#weirdfanaus

You thanked him for the tissue and tried to pat your mascara, that was running down, off your face.

Why did you wear mascara? 

You knew that this movie was going to bring out your emotions. That's what they did with superhero movies nowadays. They hit you in all the right places.

The movie finished and as the cinema emptied as the credits rolled in, you were still seated, eagerly waiting for the mid and post credits scene. Like a true nerd that you have always been. 

Your companion stayed too. 

A point for him, he knew his movies too. You smiled to yourself for a second.

The movie theatre was empty. Only you and him were left, the lights were brightening and you rose from your seat and he did so too.

You didn't say anything to each other, not even as you left the building. The only moment he stopped you was before the entrance to the building. On the pavement, right by a very very loud intersection.

“You okay?” He asked, you almost didn't hear him, especially with the sirens going off in your back, as you looked at him.

Blue eyes, blonde hair, tall. The perfect boy next door image. But he for sure wasn't like that. He was pretty if that was the word you could call him.

With the cinema glasses on top of his head, pushing his hair back you could say that he was weirdly pretty. Such a soft vibe, never seen that kind of man in that city.

You just nodded, didn't say anything else.

“I'm Conrad,” he said and extended his hand so he can shake it with you, in greeting.

You took it and replied, “I'm Y/N.”

That night he walked you home and you chatted a bit. Luckily he wasn't a creep and you were happy because of that. After all, he knew what campus you stayed in that year. He claimed he stayed in the same, but he wished to move off-campus the following year.

You were a sophomore then. 

Since then you have spent many warm nights in his presence. You went to many movies, either superhero ones or dramas. You cried at both though, there was no type that made you cry less. 

Okay, maybe horror ones. Those were horrible. You hated those. But Conrad loved them. Possibly because you spent more time hidden behind his bicep than normally in your seat, watching the action. 

You even got to spend countless nights in the library. Especially when your anatomy teacher assigned you the worst subject on the planet. The one thing you couldn't work well. 

Luckily you had a friend in med school. A friend that instead of spending time at home, watching a movie on his own and probably eat some crazily healthy food, like he always does, chose to spend three nights in a row with you in the library, eating crackers and sandwiches. You aced that assignment though.

He was a nice presence. He even was at your graduation. Engineering school was harsh on you. But luckily, you had him to help you lessen the burden. It was hard to be a first generation engineer in your family. Yes, your parents always loved biology, mathematics and physics. But the society didn't let them nourish and use those passions. 

It was a fun experience. You loved college. Especially because of Conrad. He was a nice person to be around. 

That nice that the night of your graduation you got so wasted and ended up somewhere you've been before.

In his apartment, against his door.

“Okay, slower, please.” You said as you unglued yourself from your lips. “The world is spinning.”

It was funny because it felt so natural. Especially to you. He was so familiar to you.

“We can stop if you want, I can try and cook you something and then maybe put a movie.” He started blabbering, when you cut him off, by covering his mouth with your lips. It was crazy that he tasted like strawberries.

“Why do you taste like strawberries?” You asked as your hand was combing through his hair. It was even more blonde now. He spent some time in the sun. Especially with his voluntary work and the days you two spent on the beach, especially after you presented your final thesis. His face even had freckles on it. His eyes shone in the dim light.

“Who did you kiss before? Your lips are sticky.” You sounded pained and pouted as a smile filled his face.

“I don't know, who did I kiss?” A smirk filled his face and he picked you up from the ground from under your legs. You had no idea how he kept doing that. He has been doing that for weeks. Especially since that first kiss you had on the beach that night.

You didn't realise when the line between you and him started to blur. There have always been gentle gestures between you. Like the act of him opening the door for you. Especially when you couldn't stop yapping about the annoying couple in the first row who couldn't let the lecturer finish his idea. Or the nights in the library when he fell asleep in your lap as you fought with your laptop, Autocad and the urge to fall yourself asleep. Or the need to see him at least once a week. Holidays were a nightmare. You wished you could take him with you home to New Jersey or you could go with him to Boston. Or that fake first kiss in Time's Square on New Year’s Eve.

You didn't know when you started to love Conrad. Maybe you did from the moment you saw him in that dark movie theatre or maybe from the countless moments he showed how he cared for you, in his weird way, but he did.

That night after your graduation you didn't do anything more than kissing. You never did more than kissing. Not with Conrad, not with anyone else before him.

You couldn't say that you were scared of sex. It was just that you have never thought of it that much. You didn't even expect kissing so much before Conrad. 

Yes, you couldn't say that you have never thought of how it could feel to be that intimate to anyone. Not only Conrad. But you didn't go with it. 

Maybe people wanted to in the past, but it wasn't the moment. 

Not until that night on your birthday. 

You spent that day on the beach, it was ethereal, especially after a week spent inside a cold office, before a computer, testing and designing and then more testing, even coding. It was very interesting and you were always thankful for the opportunity to do that. But your butt hurt and you wanted some sun.

After the birthday party you threw instead of doing the traveling you wished you could've done that year, you were all over Conrad in his apartment. It hasn't passed much since the graduation night.

“Okay you still taste like strawberries” you said as a matter of fact.

“Your cake had strawberries and your lipstick is strawberry flavoured. You're obsessed.” He said as he climbed down your neck and peppering it with kisses.

“It's still weird that you say that though,” you were enjoying his work so much, especially as his hand rose up your leg, under your yellow dress. His hands were always warm and welcomed on your skin. “Are you cheating on me?” 

At that statement he rose from his place in the crook of your neck.

“You're joking.” He looked at your with a straight face, he couldn't believe you asked him that. You realised then that the joke went too far, especially when he took his hand off your leg and looked at you like a wounded animal.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm joking, sorry.” You looked at him and then realised that the moment was ruined. By you. The worries filled your head. Not only the worries that filled it before. 

Why were you worried? Well, Conrad was handsome. And the girls were all over him. Especially since he took part in voluntary work and the school's running club. 

“Something is wrong.” he stated as he saw you leave the corner you two stood before and went to sit on the couch. Your feet were free of your sandals, Conrad didn't like shoes in the house. He hated everything that meant germs. 

You only looked lost in space as he sat by your side on the couch. 

“Why didn't you tell me your brother is getting married?” you asked softly, your arms were hugging your knees then, your head turned in his direction and placed on them.

“What?” Conrad was shocked. “How did you –”

“How did I know? I saw the invitation on your countertop yesterday.” You said and looked at Conrad as he was lost in thought. His hands were clasped together and they started to turn white. He was stressed. You took one of his hands in your lap as you changed your position on the couch. 

“You still love her.” You didn't ask, you didn't try to get the information out of him in any way, because you knew. It was true. Conrad still loved Belly. 

“I don't think I will ever stop.” He said, after a pause to think, as he tried to free his hand from yours. He was retreating and that wasn't your point. Why did you ever try to blame him for cheating? He didn't even cheat on Belly for years after they broke up. It was just that… 

“I didn't want to blame you for cheating, you know? It was just that before I saw the invitation you were so distant. When did you get it?” 

“Last Thursday.” 

“You had it for a week?” he wasn't looking at you, he was lost in thought, looking at a space before him. A space that wasn't even there. 

“Yeah, don't know what to do with it. And didn't want to put you in a tight spot at the same time.” 

“Did you ever think of her?”

“Haven't thought for a while before that came in the mail. Maybe of how they are. She finished school at the same time as you, you know? Still see her photos on my Instagram sometimes. It's weird because it doesn't hurt as much as it once did. But it still does.”

