Chapter Text
Due to the world-ending looming threat to Duncan’s rugby scholarship and overall future after graduation, Aerion had suggested they focus on Duncan’s tutoring sessions first, which was why they immediately made plans for the tall boy to come over after practice for a study session. His favour from Duncan felt somewhat trivial in comparison, seeing as all he wanted from it was to gather enough courage to ask Valarr Dondarrion out on a date without scaring him off. Still, after they struck their deal, Duncan had defiantly puffed out his chest, vowing in an all-too-serious manner that he would not let Aerion down. Now, staring at the text message from Duncan on his phone as he sat cross-legged on his bed, it was clear he expected the same from the Targaryen boy.
my future is in ur hands, sensei, teach me ur ways
Aerion wondered if he was the right person to tutor the star player. He was smart, definitely, but he had spent a good few years comfortable in his solitude and navigating the halls at school as a stylish ghost; what could he possibly have to teach that couldn’t be found in a book? Wasn’t that the problem that Duncan struggled with in his studies? Wouldn’t learning from the booksmart student make it worse? A follow-up text message dinged loudly from his phone and called for Aerion’s attention.
also, can u send me ur address?
Aerion felt a pang in his chest as he typed his address out onto his phone, the text sending with a woosh. He found it hard to believe that Duncan had never been to the house, wondering how that could have transpired. They had been the closest of friends back then, spending all their time together at school, and then together at the Targaryens’, only separating when it was time to go to bed, but even then, Mr Arlan would allow the taller boy to stay overnight for sleepovers if he had business out of town. Even their weekends were more often the same than not, and Aerion knew that there was a time in his life when he could not have imagined a life without Duncan by his side. Somehow, the unimaginable had happened without his knowledge and subsequently became the default in his life, and now it felt strange to have Duncan back again, if only for an exchange of favours.
He tried his best to think about what Duncan had been up to since their estranged friendship began, drawing a horrifying blank outside of Duncan being the best player on the school’s rugby team, due to a winning combination of athletic prowess as well as sheer, imposing strength. The pang in his chest transformed into guilt, twisting around his heart and squeezing so tightly he was sure it would burst, so he leaned back and lay on the bed with a frustrated huff. He grasped desperately at one of his favourite memories of their friendship, the day Duncan skinned his knee while attempting to climb out of the swimming pool. They couldn’t have been older than eight at the time, both scrawny little kids with gangly arms and voices that had not dropped yet; even at that age, Duncan had been taller than the two eldest Targaryen boys and everyone else at school.
“Don’t cry, Dunkie, you’re going to make me cry too!” Daeron said, his voice wobbly with oncoming tears. The eldest Targaryen boy was kneeling by Duncan’s side, his silver hair dripping pool water onto his shoulders and his bare knees pressed into the wooden deck surrounding the pool. Duncan himself was sitting with his knees pressed against his chest and a towel draped over his shoulders, unable to tear his gaze away from the blood that bloomed from the torn skin. From the way his eyes were glistening and his ferocity in biting his bottom lip, it was clear he was holding himself back from crying.
Aerion, who had been in charge of grabbing the first aid kit, barreled out of the house and practically skidded to a halt by the two almost-crying boys, opting to sit cross-legged next to Duncan with the kit plopped on his lap. “Does it hurt a lot, Duncan?” Aerion asked, undoing the clasps of the kit and propping it open.
Duncan merely nodded, wiping the unshed tears from his reddened eyes with the back of his hand. Aerion’s eyebrows lifted sympathetically, picking out the items he needed before setting the kit next to him on the deck.
“Of course it hurts, Aerion, look at how much blood there is!” Daeron pointed out loudly, letting out an exaggerated squawk at the sight of Duncan’s injured knee.
“Go away if you’re not gonna be helpful!” Aerion hissed in annoyance at his brother, which seemed to successfully drive Daeron away as he slinked away, muttering something about bothering Aemon’s nap under his breath.
Left alone to tend to Duncan, Aerion got to work, gently wiping the blood away before cleaning the wound with some saline solution he found in the kit; thankfully, it wasn’t a deep cut. Duncan winced at the sensation, biting his lip again to bite back the pain. “It’s okay, it won’t leave a scar,” Aerion said, placing a Band-Aid on the injury.
“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt right now,” Duncan spoke matter-of-factly, still looking glum despite the newly-bandaged knee.
“Want me to kiss it better?” Aerion offered. “Mum says it won’t hurt if you do that.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Duncan said with a frown.
“I won’t do it then,” Aerion said, snapping the first aid kit shut with an indignant huff. He made a move to stand, but Duncan’s hand shot out to grab the Targaryen boy’s wrist.
