KIM

You froze, not knowing how the hell this happened. You and Bucky hated each other. You were always at each other’s throats and never agreed on anything. And now he was in your bed after a night out? What was happening?

You laid there for a couple minutes, trying to figure out what to do, when finally, Bucky woke up. He stretched a little bit, but kept his arms around you. Does he realize who he’s laying with? Does he remember anything?

You finally worked up the courage to turn around and face him, and when you did, he was sleepily smiling down at you. His smile quickly faded when he saw your face.

“Y/n, what’s wrong?”

Okay, so clearly he knows what happened and doesn’t realize you don’t.

You just laid there, suddenly hyperaware of the fact that you were both naked under the blanket, and didn’t say a word.

“Are you gonna be sick?” he asked, sitting up slightly and putting a hand on your shoulder.

You just shook your head, still trying to find the words to say. How do you tell the guy you just hooked up with that you don’t remember anything?

You glanced at his hand on your shoulder, then back at him, worry covering his face.

“I, uh – well I,” you stumbled over your words, then sighed, realizing you just had to come right out with it. “I don’t remember anything about last night.”

His face went from worry, to confusion, to fear in just a matter of seconds. “You don’t remember anything?”

“No,” you replied, more embarrassed than ever.

“Like…nothing at all?”

“Uhh, no.”

His eyes went wide and he slowly nodded his head. “Uhh, okay. Well – that’s okay.” He looked freaked out and slowly scooted back to the edge of the bed. You didn’t know what to say but he could tell you were just as freaked out as him.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I mean – I knew you were really drunk, but I – I mean I didn’t think,” he stumbled over his words, not knowing exactly what to say.

“No, I’m sorry. This is my fault,” you said.

“No, no, that’s okay. I just – don’t want you to think that I like…” He trailed off, and you suddenly realized why he was so scared.

He thought that you thought he took advantage of you. Or maybe worse, drugged you. Although you seemed to be enemies, you knew he would never do something like that. You knew deep down he cared about you too much to let anything happen to you, and would never do anything that would possibly hurt you.

Your eyes went wide with the realization as you spoke. “Oh, no, I know you didn’t do anything. I guess I just didn’t realize how drunk I really was.”

He relaxed a little bit, and you tried to sit up to face him better, but your head disagreed. It immediately started pounding and you winced, grabbing your head as you slowly laid back down.

This was going to be one hell of a hangover. For more reasons than one.

Bucky reached out to put his hand on your shoulder when you winced, but pulled back, obviously not sure what to do. “Do you want me to get you medicine?”

“Yes, please,” you groaned.

Bucky slipped out of the bed and pulled his boxers on as he walked over to the door. He cracked open the door and looked out, making sure the coast was clear, though you didn’t know whether it was for his sake or yours.

You wanted to put some clothes on, for obvious reasons, but every time you so much as lifted your head off the pillow, you felt like your head was getting stabbed. You finally gave up, figuring he wouldn’t care if you didn’t get dressed since he obviously already saw you naked.

You closed your eyes again, squeezing them shut as hard as you could to try to distract yourself from the pain. A couple minutes later, your door opened and shut as Bucky came back in.

He had changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt, holding your favorite water bottle, a bottle of ibuprofen, a sleeve of saltines, and a Gatorade.

You closed your eyes again, digging the heels of your hands into your eyes.

He set everything on the nightstand, then grabbed your hands. “You gotta sit up a little bit, doll.”

Doll?

“I can’t,” you whispered.

“Yes you can, I’ll help you.” He slid his metal arm under the blanket and around your waist and the other behind your head. “I’m just gonna scoot you up a little bit, okay? Tell me if I need to stop.”

He slowly scooted you up so the top of your back was resting against the headboard. The blanket had slid down in the process, exposing your chest, but you didn’t even care at this point. Your hands remained on your face.

Bucky, however, lifted the blanket up for you, then walked over to your closet and opened the door. “Do you want a t-shirt or sweatshirt?”

“Sweatshirt,” you mumbled.

Bucky walked back over, sitting on the bed facing you. He carefully put the sweatshirt over your head and helped you put your arms in the sleeves. He then gently lifted your back off the headboard to pull the sweatshirt the rest of the way down.

He reached over and pulled the ibuprofen off the nightstand, twisting the cap off and pouring some out. You winced at the sound of the pills rattling because it felt ten times louder for you. Bucky noticed, and very slowly tilted the bottle back upright, careful not to make any noise.

Bucky took your hand and set three pills in it. You popped them in your mouth while he held your water bottle up to your mouth so you could drink from the straw.

“How does your stomach feel?”

“Like I could throw up,” you groaned.

Bucky got up and brought your trash can over, just in case you did throw up. “Your trash can’s right here, let me know if you need it.”

Bucky sat back down on the bed to face you, then took your face in his hands. He started to rub his thumbs over your temples, putting enough pressure on them to feel good, but not enough to hurt.

You just sighed, feeling a little relief with the pressure. You didn’t know how long you sat there with him doing that, but after a while, the sharp pain began to subside, leaving a dull ache in its place.

You slowly opened your eyes, looking up at Bucky. He gently smiled back at you, not stopping his hands. “Feeling any better?” he asked.

“A little,” you murmured.

“Do you want to try to eat a few crackers? It might help your stomach.”

“Okay.”

He pulled his hands from your face, leaving your head aching for his touch again. He opened the crackers as quietly as possible, handing you a few.

You took a couple small bites, your stomach seeming to respond well. Bucky grabbed the Gatorade and twisted it open. “Here, drink some of this. It will help.”

You grabbed the bottle, taking a couple of sips before handing it back to him.

After a few more crackers and about half of the Gatorade bottle, you were starting to feel somewhat okay.

“I have to pee,” you said.

“Okay, do you want me to help you up?”

“Yeah.”

Bucky put his arm around your shoulders, gently helping you sit up fully. You stopped for a second to allow the pain to pass, then started to slide your legs to the edge of the bed. Bucky pulled the blanket back, sliding his arm under your legs to scoot you to the edge of the bed. You swung your legs over onto the floor, feet landing on the pile of last night’s discarded outfits.

You sat there for a moment as Bucky let you go, taking a step back. “Umm, where’s your underwear drawer?” he asked.

“Top drawer.”

He walked over and pulled the drawer open, choosing a pair then kneeling in front of you. He guided your feet through the holes, then pulled them up to your thighs. “Are you okay to stand up?”

“Yeah.”

He held onto your arms as he slowly helped you stand. While you regained your strength, Bucky slid your underwear the rest of the way up. “What pants do you want?”

“Shorts, third drawer.”

He walked back over to your dresser and pulled open the drawer. He grabbed a pair and started to turn, before he put them back and grabbed a different pair. Your favorite pair. Apparently he knows me better than I thought.

You sat back down on the edge of the bed as he kneeled in front of you once again, putting your shorts on for you, then helping you stand again. “Do you need help walking?”

“Umm, maybe,” you said, slowly taking a few steps.

Bucky slid his arm around your waist and set his other hand on your shoulder as you walked. Once you got to the door and opened it, you knew you had enough strength to get to the bathroom on your own. “I got it from here.”

“You sure?” he said, sounding concerned.

“Yeah.”

You slowly but surely made your way down the hallway and finally got to the bathroom. After you washed your hands, you looked at yourself in the mirror, and wow did you look awful.

Your hair was knotted and pointing in every direction, makeup was smeared all over your face, and you had dark bags under your bloodshot eyes. Yikes.

You grabbed your brush and pulled it through your hair, then pulled it back into a ponytail to wash your face. Finally, you brushed your teeth, feeling a little better as you walked back to your room.

When you walked in, Bucky had picked up the pile of clothes, putting yours in your laundry basket and his were folded up, laying on your desk. Bucky was awkwardly standing in the middle of the room, like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

He looked up when he heard the door. “Hey. You okay?”

You nodded, though the pounding in your head was still very much there. “Yeah. I mean, I still feel like I got hit by a truck, but I’m better.”

He gave you a half-smile. “That’s good. I, uh... I picked up your stuff. Hope that’s okay.”

You glanced at the laundry basket, then the folded clothes on the desk. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Silence.

You slowly walked over to the bed and sat down, trying not to look as unsure as you felt. Bucky shifted his weight from one foot to the other like he was debating something.

“So…” he started, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just to, you know – clarify – you really don’t remember anything?”

You winced a little. “Bits and pieces. Like, I think there was karaoke?”

“There was,” he said, nodding quickly. “You did a very enthusiastic version of ‘Toxic.’”

Your face dropped into your hands. “Oh my God.”

