#recycle bin

Azriel’s hand shoots out to catch a dagger just as it flies towards his head. He swipes his thumb over the hilt, not needing to see it to know it is yours based solely on the carvings that cover it. Another dagger flies his way and he steps easily out of its way, not even flinching as it loudly hits the tree behind him.

She’s reaching for another one. She’s hiding.

Azriel waves a hand to his left and his shadows shoot out, wrapping around your ankles and dragging you out from the bush you’re hiding in. You grunt and swat at his shadows but it’s no use. He stares down at you, matching your frown with one of his own.

You smirk, trying to hide your frustration, and dust your pants off. “You’re getting sloppy, Azriel.”

“That so?” His voice is cold, cold enough to hide the slight warmth in his eyes at the sight of you.

He had not expected to run into you today— it was a simple enough mission, in and out in a matter of minutes. Though this would surely set him back. Not by much.

You stand up, the feigned nonchalance almost believable, and cross your arms over your chest, raising a brow at him. “Didn’t think anyone would catch you winnowing into enemy territory? You’re losing your edge.”

“Says the one that was dragged out of a bush by her ankles.”

You feel your face heat at that, but you force your features into an impassive mask. “Your shadows gave me away. I found you with no shadows, I—”

You’re cut off when his hand comes up to wrap around your neck, thumb pressing down just enough to cut off your words. “Except, I let you find me, ___.”

His thumb rubs over the spot he pressed, absentmindedly soothing the small hurt as he looks down at you.

You swallow, hard, and you hate that he can probably feel it. He can probably also feel the way your heart is racing, too. You hate him so much. You hate that he’s always bested you, something he has never been really modest about.

“I tracked you.” You say defiantly, gritting your teeth to stop from saying any more.

He smirks at that, “Aww, The Little Autumn Princess, a professional tracker. Just like one of Eris’ little hounds.”

Even as he said it, he hated himself for it. Hated the way the tips of your pointed ears went almost as red as your fiery hair. He couldn’t trust you as far as he could through you— very far, by the way— but that didn’t mean he should be an ass.

Azriel opens his mouth to tell you to go home, that he is meeting someone dangerous here. That even though he hates you— as he should, seeing as you are a princess of Autumn— he doesn’t want you caught in the middle of any of this. Not because he cares or anything, but because it would be more trouble than it was worth. Not that thinking of you in trouble or in pain made his skin crawl. Definitely not that.

“___, you need to—” His ears catch a faint whistle as an arrow soars through the air towards him.

“What?” One of his hands covers your mouth and the other signals you to be quiet. In a flash, his shadows wrap around you and drag you behind a bush at the same time that his wings tuck back and his arm shoots out. The arrow pierces his palm and he grits his teeth.

Why did he do that? Stupid princess playing at being a spy, wasting his time, taking up space in his thoughts— what? He hisses low as he snaps the arrow in half and pulls it out of his hand, slowly. He watches as the wound heals as the footsteps of the shooter get closer.

“Who was that other voice?” The man he is meeting looks around, and Azriel’s shadows instinctively wrap tighter around you.

“Nobody.”

“I thought I heard a female voice.” The other man sniffs at the air, and Azriel feels a wave of anger go through him at the thought of him picking up your delicate scent— even though he knew for certain that he wouldn’t be able to. Azriel had made sure to hide your scent when he wrapped his shadows around you. Getting his scent off you will be another task on his list, though he resented the idea. For no reason.

“I said nobody, now tell me what you wanted to say and stop wasting my time.” Azriel didn’t have to try to make his voice cold, he already hates the man.

Azriel’s hands tighten into fists, hiding the slight tremble. The man, as expected, notices nothing and immediately goes into what they came here for. Azriel listens to him carefully, but keeps an ear out for you, just in case.

His shadows loosen around you ever so slightly, even as they move to cover your mouth. You watch from the shadows as he meets a man, wondering what would have happened to you if Az had not heard that arrow coming. How could you have been so stupid. One of his shadows materializes to caress your cheekbone softly and you glance at it. It disappears like smoke, melting into the rest of the shadows.

Once again, he looked at his hands. Ever since the moment he discovered this strange power, he had become obsessed, no, addicted. He found almost any excuse to lightly touch others’ hands. While getting his coffee in the morning, while at the store, at the office— anywhere. It became sort of a game. He would watch the person, try to guess at their emotion, and then confirm it. It was amazing that he was correct so many times.

Now he sat at a small coffee shop, looking at a young barista with long brown hair and soft eyes. He watched her as she prepared his drink and then as she walked over to him. She’s feeling tired, probably hoping to go home to her family, he thought to himself as she placed the cup on the table. He smoothly reached for the cup just before her hand left the mug and touched the tips of her fingers in a now practiced move. She turned to leave not noticing what happened and he was washed over by a soft feeling… something like happiness, but… sad along the edges. He stared at his cup, as the feeling slowly faded. He blinked a couple times and then looked up at the girl, who was now cleaning a table. She did not look particularly happy, or sad. He frowned. Maybe… his mind worked and worked, trying to solve the puzzle—not having ever truly felt emotions himself, it was hard sometimes to understand when they were mixed.

He shook his head and looked down at his hands. Maybe this strange ability was starting to fade, only meant to work for a few days? Ryan did not want to go back, not now that he knew how this felt. He liked feeling, even if it was only for a few seconds. It was a hunger he never knew he had and now was unwilling to let go of. He got up from his seat, picked up his cup, and walked over to the counter where the girl was now standing by the register. She smiled politely as he approached and he flashed yet another practiced smile. 

“Excuse me, my coffee was a bit cold,” he said softly as he placed the cup on the counter.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said as she picked up the cup, “I’ll make you another one,” then she turned around. 

Ryan watched as she once again prepared his drink, trying to think harder this time. She smiled at me, he thought, so maybe she is not tired, but happy. He was so lost in his thoughts he didn’t realize she was back.

“Okay, here it is.” She smiled again. Ryan could never understand how people gave away smiles so easily and so often. He had to practice, observe, and guess at the right moment, while others seemed to do it without so much as a thought.

He reached out for the mug just as she reached out to place a napkin next to it. Their hands touched and Ryan felt something… hot. Frustrated, he thought to himself, she must be frustrated with me because I let my drink get cold. But when he looked up, she was smiling, light pink dusting her cheeks, her eyes reduced to small lines.

“Oh, I’m sorry about that,” she said, her smile faltering slightly as she pulled her hand back.

“It’s okay, don’t worry.” he answered, still lost in his thoughts.

This girl was strange. Her emotions did not align with her expressions. Or perhaps he was the one that was strange. Well of course he was strange but… he shook his head. This is pointless, he thought. He drank his coffee and then left the shop, waving at the girl on his way out.

He looked down at his hands; he had been doing this a lot lately.

Ryan found himself at the cafe almost every day after that. Every time he challenged himself, and every time he failed. For some reason he could never figure the girl out. She always seemed to be friendly on the outside but frustrated and sad on the inside. Then it hit him one day, as his fingers touched the tips of hers. She smiled warmly at him, a regular customer, and yet the feeling that washed over him was frustration- as usual- but this time it had softer edges, and he found himself with an almost unnoticeable smile on his lips. He blinked and looked at the girl’s back as she turned before looking down at his hands again.

He could not believe it. He would have laughed- this seemed like something to laugh about- but it would have been too strange in the quiet of the shop. But suddenly, a frown crept up on his face. Why was this different from the dozens of hands he had touched before? He turned to the girl again. Was it just her? He thought, for a second, maybe he would get up and ask her something, maybe even slide his hand towards hers, just a tiny bit.

He wanted to challenge himself once more.