joseph realizing that Caesar’s counseling could get him into a long-term, happy, satisfying relationship.

Thus decided, Caesar wrote up the necessary report, including a revised short term plan of action. It took less than an hour, leaving him with an entire week free to do whatever he pleased. In theory, that meant he could finally read the black ops file, for all that he was falling back on his usual excuse of preferring to learn the contents of the file naturally, if possible. Strictly speaking he was required to review the file given that it was part of Joseph’s romantic history, but at the end of the day, Caesar was still a cupid. No cupid wanted to read a story of lost love, all the more so if it was real.

Still, Caesar couldn’t very well put it off if he had nothing to do for an entire week, so he gave himself something to do: he went back to his very real, very human job of freelance editing. It was something he’d come up with in recent years with the rise of the internet. He always liked to have an earthly job while he was on assignment—not only did it make his presence more natural, it gave him something to do in his downtime. And indeed there was plenty to do.

Several commissions were waiting in his inbox. He must have forgotten to note on his website that commissions were closed when he left his last assignment, but it was just as well, given that he’d had to come right back. Barely looking at the details of each, he accepted them all. Unfortunately, about half of them were flat attempts at erotica, but a few looked promising. Enough to get him through the week.

It was idyllic, really—just the sort of break he needed, even if not for as long as he needed it. Sure, it was work, but infinitely less aggravating than his day job. A few good manuscripts, intermittently rainy weather, and lots and lots of tea made for a cozy few days steeped in blissful pictures of romance. The days flew by in spite of the easy pace of his work, and soon enough the day was upon him. Caesar wasn’t exactly dreading it—but he made sure he had plenty of tea on hand for when he returned. No doubt he would be needing it.

The sparse rain had finally cleared away, leaving the air crisp and refreshing. It was too bad they were going to an indoor gym, Caesar mused as he strolled amiably through town. This was surely too good a day to waste on work. He was considering finding a local park afterward when his pleasant train of thought was rudely derailed by a motorcycle brazenly tearing down the street. His head jerked up to scowl at the cyclist, who was waving—their face was obscured by the helmet, but Caesar was already hoping he didn’t recognize that broad frame like he thought he did.

Alas the Fates were ever against Caesar. He walked up towards the gym and Joseph was already waiting for him, leaning against the very same motorcycle that had blown past Caesar with all the force of a thunderstorm across the plains. Of course he had a motorcycle, Caesar thought to himself, taking note to add that to the file. As Caesar approached, Joseph looked especially pleased about how obnoxious he’d managed to be. The bike itself was an old-fashioned looking thing, but well kept and reflecting the sunlight so harshly that Caesar could hardly look directly at it. At least it proved that Joseph cared about something with a sense of sincerity.

“Hey there, Caesarino!” Joseph called, waving again as if he thought Caesar hadn’t noticed him already.

Caesar rolled his eyes. “Don’t call me that.”

“Did you see me earlier?” Joseph asked as he gestured to his motorcycle, ignoring Caesar’s remark.

“No,” Caesar answered in a flat tone. “I completely missed you.”

“Aw, you missed me! How sweet!” Joseph joked with a sly grin.

Following Joseph’s example and choosing to ignore that genuinely awful joke, Caesar instead remarked, “I assume you’ve done this before?”

“Obviously, otherwise I wouldn’t have suggested it!” Joseph exclaimed, sounding scandalized and striding away from his bike to the front door. “The more important question is: have you?”

“Of course I have!”

It wasn’t a lie. He’d done it a few times in the course of his work. Just never regularly. And he’d never liked it.

“I guess we’ll see, won’t we?” Joseph replied as he sauntered into the building ahead of Caesar.

“You really think I’d lie about something like that?” Caesar demanded, closely following Joseph once inside.

“Maybe, if you wanted to save face,” Joseph suggested.

Caesar frowned. “What, are you still that bitter that I beat you at your own game?”

Joseph whipped around at that, his expression fierce for the briefest instant before melting into something more calculating. Caesar stopped short of running into him, mere inches away and struggling to keep his expression impassive. No doubt he looked like he’d just swallowed a rock. Somehow that alternative was already preferable.

“Only a little,” Joseph admitted, though whether he was sincere or not was debatable. “As it is, I prefer a partner that knows what he’s doing.” He thought about that for a moment, then added, “Climbing partner, that is.”

“I know what you meant,” Caesar sighed, the anticipation of the moment having been for naught.

“Sure,” Joseph scoffed before making his way to the front counter.

Caesar took the small break, not to revel in Joseph’s absence as he might have the past couple meetings, but to consider the towering walls around him. They didn’t seem so bad. It wasn’t that he was bad at climbing, either. In fact he was fairly decent as far as he was concerned. But for someone who was accustomed to flying, climbing was… not appealing, to say the least. Caesar tried to reassure himself. All he had to do was not fall.

“You know,” Joseph started when he returned with a harness, shoes, and a bag of chalk in hand, giving Caesar a pointed look. “Just because you covered my coffee doesn’t mean I’m going to cover this for you.”

“You can get me coffee after,” Caesar said dismissively as he went to the counter.

By the time Caesar returned with everything he needed in tow, Joseph was ready to go. His harness was snug around his waist, and he was eagerly eying the walls, bouncing on the balls of his feet as if ready to take off for a race. Caesar, not at all interested in joining a competition he was very likely to lose without magic (which he absolutely could not use here—it would be far too suspicious), made a point to take his time in getting ready. Let Joseph take off without him, and Caesar would catch up later. He wasn’t intending on doing too much work today—watching from afar would be ideal.

So intent was Caesar on not getting caught up in another one of Joseph’s inane games that he slipped his legs through the wrong part of the harness. He quickly realized his mistake, but not quickly enough. Joseph snorted as Caesar fumbled to fix himself.

“I thought you’d done this before,” Joseph teased.

“I have!” Caesar snapped. Then, quietly so that maybe Joseph wouldn’t hear, he admitted, “It’s just been a while…”

Joseph either didn’t hear that or didn’t care, having something else in mind when he suggested, “Then maybe you were distracted by something…?” That said he hoisted his harness up so that it was tighter around his thighs and under his ass.

“I was not,” Caesar insisted, looking pointedly away. “You don’t have to wait for me, go ahead and climb.”

“But I’m wearing a harness.”

“Yes, you made that very clear.”

“I’m wearing a harness because I want to climb a top rope wall.”

“There’s auto-belays.”

“I don’t like those routes.”

“Then go on the bouldering walls.”

“But Caesar,” Joseph whined, sounding rather pathetic. “I’m wearing a harness!”

Glowering at the petulant tone, Caesar huffed, “Tough.”

Caesar began to move deliberately slower. If Joseph was going to act like a tempestuous child then so would Caesar. Fight fire with fire. It was difficult, however, to move at a snail’s pace without looking like he really didn’t know what he was doing. Still, Caesar remained wholly focused on getting his harness up above his hips, ignoring Joseph until Joseph decided he wouldn’t be ignored any longer. He stepped into Caesar’s space, as he was wont to do, and immediately put his hands on the harness.

“I don’t need help,” Caesar hissed, his eyes snapping up to meet Joseph’s.

“Sure you don’t,” Joseph said, hands yanking roughly at the strap around Caesar’s waist to tighten it.

It only took a few seconds for Caesar to resign himself to what was happening. Let Joseph feel like he was in control of things. Every few seconds or so Joseph would worm a couple fingers under the strap to check how tight it was. Once he was satisfied with the waist, he moved to the straps around Caesar’s thighs. Caesar watched him carefully in spite of his resignation, wondering if this helpfulness had an ulterior motive.

Joseph, for his part, remained focused on the task at hand, pulling at the straps until they hugged Caesar securely, no sign of perversion in sight. He slipped two fingers under each of the thigh straps to make sure nothing was pinching, and then, quite abruptly, stood and nearly rammed his head into Caesar's face on the way up. He hardly seemed to care as he hooked a finger through the front loop of Caesar’s harness to give it a hard tug. This, taking Caesar by surprise, brought him much closer to Joseph than he would have liked.

“Feel good?” Joseph asked in a low voice that Caesar couldn’t tell was intended or not.

Caesar nodded absently, not daring to take his eyes away from Joseph’s.

“Good!” Joseph exclaimed, a little too loudly for Caesar’s taste when they were already standing so close. He released his hold on Caesar. “Wouldn’t want you falling!”

That taken care of, Joseph ambled on over to the nearest top rope wall. Caesar waited a few seconds before following. It wasn’t a new thought by any means, but Caesar was feeling that he had more pieces to a puzzle than he could put together at once. Joseph was fond of innuendos and had no concept of personal space, but always stopped short of things that were truly inappropriate. It was like he knew where the line was and danced right on it, keeping the other person both perpetually on his guard and thrown off at once. Frustrating as it was, at least Caesar could be assured that Joseph had a sense of decency. Things would be way more complicated if he wasn’t.

“I think I’d rather start with bouldering,” Caesar said, trying to keep his tone light as they approached a wall that seemed much higher now that Caesar was at the base.

“Why? You think I’d let you fall?” Joseph asked, frowning.

“I’m not going to fall, but—”

“So then trust me.”

Caesar bit the inside of his cheek to keep from throwing out that they barely knew each other at this point. “How about you trust me and you go first, since you’re the one that’s so eager to get up and climbing.”

Joseph hummed, looking from Caesar to the rope that was hanging limp between them and back. “You know how to belay?”

“Yes, I know how to belay,” Caesar managed through clenched teeth. “Will you stop acting like I’m clueless?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Joseph said, waving a hand dismissively. Then he grabbed one end of the rope and handed it to Caesar. “Tie me off then.”

In a mirror of what Joseph had done only moments before, Caesar hooked his finger through the front loop of the harness to pull Joseph closer—not too close though. He needed space to breathe, after all. Close enough to tie the knot with ease at least, although “ease” was not an apt way of describing how Caesar actually tied it. His fingers were clumsy, his memory of how to tie this particular knot rusty. Joseph, unsurprisingly, snorted and giggled at Caesar’s repeated attempts, but was otherwise silent. At least at first.

“You know, I’m no romance expert,” Joseph began in a lilting tone. “But I would guess that this is the part of a date when people would actually talk.”

“In theory, yes,” Caesar agreed tersely. At present his mind was more focused on the knot he was attempting to tie.

“So… what did you get up to this week?” Joseph asked.

“Work.”

“Manuscripts?”

“Yes.”

“Anything interesting?”

“Yes.”

Joseph exhaled sharply, and Caesar felt the breath breeze through his hair. “I thought you were supposed to be some sort of romance expert.”

“I am,” Caesar insisted as he finally looped the rope just right and pulled it taut. “But you and I aren’t on a date.”

“Wow, really? I had no idea,” Joseph drawled.

Caesar looked up at Joseph. His expression was unreadable, but not neutral—amused, as ever. That, Caesar knew well by now, was dangerous. Other agents were fond of dating subjects to teach them, first hand, the ways of romance, but not Caesar. It was a valid technique, but it wasn’t for him. If Joseph thought this was a date, it was best to clear the air now. That was the question though, wasn’t it—what did Joseph think?

“I’m not a practice dummy for you, thanks,” Caesar stated in no uncertain terms as he fed the other end of the rope through the belay device hooked to his harness.

“Who needs to practice?” Joseph chuckled. “But as for the dummy part—”

“Get climbing!” Caesar snapped, pulling hard on the rope to urge Joseph closer to the wall.

With one last grin over his shoulder, Joseph hopped up onto the wall and began climbing faster than Caesar anticipated. Caesar worried he wouldn’t be able to keep up as he frantically pulled the slack through the belay device. Joseph climbed like he was born doing it—how was this not in his file?! What other details had been left out? He was going to get frown lines with how often he was scowling, but at least he was probably just coming off as intensely focused on the task at hand. Just what he needed, he thought. More work.

Caesar was just making a note to email Messina when he went back to the apartment when Joseph reached the top of the wall, slapped it, and then without warning flung himself off the wall with a whoop that reverberated through the entire gym. It was only thanks to Caesar’s impeccable reflexes and his dedication to pulling the slack through that kept Joseph from plummeting straight to the ground. His hands burned from the sudden tension in the rope, but that was nothing compared to the fury that was rising quick in his chest.

“Whew, nice catch!” Joseph congratulated, letting himself be lowered all the way to the ground instead of touching down with his feet.

“I should have let you fall, jackass!” Caesar practically screeched.

Joseph wagged a finger up at him. “But you didn’t!”

“After all the grief you gave me about knowing what I was doing,” Caesar continued. “And you can’t even be bothered to let me know that you’re about to do something so phenomenally stupid—!”

“Whoa, whoa, cool your jets—!”

“Oh, sure, because you would have been fine if you fell!”

“Maybe a little banged up, but still—”

“And that would have been on me!” In more ways than one, Caesar knew full well. While it was well understood that some things were unavoidable, it was ill advised to allow a subject to come to harm during the course of an intervention. Still, regulation didn’t cover subjects that were complete morons! “But also on you, for not giving me a heads up!”

“Well,” Joseph laughed, almost nervously. “At least I know you care!”

Caesar slouched, anger replaced with exasperation in a single gust. “I had my suspicions before, but you really are a moron.”

“So I’ve been told, but I know you don’t believe that,” Joseph said as he untied the rope from his harness.

Unfortunately, he was right. Caesar didn’t think Joseph was a moron, on the whole. He was overall a deviously clever person, one who just happened to do moronic things from time to time. Seemingly moronic things, anyways. There was almost always an ulterior motive, like running into an umbrella to steal a phone, or playing a warped game of pool to get a read on someone, or—

“It was a good trust fall though, wasn’t it?” Joseph asked as he stood.

“A trust fall?”

“You know, when one person falls and the other—”

“I know,” Caesar cut in with renewed irritation. “What a trust fall is. But generally trust falls don’t take place where you could get seriously hurt!”

“But it pays off!” Joseph insisted. “Anyways, it’s your turn!”

Caesar eyed the rope warily. If he was honest, he really didn’t want to climb, not this wall. Not to start. If he had it his way he would start with bouldering, where the walls were less than half the height of this, and work himself up to top roping. Not that he could do that now, of course, with Joseph being so insistent. In reality he could, but his pride deemed this a non-negotiable situation. He had to climb, and all the way at that. Trying to remain poised, Caesar allowed Joseph to tie him off.

Looking straight up at a ninety degree angle, the wall was even more… Caesar didn’t want to say intimidating, but it was somewhere within that realm. With Joseph at his back watching his every move, Caesar didn’t dither for long. One hand, then the other, followed by his feet. It was a foreign feeling, to leave the ground by means of his arms and legs instead of his wings. Once, maybe a quarter of the way up, Caesar made the mistake of glancing down over his shoulder—logically he knew it wasn’t that far, but the ground seemed impossibly distant. How did it never feel like this when he was flying?!

The only reassurance Caesar had was the tug of the rope on his harness, telling him that Joseph was doing his job. Not that Caesar really thought he wouldn’t—but it was still only a paltry reassurance, even as much as Caesar tried to convince himself it wasn’t. He wasn’t nearly as fast as Joseph had been, so Joseph had no problem keeping the rope taut all the while. Even if Caesar pulled a stunt like Joseph’s (which he wouldn’t), Joseph would catch him with ease. He would catch him, Caesar repeated to himself like a prayer. He would.

By the time he reached the top his muscles were burning and he was breathing hard. He chanced a glance down to where Joseph waited expectantly. The rope was pulled tight, ready for him to descend. As soon as he let go of the wall, he would be entirely in Joseph’s hands. Joseph was no doubt up to the task, but there was a part of Caesar that detested the idea of being in anyone’s hands, a part that made the skin of his back prickle with wings that were just waiting to burst forth and take things from there. That, unfortunately, wasn’t an option. He had to let go of the wall without wings.

After a moment of deliberation, Caesar decided he could just climb back down, even as tired as he was. When he tried to move to a lower foothold, however, the rope held him firmly in place. He glared down at Joseph.

“Let me down!” he commanded, in no mood for Joseph’s games now of all times.

“What was that?!” Joseph called, that shit-eating grin discernible even from this height.

“I know you heard me, now let me down!” Caesar shouted, sweat collecting noticeably on the hand holds he had a death grip on.

“I’m ready to go when you are!” Joseph assured him.

Caesar bit down on a particularly fierce retort. The question now was whether he would be able to climb all the way down even if Joseph let him. Gravity was insistent, making it clear that the only thing between him and a tragic fall was the tenuous rope tied to a tiny loop on his harness, on the other end of which was Joseph Joestar. A small zap of magic through the rope could potentially loosen Joseph’s hold on the rope, Caesar frantically considered, but he staid his hands—mostly because he didn’t want to remove from their secure hold on the wall. As much as he hated the idea of simply letting go, neither did he want to do away with what he logically knew was his only safety.

“Do you need me to come up there and get you?!” Joseph called.

“No!” Caesar yelled, loud enough so as to not have to look over his shoulder to see how far up he was.

This was ridiculous, Caesar thought as he steeled himself to let go of the wall. He was so accustomed to flying, heights were no problem! But it wasn’t the height, he knew. With a choked gasp, he pushed himself away from the wall and grabbed hold of the rope, as if that would help him if Joseph hadn’t been ready. As it was, he did not plummet into a freefall as instinct assured him he would. Instead he was gently lowered down until blessedly solid ground was underneath him again.

“You know, you could have told me you were scared of heights before we did this,” Joseph commented as Caesar hastily undid the knot.

“I’m not scared of heights!” Caesar snapped, and it wasn’t a lie. It was the idea of falling that had him out of sorts.

“Whatever you say,” Joseph said. “Let’s do some bouldering.”

“You mean like I suggested in the first place?” Caesar reminded him acidly.

“I’m suggesting it now.”

Caesar narrowed his eyes at Joseph as the latter began to saunter over to the much shorter bouldering walls, leaving him no choice but to follow. “You know, pushing the patience of dates is a one way ticket to not seeing them again.”

“Oh, we’re back on that topic, are we?” Joseph mused as he considered which route to climb.

“You wanted to talk about it earlier.”

“That was earlier—this is now.”

“You—You’re so—” Caesar started haltingly.

“Impossible? Insufferable? Infuriating?” Joseph suggested lightly. “Go ahead, give me a new one.”

Caesar sniffed. “I was going to say mercurial.”

“Oh, fancy,” Joseph cackled. “But that’s a new one, you get points for that.”

That said, Joseph made a spectacular jump to grab a handhold well over halfway up the wall, then swung his legs up in a smooth, impeccably controlled arc to find footholds. A few more swift movements, and Joseph disappeared over the top of the wall. Caesar was impressed for all of two seconds until he realized that the route Joseph had taken was an easy one. So much for showing off. At the very least it gave Caesar a decent path to try.

Or so he thought. About halfway up Caesar distantly remembered a previous subject telling him that bouldering routes were supposed to be harder than top rope walls. The burning in his shoulders was a harsh reminder of that now. Caesar bit his lip as he tried his very hardest to not fall. Why had he subjected himself to this sort of humiliation?! Why hadn’t he suggested something less taxing, something where he wasn’t perpetually thrown off?!

“You stuck?” Joseph’s voice broke through his thoughts abruptly, such that if Caesar didn’t already have an iron grip on the wall he might have fallen. 

It shouldn’t have been a surprise that he had already circled back around, but Caesar glared on instinct anyways. Still, there wasn’t a trace of mirth or malice in Joseph’s expression. It could have been a ruse—but maybe Caesar was desperate for some sense of openness from Joseph that he relaxed his expression, just by the tiniest margin. Joseph nodded towards his feet.

“Point your toes in the same direction. It helps keep your center of gravity closer to the wall so you don’t tire out as quick,” he advised. “Also if you feel like you’re going to fall, just jump. If you fall without meaning to, it's harder to control, and you’re more likely to get hurt.”

It was all sound advice, but the last thing Caesar wanted to do was jump off the wall. He wasn’t that far from the top, but at the same time he wasn’t sure he could successfully make the last reach he needed to get there. The ground wasn’t nearly that far away—logically he knew this. Yet it felt so much farther. Once again the urge to let his wings tear through his shirt and take control surged through him, but he kept himself in check. Instead, he did the last thing he ever expected to let himself do.

Caesar took Joseph’s advice, and jumped off from the wall, letting gravity take hold of him in a way he hadn’t in ages. A vague memory of some long ago lesson told him to roll on impact, but an irrational, instinct-driven part of his brain was screaming to be careful of wings that were in reality safely tucked away. Instead of allowing his momentum to carry him naturally onto his back, Caesar twisted in the air and landed so hard on his side that all his breath left him in a rush.

“Whoa,” Joseph huffed, landing neatly next to Caesar before he could recover. “You alright?”

Caesar, still trying to regain his breath, could only nod as he rolled onto his back.

“Falling isn’t so bad, you know,” Joseph said, taking a seat next to Caesar.

“Says you,” Caesar gasped, having at last sucked in a lungful of air. “How many times have you fallen?”

Joseph tapped a finger to his chin, looking thoughtful. Caesar scoffed, pushing himself up to sit and pat his bruised-feeling ribs.

“Figures. You don’t fall, do you? You just jump,” Caesar continued.

“No, no, I’ve fallen,” Joseph finally answered. “Once. Pretty badly too.”

Caesar blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Joseph said, absently rubbing his bad wrist. His curt answer implied that he would not elaborate further.

“How long have you been into climbing anyways?” Caesar asked lightly, trying to liven up the conversation.

Joseph grinned. “My whole life!”

“There’s no way you’ve been climbing your whole life and you’ve only fallen once!” Caesar exclaimed in disbelief.

“Sure there is,” Joseph chirped as he hopped back up to his feet. “I was careful all but one time, and that’s all there is to it!”

“Accidents happen no matter how careful we are,” Caesar argued.

Joseph hopped back up onto the wall with a sly grin. “I was very careful.”

“I call bullshit,” Caesar insisted as he made to follow Joseph up the wall.

“Call it what you want, but whether it was trees or boulders or the school building—”

“You climbed your school building?”

“Sure did, and got suspended every time!”

“It’s a miracle you weren’t expelled.”

Joseph disappeared over the top of the wall at that, but then his face reappeared to peer down at Caesar, saying, “More like the faculty just didn’t want to deal with my granny.”

Caesar would have said something to that—something about how terrifying his grandmother must be if a menace like him wasn’t expelled—but he quite unexpectedly came up to the top of the wall. He clambered onto the flat surface with a little less grace than he would have liked, but he made it. Popping up with a victorious grin, Caesar looked to Joseph, who looked as smug as if he had been the reason for Caesar’s success.

“What are you looking so pleased for?” Caesar demanded.

“Nothing!” Joseph declared, skipping over to the stairs.

Caesar made a frustrated sound and stomped after Joseph. “Can you, for once, just say what you’re thinking?!”

Joseph halted abruptly at the stairs, one hand resting on the railing. He turned to Caesar, still grinning, his eyes bright and merry.

“You want to know what I’m thinking?” Joseph asked as if clarifying.

“That’s what I said,” Caesar confirmed, crossing his arms over his chest.

Turning to face Caesar fully, Joseph crossed his arms as well. “I think there’s more to you than meets the eye.”

“Believe it or not that’s the case with most people you hardly know,” Caesar deadpanned.

“No, no, that’s not what I meant,” Joseph said. “I meant—well, look at things from my perspective: a mysterious stranger rolls up into town for reasons he won’t clarify, saying he has a job that shouldn’t require him to move around too much, and then simultaneously acts like he knows and doesn’t know me...”

Caesar swore he felt his heart stop beating for the briefest instant. “Didn’t I mention that I just needed a change of scenery?”

“You might have, but that’s a pretty weak reason to pack your life up and move… unless,” Joseph began suggestively, before pointing an accusatory finger at Caesar. “You’re a secret agent here to investigate me for illegally scanning and distributing comics!”

“That,” Caesar stammered, taken aback by the sheer absurdity of the statement. Thinking fast, Caesar knew there was only one thing to do. He smiled conspiratorially. “Is absolutely right. You’ve caught me—but I’ve also caught you!”

“Not yet you haven’t!” Joseph shrieked, whirling around to clear the entire flight of stairs in a single leap.

“You admitted to the crime!” Caesar shouted after him, taking the stairs four at a time. “You’re as good as done, Jojo!”

“You’ll never catch me alive!” Joseph tossed over his shoulder as he sprinted back to the bouldering walls.

“Who said I was going to?!” Caesar threatened playfully, acting as if giving chase and then doubling back up the stairs the instant Joseph started climbing.

Running past the sign that said “No Running,” Caesar peeked gleefully over the edge of the wall—only to find himself grinning at empty space. He straightened, looking around the top of the wall. Had he underestimated how fast Joseph could climb? Or, Caesar considered, looking back towards the stairs, had Joseph anticipated his move and followed him back up the stairs? Joseph wasn’t waiting at the railing.

A quick tap on his right shoulder alerted him that tomfoolery was afoot. Instead of looking right, Caesar looked left, and found Joseph poised to dart away. He chuckled.

“You’re going to have to try harder than that,” Caesar warned before they were off again, this time with Caesar hot on Joseph’s heels.

“Noted!” Joseph yelped as he threw himself down the stairs again with reckless abandon and, instead of making for the bouldering wall, made for the top rope walls.

As far as Caesar was concerned, Joseph as good as boxed himself in with this move. Thus when Joseph hurled himself at the wall, Caesar did the same without a second thought. Second thoughts were had, however, when Joseph cleared the bouldering line with no signs of stopping. Caesar grit his teeth and followed anyways.

“Climbing over the bouldering line is another strike against you!” Caesar called up. “Better quit while you’re ahead!”

“Why quit when you’ll never catch me?!” Joseph laughed.

Bold words, but Caesar was apparently warmed up now and had a purpose. He began to close the gap between them quicker than Joseph anticipated, and Joseph, seeing this, swung himself one route over. Caesar grinned. It was a more difficult route. Even as good as Joseph was, that would surely slow him down. Victory would soon be within reach.

“So what are you going to do when you reach the top?” Caesar asked, half teasing but half concerned about the literal heights this chase had taken them to.

“The rope is right here, isn’t it?” Joseph indicated, kicking at the inert rope between them. “I think I’ll just ride it down.”

“Somehow I don’t see that working,” Caesar remarked.

“Then you need a better imagination.”

It might have been interesting to think of the ways in which the rope could be successfully ridden down, but at that moment Caesar drew level with Joseph. He hadn’t thought of what he would do when he caught up, only that he should and would. Now he was coming up to shoulder level, and within arm’s reach despite Joseph’s best attempts to put space between them. They were too far up to do anything drastic. Caesar hardly dared to look down. So, in stark contrast with the high energy of the chase up until now, Caesar reached out and lightly tapped Joseph.

“Tag, you’re it,” he announced as he did.

Joseph, looking affronted, moved to swat back at him, but, being on the route with more handholds, Caesar was easily able to move just out of reach, laughing all the while. He was about to start climbing down when, in the space of a breath, he watched as Joseph overreached and lost his balance, one of his precariously perched feet slipping out from under him. Joseph was going to fall.

There was no time for magic, though the situation certainly warranted it. Instead, conscious thought was suspended as Caesar’s hand shot forward to grab hold of Joseph by the wrist. His own balance swayed dangerously when Joseph’s weight yanked hard against him, but he held fast, both to Joseph and to his own hold on the wall. The momentum of the near fall slammed Joseph against the wall, but his reflexes were lightning fast and he scrambled for purchase at once. He found it, half on Caesar’s route, half on his, breathing heavily.

“You alright?” Caesar asked breathlessly.

“Yeah,” Joseph confirmed. It was only when he shook himself free of Caesar’s grip did Caesar realize he hadn’t yet let him go. “Nice catch. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Before Joseph could decide whether he would mention it or not, an employee began shouting at them from the ground. Joseph grinned at Caesar.

“I guess that’s our cue,” he told Caesar as he began to climb down with haste. Caesar was more than happy to do the same, having suddenly become overly aware of just how high up he was with no earthly safety net.

