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Not even bothering to screw his nose up at the fine layer of dust that had accumulated since he was last up here, Jon slid down the attic wall to sit on the unvarnished wood floors, dragging his box of treasure closer to him, an excitement building in his stomach that he knows his teenage self would describe as lame.
It’s not his fault he’s up here.
Not really.
It was that song.
That stupid song.
That stupid, awesome song.
That stupid, awesome, freaking nostalgia inducing song.
It had come on over the radio as he was finishing up some work in the backyard, and his mind had flown back, back, back in time to what seemed now like another lifetime.
All the way back to high school.
Vitamin C’s godsdamned Graduation (Friends Forever).
It had been released in ’99, the year before he and his class had graduated, and they had all been obsessed with it.
Thought it was so sick.
Thought it had been written about them. Just for them.
Because, like OMG didn’t it just totes describe what they were going through?
They had played it at every party that year. Cranking the volume up high.
All of the girls would start crying and hugging one another. Exclaiming in loud voices that they had to promise to stay BFFs like, forever. Pinky-swearing on it, then hugging and crying some more.
The guys’ eyes would get similarly suspiciously shiny. Then they’d grunt, call one another good cunts, slap each other hard on the shoulder, and hastily retreat in another direction, hoping the noise of the music would stifle the sounds of their sniffs.
So, yes, hearing the song had bought him up here.
It was still a damned good song.
And if his eyes had gotten a little misty while listening to it just now… well, who the fuck are you to judge him?
That song tossed unrelenting waves of adolescent nostalgia over him. Reminding him of all the good times, and all the bad times too.
And he was already pretty primed with nostalgia.
His 10 year high school reunion was next week.
So he’d been thinking about those days a lot.
Who he’d been.
The place.
The people.
Oh, the people.
Thinking about the people was the best and worst part.
His friends. His… well, someone…
Reaching in, he pulls the yearbook WESTEROS HIGH CLASS OF 2000, out of the box that holds all of his memories of that time.
It doesn’t contain them. Those memories can’t be contained. They’re too… too strong, too powerful, too emotionally charged for that.
Turning immediately to the pages containing the class profiles, his eyes automatically move, as they always do, to the small picture of Dany Targaryen.
Gods, that was a good picture of her.
She looked gorgeous.
Not that he could remember ever seeing her look anything but.
He’d known her all his life really. They’d been in the same class forever. From primary school, when she was truly just a little slip of a thing; all huge, bright eyes, a halo of wild, shimmery silver-gold hair, and the warmest, widest smile – all the way through to high school, when she’d suddenly become something akin to a deity in his eyes. An object of intense desire. The sole focus of his teenage lust and love.
But untouchable – because he thought her too perfect, too special to be something as base as the nucleus that his raging teenage hormones hovered around.
He’d done his best not to let his thoughts stray in that direction when he was awake. His dreams more than made up for it. Teasing, tantalising and torturing him with images of the forbidden, the sacred. Soft porcelain skin, silky hair, eyes brimming over with love and lust – the same as he felt for her.
Most days he’d hated to wake up and impose his honour-bound, strict censorship back on his mind.
Dragging his thoughts back to the book in his hand, he read – though he didn’t need to, he knew what it said, had always remembered it – the superlative assigned to her: ‘Most likely to change the world.’
Aye, that had always seemed right.
A tiny social warrior – that was Dany.
She could never see a problem, or a person, or an animal in pain without trying to help.
He always knew that about her.
In fact, he thought he’d understood her pretty much better than anyone else back then. Except maybe Missandei.
But one thing throughout high school he had never understood about her, one thing that had kept him in a constant, blended state of frustrated anxiety and breathless anticipation, was how she felt about him.
And just like that, without his consent, his mind wanders back to a precious memory. Not that he actually does anything to try to stop it...
It was half way through their third year at high school, right about the time his unwavering fascination, his absolute adoration of her was reaching its zenith.
He was sitting in the stands watching the basketball team play one of their biggest rivals.
But the Westeros High team was totally buggin’, and when Gendry missed yet another free-throw he knew he was scowling.
Right at that moment he could feel someone looking at him. So he turned and saw, to his shock and barely concealed delight, that it was Dany. Smiling that brilliant, sun-shaming smile at him. Her eyes bright and dancing.
“What?” he asked her, feigning at a nonchalance that he did not feel. Trying his best not to let on just how self-conscious he was being the object of scrutiny under her glorious gaze.
Her eyes had fluttered with something then. Too quick for him to pick up on what it was. Her smile disappeared as she sunk her perfect teeth into her full bottom lip and worried it from side to side for a moment, as though debating something inside herself.
