the realm of stories

A childish, foolish part of you had always thought that Azriel might be the one—that he might one day be yours. That one day the Mother might finally lift the veil between you, that she might finally pull an invisible string between your souls taut and end your insufferable pining. It did not matter that you had lived centuries beside the male, that you had endured centuries of yearning for the boy you met as a mere child. It did not matter that every day that passed your soul grew a little more weary. There would always be a part of you that burned for Azriel.

It was pathetic. 

It was inevitable.

You had accepted it decades ago, maybe even longer. 

You were okay with loving him from a distance for eternity, as long as you had him. As long as there was still a possibility. A seed of hope to kindle your fantasies, to make them feel just a little real.

“Yes.”

The solid, quiet answer rang through the room, an arrow that ricocheted off the walls and the ceiling only to lodge directly in the center of your chest. It was suddenly difficult to breathe.

Rhys and Cassian were unsurprised by his answer, but their mates appeared to be suppressing their shock and confusion at the revelation. Mor looked…indifferent. Intrigued, maybe. You weren’t sure if she knew. You could not tell if her narrowed eyes gazing over the rim of her wine glass were from confusion, or disapproval—if she might know more than you.

Then her eyes cut from Azriel to you, her lips pursed in a way that made your skin prickle, and you really didn’t want to know what her thoughts were on whatever she believed was happening at this table.

The female—Soleil, was her name—hummed, her glass setting on the tablecloth with a soft thud. “Interesting,” she said, the word drawn out just enough to know she cared only for her own self-interest. Her brows raised a bit, glancing around the table pointedly as everyone else watched her with bated breath. “Where is she then?”

Azriel’s throat bobbed, and his grip tightened around his fork. And because you loved him, briefly, your heart ached for him.

Because you loved him, you noticed the nearly imperceptible twitch of his wings. You noticed the slight stagger in his breath as he looked away from Soleil. You noticed the way his body, adorned in dark leathers, blurred just a bit at the edges, and the how the planes of his face grew just a little more shadowed.

You almost stretched your leg out beneath the table, almost toed his boot with your own from where you sat across from him.

“The private lives of my court are of no concern to yours.” Rhys’s voice was sharp and finite, his words yanking you back to the present, forcing you to remember yourself.

Azriel’s shoulders relaxed, but his gaze was impassive as he looked from Soleil to his brother. Soleil’s lips were pursed, the shine of amusement in her eyes dulled. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Rhysand,” she answered, with far more gall than she should. “There are political advantages to be considered, potential alliances—”

“Azriel has a mate,” Rhys cut her off, his words scalding your chest as they slid down to your stomach. “He is spoken for—and even if he was not, the members of my court are not pawns for you to play with.”

Azriel has a mate.

He is spoken for.

A mate.

Simple facts that you had managed to leave as blurry half-truths revealed from booze loosened lips in a dark alley in Velaris for nearly two months in the back of your mind. Now they were real. Now everyone else knew too.

You stood up, your chair scraping along the hardwood floor. Everyone’s eyes cut to you, but the only ones you could focus on were the ones that left you feeling so raw and exposed you ached all over.

You could only hold his eyes for a brief moment, immediately looking down at your feet when you felt a tendril of shadow curl around your ankle. You could hardly breathe. “Excuse me,” you muttered, then fought for every ounce of dignity and composure you could muster as you walked out of the dining room, your pace quickening once you were in the hall.  

You didn’t start running until you were out the front door and the moonlight hit your cheeks and outstretched wings, and even if you heard the door open and close behind you as you took off into the sky, you didn’t look back.

~ ~ ~

“Have you met the new boy?”

You blinked owlishly at your mother, your heart racing in your chest. “Who?”

She cast a glare over her shoulder, her peeling of the potatoes over the sink growing more aggressive. “The new boy in your cohort. They say he is a shadowsinger.”

There was no new boy in your cohort. There were no boys at all in your cohort, not since they separated the girls and boys after they turned ten—and you turned ten last month. Your mother knew this.

Instead of reminding her—correcting her—you asked, “What’s a shadowsinger?”

She huffed, the peeler and potato hitting the edge of the sink. “Do you know nothing?” she snapped.

Somehow, you always made her mad. You never said the right thing.

“Pay attention tomorrow,” She told you. You nodded when she looked at you again, but you avoided her eyes. “A shadow boy would be hard to miss.”

If there was a boy made of shadows, you imagined he would be hard to miss—even if you only saw the boys in the eating hall—but there was no “shadow boy”, and there were no new faces that stuck out as you made your way to your table.

The other girls at your table were all older, and none of them were particularly nice, but at least they had let you sit with them. It was better than sitting with the girls in your age group. These girls left you alone, and they always had stories to share.

The stories were generally trivial and petty. Sometimes they talked about boys. You tried not to listen too closely during those conversations.

“Have you seen him yet?” one of the girls, Freya, asked.

Across the table, Lara furrowed her brows. “Who?”

“The new boy,” Freya answered eagerly. “I’ve heard he’s cute.”

A third girl, one you had forgotten the name of, scrunched up her face. “He talks to shadows, Freya.”

Freya waved away the comment as if it was entirely inconsequential and not the strangest thing you had heard in your life—also, she said he talked to shadows, not that he was made of them.

Lara looked even more disturbed. “He’s also eleven.”

At that, Freya looked more discouraged. “I didn’t know that,” she groaned. “I don’t know why I listen to anything that comes out of Elsie’s mouth.”

Their conversation pivoted, moving on quickly from the new boy who allegedly talked to shadows. You looked around the dining hall again, no longer looking for someone made of shadow, but anyone that seemed unfamiliar.

You knew all these faces, though, whether you wanted to or not. There were only so many children in the camp, let alone ones that were eleven. Your eyes snagged on a boy that was in your age group across the hall, his hair wild and eyes fiery as he climbed up on the table, his voice carrying throughout the entire hall.

It sounded like the beginning of a challenge—Mother only knew what for. Cassian had always been wild and a little unpredictable. He was never mean to you like some of the other boys, though, so you tried to ignore his antics. Still—if you were new and at your dining table sat Cassian, you might hide away too.

So you stood up, pocketing your apple and tossing the rest of your lunch in the bin, the girls at your table not even batting an eye as you slipped outside the dining hall. Fresh snow was falling in big flakes from the sky, a fresh layer sticking to the stone path. You weren’t supposed to be outside, but you still had ten minutes until the end of lunch, and you wanted to find this boy.

Maybe it was foolish to seek out an Illyrian boy on your own—a boy that spoke to shadows, no less—but there was a coil inside your chest rapidly growing tighter the longer you thought about him. Every step you took along the wall of the mess hall pushed a little more air out of your lungs, and you needed to find him.

A black inky tendril darted in front of your face, just barely grazing your nose as you rounded the back corner of the building. You reared back, your feet slipping from beneath you on the freshly fallen snow. You had never been the most graceful child—an embarrassment, according to your mother—so it was no surprise when you fell down into the cold, wet snow instead of regaining your balance.

There would be no hiding where you had wandered off to during lunch now.

“I’m so sorry!”

Your head snapped up to find a wide-eyed boy standing over you. His hair was dark and unkempt, the strands so long it was starting to curl around his ears. His face was flushed a light shade of red, and his eyes were a bright hazel that shined with embarrassment. He held his hand out to you, his wings twitching behind him as he waited for you to take it.

You slipped your hand into his, the skin rough and jagged in a way that made your breath hitch—then the coil that was tight in the center of your chest sprung free, and you could finally take a full breath again. You stared at him as he pulled you to your feet, his skin warm despite standing in the dreadful cold. Your skin tingled, and your entire body felt shimmery—like fresh snow beneath rays of sunlight—yet you somehow felt overwhelmingly warm where your heart beat hard in your chest.

He was very tall. Taller than most of the boys in your year—maybe even taller than Cassian, who was the tallest of them all, and very proud of that fact. Standing in front of you, you barely rose past his shoulders. 

“I’m sorry,” the boy said again, his voice much softer. He let your hand drop, then tucked his hands behind his back.

Your eyes flit down to your cold and limp hand, thinking about the way his skin looked like it had been gnawed on by a beast in the forest. You almost made a comment, almost asked one of your many questions that your mother reprimanded you for time and time again—then you saw them. Dark yet translucent tendrils of…something, creeping out from behind his back, some slithering over his shoulder like a territorial pet.

Shadows.

They were shadows.

Your ogling must have been obvious, because the boy looked down at his shoulder, then back at you, somehow even more embarrassed. “They won’t hurt you,” he promised, his voice quiet and a little desperate.

It was strange. Strange for a boy to tell you he was not a threat, strange that he cared. Strange, because most of the boys in this camp seemed to relish in doing the exact opposite. Most of them saw your separation in year ten as a reminder of who was better, stronger, smarter—and it was certainly not the females.

“You’re the new boy,” you said, voice trembling a bit from the cold.

The boy blinked.

You wiped your hands on your pants, drying them of the melted snow before tucking them beneath your arms. “They say you talk to shadows.”

His face scrunched up at that, just a little, just enough to make your lips quirk up at the side. Then his shoulders fell. “I guess,” he muttered, then took a step back.

“That seems cool,” you hurried out, stepping a little too close to him, but he didn’t move away. You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly feeling dry. It was likely the cold. “I was looking for you, actually.”

He eyed you warily, and suddenly you felt like the strange one—which, maybe you were, in his defense. You stepped back, your chest aching as his warmth vanished. You reached into your coat, pulling out the apple you had smuggled outside. You thrust it toward him, the movement awkward and hasty. The boy just stared at it.

Your face suddenly felt warm.

You shook the apple in front of him. “For you.”

He glanced between your eyes and your outstretched hand, seconds stretching between you before he finally took the apple. “Thank you?”

“Y/N,” you offered, though you weren’t sure if he was really asking. You shrugged, taking another step back. “Maybe don’t skip lunch anymore,” you said. “The girls at my table have already noticed, at least.”

He held the apple with both hands, nearly covering it. He looked down, avoiding your gaze.

You bit your lip, knowing your time was running out and he probably wanted you to leave him be, and yet— “I know Cassian is loud—like, really loud.” The boy’s eyes snapped back to you. “But he’s sort of nice? In a weird way. He won’t do anything too bad.”

He frowned. “He stole my gloves.”

You winced. “He…does that.” You scrunched up your nose, gesturing to the hall. “He’s better than the rest of them.” The wind was starting to whip at the damp legs of your pants, and you were beginning to tremble. “I should go.” You waved, regretting it immediately, then turned around.

“Azriel,” he said.

You turned on your heel, eyes wide. “What?”

He blinked once, then said, “I’m Azriel.”

You grinned, your eyes crinkling up at the edges and your mouth stretched wide. “Bye, Azriel.”

~ ~ ~

“Are we going to talk about it?”

The thud of your fist against the leather bag was answer enough.

Nesta appeared at the other side of the bag, bracing it as it started to swing. You met her eyes briefly, her gaze cold and impatient. You hit the bag again, a huff falling from her as she replanted her feet. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

She rolled her eyes. “Why must you all be so dramatic?” You hit the bag again, this time the angle off, and pain raced through your hand. “Y/N,” she said, her voice firm. You glared at her, holding your hand against your chest. “Did you know?”

You considered playing coy, acting aloof, but it would only get you so far with Nesta. You started to unwrap the leather wound around your hands, admitting softly, “Yes.”

She blinked, her shock evident. “I thought—” She shook her head. “You left so suddenly.”

“A headache overcame me.” You inspected the redness of your knuckles, your joints aching as you flexed your hand. It had been over two hours since you came up here, the sun only just now creeping up over the horizon.

“A headache,” she deadpanned.

You shrugged, walking over to your pile of things on the floor. You sat down, dropping the leathers beside you as you drank from your water.

“And Azriel—did he help you with this headache?”

Your head snapped to her. “What?”

She rolled her eyes again. “He left dinner not even a minute after you, then never returned. Do you think us so dense—”

“Azriel did not follow me,” you told her, making your confusion clear in your tone. The sound of a door opening and closing behind you as you took to the sky echoed in your mind. “Why would he?”

Nesta, for once, was at a loss for words.

Why would he not check on his friend?

Why would he follow you home from dinner, a female who was not his mate?

It was a back and forth you could spin in circles for an eternity if you let her, and you had no energy for her interrogations.

Your breath caught in your throat as a dark tendril gently slid down your arm, curling around your wrist as you lowered your water. Nesta watched the shadow silently, the two of you holding your breath as Azriel walked through the doorway, then froze.

He glanced at Nesta, then his eyes fell on you. “Good morning,” he said softly, hesitantly. You needed to get out of here.

You waved the shadow away, wiping your forehead with the back of your hand. “Good morning,” you said back, gathering your things in your arms before standing. “I was just leaving, so I’ll leave you be.”

Azriel blinked, but he didn’t say another word, even as you felt his gaze follow you all the way to the corridor, and you were finally free of his attention.

~ ~ ~

“Hi.”

Azriel flinched so violently that he stumbled back into the tree behind him, a dusting of snow falling down around him. His head whipped to you, where you were standing sheepishly at his side.

“Sorry,” you said, but still took a step forward. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” Which was true, but you also had enough sense to realize that he was lost in his own world, given he was standing still in the middle of the forest alone.

His face was flushed as his bewildered eyes sharpened into a glare. He brushed the snow from his shoulders as he stood up straight, and his shadows wiggled around his feet as if they too had been startled. “What are you doing out here?” he asked.

You raised your brows, a bit of indignation crawling up your spine. He was the one loitering on the edge of your clearing. At least, you considered it yours. No one else had ever stumbled upon you here when you managed to slip away from your mother for the evening. “What are you doing here?” you threw back.

His face somehow turned redder.  “It doesn’t matter,” he muttered.

You looked him up and down, noticing the thick flying leathers that looked slightly too small for his body. The boys always got a new set of leathers when they turned ten, but never the girls.

Azriel must have been given a poorly sized spare when he arrived in camp.

You watched the shadows slinking up his body, blurring the edges of him into darkness, as if they might engulf him to save him from your prying gaze. You took another step closer, barely a foot between you now, and Azriel eyed you warily as you stuck your palm out.

A tendril of shadow immediately broke away from his side, skittering closer to you to wrap around your wrist and weave in between your fingers. You giggled at the cool and silken touch that was unlike anything you had ever felt. They were sort of cute.

“I’m sorry,” Azriel rasped, dragging your attention back to him. “I’m getting better at controlling them.” His shadows pulsed once, as if disgruntled by that, and Azriel grimaced. “They won’t hurt you.”

He had said the same thing the first time you met him, and again when you bumped into him once on your way home. “I know,” you said simply, rather than remind him of his past assurances.

You dropped your hand, content to let the shadow brush over your skin as it pleased. “I heard Cassian talking to Rhys a few days ago,” you said, curiosity seeping from your voice. You met Azriel’s eyes again, who already looked like he was dreading whatever might follow your sentence. “They said something about flying lessons?”

Azriel looked away, and the shadow around your hand darted back to him. “They’re teaching me,” he murmured.

“Teaching you?”

Azriel looked pained. “Yes.”

“What do you mean?”

He closed his eyes, tilting his head back.

“I don’t know how.”

“To fly?” you asked, incredulity clear in your voice.

Azriel nodded slowly, the movement forced and stiff.

“Oh.”

You had your suspicions that Rhys and Cassian were talking about Azriel. The three had formed an unexpected trio since Azriel arrived a few weeks ago, though you weren’t sure they were friends. Rhys and Cassian seemed to be antagonizing Azriel at every turn, yet they seemed to close ranks around him when others tested him.

You had also heard from some girls at lunch that Azriel was apparently living with them.

Azriel rubbed at his nose, and only then did you realize that his hands were covered by black leather gloves that looked nicer than the rest of his garments. “Cassian and Rhysand don’t know how to keep their mouths shut,” he grumbled.

You winced. “Are they good teachers?” you asked, trying and probably failing to hide your skepticism. 

He gave you a dubious look. “No.”

You pursed your lips. “Well I could teach you.”

Azriel's face flushed red again, and he started shaking his head. “No—no. I don’t need anyone’s help—”

“I was coming out here to fly anyway,” you interrupted him. You shrugged when he finally met your eyes. “I always come here—or, there—” You pointed to the clearing through the trees where there was a small cliff you liked to jump from. Azriel turned to look. “To fly by myself. I wouldn’t mind a friend.”

Azriel’s head snapped toward you again. Your face warmed. “I would like that,” he said softly.

You smiled, then grabbed his hand, your chest feeling warm with excitement. “Let’s go.”

You dragged him through the trees at an awkwardly fast pace that was on the verge of becoming a run, and when you tripped over a branch sticking out of the snow, Azriel caught you before you could fall. The two of you giggled as he pulled you upright, and you kept moving toward the clearing.

The sun was bright once you were free from the canopy of the woods, a few rare beams breaking through the overcast sky and making the snow shimmer. You dragged Azriel up the hill that led to a cliff—if you could really call it that. It would certainly hurt if you fell, but you wouldn’t die. You thought.

You dropped Azriel’s hand as you neared the ledge, looking down at the snow covered ground. You turned to smile at him, but looked less than thrilled as he looked out over edge. “Please do not shove me off this ledge—”

“What?” you exclaimed. “Who said anything about shoving you off a cliff?”

He rolled his eyes. “Do you remember who my teachers are?”

You huffed. “Well we’re not doing that.” You reached for his hand again, pulling him closer so that he toed the edge with you. His muscles were tight with tension, so you gave his hand a squeeze as you smiled at him. “We’re going to jump.”

Azriel tried to jerk away, but you kept your grip firm on his hand. “How is that any different—”

You shook your joined hands. “I won’t let go, for one.”

He immediately shook his head. “I’m bigger than you. I’ll just pull you down and then we’ll both get hurt.”

“I’m stronger than I look,” you argued. “I can manage a soft landing for both of us just fine.” Maybe not soft, but you could cushion the fall if you had to probably. “But it doesn’t matter because you’re going to glide, not fall.”

His throat bobbed, but he didn’t argue. “How?”

“Spread your wings.” You did just that, your wings stretching out a little wider than necessary, but you wanted to make a point.

Azriel seemed to chew the inside of his cheek before nodding, then he took in a deep breath and stretched his wings wide behind him. His wings were larger than yours, a deeper shade of purple than your more rustic hue. They caught a ray of sunlight, and the delicate membrane shimmered. He squeezed your hand, and you had to think before you could remember what to say next.

“Good,” you said, and you leaned forward a bit, your wing brushing with his.

Azriel sucked in a breath. “I’m sorry—”

You waved him off, not minding at all if his wings brushed against yours. He was your friend. You trusted him. He wasn’t mean or loud or aggressive like the other boys in the camp. “It’s fine, Azriel.”

He nodded, and he didn’t let go of your hand.

“We’re going to jump, and we’re going to leave our wings out like this. They will catch the wind, if we fall forward a bit, and then we just glide. There is plenty of space. That’s it.”

“Okay,” he agreed, his voice slightly shaky. He nodded, then said again, “Okay, I can do that.”

You grinned, nodding excitedly. “Ready?” you asked, dragging him even closer to the edge, the toes of your boots hanging over. 

“Yes,” he whispered. 

“Now!” you yelled, and the two of you jumped, and your bodies both instinctively leveled out with the ground, the wind whipping around your face as you grew closer to the Earth.

Then your body jerked, and the wind was pushing against the membrane of your wings, and you were soaring across the clearing.

Azriel laughed beside you, a smile stretching across his face as the two of you flew over the wide expanse of the mountain clearing. “This is amazing!” he yelled.

“I told you it would be fine!”

He squeezed your hand, closing his eyes as the wind washed over his face, and it was the most joy you had seen on his face since you found him behind the mess hall weeks ago.

Unfortunately, you were paying far too much attention to the boy beside you and not to your surroundings, and the rapidly nearing tree line in your peripheral made you jerk upright, stealing any of the momentum the two of you had found.

Azriel’s eyes flew open as you flapped your wings haphazardly, trying to right the two of you unsuccessfully, and then you were just trying to soften the inevitable fall. The two of you landed in a plume of snow, tumbling over one another with the force of your fall. You eventually came to a stop, Azriel’s body covering your own.

Your body ached, and you knew it would hurt tomorrow, but you seemed to be fine otherwise. Azriel’s shoulders were shaking, his face hidden from your view, and your stomach dropped. “Azriel, I’m so sorry. Cauldron, are you okay? I should—”

Azriel was laughing. He pushed himself up, still hovering over you as he finally met your eyes. He looked fine. He looked more than fine.

He rolled off of you, laying next to you in the snow as he gave into his uncontrollable laughter. You started laughing too, even if moments ago you were terrified he was hurt or that he might hate you now.

“That was amazing,” he said around his laughter. “Thank you.”

Your laughter slowed, small chuckles still escaping from your lips as you turned to meet his sparkling eyes. “What are friends for?”

~ ~ ~

“You’re avoiding me.”

The spoon in your hand clanked against your mug, some of the tea sloshing over the side. You took in a sharp breath, then reached for a towel to wipe it up.

“It’s the middle of the night, Azriel.”

“That is not what I meant, and you know it.” He walked closer, his hip leaning against the counter only a few feet away from you. “Have I done something?” he asked, a bit quieter.

You finally looked at him, your hand still clutching the towel as you leaned on the counter. You hated the way your chest ached every time you saw him. Before, your heart had ached from feeling so overwhelmingly full—a tightness caused by feeling so much and with desperate hope to one day give it all to him. Now, your chest ached from an emptiness that had hollowed you out, your heart and soul dark and weathered and still soaked with love, but a love that now faced the agonizing reality of never being seen.

“No,” you said, quietly, after too many beats had passed. You looked down at the towel in your hand, clutching the fabric tight as you forced yourself to take just one full breath. “You’ve done nothing wrong, Azriel.”

Your breath caught in your throat when his hand grabbed yours resting on the counter, gently pulling the towel from your grasp. His thumb brushed over the back of your knuckles, the two of you staring at your hands on the counter. “Are you okay?” he asked softly.

His voice made your heart ache. The way he softened the syllables as if they might not pierce the fragile cloak of night around you. The way his questions were always gentle, genuine, and entirely sincere—spoken in tones that always made your defenses disintegrate.

“I haven’t been sleeping,” you answered quietly, finally daring to meet his eyes. You shrugged, as if that might knock the guilt of the half-truth off your shoulders. “I’m tired, that's all.”

Azriel’s grip on your hand tightened. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Because you have broken my heart. Because you have truly done nothing wrong and still I am left poorly gluing shredded pieces of myself back together that fall apart every time I’m near you.

“It’s nothing. Really, I’ll be fine.”

Azriel looks like he does not believe you. He doesn’t believe you, not a word that has come out of your mouth. You are admittedly a terrible liar—although you have mastered the art of evasion and half-truths over centuries of secret pining—and Azriel knows this. He knows you.

He’s also the Spymaster of the Night Court, of course.

He seems to take pity on you, for whatever reason. He blows a puff of air out of his nose as he looks away, slowly pulling his hand from yours to rest it on the counter. The inches between you now feel like an endless chasm.

“I am visiting my mother tomorrow,” he tells you quietly.

You frown. “Tomorrow?” you repeat. “Why didn’t you tell—”

Your words die in your throat when you meet his gaze, a pointed look staring back at you that makes a tendril of shame curl low in your stomach. You swallow hard, looking away. “She’ll enjoy that,” you say softly.

“Do you want to come with me?”

Your heart stutters. His eyes are wide and pleading, begging you for an answer you cannot fathom why he wants.

“I would like it if you came with me,” he adds softly. His shadows slowly slink out from behind him, curling around your ankles and moving up your calves.

Their touch is light and silken, leaving goosebumps in their wake. It’s meant to be a soothing touch, a comfort you had taken from them for centuries. You had never feared Azriel’s shadows, not even when they knocked you on your ass that first day you met.

Their familiar strokes now left your heart racing, a coil of panic unfurling in your chest as you thought of what he was asking, as you thought of all you stood to lose in a handful of time that was quickly slipping through your fingers.

He had found his mate.

Moments like these, intimate conversations in the dark between shared breaths, were now fleeting. Tendrils of shadows that had felt like an extra limb were no longer yours. You were a fixture in his life that was fading, your presence now blurry and confusing and ephemeral.

He was a pillar in your life that was cracking, bits and pieces crumbling as time pressed in. It was inevitable that the bond would snap for her. It was inevitable that Azriel would devote himself to his mate. It was only a matter of time.

You swallowed hard, acid burning the back of your throat. You reached clumsily for your tea, your fingers bumping harshly against the handle, sending more liquid sloshing over the sides. You cursed, grabbing for the towel again at the same time Azriel did.

His fingers covered yours, and you yanked your hand away within a second.

He blinked, a flash of hurt passing through his eyes for the briefest of moments.

You stepped back, eyes darting between the spilled tea, Azriel’s hand on the towel, and Azriel’s soft and confused eyes. You shook your head once, a motion you barely realized you were making before you choked out, “I can’t.”

You sucked in a sharp breath, batting away a shadow that had come up to stroke your cheek. “I can’t,” you said again.

“Y/N—”

Forcing yourself to meet his eyes, willing your voice not to tremble, you plastered on a forced and painful smile as you said, “I can’t go with you, I mean. I’m sorry.” You glanced once more at the spilled tea, slowly spreading across the granite countertop. “Send your mother my love.”

Azriel looked like he wanted to argue, to ask again, but you could not bear to hear another invitation. You could not bear to see misplaced disappointment on his face when you declined again.

So you walked away, your sock clad feet slipping once on the stone floor in your haste, Azriel’s arm shooting out to catch you. You sniffed once, your skin flushed and cheeks searing, moving out of his hold and disappearing down the dimly lit hallway.

Sleep evaded you the rest of the night, the image of spilled tea and drooping wings and glistening hazel irises haunting your every thought.

~ ~ ~

“Records of Federation history reworked to suit their level of technological advancement, a few non-invasive crop samples Ibara thinks will work well in their arid soil, some textiles and worked metals that roughly match their own dress that Midoriya thinks they may like, blankets, and—well, Shouto hasn’t given them up yet but we’re asking him for some species-agnostic hyposprays to represent our intention to help.”

Your stomach flipped at the mention of your Chief Medical Officer. You were going to be giving him a wide berth for the foreseeable future until you were certain he wouldn’t be able to note your injuries. He was the last person who needed to catch on to your weakness.

“He doesn’t want to give them over?” you asked.

Iida frowned. “He has not said as much, but I am getting the distinct impression he does not look well upon the Xentauri.”

You tossed Iida another tired grin. “How can he dislike them when we’ve never encountered them before? He’s just mad about the cleanup he’s gonna have to do on the crew. Tell Shouto it’s Captain’s orders and I want at least five.”

Iida made a noise of assent, pushing up his glasses. “I will. We should be there in precisely twenty Galactic standard minutes. Is there anything else you wish me to assemble before the podship departs?”

You shook your head. “You’ve done a good job, thank you, Tenya. Let’s see how the negotiation goes now that we have Izuku’s translator. If we have to do it in phases, please prioritize the return of the research team first, then the crew. I will go last—is that understood?”

Iida looked like he’d swallowed a lemon, but predictably, he nodded. He was loyal to your command, reliable to a fault. You were so often thankful for it.

“Understood, Captain. I will see you shortly,” he replied.

“Thank you, Tenya,” you said, before ending the comm. 

Mina perked up in her own cell, a few yards away from yours. “Party bus incoming?”

You laughed, giving the xenobiologist a wink. She’d been good company the last day or so, easily able to keep her spirits up despite your capture and able to help you reassure the rest of your crew that things were well in hand. You were especially thankful, as she had been inches away from not being here. You’d moved in front of the knife meant for her without thinking, catching it in your own shoulder instead of her throat. It super sucked for you, but it was better a shoulder wound than a dead friend.

“Your shower and breakfast beckon, m’lady,” you joked.

Mina groaned appreciatively, scrubbing a manacled hand through her candy-pink hair. “I think I’m gonna take an old fashioned one. Real water and everything.”

You made a sympathetic sound. A water shower sounded luxurious, and some part of you desperately craved one too. But hot water was not good for most injuries, particularly a dislocated shoulder and what you were also certain was a broken ankle. Not to mention the stinging effect it might have on your stab wound and the litany of cuts and bruises that banded the rest of your body.

You were going to have to wait a little longer until you’d healed up to partake.

“We should wake the rest of the crew,” you said, motioning to the couple of uniformed lumps in Mina’s cell and the few beyond.

Mina nodded, and set about poking your teammates awake, calling excitedly to the next couple of cells down.

Both your crew and the Federation research team were awake by the time the Xentauri guard came to fetch you, exactly 20 minutes on the dot, as Iida had promised. They said something in their twining, sinuous tones, shuffling to the doors of your cells. They were humanoid but strange to look at, their skin waxen grey and necks elongated like Earthen giraffes, sprouting into wide, ridged faces almost like the Ferengi. A set of eight fingers—as long and spindly as their necks—protruded from the cuffs of their shirts, made from a light material like a linen, though their thinness belied a ferocious strength.

It reminded you a little of looking at Shouto, his terrifying Vulcan strength buried under a deceptively beautiful visage. 

The Xentauri’s strength was on full display as a guard reached out and hauled you unceremoniously to your feet. They shepherded you impatiently out of the prison, into the harsh blue cast of the Xentauri sun.You stumbled along with them, swearing under your breath every time you took a step with your right foot. Pain lanced up your leg, lodging in your throat, and you grit your teeth, sweat building quickly beneath your uniform.

It was almost a relief to be forced down when you finally reached your destination—a sandy expanse of earth outside or a huddle of buildings erected from a purplish, glittering rock. Your head swam, and your vision whited out for a moment as you hit your knees.

When you recovered, you could see the crew of the UA was already assembled in the lot. Iida stood at ease in front of a small group of expedition officers, flanked by Izuku, Tokoyami, and—you paled to see it—Shouto.

Your Chief Medical Officer looked predictably perfect in the light of the Xentauri sun, the blue catching in the silver of his hair, fading into the blue of his uniform. It played over his broad shoulders and glinted off of the cool metal of the phaser strapped to his thigh. It also underscored his expression, which was pissed—or as pissed as a Vulcan could look, anyway.

It was undetectable if you weren’t already intimately familiar with their baseline expressions. But you were familiar enough with Shouto’s—had been his schoolmate once—and so you caught the tiniest narrowing of his eyes at the corners, the barest hint of a scrunch between his perfect eyebrows as that heterochromatic gaze flicked over you. 

Oh yeah. Pissed big time.

You tried to project an air of strength and confidence as he looked you over, though you imagined your stay in Xentauri prison had not been kind to you. You knew you were covered in dust and debris, and you watched Shouto’s gaze snag on the rend in your uniform over your stab wound. It was a mess of dried blood surrounded by some very heavy and very gross bruising.

Dignity and command, you told yourself as your vision fuzzed a little again. You could totally still project dignity and command.

Izuku stepped forward with the translator, offering some opening words that, on this side of the lot, came out in the Xentauri language, sibilant and twisting. One of the Xentauri, dressed in a purple linen that nearly matched the stone of the buildings around you, stepped forward, replying in a hiss of words.

You listened with half an ear as negotiations commenced, trying to keep your focus on staying upright. The Xentauri sun burned through the fabric of your uniform, and the air was biting and dry. You pointedly did not look at Shouto again, keeping your eyes trained on Izuku and Iida as they produced the bargaining chips you’d ordered.

You were pleased when, as you expected, the Xentauri accepted with little delay. You could only just catch snatches of Federation Standard as Izuku and Iida spoke between the translated layers of Xentauri, but you were able to gather that the Federation’s arrival was perceived as an attempt to undermine Xentauri territorial sovereignty. 

Once it was made clear that you were not on any sort of political venture, however, you were ceded back into Federation custody with no more ceremony than a box of pastries. They seemed eager to receive the gifts you had pulled together, and not very interested in further violence.

You watched, relieved, as your crew were set free of their restraints and helped back towards the podship by their teammates. You shook out your own hands happily as a Xentauri guard freed you from your manacles as well.

You clambered to your feet, biting back a small scream as you put weight on your right leg. And then you forced yourself to pace evenly over to where Iida stood with the remaining crew, inclining your head gratefully. You waved away the rest of the crew, huddling up with your First and Communications Officers.

“Well handled,” you told them. Izuku flushed beneath his freckles, always pleased, and Iida saluted you. “I’d like ten minutes for a sonic shower and a change of uniform, then I’d like all heads of departments at the bridge for a debrief.”

Iida nodded. “I will arrange it.”

“Thank you,” you said, ignoring the way your head throbbed. “I’m certain you have also already drafted a report to Star Fleet. I’d like to review it collectively to ensure the Xentauri are fairly represented and to request permission for continued negotiation with them for Federation Science re-access to their planet.”

Iida saluted. 

“After that, please consider yourself off duty,” you said. “Thank you for your overtime to get the crew back. We can transition ship command back to me and I will cover your remaining shift into my upcoming—-”

“You will not,” Shouto’s low tone cut through your order.

You startled at his proximity, the statement issued from just above your right temple. When you titled your head to look back at him, your shoulder lanced with pain and your vision swam faintly again. You forced it all down, shooting Shouto an impatient look.

“Respectfully—”

“You are not cleared for duty,” Shouto said. 

It was lucky the rest of the crew had already hastened towards the podship or you might have strangled him for his lack of deference. But Shouto had a knack for timing—he never disobeyed you in front of the crew, never even came close to a whisper of undeferential behavior unless it was with Tenya and Izuku, both of whom you knew he trusted completely. He was too canny.

“I don’t need to be cleared, it’s just a couple of scratches,” you informed him archly.

“I believe I am qualified to make that assessment on my own,” Shouto told you, his heterochromatic gaze fastening to your face as he stepped around you to join the circle of your officers. You were altogether too aware of the breadth and height of him as he moved, a tiny thrill of fear zipping down your spine.

Shouto was the only person on the ship with the authority to strip you of command should he see fit. And you were determined for him to never see fit.

“What luck there is no need for you to,” you said, sweetly. 

A scarlet eyebrow rose a scant millimeter, which to Vulcans amounted to a look of polite incredulity. “That would be in violation of Regulation 8.667-f of the Medical Standard. Which requires a medical officer to clear return for all officers sustaining injury on duty, including command. Especially when you have clearly been stabbed.”

Damn him.

“Details,” you told him. “Plus I’m sure you’ll be busy clearing all your other patients. I can duck in a little later to see if Hagakure—”

“My staff will see to the other crew,” Shouto said. “You are my priority, Captain.”

A little thrill zinged through your veins again, fear and something else you did not care to examine.

Iida and Izuku did not help matters by nodding in agreement, Iida giving you a short bow. “We will see to the situation on the bridge, Captain, until you are cleared for return. Please make sure you are in good health.”

You valiantly fought down a scowl as you dismissed them. “My gratitude.”

Izuku and Iida saluted and turned for the podship, leaving you alone with the most annoying Vulcan in the galaxy. You watched them go, not turning to Shouto until they had cleared most of the way.

“You first, doctor,” you motioned him towards the ship as well, determined to walk behind him so he wouldn’t catch any sign of a limp in your step.

Shouto didn’t move, however, blinking down at you. His handsome face was impassive, the strong line of his jaw and plush mouth perfectly, deceptively at ease.

“Do you so object to walking with me, Captain?” he asked.

You shook your head. “I will cover the rear.”

Shouto blinked again. “I am the only one with a phaser between us.”

If you didn’t feel on the verge of passing out, you could have torn out your own hair. Did he need to be so difficult!

“I insist,” you said, trying your best to look polite and innocent.

Shouto’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Either you are deliberately avoiding mention of another injury or you are injured so badly as to have forgotten it. In which case a mandate of relief from the captainship would almost certainly be required while you recover your memory—”

You reached out and slapped a hand over his mouth, hissing, “I did not forget an injury.”

“Then you must inform me,” he said into your fingers. His tone sounded more entreating than commanding, and for some reason that annoyed you. There was no reason to be concerned.

“Nothing confirmed, possible dislocation,” you said vaguely, pulling your hand away. It tingled a little with the echo of how his mouth had moved against it.

Shouto’s gaze dropped from your face down your body, his mouth pursing in a sweet little downturn. “Where?”

You gritted your teeth. “Shoulder. Possibly one ankle.”

Shouto immediately dropped to his knees in front of you, startling you. You took a reflexive step backwards, letting out a cry when it jostled your right foot. You just barely managed not to go down hard, recovering yourself only by the sudden grip Shouto had on your waist, supporting you.

He was, of course, immediately able to tell which ankle had pained you. His long, elegant fingers reached for the hem of your right leg, rolling it up in a gentle motion. You watched the top of that red-and-white head tilt, and heard the soft intake of his breath as he caught the swelling that had reached the edges of your boot.

His expression could almost be termed thunderous, even on a human, when he looked back up at you. “You were going to walk on a broken ankle,” he said accusingly.

“Oh? Is it broken?” you tried, pasting on an expression of surprise.

Which immediately turned to a yelp of genuine surprise when Shouto rolled nimbly back to his feet, sweeping his arms under you, avoiding your right shoulder.

“Shouto—!” you squeaked, your voice strangled. 

“You knew,” he said firmly, tucking you close to his chest. Your face heated at the press of him along your side, warm and firm and harder with muscle than a medical officer should have been allowed. He smelled like sterilants and some warm, expensive cologne, a little unearthly in profile. Possibly composed of Vulcan plants.

It made your lightheadedness somehow even worse, and if he didn’t put you down now you were afraid you might pass out for real.

“It’s probably just a minor fracture,” you insisted, as he carried you towards the podship. You shifted, ignoring the flare of pain in your shoulder as you did, trying to clamber out of his arms. He refused to be dislodged, ducking deftly through the door of the podship and nodding at a crewman as the officer closed it behind the two of you.

You couldn’t bear to look at the crewman’s face, burning with embarrassment at being carried over the threshold like a fucking princess.

Then Shouto had the audacity to buckle you into the podship seat himself, like your arms were broken too, and arranged himself stiffly in the seat next to you.

His mouth was turned down in a frown when you glanced at him, and the expression did not so much as flicker the entire flight back to the UA. It was only when you tried to insist you could walk to medbay yourself that Shouto gave you the flattest, most flinty-eyed look you’d ever seen from him. He knelt before you again, helping you unfasten your jumpseat buckle, and ignored your protests as he pulled your uninjured arm up over a strong shoulder, gathering you up in his arms again.

You squeezed your eyes as he moved through the halls, both to avoid seeing the judgment on your crew’s faces and because the way the walls were starting to spin in front of your eyes was making you a little nauseous.

You appeared to be the first of the captured crew to make into medbay, so it was blessedly empty of people as Shouto bore you through it. He carried you right into his office and set you on the gently medbed in the corner, your least favorite spot on the entire ship.

Then he stood in front of you, and put hands on his hips. You ignored the way it made his biceps pull and flex under the fabric of his uniform. 

“I am going to have to cut your boot off of you,” Shouto informed you. “Your shirt as well. It’s stuck in your wounds and I will need to reopen them a little to cut it out.”

Your cheeks heated with the idea of being bare before him, but he was a medical professional. And also that was disgusting—you wanted to get your shirt out of your own body as fast as possible. “Sure—that’s fine.”

Shouto hummed to himself, a low, soft tone in the back of his throat as he moved to a drawer of equipment beside the med bed. “Thank you,” he said, drawing out a device with a wickedly thin, circular blade attached. 

You did not like the look of it, and hoped that famous Vulcan precision was everything it was cracked up to be.

Shouto knelt before you again, carefully applying the saw and pulling the fabric of your boot gently away from your skin. It whirred softly, and in a matter of moments you felt the loosening of the fabric, and your boot thunked heavily to the floor.

“I will do your shirt now,” Shouto told you.

You nodded, breath catching in your chest as he leaned over you. Those long fingers slid under the collar of your uniform, easing it away from the fragile skin of your neck. You flushed hotly when Shouto’s fingers met the edge of your bra strap, too, and he paused, going strangely still.

You thought you caught the hint of a blue flush at the top of one high cheekbone, and you quickly bit out a “sorry” at him, cheeks burning. 

Then the saw whirred to life again, and Shouto angled it down until it had cut a clean line down your shirt. He pulled it off of you, very gently inching it away from where it had stuck into your stab wound and various other cuts with your dried blood. He murmured a warning before each, and you bit back a groan as it re-tore open the skin in those spots, determined not to look like a little baby.

Shouto tossed your shirt in the biohazard bin with perfect aim, his eyelashes sweeping down across his cheeks as he took stock of all the injuries that had collected across your torso.

You looked down at yourself, noting several deep cuts you hadn’t noticed before and a contusion in the shape of one of the Xentauri’s feet. You also noted how much blood had soaked into the cups and straps of your bra from your stab wound, and chalked it up to a lost cause. When you looked back up, Shouto looked kind of angry again.

“I will administer painkillers via hypospray and a topical antibacterial to your stab wound first,” he said, his low voice flat.

You nodded your assent, and Shouto went to the drawer again, gathering up the things he’d need for you. “Then I will assess your remaining injuries via tricorder. I may need to manually reset your shoulder. Your ankle should be healable with the osteogenic stimulator. Is this acceptable?”

You nodded again tiredly. “You can do whatever you want with me.”

Shouto fumbled the hypospray, whipping around to stare at you. A blue flush crawled all the way up his pointed ears.

You could almost hear the rush of your own blood to your ears when you realized how you’d just sounded. “I mean—uhhhhh. That wasn’t to imply—”

“If I did what I wanted with you,” Shouto said, drawing himself up. “You would never leave medbay again.”

You blinked, unsure if that was the threat it sounded like. Meaning, he wouldn’t let you go back to command for your own good? Or he wanted to murder you himself? Or—?

You burned with embarrassment. You had long wanted Shouto’s approval, or at the very least to avoid him seeing right through you to the poor little wretch you’d been before Starfleet, unable to take care of your own mother, surrendered into state care for your uselessness. 

You’d wanted it even back at the academy, realizing how smart he was, how straightforward and empathetic. You trusted his judgment more than anyone else on this ship. And so you wanted him to think you were a capable captain, someone worthy of his respect, too. Not some idiot who could barely handle herself who needed to be kept from command to protect the rest of the crew.

You stayed silent, shame burning through you. You would just have to try harder in the future, make him see that you could be relied on to take care of this crew, including him. You would prove yourself capable.

Shouto moved around you with the ease of long practice, pressing the hypospray to the back of your neck. Then he held the tricorder over you, his mismatched gaze tracking across the screen, that microscopic scrunch appearing between his brows again.

“You have been stabbed, dislocated your shoulder, fractured a finger, broken your ankle, torn your MCL. You have also sustained significant bruising on your right torso, left thigh, and right shin,” he said. “You have a variety of small cuts and other abrasions across roughly five percent of your epidermis.”

His voice sounded kind of funny, and his handsome face waved in front of you like a flag in the wind. A weird feeling of giddiness and relief swept over you, and you realized the painkillers he’d just given you were starting to hit.

“Ohhhhh that feels so good,” you said, stupidly, feeling yourself slip forward. Your head lolled onto Shouto’s shoulder.

You could feel his inhale, and then his arms came around you. “I—Yes, I can do it from this position, then. I will need to reset your shoulder. I need to apply a local anesthetic.”

“Do your thing,” you said into his neck. He smelled really good.

Shouto’s next breath was uneven, and long fingers grasped you just above your bicep, the cold touch of the hypospray at your shoulder joint. “I will proceed.”

You closed your eyes. “Whatever you want.”

A feeling of numbness overtook your shoulder, and then the hypospray disappeared. A large hand braced against your back and Shouto said, “I am going to reset it now.”

You nodded. “Sounds nice.”

There was a strange feeling of pressure, a slide that you did not like, and then—a sense of relief. “Oh, it’s back in!”

“Yes,” Shouto confirmed. Then, hesitantly, “I will need to move you to work on your stab wound and fractures.”

You heard yourself make a grunt of disapproval. You did not like the sound of that. Moving sounded like the worst thing anyone had ever asked of you, actually. “Y’ can ignore them, ‘ll get ‘m later.”

Shouto paused. “I would be professionally negligent not to fix them.”

You frowned. “Doesn’t matter, I’ll get ‘m. Thank you.”

“They…matter to me,” Shouto said. There was something in his voice you didn’t like, something a little dark like you had displeased him. You didn’t want to displease him.

You were interrupted from responding, however, by a soft knock at the door. Shouto hesitated, then called for whoever it was to come in, and you heard Hagakure’s bright tone from over his shoulder.

“Oh! Is that the captain—?” she said. “Is she—?”

“I gave her Metorapan,” Shouto said. “Please close the door behind you.”

“Oh nothing but the top shelf for our captain, huh,” Hagakure laughed. “Explains why she’s all over you right now. She say anything crazy yet?”

It took an inhuman amount of effort to lift your head from Shouto’s chest to glare over his shoulder at her. Only to find she was missing from view, the chameleon skin of her alien species picking up the light reflections in the ship’s environment. She had to consciously remember to be visible sometimes.

“I am not all over him,” you said. “And as I was just explaining, I am done an’ ready to debrief now.”

Hagakure shimmered into view, her mouth turned up into a grin. “With an open stab wound?”

You blinked. Shouto covered you almost completely from view. How could she—?

“Mina says it was meant for her but Captain took it right in the shoulder instead. Didn’t even go down, just tried to negotiate with the Xentauri right through it,” Hagakure reported.

Shouto’s sigh ruffled your hair. “I am unsurprised to hear it.”

You felt another frown pull at your mouth. He probably thought you were an idiot for almost getting one of your crew injured. You hated how incapable you were, too, but you’d at least saved her from the worst of it, and you’d learn the lesson for next time. Next time, you would prove yourself for sure. You would earn the command of this ship, not just on paper but in practice too.

“How is the crew?” you managed, forcing the feelings down.

“None so injured as you,” Hagakure said. “They said you took the worst of it for them, and kept things from escalating. A couple of minor fractures here and there and some bruising but otherwise everyone is safe. The research crew on the other hand, is a little worse for wear—bet they wish you had been there for their arrest too.”

You snorted. Nobody wished that.

“Nothing we can’t fix though,” Hagakure said. “I’ll send you the report Mina gave, Shouto, on Cap’s injury so you have it, and send the treatment records for your review when we’re done.”

“Thank you,” Shouto said.

“I wanted to check if there’s any help you need from me, before I go back to supervise?” she asked.

Shouto shook his head.

You shook your head also, detaching from Shouto reluctantly. The room was cold without him against you. “Thank you for the report on the crew. Can you comm Tenya on the way out to let him know I will be there shortly to debrief?”

Hagakure stared at you. “You’re still stabbed, Captain.”

You blinked and looked down, noting your lack of shirt as well. When had that—? “Oh. That.”

Hagakure made a noise like she was suppressing a laugh and let herself out, the door closing firmly behind her.

Before you could make your excuses to Shouto, he’d eased an arm behind your shoulder and was tipping you over to lay on the cot.

“You cannot be cleared to return to duty until your injuries are addressed and the Metorapan wears off,” he told you. “You will need to sleep it off for a few hours after we are done.”

As he had anticipated it, his hand flew to your shoulder as you tried to sit up, pressing you back down. “I don’t need a few hours,” you said.

“You will have them regardless,” Shouto replied.

“I’ve already taken too much time,” you said, giving him a quick smile. See how ready you were to return to work?

Shouto’s perfect mouth pulled downwards a scant inch, and your eyes tracked the movement. “You are a very bad patient, as usual,” he said.

You rolled your eyes. You were a very bad everything. You didn’t also want to be a bad captain.

Shouto’s mouth opened, his eyelashes fluttering in surprise. “Is that what you think?” he asked, and you realized you’d maybe said that last bit aloud. “You believe you are a bad captain?”

A sudden flicker of fear flared to life in your chest.

To admit doubt was also to be a bad captain. You could not show hesitation, not when you were meant to be the leader of this starship. Shouto himself could not trust you if he knew you were not perfectly sure of yourself at all times.

“No,” you said.

Shouto watched your face. “No?”

Your head throbbed, and a bone deep exhaustion settled over you, tugging at your eyelids. But you watched him back, trying to blink through the feeling.

“I,” you started, then stopped yourself when you realized it wouldn’t be quite true to say you were a good captain. Shouto wasn’t stupid. “I do my best to protect th’ crew. Will always do my best to protect every member of th’ UA.”

A tiny little frown marred the perfection of Shouto’s face again. You reached up, smoothing it, and watched as a bluish green flush overtook his features again.

Vulcans blushed blue. You were probably grossing him out. You took your hand away.

“You take care of most of the crew,” Shouto allowed. “Every single member of the crew but one. There is a notable exception.”

Shit. Who had you failed? How had you failed? Normally you knew, were perfectly and objectively aware of every single time a strategy of yours had not gone as intended, had worked to make up the learning after and never make the mistake again. 

But it was Shouto’s job to pull you from command if you were unfit. And if you were negligent enough in your duties like this, not even see the the things you were missing—

“D’you plan to relieve me of command?” you asked. Your face burned again, the question having slipped out before you were ready.

Shouto looked shocked—surprise taking over more of his features than you had ever seen on a Vulcan before.

“What?” he asked.

“Because I let them get hurt. Who is it?” you asked.

Shouto appeared speechless for a long moment. “People will always get hurt on missions like ours. You have protected the crew better than anyone I could think of. Your strategic thinking in times of crises is your area of expertise, and I have no doubt in your abilities. If I were to relieve you of command, I would see double the numbers of crew members in here after every mission.”

Your head swam, and you flushed with embarrassment, squirming uncomfortably with the praise. It didn’t answer your question. Why was he being so hard to understand?

“But you said there was someone I don’t protect. Like a routine failure.”

Shouto raised a hand, his long fingers skirting around the edge of your stab wound. “The only person you do not look after is yourself.”

You blinked, subsiding under his hand. Yourself? That was his problem?

Shouto’s handsome face spasmed again and you could tell you’d said that aloud too.  

“Yes, that is my problem,” he said. 

“Oh well that’s fine then,” you answered, although you were a little mystified.

Look after yourself? What was there even to look after? You had a good job, and your own sonic shower, and hot food whenever you wanted it, provided you weren’t temporarily behind bars on some backwater planet. You had the chance to earn the trust of people you respected, some of the best in the galaxy in their professions, and—many months into your mission—several blossoming friendships with Iida, Izuku, Mina, and Hagakure. You had a literal starship at your command, a place you were beginning to belong.

The only thing you could want for was Shouto’s respect too.

But you would earn that in time. You would.

“You already have it,” Shouto said, his voice low and intimate. It made you flush again, your heart beating kicking up somewhere into your throat.

“I do?” you asked.

Shouto inclined his head, looking you in the face.

“I will make it clear to you more in the future,” he said, then leaned over you, reaching for some device. You reveled in his warmth and closeness for a moment, until he pulled back with something you recognized as an osteogenic stimulator. “As well as other areas of my regard.”

You blinked, wondering what that meant.

“It is not a conversation that is right to have when you are not in possession of your faculties,” Shouto said. “But perhaps it will convince you to take better care of yourself.”

You blinked again sleepily, having trouble thinking straight now that the immediate problem had been addressed and you’d been horizontal for so long. Shouto did not think you needed to be relieved of duty. Shouto respected you.

You watched him work blearily, his long fingers fiddling with some of the settings on the simulator. It was strangely hypnotic to observe, and another wave of exhaustion washed through you, weighing you down to the table.

“In the interim I will take care of you. Until, and even after, you are able,” Shouto promised.

“That…sounds really nice,” you said absently, wondering if maybe you could just catch a couple minutes’ rest while he worked.

“You can sleep. I will be here when you wake up,” Shouto said, trailing the simulator down to your ankle.

His touch was sure and gentle, and his voice was too.

