Chapter Text
There was only five minutes left of the intermission which, if one looked at it from a different perspective, meant that there was thirty-five minutes left before Aemond could finally go home.
He didn't even want to come to the school's stupid handball game; unfortunately for him, his brother had finally made the team, and their mother forced Aemond to sit it through and be a supportive older sibling to Daeron.
Even the "but I'm a senior" excuse couldn't help him this time; the implication that he had much better, more important things to do had landed on unlistening ears. But to be fair, he didn't have better things to do. It was a Thursday evening, and he hadn't got any plans lined up. He probably would have just played with one of his many FPS games.
At least she hadn't asked him to be enthusiastic about it. That he wasn't sure he could have managed.
Four more minutes, Aemond thought, checking the time on his phone. He surveyed the field to seek out his brother among the players. He found him in a small circle gathered around the coach who was probably giving a half-time pep talk.
The team didn't really need it; they were dominating the field. Not that Aemond was paying attention, or keeping record. He was especially not aware of who the star player of the school's handball team was. Or how he alone scored 7 points just in the first ten minutes of the game.
No, he was blissfully, stubbornly, committedly unaware of what or where or when Luke Velaryon was doing.
Like chugging water at the edge of the field, and being above such dull things as getting pep-talked to. So typical of him.
Aemond stopped himself from rolling his eye.
Luke pulled the hairband off his head, letting his luscious, sweat-soaked curls fly in a thousand directions. A few unruly strands fell in front of his face, and he wiped at them in irritation.
Three more minutes.
A sudden nudge to his side made Aemond grunt then turn towards his mother. She gave him a look, then pointed towards the field where Daeron was enthusiastically waving to them. Aemond reluctantly returned it, with a smile that faded after a few measly seconds.
It wasn't that Aemond didn't feel proud of his brother, or that he wasn't happy about seeing him in action. It was the fact that Daeron had to choose the one sport where he would have to share the spotlight with the one and only person Aemond could not suffer.
His choice was probably coincidental. It wasn't like Daeron had made his life revolve around Luke Velaryon.
Aemond certainly hadn't. Obviously.
With only two minutes left of the intermission, Aemond felt his gaze being dragged back to the edge of the field where Luke had been joined by a timid, bony little boy. A freshman, by the looks of him.
He was shuffling on his feet, glancing up at the sophomore nervously, a blush spreading across his face so deep that even Aemond could see it from his high seat. All that because of Luke Velaryon.
As if he was good-looking. Handsome. Pretty. Beautiful.
Aemond had to laugh. It was pathetic. There was no better word for it. That boy was just utterly pathetic.
Then Aemond caught sight of the small box in the freshman's hands, the boy holding it against his chest all the while talking spiritedly to Luke.
And Luke looked at him. Really looked at him, giving the boy all his attention, and even a few smiles. Aemond almost had to gag. It was sickening. What could they even be talking about?
The boy then pushed his hands forward, holding out the box for Luke to take. It was a rectangular paper box with a tulle ribbon wrapped around it, tied into a nice little bow at the top. There were hearts on it, Aemond noticed. Tiny, ruby-coloured hearts all over the box.
Luke smiled at the boy, and took the present from him, placing it gently on top in his sports bag. The boy blushed even deeper, if that was even possible, then turned, and scurried away just as the whistle for the game's second half sounded.
***
Aemond's mother and father left in the early morning. To entirely different destinations, of course.
Even though Saturday was Valentine's Day, ever since they had separated in all but name, neither of them were keen on the lovers' holiday. Aemond could understand the sentiment; what could one want to celebrate about a broken marriage?
His mother had booked the weekend at a retreat specialised in quiet, religious meditation. His father was probably heading for a miniatures conference.
The house was theirs and theirs alone—a boys' weekend with Daeron and illegal drinking and pizza and games until they would crash onto the living room sofa or the floor.
But as it turned out, Aemond hadn't calculated with his little brother snatching a date for himself. Daeron was going out with a girl, and he chose that Friday afternoon after school to tell Aemond about the girl's existence, and that he would be sleeping over at her place.
That is just perfect, Aemond thought bitterly.
He had absolutely no idea what he was going to do alone in their enormous home.
He briefly considered going over to his sister's (their father had gifted her the other half of the twin house, so she and her family was literally only a door away) to ask Joffrey whether he would be willing to play with him. Alcohol would be clearly out of the picture, but at least Joff was a huge gamer like Aemond, and it could potentially be fun.
He mentally slapped himself in the face. The boy was four years younger than him. Was he really thinking about spending his Valentine's Day with a middle-schooler shooting at fake enemies? No, he absolutely wasn't.
