Chapter Text
Looking at someone he loved was like drowning. Except the water didn’t pull him under when the air didn’t reach his lungs. Love was air.
When Cassian told this to Mor, all those years ago when things like battles and wars were just fairytales that were whispered to them at night, she had sat back amused. Contrary to his idea, if love was both water and air, than Mor imagined love to look a lot like summer. Her and another shapeless figure wading in the water, her hand grazing the other’s, drifting along sea shores while the kelp touched their feet.
Cassian had never been in love then, so he couldn’t rightfully argue that love was nothing like a calm beach, and everything like a wicked storm. Everything like anger and fury and rage, and the heat so all-consuming that there’d be nothing left of himself. He would be made and remade a thousand times.
As Nesta slept on, half of her back exposed by blue cotton, her breathing as deep as ocean waves. He thought maybe Mor was right. When she was like this, laid out and pliant, it was easy to forget what love even looked like when Nesta made the blushing seas seem trepid in comparison.
“Nesta.” Whispers and kisses to the side of her neck. “Wake up, sweetheart.”
Cassian breathed better around her. The smell of her lavender-scented hair intoxicating. He’d drown in her, before she ever realized he was dying.
He lightly grazed her spine with his fingertips, constellations adorning her skin. Made sweeping paths down her back, each notch on her spine swept into oblivion as the blanket moved down and down and down, and his lips went back up again. Never away for long.
“Get up.” He sang in her ear. She groaned beneath him, shifting slightly and muttering curses. Nesta never did like waking up early. Or at all.
She hit the other side of the bed, a silent command as her head remained steadily in the pillow.
Cassian chanted her name into her skin. Nesta. Nesta. Nesta. Her mouth making such sweet sounds he almost forgot she was dangerous.
“Nesta, wake up.” His tone edged in soft warning. “It’s already 12:30.”
Nesta turned to look at him. Not enough to conclude she was listening, just enough to show she was only listening, and didn’t plan to do anything with his words. She stared at him innocently and he got lost in her eyes—thin-ice and precarious.
Cassian kissed every inch of the skin she exposed, swearing he was going to die in this very bed.
“No.” Indignant, unafraid, and grumpy. Nesta really didn’t like getting up in the morning—or afternoon as it was.
“Come on. I didn’t think I wore you out that much.” She grunted in reply. Remaining tightly woven into throw.
“Are you sure you’re not going to get up?” He asked, a glint in his eyes as he placed one small swipe of a kiss on her neck. A taste. Nesta only looked at him with that spark of hers. Dangerous, Dangerous, Dangerous.
“No.”
She left him with no choice. Cassian placed his hands on her side and pinched. Nesta squealed, turned over, and kicked at his massive body. Betrayed. She looked at him like an enemy. Cassian merely wiggled his fingers, tickling her as she squirmed in the bed.
Her laughter set his soul on fire—especially when they were accompanied by vicious words he only heard under different, but very similar circumstances.
“Stoooop.” Nesta whined through the pain, her feet slamming into his. “Cassian!”
He stopped his lovely torture, as Nesta panted. Her chest moving violently.
“Are you going to get up now?”
She placed the pillow over her head and pulled the covers over her. Hiding herself away like sleeping winter. Pure rebellion.
Cassian pulled the blanket from her feet, and Nesta shrieked as she scrambled to fold her legs in.
“You fight dirty.” She said, the sound muffled under her pillow. He kneeled over her, both arms on either side of her head.
“Well, get up.”
He lifted the pillow off her face, revealed the blooming roses on her cheeks, the rumbled hair, the freckles. 12 of them scattered along her nose. Nesta was beautiful. Not like a garden, or a beach in the summer, but like a raging storm, pulling him under.
Cassian felt her hand along his neck, felt her pull him to her. Her lips soft and exploring, coaxing his to play nice. Kissing Nesta was being remade and unmade and remade again.
Her legs encircled his, and he felt himself falling into the mattress with Nesta on top of him. She pressed her lips to his neck, a mutual sign of seduction. He knew this ploy all too well.