“It wasn’t bad,” he offered, like he was trying to help. “You hit most of the notes.”

“Most of them?” you groaned into your palms.

He smiled, more genuinely this time, and sat down next to you - keeping just enough distance that you knew he wasn’t trying to push anything. “Look, I know things between us are usually...tense. And I don’t know what last night meant to you - or, well, what it would’ve meant if you remembered it.”

You looked at him. “Do you know what it meant?”

He blinked, caught off guard. “I mean…yeah? I didn’t just sleep with you to win an argument.”

You snorted despite yourself. “That does sound like something we’d do, though.”

“Right?” he chuckled. “Honestly, I thought maybe we’d wake up and start yelling at each other immediately.”

You gave a small smile. “Tempting.”

He paused. “I get it if this was a one-time thing. It was weird circumstances, and I know you probably feel like crap, and maybe you want to chalk it all up to drunk stupidity, but...I don’t think I do.”

You turned your head to look at him, heart pounding in your chest like you were about to jump off a ledge. “Okay, but – hypothetically - if I also didn’t want to chalk it up to that...what do we do? Start being nice to each other? That sounds terrifying.”

He nodded, straight-faced. “Yeah, absolutely awful.”

“But maybe...we could try being slightly less mean?” you offered, half-joking.

He smirked. “Like, only insult each other half the time?”

“Exactly,” you said. “A healthy compromise.”

There was a beat of silence before he added, “So...should I, like, go? Or do you want company while you recover from near-death?”

You looked down at the bed, then back at him. “You already saw me at my worst. Might as well stick around.”

He smiled again, then leaned back against the headboard, settling in next to you.

You started to think about what he thought about the whole thing. Then suddenly, you just blurted out, “do you regret it?”

He looked at you for a second before giving you a slight smile. “No.”

You looked at him, heart skipping. “You don’t?”

He shook his head, turning to meet your eyes. “I know we fight a lot. And maybe we’re not exactly the poster couple for healthy communication. But…I like you. I think I’ve liked you for a while. And last night just kinda…dragged it into the light, I guess.”

You stared at him, stunned. “You…like me?”

He gave you a dry look. “I literally put your underwear and pants on for you this morning. That’s love, doll.”

You laughed, warmth blooming in your chest despite everything.

“I like you too,” you said, softer this time. “Even when you’re being a pain in the ass.”

He grinned, leaning back on his hands. “Especially then.”

You rolled your eyes, then scooted closer, tucking yourself against his side. He immediately shifted to wrap an arm around you, pulling you in like it was second nature.

And just like that, the most chaotic morning of your life turned into something almost… kind of nice. Awkward, but nice.

You were just starting to relax again when the door burst open without warning.

“Y/n! Are you alive?” Sam yelled as he walked in. “You’re late for team brunch and-”

He froze mid-sentence.

You froze.

Bucky froze.

There was a beat of silence where you could literally hear the sound of your soul leaving your body.

Sam’s eyes scanned the room: Bucky with his arm around you in bed, your sweatshirt about three sizes too big, Bucky’s folded clothes on the desk, the saltines and Gatorade on the nightstand, and the very obvious fact that you both looked like you’d been through a war.

“Ohhh hell no,” Sam said, backing up a step with a slow shake of his head. “Nope. Nope. Nope.”

You pulled the blanket up to your chin like it might make you disappear, as Bucky slipped his arm out from around you. “Sam, wait - don’t-”

“Don’t what? Don’t ask why the two people who usually threaten each other with kitchen knives are now cuddled up like it’s Sunday morning cartoons?”

“We’re not cuddling!” Bucky blurted out at the exact same time you said, “It’s not what it looks like!”

Sam raised a very skeptical eyebrow. “It looks like Bucky finally wore you down with his brooding charm and now you’ve achieved the enemies-to-lovers plot arc we all saw coming.”

You stared at him. “We all saw coming?”

“Oh please,” he scoffed. “We’ve been taking bets. Steve’s gonna lose his mind when he finds out he missed this.”

You groaned, flopping back onto the pillow. “I want to die.”

Bucky rubbed a hand down his face. “Can you please leave?”

“I could,” Sam said, taking a dramatic step back toward the door. “But then I’d miss the next round of ‘why did this happen and what now?’ which is honestly better than half the shows I watch.”

You threw a pillow at him.

He caught it effortlessly, grinning. “Okay, okay - I’m going. But you better believe this is going in the group chat.”

“Sam!” you both shouted.

He was already halfway down the hall. “You’re welcome!” he called, followed by the sound of him laughing all the way to the kitchen.

You stared at the ceiling, mortified. “Well. That happened.”

Bucky sighed beside you, flopping back next to you with a grunt. “Wanna fake our deaths and start new lives in Canada?”

“Honestly? Tempting.”

And as you both lay there in shared secondhand embarrassment, Bucky reached over, laced his fingers with yours, and whispered, “We’re never gonna hear the end of this, are we?”

“Not a chance.”

But weirdly, you didn’t mind.

After another ten minutes of mutually wallowing in embarrassment, you and Bucky decided you couldn’t hide out in your room forever. Well - you decided. Bucky tried to argue in favor of faking your deaths again.

But eventually, you both shuffled out, slowly making your way to the kitchen where the others were already gathered around the long dining table for the infamous Sunday team brunch.

The second you stepped into the room, the conversation immediately died. Forks paused halfway to mouths. Heads turned. All eyes locked on the two of you.

You stopped dead in your tracks.

Bucky leaned in and whispered, “We can still turn around.”

“Nope. Too late. We’re in too deep,” you muttered back.

Then Sam, of course, stood up and clapped like he was introducing royalty. “And there they are, folks! The stars of last night’s drunk rom-com with a bonus mystery blackout plotline!”

You groaned out loud and buried your face in your hands. Bucky just sighed like he’d aged ten years in five seconds.

Natasha leaned back in her chair, sipping her coffee with a smirk. “So, is this a walk of shame or a victory lap?”

“Let them sit down first,” Steve said mildly, though the amused twitch in his jaw gave him away.

You shuffled to the only two open seats - next to each other, of course - and sat down as quietly as possible, like if you didn’t make eye contact, the moment would pass.

“Y/n,” Tony said, chin propped on his hand, “just for the record, karaoke was your idea. But you can’t blame Bucky for going along with it. You practically tackled him during that duet.”

You looked up, absolutely horrified. “We duetted?”

“‘Ain’t No Mountain High Enough,’” Bruce said. “Honestly? Pretty good harmony.”

You turned to Bucky, eyes wide. “You sang?”

Bucky shrugged, clearly resigned. “You pulled me up. I panicked. I blacked out emotionally.”

Clint leaned in across the table. “Did you black out before or after she sat in your lap for half the song?”

Bucky let his head fall into his hands.

You smacked your forehead against the table.

“Okay, we get it,” you groaned. “It was a mess. We’re embarrassed. Let’s just eat in shame and move on, please.”

There was a pause - merciful silence - then Wanda smiled gently and pushed a plate of pancakes your way.

“At least eat something before you die of secondhand embarrassment.”

You both quietly loaded your plates. For a blessed few minutes, everyone seemed to let it go.

But then Sam leaned over to Bucky with a grin and whispered just loud enough for the table to hear:

“So…when’s the wedding?”

Bucky choked on his orange juice.

You launched a grape at his face.

Chaos resumed.

But somehow, even with the teasing, the stares, and your face stuck in a permanent blush…you looked over at Bucky, and he was smiling at you.

And, weirdly, you found yourself smiling back.

Laughing, she shoved at Cassian's shoulder, but even though she put a good portion of strength into it, all he did was grin at her, his feet firmly rooted where he stood.

"Should we place him between us and see who he comes to when we call?"

Cassian snorted. "You'll lose that one. I've perfected my distress call years ago and it's bone-chilling. Bone-chilling, I tell you. No way he'll ignore that."

"Uhm, hello? I'm his mate. Mate over brother, everybody knows that."

"I'd totally run towards Azriel before I ran towards Nesta."

"Yes, because Nesta would cut off your balls for even thinking she could need your help."

Cassian cackled at that. "Funny you should mention my balls, 'cause this morning—"

"I really don't want to hear about Nesta handling your balls, Cassian."

He looked offended at that. "You just told me that you lay on top of Azriel naked this morning. Maybe I didn't want to hear that!"

"I mentioned it! I didn't go into detail, which I'm sure you would have." She narrowed her eyes at him. "Or would you like to hear all about how I rode your brother? Because in that case, I think we might be zeroing in on a bigger problem here."