“I think you should go though. Not for them, but for you. There is a closure you need from them and your whole family. Have you talked to Lauren about this?” 

“I'm scared?” 

“Why though? I will be by your side whichever choice you make.”

He turned to you and his whole face filled with gratitude.

“I ruined it, I'm sorry. I ruined your 22nd.”

“How did you ruin it?”

“With my… my feelings.”

“You think that me trying to understand why you've been a pain in the ass the whole past week ruined my birthday.” You said as you cupped his face in your hands. “It made it better, dumbass.” You continued and kissed him deeply.

“So you're not angry I told you I still am in some way in love with another girl?” 

“If you put it that way… that sounds bad. Should I be worried?” You were now in his lap, dress pooled around your hips. You could feel him through the lace of your panties. 

“What if I tell you I'm still in love with a boy I met in my first year?” you said as your mouth covered his. His hands were back on your legs, higher and higher as you kissed him more.

“I would be very jealous, you know.” He said in between breaths.

“You know why I say that?” You broke the kiss, sat further from his body, putting some space in between you two as you said the following words.  

“You won't ever be able to stop loving someone, you knew deep down you could change the world for. Especially what you had with her. She meant the world for a version of you. You can't change that. You can change how you do it from now on. I will always love that boy from the first year. Why do I say that? Because that girl, who was so consumed by him, will always be a part of me. I'm not her, yes, but she is still part of me. You will always love her, I'm sure of it. But you also love me, in a different, beautiful in itself, way.” 

The space between you was now covered by him. He was so eager to kiss you. You never felt him like that. The kiss was consuming. It felt like you were transporting to another dimension. A dimension of just you and him.

He rose from the couch, with you in his arms. Not even breaking from his kiss, not even getting hit by a wall in his apartment, managed to get  your back to meet his mattress. And his kisses turned even more hurried. He was everywhere, his hands on your skin, as well as his lips. He felt too good to be true. 

His hands shyly took the hem of your dress and only when you rose from the mattress he had the courage to take it off. 

Your skin was red though, you were breathing hard and were also sweating like crazy. So freaking anxious about what was going to happen. 

Because it was going to happen.

You helped him take off his white button-down shirt. And your hands were shaking as you went for the belt. He helped you though.

You weren't alone.

You didn't have the time to worry about what he thought of you at that moment, because just as his pants met the floor, he was over you. 

His weight pinned you to the mattress. Luckily he had the thought to pull your legs from under him and have them hug his waist. Because your core meeting his, was a very welcome feeling.

You started moving in a circular motion involuntarily at some point. He started grunting in your mouth. It felt like a reward. This movement actually did something. You could do something that made him feel better. 

Your brain was spiralling though. You started thinking of ways to pleasure him even more. You only knew theory, didn't know how to put them in practice. Didn't get the chance. Conrad was the first one that you had the chance to try them out. It felt overwhelming. This much information in your brain, no practice. It fought head to head with your being. Your career path was one that combined theory with practice.

Why were you scared of practice?

“Stop thinking.” Conrad said as his lips were over your bralette. You could easily see how perked your nipples were through that. Conrad didn't even need to take it off as he bit into your nipple through the material. 

It was a weird, unfamiliar feeling. 

It was weirdly satisfying though.

You heard every girl talk about the fact that they loved when their partner did that.

You liked it well enough because at it your whole upper body rose from the bed.

You felt Conrad smile between your tits. He licked the valley and then went to kiss the exposed skin of the other.

“Want me to take it off or will you?” He said as he pushed a strap off your shoulder and pushed the material that covered your right boob and exposed it to the cool air of the room.. He was right there, a breath away, when the skin was no longer hidden he kissed it so deeply. You knew how it would bruise soon enough. 

“Why are you acting like a dog?” You said as you rose from the bed and went to unclasp your bra, but you didn't even get the chance to touch the material before you were pushed on the bed again with force. Your hair fanned your hair, like a halo. You felt how your mascara started to pool in the outer of your eye. You didn't care though.

“You called me a dog?” Conrad's eyes pieced your own. He was on the same level as you. He cupped your chin, went to kiss you, but didn't. His breath covered your face for a second, when you closed your eyes, and then it left. 

You opened them and saw him on his knees, your legs still around his hips. The bulge hit you down there though. It was hard to not identify it, to not feel it. The material of his boxers had a stain on them, you couldn't realise if it was from you or from him, maybe it was a team effort. 

You just smiled then. You could see the effect you had on him, his hair was no longer styled as it had been that night at the dinner, his face was shiny, from your damned strawberry gloss.

He looked ravished. 

Maybe just as much as you did. With a boob out, a looming bruise on it, panties wet and mascara running down your check.

You didn't care. 

You bit your lip and pulled him in, maybe not as harshly as he did before, but still with as much force you can muster then. You were over him now. His head hit his pillow. And after you continued to actually eat his face and hope that the bite you took of his bicep would follow him tomorrow, you continued with the movement you learned before.

“You're such a tease, you know that?” He said in between clenched teeth as he exposed his neck to your assault of kisses and bites.

“Do I look like I care?” Your breath was mixing with his own as you gathered the courage to palm his member through the material.

He just grunted in reply.

“Shit”

You kissed the crook of his neck as you gripped the member more and more.

He seemed like he enjoyed it. You didn't realise how though, you weren't doing too much. His breath, which was getting more rapid with each stroke you did through the material, made you continue this insane cruise you were on. His hand covered you at some point and guided you to go under his boxers and touch the skin. The soft hairs of his intimate zone tickled you as your hands gripped the member again. Your right hand on the skin, his over yours. 

“Shit,” he said again. You knew Conrad as a man of many words, but that was his whole vocabulary then. His pulse was getting higher with each stroke you did. His hand left yours at some point, went to pull the material down and in the dim light of the bedroom. You finally saw it. You were now sitting with your knees under yourself. You stopped from your act for a second so you can help him pull the boxers down, not too much, just enough to see it.

You didn't feel overwhelmed. 

Especially because Conrad was now looking at you from his elbows. The member hitting his abdomen, covering the trail of hairs you now knew where it ended.

“You okay?” He asked as he reached for your hand that was resting on his thigh.

You just nodded. 

You didn't feel overwhelmed.

It was so nice. Doing this with him felt really nice.

You kissed again. 

It was slow now, his hands still rummaged your body and stopped on your butt. He gripped a check, hard. And he pulled you to kiss him while being on your knees and then on his lap.

His hand didn't go anywhere close to your area. It annoyed you a bit, he was so close, but so far, with one hand on the skin between your butt and the back of your thigh and one on your hip.

You took his hand and put it over the covered core. His kissing stopped for a moment, he just stayed there, hand over your core and lips over your own. And then he suddenly went to conquer both. 

His fingers were not as deep as you wanted them to be, but they did such a good job in making your whole body tremble right then. 

Such a different sensory feeling from when you were touching yourself in your room.

“Conrad,” was all you could say as his fingers pushed through the material of your panties and tried to reach as deep as possible, but they couldn't. 

He didn't even move from kissing you as he pushed the material from your core and his fingers pushed through your juices and started their play.

You couldn't even describe what happened down there. 

But all you can say was that one moment you were sitting upright really fine and the other you were trembling all over. That was when Conrad turned you to the mattress.

Your back now on the soft covers and you watched through hazy eyes as he moved until his breath was over the ruined panties. He somehow took his own off in that time you were blinking slowly, changing from darkness and light.

