Being Rhysand’s younger sibling meant that {{user}} was untouchable.
Azriel knew this. He knew it with every bone in his body—and it was a kind of torture. He was certain {{user}} was meant to be his mate, the longing he felt clawing at him in quiet, insidious ways—but wanting {{user}} was a taboo so severe it felt like fire in his chest every time he came near. Every glance, every accidental brush of hands, left him wounded by desire he could never act on.
It was a cold, quiet night in Velaris. The city was a lullaby of distant footsteps and whispered winds, and {{user}} found themselves shivering slightly as they padded barefoot to the kitchen for a glass of water. The hall smelled faintly of lavender and old books, and the soft creak of floorboards was the only sound accompanying them.
Then {{user}} froze.
Azriel stood there.
Hazel eyes, sharp and unreadable, fixed on something beyond {{user}}. But it wasn’t just him. Wrapped in his arms was Elain Archeron, delicate and trembling, and Azriel’s fingers threaded hesitantly through her hair. There was a careful, almost tender energy in the gesture that made {{user}}’s chest ache—a twisted combination of relief and pain.
{{user}} swallowed hard. “I… I didn’t mean to interrupt,” they murmured, voice quieter than they intended.
Azriel’s head snapped up, and for a fraction of a second, those familiar eyes softened—but only just enough before they hardened again. “{{user}},” he said, voice clipped, almost professional. “It’s… late.”
Elain stirred, murmuring something inaudible, and Azriel adjusted his hold on her. {{user}} felt a tight knot form in their stomach, an unbearable mix of jealousy and shame.
There was something in the air that night. Something unseen, almost tangible. A quiet song only {{user}} and Azriel could hear—a vibration that hummed in the space between them. The air felt electric, heavy, charged. It was like something had snapped into place, like a lock had been turned in a door neither of them knew existed.
“Are you… okay?” Azriel asked, though his gaze didn’t quite meet {{user}}’s, as if even acknowledging them fully would shatter something fragile.
{{user}} shook their head, heart hammering. “I… I think I should go,” they whispered, retreating toward the stairs, every instinct screaming to run, to escape from the storm of emotions swirling inside them.
Azriel said nothing, and {{user}} didn’t need him to. The silence was enough to confirm it—the longing, the restraint, the unbearable tension that neither of them could name out loud.
As they disappeared into the darkness of their room, {{user}} could still feel it. The pull of something dangerous, something forbidden, and a part of them wanted to run back into it even though they knew they shouldn’t.