Maybe it would be fine then, to just take a short respite.

He winced, rubbing at his sternum. "Oh, c'mon. You feed me these - these fuckass strawberries - "

"Don't talk about my strawberries that way!"

" - then you lie me down and expect me to stay awake? It's warm out, cara. I sleep warm. You know I sleep warm."

Scoffing, you lie down next to him, muttering darkly under your breath. Still, you can't resist running your fingers through his hair, gently raking at his scalp. It's an addicting thing, watching the tense parts of his face relax, watching that crease between his eyebrows disappear. Some of your earlier anger dissipates.

“You are so easy,” you tease, fingers still carding through his hair.

“Only for you, amor,” he murmurs, voice low and knowing.

Your face burns. “Merlin, shut up.”

Chuckling, he stretched his arms over his head before letting them fall lazily back down, one draping across your back. He tugged you against him, his warmth seeping into you.

"How is it that you can stay up till 3 am with your friends, but ten minutes with me and you're out like a light?" you mused. You pull your fingers away from his scalp.

"Am I that boring, Theo? Do I put you to sleep?"

Theo huffed a quiet laugh, his fingers ghosting over your shoulder before settling there, warm and grounding. His other hand found the curve of your waist, pulling you just a fraction closer.

"Obviously," he murmured, voice still thick with drowsiness. "You drone on and on - "

A sharp pinch to his ribs cut him off, making him suck in a breath through his teeth. "Fuck - alright, alright." His grip tightened, holding you in place before you could enact further vengeance. "You don't put me to sleep."

Theo's half-lidded eyes fluttered shut again, his breathing evening out. His fingers resumed their slow tracing along your arm, dragging lazy patterns that sent shivers up your spine. As your own eyelids grew heavier, your eyes drifted over the lake’s glimmering surface.

"Actually," you murmured after a beat, pressing your cheek against his chest, "this is quite nice."

Theo made a show of pretending to shove you off.

"I see how it is," he grumbled as you laughed. "When you want to doze, it's perfectly fine, but Merlin forbid I"—he poorly stifled a yawn, blinking blearily—"get a little shut-eye."

You scoffed. "This is different. Even logistically speaking, how am I supposed to drag you back to the castle? You sleep through anything, Nott."

Theo grunted. "And you sleep through absolutely nothing."

You smiled lazily against his chest, knowing exactly what he meant. Many a night, he'd creep into your dorm, taking great pains to quietly shuck off his jacket and shoes, only for you to stir the second the mattress dipped. He’d scowl at you in the dim moonlight as you blinked at him sleepily, voice hushed but teasing as he slipped under the covers beside you. Every single time, he’d scold you for staying up, telling you in that firm, low voice of his to go to sleep, as if he hadn't been the one showing up at your bedside to begin with.

"Maybe you should try staying up with me for once," you said idly.

Theo snorted. "You'd make me watch those god-awful Muggle films."

"You love my god-awful Muggle films."

He hummed, neither confirming nor denying. You tilted your head to look at him, absentmindedly running your fingers through his hair again.

"I just wish you'd save some of that energy with the boys for me."

Theo sighed, long and slow.

"Can’t help it," he mumbled into your hair, fingers ghosting over your arm. "You’re so...warm. And soft. And you smell - " he dropped his head to the hollow of your neck as he inhaled, holding you close even as you squirmed in his ticklish hold, "- like that. Like...home. Like love."

You could sense him dropping off again in the way his words slurred and his voice quieted. He was probably too drowsy to even know what he was saying. For a moment, all was silent except for the rustling that came with the occasional gentle breeze. You felt the steady rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of him pressing into your side.

Maybe you should shove him awake again. But then again…

You nestled closer to him, your own eyes drooping shut.

There was some inaudible grumbling, followed by the heavy thud of footsteps. Then the door slowly creaked open and Nesta’s silver eyes met yours. You had to squint to make her out, your vision was still blurry and your head was pounding, but you could see the surprised tilt of her brows when she saw you.

“Well look at you,” she drawled as she shut the door. “You actually seem lucid.”

Your cheeks burned at her words. You wanted to argue, to quip back, to say something that made you seem less vulnerable than you were—but the truth was you didn’t even know what day it was. Your memories were hazy bits and pieces of Nesta and Madja poking and prodding at you, and brief moments where you awoke in the night, then listened to Azriel’s heartbeat in the hall to soothe yourself back to sleep.

He had yet to see you since he brought you here.

Nesta sat a plate of toast on your nightstand, then started digging around in the drawer. “Illyrian males and their egos,” she grumbled and sat some vials next to the plate. 

Your mouth felt dry as you asked. “Who was that?”

Her eyes flicked to yours, a bit of surprise limning them. She quickly went back to focusing on her task, but she still answered, “Rhys.”

The name was…familiar. Familiar in a way that left a pit in your stomach, but you couldn’t place it. Your thoughts felt jumbled and sticky, like someone had dumped a bucket of honey in your head and left you to pull bits and pieces apart one by one. “He’s Illyrian?” you asked. You hated how weak you sounded, how hoarse your voice was. Who knows how many days it had been since you even used it.

Nesta paused at that. Her eyes met yours again, and they assessed you with something raw and knowing—something akin to sympathy, but not quite. You shifted under the uncomfortable weight of her gaze.

“He’s the High Lord.”

You swallowed hard. You knew that. You knew the High Lord’s name was Rhysand, and you knew Azriel considered him family. Of course he would want to see you, to interrogate you.

You had not realized your breathing had turned shallow and frantic until Nesta placed a cool hand on your shoulder. “It’s okay,” she said, in a tone as gentle as you assumed she was capable of. “He’s not a threat to you,” she added, albeit begrudgingly. “Just a pain in my ass.”

She pulled her hand away, and the brief, casual touch left you feeling untethered. “Has Madja been here? Do we need to do your wing salve?”

Your stomach turned at the thought of her touching your wings. She likely already had touched your wings, but you couldn’t remember, and you didn’t want her to now. So you lied, “She already did it.”

Nesta didn’t even question you. “Are you hungry?”

You were starving, actually, but the thought of moving, of trying to sit up to chew the buttered bread on the plate beside you was revolting. You ignored her question, and instead asked, “How many days has it been?”

Her lips pressed together, and her eyes narrowed at your deflection, but she still answered, “Four.”

The number rattled around inside you, leaving you feeling bruised and hollow. Four days. You had been trapped in this bed for four days, vulnerable and injured and—

“Azriel has barely left the hall,” Nesta said quietly. “Only when I’ve been here, or Feyre. Do you remember her?”

You didn’t, and that left you feeling sick. If you didn’t remember her, who is to say someone else had not snuck in, or—

“Azriel would die before he let someone lay a finger on you,” she said quietly, her voice cold but eerily soothing. The sun was starting to fade, and you finally realized it was evening, not morning. “I know you don’t believe that, and that’s okay—but it’s true.” She brought a tiny vial to your lips, coaxing your mouth open to let a fruity liquid slide down your throat. It was alarming how pliant you were for her. Your subconscious trust for this new female was entirely driving your motions.

She sat the vial down with a soft plink, and she glanced at the hall when there was a soft thud. That familiar tug pulled at your chest, but it was gentle, and something settled inside you. That might be the work of whatever tonic Nesta had given you, though. “Sounds like your bat is back,” she mused with an eye roll. “Try to get some sleep,” she said as she moved toward the door, leaving you alone with your sticky tumultuous thoughts and the fading rays of sunlight as your only company.

Well, your thoughts, the sun, and your bat sitting in the hallway, apparently.

~ ~ ~

Turns out, skipping your wing salve had been a gross miscalculation on your part. Suffering through Nesta’s touch on your wings would have been a far better alternative to the agony you were in right now.

Painful did not even come close to describing the state of your wings. It had yanked you from your sleep so brutally—it left you gasping for breath. You were certain you were under attack, that you were back in that damned forest, until you recognized the silken sheets brushing your skin and the warm bed beneath you. Things that so sharply contrasted with the torment you were enduring it almost made you laugh in your hysteria.

The pain was paralyzing. You couldn’t move. How could you possibly still be in this much agony? Tears were streaming down the side of your face, and you didn’t know what to do. You didn’t know how to soothe yourself, how to survive this. You didn’t even know where or what your wing salve was, and even if you did, you were certain you couldn’t apply it yourself.

You gasped when you felt that gentle tug in your chest again, and more tears fell as you instinctively clutched at the glowing thread coiled around your soul. You slowly registered Azriel’s presence outside your door—his scent, his breathing, his heartbeat—all things that tethered you slightly back to reality, and you didn’t even think before you rasped, “Azriel.”

The door immediately flew open, and Azriel was at your side within a second. His eyes were wide as they took you in, and you couldn’t stop the full body shiver that rattled through you.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, words panicked. “What can I do?”

“My wing,” you whimpered. “I—” you gasped, “I didn’t let Nesta put on the wing salve.”

His eyes turned vicious, and a new wave of fear flooded over you. This was your fault. Your fault you were in pain, your fault you had to bother him—

“She should have insisted, or got Madja,” he growled. 

“I lied,” you cried, “It’s not her fault.” A sob broke free when you thought about him unleashing his ire on her because of you. “I just didn’t want her to touch my wings. I’m sorry—I’m so sorry.”

“Hey,” his voice was softer, and when you opened your eyes, the anger on his face was gone, and now only worry shined in his hazel irises. “You didn’t know. It’s your instinct to protect your wings, it’s okay—we’ll take care of it.”

You were still shaking as you stared at him, as you watched him dig around in your nightstand until he pulled out a silver tin. He unscrewed the cap hastily but not clumsily—you were fairly certain that Azriel would look graceful doing anything—and he scooped out a generous clump of a sticky, amber colored balm with his fingers. Then he froze.

His throat bobbed as his eyes met yours. “You need this,” he said quietly, but he didn’t move. “You have to have this—but I can get Feyre, or Nesta, or I can find Madja if you want but—”

“Just do it,” you gritted out, your voice unnaturally high as the pain radiated everywhere. 

“Okay,” he murmured, and he didn’t even question it. He didn’t wait or overthink it—he didn’t give you the chance to think about him touching your wings.

Until he was, and you cried out as his fingers spread the salve along the raw membrane of your wing that had been miraculously stitched together. “I’m sorry,” he murmured quietly, but his ministrations didn’t stop. The pain slowly ebbed away as he rubbed the balm over you meticulously, and you thanked the Mother for creating a fae as gifted as Madja that made such fast-acting remedies. As your pain ebbed away, the underlying anxiety you felt from Azriel hovering you, touching you, started to shine through.

Your chest felt tight, and even though he was helping you, he was taking away your pain, you still found yourself wanting to shove the male off the bed. You clenched your hands into fists at your sides, grinding your teeth together to fight the fear that was coursing through you. You asked him to do this. You were safe. You were safe.

You had never been safe in your life. You had never had someone you could trust. No one ever did anything for you out of the kindness of their heart. Any male that had ever shown you a smidge of kindness, of charm, only wanted to fuck you, and when you rejected them, that kindess flew out the window.

The Illyrian shopkeeper was probably the only faerie you had met who had shown you genuine kindness, but even that kindness was born out of desperation—of a shared disdain for the culture you were both subjected to. It was kindness born out of spite.

Azriel was just…different. Nothing he did made sense. It was confusing and scary and comforting all at once.

“There,” he murmured quietly, pulling his hand away and standing up from where he had knelt on the bed. “It’s done.”

You didn’t respond. You still felt like you were suffocating as you stared at him, and as if he could feel your anxiety, your glare, he went still as he was screwing the lid of the tin shut. His eyes slowly dragged to yours, and you hated how soft his gaze was. You hated the pity you saw in his eyes. 

“Is it helping?” he asked quietly.

You swallowed hard, and eventually nodded. 

He gently sat the tin on your nightstand, and the clinking of the metal against the wood made you flinch. Azriel clearly noticed, but he didn’t say anything.

You felt the tether on your temper snap when he looked at you again with those damned hazel eyes that always left you feeling conflicted and unmoored. “So what’s your plan?” you asked, and you knew your tone was abrasive—aggressive even—but you felt cornered lying there in front of him.

“My plan?” Azriel asked slowly.

“Yes,” you snapped. “Your plan. What are you going to do with me?”

~ ~ ~

Azriel was certain that his heart couldn’t break anymore. Not after he found you in that blood-soaked snow. Not after he ripped your father from your limp and battered body, and he felt your terror rushing at him in waves down the bond. His heart was in pieces for you, and they rattled around inside his chest every time he heard you whimper in your sleep or felt a trickle of fear run from your soul to his.

Then you woke up screaming. You woke up in agony, and you trembled in fear the entire time he helped you, because you were in so much pain you couldn’t bear to wait another second for someone else to do it. Then you asked that question. That fucking question.

“What are you going to do with me?”

It made Azriel just as angry as it did the first time you asked him that. Only this time, his ire was much closer to slipping its leash. If you weren’t lying there staring up at him with glossy eyes and tear-stricken cheeks as you desperately tried to appear angry, when all he could feel was your fear—he would be in the Hewn City this second, delivering justice to the male who hurt his mate.

Azriel wasn’t mad at you, though. Never. Mother, he sometimes wondered if all of this was his fault. If you had endured such suffering because you were destined to be his mate. It made him sick to think about the decades you spent in that camp, under a roof with such a wicked male, and he had no idea you even existed.

You didn’t trust him. He wasn’t sure you would ever trust him. Hell, he couldn’t blame you. He remembered what it was like when Rhys’s mother took him in, when Cassian and Rhys decided to stick to him like a thorn in his side. He constantly wondered when she would grow tired of housing the Illyrian bastard that talked to shadows, or when she would tire of his piss poor manners and impenetrable silence every time she spoke to him. He wondered when Rhys and Cassian would dig in too deep, when one of them might decide to breakaway, and leave him behind as dead weight—or even just outright kill him.

A fresh wave of terror  washed over him, sucking the breath from his lungs as his mind scrambled to parse apart his own emotions from his mate’s. Azriel’s mouth felt full of cotton as he met your red-rimmed eyes, as he watched you tremble on the bed in front of him, as he took in the bandages peeking out from your shirt and the freshly stitched membrane of your wings he had just slathered in salve. Your eyes were bracketed by the darkest of circles, and he had to fight to keep his own anguish, his anger, isolated to his side of the bond.

Azriel wanted to touch you. He wanted to feel your skin beneath his fingertips, to solidify that you were here, in Velaris, with him. He wanted to take away the pain and suffering and fear that was suffocating you.

He didn’t, of course. You were petrified of him, and he knew that the last thing his touch would do was bring you any semblance of comfort. It didn’t matter how loud his instincts roared at him to wrap you in his arms and swaddle the two of you in his shadows, away from the rest of the world that had brought his mate pain. He would never do that. He would never be another male in your life taking what was never his to take.

He swallowed hard, and he moved toward the low-backed chair in the corner, pulling it out slightly so he could meet your eyes as he sat on the velvet-lined cushion. “You want to know my plan?” he asked quietly, his voice steady and as gentle as he could make it with the anger still simmering beneath his skin. Anger that flared when he watched you curl into yourself further, your eyes wide with regret and trepidation. “It’s a work in progress, I suppose,” he said. He kept his eyes on yours, no matter how much your gaze bounced away from his and then back. “My first priority is letting you heal.”

He could see the confusion cloud your eyes, your skepticism momentarily diluting the fear coursing through you. “Then,” he said slowly, “We’ll decide what to do with your father.” Azriel couldn’t help the way he spat the undeserving title out, the word dripping with disdain.

Your throat bobbed, and your hands clutched at the sheets beneath you. You tilted your head away from him, opting to stare at the ceiling as you asked, with such a heartbreakingly small voice, “My father—is he—can he—” you shook your head slightly, your face twisting at the motion. “Can he find me here?”

And there went another piece of Azriel’s already shattered heart, another shard crumbling to dust. “No,” he promised, his voice thick with barely restrained emotion. You slowly turned your head back to face him, your eyes heavy with utter exhaustion. At least you had stopped trembling, and the fear coursing down the bond had slowly calmed. “He doesn’t know where you are, and even if he did, he couldn’t cross Velaris’s borders. He couldn’t enter this house. I promise.” You didn’t seem convinced, and again, Azriel couldn’t blame you. “Besides,” he added quietly, tracing a thumb over the siphon on his hand absently. “He’s indisposed.”

Your eyes widened. “Did you,” you sputtered, “did you kill him?”

Azriel’s eyes locked with yours. “No.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “But I will, should you ask.” He could tell you didn’t know what to make of the lethal promise, and for a moment he feared he said too much, that he shouldn’t be offering to kill a male so easily while you're still wrestling with your own fear of him—but your shoulders seemed to relax a little with his words, and he didn’t feel another rush of terror. “We can talk about that later, though,” he murmured.

“And what about me?” you asked shakily, your voice nearly a whisper.

Azriel didn’t know where to begin. He knew one thing, though, and he knew it was what you needed to hear above anything else, so he said softly, “You will do whatever you want. You can stay here, we can move you to the House of Wind, we can find you your own place in Velaris, or—” Azriel choked a little over the words he knew he had to say, even if they felt like an axe to his chest. “Or somewhere else. Another court, if you wished.” He prayed to the Mother you didn’t.

Your blinks were growing slower as you observed him carefully. Your gaze made him nervous—he couldn’t remember the last time he felt this nervous with someone. He was quiet, reserved, and he flustered far easier than he cared to admit—but he was also the Spymaster. He had spent centuries mastering his nerves, but with you…it was just different. He also felt overwhelming pride and relief when his words seemed to lift a weight from your body, grateful that he was for once soothing your anxiety rather than causing it.

You pulled the blankets up close to your chin, and he winced as you did when the fabric brushed over your wings, but you eventually relaxed, settling back into the bed. “I’ve never been to a city,” you murmured, voice tired and heavy. “I never left my camp until—” your words cut off with a sharp breath, and Azriel shifted forward.

“Velaris is beautiful,” he said hurriedly, desperate to keep your momentary reprieve from the fear and panic and pain that had clutched you so thoroughly earlier. “We call it the City of Starlight, and it certainly lives up to its name. It’s beautiful during the day too, though.” He couldn’t stop his soft words from tumbling from his lips as you watched him with hooded eyes, listening silently. “There are markets and jewelers and tailors. Bakeries and diners and taverns. Artists have an entire quarter for their work. It’s vibrant, and full of life, despite the hardships they’ve faced. Velaris is resilient.” Like you, he almost said, then thought better of it. “I think you will love it.”

His rambling was met with silence, and when Azriel looked at you again, his heart stuttered. Your lips were parted slightly as you breathed steadily, your eyes shut and your face more relaxed than he had ever seen it. His chest swelled with even more pride that you had fallen asleep with him right there, that some subconscious part of you felt safe enough to let your exhaustion take over with him sitting just a few feet away.

He watched you sleep for far too long, far too many minutes passing with him staring at you in awe. His throat felt tight and his eyes burned as he finally tore his eyes from you—his mate. His mate. You were his mate, and he would die before he let anything happen to you again. He meant what he told you that night he brought you here, he was devoted to you. He never could have anticipated the overwhelming reverence he would regard his mate with, but it was entirely consuming in the best way. It was all he ever wanted, and he would be damned if he did anything to jeopardize it.

That meant another night of sleeping in the hallway, with his back propped against your wall, listening to your heartbeat from afar. He knew you would not want him to stay here tonight—you wouldn’t want him watching you while you slept. He was fairly certain you would spiral the next morning about leaving yourself so vulnerable to him, and he would be damned if he added to the impending panic.

He moved the chair back to the corner, his movements entirely silent, and he yanked his shadows back that had slowly migrated to hover near your face. He glared at the rogue tendrils, and then gave you one last onceover, confirming to himself that you were okay. He hesitated, though, standing there beside you, the bond begging him to just touch you. To tuck an errant strand of sweat-damp hair behind your ear, to brush his knuckles over your cheek, to press a kiss to your forehead—anything to physically connect with his mate.

He clenched his jaw, breathing deep, and told himself that it would take time. He had to give you time, and that if you never gave him more of you, if this was as close as he would ever get, he would make himself be okay with that. So, instead of reaching his hand out to brush his fingers along your bruised and mottled skin, he whispered another promise into the silent darkness, “Wherever you go, I’ll support you.” His throat bobbed, and he licked his lips before turning toward the door. “I will be in the hall. If you call for me, I’ll come. Always.”

~ ~ ~

“Are you and Azriel…close?” you asked Nesta, voice far too nonchalant when you were feeling anything but.

Nesta peered at you over her shoulder, her brows raised. “Close,” she repeated slowly, a glimmer of amusement dancing in her eyes.

You hated the blush that crept up your neck and all the way to your ears. You were learning you were far too easy to fluster, and you hated it. It just felt like another vulnerability—another open window that anyone could peer through to see your emotions.

“Forget it,” you grumbled, tugging your breakfast tray into your lap.

“No,” Nesta said as she turned away from the vanity to fully face you. Why she had decided to braid her hair this morning here in your room was beyond you. Your eyes couldn’t help but snag on the Illyrian leathers wrapped around her as she sat on the foot of your bed.

“Azriel is my family,” Nesta said quietly, almost as if the words were foreign in her mouth. Family didn’t mean much to you, and you almost told her that before she added, “And not because he’s Cassian’s. Azriel is one of the few that gave me space to…heal—and he never made me feel guilty about it, even though I deserved to. I think he…” She licked her lips, looking at the wall across the room. “He gets it.”

You took a bite of the now lukewarm oatmeal, immediately gagging at the bland taste and gooey texture. You hated oatmeal. Nesta snickered, then gestured to the array of bowls on your tray. “Put some fruit on it.”

You glanced at the bowl of berries beside you, the bowl of honey and the bowl of nuts, feeling foolish for not knowing that’s how oatmeal is normally eaten. You rarely had access to such foods in Illyria, and the glimpse of the variety they had here in Velaris was overwhelming.

“Do you think…” You played with the hem of the duvet lying in your lap. This felt like such a juvenile question, but you needed to know. “Do you think he is a good male?”

Nesta’s eyes softened slightly, and you found yourself wishing you could stuff the words back in your mouth. Before you could tell her to forget you said anything, she said, “Well, I certainly didn’t bring you breakfast in bed. Nor have I been sleeping on the floor of a hallway for two weeks.”

Your eyes snapped to hers. “You didn’t make this?”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “No, he insists on doing anything he can to help you. He just gives it to me to carry in.”

You swallowed hard, staring at the slightly elaborate but frankly minimalist breakfast. Something that he likely knew you would be used to eating, with just a garnish of something new. It was like that every morning. You rubbed at your sternum, feeling something squeeze tight in your chest.

Nesta stood up, her sudden motion making you flinch, and started rifling through the dresser against the wall. She tossed stretchy black pants at you, followed by a navy sweater that looked like it could swallow you whole. You pushed your tray to the side and picked up the sleeve of the sweater, a fresh and intense wave of cedar and salt rushing over you. You swallowed. “Is this—”

“The pants are mine,” Nesta said as she shut the drawer with a thud. “But I don’t have wings, so the sweater is Azriel’s.”

“What am I supposed to do with it?”

Nesta seemed entirely unimpressed. “Put it on.”

“But—”

“You have been here nearly three weeks now. Madja cleared you days ago to leave the bed, and yet you still have not left this room.”

“And where am I supposed to go?”

“Anywhere!” Nesta threw her arms out toward the balcony. “Even just stepping outside would be good for you.”

You looked away, heat creeping up your cheeks as you played with the sleeve of the too soft sweater that you hated loving the scent of. Why did the thought of wearing his sweater make you feel so…warm? Comforted?

Nesta sighed. “It doesn’t matter, because today, you’re coming to training.”

Your eyes snapped to hers. “What?”

She waved a dismissive hand. “Get dressed.”

“Nesta.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You aren’t training, but you need to get out of this room. Feyre will take us.” She moved toward the door, calling over her shoulder, “She’ll wait for you on the terrace.”

Then she was gone, and you were left alone with your head spinning and your heart racing.

~ ~ ~

Azriel was terrifyingly beautiful. His movements were elegant in a way that promised death. You weren’t the only one to notice, either, if the moony gazes of the priestesses scattered around him were any indication. It was annoying. So annoying, that it distracted you from your still racing heart after Feyre winnowed the two of you to the House of Wind, only to let her wings flare out to catch you at the last second. You didn’t even know she had wings, and she only gave you a sheepish smile when you said as much.

More notable than the priestesses’ awestruck gazes, though, was that none of them seemed afraid of him. There were plenty that appeared timid, unsure of their movements or their place in the room, but there was no fear. Cassian was busy overseeing a group of females that appeared more advanced with their skills, while Azriel was guiding others through slow stretches with low-spoken instructions.

One of the females in his group twisted her ankle while shifting poses, the awkward motion sending her toppling to the ground. Your breath caught in your throat at the sight, and your chest felt tight as you watched Azriel move toward where she was splayed on the ground. Her face was red as she met his gaze, and you waited for the lecture, the berating, but instead he offered her his hand, and smiled so softly at her as she placed her shaky hand in his.

He didn’t touch her anywhere else. He didn’t yell at her, or make a spectacle of her. He said something in a hushed tone that made her smile shakily and nod, and she resumed her position with the rest of her friends. 

You could feel Nesta’s gaze burning holes in the side of your face, but you couldn’t look at her. You couldn’t pull your gaze from Azriel. You couldn’t find the words to describe his genuine display of kindness that left you rattled and breathless. It left you with a glaring and uncomfortable truth that you had been fighting tooth and nail to avoid since you met him—you still found yourself struggling to accept it, but you could feel it—him—starting to wear through your defenses.

Azriel’s eyes suddenly snapped to you, his hazel eyes locking with yours from across the room. You sucked in a sharp breath, and your face grew hot from being caught. You swallowed hard, forcing your gaze to finally turn toward Nesta, who was watching you and Azriel with an entirely too smug expression. 

You narrowed your eyes. “You are a conniving little—”

“Nesta,” another female voice groaned from behind you, growing closer as she walked. “Tell your menace of a mate that warm ups are meant to be warm ups.”

“Keep whining, Emerie!” Cassian called across the room. 

You turned around slowly to look at the female, stepping to the side to let Nesta speak with her. She met your gaze with a friendly smile, one that immediately melted off her face at the same time you felt your breath stall in your throat. She was Illyrian. She was an Illyrian female, and you knew her. She was the shopkeeper that had essentially kept you alive those first few months that you spent alone in that cottage.

Your mouth was dry and your heart was pounding as your mind raced to make sense of this female standing in front of you. Why was she here? Was she friends with the High Lord? Was she friends with Azriel? Had she told them you were living in that cottage in the woods?

Azriel never told you why he had suddenly returned to the safehouse he had left abandoned for so long. He never gave you any explanation, any indication as to why he was in that area. Was it because this female, Emerie, had told him you were there? 

You were going to be sick.

“H-hi,” she stuttered, rocking back on her heels as she stared at you with wide eyes.  “You’re here.”

She didn’t seem surprised to see you, only startled that you were here right now, as if she wasn’t expecting to have this confrontation yet.

“You know each other?” Nesta asked, but her voice sounded distant as your stomach turned and you stared at the one, single female who had ever come close to being your friend. The female who sold you out.

“I need to go,” you rasped, and you turned on your heel and ran for the door before anyone could stop you. You didn’t know where you were going. You didn’t know where the winding hallway you turned down led, you didn’t care.

It was too much. It was all just too much. Everything that happened in that camp. The self-isolation. The unsolicited mate. Your father. Velaris. Now Emerie.

The weight of it all was suffocating. You wiped hastily at your cheeks, smearing your tears across your face as you neared a staircase. You crumpled to the floor at the first step, letting your tears go as you sat there with your knees pulled up and your wings splayed behind you.

You found yourself wishing, and not for the first time, that you had wings that worked. Wings that weren’t just some useless extension of yourself. You wouldn’t be trapped in this mountain, in this city. You wouldn’t have been trapped in the Illyrian Steppes for the last two years.

You closed your eyes as footsteps sounded, slow and deliberately loud steps that grew closer and closer, until familiar black boots stood in your periphery. You wiped hastily at your eyes, a desperate and futile attempt to hide your tears from Azriel. He could probably feel everything through that fucking bond anyway.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled as you pushed your hair behind your ear.

Azriel stepped down onto the first step, then slowly sat beside you. “Don’t apologize,” he murmured.

He was so close to you. You could feel the heat radiating off of him, and his wings splayed behind him lied only inches from your own. As much as you hated him seeing you fall apart, again, his presence was settling—grounding.

He sat there next to you without saying a word, letting you stew in silence for however long you needed. He sat with you while your emotions simmered and bubbled, until they slowly pittered out and you were left with a bone-deep, aching exhaustion.

“Emerie told you about me,” you said solemnly, not really a question.

Azriel let out a breath, then admitted softly, “Yes.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, your eyes suddenly stinging again with a fresh wave of hurt and frustration.

“She was worried about you,” he continued softly. You sniffed as you wiped at the tear that escaped from the corner of your eye, glancing at him briefly. “She said you came to her shop monthly, like clockwork. Never early, never late. You were a week late when she came to me.”

You blinked, thinking over the weeks leading up to Azriel finding you. You had been a week behind schedule, after staining one of your tailorings and needing time to fix it. It had never even occurred to you that the shopkeeper, Emerie, might worry about you. It never occurred to you that she would care. She didn’t even mention it when you eventually showed up two weeks later than usual, aside from a quip about tardiness.

“She told me there was an Illyrian female living alone in the woods. She thought you were in hiding, and she was worried whoever you were running from had caught up to you. She asked me if I could look for you.” He shifted a bit, running his scarred palms over leather clad thighs. You still didn’t know how he got those scars.

“That wasn’t her place,” you whispered, looking down at the stone beneath your feet.

“She was worried about you,” Azriel defended. “And she knew you would feel betrayed by her coming to me, if you were perfectly fine. But the odds are stacked against a female in Illyria. She would rather you hate her and be alive than dead—or worse—because of her silence.”

You absorbed his words, the truth behind them startling. No one had ever made a decision with your best interest in mind. No one had ever cared enough to check on you, to worry about you. Emerie did. Emerie cared, and she didn’t even know your name.

Azriel cared too. He wouldn’t be sitting next to you in this dim stairwell if he didn’t. You rubbed at your chest as you swallowed the realization. “How did she know where I lived?”

“She didn’t,” he said quietly. “I didn’t. I never even planned on going to that safe house. It had been decades since I thought about it. But as soon as I stepped foot in Illyria, I just felt…” His eyes flashed with something indecipherable, and you knew exactly what he meant.

“A pull.”

His gaze snapped to yours, and you forced yourself to hold his gaze, to face the raw emotion shining in his irises. “Yes,” he rasped.

“I felt it too,” you murmured, picking at a loose thread on your sleeve—his sleeve. “When I escaped, I just ran. I didn’t know where I was going. I didn’t know where I would stay or if I would survive in the Illyrian Steppes, but I just kept moving. I was following something. I thought it was pure desperation pushing me forward, but now I know….” You sniffed, meeting his eyes again. “I was drawn to that cottage, and as soon as I found it…I knew I was safe.”

Azriel seemed stunned for the briefest second, before he closed his eyes and masked whatever emotions were whirling inside him. For the first time, you wished you could feel him through the bond the same way he felt you. “I know you are upset with Emerie—”

“I’m not,” you said quietly. “I mean—I was—but—” You let out a shaky breath, struggling to find the words to explain the storm inside you. Azriel sat quietly beside you while you gathered yourself, his patience causing fresh tears to burn at the back of your eyes. “I’ve been alone my entire life. I’ve never trusted anyone—I couldn’t. Everyone was a threat. I don’t know how to accept kindness. I don’t know how to trust it.” You sniffed, wiping away more tears. “But I want to,” you whispered, trusting Azriel with the vulnerable confession, hoping it was enough to keep him here while you learned to trust him wholly.

Azriel was silent for a moment, letting your words float around the two of you, twining with his shadows that had creeped out of the corners and crevices of the hallway. One slowly slithered toward you, and when you didn’t flinch away, it gently brushed against your hand, curling up your arm until it stroked your cheek, then disappeared. Your skin was warm and tingling in its wake, and you wondered if you should feel pathetic for relishing in the touch of a shadow.

“My shadows came to me when I was a child,” Azriel told you quietly, startling you from your awe at the elegant tendrils. He held up a hand and let one curl through his fingers. “I was the bastard son of an Illyrian lord. He was a cruel and miserable male, and his wife was entirely suited to him. They kept me locked in their basement until I was eleven. They only let me out to see my mother once a week, if that.”

Your heart stuttered, and you didn’t dare speak—didn’t breathe—while you waited for him to continue.

“My stepbrothers were just as cruel.” He flipped his hands to face palms up, and a pit grew in your stomach as you stared at the scarred skin. “They lit my hands on fire. They wanted to test Illyrian healing.”

Your stomach soured as you stared at his hands. The pain he must have endured—the damage they must have inflicted for the skin to scar so extensively. He was just a child.

“My shadows came to me shortly after that. I was so lonely. I just wanted my mother. I wanted a friend. They kept me company—they kept me sane.” He dropped his hand to his lap. “When I moved to Windhaven, when Rhys’s mother took me in, I didn’t know how to trust anyone. Rhys and Cassian pestered me and we fought, but they weren’t cruel, and it didn’t make sense to me. All I ever wanted was a friend, but I didn’t know how to actually have one. I didn’t know how to sleep in a bed. I didn’t know how to sit at a dinner table and share food. I didn’t know how to talk to someone. I didn’t know how to fly.”

“You couldn’t fly?” you rasped, the words escaping you without thought. You almost apologized before Azriel shook his head.

“Sometimes I think that was worse than anything they ever did to me. Forcing me to ignore my instincts that were screaming at me.” His throat bobbed. “Rhys and Cassian taught me to fly. They weren’t gentle about it,” he said with a light laugh, “but they didn’t give up. They gave me time.”

You heard the words he left unspoken. I understand. I’ll give you time. They left you feeling raw and seen in a way you never had been before, and it scared you. You forced yourself to sit with that fear instead of hiding from it, and when it eventually ebbed away, you let out a shaky breath, pride simmering deep in your core.

Warmth rushed into your chest, and your face flushed as you glanced shyly at Azriel, who was smiling softly as he watched you. You bit your lip, looking away quickly. You felt him tug at your sleeve, and you glanced at your wrist to see the navy fabric pinched between his thumb and finger. He played with the fabric for a few seconds, and his skin brushed against yours as he pulled away, a shock rushing through you.

“Nice sweater.”

Your face was molten at this point. “Nesta gave it to me,” you rushed out, feeling both defensive and embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I don’t have any other clothes—”

“We’ll get you some,” he cut you off gently. “But you can keep the sweater.”

You swallowed hard, staring at him with what you were sure was a dopey and wide-eyed expression. He stood up then, brushing his pants clean of any dust and his wings fluttering as he stretched them. Why was that so attractive?

He held his hand to you, and your brain froze. “Come on,” he said, an amusement dancing in his eyes. You shakily placed your hand in his, letting him pull you up from the ground. He squeezed your hand once before he let it go, and nodded toward the direction you came from. You followed him silently down the hallway, his arms brushing yours every once in a while, every touch sending your mind spinning faster and faster.

No one had ever touched you so casually before. 

No one had ever offered you their hand.

Azriel was the first, and he did it without hesitation.

~ ~ ~

“Good morning.”

Azriel was not proud of his reaction to your voice. The plate in his hand slipped from his grip and shattered all over the tile floor, and he knocked over a glass of juice in his desperate attempt to save it. He didn’t miss your flinch at the loud sound, and he had to close his eyes and count to three to calm himself down before facing you.

“Good morning,” he returned sheepishly.

Your eyes were wide as you took in the mess. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

He waved you off, letting his shadows sweep away the shards of ceramic. It was their fault, really, for failing to warn him of your approach. “You’re fine. I just—I wasn’t expecting—” He shook his head. “I was going to bring you breakfast.”

“I thought I could eat down here, today,” you said quietly, hesitantly, as if waiting for him to send you back to your room.

“Of course you can,” he assured. He gestured toward the table. “Take a seat.”

You bit your lower lip, nodding as you released it and moved toward one of the empty chairs. Azriel turned back toward the counter, righting the overturned glass and wiping up the juice pooled on the granite. He refilled the glass and grabbed the plate with a stack of pancakes, drizzled with syrup and topped with berries. He set the food in front of you, and he couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his lips as your eyes widened.

“What—”

“They’re pancakes.” He pulled out the chair beside you, and placed it on the empty plate in front of you. He then took one for himself, taking a slow and deliberate bite so you could watch him. “Not the healthiest meal, but I love them.”

He watched you take a small and tentative bite, chewing slowly. There was no denying the pride that warmed his chest as he watched your eyes widen and you took another, larger bite. “Mother,” you mumbled. “You made these?” you asked around your food. Your cheeks instantly reddened, but Azriel thought it was adorable.

“Rhys’s mother taught me.”

You took another bite, closing your eyes in appreciation. “I think the food here might be my favorite thing about Velaris,” you murmured before continuing to devour your plate.

“I could take you to the city today,” he found himself saying without giving the words any true thought. Regret immediately curdled in his gut when you froze, and he hated himself for pushing you—

“You would do that?”

Azriel blinked. “Of course,” he said. “If you want to.” The momentary regret was replaced with giddy excitement. A giddiness that had lingered since you sat with him in that stairwell yesterday. “We could get you some new clothes. I can show you some of my favorite pastry shops. Anything you want.”

You glanced at your plate, then back at him. You nodded quickly. “I would like that.”

~ ~ ~

You had never seen so many faeries. They were everywhere. High fae and lesser fae alike, ambling up and down the streets of Velaris, weaving in and out of shops, moving to and from merchant booths lining the streets.

They were so lively—buzzing with energy and happiness. It was a far cry from the decrepit and dreary camp you grew up in. It was overwhelming.

Azriel handed you a blackberry tart from the paper bag of treats he had bought you from the store you just stepped out of. You took it absently, watching the movements of everyone around you. He nudged you gently with his elbow, raising his brows. You blushed and took a bite of the tart, a delicious sweetness flooding your mouth. You couldn’t believe you had been missing out on food like this for decades. You took another bite, and then another, until you heard Azriel lightly chuckle.

Your face was warm under his attention, and you knew you likely looked ridiculous, the sight of you devouring the pastry akin to a ravenous animal, but you still managed to glare at him. “It’s good,” you huffed.

“I can tell.”

You ignored him, polishing off the tart in silence, diverting your gaze back to the buzzing of the city street. You swallowed your last bite, licking the sugar and juice from your lips. “Is it always like this?”

“Pretty much,” he replied. “You should see it at night, though.”

You laughed nervously. “Maybe another day.”

Azriel’s face softened. “Of course.” Then he gestured toward the street. “Let’s find you some clothes.”

You nodded, following after him as he stepped into the throng of bodies. He glanced at you, then his gaze moved toward your wings. “We’ll probably have to have everything tailor-made.”

Your steps faltered. “Tailored?”

Azriel nodded, sidestepping a child that went running past. 

“I can tailor my own clothes.”

Azriel tilted his head, his eyes meeting yours. “You can?”

“I had to.”

A muscle feathered in Azriel’s cheek, and he faced forward again. “Well you don’t have to now.”

“What if I want to?” you challenged, feeling cornered. You didn’t want to depend on him, on anyone—

“Then you can,” he said softly. “You can work in the city or do it for fun, or not at all. It’s up to you—but you don’t have to anymore.”

Your hackles immediately fell. “I don’t want to—not right now,” you admitted softly.

“Then let’s find a tailor.”

You followed beside him as he weaved through the streets, the booths morphing from produce and baked goods to jewels and threads. Somehow there were even more faeries in this sector, and your throat felt tight as they bumped against you. A male stepped in front of you, holding a gold necklace with an overly gaudy pendant out to you. Your blood pounded in your ears as he stepped closer to you, his sales pitch warping in your ears as panic boiled.

Azriel had disappeared, and you couldn’t see around the sea of bodies you had been swept into. The male kept talking, kept pushing, his voice growing more and more agitated the long you stood there frozen in place. You murmured no thank you, but when you tried to step away, he followed, blocking your path.

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t breathe. You were trapped. Where was Azriel?

A hand curled around your bicep, and you immediately flinched away, but their grip only tightened. You turned toward them, panic driving your every move, and when you met Azriel’s eyes your shoulders slumped and you leaned into him.

“She told you no,” he grumbled at the merchant, who had the good sense to apologize and run back to his booth.

Azriel’s grip on your arm dropped, but you immediately grabbed for his hand, holding yourself close to him. Your heart was racing and everything was so loud. You couldn’t kick the feeling of danger, the sense of standing on an edge. “Don’t leave,” you rasped.

Azriel squeezed your hand, pulling you close. “I won’t,” he promised, leading you away from the merchant’s booth. Another faerie bumped into, sending you rocking into Azriel, and you sucked in a sharp and ragged breath.

“I want to go home,” you whimpered, hating that your panic was controlling you, that you couldn’t handle this. “Please.”

Azriel’s thumb brushed over the back of your hand, the small ministration soothing. “Okay,” he murmured, without an ounce of annoyance. “We’ll go home.”

~ ~ ~

Your cycle had been sporadic and fleeting for as long as you could remember. You never knew when to expect it, and it was rare it followed the normal sixth month pattern other females had. More often than not, it only came once a year.

So when you woke up to pain piercing your abdomen, you immediately panicked. You weren’t expecting your cycle—but as soon as you felt the uncomfortable stickiness between your legs and smelled the iron in the air, you knew. Only then did you realize it had been just a little over six months since your last cycle, and while it wasn’t normal for you, it was for everyone else.

You supposed eating well and sleeping well for the last two months had prompted your body to revert to its natural processes. The panic resurfaced when you saw the pool of blood beneath you, seeping through the sheets and likely into the mattress. Then another sharp pain stabbed at your abdomen, and you tried to stifle your groan as you keeled over.

You somehow had to clean this up, but first you had to clean yourself. You stumbled to the bathroom, lifting the hem of your sleep shirt—Azriel’s shirt—to reveal the blood smeared across your inner thighs. Tears burned at the back of your eyes, pain and panic swirling together as you knelt to the floor to rifle through the cabinet. The tears fell as you found the cabinets bare, save for some spare towels and toiletries. You shakily reached for one of the towels, dreading staining that too, but you didn’t know what else to do.

You flinched when the bedroom door flew open, and you held the towel toward your abdomen as you leaned against the cabinet, watching as Azriel rushed to the center of the room.

“Y/N?” he yelled, his voice panicked. His hands clenched into fists as his eyes landed on the blood soaked cheeks, and involuntary sob escaped your lips. His head snapped toward you lying in the bathroom, and panic drowned his irises as he rushed toward you.

You flinched away as he came closer, your body trembling from fear and pain and shame.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice cracking. You forced yourself to meet his gaze, his face blurry through your tears. 

“I’m sorry,” you gasped. “I—I didn’t know I was due. I’m sorry. I’ll clean everything—”

Relief washed over Azriel, his shoulders slumping and his eyes softening. “You’re on your cycle?”

“Y-yes,” you whispered. “I’m sorry.”

He crouched down to face you, and you could only imagine how you looked right now. You sitting on the floor with your hair a mess and only a t-shirt covering you as blood leaked down your thighs. “Why are you apologizing?”

You closed your eyes, hot shame creeping up your neck and to your ears. “It’s gross. No—no one wants to be around that.”

“It’s not gross,” he growled, and your eyes snapped open to look at him. “It’s just blood, and it’s natural.”

“Is it?” you asked shakily, fear creeping into your voice. “I’ve never bled this much.”

He looked pained for a second, the emotion gone as quickly as it came. “I think so,” he murmured. “I’ll check with Madja, and get you a pain tonic—but I think this is normal, as painful as it is for you.” 

You clutched the towel tighter to your chest, nodding slightly. “I don’t have any linens.”

“I’ll get some for you,” he assured. “Do you want to take a bath?”

You shook your head. You just wanted to curl up in bed and hide away, to forget Azriel ever saw you like this. To ride through the pain alone, just like you always had. Is that really what you wanted? To be alone?

He reached for you and you sucked in a breath, halting his movements. You met his eyes guiltily, hating that you were still so scared, so racked by nerves and anxiety that your subconscious couldn’t parcel out genuine threats. You knew Azriel would never hurt you. You knew that now, after spending months with the male, you knew he was good.

“Can I help you up?” he asked gently, like he was afraid one wrong move, one wrong word, would send you toppling off a precarious edge.

You nodded, the movement jerky and hasty. He reached for you again, his hands wrapping around your biceps so he could haul you to your feet. You whimpered at the pain that sliced through you, Azriel holding you upright as your knees wobbled.

“I’m sorry,” he cooed. He leaned down to grab the towel that fell from your hands, draping it over the toilet seat before guiding you to sit. He wet a cloth with warm water, wringing it out before coming over to wipe at your face. 

You sank into his touch, relishing in the tender care he gave to wiping the sweat and likely blood smeared across your face. He moved to your hands, cleaning each finger meticulously, dragging the cloth beneath your fingernails. No one had ever handled you so tenderly. No one had ever taken care of you. Warmth flooded your chest that made you nearly purr, and you tilted your head a bit as Azriel moved to your other hand.

“I like when you do that,” you murmured.

Azriel smiled softly, proudly. “I know.”

You would have rolled your eyes if you weren’t in so much pain.

He finished cleaning your fingers, then rested his hand on your knee. Your heart immediately started racing, but Azriel soothed any anxiety before it could fester.

“Can you finish up? While I find you some linens and fresh clothes?”

You nodded, eyes wide as you watched him stand to his full height. He was in his leathers, and a pit of dread suddenly gnawed at you. “You’re supposed to be at training,” you whispered.

“No,” he said, rinsing the cloth before handing it back to you. “I’m supposed to take care of my mate.”

My mate. The words left you feeling warm and fuzzy, and you were certain Azriel caught the small smile that pulled at your lips before he left.

And when he returned, and he handed you a stack of linens and clean clothes that smelled like him, and then guided you to your bed with fresh sheets, and pulled the covers up to your chin after coaxing a tonic down your throat, you wondered if this was how life should be. If it should be filled with love and care and people who are willing to shoulder your burdens with you. You imagined the future, a future with Azriel, with a mate that took care of you, and wondered if he already treated you this well, how much better could it be if you just let him completely in.

~ ~ ~

The terrace of the townhouse had become your favorite place to sit. It was peaceful, serene, even if you could still hear the dull chatter of the faeries in the streets of Velaris. It was even better at night, with the city glowing and the stars illuminating the night sky—brighter than any stars you ever saw in Illyria.

You missed nature. You missed feeling connected to something separate from the rest of this world—but the view of the night sky from the terrace soothed that longing for the most part. Sometimes you watched Rhys and Cassian, or even Azriel, fly over Velaris, usually gliding toward the House of Wind, and you caught yourself envying them.

You always wished you could fly so you could escape—you had forgotten that it was something that should have brought you joy as well. Another thing your father and Illyria stole from you.

Cassian soared over your help, making you yelp as the wind whipped at your hair. You could faintly hear his fading laugh as he flew toward the House of Wind, waving at you in the distance. You waved back timidly, confused how someone you had yet to properly meet could be so comfortable interacting with you.

“I’m sorry about him.”

You spun around to face Azriel, his voice startling you from your thoughts. “How long have you been standing there?” you asked breathlessly.

Azriel grinned, moving to stand next to you at the railing. “Not long. We just got home.”

You nodded, leaning on the railing again. “How was it?” you asked quietly. He and Cassian had been in Hewn City all day.

Azriel shrugged. “Wretched as always.” He glanced at you, hesitating before adding with no shortage of disdain, “You father was pleasant as usual.”

You swallowed hard, avoiding his eyes. “I’ve been thinking,” you whispered, “And I know I never want to see him again.”

Azriel’s gaze was unwavering on your face, but you couldn’t face him while you said this. You didn’t want to see his face if he disagreed—if he was disappointed.

“I have nothing left to say to him. I don’t care what you do with him, so long as I never have to see that male again.” You finally glanced at him. “Does that make me pathetic? That I can’t even stomach facing him one last time?”

“No,” Azriel said immediately. “Never. Only you know what will bring you peace, and you have every right to take it.”

“Thank you,” you whispered. “You can decide what you do with him.”

“Are you certain?”

You nodded.

“Then consider it done.”

And that was that. A weight felt lifted off your shoulders, passing the burden of your father’s fate to someone else, someone you trusted to deliver proper retribution.

The two of you stood in silence for a while, staring up at the stars. A bat flew over the two of you, and you smiled softly. “I think about flying sometimes,” you admitted.

A beat of silence passed, heavy with your confession, the loss you carried every day. It was nice. For so long you had only yourself and the trees to share your thoughts with. For so long you had devoted all your time and energy to surviving, that you never let yourself dwell on the pleasures you had been deprived of. Some of those pleasures Azriel had reintroduced into your life, but some you would never get to have.

“I’ll take you flying whenever you want. All you have to do is ask.”

Your head snapped to him. “Are you serious?”

You thought his cheeks might be the faintest shade of pink, but you couldn’t be certain under the night sky. “I know it’s not the same—”

“You would really take me flying?” you asked, your voice wavering with disbelief and a bubbling excitement.

Azriel stared at you with something akin to wonder, and you felt a little childish for the briefest of moments, but then he said softly, “Of course I would.”

Of course I would. As if you shouldn’t be shocked that someone would do something so kind for you—that Azriel would jump at the chance to make you happy. You sniffed, pushing away the emotions slicing at your insides, and focusing on the budding excitement from earlier.

“Can we go now?”

Azriel’s eyes widened, and you immediately retracted. “Or not. Of course not right now. That would be—”

“We can go now,” he cut you off gently, but there was still hesitation in his eyes that made you wait for his next words with bated breath. “It’s just—are you sure you’re comfortable with that? I—I would be holding you. And your wings—I can’t promise I won’t touch them. I will do my best, but—”

“I trust you, Azriel.”

Your words made his own die on his tongue, his mouth held slightly agape as he stared at you in shock. Your heart was racing with your confession, with the power you just handed him on a silver-platter. It was terrifying—but you weren’t scared of him. If anything, you felt safest with him. Which was also terrifying, but you refused to let the fear your father instilled in you rule your life. You refused to let him keep you away from your mate when you were fairly certain having Azriel in your life was the greatest blessing the Mother could have bestowed on you—even when you tried rejecting it kicking and screaming at first.

Azriel’s eyes were glossy under the starry sky, moonlight glinting off his cheeks and sucked in by his hair. He was still wearing his leathers from the Hewn City, and he was decked out in all seven of his blue siphons—the sight would have left you anxious and trembling a few months ago—now it was…alluring.

He smiled softly, his eyes crinkling in the corners, and your stomach flipped at the genuine happiness shining on his face. You couldn’t help but match his grin. “What are we waiting for then?”

Your grin grew even wider as you moved toward him, letting him wrap you in his arms effortlessly, before he took off into the sky. The wind against your cheeks was cold and tinged with salt, leaving behind a delicious sting across your skin. You were smiling as you stared at the stars, feeling all the more immersed in them as Azriel weaved the two of you through the sky. 

“Where do you want to go?” he asked, his voice deep in your ear. His lips brushed the delicate skin briefly, and it sent a cascade of goosebumps down your flesh. 

You swallowed hard, ignoring the flush gracing your cheeks. “Anywhere.”

Azriel hummed his acknowledgement, and you relaxed in his arms as he carried the two of you over the buzzing city. He wasn’t kidding when he said you should see it at night.

He dipped low as you approached the Sidra, causing you to squeal and clutch to him tighter. Azriel laughed as you hovered inches from the water, before taking off back into the sky. His grip on you tightened when you glared at him, but the smirk on his face was unapologetic.

