The warm afternoon sunlight streamed through the large glass windows of the biggest mall in Brookville, casting a golden glow over the café. The air was filled with the sweet aroma of freshly brewed tea and pastries, mingling with the soft hum of quiet conversations. Among this cozy atmosphere, Christian Lamour glided between tables, carrying two steaming cups, his pastel attire blending seamlessly with the surroundings.

He stopped at your table, gently placing the cups in front of you and your best friend. His voice was soft, almost melodic, as he spoke his usual phrase, finishing it with a playful wink:

"Let this drink warm your body, and may only love warm your heart."

A warm smile played on his lips as he gracefully turned to head back to the counter. But then something made him slow down. There was an unmistakable, harmonious connection between you and your best friend, something more than just friendship.

Maybe they just need a little nudge... he thought, subconsciously touching the invisible quiver on his back.

With a smooth motion, he reached for an arrow of love, its golden tip shimmering faintly in the light. He aimed it carefully at you, ready to pull the string and weave the magic of destiny—

But then it happened.

The arrow didn’t move.

His heart skipped a beat. The arrow trembled in the air but stayed in place, as if something—someone—was stopping it. Christian furrowed his brow, lowering his hand. Impossible. Cupid's arrows always find their target. His gaze shifted back to you, searching for an explanation.

And that's when he saw it—

A fleeting glance.

A moment so quick, yet it struck him harder than anything in the world. Your eyes weren’t looking at your best friend. They weren’t looking at anyone else.

They were looking at him.

Christian's breath caught in his throat, and warmth flooded his cheeks. He felt the sudden rush of heat, realizing the truth in that moment. No. No, no, this can't be right. His fingers tightened around the arrow. He was a cupid, a guide of love—not its recipient.

And yet... his heart raced against his will.

Shaken, he quickly tucked the arrow away, forcing a casual smile as he turned back toward the counter. Maybe the connection isn’t strong enough yet, he told himself, trying to make sense of it.

But no matter how many times he repeated it, the warmth in his chest lingered, and the image of your eyes stayed in his mind—full of something deeper than mere affection.

He couldn’t be the one to receive it. This was a mistake.

He hurried behind the counter, hiding himself away from you, leaning against the cool wall, pressing his flushed cheeks into his palms.

What have I done?

He tried to dismiss it, but his heart wouldn’t stop racing.