Disclaimer: I down own the characters from ACOTAR or ACOMAF, but the story is mine.
Lucien had already known that tonight would end in disaster.
The Archeron sisters had known Tamlin and Lucien - Tamlin, he reminded himself, they had known Tamlin, not him; he was just an extra thrown in once he'd been adopted - for years, and every year whenever they threw a New Year's Eve celebration, they'd invited the two of them. Even when the Archeron matriarch had died, and the three girls had had to put their education on hold in order to keep themselves financially stable, they'd always thrown a small celebration, even if it was just a measly little gathering with friends.
And they'd always invited Tamlin. Their father had been friends with Tamlin's father, so the two families had been well acquainted with each other during the children's' early childhood. When Lucien had run away from home to escape his brothers, Tamlin, who'd been a friend of his at school, had taken him in, so he'd swiftly been included in the celebrations.
He'd always looked forward to it as a teenager.
His teenage self would have had difficulty fathoming the amount of dread he now felt regarding it.
Not even the sight of Elain, clad in her winter dress, buzzing about the house with an enthusiasm he usually found infectious, could lift the black cloud hanging over him.
"Don't look so glum, Lucien!" She chirped. He'd woken up this morning and she was already up, adding the finishing touches to her confectionery. (Lucien did not see why there needed to be enough cakes to feed a small army, when there would only be five people there. He said as much, but she waved away his concerns). Now she beamed at him, wrapping her green woolly scarf round her neck, and flicked his nose. "It'll be fun!"
"Maybe for you," he replied dispassionately. "You get to see your sisters again after... Well you saw them at Yulemas but I mean before that. How long has it been? Two months?" She nodded, a little dejected; she'd been pushing for a get together earlier, but life had gotten in the way for all three of them. "So you at least have that to look forward to. Me? I see Feyre on university campus several times a week; she's even in the same History class as me, for Cauldron's sake. I get on better with Nesta when we don't talk to each other. And recently Tamlin's been really pissed off at me for some reason. Also," he added, wincing at the thought. "I do not want to get into the middle of whatever tantrum Tamlin tries to pull when he sees Feyre again."
Elain tapped her foot impatiently, not looking at him as she stood just outside the door to their flat and rummaged through her handbag for her car keys. He tried not to let himself be distracted by how radiant she was in her New Years Eve garb; against the midnight fabric of her dress, her hair was a spillage of sunshine. "Although you have decent arguments, I fail to see what your point is. Are you not coming?" She avoided his eyes.
Cauldron damn him, the edge of disappointment in her voice that she tried to hide had him reaching for the right words to reassure her before he could even think. "Of course I'm coming. I'm simply stating why I have every right to look miserable."
She smiled at him, and there was far too much of the wicked grin her younger sister had recently adopted in the gesture for Lucien's liking. "Oh cheer up. It could be much worse."
"I get the feeling you're not telling me something." He stated, but Elain had already sashayed through the living room into the kitchen. He looked after her, and stood from his reclining position on the sofa.
"Help me carry the cakes down to the car!" She called back, and, shaking her head with a huffed laugh, he obliged.
They parked in a street just off the road Feyre and Nesta lived on. When their father had passed away, he'd left the family house to all three of his daughters, and although Elain had lived in it with Feyre whilst Nesta went travelling for her gap year, when Elain and Lucien had become romantically involved they'd eventually moved into their little flat together a few miles away. Feyre had reported that the house felt lonely and cavernous when she was the only one in it, but Nesta soon returned, and they'd built up a happy life there.
Lucien knew that Elain missed being in the company of her sisters on a day to day basis, especially now that they all went to different universities and led such different lives. But whenever he asked her about it, she said that it was a small price to pay for being with him.
When they walked round the block, arms overloaded with the plastic tubs of cakes Elain had made, Lucien's heart stopped beating for a brief moment when his girlfriend said, "By the way, I should probably warn you that Feyre invited her new boyfriend and some of his friends to the party as well."
He stopped walking so suddenly that it was only with a series of nimble manoeuvres that Elain refrained from crashing into him and spilling all the sweetmeats to the ground.
"You didn't think to warn me sooner?!"