Some part of her, some wonderful part must have won the debate, because her lovely smile reappeared and she replied with twinkly eyes, her voice a breathless rush – probably the excitement of the game, “Your pout is really cute.”
Just like that.
With a dainty, single shoulder shrug, before she turned away from watching him, and back to watching the stupid game.
Just like that.
As though it was no big deal.
But it was a big deal.
A very big deal.
The biggest deal.
She thought his pout was cute?
Just his pout?
Or did she think he was cute?
And that was the moment.
The exact moment in time, when his facial expression became fixed.
Fixed into a pout.
Because Dany had said it was cute.
Coming back to himself, he looks to the yearbook again and sees his own superlative – ‘Most Emo’.
He can’t help but let out a wry chuckle at that.
After that moment, the moment when he’d permanently altered his facial expression, his friends, of course, begun to notice. Overtime, people had started to tease him about being broody or emo. But the truth was he was neither of those things. He was just trying to impress Dany.
Perfect, precious Dany.
Dany who thought his pout was cute.
Gods he remembered that feeling so well. How desperate he’d been for her attention. How he would have done anything for her admiration. How he’d felt like he could fucking fly whenever she smiled at him, just him. The euphoric, almost out of body experience he’d had when she’d called his pout cute. How he’d actually permanently rearranged his face because of a single comment that she had made a grand total of one time.
Fuck, being a teenager was intense.
But he couldn’t scoff at himself, his actions or his feelings.
Because honestly, that feeling, that yearning, that longing… it hadn’t faded with time.
Cherishing someone the way he had cherished Dany… it wasn’t adolescent ephemera. It was enduring and immutable.
He had felt so possessive over her. Such an urgent need to protect her.
Though he’d tried his best never to let it show. He didn’t want to be that guy.
Didn’t want her to feel pressured, or that she owed him something.
Plus, he’d had no fucking idea how she felt about him.
So he did his level best to keep his proprietorial thoughts and actions to himself whenever he was around her. He was fairly certain he had succeeded.
With her at least.
But he vividly, with the same burning rage he’d felt when it happened, recalled one time when he hadn’t been able to keep everything to himself around his mates.
It was in their last year of school, and they were all changing in the locker room after P.E class. As usual, they were all making jokes and dissing each other.
Then somehow, somehow the conversation turned to Dany.
More specifically, how totally fucking tight she is now.
It was just a few passing comments though. He thought he could keep it together. But then…
“Wazzzzup, ma peeps?” Ramsay yelled obnoxiously, strutting into the room.
That guy thought he was the shit, but really he was a total poser, and Jon knew all the girls thought he was a scrub.
“What’s the 411?” asked Theon, looking around at everyone as he followed Ramsay into the room.
“We were just saying what an absolute hottie Dany is now.” Robb informed him, blithely.
Gee, fucking thanks, Robb.
“No duh.” Said Theon tugging off his P.E hoodie.
“She is hella fly.” Gendry concurred.
“Slammin’.” Nodded Tormund.
Fuck, this was getting out of hand.
Putting on his best scowl, the one that was layers more intense than his usual fare, he managed to growl out through his building anger, “Don’t even go there, guys.”
As one, the assembled crowd turned to stare at him, incredulous.
“Don’t be such a buzzkill, dude.”
“Yeah, stop trippin’, Jon.”
“You gotta admit, she is all that.”
“Oh hells yeah, she be fresh. I know I’d totally hit that.”
“Mad hot.” …
And so on and so on it went. With all these people he considered his good mates, objectifying the amazing, delightful, wonderful girl he was in love with.
A painful pressure was building behind his eyes, his focus narrowing towards a pinpoint of fury… Then… well, then he was pushed over the edge.
Ramsay smirked in that uber skeezy way of his, saying “I wouldn’t mind getting all up in that hoochie’s punnai she…”
Whatever he would have said next was cut off by Jon decking him hard in the face.
“Da fuck, man?” Ramsay barked from where he laid sprawled on the filthy locker room floor, using the back of his hand to wipe blood from his lip.
But Jon wasn’t sorry. Not even a little bit. The fucker deserved it for speaking about Dany like that. So he just shrugged his shoulders in response, acting out carelessness when really he was wound tight and seething. His fists aching to hit the shady bastard again. He wanted a to open a can on him. Have a throw down.
His insides were boiling over with indignation. He never, never let himself even think about Dany like… like that. And he loved her. So what gave these jerks the right to talk about her as though she was not an empyrean phenomena obliging enough to walk the earth amongst rubbish like them?
Robb laughed suddenly, trying to clear the tension. “That was way harsh, cuz.”