The tip of your wing touched his when he tilted slightly, the contact sending an unfamiliar rush of electricity down your spine. Both of you sucked in a sharp breath at the contact, and when you met his eyes with your own wide ones and reddened cheeks, he simply smiled softly at you before weaving through some tree canopies.

One of your hands around his neck relaxed slightly, and your fingertips threaded through the soft strands of hair at the nape of his neck. Azriel seemed to lean into the touch, his lashes fluttering so slightly as your motions became more exploratory, deliberate.

You…you didn’t know what you were doing. You had never been this physically close to someone. You had never touched someone so tenderly—never wanted to learn what touches could make someone preen and purr. Yet, with Azriel, you were fairly certain you could spend an eternity tracing his body with your fingers if he let you. Did he feel the same way about you? Did you want him to?

He eventually landed the two of you on an outcropping of the mountain, high above the city and even the House of Wind. It was so quiet up here. A serenity you never could have imagined wrapping around the two of you. Azriel sat you on your feet, but he kept his hand in yours as you spun around slowly to take in the sky. 

You turned back to him, breathless from the flying and the view and him. “This is amazing, Az.”

Azriel’s throat bobbed as he stared at you. Eventually he squeezed your hand, joining you in looking up at the sky. “I’m glad you like it.”

You shook your head. “I love it.”

You looked at him again, and an overwhelming rush of gratitude and care and fondness went through you. Something else so raw and consuming it left your heart beating erratically as it flooded through you. You didn’t think before you flung your arms around his middle, pressing your cheek against his chest, holding tight even when he went rigid. His shocked stillness morphed into an easy warmth, and he slowly wrapped his arms around you, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head.

He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t need to. You both knew what this meant, that you both needed the comfort of being held in your mate’s arms, and neither of you wanted to risk fracturing this brief sanctuary you found with each other.

Still, you couldn’t stop yourself from whispering against his chest, “Thank you.”

Azriel only held you tighter.

~ ~ ~

Blinding terror ripped through you, wrenching you from your sleep as you struggled to catch your breath. The room was still swathed in darkness, moonlight peeking through the curtains. You looked around frantically for the threat, for the source of your fear, but came up empty. Then another wave came crashing over you, accompanied by overwhelming pain, and you clutched your chest as your mind raced to understand what was happening.

This wasn’t your terror. It wasn’t your pain. It was Azriel’s.

You threw the covers off you and bolted for the door, rushing across the hall to push his own door open, the briefest relief washing over you when you found him asleep in bed.

Then he thrashed against the blankets, a muffled groan escaping his lips, and you watched as his shadows circled him anxiously. They parted for you as you came closer, one even wrapping around your wrist and tugging you onto the bed. You kneeled beside him, your own fear meshing with his as you struggled to decide what to do.

When he groaned again, you lurched forward, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him softly.

He didn’t even stir, so you shook again, this time harder, as you said his name. You said it again and again, until you were practically screaming it, “Azriel!”

He shot up with a gasp, and his hand wrapped around your throat so quickly you didn’t even have the chance to react. You swallowed hard, staring at him with wide-eyes. “Azriel,” you whispered again, and you could see the dream-induced panic clear from his eyes, replaced with an entirely new pain as recognition dawned and his hand dropped away. “Y/N,” he gasped, his hands shaking as he ran one through his hair. “I’m sorry. I—I’m so sorry,” his voice trembled as he apologized, pleading with you not to be scared of him—to forgive him.

“Azriel—”

“I’m sorry,” he said again, voice thick and distraught as he looked at his trembling hands.

“Azriel,” you said again, voice his eyes to meet yours with a gentle hand on his jaw. His eyes were red and glossy, his cheeks wet with tears. Your heart cracked. “It’s okay,” you cooed. “You’re okay.”

He shook his head. “I—”

“No,” you stopped him, voice soft and gentle but holding no room for argument. “You would never hurt me. I know that. You were dreaming.”

His throat bobbed, and he sniffed, wiping one of his cheeks with the back of his hand. “Did I wake you?” he asked, voice low and steady again, but you could hear the exhaustion lacing it.

You nodded, your hand still cradling his jaw. “I felt you through the bond.”

His eyes widened. “I’m sorry—”

You immediately shushed him. “Don’t be,” you whispered. “I’m always the one needing your help. It feels nice to be needed by you for a change.” A fresh tear fell from the corner of his eye, and you wiped it away with your thumb.

Azriel’s face flushed crimson, his skin going hot beneath your touch, and Mother, if he wasn’t so vulnerable right now, so distraught, you would think it was the most adorable thing you had ever seen. It was precious. Azriel was precious, and he was yours. He was yours, and you would do anything to make him happy, you realized, as he leaned into your hand.

“I always need you,” he whispered, and the soft confession made your heart stutter. No one had ever needed you. But Azriel—Azriel did. It left you feeling warm and soft and glowing, and you pulled him into your chest to hold him close.

“And I need you,” you whispered. 

You shifted the two of you around, until you were lying on your side and Azriel was curled around you, his head pressed against your stomach and his arms circling your hips. You brushed gentle fingers through his hair, over and over until you saw his shadows settle down, and you heard his breathing even out. You ran your fingers through his hair even long after he was asleep, all the way up until you followed suit, holding your mate in your arms as darkness washed over both of you.

~ ~ ~

You woke up curled around Azriel, his breath coming out in hot and delicate pants against your skin. Your arms cradled his head to your body, and his wing draped over the two of you haphazardly. You glanced down to see your shirt had ridden up in the night, and Azriels hand was now splayed against the bare skin of your stomach, Your skin flushed at the sight, at the awareness of his touch, and at the realization that you didn’t want him to move.

Unfortunately, Azriel soon started to stir, and he nuzzled against your skin before pausing, and then dragged his gaze up to meet yours. His cheeks flushed bright red, you were certain your cheeks matched. You met his gaze with a sheepish smile, that seemed to instantly make him relax. “Hi,” you whispered.

His lips twitched. “Hi.”

You dragged your fingers over the back of his head slowly, Azriel closing his eyes as his head rested on you again. “How are you?” you murmured.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled. When your fingers dug in a little harder, he huffed. “I am. I promise. I’m sorry—”

“I told you to stop apologizing,” you chided gently. 

Azriel’s eyes fluttered open, his head tilting to meet your gaze. His eyes shined with awe and reverence, and it made your heart clench. No one had ever looked at you like that. No one had done a lot of the things that Azriel did for you. No one made you feel the way Azriel did.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

You slid your hand around to cup his face, guiding him to slide up so his head rested next to yours on the pillow, the two of you eye to eye. You brush your thumb over his cheekbone, your eyes taking in every detail of him—the slope of his nose, the cut of his jaw, the length of his lashes—it was all breathtaking.

Azriel’s throat bobbed as you stared at him, and you could feel the nerves simmering beneath his skin, the uncertainty he felt laying under your close gaze. You weren’t the only one that struggled to be vulnerable with others, that struggled to trust another enough to show them the most fragile parts of yourself and hope they didn’t break them. Sitting with Azriel last night, holding him after  his nightmare and falling asleep with him in your arms—it was as big of a step for him as it was for you.

You found yourself leaning closer to him, your breaths twining together in the soft quiet of the morning. Then your lips were pressed against his, and Azriel was still as stone. You pulled away quickly, embarrassment searing down your chest, and then Azriel pulled you back to him by your hips, and pressed his lips to yours.

You didn’t know what you were doing. You didn’t know what came over you that gave you the courage to just kiss him, but Mother, did his lips feel heavenly against yours. They were so soft, tender, and loving. You were swimming in euphoria as his lips moved slowly with yours, and you never wanted it to end—you never wanted this connection you felt with him to sever.

He eventually pulled away, squeezing your hips as he planted one last peck against your lips, and his bright eyes met yours. A smile slowly spread across his lips, and you couldn’t stop your own from morphing across your face. “Hi,” you murmured awkwardly.

Azriel huffed a laugh, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Hi,” he replied cheekily.

“That was nice,” you said shyly.

“Really nice,” he agreed. “Heavenly.”

Apprehension slowly started to creep in, new anxiety unfurling inside you. You hated it, hated that you might let it sour this moment, but, “I still need you to be patient with me,” you whispered.

Azriel’s eyes snapped to yours. “I just—I’m not—this is all new—”

“It’s okay,” he murmured softly, his hand coming up to trace your jaw.

“Just—” You let out a shaky breath. “Please be patient with me.”

“Always,” Azriel promised, his eyes soft as they stared into yours. “Always, my love. I will always wait for you. You never have to worry about that.”

My love. 

No one had ever loved you. You had never loved anyone—but you were fairly certain you loved Azriel. It still felt too soon, to speak that aloud—too vulnerable. It would take more time, before you were ready to hand that to him, but you did—you loved him. 

You couldn’t tell him yet, so instead you sent all the warmth and gratitude, the reverence you felt toward him rushing down the bond. When his breath caught and his hand stilled, you knew he felt it. His eyes were glossy as they met yours, and then he wrapped you in his arms, holding you close to his chest as he sent his own wave of warmth, of love, down the bond to you.

You never wanted a mate, but you were damn grateful the Mother gave you one anyway—that Azriel was yours, and you were his.

~ ~ ~

“You ok?” you mouthed, glancing over at the redhead in concern.  “As long as you’re looking at me,” Fred replied, attempting a small smile. He pressed something warm and fuzzy into your hands under the table. “You’re my good luck charm today. Keep this for me during the match.” You nodded, and felt your heart warm as you looked down to see that it was the fuzzy scarf he always wore during Hogsmeade trips or around the castle when it got particularly chilly. His initials had been hand-stitched into one end—undoubtedly Mrs. Weasley’s handiwork. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.” “That’s my girl.”

“Look!” Ginny whisper-shouted, ending your momentary flashback. “I think that’s them!”

The Gryffindor team filed out into the stadium to be instantly met with a cacophony of loud cheers and applause. Your throat was already starting to hurt from screaming alongside the seas of blazing red and gold, though the match had yet to begin. 

Without even realizing it, you found your eyes scanning the area for a particular ginger-haired Beater, and the tension you didn’t even know you had in your shoulders loosened as soon as you saw him. 

“You’re not even playing, yet I’d say you’re as big of a mess as poor Ronald,” Hermione chuckled lightly. “Concerned for someone?”

“Oh shut up,” you muttered, tightening Fred’s scarf around your neck just a bit more. “It’s the last match of the year—I’m just as nervous as everyone else. I need to see someone beat Malfoy’s egotistical arse to a pulp.”

Both her and Ginny snorted at this. 

“You’re right…but that’s not who I was referring to,” your best friend reminded you. 

You rolled your eyes. “Uh huh.”

“Don’t you think you care a little too much? More than a friend should?”

“No,” you stated flatly. But Hermione knew this was a lie—after all, she had known you for five years now and could tell when you were lying. She watched as you fiddled with the ends of the colorful scarf around your neck—a flash of something caught her eye, and she squinted to see F.W. embroidered in delicate gold. 

Of course you were being serious, she chuckled to herself. She decided to not say anything about why you had Fred’s scarf on, and instead joked, “Do you think he or Ron’ll make it without getting a concussion?” 

“Now that’s hard to say…” you began, knowing how the two boys were sometimes often quite clumsy. “Fingers are crossed that my Fred will be just fine.”

“Your Fred? What about Ron?” she raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you care about both of them?”

“—Both of them will be just fine,” you quickly corrected yourself. “They’ll be alright.”

“Okay…” she said, unconvinced that your reply wasn’t just a slip of the tongue. 

Turning your attention back to the game, you heard Lee Jordan’s classic, enthusiastic voice echo across the grounds. “Welcome to the last Quidditch match of the YEAR! We have quite the game in store today, Gryffindor versus Slytherin…” 

Eventually, after the captains shook hands and everyone mounted their brooms, Madam Hooch blew her whistle and released the balls into the air. Loud cheers filled the stadium once again, and all fourteen players shot up into the sky. You were only really focusing on one thing—or person, really. It seemed that you couldn’t take your eyes off him. 

“—aaand that’s a Bludger to the head from Fred Weasley, ouch, that’s gotta hurt…There goes Katie Bell, making a swift pass over to Johnson…there’s Johnson with the Quaffle! And then, ,there he goes…Fred Weasley does it AGAIN! Malfoy gets a hard Bludger to the back—”

Right then, Fred caught your eye and winked. You sent back a shy wave in response. 

Everyone tries their best to ignore the Slytherin section’s jeering taunts and chants of Weasley Is Our King. You didn’t need to look over to know Ron was hardly taking it. 

From there on out it was a blur of motion, noise, and loud sounds, and before you knew it, the match was over and done. 

“—GRYFFINDOR WINS! WITH WEASLEY’S GAME-WINNING BLOCK AND POTTER’S SHEER SPEED, THEY WIN!” The excitement is clear in Lee’s voice. “GRYFFINDOR WINS THE QUIDDITCH CUP!”

The crowd went wild again as Fred made his downward descent. As soon as the tips of his shoes touched the grass he jumped off and immediately rushed over to you as fast as his feet would take him.

Your head was spinning and you could barely tell what was going on amidst the ground-shaking noise and overall chaos. But there he was in front of you now, sweaty and tired but grinning wildly nonetheless as he brought you into a tight embrace. He started spinning you around and you couldn’t help but join in on his contagious laughter. 

“There’s my good luck charm,” he whispered into your ear as he set you down, breath fanning against the skin behind your ear. 

Having no words left except pure joy, you shook your head and smiled as you leaned into him, squeezing him back even tighter. “I’m so proud of you.”

Both of you were too busy to notice that your friends around you had stopped congratulating the other players and chattering with one another, their eyes now on you two. Ginny, Harry, and Hermione exchanged a look, and Ron, amidst his nerves and exhaustion, cracked a grin as he watched his older brother and best friend savoring a moment with each other. 

Hopefully, they’ll realize it for themselves…he thought. Amidst the chaos of the past year, he knew that all of them—especially the two of you—deserved a bit of peace more than anything. 

summer

“Last one there is a rotten egg and has to take the soddy backup broom!” Ginny shouted. You all immediately broke into a sprint at this, scrambling to go outside for yet another round of backyard Quidditch. Harry damn near tripped over his own feet as he and Ron tried pushing over each other to squeeze out the back door. Fred and George were doing the same thing, and you and Hermione used this chance to sneak past them. You silently high-fived each other at this.

“Boys will be boys…” she laughed quietly, linking your arm through hers as you continued walking across the meadow, the grass brushing against the fabric of your trousers. “There’s no catching a break around here.”

Lo and behold, poor Ron was forced to take the backup broom, grumbling the entire time as everyone put their gear on. “I hate you guys. Haven’t I been through enough already?”

Everyone took turns being the score-keeper, and this time it was Hermione (she had also been score-keeper the last two rounds as she was a bit tired, and didn’t really mind). She sat down under the giant apple tree as she chose the teams. 

“Harry, George, and Fred!” she called out. “Versus the rest of you.” 

“That’s so not fair!” Ron complained. “You have two Beaters and the—”

“—youngest Seeker in a century on one team,” Harry finished his sentence with a cheeky grin.

Ron rolled his eyes. “At least I’m with you, Y/N…I guess…”

“Thanks for the compliment, Ronald,” you said with a slight hint of sarcasm. 

It was only a few minutes in the match when Fred found himself distracted. He was supposed to be on guard, but his eyes kept wandering over to you, zipping around on your broom with ease, gliding through the air like a bird. He wondered when he stopped seeing you as just his ‘best friend’ and started seeing you as someone who made his heart beat faster; someone who he desperately wanted to see smile because that’s all he needed to make his entire day. 

“Awe, come on, Freddie, get your head back in the game!” you called out to him in a teasing voice as he just barely blocked a flying Bludger hurtling towards his face. “Don’t wanna be slammed into, now do you?”

He shook his head and quickly snapped out of it. “Of course not.”

“Blimey, Fred! You nearly gave yourself another concussion there from ogling at her!” George exclaimed. 

“I can’t help but be charming,” you joked, sending Fred a wink. “Enjoy the view while you can!”

It was only mid-morning/barely afternoon by the time you finished the last match, but if anything, your sore muscles told you that it felt like days had passed. Adrenaline was still thrumming in your veins as everyone headed in, laughing at the thrill of flying through the skies without a care in the world. 

“Remember that losers have to make lunch!” Harry reminded.

Ginny groaned. “Come on. Way to ruin the vibe.”

You, her, and Ron all let out long sighs before heading straight to the kitchen to whip something up for the six of you. Food bets needed to stop…

After a quick meal of sandwiches, everyone headed back outside to play more rounds of backyard Quidditch. You opted to stay in this time around; the dull ache in your shoulders and lower back telling you you’d had enough for the day. One cold shower and some quiet work helping Mr. Weasley organize his home office later, you slumped onto the sofa.

The remainder of the afternoon and evening went by slowly but peacefully. Eventually, you found yourselves sitting around on the living room floor, playing board games well into the night while the crickets chirped outside. The days were long, and cracking jokes and long talks came much easier than they normally did. Of course, Fred sat next to you the entire time, finding a way to be touching you in one way or another no matter what. Shoulders pressed together closely, fingers tracing patterns into your palms, a hand rubbing your back. 

Harry gulps down his mug of butterbeer before launching into a dramatic retelling of when Professor Moody turned Malfoy into a ferret, earning roars of laughter and “That git deserved it” from all around. Fred follows up with the first time him and George tested prototypes of their Puking Pastilles, which ended with a delirious Lee Jordan and Ron’s face turning greener than mandrake leaves (much to Mrs. Weasley’s horror—she sent both twins death glares at this). 

You were too busy losing it to notice an arm—Fred’s—snaking around your waist, pulling you into his side. But when you did realize it was him, you didn’t say anything, and just simply relaxed against him. It was second nature to you both; you’ve learned to anticipate him sliding up next to you. And, it was comforting to know that he would always be nearby.

Despite being the last one to go to bed, Fred was the first one awake before dawn had even broken over the horizon. The skies were clear but grey, and the roosters had yet to make a sound. 

“Wake up,” you felt a gentle hand on your shoulder. 

“Whaddayawant,” you groaned, voice groggy. “Listen Ron, it’s too early to play Quidditch, tell Wood that you want to go for a round instead…”

“Hey, it’s only me,” Fred replied. “Come on, I’ve got something to show you.”

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you got up, being careful not to step on Hermione or Ginny’s hands or arms on the way out the door. He kept a hand pressed against the small of your back the entire way down the creaky staircase. 

“Ta-da…” he whispered, the classic Weasley grin spreading across his face. “Take a look at this beauty.”

“A…record player?” your brows furrowed in confusion. “This is what you woke me up at 4 a.m. for?” 

“Dad got it at this old Muggle store in central London years ago, he said it was a ‘thrift shop,’” Fred explained as your eyes glanced over the cracked, but beautiful record player on the kitchen table. “D’you reckon it still works, though?” 

“We’ll have to see for ourselves,” you shrugged. 

He placed the vinyl CD into the player and adjusted the needle, and within seconds a slow Muggle tune began to play. 

“Oh, I know this one…Hermione has told me about it before. Frank Sinatra is quite famous in the Muggle musical world.”

“Well, then…may I have this dance?” Fred extended a hand out to you. You shake your head and roll your eyes, but take his hand and allow him to pull you close. His arms wrap around your torso as your hands rest on his shoulders, and you allow yourselves to get carried away by the slow, melodic ballad.

My love, do you know That your eyes are like stars brightly beaming? I bring you, and I sing you  A moonlight serenade

Fred gently twirls you around the kitchen before bringing you back in and smoothly catching you by the waist, and you’re surprised at how easy it is for him. You often forgot that he had a knack for dancing—it wasn’t often that you got to see him do so. 

“And you were about to be upset at me for waking you up,” he leans in to say. 

“You’re forgiven,” you exhale, resting your head against his chest. “But you know I could never be upset with you.” 

Long after the song had ended, you still found yourself wrapped in his embrace.  

Mrs. Weasley was heading downstairs to start preparing breakfast, but suddenly stopped midway. Her heart warmed as she took in the sight of you and Fred standing in the middle of the kitchen, eyes closed as he hummed a foreign tune, slow dancing without a care in the world. 

Deciding not to interrupt, she stands there for a moment, smiling as she watched her boy fall in love with the young woman that she hoped to call her daughter one day. 

fall

“—Godric’s sake, I’m so tired of losing,” Ron groaned as you quickly smacked the top of the deck with your wand, dust flying into his face. “I’m never playing this with you again.” 

You rolled your eyes as he coughed and dusted himself off. “Okay, no Exploding Snap, then no more sweets from Honeydukes ever again.” 

“Fine, I’m playing, I’m playing,” he sighed, rubbing the side of his forehead as the colorful deck of cards reshuffled themselves. “You’re almost as horrible as my brother.”

“Almost as horrible as who—hey, Y/N, is that my jumper?” Fred paused as he approached you and Ron sitting at the coffee table, as Luna, Neville, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny watched on. 

“Dunno, is it?” you shrugged innocently, tapping your chin. “Hey, Nev, you want a go? I have to finish reading my book for McGonagall’s class.”

Neville nodded, and Ron raised a fist in triumph. “FINALLY! Bring it on, Longbottom.”

You shifted onto the couch so Neville could take your spot, and without another word, Fred sat down right next to you. The deep burgundy color of his Gryffindor sweater only further brought out the color of your eyes, he noticed, which sparkled brightly under the dim lighting. 

Fred then shifted to lay his head down in your lap, and you didn’t even do so much as flinch. With your book in one hand, you used the other to start brushing your fingers through his hair. You hadn’t even realized what you were doing until you heard him let out a quiet sigh of contentment. 

“Did I ever tell you that you’re absolutely brilliant?” he glanced up at you from where he lay, watching carefully and intently. “Sometimes I’m surprised that you weren’t sorted into Ravenclaw.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Weasley,” you laughed softly as you turned the page. 

Right as you were about to turn the page again, he stopped you by lightly tugging your wrist. “Y/N?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you okay?”

“What are you talking about?”

He carefully turned your hand to look at the scratches etched into the back of it. They were beginning to fade, but the occasional shifts in movement would cause them to sting and sometimes crack open. 

“When did Umbridge do this to you?” Something unfamiliar flashed in Fred’s eyes, and he seemed angry for the briefest of moments. But the darkened look was quickly replaced with one of concern. “Does it still hurt?”

“No, not at all,” you lied as you set down your book, but he didn’t miss the way you winced slightly as he adjusted your hand to look at it again. 

The rest of your friends had scattered elsewhere at this point, the typical noise now having faded into a soft chatter of sorts. Hermione came back with a bowl of yellow liquid, eyeing you worriedly. “Strained and pickled Murtlap tentacles…these should help…”

“Oh…thank you…” You placed your hand into the bowl and immediately exhaled with relief. 

“I think I’m going to sleep a little early tonight…I’ll see you two at breakfast? Take it easy, Y/N,” Hermione gave your shoulder a squeeze. You nodded as she gave you one last smile and walked away. 

Once the pain had faded into a dull ache, you set the bowl of murtlap on the table and leaned back against the sofa. Fred was now laser-focused on something he was holding, fiddling with it using what looked like a small pair of tweezers. Assuming that it had to do with the joke shop he and George were working on, you paid it no mind, and picked up your copy of Guide to Advanced Transfiguration again. 

You were far too absorbed into your book to notice when Fred had slipped whatever that thing was onto your finger. It was cold to the touch but fit snugly. 

“D’you like it?”

“What is…” You put your book away and glanced down, about to say something half-sarcastic, but immediately stopped. 

It had to have been the most beautiful ring you had seen. Although it was slightly on the thinner side, it glittered brighter than any star you had ever seen. You twisted your hand this way and that as you watched the material catch the light. 

“...You know my ring size,” your voice trailed off as you took notice of the hopeful look in Fred’s eyes. “But what is this for? You know we’re—”

“For when the time comes,” he explained simply, raising your scarred right hand to his lips and pressing a soft kiss there. His gaze on you remained steady and comforting in the same way that his presence made you feel. “You’ll wait for me, won’t you?”

Tears prickled at the edges of your eyes, and you nodded, feeling a sudden lump form in your throat. You were filled with a warmth that you knew had nothing to do with the blazing fire in front of you. “You know there’s no one else.”

How your best friend could make your chest ache in this way, you had no clue…For some odd reason, you thought, it wasn’t all that difficult to picture a future with him in it. 

Not when he was your future. You loved him, no doubt, but when it came to describing your exact relationship all words fell short. You were close friends, but was it in the same way that you and Hermione were friends? Or you and Ginny? 

But he’s my best friend, you told yourself. He’s been my best friend for over six years. 

But ‘best friends’ don’t make you feel the way that Fred does. 

Best friends went beyond just saving you a seat at the Great Hall if you woke up late for breakfast or slept through lunch because of a long nap. They didn’t pull you away on Hogsmeade trips and insist on hanging out with you one-on-one when you could very well just hang out together as one big group with all your friends. 

They definitely didn’t fashion you a ring by hand in the middle of one quiet fall night, but he did. 

“Earth to Y/N?”

“Hm…what?”

“You okay? You seemed a little spaced out there, love,” Fred raised a brow at you as he sat up, taking your hand in his. 

“Just…thinking,” you hummed, letting your head lean against his shoulder. He pulled you into his side at this, tenderly brushing his lips against your forehead. 

“About how I’m your favorite person on the planet and that I’m loads funnier than Georgie?”

“As if you’d ever be the only thing on my mind.”

Fred pouted, his bottom lip sticking out. “Ouch. That hurt.”

“I’m kidding,” you glanced up at him, pouting slightly. “You’ll never leave my mind. I’m holding you hostage.”

“And that’s a sentence I’d want to extend for as long as I could,” he responded. 

Voldemort's return and the premise of another war loomed overhead. But he found that when your warm hand slipped into his, body leaning in close, and your laughter ringing through the air like shooting stars, it was easy for him to forget. To fall into you and feel as if you're the only thing that mattered in this world because frankly, you were.

winter

There was one big thing to look forward to today: another Hogsmeade outing. The final weekend trip before Christmas was always a little bittersweet, but filled with the most pure joy. 

The Great Hall was decked out from ceiling to floor as it always was during the holiday season. Bits of snow delicately floated down from the crystalline ceiling as the classic giant Christmas tree stood tall behind the staff table. You stopped every few seconds to admire the decorations despite having been here for nearly seven years now and seeing (and even having helped one time) the grandiose setup.

Excited chatter filled every table as you went over to the Gryffindor table to sit with your friends. Ron was already piling his plate with food, grinning excitedly as he did so. 

“Where’s Fred?” you asked as you sat down next to George. 

“Already missing your lover boy?” the younger twin teased. “He’ll be down in a sec. The lazy arse overslept so Lee went to drag him down here.” 

“Oh, okay…” You paused for a moment. “Wait, he’s not my—”

You felt someone squeeze your shoulder behind you before pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head, stopping you from finishing your sentence. 

“Morning, my love,” Fred greeted casually as he slid into the spot next to you, seemingly oblivious to the stares he got from his gesture. “You sleep okay?”

“Merlin’s beard, Fred, when are ‘ou going ‘o admid it?” Ron groaned, in the middle of chewing his third drumstick. 

“Yeah, when?” Ginny echoed. “I’m going to hex you if you don’t.”

“Tell me what?” you tilted your head to the side as you glanced between them. 

“Oh, uh, nothing!” she said quickly. 

“Nothing!” Fred grinned sheepishly. Ginny sharply jabbed an elbow into his side. “OW!” 

You rolled your eyes, deciding not to question the odd exchange. 

Fred placed a soft hand on your thigh, using his other to swipe a croissant from your plate. 

“Hey!” 

“You know you love me,” he teased. 

“Shut up,” you muttered, feeling your face burn, a smile crept up on your face nonetheless. You continued eating, his hand remaining in place, and pretended like you didn’t mind what he was doing. 

You exited Hogwarts to flurries of snow blowing around, adjusting your hat and (Fred’s) scarf accordingly to protect your face from the biting winds. Hogsmeade was relatively quiet today, so you took every second you had to relish in the peace. 

“Godric, you’re freezing,” Fred’s bright smile turned into a slight frown when he noticed you were shivering, rubbing your gloved hands together. “Here.”

He shook off his coat and handed it to you, helping you put it on by holding the sleeves out. You let out an involuntary sigh of relief once the warmth enveloped your body.

“T-thanks, but aren’t you gonna get c—”

“Trust me, I’ll be alright,” he assured you, squeezing your hands. “Don’t want to get sick before Christmas, right?” 

You managed a nod, and he casually slung an arm across your shoulders. “You’re the best.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice,” he grinned. “Now come on, I think we have some drinks waiting for us.” 

As always, he had pulled you away from your friend group to “spend extra special time with the coolest and funniest girl in the world” and though you rolled your eyes at this, you allowed him to take the lead. (You weren’t complaining.)

Maybe it was the snow, maybe it was the added heat from Fred’s jacket, or maybe it was something else, but you were in an unusually good mood today. Fred noticed how you smiled more than usual, eagerly tugging his hand as you pulled him from shop to shop. 

“Y/N…you’ll drain my pockets,” he groaned as you stopped in front of Honeyduke’s, positively beaming. “And you’ll rot my teeth.”

“Please…?” you begged. “I’ll die if I don’t get a bag.”

“Y/N, love, come on…” But seeing the blissful and innocent twinkle in your eyes made it damn near impossible for him to say no. “Alright, fine. Pick out what you want, it’s on me.”

“You’re the best!” you squeezed his arm before heading into the shop together, hand in hand. “This is why I love you.”

“Ow? Placing my worth based on how many sweet treats I am willing to bestow upon you?” Fred feigned offense at your statement. “But it’s okay. I love you too.” 

Half an hour later, you were walking out of the sweet shop with a bag filled to the brim, and Fred was magically several Galleons lighter.

The two of you were only a three-minute walk from the castle grounds when the wind started to pick up. What was once a light snowy drizzle had suddenly turn into a full-blown blizzard, obscuring your vision for meters. 

“I can’t even—I can’t see a thing!” you yelled over the whipping winds, trying to shield your face. “Fred, where are you?” 

“Right behind you,” he murmured, circling an arm around your middle. “Don’t worry.” 

But then, you felt something cold and icy slip down your jumper. 

“Fred Weasley!” you yelled as he ran away, laughing with another clump of snow in hand. “You get back here right this instant before I kick your arse—” 

You lunged forward and went sprinting after him, well, as fast as you could through the thick blankets of snow. Fred’s laugh echoed through the frigid air as you rolled up a giant snowball and chucked it at him. It hit him square in the back and he nearly fell from the impact. 

The blizzard added an extra layer of difficulty, but you were determined to win by sheer talent and not take the easy way out with magic. 

Your arms began to ache from forming and throwing snowball after snowball, and you were sure that you’d be getting bruises all over your body (especially from one particularly hard hit between your shoulder blades when you’d been distracted). But seeing Fred so blissfully happy made it worth it—for a split second, you could pretend you were both thirteen again, no worries in the world except for beating each other in Quidditch. 

“Okay, this is so over!” you shouted as you chased him over a small hill and finally jumped on his back to tackle him, causing him to fall face first into the snow. 

“You absolute—” he began, voice muffled. “Ow.”

He fell silent for a few seconds and stopped moving, causing you to worry. “Freddie, you alright? Fred!”

After you panicked for a few more seconds, Fred finally flipped over, clutching his stomach as he laughed at you. “You actually thought I was hurt?” 

“It’s not funny!” you exclaimed in a high-pitched tone. Your face flushed as you realized you practically sitting on him and awkwardly shifted off, opting to kneel by his side as he sat up. “What if you actually were? I’d like to be the one that heals you, not hurts you, thank you very much!”

He smirked. “Aw, so you were worried about me. You care, don’t you?”

“Shut it, I do not,” you scoffed. 

His eyes trailed down your ring, which still shone so brightly, as you absentmindedly fiddled with it. 

“...I think you’re missing a little something, don’t you think? Or maybe it’s me that is,” he said so quietly that you almost missed what he’d said. “A diamond, perhaps….”

“A diamond?” your voice came out in the tiniest of whispers as well. “I think you’d look alright in a little silver…”

Fred then cupped your face in his hands, which forced you to look back up at him. He gently grazed his thumbs over your cheekbones and there was now what seemed like a look of longing in his bright hazel eyes. He’d always gazed at you admiringly but that was because he was your best friend, you told yourself (a lie that, time and time again, you’d try and fail over the years to convince yourself of). Best friends loved and cared for each other, that’s what they’re supposed to do. 

But here he was, making you feel things that a friend normally didn’t. And you didn’t even try to push him away because you didn’t want him to leave; you never wanted him to. 

He finally closed the ever-decreasing gap between you two and kissed you, capturing your lips in his. You buried a hand in his messy hair and pulled him closer; as close as you possibly could, desperate for the way he made you feel so alive because he was the one thing keeping you anchored to the ground. 

IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou, he says over and over. You swore you’d explode, feeling him smile against your lips, tugging you even closer. 

the in-between

The chasm of grief, so cold and uninviting, seemed to open up and swallow you whole. 

You hated war. You hated watching the blood of innocent people being shed by the ruthless works of evil. You hated that you had survived while so many you had grown to know and love didn’t. They’re just kids. They’re too young. They didn’t deserve to die the way they did. They’re just kids. They’re just kids. 

You weren’t sure how you even survived. 

As soon as you locked eyes with each other, you, Harry, Ron, Luna, Ginny, Hermione, Neville, Dean, Seamus, and Parvati collapsed into one giant hug on the floor, tightly clutching one another. You had all been incredibly lucky to have made it through together.

Fred’s eyes carefully scanned the room, searching for a familiar face. When he saw you there in the corner, eyes squeezed shut and clinging to your best friends, he wanted nothing more than to approach and comfort you. But he knew you all needed this time together—you had lost many loved ones, and they were some of the only family you had left. So he let you be, leaning against the wall and watching from afar. 

Over the next hour or so, people slowly started trickling out of the Great Hall—parents coming to pick up their kids, families reuniting—until it was just you, Harry, Hermione, Lupin, Tonks, Sirius, Fleur, and the Weasleys. There was an unspoken feeling of gratitude lingering in the air and you could sense the relief all-around. 

Your heart clenched as you watched Harry embrace his godfather. Your mother had died when you were young and your father had suffered a similar fate as the Longbottoms, so watching families reunite always sent a spear through your chest. 

“Hey,” you heard, feeling someone intertwine their fingers with yours. You didn’t need to look over to know it was Fred. “Sickle for your thoughts? Tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

Leaning into him, you closed your eyes, attempting to will the tears away. “I don’t…I don’t know.  I just hate war. While I’m glad this is over, I can’t help but think how unfair it all is. People losing each other, being torn apart…Voldemort’s gone, I know, but it just feels like he took a part of me to the grave with him.”

“I hope it’s not the part that made you fall in love with me,” Fred joked, and the corners of your lips quirked up in a grin.

“Of course not…” you murmured, “you’d have to pry your heart out of my cold, dead hands to try and take it from me. I’m here now, whether you like it or not.”

“For good?” 

“For good,” you stated, reaching up to kiss him softly. “I love you.”

“And you know I love you more.”

epilogue (it’s a new spring with you)  

With the Dark Lord gone, there were many loose ends to tie up and much-deserved resting to do. You had stayed behind to help start with cleaning up the castle grounds, before deciding to take the Hogwarts Express back home all togehter—for old time’s sake. 

“What about the shop?” you asked George as you sat down between him and Fred. “Don’t you two need to be there?” 

“We reckon it’ll be just fine—it’s not just us there anymore, remember?” he said, “but, Freddie thought you were more important. That’s why we’re here.”

Resting your head against his chest, you gazed up at Fred and smiled. “You left for me?” 

“You know all that I do is for you,” he explained as if that was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Ew my teeth, they’re going to rot from the cheesy sweetness,” Ron groaned. “You’d think that the war would wipe all that out.” 

“Oh shut it, Ronald,” Hermione rolled her eyes. “Let them live.” 

You drifted off and slept through the entire ride home, feeling a tad bit more refreshed when pulling in to King’s Cross station. It was a blur from there: taking the Floo network, carrying bags, washing up, and whatnot. You felt as if you were on autopilot with a barely functioning Muggle battery. All you wanted was to collapse on the floor and sleep forever, but you wanted to sit around the living room floor with your friends and catch up like you always did during the summer. 

Lupin and Tonks had gone home to take care of Teddy while the rest of you were settling in. Chatter filled the Burrow as you spent time unpacking, and you found that you’d missed all the noise more than you initially thought. Dinner was an equally chaotic but also peaceful affair, filled with plenty of toasts, extra servings, and laughter, of course. 

While Sirius was busy telling the table about the Mauraders’ antics, Fred squeezed your hand, jerking his head behind him to indicate that he wanted to go out back. 

Now? What is it? you mouthed. 

Fred nodded. Yes, now, so come on. 

He took your hand and led you out the back door to the orchards, crescent moon shining overhead. A faint smile graced your face as you thought back to the days you spent together under the giant apple tree, reading stories from Hermione’s books to one another, skipping stones by the lake, and tending to the chickens. 

A familiar tune started drifting through the air, and Fred extended a hand towards you.

“May I have this dance?”

You were immediately hit with a wave of déjà vu at his question, and allowed him to sweep you up into his arms. He placed his hands on your waist and you felt sparks shoot up your spine at his touch. Your arms wound their way around his neck as you swayed to the melody, losing yourselves in a dreamy lullaby. Though you had done this with him before on several occasions, it still felt like you were falling in love all over again. 

You swallowed hard as you thought about how you had both been forced to grow up so fast. Moments like these—of pure bliss and childlike innocence—were far and few between, so they were to be greatly cherished. It was easy when he was twirling you around like this; effortlessly guiding your motions, to forget that anything and anyone else existed. 

Closing your eyes, you focused on the feeling of his warm hands through your sweater and the soothing sound of his soft hums, allowing them to carry you away. 

At one point, he briefly stops before spinning you outwards—but this time, he doesn’t pull you back in to catch you. You’re about to be confused but then, you turn around to see him down on one knee, a glittering diamond ring in hand. You froze in place, completely shocked. 

“A diamond, perhaps…” you echoed, recalling that one winter night when you had kissed him for the first time, feeling like your heart was going to explode out of your chest. 

“It’s always been you,” said Fred in a simple, soft tone of voice. “Always has been and always will be.”

Your eyes began to water. “You’re bloody kidding me…”

“Y/N, I know I joke around a lot—hell, I opened a whole shop with Georgie…but one thing I’ve never joked about is the way I feel about you.”

“Fred…”

“...Will you marry me?”

You opened and closed your mouth but no words seemed to come out. All you could manage was a small nod before tears fully blurred your vision and you stepped forward, hand shaking as he slid the diamond ring on. 

When his lips brushed against yours, time seemed to splutter to a stop, and you felt your weary heart slowly but steadily stitch itself back together. 

Except, he was the one holding the needle and telling you that there was no need to be anxious or scared because he’d be by your side for the rest of your life. 

So don't let me wait Come to me tenderly in the June night I stand at your gate And I sing you a song in the moonlight A love song, my darling A moonlight serenade

You had grown up in the court of Princess Rhaenyra, a place where politics and power wove through every interaction like golden threads in a tapestry. Your father, a man of keen intellect and unwavering loyalty, had been a member of her council for as long as you could remember. He was deeply entrenched in the delicate dance of alliances and loyalties that made up the backbone of the court, a world you observed with careful, curious eyes from the sidelines.

As his daughter, you were afforded a certain standing -- a place close enough to power to be seen, but far enough that you could move quietly, observing the world around you with a perspective few others shared. It was a unique position, one that allowed you to see both the glittering facade of court life and the complex machinery that lay beneath.

It was there, within the imposing stone walls of the castle, that you first met Jacaerys Velaryon. The memory of that initial encounter was etched clearly in your mind, a moment that would prove to be more significant than you could have possibly imagined at the time.

The prince had been little more than a boy when you first encountered him, his face still soft with the roundness of youth. At one and ten, he was caught in that peculiar stage between childhood and adolescence, his body growing faster than his confidence could keep up. And yet, even then, there was something about Jacaerys that set him apart from the other children of the court.

It wasn't his lineage, impressive though it was. Nor was it the way the adults seemed to watch him with a mixture of hope and expectation, as if already envisioning the man he would become. No, what struck you most about Jacaerys was the intensity in his dark eyes, a depth of feeling and thought that seemed at odds with his youthful appearance. Those eyes, you would come to learn, could convey volumes without a single word being spoken.

Your first meeting had been unremarkable by most standards -- a chance encounter in one of the castle's many winding corridors. You had been hurrying back to your chambers, arms laden with books from the library, when you quite literally ran into the young prince. The collision sent your carefully balanced stack of tomes tumbling to the floor, the sound of their impact echoing off the stone walls.

"I'm so sorry!" Jacaerys had exclaimed, immediately dropping to his knees to help gather the scattered books. "I wasn't watching where I was going."

You had been prepared to be annoyed, perhaps even a little indignant at the interruption. But as you knelt beside him, reaching for a particularly ornate volume on herbal remedies, you caught sight of his face. The genuine concern in his expression, coupled with the slight flush of embarrassment coloring his cheeks, immediately softened your mood.

"It's alright," you had assured him, offering a small smile. "No harm done."

Jacaerys had returned your smile then, a tentative quirk of his lips that seemed to light up his entire face. As he handed you the last of the fallen books, your fingers had brushed against his, and for the briefest of moments, you felt a strange tingling sensation, as if a spark had passed between you.

"You like to read?" he had asked, eyeing the impressive stack of books with curiosity.

You nodded, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious about your literary choices. "I do. These are mostly about herbs and their medicinal properties. My father says it's important to understand the healing arts."

Jacaerys' eyes had widened with interest. "That sounds fascinating. I've been trying to learn more about dragon lore myself, but the maester says I need to focus on my history lessons first."

The conversation flowed easily from there, both of you discovering a shared love of learning and a curiosity about the world around you. By the time you parted ways, a seed of friendship had been planted, one that would grow and flourish in the years to come.

The whispers about you and Jacaerys had started early, though at first, you paid them little mind. They were nothing more than the idle gossip of the court, after all -- soft-spoken observations about how often you and the young prince seemed to find yourselves in each other's company.

The women of the court, always eager for a new story to dissect and discuss, had their theories. Some said it was nothing more than the innocent friendship of children, a natural camaraderie born of proximity and shared interests. Others, however, hinted at something deeper, more magical. They spoke in hushed tones of the way Jacaerys' dragon, Vermax, seemed unusually interested in you, even from a young age.

"Have you noticed," they would whisper behind ornate fans and goblets of wine, "how the prince's dragon watches her? It's not natural, the way those golden eyes follow her every move."

"Perhaps," another would reply, voice lowered conspiratorially, "there's truth to the old tales after all. Dragons and soulmates, imagine that!"

But you had never paid the rumors much mind. After all, they were just stories, weren't they? Fanciful tales spun by bored courtiers looking for entertainment. You and Jacaerys were friends, nothing more. The notion that there could be anything magical or predestined about your relationship seemed laughable.

And yet, as the years passed, you couldn't help but notice the way Vermax's gaze seemed to linger on you, those intelligent eyes watching with an intensity that was both unnerving and oddly comforting. There were times when you could have sworn the dragon understood more than he let on, as if he were privy to some great secret that eluded both you and Jacaerys.

You and Jacaerys had grown up together in the court, your paths crossing often in the gardens or the corridors of Dragonstone. He had always been kind to you, though shy in his attentions. There was a gentleness to Jacaerys that set him apart from many of the other young nobles, a thoughtfulness that manifested in small, considerate gestures.

You, in turn, had found a quiet comfort in his presence. There was a simplicity to your relationship in those early days, a kind of unspoken understanding that neither of you felt the need to question. You could sit together in comfortable silence for hours, each absorbed in your own pursuits, or engage in spirited debates about everything from the properties of various herbs to the intricacies of dragon anatomy.

But as the years passed, that simplicity began to shift, evolving into something more complex, more charged with potential. The easy camaraderie of childhood gave way to a deeper connection, one tinged with an awareness that neither of you quite knew how to navigate.

Your childhood with Jacaerys had been marked by small, innocent moments that, in retrospect, held far more significance than you had realized at the time. Days spent in the castle gardens became treasured memories, each one a building block in the foundation of your relationship.

You had always been drawn to the quiet magic of the natural world, finding solace and purpose among the neat rows of herbs and flowers. It was there, surrounded by the heady scent of lavender and rosemary, that you felt most at peace. And it was there that you often found yourself in Jacaerys' company, sharing your knowledge and passion with the curious prince.

One particular memory stood out vividly in your mind -- a warm summer afternoon when you were both on the cusp of adolescence. You had been gathering herbs with a care that belied your age, your fingers moving deftly among the fragrant leaves and stems. Jacaerys had watched you work, his dark eyes bright with curiosity.

"Here," you had said, offering him a carefully arranged bundle of lavender and rosemary. "For you."

Jacaerys had accepted your gift with a puzzled smile, turning the herbs over in his hands as if trying to decipher some hidden meaning. "I don't understand," he had said, his voice tinged with a mixture of amusement and genuine confusion. "Why do you always give me these?"

You had shrugged, your hands covered in the rich scent of the earth. "They're for protection," you explained, recalling the lessons your mother had taught you long ago. "My mother used to say that rosemary wards off evil. And lavender helps with sleep and calming the mind."

Jacaerys had laughed then, though not unkindly. His eyes had sparkled with mirth as he asked, "And you think I need more courage?"

"It couldn't hurt," you had replied with a grin, pleased to see the way his face lit up with amusement. "Besides, everyone could use a little extra protection, even princes."

There had been something about that moment -- something in the way his laughter had faded into a quiet, thoughtful smile -- that stayed with you long after. Even then, you had sensed the way his feelings for you were beginning to shift, though neither of you were old enough to truly understand what that meant.

What you didn't know then, and wouldn't discover until years later, was that Jacaerys had kept every bundle of herbs you had given him. He had hidden them away in a small, ornate box beneath his bed, a secret treasure trove of memories. Though their scents had long faded, their meaning lingered, a tangible reminder of the bond you shared.

As you both grew older, the innocent exchanges of childhood gave way to something more nuanced, charged with an energy neither of you quite understood. You began to notice the way Jacaerys' eyes lingered on you a little too long, the way he seemed to find excuses to be near you.

There were times when he would reach out, his fingers brushing against yours as he helped you plant a new seedling, and you would feel a spark of electricity pass between you. It was a connection that defied explanation, a current of energy that seemed to flow between you, dragon, and rider.

And always, always, there was Vermax. The prince's dragon had been a constant presence in Jacaerys' life since he was no more than an egg. The bond between them was instantaneous and profound, as it was with all dragonriders. But there had always been something unique about Vermax, a keen intelligence that seemed to go beyond even the considerable intellect of his kind.

From a young age, the dragon had been fiercely protective of Jacaerys, following him with a loyalty that seemed almost human in its depth. But as the years passed, you began to realize that Vermax's interest in you was not entirely normal.

At first, it had seemed like little more than curiosity. Dragons were intelligent creatures, after all, and it wasn't unusual for them to take an interest in the people around their riders. But Vermax's attention had gone beyond that. There were moments when you would feel the weight of his gaze on you, heavy and expectant, as though he were waiting for something.

It was unsettling at times, though never frightening. In fact, there was a strange sense of comfort in the dragon's presence, as though he were watching over you just as much as he was watching over Jacaerys. It was a dynamic that you couldn't quite explain, but one that felt inexplicably right.

As you and Jacaerys entered your early teenage years, the dynamics of your relationship began to shift in subtle but unmistakable ways. The easy camaraderie of childhood gave way to a more complex interplay of emotions, fraught with the uncertainty and excitement of first love.

You found yourself hyper-aware of Jacaerys' presence, your heart quickening whenever he entered a room. The sound of his laughter, once simply pleasant, now sent shivers down your spine. You caught yourself watching him when you thought he wasn't looking, admiring the way he had begun to grow into his lanky frame, the way his jawline had sharpened and his shoulders broadened.

Jacaerys, for his part, seemed equally affected by the change in your relationship. His usual confidence would falter when you were near, his words becoming tangled as he struggled to maintain the easy conversation you had once shared. You noticed the way his eyes would follow you across a room, lingering on the curve of your neck or the sway of your skirts.

The whispers in the halls continued, handmaids and courtiers alike softly mumbling about the prince's obvious crush. You tried to ignore them, and you liked to think Jacaerys did too, but their words planted seeds of possibility in your mind that you couldn't quite shake.

One particularly memorable afternoon, you had been tending to the castle gardens, carefully snipping away at the overgrown tendrils of ivy that threatened to choke out the more delicate plants. You were lost in thought, your mind wandering as your hands worked automatically, when Jacaerys joined you.

You heard him before you saw him, his footsteps crunching softly on the gravel path. "You're going to turn this place into a jungle," he teased, his voice carrying a warmth that made your heart skip a beat.

Looking up, you saw him leaning against a stone pillar, watching you with an amused expression. His hair was tousled, likely from the wind, and you noticed a wooden practice sword at his side. He'd been training with his younger brother Lucerys, you realized, a fact that explained the slight sheen of sweat on his brow and the healthy flush in his cheeks.

You felt a smear of dirt on your own cheek and resisted the urge to wipe it away, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze. Instead, you straightened up, brushing your hands on your apron. "I happen to think that a bit of wildness adds character," you replied, unable to keep a smile from tugging at your lips.

Jacaerys raised an eyebrow, his own smile widening. "Character, or chaos?" he asked, pushing off from the pillar and moving closer.

"Chaos, definitely," you admitted with a laugh. "But it's the good kind of chaos. The kind that reminds us that not everything needs to be perfectly manicured and controlled."

He nodded, his eyes scanning the garden with newfound appreciation. "I suppose I can't argue with that. As long as you promise not to let the roses take over the entire castle."

You hummed in agreement, though you both knew you had no real intention of reining in the roses anytime soon. Their wild beauty was part of what made the garden so special, after all.

Jacaerys moved to kneel by your side, his hands mimicking yours as he began to help with the pruning. You worked in comfortable silence for a few moments, the only sounds the snip of shears and the distant call of birds.

"How was training?" you asked eventually, glancing at him from the corner of your eye.

He shrugged, a wry smile playing on his lips. "Lucerys is getting better. He almost managed to disarm me today."

You couldn't help but chuckle at the mix of pride and mild indignation in his voice. "I'm sure you'll always be able to best him in something," you teased. "If not swordplay, then perhaps in your ability to brood dramatically while staring off into the distance."

Jacaerys let out a bark of laughter, nudging you playfully with his shoulder. "I do not brood," he protested, though his eyes sparkled with amusement.

"Oh, but you do," you insisted, your voice taking on a mock-serious tone. "It's quite impressive, really. Very princely."

He playfully glared at you, moving to mirror your position and watch as you threaded the herbs in your hands. Jacaerys spoke of the latest lessons he'd been struggling with, his brow furrowing slightly as he recounted a particularly challenging session with the castle's maester. 

"Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever truly understand all the intricacies of statecraft," he confessed, his voice lowering as if sharing a secret. "There's so much to remember, so many nuances to consider."

You paused in your pruning, turning to face him fully. The vulnerability in his admission touched something deep within you. It was rare for Jacaerys to express doubt, especially about matters related to his future role. "You will," you assured him, your voice soft but firm. "You have a good heart, Jace. That's more important than memorizing every law and precedent."

His eyes met yours, a mixture of gratitude and something deeper, more intense, swirling in their depths. "You always know what to say," he murmured, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

The air between you seemed to thicken, charged with an energy that made your heart race. You were acutely aware of how close you were sitting, of the way the afternoon sun caught the highlights in Jacaerys' hair, of the slight quickening of his breath. You cleared your throat, hoping to hide your fluster. 

