Nell tracked the dude who almost ran into her for a second or two over her shoulder. Some people were born rude--some people just grew into it. Who knew what that guy's story was, or even if he was being rude to begin with. Maybe he just wasn't paying attention: it was Valentine's, which meant lots of people were simply too distracted to keep their mind on simple tasks like--oh, say walking.
Kale's arm hooked around her waist wasn't minded, either, and she responded in kind by slipping her own beneath his hoodie to hook a finger on his beltloop. The closeness to him was a comfort. Not to mention it was warm. And he always smelled amazing.
"Cupid?" She turned a quick look and half-grin up at him, then chortled immediately when she saw that confused-but-entertained smile of his. "He wasn't a Saint, if that's what you were thinking." She knew he wasn't, but teasing was half the game.
"He was the son of Venus, who fell in love with a human woman - Psyche - and decided the best way to wake her up out of a coma was to shoot an arrow into her heart." Her brows went up as she explained, quite happy with her reverie of useless knowledge. "Of course, there's no symbolism to the act of a phallic shaped object piercing a shape designed after a woman's ass--or the fact that February 14th was the Roman Lepercurian Festival of Fertility, when men picked their mate and everyone celebrated with an orgy. None at all."
Victorian England is what put the 'romantic' spin on Valentine's Day, and also a scattering of other traditions along earlier history, but for the most part, it was all about the Sex.