They both made it down safely, but there was no protecting them from the fact that they were both banned from the gym for the next month. Caesar thought it was a bit harsh for him, being a first time offender. He had a sneaking suspicion that being associated with Joseph, who had very likely done that before, made his punishment all the more harsh. He remarked upon this after they were escorted out and the doors were decidedly shut behind them.

“Oh, yeah, it’s definitely not the first time I’ve been banned,” Joseph chuckled. “But it’s not like I ever put anyone else in danger, so they always let me come back eventually—they just don’t want me being a bad influence on other climbers, especially when there’s kids' classes.”

“Sensible,” Caesar said with a nod.

“So, what do you say? Have I convinced you?” Joseph questioned out of the blue.

“Convinced me? Of what?”

Joseph threw back his head with a laugh just as Caesar remembered why they had come to the gym in the first place. He laughed good-naturedly along with Joseph, but in truth was concerned. True, he could always argue that in playing the story of an idyllic human life there would undoubtedly be times where he forgot the true purpose of his presence on Earth—but to have forgotten it so completely…

“I guess, if you managed to make me forget why we were here at all, then you’ve made your point,” Caesar graciously conceded.

“Does that mean I don’t have to cover coffee?”

“Oh, you’re still absolutely getting coffee, if it weren’t for me they’d be scraping you off the gym floor,” Caesar insisted.

“Fine, fine,” Joseph surrendered with a reluctant smile.

With that Joseph swung a leg over his bike and turned the key in the ignition. It came roaring to life, and Caesar didn’t miss the tiny smirk that alighted Joseph’s face when it did. Caesar watched Joseph back all the way out of his spot before he realized he had no idea where they were going for coffee—hopefully not the same place as before. He was about to shout at Joseph when, abruptly, Joseph turned and jerked his head.

“You coming?!” he yelled when Caesar didn’t respond to his look.

Caesar’s first impulse was to refuse. He’d seen Joseph barely an hour ago ripping down the road, and knew full well by now his flagrant disregard for rules that he himself didn’t make. Frankly, he didn’t want any part in that. Not to mention, he noted as he watched Joseph jam his helmet over his head, he was pretty sure there wasn’t a spare helmet.

Seeming to sense Caesar’s uncertainty, Joseph flipped up his visor and added, “It’s not that far!”

Then why not walk, Caesar wanted to retort. Yet instead he silently approached the bike and clambered on with a little less grace than he would have liked. Joseph was kind enough to not say anything about it, but Caesar swore he saw a smile in those bright eyes. In the meantime Caesar was immensely grateful that things were not somehow the other way around. He was so close to Joseph’s back now that he could count the drops of sweat on the back of his neck, if he so desired. Gross, Caesar thought as he gingerly rested his hands on Joseph’s hips.

“You’re going to need to hold on a little tighter than that!” Joseph warned him.

“I’m sure I’ll be—!” Caesar started just before Joseph accelerated without warning, nearly flinging Caesar off the bike and forcing him to wrap his hands tightly around Joseph’s waist.

Joseph laughed, loud and hard, such that Caesar could feel the laughter dancing under his hands. The sharp whip of the wind was refreshing after their time in the gym, and he was almost sorry that it only took a short five minutes to reach the place Joseph had in mind. Outwardly, it didn’t look too different from the last one they’d met at. Caesar hoped that this was one of the cases in which looks were deceiving, and that the coffee was at least good enough for him to pretend he liked it.

“I haven’t actually been to this place,” Joseph admitted as he pulled off his helmet and shook his hair of sweat.

“Hey! Keep your sweat to yourself!” Caesar exclaimed as he wiped the errant sweat off his face.

“Sorry,” Joseph chuckled. “Anyways, I can’t speak to the quality of the coffee here.”

“I guess we’ll see,” Caesar said as they ambled inside.

The coffee was mediocre, maybe a tad better than last time, but Joseph seemed amused by Caesar’s finicky tastes, so he didn’t waste too much of his breath trying to praise it. After the subject of coffee was exhausted, unfortunately, Joseph seemed to lose interest in their conversation. Caesar wasn’t keen on bringing up the headache that was the intersection of romance and Joseph, so instead, noticing Joseph stretching his bad wrist, Caesar let himself pursue his curiosity.

“You broke your wrist climbing, didn’t you?” he started carefully. “How does that happen? From what I saw you’re a pretty decent climber.”

Joseph snorted. “Don’t go giving out sincere compliments now, I’ll start to think actually like me or something.”

“Don’t worry, I’m still trying to decide,” Caesar assured him, not really caring that Joseph chose to dodge the question.

“Decide?”

Caesar sipped at his coffee before answering, “Whether I like you or not.”

“Well, at least you’re honest,” Joseph said. “Most people say they like me, but with a few exceptions…”

“Can’t imagine why,” Caesar drawled.

“Something about being too forward and temperamental,” Joseph mused, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

“Most people worry about sending the wrong message, but you seem to thrive on it,” Caesar remarked. “Something tells me you enjoy testing peoples’ limits.”

“Keeps people who’d rather dupe me away,” Joseph replied, reclining in the cushy seat that was, miraculously, only just big enough for him.

“And those who pass…?” Caesar probed.

Joseph eyed him with interest. “Stick around and maybe you can find out.”

“Maybe I will—then you’ll have to deal with me.”

“You make it sound like that’s a bad thing.”

“Maybe not now, but just wait ‘til I beat you at something else,” Caesar teased lightly.

That got Joseph riled up at once. “I still think that last shot was foul play!”

“You can’t prove anything! We’ve been over this already!”

“Then we’ll have to play again!” Joseph declared. “Better yet, we can play something else!”

“Oh?”

Joseph whipped out his phone. “Yeah—my friends and I are going to meet up for laser tag in a couple weeks. You should come with us so I can have some decent competition.”

“So I can beat you? Sounds like a good use of my time,” Caesar said.

“So I can beat you,” Joseph echoed with emphasis. “Pool is one thing—laser tag is another.”

“That much easier then,” Caesar continued to poke.

Joseph frowned, but it was much more of a pout than anything serious, his nose scrunching up in a way that made Caesar snort. “Guess we’ll have to see, won’t we?”

“I guess we will,” Caesar agreed.

He thought that would be the end of it, and that they would go their separate ways with their agreement to meet again in a couple weeks time. Caesar’s phone buzzed wildly with too many messages, but he ignored it for the time being. Yet just as he was getting ready to stand and make his farewells, Joseph’s expression suddenly became pensive.

“To answer your question from earlier,” he began, a little quieter than usual. “I fell because my partner at the time wasn’t paying attention. I let go of the wall, and by the time they realized I was already halfway down.”

“Ouch,” Caesar said, wincing in sympathy. “What a lousy partner.”

“Tell me about it,” Joseph sighed. “She was sorry, of course, but sorry didn’t fix my wrist.” He paused. “You ever break any bones?”

“No,” Caesar answered at once. The response seemed a bit too short and cold now, with the rapport they currently had. It would be a shame to stop it short. “There were plenty of times when I should have though.”

“Yeah?”

The first story that sprang to mind was from Caesar’s days as a hatchling, a young cupid who hadn’t even mastered flying yet. He and the other hatchlings of his class could fly, but not well. It was well enough, however, that they had collectively come up with a game that involved jumping from balcony to balcony across the cupid headquarters. The young cupids had grown increasingly daring through the course of the game, none more so than Caesar.

He had pointed at a far off balcony, much farther than anything anyone had attempted at that point. Half the hatchlings were sure he wouldn’t make it, and told him so. The other half thought the same, but were eager to see him try. Caesar had taken a running start, and would have made it if he hadn’t chickened out halfway and spread his wings too soon. The drag slowed his momentum and shortened his arc, so that instead of landing neatly on the platform as he should have, he slammed against the edge of the platform.

Had Caesar been mortal, he knew, it would have surely resulted in some broken ribs. As it was, the only thing that was really wounded was his sense of pride when the other hatchlings laughed at him.

This was, unfortunately, not a story he could tell Joseph.

“Me and some neighborhood kids were climbing trees, and we were trying to jump from one tree to another,” Caesar said instead. “I was a bit of a show off when I was little—”

“Never would have guessed.”

“—so I decided to jump a little farther than the others. Needless to say, I miscalculated. I missed and hit the ground—should have broken something, but I was lucky,” Caesar finished with a fond smile.

He’d thought it a very convincing lie, given that it was based in truth, but Joseph was giving him that look again, as if he was trying to read his mind. Caesar sighed and stood. If Joseph was going to try to pry the whole truth out of him, then that was a good sign that it was time for their meeting to end. They had already agreed to another meeting, and with some of his friends at that—it was all Caesar needed for his job. No need to put up with further headaches today.

Joseph blinked when Caesar stood, apparently surprised. “Leaving?”

“Yes,” Caesar said. “Much as I enjoy chatting over mediocre coffee, I need a shower.”

“Right, right,” Joseph sighed. “I’ll see you in a couple weeks for laser tag?”

“That you will,” Caesar assured him.

“Great!” Joseph cheered, popping up out of his seat. “I—uh, guess I’ll text you later! Or something.”

Caesar was willing to bet it would be “or something,” that being that Joseph would straight up forget. That was alright though. For now. He was just pleased that a meeting had ended on a more positive note, and that, while there would be a lot to go over when he returned, he truly felt like he had made progress. And he hadn’t even been trying! Maybe, he considered, this was one of those cases where to not try was better than trying at all.

All the way back to the apartment he strolled with an easy-going pace, sometimes picking up a tune that floated out of a shop or restaurant and humming it for a spell before hearing another. By the time he reached the apartment, Caesar was in good spirits and ready to tackle the work that needed to be done. First thing was first though: he checked his phone to briefly go over the messages Joseph had sent him—only to find that Joseph was not the only one who had messaged him.

More than half the messages were from Messina, which was odd because Messina rarely communicated by means other than email. Caesar scrolled through them quickly. The gist was that the exit reports Caesar had been pestering him about had finally been processed, that they had been sent to the dropbox, and that Caesar had to review them immediately. Caesar rolled his eyes. As if he wouldn’t.

The dropbox, which Caesar made for at once, referred to a small metal box in the closet that could be used to deliver physical items between an agent’s base of operations and the cupid headquarters. He had fully expected to make great use of it during this assignment, given the spotty nature of Joseph’s file. He walked into the closet and spotted the box tucked into the corner of an upper shelf. The reports were in there, just as promised.

Caesar wasted no time in scanning through them, not even bothering to leave the closet beforehand. Everything in his formerly cheerful mind screeched to a halt when he did, bringing as abrupt an end to his mood as the previous assignments. He read the reports twice, then three times, but there was no changing the concerning nature of them. Both of them had the same conclusion.

The assignment was terminated by means of emergency extraction. This was on account of evidence of strong suspicion, on the part of the subject at hand, the true nature of the agent in question.

Chapter Text

Nell’amore c’è sempre un po’ di follia. Ma nella follia c’è sempre un po’ di saggezza.

There’s always some madness in love. But in madness there’s always a little wisdom.

“You ever think about falling in love?”

The young woman before him waved her hand dismissively, even as she smiled. She was certainly the sort of woman people wanted to fall in love with—light seemed to radiate from her, warming up any space she happened to occupy. When she smiled it was without restraint, and when she laughed it was as loud and as joyful as the church bells tolling a marvelous new day for all to hear. Indeed, people were eager to fall in love with her. Yet as far as Caesar could tell, she did not have the same enthusiasm.

“Sure,” she answered. “All the time.”

—

Caesar awoke with the memory of his response on his tongue, despite the many years that had passed since that particular assignment. His first assignment, in fact. A cupid never forgot their first.

With a loud yawn he stretched his wings out behind him and flapped them a couple times to push around the stifling air that had settled in the bedroom overnight. The comforter was in a heap on the floor. Through the window he could see a perfect blue sky, with only a few clouds lazily gliding along and the sun shining intensely. It was an ideal morning.

Or it would be, if only Caesar could have delayed remembering yesterday’s spectacular revelation. As soon as his bare feet hit the carpet his wings sagged with the weight of his irritation and dread. Gone was the energy to be absolutely furious, to feel like this assignment was rigged against him, to rail and rage until he was blue in the face (which would take quite a while given that an immortal like himself had no breath to lose).

It was a miracle he’d held himself together the day before. Never, in his entire career as a cupid, had he felt so keenly like he was meant to fail. He stood and eyed the feathers scattered across the floor, shed as he flapped his wings in fierce agitation while pacing about the apartment. That was another thing—the sheer amount of stress was enough to make him lose feathers! His gorgeous wings were at risk of becoming patchy and shabby. Was that how he was to return? Looking as if he’d been chewed up and spat out by a hydra because of an assignment that he should have had no problem with?!

With another aggravated sigh, Caesar set himself to at least cleaning up the mess he’d made. After that… well, one thing at a time. There weren’t as many shed feathers in the bedroom as he’d feared, and he quickly moved to meander through the rest of the quaint apartment. On the table his laptop was still open, the screen still bright and broadcasting the glaring fact that he’d hardly even started on yesterday’s report.

Caesar pointedly ignored the unfinished report. After convincing himself to not call Messina to demand an explanation for this egregious oversight, he’d tried to conduct business as usual. He knew the encounter yesterday was classified as a routine contact. He knew where it happened, on what day it happened, and how long the encounter lasted. He could even give a dry play by play of what they’d done. But what any of it meant? Caesar could no longer say.

Joseph was far too perceptive to be safe. Even the most skilled cupids would be hard-pressed to do their jobs in so short a time as six months (Caesar had now only five months left), what with how cautious they would have to be around him, and Caesar had not been particularly cautious. Or rather, he thought grimly as he stooped over to pick up what looked to be the last of the feathers, he’d been downright careless.

Naturally he blamed Joseph, because who else (besides himself, he noted sourly) was there to blame? No, it was certainly all Joseph’s fault, because he was clearly going out of his way to trip Caesar up, and for what? A laugh? To prove that he could always get the upper hand on Caesar?

Amidst these tumultuous thoughts, Caesar almost missed the insistent ringing of his phone from the bedroom. When he saw who was texting him he almost threw his phone out the window.

Joseph Joestar: Me and Smokey are grabbin’ lunch at a bar near the gym, you wanna come?

Following that message was another with the address of the place, another adding that Caesar really ought to come and properly meet Smokey, and yet another with a picture of the place, presumably from Joseph’s view on the sidewalk. Caesar wasted no time in telling him that he had work to do, but maybe another time.

It was an interesting sort of lie, because it was and wasn’t true. Caesar knew as soon as he read the first message that he would be going, but there was no way he wanted to deal with the immense headache that was Joseph Joestar. So instead he would be going undercover, in a manner of speaking—under the cover of magic, that was. Without himself as a factor, Caesar would surely, surely find out what sort of person Joseph truly was. He had to.

Back in the living room Caesar flung open the window, relishing in the cool spring air as it washed over him. He braced a foot against the frame, judging the distance to the ground. Being that the window was on the second floor, he wouldn’t have much time to catch some air under his wings. His timing and angle would have to be perfect. He allowed himself a small yet haughty smirk. Even if everything else was going wrong, this he could still do without fail.

If only Joseph could see him now, Caesar thought as he launched himself out of the window, spreading his wings the instant they were clear. No doubt this would be a far cry from the Caesar that was desperately clinging to a high up wall with only a thin rope as his safety net. Now, with the control securely back in his own hands (or wings, rather), he was unstoppable, fearless—he glided for a scant moment, the ground rushing up to meet him, but it wasn’t until the very last moment that he pumped his wings to lift himself up, his long primary feathers brushing against the soft grass as he did.

With a swell of pride Caesar rocketed up, up, and up into the sky, aiming for the nearest wisp of a cloud and punching right through it. Beads of water clung to his skin, and thin trails of the cloud followed after him. Part of him just wanted to spend the day flying—forget Joseph, forget romance, forget cupid work. All he needed were his wings and the open sky around him.

Alas, obligations were a force akin to gravity, dragging Caesar back down to earth against his will. He dove towards town until he was close enough to hear the dull roar of life on the ground: cars ambling down the roads, people chatting and laughing animatedly with one another, music drifting out of shops and up into the air where Caesar could barely hear.

Soaring over the roads, it didn’t take him long to find the bar where Joseph was having lunch with Smokey. Even better, they were seated outdoors, meaning Caesar didn’t have to maneuver with his wings indoors in what was very likely a crowded building. He was invisible to human eyes, but he was not intangible. One small accident would make this assignment worse than it already was.

Landing expertly on the sidewalk, Caesar sauntered over to their table as if he was, in fact, going to join them for lunch, but instead of taking a seat he simply stood out of the way of people while remaining close enough to listen in on whatever they happened to chat about.

“So he’s not coming?” Smokey asked when Caesar was in earshot.

“Nah, he says he has work to do,” Joseph said as he idly stirred his drink with his straw.

“Eh, that’s just as well,” Smokey started with a grin. “Now you can tell me all about how your date with him went yesterday.”

Joseph snorted. Caesar suddenly didn’t want to be listening in anymore. The point of this was to remove himself as a factor, and here they were, talking about him. Worse still, Smokey thought that Caesar was interested in Joseph! How ridiculous!

“It wasn’t a date,” Joseph clarified. “He said so himself. And before you ask, I didn’t see it as a date either.”

Smokey rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay.”

“I’m serious!”

“And yet he had to go out of his way to say it wasn’t a date?”

“Well,” Joseph said slowly, averting his eyes. “I mean, I did think he thought it was a date at first—”

“Aha!”

“But Smokes, listen, even if I thought that, he acted like he didn’t want to be there at first!” Joseph argued.

“Maybe he was nervous?”

“Doesn’t seem the type.”

“So what if he doesn’t seem the type? You’ve only known him for, what, a few weeks?” Smokey shot back. “Even you can’t know everything about a person in that time.”

“I can know enough,” Joseph grumbled, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair.

Caesar made a mental note of that. A keen perception could only take someone so far when it came to romance, and some people didn’t like feeling as though they were being pried open against their will, Caesar included. If Joseph thought he could know enough about a person to satisfy him in so short a time, it was a wonder he even had friends.

“Yeah, yeah,” Smokey dismissed. “You said he didn’t want to be there at first? Spill, what happened once he relaxed?”

Joseph hummed. “After he removed the oak tree from up his ass? We had fun, I won’t lie. He’s a good partner. Climbing partner. Paid attention while I was climbing, kept up with me, wasn’t even opposed to breaking the rules a little. He was a little scared of the height though, which was cute.”

Caesar wanted to smack him for that.

“So basically he’s perfect for you,” Smokey stated with amusement.

Hardly, Caesar wanted to snap. If there were any people more incompatible than him and Joseph, he hadn’t seen them. At best they could have a tenuous friendship.

“No way,” Joseph insisted. “Even if I was interested in him, I don’t think he’s actually interested in me.”

“Oh? Do tell, cause when I saw him at the cafe last month he seemed to be very interested—he could hardly keep his eyes off you!”

“Sure, but plenty of people like looking at me. It’s the ones that can stand me once I open my mouth that are actually worth their salt.”

“That’s your own damn fault,” Smokey retorted, twirling a fry between his fingers and pointing it accusingly at Joseph.

Then it was Joseph’s turn to roll his eyes. “Whatever. Anyways, I told you about that trick he pulled off in that game of pool, right?”

Caesar froze. This was it. This would prove whether Joseph was really onto his true identity or not.

“Only about a thousand times, but what does it matter?”

“I still have no idea how he did it, and he won’t tell me. Nobody learns tricks like that unless they’re trying to impress people really quickly, and if they’re trying to impress people quickly, they move on from people just as fast. This guy’s nothing but a skirt-chaser that sees me as a would-be conquest, trust me,” Joseph said decidedly, right before slurping loudly from his glass.

Just a couple feet away, Caesar was completely dumbfounded. More so, he felt utterly insulted. Him? A skirt-chaser? Someone who regarded others as challenges to be overcome? The audacity! He was a cupid who respected the purity of romance, thank you very much, and he would never, ever approach someone with such insincere intentions!

“So conquer him back!” Smokey lightly suggested, and Caesar nearly laughed aloud. If him being a skirt-chaser was ridiculous, the idea of a human, one who was useless when it came to romance, one such as Joseph Joestar, seducing Caesar was downright delusional!

Thankfully even Joseph seemed to agree that this was ludicrous.

“Yeah, right!” he scoffed.

“You don’t think you could?”

“Oh, I could, if I wanted.”

Not even in your wildest dreams, Caesar thought.

“But…?” Smokey prompted.

“But he’s not worth the effort,” Joseph finished.

Not worth the effort! Caesar was going to lose his mind listening to this conversation. With a foul scowl he flapped his wings hard, creating a gust of wind that made napkins fly up in Joseph’s face. He’d heard enough. His identity wasn’t in danger. Not yet.

Aside from that, Caesar had much to think about. Too much, if he was honest. Too much to think about, and too much work to be done. Where did he even begin? Part of him wanted to shoot right past the apartment and keep flying until every last thought fell out of his head, but years of determined discipline had him diving neatly through the open window and rolling up to his feet with practiced poise.

Without hesitation Caesar walked over to his laptop and plopped down in front of it. The cursor blinked at him. He stared right back. Several minutes passed. He opened a blank document to let his thoughts spill out. Like the report, it remained blank.

Failing that, Caesar chose instead to review the exit reports for the umpteenth time, as if there would be some new tidbit of information waiting for him this time, something that only appeared after reading everything else a hundred and one times. Unfortunately, the reports were just as curt and straightforward as before.

The first report read:

EMERGENCY EXTRACTION REQUEST

Cause for Request: Potential Compromise of Identity

Details: Were it not for the level of perceptiveness that the subject wields like a weapon (described in previous reports) I would have taken this as an offhand comment or a joke. However, it related to my preferred method of work too strongly—that method, as mentioned previously, being that I would temporarily charm the subject (lasting no longer than ten minutes, as is standard) to be attracted to someone in order to have a reason to instruct him on what he does wrong and what he could do better. The subject took notice of someone that he might have been genuinely interested in, and asked me directly to “work my cupid magic on them.”

I laughed it off and told him to do the work himself, to which he responded in a despondent manner. He continued to badger me for the rest of the time we spent at the bar, telling me that a little magic wouldn’t hurt, that I was like his lucky charm, that a little wave of my fingers would do the trick. My distress must have shown on my face, because he eventually asked me what was wrong (perhaps the greatest show of courtesy in the few months that I’ve known the subject). I explained it away as a sudden illness and extracted myself from the situation. Currently awaiting approval for complete extraction.

Caesar tossed that report to the side. The first agent absolutely had every right to believe what they did, given the evidence. He would have done the same in that situation.  The question was: had Joseph actually suspected something supernatural? Or was he just getting up to his usual rascally antics? He had discerned that something was off when Caesar used magic during their game of pool. Multiple examples of magic would undoubtedly catch his attention. But what was the extent of what he actually knew?

Having too many questions and no answers, Caesar moved on to reread the next report, which read:

EMERGENCY EXTRACTION REQUEST

Cause for Request: Potential Compromise of Identity

Details: In the course of my plan to present myself as a worthy competitor in the subject’s eyes, I went along with just about every hare-brained scheme he came up with, each one seeming to be more wild than the last. Given my belief that life is just one great game to the subject, I endeavored to outdo him at every turn, which seemed to impress him. Unfortunately, this has led to the reason I must request an emergency extraction.

The subject asked me if I could do parkour, and because I wanted to impress him so that there would be a chance of him listening to me when it came to romantic matters, I said yes. This was a lie. I do not know how to do parkour. He asked me to show him some. I tried to climb up to the top of a one-story building, only to lose my grip just before I reached the top and fall in a way that would have significantly injured a human. Needless to say, I was just fine, but that is exactly the problem. I was fine, and the subject saw that there wasn’t a scratch on me. I told him I would go to the hospital, upon which I immediately returned to file this emergency extraction request. Awaiting approval.

Again, the agent was reasonable and justified. However, between these happenings that would be seen as mysterious to a human and the sudden disappearances of the agents, there was the question of how much Joseph knew to look for now. As if Caesar wasn’t already screwed enough on this assignment. If nothing else he could abstain from magic for the rest of the assignment and hope that Joseph would write off the winning shot as an aberration or a trick of the eyes.

Caesar turned back to his laptop screen, which was still open to the blank document. His fingers hovered over the keys, and slowly, very slowly, began to type.

What does Joseph Joestar want?

It was a simple enough question, and with any other subject Caesar would have known by now. It was never just about romance, as much as humans and cupids alike wanted to believe otherwise. Some wanted an escape from loneliness. Others wanted proof that they were worth something, that they had a place somewhere. For others still it was the feeling of discovering parts of themselves they never knew existed through someone else.

Did Joseph want any of that? Was it something else? Caesar pressed his fingers against his temples. He loved playing games, that was certain—was that all he wanted? Fun and games? No, that couldn’t be it. It was too simple, and Joseph was anything but simple.

Thus in response to his own question, Caesar typed:

I have absolutely no clue.

And then he promptly dropped his head down against the table. The bright light of day had by then melted into a golden afternoon, warming the apartment in a way that didn’t reach Caesar. He needed a break, he decided. A break he should have gotten before this assignment. Surely, surely that was why he was having so much trouble with this one.

“One manuscript,” Caesar mumbled to himself, picking his head back up. “One manuscript, and then I’ll get back to this.”

There was no shortage of romantic stories to choose from. One was supposed to be a witch and a werewolf who were childhood friends; another offered a Hallmark type of romance, with a single cabin double booked over the holidays and—surprise, surprise—the characters decide to share it and end up getting snowed in; yet another involved the would-be lovers meeting as children one summer, then reuniting many summers later.

Nothing stood out to him. Not a damn thing was sparking any sort of interest, encouraging any sort of romantic inspiration. With a sudden sense of alarm, Caesar practically flew to the bathroom to peer at his face in the mirror, touching his cheeks as if he could somehow feel for the marks there. Pale pink, and still present. He heaved a sigh of relief, and then shook his head. He was getting worked up over nothing! Of course something like this wasn’t enough to make him lose his faith in love, he was just tired, plain and simple!

But when he flopped face down in bed, resigned to an especially early night, he was taken with a sudden restlessness, his wings twitching impatiently. A creeping thought in the back of his head told him maybe he ought to have taken up Joseph’s offer of lunch, but he quickly shoved it aside. Joseph just meant more work. Work was the last thing Caesar needed right now.

What else was there to do though?

—

“What about you?” the young woman asked with a toss of her long brown hair. “I’m sure a guy as romantic as you wants to fall in love sooner or later. Perhaps sooner rather than later.”

Caesar pursed his lips. “I think,” he started slowly. “I like romance more in theory than in practice.”

The woman threw back her head with another peal of laughter. Caesar bristled, not knowing why she was laughing at him but not appreciating it one bit. She noticed his expression, dark eyes twinkling, but her smile did not wane.

“Shows what you know,” she said. “Everyone likes romance more in theory than in practice.”

“I know plenty, thanks. Anyways, if you want to fall in love, why haven’t you?”

The woman blinked. “You can’t just force these things to happen.”

“You can’t expect them to fall into your lap either.”

—

Caesar stumbled out of the memory bleary-eyed and groggy, uncertain what woke him up but not feeling very gracious towards it. He curled his wings a little closer to him in lieu of a blanket and shifted until he was comfortable again. In the midst of this, however, something jammed into his leg—his phone, he realized, still in the pocket of his sweatpants. He pulled it out and tossed it towards the bedside table, not caring when he heard it clunk against the ground. That was a problem for morning Caesar, on top of everything else he had to deal with.

His dreams didn’t bring any more memories, nor did they bring any fabulous insight. Only a series of vague, shifting images. More than once Joseph’s scheming expression appeared, taunting him, his mouth shaping words of imminent failure and making Caesar’s blood boil until he was startled awake once more, this time to sunlight streaming through the window.