“You can kiss it better then,” Duncan spoke softly, letting go of Aerion’s wrist when he looked back at him. “Please.”
Aerion smiled widely, scooting closer to the other boy before leaning down to kiss the newly-bandaged wound. “There! It won’t hurt anymore, I promise.” Aerion said with a triumphant beam, watching as Duncan’s cheeks and ears turned a bright shade of red, the boy too shy to look him in the eyes.
The silver-haired boy slid his hand over Duncan’s, giving it a squeeze to make his friend look at him. When he did, Aerion was surprised to see that he was crying.
“I wish I had a mum to teach me these things,” Duncan murmured with a quiet sniffle.
“Well… You have Mr Arlan!” Aerion said, but even he was not convinced of the words that came out of his mouth.
“What’s he going to do?” Duncan asked indignantly. “I can’t imagine he’d kiss anything better; if anything, he’d make it worse!”
Aerion bit his bottom lip and frowned. “You’re right.”
“I wish I knew my mum and dad, what they were like,” Duncan said in a wobbly voice, wiping at his tears with the back of his hand again. “I want to be part of a real family.”
This statement gave the Targaryen boy some pause. As if it were the most obvious thing in the world, Aerion replied, “But you are!”
“What… What do you mean?” Duncan looked up at Aerion, his bright, blue eyes still glistening with tears.
“Well…” Aerion trailed off, the words tumbling out of him so quickly that he could barely tell if Duncan understood what he was saying. “My mum can be your mum, she already thinks of you as her really tall son, a-and Dad’s probably gonna freak out because he thinks there’s too many Targaryen boys in the house, but he can be your dad too, like Mr Arlan! Daeron, Aemon, and Aegon, they can be your brothers too! A-And me, of course! You’re basically a Targaryen boy already, maybe we could dye your hair like ours!”
Duncan blinked rapidly as if to process everything Aerion had said. In a disbelieving tone, Duncan asked, “I am?”
“Yes, silly!” Aerion nudged him with a laugh. “We’re going to be your family, Duncan, you’ll never have to worry about wanting to be part of one ever again!”
Wow, Aerion’s guilt had inexplicably tripled in size.
Before he could stew in the nostalgia-induced regret, the doorbell rang and reverberated throughout the house, startling him from his thoughts. The silver-haired boy shot up from the bed and launched himself out of the room, nearly tripping over his own feet as he hastily put on his slippers and left the room. He hurried down the stairs and skidded to a halt at the door, taking a deep breath to shake him out of his own mind, still a little preoccupied with the memory by the pool. Then, he twisted the doorknob and opened the door, making the mistake of looking directly at Duncan’s brilliant blue eyes, and suddenly he was a young boy again, making promises he couldn’t possibly keep.
“Hey, I’m glad I didn’t get the wrong house!” Duncan smiled warmly at his childhood friend, and Aerion felt his guts twisting in response. The tall boy was in a grey hoodie, the rugby team hoodie to be exact, and a pair of green shorts, which exposed his hairy yet sturdy legs. Everything about Duncan coming over to their house felt so natural, and yet he was not the same, and neither was Aerion; he couldn’t help but feel awkward about it all. “Do you mind if I put my bike on the porch? I-I wasn’t really sure where to put it, and I didn’t want to just leave it on the lawn like we used to.”
“Sure,” Aerion croaked, stepping aside to let him into their home. Duncan, predictably, was a looming giant even in the hallway, so Aerion stepped back to allow him some space. To Aerion’s surprise, Duncan immediately kicked off his (muddy) shoes; Maekar Targaryen would love hearing about that. “You remembered the slipper household rule.”
“Of course,” Duncan said as he placed his shoes at the bottom of the shoe rack, where the guest's shoes were. “My slippers used to be orange, weren’t they?”
“You definitely wouldn’t fit in them now, Bigfoot,” Aerion teased him, smiling lightly as the tips of Duncan’s ears reddened. He was always such a shy boy; it seemed preposterous to think that he was the most popular boy at school these days. “You can wear those guest slippers, I think the grey ones are the biggest size.”
As Duncan slipped the aforementioned guest slippers on (they were ill-fitting, which wasn’t much of a surprise), Aerion heard the familiar pitter-patter of footsteps as Aegon rushed to the hallway. That boy has never moved at a normal pace in his life, it seems.