Not that he would, but Aemond knew that he couldn't count on his sister's company either. Following years of tradition, she was probably already halfway across the country with her husband, his boyfriend, and her boyfriend, enjoying the weekend the way only four peculiarly attached people would.
Aemond pondered whether Jace could be at home. He had a long-term girlfriend, so there was a real possibility that he and Baela had also begun their little romantic getaway early.
Still, he trudged down the stairs and through the shared garage to the neighbouring home with the blinking hope that someone tolerable was home at the Velaryons.
A silent, seemingly empty house greeted him on the other side, too. The lights were on, so either someone had stepped out just for a moment, or they were on the upper floor and forgot to turn them off.
"Jace, you home?" Aemond called out to his nephew, expectations for an answer basically non-existent. Just as well, because the house remained silent.
So he walked into the kitchen and to the fridge instead. Rhaenyra bought these exotic fruit juices which his mother for some reason thought preposterous, and consequently the whole thing drove her crazy. But they were so delicious that every now and then both Aemond and Daeron sneaked over to their sister's house to have some.
Aemond grabbed a can from the fridge, and popped it open. He sipped at it leisurely for minutes, leaning against the kitchen counter, waiting for either of his nephews to saunter into the room—well, not exactly either of them, only two.
Just as he was hellbent on banishing the thought of his least favourite relative from his mind, the box he had seen yesterday at the handball game caught his eye. It still had the ribbon tied around it, a small card peeking out from under the bow.
Aemond slowly walked over to the opposite side of the kitchen, and put his drink down. He stared at the box for long seconds, then scoffed. Of course, leave it to Luke Velaryon to receive something nice and not bother opening it.
His hand went for the card impulsively, and he pulled it out, unfolded it, and turned it so that he could read the short note. Then he read the signature, and thought back to that scrawny boy getting flustered just by being in the presence of Luke.
Poor Benjicot Blackwood. How completely pathetic.
He flipped the card back onto the counter, not bothering to hide his meddling with it.
The note was so cheesy and uninspired; he wondered how their conversation had gone the day before. Luke was funny—mischievous, playful, wicked in the best way possible. If Aemond were to write a love confession to him, well, that certainly would not be this drab and lacklustre.
But, of course, he would never. Because he despised him.
He moved the box closer to himself, and undid the ribbon, pulling with it the box's top as well. The delicious smell of cookies hit his nostrils. He wondered, did little Ben bake them himself?
He took one out, the cookie perfectly round and still a bit soft, dried cranberries sprinkled into the dough. It didn't look the worst in the world.
He tapped his foot on the nearby bin's paddle, and watched as the cookie fell and landed on top of the rubbish. Then another, and another; one by one they disappeared in the pile. The last one, shaped like a heart—although the baking had made it a little malformed—taunted him from the bottom of the box. He picked it up, and held it in front of himself, eyeing it with disdain.
Bloody Ben and his bloody Valentine's Day cookies. He took a bite of it.
If Luke would discover the others in the bin, thrown away so carelessly, Aemond wouldn't care one bit, but this—this heart-shaped one was carrying a message. A message that Aemond wanted to destroy entirely.
He took another bite then another, even as his mouth began to go dry. He would just have to drink something to make the funny taste go away.
Just as Aemond swallowed the last of the crumbs, he heard a small noise coming from somewhere close, and moments later Luke appeared in the doorway between the kitchen and the other room.
He was carrying a baseball bat, swung high, ready to attack an intruder. His t-shirt clung wetly to his chest at places, and water was dripping from his still damp hair. Could he be coming straight from the shower?
"What the hell, Aemond?" Luke yelled at him, but lowered the bat. "You scared me shitless. What are you even doing here?"
"Nothing," Aemond replied, and cleared his throat. It hurt just a bit to swallow.
Luke eyed him for a moment, before his gaze dropped behind Aemond.
"What's that?" he asked.
"What's what?"
"That box behind you." Luke threw the bat on top of the counter, and marched forward. "Did you—What happened to the cookies?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Aemond said, shrugging uncaringly.
"The cookies that were in this box. Did you—Gods, Aemond, did you eat them?"
"And what if I did? Didn't know you had an admirer, Luke…"
But Luke was not paying attention to him. He pulled his phone from his back pocket, and started typing with shaky hands, then held the phone to his ear. With only a few rings, someone picked up on the other end.
"Hello? Yes…" Luke began. "Ehm, I'm calling because someone who's deadly allergic to almonds just ate a full box of almond cookies, and I have no idea what to do in case he passes out."
Well, fuck.
Now that Luke had said the obvious out loud, Aemond could feel his pulse hiking up, and the air tightening around him.
"...Epinephrine?" Aemond heard Luke ask. Then he finally looked at him again, his brown eyes drowning in worry. "Aemond, do you have an injector? I need to give it to you."
