I am no Jedi.

The sun was warm against your skin, the golden rays casting a glittering sheen over the lake. Laughter and screaming rang out from the water where Mor had just shoved Cassian off Azriel’s shoulders, sending a spectacular splash over anyone too close to the fray. Feyre, lounging on the shore with a smirk, passed you a berry from the basket she’d stolen earlier, her paint-streaked fingers brushing yours.

“Think you’re next,” she murmured, nodding toward Rhysand, who was currently wading toward you with a grin that spelled trouble. The water clung to his body, shimmering like liquid silver over the hard planes of his chest, making it impossible not to stare. His midnight eyes glimmered like the stars, locked on you in a way that made the rest of the world fade into static. You pretended not to notice, but the green bikini you’d worn was suddenly the only thing on your mind.

“You look like a water nymph,” he murmured when he reached you, his voice low enough that only you could hear. His fingers trailed over the bare skin of your waist, featherlight and reverent, his touch igniting little sparks that danced up your spine.

You rolled your eyes, even as heat crept up your neck. “Flattery won’t save you in the next round.”

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, leaning closer, his lips brushing your ear. “You’d need both Az and Cassian to take me down.”

Before you could retaliate, Cassian’s voice boomed across the lake. “Chicken rematch! Rhys, you and your girl better not chicken out again—pun intended.”

Rhys sighed dramatically, pulling you toward the deeper water as you complained. Ignoring your protests entirely, he bent slightly, grabbing you by the waist and hauling you up with ease. You squealed, your legs kicking reflexively as he tossed you over his shoulder like a sack of flour, striding into the lake with a laugh that matched the mischievous glint in his eyes. “Guess we’ll have to show them,” he said with mock resignation, but his smirk betrayed him. When he hoisted you onto his shoulders, his hands gripping your thighs with ease, you caught his subtle wink.

“You better not drop me,” you warned, trying to sound serious as Mor grinned from across the water.

“Never,” he said, his voice like velvet, warm and sure.

The game devolved into chaos, as expected, with Cassian attempting to topple you both with an enthusiasm that could only be described as barbaric. Water flew in every direction as shrieks of laughter filled the air, your hands gripping Rhys’s hair in a desperate attempt to steady yourself. “Hold still, you’re going to make me fall!” you cried, half-laughing, half-panicked, as Rhys steadied you with a firm grip on your thighs, his smirk unshakable.

“You think I’d let that brute win?” Rhys teased, dodging a wave sent your way by Cassian’s flailing arms. “Not a chance.”

When Cassian finally lunged with all his might, the inevitable splash came, pulling you both under in a whirlwind of bubbles. You surfaced with a gasp, water streaming down your face, only to find yourself in Rhys’s arms. He was grinning down at you, his hair dripping, his chest rising and falling with breathless laughter. “You okay, sweetheart?” he asked, brushing a strand of wet hair from your face.

“Barely,” you replied, laughing as he pressed a lingering kiss to your temple, his thumb stroking your cheek. The warmth of his touch and the sparkle in his eyes made it impossible not to smile.

By the time the sun began to sink toward the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, the group had settled on the shore. Amren, perched regally on a rock with a drink in hand, pretended not to watch as Azriel offered Mor a rare, teasing smile. Mor, of course, was quick to retaliate with a cheeky quip about his brooding demeanor, causing even Azriel’s lips to twitch in amusement. Cassian was already halfway through a pile of snacks, crumbs on his chest as he loudly accused Rhys of cheating in the earlier game, his dramatic gesticulations sending Feyre’s basket of berries rolling. Feyre scowled at him, reaching out to rescue the fruit, though her expression softened when he gave her an exaggerated pout.

“You’re like a child,” she said, shaking her head, though her voice held a note of fondness.

“A very charming child,” Cassian shot back, popping another berry into his mouth before winking at Amren. “You agree, don’t you?”

Amren rolled her eyes, muttering something about “idiots” as she took a sip of her drink, though the corner of her mouth twitched in what might have been a smile.

Rhysand was lying on his back, stretched out languidly on the soft blanket spread over the shore, with you curled into his side. Your head rested on his chest, rising and falling with the steady rhythm of his breath, and one of his arms draped around your waist, holding you close as though you might slip away. His fingers traced lazy patterns on your arm, the light touch sending shivers down your skin, while his other hand tangled in your damp hair, twisting and smoothing the strands idly. Every so often, his thumb would graze over your shoulder, lingering just long enough to make your heart flutter. The warmth of his body beneath you and the subtle, grounding pressure of his touch made you feel impossibly safe.

