By Shep Pablo

Concerts are Katya’s favorite place to be. After all, they’re the only time she gets to use her flamethrower.

It’s an exclusive weapon option for only the best of cupids. She holds that title close to her heart, with lots of pride and a sprinkle of delirium. She cackles as she zips around in the air and lights the crowd’s love on fire just as the curtains open. The performance begins with a charming guitar riff followed by the flutter drums and an explosion of music. The fuzz of the guitar and the electricity flowing throughout the song makes her smile until her cheeks hurt.

“I’m so happy,” she yells into the flames, “to exist at the same time as this!”

None of them can see her, but she can watch humans as much as she wants—through the bright pink fire of love, at least. There’s a young boy decked out in the band’s merchandise, eyes sparkling with excitement. An old lady with a spiked leather jacket smiles like she’s remembering easier times. A pair of teenagers throw their arms around each other as they cheer. 

The progress meter on her watch dings as it reaches 100%, and she releases the trigger, muttering a complaint about how she should’ve been assigned a bigger concert. She sits with her legs dangling off the edge of the stage, watching the crowd that sings along and cheers like nothing else exists. A job well done, she thinks. Her partner Benjie—who’s been long done with his bow-and-arrow mission by now, she’s sure—taps her shoulder from behind. She makes sure to look at him; he only speaks out loud if they’re alone. He signs to ask if she’s done, and she gives him a thumbs up. He pauses, hands smoothing over the fabric of his dress. He looks like a cat who’s just been spritzed by water.

“Special mission. Boss called it experimental,” he signs, adding a special sarcastic flair to his movements when he says experimental. He points to her watch. She taps her mission app and gawks at the latest and vaguest entry she’s gotten yet—a far cry from the endless pages of information they usually get.

It reads:

EMILIA BAUTISTA; AGE 16; 2 MILES AWAY; GOOD LUCK! 🙂

“This’ll be really interesting, huh?” She cracks her knuckles for emphasis and walks away towards the nearest exit, her excitement punctuated by the raucous end of a song. A defeated Benjie trails behind her.

——

Benjie gets his work done in record time. It was the one thing he was created for, and he does it perfectly. Arrows of love and hate strike right through people’s hearts within seconds. This usually allows him to have a good chunk of time to slack off and look at stray cats before he gets a new assignment. He’s not particularly interested in humans—they’re just another box to check in the list of things that he has to do, after all. He’s about to mentally complain some more when he and Katya walk right through the bedroom door, and Emilia stares directly at them. They freeze.

The lights aren’t on. Her eyes are emptier than any Benjie’s ever seen. Her black hair falls into her face like his does, though hers is far longer and curlier. She sits on the floor with bandages on her arms, surrounded by a mess of clothes and crumpled up papers. The rest of her room is devoid of personality: just the absolute basics and a laptop. No posters or decorations to be seen.

“Oh. You’re fast.” She points to Katya. “What’s with the mullet? And that outfit… I called for a cupid, not a cowboy.”

“Wh—leave me alone! There’s nothing wrong with any of that! I actually think it makes me look very—” Benjie lightly smacks her arm. “Wait, that’s not the problem! You can see us?!”

“Am I not supposed to?” Emilia tilts her head to the side. “The ad said I could book a free consultation with cupids…”

“The what?” Katya balks.

“The ad? There was a little promotional poster near here with a number. I called it. And now you’re here.”

Once he processes what she says, Benjie feels like he’s been doused in ice water. His boss knows he doesn’t talk. They didn’t warn him about this part! Most people don’t know sign language, either, so if he wants to do this, then he’ll have to write or type or something, and he doesn’t have any of that equipment on him. He looks down at the ground, breaths shaky.

“Please don’t waste my time,” Emilia says. She looks at Benjie, eyes burning into him. “What’s up with you?”

“He doesn’t talk, is all,” Katya interrupts.