She frowned. "What do you mean 'warn'? Feyre says they're nice. She met a few of them at uni. She told me - and I quote - 'They're a bit mad, but in an endearing sort of way'.
Lucien just shook his head. "Great." He muttered. They turned the corner, and he glanced ahead to the house where no one had drawn the curtains yet, so the light from inside spilled out onto the street, granting him a clear view of what looked to be a very tense conversation between Tamlin and Nesta. "Just great."
Feyre opened the door with a smile fixed in place. "Elain, Lucien!" She stepped aside to let them pass through, and asked them to take their coats off in a stilted voice, before accepting the box of cakes he offered her. Despite himself, Lucien smiled. Ever the awkward and sullen hostess.
He stepped into the living room, and nodded politely at Nesta, who nodded back. He then nodded to Tamlin, who ignored the gesture. Feeling the momentary friendliness fade out into silence, Lucien took a seat nearest the fireplace and waited for Elain to finish her conversation with her sister in the hall.
He couldn't help but sneak glances at the man sitting across from him, glowering at anyone who looked his way.
Why was Tamlin here? His break up with Feyre, as far as Lucien had heard, had been messy and painful and destructive. He'd seen Feyre around the place with bags under her eyes and her clothes slowly growing baggier and baggier. And judging by the way she was pointedly trying not to acknowledge his presence, it hadn't been her who invited him here. And it certainly hadn't been Elain.
That left Nesta then. And indeed, of all the Archeron sisters, Nesta was the one who was a stickler for tradition. She was the one who would adamantly return to how they'd done it, year by year, if only because she believed that was the right way to do it. But judging by the venomous looks she was shooting Tamlin, she knew she had sorely underestimated the amount of self control needed in order to refrain from throttling him.
Say what you would about Nesta Archeron, but she protected her own.
When at last the girls had finished their conversation out in the hallway and stepped through, Lucien had swallowed many times more than usual, and opened his mouth to say something before shutting it so often he was sure he resembled a fish out of water. Tamlin's eyes immediately went to Feyre, and stayed there his fists clenching and unclenching in his lap. Feyre didn't even glance his way, and Lucien wasn't sure whether to laugh at the attempt or wince at the sheer wrath that crossed his friend's face.
When the bell went again, Feyre, still with a box of cupcakes under her arm (Lucien cringed at that; she'd jostled them enough that at least half of them would be squashed out of shape by now) immediately went to answer it. Just before she left the room, she cast a nervous glance at Nesta and Elain - but not Tamlin, whose expression was akin to murder. Lucien furrowed his brows.
If Tamlin knew about Feyre's new boyfriend and his friends, then wouldn't she be at least a little bit nervous about how he would react to his presence? Tamlin's temper was famous, after all.
Unless she was more nervous about what Nesta and Elain would think of them. Elain and told him that they were nice, but if she only had Feyre's word to go on, and the woman was worried about how Nesta would react...
Oh shit.
Lucien felt his stomach tighten. And he opened his mouth to say something - anything - but then he heard the sound of the door opening, and Feyre's nervous laughter rang out as she said something, followed by a few words said in low, cool, but undoubtably feminine tones. Feyre gave another laugh, this one more relaxed, and the two woman stepped into the living room.
Lucien's eyes went straight to the stranger. She was at least a head shorter than Feyre, with olive skin and dark hair in a sharp pixie cut that fell around her chin. When she turned from where she'd apparently locked herself in a staring contest with Nesta, he almost took a step back at her eyes. They were uptilted almost to the extent of being cat-like, with irises an intense, shocking silver. She surveyed him with amusement for a heartbeat, before she turned away.
Feyre lingered in the doorway. "Everyone, this is Amren," she said uncertainly. "Amren, this is Lucien, Elain, Nesta, and Tamlin."
Amren had been surveying the room again, gracing Elain and Nesta with nods of what might have been respect, which seemed to mollify the eldest Archeron sister slightly. However, when she heard Tamlin's name, her gaze shot to his, and stayed there.
They stared each other down.
A smile, almost playful in it's cruelty, twisted her lips.
Nesta leaned forwards.
Lucien hadn't realised he had stopped breathing until he let out a breath when the doorbell rang again.
