Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The morning sun was just clearing the rooftops when Jacaerys gunned his motorcycle toward Baela’s apartment building. He’d promised her a ride to campus after last night’s chaos. Look sharp and ready to learn, he’d joked darkly last night. But beneath his helmet, a knot of unease tightened in his gut—that irrational dread that something was about to go sideways. But at the end, he shoved the feeling down, focusing on the road.

Jacaerys turned onto her street then, and the sight ahead slammed the brakes on his thoughts. There, right outside her door, Baela and Aegon were locked in a heated standoff. It was Aegon’s voice that cut through the morning quiet, sharp with lots of accusations: "Three AM? You roll in at three AM with Jace? He’s not exactly your brother, Baela! What were you thinking?"

But as respond, Baela’s retort was ice and her eyes blazing. "I was out late. Big deal, Aegon. And you? You were making out with my best friend! With Helaena!"

Jacaerys didn’t pause right there. He pulled his bike up sharply beside the curb, the engine’s growl silencing their argument. With deliberate calm, he pulled off his spare helmet, his movements smooth and unhurried. He acted as if Aegon were invisible. Holding the helmet out to Baela, his eyes never left hers. "You finished here, Baela?" he asked, his voice level, devoid of any acknowledgment of Aegon standing rigidly behind the bike. "Let’s move. You’ll miss your lecture."

Aegon stepped forward, his face flushing. "This is between us, Jace—"

Jacaerys, however, didn’t turn. Didn’t flicker. His entire focus was on Baela, a steady presence radiating calm. The air crackled with Aegon’s sputtering anger, Baela’s trembling fury, and Jacaerys's impenetrable stillness. He gave the throttle a soft, deliberate rev. The message was clear: Time’s up. Let’s go.

As expected, Baela didn't hesitate. She snatched the helmet from Jace’s hand, fumbling slightly in her haste, and swung her leg over the bike behind him. When she spoke her voice was tight, urgent. "Yeah, Jace. Let’s go." She tapped his shoulder then—a light, insistent pressure against the worn leather of his jacket.

Jacaerys then flicked the kickstand up and twisted the throttle, ready to pull away from the curb and the toxic cloud Aegon represented. But Aegon lunged forward, his hand clamping like a vice around Jacaerys’s right wrist, forcing his grip off the handlebar. The bike lurched slightly, stabilized only by Jacaerys's planted left foot.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Jace?" Aegon snarled, leaning in close, his breath hot against Jace’s helmet visor. "Parading my girlfriend around like that? Where'd you even take her till 3 AM?"

A spark of pure, unadulterated anger flared in Jacaerys’s chest, hot and sudden. He then took a deliberate breath, the cool morning air filling his lungs beneath the helmet. Patience, for Baela, at least. Slowly, deliberately, he turned his head to look at Aegon through the tinted plastic. His voice, when it came, was unnervingly calm, devoid of the fury simmering beneath. "Let go, Aegon. We’re leaving. It’s getting late so you should probably head out too." He moved his hand back towards the grip, testing Aegon’s hold.

Aegon didn’t release him. Instead, he shifted, stepping directly in front of the bike, blocking their path entirely. His face twisted with accusation and a desperate attempt to deflect. "You’re such a piece of work, Jacaerys Velaryon!" he spat. "Swooping in, playing the white knight after keeping my girlfriend out all night doing god knows what? And now you act like you’re above it all? Get real, man. You’re just a guy too. We all know what guys want."

Behind Jacaerys, Baela flinched as if struck. A small, wounded sound escaped her. But thankfully, he felt it more than heard it—the sudden, fierce clench of her fingers twisting into the back of his t-shirt, the fabric pulling taut against his shoulders. The raw pain in that simple grip was louder than any shout.