She pats his shoulder. Right. He has Katya; it’s okay with Katya. She whispers something to him about sitting down, so he does. Katya sits cross legged and rests her hands on her knees, leaning forward.

“So. Why’d you call us, Emilia?”

“You’re a little slow.” She lets out a small, breathy laugh. Benjie feels his throat tighten up. “I’m broken. Can’t you fix me with one of your arrows or something?”

“Hey, don’t say that about y—”

“Shut up. Get on with it.”

Katya’s eyebrows furrow and she gives Benjie a look. He starts to sign something about how bows aren’t good in this short of a range, but he gives up and pulls out his bow and a love arrow. Not much else they can do, anyway. He takes a deep breath and pulls the string taut, just like he always does. This is familiar. It’s good. He releases, and just like always, it’s a straight shot to her heart.

It shatters when it reaches her.

…Huh?

Emilia starts laughing. Really laughing. The sharp, bitter sounds pierce the air. She falls flat on her back.

“I’m hopeless! Seriously hopeless!” Her laughter fades into breathy giggles. “That’s gold. Hey, you guys aren’t really human, right?” She covers her face with her arm, and her voice breaks. “Do you know what it’s like to feel empty?”

Benjie signs to Katya, asking her to translate. His movements are faster and shakier than ever. It’s a miracle she understands anything he’s saying.

“He says, yes, all the time. He doesn’t feel much of anything at all. And he’s sorry about the arrow. But what he wants to say is…” She tenses up. “…he, uh, knows what it’s like to want to disappear. It won’t feel like this forever—”

“Sure as hell feels like it, though!” Emilia punches the ground with her free arm, then starts sniffling. “I’ve heard everything. Don’t try.”

She spirals even more, mumbling about how she wishes something could save her already. Benjie’s hands crumple the skirt of his dress, knuckles turning pale. He wants to help, but he doesn’t know how. He flinches as he hears Katya slap her hands on her knees again.

“Emilia,” Katya starts, “let’s hang out tomorrow.”

“…What?”

“We can go to the art museum or see a movie. We can do anything you want, and even if you don’t want anything, Benjie and I can plan all of it. Does that sound good?”

“What are you saying?”

“Maybe it’ll make you feel better, maybe it won’t.” Katya rocks back and forth. “And if it doesn’t… Well, it’ll be good for you to get outta this room, either way.”

Emilia says something about having school tomorrow, and Katya waves her off, saying it won’t kill her to play hooky. Emilia lets out a choppy laugh, calling her stupid. Benjie feels like he’s watching this all through the crack of a door. He’s never been so clearly bad at something before. In his stomach, something sharp grows, piercing through wires and skin and wings. 

It twists.

——

You can look, but please don’t touch, says the plaque under the frame. Emilia tilts her head as she stares into the painting in front of her. 

“I don’t get it,” Emilia whispers. “Realism’s kinda boring.”

“Really? This one’s pretty well-loved,” says Katya.

Emilia shrugs. She probably just doesn’t get art like everyone else at this museum probably does. She can see the technical and historical value easily enough, but it’s not enough for her to feel anything. Benjie brought what looks like an erasable LCD writing tablet with him this time around, and she takes a look at what he’s written. His handwriting is neater than she thought it would be, and he seems like less of a nervous wreck now.

“Might like the room next to this one better. More abstract.”

She hums.

They go from room to room, but nothing hits quite right. She feels out of place here. In each section, Benjie takes a shot at her with love arrows, which shatter just like they did in her bedroom. Whenever they hit, she feels a pang of something she can’t discern, like the initial sting and fizz of sickeningly sweet soda. After a few failures, he relents, walking up to her with his head down and “I give up (for now)” written on his tablet. She chokes back a laugh and gets weird looks from the other museum-goers, but she doesn’t care much.