“Are you distracting me?”
“Is it working?” He didn’t let her stay on top for long, flipping them over, and once again settling himself atop her.
Their love was a battlefield. A push and pull, a kiss and bite. They’d never let the other win without a fight.
Her golden hair lay spread around her, an adorning halo to the perfection of her. Her eyes dazed, probably similar to his, their hearts beating in time to one another’s. He brushed his lips along hers, felt the rise and fall of her chest against his, and when she was thoroughly distracted, he grasped the blankets around her.
Nesta never let him win.
She clasped the blanket in both of her hands as he pulled. Cassian growled in frustration and Nesta laughed, soft bells that remined him of war chimes. He let them go, but Nesta reached behind her towards the pillow.
Cassian ate feathers for that betrayal.
She sat up, soundly, giving him a stern look. “Is there an emergency?”
His wings, spread around him in combat, settled down as he blinked at her. “No.”
“Are we training?”
He shook his head.
She looked out the window, the sun behind clouds. Grey and dusty, the precipice of unease and uncertainty. He knew the day was perfect for staying in, probably advised it, but… there were other things he planned.
Nesta, though, was having none of it. She grabbed the other pillow, and once again resumed her position under blankets and throw. A throne as much as anything else she proclaimed herself queen of.
“Come on!” He whined, literally whined. She gave him the finger.
Cassian sighed, letting the fury build just enough to make him a little crazy. He did enjoy playing with fire after all.
He picked her up, blankets and all, as she kicked and howled, and walked to the living room. Nesta mauled him, a hellcat roaring beneath untamable glory.
Cassian set her on the couch. She settled into it, compliant as she felt the warmth of him. He kissed her forehead, padding her hair away from her sleepy face.
Nesta kept her eyes closed as she leaned into him. “It’s our anniversary, today.”
She quickly opened them back up, searched his face for the lie. “No, it’s not.”
Nesta craned her neck to look at the calendar, sitting atop the fireplace. She shook her head to clear the fog. She remembered their anniversary. “Our anniversary is in May.”
“Not that anniversary.” He smiled at her confused look, tilting her head slightly to the side. “It’s our Solstice anniversary. Every year, we end up spending the day together, just the two of us.”
Cassian shrugged, slightly. “Whether it’s planned or not. I figured we could just keep the tradition going.”
Her eyebrows scrunched together, and he wanted to kiss her nose. Kiss everything, really.
“And we can’t do that inside?” He could hear the whine, the note of annoyance, even if it was only a seed.
“No… I made plans.” She’d love them.
Nesta blinked up at him, like he was a new person. As if she had just seen him for the first time and she was still deciding if she liked what she saw. “You did?”
“Don’t look so surprised.” He complained. “I take you on dates.”
She looked at him skeptically. Cassian let her stare, ruffled his wings and spread them. He was not backing down, this was not a battle.
“So, come on. Get dressed!”
Nesta rolled her eyes but said nothing. Just sighed, and stood dejected, padding softly to the room once more.
If love was a storm, Nesta was a whirlwind. He’d have to be just as erratic to keep up.
~
Cassian had lived through many storms. Sometimes they came in the form of snow, little ice crystals that whipped at his face and stole food from Illyrian pantries. Sometimes they came in wars, hot blood splattering on his hands, staining his armor. His eyes turning red from memories and rage.
As the restaurant burst with sound, the waitresses running amuck, boisterous laughter permeating the restaurant like the smell of roast, storms came in the form of people. Ready to ruin him and everything he planned.
Usually he would be greeted in high praise and gratitude, instead he was surrounded by gossip and old news.
“There’s a large snowfall expected.”
“We haven’t had one this large in 300 years.”
“Reports say It’s going to be even worse.”
The owner, a small older women by the name of Leandra, welcomed him cautiously. The truth settling around them like deep frost, before she even said a word.
She didn’t have to say anything. As her eyes widened, Cassian knew he was already fucked.