His shoulders slumped as he did, and he shared and incredulous glance with his girlfriend, who seemed just as rattled by the cataclysm that had very nearly occurred. Nesta slumped back, looking distinctly disappointed. Lucien knew that Nesta had been aware of the chemistry brewing between her sister and Tamlin years before they went on their first date, and had disapproved from the start, sending the two withering glances whenever they were in close proximity to each other. He hadn't been there to see what her reaction was when she heard what had happened, but she'd never seemed too grieved by it.
Lucien would be thankful for the bell coming at just the right time, were it not for the apprehensive look on Feyre's face as she slipped into the corridor to answer it - like it was about to get much worse.
He listened with bated breath as she unlatched the door. Laughter tinkled down the hall - both female and male. Footsteps sounded, then three new people walked in: a woman, and two men.
The woman had a tumble of bronze-gold hair and a smiling mouth, with wide earnest brown eyes that took in the room with a frank assessment that left Lucien reeling. She stood around the same height as Feyre and Elain, with the two men towering over her by a good few inches. One had a tumble of hair that half hid his face from view; the other had similarly dark locks that were cut short and close to his head. The first man turned to smirk at Lucien, his entire countenance swaggering and confident as he winked at Nesta. Feyre winced, and tossed the man in question an exasperated look as her sister retaliated with a glare.
The woman caught Amren's eye and shared a conspiratorial grin with her. The shorter woman drawled, "Mor, can't you keep Cassian under control? These brutes are going to get themselves killed one day without supervision." She studied her nails, which were long and pointed, almost talons, and painted a garish crimson.
The blonde - Mor - chirped in response. "No one can keep Cassian under control. He and Rhys are free spirits. Az can vouch for that." She cast a soft hand gesture behind her at the other man, who stood near the door, one foot in the hallway like he might have to take flight at any second.
"Come on in, Azriel," Cassian said from where he'd slouched onto the sofa between Nesta and Tamlin. Nesta sat up ramrod straight as he slung a lazy arm over the back of the sofa, and Tamlin broke his quiet brooding to give him a disgusted look. Cassian feigned disinterest, but the amused glimmer in his hazel eyes betrayed that he was very much aware of how uncomfortable he was making them. He waved his hand, encompassing most of the people on the room in the gesture. "We don't bite." His eyes cut to Feyre then, and though the casual irreverence was still there, Lucien thought he could discern the telltale signs of a sharp mind behind it. "Aren't you going to introduce us?"
"Right." Feyre swallowed. "Mor, Azriel, Cassian," she pointed at each person as she named them, "this is Nesta, Elain, Lucien, and Tamlin. You know Amren."
Indeed, they acted familiar with her. Cassian waved at her jokingly, but seemed to know not to push it. Apparently she terrified even him.
Out of the corner of his eye, Lucien saw Tamlin sit up straighter, bristling slightly at the indifference in her tone as she introduced him. Personally, Lucien thought he should be glad that she didn't spit his name with bitterness - Feyre's wrath was a sight to see when she got truly riled - but he never had been able to understand how his adoptive brother's mind worked, the least of all on how he treated the female population in general.
Lucien had said he didn't know what had happened between his friends, and he didn't. But he knew it had been an argument brewing from even before they started dating, and largely because of Tamlin's behaviour. As one who'd witnessed the way he had acted around his previous girlfriends, Lucien had an idea of what an independent girl like Feyre might have had a problem with.
The indifference in Feyre's tone, however, was not reflected in the newcomers, who'd greeted her sisters warmly before turning frosty gazes on his friend. "So this is Tamlin..." Mor observed quietly.
What had Feyre told these people?
If Feyre was aware of the train wreck about to commence, she didn't show it.
"Feyre!" Elain said suddenly, her smile too bright to be entirely genuine. "What did you do with the cakes? I'm sure your friends would enjoy something to eat."
Lucien found himself thanking the Cauldron for his girlfriend as the newcomers' attention was noticeably diverted. Amren sent Tamlin one last mocking smirk before she turned away, but for the instant in which Tamlin was distracted Feyre had slanted Mor a wide eyed look which Lucien interpreted to be a desperate plea to not start some sort of fight on her behalf.
Although, looking at the two of them, he got the distinct sense that Mor trusted Feyre enough to leave her to fight her own battles.