“You wore that just to distract me, didn’t you?” he murmured, tilting his head to catch your eyes. His voice was rich, filled with a teasing warmth that matched the sunlight filtering through the trees.

You smirked, pressing a finger to his chest. “You’re awfully distracted for someone who’s supposedly all-powerful.”

“Only around you.” His lips brushed yours softly, the kiss lingering just long enough to leave your heart stuttering. When he pulled back, his gaze softened, his free hand cupping your cheek as though he couldn’t bear to stop touching you.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “I think I’ll have to find a green bikini for you in every shade imaginable. You’ve officially ruined me.”

You laughed, swatting at his chest as he chuckled, the sound low and endlessly affectionate. “Ruined you? Hardly. You’re still incorrigible.”

The music pulsed through the dimly lit club, wrapping around you like a heartbeat. Bodies swayed and moved, the energy electric as you danced with Feyre and Mor in the center of it all. The bass seemed to sync with the rhythm of your steps, your arms thrown up as laughter spilled from your lips, carefree and intoxicating. Feyre twirled you with a grin, and Mor pressed her back to yours, her hands grazing your arms as she matched your movements, her golden hair catching the light.

At the edge of the dance floor, you could feel Rhysand’s gaze on you. His dark eyes followed every sway of your hips, every twist of your body, and you caught his smirk whenever you turned your head his way. Across the room, Amren sat perched on a barstool, her sharp eyes scanning the crowd while Azriel leaned beside her, sipping a glass of something dark. Cassian and Rhys were locked in a drinking game, each trying to outdo the other, their competitive banter carrying over the music. Cassian’s boisterous laughter boomed as Rhys finally downed his drink and slammed the glass down with a triumphant grin.

As the song changed, you broke away from Feyre and Mor, your body still moving with the beat, the sway of your hips exaggerated just enough to be playful as you caught Rhys’s attention. His smirk widened as you approached, his dark eyes dragging over you like a caress, lingering on the glow of your flushed cheeks and the curve of your smile. Without hesitation, you reached for his hand, your fingers tangling with his as you tugged him onto the dance floor with a laugh that was half a dare, half a plea for him to join your revelry.

“Don’t tell me you’re too dignified to dance,” you teased, your voice loud enough to be heard over the music.

“Never,” he murmured, his hands settling on your waist as he pulled you close. His touch was steady, grounding you even as the world spun in a blur of lights and sound. You moved together, your bodies perfectly in sync, his hips brushing against yours with each sway. The heat between you was tangible, your hair whipping back as you tilted your head to laugh, the motion exposing your neck to the cool air. His hands slid from your waist to the small of your back, pressing you closer until there was no space left between you. Sweat glistened on your skin, but neither of you cared, lost in the rhythm and each other. His breath was hot against your ear as he leaned in, murmuring something low and teasing that made your pulse race. When he spun you unexpectedly, your laughter rang out, pure and unrestrained, and his smirk softened into something tender as he steadied you again, his hands lingering possessively on your hips.

By the time you all reconvened at a bar table, your cheeks were flushed, your hair slightly mussed from dancing, and your steps had gained a noticeable sway that betrayed just how much you’d had to drink. Amren sipped her drink with a raised brow, clearly unimpressed by the chaotic energy of her companions.

Cassian was halfway through telling an exaggerated story about how he “almost won” against Rhys, gesturing wildly with his hands and sloshing his drink onto the table in the process. Feyre burst out laughing, dodging the spill as she swatted at him. “Cassian, you’re worse than a toddler.”

“Toddlers wish they were as handsome as me,” Cassian shot back, winking at her before continuing his tale with even more embellishment.

Azriel, ever quiet, smirked into his glass as Mor leaned over his shoulder, trying to swipe it. He pulled it away just in time, earning a dramatic groan from her. “Az, come on! Sharing is caring!”

“Not tonight,” he replied, his voice smooth as silk, and Mor stuck her tongue out at him before leaning back in her chair.

Rhys’s arm draped over your shoulders as he leaned into your space, his voice low. “You’re having fun, aren’t you?”

You turned to him, your smile wide and unsteady, poking his chest with a finger. “I’m having the best time. And guess what? Cassian’s beating you at drinking games.”

Rhys raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “I let him win.”

“That’s what losers say!” you declared loudly, earning a cackle from Mor and another round of laughter from Feyre. Cassian, overhearing, puffed up his chest. “Damn right, I won! You’re just jealous, Rhysand.”

Rhys rolled his eyes, but his attention stayed on you, his hand gently squeezing your shoulder. “And you,” he murmured, leaning in so only you could hear, “are entirely too drunk.”