“What are you doing?” You managed somehow to say and got to see his bright eyes again.

“I need a taste, my love.” He answered and then kissed the wet material. “But I need these off.” he pulled on your once pale pink panties and threw them behind him. “Much better now,” he was on his knees, one of your knees in each of his hands and was intensively looking at your intimate area. 

He looked at it like he found a treasure. 

You never thought you would see him that way.

You just tried to cover yourself by moving your legs together, but you were only met with resistance.

Your knees were on his shoulders when he did it.

He kissed you down there.

He did it in such a way that made you think it was not their first meeting.

Your breath was lost then and as much as you tried to even it out, his actions made it worse. All you could do was try to just breathe and then grab his hair. 

Sounds, you didn't know you actually had in you, left your lips as he pushed you so much more over the edge. 

It was too much.

In sight of resistance you pulled at his hair. You were delirious. What was even happening?

You didn't realise how far you were, but the only thing that made you even worse was how his fingers were going in and out of your core. 

He started with one. In and out. In and out.

He then pushed two. 

Your moans were worse then.

He smiled down there. You could feel him.

You even felt his grip of assurance on your thigh as he helped you go over.

The only thing you somehow knew was only his name. He filled your head and led you as the waves of pleasure came and left.

You didn't know how it actually ended. 

Or maybe you knew. It actually felt like falling. 

But he caught you.

And you were so happy that he did. 

You were in between slumber and reality when a hand covered your tummy and a kiss covered your cheek.

“Happy birthday,” he said softly and then you were out, roaming the realm of dreams.

Your long coat was not helping with the chill of the March night, but the bar was warm when you entered, crowded with men of different ages. You should not have been there, a lady of your age, not linked to any man besides their father, was not allowed to walk the streets alone, without a companion, a man to ‘protect’ them. But they couldn’t see you anyway. Your attire was just as out of the ordinary as your attitude.

You wore a bright coat that wet from the rain. And from its hood, drops were falling on your face. The skirt of your dress was not even reaching your ankle and your brown boots rose to your knees. The right part of the skirt had been cut from the middle of your thigh during a fight with a mean werewolf, who was too friendly, and around your waist hung a belt of weapons freshly cleaned, hid under the warm material.

You got word that the Consul’s youngest son was needed back in London and that he was somewhere sulking in the city of love. So, you were sent to find him.

Paris was a big city and it was full of places perfect for a young man to find someone to spend the night with. Some of these locations were luxurious and some literal dumps. And you were now standing in a pub on the other side of the Seine, of the Louvre.

The place was warm, the walls were painted in deep colours, very similar to the inside of pubs you remembered hearing about from your older friends when they described England to you. The daily rain, the fashion and the way they talked were the very common aspects they told you about. But Louis, a great friend of yours, described every necessary and unnecessary thing he could think of: the taverns, the walls of the Institute and the small designs symbolizing some of the big Shadowhunter families and the colours the people wore.

He would’ve loved to see the inside of this place. A part of England in the heart of France.

Perfect for a British missing home.

You saw how the coloured eyes of Downworlders turned your way when you entered the room. The glamour on you made it easier to make your way to the mass of blonde hair that was crunched over a glass at the bar.

You waited a minute, took his still impeccable attire in, no drop of alcohol spilt, no speck of dust. An antithesis to the emotion his whole stance suggested to you. He was sad, that was a known fact.

“You could at least unglamour yourself, you are going to stay here a long while here if you are looking for me,” he said in English, his voice broke you from your moment of assessing. He didn’t even turn your way, he just started playing to his now empty glass. You saw how he looked at you out of his corner’s eye. You took a place at the bar, the stool next to him previously empty, while still wearing the magic.

Matthew was a beautiful young man, younger than you by at least a year. His dark green eyes were clouded and even from just admiring his profile you could easily see a forest during the storm in his irises. His lips were very pink, almost red and wet from the possible dozens of times he had licked them with his tongue. His hair was parted in the middle, but there was a rogue strand that didn’t like to be away from his gaze, so it chose to sway before his left eye. His fingers were long, adorned with silver and golden rings and on the back of his right hand, behind healed thin scars, his Voyance rune covered his skin.

“If I do that… I would get weird glances that are supposed to be yours, Mr Fairchild,” you replied after a long pause.

Matthew took in a deep breath and moved to stay against the chair’s back, his arms crossed. Only watching him seemed like watching a play, a flower or those astonishing new motion pictures on a screen. He was breathtaking.

A small smirk appeared on his face, he nodded and said: “They usually admire me for my immaculate looks.”

You raised your eyebrows and moved your head in agreement. He looked very well put together, in a place like the one you sat in.

“My mother wants me back in London, am I right?” he spoke after a while spent in silence, once again.

His British accent was deep, not as hard to understand as everyone told you, but it gave you chills nonetheless. Your accent was usually thick on your tongue, but the years spent in Paris, in the presence of tutors of French heritage, speaking various European languages had made it slowly fade, but some of it, still present.

“Yes, she told the Head of the Institute that something had happened, she needs you home.” your tone was calm, the fact that you sounded so much like a concerned lover took you off guard, but you couldn’t take it back. Matthew didn’t seem phased by it, he looked just as miserable to the world as before, but a thoughtful demeanour filled his face.

He suddenly rose, took his time to close each button of his green coat, the movement of his fingers catching your eye. He tied his scarf, dropped coins the value of his reckoning on the counter and started walking towards the door.

“Mr Fairch-” you started, but he was already out the door before you could finish.

You were running in order to catch up to him and when he reached the waterfront, he stopped. The ends of his shawl and some strands of his bright hair flew softly in the wind. The hood that you have just managed to put on fell off your head, the water now dropping right on your braided hair.

You had no idea why you were still following him. You could have just called a carriage and gone home to your cold apartment and single Parisian life. But… for some reason, you were looking at a ravishing beautiful English man, who you have just met, in the pouring rain. You couldn’t see his eyes, but you felt his pain.

“She chose him.”

His voice broke the silence.

His tone broke you.

You had no idea why, but a tear fell down your cold cheek.

A flash of light shot through the sky, thunder followed moments after. Fog surrounded the two of you. You couldn’t even see the other side of the river, you couldn’t even see anything besides him. His formally clean attire was now wet, his hair stuck to his face, his back to you, hands fisted. You managed to put the hood back, hoping to regain control over your sight, but it didn’t help.

You were still in the middle of a storm.

“Mr Fairchild, please. You should get to the Institute, Mr Herondale must be waiting for you.” You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know what he was talking about, you just wanted to get out of that storm, find cover and somehow not catch a cold.

“I can’t go back to London. She is there.” You felt like you were talking to a wall, but he turned his face fully to you.

“I… What’s your name, Miss?” you finally met each other’s eyes.

The forest in his eyes was more beautiful than you had initially thought.  He had a scar right below his eyebrow and another very small one in the right corner of his mouth, one that you had no idea how you saw. His lips were perfectly curved. And his eyes… they held a story of hurt, love and disappointment.

You saw him.

You didn’t know why, but you felt how a spark inside of yourself, something dormant, caught flame.

“Y/N Y/L/N” you replied breathlessly.

Matthew just nodded. His eyes shone bright, but you could still decipher something as hate, not for you, for something else, inside of them.

“We…” he started.

“I think we should go back to the Institute.” You said instead, which made him shake his head.

