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Alysa Liu x fem reader

𒁂 Cupid's arrow

Intern Cupid! Alysa Liu x student! reader

Description: You are a university student calmly spending your time, while intern Cupid Alysa shoots an arrow at you. But when she was getting a second arrow, she accidentally injured herself with her own arrow, and now you are stuck with each other while her instructor shakes his head in disappointment.

P. S This is crazy, because of this fanfic my Tumblr is lagging

About 6.0k words

(now after this I can continue writing requests)

𖤍𖤍𖤍

The glass doors of the campus center slid apart, letting in a stream of warm September air and, along with it — you. You adjusted the strap of your backpack, yawned into your palm, and breathed in the scent of freshly ground coffee drifting from the student café on the first floor. Your Philosophy lecture had run fifteen minutes over, and now you were late to meet your friend. Nothing new — Chloe was probably already sitting in your favorite spot, the corner of the atrium, scrolling through her phone.

You had no idea you were being watched.

Watched from the other side of reality. The side humans can't see. The side where the air is a little thicker, where light bends differently — softer, more golden, as though filtered through the finest silk.

There, hovering at second-floor level, suspended in midair, was a girl with white wings.

Had anyone been able to see her, they would have frozen, mouth agape. The wings were enormous — a wingspan of nearly ten feet, feathers of the purest white with a faint silver shimmer along the edges. They didn't just hang behind her back; they lived. The smaller feathers near the base twitched faintly, catching nonexistent currents of air. The flight feathers drifted, slow and nearly imperceptible, like seaweed in calm water. The girl sat cross-legged in the air, as though perched on an invisible chair, nervously nibbling at her thumb.

Alysa Liu.

Cupid intern. First day of field training. Panic level — somewhere between "I left the stove on" and "I am going to throw up."

"Okay," she whispered to herself, tugging at the white tunic that served as the uniform for all Cupids of her rank. "Okay, Alysa. You trained for this. Two years. Two. Years. You know the theory. You passed every exam. You even aced the practical shooting tests."

The wings behind her gave a nervous twitch, betraying her completely. Her body wouldn't cooperate. Her fingers, clenched around the quiver strapped to her thigh, had gone white at the knuckles.

"Who am I kidding," she breathed, her shoulders slumping. "I'm going to fail."

From behind her came a deep, measured sigh.

"Intern Liu."

Alysa shot a full two feet straight up in the air, very nearly dropping the quiver. She spun around, wings flapping to right herself, and found herself face-to-face with Instructor Callow.

Callow was a Cupid of the highest rank. His wings were not white, but silver-grey, with long, almost metallic feathers that emitted a faint, melodious chime whenever he moved. His face was impassive — like a marble statue someone had forgotten to teach how to smile. His eyes were the color of storm clouds.

"Instructor!" Alysa squeaked, snapping to attention in midair. "I am not nervous!"

"Your panic is so loud it's giving me tinnitus," Callow said flatly, folding his hands behind his back. "Compose yourself. This is a simple assignment. Two shots. Two targets. No high-order magic. No fate-level intervention. Just… a spark."

"A spark," Alysa echoed.

"A spark," Callow confirmed. "You loose an arrow into the heart chakra, and within the next twenty-four hours, the target begins to experience romantic interest toward the first person who catches their eye. A classic. Foundational. Even those whose arrows fly backward manage this."

Alysa swallowed hard.

She knew the theory. God, she knew it by heart. A Cupid's arrow was not a love potion by human standards. No enslavement of the will. No erasure of personality. No "love me forever." It was an impulse. A tiny flare in the limbic system, a minuscule hormonal nudge that made the heart beat a little faster, the pupils dilate a little wider. The rest was up to the humans. They could ignore the impulse. They could chalk it up to bad coffee or a stuffy lecture hall. Or they could follow it, and then the spark might catch into a real flame. Or it might not. Free will was sacred — the First Law of the Cupids, its violation punishable by dissolution without the right of return.