For her entire life, Emilia has watched the rest of the world through a box of dirty glass. She can put together the pieces well enough, but in the end, she’s always been a spectator to herself and the people around her. Today, the glass feels a little clearer. Just like the plaque said, she still can’t touch, but there’s a slight sense of realization that comes with each brush stroke she sees. As she stares at a portrait of a cheery violinist, she thinks about how someone created this from a blank canvas. They probably spent hours thinking about it, sketching it, and painting it. She wonders if they ever ran out of a certain color of paint, or if the violinist was happy with how his portrait turned out.

I wonder if I’ll ever feel as dedicated to something as that, she thinks.

She goes back and forth with the two cupids about divisive installations and paintings that make people say they could do the same thing. Emilia finds that she has more opinions on art than she thought she did, but more than that, she likes seeing how other people respond. Katya teaches her the art of people-watching while making up fantastical backstories about the most interesting people in the room. A young adult decked out in anime merchandise sketches as they stand in front of a painting of Jesus. A couple argues about the artistic merit of Rothko’s art, all while still holding hands. A mother is wildly impressed with pointillism, walking to and from a painting to see the dots of paint.

Emilia has to admit that it’s a nice change of pace to see anything other than the dull walls of her room and school, even though she’d never say it out loud. When they make their way to the gift shop, she buys an enamel pin of Piet Mondrian’s Lozenge Composition, charmed by its visual simplicity. The hollow pit in her chest remains, but she figures it’s an interesting addition to her plain jacket. Katya gives her a thumbs up, and Benjie writes that he likes the colors.

“Hey, so I’m curious,” Katya asks on the steps leading outside. “Don’t you have any parents?”

“Don’t you have a job?” she retorts. Katya tries to lightly punch Emilia’s arm, but her hand phases right through, so she sticks her tongue out at her instead. After a bit more pushing from Katya, Emilia sighs.

“Fine. They’re always on business trips, so I’m alone a lot of the time.”

Benjie writes to ask what she does in her free time.

“Sit in my room and stare at the ceiling, mostly,” she says. “Sometimes I watch videos.”

Benjie starts writing some more, but he’s interrupted by the bubbly 8-bit beep of his watch. She leans over to look at it, letting out an impressed huff as he runs a hand through his hair and tucks his tablet into his quiver in a rush. He flies off in a flurry before she can apologize for being as broken as she is, so she’s left walking down the street with Katya still by her side. Emilia gives her a look.

“What? I gotta keep you company.” She twirls a bundle of tassels on her cowboy jacket, breezy as ever. “‘Sides, I trust him. He’s got this.”

——

BENJIE, KATYA: IF I DON’T SEE RESULTS IN THE NEXT 15 MINS, YOU’RE GONNA GET CANNED! PICK UP THE SLACK, OKAY? DO YOUR BEST!!ヾ(≧▽≦*)o BOSS

——

Benjie does not, in fact, “got this.”

He has one love arrow and less than 15 minutes to figure out the perfect target for Emilia before he gets thrown in the trash. No one around her age in the museum was a good candidate for even a fleeting crush, and none of the paintings sparked a love for visual art either, even if she was charmed. Her eyes were empty as ever—not captivated, but just mildly amused. He wants to help in a tangible way this time around. He needs to prove that he’s not a failure at the one thing he was made for. His head is a mess, thoughts running through him like sand, and it’s all too much.

He short circuits. He feels an explosion of every relationship he’s ever started and ended from the sidelines. They were all human, too, just like Emilia. How much has he started and ruined, just by existing? How much has he missed out on? A hand reaches into his back, pushing past metal bones and wires of veins to yank out his artificial heart. He slowly blinks back to life, vision obscured by various error messages that he ignores. Still unsteady, he flies to the top of a telephone pole a block away from where Katya and Emilia are.

There’s a group of buskers playing a song with brass instruments and a set of drums. It’s distracting and loud, but he feels his brain go wonderfully blank when Katya shoots a peace sign at him from below. Being the music freak that she is, he knows she’s going to gravitate towards them. Emilia’s definitely listened to songs before, but she probably hasn’t seen live music. Actually, there’s no way she has, considering how much she stayed inside.