Because of that, Jacaerys felt the last thread of his patience fray. The cold fury that had been building crystallized into something sharp and dangerous. Yet when he kept his posture relaxed, his voice dropping even lower, becoming flatter, colder than the deepest winter ice. "Aegon," he stated, each word a chip of ice. "Move. Now. It’s too early for this crap, and there’s nothing good left for us to say." He paused, letting the command hang. Then, the final, devastating blow, delivered with absolute, chilling clarity: "And you’re right. I am just a guy. But here’s the difference: I’m not the kind of guy who kisses his girlfriend’s best friend. Not casually. Not ever. So, for the last time. Get. Out. Of. My. Way."

The silence that followed was absolute, broken only by the bike’s low idle and Baela’s shaky breath against his back. Jacaerys's fiery gaze, visible even through the visor, was fixed on Aegon with unwavering, glacial contempt.

For a moment, Aegon’s gaze flickered past Jace’s shoulder to Baela. She had turned her face away, her profile rigid against the morning light, refusing to look at him. The sight struck him like a physical blow. He had hurt her, deeply. The knowledge twisted in his gut, sharp and undeniable.

But beneath the regret, a colder, more desperate fear coiled: if he did nothing now, if he let her ride away with Jacaerys wrapped around her, she’d be lost to him forever. She’d fall completely into the orbit of the one person who hadn’t betrayed her. He knew he’d messed up. He knew he’d lost this round. The fight drained out of him, replaced by a hollow ache.

So slowly, at last and silently, he stepped aside, clearing the path. He stood rooted to the pavement, watching the motorcycle carry them away until it vanished around the corner, leaving him alone with his crumbling pride and the echo of Jacaerys's final, icy words.

As soon as they merged with the bustling commuter traffic, putting distance between them and Aegon’s toxic presence, Jacaerys raised his voice over the roar of engines and city noise. "Baela! You okay back there?" The concern was raw, cutting through the din.

Baela leaned forward slightly, her helmet brushing his shoulder. She had to shout her reply. "Yeah! I’m okay, Jace!" A beat, then she added, forcing a lightness into her tone that didn’t quite reach her eyes, "Just... might need a caramel macchiato after class? You know, for... improved morale? Brain recovery?" Baela said before managing a small, shaky laugh against the wind.

Jacaerys felt the tension in his own shoulders ease a fraction. The request was pure Baela—seeking comfort in the familiar, sugary ritual after chaos. He knew it was a bandage, not a cure, but he also knew he’d never refuse her this, especially now. Resisting Baela when she was hurting felt fundamentally impossible. He’d buy her ten macchiatos if it helped.

"Okay," he called back, the word carrying a weight of unspoken understanding. "Consider it done, Bae." The promise was simple, a small anchor thrown into the turbulent sea of her morning.

When his classes finally over, Jacaerys made a beeline for the campus coffee shop. And sooner than he expected, the promised of that caramel macchiato with extra drizzle, sat warming his hand as he sank onto a worn campus lounge sofa.

And before he could take a sip of his own drink, his phone buzzed against his thigh. A glance at the screen: Baela Targaryen. And at that, a small, involuntary smile touched his lips as he read her message, the steam from the cup curling into the air like a question mark.

And Jacaerys? He let out a quiet chuckle that echoed his earlier smile as he read her frantic text. Right on time, he thought when he spotted her instantly—a whirlwind of dark hair and determination at the far end of the corridor, dodging startled students with impressive agility. Amused, he deftly peeled the straw wrapper and positioned the cold, sweating cup just as she skidded to a breathless halt before him.

"JACE!" she gasped, chest heaving, her grin wide and genuine despite the sprint. And he didn’t wait for the ask. The macchiato was already extended, straw angled perfectly towards her. Baela grabbed it, relief washing over her face. "Ah, gods, Jace," she breathed, the first icy sip already melting on her tongue. "You're the only that actually known me."

Jacaerys watched her for a moment there. She stood slightly dazed, staring into her macchiato as if deciphering its secrets, oblivious to the students milling around them. "Sit down, Bae," he said gently, nudging the space beside him on the worn sofa. "You must be wiped out after that sprint."

Baela's new profile was the star when she took it last night, where Jacaerys brought her to calm herself down, and her new status was...

"Better to let go of things that don't meant to be yours and yours alone."