"You rode him?" Cass teased with a smirk. "That's hot."

She snorted, and suddenly the fighting sounds found an end with Rhys slamming back-first into the floor—hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs for a second.

Cassian hooted. "Getting slow, brother!"

"Your fault," Rhys wheezed as he took the hand Azriel offered him and got back to his feet. "I can't concentrate with your yapping."

Y/N grimaced. "Sorry, Rhys."

As the two of them neared the side of the ring where Cassian and Y/N stood, she caught Azriel's gaze, noting the flicker of amusement his eyes carried. Sweat glistened on his bare chest, winding black tattoos adding to the appeal, and when she tugged on the bond, the corners of his lips twitched higher.

"Alright, our turn," Cass proclaimed, and when he patted her ass twice in a request to move, she snorted.

"Excuse me?"

"Let's go! I'm so gonna whoop your ass."

It was Azriel's low voice that spoke next, his words conversational as though talking about the weather. "Touch her ass again and I'll whoop yours."

Cass grinned as he stepped into the ring, unfastening the buckles of his leathers as he went. "Don't worry, Azzie. The ass shall henceforth remain untouched."

"I'm not fighting you, Cassian," Y/N said, arms crossed over her chest and brow raised in scepticism. "I don't even know how to fight."

Cassian's face fell at that, his gaze moving on to a spot next to her, and when she turned to follow its direction, she found Azriel's eyes already on her, bewilderment edged into his features.

"Sure you do," he said.

"No, I don't."

Rhys clicked his tongue from where he sat catching his breath, water bottle in hand. "Az, you didn't teach her how to fight? What have you guys been doing since you got mate—actually you know what, don't answer that."

Cassian snickered, but Azriel's eyes stayed on her. "I'm sure I've seen you fight before."

Now she was the confused one. "When? You've seen me train before, yes. But not fight."

A few silent seconds ticked by—seconds in which Azriel desperately tried to think of a situation in which he'd seen her fight. But she knew he'd come up empty handed, as the only opponent she'd ever taken on was a punching bag.

"Well, this is awkward," Cassian stated from where he bounced on the balls of his feet in the middle of the ring, chest now as bared as Azriel's.

"Would you want to learn?" Azriel asked quietly, tilting his head as he looked at her, his eyes flickering down her face.

She shrugged. "I mean ... sure. If you think I should."

He lifted a hand to her face, palm cupping her jaw, thumb running along her bottom lip. "You should know how to defend yourself. Things happen and one day I might not be there." He shook his head slowly to himself. "I've been negligent in not teaching you."

She smiled against the pad of his thumb. "Teach me now, then."

"Get your ass in here and I'll teach you," Cass piped up.

"What's it with you and asses today?" Rhys chortled.

Y/N ran a sceptical eye along Cassian's figure as she entered the ring with Azriel following close behind.

"Are you a good teacher?"

Cassian stilled, his arms hanging limply by his sides as he gave her a deadpan look. "Did you miss the part where I'm literally General of the Night Court? Of course I'm a good teacher."

"Yes, but I'm not a seven-foot, two-hundred-pound Illyrian," Y/N said. "And I'd rather not end up in Madja's hut. Or, you know ... the graveyard."

"It's okay, we'll start with the basics," Azriel spoke softly from where he stood next to her, his broad palms finding her waist to turn her into the correct position. "Hold tension here, wide stance, knees slightly bent, fists up."

"You're gonna want to go for the weak spots," Cassian added, taking one of her fists and bending her fingers into the correct position. "That's eyes, throat, balls. You could go for the kidneys too, that's here," moving her fist to the side of his body, he pressed it into his skin, "but I'm guessing you'll have to build up strength first. And if your opponent wears armour, it's virtually useless unless you have a dagger."

"Are you calling my punches weak before I even got to pummel you?"

She could hear Azriel's low chuckle by the side of her head. "Don't underestimate her, Cass. I've seen her make a punching bag cry itself to sleep."

"Yeah, because it can't punch back," Cassian taunted with a grin, moving into a fight position himself. "Show me what you got, then."

She straightened where she stood, hands dropping to her sides. "Just like that?"

Rhys snorted, and Cass dropped his own hands. "Well, yeah."

She threw a glance at Azriel, her brows lifted in disbelief. "Your great training consists of telling me how to stand and where to aim and that's it?"

The shadowsinger smirked, his hand on her lower back as he nudged her to turn back around and face Cassian.

"Let's just see what we're working with. We'll adjust as we go."

A quiet huff passed her lips as she got back into position, holding Cassian's amused gaze. As fast as she could, her fist shot forward only to be wiped from the air like Cassian was swatting at an annoying fly.

"Pulling your punches," he said. "Don't worry about my pretty face, I can handle a little beating."

"Yeah, imagine his face is the punching bag," Rhys said, the grin apparent in his tone.

She tried again, aiming for the throat, but Cass was once again quicker. But this time, instead of just swatting her hand away, he grabbed hold of it, turned her around and yanked her to his chest with a strong arm wrapped around her throat.

As her wide eyes met his gaze, Azriel sighed.

"Get yourself out of it," Cassian ordered with a grin lacing his every word.

"Your biceps is the size of my head, how on earth am I going to get myself out of this?"

"Flattery will get you nowhere, sweetheart."

Without giving it much thought, Y/N turned her head as far as she could to promptly dig her teeth into the flesh of Cassian's Arm, who in return yelped and let go of her.

As the Lord of Bloodshed rubbed at his skin with a sour expression, Rhys burst into laughter on the sidelines.

"You didn't tell us she was a biter, Az! Lucky bastard."

Now full on failing to hide his grin, Azriel returned to her side, gentle hands bringing her back into position.

"The trick is reading your opponent," he spoke quietly so only she could hear. "You need to figure out their pattern, so you'll be able to dodge. You'll only get a punch in if you're able to dodge." She felt his lips pressing briefly to her temple then, and when he spoke this time, his words were only whispers of air kissing the shell of her ear. "Cass always slightly tilts his head before he attacks."

She suppressed a smile at that, and when Azriel stepped back, Cassian got back into position himself.

"That was no fair," he proclaimed. "No self-respecting soldier bites."

"Good thing I'm not a soldier, then."

"You'd certainly give them a run for their money with that tactic," Cassian said, though his growing grin hinted at the turn of his thoughts. "But I think some of them might end up getting the wrong idea."

It took another three failed attempts before Y/N understood what Azriel had meant. Cassian's pattern was so incredibly subtle that she never would have figured it out on her own—which probably went to show just how great of a fighter he truly was.

However, before each punch he threw, his head ticked into the opposite direction of the hand he'd use. The movement was barely enough to see, but it was there, and when she finally began to get the hang of it, dodging his punches became a little more bearable.

She honestly didn't know what came over her when in a moment of practiced punch-and-dodge drills she suddenly yanked up her knee to bury it in between Cassian's legs.

A flinch tore through the Illyrian, who immediately cupped both hands over his crotch and gave a low groan of pain.

At her sides, Azriel and Rhysand burst into bellowing laughter.

“Well,” the High Lord spoke in between gasps while Azriel pulled her into his side, nose burying in her hair for low chuckles to reach her ear. “That’s certainly one way to win.”

“Sorry, Cass,” she grimaced. “I don’t know what came over me.”

It was reaching evening in Velaris, the last remnants of the sun's dappled light scattered across the cobblestones. You were clothed in a velvet cloak that reached down to your ankles. Its hood was drawn up, to cover your face.

If Azriel didn’t know you so well, not the weight of your steps and the lithe you carried yourself with, you may have slipped by unnoticed.

But Azriel was the Spymaster for a reason — and you were keeping secrets.

Truly, it itched and picked at him as he turned reason over and over again in his mind as he followed you. What possible reason could you have for skirting around in the dark? To slip from your friends and cloak yourself, wishing to remain unseen on the streets of your home?

It didn’t make sense to him. No thoughts of treason ever breached his mind. You wouldn’t dare, he knew that. You treasured your family as deeply as Azriel did himself, having bled and fought for your space beside them many years ago.

But as Azriel traced the path you walked, knowing you were fully in your right to go about your business however you pleased, it couldn’t be ignored. Logic kept pointing fingers in the same direction.

If he did not suspect you of withholding vital information from your court, then his quiet tailing must be fueled by something else. Something as trivial as an emotion such as…. jealousy.

Azriel bristled at the thought and his wings shook silently behind him, as if shaking off some imaginary snow.

He did not get jealous.

He was simply… ensuring the safety of his court. Which included your own safety. Even the thought made him grimace in the shadows, knowing the smack he would receive from Cassian if his brother ever heard the implication you couldn’t fend for yourself.