“I don’t think I should go back yet. Since have you been searching for me?” he started walking towards the empty street, no worry that the rain was violently hitting his pale skin. He seemed to like to avoid questions about himself, preferring to aim the conversation to the other person.

“Not long.”

“Your dress would say otherwise,” he replied jokingly. The air hit your leg covered in dark grey things. The street lights were not as powerful as you had usually thought, the absence of light making you almost trip over stone on the street because of it and the fog that became thicker and thicker.

“My dress had an interesting encounter with a werewolf somewhere by the Louvre. They mentioned something about art…? They compared me to it at some point.” Your tone was brighter than before. The conversation started to pick up, which made you feel better, for some reason.

He laughed softly. The sound echoed through the street and also through your head. And you held onto it.

He was walking through the middle of the street and, you didn't notice when he managed to pull it out, Matthew now gulped from a metal flask, swaying and then regaining his balance, just like it was part of his act.

“Mr Fairchild-“ you started talking, but he interrupted you.

“Matthew, please call me Matthew.”

“Matthew…” you tested the name on your lips. You thought that it felt sweet, but somehow sour, just as wine. “I think that we need to pass the next bridge and reach the Louvre. There is a hotel on the same street, Regina and there must be some carriages… maybe even motor cars that could help us reach the Institute faster.”

“Do you have a place of your own?” he asked, ignoring your explanation.

“I do in fact. Why are you asking?” you were confused about his interest.

Maybe he was trying to sheer away from someone or something. Maybe he really didn’t want to go back to the United Kingdom.

“I feel like spending another night in Paris before I get to see everyone.” You didn’t expect that to be his answer. Matthew didn’t look like the person to give more meaning to things than what they already had, but it seemed like he was more than the eye could catch.

“Uhm… sure. But tomorrow I need you to go to the Institute and talk to the Head. I'm new to this whole French life and I don’t want to cause any trouble. There is still enough to be done in a big city like Paris.”

“New to this French life? Does that mean that you're not from Paris? Where are you from then? The accent… sounds different.”

“I’m from [your country]. I moved to France when I was around sixteen, so I was not born here, but I’ve been living here for around three years,” you answered.

Matthew only nodded, but you could still feel his eyes on you somehow, even though he was facing the pavement. You were walking by the Seine then. The wind was still brushing your cheeks, chilling them, his hair and scarf softly dancing with the air. Unconsciously, you finished crossing the bridge. During the gloomy night, you could not identify much more than the shape of the familiar building of the famous museum.

You continued your walk, even the rain seemed to calm down slowly. Matthew drank thrice more from the flask in his jacket, a fact that concerned you. You stopped in front of a tall building, where various windows had lights turned on. The clock pillar that stood in front of the entrance in the hotel read an hour past midnight.

Not many carriages were still in front of the hotel, but you saw how one driver climbed in his seat, arranged his hat and raised his collar to keep him warm against the cold.

“We could stay here,” Matthew said while looking at the sign before him. It did not powerfully lighten up, but the soft hues still caressed his face still covered in raindrops. He had his hands in the pockets of his former bright green coat, whose colour had darkened even more than before. “Why would I pay to stay in one of their boring rooms, when I have my own just a 20-minute carriage drive away?” “You know that nothing you had just said sounded better than this place.” He nodded to the entrance, where a man in a white coat watched the two of you with interest.

Or maybe watched only Matthew, because you still haven’t turned off your glamour. The employer looked long in your direction in a way that made you feel unsettled. Maybe he could actually see you. Maybe he had the Sight. Maybe he was a Downworlder.

You might never know because you didn’t want to spend the night in a room, in an expensive Parisian hotel when you had a perfect place in the same city.

“It doesn’t cost.” You shrugged and started walking to one of the carriages, stopped only to annul the rune on the back of your left wrist.

“ Excuse me, Sir. Are you able to take us to the Palais Garnier, please?” you saw how your French words startled the driver. Matthew’s steps on the pavement had filled the silence before the chauffeur answered your question. He only nodded after looking judgingly at both of your wet attire.

So, you and the Consul’s son climbed in the carriage and the sound of the cab moving echoed through the empty Parisian streets in the night.

One day you silently try to sneak by him, you see that on a page, doodles surrounding them, are verses.

You, unfortunately, don't get to read anything more than the words her eyes sparkled before he closes it suddenly.

Matthew catches you looking and turns his face to you

"Everything all right?" 

"Yeah, yeah." 

You shake your head. 

He looks at you long and then he puts the leather-bound notebook inside his jacket and continues to look at you. 

You don't get to see more of what is written in that book until one night when he forgets his jacket at your place. 

The weather has just got warmer, summer is fastly coming by.

All the Merry Thieves and their friends come for a late brunch by your place.

You spend most of the day in the garden, playing cards, drinking and eating fruits and tarts. 

The night comes faster than you have all expected and all the guests leave when the clock streaks close to eleven. 

Matthew leaves with James, the cuffs of his jacket rolled, runes covering his pale skin. 

He is a bit too drunk, as usual.

Later that night you clean up the living space and when you lift his red jacket, the notebook falls open on the carpet. 

The same poem, now with more drawings of a woman with a big hat, flowers, mostly tulips in blue ink.

Most words are stricken off, with replacements on top or under them. 

You cannot understand much of what it is written, the writing too messy for you to understand.

Leafing through the pages, you end up on various Oscar Wilde quotes:

You can never be overdressed or overeducated.

With freedom, books, flowers and the moon, who could not be happy.

Quotes that you think match Matthew perfectly. 

More doodles of faces, eyes, splotches of green, red, black paint cover the pages. 

You read some poems, but don’t seem to fully understand them.

You close the book and put it back in its place.

The next day, you meet again, give him the coat, he smiles at you and kisses your cheek in thanks. 

More weeks pass by when he asks you to come to meet him in the Kensington Gardens, ready to spend a long day in the sun. 

You pack a blanket, a hat, a basket of fruits, tarts and sandwiches. 

You meet him by the Serpentine, under an old linden tree.

He has a blanket of his own, a small basket is by his feet.

His light pants and white shirt are cuffed, his vest thrown over the basket and he was barefoot.

He reads from a book that looks familiar to you. 

You put your basket on the corner of his blanket, take your sandals off and place your hat on the wooden holder. 

He raises his eyes from the words and smiles at you when you sit down. 

“Hello.” His tone was playful, light.

You smile, replying the same way.

He puts his book away and moves to kiss your cheek, which makes you softly blush.

He has been into kisses recently, you don’t understand why, but you enjoy it.

He sees your big basket and nods his head in its way saying:

“What do you have there?” 

“A lot of food. Amelie could not let me go without having a full meal with me. She wants me to get bigger than I am already.”

“You look amazing, mon coeur.” he replies immediately. 

You move the basket in his direction.

“I see that you have your own meal prepared.”

“Well, I wanted to be the one to offer food today. But unfortunately, society has other thoughts, am I right?” a boyish smile fills his face and you fight the urge to kiss his face.

“Unfortunately.” 

You watch how he brings his own basket next to yours and starts putting out food from both. 

Luckily, you don’t have the exact same food. 

You and your cook have picked to get things that are softer, usually eaten by you, while Matthew pulled out a box of smoked salmon and slices of bread. 

He arranged the food on plates, you try to help him multiple times, but he refuses, saying that he has it handled.

You eat a little bit of everything you have decided to bring, talk about the people walking by, the mundane couples, the children screaming, sometimes even jumping in the water, probably from a dare or because they have thrown their ball in the lake. 

