Here you go Renée, some nessian fluff.
Nesta swished the tail of her costume in circles, eyes lazily taking in the room. She was familiar with Cassian’s apartment, had stumbled into it half-drunk, their lips crashing together in the dark plenty of times before. Her comfort with the place was born of half-remembered evenings and blurry mornings that smelled of bacon and coffee that Cassian would bring her in bed.
It was just that she preferred they hang out at her place. Nesta’s apartment was well-decorated, comfortable, and didn’t have any unidentifiable smells. But when Cassian told her he was going to take a while getting ready for Rhys and Feyre’s Halloween party, she’d had no choice but to meet him on the way or risk being late. Her costume was the work of a few minutes; a black bodysuit, a headband with pointy cat ears, and a belt that came complete with a tail were all she needed. Cassian’s costume, on the other hand, which he was being very hush hush about, was apparently requiring quite a lot of effort.
Nesta had let herself into the apartment and called out to him, but Cassian hadn’t walked out of the bathroom. She settled herself against the kitchen counter and asked how he was, which led into a tirade about how hard he was working to make his costume better than Rhys and Azriel’s.
“So I told Rhys,” he was saying, his voice rising so he was sure she could hear him, “That if he and Az wanted us to coordinate our outfits again, we’d need more time. This isn’t something we can do in a weekend. Plus, I think Feyre’s the type to want to match him.”
“What have you been in the past?” Nesta asked. She heard the water running, some shuffling of bottles and brushes on the countertop.
“Three Stooges. Rock, paper, and scissors. And have you seen the movie Human Centipede?”
Nesta shuddered. “No, but I don’t need any visuals, thanks.”
The water ran for a moment, there was some more shuffling, and Nesta waited for Cassian to step out into the hallway. Instead, she saw his hands, held aloft in front of him. They were crusted with brown and deep red paint. Next came his arms, covered in tattered brown cloth. Nesta stood up straight, her eyes widening. When Cassian finally stepped through the doorway, she knew why it had taken him so long to get ready.
He was a mess, head-to-toe. Nesta recognized the ripped pants from when he had helped Elain with yard work the spring before. His shirt was a flannel, from long before she had entered his life, and had apparently passed from useful into Halloween costume material. Some of the same brown and red paint was splattered across his chest, but his face was where the real work had gone in. The additions of gray and sickly green face paint gave him hollowed out cheekbones, deeper eye sockets, while the red created a particularly gruesome wound on his temple.
Cassian lurched forward, ramming his hand into a wall before turning, and cursed. “Oh shit, out of character.” He resumed his blank expression and let out a confused groan, stumbling towards Nesta. When he reached her, his arms fell to his sides and he broke out into a grin. “Ah, that feels weird,” he said, reaching up to gently touch the make-up around his mouth, then thinking better of it.
“This can’t be the zombie apocalypse, I’m not caught up on my favorite shows,” Nesta exclaimed.
Cassian raised an eyebrow. “What shows? Do you even own a tv?”
“I have a laptop, and The Alienist.”
“And Real Housewives of New York.”
“There it is,” Cassian said with a grin.
Nesta rolled her eyes. “Why do zombies walk with their arms out, anyway?” she asked. She grabbed her coat from where she had slung it over the back of a chair.
Cassian blinked. “You know, I’m not sure. Should I not?”
She patted the front of his shirt, admiring the work he had put into looking so decidedly undead. “Well if you’re going to be running into things all night, perhaps not.”
Cassian rubbed his fist. “Good thinking.”
“You look great, by the way,” Nesta said, smiling. Cassian leaned forward for a kiss and to wrap his arms around her, but she held her hand up. “But don’t get paint all over me.” The combination of a purely black outfit and Cassian’s paints meant that everyone would know exactly where he had touched her, and Nesta was never in the sort of mood to explain a handprint on her ass.
“Now let’s go, Feyre will be wondering where we are.” She lifted up on her toes and gave him a quick peck on the small spot of cheek where he had left bare skin, threw on her coat, all while Cassian continued to explain the nuances of how he, Rhys, and Azriel would decide which of them had the best costume that year.
