#helas

It would begin in a setting charged with tension. Perhaps a formal meeting between courts—a high-stakes negotiation where Cassian, representing the Night Court, would once again meet Eris Vanserra, the calculating and haughty heir of the Autumn Court. The air would be thick with barely concealed disdain. Cassian, his broad shoulders stiff with the need to fight, would scowl as Eris approached, every inch the aristocrat in his pristine armor, hair as red as autumn leaves shimmering in the firelight.

Cassian’s hands would flex, instinctively wanting to curl into fists, but Rhysand’s warning echoed in his mind: This is diplomacy, not a battlefield.

Eris’s eyes would flicker over Cassian, amusement dancing in them. "You’re looking particularly brutish today, General," he’d say, his voice a slow, taunting drawl.

"Careful, Eris," Cassian would growl, "I bite."

But in those heated exchanges, something subtle would shift. Cassian would notice the flicker of something behind Eris’s sharp words—a vulnerability hidden beneath layers of cruelty. Eris, for all his manipulation and cunning, wasn’t as impervious as he seemed. The idea would gnaw at Cassian, whether he liked it or not.

The next step toward something deeper would come not from a shared desire, but necessity. Both courts, forced into an alliance against a common enemy, would demand that Cassian and Eris work together. Rhysand and Feyre would push for it, and though Cassian would hate the idea, he would have no choice. The battlefield would demand cooperation.

At first, their partnership would be a disaster. Their egos would clash—Cassian's brute force against Eris’s strategic mind. But slowly, as they fought side by side, something unexpected would emerge: respect. Cassian would begrudgingly admire how Eris maneuvered the battlefield with precision, directing their forces like a chess master. Eris would begin to see beyond Cassian's brute strength, recognizing the fierce loyalty and protectiveness that drove him.

After one particularly brutal fight, where they narrowly escaped death, Eris would look at Cassian with something akin to curiosity. He’d mutter, half to himself, "You’re not as idiotic as you look, you know."

Cassian, breathless from battle, would chuckle, wiping blood from his face. "You’re not as much of a prick as I thought."

That would be the first moment where the heat between them wasn’t just anger—it was something more complex. A shared understanding, a respect for each other's skills, and maybe even the first glimmer of attraction.

But their walls would only come down slowly, piece by piece. The real turning point would happen one night when they were forced to take shelter in a cave, the flames of their campfire casting shadows on the walls. The air would be tense, the quiet between them thick with unspoken words.

Cassian, ever the direct one, would break the silence first. "Why do you do it, Eris? Play their games? Your father’s? Beron’s? You’re better than him."

Eris’s eyes would flash, his cold mask slipping for just a second. "You think I have a choice, Cassian? You think I enjoy being trapped under my father’s rule?"

The vulnerability in Eris’s voice would catch Cassian off guard. He’d expected the usual snide remarks, but instead, there was rawness. For once, Eris wasn’t playing a game. Cassian would be quiet for a moment before he said, "I don’t know your life, but I know what it’s like to feel trapped."

Eris would scoff, the mask slipping back into place. "Please, you were raised by the Night Court’s High Lord, free to be your brutish self."

"I was raised in a war camp," Cassian would snap, the words coming out harsher than he meant. "I wasn’t even part of the Night Court until Rhys made me one of his own. And for a long time, I felt like I didn’t deserve it. Like I didn’t belong."

Eris would go still, staring at Cassian as if seeing him for the first time. He wouldn’t say anything, but there would be an understanding between them, a shared pain that neither of them had spoken aloud before.

Over time, that understanding would deepen. The sarcastic jabs between them would soften into something more playful, and the tension that once had them at each other’s throats would turn into a different kind of tension altogether. It would happen slowly, almost without them realizing it.

The first kiss would come after a particularly heated argument. Eris, tired of pretending, would shove Cassian against a wall in frustration, his hands shaking with fury. Cassian, breathing hard, would grab Eris’s wrists, the heat between them crackling like a fire. And then, without thinking, they’d both lean in—anger turning into something much more explosive.

Afterward, they wouldn’t talk about it. Not at first. The confusion and denial would eat away at both of them. They would fall back into old patterns, bickering and fighting, but now there would be an undercurrent of desire in every word, every glance.

Eventually, though, they wouldn’t be able to ignore it anymore. One night, after another battle, Cassian would find Eris standing alone by a river, staring out at the water. Cassian would approach, silent for once, and stand beside him.

Eris wouldn’t look at him, but after a long pause, he’d say, "It’s easier to hate you, you know."

Cassian would nod, understanding exactly what he meant. "Yeah. Same."

They’d stand there for a long time, the silence between them comfortable now, filled with the weight of everything they’d been through. And then, softly, Eris would admit, "I don’t hate you anymore."

Cassian’s heart would twist at the words. He’d look at Eris, and for the first time, he’d see past the sharp exterior to the man beneath—the one who’d been fighting his own demons for far longer than Cassian had ever known. And he’d realize, with a start, that he didn’t hate Eris either. Not even close.

They wouldn’t need to say the words. Their love would be unspoken, a fire burning quietly between them. But it would be real, undeniable, and powerful.