"I can do this," Alysa said, and it sounded less like a statement and more like a prayer.

Callow arched a single eyebrow — the only expression of emotion he ever allowed himself.

"We shall see. Your targets."

He snapped his fingers, and two translucent cards unfurled in the air in front of Alysa. On the first was you. Laughing, eyes crinkled a little, one strap of your backpack slung over your shoulder, blurred university trees in the background. Name, age, status — student, unattached, current emotional baseline — stable.

On the second card was a blonde with a chin-length bob, sitting in the atrium, scrolling through her phone. Chloe. Best friend of Target Number One. Status — single, emotional baseline — mild boredom.

"One arrow to the heart chakra of Target One," Callow intoned. "One arrow to the heart chakra of Target Two. To be loosed within a five-minute interval. Once both targets have been struck, they will encounter one another within the hour, and the impulse will activate. Their existing bond — friendship, shared interests, proximity — will provide fertile ground for the spark. Understood?"

"Understood," Alysa nodded, her heart hammering somewhere in her throat.

She mentally rehearsed the sequence. Draw the arrow. Nock it to the bowstring. Aim — not for the physical heart, but for the heart chakra, the place where the energy of love smoldered. Loose. Repeat.

Simple. Just like training. Except the targets weren't wooden mannequins. They were living, breathing humans. Living, warm, blissfully unaware of what was about to happen.

"Begin," Callow said, and stepped back into the shadows.

Alysa drew a deep breath. The wings behind her spread a little wider, catching unseen currents. She drifted lower, gliding through the air like a swimmer through deep water. Target One — you — had just walked into the atrium.

Alysa halted about ten feet above the floor, invisible and inaudible. She drew her bow — an elegant weapon carved from pale wood that grew only in the gardens of the Empyrean. The bowstring shimmered silver. Then her fingers slipped to the quiver and pulled out the first arrow.

The point gleamed gold. The shaft was smooth, polished to a mirror sheen. Alysa nocked the arrow to the string and began to aim.

You, meanwhile, were standing in the coffee line, completely unaware that you were a hair's breadth — quite literally — from a fate-altering shot. You were trying to decide between a caramel latte and just an Americano. You shifted your weight from foot to foot, checking the time on your phone.

Alysa took aim.

Your heart chakra glowed with a steady, calm light — warm, golden, without a single dark spot. No blockages. No old resentments that might interfere with the impulse. A perfect target.

"Easy," Alysa whispered. "Breathe out."

She exhaled.

And loosed.

The arrow flew from the string in total silence, leaving behind the faintest golden trail, visible only to beings of the Empyrean. It entered precisely the center of your heart chakra — soft, painless, without any sensation at all. For a fraction of a second, a golden aura flared around your body and then vanished.

You blinked, feeling a strange warmth spread through your chest — like taking a sip of hot tea on a cold day. You chalked it up to the stuffy air. Took a step forward in line.

Alysa let out a breath of pure relief. Perfect. Absolutely perfect. The string hadn't twitched. The point had entered dead center. The impulse was activated. Instructor Callow would be pleased.

"One down," she whispered, feeling a glow of pride bloom in her chest. "One to go."

She spun in the air, searching for Target Two — the blonde with the bob. There she was, in the corner of the atrium, on the couch beneath the fake ficus, still scrolling through her phone. Perfect. Distance — about forty-five feet. Angle — straight shot. No obstacles.

Alysa reached back for the second arrow.

Her hand went over her shoulder, toward the quiver.

Her fingers found the shaft, slid forward to draw it out—

And then she felt a sharp, searing pain.

"Ow!" she yelped, jerking her hand back.

On the index finger of her right hand bloomed a bright crimson bead of blood. Tiny, but horrifically vivid against the white of her feathers.

