Cupid Doesn't Believe In Love (On hold)

"Don't, because if you fail, all the love in the world will disappear.” He watches me carefully as I ponder over the ominous things he's saying. “Right along with every arrow I've shot.”

Truthfully, it doesn't make sense.

If I accept the challenge he's presented before me and fail, all of the world's love will simply vanish? I get he's Cupid—though I'm still skeptical in regards to that—but can he even do that? Surely there are limits to what he can control when it comes to matters of love?

The obvious thing to do is decline.

If I don't play along, there's no chance for failure.

Unless there's something he’s not telling me…

“What happens if I don't accept?” I study him carefully, awaiting his answer, looking for any tells of a lie.

“Now where's the fun in that, Lennon?” Eros pouts, his face becoming gloomy like the overcast sky.

I'm starting to get the impression that he's bored, looking for a way to spice up his day-to-day life. That he's grown tired of aimlessly wandering while shooting people with arrows of love across the globe. Wait, is he even the only Cupid? I mean, I get he's not snared to one night the way parents—and the world—made us believe Santa Claus was as children. He doesn't journey across the world, hitting as many people with shots of love as he can in a day.

I just figured he would be a bit too busy to be igniting games for his own enjoyment.

“I have a lot of questions that you will answer before I decide anything, but not here.” My teeth are starting to chatter from the cold, and I flinch when another gust of wind blasts me with cold.

It's gotten colder in the fifteen minutes we've been talking, and lying down in the snow earlier was stupid of me.

The snow melted away from my back, leaving a cold dampness behind.

That's starting to freeze.

He still stands unfazed by the elements, looking as if he's been toasty and warm, sitting inside some coffee shop watching the world pass him by.

He's probably been out here for at least double the time we've been talking.

The cold should be affecting him, yet it's not.

I file that information into my observation of whether or not he's really Cupid; so far I'm leaning towards yes.

There's a chance that this is just a dream, that I slipped on some ice on my way out the door this morning. I could be lying unconscious on my front porch or in a hospital bed at this very moment. Having a weirdly realistic dream about Cupid because I have Valentine's Day on the brain.

“Very well then, where do you wish to have this conversation?” Eros asks.

“You seem immune to the cold, but we, not Cupid's, tend to exhibit the beginning stages of frostbite if we remain in the cold for a certain amount of time. So I could really use a hot chocolate right about now to warm up. So how about we talk about this at Lou’s?”

I start to walk away before he can respond. I glance over my shoulder to see if he's following; he's confused but following.

“Who is this Lou person?”

Pulling my scarf back above my nose, I exhale a laugh.

“What? What's so funny?” He comes to my side, looking puzzled.

“Lou's isn't a person; it's a place.”

“Oh.”

He falls in line, silently trudging behind me as I push my way through the bushes. I veer off to the left to avoid the dip in the ground that I used to trip over. It took me some time to learn how to navigate through this small expansion of foliage next to the park, and my skin is decorated with many small scars from my efforts. The worst one I have is beneath my thumb, on the palm of my hand. My foot had gotten caught on some exposed roots, and I failed to catch myself on a branch.