For the past weeks, ever since that night, Feyre and Rys had made their morning walk a routine. Even on days they didn't have class together. And on weekend mornings they met up and studied over breakfast. It had been weeks since their exam. When Feyre checked her grades she practically shrieked. Her roommate, Ianthe, was less than pleased.
"Really, Feyre," the blonde bombshell snapped, "It's not even eight in the morning. What could possibly be so exciting?"
Feyre ignored the theology major. She didn't like the girl. And she liked even less that she hit on every guy she saw. Which wouldn't bother her at all if that didn't include Tamlin. On the surface Feyre acted like it didn't bother her. That she was secure enough in herself and her relationship to not mind harmless flirting. And she would be, if she didn't catch them eye-fucking each other anytime they thought no one was looking. Ianthe was ridiculously beautiful but Feyre hoped Tamlin would at least have the decency to break up with her before anything went down between the two of them. Feyre blinked. She had considered Tamlin breaking up with her a little too casually. Thankfully she sneezed before she could think too much about it.
Probably just allergies, Feyre thought before shrugging it off.
She glanced down at her grades and remembered the past minute before her train of thought had left the station. Feyre sprang out of bed. After running into the bathroom she took a shower in record time. Most likely because she skipped washing her hair. Normally she would have taken her time doing her makeup. It was another medium of art and Feyre loved it. But today she barely had the patience to curl her already curly fringe of lashes. Impatiently she yanked her brush through her second day hair and sloppily tied it into a top knot. After a glance at her reflection Feyre deemed it good enough. She wriggled into the skinny jeans she'd worn yesterday, a clean white t-shirt, a flannel, and a leather jacket. As she stuffed her feet into her boots Feyre realized she had put on the most basic and typical fall outfit. Whatever. It was cute. She was late. Not to mention she felt like a Winchester. In fifteen minutes flat Feyre was out the door.
As she barreled out onto the sidewalk Rhys was strolling out of his building.
"Rhys!" she called to him, waving.
He spotted her and gave Feyre that dazzling, mega-watt smile he always gave her. Her heart leaped. Feyre couldn't wait to tell him. She could heel her own smile stretching across her lips making her cheeks ache. They jogged over to the bench they met by every morning.
"Someone looks especially sunny this morning," Rhys drawled.
Feyre bounced on her toes unable to contain her excitement. "Aren't you curious as to why?"
"Please enlighten me." Amusement dripped off of him as he waved a hand in a gesture for her to continue.
Usually Feyre would've rolled her eyes, made a witty comeback, or just teasingly slapped his arm. But she was so eager to tell him she hardly noticed his borderline sarcasm.
"I got a 93 on that composition test!" she blurted out.
Rhys beamed. "That's wonderful, Feyre darling!"
Unbenownst to him it truly was wonderful. Feyre has struggled with dyslexia her whole life. There were ways to make her life easier but her struggle was still very real. And it didn't make her dread English classes any less. She hadn't told anyone, not even Tamlin. Only her family knew. Feyre thought this class would be hell until she met Rhys. Honestly she had no idea what about him made her burden lighter. Maybe it was the way he always seemed to read out loud, his patience when they weren't on the same spot, how he never questioned or pushed her like her tutors had, or when he explained eloquently the concepts she was too frustrated and tired to grasp.
All of that flitted across Feyre's mind in an instant. Without hesitation she threw herself into Rhysand's arms. His muscled body was tense under her touch. Unsure of what to do or what was happening. When Feyre didn't let go he relaxed and wrapped her into an embrace.
After a few seconds she released him. As he slid his hands into his pockets, Feyre could have sworn there was disappointment on his face. If Feyre was honest wither herself she felt it too. Tamlin almost never hugged her. Or held her hand. They only cuddled if he intended for it to go somewhere. His touches were always sexual or intentional. Never for the simplicity or comfort of just touching each other. Feyre missed having that.
"What do you say? How about a celebratory breakfast?" she suggested.
"I could eat."
Like a gentleman from an old movie Rhys offered Feyre his arm. She rolled her eyes but looped hers through it with a chuckle.