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this wasn’t supposed to happen.
gyuvin doesn’t know how he’s ended up in a mortal’s bathroom, wingless, magic gone, and dignity shattered. but what he does know is that his heart is pounding out his chest and there’s an icky, slimy, and embarrassingly warm feeling spreading throughout his body.
all he can think about are sharp cat-like eyes, perfectly styled blonde hair, and a face so angelic it makes him nauseous.
it was supposed to be a simple aim, shoot, love.
but even now, his hand still throbs from the moment. the way he fumbled, his clumsy fingers desperately grasping for the arrow only for the tip to lodge itself into his palm. something electric hums under his skin, buzzing in his bones, twisting in his chest like a storm.
with trembling hands, gyuvin scrambles for his phone, dialing his last lifeline.
it rings once. twice.
“1-800-lovestruck, you’ve reached taerae, misfire, mess-up, or meltdown?”
“all of the above?!” gyuvin wheezes. he’s trying to focus but the images of long lashes and pierced ears tear through all his coherent thoughts.
“…right,” taerae says, “did you, like, accidentally shoot yourself or something?”
there’s a single beat of silence.
“kim gyuvin, you did not.” the cupid on the other line explodes into giggles. the phone speakers weakly sputtering.
“it was an accident!!” gyuvin hisses, “my wings are gone and my heart hurts—”
taerae cackles again, “hold on—i have to tell everyone about this!”
he’s left alone with the crappy hold music. wingless, unemployed, and lovestruck.
out of choices, gyuvin cracks open the bathroom door.
the human, ricky, sits cross-legged outside, “you’re alive.”
“i panicked,” gyuvin whispers, then, as if he’s entranced, “you’re really pretty.”
ricky snorts, “who are you and why are you in my dorm with these corny ass arrows?”
“i’m—i was a cupid!” he blurts, “you were my assignment and i was trying to get that other guy but i got myself and now i’m trapped and my wings are gone and i can’t go home and—you’re really pretty.”
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
ricky hums softly to himself, peeling a mandarin orange with slow, deliberate care.
slumped on a stool nearby, chin in his hands, legs swinging idly, gyuvin feels the earlier panic dissolve into something heavier. it curls in his gut like something sour and sickly. lovesickness seeps into his bones, making every breath feel slow, syrupy, and strained. gyuvin is one more peel away from melting into a puddle.
his brain’s foggy. everything feels blurred, muffled. the off-key warble of cupid hold music still plays from his phone.
he stares, wide-eyed and helpless as ricky’s fingers curl around the fruit, as his lashes cast shadows under those big eyes, as his lips pout in concentration, soft, pink and—
“1-800-lovestruck; where clumsy cupids call for correction. zhang hao speaking.” a voice drawls through the phone, snapping him into action.
“hao?! i need help.”
“what is it this time, gyuvin?”
he swallows, hard, “i shot myself…with my own arrow.”
a long sigh crackles through the line, “three-thousand swoonies.”
“w-what?”
“three. thousand. swoonies.” hao repeats slowly, “that’s how much it’ll cost you.”
“this hotline is free.”
“my time is not.”
“hao, i don’t have 3,000 swoonies. i barely have five.”
“well, then, this isn’t my problem anymore, please hold.”
the chirpy chorus of singing cupids returns. too cheerful. too cruel. gyuvin drags a hand down his face, absolutely ready to spiral again when—
“here.”
ricky’s holding out a slice of orange, just a small segment between two fingers. gyuvin hesitates before he takes it, heart lurching and hand trembling slightly like it’s the most sacred thing he’s ever been offered.
he looks down at the slice of fruit in his hand, blinks, and thinks:
i need my wings. i need to go home. i need my job. i need...
he looks up. catching ricky’s profile in the warm light as he gently tucks a strand of hair behind his ear.
ricky.
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
gyuvin sits curled on the couch, clutching his phone to his chest, the painfully harp-heavy melody his only lifeline.
the shower runs behind the bathroom door, every drop a reminder that ricky’s just out of reach. his head spins and his limbs are weak. he can’t see ricky, can’t hear him, can’t even feel his presence. it’s unbearable.
just when he thinks he might genuinely perish from longing, the bathroom door creaks open.
ricky steps out, damp hair slicked back, skin glowing, an oversized shirt slipping off his shoulder. his shorts expose long, perfect legs like it’s just normal. like gyuvin isn’t about to ascend into the glittery afterlife.
gyuvin sits frozen. paralyzed. his brain blue-screening.
the phone crackles. then clicks.
“1-800-lovestruck, this is hanbin. what’s got your arrow out of alignment today?”
gyuvin launches off the couch, tripping over his own feet as he cowers in the corner of the living room, “hanbin! it’s me!”
“gyuvin?”
“i messed up.” he blurts out, breathless, clutching the phone with both hands, “i accidentally shot myself and taerae laughed at me and hao wanted money and i’m unemployed.”
hanbin exhales like he already regrets answering, “did you submit form 333?”
“what? no! i’ve been panicking, not filing paperwork!”
“you’ll need form 1437 too, to request for temporary wing restoration.”
“form what?” gyuvin squeaks.
“it’s a whole separate process. takes a few months to approve.” more rapid typing, more forms, more paperwork.
gyuvin lowers his voice, desperate, “can i at least keep the human?”
hanbin replies, but gyuvin doesn’t hear it. he’s too busy looking up at ricky who's been watching his turmoil, too smug and too amused. his heart swells, stupid and full, as the world goes mute. everything slips away, his phone, the call, even the hold music, until all that’s left is ricky.
“sounds like you’re stuck with me for a while.”
gyuvin doesn’t answer. he can’t, his brain has fully ceased all function, and all he can do is stare.
hopelessly and pathetically lovestruck.