Chapter Text
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The sun didn't let up. Never did. That heavy, sticky kind of hot that glued your clothes to your skin and left your hair damp at the roots. Aerion couldn't stand it—never could. But he'd learned to live with it by then. Helping out on his old man's fields when there wasn't school, hiding out by the quarry come Sunday instead of sitting through mass, chucking stones at the neighbor's mangy cats from the back porch. The heat was as sure as sunrise. Same as the boredom that came with living in this godforsaken town. He raised hell at school more often than not, but he knew where the line was—just how far he could push before they showed him the door. His daddy'd tan his hide for it, sure. Suspended for busting some kid's lip, talking back to a teacher. Maekar had tried every trick in the book to straighten that boy out. Washing his mouth out with soap, beating the soles of his feet, shearing off his hair, laying into him with a belt.
All it ever did was make Aerion dig his heels in deeper.
Then came a scorcher of a day in June, right after he'd walked the stage and got his diploma. Old man Filcher from across the road had keeled over from a heart attack back in October, and the real estate sign on his lawn had vanished about a week ago. The moving truck rolled in seven days after his younger sibling got out of school. Aegon was chasing a garter snake around the front yard. Daddy told Aerion to keep an eye on the little pest, so he did—by turning the garden hose on him. The newcomers settling in across the street were a husband, a wife, and their kid. Aerion almost felt sorry for 'em. Who in their right mind chooses to move to a dump like this? Kid was a girl around his age—easy on the eyes but tiny, an Asian thing with long black hair and big brown eyes. A little cross dangled from her neck, resting just above the curve of her flat chest. He watched 'em from his porch for a good while. Her eyes met his. Then she turned away without a word. He went back inside.
A full week passed before he finally said something to her. She was out in her yard, dressed in cut-off jeans and a pretty purple top patterned with flowers. He ambled over, his boots crunching on the loose gravel.
"Poor thing ain't used to the heat, huh?"
She casually turned her head and looked up, wincing from the sun’s rays and not being able to see his face because of it. She was wearing dirty gloves.
“What?” she said.
She turned around at the noise, putting down the seeds. She saw a guy of average height, about her age, with furrowed brows and wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. He was sweating, and his hair was stuck to his forehead. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, leaving a dirt smudge as he squinted at her. The corner of his mouth twitched—not quite a smile, not quite annoyance.
“Y’hear me fine,” he drawled, “or them gloves stuffed up yer ears too?” His gaze flicked down to her hands—gloved in garden soil—and something dark and amused flashed behind those wrinkled eyes. He took another step closer, gravel crunching under boot heels. Hotter this close; sweat rolled off him onto the dirt between them.
“You ain’t from ’round here,” he said flatly. Not a question. A fact carved out of summer air like bone.
“Yes, I’m… new here. From Minnesota.” She strained her ears slightly, trying to understand the guy’s southern accent. “And you?… Our neighbor?”
“Minnesota,” he repeated, rolling the unfamiliar syllables. He whistled softly through his teeth. “That’s a long way from here, darlin’.” He studied her for a moment.
She looked so out of place here, with her clean, pretty clothes and that little cross on her neck. Too damn soft, too damn sweet.“Daddy and Mommy had to move to Texas for work,” she explained.
He gave a snort at that, the sound somewhere between amusement and disdain. “What kinda job requires moving all the way from Minnesota to here?” He shook his head, his gaze traveling again over her soft, clean clothes.
“Dad is a military pilot at a local base. Mom is a doctor.”
He chuckled at that, the sound rough and dark. “Military and a doctor,” he repeated, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk. “Well, ain’t that just the perfect little family. Bet you lived a real good life in that city, all pretty and comfy.” He eyed her up and down again, a glint of something else in his gaze.
“Well, yeah,” she said.
He leaned even farther back against a nearby tree, tilting his head to the side as he considered her. There was an almost cruel tilt to his mouth now—something in her soft innocence bringing out the darker side of him.