You talk about books and you find out that he is rereading one that James has given him, A Tale of Two Cities.

“James keeps mentioning that his father is obsessed with this every time he sees me with it. And Mr Herondale praises my pick just as many times,” he states while looking at the cover.

“Love, love, love.” he sings, throws the book on his vest and turns to you.

He looks long at you, opens his mouth to say something, but suddenly stops as he has just realised something. 

You watch him take the notebook out and scribble in it.

“What are you doing?” you ask lightly.

His pen moves so fast on the paper that it makes you dizzy, so you choose to look at how his hair falls on his face.

“Taking notes…” he pauses. Lifts his head, looks at the water sparkling under the sun, pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. “For my book.”

“You write?” 

“Sometimes.” his eyes were again on the page.

“That’s amazing, Matthew. Are you writing something grand as Lucie?” you know that his book is filled with short verses.

“No… Not really, I mostly write verses.” his eyes meet yours, they are shining.

“Sometimes I do that too, though,” he confesses. “I can show you something, but you won’t understand anything, right now.”

“Why not?”

“You can’t see yourself through my eyes, Y/N.”

You feel like you have just stopped breathing.

His eyes are big, the same colours as the leaves of the linden tree over your heads, his hair is curled and messy, bright as the sun.

You stood there, mouth slightly opened and you see how Matthew goes from courageous to shy and ashamed of what he has confessed.

You realize that it is because of your slow reaction, so you calm yourself and cup his face, the skin soft and you try to assure him that you don’t hate him for what he has just said.

“How do you see me?” you softly ask, voice low.

He looks at you caught off guard. 

He didn’t expect those words from you, but he doesn’t move his eyes from yours.

“I see how courageous you are, how you try to help everyone, how warm you are. You picked me as your friend and that speaks loudly to me.” 

You want to ask more, but you don’t want to interrupt him.

“I see your beauty. You love and give. You have no idea how much, just having you listen to me rant helps me in ways you cannot even imagine. I want to tell you everything. I want you to know everything about me…” he stops. 

You know that he wants to say more.

“I want you. I want to court you, Y/N,” he tells you instead. 

You haven’t expected him to tell you that, but it was something you have wanted to hear for a while too.

“I want to share a life with you. I want to wake up by your side. I want to kiss you whenever I want, without people commenting on it. I want to see you smile for the rest of my life, Y/N.”

You are speechless once again. 

His eyes, you lose yourself in his eyes every time. 

“I want that too, Matthew,” you whisper, not to scare him off.

The smile that breaks on his face is the biggest and most genuine you have ever seen from him.

You have never seen him that way, he seemed light, he looked so beautiful.

He kisses your cheeks, joy pulsing through both your bodies, but you cup his face again and stop him.

And you kiss him deeply.

You feel him smiling and you smile too. 

He moves his hands around your middle, he draws you in, your bodies now glued.

He gives you his family’s ring after he kisses you a couple dozen times.

You keep it on your thumb because of how big it is.

The two of you lay the rest of the day under that tree. Matthew continues to read, now aloud at your request, from Will Herondale’s favourite book.

When the sun starts disappearing, you gather your things and take a stroll through the park, your hand on his arm.

You share the same carriage and he takes you home, right at your doorstep.

He kisses your cheek, in goodbye, but you move to kiss his lips.

He smiles while walking down the porch and you watch him climb in the carriage, waves his hand and he disappears.

But that night is not the last you see his great smile.

“Cordelia, Daisy…” she was breathing hard, she felt how the world was spinning around her. Her left arm was numb and in her right one she couldn’t feel the familiar weight of Cortana. Where was her sword? 

“James, she is losing too much blood, we need to get her to the Institute.” she heard a male voice, like through water. So far away. The only one she was sure of was James.

James. James Herondale. Her husband. She loved him so much, he was her salvation, but he loved someone else. Maybe just as much as she does him. She wanted to know him smiling, she wanted him happy. He could be happy without her. She knew for sure.

“James.” she breathed. Her right hand moved without her realizing it. She touched his skin, she felt his warmth and smelt the tears on her face, the salt, the blood. Her hand was shaking. James didn’t break their eye contact, his eyes the brightest she has ever seen them. But also the saddest, silver lining them. Her fingers tried to wipe the tears away, but they were covered in blood. 

“James…” she started, but the breath felt like it was stolen from her own lungs. 

“Daisy, please stop talking. Save your strength. You will be okay,” he was scared. She could see it, his face fully open. A book she could easily read. A book she loved seeing. A book she didn’t get the chance to read, love, cherish. 

She shook her head. She wanted to tell him. She wanted him to know that she didn’t enter the marriage with no love in her heart. It wasn’t all a lie for her. Maybe it hurt, but she cherished every moment of it. Even the bad ones. Even the lonely nights or the moments she knew he was thinking of someone else. 

She cherished his face as the first thing she saw in the morning and as the last thing before she fell asleep. The face she sometimes dreamt. The meals they shared together. The games they played every night. She loved his face: the crooked grin he wore when he won a round, the line he had between his eyebrows when he was concentrating on something or the calm look he wore while reading a book.

She loved him. She was in love with him.

“James, I have to say this,” her voice was sure. She couldn’t hold it in anymore. She needed to say it. She needed him to know, this possibility of no tomorrow, she needed to take advantage of it, of this moment when she could still see him, feel him. 

“I need you to know…” she swallowed, the metallic taste filled her mouth. “I… I love you.” she watched his eyes speed through emotions: worry, confusion, realisation. 

“Cordelia, love, you’re not dying.” he didn’t break their eye contact, but he moved her body with precaution, an arm under her knees and the other around her shoulders. She felt how the pressure on the lower part of her torso was increased as she was moved from her place on the cold pavement.

She moved her head in the crook of James’s neck and closed her eyes. Tired of fighting.

And darkness surrounded her.

There had been so much blood. He had no idea how she was still there with him. He had no idea how and why the Angel had given him this miracle. 

His bracelet was no longer around his wrist; he hadn’t even realised when he lost it and how he did, but he didn’t care about it. When he saw his naked wrist, his mind had already been filled with thoughts about his injured wife. 

She was slowly dying before his eyes and nothing that was supposed to save her seemed to work.

How she was still there… it was a miracle.

She was still fighting.

He remembered how her deep eyes looked at him like he was the sun of her world. 

He also remembered how they closed, peace filling her face then.

He was still covered in blood, but he had managed to clean his hands at some point during the time the Silent Brothers tended Cordelia. He still wore most of his gear. His father told him to take it off so he could clean it because spending excruciating moments in the blood of loved ones would not help, but he refused. Even if it would most likely make it worse. His pants still had splotches here and there, the collar of his shirt was stained with red and he had a blanket around his shoulders. 

The weather had gotten colder and colder while he had been staying in that chair, by her bedside.

People came and went. He knew that his sister was walking anxiously through the church, hoping to find something to do instead of thinking of the situation that her soon-to-be parabatai was in. He knew that Lucie was scared, he was too. That's why he hadn’t dared to leave Cordelia's side, the only exception when he needed to relieve himself. 

It had been hours, maybe even a day since the demon attack in Queen Mary's Rose Gardens, where Cordelia had injured herself and had told him that she loved him, while she was bleeding out in his arms.

That had been a moment of clarity for James. 

He could see everything clear after that, the world was suddenly brighter and then realisation hit him and it changed to grey. 

His love was dying. His wife. Cordelia. Daisy. 