“Asshole can’t even let me sleep in peace,” Caesar grumbled as he slid out of bed, pausing when his foot made contact with something that wasn’t carpet.

Right, he remembered, stooping down. His phone. Thankfully it wasn’t broken, but he had no doubt the battery was nearly dead. When he went to check it though, he found something unexpected waiting for him. Two messages. From Joseph. He swore, wishing he’d been able to at least have breakfast before getting to work again.

Joseph Joestar, 1:23AM: hey, u up?

Joseph Joestar, 1:49AM: nvm

“Shit,” Caesar swore again, stretching his wings behind him as he tapped out a message.

1. Zeppeli, 9:32AM: what’s up?

Caesar expected (or rather hoped) that he wouldn’t get a response right away, given how late Joseph had texted him. There was a chance that his whims, as wily as the winds, would urge him to not reply at all. Only time would tell. In the meantime Caesar desperately needed food, and had it in mind to take his time with breakfast today, make himself something nice to enjoy.

Naturally that meant that his phone would buzz as soon as the eggs for his omelet went into the pan, which was exactly what happened. Figured. He made a point to ignore it until he’d had his breakfast, and was surprised to find that he wasn’t bombarded with more messages. It made him wonder if it was Joseph who had messaged him in the first place.

But it was Joseph after all, and what he lacked this time in obnoxiousness he made up for in sheer dorkiness, having sent a picture of a tiled ceiling with a glaring fluorescent light that nearly obscured the whole picture. Caesar rolled his eyes.

C. Zeppeli, 10:07AM: yeah, cause no one’s ever used that answer before

A few moments later Joseph sent another message, this time with a picture of the piercingly blue sky outside, accompanied by a question mark. Caesar pinched the bridge of his nose. Why had he even bothered? There was no having a straightforward conversation with this guy. He set his phone face down on the table and opened his laptop to the blank report he still needed to write up, realizing that he now needed to write a second one for the conversation he’d overheard the day before.

It was too much to tackle first thing in the morning, Caesar decided, so instead he went over the list of manuscripts again. Finding that still none of them stood out, he chose one at random and decided to power through it anyways.

Just as he was starting to get immersed in the text, however, his phone buzzed. He ignored it in favor of finally getting some work done. Again, right as the world around him began to slip away, he was yanked back by his phone. It was as if Joseph knew precisely how long it took for Caesar to get into a groove, and timed his texts so precisely as to prevent that from happening.

Eventually, Caesar couldn’t take it anymore.

Joseph Joestar, 10:18AM: come on, it wasn’t that bad of a joke

Joseph Joestar, 10:23AM: at work and bored out of my mind

Joseph Joestar, 10:31AM: you should come visit

Joseph Joestar, 10:36AM: I’ll give you a discount on some good comics

Joseph Joestar, 10:42AM: actually I can’t do that you should still come visit

Joseph Joestar, 10:49AM: I’m booooooored

C. Zeppeli, 10:49AM: what am I supposed to do about that?

Joseph Joestar, 10:50AM: come visit me, duh

C. Zeppeli, 10:50AM: I’m working

Joseph Joestar, 10:50AM: so am I??

C. Zeppeli, 10:51AM: I actually need to focus

Joseph Joestar, 10:51AM: you actually need a break

C. Zeppeli, 10:51AM: I just started

Joseph Joestar, 10:51AM: so? when’s the last time you took a break? other than the time you took to sleep… assuming you actually did sleep

C. Zeppeli, 10:52AM: of course I slept, no thanks to you messaging me at 1am! What was that about anyways?

Joseph Joestar, 10:52AM: was bored

Joseph Joestar, 10:52AM: are you gonna come visit or not? You skipped out on lunch yesterday

C. Zeppeli, 10:52AM: FINE but only to shut you up

To that, Joseph replied with a series of delighted emojis. Meanwhile Caesar groaned. The last thing he wanted was to pile a third report to write on top of his to do list, but it seemed that Joseph would not let him rest until he provided some entertainment. Dread weighing down his every step, he trudged to the bedroom to get some clothes, reluctantly putting away his wings as he did.

As he hurried out, not even checking his reflection in the mirror, he remembered that he wasn’t supposed to know where Joseph worked. He tapped out a quick message and went on his way, hoping that the ever-unpredictable Joseph would send him the address well before he got there. For once fortune favored him, and his phone buzzed amiably, allowing him one less stressor during his walk to the comic book store.

It was harder to enjoy the day from the ground. Like yesterday it was a perfect day for flying, and Caesar felt right to fly around the world a dozen times right then. He tried to focus on the task at hand. What was Joseph’s position at the store? Was he known to enjoy his job? Did he intend to make a career of it? None of the answers came to mind coherently. 

When the shop—a modest, boxy building with a sign that had seen better days—came into view, Caesar wanted nothing more than to turn right around and march back to the apartment. Today, of all days, he did not want to deal with Joseph Joestar. The more he thought it, the more he felt Joseph might be right—maybe he did need a break, a real one. Whatever that entailed though, it surely didn’t include Joseph.

An electronic chime went off when Caesar opened the door. He was met with the overwhelming smell of paper, not entirely unlike a bookstore, except that the air felt less muted. Shelves proudly displaying an array of bright and action-packed comics wrapped around most of the store. Tables with filing boxes containing older and more delicate issues filled up the floor space of one half of the store, while the other half was dedicated to a variety of games—board games, table top games, card games… they seemed to have it all. There was even a corner dedicated to older, out of date video games that was currently occupied by a group of giggling kids.

“Morning, welcome to—hey! You came!” Joseph exclaimed as he emerged from the backroom with a hefty box in his arms.

“Against all reason,” Caesar said, very much trying to sound like he was just joking when in fact he was dead serious.

“Ah, face it, you just couldn’t go without seeing me for too long,” Joseph retorted as he set the box down on the front counter, revealing a brightly colored polo bearing the store’s logo. “Can’t blame you, I’m a catch.”

“You’re only a catch if you let yourself get caught,” Caesar fired back.

Joseph stuck out his tongue at that, and opened his mouth to issue what would no doubt be another smartass remark, only to stop short. His gaze zeroed in on something on Caesar, who felt the blood drain from his face at once. Had he disguised his marks? He wouldn’t forget something as crucial as that, would he? For that matter, had he even changed them back from the last time he’d disguised them? At the moment his mind drew a blank, especially as Joseph came out from behind the counter to walk towards him.

Caesar steeled himself as Joseph came within arm’s reach. Joseph raised a hand, and Caesar knew it was all over, he was going to poke at the marks and say something about how they were different, and the gears in his head would get to turning and Caesar would surely, surely have to leave at once and take this as his first ever failure. He wished it wasn’t ending like this, with such a careless mistake.

The expected poke at his cheeks never came. Instead Joseph reached higher—was he going to ruffle Caesar’s hair?—and plucked something out of Caesar’s hair. He held what he found up for Caesar to see. It wasn’t nearly as bad as forgetting to disguise his marks, but it wasn’t good either.

For Joseph held, pinched between his thumb and index finger, a long, pristine white feather. Caesar blinked. How was he supposed to react?

“You fly here or something?” Joseph laughed as he began to twirl the feather between his fingers. Then he held it up to the light, as if that would reveal all of the secrets it held. “Must’ve been a really pretty pigeon.”

“Sure,” Caesar finally said, not at all pleased at the idea of being compared to a common pigeon. He made a swipe at the feather, only to have Joseph yank it out of his reach.

“Finder’s keepers!” he declared.

It was only thanks to a will of steel that Caesar kept himself from tackling Joseph and taking his feather back. It wasn’t that it was anything special, he just hated the idea of Joseph—of all people—having something that was a part of him. As irksome as it was, Caesar grit his teeth and let Joseph have it. It wasn’t as if he knew what it really was.

“So what all do you do here?” Caesar asked in an attempt at being amiable.

“Sell comics,” Joseph answered, twirling the feather and running the pads of his fingers along the delicate edges.

“Would’ve never guessed,” Caesar said, trying to keep his eyes away from the way Joseph was fondling his feather.

“The store also kind of doubles as a community center—cooler than the library, at any rate,” Joseph added.

Caesar glanced at the kids crowded in the video game corner. “Yeah?”

“Yup! Anyone can come in while we’re open and play games, read comics, stuff like that. Real popular with kids, especially during summer break,” Joseph explained, tickling his chin with the tip of the feather in an idle fashion.

“That’s pretty cool,” Caesar honestly replied. He glanced at the neat row of comics on the nearest shelf, grabbing one at random to distract himself from Joseph’s familiarity with the feather. “Whose idea was that?”

“Mine, of course!” Joseph declared proudly. “My boss—the guy who owns the place—wasn’t really keen on the idea, but I’m a master of the art of negotiation.”

“Why do I feel like that means you pestered him relentlessly until he gave in?”

“My methods are my own.”

“Right…”

Caesar put the comic book—an action packed superhero story—back on the shelf and plucked another one off the shelf without much discernment. He didn’t really expect to find anything that would catch his interest, but the conversation with Joseph was hanging by a thread, threatening to dissolve at any moment. It made him uncomfortable in a number of ways. Even pretending to have his attention elsewhere helped to shove off the prickling heat at the back of his neck.

He grabbed another volume, only to slam it back on the shelf without a second thought as soon as he saw the cover. Sure, as far as he knew the story of Eros and Psyche wouldn’t out him as a cupid, but extreme caution was frying his nerves beyond repair. Joseph chuckled.

“Something tells me you’re fried with all the romance you’re buried under,” Joseph remarked.

Caesar considered that. “I guess.”

“I mean, I’m not a fan of it myself, but I thought that story was a classic.”

“You could say that,” Caesar said with a shrug. Maybe the human version of Eros and Psyche was delightfully romantic, but he couldn’t read it without thinking about what had actually happened.

“Can I make a recommendation?”

Much as Caesar didn’t really care for one, he answered, “Sure.”

Rather than reply immediately though, Joseph adopted an expression of intense thought, his eyes scanning the many volumes on the shelves. Caesar was a little curious as to what sort of recommendation he would make until his thoughts became zeroed in on the fact that Joseph was now brushing the feather against his slightly parted lips. An involuntary shiver ran up and down Caesar’s spine. The feather wasn’t attached to him anymore, yet the mere thought of Joseph putting his mouth anywhere near his wings—an intensely intimate gesture among cupids—had him more rattled than perhaps he should have been.

“Aha!” Joseph exclaimed without warning, blessedly moving the feather away from his lips as he hurried to the other side of the store. 

With a sigh of relief, Caesar slowly followed. By the time he caught up, Joseph already had a hardcover graphic novel in hand. More expensive, Caesar noted, remembering that, after all, it was Joseph’s job to sell things. It almost made him chuckle, to think that their roles were somewhat reversed at the moment—except that Caesar was always on the job, he reminded himself.

“Graphic novels are always better to start for people who aren’t in the habit of reading comics,” Joseph began to explain. “Classic comics can be really confusing cause there’s so many different universes with different authors and different vibes, so it can be like, super hard to know where to start—but if you ever want to give it a shot you have my number!”

“That I do,” Caesar said, knowing that he would likely never bother.

“Anyways, I think you’ll like this one.”

Joseph held out the hefty book to Caesar.

“What makes you so sure?”

“Well, you’re an editor, so you probably appreciate a solid story, but at the same time it’s pretty straightforward—more of a relaxing read than something you have to think too hard about,” Joseph answered. “Not to mention you’re the romantic sort—it’s not a romantic story, but I figure you’d appreciate the beauty of the art style.”

Caesar took the book in hand and flipped through it. Surprisingly, Joseph was right about the beauty of the style. It had a soft, dream-like quality to it, colorful without being painful to look at. He found himself pulled in almost immediately even though all he’d meant to do was just flip through it. 

Looking back at Joseph, he remarked, “You’re pretty good at that.”

“Good at what?”

“Reading people.”

Joseph shrugged, though he looked a bit smug. “So I’ve been told. It’s the only reason my boss puts up with me.”

“You’d think with a skill like that people would do more than just put up with you,” Caesar said.

“Yeah, but I don’t need to be buddy-buddy with everyone,” Joseph replied, moving towards the front counter.

“Guess I can’t argue with that,” Caesar decided, just as he decided that he was going to buy the book in his hands.

“Can’t or won’t?”

Caesar gave it a second’s thought. “Both.”

“Both?”

“Both.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Joseph clamored, leaning over the counter to peer curiously at Caesar. “What’s with you today? You usually put up more of a fight than this.”

Pointedly ringing the bell that was labeled, ‘Ring for Assistance,’ Caesar answered, “I guess it’s like you said: I need a real break. I’m exhausted by everything and everyone these days and when something goes wrong in one place I just bury myself in more work.”

When Joseph didn’t say anything, Caesar realized that he’d said too much. He wanted to smack himself. What was he doing, dumping all his problems on Joseph, when most of his problems involved him in the first place?! Not to mention that was just unprofessional, to be so familiar with a subject. Pretending to be familiar was one thing—this was another thing entirely.

“Wow, you must really be going through it if you’re actually admitting I’m right,” Joseph finally said after a moment.

Caesar slouched against the counter with a long sigh. “You have no idea.”

Eventually Joseph moved to ring him up, and in just a few short minutes Caesar was the proud owner of an elegant looking graphic novel. As he idly ran his fingers over the embossed cover, he wondered what he was going to do with it when it was time to leave. It was rare that he got himself something tangible to bring back to the cupid realm. On occasion he’d bring back little trinkets for Suzie to delight over, but he wasn’t in the habit of getting things for himself. Would this collect dust at his home in the cupid realm? He certainly couldn’t tote it around from assignment to assignment.

“You just going to stand there or are you going to read it?” Joseph asked, rudely butting into Caesar’s train of thought. He nodded towards the seats on the other side of the store.

Caesar gave it a quick thought. He could just as easily go back to the apartment and read it without the shrieking of children, without the threat of Joseph pestering him every few minutes, but something about the quiet didn’t appeal to him just then. The quiet there, where his responsibilities would come crashing down on him the instant he walked through the door, closing in on him from every angle…

Without a word, Caesar walked over to a seat and plopped right down. The kids in the corner were too immersed with the game to even spare him a glance. Joseph, meanwhile, was taking the box he’d brought out to some of the shelves to restock. It was entirely possible that Caesar might be able to exist in peace for a bit. Tentatively he opened the book, and then fell into it all at once.

Sure, during the first few pages there was the lingering guilt regarding the fact that he ought to be interacting with Joseph, getting closer to him, guiding him towards better romantic practices. That was, after all, the only reason he was here. Yet in the end, he really did need a break. Surely a short one wouldn’t hurt, would it? It wasn’t like any other cupids would know.

An hour later, Caesar closed the book, having finished the entire thing in one sitting. He could have finished it faster, but something compelled him to savor the art, to luxuriate in the fantastical story painted before his eyes. When he checked back into the world around him, not much had changed. The kids were still in the corner, watching one of their party tackle a particularly difficult level. A few customers had popped in and out, but none stayed.

Joseph, seeming to notice that Caesar was finished, appeared at his side at once.

“So what’d you think?” he asked eagerly.

Truthfully, it had been an excellent recommendation, and Caesar was tempted to ask for another, perhaps several more, so that he could spend the entire day reading. He shifted in his seat, and composed himself so as to not look too impressed.

“It was good,” Caesar told him, perhaps a little curtly. “I appreciate the recommendation.”

Joseph frowned. “That’s it? You sit there for a whole hour, read the thing cover to cover, and it’s just good?”

“Well what do you want me to say?”

“How about what you’re really thinking.”

Caesar pondered that for a brief second. “I really enjoyed it. I appreciate that you weren’t just trying to make a sale.”

“Oh, I was definitely trying to make a sale.”

“But it was more than that—you know what, nevermind,” Caesar huffed, tucking the book under his arm and standing to leave.

“Alright, alright, chill, I get what you’re saying,” Joseph laughed as if amused by Caesar’s irritability. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. Really. Only other time I’ve seen you really unwind is when we went rock climbing.”

“It’s hard to believe you’d like me to relax when you do everything possible to get under my skin,” Caesar noted.

“Joke’s on you, I don’t even have to try,” Joseph joked with a snap of his fingers.

Caesar frowned, and moved as if to leave. He stopped short of the door. A reluctance to go face all his responsibilities battled with the guilt of having put them off for so long already. The report he should have written after the rock climbing was well overdue, and the report of what he’d overheard was soon to be the same. In addition to this little outing, he’d have a total of three reports to write once he returned, and the report for this meeting would be pathetically short, he realized. He ought to at least give himself something to show.

Turning back to Joseph, he asked, quite, abruptly, “When’s your lunch break?”

Joseph’s attention snapped back to him, blinking with surprise.

“It was supposed to be right about now, actually, but the only other person working today called out sick so I’m here by myself,” he answered.

Caesar cursed himself internally. Of course Joseph was the only one working today, he hadn’t seen a single other employee the entire time he’d been here! In that case, there really wasn’t anything left for him left to do here… unless—

“Do you have anything to eat? If not I could go get something for you. If you want,” Caesar blurted, surprising even himself.

Most people, when faced with an offer like that, either politely declined or at least said that they wouldn’t want to trouble someone else like that. Joseph, as ever, was not most people, and lacked many of the common societal inhibitions that restrained others. He clasped his hands together in a dramatic, pleading gesture.

“Please, Caesar, I’m starving!” Joseph cried. “I woke up late and had to skip breakfast and I can’t survive on snacks!”

“Alright, alright, just tell me what you want!”

Joseph whooped and hurried over to him to give him directions to a pizzeria that was an easy walk from the shop, and almost forgot to give Caesar cash for the order. Caesar, predictably, rolled his eyes at him for that. More so he wanted to roll his eyes at himself. He knew damn well this was just an excuse to put off working—he knew even better that he was hardly considering this work at all. If he was going to indulge himself, he thought as he set his book down on the table before leaving, why do it here, with Joseph?

Whatever the reason, he’d made a commitment now, and so at the least had to get Joseph his lunch. As he pushed open the door, he noticed a sign, facing into the store, that said “Out to Lunch.” He whirled around, his mouth open to demand why Joseph didn’t close the store while he went out to lunch. The words caught in his throat when his eyes fell on the kids in the corner again.

They were huddled around each other, reaching into their pockets and counting change and handing it all to one kid, who then strode over to the counter for snacks and candy. Joseph flashed the kid a huge smile, not the salesman smile, but a genuine smile as the kid pointed out the different snacks they and their friends wanted, pouring the coins on the counter with a loud clatter.

Caesar left before anyone noticed him lingering at the door. Revelations were best mulled over with a walk (actually they were best mulled over in flight, but a walk was the next best thing). And frankly, Joseph seeming to be fond of kids was quite the revelation. It wasn’t mentioned anywhere in his file, and both of the previous agents had spent more time with him than Caesar had so far.

It didn’t take away from his usual rudeness at all that he was nice to kids, of course. But, Caesar considered as he looked over the pizzeria menu and tacked on an extra pizza to the order, it was at least irrefutable proof that at the end of the day, Joseph was a genuinely good person. Why he would choose to hide that from others was beyond Caesar, but it was heartening to know that there was a gentleness to Joseph. It almost made him feel a little special.

When he returned to the comic book store, Joseph was on him before the chime at the door had even finished ringing. He stopped short of grabbing his own food to eye the extra things Caesar had brought along. Caesar motioned towards the kids.

“Are you trying to replace me as their favorite or something?” Joseph whispered, politely taking the boxes from Caesar.

“What are you going to do about it?” Caesar challenged.

In answer, Joseph whirled around and called, “I got pizza!”

“You—!” Caesar stopped just shy of a colorful expletive. “Jerk! You did not!”

The kids, rushing from the corner, hardly seemed to hear him, though Joseph threw a scheming grin over his shoulder. There was nothing for it, really. Caesar turned his head to hide a small chuckle, and let Joseph have it. He turned, thinking that he’d dawdled for long enough and that he really ought to be getting back to work when Joseph stopped him.

“Where are you running off to now?”

Caesar paused, his hand on the door. “It’s been a long enough break. I need to be getting back to work.”

“Oh, come on,” Joseph said before blowing a raspberry. “Reading a book and then getting lunch for everyone? Not much of a break if you ask me.” He dragged a chair near where he sat. “Sit.”

This time Caesar didn’t even think about it. He took a seat, and watched with satisfaction as the kids swarmed the pizza with ravenous delight. One of the kids, a lanky girl probably no older than twelve with eyes so dark a brown they were almost black paused before picking up a slice, looking around as if something was missing.

“Jojo, there’s no plates or napkins,” she mentioned.

“What am I supposed to do about that?” Joseph asked, pointedly taking a huge bite of his own food.

The girl made a face. “I mean, we could just eat right on the table and then get grease all over the controllers.”

“You absolutely will not,” Joseph retorted.

“We will unless we have napkins and plates,” the girl said in a snarky tone. “Can you please get us some?”

Joseph frowned with his mouth still full, which made the kids snicker and snort, one of them nearly spitting out his pizza everywhere. Whether it was the girl asking nicely or the other kid nearly making a point-proving mess, Joseph got up and lumbered into the back room. In his absence, the gaggle of children turned to Caesar with interest.

“So who’re you?” the girl who’d argued with Joseph asked in a very prim tone.

“Caesar Zeppeli,” he answered, trying not to laugh. “And you are…?”

“Keeva!” she told him proudly. “Are you Jojo’s friend?”

Caesar thought on it for a moment. “It’s hard to say, but I’d like to be his friend.”

“Hard to say? Either you are or you aren’t,” Keeva insisted.

“Things aren’t always so simple when you grow up.”

Keeva shook her head, her twists of hair bouncing animatedly around her face. “I think grown-ups make things hard for fun cause they’ve got nothing better to do.”

“You think so?” Caesar asked, raising his eyebrows but otherwise struggling to maintain a straight face.

The other kids, not nearly as interested in the conversation, were starting to eye the paused video game with their greasy hands. Luckily Joseph returned with a roll of paper towels and some paper plates, telling all the kids in no uncertain terms that they were not to even look at the video game controllers until they had thoroughly wiped their hands. This led to a few kids, in a fit of giggles, to stare intensely at the video game controllers.

“I know so,” Keeva continued. “My moms tell me the same thing all the time. That, and, ‘You’ll understand when you’re older.’ I hate that.”

“What are we talking about?” Joseph cut in as soon as he was sure that everyone had wiped their hands to his satisfaction.

“Jojo, are you and Caesar friends or not?” Keeva demanded.

Joseph barked out a laugh. “Me? Friends with this guy?” He glanced at Caesar. “Sure.”

“See!” Keeva said triumphantly to Caesar.

“Okay, I see your point,” Caesar conceded.

“Keeva!” one of the other kids called. Without another word Keeva skipped over to the others, where she was immediately handed the controller.

Joseph gave Caesar a sideways smile. “What was that all about?”

“She asked if we were friends and I told her I wasn’t sure,” Caesar explained in an off-handed tone.

“How can you not be sure?”

“That was her point, I think.”

“But how can you not be sure?”

Caesar frowned, crossing his arms. “It’s not like you make it easy to hang out with you.”

“Yeah, but we still hang out, so either we’re friends or you’re a sadist who hangs out with people he doesn’t like.”

“Maybe I’m both,” Caesar joked.

“Yeah, right,” Joseph snorted just as the front door admitted a few more people into the store.

Joseph, groaning at the prospect of working in the middle of having lunch, hopped up to greet them all the same. Caesar thought he might take this chance to leave, but then one of the people who came in, an elderly gentleman who had immediately marked Caesar as a fresh face, asked if he wouldn’t mind playing cards with him, since Joseph was busy and his usual partner wasn’t here yet. Against all reason, Caesar agreed.

This led to Joseph demanding to be dealt in as soon as he was free, and the gentleman’s usual partner arrived not long after. With the four of them being skilled players, and Joseph having to leap up every once in a while to help customers, the game lasted quite a while, long enough to see the kids troop out of the store, long enough to see the employees working the closing shift come in and chide Joseph for playing instead of working, long enough that, when they finally finished, Joseph cheered because his shift was almost over.

Caesar blinked and checked the time on his phone. How had the day escaped him like that?

“Hey, Caesarino—!” Joseph started.

“Don’t call me that.”

“—Once my shift is done you want to grab dinner?”

This time, Caesar finally had the resolve to refuse. He’d already put off his work for too long, and though he could make the excuse that Joseph was work, there was no denying that none of what he did today was work. He had to get something done today or he’d be kicking himself tomorrow.

“No, thanks, I’ve put off work enough today already. I was supposed to have read a whole manuscript today,” he told Joseph. “Maybe tomorrow though?”

“Sounds good, meet me here around this time tomorrow and we’ll figure it out from there.”

“You mean you don’t even have a place in mind?”

Joseph shrugged. “We don’t need to have every single detail planned out all the time. Where’s the fun in that?”

“Right, right,” Caesar sighed, pushing open the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you!”

With that, Caesar left in fairly good spirits, albeit with a certain air of caution. The last time he’d left Joseph’s company in good spirits it was followed closely by news that pulled the rug right out from under him. Indeed, when he reached the apartment his phone buzzed, freezing him in place with ice-cold dread. The message, however, was not from Messina, but from Joseph.

Joseph Joestar, 3:01PM: you left your book here

Caesar let out a soft “Oh!” under his breath, but then smiled as he sent his response.

1. Zeppeli 3:01PM: good thing I’ll be stopping by tomorrow anyways

Joseph Joestar, 3:03PM: as if you need a reason to stop by—not everything needs to happen for a reason

Caesar paused, his thumbs hovering over the screen. It reminded him of a similar sentiment related to him some time ago, by another subject.

“Not everything happens for a reason, you know,” she’d said. “Some things just happen to happen. Not everything goes according to plan, much less according to whatever rules you’ve made up for yourself.”

But what about the rules that others made for Caesar to abide by? He wondered as he trudged over to the laptop. What about the plans he was supposed to have in place at all times? He opened the laptop and glanced at the blank report he should have filled out days ago. Slowly, he opened two more documents, but then almost immediately closed them.

Joseph was right. He needed a break, and the only report he was expected to send in was the one regarding the rock climbing. Sure, there were rules, but, well—what Messina didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, would it? Just this once, Caesar told himself. What was unplanned would go unreported.

Having decided to nix the extra two reports, Caesar felt considerably unburdened, such that he was finally (finally!) able to start on the first report, and was right in the middle of it when his phone buzzed with a single message that contained a single word: “Dropbox.”

Caesar’s heart dropped into his stomach as he went to the closet and opened the lid of the dropbox, in which a single envelope rested. It didn’t look work-related at all, but Caesar didn’t let himself relax until he turned it over to find an elegant wax seal with beautifully pressed flowers.

Carefully, he worked a finger under the seal, gently breaking it so that none of the paper-thin blooms came loose. As he unfolded the envelope, he caught sight of two words emblazoned at the top of the paper in a curly, golden font.

You’re Invited!

Chapter Text

Ogni contento e scontento d'Amore da noi è generato.

All pleasures and displeasures of Love by us are begotten.

So. It turned out that Joseph Joestar was not all that bad.

Sure, he was rude, having no regard for societal conventions, and seemed to take delight in infuriating others, which only made him that much more infuriating. He laughed a little too loud (and, oh, how he loved to laugh), he loved to play all manner of tricks and pranks on others, he’d snort so hard he’d blow soda out his nose, he made all manner of crude and corny jokes—on top of that he was so full of himself there hardly seemed to be room for others, he was a show off, and perhaps the worst part was that he played the fool when there was, in fact, no proving him wrong.

And yet, in spite of all that, he wasn’t really the worst.

He wasn’t the best either, Caesar thought as he watched Joseph slurp his pasta so sloppily that sauce splattered everywhere.

“I know you’re a total romantic,” Joseph began through a mouthful of pasta. “But even you have to agree that that movie was a load of cheese!”

“I might be inclined to agree if someone hadn’t been talking over the whole movie,” Caesar retorted, neatly twirling the pasta of his own dish around his fork.