You most certainly could. Azriel and Cassian had both spent their fair share of hours battling against you in the fighting ring, training you up.

And it’s hardly likely that the image of you — donned in your fighting leathers, forehead beaded with sweat, chest heaving as you gripped your sword tight and grinned across the ring — was something Azriel would forget anytime soon.

Cauldron boil him if he ever had to admit aloud just how often he thought of that image.

Still, something within him kept his feet moving, footsteps as quiet as the night.

Faelight illuminated across the cobbles, the light of the rising moon, brighter in this court than any other, cast across the doorsteps of the townhouses. You had wound through the streets and ended up two streets stray from the Palace of Threads and Jewels. On a doorstep that Azriel had never seen before.

Your hood fell to your shoulders as you pushed it back gently, revealing the column of your throat and the curve of your shoulders. The faint moonlight glided across your skin, a luminous glow curling up against your collarbones. Azriel swallowed from his place in the shadows.

It was never a surprise to find you beautiful. To revere your enchanting otherworldly beauty — that Azriel was used to. And yet still, even after all these years, he had not managed to master the way it stole the breath from his lungs every time.

A familiar hunger yawned within him. He averted his eyes from you to the door.

He forced himself to take in the details, listening as his shadows whispered things his eyes could not attest. An artist's home. Damaged and rebuilt in the last battle of Velaris. The inhabitant was a Male, living alone.

Something blistered awfully inside Azriel.

Why would you visit a home such as this? Azriel could think of a few reasons that could warrant a visit so late in the evening, with your face concealed and your footsteps light. He felt his stomach turn over. Something foul burned in his gut.

The door before you opened and Azriel turned his face fast, slicing his gaze to the ground before he could see the Fae who greeted you.

Suddenly, this felt too close to an invasion of privacy. If you wished to keep your lovers a secret, as he himself did, this was a direct violation of your wishes.

That was... if this man was, indeed, your lover.

Something vulgar, something ugly reared up in his veins. Azriel clenched his fists at his sides, siphons gleaming, and willed it down.

Jealousy would not become him. Jealousy was not— did not control him.

And yet he could feel it, coursing through his blood, choking up his throat. Azriel tried to push it down, to fight against it with reason, with logic. You were promised to no Male, least of all to him. But...

But he could've sworn.

As quickly as the words appeared in his mind, Azriel stamped them down with an icy fury.

A silent curse followed them, directed at himself for his own foolishness. How many times would he walk this road before he eventually learned?

There had been no heated moments between you, no wandering eyes, no lingering hands; none that he had not imagined. None that his mind had no conjured up in its own twisted hope.

When you sought him out in the night, tormented by your own mind and how it kept you from sleep, you were seeking... a friend, Azriel realised bitterly.

There was nothing deeper to your decision to show up at his door but no one else's. Nothing was hidden in the way you chose a seat next to him at every dinner, nor the way you found a way to be beside him at the tables at Rita's.

Sitting close enough so that he could smell the alluring scent of your perfume. Could see the gleam of your bright eyes as you glanced at him after every joke, almost as if to see what might make him smile.

No. He steeled himself, shutting down every sweet moment of you he had been subconsciously collecting, holding to a greater magnitude than you clearly did.

You were not like Mor or Cassian. You did not warm the sheets of many Fae beds, slipping in and out of them without a care.

You were... alike to himself, Azriel had thought. Dedicated yourself to one.

He scowled at himself in the dark. This— this rendezvous in the dark did not dispel what he knew about you. It did not make it untrue.

It simply meant his feeble hope, that the one, the Fae you might dedicate yourself entirely was him... was just that—a hope.

It did not sway the reality of the world, the matter of truth that you crept out in the night to meet on shadowed doorsteps. Azriel felt his shadows smoking around him, spun into a frenzy at his unwelcome revelation. He snapped in his wings a little tighter.

Coming here tonight, following you, had been a mistake.

—

It seemed perfectly logical after that night for Azriel to take a step back, to rein himself in.

Not that there was not much to rein back — but the small actions reserved just for you, the unrestrained smiles, the inside jokes ribbed back at one another.

The things he had perceived as meaning more. He knew, that if he wanted to protect his heart from further ache, he should stop doing them.

But... maybe the only thing he did better than fighting, he thought grievously, was being utterly lovesick for someone who would never feel the same.

At the very least, he would hold his feelings to secrecy. It began with the smallest retractions, like weaning an addict off their favourite drug.

Azriel knew if he pulled away too quick, it would send him into a sort of withdrawal — and after all these years spent together, he wasn't sure he knew how to live with a deficit of you. Of your brazen smile and sparkling eyes.

Slow and sure. Over the next week, he willed himself to quit bothering you, to empty a space in your life so you could invite in others, those that meant more to you. So, there could be space for your new... lover.

Even the word sounded bitter in his mind.

Azriel opted for longer training in the morning. Let his sparring sessions with Cassian bleed longer and longer, not leaving the blazing hot rooftop even when Cass winds up limping inside.

He had received a halfhearted scowl from the warrior, undoubtedly for how unrelenting he had been in his fighting this week.

The time he usually sets aside for you, to read side by side in the library, to bake, to enjoy each other's company — Azriel swept it aside for you, to free up your schedule.

Noticed how you spend your free time down in Velaris. He doesn't dare tail you again.

The week crawls by slowly, stretching out thick, black tar.

Come Sunday, a day you normally reserved for spending with him, Azriel knows his extra insistence on training isn't enough of an excuse to keep you away. He trains late anyway.

True to his suspicions, it takes less than an hour for you to appear— having come to find him.

Azriel can sense you, even before his shadows murmur sweet things in his ears about the most beautiful Fae watching him through the window.

You're lingering at the door, unusually reserved. He can feel your hesitancy, even as he works his aching muscles through yet another set of exercises. His shadows stay in close, the edge of his body whispering in and out of darkness, his siphons gleaming.

You wait, watching quietly, until the sword he's wielding, a strong, broad Illyrian blade, is placed down to rest. Then, there's the soft pad of your feet as you step out into the training area. He hears you coming but he does not turn to face you.

“I've missed you this week.”

Even with his back turned, Azriel fights to keep his expression neutral, even as his eyes flutter at your admission. There's a tug on his shadows, their desire to wisp across to you proving a challenge to resist. He holds himself still, stern, and doesn't even a ruffle of his wings to indicate he's heard you.

"I—" Azriel begins. He still can't bear to turn to face you. "I'm sorry to hear that."

He can hear the noise of confusion that slips from your throat — evidently, it isn't the response you're expecting.

Azriel focuses on the sword before him, his bicep bulging as he lifts its weight and wanders to the stand of weapons. He pretends to be immersed in the decision of which to train with next, even though he's been out here for hours.

Even with his silent cold shoulder, he can still hear you behind him, your feet dragging softly across the ground in what is surely a hesitant nervous action. But still, you haven't left.

"Well, maybeee…" You continue on, voice still aiming for light and breezy, as if he hasn't been avoiding you. You're still trying.

Azriel's chest tightens up with a familiar ache, one that always lingers around you. Since seeing you that night, on another Male's doorstep, its sting has become particularly cruel. Jealousy has a cold bite.

"If you’re nearly done... I mean, if your somewhat obsessive workout regime is finally complete..."

You're winding on, taking jabs that would normally make him smile. You'd take a gentle rolling of his eyes at this point. Azriel turns to you, his face remaining passive.

"I was wondering if you wanted to come sit with me in the library," You say, voice suddenly softer now that he's facing you. "If you’re not too busy, that is.”

Azriel steels himself, eyes cutting to the ground as he forces himself to not wilt beneath your hopeful gaze. He knew it would be hard to pull himself away from you but this? This is nearing torture.

He clears his throat. “I am.”

He turns and begins to peel off the layers of Illyrian leathers from his torso, remaining diligent at keeping himself from caving to you. He can feel the ugly emotion rolling just beneath the surface, a gruesome green monster that threatens his usual composure.

Behind him, he hears your soft, saddened oh. His wings give a tiny shiver at it, even as he continues the methodical process of unwinding after training.

Piece by piece, his armor comes off, until even his shirt has been shed. His skin glistens under the shine of the afternoon sun, the muscles beneath rippling and sore from exertion.

There's a moment of silence and Azriel keeps his head bowed as he gathers himself, prepared to bathe the sweat and grime off himself. It wasn't a complete lie he had told.