“Gosh, is that little Aegon?” Duncan asked, only to let out a loud ‘oof!’ as Aegon’s little body slammed into him in a hug, knocking the wind out of the gentle giant, who chuckled lightly and moved to tousle the youngest Targaryen’s hair like he used to, only to find blonde fuzz where a full head of silver hair used to be. “Why are you bald?”
Opting to ignore Duncan’s question, Aerion’s baby brother pulled away slightly to look at Duncan with shining eyes, and then to peer suspiciously at his older brother. “Are you two actually friends again?”
“Well-” Aerion began, only to falter when he realised he had no answer to that. Instead, he glanced at his childhood best friend, who averted his eyes and swayed slightly on the spot with Aegon clinging onto him like an octopus, or a really scrawny koala.
“Your brother’s tutoring me for the midterms,” Duncan explained. “I haven’t been doing well at school, and he was kind enough to offer.”
Aegon’s dimple appeared as he chewed on the inside of his cheek, most likely deciding against voicing a quip about Aerion as a tutor. “Can we play Fortnite together when you’re done? I’ve missed hanging out with you.”
“Definitely!” Duncan’s blue eyes practically disappeared as he shot little Aegon with a beaming smile. “We better get to studying then.”
Sometime after an in-depth explanation of the three laws of thermodynamics, Aerion looked up from his workbook and stared at Duncan, who was hunched over his worksheet with a slight frown on his face. They were both sitting cross-legged on the floor of Aerion’s bedroom which was covered with band and film posters, to which Duncan had made a joke about Aerion’s emo phase, which made him bristle slightly. It, as he had told his father multiple times, was not just a phase.
The rugby player was actually a quick study once he got the fundamentals down, understanding the concepts much better with Aerion’s explanations, where he’d break down the things Duncan was not quite sure about. He wasn’t a bad student at all, he just needed some time to digest what he was learning. Somehow, the silver-haired boy’s thoughts drifted to Duncan and his little brother, Aegon, and then his eldest brother, Daeron; how easy it was for them to get back into their friendships with Duncan as if nothing ever happened in the past few years. Could it be because they had hardly changed at all, while Aerion felt completely unrecognisable from his younger, much-happier self? He felt envious of them, wondering if he and Duncan could ever go back to how things were.
“You know, I’d probably finish this worksheet faster if you weren’t staring at me,” Duncan spoke up, rousing Aerion from his thoughts to find the blue-eyed boy smiling gently at him. “You okay? You seem distracted.”
“Oh, um,” Aerion bit his lip as he put his pen down in between the open pages of his workbook, embarrassed to be caught spacing out. “I was just thinking about you and Egg, how close you two were when we lived in the old house.”
Duncan broke into a grin, his crooked teeth visible and somewhat endearing. “I remember when he was just a bald little baby – well, he’s still a bald little baby, just a bit taller – and my dad would send me over with fruits so I’d have an excuse to see him. He’s probably the closest I’d have to a little brother.”
Aerion felt a familiar pang in his chest at Duncan’s words, acutely aware of how he had played an active role in why Duncan had an estranged relationship with the Targaryen boys. Instead of dwelling on it, he changed the subject. “How’s Mr Arlan?”
“Oh, he’s okay,” Duncan shrugged, putting his pen down with a troubled sigh as if he was deliberating on telling Aerion something he wouldn’t want to hear. “He was a little surprised when I called him and told him I was gonna come over here.”
“Why?” Aerion knew why.
Duncan rubbed the back of his neck, averting his eyes. “I-I guess he thought we weren’t really friends anymore.”
Okay. Perfect time to apologise for being a closed-off asshole for the past few years, perfect time to apologise for causing him to lose his make-shift family, here goes nothing-
A knock on the bedroom door caused Aerion to lose his train of thought and the courage he summoned to broach the subject. A second later, the doorknob twisted open and Maekar Targaryen poked his head into the room, clearly having gotten home from work. His eyes searched the room for his son, and he let out a small ‘ah!’ when his gaze fell upon Aerion and his guest. “I thought I recognised the bike by the porch, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
“Yes, sir,” Duncan practically beamed at the head of the Targaryen household. “I-I hope you don’t mind about the bike-”
Maekar waved his concerns dismissively. “It’s fine, don’t even worry about it. Listen, Duncan, stay a little longer! We should catch up over dinner, I’m ordering some pizza for the boys; you’re welcome to join us if you’re free.”
“Oh!” Duncan glanced uncertainly at Aerion, who was too busy beating himself up for missing the supposedly perfect timing to notice Duncan’s ultra-politeness kicking in. “I-I dunno, my dad-”
“Text him, tell him Maekar Targaryen insists on you joining us for dinner,” Maekar pressed on. “We have a lot to talk about!”
