eclipsed nova (UTM Feysand)

7

A/N: Goodness, I really hope you guys are enjoying this one because I'm having so much fun writing it.

A few nights later, I awoke to a loud crash in the darkness of Rhys' room. I froze, focusing on the darkness to try and see what lurked there. My eyes weren't adjusted to the dark, so I couldn't see much. No one would dare enter Rhysand's room, would they? Hadn't he said he was scary enough to keep them away?

    "Shit," they whispered into the darkness. Stumbling and the clinking of glass against the table. Furrowing my brows, I reached across the nightstand to find the bundle of matches, striking one and lighting the candle at my bedside.

    The flickering orange glow of the flame revealed a haggard Rhysand, sitting at the small table in his room. He had a half-empty bottle of whiskey in his hands, and his demeanor almost immediately alerted me to the fact that he'd likely drank it all alone. The circles under his eyes were darker than I remembered them being. From the moment I first saw him there in the darkness, I knew something was wrong. His energy felt... wrong.

    Rhys tipped up the bottle, the liquor sloshing as he chugged a few more swallows before heavily sitting it back on the table. He stared down at the floor, not even acknowledging that I was there, curled up in his bed in his clothes. He slumped lower in his chair, resting his elbow on the table, apparently not willing to be rid of the whiskey bottle just yet. His large hand covered the label.

    "Rhys?" I said softly. The silence between us felt like it stretched for miles. I never knew how to talk to him. Approaching him always brought anxiety because I never knew which side of him I was going to get. Would he be flirty with an undertone of care? Or would it be a moment he chose to kick me in the stomach while I was down, emotionally?

    "Not in the mood, Feyre," he sulked, taking another swig of whiskey and purposefully looking anywhere but at me. I searched his face and body for any sign or clue of what was going on with him. I hated that my natural instinct was to care. I shouldn't have. Not at all.

    His hair was messy like someone had been raking their hands through it over and over again. His black button-down was undone nearly to his navel, revealing the swirling black ink painted onto his skin. My breath caught as I studied them. The markings were very intentional, but I had no clue what they meant. To be honest, he looked like hell. The usually polished arrogance was nowhere to be seen tonight.

    "What happen-"

    "Do you understand what 'not in the mood' means?" He snarled, finally meeting my eyes. His were filled with a blazing fury that masqueraded the deep sadness behind them. "It means I don't want to fucking talk to you."

    I watched him for a few moments, as he pouted and drank himself half to death. What could possibly have put him in a mood like this? And why had he come back to his bedroom he never used to mope?

    "Your girlfriend occupied fucking Tamlin and kicked you out?" I grinned, trying to come at him the way I normally did- with insulting banter and taunts. "I hope you haven't come here assuming I'll let you into my bed instead." His eyes darkened in a way that told me I should not have said that.

    "You think you're funny, sweetheart?" He mocked me, drinking more whiskey. Gods only knew how drunk he was. I probably shouldn't be antagonizing him like this, but I almost can't help myself. "Do I need to put another fucking collar around that pretty little neck to show you just how little you mean?" I despised the part of my brain that sent a shiver down my spine at his threats.

    "Someone's grumpy," I jested. "What? One night not sticking your cock in something made you realize just how awful you really are?" He gripped the bottle so tightly in his fist that I was incredibly surprised it didn't shatter in his palm, the jagged edges of glass breaking his skin.