Alysa stared at her finger, then at the quiver. The arrowheads… they were sharpened to a razor's edge. She had sharpened them herself. Last night, before bed. Trembling with terror before her first day of field training, she had, in an effort to calm herself, methodically, one by one, sharpened every single arrow. And she had over-sharpened them. The edges were so keen they could split skin at the slightest touch.

The crimson bead slipped from her finger.

And fell.

Straight onto the shaft of the arrow she was holding in her hand.

In that instant, Alysa felt something shift. The air around her thickened, became dense and sweet, like syrup. The golden light radiating from the arrowhead suddenly flared with a blinding flash, and—

And the arrow loosed itself.

No bow. No string. It simply — tore from her palm as though alive and buried itself squarely in Alysa's chest.

In her own heart chakra.

Alysa gasped. There was no pain — quite the opposite. An intoxicating, dizzying warmth flooded through her. Golden rings swam before her eyes. The wings behind her spread to their full width and locked, paralyzed by the impulse. She felt something inside her click — like a key turning in a lock she hadn't even known existed.

Behind her, Instructor Callow closed his eyes and, very, very slowly, pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. His wings gave a low, mournful chime.

"Intern Liu," he said, in the tone of a man reading a death sentence. "You over-sharpened the arrows."

Alysa didn't answer.

Because at that very moment, you — the girl she had just shot with perfect form — lifted your head from your phone while waiting for the barista to finish your latte. Something made you look up. A strange, inexplicable feeling — like someone had called your name, though the room was silent.

And you saw her.

A girl with white wings, hovering in the air near the atrium ceiling. A girl who was staring back at you with enormous, terrified, utterly stunned brown eyes.

You blinked. Rubbed your eyes. Looked again.

She was still there. White tunic, rippling in a non-existent breeze. Silver bow in slackened fingers. Wings — oh god, she had actual wings. White, silver-edged, and every feather quivering faintly.

"What the…" you started, but didn't finish.

Because the girl in the air met your gaze. And in that moment, you felt your heart execute a full somersault inside your chest. As if someone had plucked an invisible string stretched between the two of you. As if the whole world — the hiss of the espresso machine, the hum of voices, the music leaking from some student's headphones — all of it fell silent, leaving only the vision in the air.

Alysa was looking at you.

And you were looking at Alysa.

And Instructor Callow, still standing in the shadows, was pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head.

"Infatuation," he stated. "Mutual. Intern Liu, you have exceeded every expectation I had. I anticipated failure. But not failure this epic."

Alysa didn't hear him.

She could see only you. Your eyes, wide with shock. Your lips, parted in a silent question. Your hand, slowly lifting, pointing straight at her.

People around you were starting to glance your way. They couldn't see Alysa — but they could see you, frozen in the middle of the atrium, arm raised, with the expression of someone who's just seen a ghost.

"Hey," called Chloe, looking up from her phone. "Why'd you freeze up?"

You didn't answer.

You were looking up.

And the girl with the white wings was looking back.

Alysa was the first to panic.

It was dawning on her — far too slowly — what had just happened. She, a first-day intern, had somehow managed the impossible: she had struck herself with a love arrow. And not just that — she'd done it while simultaneously activating the impulse on the original target, who was now…

Who was now seeing her.

"You can see me," Alysa whispered, and her voice sounded so pathetic that Instructor Callow pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose again.

"Brilliant observation, Intern Liu."

"But humans can't see Cupids!"

"Humans can't," Callow agreed. "But you, right now, are not merely a Cupid, Intern Liu. You are a Cupid struck by her own arrow. You are in love. With a human. And that human can see you because the impulse has bound you directly. You poured a charge into her, and then poured a charge into yourself — with the very same arrowhead, still wet with your blood. Congratulations. This hasn't happened in three hundred years."

Alysa opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came. Her voice was gone. Every word she knew — and she knew a great many, she'd been a diligent student — had evaporated, leaving only the hollow echo of panic rattling in her skull.