He would not get to hold her again, tell her he loved her, admire her in the soft light of the fire. He would not be able to get to kiss her the way he had always known he wanted.

He was losing her.

James moved his hands through the dark locks on his head. His hair had at some point been wet from the water he had splashed on his face and thereupon soft curls hugged his ears. 

He was drifting on and off slumber with his right fist under his cheek and elbow on the armrest. Lights moved around his eyes, breaths turned ragged and ragged. He felt a chill suddenly and the screak of old hinges. He softly turned his head in the direction the sound came from. Moved the blanket from his lap and shoulders and raised to walk to close the window that had opened. 

The rain had become louder then; the sound no longer muffed by glass, wood and drawn curtains. The stone was cold under his socketed feet, the slippers had been forgotten at the leg of her bed. He softly closed the window, in some way scared to break the calm he was in, but the hinges had another thought and the sound cut the quiet loudly. 

He heard the deep breaths. He heard the ruffle of the sheets. 

He turned his head to the occupied bed. 

Gold met deep brown eyes shyly opened.

And he ran to the bed, where he met a confused young woman with skin paler than usual.

He cupped her face lovingly and she looked at him long. They stared at each other for a short while, when he broke the connection to look at her body and ask her about how she felt, whether she was in pain. 

Cordelia was silent, but she shook her head. She seemed fine, but he still needed to announce the Silent Brothers that she had woken up, to check on her. 

But he needed a few more moments to admire her. Even in the bad state, she was, her bright hair, her deep eyes, the curve of her lips, of her nose were simply divine. It all caught his breath away,

She was the Sun. 

His Sun.

He combed through her hair, caressed her cheek. He was not sure though if he should kiss her, but he knew that he has to tell her how he had felt.

“I love you too, Daisy.” their eyes met, she looked at him, taken aback, mouth slightly open, big eyes, but he was still touching her skin. 

He could see that she didn’t know what to say.

“Can I kiss you?” he watched her take his words in and slowly nod. 

And with one hand still on her cheek and the other at the base of her neck, feeling her pulse as a strong song, one he found out he adored, he locked lips with his wife. 

Her lips felt like silk, soft, perfect under his. He poured in their connection all he felt about her, about their marriage. All the love he had thought of and also didn’t know he had was there. The warmth of her was celestial, her mouth, a place he could spend his whole life in, could worship. 

He could feel her love, her regret, her want. She wanted him. And he didn’t even know how to name how his whole body felt like it was flying, floating. 

When they finally broke apart, James touched his forehead to hers. One of his hands had more from her neck to hold one of hers. His warmth enveloped her cold body. He moved his head to her shoulder and he surrounded her in his arms. Cordelia was now with her nose in his shoulder, her free hand fisted in his shirt. 

They stayed like that for moments that felt like days. James softly broke the embrace, kissed her forehead and picked one of the blankets on the bed, putting it on her cold shoulders. He rose and went to announce Brother Zachariah, who stayed for longer than the others, that the patient was awake.

The two came back in the room, the younger man seated himself on the wooden armchair, while the Silent Brother assisted Cordelia. The man formerly known as Jem Carstairs talked to his cousin, asked her different questions, for which he got short answers or the movement of her head. When he deemed everything all right, he turned to James and spoke into his mind.

She has not fully healed yet. I don’t recommend having her moved tonight. I will tell Will to bring you both something to eat, he is still awake.

James only nodded. Brother Zachariah looked at Cordelia once more, now sitting against a mountain of pillows with the blanket still on her shoulders and he moved towards the door, the ruffle of his robes following him out the softly lighted room. 

The married couple were left alone at once. James was playing with his fingers, but he had eventually got the courage to lift his eyes from his hands and was met with the eyes he loved. Cordelia was startled by his sudden movement when he caught her looking, but she didn’t move her gaze. She didn’t have to. 

“Come here, please.” she rasped out, hardly trying to scoot over, to make him space. James sat where she indicated and they were then shoulder to shoulder. Cordelia put her head in the crook of his neck, he moved so he could put an arm around her and his other hand was clasped in her still cold ones. They stayed like that until someone brought them food and more blankets. They ate and fell asleep in the same bed. 

The next day, when the sun rays slithered in the room, James was the first one to wake up. He admired how the light danced on his wife’s skin, her red hair, making it look like fire.

 Her warm breath was hitting his chest and he was so happy to feel it, as well as the warmth of her skin. A strand of her hair had fallen on her face at some point during the night and he went to move it, the movement continued on her pink cheek and he stopped at her lips, slightly open. He wanted to kiss them, but she needed to sleep, he knew it. So he kept on admiring her, her eyelashes, her brows. He hadn’t even realized when he had fallen back to sleep, but the next time he woke up, he was met with the eyes he loved and cherished. 

Cordelia looked like she had just woken up too. Her eyes were big, trying to keep her awake. James caressed her face and kissed her forehead in salute. 

“I love you,” she mumbled in his cheek.

He only smiled and replied, “I love you too, Daisy.” 

She didn't think that she could feel alone so fast after she broke things off with him, but that was it. Cold, alone and with a broken heart.

Work didn't help her to easily get over that moment. It took her mind off of it, yes, but she still found herself most of the time thinking about her now ex-boyfriend, who lied to her about his true heritage.

It's been almost three weeks since they broke it off. They saw each other from time to time. Especially, they had to save the city, but in rest, they were almost like strangers. From lovers to strangers was something that troubled Kara, especially at night or in times like these, when she was alone, in her apartment.

It's been three weeks and she missed him. Missed his smile, his eyes, the way she brought light to her home, their home, how at night she had his arms around her and the world felt safer and more at balance.

She didn't realise when the tears started to fall on her face and that she was still on the threshold of her apartment, thinking that if she were to enter it, she would not sense that it was hers. He made it truly feel like home. He was home.

She angrily threw her bags on the counter, wiped her eyes and took only her phone, keys and wallet and stormed out through the still-open door.

When she entered the DEO, it was late. The sun was already gone, the lights were on and she had just realized that he might have a shift at the bar. But she entered the dimly lit locker room. She used her super hearing to see if he was in the room or close to it and she heard the soft hum of his voice under the loud stream of water.

His voice became clearer and clearer, but the words didn’t make sense to her, she couldn’t understand them. He was possibly singing in his native language, the words dancing softly from his lips. She stood on the threshold between the locker room and the bathroom until he stopped singing and the water was turned off.

And moments later, she was face to face with her ex-boyfriend.

What she saw first were his eyes, the bright blue eyes she loved looking into. He looked hopeful. Then came the dark bags under his eyes, followed by the soft curve of his plump lips. His hair was still wet, water dripping slowly from it. His shirt’s collar was wet and his pyjama pants hung low on his hips.

Kara straightened before him and watched him take her in.

“Everything alright?” he asked. His voice was just as soft as she remembered. It was filled with concern, she understood why he thought that. She looked like she had one of the worst days of her life. She was not injured, fortunately, but her face was filled with sadness, her eyes were like stormy skies.

“I miss you too much to be mad anymore,” she said. And they stood there in that bathroom for moments that felt like hours, days, even eternity. She didn’t like the silence, she despised it.

He didn’t say anything, he just covered the space between them and surrounded her body with his arms. His touch was assuring. Touching him would sure not lead to broken bones, awkward moments. She couldn’t break him.

She took in his scent. The shower gel smelt exactly like the one she gave him on Christmas. He used to be so clueless back then. And he was so warm now.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered in her ear, his nose now in her ruffled hair. She just hugged him more, felt his warmth. She surrounded herself in him. She had missed him so much in the last weeks.

