If it weren’t for Cupid being a stupid little prick, Onew would never be here. About 3000 years into service, Cupid found this girl while he was out and about. Acting on impulses, he shot her with his bow, then reloaded with the corresponding arrow and shot himself in the foot. The girl was all over Cupid, of course, and he was happy (except for the fact that his foot hurt like a ). When Yunho found out about this, he promptly fired Cupid, who smiled at the news and skipped away to join his new lover.

For a brief period of time (205 years to be exact), there were very few happy marriages on Earth (and in the realm of the gods too). Yunho got so fed up with couples ing at each other that he sent Taemin out to find a replacement for “that little sniveling bastard who was always up to no good and could never really tell soul pairs and tried and failed to make me fall for three separate women DOES HE NOT REALIZE I’M GAY” Cupid.

Taemin met Onew in the coffee shop where Onew used to work, Onew’s first line being “why is your string so dirty?” Of course Taemin gave him an odd look and started to creep backwards (that’s what Jaejoong had told him to do: if someone is being sketchy, back away slowly and don’t make any loud noises), when Onew rushed to explain “no wait what I mean the red string around your little finger that most people can’t see but I can that’s supposed to tie you to your soul mate and oh my god your sandals have wings!” The few people in the coffee shop stared at the last part (well, they had kind of already been staring since Onew is loud in general and Taemin was wearing a toga (“It’s not a toga” he protested, “it’s the robes of the high beings.” Onew just looked him up and down and nodded. “It’s a toga.” Taemin groaned)).

Taemin shuffled quickly to hide his feet and leaned across the counter. “I need to talk with you,” he said. “What time do you close up shop?” After Onew whispered a time, Taemin nodded, turned swiftly, and glided out the door, door chime jingling happily. Onew blinked a few times, pinched his arm, shrugged, and continued attending customers and dealing with the other things café baristas deal with.

That night, just as Onew was finishing wiping down tables and reorganizing chairs at the back of the café, he heard the door chime jingle happily. He groaned at whoever it was; the closed sign was already up, so either they were blind or extremely stubborn. He felt a tap on his shoulder, making him jump and spill his soapy water bucket everywhere.

“Look what you’ve done! How did you get here so fast? I swear you were at the door just a second ago,” he bumbled, too startled to control how quickly he was talking. He stooped down to try to mop up the mess with his rag.

“I teleported,” a familiar voice deadpanned. Onew looked up in surprise. Standing behind him was the same toga boy from before, with half of his long hair pulled back into a ponytail, the other half framing his face.

“So that’s what your fancy shoes can do? Can I touch one?” Onew asked as he slowly stretched his finger toward the boy’s feet.

“Ack no! These are freaking expensive!” the boy shrieked, jumping away from Onew. In his haste, however, he forgot to control the wings, which started flapping happily and lifting him off the ground. “Guys! NO! Stop it! Down, Bertha! Goddammit, Edna! Calm your faces!” he shouted down at his feet, which were wiggling so much it seemed that he was dancing a jig in midair. The wings reluctantly stopped, and the boy came crashing back down. They folded against the sides of the sandals, making sure to thwack the boy’s calves before settling haughtily in their previous position. The boy smoothed his robes and made his way slowly back across the café.

Throughout the scene, Onew’s mouth had dropped lower and his eyes had gotten wider, and the only thing that snapped him out of his trance was that he (once again) dropped the water bucket, which sloshed all over his khakis and sneakers (he couldn’t bring himself to care that much; what’s a pair of pants when you’ve just seen a kid fly?). The boy looked at his expression, then at his pants, then back at his expression and laughed apologetically.

“I suppose I should tell you a bit about myself? And shut your mouth, you’re not a Venus fly trap.” Onew promptly snapped his mouth shut, but continued to stare at both the boy (who, now that Onew had been staring at him for so long, had a rather golden aura) and his sandals, which seemed to move on their own accord. “I don’t expect you to believe everything I say, but I guess what you just saw kind of dispels most doubts people have when I tell them this. My name is Taemin, I am Yunho’s messenger. I come in search of a matchmaker, preferably one that won’t go shooting every random person and their mother. Your string thing is…peculiar I guess? I’d much appreciate it if you told me more about these strings, though I don’t really want to know about my dirty one.”

It took Onew about thirty seconds to respond (“A new record!” Taemin would remark later), and when he finally did start, it was not an answer to Taemin’s request. “Waitwaitwait. Yunho as in the king of the gods Yunho? And I guess the messenger part would explain the sandals. But who are Bertha and Edna?”

Taemin laughed uncomfortably. “They’re my sandals, but they would rather I call them my steeds. It makes them sound grander, you know.” The sandals flipped their wings around, and as Onew observed them, he could almost hear them gossiping with each other about all that they’d seen that day.

“Um wow, cool, I guess?” In Onew’s opinion, his coherence was impressive considering the fact that he just met a god and two sassy sandals. “And what did you want from me?”

“I was curious about those strings you mentioned.”

“Oh right.” Onew cleared his throat, opened his mouth, and cleared his throat again. Taemin just looked at him, an amused smile growing on his face. “I, um, I don’t really know what they do. From what I’ve figured out, the ends are tied around the pinkies of people whose souls are meant to be together, if not in life but maybe in death. They’re all red, but they come in different colors. That boy,” he said, indicating a teenage couple passing the café, “has an orange-red one. It’s not connected with that girl’s string, so they will hopefully break it off soon. Yours is almost brown and it’s really frayed. I’m sorry if this is a bold claim, but as a god I thought you would have a more active love life than your string implies.”

Taemin looked at Onew incredulously, and Onew blinked a couple times before realizing that this was a god he was speaking to, and that he could be eternally punished. Panic flashed across Onew’s face, and he fell to his knees, pleading, “Oh please don’t damn me to eternal punishment oh great god of messages and speedy sandals! I have spoken wrong, and I will punish my mouth for running!” He proceeded to pour what remained of the soapy water into his mouth, but Taemin grabbed the bucket away.

“Well, aren’t you an entertaining one? Maybe I should bring you back to the palace to be my entertainer.” Onew paled at the thought. Entertainer means you need to be able to dance and tell jokes and do acrobatic things, right? Onew vaguely remembered trying to play soccer at a young age, and he could never get his foot to make contact with the ball. His coordination had only gotten worse since.

“I was just kidding,” Taemin said, laughing at his face. “Though I wasn’t kidding about coming back to the palace. Whaddaya say?” He flashed his winning smile (okay, and maybe used some god-like convincing serum), and Onew hesitantly nodded. Taemin took his hand and dragged him out of the café and into the sky above Seoul. The sun had already set, and all the lights were on, and Onew marveled at the way lines of headlights streamed through the city. Up they went to the clouds, where Taemin got Onew settled into a fluffy bed in a room with a fluffy carpet and filmy curtains (everything is made of cloud, after all). Maybe he was just sleepy, but Onew was rather excited to start a life in these clouds. In the weak light of early morning, however, he groaned as Taemin woke him with a “Hiyah! You ready to start? Awww, who’s a little sleepy-head? Who’s a wittle sweepy head? Awww.” He was oh so excited indeed.

A/N: AHAHAHA i should be writing a history paper and an english project and a spanish project but NO. fic it is i suppose. and i apparently at picking titles, so it will probably change like 4 times before i'm happy. not sorry.