Suddenly, a mischievous glint appeared in Jacaerys' eyes, breaking the tension of the moment. He reached over and plucked a small, vibrant flower from a nearby bush. With exaggerated ceremony, he tucked it behind your ear, his fingers lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.

"There," he said, his voice soft. "Now you look like a true spirit of the garden."

You felt a warmth creep into your cheeks, your heart fluttering at the gentle gesture. "Thank you," you murmured, reaching up to touch the delicate petals. "Though I'm not sure I can compete with the actual flowers."

Jacaerys' gaze softened, his eyes never leaving yours. "I think you outshine them all," he said, his words barely above a whisper.

You found yourself leaning in slightly, drawn by the intensity of his gaze. For a moment, it felt as though the rest of the world had faded away, leaving only the two of you in this secluded corner of the garden.

But before either of you could act on the moment, a distant call broke the spell. One of the castle guards was approaching, likely with a message for the prince.

Jacaerys sighed, reluctantly stepping back. "Duty calls, it seems," he said, a note of regret in his voice. "But... perhaps we could continue this later?"

You nodded, trying to ignore the way your heart was still racing. "I'd like that," you replied, offering him a small smile.

As Jacaerys turned to leave, he cast one last glance over his shoulder, his eyes lingering on the flower in your hair. The moment may have passed, but the promise of more hung in the air between you, sweet and full of possibility.

The days that followed your encounter in the garden seemed to pass in a haze of stolen glances and lingering touches. Every interaction with Jacaerys now carried an undercurrent of anticipation, as if you were both waiting for something to happen, though neither of you quite knew what.

You found yourself seeking out his company more often, your steps unconsciously leading you to the places you knew he frequented. The library, where he would often be found poring over ancient tomes of dragon lore. The training yard, where you would watch from afar as he honed his skills with sword and shield. And always, always, the gardens, where you both seemed to find a sense of peace amidst the chaos of court life.

The day you felt a shift in your heart, Jacaerys had invited you to join him in the open fields near the Dragonpit. The sun was high in the sky, casting a warm, golden light over the landscape. Vermax, ever watchful, was sprawled lazily on the grass, his massive wings folded neatly by his sides.

You approached cautiously, feeling the familiar thrill of excitement at the sight of the dragon. Vermax lifted his head, his golden eyes following your every movement. There was something almost playful in his gaze, as though he were waiting for you to do something entertaining.

“What do you think he’s planning?” Jacaerys asked, coming up beside you.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s plotting some sort of mischief,” you replied, your tone light. “He always seems to have that look in his eyes.”

Jacaerys chuckled, a sound that was quickly drowned out by Vermax’s sudden, exuberant leap. The dragon bounded toward you, his massive frame causing the earth to tremble beneath him. You shrieked with laughter as Vermax’s warm breath ruffled your hair, and he nudged you playfully with his snout.

“Careful,” Jacaerys warned with a grin. “He might decide you’re his new favorite toy.”

You ducked as Vermax playfully tried to grab your skirts with his claws, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I think he’s already made up his mind,” you said, trying to catch your breath between giggles.

Jacaerys joined in the laughter, his face flushed with amusement. “Well, if he’s decided you’re his favorite, then I suppose I’ll have to share you.”

You swore your heart almost jumped out of your chest, you noticed Vermax’s huff at the prince’s comment.

At first, it was just a matter of curiosity. Dragons, as intelligent and formidable as they were, often took an interest in those around their riders. Vermax’s gaze would follow you with a keen, almost feline curiosity, his golden eyes tracking your every movement with a level of intensity that was both unnerving and oddly comforting.

You had grown accustomed to his presence. He would appear near the Dragonpit, his massive form casting a shadow over the land. His keen eyes seemed to follow you, watching with an intensity that suggested he was waiting for something. At times, he would perform small acts of assistance – igniting a pile of leaves with a controlled burst of flame or helping clear debris with a gentle sweep of his tail.

The dragon would often follow you, hovering just out of sight, his golden eyes always watching. It was during these moments that you began to realize the depth of Vermax’s fascination. He was not merely curious; he was attentive, almost protective. 

Jacaerys began to notice Vermax’s behavior as well. “He’s been following you a lot lately,” he remarked one day, his voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and concern.

You shrugged, brushing a speck of dirt from your dress. “He seems to enjoy my company. I don’t mind.”

Jacaerys frowned slightly, his brow furrowed. “It’s not just that. He seems… different around you. I’ve never seen him act this way with anyone else.”

You met his gaze, searching for an explanation you didn’t have. “He’s always been attentive. Maybe he just likes being near me.”

With each passing day, Vermax’s playful spirit drew you in further, his antics becoming a source of joy and wonder. You found yourself captivated not just by his impressive size and strength, but by the way he seemed to understand you in a way few others did. The warmth of his golden eyes held a depth that hinted at a connection you couldn’t quite grasp, igniting a blend of curiosity and exhilaration in your heart.

The salty breeze whipped through your hair as you stood atop the cliffs of Dragonstone, your eyes fixed on the horizon where sea met sky. The pungent scent of herbs clung to your fingers, a reminder of the morning spent in your personal garden. You were already making a name for yourself among the castle's inhabitants as a skilled herbalist, following in your father's footsteps but carving your own path in the world of science and medicine.

You breathed in deeply, savoring the crisp air that always seemed to invigorate your senses. It was in these quiet moments, away from the bustle of the castle, that you felt most alive. But as always, you weren't truly alone.

A low rumble from behind made you smile. You didn't need to turn to know that Vermax had followed you out here. Again.

"I know you're there," you said, your voice carried away by the wind. "You're not as stealthy as you think, you overgrown lizard."

Another rumble, this time sounding almost indignant, and you couldn't help but laugh. You finally turned to face the magnificent creature that had become your unlikely shadow over the past few years.

Vermax's scales shimmered in the sunlight, a mesmerizing dance of bronze and gold. His intelligent eyes watched you with what you could only describe as curiosity. It was a look you'd grown accustomed to, ever since the day he'd first started following you around the castle grounds.

"What do you think?" you asked, gesturing to the basket of freshly picked herbs at your feet. "Think we've got enough wormwood for that new tonic I'm working on?"

Vermax tilted his head, nostrils flaring as he sniffed at the basket. You chuckled, shaking your head at the absurdity of consulting a dragon on herbal matters. And yet, there was something comforting about his presence, a constancy in the ever-shifting world of Westerosi politics that surrounded you.

A sudden gust of wind threatened to topple your basket, and you quickly reached down to steady it. Vermax, in a surprising display of gentleness, used his wing to shield you and your precious cargo from the blast.

"Thank you," you murmured, patting his scales appreciatively. "Though I'm sure Prince Jacaerys would prefer you were with him instead of playing nursemaid to me and my plants."

At the mention of his rider's name, Vermax's head swiveled towards the castle. You followed his gaze, your eyes landing on a familiar figure making his way along the winding path towards you.

You felt a familiar flutter in your chest, one that you promptly ignored. Jacaerys had been your friend for years, ever since his family had sought refuge on Dragonstone. You'd grown up together, sharing lessons and adventures. But he was a prince, and you... well, you were just you.

"I thought I'd find you two up here," Jacaerys called out as he drew nearer. "You know, most people would be terrified to find a dragon following them around."

You shrugged, a smirk playing at the corners of your mouth. "Vermax is a perfect gentleman. Aren't you, you big scaly brute?"

Vermax preened at your words, puffing out his chest and eliciting a laugh from both you and Jacaerys.

"I think he likes you more than me sometimes," Jacaerys said, reaching out to scratch under Vermax's chin. The dragon leaned into his touch, eyes half-closing in contentment.

"Nonsense," you replied, busying yourself with your basket of herbs to avoid meeting Jacaerys’ eyes. "He's your dragon. I'm just... a distraction, I suppose."

Jacaerys was quiet for a moment, and when you finally looked up, you found him watching you with an intensity that made your cheeks warm.

"You're not a distraction," he said softly. "You're..." He trailed off, seeming to struggle for words.

An awkward silence fell between you, filled only by the sound of the waves crashing against the cliffs below and Vermax's steady breathing. You cleared your throat, desperate to dispel the sudden tension.

"I've been working on a new tonic," you said brightly, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. "For headaches. I thought it might help your mother, with all the stress she's under."

Jacaerys’ face lit up, his earlier hesitation forgotten. "She'll be so grateful."

There was that flutter again, stronger this time. You pushed it down, reminding yourself of the realities of your positions. Jacaerys was kind, had always been kind to you. But kindness wasn’t love, and you knew better than to dwell on such thoughts. You were content with the friendship you shared – its warmth was enough.

You crouched down, reaching into your basket to inspect the herbs, trying to focus on the familiar rhythm of your work. The scent of rosemary and wormwood filled the air, grounding you, but you were still keenly aware of Jacaerys standing just a little too close.

"Your garden’s thriving," He remarked, crouching beside you. He wasn’t one for keeping his distance, never had been. It was one of the reasons why you treasured your time together – there were no walls between you. No formalities, just the easy companionship of two souls who had grown side by side.

You smiled, plucking a leaf from a stalk of lemon balm and holding it out to him. “Smell that. Calming, isn’t it? Perfect for stress relief.”

Jacaerys leaned in, the closeness sending an unexpected warmth through you. His nose wrinkled as he inhaled, and you couldn’t help but laugh at his expression.

"Calming? It smells like... old socks."

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Only because you don’t know what to look for. Trust me, in the right hands, it works wonders.”

He shot you a sideways glance, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. "In your hands, I’m sure it does."

The words hung between you, and though they were casual, they carried a weight you couldn’t quite ignore. You glanced up at him, finding his gaze once more. 

You could have let it linger, but instead, you cleared your throat, standing abruptly. "I should head back to the chambers and start working on this tonic. It won’t make itself,"

You started to gather your herbs, your movements quick and purposeful. You tried to shake off the tension that still hung in the air, but Jacaerys’ presence was hard to ignore.

“Wait,” Jacaerys said, stepping closer. “I’d love to help with the tonic, if you’d have me.”

You hesitated, looking up at him with surprise. You raised an eyebrow, feigning contemplation. “Are you sure you want to trade the view of the cliffs for a kitchen filled with herbs and potions?”

He grinned, a playful sparkle in his eyes. “I’d trade anything to spend more time with you.”

The flutter in your chest intensified, but you pushed it aside. “Alright, then. I’ll need an extra pair of hands. But be warned, it might get a bit messy.”

Jacaerys laughed, a sound that mingled effortlessly with the crash of waves below. “Messy sounds like fun. Lead the way.”

When you reached your chambers, you paused by the door, holding out a sprig of lavender. “Here,” you said, your voice slightly hesitant. “Take this for your chambers. It’ll help with relaxation, especially after all the stress.”

Jacaerys accepted the sprig with a genuine smile, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “I’ll make sure to keep it close.”

Without a second thought, he tucked the lavender behind his ear, where it nestled among his dark hair. He offered you a cheeky smile, his gaze met yours, and there was a gentle, playful light in his eyes, as if he had just shared a secret with you and the world around you had receded, leaving only the two of you in its warm embrace.

You found yourself momentarily lost in the way the lavender added a touch of whimsy to his otherwise princely appearance. It was a small, almost insignificant gesture, but it transformed him into something unexpectedly beautiful, a blend of the regal and the endearing.

You couldn’t help but smile, admiring how the lavender seemed to accentuate his features. “You look quite charming,” you remarked, unable to resist the compliment.

Jacaerys blushed slightly, a hint of pink coloring his cheeks. "You think so?" Jacaerys asked, his voice tinged with mock seriousness as he adjusted the lavender, his smile widening.

"Absolutely," you replied, your own smile growing as you observed the slight flush that colored his cheeks.

“I suppose I’ll have to make sure to wear it often then."

And he did, each time you saw Jacaerys, there was the lavender – a constant reminder of that afternoon. It became a part of him, woven into the very fabric of his routine, and its presence was a silent testament to something unspoken.

You noticed it the first time he arrived at your herbarium, the soft purple hue of lavender peeking from his pocket. It seemed to bring a new kind of lightness to his demeanor, as if the charm of the flower was somehow intertwined with the growing affection you sensed in his gaze. After he saw your faint blush on your face, and the small smile you tried to hide when you noticed it, he’d started to wear it every day.

Rhaenyra’s invitation to join the court had been a momentous occasion for Jacaerys. At eighteen, he was eager to embrace the responsibilities and privileges of a more mature role within the castle, seeing it as a step towards adulthood. 

The dynamic between you and Jacaerys shifted, though the change was subtle and gradual. There was a newfound awareness in the way you interacted, a heightened sense of connection that simmered just beneath the surface of your everyday conversations.

You would find yourselves lingering a beat too long in each other's company, fingers brushing as you passed one another in the castle corridors. Stolen glances across crowded rooms held a weight that had been absent before, and the easy laughter that had once flowed so freely between you now carried an undercurrent of nervous energy.

Yet, through it all, your friendship remained steadfast. You continued to seek each other out, drawn together by an unspoken bond that defied the conventions of court life. Whether it was trading stories in the gardens or simply enjoying the comfortable silence of each other's presence, there was a sense of security and belonging that you found in Jacaerys' company.

It was during one of these chance encounters that you truly began to realize how much things had changed between you. You had been walking through a secluded part of the castle grounds, lost in thought, when you quite literally bumped into Jacaerys as he rounded a corner.

"Oh!" you exclaimed, stumbling slightly. Jacaerys' hands shot out to steady you, gripping your arms gently but firmly.

"Are you alright?" he asked, concern evident in his voice. But as you looked up to meet his gaze, you saw something else there too – a warmth, an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat.

You nodded, suddenly very aware of how close you were standing, of the warmth of his hands on your arms. "I'm fine," you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you."

Jacaerys didn't immediately let go, his thumbs tracing small, unconscious circles on your skin. The touch sent shivers down your spine, and you found yourself leaning in ever so slightly, drawn by some invisible force.

For a moment, you both stood there, frozen in time. The air around you seemed to hum with possibility, with all the words left unsaid between you. Jacaerys' gaze dropped to your lips for the briefest of seconds before snapping back up to your eyes, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.

"I..." he began, his voice husky. But whatever he had been about to say was cut off by the sound of approaching footsteps and voices.

You both stepped apart quickly, the spell broken. A group of courtiers rounded the corner, their chatter filling the once-quiet space. Jacaerys ran a hand through his hair, looking flustered.

"I should go," he said, his voice tinged with regret. "I have a meeting with my mother and the council."

You nodded, trying to hide your disappointment. "Of course. I'll see you later?"

Jacaerys smiled, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "Count on it," he replied, his voice warm with promise.

As he walked away, you couldn't help but feel that something fundamental had shifted between you. The easy friendship of your childhood was evolving into something deeper, more complex. And while part of you yearned to explore these new feelings, another part hesitated, aware of the complications that could arise.

After all, Jacaerys was a prince, heir to the Iron Throne. And you, despite your father's position at court, were still just a noble's daughter. The gap between your stations, which had seemed inconsequential in childhood, now loomed large and imposing.

But as you watched Jacaerys disappear around a corner, his tall figure cutting a striking silhouette against the stone walls of the castle, you couldn't quite bring yourself to care about the potential obstacles. There was something growing between you, something that felt important, even vital.

And unbeknownst to both of you, high above in the Dragonpit, Vermax stirred in his sleep, his golden eyes fluttering open for a moment as if sensing the shift in the air. The dragon let out a low, rumbling purr before settling back down, a sound that seemed to echo with satisfaction and anticipation.

As promised, you sought him out, as you walked the castle grounds, you stumbled upon Jacaerys in a quiet alcove, poring over a stack of parchments. His brow was furrowed in concentration, a sight that was both endearing and familiar.

"Hiding away from the world, I see," you teased, your voice light and playful as you approached.

Jacaerys looked up, a warm smile spreading across his lips. "Hardly. I'm simply attempting to make sense of these endless reports. Surely you know how tedious court life can be."

You nodded, settling down beside him on the stone bench. "I do, indeed. But I must say, you seem to be handling the burden with more grace than I ever could."

Jacaerys chuckled, the sound low and rich. "Practice, I suppose. Though I have to admit, it's much easier to bear when you're around to distract me."

The words hung in the air, charged with a subtle flirtation that sent a flutter through your chest. You met his gaze, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

"Is that so? Well, in that case, I'll be sure to interrupt your work more often."

Jacaerys leaned in, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Please do. I find I'm in dire need of a distraction."

The air between you crackled with an undeniable tension, and for a moment, you were both lost in the intensity of the moment. It was as if the world had narrowed down to just the two of you, your hearts beating in sync as you lingered in each other's space.

Eventually, Jacaerys cleared his throat, a faint blush coloring his cheeks as he turned his attention back to the parchments. "In all seriousness, I could use a break. Would you care to join me for a walk?"

You nodded, the smile on your face widening. "I thought you'd never ask."

As you fell into step beside him, your arms brushing with each stride, you couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over you. The tension may have been palpable, but there was also an underlying comfort in the familiarity of your bond. It was as if you had known each other forever, despite the ever-changing nature of the world around you.

The conversation flowed easily, punctuated by bouts of laughter and playful banter. Jacaerys spoke of his latest lessons and the frustrations of court politics, while you shared tales of your explorations in the city, weaving vivid descriptions that had him listening with rapt attention.

At one point, as you recounted a particularly harrowing encounter with a flock of noisy geese, Jacaerys reached out and gently brushed a stray strand of hair from your face, his fingertips lingering on your skin. The simple gesture sent a shiver down your spine, and you found yourself lost in the warmth of his gaze.

"You know," he murmured, his voice soft and low, "I always enjoy our conversations, but I find myself looking forward to them more and more these days."

You felt your heart flutter, and you couldn't help but lean a little closer, drawn to the intensity of his presence. "As do I, Jacaerys. As do I."

"I thought I'd enjoy court a bit more," Jacaerys confessed, his brow furrowed in a slight frown. "Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for the opportunity, but it can be… overwhelming at times.”

You glanced at him, sensing the weight of his words. “It’s a lot to handle, isn’t it?” Reaching for his arm, you linked yours together. “It’s one thing to hear about it, and quite another to live it every day.”

Jacaerys sighed, his gaze wandering over the castle grounds, where the late afternoon sun cast a golden hue on the landscape. “I thought I’d be more prepared, but it seems like the more I try to understand, the less I actually know.”

“You spend every day locked in that dusty library,” you made a face, “Perhaps a change of scenery is exactly what you need.” 

Jacaerys glanced at you, his lips curving into a small, appreciative smile. 

“Or a good distraction,” you added with a playful grin.

He moved your linked arms to elbow your side, his eyes softening with gratitude. “I suppose you’ve been quite the distraction for me. And I’m not sure how I’d have managed without it.”

You felt a blush creeping up your cheeks at his words. 

The warmth of Jacaerys' gaze, paired with his words, left you momentarily breathless. There was a sincerity in his voice, a quiet vulnerability that you hadn’t heard from him before. For a brief second, the world around you seemed to blur, the rustling trees and distant clamor of the castle fading into the background. All that remained was the two of you, arm in arm, walking through a world that felt uniquely yours.

“You would’ve managed just fine,” you said, nudging him lightly, trying to keep the mood light despite the flutter in your chest. “But I’m glad to be your distraction anyway.”

Jacaerys' lips twitched into a smile, but his eyes remained focused on you, studying your face as if committing every feature to memory. "Still, I’ve come to appreciate it more than you know."

You turned your head slightly, the afternoon breeze stirring your hair as you walked side by side. There was a new depth to the conversation, an unspoken understanding that your relationship had grown into something beyond friendship. The stolen glances, the accidental brushes of skin, the way your words seemed to hold more meaning than before—it all pointed to a shift that neither of you could ignore any longer.

And yet, you found comfort in how natural it felt. Jacaerys had always been your closest friend, the person you could talk to about anything. That foundation hadn’t changed. If anything, it had only deepened, strengthened by the shared moments and quiet, growing affection between you.

As you passed beneath the shade of an ancient oak tree, Jacaerys slowed his steps, tugging gently on your arm. 

“Wait,” he said softly, glancing up at the sprawling branches that created a cocoon of privacy. The dappled sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting warm golden patterns across his face.

He turned toward you fully, and for the first time, you felt a quiet intensity in the way he looked at you. There was a question in his gaze, though he hadn’t yet voiced it aloud. His fingers, still linked with yours, tightened slightly, and you realized how close you stood to him now, barely an arm’s length apart.

The wind stirred again, a soft breeze that seemed to carry with it the weight of the moment. You felt your heart thudding in your chest, as if echoing his.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and uncertain, like he was tiptoeing around something fragile. 

“Would it be terribly selfish of me to ask for more of your time? Away from… all of this?” He gestured loosely toward the distant castle with his free hand, the spires glinting in the late afternoon sun.

You blinked, taken slightly aback by the request, though your chest warmed at the sincerity in his tone. He wasn’t asking out of politeness, nor was this a casual suggestion. This was something deeper – an unspoken desire for space, for more moments like this one, away from the noise and demands of court. Just you and him.

“I–” you started, unsure how to respond at first. A soft breeze rustled the leaves above, and you realized you didn’t need to think too hard about it. “No,” you said quietly, your smile gentle. “It’s not selfish at all.”

Jacaerys' expression softened in visible relief, his shoulders relaxing slightly. He let out a small breath, one he hadn’t realized he was holding, and his eyes brightened as they met yours. 

"I was hoping you'd say that," he said, the familiar warmth returning to his voice, though the undercurrent of something more remained.

His hand, still linked with yours, tightened ever so slightly, as though he feared you might pull away. But you didn’t. Instead, you found yourself leaning into the connection, the warmth of his touch grounding you amidst the fluttering of your heart. 

The world seemed to slow around you, the gentle breeze playing with the strands of your hair, the golden sunlight casting a soft glow across Jacaerys' face. His eyes, those deep, dark pools you had known since childhood, held something new now – an intensity, a vulnerability that made your breath catch.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The leaves above rustled softly, and the distant sounds of the castle faded, leaving only the steady rhythm of your breathing and the quiet tension that hung between you. You could feel the weight of the moment, the way everything seemed to hinge on what might happen next.

Jacaerys stepped closer, just a fraction, but it was enough for you to feel the warmth radiating from him. His free hand lifted hesitantly, as though he wasn’t quite sure if he should, and then he gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. The touch was feather-light, but it sent a shiver down your spine.

“I think,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper now, “that I’ve always wanted more time with you. I just… I didn’t know how to ask.”

His words, so simple yet so full of meaning, sent your mind reeling. You had always been close, always shared moments of laughter and quiet companionship, but this—this was something different. It was as if the lines you had both drawn so carefully over the years were blurring, fading into something neither of you could fully understand, but both were willing to explore.

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry, and met his gaze. “Jacaerys,” The words caught in your throat, unsure of how to express the swirl of emotions inside you. But the look in his eyes told you that he understood, that he didn’t need you to say anything just yet.

His hand lingered near your face, his fingers lightly grazing your cheek. For a moment, it seemed like the whole world held its breath, waiting to see what would happen next.

But before you could speak again, before either of you could close the distance between you, a voice called out from the castle. A courtier, no doubt, summoning Jacaerys back to his duties.

The moment shattered like glass, the spell broken by the harsh reality of the world beyond the oak’s sheltering branches. Jacaerys pulled back, his expression one of reluctant resignation, though his fingers lingered on yours for just a heartbeat longer before slipping away.

“I…” he began, his voice strained. “I have to go.”

You nodded, the warmth of his touch still lingering on your skin. “I know.”

But as he turned to leave, he hesitated, casting one last look over his shoulder. His gaze met yours, and in that moment, it felt like a promise, unspoken yet understood. There would be more time, more moments like this – when the world didn’t press in so tightly, when you could simply be Jacaerys and yourself, without the weight of court life bearing down on you.

And with that, he was gone, his figure disappearing down the path toward the castle, leaving you standing alone beneath the oak, the fluttering leaves above a soft reminder of what had almost been.

As the days turned into weeks, you found yourself increasingly aware of Jacaerys' presence in your life. 

You began to notice the little things, the small gestures that spoke volumes about Jacaerys' growing affection. The way he would seek you out in crowded rooms, his eyes lighting up when they found yours. The gentle brush of his hand against yours as you walked side by side through the castle corridors. The way he listened intently when you spoke, hanging on your every word as if they were precious gems.

One particular evening, you found yourself in the castle library, surrounded by towering shelves of ancient tomes. You had been searching for a specific book on herbal remedies, standing on tiptoe to reach a high shelf, when you felt a presence behind you.

"Allow me," Jacaerys' voice came softly, his breath warm against your ear as he reached past you to pluck the book from its perch.

You turned, finding yourself face to face with the prince, barely a breath of space between you. "Thank you," you murmured, your voice catching slightly as you met his gaze.

Jacaerys’ fingers lingered on the spine of the book, his proximity causing your pulse to quicken. You could smell the faint scent of leather and parchment mingling with something distinctly him, a subtle warmth that made the space between you feel smaller, more intimate. The soft light from the library’s candles flickered, casting shadows on his face and highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw that had grown more defined with age.

"You're welcome," he murmured, his voice low and filled with an unfamiliar weight. It was his nameday today, turning nine and ten, and though the castle had been buzzing with celebration all day, it was this quiet moment in the library that felt the most significant. The festivities seemed far away, drowned out by the quiet hum of his presence beside you.

You felt a nervous flutter in your chest, one you couldn’t quite control, as you tried to speak, to break the silence that hung between you like a fragile thread. “I didn’t expect you here,” you said softly, your fingers brushing the edge of the book he’d handed you. “Shouldn’t you be at your nameday feast?”

Jacaerys smiled, a small, almost sheepish curve of his lips that sent warmth through you. “I should be,” he admitted, his eyes holding yours. “But I needed some air... and maybe a bit of quiet. It’s overwhelming sometimes.”

You nodded, understanding immediately. The weight of expectation that came with his name, his birthright, was always heavy. "I imagine it must be. All those people, eyes on you."

He let out a soft sigh, his hand brushing against yours as he shifted the book to you more securely. “Exactly. And... well, I was hoping to find you.”

Your heart skipped at his words, and you blinked up at him, momentarily lost for a reply. 

“I’m glad you did,” you managed to say, your voice quieter than you’d intended.

Jacaerys stepped just a fraction closer, the space between you shrinking as he tilted his head slightly, his expression softening. His lips quirked into a playful smile, the kind that had always made your heart stumble in your chest. 

"You wouldn’t believe the amount of gifts I’ve been forced to graciously accept today," he said, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. “Half the court is vying for a chance to be in my good graces, hoping one of their children might become my future Hand when I take the throne.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head as if the thought were absurd, though you knew the pressures that came with his title weighed on him more than he liked to admit. There was something in his eyes – an unspoken weariness, a hint of the heavy responsibility he bore, even as he tried to make light of it.

You couldn’t help but smile, the image of Jacaerys surrounded by lavish gifts from eager courtiers painting a rather amusing picture in your mind. "Let me guess, dozens of finely crafted swords, books you’ll never read, and enough embroidered tunics to last you a lifetime?"

“More than I know what to do with,” he said with a dramatic sigh, leaning a little closer, the warmth of his presence wrapping around you. “One lord even gifted me a statue of a dragon, carved from some rare stone. It weighs more than Vermax himself, I swear.”

You laughed softly, the sound mingling with the quiet of the library, and for a moment, it felt like the world had melted away, leaving just the two of you in this small, secluded space. “What are you going to do with all of it?”

“I’m thinking of donating it to the maesters,” he said, his voice playful but with an undertone of sincerity. “They’re always looking for more clutter, aren’t they?”

His humor was infectious, and you found yourself grinning, shaking your head at him. “They’d probably find a way to use it in some lesson about the history of Valyria.”

Jacaerys chuckled, his eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and something softer, deeper. The air between you grew thick again, the earlier tension returning, but this time, it felt different. Less uncertain, more sure. 

He lifted his hand, slowly, tentatively, as though he were testing the boundaries of whatever was blossoming between you. His fingers brushed lightly against your wrist, tracing the skin there in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. The gentle touch was intimate, delicate, as though he were savoring the moment, reluctant to let it end.

"You know," he began, his voice barely above a whisper now, "all those presents – they don’t mean anything. Not really." His gaze locked with yours, the intensity in his eyes making your breath catch. "I only wanted one thing today."

Your heart raced, your pulse quickening under his touch, and you found yourself leaning in ever so slightly, drawn to him in a way that felt both natural and terrifying.

“And what’s that?” you asked softly, your voice barely more

Jacaerys’ eyes never left yours as he spoke, his voice low and soft, a quiet intimacy threading through his words. “You,” he said, the single word hanging in the air between you like a confession, vulnerable and raw.

Your breath hitched, heart pounding so loudly that you were sure he could hear it in the stillness of the library. For a moment, you couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. All you could feel was the weight of his gaze, the warmth of his hand against your wrist, and the undeniable pull that had been building between you for what felt like years.

His fingers tightened ever so slightly on your wrist, a silent plea, his thumb tracing slow circles on your skin. 

“I’ve spent so much time in the court,” he said quietly, his voice low and filled with the weight of his thoughts. “Handling affairs, playing the part of the prince, always doing what’s expected of me. But lately… I’ve missed you.” His words carried an ache, as if the time apart had been a slow, painful realization of what he truly wanted. 

Your heart fluttered at his words, the depth of his confession settling over you like a warm blanket. You felt a tightening in your chest, the emotions you’d been trying to keep at bay now rushing to the surface.

Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you reached into the folds of your dress and pulled out a small, carefully wrapped package. You had agonized over this gift for weeks, wanting it to be perfect.

"I have something for you," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "For your nameday."

Jacaerys' eyes widened slightly, a mix of surprise and curiosity crossing his features. He loosened his grip on your wrist, allowing you to place the gift in his hand.

"You didn't have to–" he began, but you shook your head, silencing him with a gentle smile.

"I wanted to," you assured him. "I suppose you can add this to the mountain of gifts you've received today. Though it might get lost among all those rare stone dragons." you jested.

Jacaerys chuckled softly, but his eyes remained intense as they held yours. "Anything from you could never get lost in a pile," he murmured, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your wrist. "It already stands out from anything any lord could offer."

Your breath caught at his words, the depth of feeling behind them unmistakable. Jacaerys glanced down at the small package in his hand, his fingers running over the careful wrapping.

"Aren't you going to open it?" you asked, suddenly feeling a bit nervous about your choice of gift.

Jacaerys shook his head, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Not yet," he said. "I want to savor this moment a little longer."

Your heart raced as you realized how close you were standing, the warmth of his body radiating towards you in the quiet of the library. Without overthinking, you leaned in and pressed a soft, quick kiss to his cheek.

"Happy nameday, Jace," you whispered, your lips brushing his skin as you spoke.

You pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze once more. His eyes were wide with surprise, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. For a moment, neither of you moved, caught in the charged atmosphere between you.

Then, gathering your courage, you took a small step back. "I should go," you said softly, though every part of you wanted to stay. "You have a feast to return to, after all."

Jacaerys nodded, seemingly still stunned by your gesture. As you turned to leave, you glanced back over your shoulder. Jacaerys stood there, the small package clutched in one hand. The look on his face was one of wonder and longing, as if he had just been given the most precious gift in all the Seven Kingdoms.

He smiled to himself, a mixture of joy and longing filling his chest. As he finally moved to rejoin his nameday feast, he knew that this moment – this gift – would be the one he cherished most from this day forward.

In the days that followed your moment with Jacaerys in the library, you noticed a distinct change in Vermax's behavior. The dragon, always attentive to you before, now seemed utterly determined not to let you out of his sight.

It started the very next morning. As you made your way to the herb gardens, a familiar shadow fell over you. Looking up, you saw Vermax circling overhead, his bronze scales glinting in the early sunlight. You thought nothing of it at first – the dragon often flew over the castle grounds. But as you reached the gardens and began your work, you realized Vermax had landed nearby and was watching you intently.

"Hello there," you called out, amused by his intense gaze. "Come to help with the weeding?"

Vermax huffed, a puff of warm air ruffling your hair. He settled himself more comfortably on the grass, his tail curling around him like a cat. His golden eyes never left you as you went about your tasks.

As the day wore on, Vermax's presence became a constant. When you moved to a different part of the garden, he would follow, sometimes knocking over pots or uprooting plants in his eagerness to stay close. You found yourself having to work around him, like a gardener might work around a particularly large and scaly cat.

"You're being rather clingy today, aren't you?" you muttered, reaching around his massive form to grab a watering can. Vermax merely blinked slowly at you, looking utterly content.

The pattern continued over the next few days. Whenever you left your chambers, Vermax would appear, following you around the castle’s outings with a single-minded determination. He would curl up outside the great hall while you dined, much to the bewilderment of the other courtiers. During your walks in the castle grounds, he would lumber along beside you, occasionally nudging you with his snout as if seeking attention.

One afternoon, as you sat in a quiet corner of the courtyard, attempting to read, Vermax decided your lap looked like the perfect place to rest his head. You found yourself with a lapful of warm, scaly dragon, your book forgotten as you absently stroked the ridges along his snout.

"What's gotten into you?" you wondered aloud, scratching behind one of his horns. Vermax rumbled contentedly, his eyes half-closed in bliss.

It was during one of these moments that Jacaerys found you. His eyebrows shot up in surprise at the sight of his usually aloof dragon behaving like an overgrown housecat.

"Well, this is new," he remarked, a hint of amusement in his voice. "I've been looking for him all morning. Should have known he'd be with you."

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks, remembering your last encounter in the library. "He's been... rather attentive lately," you explained, trying to keep your voice steady.

Jacaerys moved closer, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Attentive? It looks like he's adopted you."

Vermax opened one eye to look at his rider, then promptly closed it again, snuggling closer to you. You couldn't help but laugh.

"I'm not sure what I've done to deserve such devotion," you said, your fingers still absently stroking Vermax's scales.

Jacaerys' expression softened, his gaze moving from Vermax to you. "I think I might have an idea," he said softly, so quietly that you almost missed it.

For a heartbeat, you didn’t dare breathe. You had heard the whispers – the soft murmurings that floated through the halls of the castle, spoken behind fans and shared in hushed tones over goblets of wine. They were the same rumors that had always been dismissed as mere fables: ancient tales about dragons and soulmates, myths that most of the court laughed off as fantastical relics from a bygone era.

You had grown up with the legends, just as any child of Westeros had. It was said that in the ancient days of Old Valyria, dragons could sense the one person destined for their rider, a bond so profound it went beyond even the magical connection between rider and dragon. This connection was rare, deeper than anything known to man, and some believed it tied the fates of the rider, dragon, and soulmate together, forever.

But those were only stories, weren’t they?

The thought made your heart race, even as Vermax nudged your hand, demanding more attention. 

Jacaerys seemed to sense your hesitation. He sat down beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours, the warmth of his presence both reassuring and unnerving. The weight of those whispered legends hung in the air between you, heavy with possibilities neither of you dared voice. You could feel the question in the space between you, but neither of you seemed willing to give it life, to allow the old stories to weave themselves into your reality.

Vermax huffed contentedly, his golden eyes half-lidded as you continued to stroke his scales. The warmth of the dragon’s presence, combined with Jacaerys’ closeness, made the world feel smaller, more intimate. And yet, the thought of those legends, of the connection they hinted at, stirred something deep within you.

But you weren’t ready to confront that – not yet.

Jacaerys cleared his throat softly, breaking the silence with a casual tone, though you could hear the undercurrent of something more in his voice. "Vermax has always had a mind of his own. I suppose it’s not so strange that he’s taken a liking to you." His words were light, but there was a subtle tension in them, as if he, too, was choosing his words carefully.

You let out a quiet laugh, grateful for the shift in conversation. "He’s a bit of a menace, truth be told," you teased, brushing some dirt from your hands. "I don’t think I’ve ever had a dragon try to uproot my herb garden before."

Jacaerys grinned, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he glanced at Vermax. "He has a habit of getting in the way. I’m surprised you’ve managed to work around him."

You shrugged, smiling despite yourself. "I’ve learned to make do. Besides, it’s not every day you get a dragon for company. He’s surprisingly good at weeding, though I’m not sure he knows that’s what he’s doing."

Jacaerys chuckled, and the sound eased the tension in your chest. For a few moments, the weight of the unspoken words between you lightened, and you both fell into an easy rhythm, the kind that had defined your friendship over the years.

"I suppose I should count myself lucky," you continued, your voice teasing. "Not many people can say they have a dragon who’s decided to follow them around like a lost pup."

Jacaerys leaned back on his hands, gazing at Vermax with a fond smile. "I think you’ve charmed him," he said, his tone playful but gentle. "Though, to be fair, you tend to have that effect on people."

"I think it’s the herbs. Maybe he likes the smell."

Jacaerys turned his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours with a softness that made your heart skip. Your heart raced as Jacaerys' eyes dropped to your lips, his breathing slowing ever so slightly. 

You watched as Jacaerys’ gaze flicked back to your eyes, the intensity there nearly making you forget how to breathe. For a moment, you thought he might kiss you. His face leaned closer, his lips only a breath away from yours, and the heat of his proximity made your pulse quicken.

Vermax, sensing none of this, shifted lazily beside you, his warm breath ruffling your hair as you absentmindedly stroked his scales. The dragon’s presence had always been comforting, but now, with Jacaerys so close, you felt a different kind of warmth, one that had nothing to do with the huge dragon lying next to you.

Jacaerys cleared his throat again, but this time, the sound was more hesitant, as if he were about to wade into dangerous waters. He glanced down at his hands before turning back to you, his voice quieter now, almost cautious. 

"Have you ever… thought about marriage?" His tone was casual, but you could hear the tension beneath it, the way he was testing the waters with the question.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation. You hadn’t expected him to ask something like that – not after years of avoiding the topic, of keeping your interactions light and playful. The mention of marriage, especially from Jacaerys, felt like stepping too close to the edge of something vast and unknown.

"Marriage?" you repeated softly, buying yourself time as your mind raced. 

You glanced at him, searching his face for clues, for some indication of what he was really asking. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes held a strange intensity that made your stomach twist with nerves.

"Yes," he said, his voice steady, though you could sense the underlying current of uncertainty. "I mean… you must know it’s a topic that comes up often in court. Especially for someone like you. I imagine there have been offers."

You hesitated, unsure of how to answer. It wasn’t that the subject hadn’t crossed your mind – of course it had. You were of an age where most noblewomen were already spoken for, and though your father had never pressured you, there had been whispers, suggestions from the court that a match should be made soon. But you had always brushed those conversations aside, content with your life, with the simple joys of herbcraft and your time with Jacaerys.

"Offers, yes," you admitted after a moment, your voice quieter now. "But I’ve never taken any of them seriously."

Jacaerys tilted his head slightly, his eyes searching yours as if trying to read your thoughts. "Why not?"

You shrugged, trying to maintain some semblance of nonchalance, though your heart was racing in your chest. "I suppose I’ve never felt… connected to them in that way." The words felt heavier than you intended, and you quickly glanced away, focusing on Vermax instead of the prince beside you.

For a long moment, Jacaerys said nothing. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, and though you were tempted to fill the silence, something held you back, as if speaking too soon might unravel whatever fragile thread was holding the moment together.

"I see," Jacaerys finally said, his voice soft but laced with something unspoken. 

His eyes searched yours, as though he were trying to decipher the meaning behind your words – your hesitation, the quiet way you had admitted to have been looking for love. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, and though Vermax lay contentedly beside you, his warmth comforting, it did nothing to quell the flutter of nerves building inside you.

"What about you?" you asked, your voice softer now, almost hesitant. "I imagine you've had many offers as well."

Jacaerys' expression shifted, the playful edge that had always been a hallmark of your friendship disappearing entirely. His face grew serious, his gaze lowering as he seemed to consider your question. For a moment, you thought he wouldn’t answer, that perhaps you had ventured too far into territory neither of you were ready to explore.

But then he sighed, his voice quieter than before, almost reflective. "There have been offers," he admitted, his tone neutral but with an undercurrent of tension. "Plenty of them, actually. It comes with the title. People see a future king and want to secure their place in that future."

His words felt distant, like they belonged to someone else, someone far removed from the boy you had grown up with. You could hear the weight of his responsibilities in his voice, the burden of being a prince, always expected to make decisions not just for himself but for an entire kingdom. 

"And yet," he continued, his eyes lifting to meet yours once more, "none of them ever felt right."

Your breath caught at his words. You hesitated, unsure of how to navigate the delicate tension between you. "Why not?" you asked softly, echoing his earlier question to you.

Jacaerys smiled, though it was a small, almost wistful expression, as if he were contemplating something he wasn’t sure he should say. His hand, which had been resting on the grass beside him, inched closer to yours, the tips of his fingers barely brushing against your own. The touch sent a shiver through you, a subtle but undeniable connection.

"I suppose," he began slowly, his voice thoughtful, "I’ve been waiting for something… more." He paused, glancing away for a brief moment before looking back at you. "Someone I feel connected to. Someone I trust. Someone who sees me, not just the prince."

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came. The silence stretched on, charged with the unsaid, the emotions neither of you could fully express. The space between you felt smaller, more intimate, as if the world outside this moment had faded into nothing.

Jacaerys shifted slightly, his hand finally closing the distance between you, his fingers curling around yours. The touch was gentle, almost hesitant, as if he were still testing the waters of whatever was growing between you. His thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles, and the simple gesture sent a warmth through you that had nothing to do with the dragon resting beside you.

"Do you think…" he began, his voice barely above a whisper now, "that it’s possible for someone like me to have that? To choose for myself?"

Your breath hitched at his question, and for a moment, you were unsure how to answer. Jacaerys, the future king, bound by duty and responsibility, was asking you something so personal, so vulnerable. The weight of his title, his future, pressed down on both of you, and yet, here in this quiet moment, it felt as though it was just the two of you, free from the expectations of the world.

"I think," you whispered, your heart pounding in your chest, "if anyone deserves to choose, it’s you."

Your words seemed to settle over him, a quiet reassurance that made the tension in his shoulders ease just a fraction. He gave you a small, grateful smile, one that made your chest tighten with something you weren’t ready to name.

Finally, Jacaerys broke the silence, his voice soft and filled with a quiet resolve. "Maybe one day," he said, his thumb still tracing slow circles on your hand, "we’ll both get to choose."

The weight of Jacaerys' words lingered in the air between you, a tangible presence that seemed to weave its way into the very fabric of the moment. You could feel the quiet intensity of his gaze, his thumb still brushing against your hand, a gentle, rhythmic motion that seemed to steady both of you.

His hand remained entwined with yours, and you noticed the way his fingers moved, absently tracing the lines of your palm. There was a tenderness in his touch, a delicate acknowledgment of the closeness that had grown between you.

As if to seal the moment, Jacaerys leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to the palm of your hand. The sensation was warm and electrifying, sending a shiver up your arm. His lips lingered for a heartbeat longer than necessary, and the intimacy of the gesture made your heart race. His fingers played with yours, the touch light and exploratory, a silent communication that spoke volumes more than words ever could.

Jacaerys’ eyes met yours, and in that look, you saw a reflection of your own feelings – a mixture of hope, uncertainty, and an undeniable connection. His hand remained in yours, a comforting presence that felt both familiar and new.

The quiet was filled with the unspoken, the space between you charged with possibilities. The weight of your shared silence felt like a cocoon, wrapping you both in a moment that was yours alone, away from the eyes and expectations of the world outside.

Finally, Jacaerys’ lips curved into a small, genuine smile, and he gave your hand a gentle squeeze. "I should probably go," he said softly, though he made no move to leave. "There's a council meeting I'm meant to attend."

You nodded, understanding the weight of his responsibilities, even as a part of you wished he could stay. "Of course," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "Duty calls."

Jacaerys sighed, his eyes never leaving yours. "It always does," he murmured, a hint of resignation in his tone. But then his expression softened, and he added, "Though I find myself wishing it didn't, at least not when I'm with you."

The admission hung in the air between you, laden with unspoken meaning. You felt a flutter in your chest, a mix of excitement and nervousness at the implications of his words.

Vermax, who had been contentedly dozing beside you, stirred slightly. The dragon lifted his head, his golden eyes flickering between you and Jacaerys as if sensing the shift in mood.

"I think someone's getting jealous," you teased lightly, grateful for the momentary distraction from the intensity of the moment.

Jacaerys chuckled, reaching out to pat Vermax's snout. "He's not the only one who enjoys your company," he said, his voice low and tinged with meaning.

He stood slowly, reluctantly releasing your hand. As he did, his fingers trailed along your palm, a lingering touch that sent shivers down your spine.

"Perhaps," he began, a hint of hesitation in his voice, "we could continue this conversation another time? Away from prying eyes and dragon chaperones?"

You nodded, a smile tugging at your lips. "I'd like that," you replied softly.

Jacaerys' face lit up with a warmth that made your heart swell. He took a step back, his eyes still locked with yours. "Until then," he said, his voice filled with promise.

As he turned to leave, Vermax huffed, a small puff of smoke curling from his nostrils. The dragon's gaze followed his rider, then settled back on you, as if to say he'd be keeping watch.

You sat there for a moment longer, your hand still tingling from Jacaerys' touch, your mind replaying the conversation. The weight of what had transpired, of the words spoken and unspoken, settled over you like a warm blanket.

The days passed in a haze, the absence of Jacaerys more palpable than you had expected. His words, his touch, the warmth of his presence lingered with you, like a song you couldn’t quite shake from your thoughts. Every hour felt drawn out, the stillness of your chambers amplifying the emptiness that came with his absence.

You tried to busy yourself, distracting your mind with small tasks, but nothing seemed to quell the gnawing sensation that something was missing. Jacaerys’ parting words had left a subtle hum beneath your skin, a quiet longing that you couldn’t quite place, or maybe didn’t want to.

By the time night fell, the soft glow of the candlelight casting long shadows against the walls, you found yourself sitting by the window, your thoughts wandering back to him. You hadn’t expected to miss him this much. The bond you shared had grown in such a quiet, natural way, yet now that he was gone, the absence felt stark and undeniable.

The evening stretched on, and you were beginning to resign yourself to the solitude when a soft knock sounded at your door. Your heart leapt before you could even think.

Rising quickly, you crossed the room and pulled the door open, and there he was – Jacaerys, standing in the dim light of the corridor, a smile brighter than the candles behind him. His eyes sparkled, and there was an undeniable energy about him, a joy that radiated from his very being. 

"Jace," you breathed, a wave of relief washing over you. You hadn’t realized just how much you missed him until now, until he was standing here, looking at you with that familiar warmth in his eyes.

He stepped inside before you could say anything more, and the door closed softly behind him. There was an almost giddy excitement in his movements as he crossed the room toward you. 

His eyes were bright, his smile wide and unguarded in a way you'd rarely seen before. There was a lightness to his steps, as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

"I've missed you," he said softly, his voice filled with a warmth that made your heart flutter. He reached out, his fingers brushing against your arm in a gentle, almost reverent touch.

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks at his words and the intensity of his gaze. "I've missed you too," you admitted, surprised by how easily the truth slipped out. "You seem... happy."

Jacaerys' smile grew even wider, if that was possible. He took another step closer, closing the distance between you until you could feel the warmth of his breath. 

His fingers, resting against your arm, traced a soft, soothing pattern, the touch sending a shiver down your spine. "I am happy," he said, his voice low, filled with that same lightness. His eyes held yours, and for a brief moment, it felt like there was no one else in the world, just the two of you standing in the quiet intimacy of your chambers.

You felt your breath catch in your throat as Jacaerys took another small step closer, closing the already narrow gap between you. His hand slid gently down your arm, capturing your hand in his, his fingers lacing with yours as if they belonged there.

“I’ve been waiting all day to see you,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a whisper, and there was something in his tone that tugged at your heart – something deeper, more meaningful, than just his words.

Your pulse quickened at his closeness, at the way his gaze never left yours. “It’s only been a few days, Jace,” you teased lightly, though the emotion in your voice betrayed the longing you had felt in his absence.

He chuckled softly, his thumb tracing circles on the back of your hand, a familiar, soothing gesture that now held an extra layer of intimacy. “A day can feel like an eternity when you’re away from someone important,” he murmured, his eyes softening with sincerity.

There was something about the way he looked at you tonight, something in his touch, in the subtle tension between you that felt different – heavier, more charged. As if the unspoken things that had lingered between you were finally on the verge of surfacing.

“What happened today?” you asked quietly, your curiosity growing stronger. He had been away all day, and yet here he was, practically glowing with happiness. It was as though something had shifted, and though you didn’t know what it was, you could sense the importance of it in every move he made.

Jacaerys hesitated for a moment, his smile faltering ever so slightly, as if he was carefully considering how to answer. His hand squeezed yours gently, reassuringly, before he spoke again. “I spoke to my mother,” he said, his voice holding a note of quiet significance.

You tilted your head, your brows furrowing in confusion. “About what?” you asked softly, though your heart was already beginning to race, sensing that whatever conversation he had with his mother had something to do with you.

He exhaled slowly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips, though there was a flicker of nervousness in his eyes now.

Jacaerys took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. When he spoke, his voice was soft, filled with a tenderness that made your heart ache.

"Do you remember," he began, "when we were children? How I used to follow you around the castle, always trying to be wherever you were?"

You nodded, a fond smile tugging at your lips. "Of course. You were like my shadow."

He chuckled softly, his thumb still tracing gentle circles on your hand. "I was, wasn't I? Back then, I didn't understand why. I just knew that being near you made me happy. It was... instinctive, I suppose. The way love often is for children."

Your breath caught at the word 'love', but Jacaerys continued, his voice growing more earnest.

"As we grew older, I started to hear the whispers. The stories that would float through the halls, passed between servants and nobles alike. Tales of a connection so rare and profound that even dragons could sense it."

He paused, his eyes searching yours, as if gauging your reaction. "I never put much stock in those stories. They seemed like fairy tales, meant for songs and legends, not for real life. But then..."

Jacaerys' free hand came up to cup your cheek, his touch feather-light and reverent. "Then I realized that after all these years, I still feel the same way. That instinct to be near you, to seek out your company, to find joy in your presence – it never faded. If anything, it's only grown stronger."

Your heart was pounding now, each beat echoing in your ears. Jacaerys' words hung in the air between you, heavy with implication and unspoken emotion.

"Jace," you whispered, your voice barely audible. 

He smiled then, a soft, vulnerable expression that made him look younger, more open than you'd ever seen him. "I spoke to my mother today about something I've known in my heart for a long time. Something I think – I hope – you might feel too."

Jacaerys took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. "I asked her for permission to court you. Properly, openly, with the intention of... of marriage, if you'll have me."

The world seemed to still around you, narrowing down to just this moment, just the two of you standing in the soft candlelight of your chambers. Jacaerys' words echoed in your mind, each one carrying the weight of years of unspoken feelings, of a connection that had grown so gradually and yet so powerfully that it took your breath away.

"Jace," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper. "You're the prince, the future king. Surely there are political considerations, alliances to be made-"

He shook his head, cutting off your words with a gentle squeeze of your hand. "I don't care about politics or alliances," he said firmly. "Not when it comes to this. Not when it comes to us. I want to choose for myself, remember? And I choose you. I've always chosen you."

Your heart felt like it might burst from your chest, a mix of joy and disbelief coursing through you. "And your mother? What did she say?"

Jacaerys' smile widened, his eyes sparkling with barely contained happiness. "She said yes. She said she's known for years that this was where my heart lay. And she... she approves. Of you. Of us."

You felt tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, overwhelmed by the enormity of what Jacaerys was offering. A future together, open and acknowledged, no longer hidden in stolen moments and meaningful glances.

"I... I don't know what to say." you murmured, your free hand coming up to rest on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. 