“I know,” she assured both of them that everything would be okay through those words. He kissed her hair, circled his arms more around her. “Can we go home now, please?” she mumbled. She wanted to go to bed in his arms. She hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since he was gone. She was always cold, in search of his warmth.

He nodded, reluctantly let go of her and she took his hand.

Azriel didn't know what to do. 

He had always known what was going on, but now he was lost. 

He was in the middle of nowhere, had muddy attire, no trace of the target he was chasing and a mood at its lowest. 

He sat down on a stump and felt how his syphons hummed in agreement; they needed a break too. He sighed, combing his hair with his fingers and angled his head towards the warm light. 

The sun shone and through the dome of leaves, its rays got to his tanned and tired face. 

And the only thing he wanted was to sleep. 

Azriel and his spies had been chasing his target for more than three months. And when they found that they had been hiding in a forest over the border with the Day Court, he didn't care who was supposed to take care of them. Thus, he winnowed near the frontier and used his connections and knowledge about that court to pass it as silently as possible. 

But the mission after passing it… was not as easy as it was supposed to be. 

The Day Court had always meant something else for the Spymaster. He was feeling closer to home, calmer and even younger. His instincts were different than usual and his lazy syphons, having a mind of their own too, were enjoying their time in the court of light more than they should. 

He was sitting against another tree, half of the front of his leathers open due to the heat and was trying to find the will to fight the sleep that was slowly conquering his whole body.

A voice broke the silence of the forest, the birds stopped singing and the Illyrian opened an eye and looked at at the owner of the voice:

"Wow! The Night Court's Spymaster sleeping? During daylight? I've lived to see this day! I thought that you, bats, slept only during the night. Is the Night Court no longer good for you, old man? Decided that you preferred the sun over the moon and the stars?"

His siphons suddenly woke up. 

"Nice to see you're alive too, Cyra," he replied with a tougher voice, sleep already clouding his body. 

"Darn! You really must like me, if you are still half asleep right now."

If it were autumn, her proximity would've been alerted by the fallen leaves. But because they were still enjoying the calm weather and longer days, the summer gave Azriel the lisp of the leaves’ help. 

"One of our guards caught Edgard trying to break into the main building." That sentence was a wake-up call for the Spymaster and when he stood up, back in the middle of the clearing, he noted how close he was to the female. 

The silence was familiar. He didn’t like to talk too much when it wasn’t needed, but her presence demanded it and his heart and mind was happy to oblige.

And that's why, even though it was not needed, Azriel's right corner of the lip rose and a "Hi" broke the silence.

Cyra's hazel eyes sparkled at his tone and, because of the light, they became greener. Her lips curved in a smile too, while saying: "Hello, Azriel. Nice to see you alive and well. Heard you made new friends." 

The male shrugged and stretched his wings lazily, while the female was assessing him, looking judgely. He knew that his wings were something meaningful to her, not only because they were his, but also because of her Illyrian heritage. His wings, scarred and darker than wet tree branches, connected her to her mother, whose wings brought the late female more pain than freedom. 

“Can we go to where you hold him? I need to winnow him to the Court of Nightmares and get him to talk.” Cyra was somehow caught by surprise by his voice, but she shook it off fast. 

“Yeah, he is kind of asleep now. You hit him hard.” Her voice was calmer, her body more relaxed than usual, not as guarded as she was the first time he met her. Back when she was cold, young and with strands of brown hair flying in the bitter winds of the Winter Court’s mountains, possessing a look in her eyes that would’ve killed him right there. 

“It’s of no surprise that you look like you got hit by a volley of arrows. Yeah, minus the blood. That’s all mud and probably… poop.” her hands moved with such speed, while she spoke, that only by looking at them, he felt more tired than before. 

“Cyra… I know I look like actual shit, but can we not talk about my attire right now? I would prefer to sleep, I haven’t slept five hours continuously for days and I think that I might pass out.” He stepped towards her in a manner very unlike him and Cyra’s face turned into an open book, worry filling its pages.

“You smell…” was her reply when she caught him right before he could fall. It was a sure thing that she was thinking whether she had a dead man in her arms or not, but his head moved against her hair, white strands finding their way through his dark locks and some even reaching in his mouth. He tried to get rid of them without using his hands, but when he realized there had been no progress made, he tried to use his hands, but the female moved faster than him. “And still act as a baby.” Azriel’s face was empty of any sign of emotion.

One moment they were in the middle of a clearing, in the forest, under the sun and the other they were in the middle of a living room. Warm colours, browns and a lot of white surrounded them then.

He would never get used to the great number of plants in that house. Even though in the years he had known her and they had started to get closer to each other, his house back in Velaris was almost as crowded as the one he was in. Stalks, leaves and flower petals covering almost every surface. 

He asked her once, while she was bringing yet another potted plant into his apartment, back in Velaris: “Why are you so keen on growing a forest inside my apartment?” 

Cyra just shrugged and while he waited for the more elaborated answer, which was coming, he watched how she played with one of the white hair strands that were framing her face, the rest of it was kept together with a clip. 

"More oxygen won't hurt you." 

"Yeah, but when there is no light outside, they use my oxygen. So…?" 

She made an annoyed face then and raised a finger in his direction. "You are already dark and broody, why not brighten the place a little bit?" 

"I get that you don't like my colour preference, even though we are in the Night Court, sweetheart. You didn't have to fill this place that much that I don't have any place to even stand. And it's my apartment!" 

The female shrugged, pissed off by his statement. She bit her lip and looked at the plant she was still holding. 

"Plants show us that even after weeks of cold weather, there is still a moment when the sun will come and we will have our moment to be reborn. They bring us all joy. I thought you needed some joy in your life, Az." 

He had always known, deep down, that happiness would come at some point, even though for much time he had lived in darkness, hurting. 

Cyra, with her bright hair and hazel eyes, sometimes even the colour of the plants she loved and cherished, was like the light at the end of the tunnel for him. She brought him joy, freedom and he felt like light, weightless, although he was always in the shadows.

And then, in the Day Court, surrounded by plants and flowers and vegetables, he was home. 

But he was still unsure what to do next.

The female started walking around the room, moving blankets on the sofa, opening cabinets and pulling out packages, cans, jars, utensils and plates.

The water was boiling on the stove when he finally decided to talk.

"I should've gone to sort the problem with Edgard."

"Don't worry about him, he will be there after you take a shower and have something to eat. We need to catch up. It's been a while. I want to know everything about your brand new High Lady." Cyra didn't raise her eyes from the cutting board, where vegetables started gathering. But her tone showed that she was in the mood to gossip. 

"I heard she likes soup." She rose her eyes to him and cleaned the tomato juice off one of her fingers. 

Azriel chuckled at that. 

There was a joke between the Inner Circle, about how Feyre gave Rhys canned soup when they sealed the mating bond. And Azriel knew that there was no way, the Spymaster of the Day Court would not find out about it.

She lived off tormenting his friends, usually the males.

"Can I at least have a bite… small bite… from what you have decided to cook?" He tried, but he was very aware that he was full of mud, probably smelled of deer poop and looked like he had got run over by dozens of wild horses. He knew Cyra very well and her eyes told him that he needed to get cleaned as soon as possible and there was nothing else to discuss. 

He puffed, sad that he had lost that ‘battle’ and aimed for the bathroom.