Theon was nodding silently in agreement, looking impressed and more than a little scared – likely wondering if he would be his next victim.
Jon barely managed to contain a growl in his throat. That dickweed would be his next victim if he opened his wanker mouth to disrespect Dany again.
“Brutal.” Renly added. But Jon could see him hiding his satisfaction. Ramsay was always an ass to him too.
Hidden in a corner, he could see Tyrion Lannister who hadn’t been involved in the conversation, sporting a small, pleased smile.
“Props, Jon” Tyrion mouthed to him.
The dwarf had a soft spot for Dany, Jon knew. She had always been kind to him. Never once bullied him like everyone else had. She’d always stuck up for him, in fact. That’s just who she was.
Which is why she totally didn’t deserve all these wankers talking about her like she wasn’t even a person. Just a phat bod with a fly face.
“You shoulda known to keep your trap shut, Bolton. Everyone knows never to talk smack about Dany in front of Jon.” Tormund snorted, effectively shifting blame from him onto Ramsay somehow, because everyone began nodding their heads, agreeing with him.
But even his fit of physical aggression hadn’t been enough to completely stop the subject. It took more than a punch in the face to get teenage boys off the topic of teenage girls.
Some of his mates, who probably thought he’d never bash on them so they were safe, kept talking.
“She certainly ain’t little Dany anymore though, amirite?” continued Tormund, using his hands to crudely demonstrate his point.
He didn’t care if Tormund was twice his size and one of his best friends. He’d…
“Oh yeah, she’d all Daenerys now.” answered fucking Gendry, - grinning like the twat Jon suddenly realised, in an instance of absolute clarity, that he actually was - moving his body in an overly vulgar, evocative manner. Simulating… well… you all know what he was simulating. And if you don’t know, then you are too young to know, and I am certainly not going to be the one to tell you.
“Da-near-y…”
“Step OFF, guys.” He snarled. Interrupting Robb’s pointed, and similarly gesture-based enunciation of Dany’s name.
Robb snorted indelicately, “Take a chill pill, cuz. It’s not like you don’t think it yourself.”
Which… he did… sure.
Of fucking course he did.
But he wasn’t going to be disrespectful about it. Dany was nice. Dany was sweet. Yes, Dany was fierce, but she was also sensitive. She was his friend.
And he wasn’t going to dignify what his traitor cousin said with an answer.
“Whatever, I’m gonna bounce.” he snapped, before turning sharply and leaving that den of dignity-less depravity, and all those degenerates behind.
He’d hated that he hadn’t been able to really do anything.
Because after that, the guys had all started calling her Daenerys. Drawing out the name and putting that weird emphasis on the syllables – waggling their eyebrows suggestively in time with their phonetics. It was totally sketchy.
And she noticed it.
Of course.
And she hated it.
He could tell.
Any fucker with eyes and half a braincell could tell.
It made her feel supremely uncomfortable.
Good sport that she was, she tried not to let on.
But it was palpably evident to him.
She’d still smile, and laugh, and joke around with them all. But sometimes the light would dim within her eyes for a moment. Whenever that happened, he’d always wanted to leap right up into the sky and snatch a star for her. Dany should never be without shining light. For her, he felt like he could do it. Gravity be damned.
Returning to the present, he unclenched his fingers from their tight grip on the yearbook where they had been serving as an unconscious outlet for all the anger and tension that memory bought.
He wondered if that fucker Bolton would show his face at the reunion.
He doubted it. Last he’d heard, the cunt was in prison.
He spotted Ramsay’s superlative at the top of the page and snorted back a laugh. Maybe whoever put their yearbook together was a psychic.
Missandei was there, in the same row as Bolton.
Dany’s BFF.
The two had been inseparable. Always whispering and giggling together. Walking the halls with linked arms and happy smiles.
He’d liked Missandei. Had always made an effort to be nice to her – and not just because she had such an in with Dany – though, he would admit that the thought had occurred to him on multiple occasions.
That Missandei could possibly be his ticket to understanding the complex mystery, the enigma of Dany’s secret thoughts. Her secret thoughts about him. Assuming she had any at all.
But he had always abandoned any attempt before he had even began. He knew it would be pointless. Missandei would never betray Dany. They had girl-code, and they stuck to it like the holy bible.
Besides… truth time… he had been a little afraid of Missandei.
Oh, she was as harmless as a butterfly, and just as lovely.
But she had always had this way of looking at him in high school that had made him feel like she knew things. Important things. Things about him. Like she could see through all the bullshit and all the facades everyone, including himself, put up.
Sometimes, when he was sneaking glances at Dany in class or at lunch, he would catch her blatantly studying him. Closely observing him like she was trying to figure something out about him. Understand something about him.