Joseph shrugged, stuffing even more pasta in his mouth. “Trust me, it was a mess, and not even a hot one.”

Caesar quite agreed with that phrase, though perhaps not in reference to the movie as he eyed the alfredo sauce that was so generously slathered over Joseph’s mouth. He refrained from making note of it though, because this was not a meeting in which Caesar was pressing himself to work, the third such one that he’d allowed himself since visiting Joseph at work. They’d had two other meetings in which Caesar had worked, making mental note of the things that might drive a potential lover away and how he might remedy them.

The remedies themselves were yet to come, but Caesar decided that it was better to take as much time as he could with this assignment, get to know Joseph in full before coaching him in better romantic practices. Added to that were these meetings in which Caesar elected not to worry about work, which was in itself work because he was convinced by now that it helped to conceal his true nature and purpose.

“I’m not surprised,” Caesar said. “It’s an action movie, and Hollywood typically tacks on a romance as an afterthought. They may as well have not included it.”

“That’s harsh, coming from you.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah, I mean,” Joseph began. “Wouldn’t you say that some romance is better than none?”

Wasn’t that one hell of a question. “Not at all. If a romance is paltry and pathetic then it’s not worth having. But we’re talking about movies, mind you.”

“Right, right, movies. So no romance in action movies—”

“That’s not what I said.”

“But you said—!”

“I said it was an afterthought. It wasn’t given the care it needed to be a fully-fleshed out and satisfying story arc. It was surface level only,” Caesar said, waving his fork in the air to emphasize his words.

“A lot of romance movies are surface level,” Joseph remarked, eyebrows raised as if he expected Caesar to get agitated about it.

“You’re right,” Caesar replied. “They rely on stale stereotypes and unnecessary drama to create something that’ll make money. Hardly romantic.”

Joseph, a little thrown off by Caesar actually saying he was right when he fully expected a rebuke, blinked at him. “So what’s a good romance movie, then?”

“I don’t know, I’m not in the habit of going to the movies,” Caesar answered.

“Really?!”

“Yes—why is that so surprising?”

“Uh, cause movies are fun!” Joseph declared. “Not just, like, watching the movie, but going to the theater, sneaking in your own snacks—”

“Only to get a big bucket of popcorn anyways,” Caesar interrupted.

“Theater popcorn is different!” Joseph insisted. Caesar rolled his eyes, but let Joseph continue. “And of course it’s always a contest with yourself to see if you can keep from needing to go piss—”

Letting him continue had been a mistake, it seemed. “Must you always be so crude?”

“Must you always be a prude?” Joseph sniffed in a mocking tone.

“So it’s the experience you like, rather than the movies themselves?” Caesar went on to ask, ignoring the jibe, filing away this little factoid despite the fact that he wasn’t supposed to be working right that moment. “That would explain why you talked through the whole damn movie.”

“If it had been worth listening to, I would’ve listened,” Joseph said.

“How do you know it wasn’t worth listening to if you didn’t listen in the first place?” Caesar challenged.

“You know what I mean!”

“Do I?”

Joseph narrowed his eyes as if scrutinizing Caesar. “Yeah, you do, you’re just being an ass for the sake of it. Anyways, I guess you get to choose the next movie we go see since this one was a total flop.”

“The next one?”

“Uh, yeah, that’s what I said.”

“I hope you don’t plan on us going back anytime soon—none of the movies that are out currently look at all appealing,” Caesar said.

“What did I just say about it being about the experience and not the movie? Haven’t you ever watched a bad movie just to laugh at it?” Joseph asked, eyes wide as if surprised at Caesar.

“I’ve never paid to watch a bad movie on purpose, no.”

Indeed it was true that Caesar hardly went to the movies at all. It left little room for talking, and he needed as many opportunities as possible to get his subjects talking. There’d been one subject who’d been a total movie junkie, had a membership at their local theater and everything. It had been a challenge, but they always liked to talk about the movies afterward, so it just meant that Caesar had to spend a little more time on them.

“Okay, I guess that’s fair, but you don’t strike me as the pirating type,” Joseph said.

“Too much effort to watch a bad movie,” Caesar replied.

“I think you’re just stuffy and have high standards.”

“So what if I do?”

“It would explain why you’re single.”

Caesar smirked, dabbing his lips with his napkin. “And what does it matter to you whether I’m single or not?”

“It doesn’t,” Joseph insisted, his eyes glimmering with that underlying suspicion that was so often present in him these days, although it showed up less and less. No doubt he still remembered how concerned Caesar was with the fact that he was single. “But I figured that someone who talks about romance all the time would have an idea as to how to score for himself.”

Caesar huffed. “Shows what you know. It’s not about scoring to me.”

“Then what is it about for you?”

Caesar blinked. Joseph was suddenly attentive, eyes boring into Caesar as if trying to drill a hole in his skull to pull the answer out himself. Another killer question. Much as he hated to admit it, Caesar didn’t have time for personal romances. He was only ever in the cupid realm for short stints these days, and dating humans was always a fleeting thing, never grounded in anything beyond necessity.

“It’s… about finding the right person,” Caesar answered. It was a loose answer. Not entirely untrue, but not very specific to what he wanted either.

Joseph snorted. “You have no clue.”

“What about you then? Do you know what you want?” Caesar demanded.

“Not a damn clue,” Joseph admitted as he began to mop up the last bits of sauce on his plate with a breadstick. “But at least I’m honest about it.”

“How about this,” Caesar tried, instinctively slipping into work mode now that he’d found an opening. “Do you know what you don’t want?”

Joseph hummed through a mouthful of bread. Apparently the question was cause for consideration, as he waited until swallowing before answering.

“I guess… I don’t want someone who wants to fix me up to what they think I should be like, you know? I know that people change, and I’ll change, but I don’t think that sort of thing should be forced, much less for someone else,” Joseph said slowly, seeming to choose his words carefully.

The thoughtfulness of the answer surprised Caesar, and so he was unprepared when Joseph turned his own question on him. What did he not want? Automatically he thought to make a jab at Joseph, say that he was the last person in the world he would consider being with in any conceivable way, but, well—he was here with him now, wasn’t he? Maybe not in a romantic way, but a friendly one, at least. So Caesar, as Joseph had done, gave it some genuine thought.

“If I had to choose, I think I wouldn’t want to be with someone that’s a chore to be around,” he answered slowly. Joseph opened his mouth, eyebrows knit in irritation. “And no, I don’t mean someone that is an annoying brat but ultimately does what he’s got to do. I mean someone that doesn’t put forth any effort into the relationship whatsoever. I don’t need to be putting in two hundred percent while my partner gives zero.”

“I thought relationships were supposed to be fifty-fifty,” Joseph remarked.

“Maybe on a bad day, but a relationship doesn’t succeed with half-effort. A relationship needs to be composed of entirely willing parties, not half-committed ones,” Caesar explained.

“But then how are you supposed to live life?” Joseph asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean—some people give their all to living, having fun, and making the most of every day so that in the end, they’re satisfied. They give a hundred percent to life. How are you supposed to give two hundred percent?”

“You can’t give a hundred percent to every area of your life all the time,” Caesar said exasperatedly. “You have to find a balance. Like, you can’t give a hundred percent to both work and play, can you?”

“But then you’re still splitting it up—the math doesn’t make sense!”

“Oh, forget it!”

“Have you considered,” Joseph began slowly. “That maybe it’s not as simple as assigning a number to the level of effort people give?”

“Of course it’s not that simple, it’s supposed to be a way to begin understanding how to approach a relationship. It’s like the movie. You can’t make a half-baked attempt at it and expect everything to fall into place,” Caesar argued, feeling defensive despite the fact that Joseph was making completely valid points.

“On the flipside, I don’t think you can follow a rulebook, do everything right, and expect everything to fall into place either,” Joseph said. “Love is a coin toss. It’ll happen whether you put forth the effort or not, so why bother?”

“Because it’s more likely to happen if you put forth effort.”

“But being overbearing can drive it away, too.”

“Oh, yeah? And you would know?”

Joseph’s expression darkened, that same flash of a shadow Caesar had seen only a few, rare times before, only this time it lingered. He wiped his face of the errant sauce, downed the rest of the drink, and slid the bill over to Caesar.

“Yeah,” he said, standing to leave. “I would.”

Okay, so Caesar had stepped on a bomb, and it blew up in his face. That was, in his mind, what he got for working when he said he wasn’t going to work. He didn’t fancy having to pick up the bill though, even if he did have a celestial credit card that covered the costs of working. It was the principle of it, really. Still, Caesar paid and made his way back to the apartment, his mind completely taken with the conversation and Joseph’s abrupt departure.

Yeah, Joseph had said. I would. Implying that he knew something about being overbearing in love. Implying that he’d experienced a relationship—a genuine, romantic connection—in which someone was overbearing, and it pushed the other away. And, given Joseph’s stormy exit, it was highly possible that Joseph had been the overbearing one—or perhaps Joseph had pushed someone away that he thought was being overbearing, and now regretted it?

Caesar knew he could spend the entire night contemplating a whole web of questions, but there was only one place he was going to get the answers.

From the bottom of the massive stack of paperwork, Caesar pulled out the black ops file. Contained in its own folder that kept it separate from the rest of the file (much in the way the entire department was kept fairly distant from other cupids), its contents were conveniently hidden until Caesar made the conscious effort to open it. He took a deep breath.

The first page of the report offered summaries of the involved parties of the relationship. In this case, Joseph and a woman about his age. Her photo had her smiling, and it was a lovely smile, with warm eyes that seemed to sparkle. She was a student of computer programming (or at least, she had been for most of the relationship), and enjoyed a variety of hobbies, including rock climbing, dancing, and motorbike racing. Indeed, nothing in her summary made her out to be a particularly cruel human being, yet Caesar had already decided he didn’t like her. Brushing aside the prickle of irritation, Caesar turned to the next page—details of how the relationship ended.

Report #49477H

Length of Relationship: Two years, ten months, one week, and a day

Affection of Partner(s): Rescinded; see report #7042L for details

Cause for Termination of Subject Affection: Heartbreak

Caesar’s eyes rested on the word heartbreak for a spell. It wasn’t an uncommon cause for termination of affection, but just one word held a slew of possibilities. It didn’t say how long someone pined over their lost love. It didn’t say how many days were sullen and sorrowful, filled with thoughts of brighter days seen through rose-tinted glasses. It didn’t communicate the depths of the pain one had to endure—or so Caesar had heard. A broken heart was a dangerous thing for a cupid, so he’d never experienced it.

With a will of steel, Caesar pressed on. He’d already put this off for too long, and if he stopped now there was no telling when he’d pick it back up again. His eyes continued down the page.

Details

At precisely two years and three weeks into the relationship, the subject’s partner was completely rescinded of her affection (see report #7042L for details), but continued to maintain the relationship for approximately ten months afterward. The subject, being keenly attuned to his partner, recognized that something was amiss, but, being mortal, assumed it was a lack of effort on his own part. Over the last few months of the relationship, the subject increased his efforts to prove his affection and perhaps win back some of hers, short of proposing marriage.

At that, Caesar heaved a sigh of relief. If this ex-girlfriend of Joseph’s had been fine with carrying on a relationship for almost an entire year after falling out of love, who knew what she would have done in the face of a proposal.

Given the feelings of the subject’s partner, his increased efforts fueled a sense of guilt in her, which resulted in an increasingly cold attitude towards him. Despite the subject being clever in many aspects of life, he was reluctant to end the relationship himself.

Caesar rolled his eyes at that statement, because, duh, who wanted to end a relationship when they were in love? That didn’t have anything to do with how clever someone was.

That being the case, and paired with the compounding feelings of guilt and irritation that continued to override any friendly feelings within the subject’s partner, the relationship was poorly dissolved. The subject decided that they needed to talk, but his partner was reluctant. The subject was insistent, and pointed out that their relationship didn’t seem to be doing well. The subject’s partner tried to deflect by saying she hadn’t noticed. The subject aired his grievances, foremost among them being that she didn’t seem to be committed to the relationship. The subject’s partner became defensive and implied that the subject was merely doing too much. The subject then asked if she would prefer he not do anything at all, to which she replied, “It’s about time you got the hint.”

Well, Caesar thought as he closed the file and put it away with the intent of never looking at it again, at least now he felt justified in disliking this woman. What a cruel way to break up with someone. Certainly it wasn’t her fault that she fell out of love, but it was a cowardly thing to pretend to be so just because breaking up properly was an inconvenience. Granted, he didn’t have her side of the story, but he wasn’t in the mood to feel sorry for her.

That aside, this new piece of information, much as it grieved Caesar to learn of it, cast a whole new light on the situation, and he berated himself for having not read it sooner. Joseph’s problem wasn’t that he didn’t know how to try, or that he thought love was a free-for-all game of chance—his problem was that he needed to trust in love again. Caesar sank into the couch with a deep sigh. He’d been going at this all wrong, all because he’d been too chicken to read two entire papers.

Yet even two papers, with a practical description of how a relationship had ended, weighed heavy on a cupid’s heart. It wasn’t as if Caesar hadn’t read black ops reports before, but it was an ordeal every time. Indeed, some cupids were so distressed by the notion of lost love that they’d begin molting, or the color would fade from their marks, some sinking into such melancholy that their cupid marks faded altogether. Those ones went to the black ops. The ones that were built of tougher stuff, those that could withstand the onslaught of even the smallest series of tragedies—those were the ones that became field agents, like Caesar.

That didn’t mean he enjoyed feeling what he felt now, like someone had reached into his chest and was tearing his innards asunder. It was always a gamble, how reading a black ops file would affect him. At worst he would need a few days to recover, which by cupid standards was remarkably fast. At best—and he hoped this would be the case this time—he’d feel fatigued and sleep early, and then be completely fine the next morning.

That hope was intensified when his phone buzzed with a text from Joseph.

Joseph Joestar [7:45PM]: we’re still on for laser tag tomorrow, right?

“Shit,” Caesar breathed.

How could he have forgotten that was tomorrow?

He only made things worse for himself with his reply: Absolutely.

There was no way he could cancel at this point, especially when in his smaller reports he’d been giving frequent assurances that this would happen and that Caesar would make significant progress during this. But everything was different now, he’d have to change his entire angle, and Joseph would surely notice if he did that, so it would have to be a slow shift, something Caesar didn’t have time for, and now he was feeling utterly drained with no guarantee that he would be feeling better by tomorrow!

With all that in mind, Caesar promptly went to bed, hoping that a little extra sleep would help take the edge off the heaviness in his heart. Unfortunately, for all that his body was sapped, his mind was fully and undeniably buzzing, primarily with one thought: Joseph didn’t know it wasn’t his fault. He didn’t realize that he wasn’t the cause for the failure of the relationship he’d put so much time and energy into. Worse still, there was no way Caesar could tell him.

By the time morning rolled around, Caesar felt more exhausted than he had the previous night. His sleep had been fitful, his head ached something fierce, and now he was going to run around in a place with blinding lights and deafening music. Perfect.

He tried to perk himself up before leaving. He stared intently at his reflection in the mirror (certain that his cheek marks were well disguised and that there were no errant feathers in his hair), and tried to convince his body to work with him. There’d been worse reports, he reminded himself, trying simultaneously to not remember them in too great detail. This wasn’t all that unusual or heart rending. It was just something that happened.

It didn’t work, but Caesar tried to convince himself that it did. He left a little earlier than he needed to so that he could take his time strolling in the fresh morning air. As he walked, he tried to think of anything but the heartbreak Joseph had endured, but it was impossible—after all, it was a pivotal factor in improving Joseph’s future chances of love, and Caesar was, in fact, going with the intention of making some progress today. If nothing else, he had to have something to report. Omitting this was not an option.

By the time Caesar made it to the place, he felt utterly miserable. He’d been walking so slow that he’d only just made it on time, with Joseph roaring into the parking lot only a moment after him.

“Heyo~! Caesarino~!” Joseph called from where he parked his bike.

It was as if he’d never stormed away from Caesar the night before, waving enthusiastically and grinning widely. It didn’t even seem forced. Caesar waved back, managing only half of a weak smile in return as Joseph sauntered up to him.

“So, a couple other people that were going to be here dipped last second, so we’re just waiting on Smokey now,” Joseph explained, casually leaning against the wall next to Caesar, who did likewise with his arms crossed.

“He’s on his way?” Caesar asked.

“Should be, but he lives a bit farther away, so he’ll have to deal with traffic and the like,” Joseph said. Then, peering curiously at Caesar, he asked, “Are you alright?”

Caesar blinked, and furrowed his eyebrows. “Of course I’m alright.”

“Yeesh, touchy much? You just seem a little worse for wear, like you didn’t get enough sleep last night—were you just that excited to get your ass beat by me today?” Joseph joked.

“Sure,” Caesar blandly replied.

“Damn, you really aren’t feeling well, are you?” Joseph pressed.

After a moment, Caesar relented a little. “It’s just a headache.”

Joseph hummed, and before Caesar could do anything to stop him, Joseph’s hand was on his forehead.

“At least you don’t have a fever,” Joseph said as he withdrew his pleasantly warm hand. “Did you take any painkillers?”

“Yeah,” Caesar lied. There weren’t any painkillers that could cure this kind of headache. “Just before I left, so they should kick in sooner or later.”

“Hopefully sooner, although if it gives me an easy win I’ll take it,” Joseph remarked as a car rolled into the parking space in front of where they stood.

“I’m not easy,” Caesar quipped right when Smokey emerged from the car.

Smokey threw his head back with a laugh. “Jojo, what the hell are you talking to this man about?!”

“It’s not like that! He told me he has a headache, and I said that’ll just make beating him that much easier!” Joseph objected.

“Tsk, tsk, Jojo, calling a man easy… I’ll have you know I have standards,” Caesar joked with a shake of his head.

“You—! Oh, just you wait!” Joseph fumed, storming inside ahead of the two of them.

Both Smokey and Caesar laughed and followed him inside.

As Caesar suspected, the place had a shrill, jaunty tune playing over the speakers, though thankfully the lobby lacked any flashing lights. The carpet was something that he’d expect at a bowling alley, and in fact the sound of heavy balls obliterating pins drew Caesar’s attention to a few lanes. Tucked away in a corner were a few arcade cabinets and prize grab machines, around which a group of kids were clustered. The counter Joseph was already at served as a combination check-in and snack bar, with a sign that indicated that alcohol was available, though only the cheapest beers and wines.

In summary, Caesar hoped that Joseph didn’t take people on dates here.

“Hurry up and sign up for the next round,” Joseph instructed as he slipped on a vest that just barely fit across his chest.

“Don’t be in such a rush to lose,” Caesar advised while Smokey went to get his own vest.

“Says the one that’s taking his sweet time signing up. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were chicken,” Joseph taunted.

Caesar rolled his eyes. “The only reason I’m not acting like it’s a big deal is because I beat you at your own game once, and I can do it again, so don’t get too cocky.”

“Oh, but don’t you like ‘em cocky?” Joseph asked in a tone that left no doubt as to what he meant.

“There you go again, digging into my preferences,” Caesar pointed out. “It’s almost like you want to know, for some reason that I couldn’t begin to guess at.”

“I mean, your preferences aren’t hard to guess, I just figured I’d give you an opening to find out my preferences,” Joseph said.

“As if I need you to do that,” Caesar scoffed.

Thankfully at that moment Smokey returned with his own vest, prompting Caesar to get his own vest. Like Joseph’s, his was snug across the chest, and he was immediately annoyed by the laser gun that was attached by a thick cord to the vest that dangled by his knees as he adjusted the straps of the vest. Once it was set, he turned this way and that, testing how the vest hindered his movements. Sure, it was just a game, but Caesar wasn’t going to just let Joseph win. Moreover, Caesar was going to prove—mostly to himself—that he could beat Joseph without the aid of magic. It would be a huge boost to his ego and serve to clear himself of suspicions.

Once they were set, they didn’t need to wait long to be admitted into the arena. They received a short brief about safety, and given the tired employee’s pointed glances at Joseph, Caesar could guess that Joseph had caused trouble here before as well. The employee went on to explain that this was a free-for-all match—the last man standing won it all. That would make victory all the sweeter for Caesar.

The arena itself was precisely what Caesar had expected—the music was louder here, so people wouldn’t be able to hear others coming; the lights, save for a few colored ones and some LED’s that marked walkable paths along the floor, were significantly dimmer than those of the lobby; large obstacles for climbing and hiding littered the place, and in the low light were visible only as stark shadows.

Everyone was given one minute to disperse throughout the arena. Caesar considered his strategy. He could try and follow Joseph, so as to pick him off as soon as possible and then breeze through the rest of the opponents. On the one hand, that seemed ideal, since Joseph probably knew the layout of the arena like the back of his hand, giving him a clear advantage. But that was just it, wasn’t it? Joseph had the advantage, and Caesar knew he knew it. If Caesar tried to face him immediately by following him during this dispersal phase, Joseph would no doubt lead Caesar to an area that would put him at a disadvantage.

So Caesar played it safe. He saw Joseph go one way, he went another. There was a chance that Joseph would sneak around and try to find him as soon as possible, but that just meant that Caesar had to stay on his toes. A peppy sounding employee came over the loudspeaker, telling everyone they had twenty seconds left. Caesar didn’t settle in one place, but rather roamed around, getting a sense of the arena, finding as much of the walls and the corners and some of the more well-concealed hiding places as he could. Then—

“Players, you now have five —!”

Caesar spotted a few other players—strangers—huddled together behind a large obstacle. It was possible they had formed a temporary alliance to take out other players more effectively. He moved on before they could see him.

“ Four —!”

Rounding a corner, Caesar found himself an obstacle on which he could climb, giving himself a good vantage point but little cover. Just a quick look would be all he needed.

“ Three —!”

There was no seeing the entire arena from any one obstacle, but it was about as good as he would get. There was one player crouched behind another obstacle, their back turned to Caesar, wide open.

“ Two —!”

Caesar raised his laser gun. His head throbbed, a speaker positioned almost directly over his head pummeling him with a hard beat and the employee’s ringing voice.

“ One ! Go!” the employee shouted.

Without delay Caesar sprang into action, headache be damned. He immediately tagged the player that had been unwary of his presence, their vest lighting up hardly a second after he pulled the trigger. They looked down at their vest and then looked around for their conqueror, but Caesar was already gone. Gleeful shouts floated over the obstacles and the music, giving Caesar a target to head towards. All the while he kept his head on a swivel, on the lookout for Joseph who would no doubt be on the lookout for him, if not actively hunting him down.

“One player—no, two players down! Eight to go! Who will win it all?!” the enthusiastic employee narrated.

Caesar could only assume that the new casualty had been Joseph’s doing, though there was no knowing for sure. He crouched behind a large spherical obstacle, allowing himself a small peek. After all, players could point their lasers at his head all they wanted, and it wouldn’t mean squat. There, that alliance that Caesar had seen as he’d prowled the arena just a moment earlier. He guessed that he’d only be able to get one before the others scattered. Unless…

Taking careful aim, Caesar shot at the leftmost player of their ragtag formation. As predicted, the other two players made a run to the right, and Caesar managed to pick off one more before the last one dove for cover. Caesar couldn’t help but grin. They were no match for an experienced cupid. When he’d worked for main ops, doing classic cupid work, he’d never missed a heart he aimed at. It was nice to know he still had it.

Basking in his own skill, Caesar almost forgot to keep a lookout for players that might tag him. Just as he was getting ready to move again, a figure jumped out from behind another obstacle and took aim. Caesar rolled out of the way just in time, and took aim at them in turn, irritated to find that their speed matched his own, resulting in a miss.

The player was too small to be Joseph, but the competitive flame in Caesar urged him to go after this player and tag them out himself. With incredible agility, Caesar hopped up atop the weirdly angular obstacle the other player was hidden behind and aimed down—but they were already gone.

Caesar jumped down from the obstacle at once, wondering if he’d purposely been made into a target. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something move, and whirled to aim his laser gun at it. The shadow was already gone. Competitive as he was, Caesar knew better than to be led on a wild goose chase.

“Looks like we have a couple laser tag veterans on the field absolutely destroying the competition, but the question is: who will come out on top?!” the employee cheered over the loudspeaker. “We have five players down—five left!”

It would only get harder from here. Those who had survived thus far were no doubt incredibly skilled. With fewer players there would be fewer chance encounters. Caesar would have to stay on the move, not only to not be caught, but also to find some more people to pick off before he had his grand face-off with Joseph.

Through the holes of an obstacle up on Caesar’s right, he saw someone lying in wait. He didn’t freeze—that would make it too obvious that he’d spotted the other player. Instead he slowed down, still moving, but meandering. There was no telling who it was behind the obstacle, given that he could only see that someone was there. It could be a stranger—it could be Joseph. Either way, Caesar treated the situation with caution.

There were a few options he could take as he moved closer and closer. He could rush them—either try to take them off guard by coming at them from the front, or try to be quick enough to get behind them. He could slip behind an obstacle and lose them, but Caesar was no coward. He would face them, whoever they were. However, there was an advantage to losing them—he would be better positioned to take them out from another angle. Yet the more he thought about it, the more impatient he got.

Thus Caesar, impatient to get this game over with, charged towards the obstacle and practically vaulted over it one-handed, aiming with his other hand down at the mystery player. The player—who stood just close enough to a light to reveal that it was Smokey, who had probably been the same player that nearly tagged Caesar earlier—expertly dodged out of the way and took aim at Caesar in turn. Of course! Caesar thought, as he rolled behind another obstacle, narrowly dodging Smokey’s attack, of course Smokey, Joseph’s best friend, would be good at laser tag! Joseph probably dragged him along all the time!

Before Caesar could think of how best to tag Smokey, one of the other two strangers ran around the corner, and without hesitation Caesar tagged them. The look of surprise on their face was just barely illuminated by their flashing vest, but Caesar knew better than to linger. Someone had been chasing them, the way they’d been running, and whoever that was would likely follow soon. But with Smokey lurking somewhere behind Caesar, and some new opponent that was more and more likely to be Joseph with every player that got tagged out, it was hard to know which direction to pick.

“That’s six players out! Four to go!”

Caesar took a chance and ran in Smokey’s direction, diagonally in the hopes that he could rout him. Another player—the last that was a stranger to Caesar—jumped down from an obstacle, and had it not been for Caesar's quick reflexes he would have surely been tagged out. Thankfully, Caesar had literal divine reflexes, and rounded a particularly large obstacle so quick that the other player barely had time to turn around before Caesar tagged them out.

“Three players left, I repeat, there are three players left in the arena, with one player dominating the rest—but does he have what it takes to be the last one standing?!”

Damn right he does, Caesar thought, his heart hammering so hard against his chest it was amazing the vest could withstand it. He had to admit, although he’d thought laser tag was childish, to play it with people that could match him gave it a thrill he hadn’t been expecting. It was especially thrilling to know that Joseph could be lurking around any corner, with only Caesar in mind as he prowled about the arena…

A flash of light caught Caesar’s attention. He spun towards it, and saw Smokey with his vest flashing—he’d been tagged, and there was only one person who could have done it.

“Traitor!” Smokey shouted to his left just before turning to Caesar. “Caesar, run!”

Caesar wasn’t about to scamper off with his tail between his legs though. He made a sharp right, knowing that Joseph was nearby.

“It’s down to two players—who’s going to claim the glory of victory?! The cool, collected strategist, or the indomitable warrior?!”

The music amped up then, speeding up so as to imply a sense of urgency. Caesar felt it keenly. He had to find Joseph first, tag him, claim victory, and then shove it in his face for the rest of time. There was no doubt in his mind that Joseph was thinking the same. He was running now, thinking that if he moved fast he could get the jump on Joseph. His impatience proved to be his downfall—literally.

As Caesar rounded a large wall of an obstacle, Joseph’s face briefly flashed before his eyes before he suddenly found himself on the ground, slamming flat on his back in a way that thoroughly winded him. It wasn’t the force of the fall that took his breath away though—no, it was Joseph’s face, perfectly haloed by a bright green light that made his shining, blue-green eyes all the more vivid. Even in the low light Caesar could discern the flush of his cheeks, the faint gleam of sweat on his brow.