Feyre went off to set up the kitchen; Cassian tried to start up a conversation with Nesta, who seemed to be grudgingly interested in what he was saying; Tamlin stared into the fireplace; Elain left her position next to Lucien to say a few tentative words to Mor, who tossed her hair and beamed. Azriel abandoned his post by the door, and after a moment of swaying indecisively in the middle of the room, like he didn't know where to go, he nodded at Lucien, and went to join Mor and Elain's conversation.
That left Tamlin and Lucien to sit (or stand) awkwardly on their own. Lucien tried to catch his friends eye, but they were trained firmly on the fireplace, and it was a moment before Lucien realised he was inspecting the mantelpiece over it.
For as long as he could remember, the mantelpiece had been immaculately dusted, and lined with photographs housed in imperious frames. It was Nesta's pride and joy, and she was the one who accepted praise whenever someone went to inspect it, but he knew that it had been there far longer than Nesta had been interested in it. As far as Lucien's memories of the girls' father served, he hadn't been one for presentation, so he presumed it had been the long dead mother who'd looked after it.
The one time Lucien had dared to ask about her, the woman having died before he met them, Elain had merely said that Nesta had been the only one old enough to remember her. Perhaps that was why she invested so much time in the mantelpiece; it was a way to honour her memory.
But what Tamlin was looking for, wasn't there.
In the past five years, when the Archerons had regained their livelihood and reclaimed their house, Lucien had looked at the mantelpiece and been sorely reminded that though he was invited to the yearly celebrations, he wasn't in any of the pictures displayed. They were of Feyre, Elain and Nesta growing up, yes, but they also included Tamlin covered in paint when he had pissed of a young Feyre, of him ripping into his Yulemas presents with as much fervour as any of the girls.
Lucien wasn't there; Lucien had never been there.
But now he was. And Tamlin wasn't.
There had been a photo that he knew Tamlin had especially loved. It was of Tamlin and Feyre, both seventeen, and just hugging each other. Looking at each other. It had made the girl blush every time she saw it, so her father had insisted it go up to eternally embarrass her. Tamlin had raised no objections.
But now it was gone, and another photo had replaced it.
Lucien wandered up to the mantelpiece, until his nose was inches from the glossy surface of the picture inside the frame that had once held the other. The frame was the same as always: bronze in colour, and with etchings of leaves and flowers, offset with tiny plastic green gems embedded in it.
But the photo was of him and Elain, the day they'd moved in together. Her brown hair was held out of her face by a floral patterned headband, and she had a cardboard box in her arms as she tilted back her head and laughed. He had his arm slipped casually round her waist and he wasn't smiling, exactly, but he was surveying the photographer with an amused expression. He remembered Feyre holding the camera, and how Elain had tripped over a stray pair of shoes on the way into the flat, and how it'd been almost second nature to catch her and cradle her against his body. He remembered hearing the beep of the camera just before looking up and seeing the flash go off, and then blinking as Feyre examined the photo with a fond smile.
He reached out to touch the glass, but his finger went right to the plasticky sheen of the photo. He frowned, and upon further inspection realised that the glass was gone.
He cast a sideways glance at Tamlin, whose expression was somewhere between fury and resentment. He glanced at the open door, through which threads of Feyre's voice could be heard as she hummed something in the kitchen. Then he turned his jade gaze onto Lucien, and glared.
The man in question tried not to take the hurt and anger in that glare too personally.
"Alright!" Feyre shouted. Elain and Mor paused in their conversation, and Nesta turned away from Cassian's ceaseless attempts of either flirting with or annoying her. "Come through, everyone, if you want food."
Cassian immediately got up and trailed into the kitchen, like a lost puppy. Mor and Azriel soon followed, and Tamlin begrudgingly rose from his slouch and drifted in behind them. Lucien lingered by the photo in the frame.
Elain reappeared in the doorway soon enough, her arms crossed across her stomach, her right palm rubbing her bicep. Nesta stood up suddenly, declaring she didn't want to witness any lovey dovey scenes, and left the room. Elain smiled after her, then met his eyes and tilted her chin towards the corridor. "Feyre's getting better at this," she commented offhandedly. She moved towards him, and just took his hand, absently playing with his fingers. "The hosting, I mean. She's starting to look less nervous."
