( he says, because it must be. this is how they work — brutal, bare honesty, all their words see through as they connection they share, guiding from one mind to the next. rhysand's trust in feyre was never the part in question — she could tell him anything, and he'd believe it. unthinkingly, even. that's the level of faith he has in feyre's word.
bending, he presses his lips more solidly against hers. an oath, pressed to her mouth, where rhys can stomp out the doubt littering his own faulty, broken heart. feyre wouldn't lie, she's not the type. she'd let him know exactly what she needed, and he'd provide it. distance, time, space. the moon on a string. lassoed stars to decorate the shine in her eyes — any of it, all of it, hers to have. he'd find a way to make the impossible possible, for her. like treaties between the humans and the fae. like inviting nesta over for dinner, and actually having her show up.
she loves him. as true and as obvious as his love for her. )
I'll be with you, of course. I'll figure it out.
( he's sure alina will understand — sure he'll see pain in her eyes regardless, but he can't imagine she'd be too angry at him for needing this. he can split his time. maybe he can ask daisy to make sure alina doesn't sleep alone, for a few nights. it'll be ... not fine, but better. he'll make it the best he can for everyone. )
I know you're not her, by the way. Amarantha. ( gods, does he know that. even in her worst moments ( which is certainly not now ), feyre is a summer rose compared to that bitch. even speaking their names in the same sentence makes rhys want to blanche. ) I just feel so full of feelings towards you, I don't know what to do with myself. All I can think about is pawing your skirts and crying. Gratitude. ( he lets out a bright, watery laugh. ) I'm so grateful you exist. I'm grateful you're here, even if that makes me selfish. I never want to be apart from you again.
no subject
( he says, because it must be. this is how they work — brutal, bare honesty, all their words see through as they connection they share, guiding from one mind to the next. rhysand's trust in feyre was never the part in question — she could tell him anything, and he'd believe it. unthinkingly, even. that's the level of faith he has in feyre's word.
bending, he presses his lips more solidly against hers. an oath, pressed to her mouth, where rhys can stomp out the doubt littering his own faulty, broken heart. feyre wouldn't lie, she's not the type. she'd let him know exactly what she needed, and he'd provide it. distance, time, space. the moon on a string. lassoed stars to decorate the shine in her eyes — any of it, all of it, hers to have. he'd find a way to make the impossible possible, for her. like treaties between the humans and the fae. like inviting nesta over for dinner, and actually having her show up.
she loves him. as true and as obvious as his love for her. )
I'll be with you, of course. I'll figure it out.
( he's sure alina will understand — sure he'll see pain in her eyes regardless, but he can't imagine she'd be too angry at him for needing this. he can split his time. maybe he can ask daisy to make sure alina doesn't sleep alone, for a few nights. it'll be ... not fine, but better. he'll make it the best he can for everyone. )
I know you're not her, by the way. Amarantha. ( gods, does he know that. even in her worst moments ( which is certainly not now ), feyre is a summer rose compared to that bitch. even speaking their names in the same sentence makes rhys want to blanche. ) I just feel so full of feelings towards you, I don't know what to do with myself. All I can think about is pawing your skirts and crying. Gratitude. ( he lets out a bright, watery laugh. ) I'm so grateful you exist. I'm grateful you're here, even if that makes me selfish. I never want to be apart from you again.