“Are you okay?!” Joseph asked over the music that currently felt muted and distant.

“Yeah…” Caesar gasped.

“Good,” Joseph said, before whipping up his laser gun and tagging Caesar point blank. “Gotcha!”

“That—!” Caesar began to protest, competitive fury alighted in him once more. “That doesn’t count! You tackled me!”

“I did not tackle you, you ran into me,” Joseph argued as the employee declared a victory had been claimed.

The music quieted, the lights went up, and Joseph went back to looking like his usual, annoying self. The right lighting was a powerful thing, Caesar reminded himself while he continued to bicker with Joseph, to make someone he would never have an interest in seem like the most desirable person he’d ever seen.

In the end, Caesar had to content himself with the fact that he scored most of the tags, but that didn’t change the fact that victory was contingent on being the last player left. Unfortunately for him, that was Joseph, who was just as insufferable about winning as Caesar had expected him to be.

Thankfully, Smokey knew just how to handle Joseph.

“You know the drill, winner buys lunch,” Smokey said.

At that, Joseph almost immediately deflated, though he put up little resistance.

“That’s an odd rule,” Caesar remarked.

“If it were the other way around, I’d be stuck buying lunch all the time. At least this way encourages Jojo to be lazy and get treated to a free meal when he feels like it, but I guess he really wanted to show off for you today,” Smokey replied with a slantwise smile.

“Yeah, yeah, alright, what do you guys want?” Joseph burst in.

There wasn’t much on the menu, which made it easy for Joseph to remember three different orders. While he joined the queue that had formed in front of the counter, a mix of people waiting their turn for laser tag and other hungry patrons, Caesar and Smokey found a booth that was relatively free of sticky residue and took a seat. This gave Caesar a perfect opportunity to ask some questions without Joseph’s interference, but apparently Smokey had his own agenda in mind.

“So, like, when are you going to make your move?” Smokey asked quite out of the blue.

Caesar’s brow furrowed, equal parts concerned and confused. “Excuse me?”

“I mean,” Smokey said emphatically. “It’s obvious you like Jojo, so when are you going to actually ask him out proper?”

“You’re joking, right?” Caesar asked, while internally he was absolutely astounded.

“Dead serious,” Smokey answered.

“Then I’m afraid you’ve gotten the wrong impression,” Caesar informed him. “I don’t like Jojo—not romantically, anyways.”

Smokey snorted. “Sure.”

Caesar frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’ve been making eyes at him since the day y’all met—why do you think I told him to talk to you that day at the cafe?” Smokey obliged.

Another piece of the puzzle clicked into place for Caesar. A loud conversation that suddenly goes silent, a friend that has to leave without warning, and the other who stays behind to talk to a perfect stranger. Of course, of course Smokey had been the instigating factor that day! How had Caesar missed it? In any event, for the present Caesar had to cover his ass, and quick.

“I was staring at you guys because you were being so loud,” Caesar explained.

“Uh-huh, and that’s why you only had eyes for him,” Smokey said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “I looked right at you and you didn’t so much as blink. He looks at you and suddenly you’re hiding behind your menu. You were totally checking him out.”

“I absolutely was not,” Caesar insisted.

“Okay, maybe you weren’t,” Smokey ceded, a little too quick for comfort.

Caesar waited for the inevitable continuation.

“But—”

And there it was.

“—you’ve been playing along with his antics for a whole month now, and most people would’ve dipped. There’s only one reason people put up with him for that long if they’re not already his friend,” Smokey argued.

“Then how does he make friends?” Caesar questioned sharply.

“Good question. Couldn’t tell you why I’m still around. I think I’m just too used to him by now,” Smokey mused.

“In any event, I’m not interested in him, not like that,” Caesar asserted.

“Then what’s it like?” Smokey pressed. “Cause you’re awfully fond of acting like he’s a pain in your ass, but you stick around anyways—why?”

Caesar was all too aware of how this was looking to Smokey. The more he denied it, the more Smokey would be convinced that Caesar did, in fact, like Joseph. Romantically. Which was absurd. Certainly Joseph wasn’t the worst sort of person there was—in fact, he wasn’t really the worst by a long shot. But he definitely wasn’t Caesar’s type!

Still, this put Caesar in an interesting position. In theory, he could use this notion and pretend to date Joseph for the remaining five months of his assignment. He wasn’t opposed to that tactic of intervention, having used it before, it just wasn’t his favorite—not when he was trying to teach people how to establish long lasting relationships, anyways. But to utilize it for this assignment somehow didn’t sit right with Caesar. No doubt it was due to what he’d learned in the black ops file the night before, he reasoned.

“Jojo is… interesting,” Caesar finally answered.

“Interesting, huh?” Smokey repeated with a smirk.

“It’s not like he’s easy to describe!” Caesar exclaimed. “One minute he’s fun to be around, then the next you realize he’s been yanking you around for his own personal entertainment and that’s the part that’s the pain in my ass, but—”

Caesar paused, thinking hard.

“But?” Smokey urged.

“But,” Caesar continued, quieter, slower. “The good times almost make it worth it. Only almost.”

“Not interested,” Smokey said, rolling his eyes. “Sure.”

“Listen, I know when I’m interested in someone. I’m not interested in Jojo,” Caesar said with an air of finality.

But Smokey only shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe your heart knows these things before you do?”

Caesar was, to say the least, incredibly insulted by that, because it was antithetical to a cupid’s entire being to not know his own heart! It was absurd! Completely unheard of! Caesar held his tongue, but apparently was unable to hide his ire, because Smokey laughed, apparently amused.

“I know, that was cheesy,” Smokey admitted.

Caesar nodded. “Big time. And even if I somehow felt that way and didn’t know, how would you know?”

The answer to such a question would be, after all, essential in moving forward in a more covert manner.

Unfortunately, Smokey’s answer gave no such useful information.

“It’s written all over your face.”

Before Caesar could so much as breathe a word of dissent (whilst his aforementioned face went cold at the thought that somehow, some way, his marks were giving him away), Joseph arrived with their food and slid in the booth right beside Caesar, whining loudly about how long the line had been and how long it had taken for their food to be ready, and how this was such a stupid rule anyways and a whole slew of other complaints that Caesar only half-listened to.

He didn’t want to say that there was no way he could possibly be smitten with Joseph, who talked with his mouth full and began to steal Caesar’s fries when he had eaten all of his, because, really, Joseph wasn’t the worst person to fall for, but that wasn’t for Caesar to explore. Not as a cupid.

So, Caesar thought resolutely when they finished their lunch and headed back in for another round, he did not like Joseph. He did not like the way the flashing lights danced in his eyes. He did not like the lithe way he moved when motivated. He did not like the clever schemes Joseph was wont to come up with.

Doing so would come with far too many consequences.

Chapter Text

Avere la botte piena e la moglie ubriaca.

With a heart as a full wine cask, my head is swimming with you.

Joseph Joestar did not consider himself a particularly bookish person, nor would anyone who knew him say that of him. However, working in a comic book store and having something of a passion for comics meant that he ended up reading. A lot. Like right at that moment, for example, in the middle of a now dead shift. The shop had been empty for well over an hour, and though the early morning had been busy for a Friday, the real business wouldn't begin until more fervent nerds started streaming in later, about mid-afternoon.

He was flipping through the latest issue of a series he’d been following lately, a story about about a couple of chicks who, despite being proficient with magic, joined up with an anti-magic cult, allowed their magic to be steadily drained away, and then realized the true cruelty of the cult and were attempting, in this issue, to make an escape. Joseph’s personal opinion was that the story was dragging on. Sure the whole premise of them joining the cult in the first place had been more of a brief prologue, but their actual escape was taking forever! They had only made it out of the compound in the last issue, and were now being doggedly pursued. Slow going though it was, Joseph still wanted to know what would happen.

“Jojo!” a small voice shouted up at him from the other side of the counter.

Minimally bothered, Joseph peered over the top of the comic book to see Keeva, with an expression that told him she’d been standing there for a hot minute. He raised his eyebrows.

“What?”

“I asked, what are you reading?”

Joseph flaunted the cover at her and then drew it back, wanting to continue reading. “Shouldn’t you be in school right now?”

“Early release today,” Keeva explained. “What’s this comic about?”

“First issue is on the shelves, under fantasy,” Joseph said off-handedly.

Keeva huffed, apparently displeased. “What’s your damage? Don’t you work here?”

“Yeah, and like a good employee I just told you where to find what you want.”

Keeva stomped over to the shelves, roughly grabbing at the title once she found it. Joseph straightened the comic book in front of him like an old man straightening out the morning news. He heard the sound of rapidly flipping pages, then slower flipping. Then, a decided thunk as the comic book was replaced on the shelf. He lowered his own copy with a frown, and sure enough saw Keeva marching right back to him.

“It’s boring,” she declared.

“What do you want me to do about it?”

“Tell me a good story.”

Joseph gestured to the entirety of the store. “Pick up a comic book! There’s plenty!”

“They’re all boring.”

“You’re boring.”

“Tell me a story.”

“Go to the library if you want a story. They even have audiobooks you can check out—or so I’ve heard,” Joseph tacked on as an afterthought.

“You’re being rude today,” Keeva remarked with only mild irritation. “More than normal.”

“I’m normal amounts of rude today,” Joseph insisted as he tried to return to his comic.

“Did you have a fight with your boyfriend?”

“What boyfriend?”

“Caesar.”

Joseph slapped down the comic book on the counter. Keeva had her elbows up on the counter, hands pressed against her round cheeks as she grinned in that shit-eating way only children could accomplish.

“Alright, what kind of story do you want?” Joseph relented. He did not want to have that conversation, at least not with Keeva.

“So he is your boyfriend!” Keeva exclaimed.

“That’s none of your business,” Joseph told her sternly. “Now… have I ever told you about the time my grandpa fought his vampire foster brother with the power of the sun?”

Keeva rolled her eyes. “Only about a thousand times.”

“That’s still ten times less than the amount of times I’ve heard it, trust me,” Joseph assured her.

“What else do you have?”

Joseph hummed, tapping his chin thoughtfully. After a little rummaging around his brain for spare thoughts, he came up with the barest notion of an idea.

“Okay, how about this,” Joseph began. “A super attractive, incredibly intelligent, and amazingly strong dude fights the most powerful beings in existence and wins by sending the most powerful of them into space?”

“Let me guess, this was your grandpa on your mom’s side?” Keeva asked with no small amount of sarcasm.

“Sure, sure, whatever,” Joseph said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “So, check it out, it starts in New York City—”

“All your stories start there,” Keeva interrupted.

“Excuse you, did my vampire-fighting grandpa fight in New York City? No, now either listen quietly or go to the library,” Joseph admonished. “Now, New York City—it can be a pretty rough city if you don’t pay attention, and that’s exactly the situation our dashing hero found himself in as he was trying to get himself a cold, refreshing soda—”

“Sounds like the ‘dashing hero’ is pretty dumb,” Keeva muttered.

Ignoring that, Joseph plowed forward with his story. “So he gets his wallet snatched, but he keeps his cool and finds the thief cornered in an alley by some disgusting excuses for cops…”

Like any tale he told, it was a series of increasingly nonsensical fragments haphazardly pieced together. First the hero wrecked the cops with the same “power of the sun” he kept saying his grandpa used to fight his vampire foster-brother and then made a mad dash out of there with the very same guy who’d just swiped his wallet (with whom he became very good friends), and then he found out his uncle was murdered by someone who has supposedly been a family friend. Said former family friend appeared suddenly in New York as a vampire—

“What is it with you and vampires?” Keeva demanded.

“Vampires are cool,” Joseph answered.

“Not your vampires.”

Joseph pressed on. The hero produced a tommy gun that he conveniently had on hand, and wept bitter tears at the loss of his uncle after totally destroying an entire business to try and kill the vampire. Then came the laser eyes, the mirror trick, the arsenal of grenades that the hero also conveniently had on hand—

“Where does he hide all this stuff?!”

“This story is never going to finish if you keep asking questions.”

Keeva reluctantly quieted, and Joseph continued the story about how the hero played the coward in order to buy time to come up with a real plan away from a crowded area. Unfortunately, things didn’t work out so well, as the vampire took some random woman hostage, and for all his bluffing the hero couldn’t convince the vampire that he didn’t care if anyone got hurt. The vampire had the hero backed into a corner.

“And then what happened?” Keeva asked when Joseph fell silent for a moment.

“The hero played into the vampire’s demands, and the vampire let her go,” Joseph decided.

“What were the vampire’s demands?”

“He wanted to fight the guy and kill him because he knew he would be a threat to him if he let him live.”

“Right after he got blown up and knew he needed time to heal?”

“I never said the vampire was a smart one.”

“None of your vampires are.”

The story went on. After a dramatic clash on the Brooklyn Bridge that ended in a victory for the hero, he set off at once to Mexico to get answers to the questions the vampire had given him. On the way, he found out his uncle was actually alive, and wept tears of joy.

“This hero of yours is kind of a crybaby,” Keeva noted.

“He’s open about his emotions!” Joseph defended.

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing, I’m just saying, your hero sure cries a lot.”

“Well then save it for the end of the story!”

There, the hero found a secret Nazi (“Really? Nazis?” Keeva deadpanned.) base harboring a strange being that devoured vampires by absorbing them through its body (“Gross!”), an incident that the hero’s uncle witnessed with horror. After muscling his way in after a failed attempt at discreetness, the hero arrived in the inner sanctum of the nefarious stronghold to find everyone in quite a state, as the strange being had escaped his holding cell. Naturally the hero demonstrated his fearlessness by going right up to this new villain and booping him right on his nose.

“Okay, that’s stupid,” Keeva said, crossing her arms.

“You want a professional story? There are plenty published ones just waiting for you to read them,” Joseph replied irritably.

“I think the hero needs a friend,” Keeva decided.

“Yeah?”

“Maybe a love interest too.”

“I don’t think so.”

“A friend and a love interest that are both the same person.”

“Why?”

“Well,” Keeva began primly. “Your hero cares a lot for the people around him, but he’s always doing stuff on his own. Like, yeah, he had that one friend with him when he was fighting the vampire, but that friend didn’t do anything but freak out the whole time! Every hero needs someone that’ll watch their back.”

“Okay, but why does it have to be a love interest?”

“Because that would make this story so much better.”

“Fine,” Joseph relented. “So after the hero takes out this vampire-eating super-being, him and his uncle go all the way to Italy for more information on what might be more of these super-beings—”

“Why Italy?”

“Why not?”

“Isn’t Caesar Italian?”

“Lots of people are Italian,” Joseph retorted. “Anyways, so the hero’s uncle has a contact in Rome that can help them find out more, so the hero is in the swanky restaurant where he eats spaghetti flavored with squid’s ink—”

“Ew!” Keeva shrieked.

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,'' Joseph advised. “As I was saying, the hero is just enjoying his meal, when some jackass on the other side of the room decides to imply that he’s some sort of neanderthal—”

“With you telling the story? He probably is.”

“Hush, or I’ll stop. Anyways, so this stuck-up guy is flirting with some hot babe in the cheesiest way possible, and the worst part is that she falls for the load of crap he’s feeding her, and they make out right there in the middle of the restaurant, while the hero is trying to enjoy his meal in peace!”

“Tell me this is not the guy you’re going to make the love interest,” Keeva groaned.

“Sure enough!” Joseph proclaimed with a wicked grin. “That very guy is the guy our hero has to work with!”

“Leave it to you to make the worst love story ever!”

“If you wanted a real love story you should have said so at the start.”

“Whatever, just tell me what happens next.”

“They fight, of course,” Joseph said.

“Who are they fighting?”

“Each other.”

“Why?!” Keeva screeched. “If they’re going to fall in love, why are they fighting?!”

“Because they’re a couple of dudes who think they don’t like each other, that’s just how it is,” Joseph huffed, growing impatient. He was starting to wish a customer would walk in so he didn’t have to keep spinning this bullshit. Since when was babysitting a part of his job duties?!

“They think they don’t like each other,” Keeva repeated. “So they actually do like each other?”

“Duh.”

“So is that why you and Caesar always argue?”

“Caesar and I always argue cause he’s a stuck-up prick who thinks he knows better than me about literally everything,” Joseph explained.

“So you do like each other.”

“Did you hear anything I just said?”

“So how do they end up falling in love?” Keeva diverted.

“Something, something, the hero shows off how brave he is to his new companion and gains his respect and loyalty and then end up training together to become strong enough to defeat the three super-beings that were awakened and that put two rings of death in the hero’s body that’ll dissolve in a month and kill him and the companion is all like ‘There’s no way I’ll let that happen,’ and all that jazz,” Joseph said airily.

“That’s it?” Keeva asked.

“What do you want from me?” Joseph sighed.

“Don’t they confess to each other?”

“No.”

“Not even after they save the world?”

“Nope.”

“Why?”

“Cause they’re both too stubborn.”

Keeva pouted. “I’m surprised you didn’t straight up kill off the love interest.”

“I could still do that,” Joseph offered.

“Don’t!”

“They track down the villains—”

“No!”

“—and the hero and his friend argue—”

“Jojo, c’mon—!”

“—and the friend decides to rush in, leaving the hero behind. You can guess what happens when he does that,” Joseph finished ill-naturedly.

Keeva looked genuinely angry now. Now Joseph knew he’d done it, and if one of her moms didn’t come in and give him an earful later he’d count himself lucky. Not that that was enough to make him take it back. She was the one who’d demanded a story out of him when he hadn’t wanted to tell one.

Eventually she went over to the shelves and grabbed a book at random, and then went to find a seat to read a much better story than Joseph had told. Fine by him, he decided, for all that he could no longer focus on the story he’d been trying to read before.  He found himself growing irritated with the story he’d concocted himself. What kind of friend—what kind of lover—left those they claimed to care about behind and think it a grand and noble sacrifice? The foolish kind, Joseph decided with a frown. Damn fools and morons.

With a sigh, Joseph put down his comic book and called across the store, “If you guessed that the hero’s friend died, you guessed wrong.”

Keeva slammed down the book she’d been reading. “Then why didn’t you say that?!”

“To mess with you, of course.”

She returned to the counter so she wouldn’t have to shout. “You should invite Caesar over, I bet he’d tell a much better story.”

“Caesar can’t visit today,” Joseph informed Keeva.

“Why not?”

Joseph’s fingers itched to grab his phone and send a flurry of irritating texts to poke at Caesar. It would’ve been nice if Caesar had told him ahead of time, but no, he had to be reticent and mysterious, as if that made him attractive. What Joseph wouldn’t give to prove him wrong, though he had no clue as yet as to how to go about doing that. Too often it felt like he was stumbling around in a dark room, pressing every one of Caesar’s buttons but the ones he was looking for.

“Jojo?” Keeva pressed when Joseph was silent for too long.

“He’s at a wedding,” he finally answered.

Chapter Text

Ovunque il guardo io giro parmi pur sempre riveder l'amato.

Wherever I look, I see only my love.

All was gray and dreary. The features were dull, indistinct, as if viewed through a rainy window, and no matter how many times Caesar tried to blink away the fog that seemed to have settled over him, he could not shake it. It wasn’t so bad though. At least like this there was no pain—no physical pain, at least. As for matters of the heart, Caesar didn’t dare consider. No matter how ready he thought he might have been, there had been no preparing himself for the harrowing sensation of his soul being torn from his mortal form. It was almost akin to being stripped naked, if he had to describe it, only the process was a lot more painful, and left him feeling far more exposed and vulnerable.

“You,” a soft voice, not harsh but certainly warranting no disagreement, spoke near Caesar.

Caesar turned, and beheld yet another figure he could not quite make out. All he could tell was that the figure was large and looming, standing far above any other soul that was crowded in the loose line around them. It seemed to be no more than a shadow before him, but Caesar could feel a powerful gaze, seeming to sense an approving nod when Caesar looked its way.

“This way,” the figure said, gesturing for Caesar to follow.

Without a second thought, Caesar followed. Perhaps it wasn’t a thought on his part at all, but a compulsion on the part of the figure he now followed. At least, Caesar hoped that was the case. From what he understood there were dire consequences for stepping out of line without explicit permission. Yet no terrors fell upon him as they made their way farther and farther from the line. Hellfire did not rain from blackened skies. Greedy, punishing hands did not drag him back. All was silent but for the gentle footfalls of the figure just ahead of Caesar as they made their way up, up, and up…

Light broke upon them without warning. The shadowy figure vanished before Caesar could so much as blink. There was a breeze caressing lush grasses, the sun shone warmly overhead. Though Caesar could almost remember the sensation of both, of a cool breeze against his cheek, of intense light against fair skin, he did not feel either. He frowned. Was this a special punishment for some wrong he’d done? If so, he didn’t quite understand it.

“That such a one as you should not have felt the revels of romance in your life is punishment enough, don’t you think?” a voice as sweet as freshly picked summer fruit asked.

Caesar blinked, startled. A woman that he had not noticed before was seated in the tall grasses, completely at ease. Though he could not describe her features exactly—they kept shifting anytime he tried to bring them into focus—he knew her to be exceedingly beautiful. Though he had no body, Caesar swore he felt his heart flutter.

The woman laughed in a knowing way, and even as Caesar felt a wave of embarrassment roll through him he couldn’t help but smile along with her.

“I have a job for you, Caesar Anthonio Zeppeli,” she said then, standing and rising until she towered above him. He did not wonder how she knew his name. “Will you accept?”

—

Caesar awoke with the answer on his lips, the words being as fresh as if he’d only just spoken them. After all, one didn’t easily forget their first meeting with a goddess, if indeed they forgot at all. He might have gone right back to sleep, content to relive pleasant memories from long ago, had it not been for the thing that had woken him up in the first place: his phone was buzzing so insistently it threatened to buzz right off the bedside table and onto the floor. Without even checking who it was, Caesar answered the phone.

“Hello?” he wearily greeted.

“ Good morning, sleeping beauty! ” Joseph’s loud and grating voice answered.

Caesar grumbled. “What do you want?”

“ Yeesh, someone is not a morning person, ” Joseph remarked. “ You should be grateful to receive such a great wake-up call! ”

“Get to the point, Jojo,” Caesar yawned, stretching his wings out behind him and giving them a careful flap to shake out any loose feathers.

Joseph scoffed. From the background noise, and the early hour (the sun had only just risen!), Caesar guessed that Joseph was at work, and bored. No doubt he was calling Caesar to come over and entertain him, as he was so often wont to do these days. As if Caesar was a toy. Well, Caesar had a rude awakening in store for him today.

“ Fine, fine, ” Joseph huffed, as if he had any right to be annoyed in this situation. “ I was thinking tonight, after I get off work, we could hit up the bar again, maybe shoot some pool—regular pool, even, if you want. ”

Caesar blinked. “What?”

Joseph laughed. “ Wow, you really aren’t a morning person, are you? ”

“I’m perfectly fine in the mornings, thanks,” Caesar said sharply.

“ Bet you thought I was going to ask you to come and hang out with me while I work, huh? ”

“I don’t know what to expect from you, honestly,” Caesar dodged as he sat up in bed.

“ So? ”

“So what?”

Joseph sighed impatiently. “ So! What do you say to tonight? ”

“Oh,” Caesar started, his view on the news he was going to share suddenly not as triumphant as before. “I hate to break it to you, but I have a wedding to be at later today, a few towns over. I don’t think I’ll be back in time.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Caesar’s mind was racing with the possibilities of why that might be. Joseph had something more elaborate in mind, and was disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to carry out whatever scheme he’d come up with? Or maybe he was confused by Caesar’s refusal, weighing the truthfulness of his statement? It had been two weeks since Caesar had received confirmation that Joseph believed Caesar was interested in him, but he hadn’t done much to try and clear up that misunderstanding. At the same time, it wasn’t like he was encouraging the notion either. Even if Caesar did like Joseph like that though, it wasn’t as if Caesar would drop everything for Joseph at any given time.

“ Oh, okay, ” Joseph finally replied. Then, quietly, as if to himself, he added, “ Hadn’t thought of that… ”

“Don’t worry about it,” Caesar said, still trying to puzzle out Joseph’s behavior. “Maybe tomorrow?”

“ Can’t do it tomorrow, I’m leaving to visit my granny up north, won’t be back for a week or so, ” Joseph said.

Caesar cursed this bad luck internally. They hadn’t met up for almost a week now. There had been a few short meet-ups in the week following laser tag, but then Joseph seemed to lose interest all at once, not so much as texting even once. Caesar had been planning on arranging a meet-up directly after the wedding, but those notions were now completely dashed. He was well into the second month of a six month assignment, and he’d made piss-poor progress by his standards, even by the usual field agent standards. He’d really have to give a good push once Joseph returned.

“ I guess we’ll have to plan for something when I get back, ” Joseph continued.

“Guess so,” Caesar agreed.

“ Have fun at that wedding, make sure to wait until after the ceremony to get smashed, ” Joseph joked.

Caesar snorted. “I’m not you, I know better than that. Have a good time with your grandmother.”

“ Will do. Later. ”

Before Caesar could so much as say goodbye, the call ended. He huffed, suddenly irritated. What the hell was that all about? Joseph had the audacity to drop him for an entire week and then only call right before he was about to leave?! Not to mention the whole thing with him not considering that Caesar might have other things to do with his life. Did the delusion of Caesar’s affections really make him think that Caesar’s life revolved around him?

Caesar made a hasty note of this in Joseph’s file, writing: Balance between life and love? That was to say, Joseph didn’t seem to have the notion of it. As soon as he wrote it though, Caesar scratched it out. It didn’t make sense. If that were an issue in this case, that would require for Joseph to like Caesar, and that was just completely out of the realm of possibilities. Certainly, as a cupid, there was a chance—however infinitesimal—that he could like a human such as Joseph. But for a human to genuinely like someone, even a cupid, without the aid of an arrow, was flat out impossible.

Tapping the pen against his chin, Caesar eventually came to another conclusion, albeit an uncertain one: perhaps there was a chance, however unlikely, that Joseph believed he would eventually come to like Caesar in that way. It would explain why he wasn’t exactly eager to be near Caesar as often as possible, but also why he was making an effort to spend time with him nonetheless. Caesar’s irritation flared a little more. Why should he be working on a day such as this?! Sure, the laser tag report had been half-assed, and he’d only submitted two reports since then, but surely he deserved a day off today of all days!

That didn’t stop Caesar from continuing though. Messina would no doubt be on his ass the moment he stepped foot in the cupid realm, once-in-a-millennium-wedding be damned. He was long overdue to present a long term plan for this assignment. How did Caesar explain that there was no planning for Joseph Joestar? Anytime anyone tried to make a plan, Joseph picked it apart and used the scraps to rearrange it into something that suited him better.

It didn’t help that Caesar was Joseph’s last chance. It was one thing for Caesar to break his perfect record, but it was quite another to fail a human so completely that they never loved anyone else in their life. Certainly arrows would be dispatched after Caesar’s assignment, but if those failed, Joseph’s file was stowed away forever. Further, as a human who had tasted the fruits of love, Joseph would not become a cupid once his mortal life had run its course.

Would it be so bad if Joseph was alright with that? Even after all this time, Caesar was still at a loss as to what Joseph really wanted. If he could uncover that crucial secret, then maybe he could figure out how the hell to proceed. As he had thought earlier, he’d have to make a big push once they met again. He’d fight Joseph tooth and nail if he had to.

In the meantime, Caesar had a wedding to get to. He donned his cupid attire for the first time since arriving, checking himself in the mirror to ensure that everything was perfectly in place. Something felt off, but Caesar couldn’t place it. The divine fabric draped across him did not wrinkle, and was properly fastened in all the right places. His marks were proudly displayed in their usual form, his wings were pristine and sleek, yet something didn’t feel right. Caesar decided that it was because it was a wedding, after all, that he probably felt his usual attire was informal, but only the cupids to be wedded would be wearing any special adornments. Even that sentiment felt off as he made his way over to the window.

