The bookstore was small. Not in a claustrophobic way, not in a cramped, uncomfortable way. But quaint in all of its trappings, perfectly suited for a business tucked away in the back for few people to manage without strain. Ideal for someone who enjoyed books more than people, or anything more than people. The bookstore—in reality, modestly large—was for someone who knew how to be quiet, to be considerate of the things inside. Someone like Cassian found great difficulty maneuvering through its aisles without crashing into something.
Then again, anything that was not the open air of the sky felt small to him. But that was never a deterrence for Cassian. And he found every excuse to not leave Nesta alone in the bookstore, regardless of his own comfort.
He was mindful of his steps inside the place. After making sure there were no bats, bugs, or Azriels lurking on or in the stacks, he allowed himself to be directed into lifting boxes and reaching high shelves. Cassian liked feeling useful, and he liked feeling useful to Nesta. And if he was ever-so-slightly distracted by watching her move through the shop with her closed-off gracefulness, well—he deserved any hard looks at his unabashed displays of longing or missteps around boxes or, currently, his wing banging into the corner of a display and knocking a book to the ground.
Bending down to pick it up took way more effort and contortion than he was used to. "Don't worry. Nothing was damaged," Cassian said quickly into the store. He had lost Nesta somewhere inside but Cassian was loud enough to always be found.
He glanced down to the book in his hands, the cover was of two people trapped in a passionate embrace. He asked, his voice booming through the shop, "Have you read this one? Lord of Scoundrels?"
Nesta had a few books in hand when she’d heard the small crash. It wasn’t the first, though it also wasn’t unexpected when she’d invited him to help. But so many of the books were old that it was enough to make her wince as she heard the thump on the ground. His immediate reassurance did make her smirk just a little - not that he could see from where she was at.
“It’s not the worst,” Nesta confirmed putting away one of the older tomes in her hand with careful hands. “You might learn a thing or two if you read it.” When her hands were empty, she went over to the iron ledge looking down to the middle of the bookstore’s first level. She didn’t see him, but could feel him in that way that Nesta always knew where someone was when they were near her.
Obviously that was it and not something else that she’d been able to shrug off thus far.
Nesta’s hair fell down around her shoulder as she looked over the ledge and spoke to nothing, “Do I need to strap your wings down, if you’re going to help? Because the next thing to carry is a crate of wine that I’d rather not see destroyed.”
Her voice was a beacon, a siren's call in the sweetest way. Cassian, still holding the book, followed the sound until he managed to return to the open center of the store. It had been like a game of hide-and-seek, though he already preemptively felt chastised at thinking she would play anything resembling a game with him. It took Cassian one bewildering moment when he did not see her, to remember to look up. His smile brightened considerably upon seeing her, higher than him. A rare image.
He laid the book down on the nearest table, stepping closer in Nesta's direction, spreading his arms out wide. "I'm more than capable of carrying a box of wine," Cassian said, his wings unfurling. He was tempted to take flight, land beside her in a display of overt showmanship of his pride. Prove that his wings were indeed something to be helpful, not hindering. But as he stared up at Nesta, that immediacy to impress her left him.
That was not the way to win her affection or convince her that he was worth the time.
"No need to strap them down." And then he was sliding through the store again, to the stairs to meet her. Somewhere on the second floor, Cassian paused between the shelves. "Will we get to drink the wine at least? Not that it's required, but it would be a good incentive."
“No.” Nesta answered simply, and slipped into a row of books farther away from Cassian, a ghost of a smile on the edge of her lips. She snagged a few out-of-order books along the way, continuing through the maze of bookcases quick enough that her skirts were fluttering around her legs noisily. “The idea is to put it in storage on the chance that the owner returns. Besides, it likely isn’t fae wine.”
Two years before and that statement would’ve been made with disgust. Now, it was matter of fact, with no disdain in her voice. Sorting through the store gave her a sense of calm she hadn’t had in a very long time, even with all it’s chaotic energy and random findings in corners.
And for the first time in a long time, Nesta hadn’t wanted to blatantly disrespect what was likely someone’s life work. Even if she desperately wanted to do a little spring cleaning. “Do you really need incentive, though?”
Cassian let out a soft huff of laughter. "That's disappointing." He couldn't even tempt her to be a little reckless and dig into the wine of someone who was no longer here—and thus Cassian believed was hers to do with as she pleased, much like the store and its contents were. But then again, it wasn't really the alcohol he wanted, it was mostly finding excuses to prolong whatever magic had allowed her not to shoo him away once the last heavy box was picked up and stashed safely away.
He waited a moment, listening for some kind of sign of where she was on the floor. For her to speak again—he closed his eyes and waited, waited, waited. He heard her skirts but that wasn't what guided him. He took one step in the direction where he felt her, then another, waiting for Nesta in the next aisle she came down.
