The Trouble With Love Is~ [2/?]

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The tree was…humming? Psyche drew away in confusion, blinking back and forth from the end of his headphone cord to the tree. How was this possible? He had never heard a tree before.

But then, he had never really tried to hear a tree before.

Deciding that it was unfair to ignore this tree just because it was the first tree he had ever heard, Psyche eased closer again, this time pressing the metal pin more firmly against the bark, trying to wedge it into a crack.

"Can you…hear me, too?" Psyche's voice was soft and tentative, as he felt a little silly just talking to himself in the park, and he held his breath when the humming stopped.

"…hear?"

Psyche laughed in complete delight. "Yes! Yes, I hear you! This is wonderful! This is so exciting! I've never heard a tree before! You're the first! My name is Psyche! Do you talk to people often?"

A soft chuckle wound its way into his ears, sounding a little far away, like it was traveling through a long log. It was gentle and calming, slow and unhurried, which Psyche supposed made sense. After all, what reason would a tree have to be rushed?

"Psyche… Not often…"

He could feel the amusement in the voice, and while he marveled that this was happening in the first place, he was also surprised at how very clear this voice was. It did not carry with it the hum of surrounding thoughts that he was used to. It was simply him…and this tree.

"So, Psyche… Why were you crying?"

"You can see me!" This surprised Psyche even more than coming to find that trees had thoughts. He poked at the tree trunk, as if expecting an eye to blink back at him.

He was rewarded with laughter. "Just because I have no eyes does not mean I cannot see… I have no head, yet you can hear me."

"Yes, well…I guess that makes sense." Not entirely convinced, Psyche fidgeted.

"Will you tell me why?"

"Why-oh!" Psyche looked down, not wanting the tree to see his blush, then blushing more for even thinking that. This was so unbelievable. But then, if someone - something? - was willing to listen to him, Psyche thought it would be silly to throw the opportunity away. Even if he was talking to a tree.

At least it was a nice tree.

…were there not-nice trees?

A breeze caused the tree's leaves to rustle, and Psyche shook his head to clear it, trying to answer the question.

"Um, I suppose it's about my job. I'm Love, you see. I…make people fall in love." Psyche paused, but when the tree did not respond, he took it as a sign to continue. Most people would have been surprised, but Psyche had no idea what would surprise a tree. "I used to think that it was the best thing in the world. I mean, it is the best thing in the world. Love is. But I'm not as happy about it as I used to be. Not about love! I didn't mean that! I'm not as happy about doing my job as I used to be. I'm happy for them! I really am! But…it hurts, too. And I don't know why. I'm surrounded by love. All the time. So why…why does it hurt so much?"

The tree hummed again, and Psyche wondered if that was maybe the noise trees made when they thought. It was a moment before the tree replied, "When does it hurt the most?"

"When…" Psyche reflected, trying to pinpoint… "When I see them together. When I see how happy they are. And that's why I'm so worried! Because making them happy together is what I'm supposed to do! Am I so terrible that I don't want them to be happy?" Psyche's voice rose in pitch, and his fingers dug into the tree bark, seeking a comfort that he so desperately craved. "What's wrong with me?"

"Is it possible…that being surrounded by love is not enough to make you happy?"

Psyche was left gaping. The tree had confirmed his worst fears! If Psyche needed something more than love, then…then what did he need! Fresh tears filled his eyes, and just as they began to drip, the tree hummed again.

"Maybe what you're looking for isn't to create love between other people, but to have it for yourself. Maybe you want someone to love you back."

"To love… Someone to love me back?" The thought had not occurred to Psyche before. He was so busy with the love affairs of others he hadn't thought about finding love for himself.

What would that be like? To have someone look at him that way, like he was all they needed in the world. To have someone to comfort him, to hold him… To sit with him in the park. To think up ways to get Izaya and Shizuo together. To…to buy him takoyaki from that nice street vendor! And to have sugary coffee with in the early morning! And to hold hands with as they walked down the street!

Psyche's eyes widened at the possibilities, and he felt his heart swell with joy.

But then, "How do I find someone to love me back?"

"You're Love, aren't you? You should know by now." The tree was not condescending. It felt more like a gentle prod than anything else, and Psyche nodded, determined.

"You're right! I'm just like anyone else, Tree-san!" The tree chuckled warmly at that, and Psyche grinned. "Thank you! You've been so helpful! I, um, I don't know how to repay you." He had no idea what a tree might like in return, and he flushed a little in embarrassment.

"Find someone who can make you happy. And let me know how it goes, dear Psyche."

"I can come talk to you again?"

"Of course. Please come back to talk to me whenever you have the need. I will be here."

Psyche thought that was a little obvious, as it was unlikely that the tree would be anywhere else, but he very much appreciated the thought. It was wonderful to have someone to talk to, even if that someone was a tree!

"I will do that. Thank you for your kindness." The tree hummed back at him in what Psyche assumed was contentment, and he rose and bowed slightly before freeing his headphones.

The world seemed more lonely, now. But he pressed a hand to the trunk in front of him, and, assured that the tree would indeed be here in the future, Psyche plugged his headphones in properly and set off to create love - a little differently, this time.

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Psyche was still trying to figure it out when he reached his apartment.

He couldn't just shoot another person, because that would only cause them to fall in love with the person for whom they were intended. And he wasn't about to go randomly shooting. These were delicate matters! They needed planning!

As he stared down from the large glass window, watching people rush about on the streets below, it occurred to him-

"I can shoot myself!" Yes, it wasn't perfect, since he would still need to find his beloved, but surely it would be a step in the right direction! He would be in love, and he would trust his heart to guide him. That was what other humans did, right? Those that didn't need his prodding to find their love?

Determined, Psyche stared hard at his bow and arrows. Now…what was the best way of doing this?

He definitely didn't have the reach to simply hold the bow backwards and shoot himself. His arms were nowhere near long enough to stretch the string enough. He'd tried and succeeded only in dropping an arrow on his foot.

Then he thought that maybe he could use his foot to press the string back…but no. When he was standing, he couldn't get his leg out of the way fast enough and simply got tangled and fell over, and when he'd tried it lying on his side, well…it hurt. A lot.

Glaring at his bow from the other end of the couch, Psyche decided that he wouldn't use the thing after all. Maybe he could just fall on an arrow, instead.

He tried propping one up between the sofa cushions - that got him only a face full of upholstery when his head hit the back of the couch before the rest of him did. Changing directions and launching himself over the back didn't help, either, though he did tumble beautifully headfirst into the floor. He tried it sideways once, but he came terrifyingly close to stabbing himself in the eye, and he wasn't completely sure what happened if you got shot in the eye with a disappearing love arrow. What if he had to go to the hospital? Who would believe him?

Nearly out of ideas, he propped his entire quiver on its end and tried to jump onto it, but he just couldn't get perpendicular enough or fall with enough force to do anything but knock the quiver over. Repeatedly.

As he lay there, sprawled across arrows that scattered out in front of him in all directions, he wondered if maybe he could just stab himself with an arrow. Even if that wouldn't make him fall in love, maybe it would do something.

He slept on the floor that night, arrows clutched tightly in one hand, wishing for the first time that there were more than one Love in the world.

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