A/n: Hey, lovelies! I'm back with a new fandom, so this is my first acotar fic. I saw the prompt on Tumblr and just couldn't resist. Sort of a modern AU? Not entirely canon setting, I know that much, but I'm not entirely sure about the rest. Hope you enjoy, please leave me a review!

He was a fucking idiot.

Crushing on her for years- so stupid in love with her that he couldn't even function having her in the same room as him- and now he'd fucked it up. The worst part was, he didn't even know what he'd done.

There had been a party, he knew that much. Mor's annual Starfall party. There had been dancing, and... and definitely drinking. Way, way too much drinking. And Feyre had been there, and he had been drinking, and they had dance and then he had gone and talked to her...

He didn't remember what he'd said. And he'd woken up the next day and Feyre wouldn't even look at him, would barely speak to him. What the fuck had he said, to the love of his life, to his light, his everything, that made her cringe away from him and avoid him every chance she got?

He tried asking her, but she lied and said it was nothing. He tried asking Mor, who also lied and said she had no idea. He tried asking Cassian, who only winked at him- tried asking Az, who shrunk away into the shadows with a cool smile. Tried asking Amren, who only laughed as if to say, You WISH I'd tell you, boy. Rhys was out of ideas.

Feyre's hand shook around the paintbrush, and she put it down with a sigh. She was getting nothing done with her painting. Not when all she could think about was what he'd said.

He was drunk out of his mind, she tried to remind herself. But that only reminded her of Mor's joking warning before they'd dressed for the party; Better make yourself look nice. Rhys gets too honest for his own good when he's drunk.

She huffed a sigh, still trembling for no good reason, and took a long drink of the water glass she had with her in the studio. She almost wished it was a real drink, but those had landed her in enough trouble yet. Landed them both in enough trouble. Shit.

It had been a nice night. Mor's Starfall party; Feyre's first of the celebration, since she'd moved to Velaris earlier that year. The decorations, the company, the atmosphere was all fantastic. Her friends had been wonderful, too, loose and free and warm and accommodating. She'd danced with each of them in turn, but... none more so than Rhys.

She'd be lying to say he hadn't caught her eye- you know, once or twice, here and there. To put it lightly. But he hadn't picked up on it, or at least hadn't appeared suspicious when she wanted to dance with him.

So they'd danced. Most of the slow dances were spent in his arms, and a few of the fast ones, too- though some of those she surrendered to Mor or to Cassian. And they'd laughed and giggled themselves silly while gorging themselves on the beautiful food and gorgeous drinks... and then...

Feyre shook her head, shook herself- shook all those traitorous thoughts right out of her. She would not think about it.

Not even a little bit.

But even as she forced her hand to become steady, forced herself to concentrate on the painting she'd been struggling with... she thought of him again. Thought of the way his lips had moved when he'd said it, thought of the way his breath had caressed her face while the words had done the same to her soul.

She thought about how much she missed him, and how she wished she could simply overcome the awkwardness to talk to him.

But she told herself she didn't think those things. It was so much easier that way.