#and lyrias is probably in boston or something

[sabraeal]

Promptathon: Obiyuki - the Tinder account. You know what to do.

(A modern version of this Seven Suitor’s B-side)

In hindsight, the Patron should have have been a dead give away.

“Gran Burdeos?” Obi sniffs, shaking his head like that might help clear the pressure building up in his sinuses. This might almost make up for him being sent home like a naughty dog, with explicit and fervent orders to rest. “Anejo? Isn’t this the stuff grown in that special hill in Mexico? Aged in barrels from chateau Bordeaux?”

Mitsuhide shifts in the hall, his shoulders taking up almost the whole of the jamb. “It is.”

His fingers are numb around the glass neck. “The kind that’s five hundred bucks, wholesale?”

Big guy coughs. “Yes.”

Six years ago, the only thing he’d ever held that was worth that much money was the TV he was stealing.

“Mister,” Obi purrs, leaning his hip seductively against the door, “if you wanted my pants off, all you had to do was a–”

“Just let me in already.” Mitsuhide shoulders past him into the penthouse, unbuttoning his suit jacket. Obi’s is already slung over the back of a bar stool, the first casualty of his arrival home, his shoes scattered haphazardly beneath it. “You reprobate.”

“Aw.” Obi slams the door behind him jauntily. “You really have missed me.”

“The view is nice here,” Mitsuhide observes, standing between a soft leather couch and one of Miss’s more picturesque cacti. Plate glass windows wrap around a wall and a half – a feature Obi protested when Boss showed it to him, for safety reasons, but it wasn’t like their other one had been much better, years ago – and from that spot is the perfect view of the LA skyline at sunset.

Almost. “Not as nice as our old one,” Obi says archly, pouring out a finger into the fluted glasses. Mitsuhide has the grace to blush.

“We didn’t –”

“Of course not.” Obi grins, pouring out another finger into both. “Congratulations again, by the way.”

“You were there,” Mitsuhide reminds him, “in case you don’t remember. You drank a lot of –”

“Dalmore, aged thirty years,” he hums happily. Any night with an open bar was a good memory in the making, especially with this crowd. “How could I forget?”

“It’s more impressive that you remember,” Mitsuhide mutters, winding his way back to the kitchen. “You know you told –”

“ANYWAY.” Obi lifts his glass in a salute. “Down the hatch!”

“It’s for sipping –”

“Damn,” he sighs, licking his lips. “That’s smooth. I can taste the wind from Jalisco. It’s like I’m there.”

Mitsuhide stares at him like he just jumped the velvet ropes at the Louvre. “You’re supposed to savor it.”

He grins, sliding the man his glass as he refills his own. “You know what this would go great with?”

Mitsuhide eyes him warily, glass perched at the edge of his lips. “What?”

He waits for the big guy to take a sip. “Pizza.”

Five hundred dollar tequila sprays across his kitchen island. “Pizza?”

“Aw, look,” Obi sing-songs, “you’re wasting it.”

“We are not drinking this with pizza.”

He waggles a finger. “Now, now, big guy. The only question left is Domino’s or Papa John’s.”

“Okay, you were right.” Obi groans, slumping back into the couch. He throws his chicken bones onto the foil, blinding grabbing for another wing. House of Wings containers litter the coffee table, enough to feed a small army. “Not pizza.”

“Oh god, how can you –” Mitsuhide downs his tequila, hand waving in front of his mouth – “How can you even feel your mouth?”

“Ahhh.” He pulls in a long breath through his nose. “I can finally breathe.”

Both their button downs are long forgotten, balled up on the floor as the apartment’s temperature steadily rose.They’re both down to undershirts – classic T-shirt for big guy, and a tank for himself, showing off all his impressive, illegally acquired scars – and black suit pants, bare feet kicked up on the coffee table.

“Do you even taste anything anymore?” Mitsuhide pulls a wing from the tray of honey barbecue. “I can’t even feel my face.”

“I know, isn’t it great?”

“No.”

He flicks on the TV with a snort, reruns of How It’s Made adding a pleasant layer of white noise to the background. “They’re called Danger for a reason, big guy.”