Aemond felt himself nod. Then he started walking, his sweaty palms gripping the edge of the counter for balance, although he wasn't altogether sure when he had decided to do any of that.
"Aemond, for fuck's—Oh, I'm sorry, he just doesn't look good. But he says he has an injector, but I don't know where. Could you please send an ambulance?" Luke gave the person their address. "I'm going to hang up now, and look for his epinephrine…"
Luke took a step forward, and put one arm around Aemond's waist, pulling him closer so that Aemond could lean on him.
"Okay," he breathed. "Now, can you tell me where your injector is, so we can all laugh about this once you're feeling better?"
It felt like an eternity before Aemond could press out the word kitchen; they were already halfway across the garage by then.
His airways were not cooperating in the least, and he was sweating all over. It was humiliating that Luke of all people would see him like that. He was going to feel miserable when this is all over.
If this is all over.
"Why would you do something this stupid, Aemond…?" he heard Luke mutter.
Well, to his defence, the idea was not inherently stupid. How was he supposed to know that bloody Ben would make his disgusting cookies with almond flour? Who even did that? People with gluten sensitivity, probably. Was Benjicot sensitive to gluten—honestly, who cared—but was Luke? How did he not know this?
"We're almost there… Hold on for me, Aemond. You're almost okay."
Well, only because Luke asked. For me, he said. Aemond was not going to start the habit of disappointing his nephew then and there. He was better than that. Disciplined. Committed.
"We're here," Luke huffed tiredly as he dragged Aemond into the kitchen in the other house.
He made Aemond sink down into a sitting position, then rushed to the medicine cabinet. Thankfully they had had plenty of injuries growing up, so Luke was familiar with where they kept the pills and the band-aid.
Luke was rummaging through the cabinet when Aemond suddenly fell to his side, and splayed out on the floor.
"Ah, fuck," he heard Luke's voice as if from underwater.
Minutes passed but they felt like hours. The last thing Aemond remembered before going unconscious was Luke stabbing a syringe into his upper thigh.
***
He felt the strong smell of disinfectants, and there was a constant beeping sound coming from somewhere. He opened his eye to a dimply lit room, rough bed sheets, and the murmur filtering through the door from the hospital corridor on the other side.
Aemond sat up, flinching and sighing at the slight discomfort from the tube in his arm.
There was still dark outside. He reached for his phone on the bedside table to read the time; it was already five in the morning. His worst Friday the 13th was over, and now he was living through his worst Valentine's Day instead.
He glanced around the room, only now noticing the sleeping figure in the chair at the foot of his bed. His unruly curls fell in front of his face as his head dipped towards his chest. His breathing was slow and steady.
Aemond watched Luke, his own breathing becoming uneven even though he was no longer suffering an anaphylactic shock.
Vague memories of the previous night returned to him, and he felt something heavy tug at his chest. Something vaguely similar to guilt, and that was an idiotic feeling to have. But the truth of what had happened remained.
He owed Luke his life.
Minutes passed, but he was unable to break his gaze. He thought he was being quiet, but he must have made some noise anyway because next thing he knew, Luke was staring back at him.
There was an awkward silence where neither of them spoke, they just looked at each other with open, curious eyes.
"What are you doing here?" Aemond asked then. He didn't mean it to sound so harsh, but there was no helping it.
Luke shrugged off his blanket, stood up, and just gave Aemond a look. Seconds ticked by.
"You know what? I have no idea," Luke huffed. "They told me that someone should stay with you through the night when we brought you in, but I guess you're right. Why the hell am I here…" He threw his blanket into the chair. "I called your mum and dad, they should be here in a few hours, so you'll be just fine."
He turned, and headed for the door without another glance back. Something acidic rose in Aemond's throat.
"Are you in that much of a hurry to your date?"
Luke spun around in a heartbeat. "What are you even on about?"
"Your date?" Aemond asked, feeling just a bit uncertain. Luke stared at him wordlessly. "Your date from the note? Your date with Benjicot?"
"I don't have a date," Luke said then. "Not with Ben, not with anyone else."
Oh. Oh?
"Why not?"
Luke pinched his nose in aggravation, and sighed. Aemond didn't understand his reaction. It was a solid question to ask. Luke received an invite to a date; he was single; it was Valentine's Day. Why wouldn't he go on a date with someone probably nice?
"Why aren't you going on a date with him?"
"Why do you care?"
"I don't."
"Good!"
"Excellent!"
They were staring at each other for a stretched out moment before Luke walked back, and threw himself into the chair.
"I'm going to wait here until your parents arrive. I need a lift home anyway."
Aemond made an irritated noise of acknowledgement. As if he cared where Luke was going, or where he was staying. It was Valentine's Day, and at least he wasn't going on a date. At least that was something.
Aemond smiled to himself.