Perhaps, he thinks wistfully, he could wash some of his unjust jealousy away with it. Being so unwound by his feelings is taking its toll on him, considering how unused to it he is. He waits, ears keenly listening for the sign of your departure.

After a minute of quietness, he can only assume you've slipped away silently. He sighs, half in relief and half in his sorrow.

"What are you busy doing?"

Your voice pipes up and Azriel glances behind him, surprised that you haven't left after all. His wings tuck in a little tighter.

"y/n." He murmurs your name and it comes out almost as a plea. Now, faced with you pulling apart his loose lie, Azriel finds he doesn't have it within him to lie to your face. "Please."

You don't say anything.

Azriel's shadows dance around him, agitated and frenzied, and he wills them to calm— though, that had always been an impossible request in your presence. He takes a sharp inhale and walks towards the door, leaving you behind on the rooftop.

He gets halfway down the hallway, heading for his room before your voice calls out again.

"Busy avoiding me?"

You've followed him from the training ring and now you stand at the end of the hallway, your arms crossed firmly across your chest. Your face is contorted into a hard expression, a furrow between your brows.

Azriel sighs and turns back to you. He hadn't been able to keep his secret from Mor — why, oh why did he think that he would have any more luck when it came to you?

You— enigmatic, wonderful you. Maybe, all Azriel hopes to do today is to delay the inevitable rejection for a different day. An easier day.

A day where he isn't feeling so easily undone by his the enormity of his envy. Envious of what he can't have but so desperately desires.

As he turns to face you, it's impossible to miss the way your eyes dart down to his bare chest. You stare for a moment too long and it looks like it takes an effort to drag your eyes up. You swallow heavily, the bob of your throat unmissable. Even from afar, Azriel swears there's a glow to your cheeks.

No. No, he wasn't doing that to himself anymore! He wouldn't— he couldn't be having those thoughts about you anymore. You had a lover for Mother's sake.

"I'm not—"

"Oh my Gods, don't even try to say you're not avoiding me." You interrupt him sharply. You begin to stamp your way down the hallway, eyes narrowed, your annoyance clear to see.

A door in the hallway opens. Distracted by something over his shoulder, Cassian takes a blundering loud step out into the hallway before he freezes.

He spots you first, eyes widening and wings bunching up at your obvious fury. His head turns, finding Azriel down the other end of the hallway.

"Oh... Mother, this is happening now, huh? I'm just gonna— uh, get food later." He jerks his thumb over his shoulder, quickly turning and disappearing back into his room. His door closes with a quiet snip.

In the moment of distraction, you don't notice how Azriel has moved away stealthily— his shadows aiding his quiet getaway. He's not entirely sure what his plan is; he doubts he can avoid this argument by simply shutting himself in his room. Turns out, he's selfish enough to be willing to try.

Sure enough, it takes another moment before his wings twitch, his shadows reporting on your incoming footsteps moments before he hears them himself.

He busies himself with digging through his drawers and sends a silent request to the House, praying it might keep the door locked against you.

He can do this— he can swallow down his burning heart and keep your friendship he values so dearly, he swears he can. Just not today.

He hears the door open.

Glancing up, he narrows his eyes at the House and calls it a foul word in his mind. The Faelights of his room seem to twinkle mischievously in response.

"Az," You breathe softly.

His name sounds unbearably tender coming from your lips. His wings give a little rustle, curling closer around himself.

Despite his lack of reply, you aren't deterred. He can hear your footsteps, gentle and not at all like your prior furious stomps down the hallway, as they wind around his bed.

Chest stirring with an old ache, he keeps himself facing away. He slips a shirt on and prays you give him one more day to rein in his treacherous heart. One more day. He just can't do it today.

"Did I... Did I do something?"

Your voice is suddenly a lot smaller.

Azriel softens instantly at the sound of it, feeling his resolve begin to crumble. He crushes his eyes closed and thinks of what he had seen down in Velaris — forces himself to imagine you with another Male, in his arms, in his bed.

But even if his jealousy is so terribly unwarranted, he cannot bring himself to lie to you.

"No," The word grates out his throat roughly.

Because it's the truth. You hadn't done anything wrong and— and Azriel refused to hurt you just because he couldn't contain a few rampant feelings.

"Really?" The tinge of annoyance is back in your words and Azriel can't even blame you.

"Because then why it is that you have been avoiding me since— since the day I was-"

You cut your own words off and Azriel fills in the blank on his own. Since the day down in the city—where I saw you entering another Male's home, hidden in your cloak, like you were meeting a lover— and even though you're completely allowed to do that, I am like every other gods forsaken jealous Male in Prythian, getting upset over this, even if you are not truly mine.

He turns to you finally, his hands clenched at his side and he wills the next sentence out.

"What or who you choose to spend your free time with—" He inhales a long breath, forcing his face to remain neutral even as he feels his teeth grit together. "—is none of my concern."

Your face scrunches up, confused. Then the furrow between your eyebrows is back and Azriel feels a tad nervous. You aren't often angry, least of all with him.

"Cauldron boil me," You bury your face into your hands for a second. Then you drag them down languidly with a groan, peeking up at him over your hands.

"Did you follow me?"

Azriel feels a bit off-guard. His voice isn't as sure when he says, "It is my duty to survey my court."

You bristle a little at that and the nervousness within him grows a little bigger.

"'Who I choose to spend my time with?'" You repeat his words back to him with a tone of incredulity, your hands motioning wildly before you. Faintly, Azriel begins to sense the feeling of foolishness rising within him.

"For Mother's sake, Az, I was buying you a birthday gift, not sleeping with him!"

The moment the words burst from your lips, two things happen. Azriel stiffens, the true nature of your stealthy endeavor through Velaris making a fool of him indeed.

You were... cloaked and hidden because you had been planning a surprise. For him. For his birthday. Something he hadn't even considered was around the corner as it held no high merit with him. His eyes widen and his lips part an inch.

And you — you straighten up, eyes wide, looking as though you've been struck by lightning.

"You were jealous." You gasp.

Not a question, a statement.

"No," Azriel denies, without thinking. His heart rabbits in his chest. The irony of acting out the way he did, because jealousy had blinded him in the first place, is not lost on him.

Suddenly, all his envy is washed away, replaced quickly by a bumbling foolish embarrassment. He wishes he could winnow out of the House. He considers the window behind him for a moment, if only to spare himself from revealing his true feelings to you.

One glance back at your face, your expression edging towards crestfallen, and any thoughts of running away vanishes.

"Yes." He quickly amends, voice meek.

His wings give a little shudder, twisting in closer as he realises what he's admitted aloud. How there was no coming back from this.

No one had ever made him as loose-tongued as you do. Azriel is embarrassed to be caught stumbling over his words.

"I realise..." He croaks out, suddenly finding the slats of the floorboards immensely more interesting. His shadows have slowed from their nervous frenzy, making lazy motions instead, as if to soothe him. "That may not be ideal. My feelings, that is."

A beat of silence. Azriel studies a spot on the floor intently. His heart flounders wildly behind his ribs. His embarrassment seeps something closer to mortification.

Your shoes peek into the edge of his vision and Azriel's head shifts up slowly, his hazel eyes finding yours and burning into them.

His shadows whisper a thousand things to him — but all of them are dulled, quietened, as he simply stares at you. Feels something between the pair of you hang in the balance, just a breeze from unraveling.

Your eyes are bright. Acutely, he realises he can smell relief rolling off you in heavy waves. Amongst it, too, is a hint of... happiness. Happiness.

“Oh, you big Illyrian baby,” You coo, a teasing lilt to your tone.

His cheeks grow warm. Something white-hot tips down his spine as you step in closer, swaying into his space. He can smell the alluring scent of you and his heart thrums in his chest at your nearness, aching to be closer.

"Some spymaster you are, huh?" You say, voice barely above a whisper.

Azriel stays silent but his head tilts to the side just an inch in his puzzlement, his eyebrows knitting together. Hazel eyes peer at you with such an intensity that it sends goosebumps crawling across your skin— his eyes searching your face for answers to his thousand questions.

"Knowing everything except for this." You continue, words feather-soft.

You don’t say what this is but Azriel thinks he knows. Hopes he knows. His hands at his sides clench tighter, his fingers curled up into fists, and the motion catches your attention.

Moving so slowly, you reach out and gingerly take his wrist between your delicate fingers. Azriel lets you. A whine crawls up in the back of his throat and his swallows it back down.

He watches closely as you pull his hand up, forward, cradling it with your own two. His fingers twitch, so unfamiliar with such tender touches.

The shadows scouring around his shoulders burst into a frenzy, circling down his arms and twirling around your intertwined hands. It's as though they're... dancing, Azriel thinks.