Just breathe, Benjie, he thinks, spreading his hands wide, then relaxing them. This is what you were made for.

He gets into position, letting out one last exhale. He pulls the string of his bow taut and aims right at Emilia’s back.

——

As Katya leads her towards the buskers with excited chatter, Emilia feels an unfamiliar warmth spread in her chest. The sound of the brass flowing along with the snappy drums makes her feel electric. She’d usually be annoyed by something as loud as this, but there’s a contagious joy between the people playing their instruments with confidence that she could never have. The guy in the middle with a flashy suit sways in place as he plays his saxophone, and his bandmates back him up. It’s a conversation between all of them, back and forth between their instruments. Emilia doesn’t understand it, but she’s enraptured as she listens to a song she doesn’t know in a city she’s barely explored. It’s not until Katya starts panicking that Emilia realizes she’s crying. 

“I’m fine. Really.” She wipes her tears on her sleeves. “I don’t know why I…”

The dirty glass box has shattered. It isn’t completely gone, but Emilia can finally see, even if only a little bit, how bright the world can be.

Benjie falls down from the sky in the most undignified form she’s seen from anyone. He pushes himself up, glasses crooked and static stiff hair sticking up all over the place. She bursts out laughing at the sight of him, just as loud as she was when she thought she was hopeless. Maybe she still is, but it’s been so long since she felt like this that she can’t bring herself to care.

Benjie lifts his tablet to face her.

“You’re going to stay alive, right?” asks the big, barely legible letters on his tablet. A little smaller, she sees, “It’s nice to see your smile.”

“Fine. I’ll stay alive.” She rolls her eyes, but her cheeks hurt from smiling. “As long as I can see you two idiots again.”

The two of them share a look, then Katya pumps her fists up in the air, whooping and cheering. Emilia notices the tiniest smile on Benjie’s face, too. She points it out and he writes a very unconvincing sentence about how he’s just happy this assignment is done and over with. Katya throws an arm over his shoulder, muttering that he should just give up the act already. Emilia puts her hands in her pockets and stares at them, expression soft.

“Thank you.” Emilia says. “Really.”

——

Half a year later, they’re all back in her room.

Emilia has redecorated and put up a few posters on her walls. It’s still a mess—sheet music is spread across the floor, and her desk is another nightmare—but it’s different now. It doesn’t feel like the mess of a person who wants to disappear without a trace. Emilia herself sits on the edge of her bed, messing with the tone knob of her recently acquired bass. She’s gotten a lot of her hair chopped off. Her eyes look different too, somehow. 

Katya plucks a few strings on her special cupid-made electric guitar. She didn’t think anything would ever top the flamethrower, but she’ll admit, it’s a strong competitor. Benjie sits on the ground, arms wrapped loosely around his legs, watching intently, and Katya takes a deep breath.

“Three, two, one!” She grins like a madman as she plays the starting riff of her favorite song, fuzz and all. “C’mon, Mimi, you know this one, right?”

“You’re ridiculous,” Emilia says, though she smiles and starts to pluck along. Benjie joins in, though he’s only got his hands to clap along with.

It’s far from perfect. Their fingers slip on the frets, and Benjie gets thrown off beat because of it. He’s holding back a smile, though, and Katya swears that even over the noise, she hears a laugh from Emilia. Her hopeless bitterness has lifted, replaced by an airy sort of joy that Katya wants to hear more of. She starts singing at the top of her lungs, love filling up her heart to the brim.

I’m so happy to exist at the same time as this.

The music plays on.

–

Shep Pablo is an 18 year old Filipino-American who loves art more than anything. They love writing about trans identity, (perhaps not romantic) love, and finding worth in being alive. They get a lot of their inspiration from vocaloid and manga. Find them on Instagram @aquariumyuri.