And you were still standing below, head tilted back, your latte cooling on the pickup counter. The barista was saying something, but you couldn't hear. Chloe had come closer and was shaking your shoulder, but you couldn't feel.

You could see only her.

The girl in the air. The wings. Actual, honest-to-god, wings. And her face — young, flustered, with huge brown eyes that held an ocean of panic so vast it warranted a storm warning.

"You…" you whispered, but broke off as you realized everyone around you was staring. Staring at you. The girl talking to empty air.

Chloe was looking at you like you'd lost your mind.

"Who are you talking to?" she asked, following your gaze upward. "There's nothing up there."

"There's…" you hesitated. "There's a girl. With wings."

"What?" Chloe squinted toward the ceiling. "There's nothing there. Did you overheat? Or overstudy? Come on, let's sit down. You're hallucinating from lack of sleep."

You blinked. The girl with the wings was still there — she was descending now, drifting lower, and you could make out the details. The silver bow clutched in one hand. The quiver of arrows at her hip. The white tunic, embroidered at the edges with symbols you didn't recognize. And her expression — a mixture of horror, mortification, and something else you didn't yet have a name for.

"I'm not hallucinating," you told Chloe, without looking at her. "I… I need to go."

"What? Wait, your coffee—"

But you were already moving toward the exit, your gaze fixed on the girl with the wings. And she — miracle of miracles — was moving with you. Slowly, hesitantly, but moving.

The university courtyard greeted you with a cool September wind and the rustle of falling leaves. You rounded the corner, out of sight of the windows and any prying eyes, and stopped. Your heart was hammering somewhere in your throat. Your palms were sweating. Everything about this felt like a dream — one of those dreams where you fly and then wake up drenched in a cold sweat.

But this wasn't a dream.

The girl with the wings touched down ten feet away from you. Her wings folded behind her — neat, compact, like a large bird practiced at being inconspicuous. She stood there, staring at you, and you could see her fingers trembling where they gripped the bow.

"You," she said. "You can see me."

"You're kind of obvious," you replied, and your own voice sounded foreign to you. "You have wings. And a bow. And you were floating near the ceiling. Kind of hard to miss."

"Humans aren't supposed to see me." Her voice quivered. "This is wrong. This is… this is a protocol violation. I'm an intern. They're going to expel me. They're going to dissolve me. They're going to—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." You held up both hands. "One thing at a time. Who are you? What's happening? Why can I see you when Chloe can't?"

Alysa took a deep breath. Three deep breaths. And a fourth, for good measure. The wings behind her gave a nervous jerk, shedding a couple of white feathers that spiraled briefly in the air before vanishing before they could touch the ground.

"My name is Alysa," she said. "Alysa Liu. I'm a Cupid. Intern. First day of field training."

You blinked. Once. Twice. Three times.

"A Cupid," you repeated.

"Yes."

"With the bow and the arrows."

"Yes."

"Like in the myths."

"The myths are a highly simplified version," Alysa said, and a note of professional rectitude crept into her voice before promptly drowning in panic. "But yes, more or less."

You leaned back against the brick wall of the building. The brick was cool and rough — a good anchor for reality, which had just developed a series of cracks.

"Okay," you said. "Let's say I believe you. Let's say you're a Cupid. Why can I see you?"

Alysa opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Her cheeks — you only just noticed — were beginning to flush. A soft, pink flush, like peach sorbet.

"Because I…" She faltered, fidgeting with the bowstring. "Because I accidentally…"

"Accidentally?"

"I cut myself on my own arrow," she blurted out in one breath. "I over-sharpened the arrowheads before field training because I was nervous, and when I was drawing the second arrow, I cut my finger, and the blood got on the arrowhead, and the arrow loosed itself into me, and now I'm…"

She stopped, pressing both palms against her burning cheeks.

"You're…?" you prompted.

"Now I'm in love with you," she whispered. "And you can see me because the impulse bound us together."

Silence.

Wind rustled the leaves. In the distance, students were laughing. A crow flew overhead — entirely ordinary, non-magical.