The bathroom was the same as he had seen it last. Toiletries spread out on the counter by the sink: toothbrushes, razors and different kinds of soaps, each specially created for certain use. 

He swiftly undressed himself and lowered in the already filled magical pool. The water was always warm and his muscles sighed in approval for the moment of peace. The last week had been filled with the smell of grass, branches and flowers. Their pollen sometimes disturbing his senses, a problem, which was once a disadvantage but had been redeemed by knowing the woman in the other room.  After all, he basically had a garden in his house back in Velaris.

He rubbed all the mud off and when he decided that he had spent enough time in the bathroom, he got out. And with a towel around his waist, he walked into the bedroom linked to the bathroom.

Sunlight bathed the room and the plants were sprawling towards it. On the bed placed against the wall, right in the middle of the room, sat a pile of clean clothes, black pants and underwear and a white short-sleeved shirt, which he put on. 

Back in the kitchen, the female, now with her long white hair bound, was mixing something in a bowl, the water in the pot boiling behind her. He reached it and the smell it emanated was a sign that its contents were done. Opening cabinets with familiarity, Azriel strained the vegetables and dumped them in an empty, clean bowl, placing it on the counter. He seasoned them and watched Cyra take a tray with meat out of the oven.

"Take a plate and pick your favourite." She said, tray in one hand and a fork in the other, gesturing towards a cupboard where he knew she held plates. 

Minutes later, the two of them sat at a table by the window, plates before them, glasses filled with lemon water. The sun was covering everything on the table, the flowers in the vase spreading their petals in approval. 

Everything in that house loved the sunlight. He preferred it over the darkness of his past and shadows.

"I've heard that Rhysand got a mate." Cyra, even though she wasn't a fan of talking, was the one that usually started a conversation between the two of them. 

And this conversation wasn't something he felt like doing after the week he had just had.

"Yeah, he did," was what left his lips as he chose to pick at his vegetables and steak instead of looking at her.

"When?" she stopped eating altogether, now sitting in the chair in a way that favoured conversation.

"When what?" 

"When did the mating bond go… boof." she moved her arms as if she had just finished a magic trick. 

"I don't know… maybe around the annual snow fight? We were in the Steppes when Feyre found out that Rhys kept the fact that they were mates from her. “

“So, she is what… angry at him, takes some time off from all of you and they sort it out?”

She jumped in, making her usual assumptions, and Azriel just nodded his head in approval. “And they do the whole cook a meal thing and stuff like that.”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“What do you mean by ‘something’?” she looked at him confused.

“Cans.” the word made her burst into pure laughter. She moved her hands and was almost going to spoil a glass’ components on the table, but Azriel caught it just in time.

When she calmed a little, she wiped some tears from her eyes while saying: “If Cassian gets the same treatment, I swear to the Cauldron that the three of you are destined to have mates that know nothing of the culinary arts.” 

Azriel just puffed at her statement, which made Cyra shrug and plaster a small smile on her slightly tanned skin. 

“She will learn…” he said hopefully, but Cyra just continued to look at him, smiling. 

“It’s not like she will starve by not knowing” They looked at each other longly, thinking about a night around 200 years ago in a cabin in summer court, during a horrendous storm and a bag of potatoes.

“At least I knew how to mash potatoes,” she added a second after while grabbing another bite from her serving.

Her words, her tone and her actions right after she said that, made Azriel burst into a laughter of his own. He didn’t stop for a while, thinking of the awkwardness that went on between the two of them that night. Possibly thinking about that she started laughing too.

Still laughing, she collected the dishes off the table when they were finished, his plate almost empty, except for some leaves she used for seasoning. 

“How’s Cas?” she asked while cleaning the dishes. Azriel walked around the counter, right from the dining area and propped himself against the now clean marble. 

“In the Illyrian Mountains. He is trying to help Feyre's older sister figure life as Fae out.” he said while crossing his arms. 

“Oh… is he all right? After what happened during that last battle…” 

“It’s been a rough period of time for all of us. And I also know that I should’ve come by sooner…”

“I knew that you were alive. I could feel that you were also well, as much as somebody can be after a war… That’s what mattered,” she told him while drying her hands with a cloth. They looked at each other for seconds that felt more like hours. The silence was familiar, calm and it assured both of them that there was still time left, it wasn't running out, just yet.

“I think…”

“We should…”

They started talking at the same time. And sharing a mind connection had never been weirder and more useless before. But they held their minds from each other most of the time and that path that connected them was used in the most important situations.

And that was one of the reasons why they were that day together, because, in his state, Azriel used that connection to call for help. Help that he knew would come unconditionally.

They had decided decades ago that for this eternity to not be a burden, they needed their space. Also, the secrets of their Courts were bigger than them and they needed to be kept safe. 

But the last war woke up something in him. Something that he had known since he had first met her during that mission in the Winter Court.

“You say first.” As she could feel the fight that went on inside his head, she broke the silence. Cyra looked off guard, something that he wasn’t used to, but he had seen before.

His hands were sweating, he was nervous and he didn’t even know why. It wasn’t like that was the first time they shared their hopes, dreams and insecurities with each other.

They were mates.

“I think… I think that we should try to have a baby.” He said. His voice small, eyes partially filled with fear, scared of rejection. He didn’t expect her to be always on the same page as him.

But Cyra didn’t look as angry as he had expected. She played with her fingers, one holding her wedding ring with a blue stone, the same colour as his siphons, which shone in the midday sun. And when she raised her eyes, hazel mixed with silver, she just nodded.

"I think so too."

And his whole world became even brighter than before.

He hugged her and kissed her whole smiling face, forehead, cheeks, nose, eyelids and lastly her lips a couple of times.

Their last kiss was longer than the previous ones, minds open to each other, secrets still hidden in the darkest depths of them, but happiness was buzzing between them.

Their foreheads were together when Cyra opened her eyes to look at him. He could feel her eyes on his face, his olive skin, the scars on his brows and cheeks, the circles under his eyes, but also the wrinkles created by the smile still present.

He started kissing her skin again, but this time his lips took a different path. Her throat was covered by his warm, chapped lips and in their trail, the skin was left wet and sometimes red, from sucking. She brought her arms closer to his neck, fingers running through his dark locks.

Small sounds were leaving her full lips when Azriel’s hands gripped her thighs and she was lifted off the floor and carried to the bedroom.

The sound of a closed door was followed by the rustling of clothes. Laughter filled the air again when the Illyrian stuck his shirt in a talon of his wings, but she helped and they kissed again.

The world seemed to be suddenly set on the right path when they finally joined. His kisses covered the inked skin of her chest, their marriage tattoo set right over each of their hearts. And with each step they took in their dance, they got closer and closer to the end.

Her legs hugged his waist, her arms, his neck, hands massaging his scalp, his elbows on the mattress, one hand at her nape, the other keeping him from crushing her, lips glued and their hearts were over the other, skin on skin, tattoo over tattoo. His hand searched blindly for hers when he felt that they were close to the climax, his movements speeding up. When their fingers laced through each other on the bed, the moment came.

Ragged breaths replaced the sounds of pleasure and their foreheads were once more against the other, bodies still joined and coming down from the high.

“I love you.” Her hoarse breath broke the silence. Her hand covered his cheek, trying to wipe some sweat off of his face. In a movement so similar to a cat’s, Azriel nuzzled his nose, face and hair against her damp face and placed his head in the crook of her neck, kissed the pulse point and hugged her body even more. She replied to his action by moving her hips higher and squeezed his middle. He muffled a swore in her now wild hair.