Nesta stood at his side casually—nonchalantly. Her hair adorned with golden trinkets, little pins of stars. She wore a dress the color of wine and blood. The red made her eyes even colder in comparison.
“We have a reservation.”
Leandra flipped through several pages of the worn book sitting on the counter. Dropped her pen, picked it up, then dropped it again. She fiddled with the sleeve at her wrist as she tried not to look at him.
“Yes, I am terribly sorry.”
Cassian gulped as Nesta set her arm on the counter, placing her hand under her chin. She watched him, bored, as Leandra continued.
“With all the new visitors in Velaris, and the upcoming storm, unfortunately all the tables are full.” She gestured toward the many people who were now staring at them, listening. “We’ve opened our doors to as many as we can. Most inns are full for the week. It is almost Solstice after all.”
Leandra visibly gulped as she looked towards the door again, took note of the way the sky seemed to darken with her luck. “We’ve had to decline most of our patrons today.”
She wrung her hands as she said it, spoke so softly that Cassian wondered if he looked menacing enough to make her nervous. But of course, he remembered. Cassian was the commander of the Night Court’s army. He almost forgot he was supposed to be revered.
“Under different circumstances this wouldn’t have happened, and we sincerely apologize on behalf of everyone at Alder and Woolf.”
“It’s not your fault,” Cassian heard himself say. Somewhere far from this restaurant, where Nesta didn’t stare at him critically. Somewhere where his cheeks didn’t burn. “You didn’t tell a storm to rage.”
He took a turn about the room, eyes each of the guests who looked at them concerned, and a little frightened.
“And of course, you’re doing something very kind in letting everyone stay here today. I could never accept an apology for good work.”
Her face visibly brightened at his words. Her grin making him feel better, if only for the fact that she didn’t look at him so afraid.
“Suppose we’ll come back another day.” He continued, hiding his bitterness in the white of his teeth.
Cassian reached out for Nesta’s hand, wanted to squeeze it tightly in his palm. To forget this had ever happened and move on to something good and fun for the both of them. Something that went according to plan.
“We’d be honored to have you both. Please come back some time soon.”
Cassian bid their goodbyes and resisted the need to look at Nesta, too afraid of what expression he’d find on her face. He went down the list in his head. Crossed out dinner and added find dinner.
He had planned more than this. Everything wasn’t completely ruined.
But the day only got worse.
When they were walking to another restaurant, most of them closed because of the storm, Cassian had stepped on Nesta’s dress. She toppled onto the ground, her palms scraping against the cement. She had dusted them off and told him not to worry about it, but he could tell that she was pissed.
He was pissed with himself.
They could only find a bakery in the end, and they fed on the last few cakes in the shop. It wasn’t dinner exactly, but it filled them enough for the rest of his itinerary.
He planned to take Nesta next to the river and place a gift in her hands. A rendition of their first Solstice, but different. Better.
Unfortunately, Cassian couldn’t say that went well either. He slipped on ice while he was handing her the gift. A pretty box with a pale blue ribbon. It flew out of his hands and, like all magically disastrous things, landed in the sidra. Very familiar.
By the time, the sun had set, and they had walked to the theatre tired and just a little too hungry, Cassian had enough. This needed to work out. It was the only plan left.
When Nesta and him had become a thing, even if they didn’t label it at first, he hoped to take her to see the symphony. Hoped that she’d somehow be convinced to love him by the music alone, that she’d find it as hypnotizing as he did.
Cassian never thought it would take him this many years to get her here. But, better late than never.
He looked around the expansive dome. Noted the emptiness.
Usually there were people holding the door open, fae waiting in lines or at the ticket booths. He’d drown in the chatter, the endless tone of voices that perforated the dome and echoed off the stone. Sometimes he’d hear a lost note drift in the air, as swift as an arrow to the heart. Now, nothing.
Just silence.
His heart dropped in his chest, and Cassian closed his eyes and waited. Took a step closer to the door and breathed. The world had gone cold. Grey. Still. The door menacing and evil.
Like the storm had just begun.