"You're in love with me," you repeated.

"Yes."

"Because of an arrow."

"Yes."

"You shot yourself with a love arrow."

"It was an accident!" Alysa cried out, and her wings flared open in pure indignation, nearly taking out a nearby shrub. "I didn't mean to! I just wanted to complete the assignment! Two shots, two targets, perfectly simple! But I over-sharpened the arrows, and—"

"Wait." You straightened up, something cold coiling inside you. "Two shots. Two targets. Who were you supposed to shoot?"

Alysa froze. Her wings slowly lowered. The pink in her cheeks paled.

"I was… supposed to shoot… you," she whispered. "And your friend. Chloe."

"You shot me," you said, slowly, "so I would fall in love with Chloe?"

"That was the assignment. The spark. A little impulse. You would have met up, and—"

"You were going to make me fall in love with my best friend?!"

Your voice came out louder than you'd intended. Alysa flinched as if struck, stepping back.

"That's not how it works!" she said, the words tumbling out in a rush. "The spark isn't a love potion! It's just… a nudge. A possibility. Free will remains entirely intact! You decide whether to follow the impulse or not. Most people just chalk it up to bad coffee or good weather. It's ethical! We studied this for two years!"

"Ethical?" You stepped forward. "You shoot people with magic arrows to manipulate their feelings, and you call that ethical?"

"Cupids have worked this way for thousands of years," Alysa whispered. "We don't manipulate. We… offer. A small chance. If people reject it — nothing happens."

"And if they don't reject it?"

"Then they fall in love. But it's their choice. Their feelings. Not ours."

You looked at her. This being with wings and a bow and arrows, who looked as though she was on the verge of tears. Who spoke about the ethics of love-arrows with the same gravity with which politicians discussed reforms. Who had just confessed to accidentally making herself fall in love with the first person she had seen.

You.

"You said you're in love with me," you said.

Alysa flinched.

"It's… it's an occupational injury," she mumbled. "I wasn't supposed to… The arrow was meant for Chloe. It hit me instead. It's a violation of every protocol. Instructor Callow is probably writing up my dissolution report as we speak."

"Dissolution?" You frowned. "What does that mean?"

"It means I get annulled," Alysa said quietly. "As a Cupid. As an entity. I just… stop existing."

Silence.

Wind again. Crow again. Distant laughter again.

"That's awful," you said.

"Yes," Alysa agreed. "It's awful."

She stood there, shoulders slumped, her wings drooping — the white feathers brushing the ground, gathering dust. You looked at her and felt a strange mix of anger, confusion, and — deep down, at the very bottom — sympathy.

Because, when it came down to it, she was just an intern on her first day of work. An intern who had screwed up.

"What happens now?" you asked.

"I don't know," Alysa answered. "I have to report to my instructor. He'll tell me what to do next."

She lifted her head, and you met her gaze again. Brown eyes — deep, warm, full of panic, shame, and something else that made your heart skip a beat.

You remembered the strange warmth in your chest at the coffee shop. The spark.

She had shot you. She had shot herself. And now the two of you were both…

"I can feel it," you said. "The thing you talked about. The spark. The impulse. Something in my chest."

Alysa's eyes went huge.

"You can feel it?"

"Yeah." You pressed a hand to your chest, where your heart was beating faster than normal. "It's strange. Warm. Like I'm nervous before an exam. Or a date."

"That's it," Alysa whispered. "The spark. It's working."

"But I don't want to fall in love with Chloe," you said. "She's my best friend. That would be… weird."

"The spark doesn't force you," Alysa reminded you. "You can ignore it."

You looked at her. At the Cupid who had accidentally fallen in love with you. At the girl with wings standing before you, trembling like a leaf. And in that moment, you understood that the spark in your chest had nothing to do with Chloe.

It had to do with Alysa.

"You said you shot me," you said slowly. "And then yourself. Same arrow. Same blood."