"I... hoped." He admits quietly, his voice full of longing.

You shift his mottled hand, turning it gently so his palm is facing yours. Then you hold your own up against it, like you're comparing hand sizes.

Azriel can barely tear his eyes off where your hand presses into his to look up at you. Something molten hot begins to scorch through his veins. A realisation. A dream that may be finally answered. It feels like pure starlight.

Your hand is dwarfed against his own scarred one — and when Azriel curls his fingers, they hug the top of yours gently. You press back against his hand, like the smallest hug back.

You murmur back. "You don't need hope."

Your gaze skirts up from your joined hands, your lips twitching into a nervous smile.

Your eyebrows have drawn together in the middle, just a bit, as though what's happening is something you find devastatingly beautiful. As though you think that way about him. About the two of you, together.

Azriel finds himself thinking of all he would give in the world —all the mountains he'd move and dragons he'd slay— for you to keep looking at him that way.

And that was why you had avoided him like he was contagious for all of yesterday, burying yourself in paperwork or hiding away in the library. But your plan was far from foolproof, you’d barely made it through yesterday without seeing him, so today had to be different. If being close to you was so shameful he had to sneak away before you had a chance to wake, you would simply remove yourself from the situation and spare yourself some Gods damned dignity. 

You had already written to Mor, your excuse of needing to get away from the happily mated couple for a few nights only a half lie. You were in desperate need of a good night’s rest, however that was not the most pressing issue at hand. But there was no need for her to know that. Yet. She would find out eventually, she always did, and you would be stupid to expect otherwise. 

Two hours past sunrise should mean that the Valkyrie training would be full and well underway, and thus it would be safe for you to make your escape. You got the things you’d need and made your way up the stairs to one of the smaller balconies overlooking the training ring. You knew you really shouldn’t, because what good would it do? But you had to. Just a quick glance. Quietly you moved towards the railing, scanning the people below. 

There he was, a thing of graceful, terrifying beauty. He seemed to be demonstrating a movement with a training sword for some of the priestesses. He moved with such fluidity, wielding the sword in his hand as if it was an extension of himself. He was like death on swift feet. A fallen angel, a dark prince. 

He was beautiful.

You must have accidentally made a sound, because his head shot up and his eyes zeroed in on you. Oh Gods. The intensity in his gaze, and the increasing pressure in your chest was too much. He didn’t want you. 

You staggered back, one little step and you had winnowed yourself down to the city streets. This was good, you needed to get away. He left you alone. He drew back first. You knew all of this, so why did it hurt such an unreasonable amount?

You rubbed your chest in hopes of getting rid of the tightness that seemed to have moved in there since yesterday morning, and then you set course towards the one stop you had to make before getting to Mor’s. 

-

It had been three days since you arrived at Mor’s apartment with a paper bag filled with the sweetest, sugar-powdered pastries your favourite bakery had to offer. It had taken you both approximately 20 minutes to devour them all, after which you no longer had anything to distract your friend from digging up the truth behind your visit. 

You were in love with someone who did not harbour the same feelings towards you. And you desperately needed to get away from him, to save what remained of your heart. 

You had cried, drank some wine, and then cried a little more. You went back to the bakery for more pastries the next day, and the cycle repeated. 

The crisp, early-spring wind was a menace today as you were on your, now daily, pastry run. You were trying to stop your hair from whipping around like a being possessed, cursing up a storm, when you heard him call your name. 

You froze to the spot, like his voice was some primal command. That insufferable tightness in your chest was as present as ever as you forced yourself to put on your brave face and turned towards him. 

There he was, jogging towards you, his brow furrowed. 

“Hey,” Azriel breathed as he came to a stop in front of you. His shadows swirled out in your direction, but retracted before they had a chance to you. 

“Hi,” you mumbled back, suddenly finding the cobbled street very interesting. 

He cleared his throat and took a step closer. You took one backwards. The cobblestone looks different here than in the alley by the bakery. 

“I haven’t seen you in a while… you haven’t been home – at the House, I mean,”  he coughed lightly. I wonder if it was made with, like, a different technique? Or maybe the stones are just differently shaped or something?

“Yeah, no, I’ve been staying with Mor for a bit.” It’s definitely mossier on the smaller streets, maybe that’s why? It just shifts the perspecti–

“Angel, please look at me.” 

You didn’t want to, Gods you didn’t want to. But alas, you seemed to have no power when it came to Azriel. 

Any other day, the worry swimming in those hazel eyes would have melted your heart. Today, it just hurt. “Did I do something? Is that why you… haven’t been around?” 

You scoff, “No, you didn’t do anything, Azriel. It’s fine.”

“It’s obviously not fine! I haven’t seen you in days, and now you can barely look at me?” He exclaimed, exasperation clear in his voice. “Look, I’m sorry if I overstepped, or made you uncomfortable – but I miss my friend,” his hands twitched where they rested at his sides, shadows swirling around him with unease.

“Oh, please,” his brows furrowed further at the dry laugh that escaped you, “Are you being serious, Az? I fell asleep in your arms, after you pleaded with me to stay with you – and then I woke up alone.” His face fell. “How do you think that feels? I mean, you must know how I feel about you!” You cursed yourself for the way your voice quivered, and that damned burning feeling behind your eyes that you were so sick of.

“What– no, I didn’t– what do you–,” he stuttered. He actually stuttered. The spymaster of the Night court couldn’t even come up with an excuse for being an ass.

“Save it. I get it – you were lonely, we’ve all been there,” you muttered, wrapping your arms around yourself, “I have to go.”

You turned back in the direction of Mor’s apartment, pastries be damned. You just had to get away.

Azriel had other plans though. His fingers wrapped around your wrist, the cool wisps of shadows snaking up your forearm. You couldn’t help the way you recoiled from his touch, how it seemed to ignite every nerve in your arm. 

“Wait–,”

“NO!” A sob wracked your body. “No, just leave me alone, Az. Can’t you tell that you’re hurting me?” His face twisted in time with your words, and tears pricked your eyes. “Being around you hurts!” 

His shadows were whipping violently around him, but he was as still as death itself.  Something like dread and confusion were clouding his eyes.

He called after you as you walked away. But he didn’t stop you, nor did he try to follow you. And you didn’t dare look over your shoulder, too scared you might run back and give him the rest of your heart, shattered as it may be. No, instead you carried the shards in your hands, tears rolling down your cheeks, one after the other. 

You weren’t sure how you were ever going to be okay. 

-

The bedroom door creaked open, and you pulled the duvet further over your head.

“Hey sleepyhead,” Mor said in a sing-song voice. You weren’t sleeping.

“I’m not asleep,” you muttered, huffing loudly at the giggle that escaped her.

“Yeah, well, calling you a crybaby would be insensitive so I went for the next best thing.” 

Her comment made the corners of your lips twitch, and you silently cursed her for always knowing how to cheer you up. You had gotten quite comfortable in your misery.

You pulled the covers down and looked over at where she stood. Your chest grew uncomfortably tight when you saw what was in her hands. 

“Another one?” You asked and rolled over to face the window. You had forgotten how stubborn he was. Competitive bastard. 

“Yes, and they just seem to get bigger and bigger. I like the daffodils in this one though, very spring-esque. The other ones didn’t have any daffodils,” she mused as she walked in and headed towards the far end of the room, most likely towards the dresser. It was the only surface area not currently taken up by a bouquet.

This was the sixth bouquet he’d sent. In three days. He had turned Mor’s guest room into a damn flower shop. Just being in a ten feet proximity of this room would have sent Cassian into a sneezing frenzy.

“Remember that time in Elain’s garden, when you told me daffodils were your mom’s favourite flower? That she called you her little daffodil when she carried you in her womb? They are very beautiful – just like you. 

“Yours, Azriel.” Mor read the note before carefully putting it back with the flowers. 

Every set of flowers had come with its own handwritten note. He had apologised in the first one, the rest told you he missed you, recalling memories of moments you’d shared. Each one ended with a heartfelt compliment, one that brought tears to your eyes every time, without fail.

Mor let out a slight sigh. “I am fully on your side here, and I don’t want to pressure you into anything, but… are you sure you don’t want to talk to him? I know you’re hurt, and you have every right to be, but… he’s a good male and he likes you – a lot.” 

She’s right. You figured that out two days ago. But your pride was wounded, and your trust had been betrayed, and it stung. 

However, somewhere along when the initial pain had started to diminish it had slowly but surely gotten replaced by the agony of missing him. Now you didn’t know what part of the pain came from what, you only knew that it hurt. 