“You said I’d like them.”

“Ah, you’re right, sorry.” He grins. “I meant I’d like watching you try to eat them.”

“Obi –”

They get into a rousing argument about, of all things, the flesh-toned crayola crayon – the real danger of watching How It’s Made while getting gentle blitzed on good tequila – and it’s while he’s navigating to the crayola wiki – because of course, of course there’s a wiki – that Mitsuhide sees his home screen.

“Tinder?” He raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize you were, uh, dating.”

Obi waggles his eyebrows. “Jealous, big guy?”

“Obi!”

“It’s all right, Kiki need never know about our love –”

Mitsuhide’s mouth pulls tight in a grimace. “Don’t think I don’t see you dodging the question. I didn’t think you’d be doing all that, with uh…” His hands flail uselessly in front of him. “…Circumstances.”

Because you’re in love with her is what he isn’t saying. Obi’s grits down on a grin.

“Don’t you worry, mister,” he says brightly. “It’s not my profile. It’s Miss’s.”

Some of the tequila misses Mitsuhide’s mouth.

“Wasteful,” Obi clucks.

“You have Shirayuki’s profile?”

He has a moment – a moment he has entirely too often, especially now that he’s met Miss – where he realizes he is going to have to explain a joke that, even at the time it was made, defies explanation. To Mitsuhide, who almost certainly expects a coherent answer, not it was funny at the time.

“She started it,” he blurts out. “She said I needed to date and just…made me one.”

Of course, only after he’d said something like, that sort of thing shouldn’t be left up to me, Miss, I have terrible taste.

“And you just…made her one too?” He’s not sure what that tone of mister’s is, but it’s not…pleased.

“It was funnier at the time, I promise.” He scratches at his shoulder, tilting his head back. “She deleted mine right after.”

“And you…didn’t?”

He huffs out a laugh. “Oh, of course not. I like fucking with people who send me dick pics.”

“You use it?”

“Well, she sure isn’t.”

Mitsuhide frowns. “Isn’t that…catfishing?”

He rolls his eyes. “Well, you can make anything illegal if you say it in that tone and make it about money.”

“Obi!”

“C’mon, big guy.” He waggles his eyebrows, tapping open the app. “Wanna swipe left on some losers?”

“Naoki?” Mitsuhide blinks at the screen. “Just what age do you have this set to?”

“Twenty-five to thirty-five,” Obi tells him, taking another sip.

“Then how did Naoki Ito get in here?” The big guy stares. “He’s the President of his own corporation. And he’s eighty, at least.”

“Hmm.” Obi glances down. “Says he’s thirty-three.”

“Left. Swipe left.”

“Are you sure? I mean he’ll probably kick it soon, and the financial security –”

“Swipe. Left.”

“Oops, left on this one!” Obi laughs, putting his glass down to swipe at the screen.

“Hey, this one isn’t so bad!” Mitsuhide protests, knocking away his hand. “Yori, thirty, head of his own Silicon Valley start-up? He’s not bad looking either.”

“Oh, yeah, Yori’s a babe,” he agrees, swallowing down a snicker. “But you haven’t been reading the news, have you, big guy?”

“I mean, not – not religiously.”

“Google him.”

“Silicon Valley CEO suspected of suffocating wife?”

“You know,” Obi slurs; the tequila must be catching up with him. “I heard suffocation is the most personal kind of murder.”

“Oh god, you would have heard of something like that.”

“Hey.” He presses a hand to his chest, swaying. “I’m a professional.”

“How does he even still have a profile? He must have – he must have just made it!”

“What, like Tinder checks?” Big guy grimaces. “Aww, come on, mister. Even murderers need love.”

“Ugh.”

“That’s why they have conjugal visits.”

Mitsuhide squints up at the ceiling, pained. “Why are you like this?”

“How about this guy?”

Obi perks up from the fridge, where he’s digging out two Coronas from underneath a mound of fresh produce. All the Patron bottle is good for now is a very fancy, very expensive paperweight, and the night’s still young. “Who now?”

“Rikuto, age twenty-seven.”

