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Summary
Before he can gather anything resembling a thought, Aerion takes his hand and laces their fingers, and Dunk can only notice how he dwarfs the smaller hand, feeling a bit insecure about how rough his palm feels against the smooth skin. But Aerion has a surprisingly strong grip for someone so slight and pulls him toward a table where four members of the Targaryen family sit, staring at them in open bewilderment.
“This is him,” Aerion says, hooking his arm through Dunk’s and pressing in close, smaller body warm against his side. “My boyfriend.”
Dunk freezes. Very, very still. Because that is… not right.
Or Dunk has to keep pretending to be Aerion’s boyfriend— partly to avoid getting torn to shreds by an overly-dramatic family for hurting his pretend lover’s entirely imaginary feelings, and partly because he’s hopelessly in love and will take what he can get.