He leaned in closer, his forehead resting gently against yours. "Say yes," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. "Say you'll let me court you, that you'll consider a future with me. That's all I ask."

The joy that lit up Jacaerys' face was radiant, brighter than any dawn you'd ever seen. He pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. You could feel his heart racing, matching the rhythm of your own.Your throat tightened, words catching somewhere deep inside as you stared into Jacaerys' eyes. His forehead pressed softly against yours, his breath warm and steady, while your heart raced uncontrollably. The truth of everything he had said wrapped around you, too much to process all at once. You had dreamed of this – of him – but you never imagined hearing it, feeling it, like this.

Your chest swelled with emotions too big to contain, the joy so sharp it almost hurt. A smile tugged at your lips, so wide it made your face ache, but you couldn’t stop it. You didn’t want to stop it.

Jacaerys was offering you everything. A future, his heart, and the freedom to choose him. His words echoed in your mind, soft but sure: I choose you.

You didn’t know what to say, didn’t trust yourself to speak without your voice cracking. All you could feel was the overwhelming happiness surging through you. He wanted this. He wanted you. The enormity of it all made you dizzy.

Without thinking, without planning, you moved – instinct, just like he said. Your hand tightened slightly on his chest, pulling him closer, your heart hammering as you closed the distance between you.

Jacaerys barely had time to react before your lips met his, soft and sudden, a rush of emotion driving the kiss. His breath hitched in surprise, but it only took a heartbeat for him to respond, his free hand sliding to the small of your back, gently drawing you closer.

His fingers pressed gently into your skin, grounding you both in the here and now, in the quiet certainty of what was happening between you. What started as a tender, soft press of lips quickly became more – a release of everything unsaid, everything that had simmered between you for so long. His mouth moved against yours with urgency, one hand cupping the back of your neck, the other tightening its hold on your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.

Your hands found their way into his hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands, tugging slightly, and you felt Jacaerys’ breath hitch against your lips. His mouth parted, and without hesitation, you responded in kind, the kiss growing wetter, more breathy as his tongue slid against yours in a slow, tantalizing dance. The taste of him, warm and intoxicating, made your knees weak, but Jacaerys held you steady, his body pressed firmly against yours.

The room felt smaller now, the air charged with the heat between you. His touch was everywhere – his hands roving across your back, your sides, as if trying to memorize the shape of you. You gasped softly into the kiss as his fingers trailed down your spine, the sensation sending shivers through your body. 

Every breath was shared, every movement synchronizing as you poured every unspoken word, every hidden desire, into this moment. His lips, soft and insistent, claimed yours with a raw, palpable need, his tongue flicking gently against yours, teasing, exploring, drawing small, breathless sounds from you that only spurred him on.

The world outside ceased to exist, fading into nothingness as Jacaerys pressed you back against the nearest wall, his body solid and warm against yours. His kiss grew more passionate, his breath ragged as he angled his head, deepening the connection between you. The taste of him, mixed with the faint scent of salt and wind from the sea, enveloped your senses, making you dizzy with want.

You could feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours as his lips parted further, the kiss becoming open, wetter, more desperate. He kissed you like a man who had waited years to do so – his lips, his tongue, exploring you with a reverence that made your pulse race, made your skin burn.

His hand slid down your side, lingering at your hip before pulling you flush against him, and the feel of his body pressed against yours made a low, breathy sigh escape your throat. You felt Jacaerys respond, a soft groan rumbling deep in his chest as his hand slipped beneath your tunic, his fingers skimming the bare skin at your waist. The touch was gentle, reverent, but it sent a fire through your veins.

He broke the kiss for only a moment, his forehead resting against yours, both of you gasping for air, breaths mingling in the heated space between you. His eyes, dark with desire, searched yours, and in that brief moment of silence, you saw everything – years of unspoken feelings, of longing, of love. 

Jacaerys' breath came in short, ragged bursts, his forehead still pressed against yours as he tried to steady himself. His fingers, warm and trembling, grazed the skin at your waist, the sensation grounding you both in this fragile, beautiful moment. 

When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse, breathy, but filled with a raw honesty that made your heart clench. "I used to believe," he whispered, his lips brushing yours as he spoke, "that you were a gift... sent by the gods." His thumb traced a slow, reverent circle along your hip, his gaze searching your face like he was still in awe that you were here, with him. "Even when I was little, I thought... maybe they made you just for me. Maybe that's why... I could never stay away."

His words wrapped around your heart, tightening with a tenderness that made your breath hitch. Jacaerys had always been a steady presence, always at your side, but to hear it now – to hear that he'd felt this way, even as children – left you speechless. 

His hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing lightly over your skin as he stared into your eyes. "I’ve wanted this for so long," he murmured, voice shaking with emotion. "Longer than I even understood."

His confession hung in the air between you, soft and fragile, yet so filled with meaning it made the weight of his feelings unmistakable. You could see it in his eyes – the years of unspoken longing, of a quiet yearning that had finally spilled over.  

As Jacaerys held you, his breath fanning over your lips, you became aware of the subtle scent clinging to him – the faint, calming fragrance of freshly picked lavender, mingling with the salty tang of the sea. It was an unexpected but gentle contrast, delicate yet grounding. The lavender must have been tucked in his pocket, its presence weaving into the natural scent of him, a gentle reminder of the day you told him it suited him.

Jacaerys’ thumb continued to trace slow circles against your cheek, his eyes still fixed on yours with a look so tender it made your heart ache. The lavender lingered, soft and sweet, mixing with the warmth of his body, the salt of the sea. It was intoxicating, wrapping around you like the feel of his arms, like the weight of his confession.

In the quiet of your chambers, with the soft glow of candles casting a warm light around you, you and Jacaerys held onto each other, savoring the start of something new, something that had been years in the making. And somewhere in the distance, as if sensing the shift in the very air around you, you could have sworn you heard the contented rumble of a dragon, approving of the love that had finally been acknowledged between its rider and the one who had stolen both their hearts.

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His face was like granite, a mask of utter indifference hiding whatever thoughts dwelled beneath. He didn’t look at you, not even when your gaze lingered on him a second too long, before the High Lord drew your attention back to him. “I assume you know your purpose here.”

Your mouth was dry as you struggled to find the words you needed. “I’m afraid not, my Lord,” you answered, voice rough.

His eyes narrowed. “Kier gave you no explanation?”

You swallowed hard, glancing at the shadowsinger behind him again. “He said my power would best be suited here, in direct service to you and your court,” you said, voice quiet but clear. It took everything in you to enunciate your words. “But I must admit that I do not know what makes me unique from any other High Fae.”

“Is that so?” he hummed, fingers drumming on the arm of the throne. “Kier lied to me then, when he said you can make yourself invisible?”

Your stomach dropped. Of course Kier knew. You could feel the weight of the shadowsinger’s gaze now on you, but you kept your eyes glued to the High Lord. “No, sir, that was not a lie.”

His brow twitched, as if he expected such an answer. “Well then, I suppose you do know why you are here.”

“I did not realize that the power held any true value.”

A beat of silence passed as he looked you over, then he ordered, “Azriel, step forward.”

The Illyrian did as he was told, the shadows dissipating a bit to reveal more of his face. He was undeniably stunning, his beauty as sharp and lethal as the obsidian dagger that hung at his side. His eyes were somehow vibrant yet cold as they roved over your body, pure analytical criticism behind his gaze. “Azriel is my spymaster. He reports to me,” the High Lord said, tone verging on haughty. “And you will report to him.”

Your heart skipped a beat as you dragged your gaze from the Shadowsinger to meet the High Lord’s eyes again. “Do you mean I am to be a spy?” you asked incredulously.

His eyes flashed at your tone, your chest squeezing tight. “Do you question me?” he asked, voice lethally soft.

You tipped your head down slightly, heart pounding. “Of course not, my lord,” you replied quietly.

“Do you not think a female with the gift of hiding in plain sight would make an excellent addition to her court’s spy network?” he asked again, although it was clearly rhetorical. 

You didn’t think you were breathing. You clenched your hands into fists, counting to five before answering him shakily, “I do not know how to control it.”

“Well then,” he said, his voice void of all amusement, “Azriel will have his work cut out for him.”

Your eyes cut to the Illyrian again, who was still staring at you with harsh and calculating eyes. His shadows seemed to strain against whatever leash he kept them on, begging to break free to unleash Mother knew what kind of terror. A heavy weight settled deep in your stomach as your fate slowly unfolded before you. A life working under the High Lord’s infamous Shadowsinger. 

Mother save you.

~ ~ ~

Two Weeks Later

“Get up.”

You closed your eyes, ignoring the male hovering above you. Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, pain searing up your back from your fall. He kicked your leg lightly with the toe of his boot, and you opened your eyes reluctantly to meet his cold hazel ones.

You still didn’t move though, and a flash of anger appeared on his normally stoic face. “You are never going to improve if you don’t get up.”

You slowly sat up, pulling your knees up to your chest. “Maybe I don’t want to improve,” you snapped. 

You immediately regretted your brazenness when Azriel’s nostrils flared, and he slowly crouched down in front of you. You swallowed hard at the anger painted clearly across his face. This frankly terrifying male you had trained with every day for two weeks now, who had not once shown any hint of his emotions, was now staring you down with ire in his eyes.

You were foolish. Such a fool to grow complacent in his presence, to think that his indifference meant he wasn’t still the male that faeries whispered horror stories about back in Hewn City. Of course, he was. Kier didn’t send you here for a vacation, or as a reward—he sent you here because he hated you, and he wanted you away from his court.

“Mother’s tits,” Azriel breathed. “Where the hell did you go?”

You froze at his words, and you looked down to see the faint glimmer across your skin that you knew meant you had morphed into your surroundings. Your body was trembling as you watched him stare directly through you. No one had ever seen you use your powers. Not knowingly, at least, since someone must have for Kier to have known about you.

Azriel had been demanding for you to shift for two weeks. Every demand met your refusal, because you couldn’t. It just happened, and you didn’t know how.

You flinched when he startled, rocking back a bit and catching himself with his hand. His wide eyes locked directly on yours, and your heart stopped. The glimmer of your skin was gone, and you knew you were in even deeper shit now.

“I thought you couldn’t shift,” he said slowly, voice lethally soft.

Somehow that was scarier than if he had yelled at you. You were trembling as you answered weakly, “I told you I can’t control it.” Your eyes burned as you stared into his unforgiving ones. “I’m only here because Kier felt inexplicably threatened by me. By a power I don’t understand and can’t even use. I’m not a warrior, or a godsdamned spy.”

Azriel stayed crouched in front of you, his beautiful eyes quietly assessing you, without giving even a hint as to what he was thinking. Eventually, he stood up slowly, but his gaze didn’t leave yours. “You are now,” he responded quietly.

That’s not what you wanted to hear. You didn’t want him to yell at you either, but it felt like you were balancing on a precipice, waiting for a drop that you desperately wanted someone to save you from. Your lip trembled, and you gritted your teeth to try to quell the overt display of emotion. “I don’t want to be.”

“Unfortunately, you don’t have a choice.” His voice was…not warm, but less unfeeling than you were used to. “Clearly your power is driven by fear. It’s a defense mechanism.”

You flattened your lips at his obvious assessment, hating that he was aware of the effect he had on you. “It doesn’t have to be, though,” he continued, surprising you. “You can learn to control it.”

He then practically disappeared into his shadows, darkness swallowing him whole. You watched in awe as he reappeared, the tendrils of darkness slowly dissipating. “I didn’t used to be able to do that at will.”

You didn’t ask what his powers used to be like, how they used to manifest themselves, or why they even made an appearance. Something in your gut told you his answer wouldn’t be pleasant. “You might be the High Lord’s newest pet,” he mumbled gruffly, making you bristle, “But your training can be for you. Not for him—you.” His eyes seared into yours. “The only thing apathy is going to get you here is killed.”

His words settled in your stomach like rocks. Each sentence was a brutal bullet of truth as the reality of your situation truly sank in. Your trembling had stopped though, as you slowly realized that he was not, in fact, going to flay you alive for your disrespect. He might very well be the person to pull you from the edge you were close to toppling over.

He reached his hand out, his scarred palm open toward you. “Get up,” he said again, but this time his tone was resolute, any anger gone.

You slowly placed your much smaller hand in his, his fingers wrapping around yours tightly. An inexplicable spark ran up your arm and down your spine, knocking the breath you had gained back clean from your lungs. He pulled you up easily, his grip staying firm even once you were back on your unsteady feet. He squeezed your hand as he looked you in the eyes, his gaze unwavering and seemingly unaffected. “You’re in this now, like it or not,” he said, but his words were not cruel, simply matter of fact. “The only way out is through.”

~ ~ ~

Two Months Later

You stood side by side with Azriel, his wings flared out slightly behind him. You were being extra careful not to back into the delicate membrane. You had learned the hard way in training last week that Illyrians were overly protective of their wings. Embarrassment and remorse still flooded you every time you thought about how close you came to accidentally slicing through Azriel’s wing. That had been your first and last dagger handling lesson in the two months you had been stuck here.

Your back was ramrod straight as you watched the court members revel in their drinks and dancing, all while Kier glared daggers at you from across the throne room. You had rarely been in this room even when you still resided in the Court of Nightmares. Your parents didn’t particularly care about your comings and goings, an indifference you resented as a child but grew to appreciate once you caught Kier’s attention as an adult. Your blood simmered as you glared back at the slimy male, and you wondered not for the first time what your parents had thought about his schemes for you. They probably didn’t give two fucks, if you were honest with yourself.

“Stop.” Azriel’s low voice startled you from your bubbling rage. You caught a glimpse of the shadow twirling around your ankle, and you lifted your shoulders in defiance.

You didn’t question how he knew about the storm slowly brewing inside you. Over the last two months, you had learned how intuitive the male was. It was both impressive and infuriating. Maybe even comforting, if you were honest with yourself. No one had ever paid enough attention to you to sense what you were feeling. No one ever cared, until Azriel. Even if it was mostly during training sessions.  “I don’t want to be here,” you grumbled.

His eyes cut to yours briefly. “Watch your words.”

Your mouth clamped shut at that, feeling like a reprimanded child. “The High Lord already came and went. Why can’t we?” you asked, voice hushed.

“Because that’s not how this works,” he replied in a low growl, effectively ending the conversation.

You let out a long sigh through your nose, accepting your fate for the next few hours. For a while, you watched familiar faces grin and dance and drink. You didn’t envy them, and you certainly didn’t miss them. You knew first-hand that joy was absent amongst those that dwelled in this mountain, but you were still angry. Angry that you were torn from your life and chucked into another one without any say in the matter. 

Eventually you tore your gaze from the revelers, and opted for staring at the overzealous buffet of food, plotting how you might swipe a pastry from the spread. Then you caught Kier moving from his post on the other side of the room, his face hard and eyes brimming with hatred as he stormed toward you. You immediately went still, anxiety flooding you at what he had planned.

Azriel stood up even straighter, his wings flaring a bit. You subconsciously moved closer to him as you shifted your footing, finding a strange comfort in the heat that radiated from him, his presence alone steadying you.

“Y/N,” Kier greeted, your name dripping with acid. “You must be proud of yourself. Already promoted to dutiful lapdog alongside the fearsome shadowsinger.”

“Always a pleasure, Kier,” Azriel said drily.

Kier’s eyes flashed with contempt as he looked at Azriel. “You Illyrian piece of—“

“Kier,” a smooth, honeyed voice purred. Azriel and you both froze at the sight of the male now next to Kier. His violet eyes sent ice through your veins, an uncanny resemblance to the ones you had grown to loathe these last couple of months.

Kier straightened, his irritation still clearly painted on his face. “Rhysand,” he gritted out, and the male grinned. “Glad you could join us tonight.”

The High Lord’s son didn’t drop his smile, his lips only curling further. He glanced at Azriel, to your alarm, before returning his gaze to Kier. “I wouldn’t miss it,” he cooed. “Happy Birthday, by the way. Morrigan sends her regards.”

Kier’s face flushed at the mention of his daughter, and even you were surprised by his words. Rhysand clapped Kier on the shoulder. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” he crooned, and Kier clenched his jaw, “but I need to borrow these two.”

Your hands grew clammy as his gaze fell to you and Azriel. You had yet to meet the High Lord’s son, but if he was anything like his father, you were sure you did not want to engage in conversation with the male.

“Of course,” Kier agreed begrudgingly. He walked away with one last scathing glance cast toward you, then disappeared into the swarm of bodies.

Rhysand glanced between you and Azriel, the latter still wearing his usual mask of cold indifference. “Follow me,” Rhysand said before leading the two of you through a door at the back of the throne room, your steps heavy and reluctant. Azriel followed closely behind you. His presence was the only thing holding you back from spiraling into a panic as Rhysand led you further and further down a winding, dark and desolate hall.

Eventually, he stopped in front of another door, pushing it open slowly before gesturing to you and Azriel to enter. You hesitated though, barely able to make out rows of bookshelves along the far wall of the dark room. You flinched when someone grazed the small of your back, the touch immediately falling away when you turned to look over your shoulder. Azriel was watching you expectantly, his eyebrows raised slightly. “It’s okay,” he murmured.

You glanced back at Rhysand, who surprisingly didn’t seem annoyed by your apprehension. He almost seemed amused, but you couldn’t fathom why. Reluctantly, you stepped through the threshold, Azriel following behind you, and then Rhysand shut the door with a soft click. As soon as the door shut, faelights illuminated the small room, which, to your relief, was just a small study.

“Az,” Rhysand said, voice no longer coated with charm, but something far more familiar. You couldn’t fathom why he had suddenly changed his tone, but when you turned around to look at the male, you were given your answer as you watched Rhysand wrap Azriel in a hug, one of his hands clasping the back of Azriel’s head.

The High Lord’s son hugging Azriel was shocking, but what was even more shocking was Azriel reciprocating the hug. He practically melted into Rhysand, and your brain couldn’t process the rare display of emotion from the normally stone-faced shadowsinger you had trained with these months. Just getting him to smile slightly had been akin to pulling teeth, and now here he was, clutching Rhysand like his life depended on it.

Their hug only lasted a few seconds, and while your mind was swimming from the display, you couldn’t bring yourself to break whatever bubble of peace they seemed to be in with each other. Azriel asked quietly, “How is Cass?”

Rhysand’s throat bobbed. “Good, as far as I’ve heard. I haven’t seen him in months, though.”

Azriel nodded, taking in his words. “And Mor?”

Your attention was snagged by that, unable to ignore the mention of her name again. “You know Mor?” you asked.

Both of the males turned to look at you. You fought back a sudden rush of nerves, forcing your gaze to stay glued to Azriel. Any ease that was momentarily on his face was erased, and once again the cold mask of apathy was back in place. A mask you suddenly hated, now that you had seen him without it. A mask he dropped with the High Lord’s son, of all people. 

Now you didn’t really think he owed you much, and you were honestly okay with the cool, indifferent demeanor he kept around you when you had assumed that was just his personality. You had taken pride in the small half-smiles you had coaxed from him these weeks. You had even started to think he might actually like you. After all, he paid enough mind to recognize your shift in moods. He never seemed to be in a rush to end your training sessions, not like he was the first couple of weeks—but now you just felt like a fool. And he knew your cousin? He couldn’t have been bothered to share at least that with you?

When it was clear Azriel wasn’t going to respond, Rhysand stepped forward, his hands in his suit pockets. “Morrigan is my cousin,” he said, smiling gently. “Loosely.”

You felt like your stomach had been flipped inside out. “Cousin?” you squeaked out.

“Loosely,” he said again, as if that really mattered. “I suppose you and I are as well.”

You were going to be sick. You were related to the male who you were forced to serve every day for the foreseeable future—and no one told you. Azriel didn’t tell you.

Rhysand must have noticed your panic, because he quickly added, “Again, a very distant relation. I certainly don’t consider Kier my family.” He glanced at Azriel, who was standing there watching the entire thing, with nothing to contribute to the conversation apparently. “But Mor grew up with us. She is my family.”

“Us?”

Rhysand flinched, then cut a glare toward the Illyrian beside him. “Az, what exactly have you told the poor girl?” 

“Nothing, apparently,” you snapped out, your anger overwhelming you. You didn’t know why you felt so betrayed, so hurt by Azriel’s omissions. You knew you weren’t friends, but he was also your only ally in this wretched situation, and it fucking hurt to know he still didn’t trust you enough to share basic information about himself. About his relationships with your own family.

You were nodding absently, barely aware of your movements. “Right,” you murmured, taking a step toward the door.

Azriel immediately stepped in front of you. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Away from you,” you hissed, moving around him.

This time Rhysand blocked you, a guilty smile on his face when you glared at him. “I can’t exactly let you wander the halls.”

“And don’t winnow away,” Azriel cut in quickly.

“And if I turn invisible?” you asked, hands clenched at your side. It was an empty threat, since you still couldn’t control it well, which Azriel was well aware of.

“Then I would be impressed,” Azriel said softly. “But my shadows would still find you.”

Your eyes were burning as you looked between the two males, every emotion you had shoved down these last two months bubbling to the surface. You had been alone your entire life, and you had let yourself think that maybe for the first time, with Azriel, you weren’t. You had started to think maybe that was the silver lining to this entire situation, that for the first time in your life you finally had a comrade, a confidant. Clearly, you were naive. You were truly alone in this.

“I have to go,” Rhysand said quietly to Azriel. Then to you, “I’m sorry for upsetting you.” He then disappeared into the dark, leaving you alone with your swirling hurt and anger, and Azriel.

“I want to leave,” you whispered.

“No,” Azriel said. “Tell me what you're thinking first.” Now he wanted to talk. Actually he wanted you to talk, which was ironic given the situation.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Why should I?”

Azriel looked exasperated. “Because I don’t understand why you are so upset right now.”

Your chest tightened at his words, because honestly, you didn’t understand it either. You didn’t know why you were so angry at him, why you were so hurt that he didn’t trust you. You had only known him a couple of months. “I’m upset that you don’t trust me.”

He looked at you incredulously. “You think I don’t trust you?”

You blinked at him. “I think it’s pretty fucking obvious!” you exclaimed. “I have trained with you every day for two months. You’ve seen me turn invisible, which is something I have never shared with anyone. I’ve bitched and moaned about the horrors of living under Kier, about the pain of living with apathetic parents, and you have told me nothing about yourself.”

Your chest was heaving, and you quickly wiped away the tear that was rolling down your cheek, but you knew that Azriel saw it. “And I was okay with that, really. You didn’t owe me anything, but to learn that you’re friends with the High Lord's son? That you know my cousin?” Your voice cracked as you shook your head. “My cousin, who I wasn’t even sure was still alive. You couldn’t even tell me that?”

Azriel stared at you for a long minute. “I had to make sure you didn’t have loyalties to Kier.”

As if you would ever do anything to help that male. You nodded your head, your lips pursing. “Right.”

“But now I know you don’t,” he added, voice irritatingly calm in the face of your storm.

A self-deprecating laugh escaped your lips. “Yet you still didn’t tell me any of this.”

He frowned, taking a small step closer. Your heart inexplicably skipped a beat, and you hated the way he made you feel at that moment. Why did this male’s mere presence offer you so much comfort, when it was clear you didn’t do anything for him?  

“Why do you think I let you come with me tonight?” he asked softly.

You watched him for a moment, confusion mixing with your anger and hurt. “What do you mean?”

“When Rhysand approached us tonight,” he said, “I told him he could trust you.”

You shook your head in disbelief. You had been standing next to him the entire night. “No, you didn’t.”

Azriel nodded slowly. “Rhys is a daemati. He asked me if we could trust you, if we could speak freely in front of you, and I told him yes.” His voice was gentle when he added, “Because I do trust you.”

Your lip trembled as you absorbed his words. Your anger quickly morphed into embarrassment. You were such a mess. 

 “Is that really what made you so upset?” Azriel asked, though his question wasn’t mocking. Not in the slightest, which made you feel even more foolish for getting so angry.

You tried to find the words to answer him, to explain yourself and your volatile emotions tonight, but you couldn’t. You shook your head, feeling deflated and overwhelmed. Tears were fully streaming down your cheeks, and with a startling clarity, you realized you had not cried since you were handed off to be the High Lord’s dutiful spy.

You slowly sank down to the floor, your back resting against the mahogany desk in the center of the room. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” you said, voice hoarse. You laughed weakly. “Not that I have any choice in the matter.”

Azriel didn’t move. He didn’t say anything while he waited for you.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, closing your eyes and resting your head back on the desk. “I just feel so alone.”

You heard Azriel shuffling around, and you felt the heat radiating from his body as he sat down beside you. You opened your eyes, apprehension still swimming in your veins. His wings were awkwardly splayed behind him, with one resting haphazardly against the side of the desk so he could sit beside you. “What are you doing?” you asked softly.

“Sitting down.” He shuffled a bit more, his shoulder bumping into yours.

“I need you to understand something,” he finally said, eyes locked on yours. “I’ve been doing this for nearly a century, and it’s been hell. I didn’t have any choice in the matter either.”

That…surprised you. You didn’t know why you had assumed he might have actually chosen this for himself. You actually felt a bit shitty for it. He was far too good of male to willingly work for the High Lord.

“So I understand, probably better than anyone, how you are feeling,” he said softly. You didn’t know what to do with this softer version of Azriel. This usually cold male who hid in his shadows and rarely smiled was apparently someone who also hugged his friends, and he was sitting beside you, speaking to you tenderly after watching you spiral into your anger and panic.

He grabbed your hand, sending goosebumps across your flesh. He squeezed it gently. “You’re not alone.”

Gods. You wiped at your face with your free hand, sniffing a bit. “I’m sorry,” you repeated lamely. It was all you could think to say.

“Don’t be,” he murmured, still holding your hand. “I should have told you about Rhys and Mor earlier. Especially Mor. I understand.”

And that was all you really wanted, wasn’t it? You just wanted someone who understood you, who understood your thoughts and feelings. For whatever reason, you thought Azriel might be the first person who could give that to you.

You squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back, whispering again, “You’re not alone.”

~ ~ ~

Four Months Later

“You have to control it.”

“I’m trying,” you growled, pushing yourself up from the floor.

“Not hard enough,” Azriel countered, his arms crossed over his chest.

You could throttle him. If you could actually reach him, that is. “How do I know your shadows aren’t helping you?”

“Why would I need their help?” he asked, and your rapidly rising anger made your cheeks flush. “You can’t even stay invisible long enough to reach me.”

This was fucking ridiculous. You were sick and tired of trying and failing every day for the last six months. You were tired of disappointing him every single day. “This is pointless.”

Azriel stepped forward, closing in on your space. “It’s not pointless,” he countered, eyes slightly narrowed. “How long do you think the High Lord is going to entertain this?” 

Your stomach dropped at his words. You hated the High Lord. Loathed him, actually. He constantly sent for Azriel, making him do things that made Azriel return with shadows in his eyes, his shoulders tight and lips locked tight. He didn’t speak to you for days after the especially brutal orders, unless he was barking orders at you during training.

You hated it. You didn’t know for sure what he was making Azriel do, when he called for him. Azriel had told you that eventually you would have to go on extended missions, to actually spy, but he had only been on a handful since you arrived, your training somehow taking priority. You imagined these other orders of his were what fueled the horror stories whispered across the courts about the Night Court Shadowsinger.

You had quickly learned he was not the monster those stories painted him as. You never feared him. Not since those first weeks you trained with him. Not even when he came back as a terrifying shell of himself. He might have been harsh during those moments, but he was never cruel, and he never threatened you. If he said something, he meant it. It was never empty threats or promises with the intent to scare you, which is why you knew when he brought up the High Lord, he was deadly serious.

You swallowed hard, fighting to keep your eyes on his. “Maybe I don’t want to give him the satisfaction,” you said, your volume rising. “Maybe I don’t want to just be another novelty in the High Lord’s pocket.”

Your words dripped with the venom of your misplaced anger, which was immediately washed over with guilt when Azriel’s jaw flexed. It was the closest thing to a flinch for him.

“I didn’t mean—” you said quickly, voice much softer.

“It doesn’t matter,” he cut you off. “It’s not about him. I’ve told you this.”

He had told you that. Many times. Your guilt multiplied tenfold. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, eyes falling to your boot clad feet.

“I understand why you’re angry, Y/N.” Your name on his lips made your stomach inexplicably flip, which was also ridiculous. He kept talking, his voice dropping lower, “But I am worried about what will happen if you don’t prove yourself to the High Lord. It’s not about proving yourself to me—you never have to do that. I think you’re remarkable without or without some rare power, but the High Lord doesn’t think like that.”

Remarkable. Azriel thought you were remarkable. It was definitely not what your brain should have latched onto from his little speech, but you couldn’t help it. No one had ever thought that of you, let alone said that to you. 

Your eyes were burning as you said, “I really am trying. I just don’t know how to connect with it.”

Azriel pondered you for a moment, his eyes flitting over your face. “Come here,” he said, then walked toward the terrace of the training room. Living in the House of Wind, in Velaris, was by far one of the few good things to have come out of this shitty situation. At first you had panicked when Azriel told you a couple months ago that you were moving here, to a house inside of another mountain, but it was nothing like Hewn City.

It was open and airy, and you had watched Azriel jump from the terraces and balconies scattered throughout many times. You were almost positive you could winnow out of here if you worked up the courage to jump over one of the railings, to explore the city and the faeries that lived down below, but you weren’t ready for that. 

You stood nearly toe to toe with Azriel once he stopped near the edge, looking up at him. “What are we doing?”

“We’re going to the forest.”

“What?”

“Do you trust me?” he asked, mischief glinting in his eyes as his hands slowly planted themself on your waist. Your heart was pounding under his gaze, his touch.

Did you trust him? Somehow, you did. He was the only male, the only faerie, that you could say with absolute certainty that you trusted implicitly. It terrified you.

“Yes,” you whispered. 

Azriel’s eyes softened slightly. “Good,” he murmured, tugging you a bit closer. “Because we’re going to fly.”

He scooped you up effortlessly, literally sweeping you off your feet so your body was cradled to his chest. Your hands fell to his shoulders, a small and embarrassing shriek falling from your lips. “We’re what?”

Azriel smiled. Fully beamed at you, and it knocked the breath from your lungs. “Hold on,” he said, then shot up into the cool night sky.

You instantly buried your head in his chest, muttering prayers to the Mother. Azriel only laughed softly, his wings beating against the air that whipped your hair around you. You hadn’t left the House of Wind since you moved in. You hadn’t felt true wind against your face, save for the breeze that floated over the balconies, in months. This was not how you imagined reacquainting yourself with nature, though.

“Look down.”

“You’re insane.”

Azriel laughed, the sound so light and airy it made you pull your head from his chest to look at him. His eyes were brighter than you had ever seen them. “Just do it,” he said, nodding toward the city beneath you.

You reluctantly looked down, the distance between you and the ground making your head swim. Then you saw the lights that illuminated the city, the place glimmering like a pool of starlight. You could faintly make out the chatter of the faeries still traipsing the streets, paying no mind that it was nearing midnight and the skies had long been dark. You looked up at the sky, actual stars sparkling across the midnight sky. You wondered what it would have been like to grow up with the night sky above you, rather than cold stone.

Azriel veered toward the forests lining the mountain, his face soft in the moonlight. His hair fluttered in the wind, looking much more graceful than the nest you were sure yours was wound into.

“You like flying,” you said softly.

“It’s my favorite thing.”

“I can see why,” you hummed. You left it at that, not wanting to push when he was already sharing this much with you. 

He eventually landed in the snow, his landing gentle but still creating a plume of powdery flakes around the two of you. Some flakes caught on your eyelashes, making you blink a bit to clear them from your vision.

“Sorry,” Azriel said sheepishly, setting you on your feet. 

You laughed, your heart feeling lighter than it had thirty minutes ago. “It’s fine, Az.”

Azriel stared at you, his eyes a bit wide and a grin slowly pulling at his lips.

You stopped brushing the snow from your clothes, meeting his eyes. “What?”

Azriel shook his head, the small smile still pulling at his lips. “Nothing,” he hummed softly. “Let’s get started.”

He guided you toward the center of a large snowy patch, away from the pine trees covering the forest floor. He took a few steps away from you, leaving you standing there replaying your words from earlier in your head, trying to figure out what he had found so amusing. If only so you could do it again.

“You’ve only ever let fear and anger control your power,” he began. His shadows slowly snaked around him, the inky tendrils contrasting beautifully with the pearlescent snow. One of them broke off, gliding effortlessly toward you before it was yanked back to him.

He looked half-way flustered, standing in front of you, but the pink hue of his cheeks could easily be because of the bite of the cold winter air. 

You decided you were delusional when he kept speaking, his voice unwavering and tone as neutral as ever, “I want you to try something different. You need to connect with your power, not resent it, or fear it.”

You tossed your arms out to your side, impatience gnawing at you alongside the bitter cold. “I’m all ears.” You quickly wrapped your arms back around yourself when a shiver wracked your body. “Not all of us are Illyrian warriors that grew up sleeping in the snow.”

Azriel’s lips twitched, then he said, “I want you to close your eyes.”

You eyed him warily, uncertainty ingrained into you at this point. You weren’t sure if you could handle fucking this up again.

“Just do it, please,” he sighed. You did as he said, the snow crunching under your boots as you shifted on your feet. “Now forget about everything. Don’t think about the High Lord, or Kier, your parents, or even me.”

You fought back the quip that forgetting them was nearly impossible, and instead tried to do as he asked. He was trying to help you, after all, and he did have a century of experience over you, you supposed. 

“Now what?”

“Be patient,” Azriel chided softly. 

You let out a huff, begrudgingly pushing your impatience aside to wait for his instructions. You felt ridiculous standing in the middle of the forest, your eyes closed and your hair tangled and damp from the snow. You supposed it didn’t matter, or at least, it shouldn’t matter when Azriel was the only one here.

You heard his boots crunch the snow beneath his feet, the sound obviously intentional to let you track him slowly circling you. “Focus on the air around you,” he murmured. “Feel the bite of it against your skin, how it cools the heat of your cheeks. The smell of the snow and lingering salt from the sea that tinges it.”

You breathed in deep, focusing on his words, leaning into the sensations he painted for you. You noted the scent of the sea and snow, but you also noted the faint scent of cedar that wafted over you, and something distinctly Azriel. You licked your lips, trying to refocus your thoughts.

“Think about the snow beneath your feet. Picture the stars above you. Visualize the trees in the forest, the ones that were here long before you and I, the saplings that are fighting for their place amongst them.”

Your mind was so…still. Your body felt heavy and weightless all at the same time as you fell into the world he painted for you. “Picture yourself as the sapling. You’re young and fresh and learning how to connect with your nature. It’s not something you have to fight for, but something you have to accept. It’s already there, living inside you, flowing through your veins. It’s a part of you, just as much as the sapling is a part of the forest.”

He was right. Your power was there, flowing through your veins, begging to be released, to be played with. It was tired of hiding, of being stifled and then yanked at for someone else’s agenda. It was yours. It was as much your power as as every other fae gift the Cauldron had blessed you with. It laid dormant when you winnowed, waiting for you to uncover it. 

You pictured yourself stroking that thread of power weaved through you, brushing aside the shadows that had kept it hidden for decades. You let it glow and spread through you, warming you from the inside out.

“Stunning,” Azriel breathed, and your eyes flew open, finding him standing a few feet in front of you with awe and pride beaming from his face.

You risked a glance down at your hand. The glimmer of your skin refracted back at you, and you laughed. For the first time, you didn’t feel like you were hanging on to it by a thread, clutching the ends tight, desperate to hold on. It was just there. It was yours, and it was so cathartic to feel it flowing through you instead of drowning you in a fit of fear.

“I knew you could do it,” Azriel murmured. Your heart clenched at his words, and your eyes were burning as you looked back at him, but then realized he couldn’t see you.

You had half a mind to finally knock him on his ass after so many failed attempts in training. You were just so happy, though, for the first time in so many months, and it was because of him. 

You winnowed directly in front of him, your power unwavering, and reached for his hand at his side. As soon as your fingers brushed against his he instinctively flinched away, his eyes going wide before a smile broke across his face.

You were laughing when you finally let your power wash away, revealing yourself to him. Your grin matched his own as you squeezed his hand. “I did it.”

“You did it,” he agreed, eyes soft as he smiled at you.

You threw your arms around his waist, pulling him tight against you. Azriel hesitated only a second before wrapping his arms around you, leaning his chin down to rest on your head. 

“Thank you,” you breathed, a tear falling down your cheek. “Thank you.”

“You never have to thank me.”

~ ~ ~

Six Months Later

“I killed him.”

“Y/N—”

“I killed him!” you sobbed, falling to your knees. The stone floor of the dungeon was cold beneath your palms as you heaved the contents of your stomach up, your throat burning. 

Azriel fell to the floor behind you, one hand holding you up by your forearm while another gently brushed your hair back from your face. Your body shook with your sobs, as you whimpered over and over again, “I killed him.”

Azriel let you stay on the ground for only a few seconds before he pulled you up to your feet, your body pliant in his arms. You didn’t care where he took you, what he did with you. He picked you up easily, and your face fell into his leather clad chest as you were wrapped in his shadows. Harsh winter air whipped around you, and you caught a glimpse of snow in your peripheral, but you couldn’t stop the sobs that were racking your body.

You heard him push open a door, and warmth infused with jasmine immediately engulfed the two of you. You briefly thought it was one of the most comforting places you had ever been in. He kicked the door shut, then gently sat you down on a plush sofa, your body sinking into the cushions. You still had enough sense to finally ask, “Where are we?”

“We’re at a cabin my brothers and I come to,” he said softly as he slowly peeled off your bloodstained gloves. You nearly hurled again at the sight of them. “I had to get you out of there.”

“I killed someone, Az,” you whispered, staring aimlessly at the ash covered fireplace. 

His thumb stroked your cheek. “I know.”

Your lip wobbled. “I’m a monster.”

“You’re not,” he replied back.

“How can you say that?”

“Because I know you,” he said, voice resolute. “He was a monster.”

“Yet I’m the one that killed him,” you rasped, more tears falling down your face. “I tortured him, and then killed him.”

“You had your orders.”

“That doesn’t make it better!” you cried. “What if one day my orders are to kill an innocent person? What’s my excuse then?” You wiped roughly at your face, new tears replacing your dried ones. “I cannot be his killing machine, Azriel. I can’t.”

“You’re not,” he said again.

“Yes, I am!” you exclaimed, pulling away from his touch. You didn’t understand how he could even look at you, touch you, after what you had done. You didn’t even want to be in your own skin.

“Listen to me,” he ordered, voice hard. Tears rolled down your cheeks as you sat silently, avoiding his eyes while you waited for him to rattle off another ridiculous excuse for your actions.

His hands squeezed your knees, urging you to look at him. His eyes were soft with not a hint of judgment, and it somehow made you feel even worse. “This life is not black and white,” he started, his tone squashing any argument. “You have to do whatever you can to stay alive, while also keeping your soul intact. That’s impossible if you think this job is a matter of good and evil, because it’s not. We work in a gray area, and it’s terrible, but we have to.” He paused for a moment, and you simply stared at him, his words sliding off of you as your agony slowly faded into numbness. 

“This pain doesn’t go away,” he admitted softly. “You don’t want it to go away, because the moment it does, he wins. The moment you don’t care who lives or dies by your hand is the moment he gains his perfect weapon. That is something I refuse to give him, and you aren’t going to give it to him either. Do you understand me?”

You just stared at him, and Azriel ran a hand through his hair. “You have to follow through with these orders when they are for the wicked faeries. It makes it easier to cover up the ones you fail to complete when your orders are truly incorrigible.”

You heard him. Really, you did, but the room was also swirling, and the couch was slowly sliding out from underneath you. You clutched Azriel’s wrist tightly, eyes wide as you met his. “I can’t breathe,” you rasped.

Azriel’s face fell. You sucked in a ragged, shallow breath, but your lungs were burning, and your mind was melting. 

“You can,” Azriel said softly, his hand coming up to squeeze your arm. He stood up, and you squeezed his wrist tighter, panic clawing at your throat.

“I’m not leaving,” he cooed, sitting next to you on the couch. His body was pressed against your, his heat radiating into you. “You’re going to match my breathing,” he said, voice much less soft, and much more reminiscent of the tone he donned during training. “Breathe in,” he said, inhaling deeply. You did your best to follow him, and then he said, “Breathe out.”

He did it again, and again, and again, until your shaking faded to small trembles, and your mind no longer felt like a bucket of mud. “Good,” he said softly. “Do you think I can see you again?”

You frowned, head snapping toward him. Then you glanced down at your hand, and noticed the faint glimmer refracting from your body. You took a few more breaths, willing your heart rate to calm enough to reach into the well of power Azriel had taught you to recognize over the last year.

Eventually the glimmer faded, and Azriel was able to meet your eyes again. His lips twitched ever so slightly, but his eyes were sad as he watched you. “I’m sorry I lost control,” you whispered.

Azriel shocked you by wrapping an arm around you, fully tucking you into his side. You hadn’t hugged him since that day in the forest so many months ago. “Do not apologize,” he ordered quietly.

You relaxed into him, eyes fluttering shut as you rested your head against his chest. “I hate this,” you rasped. “I hate him.”

“I know.” Azriel rubbed your arm. “You’re going to make it through this.”

“I don’t know how.”

“I’m going to help you,” he murmured. You weren’t sure why, just like you weren’t sure why you always gravitated toward him, always trusted him implicitly after knowing for barely a year—but as always, you believed him. Your panic slowly dissolved as you truly accepted his words, accepting that he wasn’t going to chastise you or leave you to fend for yourself. Your body grew heavy in his arms, exhaustion weighing you down quickly once your adrenaline had faded.

“You’re not alone, remember?” he murmured softly, and your heart clenched as you thought back to the night he said those words to you the first time.

You slowly reached for his free hand, lacing your fingers with his. You rested your intertwined hands in his lap, the leather on his thigh brushing against your knuckles. You were always worried you might make him uncomfortable by touching his hands, this time, especially, you feared you might have taken it a step too far.

Your worries quickly vanished when he squeezed your hand softly. You clutched his hand back tightly, like you might lose yourself without his touch as your anchor. He stroked the back of your hand with his thumb, and whatever part of you that was left standing instantly melted into him, relishing in the soft and gentle touch that you were sure you didn’t deserve after today. Regardless, you didn’t let go, and neither did Azriel, even as you finally drifted off into sleep.

~ ~ ~

One Year Later

You hated the High Lord. You really, truly loathed the arrogant male that held your life in his hands. Nearly two years had passed since Kier had all too gladly dropped you at his feet. Since then, you had become a walking, ticking time bomb simmering with barely restrained anger. The only thing, the only person, who could keep your anger in check was Azriel.

The High Lord was far from thrilled about your blossoming friendship with Azriel, though. The two of you were lethal when he finally started pairing you together for missions. You were too powerful in the High Lord’s eyes, and you knew he wasn’t a stupid male—he was well aware of the disdain the two of you held for him, of the friendship you held with his own son, or at least Azriel’s friendship with him. It’s why he decided to split the two of you barely a few months after sending you on field missions. No more missions together, no more training with each other. You were lucky if the two of you were even in Velaris at the same time.

It was hell. Azriel had been the silver lining to this horrible and fucked up situation you had been forced into, and now even that was slipping through your fingers. You kicked your bedroom door shut harshly, the slam only momentarily satisfying your rage before your stomach started churning with anxiety again.

Azriel had been gone for nearly a month. He had told you it would be only two weeks, three at maximum, yet now you were nearing the end of the fourth. No one but you seemed to care, which was unfortunate because you didn’t even know where the hell he was. You finally worked up the courage to ask for a status report on Azriel, when you met with the High Lord for your weekly briefing, but the High Lord refused to entertain your worries. Instead, he told you not to worry your pretty little head about it.

It took every inch of your will to grit your teeth and keep your mouth shut, to wait for him to dismiss you and turn on your heel silently, walking out the door. You didn’t breathe a word to anyone as you walked the halls of the House of Wind, didn’t make a single sound until you reached the safety of your room where you could slam the door shut and simmer in your anxiety and anger alone.

You breathed heavily as you caught your reflection in the mirror across your room. Your face was flushed and there were errant strands of hair falling from your braid, evidence of the turmoil you had been stewing in all day—all week, really. You huffed as you undid it, tossing the tie on the floor as you kicked your boots off. 

You had just sat down on the edge of the bed when a knock at your door made you jump. No one ever visited your room. Even Azriel rarely came here, too worried about pissing off the High Lord and setting you in the path of his rage. You waited a minute, body thrumming with tension. 

Whoever it was knocked again, this time a bit harsher. You swallowed hard, slowly standing up and moving silently toward the door. You could hear muffled whispers on the other side, and your heart was pounding until a familiar tendril of shadow snaked beneath the door, twirling around your ankle.

You instantly flung the door open, prepared to yank Azriel into your room and smother him with questions about where the hell he had been. Instead you were met by Rhysand, who was standing there sheepishly with Azriel leaning heavily on his shoulder.

“Good evening, Y/N,” Rhys grunted as he adjusted Azriel’s weight. “Mind if we come in?”

You automatically moved to the side to let them through, quickly closing the door shut behind them. “What the hell happened to him?” you asked, following behind Rhys as he guided Azriel onto your bed. Azriel flopped onto his back, his wings splaying out behind him.

“What happened to him?” Rhys rolled his eyes. “He drank a tavern dry.”

“Why?”

Rhys glanced at you warily. “Spending time in Illyria is never easy for him.”

Your heart sank. “He said he was on a mission.”

Rhys nodded. “He was—in Illyria—but it didn’t go well.”

You glanced at Azriel, whose arm was thrown over his eyes as his shadows flitted around him haphazardly.

Rhys looked at you, face more serious. “I need you to take care of him tonight. Don’t let anyone know he’s here. I have to go clean up his mess.”

“What did he do?”

“Before or after he promised to burn the entire camp to the ground?”

You winced.

“Exactly,” Rhys sighed. “He’ll be fine by morning. He can deal with his shit then. Just, tonight—” He glanced at the male sprawled on top of your bed. “Take care of him.”

“I will,” you promised softly, heart aching.

“Thank you,” Rhys breathed, shoulders relaxing. He squeezed your shoulder as he turned around, and then let himself out of your room, shutting the door softly behind him.

You sighed, watching the steady rise and fall of Azriel’s chest. There wasn’t a scratch on him—not physically, at least. In the two years you had known him, he had told you very little about his life in Illyria, but it was enough to know it was the last place he ever wanted to be. Your anger toward the High Lord flared again, but you quickly smothered it to focus on taking care of your friend, who was always taking care of you. 

You moved closer, shaking his leg by the toe of his boot. “Az.”

His eyes slowly fluttered open, his arm sliding off his forehead. He blinked a few times before his eyes finally focused on you, at least somewhat, and a wide goofy grin spread across his face. You’d find it comical if you didn’t know what transpired for him to reach this state of inebriation.

You tugged at his foot. “You’re hogging the bed, and you're not sleeping in these dirty leathers.”

“If you wanted me to undress all you had to do is ask,” he slurred, smiling cheekily.

Your cheeks burned, and your stomach flipped under the gaze of his hooded eyes. You grabbed Azriel by his hands, his fingers instantly wrapping around yours, and you pulled him up so he was sitting on the edge of your bed. “Take off your leathers,” you directed him, ignoring his comment. “I’ll be right back.”

You disappeared into your ensuite to wet a cloth with water and to gather your thoughts. There was still so much you didn’t know about Azriel, so much he kept locked up deep inside him. It was only months ago that he had finally told you what happened to his hands. It was just last month, right before he left for this mission, that he told you why his shadows came to him.

You didn’t mind, though. You had learned long ago that Azriel sharing anything about himself was a feat in and of itself, and you were just happy that he felt comfortable enough sharing what he had with you. Honestly, it filled you with pride that Rhys trusted you enough to drop a very intoxicated Azriel into your arms, and believed that you would take care of him—that Azriel would want you to take care of him.

You walked back into your bedroom, cloth in hand, but you faltered when you saw Azriel sitting on the floor, stripped down to his underwear. You might have known the male for years now, worked side-by-side with him, but you had never truly seen this much of him. Hell you had only seen him shirtless a handful of times. He might have been your closest friend, but Mother above, he was gorgeous. 

You weren’t blind—you had always known Azriel was beautiful. You had always been hyper aware of the attention he garnered anytime you ventured into a town or city together, and you always had to squash the irritation that simmered in your veins because of it. Seeing Azriel like this, though? Somehow it ripped a hole in your heart and filled it back up with just him. His beauty, his kindness, his loyalty, his heartache. All of it flooded you as you watched him sit against your bed with his head hung between his knees and his wings drooping on the floor.

You took a deep breath, shoving aside your very inappropriate thoughts and feelings to kneel beside the downtrodden shadowsinger on your floor. You didn't have time to ponder your growing attachment to this male, the care you had for him that felt almost suffocating. You rested a hand on his arm, prompting him to slowly look up at you. He smiled lazily, his eyes glossy. “Hi,” he murmured.

You smiled weakly, heart pounding and aching. “Hi.” You held up the cloth. “I’m going to wipe your face off.”

He simply nodded, closing his eyes as you dragged the warm cloth across his face. You had just started wiping at his neck when he mumbled, “Rhys is angry at me.”

You wiped a little harder at a dark smudge of dirt on his collarbone. “No he’s not.”

Azriel nodded. “He is,” he slurred slightly. “I fucked up.”

“He’s not angry, Az,” you said gently, pulling the cloth away. “He’s just worried.”

“Are you angry with me?”

Your heart cracked even more. “No,” you said softly, brushing your thumb against his forearm, skimming the edges of his scars. “Of course I’m not angry with you.”

He sat silently for a while, letting you do as you pleased to clean him up. Eventually you sat the cloth on the floor, not really caring if it made the rug wet. You stood up, pulling Azriel with you, albeit with some resistance. “It’s time for bed.”

He followed your guidance, although not easily, stumbling here and there, until you finally had him under the covers with his wings hanging off a bit on the edge. You moved toward your dresser and quickly stripped yourself of your own leathers to throw a sleep shirt on. You let out a long breath, then turned around to head toward the bed, stopping short when you saw Azriel watching you with hooded eyes. You flushed instantly.

He turned his head away sheepishly, looking more boyish than you had ever seen him. “I’m sorry.”

Your mouth was dry as you said, “It’s okay.” You fumbled a bit as you moved toward the bed, sliding under the covers on the opposite side of Azriel. “I could have gone in the washroom if I was worried about you catching an eyeful,” you tried to tease, a half-hearted attempt to lift the mood of tonight. 

“I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay, Az.” You smiled softly, even though your cheeks were still warm. “It’s just you. I know I’m safe with you—you never make me uncomfortable.”

“You’re always safe with me,” he mumbled. As if in emphasis, his shadows brushed against your bare arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

You laid your head on the pillow next to his, facing him. You took in the slopes of cheekbones and the long dark lashes that fanned his face every time he blinked, each blink a little longer than the last.

You had thought he was almost asleep when he said quietly, “I hate what I am.”

Your chest felt tight. “What do you mean?” you asked, voice wavering.

“My Illyrian blood.”

Your heart fully shattered then. “I don’t,” you whispered.

He dragged his eyes slowly to meet yours, disbelief clear behind the intoxication still clouding his eyes.

“It’s part of you,” you explained softly, honestly. “I could never hate any part of you.”

Your heart skipped a beat when he reached for you, pulling you into his chest by your hip. You didn’t breathe at first. His arm was wrapped tight around you, and your face was pressed against his bare chest as he practically nuzzled his face against your neck. His breathing quickly evened out, your words hanging heavy in the air.

Azriel rarely initiated any form of physical affection, and you didn’t want to spook him, even if you doubted that anything could really disturb him right now. Eventually, you made yourself relax, to enjoy this unexpected display of affection from Azriel. You knew it was only because he was drunk, and hurting, but you would walk through fire for him after everything he had given you. If he needed someone to hold for a night, you would gladly be that person for him.