Obi squints, trying to get his sluggish brain to pull out the information niggling at the back of his memory. “Just sold his social media platform to…what? Google?”

“Yeah, looks like.”

“Dead.”

“What?” Mistuhide stares at the phone like he might catch it. “How?”

“Sold his social media platform to google.” Obi grins. “Spent all the money on hookers and blow. Cheaped out on the blow.”

Mitsuhide groans. “All right. Next.”

“Swipe left?��

“Wha – yes!”

“Hey, no judgement here, your kink is not my ki–”

“Left, Obi.”

“Satomi?” Mitsuhide blinks. “That has to be some sort of mistake.”

“What’s the problem, big guy?” Obi bites down on a grin. “Not into silky black hair? Bottomless dark eyes? Luscious curves?”

“N-no, it’s just –”

“Ah, more of a blonde fellow, huh? Shirayuki, too –”

“No!” He grits out, exasperated. “It’s a woman!”

Obi stares. “And…?”

“Well, that’s not – Shirayuki’s not –”

He arches an eloquent brow. “Big guy. Come on.”

He can see Mitsuhide working through it: Shirayuki blushing when Kiki calls her beautiful, the way she chokes and stutters when Kiki dresses up in her elegant backless gowns, how disappointed she was when Torou hadn’t chosen to flirt with her all those years ago, back in Tanbarun…

He leans over Obi’s shoulder, squinting at the CFO of Fresh Face PR Management. “Swipe right, I think.”

“Oh yeah,” he agrees enthusiastically, “swipe right.”

“Is there a reason all of these people make seven figures? At minimum?”

“Why, what are you trying to suggest, mister?” Obi smiles, so innocent. “I’m very good at search filters.”

“Is there even a field to sort for that?”

“Oh, mister,” he drawls, swiping left on a man with a wedding ring. “A gentleman never tells his secrets.”

“I’m just saying, if Miss is gonna leave the Boss,” Obi says loftily, angling his shoulders so Mitsuhide can’t see the screen, “it’s gotta be for someone who can keep her in the way she’s become accustomed.”

Big guy sputters at that. “So millionaires only, that’s what you’re saying.”

“Please, you date up. Billionaires only.”

“This guy looks so fuckin –” Mitsuhide stops himself, staring at his beer like it had answers for him. “He looks really familiar.”

Obi squints at the screen. “Oh, yeah, Tarou. He’s some…board member of his family trust or something. Hideo Vitsjo’s son.”

“Oh, shi –” The big guys swallows, rubbing a hand over his T-shirt.  “Wow. I mean…wow. That’s not so bad right?”

“We met him while we were doing fundraising back east. Nice guy, overall.” Obi puts his finger down on the screen and purposefully swipes left.

Mitsuhide stares. “Didn’t you just say ‘nice guy?’“

“Yeah, but his brother is an asshole.” At his questioning look, Obi adds, “Asshole looking to be an only child. While we were there, someone tampered with the breaklines on Tarou’s car.”

“Jesus.” Mitsuhide takes a sip. “Jesus.”

“Tell me about it.”

If Obi neglects to mention Shirayuki was in it at the time, well, it all worked out in the end anyway.  No use making the mother hen fret.

“You’re so smart, Obi.”

He rolls his head to look at Mistuhide, the room swimming wildly even when he stops. There is nothing about his level of drunkeness that feels smart.

“Yeah, I fuckin’ am.” he agrees anyway, because like, ninety percent of the time, he isn’t drunk now. Easy. Maybe even ninety-five. Miss has access to some very convincing livers when it comes to excess drinking. “But I think you are fucking wasted.”

“Nah,” Mitsuhide hums, slumping on the couch by his legs. “Naaah.”

“Yeah, you are.” He grins down at him fondly. “You’re like, blasted. Shwasted.”

“That isn’t even – is that a word?”

“If you weren’t drunk you’d already know.”

There’s no rebuttal to that besides a long, low groan. Obi tips his bottle in a salute. “Told ya.”

“Hey, Obi.” The words are slurred, but his tone is so earnest that Obi stares down, meeting the endless dark of his eyes. “Thanks. I…needed this.”