"I think I come off as someone who works for a purpose. Is that not an incentive? The purpose does not have to be selfish, but there is one none the less." He wanted to see her smile again, Cassian wanted her good mood to stay buoyed for as long as possible. His own smile never seemed to dim. "Show me where the box is."
“We’ll find wine that doesn’t taste like death,” Nesta rounded the corner and just stopped herself from running straight into him. She hadn’t been paying attention to him - just used to his general presence - and focused on the books in her hands. It was quiet right now, and she was taking advantage of that, it reminded her of better times, when she’d been able to find solace or quiet back home, a rare occurrence but a nice reminder of when she’d begun looking at Cassian in a different light. A new light. When he was in the process of healing, and she’d banadaged him, or brought him a book and kept him company.
In the midst of hell, but before things had managed to turn even worse.
Nesta let out an exasperated sigh, stopping herself from letting her eyes roam over his muscled chest. It was a fruitless attempt and her brain betrayed her. Nesta cursed it silently, even as she coasted over the angled planes of his upper body. To distract from Cassian, she haphazardly shoved the books into his hands. “Take these downstairs first.”
Cassian expression was knowing. He watched Nesta give her not-so-subtle glances, and where someone else less respectful of him would have taken it as an open invitation to look back, his attention was focused on her face, waiting until she remembered whatever it was she clung to keep him at arm's length. But it was an heady experience to give Nesta that quiet freedom to do what she pleased. And if he looked a little nervous under her assessment, Cassian was a trained warrior—he tamped it down, but it lingered underneath, like another sense for someone else acutely attuned to it.
The books shoved into his arms was an easy distraction. He was quick to catch them before they slipped out of his hands. "Show me? I work better under strict instruction so that there will be no questions and no mistakes." The smile he gave her was both teasing and confident, a smooth innuendo if taken that way.
He lingered, before adding, "You've seemed—" Calmer? Happier? Cassian couldn't place it, so he settled on, "Different lately. If I had known I would have looked for the bookstore sooner."
“Ugh,” The spell was swiftly broken and Nesta rolled her eyes as she turned away from him. She’d caught onto the innuendo easily, because the stupid thought had already been in her head and she loathed to admit it.
“Follow me.” Nesta grabbed a few more books that needed relocating and went down the stairs, confidence keeping her back straight and not having to look down at her feet as she went. “I’m--” Walking ahead of him down the stairs let her keep her face forward so he’d miss the flicker of softness seeping through. She had been different lately, and was certain Elain had noticed it as well.
“It’s good to have a purpose.” She finally answered as her foot hit the bottom landing and she continued straight on to the mysteries. “Not one involving marriage or a pity job.” Like all of the jobs offered to her by Rhysand.
Cassian followed her. Not too close, just a step or two behind, but he was far less graceful, and every steep was solid, heavy, making the whole staircase squeak. He imagined it was the wings that did it but he would never complain about them, or complain about them to Nesta. Though as she sped off to another section of the bookstore, Cassian was reminded at how slow-going it would be to avoid crashing into another display.
He wove sideways between shelves. "A purpose?" Cassian asked, sounding surprised. He hadn't realized that Nesta, in some way, might have been lacking that. Cassian's purpose had always been straight forward, ingrained since birth. He fought to be purposeful in a group of soldiers who didn't want him there.
He readjusted the books in his arms, so that one free hand could reach out and grab at her elbow to stop. "I do not want you to feel cornered by obligation or pity again. If this is good for you, I will do everything I can to keep it. You only have to ask. Even if—" He smiled, a small private thing, "It requires carrying books around like a carriage."
She was half tempted to start a fight. To point out to him that his very best friend would step in his way of that lofty goal if Rhys had been here. But then she knew the High Lord wasn’t particularly fond of her, either, and that was it’s own annoyance.
But something about the whole conversation made Nesta not want to bring it up. To sour the mood. They didn’t see eye-to-eye on his beloved Night Court, and likely never would, but Cassian had still been more welcoming to her than anyone other than Amren had been, in her time there. He had seen she was more than the picture her sister had painted of her.
“If you’d prefer to leave, I’m sure I can manage being my own carriage.” She knew he wouldn’t want to, but the taunt was there as Nesta raised her head to level a look at him, her eyebrow quirked questioningly. She held out a hand for the books he carried. “I’ve never been good at asking for anything.”
Stubbornly, Cassian refused to hand over the books. His arm curled tighter around them, almost protectively. She had given him a task, and no matter how simple or innocuous it was, she trusted Cassian with it. He understood what it was like to move forward with incremental steps—and if doing something like this for Nesta made her dislike him a fraction of a bit less, then he wasn't going to dismiss that.
"I prefer to stay," Cassian said, stepping closer to her outstretched hand. If she was going to touch anything right now, it wasn't going to be a stack of books. She would have days after that to do only that.