~ ~ ~

Three Months Later

“Y/N.”

You glanced over your shoulder at Azriel, not stopping your stride toward the training room.

“Have you decided to finally join me again for training?” you asked, making a turn down the hallway.

Azriel’s steps quickened, the click of his boots on the stone meshing with your own. “Y/N–”

You rolled your eyes. “I know, I know. The High Lord is always watching.”

“The High Lord is dead.”

You instantly froze. Azriel’s steps fell silent, and you turned around slowly to face him. Your heart was racing as you took in the male in front of you, looking more ragged than you had seen him in months. Since Rhys dropped him in your bedroom a few months ago, probably.

“What did you say?” you asked, voice shaky.

His throat bobbed, his eyes seeming conflicted. “He’s dead,” he repeated softly. 

Panic started clawing up your throat. Oh gods. What did this mean for you? Did you go back to Kier? Was there someone new that held the reins to your life? How did this work?

Azriel’s face softened slightly, and he stepped closer to you. “Rhys is High Lord now.”

Your whirlwind of thoughts came to a sudden halt. Your eyes were wide as you stared at him. “Does that mean–”

“We now serve Rhys,” he finished softly.

Relief like you had never experienced washed over you. Rhys. Rhys would be your High Lord. 

“Where is he?” you asked breathlessly.

Azriel’s eyes shuttered, his features hardening. “With Cassian,” he said, voice desolate. “His mother and sister were also killed.”

Your heart dropped. “No,” you breathed. Your chest ached as you slowly understood why Azriel looked like hell as he delivered this news. He didn’t mourn the High Lord. No, he mourned for the females that were like his own mother and sister. 

Azriel looked away, his jaw clenched as tight as his fists at his side. His shadows pulsed restlessly around him, and you didn’t let yourself think twice before stepping forward and pulling him down into your arms.

His arms slowly circled your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder. You squeezed a bit tighter, bringing one hand up to thread through the hair on the back of his head. “I’m so sorry,” you whispered. 

Azriel sniffed, squeezing you for a moment before pulling back. His face was covered by his usual stoic mask that he wore around everyone else, but you could see the grief seeping through the cracks.

“You’re going to have a decision to make,” he told you, voice rough.

You watched him silently, giving him another second to gather himself.

“Rhys is going to ask you if you want to stay and work for him.”

The words clanged through you, your mind struggling to process them. “He’s giving me a choice?”

Azriel’s face softened. “Of course he is.”

You shook your head slowly, licking your lips. “But—what about Kier?”

“Kier can go fuck himself,” Azriel grumbled. Then more seriously, “He’s not a problem. Rhys won’t let him do anything to you. You’re free.”

Free. Free to make your own choices, to choose the course of your own life. Why did your heart ache at the thought of leaving this place then?

“But Rhys,” you started slowly, “He wants me to work for him?”

“Of course he wants you to, but he would never make you.”

Azriel stood there quietly, watching you as you mulled over all of this information, over the warring emotions inside you. “Am I crazy if I decide to stay?” you rasped. “Does that mean Kier won?”

“No,” Azriel said immediately. “If you choose to stay, it’s because you want to serve your court, and the High Lord that now presides over it. You want to defend what he stands for.” His eyes were glossy in the faelight as he looked at you. “That was never the case before.”

Your eyes roamed over Azriel, noting the slight droop to his wings and the shadows that were slowly inching closer and closer to your feet. The idea of serving Rhys filled you with a new hope, and part of you wanted to stay to defend that newborn optimism. A larger part of you knew that you would stay, though, because you could never leave this male standing in front of you. The years you had spent together might just be a blip among the years he had lived, but they meant everything to you, and you would be damned if you walked away now.

You nodded a bit, then met his eyes. “I think I’d like to stay.”

~ ~ ~

One Month Later

“I didn’t think one of my first tasks as a member of the new High Lord’s court would have me stuck inside of this godsdamned mountain again,” you grumbled under your breath.

Azriel stepped closer, his chest brushing against your shoulder. A wave of goosebumps washed over you as he murmured, “None of us wanted this. Trust me.”

“He’s right,” Rhys purred in your mind, sending a much less pleasurable shiver up your spine. You weren’t sure you would ever get used to that. “But I am sorry. Although, I would have hated for you to miss Kier silently simmering in his rage all night.”

You fought the smile that pulled at your lips, trying to maintain the stony facade you were asked to wear for tonight. The new High Lord’s ball in honor of his denizens in the Court of Nightmares. A display of his generosity and benevolence. A reminder of what they had to lose should they fail to be subservient to him as they were to his father.

Admittedly, this was more enjoyable than the last time you had to stand in front of all these fae, after being freshly tossed to the High Lord like a shiny new toy. Last time, you and Azriel stood off to the side, clearly nothing more than the guard dogs for the High Lord. Now, you all flanked Rhysand around his throne, your respected positions in his court made clear. Cassian and Mor stood on the other side of him, watching the revelry with bored expressions.

It was a dynamic you were still struggling to adapt to. You had never had friends, never had a family who loved you, who would fight for you. You weren’t delusional enough to think you were held in the same regard as everyone else in Rhys’s circle, but you were pretty certain they would all fight for you, defend you, if you ever needed them to. Mor was your cousin, after all, and you had bonded over your mutual disdain for her wretched father. Another silverlining to Kier’s wicked schemes.

Despite all of that, it didn’t stop your heart from falling to your feet when you saw your parents pushing through the crowd, having the gall to approach you while you stood at the High Lord’s side. Azriel pressed a gentle hand to your back, his shadows shrouding the movement from the rest of the room. “What is it?” he asked softly. Rhys glanced at the two of you briefly, but didn’t say anything when his eyes caught on the two fae shoving aside others as they made their path.

You spun around to fully face Azriel, eyes wild and uncaring of what anyone else thought at that very moment. “Dance with me?” you pleaded, voice desperate.

Azriel’s lips parted, his brow furrowed as he stared down at you. He glanced at Rhys, who was busy watching your parents grow closer and closer, about to make a fool of themselves and of you.

“Please?” you begged.

He bit his lip, another beat of hesitation passing before he grabbed your hand, and pulled you out into the messy throng of dancing faeries. You didn’t miss the glares and snide comments directed at you as you joined them, and neither did Azriel from the clench of his jaw and the fire in his eyes. You squeezed his hand, eyes begging him to do this for you. His eyes softened as they landed back on you, and he tugged you close to him as the song shifted into a more ominous ballroom dance. The classiest music the Court of Nightmares could play at their balls.

His one hand held yours close to his chest, while the other held you by your waist. Your other hand fell to rest on his leather clad chest, his siphons glowing dimly in front of you. “I don’t actually know how to dance,” you murmured.

Azriel’s finger flexed on your waist, snaking around further to rest low on your back. Lightning skittered up your back as he cast a glare at someone behind you, before meeting your gaze. “I’ve got you.”

You had no idea how Azriel knew how to dance so well. It was like he was one with the music, his steps moving effortlessly as he pulled you along with him. He was so elegant, and lethal, and gorgeous. You hated the females that were eyeing him curiously, ravenously, from the sides of the room, some of them wretched ones you had the pleasure of growing up with. Your eyes met those of your parents, standing off to the side after thwarting their ambush, their eyes glowing with ire. You swallowed hard, anxiety bubbling in your stomach, wondering how long you could dance, how long you could actually avoid them. There was nothing stopping them from coming over here, and just ripping you out of Azriel’s arms.

“Look at me,” Azriel murmured low in your ear. You dragged your eyes back to him, and your cheeks warmed when you realized how clammy your hand was in his. He squeezed your hand, pulling you somehow even closer into his body. The music was picking up, morphing into a faster tempo, and Azriel didn’t falter as he spun you around the floor. “Keep your eyes on me.”

“I don’t want to talk to them,” you mumbled.

“Then you won’t,” he said, voice firm. Clearly he had pieced together your sudden panic. “We’re dancing. No one is going to interrupt us.”

You swallowed hard, hoping he was right. “And if they do,” he murmured in your ear, voice dark with a promise, “I will personally deal with them.”

That, you believed. “So focus on me. Only me,” he said, warm breath fanning the shell of your ear.

Your heart was racing for an entirely new reason, your skin flushed with something much more pleasant than anger. You were suddenly grateful for the dress Rhys had gifted you tonight, his polite way of asking you to wear something other than your leathers. The silky, cobalt blue fabric clung to your body perfectly, the plunging back providing no barrier between your skin and Azriel’s warm fingers.

“Thank you,” you said under your breath, eyes locked on his.

“As if I need thanks for dancing with a beautiful female,” he murmured back, eyes warm, the hazel of his irises near glowing.

You looked away, your entire body burning from his words. You let him guide you through the rest of the song, and then the next, and the next, until you were clinging to each other’s bodies in the sea of revelry. You didn’t think the rest of the faeries had necessarily forgotten about the two of you, but they were certainly too drunk to stop their dancing. Both of Azriel's hands were now low on your back, your chest pressed flush to his as another song ended, and you stopped abruptly with the music. Your chests were heaving, and even Azriel’s face was flushed as he looked down at you, his breath gently ghosting across your face, your lips only inches from his.

“It’s time to go,” Rhys murmured in your head, amusement clear in his voice. The two of you abruptly broke apart, but Azriel’s hand reached for yours before you could get too far, his grip strong as he walked you back up to the throne, in front of Kier and your parents. You stood side by side, hand in hand next to Rhys, neither of you dropping the hold on the other as Rhys bid his farewell. You gave one last parting glance to your seething parents, pride and love blooming in your chest.

~ ~ ~

One Month Later

“You can sing?”

Azriel spun around from where he was patching a training bag, sand leaking slowly from the seam he resplit in his shock. You couldn’t stop the light laugh that fell from your lips, his eyes comically wide as he turned back around to try to hold the sand in the bag, it instead falling through his fingers.

You walked over to help him, your hands pushing his own out of the way to hold the fabric together, and he smoothed an adhesive patch over the split. “I think this bag needs to be retired,” you hummed, a smile still on your lips.

Azriel’s face was red, redder than you had ever seen it, and it was adorable. It made your heart flutter and your stomach spin, and you wished you could capture this moment forever. Azriel sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Probably, yeah.”

“It’s not like Rhys can’t afford it.”

“I know,” he said, dropping his hand. “But between Cassian and I, we go through them like water. Neither of us are used to…” he trailed off, eyeing the fragile leather bag.

“To luxury,” you finished, understanding the feeling well. 

He glanced at you, nodding. “Yeah.”

You chewed on your lip, contemplating letting your initial question go, but your curiosity was eating at you. “So,” you drawled out slowly, and Azriel looked at you apprehensively. You smiled innocently, your eyes crinkling slightly. “You sing?”

“No,” was Azriel’s short response. He made a step toward the rack of wooden training swords against the wall, but you quickly grabbed for his wrist.

“Come on,” you laughed, pulling him back to you. “How come you never told me?”

“Because of this,” he grumbled, gesturing to you with his free hand.

You pouted a bit, but your grin overpowered it. “I can’t believe I didn’t guess it, really. I mean you are called a Shadowsinger.” You gasped, eyes going wide. “That’s probably why you’re such a good dancer too!”

Azriel rolled his eyes, shrugging out of your grasp. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking at you with impatience. “Are you done?”

“Absolutely not,” you replied. You threw your hands out to your side, exclaiming, “I can’t believe I’ve known you for years and not once have I heard you so much as hum. Then I find you fully singing while repairing training equipment? I feel betrayed.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Azriel grumbled.

You lightly pushed at his chest, growing a bit more serious. “Your voice is beautiful, Az.”

His face flushed red again, his ears even turning pink. “I didn’t know you were here,” he mumbled bashfully, glaring at his shadows that were hiding in his wings. 

A part of you brimmed with glee at the thought that his shadows didn’t feel the need to warn him of your presence. They definitely knew you were standing there listening to him, after all a few of them had slithered over to greet you. “Do you like singing?” you asked softly, any teasing gone.

A muscle in his jaw twitched, and he ran a frustrated hand through his hair, messing up the dark strands. “Yes,” he sighed.

You pondered for a moment about why this was so difficult for him to talk about, why he was so reluctant to share this with you beyond simple embarrassment. “Did you sing as a child?” you asked, voice gentle.

His eyes met yours, a brief beat of sadness and strife passing through them. “Yes,” he answered softly.

You bit your lip, then picked up his hand again. You looked at the scars that littered his skin, stomach turning sour just thinking about what he went through as a boy. You lace your fingers with his, squeezing gently. “No wonder your shadows were drawn to you, then. With a voice like that.”

Azriel didn’t say anything at first, but his face was soft and his cheeks were still tinged pink, as he looked down at your hands laced together. “Thank you,” he finally whispered.

You smiled softly, then in an attempt to lift the mood again after pushing at such a tender spot for him, you asked, “Does this mean you’ll sing for me then?”

Azriel laughed, dropping your hand to push at your shoulder, and you grinned sheepishly. “I mean, if I’m invisible, and your shadows are now my minions, you’ll never even know if I’m here.”

Azriel was still laughing as he shook his head and pointed toward the door. “Get out of here.”

~ ~ ~

Two Months Later

You wished you knew what the hell Devlon was thinking when he recommended this camp to network with. These males were abhorrent, and you were certain that if you didn’t have Azriel and Cassian flanking your sides, their wings flared and siphons glowing, they would have shown you just how dreadful they were. You kept your gaze zeroed in on the sneering camp lord, who was acting as if bringing a female as a representative of his High Lord was sacrilege.

“Where is Rhysand?” Lord Bristol asked dryly, his question clearly directed toward the males at your side. You swallowed your anger, forcing yourself to stay calm while Cassian chirped back and forth with the camp lord and his general.

“Your High Lord sends his regards,” Cassian replied curtly. “You get us,” he added with a grin.

The general’s eyes flashed with hatred, so potent it made you tense. “Two bastards and a female,” he spat. “Does Rhysand mean to insult us?”

“Two Carynthian bastards,” Cassian corrected, his grin turning lupine. “And the High Lord’s personal spy. She’s a lethal one. I’d be careful what you say about her.”

You let your eyes turn wicked as you eyed the males, your lips just barely tipping into a faintly amused smile. Azriel had not said a word, his fist clenched tight around truth teller at his side. 

The general scoffed, practically spitting at your feet. “The High Lord’s personal whore, more likely.”

Azriel shifted, and you could feel the undiluted rage coming off of him in waves. You grabbed his wrist, squeezing tightly. “Don’t, Az,” you murmured.

Azriel stayed put, but his rage continued to boil. You hoped Cassian could get you through this quickly.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” Cassian growled. He stared at the general for a beat before diverting his attention back to Lord Bristol. “Now, if we could get on with this—”

“I heard your mother disappeared from her camp,” the general sneered, clearly speaking to Azriel. You and Cassian both went still. “Did she get knocked up again? Find another wealthy lord to leech off of? Or maybe she finally got what was coming—”

One second you were standing next to Azriel, and the next you were thrown on your ass before a flash of power erupted from the very male you had stood beside. Blinding blue light speared for the general, sending him flying across the snow covered clearing and directly into a towering pine tree at the forest line. A forest line that was at least a hundred yards away from where you stood.

Azriel was gone before you could even stand, Cassian helping you to your feet as he watched the general hit the tree and crumple to the ground. Azriel appeared in front of him, his wings flared as he landed hard, a plume of snow surrounding the two of them. You watched him pick up the male like he weighed nothing, ramming him into the tree again, more snow falling down around them.

“He’s going to kill him,” you breathed.

Cassian cursed, glancing at an agape Lord Bristol who was most definitely not going to be Rhysand’s newest Illyrian ally. “Stay here,” he murmured, launching into the sky and bolting toward his brother, who was now pummeling his fist against the limp male in the snow.

“Like hell,” you grumbled, winnowing directly into the shitshow.

Snow was still falling down around you from the trees that were shaking from the force of Azriel’s power. The general was still alive, but he was barely conscious, yet he still wore a sickening smirk that made you want to rip him from Azriel and deliver a few of your own punches.

You could hear Cassian’s wings beating as he neared, but you directed your focus on Azriel, who had not even noticed your arrival.

“Az,” you said, inching closer, carefully avoiding his flying elbows and outstretched wings.

He didn’t even falter, and as you circled around his wings to stand at his side, you saw nothing but ice cold rage in his normally honey warm irises. Fear shot down your spine, but it wasn’t of him, it was for him. You could see Lord Bristol and other Illyrians from the camp taking to the skies, and you knew you had seconds before shit really went south. 

“Azriel!” you yelled, and for a fraction of a second you saw him hesitate, but it didn’t stop him from landing his next punch.

Cassian landed hard a few feet away from you, snow blowing up into the air as his siphons glowed red. His eyes were wide as he looked at you, and you glanced at the sky of Illryians again before turning back to Azriel. Deciding you didn’t have time to hope he heard you, you grabbed his arm with both your hands, yanking him back from the male beneath him. “Azriel!” you yelled again, panic clear in your voice.

He stopped, only fighting you for a second before his eyes cleared, and he finally turned to look at you. Your chest was heaving as you held his arm, heart racing. You met Cassian’s eyes again, him giving you only a brief nod before you said to Azriel, “We’re leaving.”

You winnowed the two of you far, far away from any Illryian camps, somewhere in a forest near the border of Velaris. The two of you landed hard in the snow, both of you unsteady from your previous positions. You fell on your ass, again, dropping Azriel’s arm as he fell forward onto his hands and knees.

You let out a huff as you stood back up, brushing off the snow from your pants and counting down the seconds until you could take a scalding hot bath and put on dry clothes. Azriel slowly pushed himself up so he was kneeling in the snow, his chest heaving with heavy breaths before he finally rose to his feet. 

You watched him warily, unsure how to handle this. You had seen Azriel angry before, you had seen him ruthless and watched him take out targets like they were nothing more than bugs beneath his feet. You had never seen him like this before, though. You had never seen him with such unbridled rage that he lost all regard for his surroundings.

He kept his head down, eyes glued to the snow. He slowly lifted his hands, examining the bloodstained skin, and you realized he was shaking. Your heart fell as you watched his whole body tremble, as he refused to acknowledge you standing right in front of him. “Azriel,” you murmured, taking a step closer to him.

“Don’t,” he muttered, voice icy.

You stopped. He was still shaking, still staring at his hands, and his shadows were restless as they pulsed around him, some of them making jagged movements up and down the slopes of his wings. “Azriel,” you said again, voice even softer. You swallowed hard, uneasiness sluicing through you. “Let me see your hands.”

Those words made his eyes snap up to you. You didn’t move any closer. You just stood there, eyes begging him to let you in. His eyes were cold as he looked at you, his expression hard as he stood unmoving in front of you. You pulled a handkerchief from your back pocket, and then kneeled down to wet it with the snow. Your hands screamed at the cold bite of winter, your gloves long soaked through, but you didn’t care.

You stood back up, the cloth dangling in your hand as Azriel watched your every move. You took another slow and hesitant step toward him, and this time he stayed quiet. You stopped when you were directly in front of him, holding up the snow-soaked cloth. “Let me see them?”

His jaw clenched and he looked away, but he gave you the smallest nod that had you immediately reaching for his hand. Blood was splattered up both of his wrists, dotting his siphons, but you did the best you could to wipe the evidence of the last half hour from his skin. 

His hands were still shaking when you were done, so you dropped the cloth to the ground, and wrapped both of his hands in yours. He immediately tensed, his disbelieving gaze falling back on you.

You gave him a small, hopefully comforting smile, but his face only hardened further and he yanked his hands from you. You ignored the burn you felt in your chest from him pulling away, focusing on Azriel.

“What are you doing?” he hissed.

You blinked. “I’m helping you,” you answered softly, hoping he would calm down.

“Why?” he asked, voice cracking. His eyes turned glossy as he stared at you, his face crumpling bit by bit, your heart cracking alongside it. “Why would you help me after what you just saw?”

“Azriel,” you breathed out. He was shaking, and you watched in disbelief as a tear rolled down his cheek. “Azriel, come here.”

You pulled him down toward you, his head falling onto your shoulder as your arms circled around his neck. One of your hands rested on the back of his head, and his arms slowly circled around your waist, his hands grasping at your leathers. He was hunched over, his weight leaning heavily on you as he shook, whether with sobs or lingering rage and adrenaline, you weren’t sure. It was most likely both.

You rubbed at his scalp, holding him tight as he cried. “It’s okay,” you murmured softly. “You’re okay.”

It took a few minutes before Azriel was settled enough to speak again, and even then it was just a broken and muffled, “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize to me.”

“I never wanted you to see me like that,” he whispered.

You pulled back slightly, one hand sliding around to cup his cheeks, his bloodshot eyes framed by wet lashes looking at you completely defeated. He was disgusted with himself, and it broke you. “You’re my friend,” you said, voice clear despite your own tears that had started to fall. “I care about you, and I want you to let me in. I want to know every part of you. There’s no part of you that could ever scare me away or disgust me, because it’s you.”

He stared at you in silence, clearly struggling to accept your words.

“There was not one second today where I was scared of you,” you told him. “You do not scare me, Azriel.”

His hand reached up to wrap around the one you had pressed to his cheek, gently pulling it away. You didn’t let him drop your hand, though, squeezing his fingers tight when he tried to let go. “Listen to me,” you begged. “You are a good male, living in a world that has not been kind to you. You are allowed to get angry. You’re allowed to be upset, and you’re allowed to share that with the people who love you.”

Azriel scanned you up and down, his hand still clutched tightly in yours. “And what if I said you’re just naive?” he muttered, eyes cold but filled with pain.

“Then I would tell you to go fuck yourself,” you snapped, tugging at his hand. Azriel flinched, guilt seeping into his eyes. “And I would tell you that I’m not going to let you push me away,” you added, voice softer.

“You’re stuck with me,” you told him, a hesitant smile pulling at your lips before falling serious again. “I mean it, Az.”

He looked down at your hands linked together, his throat bobbing slightly. He slowly dragged his eyes back up to meet yours, his irises shining with fear and guilt and pain, but beyond that sat something that knocked the breath clean out of you. You didn’t have the words to describe it right then, but you knew it mirrored what you held deep in your own heart.

Azriel’s face melted, his guard completely falling before your very eyes, and your shoulders fell with relief. He pulled you to him, wrapping his arms around you again, his wings folding around the two of you. Your heart was racing, and you didn’t know what the hell to think, but you knew that you weren’t letting go of this male anytime soon. You would stay in his arms forever if he let you.

~ ~ ~

One Month Later

“I’ve always wanted to do this.”

“Go shopping?” Azriel asked dryly, his eyebrows slightly raised.

You shoved his shoulder. “No,” you grumbled, then gestured toward all the different stalls lining the street, wreaths and bows and lights everywhere you looked. “Celebrate Solstice.”

Azriel’s eyes softened, and he pulled you back by your hand when you kept walking. “What do you mean?”

Your cheeks warmed, feeling a bit ridiculous now that you’ve said it. You avoided his eyes, looking at the different faeries walking around the two of you. “I’ve never celebrated it,” you answered, shrugging slightly. “I mean, sure, there were ‘celebrations’ fit for the Court of Nightmares, but I never had any friends or family to buy gifts for or to just spend time with on Solstice.”

A male with his arms full bumped into you, muttering a quick apology as he maneuvered through the street. Azriel tucked you under his arm, his heat offering a solace from the cold you didn’t know you needed. He started walking the two of you slowly down the cobblestones again, the two of you making footprints in the light layer of snow coating the stones.

“I wish I had known that,” he said quietly.

You shook your head, pausing in front of a booth with an assortment of jewelry. Azriel didn’t move his arm, and only leaned down with you when you picked up a necklace, the pendant a small sapphire twined with silver. You laid the necklace back down gently, feeling out of place even thinking about wearing jewelry. You had worn the jewels Rhys gave a few months ago to accompany your outfit for the Court of Nightmares, and they had sat untouched since—not because you didn’t love them, but because you were still struggling to adapt to this new lifestyle. You knew Rhys would never, but it was hard to believe that this new reality wasn’t about to be yanked out from underneath you.

“Do you like that?” Azriel asked quietly, his breath brushing the shell of your ear.

Goosebumps shot across your skin, and you swallowed hard before answering him. “It’s pretty,” you hummed, and then guided him toward the next booth before he could pester you about buying it. “And there was no reason for you to know that.”

“We could have celebrated,” he said softly. “Actually, why didn’t we?”

You glanced at him, then turned to smile at the female selling hand knitted sweaters. “You were away on a mission.”

“Oh.”

You reached up to lace your fingers with his hand that hung over your shoulder, smiling softly at him. “That’s why I didn’t tell you. You couldn’t have done anything.”

Azriel tightened his fingers around yours, then folded his wing around you when a harsher gust of wind blew by. The gesture made your stomach flip, knowing the delicate membrane of his wing was brushing against your shoulder, even if it was covered by your coat—that he was using his wings to protect you. The trust behind the display was not lost on you. You leaned further into his side in gratitude. 

“I’m excited for Solstice,” he admitted, and a small grin broke out on your face.

You laughed lightly. “I know you are.”

He glanced at you in surprise, and you shrugged. “You’re not as cold and mysterious as you like to think.” You smiled at him, poking his side covered in a soft sweater instead of his usual leathers. You selfishly loved seeing him like this, his cheeks flushed pink from the cold, snowflakes dotting his dark hair, and his clothes warm and soft instead of thick and tough. “You’re actually a bit of a softie.”

Azriel laughed, his head tilting back a bit. “You’re ridiculous.” The two of you kept walking along the street, stopping to look at different vendors here and there. Eventually, Azriel said, “We celebrated Solstice as boys. Growing up in Illyria…Rhys’s mother did what she could for us, and we loved it, but it’s been decades since we’ve spent it together. Now we have Mor, and you, and I just—” A small smile stretched across his face. “I’m just grateful, and excited.”

You smiled too, then said, “Don’t forget Amren.”

Azriel grimaced. “And Amren.”

“Does she scare you too?”

Azriel glanced at you. “Of course not.”

“Liar.”

~ ~ ~

Two Days Later

“I still can’t believe Rhys bought this place.”

“I can’t believe we were delegated to decorating,” Azriel grumbled, dropping his armful of garland on the floor.

“Don’t complain.” You tossed a bow at him, it smacking him in the chest before joining the greenery on the floor. “I think it’s fun.”

“Cassian and Mor are out drinking and dancing.”

You raised a brow. “Did you want to go drinking and dancing?”

“No,” he grumbled. “It’s just the principle of it.”

You rolled your eyes, pushing yourself up from your spot on the floor next to the fire. You walked to the kitchen, leaving Azriel grumbling over the holly and ribbons, and picked up a bottle of wine and two glasses. You reappeared in the living room, glasses extended toward Azriel. “Who said we can’t still drink?” you asked.

Azriel grinned, taking the glasses and the bottle from you. He poured you both generous glasses, handing one to you before clinking them together. “Happy Solstice,” he murmured, then took a sip of the red wine.

You took a sip of yours, smiling softly. “Happy Solstice.” You sat the glass on the coffee table, then looked back at him. “Now help me hang this garland.”

He did as you said, following your directions for every strand of pine and holly, every bow and wreath, every ball of faelight, even when you were both on your third glass of wine and you weren’t entirely sure that they would all actually be straight tomorrow morning. 

Azriel chuckled from behind you as you struggled to pin a strand of garland over the entryway to the living room. Your stool wasn’t tall enough to reach the top, even as you stood on wobbly toes. Azriel’s hands braced your waist, picking you up easily to lift you high enough to pin the garland. Your cheeks were flushed when he sat you down, your stomach a mess of butterflies. 

“Thanks,” you murmured.

Azriel grinned. “You’re welcome.” He reached for your hair, pulling at the strands delicately. “You’re covered in needles,” he laughed.

You covered your face, groaning into your palms, “Oh gods. No more wine and decorating.”

Azriel pulled your hands away from your face, his eyes bright as they stared down into yours. “The decorations look beautiful.” He pulled another pine needle from your hair, dropping it on the floor, then brushed an errant strand of hair behind your ear. “And so do you,” he murmured softly, eyes going darker.

Something tightened in your chest, in your core, your whole body tingling from his attention and compliments. He was the beautiful one. His dark hair was tousled and his eyes nearly glowed as he beheld you, staring at you so reverently you didn’t know whether to run and hide or…

His palm cupped your cheek, his calloused skin warm and comforting against your own. He slowly walked you backward, taking one slow step after the other as your eyes stayed glued to his, anticipation building in your chest. Your back eventually met the stairway banister, the wood at your back making you suck in a breath.

“Azriel,” you breathed out, heart pounding.

“Please,” he begged, the word soft and desperate. He lowered his face closer to yours, his lips barely an inch away from yours. “Please, let me do this.”

You didn’t let him hesitate a second longer, instead closing the distance between you two to press your lips to his. Azriel went lax against you, his whole body practically melting into yours. You tugged at the front of his sweater, desperate to have him closer, to feel him on you. His hands gripped your waist, squeezing and tugging at you feverishly, as if he needed you just the same. 

His lips were so soft, and so warm, and you never knew it could feel like this. You had never let yourself dream that you could ever have this. Your fleeting thoughts about a life with Azriel had always seemed so childish, so hopeless, in the face of all you had seen. You had never been treated with kindness, like someone worthy of respect—how could you ever be loved or wanted by a male like Azriel?

Somewhere deep down, though, you knew things had shifted between you. When Rhys became High Lord, walls fell down between you. Anxieties were dimmed, and you clung to each other as you waded through the aftermath, as you stepped into this new life together. You had always wanted him, really, in any way he would give you. You had loved him nearly as long, you just didn’t think he could ever return those feelings—not until recently. Not until now, as he kissed you like you were his oxygen, his very lifeline to this world, and he had no plans of letting you go.

You parted from his lips, breathing heavy as you met his eyes, his pupils blown with lust and hair far more disheveled than it was moments ago. “Azriel—” You swallowed hard, nerves blooming in your stomach as your mind caught up to where you were, what you were doing, who you were with. 

Azriel pressed his forehead to yours, closing his eyes. “Don’t get in your head,” he murmured. “If you want to stop, we’ll stop—but don’t worry about anything else.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek, your jaw, your neck. You breathed in shakily. “It’s just me and you.”

His words immediately settled you, grounding you to this moment, here, with him. “Azriel,” you murmured again, you hand lifting his face from your neck. His eyes met yours, wide and waiting. “Take me upstairs,” you whispered.

His face lit up, and you laughed when he pressed a quick kiss to your lips before picking you up, your legs falling easily around his waist. You were so warm in his arms as he carried you up the stairs, stealing kisses along the way as your hands tangled in his hair again.

He walked through an open door, kicking it shut behind you before dropping you on an oversized bed. You pushed yourself back to the center, watching Azriel crawl onto the bed too, slowly following your movements until he was hovering directly over you. He brought a hand up to your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheek, as he gazed at you with pure adoration.

“No one has ever made me feel the way you do,” he murmured. “You make me feel safe. Just the sound of your voice, the touch of your hand—you give me a reprieve from the world. I’ve never felt anything like it.”

Your heart was soaring. “I’ve never trusted anyone,” you whispered, staring at him with glossy eyes. “I never knew I could trust someone—until I met you.” You lifted your own hand to his cheek, cradling him close. “I may hate Kier for everything he did to me and Mor—but I wouldn’t change anything. Everything he did, everything I went through—it brought me to you.”

Azriel licked his lips before pressing them to yours again, his kiss sweet and gentle and reverent. Every tender emotion the two of you held in your hearts, handed to each other on a silver platter, trusting that the other wouldn’t drop it. His kisses slowly grew more desperate, more feverish, with you feeding into the shift in energy, needing him so deeply you couldn’t think past wanting this male in every way.

He slowly lifted your sweater up and over your head, breaking your kiss for the briefest of seconds. You pushed him away though, pulling at the hem of his own sweater. He quickly yanked it over his head, tossing it on the floor, with his pants swiftly following. He was simply ethereal, kneeling before you in the dim faelight, with streaks of moonlight seeping in through the curtain. He crawled back over you, smiling softly as your gaze lingered on his body.

“You’re gorgeous,” you murmured, trailing your fingers over the slopes of his chest, across the ink that trailed over his shoulder and down his arm, until it blended into the scars that littered his forearms and hands.

Azriel’s face was flushed pink as he watched you touch him, admire him, and you smiled at him when you noticed. His smile back was bashful, and he hid his face by leaning down to kiss the sensitive skin of your neck. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted,” he breathed against you, his words followed by a harsh press against your collarbone. It was your turn to flush.

He pulled at the waistband of your pants before sliding them down your legs, leaving you in nothing but your undergarments. His eyes were so dark as he drank you in, his shadows finally reaching out to trace the slopes and curves of your body. Their featherlight touch made you shiver, your skin pebbling in their wake. 

Azriel pressed a kiss to the top of your breast, then unclasped the constricting fabric that still hid you from him. “Do they bother you?” he asked, glancing at the shadows pulsing around the two of you.

“No,” you breathed, mind a bit addled. “Never.”

“Good,” he murmured. He wrapped his lips around your nipple, his tongue ghosting over the sensitive skin over and over before he pressed harder. His hand came up to cup the other one, his thumb mimicking the ministrations of his tongue.

Pleasure rippled up your spine, and you let out a gasp as he continued to suck and kiss and squeeze. “Sweetheart,” Azriel murmured against your breast, and you let out a low whine when his lips pulled away. “This will be easier if I can see you.”

Your eyes flew open, and embarrassment seared through your arousal that was building in your core. Azriel’s hands were still on you, his body still hovering over yours, but your skin had taken on its characteristic iridescence when you shifted. You immediately pulled at that thread of your power, releasing it once the shimmer faded and his eyes met yours.

“I”m sorry,” you mumbled, face hot.

His thumb stroked your hip, his eyes soft. “None of that.” He leaned down to press a kiss to your stomach, his lips slowly trailing lower and lower. “I find it flattering that I can make you lose control,” he rasped, his lips painting agonizing illustrations across your skin, narrowly avoiding where you so desperately needed him. 

“No more apologizing,” he said, fingers slowly dipping into the band of your underwear. His eyes locked on yours, and the breath left your lungs when you saw the lust and adoration in his gaze. “Do you understand?”

You stared blankly for a second, stomach flipping as you took in the dominance of his words, of his touch, the softness from moments again molded into new undiluted desire. A small smirk pulled at his lips, and he tugged at the band of your underwear, leaning down closer. “Do you understand?” he repeated.

You swallowed hard, nodding. “Yes,” you breathed out.

“Good,” he hummed, then slowly dragged the cloth down your legs, tossing it on the floor with the rest of your clothes.

He came back up to meet your lips in a kiss, while slowly dragging his fingers across your core. Small pants and moans fell from your mouth into his, as his fingers worked over the sensitive flesh with tantalizing precision. Every stroke and press sent euphoria through your body, your pleasure coiling tight in your center. When he slid one finger inside you, you clutched his shoulders tight, your nails digging deep into his flesh. “Azriel,” you moaned, your head falling away from his mouth and into the pillows behind you.

His lips moved to suckle more kisses across your neck, falling down to your breasts as he slid a second finger in. “You’re perfect,” he whispered against you. You keened under his praise, your hips lifting as your pleasure coiled tighter.

He pushed them back down, eyes glowing as he looked up at you. “Hold still, baby.”

Gods he was perfect. He was beautiful and loving and made you feel otherworldly, and your eyes burned as your pleasure finally reached a precipice, rapidly falling over the edge. Your body shook as he worked you through it, his strokes growing slower and gentler until he finally pulled his fingers away. 

You could feel how hard he was against your thigh, and his underwear was straining from the fullness of him. He pressed a kiss to the corner of your lips. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” you said, still breathless. “I need you,” you whined, hooking your leg around his hip to pull him closer. Azriel smiled softly. “Please. I need all of you.”

He pulled back, but only to slide his underwear from his hips, leaving him completely bare in front of you. He hovered back over you before you could ogle for long, but any protests died on your tongue when you saw the emotion in his eyes. “You have all of me,” he said, voice low and sweet, his words like honey for your soul.

He fit himself against you, both of you sucking in sharp breaths as he slowly sank in. Your hand cupped his face, pulling his gaze back to you. “You have all of me, too,” you whispered. 

Your words seemed to snap something inside of Azriel, his hips going flush against you. You gasped, the stretch momentarily burning. He murmured apologies against your hair, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he waited for you to adjust. “It’s okay,” you breathed out. “I’m okay. You can move. Please move.”

He did as you asked, his hips slowly pulling away before gliding back in. He gradually picked up his pace, watching you with every thrust, every push and pull you gave each other. The two of you were enraptured with the other, eyes locked on each other as you chased your euphoria together. Azriel’s lips pressed against yours, his chest folding across yours as his wings flared out behind him. “I swear the Mother made you for me,” he groaned.

His words made your brain falter, the thought alone of being his mate knocking something loose inside you. You had never considered that this male with you now could possibly be your mate—that you would ever be so blessed to find your mate, let alone it be him. Mother above, you hoped it was him. Maybe it made you selfish, for wanting that eternal bond between your souls, when not even yesterday you couldn’t fathom the scenario you were in now, but there was something about the word mate, something about Azriel being your mate that felt so innately right.

His thrusts slowed, his hand cupping your cheek, drawing your thoughts back to the moment. “Are you still with me?” he asked softly.

You grabbed his hand on your cheek, lacing your fingers with his. “I’m with you,” you said, wiggling your hips to chase the friction of his slow thrusts. His eyes glowed with lust, pushing your intertwined hands to rest above your head. You moaned as his thrusts turned harder and sloppy, chasing his high right alongside yours. His free hand fell between you, circling your bundle of nerves until you came undone, and his body fell limp on top of yours as he quickly followed. 

His breaths were heavy against your ear, his face pressed against yours as he squeezed your still intertwined hands, then slowly unlaced your fingers. You rested your hand in his hair, playing with the damp strands curling loosely at the nape of his neck. “That was perfect,” you whispered, voice tinged with awe.

Azriel pushed himself up enough to roll off you, though his side was still pressed to yours as he gazed down at you. “Beyond perfect.” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, a soft and adoring smile making his eyes crinkle and your heart skip a beat. 

He laid down on the pillow next to you, his arm wrapping around your body to pull you against his chest. He kissed the side of your jaw before nuzzling his chin against your shoulder, pulling the messy covers up around the two of you. His wing followed suit, curling around you like a protective shield. He pressed another kiss to your shoulder, and you were certain you would never grow tired Azriel’s affection. To think he balked when you called him a softie just days ago.

“Happy Solstice,” he hummed in your ear, a hint of mischief in his tone.

You laughed lightly, settling back into his arms as you closed your eyes. “Happy Solstice.”

~ ~ ~

You placed a gentle hand on Azriel’s shoulder, his head immediately turning toward you. “Hi,” you greeted softly, a nervous smile pulling at your lips.

His eyes glowed as he looked at you, his own lips twitching into a warm smile that made your insides shimmer. “Hi,” he said softly.

Your friends were sitting around the coffee table in the living room, each perched on various cushions as they laughed at something Cassian said. Even Amren seemed amused. Azriel stood up a bit straighter from where he had been leaning against the archway, the top of his head brushing against the garland he had helped you hang last night, which was indeed a bit lopsided.

Azriel tracked your gaze, grinning when he noticed the garland. He reached up, repinning it into its position. “Still beautiful,” he said.

Your face flushed. His arm brushed yours as he stepped close again, his wing brushing against your back as they flared slightly. “Are you enjoying your first proper Solstice?” he asked.

You looked at your friends again, at the fire glowing in the hearth and the gifts scattered around the room. Your eyes fell back to the male beside you, and your heart felt like it could burst. “I am, actually.”

His hand reached for yours, slyly twining his fingers together with yours. “Good,” he murmured. He leaned down closer, his breath brushing against the shell of your ear. “Happy Solstice.”

Your face went hot instantly, your ears burning as you pulled away from him, but his hand in yours kept you glued to his side as his eyes glinted devilishly in the light of the fire. “You’re a brute,” you grumbled, then said, “Happy Solstice.”

Azriel chuckled lightly, his arm looping around your waist to pull you even closer to his side. “I have another gift for you,” he said softly. “Come with me?”

You nodded eagerly, letting him turn you toward the hallway. The two of you stopped short when Rhys said, “Please don’t christen any more rooms in this house. I haven’t even properly moved in yet.”

You buried your face against Azriel, his arm tightening around you as mortification slid through you. “Fuck off, Rhysand,” Azriel called back, guiding you up the stairs. Your friends’ laughter could still be heard once you made it upstairs, but you tried to focus on the male beside you, his hand pulling you after him. 

He led you out on a balcony, the stone fixture bare save for a dusting of snow. The stars were bright in the night sky above you, the air unusually calm for winter, though snow flakes still fell around the two of you. “I didn’t know this was here,” you murmured, looking out at the glowing houses stretching down the street. “Doesn’t everything already seem…happier, now that Rhys is High Lord?” you asked Azriel, watching the faeries walking the street with children running around them in glee.

“He’s given people hope,” he said, stepping up to the railing beside you. “That’s powerful.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “You give me hope,” you said softly, watching the snowflakes fall from the sky. “I was ready to give up my second week here, and you pulled me up off my ass and told me to fight. Then you did it again, and again. You kept me going.”

Azriel didn't say anything for a minute, your words settling around the two of you. He eventually cleared his throat, drawing your eyes back to him. “I really do have another gift for you,” he said, voice almost shy as he pulled a small box from his pocket. He opened the velvet container to reveal a sapphire necklace—the sapphire necklace you wanted from the Solstice Market.

“Azriel,” you drawled out breathlessly, watching him pull the dainty chain from the box.

He reached around your neck, clasping the chain together before straightening the pendant so that it rested in the center of your chest. His cheeks were pink as he said, “I knew you wanted it, and I knew you would never buy it. I thought maybe you would let yourself wear it if it was a gift.”

Your lips trembled as your fingers ghosted over the gem. “Thank you,” you whispered. “I wish I had something else for you.” All you had given him was a dagger that Cassian helped you pick out, which felt much less personal than this necklace that laid against your skin.

Azriel shook his head, his hands pulling you close to him by your waist. “You’ve already given me everything I could ever want,” he murmured. He leaned in slowly to press a kiss to your lips, the two of you melting together instantly.

You pulled back, your breath mixing with his in the cold air. “I love you.”

Azriel blinked, his grip tightening on your waist. Your heart was pounding, but you had to tell him. You had been in love with him for far too long, and he had given you far too much for you to go another second without telling him what he meant to you.

His throat bobbed, his shadows flitting around his wings rapidly. “You love me?” he asked, breathless.

“More than anything,” you said, a bit of nervous laughter creeping into your voice.

He wrapped you in his arms, your face going flush against his chest as his head rested on yours. You returned his embrace easily, but he was just as quickly pulling back to press another kiss to your lips. “I love you,” he murmured against your mouth, and your whole body felt like it had been set aglow. “And you love me?”

“Yes,” you assured again, your hand resting against his cool cheek.

You took a calming breath in through your nose and shifted your gaze away from the chair Nesta was occupying. “Lucien?” 

Azirel’s low tone rumbled at your shoulder. “Elain’s mate. He has an interesting story. I’ll tell you more about it later.” 

And you trusted that he would. 

Since the night the two of you shared, Azriel had become an open book. He had spent half of that night making you privy to the story you shared—how you met, how the bond snapped, and his subsequent idiocy of keeping it from you while you knew the entire time. That point had sent you into a fit of laughter because obviously you would have known. Your magic revolved around parsing out lies and secrets. 

Coming to terms with that truth also helped you better understand the bond itself. 

Azriel had explained that the cauldron found mates in equals, pairing the souls of those that matched. It had been confusing for you to make a connection between Azriel and yourself. He was an Illyrian with forceful wings and so much power that it needed to be contained in the azure siphons lining his body.

But then, on a particularly quiet night, Azriel had shared his role in Rhysand’s court. His words had been cloaked in reproach as if sharing that piece of him would send you running. You had listened with rapt attention and pieced together the truth of your bond. 

Azriel was the spymaster, and you were the truthteller. 

It also helped—presumably—that Azriel had gotten into the habit of telling you how much he loved you. Regularly.

He never expected anything following his declarations and never even gave you enough time to think of a response, but he said the words so openly. Handing you breakfast, taking a walk along the Sidra, in between stories from your life; Azriel always said I love you as if he didn’t mean to, like he was making up for lost time. 

You hadn’t said it back yet. 

Maybe you’d thought it. 

“There’s also a book club that I know has been eagerly waiting for your return—” 

“So you’ve really lost your memory?” Nesta’s biting tone cut her sister off. You snapped your gaze over to the piercing eyes you’d been avoiding. 

“Um—”

“Rather convenient, how cuddled up you are with the spymaster when the rest of us haven’t even seen you. What progression does that show?” 

“Nes,” Cassian chided from beside her. 

Something heavy made your chest hurt—embarrassment, you parsed out. You leaned away from the warm chest you found comfort in and glanced at Cassian’s exasperated expression as he stared at his mate. 

“What? You all have been hiding her away with your typical ploy of protecting her. Why hasn’t she been training with the Valkyries? Who gets to decide when she’s let out for a walk? I presume Rhysand is one of her handlers? I’d ask him but he refuses to speak to me about it and doesn’t show his face unless absolutely necessary.” 

“That’s enough,” Azriel cut through. You’d put about an inch of space between the two of you and the missing contact was glaringly apparent. 

“Is it? You’re making her weak.” 

“Nesta, we weren’t here the first time this happened. We have no idea what she needs,” Feyre argued, squaring her shoulders towards her sister. 

Nesta only scoffed. “Well, clearly, she needs something else because she still has no memory.” 

“I don’t know what’s going on with you right now, but cool it,” Cassian commanded. 

Sharp features ran over your form, analyzing your every move as the conflict continued. You felt exposed, belittled under Nesta’s gaze, and the fae only sharpened the lines of her eyes the more you squirmed. Azriel closed the space between you again, covering your knee with his hand, and Nesta’s jaw worked at the movement. 

You wanted to say something, maybe defend yourself, but you were afraid to open your mouth and be ridiculed. Everyone had said you were friends with Nesta. They had described her prickly personality but said you had been fast friends. They said she had been asking about you. 

You breathed through your nose and pressed your lips together. 

“She’s gotten memories back, Nesta. We were told it’s a slow process,” Feyre reasoned, attempting to lower the tone of the room as Azriel’s shadows became restless. 

“Right. And they all happen to be memories of the precious Inner Circle. Another agenda I’m sure was purposeful.” 

That was true. You’d gotten back a handful of memories now, all with either Azriel, Cassian, Rhys, or Mor involved, but those were the only people you knew. And they were all distant memories made centuries ago. You had no new context and had started to assume that this process would be chronological. Sort of. 

“We are introducing things slowly,” Azriel all but gritted out, his presence large and looming at your back. “Even the process of getting those few memories hasn’t been pleasant. Based on what we understood we thought it would be better if—” 

“It’s always what you think. She isn’t yours, Azriel,” Nesta fought, gripping the arms of her chair in a punishing hold. 

“Careful, Nesta—” 

“You’re scared.” Your voice was sure but quiet as it silenced the room. You stared at Nesta, brows furrowed, and watched the tells of her fear emanate from her. “Why are you scared?” 

Nesta looked jarred, affronted. She glowered at you. “I am not scared.”

“I can see it. I don’t understand it, but I can see it.” You met her eyes and something looked different about them—something searching. “Is it about me?” 

The room tensed, air becoming still. 

Nesta stood abruptly. You straightened your back and were halfway up to follow her, a confusing urge leading you to comfort the woman who obviously did not like you, when pain took your breath away. You faltered, feet failing as you shot them out to balance your wavering posture. You fell forward instead, the ground a harsh pain against your knees. 

Azriel 

Azriel was so quick to find your side, any vitriol lingering in the room no longer his concern. He pulled you against him and slotted your head in his neck as a whine left your lips. 

“What’s wrong with her?” Nesta asked, harshness tinged with underlying urgency. 

He had known she was scared—everyone knew that—but you voicing it had made it real, and Nesta was not one to put that out in the open. In another life, just a few months difference, you would have confronted her privately. But you didn’t know. 

“She’s remembering,” Azriel muttered, holding you closer as your body became dead weight against his. This part always sent terror shooting through him, but he was getting better at containing it. You needed him to be calm.

“Does she always collapse? You didn’t think to—” 

“Nesta,” Feyre interrupted, placing a gentle hand on her sister’s arm. The High Lady shook her head with a wince. 

Azriel watched the interaction with lidded eyes, his hands pressed to your head and back. He knew you would come to within a few minutes. Sometimes it took longer and you were far more dazed then, but he’d be willing to sit here for as long as you needed. 

“I’ll get the compress,” Cassian declared, kicking up from his chair with a parting hand on Nesta’s shoulder. “Take it easy. It can be difficult when she wakes up.” 

Nesta crossed her arms and shifted her weight between her feet as Azriel repositioned you on the ground. He looked down at your face, the way your eyes moved behind the lids, and then tucked you back into his chest. He reminded himself that this was something good; last time you remembered the first kiss you had had with him. 

A turn of silence overcame the sitting room and Feyre excused herself to check up on Nyx. Nesta stayed, using Cassian’s return as her weak excuse. 

“How long—” 

“She’s okay, Nesta,” Azriel said, voice low. “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but she’s okay. You  need to give her time.” 

Nesta’s brow furrowed and she bit the side of her cheek. “You all have made her weak. She doesn’t need to be coddled.” 

“She does. For now. That doesn’t make her weak—to need people.” 

Azriel moved your hair off your forehead as a harsh breath left your nose. You didn’t wake yet. 

“She would hate it—being treated like glass.” 

“I know,” Azriel admitted. “She hates it now. But, as Feyre said, you weren’t there before. This is nothing compared to how we were then.” 

“I haven’t seen her in months.” Nesta’s voice was smaller as she dropped to the ground beside Azriel. “She looked so… timid when she came in. She was never like that.” 

Azriel let out a sigh and held Nesta’s gaze. “I know how this feels, but you can’t… you can’t blame her for this. You can’t punish her, Nesta. She needs you, too.” 

“She hasn’t needed me this entire time, obviously. That was decided rather quickly.” 

Azriel sighed again, but before he could help his sister sort out the myriad of emotions he knew she was feeling, you groaned and the sound rattled against his skin. The Shadowsinger pulled you away from his body but kept his arms holding you up. Your lashes slowly fluttered before you pressed your palm into your eye socket. 

“Gods, ow,” you complained. “I hate that part.” 

Azriel offered you a melancholy laugh and brushed his lips along your forehead—always stolen touches with him. “I’m sorry, my love.” He paused, sending a sidelong glance toward Nesta. The younger fae was frozen in place. “Can I get you anything?” 

“The cold compress, maybe?” 

“Cass is already on it. He’ll be back soon.” Another pause as you gathered your bearings. Azriel rubbed soothing circles into any skin he could reach. “Share now or later?” 

The question was routine now. Some memories were easy for you to share, spouting them off as soon as you woke up like in the case of the first kiss you had learned about three days ago. Others hurt as if you were reliving them in the moment, like when Rhys was taken under the mountain or when you remembered the pain of Day Court. 

So Azriel would wait, and then he would ask. 

And if he needed to hold you as you cried afterward, he would do that, too. 

Your tongue darted out to wet your drying lips and then your expression pinched. You sat up fully to examine the room, still disoriented if Azriel could tell anything by the rapid way your eyes moved, but you were looking for something—or someone, maybe. 

When you looked over your shoulder and found Nesta’s frozen form, recognition shone in your hazy eyes. 

