ACOTAR and its characters belong to SJM. The plot is mine.
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Feyre kicked her feet onto the desk, looking at the clock. Three, two... one.
Rhys eased into his seat as the bell rang, flashing her his signature smirk.
"Late to detention, Illyria?" she drawled.
He made a point of checking his watch. "I'd beg to differ, Archeron," he replied.
Feyre rolled her eyes. "Beg all you want."
Rhys snorted.
Mr. Suriel rapped his knuckles on the desk, informing the detentees of the rules: no phones, no laptops, no talking.
Not that he really enforced them, but still.
Feyre pulled out a tattered notebook. It had a plastic white cover, bent at the corners. The pages were crinkled, with water stains in the bottom right. It seemed to be permanently curved.
"What's that?" Rhys found himself asking.
Feyre arched a brow. "My notebook."
"You don't say," Rhys commented with a shake of his head.
Feyre nodded sagely. She flipped open to a random page, brushing off old eraser dust and crumbs. "It's my sketchbook," she explained. "I've grown attached to it, despite the…" she gestured to, well, the whole thing, "mess."
Rhys laughed out loud.
"Mr. Illyria," Mr. Suriel warned.
"Sorry Mr. Suriel, I asked him a question about our homework," Feyre said sweetly. "He was surprised by one of my answers."
Suriel thought about her response for a minute, then nodded and went back to his work.
Rhys shook his head. "Feyre Archeron, lying to teachers. I'd never think."
Feyre mock gasped. "Rhysand Illyria can think?!"
He made a face.
"How many years have you had it for?" he asked.
"Three," she said offhandedly. "To be honest, I barely have any space left." She shrugged.
"Why don't you get a new one?"
"We don't have the money," she said simply.
The next day, Feyre found a notebook, bow and all, in her locker.
There wasn't a note.
– + – + – +
"And who's the late one now?" Rhys drawled.
"Still you," Feyre panted, running in the second before the bell rang.
"Mmhmm. And what's the excuse this time, Archeron?" he teased.
Feyre stuck out her tongue. "None of your business," she said, dropping down into her seat next to Rhys.
"How'd you get detention this time?" Rhys asked, curious.
Feyre snorted. "I called Ianthe Priest a motherfucking scumbag in front of Mr. Hybern."
Rhys laughed, eliciting a glare from Mr. Suriel. "In front of Hybern?"
It was a well known fact that Mr. Hybern, one of the history teachers, favored Ianthe to the point of embarrassment. Where everyone else in his classes earned barely passing grades, Ianthe was getting A+s and a pat on the back.
So of course, Feyre was sentenced to detention.
Twice a week.
For a month.
Feyre made sure to let Rhys know that.
Rhys shook his head. "I can't let you beat my record, can I now?" he said with mock disappointment, shaking his head.
The next day Rhys had the pleasure of earning the largest detention given that year.
Of course.
– + – + – +
"You're late, Illyria," Feyre rasped. She looked positively sick, leaning against the wall outside the detention room.
"Feyre…?" Rhys trailed off, the unspoken question in his eyes.
She jerked her head towards the door. "Tamlin and Ianthe are inside."
Rhys nodded. He linked arms with her, and put his head down, making it seem as if they were lost in conversation.
"Mr. Illyria, Ms. Archeron, you're late," Mr. Suriel called amusedly. The pair had grown on him, especially with the amount of time they spent in detention.
"Sorry, Mr. Suriel," Rhys said. "We got a little lost."
Feyre could feel Tamlin glaring at them from the front of the room, but she kept her eyes on Rhys'.
They claimed the two desks in the back, pushing them together. Within minutes notebooks and pens littered their joint table, heads together as they, for once, finished some of their assigned work.
Once - just once, Tamlin tried to approach them. He was seething, to the point that you could almost feel the rage emanating from his body.
He left, reluctantly, after Rhys told get away from his girlfriend.
"You're a girl and you're my friend," Rhys had whispered to Feyre afterwards with a shrug. "It wasn't a lie."
They pushed their desks together quite often after that.
– + – + – +
Rhys cleared his throat as Feyre walked up towards him.
"'Sup Rhys?" she asked, gently pushing him inside.
She stopped as he slid back into his place. "Illyria?"
"Archeron?" he replied.
She rolled her eyes. "Yes?"
He took a breath. "Umm." He scratched the back of his neck. "I was wondering, if you'd maybe–"
"Yes," she said.
"What?" Rhys asked, taken aback.
"Yes. I'd love to go to prom with you," she said plainly.
He laughed. "I had his who speech and thing planned out, but–"
She stepped in closer, slowly putting her arms around his neck. Rhys shut up.
"Well, you're a little late for that, Illyria," she said softly, a smile growing on her features. "Because yes."
– + – + – +
AN:
Hey guys! Whaddoya think?
So to be completely honest, this is based off my eighth grade science classroom, which was quite possibly the most boring class ever. Everyone would wait outside until class started, and then it would generally be pretty silent, and it was not fun if you were late.
lol, I'm such Feyrhys trash.
I love it *yay*
Okay, and I'm gonna mini rant here because recently reviewers have lowered from around 5% of the visitors reviewing to less than .05% percent of them doing so. Please review! Speaking from experience, authors are more likely to post if you review. It helps a lot, and makes us feel really good. Before you follow, before you favorite, drop a review. It can be just one word, or a whole fucking paragraph, but it doesn't take long. So please, review when you read someone's writing.
Random Fact: I plan to get a tattoo when it's legally acceptable.
~ franklyherondale out
Edit: thank you wavingthroughawindow for pointing out a spelling error!