"Yes."

"So we're both under the same magic?"

Alysa paused. A visible, strenuous process of thought crossed her face.

"Theoretically… yes. It's the same spark, split between two people. It's never happened before. At least, it's not in any of the textbooks. It's a unique situation."

"Unique," you repeated.

"Yes."

"So," you took a step forward, closing the distance to a single meter, "we're both feeling the same thing?"

Alysa was silent. Her eyes glistened.

"I don't know," she whispered. "I've never been in love. I'm not human. I'm a Cupid. We don't fall in love. It's our job to cause love. Not to feel it."

"But you're feeling it now."

"Yes."

"For me."

"Yes."

You looked at her. At her white wings. At the silver bow she still hadn't let go of. At her wind-tousled hair escaping from its careless bun.

"What do we do?" you asked.

And Alysa, first-day Cupid intern, in love with a human, answered honestly:

"I don't know. They didn't cover this in training."

Instructor Callow materialized without a sound, as was proper for a being of his rank. One second, nothing. The next, he was simply standing there, coalescing out of the shadows cast by the old courtyard oak. His silver-grey wings folded behind him with a soft chime, and his face — as ever — expressed nothing whatsoever.

"Intern Liu," he said. "Have you finished your conversation with the target?"

Alysa jumped — literally. Her wings flapped, lifting her half a meter off the ground.

"Instructor!" she squeaked. "I— I can explain!"

"I saw," Callow said dryly. "I saw everything."

You stared at him, frozen. A second Cupid in one day. This one was older — you could feel it in his bearing, his gaze, the sheer weight of his presence. And his wings were grey. Not white, like Alysa's. Grey as a storm front.

"You're her instructor?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

"Instructor Callow," he introduced himself, inclining his head slightly. "Cupid of the Second Rank. Supervisor of interns. And today — witness to the single most epic catastrophe in the history of my mentorship."

"I over-sharpened the arrows," Alysa said, in a very small voice. "I just wanted them to be perfect…"

"You turned standard-issue tools into instruments of self-destruction," Callow corrected. "The arrowheads have been sharpened to a degree that they split skin on contact. This is a violation of safety protocol, section three, subsection seven. Plus — unsanctioned self-injury. Plus — unscheduled arrow release. Plus — infatuation with a target."

"I didn't mean to!"

"That doesn't alter the facts."

You looked back and forth between the two Cupids. Alysa looked like someone who'd just been sentenced to life imprisonment. Callow looked like someone who was already deeply tired of existence — though, you suspected, that might have been his default expression.

"What happens to her now?" you asked. "You mentioned dissolution. Is that real?"

Callow shifted his gaze to you. Grey eyes — cold, but not cruel. Just… tired.

"It is standard procedure," he said. "A Cupid who has fallen in love with a human cannot fulfill her function. Emotions cloud judgment, distort perception, render impartial task execution impossible. Such cases are rare, but they have occurred. And each time, the Cupid was removed from duty."

"But not dissolved?"

"Dissolution is an extreme measure," Callow admitted, reluctantly. "Reserved for cases in which a Cupid has wielded love-magic knowingly and with malicious intent. Intern Liu wielded it out of stupidity. That is different."

Alysa let out a shuddering breath — you realized she hadn't been breathing at all.

"That said, the consequences," Callow went on, "are serious. You, human, can now see her. More than that — you are connected to the same magical circuit. The spark between you is not a one-sided impulse. It is a closed loop. This has never occurred before. We have no protocol for it."

"No protocol?" you repeated. "At all?"

"At all," Callow confirmed. "I must report to the higher authorities. This will take time. A day. Perhaps two. For the time being, I am suspending Intern Liu from field duty and ordering her to remain in this area. Near… you."

He intoned the last word with the air of a man tasting something unpleasant.

"Why near me?" you asked.