“No problem, big guy.” He clears his throat, looking away. “What brings to my neck of the woods anyway? Meetings with the Big Boss not going well?”

He’s silent so long, Obi checks if he’s passed out. He’s not, but his face is grim, lips pulled tight.

“Don’t…” He licks his lips. “Don’t delete that app.”

He blinks. “Mister?”

And of course, of course, that’s when he does pass out, legs hanging over the arm of the sofa and snoring loud enough to wake the dead.

“Oh, just –” Obi shakes his head. “Just fucking great. Your wife better not come looking for you.”

Shirayuki stumbles in well after two o’clock, dog tired. The other attending had gotten stuck in concert traffic somewhere in the city – god knows where, there’s only a dozen venues, and every one of them on the route to the hospital – and hadn’t made it in until three hours after start-of-shift. By the time she arrived, Shirayuki had been mid-emergency C-section, and after that she still had all of her end-of-shift paperwork to complete, and file, and –

And she just wants to fall into bed. Any bed. God, even the floor would do.

It’s not until she’s bent down, taking off her heels that she hears it. The drone.

She freezes. Obi doesn’t – he doesn’t make noise, even when he sleeps, just the soft in-out of his breath and, in more rare circumstances, deep, stifled groans. But this…this is definitely someone snoring.

Obi’s name sticks in her throat, choking her, and she feels for the switch –

Oh, just – Jesus Christ on the Cross. “Are you kidding me?”

She surveys the state of the penthouse – empty Coronas litter the counter tops, and the living area looks like House of Wings tried to invade rather than deliver and –

And there’s two drunk idiots sprawled out on her couch. It looks like one of them tried to move the other one before passing out on the floor.

Her lips pull flat, and she leans over, meaning to wake up the clear instigator –

Only to knock over an empty bottle that is not beer. Not unless beer is five hundred dollars a bottle and was made from tequila.

She pulls back. There’s no way Obi would spend that much money on liquor. He balks at spending more that twenty for a twelve-pack, never mind that. Which means –

The other idiot started it.

A quick text to Kiki tells her, he’s your problem until a more reasonable hour.

With a sigh, she treks to the linen closet, bringing out and armful of blankets. If she has anything to say about it, they won’t be two sick idiots, at least.

[louiseleblancdiggory]

hello! I saw that someone was asking you rowaelin as ts songs and I wonder if you could do cruel summer?

So. Many. References!! I hope you like this, because I can certainly picture this scene perfectly. I have a few TS rowaelin prompts, so I might do a whole masterlist just for it separated by albums..... Anyways, enjoy!!

Cruel Summer

--

Aelin was already used to the smell of beer and loud music by now.

When she and Lysandra had just finished freshman year of college, both decided to ditch the dorms and look for an apartment off campus. Everything was either extremely expensive, too far away from campus or both. They were about to give up and just spend another year in the university’s dorms when they found an apartment.

Well, it was more like a shoe box, but it worked just fine. There were two small bedrooms, one bathroom and a living room with a kitchen. Aelin and Lys had almost no money for furniture, so a lot of the space in the apartment was filled with bean bag chairs and thick rugs instead of actual chairs and tables. The painting was fading, the constant need to call a handyman was exhausting but Aelin found it somewhat… comfy.

The rent wasn’t expensive at all and Aelin discovered why the day she moved. The apartment was right above a dive bar, and the thing was kept open 24/7 from Friday to Sunday, opening every day of the week and closing around three in the morning. The music was so loud all the time that sometimes the floor shook. Whenever they opened their windows, the suffocating smell of alcohol would impregnate the apartment.

That was fucking torture during the first days.

Two years later, Aelin found the loud sound and constant smell of beer reassuring, steadying. She and Lys had lived so much shit in that apartment that it stopped being an ugly shoe box and became a home. An ugly home, but a home nonetheless.

Around two months after moving upstairs, Rolfe, the bar owner, offered them jobs at the Sea Dragon. They lived right above it, he said, and so he could alleviate them from a part of their rent and pay a normal salary at the same time. Always in the need of money, both Lys and Aelin accepted.