Just like the good old days, the Targaryen boys practically fought each other for Duncan’s attention, the father included. Daeron (in between mouthfuls of his medium cheese pizza topped with pineapples that nobody else wanted to share with him) and Aegon (so excitable he nearly knocked his glass of water over) were busy asking him endless questions about rugby and his workout routine, while Maekar kept pointing out just how much Duncan had grown since the last time they had him over for dinner. Aerion, in contrast, kept quiet for most of the meal, his attention fixed on the slice of pepperoni pizza on his plate, an insurmountable mountain of guilt eating away at him as he watched.
Duncan thrived under the Targaryens’ constant fawning over him, answering all of his brothers’ questions, effortlessly spinning stories of the matches he played and recalling the funny moments he had with the rest of his team. Egg, obviously, listened with rapt attention, and it seemed that everyone else was having a monumentally great time, Duncan with them once more.
It was like he never left. Or, more accurately, it was like Aerion never pushed him away.
After dinner, Aerion sought out some sorely-missed solace in the form of washing dishes, taking his time to glide the soaped-up sponge along the plates, his regrets about the way he handled his friendship with Duncan loud and unrelenting. He could hear Daeron and Aegon in the hallway, saying goodbye to Duncan and audibly making plans to hang out again; he didn’t feel like he should join in on all of that.
On one of the last days before the Targaryens moved out of their old house, Aerion was sitting on the front porch, his mother’s scarf clutched tightly in his hands as he sobbed, his whole body wracked with grief and missing his mother so much that it manifested into an unending gnawing at his insides. It still smelled like her, at least.
“There you are,” Duncan called out from behind him, closing the front door behind him. Aerion made no move to acknowledge Duncan’s presence. “I’m done packing up all the kitchen stuff. Your dad told me to find you and tell you to finish packing your room.”
When Aerion gave no response, Duncan moved to stand in front of the Targaryen boy, his eyes softening once he realised what was happening. “Oh, Aerion, I-I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?” Aerion asked, fresh tears falling onto his cheeks. “You didn’t kill my mum.”
“I-I know, that’s just what people say when you lose someone,” Duncan stammered, a little perplexed by the sharpness in Aerion’s tone. “I know it’s hard, but-”
“Don’t talk to me like you know what it’s like,” Aerion glared at his childhood best friend, his grip on his mother’s scarf tightening.
To his surprise, Duncan scoffed, his arms folded across his chest as he pursed his lips into a thin line. “You don’t think I know what it’s like to lose a mother?”
“It’s not the same,” Aerion shot back. “You didn’t even know her! You don’t even know if she ever loved you!”
The hurt that flashed across Duncan’s face was unmistakable; it looked wrong for such blue eyes to be filled with so much hurt, as if he had been struck with an open palm by his best friend. “You’re right. At least you have something of hers to remember her by.” Duncan gazed pointedly at the scarf in his friend’s hands. With a shaky breath, Duncan scratched his jaw and spoke in a levelled tone, “Tell your dad I’m sorry, but I won’t help you guys pack anymore. We can talk again once you’ve cooled down.”
Aerion didn’t look up to watch his best friend leave.
“Dunk just left,” Maekar’s voice pulled him away from his thoughts, the man sidling up next to him to rinse the plates in the dual-basin kitchen sink. “It’s nice to have him around again.”
“Yeah, I can tell,” Aerion muttered, putting a soapy plate down and picking up the last plate left to clean while his father rinsed the plates and placed them on the drying rack. “Sorry, I don’t mean to sound snippy, I just…”
“Hey,” Maekar turned off the tap, angling his body so that he was looking at Aerion, who reluctantly met his father’s gaze. “I know you’ve had a rough time after your mum…” A shaky breath. “Well. I- Duncan is a nice boy, I think he’s been pretty understanding about everything. I don’t see him as the type to hold it against you, not if he’s coming over again and spending time with the family. You don’t have to beat yourself up over it.”
The only reason Duncan is back in our lives is that I’m tutoring him, Aerion wanted to say, none of you should get used to him being around- I shouldn’t. Instead, he placed the last soapy plate into the sink and said, “If you say so.”
“This isn’t working,” Aerion said as he sank heavily onto the bench next to Duncan, his social battery depleted to the point of non-existence.
They were at the ice skating rink somewhere in the only mall that was less than a ten-minute drive from the Targaryens’ household. It was a Saturday, which meant that the whole rink was packed with little kids moving with the grace of baby giraffes, and the one teenage guy who was clearly a much better skater than everyone else on the rink, considering how fast he was going and the amount of backwards skating he was doing. Show off.