Lucien smiled, then his eyes drifted back to the photo, and the glass-less frame.
"She smashed it," Elain explained, sensing his question before he asked it. "The day - it happened. She came in here, raging and crying and screaming. I was visiting Nesta, so I heard her slam the door then come in here. She just stood in the middle of the room, like a boat that had been untethered from the jetty, and then her eyes fell on the photo. She picked it up, and threw it across the room." She swallowed, and looked around the room, like she could seethe events happening all over again. "It hit the wall, and the glass shattered. The frame was a bit dented, but Nesta later managed to salvage that. Not before Feyre ripped out the picture and chucked it in the fire, though."
She dropped his hand and sighed. She rubbed her arm, as though, even standing by the fire, she was cold.
"I know I told you that Feyre said her new boyfriend was nice - he's not any of these people by the way; his name's Rhysand - and in all honesty, I believe her. I trust her judgement. But even if I didn't, even if he turns out to be an absolute prick, I would put up with him." She looked down briefly; when she looked back up again, her brown eyes were even more solemn than before. "Because he makes her happy, and we owe it her to let her be happy in her own way. Especially after everything that happened."
Lucien knew not to ask about what her family had gone through in order to survive those hard years.
Elain fidgeted as she said, "What the break up did to her... It destroyed her. Completely. And Rhysand met her, as hollow and heartbroken as she was, and made her happy again. She's a new person now, Feyre, and sometimes Nesta and I don't know exactly who she is, but she's a good person, and a whole person. So Nesta cleaned up the broken glass without complaint, and we watched her heal herself. So I'm begging you, Lucien," she said, rubbing her arm again. He caught her hand, and laced their fingers together. "I know he's your adoptive brother, but if Tamlin talks to you about stirring trouble for them in any way, please, try to talk him out of it. It'll be better for everyone that way."
"Tamlin doesn't let anyone talk him out of something he has his mind and heart set on," Lucien said quietly.
And meant it.
Eventually they joined the rest of the group in the kitchen, where Elain garnered praise for the intricate sugar decorations on her cupcakes (turned out Feyre hadn't crushed them all by accident, after all). She accepted the praise with a tight lipped smile, and Lucien knew she was warring with herself: itching to show them the small garden she tended out the back, but also terrified they might accidentally step on some of her precious plants.
Azriel was cradling a cupcake lathered in dark chocolate and spangled with silvery dust and sugar paper crescents when he let out a booming laugh at odds with his quiet demeanour and showed it to Mor. "Rhys would love this," he laughed, and when he met Lucien's eye, explained, "When we were kids he would sneak out onto the roof at night, just to watch the night sky."
"Who's Rhys?" Tamlin asked suspiciously, eyeing his own cupcake as he bit into it.
Feyre was rummaging in the cupboard for another packet of crisps (apparently Amren had a savage love of them, and she'd devoured all the ones in the bowl Feyre had set out) when she answered, in a way so flippant Lucien almost thought she didn't know the gravity of what she was saying, "My boyfriend."
The banter between Cassian and Nesta didn't cease; Elain and Amren didn't stop their scintillating conversation. But there was a pause before the discussions resumed, an instant of silence as the heaviness of the moment set in and was acknowledged, before Mor and Azriel's laughter drowned out the low growl that rippled from Tamlin's throat.
And then Lucien knew without a doubt that Feyre had changed for the better, the glue holding her heart together replaced with steel, when she stared Tamlin down and said coolly, "You have no right to be angry with me. You have no right to be angry with Rhys. You have no right to be angry point blank, because you are not my boyfriend, you are nothing to me, and your petty grudges don't hold any sway in this matter."
Tamlin only growled again, and stalked away.
Feyre turned to Mor, dismissing Tamlin's anger. Dismissing Tamlin altogether. "Whilst we're on the topic, where is Rhys? I thought he was coming with you."
Mor rolled her eyes. "He was going to, but when I swung by his flat he was still getting ready. Something about panicking over whether his eyes were more blue or more violet, and subsequently which tie he should wear for maximum effect."
Feyre laughed, her brow still slightly creased, but it cleared when her laughter was cut off by the sound of the doorbell ringing. "Speak of the devil," she called back, as she went to answer it.
And the devil he was.