Caesar flung open the window, potent magic at his fingertips flowing through the frame so that, instead of the clear spring day that had just been on the other side of the glass a moment before, the window was opened to an endless sky of sunset pinks and oranges. It was a convenient way to get from the mortal realm to the cupid realm quickly, but it did mean that he’d appear on the fringes of the cupid realm, and that the window in the mortal realm would remain open until it was closed by someone in the mortal realm.

With eager anticipation Caesar flung himself from the window, his wings tucked tight against his body so they could clear the frame. Behind him, the window vanished in a puff of cloud, a mere wisp that dissipated with the barest breath of wind. Caesar paid it no heed. He kept his wings curled tight around him to shield against the biting wind as he allowed himself to fall, down, down, and still farther down. For a brief moment, Caesar even shut his eyes to revel in the sensation, the elated, weightless feeling of falling.

Even here, however, Caesar couldn’t let himself fall forever. With practiced precision Caesar unfurled his wings and swept upwards in a graceful arc. With eyes wide open, he could see cupids from other parts of the world streaming in, some with strong, cloud-white wings like his, others with delicate wings with iridescent colors, even some whose wings were still puffy with youth. All returning at once for an event that some of them might be witnessing for the first time.

Caesar, as a very young cupid, had attended a cupid wedding just once before, ages ago, but he’d been so young that he hadn’t fully grasped the significance of the event. Now he knew better, and even more exciting was the fact that the groom was a dear friend of his, a cupid that had been in the hatchling group just behind Caesar’s. In a fit of excitement, Caesar looped several times in the air, joined by several other cupids he only barely knew but that were welcome for the sheer joy they all shared.

The air grew dense with cupids as they approached headquarters, all the more for cupids that rushed out to meet dear friends that had been away. Cupids danced in the air together, and Caesar had to be careful not to be knocked clean out of the air by a group of cupids doing exuberant cartwheels through the air. He was almost to a landing platform near the top of the building when a piercing voice cut through the air, calling his name. Caesar hardly had time to grin before another cupid slammed into him, strong arms wrapping around his middle as they spun in circles through the air.

“Suzie!” Caesar gasped, trying to catch his breath. “One day I’ll be prepared for this!”

“Not if you let me do it every time, don’t think I haven’t noticed!” Suzie laughed.

If most other cupids were excited, Suzie was positively overflowing with eager anticipation. She couldn’t seem to stop smiling, her eyes were sparkling, and the whole of her just seemed to glow. When they alighted upon a cool marble outcropping, her wings couldn’t seem to stop fluttering behind her, as they were wont to do whenever she was particularly riled up. Caesar couldn’t help but smile even wider. Not only was her excitement contagious, but this would be Suzie’s very first time witnessing a wedding between cupids.

“So how is everything? Have I missed much since I’ve been gone?” Caesar asked as they moved along with the flow of other cupids making their way indoors and up to the second-topmost floor of the building.

“I can’t say that you have,” Suzie remarked. “This wedding seems to be the only thing everyone’s been talking about, especially for the last few weeks.”

“Not surprising,” Caesar said, noting the floral garlands that lined every hall. “Did you manage to see Mark before he had to go get ready? Is he nervous?”

“You’d think he would be, him being so bashful and all, but he said that of everything he’s ever done in his life, mortal or immortal, this has been the thing he’s been most certain of,” Suzie answered with a dreamy sigh.

“That’s love for you,” Caesar stated, a warm feeling blooming within him at the thought.

“Now, what about you?” Suzie inquired as the hall they were following sloped upwards into the next floor. “How has this assignment been going for you? I hope it hasn’t been too troublesome, given that it was so sudden.”

Caesar groaned, even as the magnificence of the hall opened up before him. The second-topmost floor of the cupid headquarters was especially reserved for large events. The walls were nothing but windows, and no matter how many cupids poured in from multiple entrances, they all seemed to fit comfortably. An ambient light with no discernible source filled the room, casting everything in a dusky glow. Flowers and ribbons of all sorts and colors festooned every surface, and cloudy seats were arranged in a circle for all cupids to observe the ceremony from a comfortable vantage point.

“Oh my, that doesn’t sound good at all,” Suzie said as they sat themselves on a cloudy perch that immediately raised itself to an appropriate height to give them a perfect view of the center of the room, which was empty but for Mark, his bride-to-be, and a raised dais upon which an empty seashell throne rested.

“I wouldn’t even know where to begin,” Caesar said exasperatedly. “I have never, in all my years as a field agent, met such an infuriating human!”

“Wasn’t there that one a couple decades back who never said what they meant outright and always had to make things a joke?” Suzie recalled.

“Sure, but after some talking I got them to realize that they couldn’t always hide behind humor if they wanted to make meaningful connections, but this is completely different from that,” Caesar said. “This guy… Every time I think I’ve got him clocked, he switches it up! And then! Just when you think you can’t get a sincere word out of him, he says something that leaves you wondering!”

“Really?”

“Let me tell you, the first time I made contact with him, he approached me, and purposely ran into the table I was sitting at to—” Caesar stopped short, lowering his voice and leaning in to whisper this grave secret to Suzie alone. “—to take my phone so he could put his number in!”

“He didn’t!” Suzie gasped.

“He did!” Caesar assured her. “He had me completely fooled! And do you know, the previous two agents had to have an emergency extraction because he’s just too—too sharp, despite the fact that he’s so incorrigibly stupid!”

“That’s quite the human,” Suzie said, wide eyed and eager to hear more.

“Trust me, I haven’t even begun to tell you the half of it,” Caesar proclaimed before diving into the details of every single encounter he’d had with Joseph in the past two months, from their first meeting, to the insane game of pool, to the rock climbing, to the laser tag, and finally to the phone call that Caesar had received just earlier that day.

“I swear, Suzie, I just don’t know what I’m going to do with him!” Caesar exclaimed with exasperation.

Suzie, who had been an attentive and reactive audience to Caesar’s woeful tale, hid a snort behind her hand.

“What?” Caesar prodded.

“Nothing!” Suzie giggled. “It’s just that—well—it seems like he likes you!”

“What?” Caesar repeated, utterly incredulous.

“I mean, doesn’t he act just like a schoolboy teasing his crush on the playground?” Suzie continued, getting dreamy and romantic all over again.

“You know that’s not how it works,” Caesar said flatly.

“Oh, I know, but wouldn’t it be so romantic!” Suzie fluttered. “I mean, if there are humans who are immune to our arrows—”

“Suzie.”

“—why shouldn’t there be the occasional, one-in-a-million human that could love without an arrow—”

“Suzie.”

“—thus defying the odds and proving their incredible capacity for love—!”

“Suzie!” Caesar snapped.

Suzie jumped in her seat, having been apparently so caught up in romantic reveries that she completely forgot herself. Caesar fixed her with a stern look.

“It’s not possible,” Caesar reminded her. “And even if it was, the last thing we want is a human falling for a cupid, so you shouldn’t even entertain ideas like that.”

Suzie’s wings drooped slightly, but she nodded and let the subject go. Caesar hated to admonish her like that, especially on such a day as this, but it was no good for cupids of any sort to be thinking like that. Sure, it seemed harmless at first, but there was no telling where a mere idea might carry a cupid. Even ideas of love.

Clearing his throat, Caesar changed the subject. “Last time I was here you said you were thinking of applying for field agent training, right? How’s that going?”

“Oh, it’s… not really going anywhere, actually,” Suzie admitted glumly.

“What? Why?!” Caesar exclaimed. “I get that you’re great in forecasting, but they can’t seriously be so strapped for cupids that they would—!”

“It’s not that,” Suzie interrupted. “I submitted my application and they said I’m just not ready for the training yet.”

Caesar frowned and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “If it means anything, I think you’re more than ready. Do you want me to talk to someone and make them see sense?”

“No, you don’t need to do that,” Suzie said, but she did smile—that was good enough for Caesar.

“If you change your mind, just let me know,” Caesar went on. “Readiness is a matter of perspective, and some paper-pusher isn’t going to know who’s ready and who’s not. They’ll regret not training you sooner when you finally get the chance to show them what you’re made of.”

Suzie smiled wider, and opened her mouth to say something else, but at that moment a curious sensation overtook the hall, warm and buzzing, commanding a reverent silence. Caesar and Suzie looked to the center, where the happy couple waited with bated breath before a raised dais, upon which an iridescent seashell throne shimmered. From what he could make out, Caesar could tell that what Suzie had said about Mark was entirely true. Not a single feather was out of place—his wings were serenely folded behind him, confident in the knowledge that he would soon be bound to the love of his immortal life for the rest of time. His bride was similarly confident in her stature, though once in a while her gaze averted from the throne to her groom, a smile evident even from the limited angle Caesar could see her expression.

The air grew heavy as if with perfume, though no sweet scent wafted through. Caesar got the impression of a summer day, of wind carding through tall grasses, of a charming laugh that filled his chest with bubbles just to think about.

Before anyone could so much as blink, the goddess herself appeared, not with a dramatic burst or with a flurry, but as calmly and as suddenly as if she’d been standing there all along and the cupids simply hadn’t noticed. For all they knew, that might be the case. A goddess could do as she pleased, and Aphrodite was well-known for doing just that. Her features were as mysterious and shifting as ever, but Caesar swore that today he could make out long, dark hair cascading over broad shoulders, and the barest hint of a playful smile. She was beauty itself, and yet it still took Caesar by surprise that he found her more beautiful than ever. Beside him, Suzie let out a soft and admiring gasp.

A taut silence hung for an eager moment.

Then, in a voice that was gentle as a lover’s touch yet powerful enough to reach each and every heart of all assembled, the goddess began to speak.

“Never was a cupid more dear to my heart,” the goddess began to intone, just as she had at the last cupid wedding all those years ago. “Than the one with whom I had to part.”

The cupids all bowed their heads in reverent solemnity. Behind him, Caesar could already hear younger cupids asking what that meant, only to be hurriedly shushed. It was difficult to restrain a chuckle at that. He’d done the very same thing at his first cupid wedding.

“But before me are cupids, two, who would by me be bound and to each other be true,” Aphrodite continued with a radiant smile.

“We humbly ask a blessing of you, that our bond be strengthened and born anew,” the couple requested in unison, as was custom.

“To ask a blessing is no small feat, and love’s early graces always seem sweet,” Aphrodite responded, surveying the couple carefully. Though a marriage between cupids was almost guaranteed to get a blessing from their patron goddess, Caesar had heard stories of the rare cupids who were refused a blessing. “Should I give my blessing to a matter of chance?”

“Our love is no mere happenstance,” two voices spoke as one in confident assurance.

Caesar nodded along. The reminder that a true and enduring love was carefully cultivated through hard work was always a welcome one.

“And yet,” Aphrodite said slowly. “What was it if not chance, that created the moment that led to a love so great?”

“That would be the whims of fate,” the two cupids dutifully answered.

“And if the whims of fate should see you part?”

“Then we shall live out eternity with but half a heart.”

It was all familiar rote, a script that every cupid that hoped to one day marry (which was most of them) had memorized by heart. Caesar himself, though he hadn’t thought much of marriage, knew it well, but the last line took him by surprise, as if he’d forgotten it. A sickening question came to mind: what happened to a cupid that committed themselves to such an enduring love that they were doomed to lose?

He pushed the question aside, intent on the remainder of the ceremony. Aphrodite gladly gave her blessing to the couple, who pledged their enduring love not only to each other, but also to Aphrodite herself as the highest offering they could possibly give to her. As a symbol of her blessing, Aphrodite produced a sheer shawl, her very own, which seemed to shimmer with a multitude of colors and light, and draped it over the couple for them to wear for the remainder of the celebration. That done, the newly blessed couple turned to the assembled cupids, and Aphrodite raised her arms aloft. Everything seemed to brighten with the shining eminence of her being.

“Two beings, once mortals ne’er touched by the tender caresses of romance, have now in immortality found solace in each others’ embrace,” Aphrodite declared.

“May their love be as long as their lives!” the cupids cheered in uproarious harmony, Caesar and Suzie included.

The final line of the script, shouted for all of existence to hear, melted into ecstatic applause, shrill whistles and enthusiastic hollers. Suzie was tearing up, and Caesar, grinning so wide that he felt his face might get stuck that way, slung an arm around her shoulders and hugged her close. A shower of flowers rained from the ceiling, and as cupids began to launch into the air from their seats the clouds began to melt away in order to make room for the festivities, the first of which would be dances of all sorts.

Feeling downright bubbly, Caesar spread his own wings and pulled Suzie after him into the air, where they twirled and tumbled with only a little grace at first. They paused to watch the newlyweds take to their air in their own dance, dipping and skipping in perfect harmony, the shawl draped around them somehow never falling from their shoulders, instead fluttering beautifully in their wake, as if they were their own vessel plying a never ending sea of elation.

With a sky that never changed, it was hard to say how long they all swirled through the air like that, forming a vortex of feathers so thick that some cupids eventually elected to dance on their feet. Aphrodite joined in as well, dancing with both the newlyweds at once, and then a few lucky cupids that the goddess deigned worthy to dance with her one on one, sometimes in the air, sometimes on the ground. Eventually though, the dancing did come to a breathless end, and the music, played by some musically inclined cupids along the walls, softened as clouds bloomed from the floor to bring tables laden with all manner of heavenly sweets and drinks.

Caesar, who had parted from Suzie after the first dance, sought her out through the crowds that were now converging around the refreshments, grabbing a drink for himself and her along the way.

“Caesar!” a familiar voice called out that was, unfortunately, not Suzie’s.

Stopping in his tracks and then painstakingly turning around to face the music that was not nearly as pleasant as the kind playing around him, Caesar offered what he hoped was a blissfully ignorant smile as he witnessed Messina marching towards him. He didn’t look happy.

“Enjoying the festivities?” Caesar asked before Messina could so much as open his mouth. “Here, I got you a drink! To love, right?”

Caesar shoved one cup into Messina’s hands and then eagerly downed his own cup. When he’d lapped up the last drop, he found that Messina hadn’t so much as looked at the drink Caesar gave him.

“This assignment doesn’t seem to be going well for you,” Messina began.

“Messina, please, it’s a wedding,” Caesar said, grabbing himself another drink.

“That doesn’t mean our work is done.”

“I know, I’m getting right back to it tomorrow,” Caesar assured him, despite the fact that he knew damn well he wouldn’t be seeing Joseph for at least another week.

“You haven’t even sent in a long term plan,” Messina pointed out. “I had my suspicions, but this must be a really bad case if even you—”

“It’s not that!” Caesar cut in. Messina raised a quizzical eyebrow. “That is—it’s not that he’s bad, more like he requires a different approach.”

“Really,” Messina said skeptically.

Caesar nodded. “In fact, I don’t know that a long-term plan would be appropriate in this case. I think it would be best to just take it day by day.”

“Do you now?”

“Joseph—the subject is pretty capable as far as I’m concerned. Granted, there’s a possibility that he’s been burned in love and can’t seem to let it go, but trust comes with time. If, perhaps, we didn’t barrage him so frequently with opportunities he might—”

“Caesar,” Messina interrupted in a grave tone. “Not every assignment is going to work out perfectly. You’re going to have to accept that you will fail once in a while. However, that does not mean you shouldn’t be putting in your best effort.”

Affronted, Caesar huffed and sputtered, “This is not a failed case! I just told you that Jo—the subject is—!”

“Whatever your reasons, I don’t care to hear them. We’ve done what we’ve always done for a reason: to bring romance and love to humans. While it may be true what you say and the subject simply does need time, you need to put forth every effort to ensure that this is the case. Anything else, and you’ll only be selfishly robbing this person of what may be his last chance for love,” Messina sternly expounded.

Caesar blinked as if he’d been slapped in the face. Messina finally drank the golden liquid from the cup Caesar had given him, and then handed the empty cup to Caesar as he walked away.

“Have fun while you’re here,” Messina advised. “But I expect better from you moving forward.”

The festivities continued for some time around Caesar, who stood there, shell-shocked by the force of Messina’s words. Had he truly been acting selfishly by spending time with Joseph just for the sake of having a break? If anyone was being selfish it was Messina! He’d been the one to force this case on Caesar, he’d been the one so eager to get the file off his desk as quickly as possible! Yet that line of reasoning was not nearly enough to assuage the leaden weight that was settling in the pit of Caesar’s stomach, because regardless of Messina’s own actions, there was no denying the reality of Caesar’s actions.

Caesar had taken a break at the expense of Joseph’s love life. He could have met other people in town, made friends like he did on just about every assignment that gave him even the slightest headache. He should have made reports for every single encounter, should have closely analyzed every word, every movement, slipped in suggestions, pressed important conversations. He should know more, he should have made more progress, not because it was simply his job, but because without Caesar’s most dedicated efforts, Joseph might be doomed to never love again.

Suddenly the festivities seemed duller, muted. The divine food was chalky in his mouth, the drinks too thick and syrupy. Even when Caesar went to offer his formal congratulations to the newly wedded couple (after waiting in an incredibly long line of well-wishers doing the same), he could barely muster up the energy to do more than the bare minimum. Thankfully Mark and his bride were too caught up in the elation of being bound to one another for eternity to notice, and Caesar was able to make a quick getaway. He still had yet to find Suzie, though now he was thinking that that wasn’t the greatest idea. The last thing he wanted to do was bum her out.

At some point Caesar found himself on a balcony, watching cupids who could not be contained by the limits of the grand hall dance wildly through the open air around younger cupids playing games. Despite the number of cupids buzzing around, it was quieter there. The music was softened, the chatter distant. He had hoped that a bit of space would help him gather himself, but it only seemed to make things worse. His thoughts clattered around noisily, ironclad accusations that bruised him from the inside out. He couldn’t stop fidgeting, wings twitching, legs swinging over the edge of the balcony, fingers gripping his own thighs so hard that if he could bruise he would.

“Ugh, I wish they would tell that story before coming to a wedding,” one voice aired as a couple of gossiping cupids meandered out onto the balcony.

“I know, right? You’d think that’d be, like, one of the first things they tell someone when they’re first reborn as a cupid, you know?”

“I mean, I guess they don’t want to kill their enthusiasm right off the bat.”

“But still, who saves such a depressing story for a wedding? Not to mention it’s not like we’re having a wedding every day, so why wait until now to tell the hatchlings that story?”

“Seriously!”

“Have you heard the mortal version of the story?”

“I haven’t! How does it compare?”

“So much more romantic, you wouldn’t believe!”

“Oh, tell me, tell me!”

“Alright, it goes like this: there was a princess who had beauty beyond compare among mortals, who outshined even her own sisters, and her name was Psyche…”

At that, Caesar got up and ducked back into the grand hall, where the food had moved to the sides of the hall in order to make room for all sorts of fun wedding rituals. Some were strictly human rituals that cupids enjoyed imitating, while others had originated as such, but the cupids had changed in order to better entertain them, and others still were solely of cupid origin. Currently Mark and his bride were preparing to toss their own bouquets of flowers. Caesar looked among the eager cupids waiting to catch the flowers, thinking that Suzie would participate in something like this. She was not among them.

The music, much closer as Caesar paced along the fringes of the hall, started to seem shrill, almost discordant to his ears. Laughter punctuated the air, punching at Caesar with every shriek and guffaw. Words floated around him. Conversations overlapped, blending together.

“—he was such a mess, let me tell you—”

Caesar furrowed his brows, trying hard to pull himself together. What was he in such a state for? It wasn’t like this wasn’t something he didn’t already know! He knew from the start that he was Joseph’s last chance. So why was he so bothered by this harsh reminder?

“—the paperwork is going to be a disaster—”

Part of him knew why. The rest of him knew not to entertain that knowledge. Admission was a crucial part of making thoughts more concrete.

“—but Psyche was decidedly mortal, and Eros was not—”

Finally, Caesar spotted a flash of blonde hair with roses artfully arranged in it. He opened his mouth, ready to call out to Suzie, but then took notice of who she happened to be in deep conversation with, who took notice of him in turn.

Aphrodite turned her gaze towards Caesar, and though she was a ways away, there was no mistaking her expression, the look in her eyes as they locked with his. There was no doubt in the sudden jolt that tore through Caesar that went deeper than his outward form, something that touched his very soul in that place where he kept secrets even from himself. Above all, there was no denying the color of weathered copper he saw in those eyes, usually so indistinct, so indescribable.

Caesar took no pride in what he did then.

He fled. One kind of reason told him there was no fleeing a goddess, especially when she already knew what did not dare say to himself. Another sort of reason, harried and panicked, desperate for a return to normalcy, suggested that if he did his job correctly, and if he went to do it as soon as possible, then perhaps he could be forgiven for this dire transgression that was blooming within him against his will.

Despite his panic, he had the sense to not leave directly from the celebration hall itself. He half-flew down flights and flights of stairs, the lights growing dimmer with every floor he descended. Down and down he went, still feeling raw and utterly exposed as if the goddess had reached into him with her hands and pried him open for every cupid to see, dissecting him like some sick lesson for all the cupids in attendance. “This,” he could almost hear her saying. “Is precisely what we advise against.”

So caught up in his thoughts had he been that Caesar didn’t realize he’d reached the bottom floor until he could find no more stairs. There wasn’t even an exit to the rest of the realm, making it more like a basement than a proper floor. Caesar shivered. The stagnant air held none of the comforting sweetness the rest of the building did. So far removed from the rest of the cupids, the silence seemed to press in all around Caesar, crowding around him and offering to silence the rampant thoughts in his head. The notion was unnerving.

No wonder some cupids suggested that the black ops were moved closer to the rest of the operation. Caesar turned to leave, as he’d originally intended, but not before another cupid appeared. They peered curiously at Caesar.

“Can I help you?” they asked in a flat tone barely touched by their supposed intrigue.

They were just like any other cupid—of course they were—but for subtle differences. Their wings, large and strong, the kind that could cut through storm winds if needed, seemed to droop ever so slightly, and their feathers seemed to be in a perpetual state of disarray. There were bags under their eyes, as if they did not sleep, a slouch to their shoulders, a general dimness to their being that was so contrary to a cupid’s being. Most unnerving of all, however, was the absence of a cupid’s mark upon their skin.

“Sorry, I—” Caesar cleared his throat. “I—I got caught up in my thoughts as I was taking the stairs down and just… kept going.”

The cupid nodded, adjusting a quiver of arrows that hung by their side. “That’s how it usually happens.”

Caesar did not linger to chat more. He hurried up the stairs and flung himself out of the nearest door he could find. The chill of the black ops seemed to follow like icy tendrils, reaching and grasping as if to pull him back. But he wouldn’t go. He refused. He plied his wings through the air and hurled himself towards the cloud layer that formed a cottony ground layer of the cupid realm. Clouds sped past, and then parted to drop him in the midst of a dreary evening sky.

By the time Caesar made it to his apartment he was shivering, and the window he’d left open made the entire place just as chilly as the outside. He slammed it shut and pulled down the blinds with such force that he almost ripped them down. In the silence of his apartment, with only the gentle patter of the rain against the window, Caesar’s mind ran in circles. He didn’t need quiet or space. He needed a distraction.

With that in mind Caesar shook out errant rainwater from his wings and then put them away, promptly stripping his damp cupid-wear and exchanging it for clothing that said, “Hey, I’ve just come back from a wedding!” Slacks, nice shoes, and a dress shirt, but no jacket, no bow tie. Before trudging back out into the glum weather, Caesar checked his phone, finding with an unwanted twinge of disappointment that there were no messages waiting for him, irritating or otherwise.

It didn’t matter, Caesar decided as he shoved the phone and his wallet in his pockets and stepped out into the late spring drizzle. It didn’t matter if he ended up by himself in a dingy bar drinking things that tasted foul and couldn’t even get him drunk. It didn’t matter if he chatted up people whose faces he wouldn’t remember in the morning. All he had was a chance. A hopeful notion of the whims of fate.

By the time Caesar arrived at the bar where the lights were dim and the carpet thin, his shirt was sticking uncomfortably to his skin, his hair dripping heavy drops of water against his face. His eyes went straight to the pool tables. All in use, but not by any familiar faces.

“Outdoor wedding, huh?” someone asked, the low voice already crowding into Caesar’s personal space.

Caesar turned, fighting the smile that toyed at the corners of his mouth. “No, actually, I just happen to be dripping with good looks.”

Joseph rolled his eyes. “Even you have to admit that was cheesy as hell.”

“Am I wrong?”

“Yes, you look like a— like a—” Joseph floundered, the quirk of his pouting lips telling Caesar he’d lost this round. He threw his hands up in the air with a strangled noise of frustration. “Whatever. What are you doing here?”

“The wedding was shorter than I expected, so I thought I’d swing by and kick your ass at pool again, just to make sure you don’t get any delusions of grandeur while you’re away,” Caesar taunted.

“Oh, it’s on!” Joseph declared. “Except that all the pool tables are taken. How do you feel about darts?”

Caesar smirked. “You could say I feel pretty confident.”

“More like cocky.”

As they made their way over to the dartboards, grabbing a couple cheap drinks along the way, Caesar felt a sort of peace. His duty to Joseph loomed large in the back of his mind, and even then Caesar was already formulating altered versions of the ceremony to share with Joseph, so as to spark some sort of relevant conversation. As they began to play, however, Caesar couldn’t help but just be in that moment, exchanging snarky remarks with Joseph, showing off tricks he’d learned over the years, laughing his ass off when Joseph, who was becoming increasingly drunk, missed so badly he got a bullseye on the neighboring board. There was no helping that peace that overcame him, just as much as there was no helping gravity itself. It was a peace that almost felt like falling.

Chapter Text

Io t’amero, se vuoi, come la stella che s’ammira da lungi.

I will love you like the stars admired from afar.

Five days had passed since the wedding, and as the mild spring air warmed and warned of the impending summer, Caesar realized he needed to get a life. He still felt shell-shocked, if he was honest, as if the goddess’s terrifyingly knowing eyes were still upon him with every meandering step he took down the road. It wasn’t entirely out of the question, which was why Caesar was glad that Joseph was gone for a couple more days yet. At the same time though, with Joseph gone, Caesar found little to occupy his time.

That was not to say it was for a lack of trying. Caesar had gone socializing at several bars, only to find encounters with new and interesting people lacking in a certain sort of excitement, or challenge. There had been a woman just the night before, a very pretty brunette with a marked attraction to him. She had been far from vapid or boring—she was adventurous, quick-witted, and energetic, and made Caesar laugh all through their acquaintance. When she offered her number in exchange for his, however, Caesar declined. 

He scowled as a refreshing breeze swept past him. Everything—his inability to do his job correctly, his disinterest in that woman and frankly anyone else he’d met the last few days—was Joseph’s fault. It was Joseph’s fault that everything had to be a challenge to be won, his fault for somehow being the most engaging human to cross Caesar’s path, his fault for sparking an enthusiasm in Caesar that Caesar himself hadn’t been craving.

Or so Caesar wanted to say.

Had not the eyes of Aphrodite pierced through his heart and left it open to its own stinging truth like a raw wound, he might have still said it. As it was, such a thing could no longer be denied, only avoided like something he could only see out of the corner of his eyes. If he kept his vision fixed straight ahead, he might be able to forget his feelings were there—until Joseph returned. What would he do with his feelings then?

“Hey, Caesar!” a familiar voice called.

Caesar stopped abruptly, looking up from what must have looked like a very intense study of the sidewalk, and saw Smokey waving as he trotted up to him.

“Hey,” Caesar greeted with a courteous smile.

“Where’ve you been? I haven’t seen you around lately—not holed up in your apartment waiting for Jojo to come back, I hope?” Smokey teased without delay.

Caesar rolled his eyes indignantly, crossing his arms as he huffed, “For him? As if.”

“So what brings you to the library? Or are you just passing by?” Smokey inquired.

Looking up, Caesar found that he had indeed wandered to the front doors of the public library. It was no wonder he’d almost passed it by without a second thought—it was no more than a box building sandwiched between a dreary looking cafe and a shabby looking gift shop.