Aerion opted out of ice skating, having been given the special (and horrifying) assignment of approaching 15 different people and making small talk with them. Duncan had insisted that this would be the perfect opportunity to build up the courage to talk to Valarr Dondarrion, but the blue-eyed jock had not taken to account that Aerion dressed Unapproachably Goth; with the dark clothes, multiple silver chains of various length attached to his leather pants, and of course, massive stomper boots that looked scarier than the skating shoes with a literal blade attached to them. A few of the younger parents, who were most likely former emos, were kind and talked to him about his outfit, but the little kids and their much elderly guardians were pretty hesitant to speak with him.
Duncan, who had been in the rink with Daeron and Aegon while the silver-haired boy went through the prescribed humiliation ritual, sighed and nodded gravely. “I kept an eye on you earlier; it wasn’t looking good. I-I’ll come up with something else.”
Just then, Daeron and Aegon awkwardly walk-stomped over to them, Aegon’s cheeks flushed red with excitement. “Did you guys see? Daeron kept falling on his butt on the ice!”
Daeron, wobbly and embarrassed, turned around to show them the back of his blue jeans, which were wet and dark from falling over too many times. “Egg didn’t even try to help me, he just stood there laughing like an idiot.” The long-haired brother complained with a pout. “Can we get Taco Bell? I’m starving.”
“I thought Taco Bell makes you shit bricks?” Aerion pointed out as a reminder.
“I don’t give a shit, I could demolish some Chalupas right now.”
Sharing a concerned glance with Duncan, Aerion got up and the four of them made their way to the food court.
“Can you explain to me what 67 is again?” Aerion overheard Duncan asking Aegon as he approached them at their table in the food court. The second son was given the unfortunate task of checking up on Daeron in the nearby toilets, the eldest being true to his word and inhaling three Chalupa Supremes in between glugs of Mountain Dew, only to scurry away with a panicked expression and subsequently blowing up the toilet. Aerion would have said ‘I told you so’, but he figured Daeron would do it all over again anyway, so the remaining party sat in the food court waiting for the eldest Targaryen boy to finish fighting his battles against Taco Bell.
“Oh, Aerion!” Duncan lit up when he caught sight of the silver-haired boy who sidled into his seat facing Duncan and Aegon. “We were talking, and Egg thinks he has a really good idea on how to ask Valarr out on a date.”
“What?” Aerion baulked, narrowing his eyes at Duncan. “You told Egg?”
“He’s the wisest person I know, I thought we could join forces,” Duncan said sheepishly, glancing at Aegon with a shrug. Aerion wanted to point out that a ten-year-old shouldn’t be the wisest person he knew, but he held his tongue.
“You should have heard what Dunk suggested earlier, he said you could do a public declaration of your crush on him,” Aegon said with an overexaggerated shudder, which mirrored the queasiness he felt at the thought of anything like that. “It’s like he doesn’t know who he’s talking about!”
“Fine,” Aerion acquiesced, leaning back in his chair. “I’m desperate enough as it is. What’s your suggestion, little twerp?”
“First of all, rude. But I’m going to let that slide,” The bald boy inhaled as if he was summoning the willpower to speak his suggestion into existence, leaning forward conspiratorially. “You could write him a love letter.”
“A love letter?” Aerion repeated, incredulous. “Why are you 80 years old? Nobody writes love letters anymore!”
“Hey, give him a break, we worked really hard on brainstorming, you know,” Duncan came to Aegon’s defence, the younger boy nodding enthusiastically at his words. “A-And maybe it’s good that nobody else writes love letters anymore, it makes it even more special and flattering! I’d love it if I received a love letter for sure.”
“Besides, I don’t see you coming up with good ideas,” Aegon muttered pointedly at Aerion, who scoffed in response. “Will you at least consider it?”
Aerion did a little more than consider Egg’s idea.
He spent most of his alone time on Sunday thinking up what to write in the love letter, balling up discarded drafts and throwing them into the trashcan under his desk, and finally settling on whatever word-vomit he wrote up in a fit of inspiration sometime past his bedtime. The next morning, the love letter sat comfortably inside his backpack like a fucking bomb ready to be detonated.
Aerion had a plan. A great plan, in fact.
