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It had been a Bad Idea to be out as late as they were. It had been a Bad Idea to be out as drunk as they were. It had been a Bad Idea to be out as high as they were. All in all, it had just been a Bad Idea for them to be out.
But they were full of bad ideas, they were juniors in college. What else were they supposed to do — turn twenty-one this year and just act casual about it? Be cool, be calm and collected about it. Be cool as a cucumber about it.
They thought not.
And thus, they had not been.
The accurate response to turning twenty-one was to go wild, go crazy, and get drunk like it was their first time. Obviously — it wouldn’t be the first time, everyone had been drinking since junior year of high school, if not earlier.
It would be a weeklong celebration, featuring the hits of drunken college benders: fuck the law, fuck the government, fuck the police. Additional features on the track might include public nudity and disturbing the peace.
They had all certainly lived up to their expectations of their night, in fact, some would argue they exceeded them.
This was why they were all sat in a holding cell on Christmas Eve, waiting for an officer to arrive so they could be read their charges, and give their statements. Yes, it was an awful predicament to be in, but all in all, Rowan couldn’t be mad. He just wanted to laugh about it all, until his throat hurt.
He didn’t because they probably didn’t take too kindly to that in a police station.
However, the reasons for them being locked behind bars were just ridiculous, an abuse of police powers. He, Lorcan, Fenrys, Connall, Vaughan, and Gavriel, together, they’d done more damage than any of them thought possible, but it was not the kind of damage that they should punished for.
Really, they were doing the city of Orynth a favour, because why the fuck had that thing been in the city centre, it was a beacon of ugliness, and was entirely gag-worthy. They should be in line for a medal of commendation, or at the very least a letter of thanks from the city’s mayor.
Soft, quick footsteps approached Rowan’s cell, no doubt a police officer ready to do whatever it was they did. He looked forward to what the officer would say, what exactly they would charge him with: “failure to stand by and allow citizens’ retinas to be burnt by that thing”, “destruction of property that needed to be destroyed”. Not fucking likely.
They came to stop before his cells, and he didn’t bother to look up, kept his head cradled in his palms, “Right, Mr Whitethorn, I’m Officer Aelin Galathynius—”
“— Aelin Galathynius! Ace? Ace, is that you?” he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, it was the girl to end all the other girls he’d ever met. It was her, her. It was Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, arguably the greatest person to exist on the planet, ever. Simply the most beautiful, and the smartest, and the kindest. Aelin was the best person ever in any and all areas.
And here she was, a beat cop in their home city, reading him his charges and telling him his bail, on Christmas fucking Eve.
“Of all the joints, in all the world, you’re locked up in mine. Poetic justice, oh, it’s a wonderful thing, Rowan.” She was smirking but she held his file in front of her face to hide it, but she couldn’t hide it from him, he knew that those lines in her forehead only popped out in very special situations.
She couldn’t hide anything from him. Not from him, never from him. Her smile was the kind of thing that lit up an entire room — even if she tried to hide it, it escaped around. He tried to tell her, but she spoke over him, all official and on duty.
“Right, Mr Rowan Whitethorn, you will be released today on a warning, alongside your accomplices, on the condition of a twenty-month suspended sentence. You have never proven to be an issue to the city in the past, and your actions have not caused any long-term damage. Please be aware that if commit any acts against the law, anywhere, you will find yourself imprisoned for however the justice system sees fit.” Her tone was smart, and sophisticated. Unaccented, but Rowan could hear the posh intonations from her childhood seeping through, nobody else would.
He hoped not. He had the thought to eviscerate anyone who could, but the looming suspended sentence stopped him. He’d just have to wait. Then he could strike without prejudice.
Assuming their conversation — if one could call it that — was done, he watched her (her, her) turn around, back to him now. It made him sadder than he’d been in years.
He never wanted it to happen again.
“Ace! Hey, Ace. When does your shift end? I want to grab something to eat with you. Whatever you want. We can catch up.” His smile was tentative, and hopeful — and he hoped that still, after all these years, she could decipher all the micro-expressions on his face and knit them together to create a blanket of his truths.
“My shift ends at seven, meet me outside. Don’t be late,” a knowing smile — she knew he’d be there by half-five. She could see it written all over his face, wrapped them like a blanket around her shoulders.
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There were three other people in the diner, but they didn’t notice them. They’d been sat at a table for even two minutes, but hadn’t taken their eyes off one another for even a second of that time. Rowan knew Aelin, knew what she was going to order, and Rowan knew that he’d order the exact same.
Because some habits don’t die, ever. Not even years after.
Instead, he watched Aelin as she brought a hand up his cheek and brushed the graze there. A curious glint in those gold-turquoise eyes. He’d missed the calm they brought his soul.
“How’d you get it?” She knew how, she’d most certainly read the statement in the file. But Rowan knew Aelin, knew that she wanted to hear it from his own mouth. She had a thing about confessions, either she was in the right or the wrong profession.
“Trashing Santa’s sleigh.” He deadpanned, unwilling to give more than that.
A gasp, “Don’t tell me you still believe in Santa, I could have sworn I was there the year you found out.”
He gasped indignantly, “Nah, of course not. And hey, senior year of high school was a difficult time — for everyone!”
Aelin chuckled, hand covering her mouth this time, not a file. He just wanted to see her smile lines, and the ever-so-slightly chipped front tooth. This was hardly the first time he’d been knee-deep in shenanigans.
“I garnered this wound in a war, against the satanists — I mean, Santa-ists — of Orynth city centre. My comrades and I, we had to find a way to destroy their base—”
“—Santa’s sleigh in Orynth’s city centre?”
“Yes, Santa’s sleigh in Orynth’s city centre! And we devised a simple, three-step battle plan. First, we had to find the heaviest objects possible. Lying on the ground — and free, of course, we were nothing if not cheap college students who’d blown all our money on drink — preferably rocks and stones. Second, we had to fill our pockets with them. Both to add weight, and to serve as ammunition. Third, was a combination of things, we had to climb aboard a lit-up, abomination of a Santa sleigh, and jump for our lives, whilst also throwing rocks to the floor, shattering the wood.”
“Good, good, but how did you get that war wound,” her words were slurred together as she couldn’t stop laughing, hand wrapped around her stomach, her ribs aching.
“Lorcan, he shattered a massive bit of the railing, and the wood flew through the air with the same ferocity, and speed as a missile, heading straight for my face. I ducked, valiantly trying to escape the projectile my friend had launched, but ultimately failed to due to my inebriated state.”
“To conclude, you became injured due to fighting Santa-ists on their home base, a fake Santa sleigh in the town centre. Did you win or lose?”
“You still get me, Ace, even after all the years. Glad to see your priorities are still right, and I don’t know. Which would rather, congratulate a winner or make a loser feel better?”