Seeming to sense Caesar’s lackluster impression of the library, Smokey said, “I know it’s not much, but it’s actually grown a lot in the last couple years!”

“Yeah?”

“I mean it, a few years ago there were half as many books here as there are now, and kids never came around. Now there’s an after-school reading program—which, by the way, I’m a volunteer for and which is always looking for more adult volunteers,” Smokey explained with a pointed look.

Caesar snorted. “You wouldn’t want me reading to kids, trust me.”

“Aw, come on, you’ve got a great voice that’s nice to listen to, a nice smile—”

“Are you trying to get me to volunteer or go on a date?”

“Volunteer—even if you weren’t hung up on Jojo you’re not my type.”

Caesar made an effort to not frown outright. “If I volunteer, will you stop saying I’m into him?”

“Does it bother you that much?” Smokey asked, raising his eyebrows.

Before Caesar could answer, a third person barged into their conversation quite unexpectedly, grabbing Smokey around his waist in a fierce hug.

“Smokey!” Keeva shrieked in gleeful greeting. Then, noticing Caesar, she looked up with a bright smile and said, “Hi, Caesar.”

“Hey there,” Caesar replied, smiling a bit more genuinely this time.

“Smokey, what are we reading today?” she asked, turning back to Smokey.

“Well, we’re starting with another story from Tailing Fairies—”

“Boo!” Keeva objected.

“We have to read something for the little kids, too, you know!” Smokey laughed.

“So what are we reading for the big kids?”

“I was thinking a few chapters from My Grandma is a Time-Traveler?”

In response, Keeva blew a loud raspberry.

“Alright then, what do you think we should read?” Smokey asked bemusedly, resting his hands on his hips.

“I’m glad you asked!” Keeva said, shrugging off her sparkly pink and purple backpack to pull out a book. “We should read from this!”

Caesar, thus far left out of the conversation, leaned over to peek at what Keeva had chosen, and almost chuckled—the book was Greek Myths: A Kid’s Companion. Human versions of the tales always got things wrong, and versions for kids were even more watered down, but it was fun, sometimes, to read the many different variations of the same story.

“What do you think, Caesar?” Smokey prompted, noticing Caesar’s attention. “You think this book is up to par?”

“What are you asking me for? Aren’t you the one in charge?” Caesar deflected.

Smokey shrugged. “Not so much in charge as much as the only volunteer for the program. That’s why I was hoping I could convince you to volunteer.”

“Caesar, are you going to read to us today?!” Keeva inquired with excitement.

“Oh, no,” Caesar answered with a firm shake of his head. “I don’t think reading to kids is really for me—”

“It’s okay to be nervous!” Keeva cut in, taking his hand and leading him into the library, a cackling Smokey following close behind. “Today I had a presentation in class for a book report, and I was nervous before, but then Mama said to practice with her, and then I wasn’t nervous when I presented for my teacher and class!”

“So what you’re saying is Caesar should practice by reading a story to you,” Smokey suggested, quite unhelpfully.

“Exactly!” Keeva agreed. She grabbed the book from Smokey’s hands, opened it up to a scrap of paper that served as a bookmark, and then held the book for Caesar to see the story she had chosen. “You can read this one.”

The Fates, Caesar decided at that moment, definitely had their crafty hands in this, for there was no other way—no way it was mere coincidence—that Caesar would be placed in a situation in which he had to read the human variation of the myth of Eros and Psyche.

“This one?” Caesar asked even as he gingerly took the book from Keeva.

“We shouldn’t make him read if he doesn’t want to, Keeva,” Smokey suddenly piped up in his defense. “He might have work he needs to get to.”

Caesar’s face must have truly been grim for Smokey to change his tune so quickly. Unfortunately, it was not so easy to say no to a wide-eyed child. Before the corners of Keeva’s wide smile could so much as twitch downwards, Caesar shook his head.

“No, it’s fine. She’s right, practice makes perfect.”

Smokey looked at Caesar, seeming to assess how able he was to do this, and then checked his watch. “Just don’t take too long, the other kids should be showing up here in about twenty minutes.”

“Right,” Caesar acknowledged. Then, without further delay, he began to read aloud, “There was once a mortal princess who was said to possess many admirable qualities—she was kind, clever, and strong, but what she was admired for above all else was her radiant beauty.”

Even as he felt the words on the page take shape upon his tongue, the story he’d been told as a young cupid rose unbidden in his mind, a cruel reminder that human fantasies were idealistic at best. No more possible than humans sprouting wings and flying alongside cupids. There had indeed been a mortal woman that the story began with, but she had not been hailed as being especially beautiful or kind or clever. Perhaps most crucially though, she had not been a princess, and so did not have throngs of people wishing to please her with praise.

“The princess was named Psyche, and her beauty was so incredible that everyone who gazed upon her proclaimed that she was fairer than Aphrodite herself.”

In fact, because Psyche had not been a princess, no such claims had been made. Even if they had been, the goddess was above such trivial claims and certainly not prone to fits of rampant jealousy. Part of beauty was confidence, and as a goddess, Aphrodite had an endless well of it.

“This angered the goddess of love and beauty so much that she ordered her son, Eros, to shoot Psyche with one of his arrows to make her fall in love with the most fearsome creature he could possibly find.”

There had indeed been a terrifying monster involved, but the monster had nothing to do with Psyche. The creature was one born of the primordial Chaos that preceded even the Titans, a vicious monster so ancient that its name had been forgotten by the time this story took place. Eros, on a mission that would have originally taken him far from Psyche, happened upon this creature, and, being a young god unfamiliar with the threat it posed, was grievously injured by it. He needed help, but in such an isolated place as he found himself in, Eros feared there was no help to be found.

“Eros came upon Psyche by herself in one of the gardens of the grand palace she resided in. Psyche’s incredible beauty was evident to the young god of love, such that he forgot himself, and accidentally pricked himself with his own arrow and fell hopelessly in love with the mortal princess.”

It just so happened that help was not as far as feared. The mortal, non-princess Psyche was passing through the thickly wooded forest with a bundle of wood on her back that was to warm her through the coming winter. She found Eros in a terrible state, and, thinking nothing of the weariness in her bones or the burden she already bore, she managed to hoist Eros up and help him to her home, where she hoped he could recover in some comfort.

“Now that he was in love with Psyche, Eros couldn’t bring himself to make her fall in love with anyone but himself. But to ignore his mother’s wishes would garner severe consequences, and so Eros hatched a plan to take Psyche as his bride while keeping his identity secret. If he took her out of the public eye, he reasoned, she could no longer be admired for her wondrous beauty, and his mother, surely, would be sated.”

Psyche, Eros found, was quite an unusual mortal. Or at least, she was not what he expected. He might have been the god of love, tasked with ensuring romantic relations between mortals, but he saw them as petty, self-interested creatures to whom love was a means to an end. To some, love was the way to secure a lineage with sons; to others, it was a safe, comfortable life, free from care. Psyche, however, did not meet these imposed expectations. She asked nothing of Eros even though he was imposing heavily on her modest means. Indeed, the roof of her home leaked and the windows rattled, yet she gave him the shelter it offered, and the creaky, worn bed was reserved for Eros as he recovered while she took her rest on the dusty floor. Through all this, she didn’t so much as ask for his name.

“The princess, meanwhile, felt a troublesome loneliness. Being a princess, it was expected that she would one day marry, but she did not want to be trapped in a cold, loveless marriage. Thus Psyche sought out the Oracle in hopes of quelling her fears. The Oracle informed her that she would be the bride of a creature that had a fearful command over the gods themselves, but assured Psyche that she would be well loved. This was enough for the hopeful princess.”

As Eros recovered, he thought that such an exceptional human as Psyche should be granted a great boon. One day, when a chill wind was starting to seep through the thin walls, Eros sat up from the bed and asked Psyche what her greatest desire in the world was. Psyche did not even look up from her weaving as she told him that she desired nothing more in the world than for someone to talk to as she did her chores.

“The Oracle then gave instructions to Psyche and her disappointed family that she should wait upon a perilous, isolated cliff, and from there she would be collected and delivered to her husband to be. Before too long, the west wind, Zephyr, appeared before Psyche and swept her away to a palace far grander than that her family resided in. The palace was attended to by invisible servants, and though she heard the voice of her new husband speak to her the moment she arrived, she could not see him. He explained that, for reasons he could not share, he must remain hidden to her. He assured her that her every need would be tended to, and that she could speak to him on any topic, ask anything of him—except to see him in the light.”

So astounded was Eros by Psyche’s answer that he asked further questions—for instance, did she want a husband? She answered that no, what she wanted wasn’t necessarily a husband, but if a husband was someone who would keep her company through the winter and the summer, through fair and foul, through the spectacular and the mundane, then, she relented, a husband would do. She added to this that, as it was, many men didn’t find her to be a suitable wife, and so it was more reasonable for her to simply hope for a loving friend. Eros resolved then and there that as the god of love, he would secure for her a husband that would love her as she deserved.

“Psyche’s new husband was true to his word. The princess was well cared for, and was offered luxuries in abundance that were rare even for a mortal princess. Most to her joy, however, was the lively companion that she found in her husband. Though she was never permitted to look upon him in the light, she was happy with him, the loneliness she once felt as intimately as a lover’s touch seemingly banished for good. Indeed, she might have been content to carry on with the way things were had not her sisters come to pay her a visit.”

By the time Eros was fully healed, winter had well and truly arrived. He had every intention of finding a good husband for the kind and selfless Psyche, but he thought that to leave her when her need was great would be a grave insult to her hospitality. Surely, he thought, it would be best to help her through the winter, hunt for her, help her repair her run down home, and then leave with the winter to find her a love that would bloom as vivaciously as the spring.

“Psyche’s sisters were jealous and petty, and had always felt slighted when Psyche had praise heaped upon her while they were ignored. In truth they had come in hopes of seeing their sister miserable, brought low by a marriage to what was supposed to be a fearsome creature. Instead they found her thriving in comfort, and happier than ever. Their long-held jealousy was then stoked into malice.”

When Eros suggested that he stay with Psyche for a spell in order to repay her hospitality, she was happy to have his help and company, but for the first time asked for his name and from whence he had come. Fearing that their blossoming friendship would change into something cold and distant if she knew his true identity, Eros pleaded that he remain anonymous for the time being. He would, he promised, tell her of his identity upon his departure. Psyche amiably agreed to this, wondering only what she might call him in the meantime if not by his name.

Though Eros had been the one to ask to remain anonymous, he could not help but become concerned with Psyche’s carefree attitude. Was she not worried, he inquired, that he might take advantage of her, rob her blind, leave her with even less to her name than she already had? Psyche laughed a laugh that could thaw the ice just outside. In all the time that he had stayed with her, Psyche said, he had been nothing but kind and grateful. Those sort of qualities did not come without a measure of practice.

“When Psyche’s sisters learned by chance that she had never looked upon her husband’s face, they twisted it into something fearful and wretched. What if, they suggested, her true husband’s entourage had been intercepted by some pretender? What if, instead of her husband, the creature lurking in the shadows was a treacherous beast waiting for the perfect moment to devour her whole? The more they talked, the more fearful Psyche became, until finally she was swayed to betray her husband’s one request.”

Taken aback by how knowing Psyche seemed to be, Eros resolved to know her more. Over the winter, he began to piece together the puzzle that was Psyche: she had lived alone for some years. Her parents had passed, and her sisters were married. She had fancied herself in love a few times, but apparently the men she fell for never felt the same. She was strong from long days of toil, but didn’t mind the work. She was skilled with her hands, and generous with the things she crafted. Though she was content with the life she led, she admitted that she would enjoy seeing far-off places, perhaps with someone with the same sense of wonder as herself. Overall, she was not an especially extraordinary human, but Eros found himself craving more all the same.

“That night, Psyche crept into her husband’s bedroom while he slept, with a candle held aloft in one hand and a dagger clutched in the other. The candle’s flame was dim and offered very little in the way of light, but when Psyche came up to the bedside and let the light fall upon her husband, the room seemed to fill with a divine glow. For here was a being that was a far cry from a hideous monster. His very visage seemed to take the light and add to it a radiance that was nothing short of mystical. Psyche’s husband was no beast—he was a god!”

The winter winds were frigid and biting, but with deft and divine hands Eros helped keep the inside of Psyche’s humble home warm and dry. He hunted what wild game could be found, and Psyche made for him a woolen coat to keep him warm, unknowing that the cold could not prick him as it did her—it warmed Eros nonetheless. Together they often made the long walk to the nearest village, talking about whatever came to mind most of the time, and spending the rest in a companionable silence that Eros never thought possible. He wanted to call it love, but the love he knew was a passionate, fiery thing—nothing like the quiet crunch of footsteps in the snow. Whatever it was, he did not yet name it. Indeed, he was too taken with that pastoral way of life to do much other than live it, and so was rudely shocked when he noticed the first verdant buds of the coming spring.

“Psyche was so struck by her husband’s divine beauty that she accidentally stumbled into a quiver of arrows and pricked herself with one—the very arrows Eros used in his godly job of making people fall in love with each other. Startled, the hand holding the candle jerked, and hot wax spilled forth. A few drops of the scorching liquid fell upon the god’s flawless being, and he awoke with a pained cry. That was nothing, however, compared to the anguish he felt when he saw his own wife not only in the midst of betraying the one thing he’d asked her not to do, but doing so with a knife in hand. Utterly heartbroken, Eros fled before Psyche could utter a word in her defense.”

With a heavy heart that perplexed him, Eros told Psyche that it was time for him to depart her gracious hospitality. As promised, he revealed to her that he was none other than the god Eros, and that her generosity would not go unrewarded. Rather than be awed, or ecstatic to be granted a boon from a god, Psyche seemed unrelentingly sad. She thanked Eros politely, and even said that, though she would never refuse a gift from a god, his company had been gift enough. She also asked, returning to her frank manner that she normally used with him, if he might visit her again. Eros was more than happy to grant this boon to her, in addition to the one he had already resolved to give her.

“Now utterly alone, Psyche lamented her actions. She swore that she would do anything to regain her husband’s trust, and, as it happened, her oath was heard by none other than Aphrodite, who was more than happy to have good reason to torment Psyche. Aphrodite offered Psyche a deal. If she could complete a series of tasks crafted by the goddess herself, she would be given the chance to see her husband again. Whether or not he accepted any apology of hers was up to him, but Psyche was more than willing to simply have the chance. She accepted the bargain without a second thought.”

Being a god, Eros had responsibilities on the earth, namely to stoke romance in the hearts of humans. As he went about his divine duty with an air softened by his time with Psyche, he carefully considered some among the mortals as potential partners for her. First he considered for her a king, who would shower her with riches and ensure that she lived in comfort for the rest of her days. But, Eros decided, a king would not suit Psyche at all, for a king was busy running a kingdom, and what Psyche wanted most was someone to keep her company. Though she was undoubtedly a queen among mortals, to be a queen would surely make her lonely. He moved on.

“The first task Aphrodite gave to Psyche was to sort a variety of grains from a large pile in a single night. The individual grains were miniscule, and the heap massive. There was no way Psyche would be able to perfectly sort them within a single night. Struck with intense despair, Psyche began to weep, and her bittersweet tears attracted a colony of ants. Taking pity on the desolate princess, the ants aided her, and by morning all the grains had been perfectly sorted.”

After some time, reminded by the falling snow, Eros realized he ought to pay a visit to Psyche again, though he had no husband to give her. He was surprised to find a few extra lines upon Psyche’s face, but delighted that she was otherwise unchanged. She, too, was overjoyed to see him once more. He remarked that he had not realized how much time had passed, and Psyche, ever-wise, said that time likely passed differently between humans and gods. After all, gods were immortal—there was not an end to their lives. Hastened by this reminder of mortality, Eros cut his visit short, and once again set out to find the perfect husband for Psyche so that she might still enjoy a long life of love.

“Angered though she was by Psyche’s success, Aphrodite was certain that the second task would ensure the princess’s failure. There was a flock of sheep with fleece like sunshine, and Aphrodite told Psyche she must collect some over the course of a day. The task seemed suspiciously simple, and indeed before Psyche got too close to the sheep a kindly river nymph advised her that the sheep, though beautiful, were ravenously carnivorous, and would devour her if she got too close. The nymph then recommended that if Psyche was in need of their fleece, she ought to collect it from the nearby bushes, where clumps of wool had been caught in the gnarled branches. By the time the sun set, Psyche had collected armfuls of fleece, and Aphrodite was once again enraged.”

Eros next considered a minor nobleman as a potential husband for Psyche. Though he owned land, it was not especially extensive, and so would not be kept too busy with administrative duties. After some consideration, however, it was clear that this man would also be ill-suited to Psyche as a partner, as he detested hard work, instead preferring to laze about and feast for no occasion. No, Eros decided, this man could not be Psyche’s husband.

“For her third task, Aphrodite gave Psyche a golden goblet and instructed her to fill it with water from the river Styx. Psyche made the perilous journey down to the Underworld, only to find that the shores that were not crowded with shades of the dead were steep, unforgiving cliffs, and in the waters were fearsome, slithering dragons threatening to snap up anyone who dared enter the waters by means other than that of the ferryman. Before Psyche could give in to melancholy, however, a beautiful eagle with shining feathers swooped down and perched upon her offered arm. She knew at once that the eagle was a gift from Zeus, and so did not resist when the eagle took the cup from her and flew swiftly down to the river. It deftly avoided the dragons, which began to snarl and hiss and claw at the eagle the instant it came close. With divinely given agility though, the eagle avoided them all and returned to Psyche with the goblet, filled to the brim with the river’s water.”

More time had passed when Eros next visited Psyche, more than he had expected. Try as he did, he could not comprehend the scale of time that a human experienced. The lines on Psyche’s face were deeper, and there were more of them. For the most part she moved with the same energy as before, although she made the occasional complaint of aching joints. Psyche eagerly welcomed Eros back into her home while he apologized for being so late. She admitted that she would like to see him more often, but assured him that she was happy to see him at all. He stayed half the season, reveling in the muffled quiet of winter, the slow pace of the snow’s fall, and the familiarity of Psyche’s presence, but soon enough had to leave once more. This time, Eros was determined that when he next returned, it would be with a husband for Psyche.

“For her fourth and final task, Psyche was given a box, and instructed to delve deeper into the Underworld, take a portion of Persephone’s beauty, and return it to Aphrodite. Bolstered by the successes of the previous tasks, Psyche strode confidently into the Underworld, and greeted its queen with all due reverence. She informed Persephone of the task she had been given, and begged her help in accomplishing it. Persephone seemingly obliged, but in truth had laid a trap for Aphrodite within the box. She did not tell Psyche of the ruse before sending her on her way.”

The third man that Eros considered for Psyche was the most humble thus far, a miller from the next village over. Here was a hard-working man, and jovial too. He was well-liked by those around him, never speaking a harsh word to anyone. In fact, Eros reasoned, he was probably a bit of a pushover; he was just that kind. Certainly Psyche deserved kindness, but she also deserved someone with a measure of resolve. And so he moved on to another man, then another, and yet another—this one chewed his nails, this one snored too loudly, this one talked too much. On and on until Eros realized that it had probably been far too long since he last visited Psyche.

“While Psyche made her way back from the Underworld, she was unaware that Eros had long since forgiven her, and was prevented only by his mother from returning to her side. He had witnessed all the harrowing tasks she had to undertake, and was all the more in love with her for the devotion she demonstrated for the mere chance to see him again. Certain that his mother’s vanity would never allow her to admit defeat to a mortal, Eros hatched an escape plan.”

Though he was once again without a husband to offer her, Eros returned to Psyche, and found her much changed. Her hair was shot through with white, she moved slower, and often had to rest. Eros apologized profusely, but for the first time Psyche’s disappointment was not lifted by mere words. He admitted to her then that he’d only been trying to find a suitable husband for her, that she might have someone to care for her and love her and keep her company, to no avail. Psyche sat with her wrinkled hands clasped in her lap, and admitted that she knew why Eros could not find a husband for her.

When she had first found him in that egregious state of injury he’d been in, and struggled to carry him home, he had accidentally pricked herself with one of his arrows and fallen for him at once. She hadn’t connected the dots until he’d revealed his identity, but insisted that, more than the initial infatuation that inflamed her, it was the time they spent together that cemented his place in her heart, the practice in loving him that made it impossible for her to love anyone else.

All this she spoke so softly that Eros could almost hear the snow falling outside. Psyche apologized for not having admitted her feelings sooner, but Eros knelt before her and took her hands in his, saying that there was no need for apology. There was nothing to forgive.

“Meanwhile Psyche, confident that she was successful in this final task, realized that she was in a dreadful, unkempt state. There was no telling if she would have time to freshen up before seeing her husband again, and decided that if she opened the box, just a little bit, she could receive a fraction of the beauty Persephone was supposed to have put in the box, and greet her husband with confidence. She pried open the lid a mere hair’s width, but what burst forth was the furthest thing from radiant beauty. Instead Psyche was met with dreadful, deathly forces that would have been a mere nuisance to a goddess. To a moral like Psyche, however, they spelled death.”

Though Psyche was often straightforward and frank in her manner, she was suddenly shy when she asked if Eros loved her in return. It didn’t feel the way he thought it would, but Eros knew at once that the unnamed feeling he harbored for Psyche had indeed been love all along and told her so at once. Not once had he felt the sting of his own arrows, but, being the god of love, it was the most natural thing in the world for him to love, and be loved, no matter the way it was done. He realized now he could not see himself loving anyone other than Psyche, and so when she asked that he remain by her side for the remainder of her life, he readily obliged.

“Just before the dreadful decimation took Psyche entirely, however, Eros flew to her side, having finally managed to escape. He begged a boon of Zeus, who granted Psyche to partake of heavenly ambrosia. The moment the golden draught touched her lips, Psyche was not only rescued from the brink of death, but was also made immortal so that she might remain by her husband’s side forever.”

Though Psyche lived for some thirty more years, the time was like the passing of a few weeks to the immortal Eros, who realized too late the love he had held all along for this mortal woman. She passed as quietly as the winter turning to spring, and though the sun shone down upon the now empty home, it felt cold for the first time. Eros was distraught, utterly heartbroken, and so paralyzed with grief that he could not bring himself to leave the home in which his love had lived out her lonely life. Aphrodite tried to console him, fearful for his existence, but it was too late—the god of love had a broken heart. It was the antithesis of everything Eros was meant to represent, and as his faith in the strength of love—which could not overcome the bitterness of mortality— faded, so too, did he. The god of love was no more.

“And, hand in immortal hand, Eros and Psyche lived happily ever after,” Caesar finished, feeling as though his insides had been hollowed out.

“The end,” Keeva tacked on, giving Caesar a strange look. Smokey, too, was looking at him oddly.

“What?” Caesar asked.

“Somehow you made that story sound sad,” Smokey answered slowly. “Like, it’s a happy story but it just sounds sad—are you okay?”

“Of course I’m okay—I just read the words on the page—” Caesar fumbled. “But, see, that’s why I wouldn’t make a good volunteer for this program! Anyways, I have to go, I just remembered there’s an important deadline I have to meet, sorry.”

“See you, Caesar!” Smokey called after him while Keeva waved goodbye.

Caesar felt sick to his stomach. The human version of the story was so unlike the truth that it was a different story entirely—he should have been able to read it like any other story, ignore the unpleasant reality that was the real and tragic end of Eros and Psyche, but he couldn’t. Not because he feared for himself if he were to experience the anguish of a broken heart, no. He was divine, but not a god. A broken heart would not wipe him from existence, but it would destroy him in another, perhaps crueler way, a way he could never articulate because he’d never had a broken heart.

All he knew of the experience was what he saw in the empty eyes of the black ops cupids.

Yet even that was not what twisted Caesar’s heart the most. No, most of all his heart ached for poor Psyche, who lived a lonely mortal life because Eros did his job in one way only, rather than considering other options. Certainly the moment Eros fell for Psyche he was doomed, but Psyche, dear, loving Psyche had been condemned to a life of waiting and wanting, loving from afar instead of hand in hand. If only Eros had realized from the first, if only he had stayed, if only he’d steered her affections elsewhere, if only, if only, if only…

Caesar grimaced, hurrying back to the apartment with sudden fervor. Being a field agent meant ensuring the successful love life of the subject at hand, no matter what. This was no time to have qualms over methods, or even reservations about his own feelings. What mattered was Joseph. If Caesar didn’t do everything in his power to give Joseph a life full of love, he would regret it for eternity.

He burst through the door in a flurry, almost forgetting to close it on his way in. Flipping open the laptop, he began to type, laying out a detailed and well-thought out plan so effortlessly it was as if it had been lingering under the surface of his consciousness all along, lying in wait for the moment Caesar decided to throw his own heart to the wind and do what was necessary.

When he finally finished, he found himself looking at several pages of a pristine long-term plan worthy of a cupid of his standing. His heart fluttered and ached all at once, still reluctant about the plan but eager to carry it out, for more than just the sake of getting the job done. He sent it to Messina before he could change his mind, and within an hour, received a response: the plan was a go. All that was left was to set it into motion.

Caesar pulled out his phone and tapped out a message to Joseph that would undoubtedly seem out of the blue, a question that might have been better asked in person but one that would get harder to ask the more it was sat on. When the message was sent, he dropped onto the couch, feeling utterly drained but resolute in the plan. It was just what Joseph needed, for as far as Caesar was concerned, the only thing Joseph lacked in romance was dedicated, guided practice. No cupid was more qualified to give him that practice than Caesar himself.

Chapter Text

Io mi farò sentire da vicino, conoscerai la tenerezza del mio amore.

And make thee feel the tenderness of my love for thee.

Caesar Zeppeli, 4:39PM: How would you feel about dinner when you get back?

The moment he hit send, Caesar wished he’d typed something clearer, or at least more suave. They’d already done the “dinner date” several times over, just without the premise of it being a date. He considered sending a second text for a brief instant, but resolved to stay the course he’d set himself on.

Joseph Joestar, 4:46PM: sure hope I get to have dinner when I get home

Joseph Joestar, 4:46PM: unless you mean with you

Joseph Joestar, 4:47PM: in which case only if you’re feeding me ;)

Caesar grimaced.

Caesar Zeppeli, 4:48PM: Starve.

Joseph Joestar, 4:51PM: aww, c’mon, don’t be like that Caesarino

Joseph Joestar, 4:51PM: I’ll feed you too

Joseph Joestar, 4:51PM: jk jk jk

Joseph Joestar, 4:52PM: what did you have in mind??

With a sigh that sat somewhere between resigned and relieved, Caesar suggested a restaurant that was on the nicer side. Not the sort of place someone would casually swing by with a bro after his shift at the comic book store.

Joseph Joestar, 4:56PM: woof, pretty romantic place, you trying to seduce me or something???

Absolutely not , Caesar impulsively texted back even as a slew of scenarios fought each other for dominance at the forefront of his brain. Then, not wanting Joseph to think this wasn’t a date after all, Caesar added, That is, I prefer to wait ‘til at least the third date before seducing anyone.

So much for not double texting.

Joseph Joestar, 5:01PM: wait… does that mean that this is a date??????

Joseph Joestar, 5:01PM: I can’t believe you’ve done this

A flash of dread crossed Caesar’s mind before Joseph’s next text came as quickly as if his responses were already typed out.

Joseph Joestar, 5:01PM: do you realize how much fucking money I owe Smokey now???

Joseph Joestar, 5:01PM: I bet him you wouldn’t have the balls to ask me out before the end of the summer

Joseph Joestar, 5:02PM: he bet that you’d ask before summer was halfway over

Joseph Joestar, 5:02PM: hey can we pretend you didn’t ask me out

Joseph Joestar, 5:02PM: I’ll split the winnings with you

Caesar snorted.

Caesar Zeppeli, 5:02PM: No, I prefer to have you literally pay for underestimating me.