“I’m not drunk!” you protested, the words slightly slurred as you jabbed a finger at his chest for emphasis. “I’m… perfectly fine. Totally steady.”

“Is that so?” he replied. His lips twitched in amusement but he didn't argue further.

Eventually, the group began to disperse, and Rhys practically had to drag you away from your friends, your protests slurred and cheerful as you tried to convince him to stay for just one more drink. "They need me!" you exclaimed, pointing vaguely in the direction of Mor and Feyre, who were still laughing at one of Cassian’s wild stories. Rhys shook his head, a mix of exasperation and delight lighting his features as he took your hand firmly. The cool night air was a relief after the heat of the club, and you stumbled slightly, giggling as your shoes pinched your feet.

“Take these,” you said, pulling them off and handing them to Rhys. He took them with a laugh, slinging them over his shoulder.

“You’re a menace, you know that?” he teased, steadying you with a hand on your back, his thumb brushing a soothing circle over your spine.

“A lovable menace,” you corrected, your grin wide and unrepentant, leaning into him just slightly as you stumbled on the uneven cobblestones. He caught you effortlessly, his other hand curling around your arm to steady you.

When you reached a fountain in the square, you couldn’t resist climbing onto its edge. The moonlight shimmered on the water, and you stretched your arms out as though it were a tightrope, your steps exaggerated and wobbly. Rhys followed a few steps behind, watching you attentively.

“Be careful,” he warned, his tone indulgent but his hand ready to catch you if needed.

“I’m fine,” you started to say, your words tumbling together, just before your foot slipped. You toppled into the water with a loud yelp, the cold splash shocking you into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. You sputtered as you pushed your hair out of your face, looking up to see Rhys standing on the edge, his hands on his hips, shaking his head with mock disapproval.

“Serves you right,” he said, though his grin betrayed him as he stepped closer. When he extended a hand to help you up, you grabbed it with both of yours—and promptly yanked him into the fountain after you.

The indignant noise he made sent you into another round of laughter, your sides aching as he surfaced, spluttering and drenched. The water glistened on his midnight-black hair, dripping down his sharp jaw and collarbone. He splashed you in retaliation, his playful grin softening as he caught your gaze.

“You’re impossible,” he muttered, his tone laced with affection as his hands found your waist, steadying you as the ripples in the water settled. His thumbs brushed over your wet skin, a soft, grounding touch as your laughter faded.

“And yet you love me,” you said, tilting your head up at him, water droplets clinging to your lashes.

“More than you know,” he admitted gently, his gaze dropping to your lips. He kissed you then, slow and sweet, the world around you fading into nothing but the feel of his hands and the cool water surrounding you.

By the time you made it home, you were still giggling, your clothes damp and sticking to your skin. Rhys set your shoes down by the door and helped you out of your wet jacket, his eyes full of fond exasperation.

“I want you,” you murmured, your hands fumbling at the buttons of his shirt as you tugged him closer, your fingers clumsy but insistent.

“You’re drunk,” he said gently, though his lips brushed your forehead as his hands stilled yours, his thumbs tracing circles over the backs of your hands.

“So?” you pouted, leaning into him stubbornly. “I’m not that drunk, Rhys. Just a little… tipsy.” Your voice was petulant, and your lower lip jutted out in a way that made him chuckle.

“You can’t even say the word tipsy without slurring it,” he teased, brushing a stray strand of hair out of your face. “And I’m not taking advantage of you in this state.”

You groaned dramatically, flopping against his chest. “You’re impossible! I’m perfectly fine. You just don’t want me!”

“Don’t even try that,” he said, his voice laced with amusement as he guided you to sit on the edge of the bed. “You know I want you more than anything, but not like this. Tomorrow, love, when you’re sober, you can yell at me all you want.”

Your pout deepened, and you crossed your arms. “You’re no fun.”

“I’m plenty fun,” he countered, kneeling to wipe your makeup off with a gentle touch. “You just don’t remember how much fun because you’ve had too many drinks.”

You squinted at him as he slid you into one of his shirts, the fabric soft and familiar. “Fine, but only because I’m tired. And you better be ready for me tomorrow.”

He laughed, settling beside you and pulling you into his arms. “I’ll be ready, menace. Now sleep.”

You let out a soft hum of protest, pushing him flat onto the bed and flopping down on top of him, your limbs sprawled out like a starfish. “This is comfy,” you mumbled into his chest, your words muffled but content. Rhys chuckled, his hands coming to rest on your back, stroking soothing circles.

“You’re ridiculous,” he said, though the smile in his voice was undeniable. “But I guess I’ll allow it.”