He did not share a lot of classes with Valarr Dondarrion, only having two classes together where they sat on opposite sides of the classroom for one of them, so obviously it didn’t leave him with many options. However, they sat next to each other in Mr Baratheon’s English Literature class, and the curly-haired teacher always allocated ‘quiet time’ towards the end of the class for the students to start on their homework or to do some assigned reading. So all Aerion had to do was pass the letter to Valarr just before the class ended, and then haul ass out of there to avoid any kind of in-person confrontation from his crush. He had included his phone number at the end of the letter too, so that Valarr had the option to text him instead of speaking to him personally if things were awkward (read: if Aerion was awkward). It was a completely foolproof plan, or so he thought.
Aerion supposed the issue was that he had miscalculated his aim, and the love letter fell to the floor with an incredibly conspicuous sound that seemed like a jet taking off in an otherwise silent classroom. The issue then snowballed into something unimaginably worse when Mr Baratheon, who had been walking languidly up and down the aisles, caught sight of Valarr bending down to pick the letter up.
“That note must be really important for you to pass around during my class, Aerion, Valarr,” Mr Baratheon spoke up, which drew some students’ attention to the back of the class where Aerion and Valarr were sitting. The silver-haired Targaryen boy felt as though he was about to have a stroke when the English Lit teacher walked over to Valarr’s desk and plucked it out of his hand, unfolding it even as Valarr shot an uneasy look at Aerion. Then, to Aerion’s absolute horror, Mr Baratheon began to read the note aloud. “Let’s see… ‘Dear Valarr, I know this is a little silly but I hope you don’t mind, I couldn’t muster up the courage to tell you in person that I have feeli- Oh, fuck.”
Mr Baratheon faltered when he realised what he was reading out loud, but it was too late. The rest of the class burst into giggles, a wave of whispers moving through the room. He could feel everyone looking at him, a mixture of disbelief, pity and multiple shades of taunting. Mr Baratheon scrunched the paper up as he raised his voice slightly, “Class dismissed, get the hell out of here.”
Valarr practically shot out of the classroom without so much as a glance towards Aerion or anyone else in the room. Aerion, on the other hand, was rooted in his seat, paralysed by the shock of what had transpired just moments beforehand. He could still feel his classmates’ judgmental looks, their intelligible whispers, but he couldn’t will himself to move. Not until the rest of the class filed out of the room, leaving him and Mr Baratheon alone. Then, as if on autopilot, he packed up his things, his movements sluggish and his whole body numb. He could see a cloud of anxiousness surrounding Mr Baratheon from the way he fidgeted with his golden yellow tie and ran his fingers through his curly hair before approaching Aerion, who finally willed himself to stand.
“Look, Aerion, I-I’m really sorry-” The teacher began, but Aerion cut him off quickly, his voice a little too loud and terse.
“It’s fine, Mr Baratheon, really.” A tight smile. It was not fine, actually. Not fine at all. “I probably should have just texted him like a normal person.”
The confusion was clear in Mr Baratheon’s face. “Huh? That’s not the point, I shouldn’t have done that-”
“I have to go, sir, I’m late for my next class,” Aerion said matter-of-factly, and Mr Baratheon let out a defeated sigh and stepped aside to let him leave.
Throughout the day, whispers and jeers followed him wherever he went. They weren’t particularly bothersome once Aerion stuffed his ears with his earphones and blasted whatever the fuck was loud enough to keep him from becoming acutely aware of the number of people looking at him that day. The worst was at the end of the day, when he caught sight of Steffon Fossoway making fun of him by loudly confessing his love towards Valarr at the latter’s locker, practically throwing himself at the shaggy-haired boy who looked so uncomfortable he might actually die of embarrassment.
Aerion slammed his locker door shut and stormed off.
Someone was throwing tiny rocks at his window. That, or there was some other kind of pitter-patter sound he had not recognised amidst the bwa bwa sounds in the Nine Inch Nails song he was listening to.
Aerion pushed himself off his bed, where he had been wallowing in justifiable self-pity, and approached the window hesitantly, catching sight of a boy with a mop of strawberry blonde hair and an above-average height bending down to pick up another rock. Aerion should have known it was him; there was only one person he knew who would throw rocks at his window, but this was a surprise. Had he biked all the way to the Targaryens’ home straight after rugby practice?
Duncan let out a startled yelp when he finally caught sight of Aerion peering at him from the window, but he recovered quickly and pointed at the front door, signalling for him to come out to meet him. Before he could respond, Duncan ducked out of view, which left him no choice but to leave his den of misery.
Aerion made his way out of his room and down the stairs, only to falter when Daeron called out to him. “Aerion!” His eldest brother and his youngest brother were both sitting cross-legged at the coffee table, their respective homework sprawled out on the surface. Aegon perked up at the mention of his brother and whirled around with a tiny smile before returning his attention to his homework.
“What?” Aerion responded, reaching the bottom of the stairs.