The fury came rushing back, built and built. Grew until he couldn’t control it, or himself. So strong and tumultuous Cassian swore he had already died.
Love didn’t think so.
Love came at him, winds of doubt whipping his hair, his fist pounding on the door in protection of his sanity. Love came at him with knives, cut his hope like rough diamonds, made him remember what he could never forget.
Love would drown him, bury him under snow long before the air could ever reach his lungs.
~
Love was not anger or fury or deceit, it was not leisurely or safe. Love was an eye. The whirlwind of a storm, at the center of insanity and decay. Eyes that were hazel and bright.
People were storms, but love was not.
Nesta learned a long time ago that while people could make wreckage, love swam in it.
“No, this can’t happen.” He banged on the double doors, his fists making hard cracks, as she watched him, unafraid. Love flourishing in the middle of chaos.
“The tickets were for 6, I swear it was for 6.”
He looked at the wall as he spoke. She wondered if he was trying to convince the doors to open with every bang and word.
“It’s 6:15, Cassian.” Nesta heard herself say. Distant, as if she were miles away, floating in another land, another universe. “I don’t think it would have mattered much anyways. Looks like they all went home.”
She pointed to the poster, framed in gold and ice. Closed due to weather.
His voice echoed off the shadowed building. “This was for you, for us.”
Nesta could hear magic through his voice, ringing bells of splendid wonder. She wondered if it was possible to know the music of his words without ever having heard the symphony.
“Just one Solstice.”
Nesta knew what sadness felt like, had known it as well as anger. A constant companion, a friend. But seeing Cassian like this, his fists, his eyes, the trembling. Love was cruel.
“I just asked for one Solstice!” He kicked the trash in the corner, kicked up at the snow piled on the ground, like his misery. “Why can’t we have it? Don’t we deserve it? Is it not good enough?”
Cassian wings drooped, his hand clasped in permanent fists that landed on the door and settled. She imagined the weapons he’d hold in those fists, the enemies he’d look at with that gaze. Saw the way he looked towards the ground like he was praying.
“I’m sorry, Nes.” He turned towards her slowly, bracing himself. “I just wanted this day to be perfect.”
I love you always sounded different coming from Cassian’s lips. Meant something different then eloquence engraved in snow. Nesta rarely said those words, herself, and not out of a lack of affection, but rather a confirmation that love already existed in a space beyond words.
Some place holier. More sacred.
Nesta thought she might forget what the words sounded like altogether. Thought she might forget it in the way he danced with the quiet, angry parts of her or whispered his love to things she could never call beautiful. She never needed words, scorned them really, for the way people hid behind them.
But Cassian’s love was never hidden, it was as loud and tumultuous as a resounding symphony.
Cassian made her remember.
“It was supposed to be different.”
Nesta reached out an arm towards him, let her hand tell him stories of her devotion as he clasped it tightly.
This meant nothing to her, not the dates, not the failed plans, not the gifts that were buried under trees or snow or the riverbed. Nesta cared nothing about them. They were not the embodiment of their love.
“Let’s go home.”
Home. Cassian was her home.
They walked past the sidra, walked across that very bridge he threw that little box what seemed like eons ago. They walked in silence as Cassian calmed, staring at the ice like he could see the truth beneath. She hoped it told him how beautiful he was, how magical he made her feel.
And when Nesta looked up again to stare at his face, alight with something she hoped to fix with hot chocolate and a warm fire, specks of white clung to his hair. Sprinkled dust around the city.
“It’s—" She tilted her head back, the snowflakes raining on her body. She held her arms out to capture them, little dancing sprites waltzing to music Cassian made by his existence alone. “It’s snowing.”
“It always snows.”
Nesta shook her head. “No.” She couldn’t resist the smile, the sadness from his face dissipating in the span of heartbeats. “It’s not the same.”
So many years had passed and still sometimes she wondered if it was just a dream that would melt along with the spring. But the winter always came back, like her emotions, her worries, her hope. And, Cassian never left. Even when she, herself, wanted to run.
