Chapter Text
Feyre didn’t understand what Rhysand was so pissed about. They’d just been having a pleasant dinner in their favorite hole in the wall restaurant, celebrating her finishing her first painting after a long hiatus. The ambiance had been lovely, the conversation flowing and the laughter endless. It was all so perfect that she’d pretended not to notice the new waiter’s obvious attempts at flirting with her.
Rhysand had progressively grown more and more restless throughout the evening, up until the waiter executed his finishing move.
His number on a napkin.
She’d let out a forced laugh, reminding herself that this was their favorite restaurant and she could take a couple unwanted advances if it meant keeping this little piece of heaven they both shared.
Two seconds later, Rhys had stormed off the restaurant.
She’d hurriedly followed him, Rita shooing her away and telling her to pay later. She’d found him in the car, and he’d sped off the moment the door was closed.
An awkward ride later, they were in front of her apartment complex.
She got off, thinking he would just drive off, but he climbed off as well.
He joined her on the sidewalk, and finally he spoke.
“So… will you call him?”
She crossed her arms defensively. “And what if I do?”
Maybe if this had been a year earlier, she wouldn’t have noticed the small dent in his cheek where he must be unconsciously biting it. Maybe then she would have believed him to be as impassive as he pretended to be.
“Rhys…” she hesitated to voice the sneaking suspicion she’d been rejecting the entire drive home. “Are you jealous?”
He didn’t answer.
“Rhys,” her exasperation was evident in her voice. “We’re just… friends.”
“Friends?”
She merely nodded.
“Friends.”
He huffed a bitter laugh, aggressively running his hand through his hair so it stuck up in every direction.
An image came to her mind, completely unbidden.
Rhysand’s face between her legs, a self-satisfied smile on his lips, a mischievous look in his eyes and an utter mess of hair on his head.
She blinked the image away, staring at the current Rhysand under the streetlight in front of her house.
The same streetlight they’d made out against more times than she could count.
His jaw was set, his muscles were taut, his hands were shaking with barely repressed fury.
She had never seen Rhys so angry.
“Sure.” He shrugged. “We’re friends,” he said the word with so much derision that she flinched. Something like hurt flashed through his eyes, so quickly she almost thought she’d imagined it. “Friends who fuck each other every other night, who wake up tangled in each other’s arms, who kiss each other good morning and good night, who –“
“That was the agreement,” Feyre interrupted, her blood starting to boil. “We agreed on this from day one, Rhysand. Just sex.”
“The agreement,” he repeated, his eyes sparking. “Because the high and mighty Feyre Archeron would never break the rules she set for herself. You’re just so perfect, aren’t you?”
Feyre had never been so angry, either.
“The definition of an agreement, Rhysand darling,” she practically spat the endearment in his face, “is that both people agreed. You were as much part of that decision as me. It’s what you wanted, so don’t go blaming your change of heart on me.”
He put his hands in his pockets, nodding vehemently. “Yes. Yes. You’re right. I can’t blame you for my own foolishness, after all. I should’ve known being fuck buddies with the girl I love would only lead to disaster.”
Feyre’s heart sputtered to a stop. “Love?”
“Yes, love.” He threw his arms up. “I am so fucking in love with you; I don’t even know what to do with myself anymore. You’re on my mind 24/7. I look forward to seeing you all day long and I miss you the moment you’re out the door. Why? Does this terrify you, Feyre darling? Is the notion of having me love you too much to fathom?”
Feyre’s world tilted on its axis.
No, no, no. This was all wrong. She could feel a wave of nausea and hysterical laughter bubbling up her throat. Rhysand was looking at her expectantly, but she couldn’t speak, couldn’t even think -
The silence stretched between them, long and taut.
All the anger seemed to drain out of him at once. His face went blank, his shoulders slumped and though he tried to summon his usual arrogant self, the overall impression remained flat. In contrast to the Rhys who always shone brighter than the stars themselves, he seemed… dim.
Feyre’s throat was thick as she watched him turn away from her, his steps heavy as he lumbered to his car. He climbed in and put the keys in the ignition.
She waited for him to leave but he didn’t.
His gaze was fixed straight ahead, resolutely avoiding her.
And yet she couldn’t look away.
Many long heartbeats later, his eyes finally met hers.
Something foreign and strange bloomed in her chest.
Her heart began an unfamiliar dance to music only it could hear.
She willed her feet to move, to take her away, away, away from this life altering moment, from these new emotions that were threatening to swallow her whole.
Eventually, they did.
She strode to the doors of her building, Rhys’s gaze a burning brand on her back.
She didn’t stop until she was in her apartment, the door locked, the lights on.
Only then did the engine down on the street come to life, the wind wafting in through the open windows carrying its sound long after it was gone.