“I have a gift for you, it’s a timeless poem that I’d like to recite right now,” He replied, hastily scrambling to his feet and throwing his hands out with dramatic flair. “Aerion and Valarr sittin’ on a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G-”
“Fuck off and die, Daeron!” Aerion yelled, cutting off his eldest brother’s taunts before he could continue any further, ignoring his laughter as he bent down to cover Aegon's ears; Aerion had had enough of the teasing, stomping to the hallway and wrenching the front door open with what he assumed was a scowl and a massive dark cloud over his head.
Duncan stood at the entrance, his face twisting into something akin to pity as soon as his gaze landed on Aerion, who practically shook with anger at this point. “Hey, I’m really sorry things turned out so badly today, I-”
Aerion reared back and punched Duncan square in the face.
“I’m really sorry, Duncan, I don’t know what came over me,” Aerion murmured, his shoulders slumped forward in defeat. “I can’t believe I did that.”
The silver-haired boy was sitting on the kitchen counter with a pack of frozen peas on his hand, which was more busted up than the actual face he had punched. Daeron and Aegon flew towards the front door at the commotion, but he had somehow convinced them to leave the two alone and not to tell their father that his son was going around punching other people in the face, or at least attempting to. According to Duncan, his form was completely off, and he ended up injuring himself a lot more than he did to the taller boy.
“I can’t seem to do anything right today,” Aerion said with a sigh. “I’m pretty sure Valarr hates me now for embarrassing him in front of everyone.”
“I don’t think he hates you; he doesn’t seem like the type.” Duncan offered as reassurance, which didn’t do much to cheer Aerion up. “But I get you, I-I can’t seem to do anything right today, either.”
Aerion didn’t miss the way the blue-eyed boy winced as he flexed his hand when he spoke, the former narrowing his eyes to ascertain what he was looking at. “What happened to your hand?”
Duncan glanced down at his hand, as if noticing the bruised-up knuckles for the first time. “Oh, uh, you’re not the only one going around punching people today.”
“Who were you punching?”
Duncan gave him a look, one that meant ‘isn’t it obvious?’. “You’ll see them at school tomorrow. They won’t bother you or Valarr anymore.”
Aerion straightened up, his mouth falling open slightly in disbelief. “You did that for me?”
“I couldn’t bear hearing people make fun of you,” Duncan shrugged, averting his gaze for a moment before looking at his friend again, a tinge of awe in his voice. “It was a really brave thing you did.”
The silver-haired boy practically melted at Duncan’s words, handing him the pack of frozen peas as compensation for defending his honour. “My knight in shining armour.”
Aerion watched as Duncan accepted the pack of frozen peas and placed it gently on his bruised knuckles, trying to hide a wince. Aerion was struck with a silly idea just then, a direct consequence of all the reminiscing he had been doing lately, jerking his head to grab Duncan’s attention again, his hand outstretched as he said, “Come here, Sir Duncan the… Tall. I think I have the perfect gift as compensation for your chivalry.”
“Sir Duncan the Tall?” Dunk repeated with a chuckle, his eyebrows raised quizzically at the Targaryen boy.
“I said what I said, now come on,” Aerion tugged his friend closer to him, so that Duncan could slot himself between Aerion’s legs, the pack of frozen peas tossed off to the side onto the counter. Aerion took his friend’s bruised-up hand in his, taking note of how large it was in comparison to his. He also noticed that Duncan had finally kicked the bad habit he had when he was younger, when he would pick at his fingers and bite his nails until they were jagged and rough; he wondered when that had happened. Aerion smiled at his tall friend and raised his hand to his lips, planting the gentlest of kisses on his injured knuckles. “Thank you for standing up for me, you really didn’t have to, but I appreciate it all the same.”
“I know,” Duncan swallowed thickly as Aerion pulled away, their eyes still fixated on each other. Aerion was struck by how Duncan’s long eyelashes framed his brilliant blue eyes, a ring of dark blue irises. Had he always had such pretty eyes? “I’d do just about anything for you.”
Aerion felt the strangest tug somewhere deep inside him, a compulsion to believe Duncan’s surprisingly sincere sentiments; he had seen it often when they were younger, how fiercely Duncan defended his best friend from bullies, how he stood up for Aerion if he felt that he was wronged. Even after all this time, Duncan was still the same boy despite growing up and growing apart. How could Aerion ever think to push him away back then? More importantly, how could Duncan ever think to stay?
