Evan knew what he was doing was wrong.
He knew it while he was rolling up the rose petals in the cigarette wrapper and twisting one end into a point.
He knew it while he was trimming the dove feathers and attaching them to the sides for aerodynamic stability, just as the viral video had instructed.
He felt it most keenly while he whispered the incantation to the little paper arrow in his hands.
“Make Michaela want me, so badly she can’t help herself. Make her see everything she’s ever wanted in me, and only me. Wake her with lust at the stroke of midnight on Saint Valentine’s Day. Allow her no rest or satisfaction until she comes to me to get it. Let nothing, not distance, nor physical obstacles, nor morals, nor law, stand in the way of her newfound desire for me. Mighty Cupid, lend me your power.”
Everyone was doing the “Cupid’s Arrow Challenge” this year, Evan assured himself.
Besides, an ounce of paper, petals, and feathers, all held together with sticky tape, designed by some unidentified TikTok user enjoying their fifteen minutes of fame, wasn’t really going to override anyone’s free will.
No, this was just a bit of fantasy play for himself, maybe even a much-needed exercise in turning thoughts into action.
After practicing with a silly little action like this, maybe he could build up the courage for something more responsible and useful, like actually asking Michaela out for coffee.
In the meantime, his foolishness wouldn’t affect her in the slightest.
This was what he told himself when he slipped the arrow into the pocket of Michaela’s jacket, as they shared an elevator down to the parking garage after work on February 13th.
“Mighty Cupid, lend me your power,” he whispered once more under his breath, completing the challenge.
#
That night, Evan lay awake, counting down to Valentine’s Day like a kid counting down to Christmas, almost convincing himself to believe in magic.
At midnight, he imagined Michaela waking up, breathing hard, with her shiny brown hair cascading all over her shoulders. It would lose its artificial straightness and turn wavy as it absorbed the sweat dripping down the back of her neck.
She’d be confused, at first, to suddenly experience such an intense, sexual dream about Evan, a quiet coworker she barely knew. Most likely, she’d try to go back to sleep and forget the whole thing.
When that didn’t work, she would touch herself. She’d use the dream, and all her passing memories of Evan, in a way she’d never imagined she would. Hands working furiously under the covers, she would try to turn those thoughts into secret pleasure and relief.
When that didn’t work either, that was when the fun would start.
She would probably try for a long time, Evan guessed. He would, if it were him.
Each passing moment would add to her confusion, turning it to panic. She wouldn’t understand what was wrong, how she could possibly be so aroused and yet unable to cross that last threshold.
But part of her would know instinctively, magically, what she had to do about it.
She would trade the warmth of her bed for the cold night outside, and come straight here, without even taking the time to change.
Evan could see her in his doorway, in a pink satin nightie and dramatic matching dressing gown, falling to her knees and begging him to take her in and fuck her without delay.
He would be shocked to see her, of course. Nobody could have expected that ridiculous Cupid’s Arrow Challenge to work.
In fact, who was to say that it had? Maybe it was a coincidence that Michaela’s lust for him had surfaced that night. Or maybe it was just Valentine’s Day in the air, and the idea of the challenge circulating online, that had prompted her to tap into her latent desires.
No reasonable person could hold Evan responsible for that.
And in any case, now that she was here, pleading for his help to ease her discomfort, he couldn’t just turn her away to suffer, could he?
Evan was rock-hard thinking about it. He played with himself periodically, just one or two quick touches at a time, holding back. He told himself it was to prolong the experience, to simulate the deprivation the Michaela of his dreams was going through, so he could imagine it all the better.
Truthfully, he was saving his pleasure, on the ridiculous, impossible chance that Michaela really was on her way here to share it with him.
At around two in the morning, the fantasy began to fracture around the probability that she was fast asleep and not thinking of him at all.
Deciding it was time to wrap things up, Evan began stroking himself in earnest, trying to hold onto the image of Michaela begging for his touch for just a few more minutes.
Just before he could reach his own orgasmic threshold, his whole apartment shook with a forceful knock at his front door.
#
“Evan!” That was Michaela’s voice, all right, shouting his name with breathless urgency. “Evan, let me in!”
“No… fucking… way,” Evan breathed as he approached the door in his boxers, grabbing a cushion to hold in front of his pulsing erection.
The hair along his arms and back stood on end with cold, with excitement, and with a significant tinge of fear.
Wishing for a magically love-mad Michaela to be delivered to his doorstep was easy. Knowing what to do when it actually happened — that was suddenly feeling a bit above his paygrade.
He opened the door.
Michaela’s eyes were as wild as he had pictured them, but not nearly as confused. In place of pink satin, she was wearing a tattered t-shirt, and instead of falling to her knees, she leaped on him, kissing his mouth and biting at his lips until he kissed her back.
I’m kissing Michaela, Evan thought to himself, trying to relax enough to take in the warm, earthy taste of her skin, the soft and firm parts of her body curving into each other, details he’d only been able to guess at before.
Thinking the words didn’t help the kiss make sense.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, my love,” she murmured, moving her lips to his ear.
Outside, Evan could hear running, shouting, far more activity than was usual for his neighborhood at this time of night.
But then Michaela was pushing him deeper into his studio apartment, shutting the door behind herself, and he knew he had closer things to wonder about.
Like what she was carrying in that gift bag, with the hearts all over it.
“I’ll be honest,” said Michaela, stepping deliberately forward, herding Evan closer to the bed. “I never thought much of you before. I mean, sure, I thought you were cute, but you never struck me as the type who could handle me, give me what I wanted.”
She pulled the modesty cushion from his hands and tossed it aside.
“And, uh, now?” Evan stalled to think, lunging to put the island of his tiny kitchen between them.
“Now I know the truth,” said Michaela, leaping onto the island with inhuman agility, sending Evan’s dish rack crashing to the floor.