Joseph Joestar, 5:03PM: fine, but you’re paying for dinner

Caesar Zeppeli, 5:03PM: That’s how dates usually work, moron.

Joseph Joestar, 5:04PM: WOW really feeling the romance here

Caesar Zeppeli, 5:04PM: Are you saying you want me to romance you? I'd say seduce, but I don't think you're ready for that.

Joseph Joestar, 5:05PM: fuck off, as if you could

Unable to help himself, Caesar grinned.

Caesar Zeppeli, 5:05PM: wanna bet on that?

Joseph Joestar, 5:05PM: I’m listening

Caesar Zeppeli, 5:06PM: If I can’t seduce you in the space of a single date then I’ll tell Smokey I didn’t ask you out and you can collect and keep all the winnings.

Joseph Joestar, 5:06PM: and if you do manage?

Caesar Zeppeli, 5:07PM: If I manage to seduce you? I think having my way with you after dinner would be prize enough.

Joseph didn’t respond for some time after that, and Caesar wondered if he’d pushed too hard. He didn’t intend to do anything especially salacious, but the idea of getting Joseph flustered and worked up was appealing enough on its own. Caesar just had to make sure not to get carried away, either in his head or in reality. Even if he did, Joseph would undoubtedly stop him from going too far. The thought was comforting.

His phone lit up beside him.

Joseph Joestar, 5:23PM: you’re on

Tossing his phone aside, Caesar put his head in his hands.

“This is a terrible idea,” he muttered, knowing full well he was going through with it anyways.

He was also glad, on some level, that there was no one there to stop him. Or so he thought.

The next few days spent waiting for Joseph’s return and the subsequent date passed with a strained sense of normality. Caesar visited the library a couple more times, where Smokey did not try to coerce Caesar into volunteering but did ask whether Caesar had talked to Joseph lately. Caesar, being a cupid of honor, claimed that he hadn’t.

With those days having been calm, Caesar awoke the day of the date expecting much of the same, with perhaps an increased sense of restlessness. Yet when he awoke, it was to the sound of someone rummaging around in his kitchen. Hurriedly tucking away his wings, Caesar’s first sleep-addled thought as he leapt out of bed was that Joseph was pulling some insane stunt by breaking and entering. Caesar had a few choice words about how romantic something like that was.

Then, recalling not only the fact that humans could not break into the apartment thanks to the layers of magic applied to it, but also that Joseph wasn’t supposed to be back in town for a few more hours, Caesar feared that a large rodent had wriggled its way in. Humans were deterred by cupid magic, but animals had a knack for finding even the tiniest crack in magic and worming their way through. It was usually an indicator that the magic had to be refreshed, but today of all days Caesar didn’t want to have to deal with more headaches than absolutely necessary.

As he crept towards the kitchen trying to remember where the broom was, he found neither Joseph nor a feral raccoon. Indeed, he could not have guessed who his mystery guest was even if he had an entire millennium to guess.

Suzie Q whirled around with a cheery smile, her normally pinned hair falling free around her shoulders in a cascade of golden curls.

“Good morning!” she greeted him as if her being there was the most natural thing ever. She offered a plate of eggs, sausage, and hashbrowns. “Breakfast? I can also make toast if you’d like.”

Caesar only gaped at her. Suzie frowned.

“Oh, I knew I should’ve waited for you to wake up, maybe you wanted pancakes after all—”

“Suzie—”

“I mean, I spent the entire way here trying to decide what to make for breakfast, and I even thought about making everything—”

“Suzie—”

“But then I was thinking that I’d like to have something ready for you when you wake up, because who doesn’t like to—”

Suzie was stopped abruptly by Caesar holding a finger to her lips. Her wide baby-blue eyes peered up at him.

“Breakfast isn’t what I’m concerned about,” Caesar began. Then, before Suzie could start to scold him for not taking care of himself, he added, “Why are you here?”

“Oh!” Suzie gasped, as if genuinely surprised. “Did no one tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“Do you remember at the wedding when I told you I wasn’t approved for field training?” Suzie asked.

Caesar nodded slowly.

“Well,” Suzie half-sang. “They changed their minds!”

“They… changed their minds?”

Suzie nodded eagerly. “They changed their minds!”

A beat of silence passed between them.

“That… still doesn’t explain why you’re here,” Caesar emphasized.

Suzie tilted her head. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“If it was obvious I wouldn’t be confused,” Caesar said in his best attempt at an even voice.

“I’ll be shadowing you for a portion of this assignment,” Suzie answered simply.

Another, longer pause followed as the information sank in.

“You.”

Suzie nodded.

“Will be shadowing me?”

Another nod.

“Only for a portion of the assignment?”

“I know, I know, it’s not standard procedure,” Suzie quickly explained. “But everyone’s out, and they wanted to get me going ASAP! Not to mention I wanted to get started too!”

“But—” Caesar faltered, wracking his brains for a time something like this had happened before. “But aren’t there other field agents that take on shadows?”

“They already have shadows,” Suzie said. “They figured that since you’re the best it’d be fine, and haven’t they been telling you that you should let some younger cupids shadow you from time to time?”

Caesar sighed. So it was as much an extra test for him as it was a learning experience for Suzie. Great. Fantastic. Just what he needed on today of all days.

“Are you upset?” Suzie asked with a small pout.

“Not with you,” Caesar assured her. “It’s just—this is already a tough assignment. I don’t know how well I’ll be able to teach you.”

“That’s okay, this is just temporary until another agent returns and then I can shadow them for a full assignment,” Suzie added. “I was told I’m just supposed to watch, completely invisible, but could we please go out one night without me having to hide? Just for fun?”

Completely helpless against her pleas, Caesar couldn’t help but give in.

Suzie squealed with delight. “Oh, I’m so excited, what will we do?! Caesar, can we go to a movie theater?! Or an arcade?! Or—or—ooh! How about that one bar you said you played that game with—with whoever the subject of this assignment is—can we go there too?!”

“Calm down, we’ll get to the fun stuff soon enough, but today is for work,” Caesar told her firmly, taking the rapidly cooling breakfast to the table.

“Aw, drat,” Suzie groaned, visibly deflating. “What kind of work?”

“First I have to familiarize you with the case,” Caesar explained. “We’ll have to go through the case file—the entire case file, mind you.”

“Boo,” Suzie protested as she slumped in a chair. “Anything else?”

“And then…” Caesar began slowly, taking a bite of food before revealing the main event of the day. He lowered his voice and looked away as he reluctantly said, “Then I have a date.”

That perked Suzie right back up. “Oh?! Do tell!”

“It’s work, Suzie! As a field agent you have to be prepared to use any method to ensure that the subject is adequately prepared for romance when you leave, and sometimes that means just giving them an opportunity to practice dating. Maintaining a relationship is a skill,” Caesar lectured.

Suzie nodded along but wore a small smile all the while. She rested her chin on her hands. “How’d you ask him?”

“I texted him a few days ago.”

“Caesar!” Suzie exclaimed indignantly. “Over text?!”

“What?! It’s not like it’s a break-up!”

“You’re a cupid , couldn’t you have at least tried to be romantic about it?!”

“That man doesn’t have a romantic—” Caesar stopped short, remembering Joseph’s crass joke the last time he’d accused Joseph of lacking in romance. “He wouldn’t know romance if it hit him in the face.”

Suzie tutted, shaking her head. “I just can’t believe you had the opportunity to make someone swoon and you just passed it up like it was nothing!”

“What do you take me for? Someone who hands out love like candy?”

“No, but I guess I thought you would want to—” Suzie snapped her mouth shut, averting her eyes suddenly. “Nevermind.”

“What, that I would want to make him swoon because I like him?”

Suzie’s head swiveled back towards Caesar with alarming speed, her eyes wide.

Caesar shrugged. “No point in denying it at this point.”

“But you said—”

“I know what I said,” Caesar interrupted. “And I still stand by it.”

“Caesar…”

“I’ll be fine.”

“What makes you so sure?”

Caesar let the question hang in the air for a long while, giving his attention to breakfast instead. Then, in lieu of answering the question, he asked, “Did you make any coffee?”

Suzie blinked a couple times, and then, softly admitted, “I couldn’t figure out how to work the coffee maker.”

“Come on,” Caesar urged, rising from the table. “I’ll show you, and then we can go over the case file.”

Going over the case file a second time was just as tedious as the first, with the added bonus that Suzie had a tendency to latch onto small details, pointing them out with a sincerity that Caesar was certain he didn’t have as a prospective field agent. While endearing, it made the entire process last a lot longer than it needed to.

What was not endearing, however, was when Suzie spotted the photo of Joseph grinning up at them.

“Oh, my, he’s a handsome one, isn’t he?” she remarked.

“Don’t be fooled, he’s a complete jackass,” Caesar warned.

“Sure, but every good looking guy is a bit of a jackass, that’s just how it is,” Suzie prodded.

Caesar smiled slantwise at her. “Is there something you’d like to say about me?”

“No, not at all Mister Teacher, sir,” Suzie teased. “Still, I’d fool around with him for sure.”

If Caesar had been sipping his coffee at that moment he would have surely spit it out. “You would absolutely not!”

“Why not? You said yourself, humans can’t fall for cupids, so what’s the harm?” Suzie asked, batting her eyelashes at him in feigned innocence.

Caesar narrowed his eyes at her.

“Besides, from what I know about him he seems like the kind of guy that knows how to have a good time,” Suzie continued. “And you said that field agents should be ready to use any tactic necessary to help the subject.”

“And how, exactly, would your fooling around with him help?” Caesar asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Suzie thought about it for a moment, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “It’s practice, isn’t it? Maybe I could go out and you could encourage him to chat me up!”

“While I’m supposed to be dating him?”

“It’s not like you two are in a committed relationship.”

Caesar recoiled as if slapped, only barely recovering in the next second. She was right, he repeated like a mantra in his head. She was right, she was right, she was right.

“Let’s… save that for a little later down the line,” Caesar managed to let himself relent. “After you’ve gotten some practice navigating the mortal realm.”

“Aw, Caesar, I’m not really going to—”

“Then please don’t joke like that,” Caesar snapped.

“Caesar,” Suzie began seriously, placing a small hand over his. “I don’t really want to make fun of you, but… I just—I’m worried about you. You’ve always been there for me when I needed someone, and I just want to be here for you.”

Caesar gave her a wry grin. “Is that why you’re here instead of with another agent?”

“I may have asked a favor or two, but that’s not the point here,” Suzie said. “The point is… I think you should give up this assignment.”

Caesar drew his hand away from hers at once. “Give up?!”

“I know, I know, you’ve never failed or backed away from anything but, Caesar, the way things are going, I can only see you getting hurt, and I don’t want that for you,” Suzie pleaded. “I don’t want you ending up like the cupids in black ops.”

“Well, if I did,” Caesar said with a small huff. “I could count on you visiting me, couldn’t I?”

“Of course! But that wouldn’t take away the hurt, not by a long shot,” Suzie exclaimed.

For a moment they sat in silence, the precarious nature of the situation taking hold of the air. Between the two cupids, Joseph’s photo stared out with piercing eyes. A more fantastical part of Caesar’s mind wondered what Joseph would have to say about the whole ordeal. Probably that he didn’t want to be anyone’s project, but there was already no helping that. If Joseph hadn’t been Caesar’s subject, if Joseph hadn’t been the subject of any intervention at all and they’d simply met as a matter of chance, how different would things have turned out?

“Look,” Caesar started in a solemn tone. “I’m sorry to worry you. But understand, I have to give it my all for him—for his sake. If this intervention fails for any reason, that’s it for him. No more romance for the rest of his life.”

“And he’s still so young…”

“And he’s already fallen in love once.”

“So he wouldn’t become a cupid,” Suzie concluded forlornly.

“Maybe…” Caesar mused. “Maybe if he hadn’t already fallen in love, I’d be a bit selfish. As it is, what I’m doing now is the most selfish I can be.”

By now tears were openly streaming down Suzie’s cheeks.

“And, hey, maybe dating him will show me how much I don’t like him after all,” Caesar futilely offered. Gently, he brushed the tears from Suzie’s cheeks. “Hey, listen, things might not turn out so bad. Let’s just take it a day at a time, okay? I promise I’m doing the best I can.”

Suzie nodded resolutely, but it took some time to completely console her. It wasn’t until Caesar suggested they head out early to get some lunch together and give Suzie a chance to openly explore things that she started to really brighten up again. While she went to the closet to conjure some human looking clothes for herself, Caesar shuffled the various papers back into the file again. The photo sat at the top of the hefty stack, perpetually taunting Caesar, as if saying, Some cupid you turned out to be, huh?

Caesar snapped the file shut and left it on the table.

That morning aside, Suzie’s surprise arrival proved to be wonderfully distracting. It was hard to meticulously review every minute detail of the plan he’d concocted when Suzie was darting to and fro with such energy she seemed to fly without wings. Lunch, which had been at a charming little cafe that offered confections Caesar knew Suzie would like, was comparatively mild next to how excited Suzie became when she discovered gift shops.

“Caesar, can we get this?” Suzie asked in one shop, holding up a beautifully crafted stained glass piece that quite appropriately depicted a cupid surrounded by roses.

Of course, Caesar was unable to deny her, but he was not looking forward to telling her later that she ought to slow down on buying trinkets, lest she end up with a hoard of knick-knacks in the cupid realm. Still, seeing her so delighted with what humans managed to create in such short spaces of time was almost enough to impart a sense of wonder upon Caesar as well. After all, it was no small thing to create something beautiful for the sake of it.

Inevitably, the time of the date crept up on them, and in fact faster than either of them anticipated.

“Shit,” Caesar hissed when he glanced at his watch.

“What?”

“I have to be at the restaurant in thirteen minutes!” he exclaimed, showing Suzie his watch. “I was going to change into something nicer.”

Suzie inspected the clothes Caesar had worn throughout the day, a peachy-pink button up with the cuffs rolled up and khakis. “Isn’t this nice enough?”

“Sure, but—” Caesar stopped short of admitting that, cupid assignments notwithstanding, he had a bet to win. He wasn’t trying to disadvantage himself by trying to seduce someone in khakis.

“Then let’s get going!” Suzie urged, shoving him down the sidewalk. “I’ll take the bags and go back to the apartment!”

“But—!”

“I can find my way back, don’t worry!”

“You’re supposed to be—!”

“There’ll be other opportunities, right? Don’t be late because of me!”

Before Caesar could protest, a third voice joined the very one-sided argument.

“Yeah, Caesarino, don’t be late cause of her!” Joseph proclaimed.

“Oh!” Suzie gasped, whirling around to find Joseph standing just a little too close behind her. “Hello—you must be Joseph!”

“Call me Jojo,” Joseph insisted at once, much to Caesar’s ire. He raised his eyes to meet Caesar’s, and for a flash of an instant Caesar thought that Joseph looked irritated. Then his eyes began to rove and gave him a once over. When they locked eyes again, Joseph gave him a look that practically screamed, Khakis? Really?

Joseph, meanwhile, seemed to have put a bit more effort into his appearance than usual—a miniscule, tiny fraction of extra effort, Caesar insisted to himself. His hair was still in a perpetual state of disarray, but the plain purple button-up shirt he wore was at least unwrinkled, if perhaps slightly too small for his incredible bulk, and the dark pants he wore were… well-fitted, to say the least.

Caesar cleared his throat and composed himself. “Jojo, Suzie—Suzie, Jojo.”

“Nice to meet you,” Suzie said politely.

“Likewise,” Joseph returned in a way that was suspiciously cordial.

Caesar didn’t have time to figure out what Joseph was up to, because in the next instant, Joseph made it perfectly clear after putting on the most shit-eating grin Caesar had seen up to that point.

“Say, Suzie, you’re not from here, right? I mean, I would’ve remembered someone like you—but anyways, how’s about you join us for dinner?”

“Oh—! Oh, no, I couldn’t!” Suzie stammered, looking back and forth between Joseph and Caesar, who had swiftly become engaged in a glaring contest.

“No, no, I insist!” Joseph went on, going so far as to place his hands on Suzie’s shoulders and steer her in the direction of the restaurant. “After all, it’s all on Caesar, and this place is pretty swanky, and the desserts are great!”

Suzie shot a helpless look in Caesar’s direction, but what was he supposed to say? After all, it was perfectly clear to him what Joseph was doing: whatever he could to ensure that Caesar lost the bet. There was nothing else for it. What better way to keep someone from making a move than to insert a third wheel into the equation?

“Jojo’s right,” Caesar decided, strolling up beside the two of them.

“He is?”

“I am?”

“Sure,” Caesar continued with a nonchalant shrug. “Suzie’s only here for a short time, she may as well make the most of it, right?”

He shot Joseph a triumphant look that was sure to say, Challenge accepted, but Joseph only frowned and let his hands slide from Suzie’s shoulders.

“Sure,” Joseph agreed with a slight, jerky nod. “Sure thing.”

The rest of the walk to the restaurant carried a heavy, strained silence. Out of the corner of his eye, Caesar could see that Suzie desperately wanted to ask him what in the earth and heavens was going on. Would that he could offer a coherent answer. He was still pretty sure that Joseph was just playing like he always did, but something about the way Joseph was walking with his shoulders slouched and his hands jammed in his pockets didn’t sit right with him.

It was just as well that the restaurant wasn’t so nice that reservations weren’t required, given the circumstances, but sitting in a booth didn’t really help things. For one thing, Joseph decided he wanted to sit by himself on one side of the table, and when Suzie slid to the inside end of the opposite bench, Joseph scooched to sit more directly across from her, rather than Caesar.

“So, Suzie, what brings you to town?” Joseph asked at once.

“Just visiting Caesar, that’s all. I actually dropped in on him by surprise,” Suzie answered, fiddling with one of the bags she’d set between herself and Caesar.

“Is that so? You’ve got a job that lets you just take off on a vacation whenever?” Joseph pried.

“It’s not like she surprised her bosses—” Caesar began to cut in.

“She’s got a mouth, doesn’t she? Let her speak for herself,” Joseph snapped.

Caesar, quite taken aback, scowled on instinct. If the intent was to prevent Caesar from setting any sort of date-like mood, Joseph was doing far too good a job of it.

“Well, it’s like Caesar said, I didn’t surprise my bosses, just Caesar,” Suzie said, unable to hide her dismay at being caught in such a situation as this. “I haven’t seen him in a while, so I thought it would be nice to pop in.”

“Yeah, Caesar doesn’t seem like he’d make surprise visits—kind of a workaholic, you know?” Joseph replied, holding up a hand as if to keep Caesar from hearing but saying it loud enough to reach him anyways.

“Sure, but his work is just as important as mine—”

“He edits cheesy love stories, how important can that be?” Joseph snorted.

“I think it’s important!” Suzie objected. “I think it’s admirable to help people tell the stories they want to tell!”

“Yeah? And what do you do?”

Caesar was ready to bail right then and there—they’d gotten nowhere near the point of concocting a cover story for Suzie, because she wasn’t supposed to be out in the open just yet. Suzie, however, had a surprise for him.

“I guess you could say I work in relationship counseling,” Suzie said with her usual spacey air.

“What’s that mean?” Joseph asked.

“I’m not the one doing the counseling, I’m just a secretary, but I always have tissues and candy on hand—relationship counseling is rough, from what I’ve seen,” she explained. “I like to think that tissues and candy go a long way though.”

“I think they do,” Caesar jumped in to give her story more credibility and certainly not because he refused to be completely left out of the conversation. “It lets people know that there are others rooting for them and that they’re not completely alone. I’m sure that goes a long way.”

“Ugh, you two are just a couple of cheeseballs, aren’t you?” Joseph scoffed just before the waiter came around to ask about drinks.

“What does that make you then, that you’re hanging out with us?” Suzie sharply challenged with a cheeky grin.

“A cheese enthusiast, I guess,” Joseph answered with a wink.

Suzie giggled, and when the drinks arrived Joseph blew his straw wrapper at her like they were a couple of kids on the playground. It was only natural that Suzie, bright, optimistic, silly Suzie, retaliated in kind. Soon enough the two of them had balled up the straw wrappers and were flicking them back and forth across the table with delighted abandon. With the conversation having died down, Caesar decided to nudge his way in.

“How was your visit with your grandmother, Jojo?” he asked.

“Fine,” Joseph replied in a clipped tone.

“Do you visit her often?” Suzie followed up.

“Sure do,” Joseph said, perking up at once. “And not just because she’d haunt me if I didn’t. She’s a real lady, my granny, a bit old-fashioned but at the end of the day she just wants what’s best for people. She practically raised me, you know.”

“Why?” Suzie bluntly inquired.

Joseph shrugged. “Dad died a little after I was born, and my mom didn’t take it well. Sure, she worked her ass off to make sure me and granny had what we needed—not that my granny needed the money—but if we’re talking about who decided where I went to school and who disciplined me when I was being a little shit and who was, you know, there for me, that was my granny, all the way.”

“Wow, she sounds amazing,” Suzie remarked.

“She sure is,” Joseph agreed.

“What does your mother do?” Caesar attempted, genuinely curious.

“Real estate, or as I call it, real boring shit,” Joseph offered blandly.

Suzie laughed at that. “And what is it that you do?”

“I don’t sell houses, I’ll tell you that much,” Joseph said, once again filled with vigor. “I mean, sure, I could, there are plenty of shmucks that I could sucker into buying any old house, but I’m not going to do something just because my mom does it.”

“But what do you do?” Suzie repeated.

“He sells comic books,” Caesar told her.

“Jeez, you really have to say everything for everyone, don’t you?” Joseph accused venomously.

“You’re one to talk,” Caesar snapped back, patience utterly exhausted.

“What’s that mean, huh?”

“Everyone’s just a plaything to you, to be toyed with until they do what you want them to do.”

Joseph leaned forward towards Caesar, green eyes flashing dangerously. “That’s rich, coming from someone that treats his date like a project!”

“Oh, were we on a date? I couldn’t tell,” Caesar snarled, leaning forward to meet Joseph’s glare.

“Don’t make me laugh, you’re the one who’s been playing around this whole time, and now you want to tell me that I don’t take anything or anyone seriously? Tell me something I don’t know!”

“Here’s something,” Caesar growled, standing so abruptly that his thighs smacked the table, causing the drinks to slosh out of their glasses. Suzie, shrinking beside him, yelped and rushed to mop up the mess with a handful of napkins. “You’re a coward, plain and simple, and I can’t believe I ever tried to take you seriously!”

Joseph made some indignant response, but Caesar didn’t catch what he said—he was already halfway to the door.

Bursting out of the restaurant into the cool evening air did little to cool Caesar’s temper. He stormed down the sidewalk with no destination in mind, the only drive being to get away from Joseph. A vindictive part of his mind whispered that perhaps Suzie had been right after all, that Caesar ought to give up this case for the sake of his own sanity. Screw whatever self-sacrificing bullshit he’d been spewing earlier, nothing was worth this! The only thing that would be hurt was his pride, and he had all of eternity to get over that.

Before long Caesar found himself in a dimly lit park. The lights were only just starting to blink into existence, while the dusty twilight made a stark silhouette of the trees. Caesar shoved his hands in his pockets as he aimlessly followed the winding path. What a fool he’d been! How had he been tricked into thinking he saw something special in such a moronic, rude, cowardly man such as Joseph? Indeed, what made him so special at all?

Nothing.

Not a damn thing.

“Caesar! Hey, wait up!”

And yet, his fickle heart corrected as he automatically turned towards the voice calling to him, everything.

Caesar scowled in spite of his own internal conflict. “What? Did you want a proper fight?”

“I’d kick your ass, easy,” Joseph claimed reflexively. Then, quite unexpectedly, “I mean—No, that’s not why I’m here.”

“Don’t waste my time, I’m through with you.”

“Wait, wait! Just hear me out!”

“Why should I?”

Joseph’s mouth twisted, no doubt holding back some crude insult. But instead, he held up his hands, as if in surrender. “Fine, whatever, you don’t have to listen to me, but I’m gonna say my piece anyways.”

Caesar rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

“Listen, Suzie explained things to me.”

That gave Caesar reason to pause. What exactly had she explained?

“Why didn’t you tell me she was your cousin?”

As usual, Caesar could never quite get even footing around Joseph, but he wasn’t one to drop yet another cover story when it was so neatly handed to him. “Should I have?”

“Uh, yeah!” Joseph insisted. “I was sitting there thinking you were just toting around some side chick and that I was just being added to the roster!”

The admission rang out through the mostly empty park, and it still took a few seconds for a stunned Caesar to completely comprehend it. He stared at Joseph for a long moment. Joseph had his arms held out by his sides, totally open for Caesar to see. Caesar ducked his head and held a hand over his face. Then, unable to restrain himself, he began to laugh.

“Hey, this isn’t funny!” Joseph shouted when he realized that Caesar was breaking into hysterics. “What else was I supposed to think?!”

“You could’ve maybe tried thinking at all!” Caesar suggested, feeling half-angry and half-delirious. “Do you really think that little of me?!”

“That’s the thing, I don’t know what the fuck to think of you!” Joseph admitted.

“That makes two of us, you’ve been nothing but a confusing pain in my ass since we met!”

Joseph exhaled sharply, running an agitated hand through his hair. “This is… a disaster.”

“No shit.”

“Hey, I’m trying!”

“Trying to do what?”

“To ask for a second chance.”

Caesar’s heart gave a painful squeeze. Only a moment ago he’d been ready to drop the case and walk away from Joseph forever, and here was Joseph, asking him to try again. Logic told him to walk away. He made it as far as turning away before pausing. He spoke before he could stop himself, perhaps hoping that Joseph could convince him.

“You know how I feel about you,” Caesar said, unquestioning.

“It’s kind of obvious.”

“I know you don’t feel the same way.”

“Don’t decide how I feel!” Joseph objected.

“Don’t lie to me,” Caesar responded sharply, whipping around to find that Joseph had gotten closer while he’d had his back turned. “You think I want to put myself through that kind of bullshit?”

“Then why’d you ask me out in the first place?” Joseph asked.

“Temporary insanity,” Caesar answered flatly.

“C’mon, seriously.”

“Why’d you agree when you don’t feel the same way?” Caesar asked instead.

Joseph, frowning, didn’t answer immediately. This was Caesar’s chance, the moment he could end it all and walk away forever, never to see Joseph again. Yet his feet remained firmly planted where they were.

“Cause… I’m curious?” Joseph tentatively offered. Then, with more resolve, “Cause I want to feel the same way.”

Caesar blinked at him in astonishment. “What?”

Joseph took a bold step into Caesar’s space. Caesar refused to back away even as the heat from Joseph’s body so close to his threatened to incinerate his senses entirely.

“Make me feel the same way,” Joseph challenged.

“That’s not how—”

“You think you can’t?”

“You think you can just fall for someone because you want to?”

“Isn’t it enough that I want to know you? Like, really know you?”

No! Caesar’s mind screamed. It would never be enough, not for him. If he were to have Joseph, he wanted to have him entirely. Not temporary bursts of infatuation, not empty sentiments that were plucked straight from romance novels—all of him, all the time. Just what Caesar couldn’t have, and exactly why he should have walked away then and there.

Instead, Caesar chuckled fondly.

“Have it your way then, but the next two dates are on you.”

“Two?!”

“You owe me for such a shitty date.”

“Hey, I’m not the one that decided to bring my cousin along to a date!”

“I didn’t bring her with me, she—wait, where is she?”

“She said she could find her way back on her own—she’s the one that told me to follow you, so don’t blame me if she gets lost!” Joseph exclaimed.

“Don’t get so excited, worst case she’ll come to the first intersection and get stuck because she can’t decide which way to go,” Caesar laughed. He started on his way back towards the restaurant, and stopped suddenly, turning back to Joseph, who hadn’t moved. “You just going to stand there all night?”

“Oh! Uh, no,” Joseph said, following after Caesar.

For a moment or so they walked in an easy silence, and Caesar appreciated the rare moment of peace. Joseph, for his part, seemed content to let the moment sit as it was. As far as Caesar was concerned it was a moment worth whatever might come after.