"Because the spark between you is closed," Callow explained. "If you separate over a great distance, the consequences are unpredictable. It may be nothing. It may be that you both experience physical illness. We do not know. I have no intention of experimenting."

Alysa stared at him, her eyes perfectly round.

"You're saying I have to stay with her?" She pointed a trembling finger at you. "All the time?"

"Until I receive instructions from above," Callow said. "Yes."

"But—"

"It is not a punishment, Intern Liu. It is a necessity. You created a bond. You are responsible for it."

Callow turned, clearly preparing to leave, but paused mid-step.

"One more thing," he added, without looking back. "Try not to make the situation worse. The spark has a tendency to grow. The more time you spend together, the stronger it becomes. I would recommend… not looking into each other's eyes for too long."

"Why?" you asked.

"Because it intensifies the effect," Callow said flatly. "Infatuation is not cured by additional infatuation."

He beat his wings — once, smoothly — and vanished. Simply dissolved into the air, leaving behind a faint silvery chime and the scent of ozone.

The two of you were alone.

Alysa sank to the ground — right onto the grass, heedless of her tunic gathering stains. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, suddenly looking very small and defenseless.

"I got suspended," she whispered. "On my first day."

You stood there, looking at her. The wind played with her hair. Her wings folded behind her, but the tips of the flight feathers still brushed the ground, gathering bits of grass. She looked… crushed.

And you realized you couldn't just walk away.

"Okay," you said, sitting down on the grass beside her. "Let's think."

Alysa lifted her head. Her eyes were still glistening, but her expression was surprised.

"Think?"

"Think," you confirmed. "You messed up. I got dragged in. Callow said we're connected. So we have to figure out how to get through this together until he comes back with a solution. Right?"

"But you're angry with me," Alysa said quietly. "I shot you. I manipulated your feelings."

"You tried to," you corrected. "But something went wrong."

"Everything went wrong."

"Then we deal with what's left."

Alysa looked at you for a long time. Silent. You watched something shift in her eyes — slowly, uncertainly, as though she had never in her life met a human who didn't shout, didn't blame, just… sat beside her.

"You're strange," she said, at last.

"Is that a compliment?"

"I don't know. I just started learning about humans." She paused. "But… probably, yes."

You snorted, and it was almost funny — sitting on the grass with a Cupid whose wings trailed across the lawn, trying to figure out what to do with your life.

Alysa suddenly tensed, staring past your shoulder.

"Your friend," she whispered, pointing. "Chloe."

You turned. Chloe was standing at the entrance to the courtyard, holding your now-cold latte, staring at you with an expression of profound bewilderment. She couldn't see Alysa. All she could see was you — sitting in the grass in the middle of the courtyard, talking to empty air.

"You okay?" she called from a distance. "Are you… who are you talking to?"

You shot a quick glance at Alysa. She had frozen, clearly unsure whether to vanish or stay.

"I…" you hesitated. "I'll explain later. It's a long story."

"What story?" Chloe came closer, still seeing nothing. "You're acting weird. And you didn't take your coffee. And you ran out of the café like something was chasing you."

"I'm fine," you said, pushing yourself up from the grass. "Really. I just… I need to go."

"Go where?"

"Home. I'm not feeling well. Can I call you tonight?"

Chloe looked at you with doubt, but she didn't argue. She knew you well enough to understand — when you were lying, it was better not to push. You'd tell her when you were ready. Or you wouldn't. Either way, she trusted you.

"Okay," she said, holding out the latte. "Here. It's cold, but it's still coffee."

"Thanks."

Chloe cast another glance around the empty courtyard, shrugged, and left. You stood there, watching her go, feeling a strange pang somewhere in your chest. The spark? Or just your conscience?

"She couldn't see me," Alysa said, rising from the grass. "Because she's not under the spark."

"So you're invisible to everyone except me?"

"That seems to be the case."

"That's…" you paused, searching for the right word. "Inconvenient."