Rhysand was certainly an impressive sight, clad in an indigo silk suit and trousers, his tie (apparently he'd managed to decide on a colour in the end) a vivid blue. He had a face even Lucien knew was as beautiful as sin, and the wicked grin he sported as the door swung open was positively wicked.
Then his eyes fell on Feyre, and the grin faltered.
Lucien knew she looked nice. He hadn't taken the time to assess it, but he'd noticed the others' attention on the dress she wore: an almost translucent one, with tiny sequins and shimmering veils sewn into the hem so it seemed like she'd just walked through a cloud of stardust. But when he considered the thought of how he'd react if he saw Elain in something as splendid as that. . . He empathised with Rhysand a little.
"Sorry I'm late," Rhys said to his girlfriend as he shrugged off his coat. There was a humorous twinkle to his eyes. "I got a little tied up."
"In translation, you had to google how to put on a tie, didn't you?" Feyre smiled in response.
"They are devilishly tricky contraptions." He agreed, and planted a quick kiss on her lips that, if it was Tamlin doing it, might have been a show of possession, but with the way Rhys smiled at her, it seemed like he did it purely for the joy of the action itself.
Lucien almost wanted to look away, considering it a private moment.
The couple eventually seemed to realise there was a crowd of people on the hallway waiting to be introduced, and stepped away from each other. "Elain, Nesta, Lucien, Tamlin," Feyre waved her arm. "This is Rhysand."
"So formal, darling," Rhysand teased, accepting Nesta's proffered hand. "Call me Rhys," he assured her. She pursed her lips in response, but Lucien could have sworn there was something like approval in her face.
Mor cuffed the back of his head the moment he came within reach. "Took you long enough," she grumbled. "I thought you'd never show up."
Rhysand laughed, and ruffled her perfectly arranged hair. "Good to see you too, little cousin."
Amren bared her teeth in a grin at the growl that emanated from Mor at those words.
"So then," Nesta asked, shooing everyone towards the living room. "Since there's no way we can all fit into the kitchen, why don't Feyre and I bring in the food and we can all get to know each other better in here."
She gave Rhys a pointed look, and glared at Cassian when he tried to follow her.
"So how did you and Feyre meet?" Elain asked, sitting forward. Nesta, Cassian and Tamlin had commandeered one sofa, and Mor and Azriel the other, which left Lucien and Elain sitting on the floor opposite Feyre and Rhys.
Rhys laughed, and shook his head, playfully poking Feyre's side. She swatted his hand away and scowled.
"Well," he began, after a brief but wordless battle between them on who was going to tell the story, "the first time I met Feyre darling was when Azriel, Cassian and I were being especially boisterous inside the student café, and poor Feyre was simply trying to drink her coffee and finish reading whatever dull textbook on art history she'd been assigned to cover for homework that week."
Cassian guffawed at the memory, and even Azriel cracked a smile. Rhys carried on, grinning, apparently unaware of the death glare being sent at him via Tamlin. "I'm not sure if it would have happened if Mor or Amren had been there, but alas, they'd been otherwise engaged, so I don't know how it came about that I managed to spill my drink all over Feyre and her book, but it did, and I'm eternally grateful, even if I did have to buy her a new book in order to get her to talk to me again."
It was Tamlin who cut in, then, with, "And when did this happen, exactly?"
Rhysand met Tamlin's eye, and something about him was noticeably cooler when he said, "Eight months ago."
Two months after their break up.
Tamlin pursed his lips.
Lucien didn't know how much time it was later when Feyre turned to him and said, "By the way, I've got that history book you lent me, if you want to take it now."
"Uh, sure." He glanced round the room before pushing himself to his feet and following after her. Elain had fallen asleep sometime after the countdown and she was now curled up on the floor next to him. Tamlin had stalked off in a huff some indeterminate time ago, and Mor and Azriel had gone to the kitchen for one reason or another, and from what he could hear were just quietly talking. He wasn't sure when Nesta and Cassian had stopped sniping at each other, but now they were asleep too, a cushion wedged between them. Feyre smiled when her eyes fell on them, and shared a conspiratorial grin with Lucien. "They'll be together within three months," she predicted.
Lucien nodded to Rhys, who still sat on the floor, watching them go, and followed Feyre up the stairs.