The dive bar wasn’t shabby, at least not for the neighborhood it was in. It was a hole-in-the-wall, red stools near the bar and a few dark wooden tables around the room. With some pool tables, an old jukebox and an almost never working vending machine, the place looked like it had been left in the 50s. The uniforms were all black, but the shirts were tight button downs and the skirts were pleated.

Aelin fucking loved that place.

She worked there the double amount of hours than Lys did, and she enjoyed herself immensely. She loved choosing the next song and flirting with some customers. She adored teasing old patrons when they were losing at a pool game, and she discovered that she was great making drinks.

The Sea Dragon was Aelin’s little heaven. She worked there the whole weekend, never missing a day. Sometimes during the summer she would work there every day.

And that’s when she met him.

The first time Aelin had seen Rowan Whitethorn during the summer before junior year, she almost dropped the drinks she was holding.

He was standing by the vending machine, the faint blue glow making his silver hair shine. He had a frown on his face, but not even that managed to make him look any less attractive. Dark green eyes, a straight nose and hard features, Aelin wanted him from the second her eyes fell upon his figure.

She gave the drinks to Lysandra, murmuring what table they were supposed to go before walking up to him.

“Any problems?” She said as a way of greeting. The man was staring at the vending machine as if it had personally offended him.

“Aye. It ate two dollars of mine and I didn’t get those disgusting candies you Americans like.” He said, not turning away from the vending machine. Aelin bit her lip, both at his very hot and strong Scottish accent and to hold her laughter in because of the expression on his face.

“You’ll have to be more specific, sir. I can name twenty disgusting American candies from the top of my mind in ten seconds.” She was smiling, her voice tone soft. At that, he turned his head to her, eyes widening slightly. Aelin’s smile grew at that. “Unfortunately this vending machine has a mind of its own. Maybe if you ask gently or smack it violently, it will spew your candy.”

He laughed, scratching the back of his head. “You work here? Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m Rowan.”

“Nah, don’t worry.” She gestured with her hand. “This vending machine is a bitch. You can try punching if you’d like.”

“Your asking me to vandalize your work place?”

She shrugged, turning her head to the bar and shouting. “Rolfe! Can he punch your useless vending machine?”

Rolfe turned to her, staring at both of them and the vending machine before shrugging too. “It’s not like that thing can break. It’s probably older than you by now, blondie.”

Aelin turned back to Rowan. He was looking at her with awe and slight fear. “Go ahead and punch it.”

“I won’t punch your vending machine.”

“Rolfe’s vending machine.”

“Semantics.”

Aelin merely shrugged, walking back to the bar. “Your loss, Rowan.”

“I didn’t catch your name!” He shouted at her, but didn’t move in her direction. She smiled, his accent sounding like music to her ears.

“Because I didn’t tell you!” She shouted back.

After that, for the rest of the summer, Rowan had been to the bar every weekend. Sometimes he would bring in some friends, sometimes he would just sit there and talk to Aelin whenever she had some free time. He was there to do his last two years of college in Boston, his small group of friends joining him. Rowan liked to talk about Scotland and hear about the States whenever Aelin had free time to talk to him, and after a few weeks she would bribe Lysandra into taking more shifts so she could spend more time with Rowan.

When Friday arrived, Aelin would wait excitedly for his and his friend’s arrival. They were a lively group, all five of them, joking and drinking all the time. Aelin would constantly pass by their tables just to hear their lovely accent laced with alcohol and laughter.

It was obvious that Rowan was interested in her, just as it was obvious that Aelin was interested in him, too. Rowan was an extremely nice and hot guy, and Aelin found herself always at ease and laughing around him. There was no pressure, no expectations. Aelin had left clear since the beginning that she wasn’t interested in a relationship. Ever.

 She didn’t mention that it was because of her last one, and Rowan had said that it was the same for him. He had broken up with his five years girlfriend the year before moving, and Aelin got goosebumps just from thinking about dating someone again.

The whole relationship was about… fun.

They slept together during the whole summer, becoming friends while doing it. When classes started again, they remained friends who eventually fucked, both agreeing that the other one could end it the moment they felt like it. Both agreeing that there were no romantic ties, no deep and hidden feelings. It was cool, a new sort of heaven with no rules.