But Gods, you really did miss him – more and more by the minute. You missed him in your bones; your best friend, your partner in crime, the male you loved. 

“Alright, you don’t have to say anything. I have to visit Rhysand to go over some work though, and I won’t be home until late tonight, probably. There is food and tea in the kitchen, or you can go down to the pub downstairs and ask them to make you something. Just… make sure to go there earlier in the evening to avoid drunken idiots, okay?” You rolled over to look at your friend, who once again proved herself to be way better than you deserved. You nodded. 

“Thank you,” you whispered and her lips curved upwards in a soft smile.

“Of course, take care of yourself,” she said, that warm smile still intact as she made her way out of the room, closing the door behind her. 

After dragging out your stay in bed a few more minutes, the thought of a warm cup of tea became too enticing to ignore. Chucking on a thick sweater you dragged your feet out of the bedroom.

Once in the kitchen, you put the kettle on the stove and went in search of some tea. Where was the one Mor made you yesterday? The one that felt like drinking a warm, spiced hug – you needed that one right now. You found it in one of the cupboards just in time for the water to start boiling. So you made your cup of tea, drizzled in a little bit of honey, and walked out to the living room. You had just put your tea down and made your way over to the wall of bookshelves to pick out a new story to escape into when there was a knock on the door.

The way your entire body froze, yet seemed to come alive at the same time, signalled you knew who it was. How your body and soul could possibly know it was Azriel on the other side of that door, you weren’t sure. But alas, as you crossed the living room towards the entryway and tugged the front door open, there he was. 

He looked tired. His eyes seemed uncharacteristically old, his skin dull and the bags under his eyes were undeniable. Despite this he still managed to look as breath-taking as always. 

Those tired eyes met yours, and you swore you felt time stop. He was here. Your Azriel. 

Except he wasn’t yours, was he? A truth that only stung worse when your name fell from his lips. But seeing him here, like this… you could live with never having him, you thought. As long as he was in your life, if only as a friend.

That’s why you breathed out a “hi,”, and opened the door wider, a silent invitation to step inside. His shoulders sagged in relief as he stepped over the threshold.

“Hey,” Azriel whispered on a shaky breath, as you closed the door behind him. You stood in silence for a minute, neither of you apparently knowing what to say.

Azriel was the first to break the silence, “so, uh– did you get the…”. Bouquets is what he didn’t say, but he didn’t have to.

“Yeah, yeah I did,” you mumbled, never really meeting his eyes. “Pretty.”

“Yeah? Okay,” you could see him nodding out of the corner of your eye. “Good.”

You raised your gaze to meet his, and your heart clenched. You just wanted things back to the way they were, you wanted your friend back. Because standing here in front of him, not knowing what to say was awful. So you did the only thing you could think of…

“I miss you.” Your voice wavered more than you’d ever care to admit, but there it was – the truth. 

Azriel’s shoulders visibly shuddered at your confession. “Oh, angel,” it was your time to shudder. “I’ve missed you too, so much. I’m so sorry,” his eyes glazed over as he continued, “but please believe me when I say that I did not know – about how you felt. And maybe that makes me stupid, and blind, and oblivious–”

“No,” you interrupted him, “you’re not any of those things, Az.” His deprecating words wounded you so deeply, a heavy sadness filling your chest. 

“I should have known. I never would have– I wouldn’t have been such a coward if I knew.” You swore you heard the remnants of your heart crack. 

“Azzy…” You stepped towards him and reached up to cradle his face in your hands. His own hands flew up to your wrist and you prepared for him to reject your touch. 

Only he didn’t. 

Instead he gently held your hands in place and leaned into your touch in a manner so tender your breath hitched in your throat. His thumbs swiped across the backs of your wrists.

“I’m sorry, I got all up in my head and I–,” you didn’t let him finish.

“It’s okay Azriel, I forgive you.” His posture straightened a little as you continued, “I’m sorry too.” 

You felt a tear roll down your cheek, and before you could even register it happening, Azriel had pulled you into a hug. He wrapped an arm around your waist, his other hand coming up to cradle the back of your head as he held you against his chest. He was so warm, and comfortable, and safe, and one tear became two, became three. All the while, Azriel held you, wings enveloping you in a cocoon as he whispered sweet nothings into your hair. 

After what felt like hours, but was merely just minutes, Azriel dropped his wings from around you and as you felt his arms ease their hold on you, you took half a step back. His hand that had cradled the back of your head now cupped your cheek, the other came to rest on your hip.

You dried your tears, ungracefully wiping snot from your nose, and you once again lifted your head in search of those hazel eyes you had grown so in love with. And as your gazes locked – that’s when you felt it.

Like the snap of a bowstring, dead center in the middle of your chest, that glowing, golden thread locked into place – forever connecting your soul with the male across from you. 

The impact was so intense you staggered back, knocking into the end table behind you. Your hand flew up to your chest, fingers clutching the fabric of your sweater as you tried to make sense of what just happened. 

Azriel is your mate.

Does he know? Does he even want you? A thousand thoughts swarmed your head, but they were all overpowered by one: mate. He was your mate. 

Azriel stood, one arm still partially outstretched, eyes wide and brow furrowed. Something like bewilderment filled you to an overwhelming degree, and it took you a moment to realise that the feelings did not belong to you. They were all Azriel, unable to keep his emotions from bleeding across the bond to you. 

“You’re my–,” you stuttered.

“Yes,” he breathed in response.

“I– I’m your–”

“Yes,”

“You knew?” His eyes shuttered at your question.

“Yes,”

You had to sit down. 

You wobbled over to the couch and dropped down. You didn’t even realise he’d followed you until you felt the seat dip beside you. 

He seemed to realise words were not something currently in your possession, and took it upon himself to start to explain.

“You were sleeping, had been for probably an hour at least, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of you. I have–,” he swallowed and his whole body shook as he professed his next words. “I have been in love with you since the moment I saw you. When Rhysand introduced you to everyone and you were trying to sneak glances at all of us, thinking you were being discreet. You weren’t – quite the opposite actually.” You turned your head to look at him. One of those rare smiles decorated his face as he recalled the memory. “I think everyone noticed, but no one said anything. They were all probably as smitten by you as I was. Not only were you so adorable, you were the most divine female I had ever seen. Your eyes shone so brightly, and you radiated such calmness, such security – like every problem that had ever been wasn’t so bad after all. Like everything was always going to be fine, as long as you were around. You looked heavenly. Like an angel.” He whispered the last part and as his eyes met yours you sucked in a breath at the emotion swimming in them. 

Angel. His dedicated pet name for you. What he had been calling you, and only you, since that very first day. Not only were you the only person with that specific pet name – you were the only one of Azriel’s friend to even have a pet name, you realised. Sure, he referred to Rhysand and Cassian as his brothers. But you were his angel. 

“You love me?” You croaked, fresh tears filling your eyes.

“Yes, I do.” You hiccupped, face twisting as your chest filled to the brim with so many emotions you could not possibly name them all. He took your hands in his, and gave them a light squeeze as he continued, “When we were on that couch I was just… watching you. Holding you. Realising how perfectly you fit in my arms, when you moved. You snuggled deeper into my chest, like being close to me was an instinctual need, and then you sighed, and you smiled in your sleep – and I couldn’t breathe,” he took a deep breath, “that’s when the bond snapped.” You wanted to reach out and smooth out that crease between his eyebrows. Instead you just moved closer to him, pressed yourself into his side, and when he looked down at you, you gave it your best at pushing some of that endless love you held for him down that glittering bond. 

A sharp exhale left his parted lips and he gave your still entwined hands another squeeze. When he looked at you his cheeks were tinged with pink, the tips of his ears flushed. 

He loved you. 

He was your mate and he loved you.

“I was so shocked. Why would it snap now and not earlier?” He shook his head, his eyes not once leaving yours. “Then I started to… doubt myself,” his brows furrowed deeper, “what if you didn’t want me? I didn’t even know if you knew. Knew and… and decided you didn’t want to be with me. The Gods know I don’t deserve you.” 

You couldn’t help the broken whimper that escaped you as you listened to this wonderful male voice how lowly he thought of himself. 

“Don’t say that Azriel,” you croaked, your voice thick from crying. “I love you so much. I look at you and my heart fills to a point where I genuinely think it might burst,” you coughed out an attempt at a laugh. “You are a good male, and I could not imagine a greater honour than the Mother choosing you as my mate.”