“I remembered you,” you revealed. You twisted from Azriel’s grip to sit on the floor before her. “We were talking. Or, I was talking and you were… angry at me for something. We were in a terribly awful apartment. I think it was yours.” Your brows came together as you searched through the memory. You looked back up. “You were afraid then too.” 

Azriel didn’t have a moment to protest before Nesta had her arms thrown around your shoulders, her grip on your sweater visibly unshakeable. You had to stabilize a hand behind you to keep upright, and even though Azriel knew your head throbbed after getting a memory back, you didn’t make a sound. 

“You’re going to be fine,” Nesta angrily demanded, sounding as if she were placing a curse. “You are stronger than this.” 

A minute ticked by, and then another. Azriel sat idly by as Nesta held you against her and you held her back without as much context, but just as tightly. 

“Well,” Cassian re-entered the sitting room, cold compress held loosely in his hand. “This seems to be going better.” 

~~~

A few days after meeting, and somewhat understanding, Nesta Archeron, you found yourself on a walk with Azriel following the resurfacing of a particularly painful memory. It was something from the war—Azriel was hurt, barely alive, and you were helpless and miles away from him. The memory was mostly just remnants of pain and fear, and it had taken Azriel fifteen minutes to calm you down after. 

But that was fine—it was good. Because for every painful memory came several good ones, and those memories made it worth it. You almost felt lucky to experience many of them for the first time again. 

“Can I ask you something?” you posed, swinging your conjoined hands as they intertwined between you. You loved holding Azriel’s hand—especially after the first time you’d initiated the contact and he blushed so furiously it warmed his skin. 

“Of course you can,” came Azriel’s soft reply. 

The low sounds of Velaris winding down laid the background of the conversation. The occasional merchant sweeping outside their shop would wave to the two of you, and although you still didn’t recognize them all, it didn’t hurt as much to grin and greet them. A few of them reintroduced themselves with warm smiles after hearing of your condition, but others just appeared happy to see you in any context. 

“When I remembered us after we were married,” you began. “Where were we? I’ve been in most of the rooms in the House and I can’t find it.” 

“Ah,” Azriel hummed. His mouth curved up in a beautiful half-smile. “I was wondering when you’d ask about that.” 

“You’ve been keeping something from me!” you accused with a playful gasp. 

“No, no, not keeping it from you, angel. I wanted you to find it on your own.” 

“What do you mean find it on my own? I’ve only recently been able to find my study in the House and I lose my way if I start in certain corners.” 

Azriel chuckled, his eyes squinting at the corners. 

This felt so good—so normal. 

This felt like something that could last. 

“How many times have I taken you on this walk?” he asked, gently guiding you forward on cobblestone. 

“Are you changing the subject?” Azriel shot you a knowing look that had you rolling your eyes. “Fine,” you relented. “Almost every other day.” 

“Why do you think that is?” 

“It’s a nice path. The street isn’t too busy but there’s a lot to look at,” you shrugged. “I thought you just liked it.” 

Azriel brought you to a stop away from the street. “Look a little deeper.” He gestured around with his chin. 

There was nothing out of the ordinary, not at first. He had stopped you in a quieter corner of the street, one you always admired each time you passed it. Soft foliage lined each house you passed, purples and blues and muted yellows obviously cared for among old brick and stone. Gentle water could be heard in the distance, most likely from fountains or small wells meant to provide for families. In the setting sun, the houses were peaceful, serene. 

Something called to you. It was inexplicable, but you found yourself without the urge to inspect why you were being called. Your power was usually unexplainable—at least that’s what it felt like—but this was different. 

You turned to look on at the quaint cottage Azriel had stopped you in front of. 

“Does this place mean something?” you asked, knocking your head to the side as you took in the ivy that trailed up tanned stones. 

Azriel could be felt at your back, the Illyrian bringing his hands up to rest on your shoulders. “Yes. What does your intuition tell you?” 

“I don’t think my magic works like that.” 

“Just give it a shot,” Azriel chuckled by your ear. 

It was when his lips pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek, stealing your breath away, that you hoped for more. That your intuition prompted you to ask for more. 

“Is this… Do we live here?” 

You could feel Azriel’s smile near your skin. You turned to face him, his hands dropping from your shoulders as your expression shifted into pleasant disbelief. Azriel’s smile was twisted into permanent light on his face, and he brushed your hair behind your ears as you stared up at him. 

“We do. Picked it out right after we were married. We didn’t think raising a family in the House of Wind was very feasible long-term.” Azriel jolted, stuttering for a moment. “Not that we need to raise a family! Now, or ever, actually. That was just something we talked about before, but things are different now and just having you—” 

“Azriel,” you smiled, interrupting his rambling by sliding your arms around his shoulder. “Can I ask you something else?” 

Azriel blushed, closing his eyes with a sigh as he nodded in defeat. 

“Will you kiss me?” 

His eyes snapped open, the hazel searching yours with a quickened intensity. “Are you sure?” he asked. His hands were on your waist and you couldn't remember him putting them there. “You don’t have to—” 

“I remember our first kiss,” you countered. Your eyes flickered down to the ring hanging around his neck. That question would be for another time. “Seems only fair that I’d get to experience one in real-time, don’t you think?”

“You don’t want to go in the house? Go see it?” he whispered, but he was leaning down as he spoke the words, his eyes glued to your lips. 

“I think I’ll have time later.” 

When his lips met yours, Azriel exhaled deeply, the hands on your waist pulling you closer with desperation lining his skin. He deepened the kiss in a way that seemed unintentional, intrinsic, and you saw stars behind your lids as he covered your mouth with his and kissed you harder. You had to take a step back to steady yourself and he only followed, his wings coming around your back to press you tighter. 

Something rumbled in the back of Azriel’s throat as your fingers twined through his hair. You only had the faint memory of a kiss, but that one was much different than this. That kiss had been sweet and tentative. This kiss was desperate and needy and you could feel the way Azriel missed you in each of his touches.

And, Gods, did you miss him, too. Differently—a way you couldn’t even understand—but you missed him. 

When you pulled back, you were met with Azriel’s furrowed brow, his eyes flickering between both of yours. He kept you close as you let out a breathy laugh. 

“Do you always kiss me like that?” 

“I should,” he breathed, and then he kissed you and kissed you until your back met the front door of your home. 

~~~

“Things wouldn’t be so bad, you know,” Mor announced, breaking the silence in the room. “If you didn’t get everything back.” 

You glanced up from the diary you’d been poring over, bookmarking the page as you stared up at your friend. “What do you mean?” 

“I just mean if you had gaps, maybe things you never remembered, that would be okay,” Mor continued, rising to sit beside you on the loveseat. 

She had come to visit you in the cottage—your cottage—bringing you one of your diaries they had hidden in the House of Wind. You had eagerly ripped it from her hands and dove into the contents, barely greeting her as you ushered her in and flipped the door shut. 

“Well, the goal is everything,” you explained. You held up the diary and gave it a small shake. “That’s why Az and I asked for these. And there are still people out looking for the witch.” 

Mor kissed her teeth and sighed. “But it would be okay,” she repeated. “If you never got it all back. It would be okay if you were just like this, all the time.” 

“What, is there something you’re hoping I won’t remember? Something embarrassing?” you teased, but Mor didn’t laugh. 

“I’ve been thinking about something you said a little while ago. It’s been bothering me. I talked to Azriel about it too, and I just… I need you to know that we all love you—that I love you—just as you are now. You aren’t a ghost.” 

The smile fell from your lips. You placed the diary down in your lap and turned to face Mor, taking her hands in yours. “Mor, I know that. I didn’t mean—” 

“No, you were right. We were talking as if you weren’t there and that wasn’t fair. None of this is fair, but especially not that. You have to know, y/n, that the way you are, right now, that’s still you. I’m sorry. We’ve all been idiots.” 

You huffed out a small chuckle. “I mean I wasn’t going to say it.”

Some of the light returned to Mor’s eyes, masking the grief that lingered there. “See, there you are.” 

You gripped her hands tighter, yanking her in for a hug. “I forgive you, Mor.” 

She clutched at your shirt and laughed. “Thank the Mother. Because Azriel wouldn’t shut up about keeping you all to himself. I was sick of the gloating.” 

“Azriel? Gloating?” you feigned a gasp, pulling back with a teasing smile. 

“You bring it out of him.” 

Memories came in different waves as time went on. Sometimes they were quick, difficult rememberings. Other times you were out for much longer and would wake up disoriented and confused. But you were never afraid of them. 

At first, the slow nature of their return did make you afraid. You had feared that this process would take too long and everyone would grow tired of waiting. Maybe Azriel would start rolling his eyes when you lost consciousness or Cassian would start to grumble every time you couldn’t connect the dots in one of his stories. The fear was real and it ate away at you for about one week before it was completely diminished. 

Because this conversation you were having with Mor—you’d had it with Azriel too. 

He had pressed his lips along your forehead and told you that it was fine if you couldn't remember everything, he’d just make you fall in love with him again. 

And maybe you were too afraid to tell him that he’d already succeeded at that feat. 

A comfortable silence fell over the room as you and Mor continued your independent tasks, you reading your diary, Mor flipping through a stack of correspondence she had brought along with her. The sounds of scribbling and creased parchment were reminiscent of the first few days after you lost your memory—Mor would bring work into your room and sit beside you as you nursed a headache. Hearing it in this context, in your home, felt like it had a meaning to it. 

Azriel 

It was later in the afternoon when the front door silently opened, Azriel removing his shoes by the door and setting off to find his mate in the cottage. He could hear someone else and mistakenly thought it to be Nesta before he spotted a head of bright-blonde hair beside you in the sitting room. Mor had been the only one in the family who hadn’t visited the cottage yet and relief filled his chest and the sight of her. 

You had started to worry that she didn’t want to see you. Azriel had reassured you several times that Mor just thought you didn’t want to see her after the way everyone acted, but his sweet words had done little to quell your fears. 

Your relationship with Mor had been different since you woke up; she had been the one person you could trust for a while. When he was afraid and messing everything up, Mor held your hand and talked you through his idiocy. 

He was glad some semblance of a reunion in his sitting room. 

“Hi, girls,” Azriel greeted, keeping his voice low to match the calm of the room. He leaned down beside your place on the loveseat, pressing a kiss to your hair. “Should I get a fire going? It’s cold in here.” 

You turned your head to grin up at him, and Azriel had to calm his heart as it skipped several beats. He was trying to be casual about all of this—about you in the seat you had claimed as yours several years ago, sitting beside your best friend and smiling up at him, looking as if you belonged here because you did—but you were making it very difficult with your pretty smile and the pretty way you blinked at him. 

“Hi, Az. Mor’s here,” you offered. 

“I see that, my love.” 

You smiled again, this time directing it towards Mor. “She brought one of my journals. It’s from before I met you all. I don’t have any memories of that time yet. Very informative.” 

“Thought we could go chronologically,” Mor quipped. She leaned up from the couch and stretched her arms. “I’ll let you guys get to it, then. With… whatever mates do.” 

“Will you be back?” 

Azriel’s heart hurt a little at the question, and he could tell by the softness in Mor’s gaze that she felt the same. 

“Of course. Just not when you and Nesta are having your book club. Made that mistake a few too many times,” she teased, sending parting words out the entryway. 

As soon as Mor had vacated the seat beside you, Azriel was occupying the space, rounding his arm over your shoulders and smashing you into his chest as he pressed kisses to your skin. You laughed and attempted to push him away, the journal now lost in a cushion, but Azriel was unrelenting. 

“I missed you,” he proclaimed. 

“I saw you this morning,” you giggled back, finally giving up and allowing the onslaught of affection. 

“Doesn’t matter. I spent weeks not touching you. You just started letting me kiss you.”

“We’ve been kissing for a few weeks now.” Azriel only hummed at your words and moved his hands to cup your face as he kissed your cheeks. “Gods, we sound like children.” 

“I love you.” 

Main POV

You opened your mouth to reply, but Azriel had already silenced you with his lips. You were breathless when he pulled away, all thoughts emptying from your brain. 

“How was your day?” he asked, removing himself from the tight grip he’d captured you in. But he still kept you glued to his side. 

You took a breath in and blinked. “Um, it was good. Mor came.” 

“You mentioned,” Azriel teased. “Any memories you want to talk about over dinner?” 

“None today. It’s been slow over the past few days, I’ve noticed.” 

Azriel brushed hair from your forehead. “That’s okay. They’ll come with time.” He paused. “Or they won’t.” 

The reminder of Azriel’s promise to you sat behind his words. It echoed Mor’s conversation earlier and you fought the reassurance and dread that battled within you. 

Because he was right. They might come, or they might not. 

Your family would love you either way. 

But, would you have to live with this feeling of… incompleteness forever as well? 

Would that fade with time? 

You offered a soft smile and leaned up to kiss the corner of Azriel’s mouth. “The things in the journal Mor gave me,” you began. “Usually, when one of you tells me about something from the past I feel a connection to it. Or I get a memory back. But I’ve been poring over this book—” you fished it out from the cushions. “—and, nothing. It’s like I’m reading a story and not my own words.” 

Azriel furrowed his brow. “That must be difficult to comprehend.” 

“It is,” you nodded. “And, that’s fine—I guess. Because none of you can really reinforce memories when you weren’t there. I just feel strange about it.” 

“Can I do anything to help?” 

You bit your lip as Azriel stared back at you with concern laced in his features. He was already doing everything he could to help, already pushing aside so much so you could find comfort in this confusing life you’d been dropped into. 

You watched the way he held himself back, the way he always kept himself close to Velaris and refused necessary missions to keep you near. You looked on without the means to help him as he stressed over the memories you’d receive. He spent countless hours retelling your story and holding you through difficult bouts of unconsciousness and taking it so, painfully slow with you. 

Maybe, if you really thought about it, this hole within you wasn’t that big of a deal. 

what satoru didn’t know, was that you were a prodigy— related to one of the most famous ice skaters in olympic ice skating history, akira, as her talent was blessedly passed down to you through your fruitful system and the lucky processes of genetics— chosen as you barely even had to be taught, you catching everything right away by the coach without any sort of slip and fall… unlike satoru who was clumsily struggling to even glide through the ice without wobbling.

and little satoru was astonished by you and your talent, his first impression of you drastically changing by the end of the first lesson as he shakily slid across the ice over to where you were, patiently doing little turns on the ice while you waited for your mother to finish up talking to another lady (it was satoru’s mother).

“hi!” he had greeted you, a huge goofy smile on his face as you slowed down and looked at him, returning a shy smile of your own.

“hi.”

“i’m satoru!” he extended a hand, eyes shooting wide as he suddenly lost his balance and slipped forward, on the brink of face planting on the ice as his hands quickly flailed out and gripped the edge of the rink to save himself.

you giggled, tiny hands reaching and holding his arm steady as he tried to regain his balance.

“are you okay?” your shy voice asked, and he grinned through his wobbling.

“yeah! i’m okay! don’t worry!”

but he still couldn’t stabilize himself.

“maybe we should sit on the bench?” you suggested sweetly. “so you don’t fall…”

“okay!”

you gripped him as hard as you could (which really wasn’t a lot for a six year old) and slowly moved with him on the ice, supporting him until you were both out of the rink and seated on the bleachers.

“what’s your name?” he chirped, his hands clutching on the edge of the bench as he leaned forward and looked at you kindly, legs swinging.

“y—y/n.”

“nice!” he cheesed, looking at you. “i saw you skate. you’re really good!”

“t—thank you.” you mumbled, shy and alarmed that a boy was talking to you.

“when did you start skating?”

you looked at him confusedly. “um.. today?”

his eyes bulged.

“hah?! today?!”

you jumped at his outburst, cheeks pink as you quickly nodded.

“wowww!…” he gushed with stars in his eyes. “that’s great! i saw you doing turns and things. i can barely move on the ice… it’s slippery.”

“well—” you peeked up at him shyly. “my—my aunt taught me some stuff… but not a lot.”

“you have someone in your family that skates?” he asked excitedly with huge blue eyes. “how cool! hopefully i can catch up to you and at least move…”

“that’s okay...” you smiled. “i know you will.”

“really?!” he gushed again before leaning back, nodding his head cutely. “if you think so, then i know so!”

and you giggled at him, your timid wall slowly crumbling down at his bubbly and kind personality as he was a chatterbox and talked to you about anything that had to do with olympic ice skating— him knowing so much about it and nearly screaming his head off and panicking when he found out that your aunt was none other than akira, now knowing exactly why you were so good at skating in the first place.

satoru looked up to you. so much so that it was comical— seeking your approval over the following years during lessons and not even listening to the damn coach himself as he listened more to you, wanting you to teach him how to do bunny hops or backward crossovers and giving a big fat attitude to anyone else who tried to coach him, whining and snoring away until you and your little bows skated over to him to teach him.

and because of that you spent a lot of time with satoru in and out of lessons, even more than you ever spent with your own friends at school as you clung to him at all times— him cheering and encouraging you on when you were shy in certain situations, and you teaching him everything you could about skating and bringing him little bags of strawberry gummy puffs since he had the biggest sweet tooth you had ever seen, you both cemented and stubbornly attached to the hip with neither wanting to let go.

and when your mother’s planned a little playdate at the local outdoor ice skating rink on a chilly december day— an enormous christmas tree sitting tall and glorious by the rink with twinkling star-shaped fairy lights and jingle bells surrounding the plaza, you and satoru spinning each other around and dancing and giggling over the murmur of classic christmas songs, they saw the potential… an idea sparking in their heads amongst their cooing and picture taking.

you and satoru were both originally put into the ice skating world to train and be independent professional skaters, olympic athletes to be more specific when the time came.

but that concept quickly changed the second you met.

now— you and satoru were an olympic ice skating pair, the subject materializing when your mother’s pulled you out from those simple ice skating lessons (you both already way past getting the basics down since your skill combined with you teaching satoru had you both surpassing the class) and paying for a professional couples figure skating coach to get you guys started now and early.

and the both of you were over the moon, especially satoru, as he absolutely adored you and begged his mother literally every fucking day if he could go over to your house or over to the ice skating rink with you to dance, you doing the same and the two of you crying and wailing on the floor whenever times wouldn’t work out and plans fell through, your mother’s having to give in and drag you to each other’s houses so you would both stop crying.

when akira found out you were officially figure skating, she nearly drove into the side of a building speeding over to your house from being out of the country for so long competing.

“is it true?!” she burst through the doors, your mother rolling her eyes after being startled half to death over her bizarre behavior. “is my little niece gonna be a figure skater like me?!”

you gasped excitedly upon seeing her, getting up from your spot on the rug and running over to akira’s open arms, leaving your coloring book and crayons behind as she swung you around.

“she started when she was six you know that…” your mother grumbled, folding various kitchen towels.

“but you just told me now that she’s not independent!” akira countered, setting you down and holding you out at arms length, eyes wide and eager. “—but partner figure skating! like me!”

she shook you. “where is he?! your partner! is he here? is he your age? is he nice?”

you perked up and looked over to the kitchen. “oh mommy! satoru should come and meet—”

“his name is satoru? oh my goodness how cuteeee!” she cooed, pinching your cheeks. “is he handsome? do you like him? do you have a crush on him—”

your little cheeks blazed as your mother threw a kitchen towel at her.

“she’s eight aki! jesus christ.”

“love has no limits.” akira wiggled a finger, and you giggled.

your mother called satoru’s place soon after, his mother excitedly conversing over the other line about how the akira was finally back in town and how satoru was gonna lose his mind once he saw her— you knowing he was the biggest fan and sometimes told you facts during lessons that you didn’t even know about your own aunt.

and when they finally did arrive, satoru was stiff— frozen in place with tight arms at his sides by the living room as his alarmed big blue eyes looked at akira with a sickly pale face, you snickering behind him.

“hi satoru!” akira greeted, leaning down with her hands on her knees to look at him at eye level. “it’s nice to meet you! y/n tells me you like my skating?”

“u—uhuh.” he responded dumbly, and you slapped a hand over your mouth to stop yourself from laughing, knowing satoru would cry and whine about it later if he heard you.

“that’s great! i’m happy you skate too… and with my niece i should say!” she spoke kindly, ruffling his snowy colored hair up and standing upright, placing her hands on her hips and looking like a straight freaking superhero in satoru’s eyes. “you wanna compete in the olympics?”

“uh huh.”

a laughing breath hurled from your throat and your cheeks puffed up like a squirrel, clasped hands still over your mouth and face going red from how hard you were trying to keep it in.

“that’s what i like to hear.” she smiled, a shiny impressive one as satoru still stood there in a stuck daze.

“work hard okay? the both of you. so you can catch up to me someday, yeah?”

your hands slowly fell from your mouth then, eyes filled with admiration and determination as you both eagerly nodded, looking at each other hopefully.

“you think—” satoru stammered, looking at akira. “you think we can… win three gold medals like you?”

“oh absolutely!” she shrugged. “i don’t doubt it at all.”

you and satoru gushed, glittering little eyes as you stared up cutely at akira, her giving you both a silly grin.

“how long have they been doing partner work?” she asked your mother suddenly, watching the way you and satoru chattered then excitedly about the actual possibility of competing for the olympics someday.

“mmm, i wanna say for about a year and a half? maybe two?” she looked over at satoru’s mother, who nodded in agreement. “they’re with a couple’s figure skating coach right now.”

akira hummed and shifted her gaze back down between the two of you.

“i’m training them from now on.”

both mothers froze, eyes wide as they stared at her.

you and satoru hadn’t even realized what she said, still caught up in your little bubble of the olympics and metals and competitions until your mother caught your attention.

“did you hear?”

you shook your head. “hear what!”

“akira wants to coach you and satoru.”

his jaw dropped and he nearly passed out on the floor, you quickly grabbing his shoulders as he reeled over.

“are— are you sure?” your mother continued, looking at her sister now. “aren’t you busy? i thought you were only here for the weekend.”

she waved her off. “i need a break from skating for a little… at least until the next olympics.”

akira turned to you then and smiled warmly. “and i wanna coach my little niece and her new buddy! if that’s okay?”

“yesyesyesyes!—”

both you and satoru bounced up and down and cheered, arms up as you tackled and hung off of akira like a jungle gym, her laughing and smiling big at your enthusiasm.

akira was the most important figure in your life, right next to satoru as she became a mother figure to the both of you as well as your mentor.

and training with her was not easy— your age not an excuse at all whatsoever in her eyes to not learn proper figure skating moves and technique, saying it would only serve you right in the end if you started adapting your bodies to it now rather than later.

and like most things, akira was right. but even though practices were grueling and tough to the point where you had to drag satoru across the ice to get up, she always tried to make them fun in the end— cracking jokes and teaching you guys silly little tricks that you could do with each other on the ice that she figured out over her years of skating with her partner, taking you both out for ice cream frequently after and telling you of her travels competing around the world, the people she’d met, and the titles she’d won— all things that were you and satoru’s ultimate dream as you listened eagerly.

by the time you were twelve and satoru was thirteen, it was obvious you guys were meant to be olympic athletes together.

“you need to pick your leg a little further up on the spin, toru.”

he stuck his tongue out. “says who.”

“says me.” you poked his cheek. “and i’m pretty sure aki told you before she left too.”

“yes ma’am!” he nodded, gliding a bit further away from you on the ice before picking his momentum up and reaching you, him bending his knees and wrapping his arms around your torso as you both went into fast spins, one leg extended for the both of you as your arms gripped over his shoulders— practicing the routine akira had given you for your upcoming competition.

“yeah like that!” you smiled, spins gradually slowing down and satoru coming back up from his bend until you both stood still on the ice. “good job toru!”

he grinned and ruffled your hair. “thanks!”

“mhm!” you responded, turning and skating away to the edge of the rink to hide the blush that was rising in your cheeks.

“what?!” he whined. “where are you going? do i stink?”

“no!” you laughed, shaking your head. “just the usual sweat and B.O.”

“aw no!” he quickly skated to the edge of the rink and out before flying for his duffel bag. “i hate being a man i hate puberty this is ridiculous—”

“i’m kidding im kidding!” you called from across the ice, cackling when he stopped and whipped his head over, glaring at you. “you’re fine toru— not stinky.”

“well you’re stinky for putting me in distress how about that?” he huffed, an eventual smile playing at his lips as he put down his duffel bag and went inside the rink again.

akira was currently on her way to compete at the olympics for her fourth gold medal in partner figure skating, you and satoru having no doubt in your minds that she was going to absolutely clear everyone else there and get it, as she’s never gotten silver or bronze or anything lower than that.

“when do we fly to see aki again?” satoru called from across the ice, gliding to and fro in figure eights. “don’t say tomorrow morning because i haven’t started packing yet heh… oops.”

you giggled. “it is tomorrow morning, dummy.”

“no!” he stopped and shoved his hands in his hair. “i haven’t even started planning my outfits! oh i was gonna take so many pictures what am i supposed to do now—”

you laughed loudly and skated back over to him, hands wrung behind your back as you looked at him cheekily. “you’re silly toru. outfits for what? literally just show up.”

“it’s not everyday we leave the country y/n!” he whined. “i wanted to sport my best and look cool, dang it.”

you playfully rolled your eyes and lifted your hand, patting his head.

“i’ll show up in pajamas and you show up in yours, and we’ll call it a day. hm?”

he grinned.

“matching? or seperate? and what color? plaid?”

“toru!”

he laughed and skated past you, nudging your shoulder with his in the process. “i’m just messing with youuu, matching obviously!”

satoru came back around, reached up and straightened the ribbons in your hair, little white bows sitting pretty as a blush rose to his cheeks when he was done.

“wanna run it three more times and call it?” he suggested. “i wanna make sure i get what you told me down before we go.”

you smiled and quickly nodded, taking satoru’s extended hand and skating together to first position.

watching akira win gold in person for the first time in your life was an experience you’ll never forget.

and she did it fucking beautifully.

with every precise move, with every articulate angle you and satoru screamed and yelled like crazy people in front of the rink while waving around your countries tiny flags, cheering with fat tears rolling down your faces when she successfully landed each time, holding each other so tight with mushed up cheeks throughout her routine with her partner and still in anxiousness when the time came for revealing final scores.

no one could skate like her. absolutely no one as she speedily glided across the ice and spun, prepped herself for the hardest most impressive turns you had ever seen in your life, and performed a quadruple axel rotation in the air all on her own— things that have always earned her the highest scores for three successive olympic years.

and four now— because when akira and her partner stepped up on that podium, you and satoru had to basically be yanked back by your mothers with the way you both tried to jump over the edge of the rink to her, her standing there like a beacon of light on the first place podium, a gold medal hung rightfully around her neck with flowers in her arms as she smiled so so big and happily, her eyes not once leaving you and satoru.

eventually when the ceremony was over, amongst all of the buzz and the crowd roaring and picture taking— akira quickly skated over to the two of you and leaned on the edge of the rink.

“akiiii!” you both wailed and flung your arms around her neck, her giggling and hugging you both back as best as she possibly could despite the mass amount of bouquets in her hands.

“did i do okay?!” she yelled over the noise.

you both pulled back and looked at her like she was insane.

“did you do okay?!” you gawked.

“aki— you won a fucking gold medal!” satoru yelled.

“HAH!” she laughed loudly. “don’t say that word in front of your mommy satoru she’ll chop my head off and kill me!”

you both giggled uncontrollably.

akira leaned her head in then and you and satoru followed through, all three foreheads resting against each others.

“listen to me for a second.“ she started. “you guys are birds of a feather, okay? you need to stick together and fly together as one.”

she let you both go and dropped the bouquets she was holding on the icy floor before placing a hand on yours and satoru’s outer cheeks, bringing you in. “don’t fight. don’t separate. don’t leave each other. you need to keep each other and what you have safe.”

you both quickly nodded, tears funnily gathering at the corners of your eyes at what she was saying, and she smiled.

“yes partner figure skating is about chemistry and technicality, but it’s about love… and sometimes just that. without genuine love, nothing will click.” she let your cheeks go and grabbed her shiny gold medal, holding it up. “this will be yours. i promise you.”

akira put down her medal, wiping both yours and satoru’s wet cheeks. “birds of a feather. stick together. keep each other safe. do you understand?”

the two of you sniffled and nodded.

“and i need to stop cussing in front of you guys during practices, don’t i?!” she smiled warmly, and you and satoru shook your heads frantically.

“no keep doing it!—”

“it’s funny please!—”

ever since akira told you that, it became you and satoru’s thing.

before and after every competition, with every hello and every goodbye at the beginning and end of the day, throughout the hours randomly whenever you both felt like it, you’d lock pinkies and reiterate ‘birds of a feather’ before kissing your thumbs and locking your promise in place— another one of the many other ways you’d show that you loved each other.

but whether it was platonically or romantically remained unknown until you both hit high school.

perhaps it had always been romantically… that you weren’t exactly sure of. but the way you and satoru had been treating each other since you were literally the age of six, made the technicalities of what it was blurry and a little confusing— for you couldn’t even remember when it was that you started loving satoru.

maybe it was that very first day when he skated over to you, wobbly and clumsy with a cheesy smile.

and as if it wasn’t already confusing enough of what the two of you were, the way you acted made it ten times worse.

but you’d been that way since forever— embracing each other a little longer than you should, innocently kissing each others cheeks and heads and hands, calling each other pet names and being each other’s dates to every single school dance—

but it was all harmless. not a single bad thought behind it and doing it like a reflex.

it was like you both were line balancing across the thinnest tight rope known to mankind— flimsy and unsteady, always on the verge of toppling over and falling completely into the darkening depths of the truth of what you were, but catching each other just before you did to regain balance back on the rope.

neither of you said it, but if you and satoru ever dared to be anything more than friends, and if something were to happen where you had to break up— you’d lose your first love, your best friend, and your entire career all in one.

the consequences were too drastic— you both knew that.

and you didn’t want to break your promise… so you acted blind to it.

by the time you were seventeen and satoru was eighteen, akira started training you for the international skating union competition to earn a spot for the olympics.

well— she actually started when you were about fourteen, but as the years progressed, her coaching and critiques got increasingly more difficult and nitpicky as well as the moves she taught you, wanting you both to build endurance to it and perfect it so that by the time you reached the age requirement for the olympics— it would be easier to train for it and be formidable competitors against the other pairs.

you and satoru wanted to be olympians more than anything else in your lives, and akira knew just how important this was for the both of you— making it her absolute mission to help accomplish solely that as she saw herself through the two of you.

your dreams were just like hers, and she respected and nurtured the fact with everything that she had.

“up! aaand up! and take her— throw— land oh shit—”

just as you had landed a semi complex throw jump, you lost balance and landed right on your ass, sliding across the ice on your side.

it was rare when you fell, and you absolutely despised when you did.

“fuck!” satoru quickly skated over to you and knelt down. “are you okay?!”

“why can’t i land that man?” you whined, covering your eyes.

akira smoothly traveled over to you both.

“it’s okay! we just learned it today sweets like— right now… you’ll have it down in the next five minutes.” satoru smiled softly, carefully helping you up on your skates and checking you over.

“don’t overly punish yourself, y/n.” akira reached and pinched your cheek. “i love that you’ve always been so serious about your technique, but you have to leave room for error my love or else you’ll choke yourself out.”

satoru ran a soothing hand along your back and you smiled cutely up at him, his heart jittering so much from it that he had to quickly retract his arm.

you nodded, always taking satoru’s and akira’s words seriously like inscriptions to a stone wall. “okay!”

he grinned and kissed the side of your head before taking your hand and leading you to first position like always.

akira smirked.

“are you guys together yet!” she blurted from across the ice and you both choked as she skated over.

“are we— are we—” you stammered.

“what?” she breathed out, placing her hands on her hips. “are you at least in love?”

satoru’s blue eyes bulged open with a furious pink tint to both of your cheeks.

“aki!” you whined, embarrassed. “stop it—”

“have you guys at least gone on one date?”

satoru pouted. “no.”

“i’m—” you played with your fingers. “i’m going on one today—”

“you’re what?!” he whipped his head in your direction, eyebrows furrowed.

“yeah…” you looked at him. “i’ve never gone on one and some guy at school asked me so i— i just thought—”

you thought it’d do you some good, since the one you wanted you couldn’t really have.

“are you actually..?” satoru trailed off, an unfamiliar strike of something in his chest making him a little upset.

but he knew damn well what it was.

“but—” akira stared at you wide eyed, pointing at satoru. “but it’s— it’s supposed to be—”

“aki!” satoru quickly grabbed her arm and lowered it, eyes snapping to you next. “is it that one guy you told me about? from your english class?”

“uh huh.” you fidgeted. “he asked me again and i felt bad saying no so i— said yes…”

satoru swallowed, nodding.

“oh you big dummies!” akira groaned. “we’ll talk about this later or else i’m gonna go into fucking cardiac arrest from frustration—”

she skated off to the edge of the rink and out, leaning on it from the outside with her head dramatically hung.

you both got into starting position, but you faltered when you noticed satoru was oddly quiet and stiff.

“…toru?”

he blinked down at you. “huh?”

“you okay?”

“oh!— yeah.” he smiled weakly. “i’m fine baby.”

“you sure—”

“what time is your date?”

you gnawed at the inside of your cheek. “it’s a bit after this... i told him to just give me time to shower and get ready.”

“if he can’t accept you stinky then he’s not for you.” he shook his head in distaste. “he’s already failing in my eyes sweets absolutely flunking. maybe you should cancel it? yeah i say cancel it—”

you laughed, heart in your throat as your eyes gleamed up at him. “i can barely accept you stinky so i wouldn’t blame him—”

“hey!” he placed an exaggerated hand on his chest. “it’s not my fault i literally put my heart and soul out on the ice just for you to skate all over me—”

you gasped offendedly. “i don’t skate all over you—”

“do too!”

“do not!”

“do to—”

“you guys!” akira called. “you know i love it when you guys love on each other it makes me so happy and envision your wedding but right now we have to grind!”

you both froze up and snapped your heads in her direction with red faces, whining.

“aakkiii!—”

you practiced what you had of the routine a couple of more times, a few new moves and jumps added after each run until akira called it a day upon noticing you and satoru were practically sweating your asses off and messing up several times out of exhaustion.

“good job today you guys!” she smiled, patting you both on your shoulders. “i feel like the next time we meet we’ll have the choreography down... from there we just need to perfect it and you should be good for the next competish, okay?”

you both nodded and thanked her, sweet smiles on your faces as she reached up and pinched a side of both your cheeks.

“my little babies.” she cooed. “oh how you’ve grown! you guys were so little when we started now satoru is huge man jesus christ—”

she lifted her hand and reached up to measure satoru’s height from his forehead, her passing it over the top of her head and eyes widening at the huge gap.

he laughed and puffed up his chest. “i got big and strong too aki see?” he flexed an arm. “see? eh?”

“that you did!” she laughed brightly, ruffling up his hair. “the strongest.”

you giggled and skated over to the edge of the rink to pack up, internally panicking a little that you guys went overtime and it was almost time for your date.

“satoru..” akira whispered, looking over her shoulder to make sure you weren’t listening. “what’s going on? you still haven’t asked her out? i thought you said you were gonna do it.”

“no..” he mumbled. “but we can’t. and she knows that too so— so what am i supposed to do—”

she gawked. “do you not see what’s happening?! she’s gonna go on a date with someone else! off with this stupid fear you guys have already seriously.”

“we caan’tt aki.” he pushed sadly. “it’s too risky.”

“but it’s not though!” she threw her arms out. “you guys have known each other since practically birth i feel like if it wasn’t meant to be you would’ve separated by now!”

satoru gnawed at his bottom lip in thought, eyes trained to the way your bows moved in your hair as you swung your duffel bag over yourself, smiling softly once he realized you had kindly packed his things for him too as you sat on the bench and waited for him to take you home.

akira sighed.

“it’s not my place to tell you guys what to do… but love has no limits. you know that.”

he nodded, smiling weakly at her as they skated out of the rink and prepared to lock up, akira hugging you both goodbye with a family kiss to your cheeks and you separating ways with her for the day, but not before her reminding you guys of practice tomorrow and that she loved you over her shoulder.

satoru was dreading you going on your date as he drove— the both of you normally talking about random things like always but his mind unable to stray from the fact that you were actually giving some random dingbat a chance.

it was rare when either of you would talk to or date other people, never even as your heads have always been so focused on figure skating and competitions… but also on each other— taking care and loving one another that you never needed anybody else since you were everything to satoru and satoru to you, and you were both confident that absolutely no one could ever step up to that level.

so why were you going on a date?

but he shouldn’t be like this. he knew that. there was a silent agreement between the two of you to never fall off that thin tight rope and keep each other balanced. and you were allowed to see and date whoever you wanted— something that he probably should do as well to try and get over the fact that you’d never really be his.

satoru pulled up to your driveway and shifted his gear into park.

“thank you toru!” you smiled sweetly, leaning over and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“you’re welcome.” he murmured. “can i— can i come in with you? and hang while you get ready?”

you quirked a brow. “i thought that’s what we were already doing silly.”

“okay well invite me woman!” you both got out of the car and walked up the steps to your front door. “you can’t just assume. what if i was busy? what if i also had a date? hm?”

you gave him a sly grin as you twisted in your keys to unlock the door. “do you?”

“… no.”

you giggled and pushed open the door, the both of you immediately clasping your hands over your mouths to keep your laughs in at the sight of your mother sprawled out on the couch dead asleep with drool coming out of her mouth, the tv softly playing in the background as you quietly shut the door, went up the stairs and into your room.

satoru sat on your desk chair lazily while you quickly hopped in the shower to get ready for your stupid date, staring at the framed photographs on your nightstand that all consisted of you and him over the years, smiling softly at his favorite— a picture of the two of you when you were babies, cheek to cheek with huge smiles at the park as you held ice cream cones in each of your hands, satoru more than sure akira was the one who took that picture.

the sound of your door clicking shut pulled him from his thoughts as you walked in, drying your pretty hair with your little fuzzy towel and throwing it in the hamper once you were done.

“oh! i was gonna show you! i got these ribbons the other day—” you got down on your knees and looked under your bed, sticking a hand in and pulling out a white box as you picked it up and shuffled with your knees closer to satoru— sitting back on your ankles.

“—i was running out of ribbon so i got these!” you held up the box and satoru took it, examining the various pastel colors with warm eyes. “some of them are polka dotted and i thought that was cute.”

“it is sweets!” he agreed.

satoru loved the ribbons in your hair, and you’d always wear them without fail because you knew just how much he did.

“i wanna start wearing bows too.” he wiggled his eyebrows, and you giggled.

“are you saying you wanna steal my brand toru?” you picked up a blue roll of ribbon from the box, a color that matched satoru’s eyes. “thought you were an honest man?”

he gasped. “i am an honest man! is it not obvious enough when i help you with your math homework? when i sacrifice my dignity and text you answers during your tests?”

you giggled and unrolled a strand of ribbon. “not when you eat all of my sweets that you actively dig through my room for—”

“but they’re always the strawberry gummy puffs!” he whined. “they make me a slut.”

you playfully rolled your eyes and stood, grabbing your little scissors and snipping off a piece of blue ribbon from the roll, stepping in front of satoru and leaning.

“watcha doing?” he asked, placing his hands on your waist.

“i’m putting a little bow in your hair before i leave!”

he hummed. “don’t think it’ll look as good on me as they do on you.”

you blushed, taking little pieces of white hair from the top of his head and wrapping the ribbon around, tying it the same way you’ve been doing for yourself since you were the age of nine.

you took a step back once you were finished and laughed. “you look cute toru!”

he raised a silly brow. “do i still look big and strong?”

“big and strong and pretty—”

“please don’t go.”

you stilled.

“what?”

satoru looked down, his bangs hiding his gorgeous eyes as he did.

“on your date.” he mumbled. “don’t go.”

you placed your hands softly on his shoulders, and his hold tightened a little around your waist.

“why?”

“because like i said if he doesn’t accept you stinky then he can’t have you when you smell like vanilla—”

“toru...” you spoke sternly, softly. “why not?”

you didn’t know why you were pushing it so much… maybe you were trying to see if you could get it out of him— if he had the will to actually say it unlike you…

and you hoped to god he would say it.

he slowly lifted his head and propped his chin up on your tummy, a sour expression on his face as he puckered his lips to the side like a little fish.

“dunno…” he muttered, his gaze flickering to yours and a sense of guilt swarming his chest at the uneasy look you had, his face relaxing as he sighed.

“sorry.” he smiled sheepishly, pulling back and letting go of your waist. “i’m kidding you have every right to—”

“m’not going.” you mumbled as you slid your hands away, looking down and playing with your fingers.

“huh?” he furrowed his brows. “no baby go you should go—”

“i don’t want to.”

you never did in the first place. you had foolishly thought that letting someone else in like this would be good for you and help you establish some sort of… barrier with satoru so you weren’t always suffering so fucking much.

but you were absolutely stupid for that.

all you’ve ever wanted was satoru, and doing something to pull you away from the type of relationship you had with him (whether platonic or romantic you had no freaking clue), was not only hurting you, but hurting him.

you didn’t need anyone else, truly. all you needed was satoru and his silly smile and dramatic antics— to spend time with just him and skate and eat dinner together after practices every night while watching horror movies, laughing so much over his screams that your stomach hurt while he whined about how you were making fun of him.

that’s all you needed… just satoru.

regardless if there was something more in question.

“you don’t want to?” he repeated softly. “why?”

“you know why, toru…”

you had said it so softly he barely caught it, but he did, his breath hitching in his throat.

that was the closest you two had ever gotten to acknowledging it.

you both were silent for a moment, the soft murmur of your tv downstairs filling the void as you looked at each other, tense and waiting for either of you to say something… anything.

but it was like the gravity of the foreseeable consequences settled onto your shoulders, and the pair of you could only sadly smile.

satoru stuck his pinky finger out towards you then.

“birds of a feather?” he murmured.

you breathed out a little through your nose and looped your pinky with his, nodding.

“birds of a feather.”

he kissed his thumb and you did the same before locking the promise.

for the rest of the night, you and satoru watched a bunch of shitty unknown movies to try and see who would break and laugh first— you feeling bad that you had to cancel so last minute on that guy from your english class, but not regretting it at all as you watched satoru scarf down two slices of pizza in one sitting and nearly throw up, you almost falling off the bed from laughing so much and him having to catch you midway down and pull you back up, saying that he was your hero and therefore you should give him your last stash of strawberry gummy puffs as a reward.

it was nearly two am when you and satoru finally settled down, both sprawled over each other on the bed as you stared up at the ceiling and talked about literally anything that came to your minds— stubbornly fighting off sleep for whatever unknown reason in the dark.

“you know this is aki’s last olympics right?” you spoke softly, your arm propped up as you watched the way satoru played with your fingers.

“yeah..” he replied. “i don’t really know how to feel about that.”

“me neither.” you shook your head. “but she said it came at a perfect time because she’d been wanting to retire for a while.”

and now it was yours and satoru’s turn to try and fill the legacy she had built.

he hummed, delicately interlacing your fingers together as the outline of it through the darkness made you blush and smile, the nooks between his digits blessedly made entirely just for you as your fingers slotted perfectly in each spot every time.

and satoru silently vowed for the millionth time in his life that he would always be your hero and keep you safe, a promise that was already tied into your birds of a feather contract, but needing to repeat it to himself anyways while he listened to the sound of your voice talk about your excitement for the upcoming olympics.

and my god were you excited, the both of you— looking forward to seeing akira gracefully take home her fifth fucking gold medal like she always did with no repercussions, seeing her fans and the mass amounts of support she got every year with bouquets and teddy bears and picture taking, but also looking forward to spending even more time with her— for not just practices… but for forever, even more than you already did now as you two were greedy and just loved akira.

you were looking forward to forever, the three of you.

until akira’s accident.

“oh my god i’m gonna throw up—”

satoru hurled over just as you both stepped onto the bleachers at the olympic arena, you laughing and placing supporting hands on his shoulders as you followed your mother and satoru’s to your designated place by the front.

“toru i told you you’d make yourself sick if you didn’t leave that damn dessert table alone.”

“there were cinnamon rolls baby. cinnamon rolls how on earth could i possibly just walk by a platter of cinnamon rolls—”

“okay!” you giggled, carefully leading him to sit down and ruffling his hair once you settled. “i get it! you love cinnamon rolls.”

“not as much as i love you—”

“yuck!” you stuck your tongue out and pushed him away by his cheek, him laughing loudly as he shooed your arm away and grinned.

“toru— this is the last time we’re gonna be sitting here in the bleachers watching aki.” you mentioned. “isn’t that fucking nuts?”

“now i’m gonna cry and throw up.”

“no!” you giggled and nudged his shoulder. “then you’ll make me cry.”

he smiled and leaned over to plant a quick kiss to your cheek, reaching up and fixing the bows in your hair before looking straight ahead, his sparkling blue eyes staring at the rink.

the crowd roared suddenly and a mix of big and tiny flags of several individual countries waved in the air as you and satoru jumped and screamed when akira glided out with her skates and glittery dress, a huge dazzling smile on her face as she waved at the crowd, her eyes scanning around quickly before they finally landed on you and satoru.

as if she wasn’t already smiling enough, it grew bigger at the sight of you both practically over the fucking rink calling her name, her blowing you both a kiss and connecting her hands together to form a little bird, fluttering it up funnily and making you laugh before spinning around and going to starting position with her partner.

“oh she’s gonna wipe again.” satoru breathed out. “wipe absolute buttcheeks.”

you cackled as you both watched her routine— incredibly fast paced and technical, filled with spins and throw jumps and lifts as she made it known that it was her last year and wanted to leave with a mark, you and satoru absolutely mesmerized by the choreography as a dramatic symphony of a classical piece drummed through your ears by the speakers.

each move was executed beautifully, you and satoru at the edge of your damn seats as akira’s partner lifted her by the arms to settle over his shoulders into a split formation— halfway through the routine already.

“maybe we could do a move like that for when we compete!” you suggested over the music. “i feel like technically it could—”

a hand flew over your mouth as you watched akira topple and slam to the ground upon coming down from her split lift, the spinning blade of her partner slicing through her abdomen as her head nastily collided with the ice— the crowd screaming in terror.

“oh my god!—” your chest moved frantically and you and satoru looked at each other, horrified faces as you watched the backside of her limp body on the ground surrounded by paramedics, her partner hovering over her in complete and absolute distress.

and there was so much blood.

blood that pooled all around her figure and stained her shimmering dress, blood that wouldn’t stop fucking spreading as a stretcher finally made it out on the ice.

“baby.” satoru’s voice shook. “why isn’t aki moving.”

“i— i don’t know—”

“aki!”

you both snapped out of your shocked daze and screamed over the rink and jumped, shoes slipping against the ice as the two of you tried to reach her through your panicked tears and calls, security speeding through and pulling you both back as you watched the paramedics lift her frail body onto the stretcher and away from the rink.

“that’s—” you sucked in a sharp sob. “that’s my aunt please let us go—”

“you need to stay out of the rink—”

“fuck you!”

satoru shoved security away and grabbed your arm, wishing you had your skates on as you both practically crawled over to where akira was being carried out, not giving a single shit about the way your mothers yelling demanded you back as security had to literally pull you and satoru by the ankles, further and further away from the scene and away from akira until the only thing left was her pool of sickly crimson blood in front of you, you and satoru wailing.

akira died at the hospital later that night.

the collision of her head against the ice brought such blunt force trauma that it caused irreversible brain damage, and with the amount of blood that she was already losing from the laceration of the blade— those elements combined didn’t give her a single fighting chance at survival, her fate sealed from the moment her body hit the ground.

it was completely unexpected… an incident like that had never happened in not just olympic partner figure skating, but figure skating competitions as a whole— the severity of the situation so grave that the complex move akira and her partner performed that led to her death was banned from the olympics moving forward.

and you and satoru were fucking ruined.

ruined and crying and clutching over her arms and hands at her hospital bedside, it scaringly cold and stiff and not her usual warmth at all as you couldn’t accept that this was your reality, that akira had left you both all alone after not only her initial familial love that you’d gotten since birth, but after nearly a decade of giggles and skating, her picking you both up from school and cussing up a storm because it made you and satoru laugh as kids, buying you ice cream and taking you out for beach days because she said the sun was good for your skin, harassing you and taking a million pictures of the two of you as she uttered over and over again that love had no limits— your dream of forever with her cruelly severed over the sport you all loved most.

yours and satoru’s mentor, friend, your fucking mother figure— was gone.

your aunt was gone. your own blood.

the entirety of that bullshit situation sort of settled into your minds by the time her funeral came— painfully holding back tears as your family members gave their speeches and final wishes before the lowering of her casket, you and satoru not saying a single word throughout the entire thing until it was just you and him standing in front of her grave site— your mothers waiting for you in their cars.

you both chose not to give speeches. you couldn’t.

“toru.” you sniffled, drowning in your tears as satoru strained to keep his back, lips pulled into a thin line.

“yes pretty.”

“this is so fucked.”

satoru breathed out a weak laugh and let a couple of tears slip down his cheeks, wiping them with the sleeve of his black suit as he grabbed your hand and interlaced your fingers, squeezing it.

“diabolically fucked.” he responded.

there really wasn’t much you could say at that moment in time, the two of you staring at the carvings on her tombstone as the wind softly blew over the petals of her flowers and letters, the day cloudy and cold and just fucked as you silently choked back sobs and whimpers, satoru lamely trying his best to stay strong for you— be your hero as he pulled you into his chest and squeezed you with everything that he had, nose buried in your hair as his tears fell and dampened a few strands.

“birds of a feather, toru.” you spoke softly, both of your frames shaking as the saying itself came from none other than akira.

he firmly nodded, lifting his head and kissing your cheek twice hard before looking at you.

“birds of a feather sweets.” his red teary eyes made your heart ache. “you can’t leave me too, okay?”

you scoffed and wiped your eyes, a sad smile on your face. “i could never… you know that.”

it didn’t really get easier from there, as everything in your lives reminded you of akira.

and though your mother was grieving the loss of her sister, she wanted to be left alone, and the only person that really understood the level of mourning you were on was satoru— him always there in the blink of an eye when you would call him in the middle of the night crying your eyes out while he held you, or when broken sobs wrecked through satoru’s trembling body as he cried into your chest while you held him and vice versa, endless amounts of ‘i miss her’s’ and ‘bring her back’s’ as you took turns depending on the day rolling on the floor unable to physically breathe over the loss as you tried to anchor each other back to normalcy, wondering how the world could be so cruel and continue spinning when you’d just lost half of your hearts.

but it did. it continued to spin and turn and carry on as you and satoru day by day tried to patch over what happened, be there for each other and heal each other as you graduated high school and caught up with satoru in college, still together and still in your stupid limbo of ‘is there something more’ except worse, and still inseparable three years later after akira’s passing.

it didn’t hurt any less, but the days definitely got easier… some harder than others as the time you spent with her became cherished distant memories, feeling eternally grateful for the way she raised and took care of you, for the work she had done, and for the legacy she had built for figure skating olympians around the world.

and because akira was so good and taught you both just as so, satoru and you had a little name of your own as you’ve been sweeping competitions since the age of thirteen, ninety eight percent unbeatable and competitive as other pairs always knew who you were the minute you stepped onto the ice, eager and curious to see if you would make it into the olympics when the time came just like your mentor had done.

some deemed it cheating— unfair due to the fact that you had a four-time gold medalist olympian training you since childhood, but that assumption quickly diminished after her passing when you both continued to wipe competitions and take trophies home purely based on your talent.

and you both agreed to continue your careers without a coach, a decision that didn’t even need to be thought twice over— and you were twenty and satoru twenty one when the time drew near to try for the olympics.

finally.

“my legs are gonna fall off and my balls are gonna droop to the icy floor if you don’t give me a kiss right now.”