Until there was. Until there were ties and feelings and that perfect heaven seemed very breakable.

Until Aelin became a part of Rowan’s routine, and until Aelin found herself too at ease around him. It had been a natural shift, one that Lysandra had said it was bound to happen. Both were on pre-med together, both spent most of their free time together too. They were great friends, slept together and were single. According to her best friend, it was only a matter of time until their friendship became something more.

It had taken a whole year. Things were normal-ish until spring came. With spring break around, Rowan and Aelin spent every hour of the week together, usually at her apartment of at the bar. Rowan had gone so many times to the Sea Dragon, that Rolfe said he was considering buying him as a piece of decoration or as some sort of bar scarecrow to avoid fights. With his black clothes and serious face, Rowan looked like one bad boy from one of the cheap romance books Aelin always read, Rolfe told him while Aelin’s cheeks heated. Rowan had laughed at that, turning to Aelin with humorous smile, and she simply flipped him off.

It had been Aelin’s best week in a very, very long time. But the aftermath just made her freak out.

After Chaol, Aelin had absolutely no interest in getting into another relationship. Her six months with him had been enough to make her hate the prospect of sharing her life romantically with someone again. She didn’t need to find a new guy to open up just to have him throw all her insecurities and fears on her face again. No, Aelin was perfectly fine single.

She kept telling herself that, but every time Rowan was around the hesitation and fear would disappear from her mind. Every time he laughed with her, Aelin would feel her heart beating faster. She could barely contain her own smile when Rowan looked at her. She wanted to touch him all the time, wanted to be around him all the time.

Rowan didn’t seem nearly as hesitant of his romantic feelings towards Aelin, but that probably was due to the fact that he didn’t have a shitty ex haunting his thoughts all the time. Actually, Lyria was a lovely woman who had come to visit during winter and said more than once that Aelin should make a definitive move on Rowan. The girl had given Aelin her number and every now and then the two would talk. 

If Rowan had spent five years with someone nice and lovely as Lyria, an actual relationship with Aelin wouldn’t last two weeks. And Aelin would get hurt again. He had obviously hinted many times that he wanted a relationship, but Aelin had just played dumb every time.

She analyzed all her fears, all her emotions and how Rowan made her feel.

She was fucking terrified of all of it.

So she ditched.

By the end of spring, Aelin simply stopped talking to him after saying that she didn’t want a serious relationship at all. Classes were over, and whenever Rowan and his friends came to the bar the next weeks, Aelin would go upstairs and Lys would cover for her. Sometimes, Aelin would look out of her window during the night, hoping to see Rowan under it. It was a way of her seeing his face again but avoiding him seeing her.

It was absolutely miserable.

This time last year was when she had met Rowan, and if she stopped to think, she had been a completely different person. Lately, Aelin didn’t flirt with the customers anymore, instead she would be constantly thinking about flirting with Rowan. She couldn’t look at that stupid vending machine’s blue glow without remembering when she first met Ro. Everything in the Sea Dragon reminded her of him, and she hated it. She hated how he had invaded her space, her little heaven, her life, and messed everything up. She hated the hours he spent in her apartment because now he was also a concept of her home.

She hated how much she wanted him.

“Summer is a cruel bitch.” Aelin complained.

“You love summer.”

“I loved summer. Now it just feels like a knife going down straight to the bone.”

“Just go fucking talk to him, you stubborn prick.” Lysandra said and Aelin simply groaned.

“I could be bleeding out right now and he would be the last one to know.”

“You’re so dramatic, gods. You should be trying but you’re just screwing it up.” Lys frowned.

It was the first Friday in two years that Aelin wasn’t working on the Sea Dragon. Instead, she and Lys decided to have a game night and play some old game board they found in the Sea Dragon’s storage.

“I don’t want to get hurt.” Aelin mumbled, rolling the dice. Lysandra rolled her eyes at her best friend.

“You look hurt right now.”

“I’m happy right now.” Aelin lied, taking the dice and giving to Lysandra.

When Lys put them down, Aelin simply scowled. She didn’t want to have this conversation again. It was summertime again and she was supposed to be having fun, not moping around for a guy that wasn’t even her boyfriend.