Aerion watched his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as Duncan swallowed a gulp, the weight of Duncan’s words falling over them like a blanket of fresh snow. There was something unfamiliar in the air, a puzzle piece sliding into place as Aerion realised how foolish he had been to keep his distance from Duncan even after some time had passed since his mother’s death. Looking at him now, soft blue eyes and bruised knuckles, he was always a much better friend than Aerion deserved, and yet Duncan wanted his friendship anyway, even when Aerion didn’t feel the same.
Duncan’s eyes flickered downwards, his gaze falling upon the pink lips that kissed his knuckles mere moments beforehand; was he thinking about that day by the pool too? Could he see into Aerion’s soul just as he used to and find the words that he couldn’t bring himself to speak out loud, about missing the way things used to be, about missing him far more than he ever let on? Could they ever go back to the way things were? Can he be forgiven?
Aerion cleared his throat to draw himself away from his rapidly spiralling thoughts, and Duncan stepped back, the spell of the moment broken. “What am I supposed to do now?”
“Huh?”
“About Valarr,” Aerion reminded him. “Now that the whole school knows I have a giant crush on him.”
“Oh.” Duncan blinked rapidly as if to shake himself out of a daze, an unreadable expression on his face. There was a tenseness to his jaw and a clipped tone that Aerion had not noticed before when he spoke. “Right. Valarr. Um… just own it, I guess.”
“Own it?” Aerion repeated, his head cocked to one side.
“The ball is in his court now, he knows how you… how you feel about him, so you just- you just have to own it and see if he’s into that.” Duncan responded, carefully avoiding Aerion’s eyes as he spoke. In a soft murmur, he added, “He’d be crazy not to.”
“You really think so?”
For some reason unbeknownst to Aerion, there was a glimmer of something off in Duncan’s smile, like it can’t quite reach his eyes. Then it was gone, as if Aerion had imagined it, and Duncan’s smile widened as he nodded in reassurance. “I know so.”
Aerion felt a little calmer when he arrived at school the next morning, his unwanted public confession from the day before being swept aside for a different topic as the whole school buzzed about the Romeo + Juliet cast list. The cast list was pinned on one of the noticeboards closest to the main entrance of the building, and Aerion was pleased to note that barely anyone spared a glance at him, which meant that he was back to being the Unapproachable Goth.
Well, everyone except Steffon Fossoway, it seemed. When he saw Aerion walking in his general direction, he let out a whimper and bowed his head in apparent apology at the perplexed Targaryen boy before scurrying in the opposite direction. Aerion noticed that he was sporting a black eye; he made a note to ask Duncan about it later.
After Steffon ran off, Aerion barely made it two steps forward before he caught sight of Valarr Dondarrion, who was pulling some books out of his locker. Bearing Duncan’s advice in mind, Aerion cautiously approached the shaggy-haired boy, his heart hammering against his chest as Valarr looked up, their eyes meeting.
Fortunately for Aerion, Valarr smiled at him and shut the locker door, slipping his book bag on one shoulder like the effortlessly cool guy he was. “Hey, Aerion.”
“Hey,” Aerion squeaked, biting his lip as he pushed himself past his comfort zone. You just have to own it. “Look, I’m really sorry about yesterday; that was not how I wanted it to go at all.”
To his surprise, Valarr furrowed his eyebrows before responding, “Huh? Don’t worry about me; it must have been mortifying for you! The other kids were really messed up for making fun.”
“Yeah, well, you have to admit, it is kind of funny in hindsight,” Aerion said with what he hoped did not come across as an awkward chuckle. “Serves me right for giving letters when I probably could have just DM'd you on Instagram.”
Valarr laughed at his response, a beautiful melody, and Aerion was desperate to make him laugh like that for the rest of his life if he was given the chance. Then, he asked, “What did the letter say?”
“Do you really want to know?” Aerion asked doubtfully, watching as Valarr gave him a lopsided smile and shrugged in an almost encouraging way. “I-I guess I was confessing my feelings for you.”
“You guess?” A quirked eyebrow. Gods, he’s hot.
“You’re right, my friend told me to own it, and that’s what I’m going to do.” Aerion took a deep breath before continuing, “I have feelings for you, Valarr. What are you gonna do about that?”
Valarr’s smile turned into a full-blown grin, which made his blue-brown eyes twinkle. “You’re asking me what I want to do with that? Let’s see… how about we get to know each other a bit, maybe over some dinner?”
“Like a date?” Aerion blinked rapidly, unsure if he had heard correctly.
“Yeah, like a date,” Valarr replied, and Aerion noticed that he was blushing; Valarr Dondarrion was blushing and asking him out on a date. Holy fucking shit! “Is that okay with you?”