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.