“Baby.” Lys said, taking Aelin’s hands. “Chaol was a fucking asshole, we know, but Rowan is different. The two of you were friends for a year, acted like a couple for the most part of it, and he never acted like Chaol. What would change if you gave him a chance?”

“What if he hurts me, Lys? I dated Chaol for six months and didn’t even like him the way I like Rowan. And yet he broke my fucking heart.” Aelin sighed, rubbing her eyes with her palms. “Can you imagine how much worse it will be if Rowan does it?”

“But—“

“No.” Aelin said, getting up. She grabbed her phone, going to the apartment’s door. “I’m not interested. I’ll get over it. It’s just some stupid crush because I spent way too much time with him. I’ll be better off recovering from not having a relationship than I will from recovering from a broken heart. Again.”

“Ace…” Lys said, her face sad.

“I’m gonna go drink something. You coming?” Aelin asked, ignoring her friend’s pity. Lys simply shook her head, and Aelin left, slamming the door behind her.

She went down, entering the bar and pouring herself a drink. None of the baristas stopped her, all knowing her face all too well.

“Tough night, blondie?” Rolfe asked from where he was sitting at the other side of the balcony.

“Tough summer.” Aelin grumbled, taking the whole bottle of whatever she had just poured to herself. She took a swig and Rolfe didn’t even blink at that. After two years, Aelin knew what boundaries she could and couldn’t overstep.

“Your boyfriend was here earlier. Looked like shit, if you’re wondering.”

“I wasn’t. And he’s not my boyfriend.” Aelin drank again, her head already feeling lighter. “Never was.”

“Well he looked like it. For a whole year.” Rolfe looked at her, a small smile playing on his lips. “Is this because of Chaol?”

“Since when do you keep tabs on my love life, Rolfe?” She was too sober to have this conversation again. She took down three gulps, almost coughing at the alcohol burning down her throat.

“You’re my best waitress and you’re always here.” Rolfe laughed. “I probably know more about you than anyone else, blondie.”

Aelin rolled her eyes, but a smile played on her lips. Although Rolfe was an asshole most of the times, Aelin had grown to like him a lot. He was like an uncle sometimes— nosy but always there.

“Should I call him?” Aelin asked, drinking once more before she stared at Rolfe. She had been entertaining the idea for a while now, even though she wouldn’t ever admit that to Lysandra.

“I would.” He shrugged, pointing at the half empty bottle on her hand. She looked down. Whiskey apparently. “But I’d drink about two more of those before.”

For the first time in a while, Aelin actually chuckled. “Yeah, I think I’ll let drunk Aelin decide this.”

Rolfe grinned at her. “I’ll call you a cab when you come crying to me later about your silver headed fling.”

“A cab?” She raised an eyebrow.

“If you’re gonna declare your feelings while drunk, do it in style, sweetheart.” Rolfe winked at her. “Make a whole goddamn scene.”

Aelin stared at the vending machine when Rolfe left. She could feel the alcohol loosening her whole body, allowing her to think in a broader way than she would have allowed herself while sober.

She had fallen in love with Rowan, that much was obvious. It had been slow and almost imperceptible, but it had happened. Maybe a part of her had loved him since the first time she heard his heavy accent and saw his handsome face. Maybe she had started falling when he passionately talked about Scotland, or when he gave her his whole attention when she was the one talking about her childhood. Maybe it had been during their classes when Aelin saw how smart he was, and how much he also appreciated her own intelligence.

Maybe it had been a little bit in every single situation, every moment filling her heart a bit more.

She wanted him so bad, but she was also so scared of having her heart broken again.

She kept thinking for the next few hours, listing the pros and cons of trying something with Rowan.

“Better live regretting something you did than live your whole life regretting what you didn’t, right? Better to take years to recover than to spend the rest of your life wondering what it could have been.” Aelin said to herself, her words slurred. She was on her second bottle and the alcohol was certainly impacting her.

“Are you ok?” Ansel, the other barista, was looking at her strange.

“I’m drunk and talking to myself. Go to work, Briarcliff.” Aelin chided.