A single tear rolled down Azriel’s cheek at your confession. You untangled your hands from his, instead crawling into his lap. This wonderful male, and he was all yours. The love that filled your chest felt so secure, so safe. Like the warmth of the morning sun. Like the smell of freshly baked bread, and early morning bird song. It felt like the beginning of something great. 

You raked your hands through his hair, and as you leaned in to kiss that lone tear away from his jaw, you watched his eyes shutter closed. 

“I love you,” you whispered against his lips, your forehead coming to rest against his, “my mate.” 

His hands found your hips and gripped them tightly, and the touch was more than welcomed. If it was up to you to decide, he would never let you go – forever in each other’s embrace. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered once more, breath hot against your lips. “I shouldn’t have–… please don’t leave me again.”

“Never,” you promised, and then, like waves crashing ashore, you leaned in that last bit and pressed your lips to his. 

His entire body shook beneath you as he reciprocated the kiss, moulding his lips to yours and you couldn’t help but notice how incredibly right it felt. Like coming home. And as your lips moved together that glowing thread became a wild, real, physical thing between you. His hands gripped you tighter, like you were his lifeline. Pulling you impossibly closer, as if you were the air he needed to breathe. His tongue swiped over your bottom lip and your lips parted, letting your tongues meet in the most delicious of ways. 

The kiss was claiming, overpowering and you could not help the whine that escaped you as his fingers dug into your sides. A primal growl rattled deep in his throat, alighting every nerve in your body. 

This.

You wanted to stay right here, just like this, forever. 

-

You didn’t know how long you actually did stay like that – the two of you seemed to, again, be able to defy the concept of time together. But you were now laying on the couch, Azriel’s heart drumming a steady beat in your ear, a warm, overwhelming comfort overtaking your body. 

Slowly, you started to feel yourself drifting off to sleep, and with your head on his chest, his arms around you, the opening and closing of the front door and Mor’s voice that followed, felt so very far away. You almost didn’t apprehend what she said as her voice moved in closer.

“You better not leave her this time,” she ordered, and the rumble of Azriel’s voice, how very safe it made you feel, lulled you deeper and deeper into unconsciousness. 

Your body was impossibly heavy, the words he mumbled into your hair the last thing you registered before sleep claimed you.

“I won't,” he pressed a kiss to your head, “never again.”

---

Azriel sat – no, sprawled across one of the couches, those thick, muscled, sweatpant-clad thighs so deliciously, invitingly, teasingly spread apart. The book in his hand was not one you recognized, but then his taste in literature was slightly more… sophisticated than yours. But that just made it all so much more enticing didn’t it? The thought of this gorgeously dark, winged male consuming deep, meaningful art? It would make any sane person fall to their knees. 

The hazel of his eyes didn’t show any sign of surprise as his gaze met yours. He knew you were coming, most likely courtesy of the shadows leisurely curling around his shoulders. Cauldron, was he a sight…

… And your friend. Unfortunately.

“Are you just going to stand there all night or will you eventually move?” Right, right. How long had your feet been rooted to the floor? Judging by the humorous tone of his voice and that boyish sparkle in his eyes, probably a tad too long. 

Forcing your body to take a step, and another, you tried to think of something – anything to say. 

“Sorry, I–... I just didn’t expect you to be here is all,” liar, “I guess you caught me by surprise”. It wasn’t the best excuse in the world, but with the situation at hand it could have been a lot worse. Like, a lot. Besides, it’s not like you could have told him the truth.

Sorry Azriel, it’s just that I have been desperately yearning for you for the last couple of years and seeing you like this, looking all boyfriend-y, has me nearly swallowing my own tongue because of how perfect you look. I am just humiliatingly obsessed with every single little thing you do, as well as horrifyingly lonely to a default. In a non creepy way, of course. 

… You would rather free-dive off the dining room balcony before ever admitting that to him. 

His brows furrowed as he observed you, like he could see the lie written across your face, before humming lightly, almost as to himself. He reached a hand out to the glass resting on the coffee table and brought it to his lips, taking a sip of the amber liquid inside. Your eyes were trained on his mouth as he lowered the glass. Trained on the candlelight reflected in the alcohol wetting his lips. Those shiny, pouty, full–

His tongue slipped out and delicately swiped across his lower lip, licking off the remnants of the whiskey from the glass in his hand, and it took everything in you to not whimper at the sight. 

Cauldron boil you.

Needing something to ground yourself, you made your way over to pour yourself a glass of whatever Azriel was drinking and collapsed beside him on the couch, trying to roll that stubborn stiffness out of your shoulders.

”Can’t sleep either?” He asked you on a slight chuckle. 

“No, not with them going at it like bunnies,” you sighed, “how is it even possible for Cassian to… you know? I mean, not only is it day after day, but all night, non-stop? You need– I mean not you specifically, I don’t know anything about your sexual habits, just– just males in general,” oh Gods, “you– you need to rest, at some point – right?”

Azriel took in your flustered state, and pursed his lips as if to keep from laughing. His amusement did not help your case at all, only making the heat crawl further up your neck, your ears positively aflame. 

“I guess the mating bond has its perks,” he surmised, and you couldn’t escape the huff that exited your nose. 

That damned mating bond. The very one the Mother seemed to be handing out left to right lately, to everyone except you. And Azriel. But unlike you, he was a damn catch and could have anyone he’d like. 

“Am I an absolute wench for being jealous of Nesta? And Elain? And Feyre?” You whined as you threw your head back on the couch.

“Not at all,” Azriel’s raspy voice comforted you, easing the tightness in your stomach. You still felt like one though; Nesta was your best friend and you were happy for her, but still–

“It’s just so unfair! They were born like, yesterday! I have been suffering through a mostly miserable existence for over five centuries now and I have never even come close to a connection like they have,” you rolled your neck, “I am over the moon for them, don’t get me wrong, and I hate to make their happiness about me–“

“But being alone around people who… aren’t, can be very lonely,” Azriel finished and your heart clenched as you looked at him. Beautiful, kind, caring Azriel. One of your best friends, and the male you were hopelessly, devastatingly in love with. 

Knowing he, too, was hurting was painful in itself, but also slightly comforting. Knowing you weren’t alone in your loneliness. 

“You’re in pain,” he mumbled, and you opened your mouth to answer, but you couldn’t. Because it wasn’t really a question was it? “Your shoulders,” he noted, “they’re tense.”

“Oh, it’s fine, really. Nothing to worry about, just a small kink,” you tried to brush it off, but he looked at you with such intensity it made your whole body tingle.

“No it’s not,” it was like he could see right through you, “No, you have been worrying your neck ever since you sat down.” He pondered a moment before he sat up a little straighter beckoning for you to move closer. “Come on, let me help you with that.”

Your mouth fell open. 

Was he insinuating he wanted to rub your back? Your half naked, barely-nightgown-clad back. With his hands. Those magical, beautiful hands. Oh Gods.

Your attempt of a protest died in your throat at the slight raise of his eyebrows. He was not to argue with.

He marked the page he was on and placed his book down on the table in front of you, his eyes not straying from you once. Like he was afraid you would bolt if he looked away, even just for a second. 

In his defense, you very well might have.

A shaky breath released from your lungs as you put your glass down and readjusted your position on the couch until you were situated between his legs. With your back facing him, you carefully pulled your hair over one shoulder to give him better access, trying to block out the thoughts of how incredibly warm those bite-able thighs of his were.

The warm calluses of his hands on your skin set you ablaze, and as he carefully started to massage out the knots in your upper back you swore you could have melted, then and there. 

You couldn’t help leaning in to his skillful touch. You also couldn’t help the breathy groan that escaped you as he started to work on a particularly tense area. 

Or how your heart rate picked up as you heard what you swore was Azriel’s breath hitching in response. 

You basked in the intimacy of the moment, fully enjoying all of his undivided attention. 

The gesture, the moment, it all felt so domestic and comforting that the constant emptiness in your chest started to close over. Even if just for now. Even if it was all borrowed; a lovely, elusive fantasy – you let yourself feel whole. 

You barely registered his hands slowing to a stop, or the new found looseness in your shoulders. Barely registered as his hands slid down your arms and slowly tugged you back towards his chest. 

Not until you were engulfed in his warmth, his arms wrapped around you did you realize how well you fit together.

Like two pieces of a puzzle.

“Be lonely with me tonight,” his breath tickled your ear, “please.”

You knew it probably wasn’t wise. That tomorrow, when all of this would be gone, the hurt would resurface. The loneliness even heavier than before. But you couldn’t get yourself to care. To tell him no. Tell yourself no.

Instead you burrowed deeper in his embrace, closed your eyes, and even if just for tonight, you let his warmth fill the void in your chest.