He’d always brushed it off as her natural curiosity. She was insanely intelligent. Had been their class valedictorian.
Yes, she had been too intelligent. He could not have risked trying to get intel on Dany’s innermost thoughts from her. She would have seen what he was doing before he’d even started doing it – then eviscerated him for the perceived slight against Dany.
As if he would have ever, ever done anything that would hurt Dany.
But gods his desperation for any scrap of information regarding how Dany felt about him had been exigent. And it had only grown more so, more fevered, more frantic as their last year at school had started speeding towards its end.
At a party during that last year he had thought he’d heard Dany tell Missandei that she thought he was “like, totally buff”.
Which would have, should have, thrilled him… But… he was rather far away from them at the time. And, truth be told, he was a little blazed. The party was crunking after all. She might have said “totally gruff”. Which would be pretty fucking miserable for him if that was the case, because the only reason he’d adopted this persona was because she had told him his pouting face was ‘cute’.
Gods how he’d craved to know exactly what she’d said.
But he wasn’t about to ask her for clarification. That would have been so cringe.
So he’d let it go.
Huh, he hadn’t thought about that in a long time. He wondered now, just as desperately as he’d wondered then which word she had actually said.
He’s older now.
Ten fucking years older, as his upcoming reunion reminds him.
And he knows now why he’d never asked her what she’d said. Or how she felt. Why he’d never told her, or even fucking hinted at what he’d felt.
She meant too much to him.
It was that simple.
She was his world.
Or, more accurately according to the science classes they had attended together, she was his sun.
And he orbited around her.
At the time it had seemed a better choice to exist in painful, uncertain ignorance than to find out a truth that had the potential to destroy him if she didn’t feel anything for him at all.
But he still wondered about all of the lost opportunities.
The moments they could have had.
He’d almost done it once.
Almost.
At their school ball.
They had been hanging out together all night. Joking around, having fun. Just being together. Just the two of them.
Neither of them had come with a date.
They hadn’t danced all night.
Oh, they’d bopped around to the beat. Flailing their limbs, laughing madly.
But they hadn’t danced.
Like, not properly.
Not together.
Just the two of them.
To a slow song.
As the last song of the night – Vitamin C’s Graduation of course – had come on, he’d gathered up every single vestige of courage he had and asked her to dance.
He was going to tell her then.
He swore he was.
She’d smiled shyly at him, tucking a strand of her glorious hair behind her perfect little ear, and agreed.
It. Had. Been. Bliss.
Pure, unadulterated bliss to have Dany, Dany in his arms. Holding her close. Swaying to the music with her.
They were both so inextricably in sync. As though they had been doing this all of their lives. As though they had been formed for this moment. Formed for one another.
And he had gotten so caught up in all that.
The sensual sensations. The heavenly scent of her…
He’d forgotten a word outside the circle of his arms – the circle that was just him and Dany – even existed.
And he hadn’t told her. Hadn’t asked her.
He should have.
He should have told her as they’d danced.
He wonders now if anything would have been any different if he had.
Probably not.
Not really.
Yes, he’d lost his nerve at the dance. But then at graduation…
“Jon?” called his favourite voice in the entire universe, pulling him pleasantly back to the present.
It was coming from downstairs, but getting closer.
“Are you done strolling down memory lane? Because your son needs your attention.”
He grinned widely.
“What’s he pouting about now?” he asks.
“How do you know he’s pouting?” the voice was nearly at the top of the stairs and at the attic door.
“Because he’s always somehow only my son when he’s pouting.”
Beautiful, tinkling laughter was the response to his statement. Then, “Well, he does get it from you.”
“Hey,” he cries in mock affront, “You used to think my pout was cute.”
“I still do.” Dany replies, peeking her head around the corner of the doorframe winking at him and smiling coyly.
His chest puffs up with pride at that, and he feels exceptionally pleased. Preening at his gorgeous wife’s comment.
“No need to look so full of yourself, mister,” she laughs. “If I remember correctly, you used to think I was perfect.”
His eyes soften with a lifetime of memories – all of which affirm that statement – as he gets himself up off the floor and walks over to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in tight and close to him. Just where he loves her to be.
“Aye, I did. And I still do.”
In response she rolls her eyes playfully at him, shaking her head in disbelief.
That’s fine.
He knew she would.
He had tried to convince her a million times that she was just as perfect to him today, as she was yesterday, as she was in high school, in primary school, as she will be tomorrow and for everyday thereafter.
He leans down and places a gentle, tender kiss on her forehead.
It doesn’t matter that she doesn’t believe him now.
He’ll be able to keep trying to convince her for the rest of their lives.
