Hello friends! Welcome to a story of Feysand in highschool, and I hope you enjoy it! Make sure to read the afterword, and please, if you have any questions, don't be shy to comment and ask:). Now, before we get into the story, a disclaimer:
This is a work of fanfiction using characters from the "A Court of Thorns and Roses" series, which is trademarked by Sarah J. Mass. All characters in this story are created and owned by Sarah J. Mass, and I do not claim any ownership over them or the world she created. The story I tell about these characters is my own invention, and as an au, is not canon to the original books. The story is for entertainment purposes only. And finally, I am grateful to Sarah J. Mass for the world she created, for Feysand, for without her books, my story would not exist.
It wasn't the first time she had seen him. How could it be? The girl with the artist's soul and the boy that looked carved out of stone. His face was all sharp lines and angles, and he had not yet grown into his limbs- but he was breathtaking. Raven hair crowned his tan forehead, a shade that was so black it seemed to swallow the sun and drag her eyes back from where she faced the front of the room.
He was sitting three rows ahead of Feyre, and two seats to her left, and she would often watch as he took lazy notes(though she certainly wasn't one to judge, as she clearly was paying more attention to a pretty face than her English teacher), or looked out the window. And as she stared, a blush creeping up her neck and blooming onto her cheeks, he would sometimes turn and wink at her, which was just all the more mortifying.
His eyes were violet, she noticed absentmindedly, not the deep blue she had thought the first time. She itched to paint it, to mix and swirl the colors, painstakingly trying to find the colors to capture his gaze, and paint the stars she saw in his orbs.
It wasn't the first time she had seen him, but as she leaned in, and caught a scent of sea and citrus air, she was determined for it to be her last.
Out of the corner of her right eye, she could see her boyfriend. Such a menial phrase for what he meant to her, and what she was sure she meant to him.
Feyre ducked her chin, fighting against a blush for what felt like the thousandth time and hoped Tamlin couldn't see it. She swept a loose curl of hair behind her ear, and turned her gaze around towards the back of the room to catch a glimpse of him.
The first word that came to her mind when she thought of him was Strong. He was in fact very strong (the star quarterback football team and could bench press almost twice her weight) but she didn't mean it like that. She had always admired the presence he had, one that commanded authority and demanded attention, but it wasn't that either. It was the way he stayed by her side when she was crying about the death of her mother, and the wasting away of who she thought her father was. It was the way he stayed strong for her always, always a stable shoulder for her to sob against, and the effort to chase her that never faltered. He had taken her in when times had grown too tough at home to handle, and above all else, he was the steady fire to her erratic sparks.
It was unfair, she decided. To spend so much time staring at another guy. To watch as he stretched his arms above his head, twisting slightly, his gray shirt riding up on his torso slightly- and oh. He was looking at her again, probably wondering why a random girl kept staring at him. She was beyond mortified now, and felt the shame of everything creeping in.
Liar, liar , liar, her thoughts hissed
Her body had grown rigid, and as the bell rang and signaled that class was over, she stood and unclenched her fists. She refused to look at him, knowing that that an insufferable smirk probably played across his face, and sighed.
She tried to gather her things as quickly as she could, and when she looked up, Tamlin was by her side. She breathed a sigh of relief, ignoring the faint twinge in her heart as she felt the burning gaze move from the back of her head, and grasped her boyfriend's hand.
He was familiar, and familiar was good; and as perfect gentleman (like always) as he refused to let her carry her things, and she reminded herself that she loved him.
She ignored the little voice, one hidden in the deepest parts of her hole-riddled heart, that asked her a question she did not want to answer. She simply squeezed Tamlin's tighter, her lips curling into a smile, and walked out of the classroom without looking back.
Thank you for reading, and I promise, by the second or third chapter, this story will pick up and there will be much more dialouge! I am simply setting the stage for conversations and the like to come along, but know, the next chapter will be from Rhysand's POV! Have a great day, and I'll update soon!