"It's just in my room," she assured him as they climbed. He nodded absently.
It'd been a while since he'd been up here. The upstairs corridor was a bit dustier than the downstairs one, the odd ornaments and such less polished. They were a lot more personal, and almost petty, though: they included trophies for small competitions from their childhood, mirrors, and necklaces, and earrings Lucien recognised that he knew had belonged to their mother. He swallowed amongst all the sentimentality and hurried after Feyre.
It was easy to tell which one was Feyre's room, because when she was a child she'd painted her name from doorframe to doorframe in great swathes of yellow and green and red and blue. It was a sight for sore eyes, and he winced at seeing it amongst the unlit corridor. He suspected Feyre winced as well, as she was an art student, but he also suspected she kept it there for the same reason as Nesta kept tending to the mantelpiece downstairs.
She opened the door and switched on the light. And shrieked.
"What in the Cauldron's name are you doing in here?" She hissed, holding a hand to her heart. Tamlin was sitting on her bed, staring at her computer screen. "And why are you going through my computer?"
"I was just looking at the photo on your lock screen," he said, and turned it so they could see. It was of Feyre and Rhys, sitting in the park. Rhys had just thrown ice cream at her, and splattered it onto her cheek, and she had a blob of it in her hand ready to throw back. They were both laughing.
"Why?" Feyre demanded.
"That's the question isn't it?" Tamlin growled back. "Why."
He stood up, and half turned away. "Why him? Why, of all people, Rhysand? He's a prick. He's a self absorbed, sadistic, bitter prick. You could date anyone, anyone you wanted, why him?"
"Because I love him," she said seriously. Tamlin's face mirrored the anger between them. "Because I love him. And the fact that he's the only one who did better than you in your Business Management class isn't a decent reason to hate him."
"He's a whore, and a liar, and a cheater. You deserve so much better than him."
"And who would you suggest I date?" Feyre's hands were beginning to shake; she clenched them into fists. Lucien stood awkwardly by the door, unsure of his welcome. "You?" She laughed, and it was a joyless thing. "We both know how well that went down last time."
"We both made mistakes-"
"Bullshit," she spat. "That's bullshit, and you know it. And if you don't stop insulting Rhysand like you know anything about him, I'll-"
"You'll what?" He jeered, but when he took in the fury in her face he faltered slightly. "Feyre-"
"Get out. Get out."
Tamlin's lips were pressed so tightly together that when they twisted, it was like seeing a paper clip being bent out of shape. He sneered, "Oh go ahead then, run back to your new whore boyfriend and cry like-"
He didn't get the chance to finish before Feyre's fist flew.
Cassian had been giving her lessons, Feyre explained as she shoved her ex-boyfriend out the door. That was why her hand wasn't broken, but Tamlin's nose was.
Lucien absorbed the information with the apathy of one who was still trying to process whatever the hell had happened.
When they stepped back into the living room, Rhys was peering out of the window, apparently amused at the blood he could see streaming from Tamlin's nose as he ran down the road.
"What did he say?" He asked Feyre, looking more than a little impressed. "Not that he hasn't had it coming for a long time now, but what did he say?"
"Nothing," she said as took her seat and leaned into him. Lucien sat down next to Elain and gently kissed the top of her hair. She smiled in her sleep, but didn't wake. "Nothing at all."
The next New Years Eve party at the Archerons', a year later, had exactly the same guests, minus Tamlin, who'd sent back his invitation. Lucien was surprised to hear that it was Feyre who'd sent it in the first place, saying with a laugh that she wanted to see whether his nose was still crooked.
And when Lucien arrived, there were two new photos on the mantelpiece alongside the one of him and Elain.
The first was in a frame with a mother-of-pearl sheen that glistened the thousand colours of the fire in the fireplace below. It held a photo of Cassian sneaking a kiss on Nesta's cheek whilst her face was turned away.
The other was in an ebony frame studded with silver. It had been Lucien who'd taken the photo, he remembered, thinking that the joy of the moment was one he'd want captured forever, if it was him.
It showed Feyre in a white dress, smiling tiredly as she leaned against her new husband, a sapphire ring flashing on her finger like the heart of a fallen star.
Happy New Year!