"I only put the responsibility on you because I do not want to overstep." He felt he had, on more than one occasion, put his needs for Nesta before Nesta's. It was difficult to know, to assume the right thing with her. Everything he had grown to comprehend about courtship was lacking. "But if you don't know how to ask, I could ask you and you can answer yes or no. And I will take your word for it. No questions asked. I trust you to know what you need and when you need it."
Nesta, against her better judgement, let him walk right into her hand. Long, graceful fingers touched his shirt and she didn’t immediately recoil in horror. She had a flashback to the moment on the battlefield, when he was injured, and she protected him, so sure they were both going to die. She hadn’t worried about touching him then, and had felt as if her life was being ripped apart just because he was injured.
It was a feeling she never wanted to experience again. Not that compassion, the void of her heart resting solely in Cassian - but the pain of that coming to an end before it even began.
She thought, perhaps, if she distanced herself from that, it could prevent the pain from cropping up again.
Unfortunately, Nesta was beginning to realize she was wrong in that. She felt his willingness to cooperate the second her fingers were on him, and it kept her hand there to get that solid wave of confidence he always had. “Cassian—”
This, this, this. She wasn't pushing him away, she wasn't angry at his breach of her personal space. It was as if a window had been open, and for the first time Cassian could look into this place without a barrier between them. If he knew that she was thinking about their last moments on the battlefield, Cassian might have pointed out that the memory splashed across his mind too and that meant something. Couldn't she see?
They were connected. And they could continue to orbit one another to protect hearts and minds forever, but why spend that time unhappy? Why be afraid to have even a little piece of love returned?
"Nesta," was all he could manage out as he leaned in closer, their faces inches away. Cassian wanted nothing more than to have her say his name like that again. He wanted—well, he wanted not to drop the damn books he was carrying in order to gather her up in his arms. But he did. Reflexes caused him to move too fast for the close space and his wing snapped into a shelf as he tried to catch them. In the span of seconds Cassian ruined the moment all on his own.
He swore, low. "I'll clean it up. You don't have to worry about it."
It was closer than Nesta had come in a long time to letting herself be kissed, and felt comfortable with it. In Cassian’s grip, as her head tilted, and she let herself fall into the moment--
And then it all came tumbling down, literally. A book just barely clipped her shoulder as his wing snapped, though she could tell it protected her from another falling in her vicinity. Like that, the spell was broken. Nesta’s sigh could probably be heard from halfway across the city as she removed her hand from his body and took a step away, out of his winged protective barrier.
Even with his reassurance, Nesta leaned down to pick up a book. She gave him her best half-hearted scathing look over her shoulder as she stacked it into her hands. “Do that. The offer still stands to strap them down.”
The look he gave her back from his crouched position was predictable. He was back to being smug, and a little bold. A person that Cassian enjoyed being, but not one he often kept up around Nesta. Cassian had been vulnerable with her on more than one occasion but the last instance—the one he had just messed up—was broken. It needed time to recover. He couldn't dive right back in.
"I hardly think the wings are the problem," Cassian said, scooping up one book, then another. Quick to steal them from Nesta's reach. He promised to clean up, he meant it. "It's the aisle. I may not be the only person who comes in to shop with wings, you know. Moving them would be easy, to make the space a little wider." Or in Cassian's language I can move them, it would be easy.
He stood, hands full of books again. Moment passed. "But it's your shop now. I only do what you tell me to."
Every single time he crouched, Nesta gave him a look, it was one with both a little amusement, and annoyance. It was a look he was likely familiar with coming from Nesta, as she had it on her face a great deal around him. The annoyance usually took the forefront, as being annoyed with people was oh-so-easy when you could feel their emotions radiating off of them like sweat during a hot summer.
But this time, she almost smiled. Almost let her face go a little soft as he insisted on cleaning. To cover it up, Nesta turned tail and started walking away, pausing only to look at him over her shoulder. The look was a little heated, the moment before still flushed on her cheeks to a telling degree. She wasn’t sure if that was Cassian’s emotions feeding her own, or just Nesta remembering the hard planes of his body under her hand. “You’re assuming a little too much, that I even want people to be comfortable here, bat boy. Isn’t that what I’m very, very good at? Making people suffer for their passions?”
"I suffer very little by you, Nesta. If that was your plan all along, maybe you should try harder," Cassian said, his voice light and lilting. Being a warrior for the Night Court was a duty. But fighting was not his passion, despite how much he excelled in the field. That feeling, that passion, was wrapped up inside the woman who was currently walking away from him, dismissing him. But it felt different, not as aggravated. He could play along.
Again, Cassian followed her. His wings were tucked tight against his back, careful as he flitted through the narrow aisles. "I know that if I were more comfortable, I would buy more books. Is that not what a bookstore is for?" He shrugged, clearly mocking, just giving her a hard time because that was his default for getting under her skin. It had worked so far.
"But what do I know? I'm only here for the heavy lifting."