"For me, it's normal." Alysa shrugged, and in the gesture you caught a shade of centuries-old loneliness. "Cupids are always invisible. We observe. We don't interact. It's the foundation of our work."

"But you interact with me."

Alysa looked at you. Long. Slow. And you remembered Callow's warning — don't look into each other's eyes for too long. But it was already too late. You were already looking. And she was looking back. And somewhere in your chest flared that same warmth — the spark, which hadn't gone anywhere. It was only growing.

"Yes," Alysa said softly. "I interact with you."

You didn't look away.

And she didn't look away.

And somewhere far away, in another layer of reality, Instructor Callow was writing his report, periodically pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

ᥫ᭡ Extraᥫ᭡

♡ After the disciplinary hearing concluded and the higher-ups delivered their verdict, Alysa was officially dismissed from active Cupid duty. Her bow and quiver were confiscated indefinitely, her access to the training halls revoked, and she was slapped with a fine so steep it might as well have been a joke — except no one in the Empyrean was laughing. She is no longer permitted to so much as touch a bowstring for the foreseeable future, nor to enroll in any further Cupid coursework. Technically, she's not even supposed to be on the mortal plane. Technically.

♡ She shows up at your cramped studio apartment that same evening, still wearing her white tunic, wings dragging on the hallway floor, looking equal parts defiant and terrified. "They fired me," she announces, as though you hadn't already guessed. "And fined me. And banned me. So. I live here now." Before you can formulate a response, she has already opened your refrigerator and is sniffing a container of leftover pasta with the critical air of a health inspector. "This has three days at most," she informs you. "We should eat it."

♡ Her food thievery becomes legendary within the first week. It doesn't matter what you buy — fruit, yogurt, cold pizza, the fancy cheese you were saving for a bad day — Alysa will find it and consume it at three in the morning while hovering cross-legged in the air, illuminated only by the refrigerator light, her wings folded loosely behind her like a contented, overgrown moth. You have started labeling things with your name. It doesn't help. She ignores labels, locks, and basic human courtesy with the serene entitlement of a supernatural being who has never had to pay for groceries in her immortal life.

♡ Sleeping arrangements become… unconventional. Your bed is a double, which was perfectly adequate for one person and is now catastrophically insufficient for one person plus one former Cupid with a ten-foot wingspan. Alysa sleeps like a very warm, very heavy stone. She drapes herself over you entirely — her body sprawled across your torso, her head tucked under your chin, her wings fanned out over the entire bed and spilling onto the floor on both sides. The weight of the wings alone is substantial; there is muscle in them, dense and real, and combined with the rest of her, you find yourself pinned to the mattress like a butterfly in a display case. You have woken up multiple times unable to feel your legs.

♡ Study sessions at your desk become endurance tests. You will be sitting there, trying to focus on a textbook, when two arms wrap around your neck from behind, two legs lock around your waist, and an entire canopy of white feathers enfolds you both, blocking out the lamplight. Alysa clings like a koala. Her chin hooks over your shoulder so she can "read along," though she has admitted she doesn't understand your coursework and is simply there for "moral support and warmth." The wings close around you both in a cocoon, muffling all sound, turning your desk into a feather-lined sensory deprivation chamber.

♡"Alysa," you wheeze one evening, your ribs creaking under the combined pressure of her arms, legs, and wings, "you and your wings are going to suffocate me." She doesn't loosen her grip. If anything, the wings tighten a fraction, and you feel her smile against the back of your neck. "That's not suffocation," she murmurs, her voice sleepy and unrepentant. "That's affection. I read about it. This is what humans do." You remind her, with what little breath you have left, that humans do not typically have wings. She pretends not to hear you. The feathers close in again, soft and unyielding, and you surrender to your fate.

♡ During tests and exams, Alysa will help you. You once told her about the smart students at your university and showed them to her. She can walk around the classroom because she is invisible and tell you the answers of other students, and she can also find the answers to your questions herself somewhere on the teacher's desk.

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