Nesta breathed it in, smelled the crisp air. Her chest light, unburdened, free.
“What are you thinking about?”
Cassian. Beautiful and ethereal under the glow of starlight. She clasped her hand in his, just to feel him, to know exactly how real he was. His palm was warm, as she entwined their fingers, tied so tightly together she wondered if that’s what their souls looked like—tied with red ribbons and silver wrapping. Presents under the tree.
He was different though, so, so different.
Their bond was not a present, but it was shaped like one. Nesta never wanted to unravel the ribbon, tied perfectly in a bow. Never wanted to open the box completely, lest she have nothing left.
Cassian always laughed when she took her time opening the gifts he got her, always itched to grab them from her and rip the paper right off. But she opened them slowly, half-amusement as he jostled with every moment she took.
The present was never as important as the way his eyes shined with excitement, or the amount of time he searched and searched for it, or the shreds of paper she’d find in the trash because he trying to wrap the gift just right, or all the stories he told trying to hide it from her.
Nesta, important and loved. So precious to him that he rushed to prove how precious she was. She’d smile at the giddiness, hide her soaring heart in her laughter, her tears in falling snow.
But he saw it, saw it all.
Their bond was not a present, but Cassian was a gift.
And, he made the world a gift. The air, magic and dust sprinkling around her, lifting her from the floor. Like the ground had never even existed. Like she had been born with wings.
Cassian took her silence as distraction. Nesta didn’t notice as he bent over and packed the snow.
The ball hit her coat with precision, and she gasped at his boldness. His eyes smiled, his peals of laughter the sweet sound of carols.
Nesta would never let him get away with this. She scrambled to nearest pile snow, as he ran around her.
“You were distracted!” The clump sat cold in her hands. She aimed, fired, and the snow hit her target. Nesta couldn’t contain the joy.
“Hey that’s not fair. You aimed at my face.” He had the audacity to look offended. “You love my face!”
“What, are you five?”
Her joy bubbled over and out of her mouth, she lifted her head towards the sky in wonder. When she fell back down to earth, his eyes the color of honey and spring, Nesta waited for his heart catch up. Wanted him to feel as light as she did.
Cassian grabbed her hand and ran, to their house presumably. He didn’t make it too far.
His foot slid beneath him. He tried to right himself, pulling at the hand he held. They both landed on the ground, Cassian on top of her. The snow their feathered bed.
She could feel his heart race, their chests touching gently with every breath. The red of her dress matching the red of his tie. She had worn it for him—his favorite color.
Cassian placed his palm on the side of her face, rubbed his thumb on the red of her cheeks. His eyes glistening snow as he looked at her, their wordless conversations continuing with the upturn of his lips.
She was his gift, too
Nesta could feel his warm breath on her face, blooming petals turning her cheeks pink. He looked at her like she was the only one who existed.
She felt the elation well up inside of her and leak out of her eyelids.
“You’re perfect.” Her voice soft and firm against the packed snow. “So perfect to me.”
He captured the tears with his thumb, traced them softly with his mouth and kissed them away. He pecked her nose as he beamed. “You’ve always been the best part of Solstice.”
When Cassian’s lips touched hers, she forgot how to breathe. Just a slight touch had her eyes closing. Nesta didn’t notice, just felt him all around her. His warmth—his love melting the snow, itself.
“Cassian.” A whisper, a promise. “I’m cold.”
She eyed him, mischievously. The playfulness roaring back to life, asking if they could play somewhere else.
The look he gave her simmered with need, and Nesta traced his red lips with her own, let her mouth tell him stories. Entranced.
“You should warm me up.”
In a flash, he was up. Lifting her from the ground, while her head spun from the movement and his lips.
The laughter came again, notes of honey and warmth, cradling them gently like his arms around her. He carried her all the way home, to the warmth of the living room, to their bed. Only separating to breathe, like they were dying for each other. So enraptured, they could never get enough.
Their love crackled with the fire, burned as he kissed her. Soft and slow and intoxicating. His lips making her forget and remember. Over and over again.