“You’re insane, Galathynius.” Ansel grinned, turning to another customer.

At that moment, Aelin made her decision. Her sober self would probably think it was insanity, so she needed to do that now. She needed to take action before she chickened out again.

“Rolfe! The cab!” Aelin shouted, hearing Rolfe’s rich laughter across the bar.

Five minutes later, Aelin was in the back of a cab, drunk out of her mind and with tears streaking down her cheeks. She didn’t really know why she was crying like a baby. Maybe a still lucid part of her was terrified to do what she was planning. Maybe some part of her was crying out of fear of rejection. Maybe the tears were due to her burning throat after so much whiskey.

Who the fuck cared?

“You can stop here please.” She pointed to a pretty house.

She had been there before during the last summer, almost every night when she wasn’t at the Sea Dragon. She would recognize that garden gate even if she was stripped away from her senses.

“Your boss already paid.” The driver said, smiling at her. “Good luck.”

Aelin nodded, a pit opening inside her stomach. “Thanks.”

Gods, what the fuck was she doing?

Without further thought, she snuck in through the garden gate, walking to the backyard. She stopped in front of a window on the second floor. The whole house was dark, and Aelin was feeling the hesitation in her despite the adrenaline and the alcohol.

She cupped her hands around her mouth, closing her eyes. “Rowan.”

She stared at the window for a few seconds, waiting for a light before cupping her mouth and screaming again. “Rowan Whitethorn!”

At that, a single light flickered in his bedroom. Aelin’s heart was beating so fast she though she was going to puke it out. Suddenly, this whole thing seemed like a very bad idea. But it was too late, so she just raised her chin and gathered whatever courage had been created by the whiskey.

Rowan pushed back his curtains, opening the window and scanning the backyard until his eyes fell on her. Immediately, his brows furrowed and eyes widened. “Ace? Is everything fine?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She said, but then shook her head. “Actually that’s not true.”

Rowan seemed so confused that Aelin almost gave up. “What the fuck happened? You disappear for more than a month and then show up at my backyard at three in the morning?”

“I lied before, ok?” She shouted. “And I don’t want to come up with a stupid excuse for it because I don’t want to keep secrets just to keep you. I have nothing against relationships. My ex broke my fucking heart and now I am terrified of them. And then you come around and fuck everything up.”

“That’s your secret? That’s what you lied about? Your ex? You came all the way here to tell me about your ex while drunk?” He crossed his arms, looking both pissed and hurt.

“You dumb fuck.” She replied, running her hands through her hair. This could have gone so much more smoothly. “I lied about what I said the last time we talked, about wanting a relationship. The secret is that I didn’t ditch you because I don’t want a relationship or because of my ex. The secret is that I am so fucking in love with you for months now that I am terrified of dating you because you can break my heart in a million pieces.”

“What did you say?” He said quietly, and if her attention wasn’t solely on him, she would have missed.

“Oh well, shit. We’re already here, aren’t we? For whatever it’s worth, Rowan Whitethorn,” Aelin screamed, opening her arms. “I love you! Ain’t that the worst thing you ever heard?”

Rowan stared her in silence for a few seconds before retreating into the bedroom. He didn’t say a word, and Aelin’s heart sank. She felt her throat constricting, her stomach turning and turning.

She was about to go back home and hide under the covers with a pot of ice cream when one of the lights from the first floor turned on. Aelin stared expectantly at the glass doors that separated the house’s interior and the backyard. The door opened, and Aelin sighed when she saw Rowan coming to her, his steps purposeful.

“I—“ She started, wanting to explain everything better.

Rowan cupped her face with his hands, his fingers tangling in her hair. “I love you too.”  He said before bringing his face down and kissing Aelin.

Her arms circled his waist, and she pressed her body against his. It had been too long since she kissed him, and Aelin sighed as Rowan’s warm mouth moved on hers. She tilted her face up, standing on her tiptoes. She opened her mouth, hands tightening around him as he deepened the kiss.

They stayed like that for minutes until both drew back, breathing deeply. Aelin opened her eyes to see Rowan grinning like the devil at her, and she smiled back at him.

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