“toru!” you giggled loudly, pushing his face away as he puckered up his lips and made obnoxious kissy noises, pulling you in by the waist. “toru focus we’re on a time crunch—”

“time crunch where?” he whined, stomping his blade down on the ice. “we’ve been at it for so long already i’m cold i’m thirsty and i think we should go to that cute christmas festival patch thing you told me aboouuttt!”

“right now?” you asked. “i don’t know toru… i had a set goal for us tonight and if we don’t get it—”

“oh you damn perfectionist.” he scowled, letting you go and quickly skating to starting position. “fine.”

you gave him a knowing smile and skated over to his dramatic sulking figure, kissing his cheek softly and wringing your arms around his neck, pulling him in.

“let’s run it three more times and then we can go to the festival, okay?”

he jumped up like a little kid, eyes hyper and wild. “really? honestly? truly?”

you nodded, gleaming up at him.

“is this a prank?”

“jesus toru you’re making me think i’m keeping you hostage here with how excited you are—”

“yiiippeeeee!—” he grabbed your upper thighs and lifted you before spinning on the ice, the both of you laughing as he roughly turned until he gradually came to a stop, big goofy smiles on your faces as he did so.

satoru loosened his hold as you slowly slid down against his body, faces close and lovesick as his half lidded eyes looked at you, lips stinging to plant directly over yours after so many years of hopeless pining and avoidance, still refusing to acknowledge the situation, but it glaringly obvious at this point.

“what?” you whispered, your eyes fixed on his lips as your blades touched the ice again.

he softly shook his head, blue eyes greedily drinking in your pretty face as he retracted a hand from your waist and brushed his palm over your hair adoringly, hand raising to cup your cheek gently.

was he about to…?

you swallowed, hands gripping his black t-shirt as you waited… anxious, hoping that he would do what you thought he was about to do.

but satoru squeezed his eyes shut in a grimace and quickly kissed the corner of your mouth before turning his back to you and skating to starting position— leaving you incredibly dumbfounded and disappointed.

satoru’s skin felt like it was on fucking fire as he looked at your stunning doe eyes blinking at him from across the rink, heart pulsing uncontrollably as you slowly skated to him and got into position, neither of you uttering a word about it as you ran the choreography three more times like you had agreed on.

you and satoru have had plenty of moments like that… but lately?

it’s been borderline dangerous with how close you’ve gotten to breaking your unspoken rule.

by the end of practice you and satoru excitedly packed up for the christmas festival, more or less stumbling out of the doors of the rink and locking up before throwing your things in satoru’s car and speeding off to the main plaza, cheesy dorky smiles on your faces as you babbled on about all of the things you were gonna do once you got there.

“the s’mores stand! the s’mores stand!” satoru whipped his head comically back and forth between you and the snowy road. “we have to go there and get five nothing less and maybe more—”

“wait! i wanna get some of that hot chocolate we got last year!” you quickly reached and gripped his shoulder. “the one with the chocolate bits in it! and the whipped cream! and the drizzle—”

“oh fuck yeah how could i forget?” satoru made a turn, the shining glimmering lights of the festival and christmas trees coming into view and riling you both up in pure exhilaration. “i gulped down like four cups of those and then threw up in a bush.”

you laughed loudly and shook your head. “i forgot about thaaaattt! toru you always shove shit in your mouth and throw up we have got to work on that—”

“no we don’t!” he cheesed, reaching over and patting over your hair— the smooth ribbon of your thin bows sliding underneath his palm. “i love sweets even if they hurt me. what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. where there is no struggle there is no strength—”

“the only strength i see is a man hunched over puking his guts out.”

“hey!” he pouted, pulling into the lot before parking and turning off the ignition, the both of you hopping out of the car and locking it as you walked towards the main entrance. “and i’ll do it again so what.”

you giggled and interlocked your fingers with satoru’s. “silly silly.”

the festival was lively— huge decorated christmas trees everywhere you went as twinkling fairy lights adorned every corner and direction of the lots premises, several open stands that continuously wafted chocolate and cinnamon and vanilla throughout the entire night that had satoru practically floating through the air following the scent, kids giggling and running around as the soft familiar tunes of christmas music hummed in the background.

“what do you want for christmas, sweets?” satoru asked while chowing down a giant s’more.

“a kiss!” you quipped, giving him a cute silly look as you blew a bit of air over your steaming hot chocolate.

he stopped chewing.

“really?” satoru spoke with his mouthful. “i can literally give that to you right now c’mere—”

“no toru!” your cheeks buzzed a vibrant pink, completely flustered. “you’re supposed to say a big fat no!”

“now why the fuck would i do that...” he grumbled, shoulders slumping from disappointment as he took another big bite of his dessert.

you giggled, looking at him apologetically before standing on your tippy toes and licking a bit of melted chocolate from the corner of his mouth.

and he blinked at you, dumb and still as his cheeks copied the same exact shade as yours.

my god.

you were about to turn him into a freak.

“okay now you have to kiss me.”

“why?!” you laughed. “you had chocolate on your face! i was helping you out.”

“yeah right you little minx.” he scarfed down the last bit of his s’more and threw his little paper tray in the trash can behind him, putting his hands together and shaking off excess crumbs. “that’s actually the most torturous thing you have ever done to me.”

“dramatic!” you exclaimed, laughs escaping you and increasing as you watched satoru’s flustered face pout and glare at you.

you breathed in deeply and settled down, standing up straight as you took a tiny sip of your hot chocolate and smiled. “now i feel bad.”

“you should.”

“can you forgive me?”

“not unless you kiss me.”

“toru!”

“what?!” he pushed. “baby it’s only fair! really! just once and that’s it. a harmless peck nothing more we aren’t doing anything crazier.”

you gnawed at your bottom lip in thought.

technically he was right… it was just one little peck, entirely harmless and cute and wouldn’t have you both falling off of that thin tight rope you guys were still balancing off of.

this would only shake it a little… but then you’d be fine! right?

you were too far gone in the considerations of his proposal as you looked at his absolutely breathtaking blue eyes and face, somehow looking even more angelic as his pinky cold cheeks and nose and scarf covered neck did nothing but make you fall deeper in love with him than you already were.

how someone could look as good as satoru was beyond you.

“just—” you peered up at him. “just one peck okay?”

his eyes widened.

holy shit.

“yes!” he breathed out. “yes yes just one.”

“toru.” you spoke sternly. “i’m serious.”

he frantically nodded, arms already snaking around your waist and bringing you in.

you both couldn’t believe it.

you were about to have your very first kiss.

the two of you leaned in then— softly, timidly, afraid as satoru’s chocolate breath fanned against your nostrils and filled your lungs, lips coming closer and closer until they met in a simple, solid, tiny harmless peck.

satoru felt like his veins were about to pop and explode at the feeling of your delicate soft lips finally on his, the feeling actually fucking unreal as his fingertips went numb and his body tingled all over.

but it quickly became clear that it was not just one harmless peck.

because when it was supposed to be the time for you both to pull away, you and satoru only opened your mouths and kissed deeper— eyelids blissfully closed as your lips smacked so slowly and tenderly, the two of you actively relishing in the moment and just drinking each other’s mouths in as they moved and shifted, deep breaths through your noses as you daze-fully made out with the faint fuzzy sound of jingle bells and christmas music growing increasingly distant.

you tasted so sweet. just like he’d imagined.

but the moment came to and end when you both snapped your eyelids open in realization and released lips, pupils frantic and wide as you searched each other’s eyes for any sign of anger since you both had slipped up and did way more than just a peck.

but there was nothing. obviously there was nothing like that as your shoulders relaxed simultaneously and bashful smiles crossed your faces.

“you taste like chocolate.” he grinned.

you bit your bottom lip in a smile. “so do you.”

“twins.”

“uh huh.”

“i love you.”

you stilled.

you’ve told each other that thousands of times for years, since childhood.

you’ve always said you loved each other and have both known it was laced with those unspoken feelings you had, and you accepted that for as long as you could remember.

but somehow… in someway… it just felt different this time around. profound. more serious.

“i love you.” you responded.

satoru smiled softly and leaned his forehead against yours, basking in each others authentic infatuation for a moment before pulling away.

“can i get another s’more—”

“no!”

satoru ended up getting his second s’more, and you surprisingly ended up partaking in satoru activities and downed three fucking cups of that hot chocolate you loved so much, your tummy full and about to literally burst, but not really giving a shit as you and him were having so much freaking fun— buying little christmas trinkets from the santa shop and building tiny snowmen in the snowy play area filled with a bunch of kids (satoru literally making a tiny dick for one of the snowman and you immediately destroying it and wacking him), even skating in the rink but purely just for enjoyment and not a single thought of what you do professionally crossing your minds.

you stayed there until it was nearly closing time, money absolutely spent from all the things you bought, but your souls happy and warm as you happily walked to the car so satoru could take you home.

on the drive there, you showcased all of the trinkets you both had bought, a particular one catching your eye that you remembered you hadn’t shown satoru yet.

“oh! i got this one—” you dug your hand in the white plastic bag and pulled out a little snow angel, beautiful and glossy as the angels face blushed and smiled. “at the santa shop!”

“it’s cute baby!” he smiled. “for you?”

you shook your head. “i got it for aki. for the next time we visit her.”

his heart softened, nodding.

you and satoru tried your best to visit her grave as often as you possibly could, sometimes nearing four times a week to pay your respects and chat with her for a little while, filling her in a bit on your lives to bring back the feeling of what it was like to just talk to her in any way you could, like you had the fortune of doing once before.

“it kinda looks like her.. doesn’t it?” he questioned, pointing to the figure.

“it does right!” you expressed. “that’s why i got it… it reminded me of her.”

“she’ll love it.” he grinned, gently running the pad of his finger against your cold cheek before turning his attention back to the road.

you and satoru didn’t mention the kiss again as you were funnily still in shock over it, but the butterflies in your stomachs and the sole memory of it did more than enough as you climbed into bed with an already snoring satoru, him sleeping over for the night (when was he not) as you nudged your way under his arm and cuddled yourself in his chest, his slumbered state pulling you in like muscle memory.

you both only had two more practices left before the international skating union competition. once there, you and satoru had to land a spot in the top three chosen by the national olympic committee to earn an official spot in competing for the olympics, a task that was already vigorous and exhausting and nerve wracking, but one you both were more than ready for.

general admittance to competing in the olympics was essentially fourteen years in the making, one that wouldn’t have been possible in the first place if it wasn’t for akira.

“i think we should add a spin to this lasso lift.” you suggested, you and satoru taking a break from running the routine and standing by the bleachers during practice— watching a recently recorded take of your choreography to point out mistakes that flew under your radars.

“a spin?” he asked. “how sweets.”

“so when you lasso me around into the lift—” you rewinded the video and pointed. “since you’re holding me up over your head and we’re balancing with our hands, i say you maybe push me up to kind of like— propel me to do a triple rotation spin back down.”

“and then from there i catch you?”

“yeah!” you nodded. “and we’re traveling across the ice.”

satoru pursed his lips. “that’s kind of hard… you sure?”

“we’ve done worse toru.” you laughed. “i feel like this would give us more points.”

“oh it definitely would.” he nodded. “okay baby.”

“yay!” you cheered. “let’s practice the lift and propel on the mats first because if not i’m gonna eat shit.”

satoru laughed and sat down on the bleachers with you, quickly taking off his skates before standing and kneeling in front of you, untying your laces and slipping your skates off for you as you cutely smiled, him feeling like your little hero and knight in shining armor even if it was for something so minuscule.

he loved doing things for you.

in the middle of you and satoru practicing the move on the mats, your mother came in through the front doors of the ice rink.

“hi!” she greeted, holding up two wide rectangular boxes. “your costumes came in!”

“oh thank god!” you breathed out, satoru setting you down on your feet before you both ran to see. “i thought they weren’t gonna come in on time!”

“are they cool?!” satoru tumbled out. “do they scream please let me in the olympics?!”

you snorted and shoved his shoulder playfully as you unwrapped your boxes, your eyes shining in delight at the sight of your rhinestoned pale baby blue dress, a shade you purposefully picked out as it matched the color of satoru’s eyes— you lifting it with your fingertips from the box and gushing.

you turned it around and held it up against your frame as satoru pulled his top out— a white, tight long sleeved low cut v-neck button up that you already knew was gonna hug his yummy biceps so good, the thought of it making you bite the inside of your cheek as he checked over his black slacks.

your mother clasped her hands together, holding it to her mouth as her eyes gleamed over the two of you.

“i can’t believe it’s happening now.” she spoke softly, you and satoru diverting your attention to her and smiling. “for so long it was always just a distant thing you know? but now it’s here. actually.”

“fuck i know right.” you responded.

“language, y/n.”

“but i’m twenty!” you whined, pouting as satoru snickered behind you.

your mother rolled her eyes and cupped yours and satoru’s chins under her hands.

“good luck next week, alright? i know you guys will sweep.” she pushed. “make aki proud.”

the smiles on your faces grew, nodding as she squeezed your chins and released.

“oh! satoru—” your mother picked up her jacket and swung her purse over her shoulder. “your mom won’t be home for the night her trip got extended until tomorrow… you can sleep over at our house if you want so you’re not over there alone? or y/n can stay with you?”

“oh okay!” he spoke kindly. “thank you for letting me know!”

she smiled and nodded, hugging you both goodbye before leaving the rink.

your head whipped in his direction.

“toru if i sleep over at your house we can watch horror movies and actually scream as loud as we want without worrying about waking anybody up.”

his eyes bulged open. “oh my god you’re right! dibs i get to choose—”

“fuck!—”

by the end of practice you and satoru mastered the addition you added into the lasso lift, performing it beautifully on the ice over and over again until it was like simple reflex, calling it a day after a while and packing your things up to drive to satoru’s house.

you both took turns stepping in the shower to get rid of the sticky sweat that lingered on your skin, changing into comfy pajamas after as you tiredly settled in satoru’s big comfy bed— him flicking through his selection of horror movies and debating which one to pick.

“do you wanna watch something gory or just horror.”

“gory!” you perked up. “i need to work on not being so queasy.”

“but you seem fine when i throw up?”

“that’s because i’m used to it.” you laughed, head resting on his shoulder as he picked a movie and threw his remote somewhere across the bed, his arm coming to wrap around your tummy and pull you in.

it wasn’t like the selection mattered anyways, because fifteen minutes into the movie you were already falling asleep, hand resting on satoru’s torso as he continued to watch it— for some reason still wide awake even after skating for hours.

your sleepy sudden movements from your hand made him weirdly stiffen and relax every single time, your brows furrowing at the feeling and eyes fluttering open when he wouldn’t stop doing it.

“toru… are you still ticklish?” you mumbled sleepily.

he stiffened again.

“no.” he answered softly. “why..?”

you lazily grinned.

“youuu suureee?”

terror struck him as he sensed exactly what the fuck you were about to do.

“please spare me please spare me—”

you jumped on him and tickled his entire upper body, satoru laughing and gasping as he smacked your hands away and twisted and turned, his strong grip making it hard for you to tickle him at one point as you stubbornly swung a leg over his waist and settled over his lap, attacking him while he yelped and screamed.

“baby!” he gasped. “baby please! have some mercy is this how much i mean to you?!”

you giggled and finally stopped, hands retracting as you settled them on your hips. “that’s what you get for lying to me.”

“i was lying for my safety.”

“uh huh.”

you both grinned, satoru’s eyes occasionally flickering down to you straddling his lap with your pretty plushy thighs and blushing, trying to keep his gaze on yours to refrain himself from doing something a little too mental and weird.

but it was too fucking late, because it took no time at all for the blood to rush to his pathetic dick and harden.

surprisingly though, you were the one that was mental— the feeling of his cock against your clit undeniable as the uncomfortable shifts of satoru’s waist only stimulated it against your little nub and made you bite down hard on your bottom lip, shaky breaths leaving your mouth as it was getting harder and harder for you to restrain yourself from satoru’s godlike existence.

and your body was just not listening as you timidly rolled your hips over his crotch— your short shorts criminally thin as you felt just how big satoru’s length was, mouth watering as your palms timidly settled over his chest for stability, grinding on his cock harder.

satoru’s eyes were blown out as he watched you do something so— so lewd, his mind wandering if you were fully and properly there as something like this was absolutely breaking your unspoken rule, and you were more strict about it than he was.

but he didn’t want you to stop. god no.

at this point, you and satoru were off that metaphorical tight rope and hanging on by two hands— having both failed at keeping each other balanced as you rolled and rolled your hips deliciously on his dick, his chest quickly rising and falling at the feeling of your warm pussy over his groin and at the sight of you using him to get yourself off.

your little needy mewls made his hands tremble as he threw his head back on the pillow, eyes pathetically fucked out over something so simple.

“fuck me..” satoru groaned, hands coming up to rub over his face as his hips lifted to meet your grinding.

him doing that broke you out of your haze and you stiffened, satoru taking his hands away from his face with pinched brows at the sudden halt.

what happened?

“okay!” you laughed nervously, an alarmed expression as you swung your leg off of his lap and scrambled under the covers, pulling it completely over you as you shamefully looked anywhere and everywhere but satoru.

but he was out of it.

undoubtedly out of it now that you did what you did… wanting more, wanting all of you as he snatched the covers off of your frame and you squeaking as a result.

“why’d you stop.” he whispered, thumb raising to trace your bottom lip.

“i don’t— i don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“yes you do—”

“absolutely not—”

“i want you.” he cut you off. “i want you bad and i know you want me too so let’s just— let’s just do this once, okay? once please just to see what it’s like and it’ll never happen again.”

your eyes remained wide as you looked at his desperate frantic ones, his hands already kneading at your waist and thighs.

he was entrancing you into his proposal again, exactly the same way as when you both kissed for the first time at the festival as he leaned down and nibbled at your jaw, slotting himself in between your legs.

“do— do what?”

“fuck.” he mumbled, rolling his hips down on your pussy rough and you gasping at the sensation of his big cock against your clit again.

you whimpered as he rutted into you, hands flying to squeeze his biceps as his wet mouth moved down to your neck, licking and gnawing as he waited for your response.

“but isn’t that—” you stifled a moan. “isn’t that too far toru?—”

“please baby please.” he picked his head up and looked at you. “just once i swear once so we see what it’s like and get it out of our systems and never do it again. i promise.”

he needs to kiss you right fucking now.

your eyes fluttered closed as he continued to hump you, licking your lips as you weakly tried to look into his eyes.

“you swear?” you breathed out. “swear it just once and that’s it—”

“i swear i swear i swear—”

“okay then fuck me toru please—”

satoru nearly cried as he ripped himself away from you to frantically pull off his shirt and pants, him slapping your hands away when you tried to take off your own clothes as he wanted to do it himself— lifting your shirt over your head and downright tearing your shorts in half as he flung them down and across the room, your little pink bra and panties set actually turning him into a complete mess as he hovered back over you and shoved his tongue in your mouth.

you still tasted just as sweet as he remembered.

“been dreaming of—” mmpf— “kissing you since you let me, sweets.”

“yeah?” your lips moved sloppily with his as you snuck a hand in your panties and dipped your fingers in your pussy, collecting your arousal. “you missed me toru?”

“uh huh.” he breathed hotly against your lips, hand coming to slide underneath your bra to cup your bare tit. “every fucking night i’d jerk my dick dry thinking about it.”

his words made your clit twitch as you pushed him off your lips.

“open your mouth.”

satoru did as told without a peep and opened it with his tongue out, your hands coming out from your panties as you reached up and slipped your fingers in his mouth, his lips closing in and sucking everything you had to give him as he salvaged up your arousal.

“fuck—” he released your fingers. “is this from your pussy baby?”

“mhm.” you moaned.

your arousal was even sweeter.

“my god—” he grabbed your wrist and licked a long stripe up your palm. “you dirty fucking thing m’gonna have to taste for myself and see.”

you gasped. “what?”

satoru sat up and pulled your wet panties down your legs, biting down on his tongue hard at the sight of your angelic bare cunt before him, slick and shiny and pretty as you unclasped your bra and spread your legs for him— eager and ready and not a single other thought in your brain besides the one that was screaming for satoru to stick his dick inside you.

“toruuuu!” you whined. “quit staring and fuck me.”

his cock pulsed.

“patience sweets, i wanna taste you first.”

you expected satoru to just lower himself down and shove his head in between your thighs, but you were dead fucking wrong as he stood, grabbed your waist and yanked you high up, sitting you on his shoulders as you squealed and gripped his hair.

“wait toru isn’t this uncomfortable i—”

he scoffed. “fuck no. i’ve been lifting you my whole life baby this is nothing.”

your speech lodged itself in your throat as you felt his tongue lap at your folds and clit, slobbering and filthy as he ate and scarfed you down just like his usual daily sweets, you by far his absolute favorite as he slurped your little pussy up and made you squeal and moan.

satoru walked over to the wall and leaned you up against it, taking your thighs off of his shoulders and placing his hands underneath as he propped you up and spread your legs wider, your jaw dropping at his slimy tongue flicking and him slabbering his mouth side to side rapidly until your legs shook and you saw stars.

“toru—”

he grunted, tongue prodding at your hole and you jumping.

“i think— i think i’m gonna cum and i—” pant “i don’t wanna—”

satoru separated his mouth from your pussy with a squelch and looked up, smiling big.

“too bad!”

“but—”

he spit on your cunt and you gasped.

“i said too bad.”

he dipped back in and fully devoured you as you mewled, messier as he slushed his tongue all over and you’d never experienced something like this, something that felt so fucking good as you started cumming all over his face in record speed regardless of how hard you were trying to hold back.

“yummy.”

he let go and you dropped down as he quickly caught you, turning and throwing you on his bed as he climbed over you— wrapping a hand around his cock and jerking as he kissed and swallowed your lips up again.

“you want me to make love to you or fuck you?” he slopped against your mouth before pulling back, yours and his eyes fluttering open to look at each other.

your legs were still shaking by the eat out he gave you seconds before, finding it hard to get your words together as his handsome deluded face stared at you.

“i— um—”

he placed his lips next to your ear.

“you want me to fuck you like my wife or fuck you like a little slut? or both?”

“both toru please—”

he grinned, coming back up as he parted your legs further open and lined his leaky tip with your hole.

“i can do both!”

satoru pushed himself in and you choked, hands clasping over your mouth as you felt him bully his big cock through and leave you a blabbering crying mess under him— his chest heaving at the warmth and softness and stickiness of your cute gummy walls, his years of imagining and theorizing how you’d feel wrapped around his dick all completely debunking themselves at the real feeling as you whimpered and clenched your hole.

“jesus christ—” he shivered, swallowing thickly as his trembling fingers settled on your waist, him slowly reeling his hips back before pumping in. “you’re— you’re warm.”

you dropped your hands and wiped your cheeks as you hiccuped, the feeling of his dick sliding in and out of your walls incandescently euphoric as you embarrassingly already felt yourself wanting to cum again when he had just stuck his dick inside of you— you wanting to ride out this moment for a bit longer and not finish so quickly like you had done on his mouth.

“am i being too mean pretty?” he huffed, thrusts now quick and curt as he gripped your bouncing tits and pinched your perking nipples, the sight of your little tears shamefully turning him on.

you frantically shook your head and tried to clear your brain. “n—no!—”

“good.” he smiled, a little crazed as he let go of your boobs, placed his hands on the backside of your thighs and pushed your knees up to your chest, picking up speed as you squealed and whimpered, utterly taken aback by how rough satoru was being considering the fact that he was such a goofy and kind and loving person on the daily.

oh… what years worth of pent up sexual frustration can do to a man.

satoru whined as you milked his dick, wheezing as he hammered his hips up and slapped against your skin, your body jolting and bouncing uncontrollably as his bed squeaked loud and obnoxiously.

thank god his mother wasn’t home.

“i’ve wanted this i’ve wanted this i’ve wanted this—” satoru babbled, his critical thinking out the fucking window as he just tumbled out totally random but honest confessions as your ears eagerly drank up every word and made your hole tighten.

“yeah?” pant “f—for how long baby?”

“for so long—” he whined loudly, fucking you faster as your mouth hung open and you gripped his wrists for support. “you’re everything i’ve ever w—wanted—”

“i— i’ve only ever wanted you toru— fuck! you’re big.“ you moaned, loving the way a huge deranged smile spread across his face as his hips pistoned into you and his hands pinned you down.

“cum on my dick baby please cum on my dick i want it i want it—”

your toes curled and you squealed, vision flashing white as you let out a high pitched scream at the intense buzzing feeling, your bodies hot and sticky and wet as satoru leaned over and shoved his lips in your ear.

“can i— can i cum inside?” he choked through gritted teeth as he came close to spilling his seed. “please i wanna cum inside—”

“but m’not on the pill—”

“please please baby i beg you—” hah! “i don’t wanna cum anywhere else—”

your eyes fluttered shut at his words and you quickly nodded, his hand cupping your face as he thrusted in one last time and pumped his cum entirely inside you without an ounce of hesitation for the consequences, his horny mind actually crazed and solidifying that there was no fucking way in hell he was gonna accept just friends from this point forward.

what a stupid thought.

“mmm…” you slowly moved your hips a little, feeling his cum all inside your ravished walls as you licked your lips. “your cum feels hot toru.”

not even warm, hot as it slushed and moved inside you with every movement you made, some of it dribbling and coating your outer folds as you bit your bottom lip into a smile and craned your head up to his neck, nibbling and giving satoru tiny kitten licks as he trembled and struggled to stay afloat and not give out his upper arm strength— trying to prevent himself from squishing you.

satoru pressed a soft tender kiss to your cheek then before sitting up and delicately sliding his dick out, running a soothing hand over your tummy as he did so and giving you a lazy smile.

he suddenly raised his pinky to you.

“birds of a feather?” he murmured, other hand running from your stomach over to your thighs now as he just lovingly felt you up, you smiling with rosy cheeks as you linked your little pinky with his.

“birds of a feather.”

you both kissed your thumbs and locked your promise, deciding then that you should probably shower once more before getting into bed to officially sleep— but deciding to shower together as you softly and steamily made out under the misty hot running water, body and mind relaxed as you just swallowed in the ambience of each other, you both not only holding on to your metaphorical tight rope with one hand now, but it actually on the verge of snapping as a whole and sending you both free falling.

and for the next couple of days, you and satoru were feral.

years and years of doing fucking nothing with pure restraint and fantasizing did a number on you both as any chance you got you were making out on your bed, his bed, and even in satoru’s car after your lectures— your hand teasingly going lower and lower until you’d shove a hand in his pants to pull his dick out and pump, your body leaning across the console and mouth going down to bob and suck as he moaned and pulled your hair into a makeshift ponytail to guide you and your pretty bows and fuck your mouth just to hear the sounds of you choking, eyes from time to time frantically looking around to see if no one was around as you blowed him.

and you did that basically all of the time for the next three days until the final practice just before the international skating union competition, satoru physically unable to leave you alone and unscathed as he constantly pinned you down to eat your pussy or suckle on your soft tits, his hand tightly clasped over your mouth in your room when your moans would get too loud as he fingered you, his long fingers squelching and abusing your cunt until you were finishing all over his hands again and again.

but you two having actual sex didn’t happen again apart from that night— satoru a man of his word since he promised you would only do it once… unfortunately. but that didn’t mean you couldn’t do other things, right?

except by the final practice, satoru was absolutely fucked off at the fact that neither of you had brought up the potentiality of being more than just friends, especially after doing all of those lewd acts.

he was so sick of it.

and so were you, quite frankly, but instead of being completely over it like satoru, you were afraid… afraid of what could happen and the possibility of losing him if you both indulged, if you let yourselves put your freaking careers on the line.

and satoru was the one person you couldn’t bear to lose. not ever.

“we look good sweets!” satoru cheesed, rotating around in the ice rinks dressing room mirrors as you had your costumes on for dress rehearsal and refinements, both of you glittering and shiny and looking like a professional ice skating pair as you examined yourself, readjusting your straps and hugging your torso.

“cold.” you shivered. “maybe i should’ve had it as a long sleeve… shit.”

he laughed and placed his hands on your arms, rubbing up and down quickly to create frictional heat as you smiled at him gratefully. “nah, it’s cute like this! you’ll warm up once we run it a few times on the ice.”

you nodded, the both of you walking out of the dressing room and to the rink, skillfully putting on your skates before pushing yourself on the ice and gliding across.

“can you show me the uh—” satoru looked to the side in thought once he was on the ice in front of you. “the part where we skate in unison and have our arms up in an L? it’s in the chorus of our music—”

“oh!” you nodded and skated a bit away from him to demonstrate.

“i just wanna see if my form matches yours and we look clean.” he smiled. “and then show me the triple axel after that.”

you gave him a cute thumbs up and pushed yourself off, gliding gracefully and smoothly across the ice as satoru was supposed to be watching you to try and fix his form, but finding himself transfixed once again by the way you seamlessly skated with no sense of struggling effort— arms poised and flowy as your dress moved and fluttered with every twist and turn until you gradually propelled yourself up into the triple axel and landed correctly without a slip or wobble.

the level of difficulty and technicality you skated reminded him of akira— but your style, your movement, and the way you carried yourself was entirely your own.

you made figure skating look beautiful.

you were beautiful.

you slowed down on the ice and skated over to satoru.

“were you able to see? did you match me?—”

“you skate just like her.” satoru spoke softly, and you faltered.

he didn’t need to clarify who he was talking about, as you always knew.

“you’re just saying that.” you pursed your lips to keep yourself from smiling, or crying, you didn’t know.

but a compliment like that meant the absolute world to you.

“i’m not.” he shrugged, skating over to you and taking your hands as he glided with you to starting position. “you always have baby. and i know that’s what you’ve always wanted. i’m sorry i don’t say it enough.”

your eyes softened. “toru that’s not something to be sorry about at all…”

satoru was so kind.

you both skated together and ran the choreography a couple of times, spinning simultaneously and satoru lifting you again and again throughout the routine and still performing your lasso spinning lift successfully, arms around his shoulders and faces close as the wind whipped through both of your costumes and hair from traveling across the ice at such a speed before coming to a sudden choreographed halt at the end of your number.

you had slid down satoru’s body to plant your blades back on the ice when he had enough.

“please stick your tongue in my mouth.”

you choked on your spit and slapped a hand over your mouth.

“toru no! absolutely not we can’t anymore okay—”

“what are we.”

you froze.

“huh?”

“what are we.” he repeated, eyes dead locked on yours and hard. “are we together? are we not? are we friends? what are we—”

“we’re— we’re friends toru—”

“oh fuck no.” he let you go and created a little bit of space between you. “don’t give me that shit we’re not friends.”

“w—well we can’t—”

“i’m your man.” he stated firmly. “i’m your man i’ve been your man for years and i’m tired of avoiding this sweets! it sucks!”

“we’re putting everything at risk if we do toru we can’t!”

“i’m your man.”

“no you’re not—”

he cut you off. “your mouth has been on my dick. we’ve had sex. we’ve kissed we’ve made out we’ve told each other i love you if that doesn’t tell you that we’re together then what the actual fuck?!”

“oh my god toru i know i know!” you groaned, hugging yourself as you anxiously looked at him. “what happens if we break up? huh? what do we do?”

he shook his head. “we won’t.”

“you don’t know that.” you laughed bitterly. “if that happens we lose each other satoru understand that. we break birds of a feather, we ruin our careers, and we ruin us.”

“first of all—” he started. “our birds of a feather promise is to stick together, keep each other safe, and not seperate or fight, is it not?”

“it— it is—”

“so do you really think if we continue to keep each other in this fuck ass limbo of friends that we aren’t already breaking that?” he threw his arms out in emphasis. “we have never been just friends. i’ve known you for fourteen fucking years and we have never been just that.”

you blinked back tears.

“i promise you baby—” he slid closer to you and cupped your cheeks. “that we won’t leave each other. i will fight and try every single damn day to make sure that that shit never happens even though i already know it won’t because you’ve been made for me since birth and we haven’t separated since we’ve met.”

satoru wiped your cheeks. “but i also promise you, that if we continue as just friends, we will break. we’re gonna string each other along so fucking much that we’re gonna go absolutely insane and drive each other away. that is for certain.”

“but— skating—”

“i don’t give an ever living fuck.” he spat funnily and you laughed through your tears. “skating is nothing without you. all the trophies and medallions and the god damn olympics itself with that gold medal is nothing without you. i would give that shit up in a heartbeat if it meant keeping you in my life in exchange.”

“and i would do the same for you toru!” you sobbed, his arms immediately wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you in as you sniffled and hiccuped into his chest, him kissing the side of your head repeatedly and soothing a hand down your back.

“don’t cry pretty i didn’t meant to make you cry...” he mumbled, cheek mushed up against your head as your shoulders shook, a huge disgusting pit of guilt in his stomach. “fine it’s okay we can be just friends for a bit longer please don’t cry—”

“no!” you sputtered, pushing him back a little to face him. “i don’t wanna be just friends anymore either toru… it hurts me so much.”

“it does?” he asked softly and you nodded.

“it hurts me too.”

satoru wiped your remaining tears again and fixed the little bows in your hair, a soft liberated smile on his face as he reached down to cup your cheeks and bring your perfect lips to his, kissing you lovingly as the both of you felt like you could finally rest and stop ridiculously hiding your love in the shadows after so many years.

the thin tight rope that you had both been toppling over and rebalancing and holding onto to keep the other from falling, had finally snapped in two, and you and satoru were now in the darkest depths of the truth of what you both were.

except it wasn’t dark at all.

it was light and airy and heavenly, and you wondered why you had been so afraid when there was nothing to be afraid of in the first place, since the one you were falling with was satoru.

silly.

he pulled apart and looked at you, his striking blue eyes and white fluffy hair especially beautiful.

“tomorrow—” he began. “we’re gonna absolutely destroy everyone else there and land a spot in the top three, and then after i’m gonna take you out on a nice dinner and buy every single fucking dessert off the menu, and then i’m gonna ask you to be my girlfriend. okay baby?”

you giggled then, the brightest rosy cheeks on display from the both of you as you eagerly nodded and threw your arms around his neck.

and tomorrow could not come soon enough, because not only were you looking forward to making your dreams a reality and competing against other figure skating pairs from around the world and the olympics itself, but also the thought of officially being satoru’s after years of wishing on little stars and day dreaming about what that would be like for hours on end.

until the moment was here. happening.

the indoor arena was electric and rowdy the minute the competition commenced, you and satoru in absolute awe of the energetic atmosphere as many individuals in the crowd waved their banners or screamed their loved ones names, an ambience very similar to the olympics as you both watched pair after pair perform their hardwork and dedication on the ice, goosebumps on your skin as you fidgeted and jittered.

out of twenty of your countries competing pairs, only three of you would be chosen for the olympics.

and you hoped to god you and satoru would be chosen.

“we’re almost up baby.” satoru patted your head, sitting on a bench in your designated area. “i think it’s two more pairs then it’s us.”

you nodded, nerves closing up your throat as your eyes darted over the rink.

satoru frowned.

“hey.” he placed a hand on your thigh, suddenly wanting to rip your nylon tights off so you could actually feel his skin on yours. “you nervous sweets?”

you nodded again, and he gave you a silly grin.

“don’t be! you’re literally akira the second. we’ll be fine!”

you laughed lightly and leaned your head on his shoulder.

“and even if we don’t land a spot, that’s fine too.” he kissed your head. “it’s our first year anyways… we’ll know the game for next time and we’ll try harder.”

you picked your head up and smiled at him, his words settling your nerves just as soon as the last remaining pair took their places on stage, yours and satoru’s turn right after.

what you didn’t know, was that satoru was just as nervous as you.

but he knew you needed a rock and someone to comfort you— wanting to swoop in like a little hero and save you again… so he kept it hidden.

“fuck i almost forgot!” satoru jumped up and dug into his duffel bag, pulling out a roll of pale baby blue ribbon that matched your dress exactly. “you told me you didn’t have ribbon that matched your costume so i went and tried to look.”

he held it out for you cutely on his palm.

“does this one match?”

you picked up the roll, astonished and mushy inside that satoru actually went out of his way to find this specific ribbon color for you because you had expressed how unhappy you were with the darker shade you had, your eyes looking up at him in complete adoration.

“oh my goodness— thank you toru!”

you quickly undid the bows in your hair and slipped off the former ribbon, digging through your duffel bag for scissors and cutting off pieces from the new ribbon before looping them through your hair and tying, not needing a mirror since you’ve done it for as long as you could remember.

satoru’s cheeks went pink as he looked at your new pretty bows.

“does they look okay?”

“beautiful.” he responded, pecking your lips before taking your hand and leading you to the entrance of the rink.

“okay—” you breathed out. “this is it.”

“what kind of food do you think they’ll have at the dinner place we picked—”

“toru!” you giggled. “not now!”

he smiled sheepishly at you before leaning his forehead against yours.

you stuck your pinky out.

“birds of a feather?”

satoru grinned and looped his pinky with yours.

“birds of a feather baby.”

you both kissed your thumbs and once again, locked your promise.

the announcer over the speakers iterated your names and your country as you and satoru glided across the ice poised and graceful with your arms up, waving at the crowd and giving your mothers a special frantic wave before moving to starting position, unknowing of the way several other pairs and the judges themselves murmured about your reputation and your association with akira.

and you hoped she was watching over you both now. somewhere.

the music begun, contemporary and lyrical as you and satoru slid across the rink, already impressive and entertaining as you performed moves and lifts right off the bat, the sounds of your blades scraping against the ice oddly keeping you in time with your choreography as the number went on.

and you and satoru were feeding off of each other, the chemistry undeniable to a strangers eye that had no idea of your story as you conveyed passion through your expressions, each technical movement bleeding with the fact that you both had been olympic level trained since the age of fourteen and fifteen.

you were halfway through your routine now, the lasso lift coming up next as satoru harbored in his strength so he could properly propel you into that newly added spin.

you skated around him and he lifted you up into the air, the crowd cheering and excited at your beautiful remarkable forms.

except satoru’s hands were slippery.

why?

nerves. he quickly deemed it nerves as he had no time to deliberate since it was almost time to propel you up into the spin, his mind already racing over the fact that the slip in his hands was hindering his strength to keep you up there, and he worried that if he pushed you up, it wouldn’t be enough and you’d come tumbling down— hurting yourself.

but satoru had zero time to decide again as he went with protocol and pushed you up as hard as he possibly could and prayed you would go into your triple axel spin successfully and that he’d catch you.

but the minute that he did, the force yanked him back and his skates flew up in front of him, you falling down and your thigh hitting something sharp before you both went slamming to the ground— sliding apart from each other on the ice.

the crowd screamed and gasped in terror, sounds you were all too familiar with to what you heard three years ago filling both your fuzzy minds as satoru struggled to get back up, his head turning slowly around to see if you were okay and just sore like him—

until he saw your limp body on your side, your back to him with blood slowly pooling out on the ice and staining your pretty blue dress.

satoru scrambled up and skated straightaway in a panic to you before sliding on his knees as he reached you, turning you over and paling as he saw you were unresponsive and out fucking cold.

“baby?“ he shook you. “hey— baby—”

nothing.

why weren’t you answering him? why weren’t you awake?

his brain flashed images of akira’s body the day that she died, suffocating deja vu as the way you looked when he saw you like that on your side was a carbon copy of her from three years ago, his chest picking up speed as you continued to lay limp even after he shook you desperately numerous times like a madman.

and why was there so much blood?

blood that looked sickly bright red against the white ice, blood that stained his sleeves and shirt and hands as he held you up and supported your head, and blood that wouldn’t stop fucking oozing out of your leg as he trembled.

“hey— hey can you hear me?” satoru tapped your cheek rapidly, shaking you gently again with horrified eyes and still not getting a response.

“fuck! why is this happening this isn’t supposed to happen—”

how could he be your hero? how could he stop the blood and wake you up? how could he— how could he fix this how could he take it all back how could he fix this—

“no no no baby please—” he sobbed. “not like aki baby not like her man—”

he shook you again, your head lolling to the side as if— as if you were—

no.

“baby— birds of a feather right? birds of a feather we have to stick together you can’t— you can’t leave right?” he cried, chest heaving and vision blurry and you just felt so cold.

“you’re not leaving you’re not leaving me please not like aki please god—” he cradled you up to his chest in his arms and rocked. “you can’t leave me you’re all i know and i don’t wanna know anything else please baby—”

satoru’s frantic repeated heartbroken wailing echoed throughout the arena as the crowd erupted and moved around in hysteria, him still rocking you in his arms as he turned his head with terrified bloodshot eyes to look at both of your mothers, yours hunched over in a fit of screams and cries as his had her hands in her hair in utter disbelief and tears.

“fuck what do i do!” he sobbed, legs shakily standing as he slipped one arm under your back and the other under your knees, picking your limp body up as he saw a huge group of paramedics run over to him on the ice as he carried you over.

“help—” hic! “h—help me please—”

why couldn’t satoru be your hero when it mattered most?

several of them lowered the stretcher and took you from him, laying your lifeless self on it before hoisting you up and swiftly carrying you away, all of it horrifyingly and painfully similar to akira’s inevitable death.

were you gone?

satoru looked down and saw your baby blue ribbons on the ice, wet and stained with blood, once perfect bows in your pretty hair when he had you awake and breathing.

were you breathing? had you hit your head?

he couldn’t remember.

he couldn’t remember anything but your unresponsiveness, the way your skin was colder than the ice itself as he picked up your ribbons and looked at them in his hands— and the way your blood stretched over for what looked like miles and was still there.

in front of him. taunting him.

was the world so cruel as to take you too?

it wouldn’t. it couldn’t.

you’d never done anything wrong. you’d never treated anybody indifferently as you were sweet and beautiful and talented, always in servitude of others— in servitude of him as you taught him how to ice skate when you didn’t need to at six years old, you already kind and gentle at that young age when you could’ve easily shooed him away like a little bug and told him to fuck off.

and throughout your life too, as he was well aware he was an annoying dramatic piece of shit that whined and cried and ate your stashes of sweets all of the time— but you always just giggling and looking at him with adoration in your eyes, with your cheeky smile, with the little ribbon bows in your hair he loved so fucking much.

oh how he wished he didn’t always take your sweets at that moment. how he wished he wasn’t always an annoying blockhead and made you mad at times with his persistent personality and neediness as he stood there frozen in the rink staring at your blood— dark now and dull, wishing it was him instead of you.

you were knocked out for five days at the hospital.

you and satoru also didn’t make it into the top three at the international skating union competition.

you should’ve, as your score was already higher than any other pair there and only halfway through the routine too— but that’s precisely why you got knocked out.

if you had finished your number, you would’ve landed in the top three, but it ending halfway cut off the opportunity for accumulating more points, and eventually another pair surpassed your halfway score by two points.

but satoru didn’t give a shit. fuck the olympics and fuck the international skating union while your body laid still on the hospital bed for hours on end, him refusing to leave your side as he sat there and stared off into space with nothing in his head but hatred for himself as it was his fault that this happened and his blade that sliced you— eyes red and sunken and tired and refusing to eat or drink.

you had hit your head on the ice, but thankfully the trauma wasn’t anywhere near the severity of akira’s, it only inducing a strong concussion and sending you flying out of consciousness upon impact.

but it was the loss of blood that was the problem.

you had lost so much, too much of it.

it made you weak and frail and unable to do much and satoru worried that that’s what was going to take away your fighting chance of survival.

“you should go home satoru…” your mother sighed, standing by the door of your hospital room, her own eyes red and swollen.

he shook his head no silently.

“she’ll still be here… you need to eat something or sleep please. you look awful.”

satoru smiled weakly and shook his head again.

“m’fine.”

your mother pursed her lips to the side and she sighed again, nodding.

“i’ll come by early in the morning, alright?”

he hummed, giving her a tiny wave as she left and closed the door behind her.

satoru had brought a roll of pink ribbon from your little white box in your room, unrolling the pieces he chose and lifting his hands, taking the ends of your hair and trying to tie little thin bows the way you always did, but huffing softly in irritation when they just looked like shit.

he undid the one he was working on and settled for feeling the material of the ribbon between his thumbs instead.

satoru brought you bouquets everyday too.

sometimes three at a time as he continuously swapped out old flowers and replaced them with new ones, changed their water and poured fresh quantities into each vase to keep them alive, and often picked some more from the hospital garden when he went down to get some fresh air for a minute— the least he could do for nearly killing you.

and satoru had a lot of time to think while he waited for you to wake up— bitter and resentful at the world for letting him sit there healthy while you were out, so much so that he started thinking stupid shit like how he wished you would’ve forgotten him and dismissed his yapping dreams about ice skating when you met so you would’ve been an independent skater instead, so you then wouldn’t have gotten hurt by his idiocy and you wouldn’t be laying in a hospital bed like you were now.

or swapped places. him instead of you so he could beat up the fucks that took akira away and beat up zeus or— or aphrodite or whoever the fuck that was responsible for keeping him from you so he could come back to you… unsure if you were doing the same thing as he stared at your resting face.

you should’ve just left him behind.

but he was sleeping when you woke.

arms propped up and crossed next to you on the hospital bed, his cheek mushed up on them and face to the side as you blinked your eyes open and was straight up confused, not a single memory of the incident flitting through your mind… until it did.

and it hit you bad.

your mind reeled with a pounding headache, tears prickling your eyes at the events that plagued through your mind— a part of you knowing there was absolutely no way you and satoru made top three and gutted about it, feeling shaken from the memory alone of you falling and hitting the ice.. but grateful.

grateful to be alive, for you knew akira wasn’t as lucky.

was it because of her that you had lived? had she pulled some strings to change your fate?

your eyes trailed down to a sleeping peaceful satoru, your gaze softening at how tired and broken he looked, bags dark and purple as he snored away next to you, your hand lifting and delicately settling over his fluffy white hair as you smiled that he was here next to you— caressing.

satoru shot up wide awake then as you jumped and retracted your hand, the both of you alarmed and frantic.

“baby?” he grabbed your hand and felt around it, feeling warmth for once as he stood up straight and shoved back one of the sleeves of his hoodie.

“you’re awake? are you actually?—” he pinched his arm hard over and over and you giggled.

you giggled— the sound filling his ears and lifting an undeniable dark ton off of his shoulders as he relaxed, tears automatically brimming his eyes.

“i thought i fucking killed you sweets.” his voice shook, arms gently coming around you and pulling you into an embrace.

“killed me?” you frowned. “toru what are you talking about—”

“oh god you have amnesia—”

“no!” you laughed. “what do you mean by almost killed me? you didn’t do anything.”

“i did everything.” he spoke flatly. “i fucked up that lasso lift. i pushed you up too hard and we fell. i cut you with my blade i made you bleed—”

“toru that was an accident.” you pulled back and your chest hurt over the devastated look on his face, wiping his tears and kissing his nose. “remember— aki’s partner felt just like this and we had to tell him too it was an accident. you can’t control something like that. at all. it’s just unfortunate circumstance.”

“i know but i still feel like—” he wiped his eyes and swallowed. “i still feel like i could’ve done something different. it should’ve been me and not you and i should’ve—”

“toru don’t even don’t think about things like that.” you shook your head. “there wasn’t anything you could’ve done, baby. and that’s okay.”

you gently scooched over on the bed and patted the spot next to yours, satoru immediately climbing and settling in, clinging on to you as he placed his head on your chest with his arm firm but careful around your waist, suddenly feeling how exhausted he actually was from the days he spent restless.

you couldn’t have imagined the pain satoru must’ve gone through waiting for you to wake up. you didn’t know how he even fucking managed as you would’ve been torn into bits and pieces not knowing if he was going to live or not, looking at his limp bloody body the way he had to look at yours and it reminding you of the event that brought you both the most trauma and grief.

you couldn’t believe you almost went out the same way.

satoru confirmed your thoughts later and filled you in on the results of the international skating union competition, rubbing salt into the wound a little more upon learning that you landed fourth, nearly there as you couldn’t help but cry a bit in your hospital bed when he told you that you could’ve had a spot, satoru hugging you and reassuring you that you’d both have your shot at it in the next four years.

your family was relieved that you were awake, tons of people piling in and giving you sweets and food that satoru hungrily eyed and gawked over, you laughing and passing him the ones he particularly enjoyed most as you conversed with your relatives.

and recovery was thankfully easy— doctors orders being just you taking it light and being careful not to bonk your head against anything, as well as taking care of the laceration on your leg— changing the bandage frequently every morning and night, satoru insisting he help you with that and with many other things that you needed as he tried to make up for what he still thought was his fault.

two weeks had gone by of just rest and peace and no figure skating, thinking you and satoru deserved this break, but also secretly petrified of stepping on the ice again after what had happened— neither of you wanting to hurt the other as you avoided the topic of training for the meantime at all costs.

“maybe we should work at a water park.” you suggested one day, the two of you seated on a park bench through the chilly mid january air as you shared a plate of chocolate drizzled strawberries you got from some nice lady and her fruit stand. “be lifeguards!”

“oh hell no!” he spoke with his mouthful before swallowing, readjusting the black round sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose. “you think i’m gonna be fine with watching random old men savoring after my wife in her little red bikini while i’m off saving some drowning kid? oh no thank you. let the kid drown.”

“toru!” you laughed, smacking his shoulder. “okay then what else?”

“janitors.”

you shrugged. “i like to clean. sometimes.”

“and your entire body is covered in those jumpsuits no stinky old men looking at—”

satoru’s phone buzzed against his jeans and he paused and pulled it out as you giggled, him barely glancing at the caller i.d before answering.

“hello?”

you mindlessly carried on plopping strawberries in your mouth and chewing.

“this is he…. oh hello! yes! how are you?”

you eyed satoru quizzically at his sudden formal change in tone, his eyes glued to the cement below.

“uh huh… really? o—okay! no yes for sure! thank you so much for the opportunity!”

opportunity?

you slowed your chewing and nudged his shoulder gently, wanting him to give you some kind of sign as to who it was on the other line.

“okay, we’ll keep in touch! thank you again!”

satoru slowly removed his phone away from his ear as the other line went dead, staring at his screen and you curiously leaning over only to see his call history log, a random number at the top.

“holy fuck.”

“what?!” you leaned in closer and tried to catch his eyes with yours, his shocked wide gaze slowly flittering to your face.

“that was the national olympic committee.”

you froze.

“shut the fuck up.” you covered your mouth. “toru what did they say what did they say—”

“one of the pairs that made it in the top three got disqualified.” he spat out quickly, shooting up and digging his fingers into his hair as he walked back and forth slowly in disbelief, spinning to face you. “i— i don’t know why i didn’t ask but we got bumped up.”

silence.

“we—” your chest rose and fell erratically, eyes darting around as satoru knelt down and grabbed your hands.

“baby we made it.” he tightened his grip. “we’re competing in the olympics—”

you squealed and jumped up and down and pulled satoru in, the both of you comically bouncing off the walls as you wailed and cried and blabbered on about how you couldn’t believe it and how a chance like this was even given to you, satoru lifting you and spinning you around but stopping and freaking out and apologizing profusely over your injured leg, you shaking your head and laughing, kissing him in return.

“we can’t avoid skating toru.” you spoke once you and him had settled down. “it’s literally what brought us together… and what brought us to aki. and even from you spinning me around like that it reminded me how much i missed skating with you.”

“i feel the same sweets.” he smiled, big and bright and handsome as he leaned over and kissed your rosy cheek. “i miss lifting you up and catching a glimpse of your ass underneath your—”

“toru!”

even though you and satoru were finally on board and accepting of bringing skating back into your lives, it wasn’t to say at all that the fear itself went away when you tried to do lifts or spins in the air with each other— apprehensive and scared as you practiced on the mats way more than necessary before moving choreography to the ice, satoru multiple times chickening out and needing a moment as he was petrified of hurting you again, and you glued in place at the thought of falling and slamming on the ground when you had just survived mostly unscathed.

but this wasn’t the time to be afraid over that anymore, and if akira were here, you both knew she’d smack you upside the heads and tell you to move… to get on the ice and do the sport you both loved and cherished most.