“Bet y’got everything you ever wanted, too,” he sneered. “No problems? No struggles? Pretty princess like you, with daddy’s money and momma’s job. Life handed right to you on a silver platter.”
“My parents work a lot… and I still have to study hard. My parents are religious Asians, which is a combo for horniness.”
That got an honest laugh out of him—a deep, rolling sound that shook his lean shoulders. “Religious Asians,” he repeated, amusement coloring his tone. “So they’re strict, right? Always on your ass about church an’ grades an’ no boys?”
“A little,” she admitted.
He shook his head, a little smirk still playing on his face. He pushed off from the tree and took a step towards her. “A little,” he scoffed. “Bet they’d have a fit if they could see you now. Talking to a strange male across the road. Alone. On a damn Saturday.”
“You are our neighbor,” she said. “Mom wanted to bring you a pie later to celebrate our acquaintance.” She paused. “I saw a little boy with you a few days ago… Do you have a big family?”
He snorted at that. The thought of pie and “celebration” was too damn quaint to take seriously. “The pie thing is a little outdated, ain’t it?” he drawled. He shifted against the tree—a subtle tensing of muscles. “That’s my little brother. Aegon. Pain in the ass.”
“So it’s big… and I’m alone,” she said.He studied her for a long moment, the smirk fading into something unreadable.
His eyes narrowed—just slightly. “Alone?” he repeated, voice low. “No siblings? No brothers to chase snakes ’round the yard with ya?” There was a pause. The air was thick with summer heat and something else—something sharp in his gaze as he took another step closer.
“No,” she said.
He exhaled through his nose, a slow, considering sound. “No,” he echoed. The word sat heavy between them for a second—like he was weighing something in his mind. “Lucky you.” There was no real venom in it; just the usual sharpness laced with something that might almost have been pity if Aerion knew what to do with that kind of feeling.
He finally pushed off from the tree and turned halfway toward her house like he was about to walk away—then stopped. Glanced back at her over his shoulder. “That pie better be good.”
Just then, her parents arrived by car from the local town. They had been going to buy groceries. They pulled up to the curb, the engine cutting out with a shudder. One door opened, and her dad stepped out of the driver’s side. Her mom slid out of the front passenger door. Both of them looked up, taking stock of the neighborhood, their expressions turning curious when they saw her standing in the driveway with her gloves still on.
“Everything okay, sweetheart?” her mom called across the yard. “Making friends?”
“I’m planting your flowers,” she replied.
Her mom walked over, dad trailing a few steps behind. She crouched down by the flowerbed to see her daughter’s handiwork. “Looks good, hon.” She smiled, reaching out to tuck a strand of black hair behind her ear. “You’re so good at this.”
Her dad peered over her mom’s shoulder, taking stock of the freshly tilled dirt and planted seeds. “Nice job,” he said with a nod of approval.
“I don’t like Texas… It’s hot… It’s a dump… The rednecks… The internet doesn’t work.”
Her mom let out a laugh at that, while her dad just rolled his eyes. He walked over to stand next to her, resting a broad hand on her shoulder. “You’ll get used to it,” he said with an easy shrug. “And the internet thing… well, that’s just country livin’. Comes with the territory.”
“When does your shift start at the base?” she asked.
Her dad checked his watch, the silver face glinting in the hot sun. “Two hours,” he said gruffly. “Got a briefing on some new fighter specs. Then patrol.” He studied her for a second—her pout, her dirt-streaked gloves—before adding, “You comin’ with me? Or you too busy hatin’ Texas to ride along?”
“Mom said we’re going to bake a pie,” she said. She did not want to go to the base. She hated the base. Because of base, she was stuck here.
Her dad exhaled through his nose—almost a laugh, but not quite. He exchanged a glance with her mom, who was already pulling out her phone to check an oven timer. “Pie it is, then,” her dad said dryly. He nudged her with his elbow—not hard, just enough to make her stumble sideways toward the flowerbed. Her mom shot him a look.
“You want cherry or apple?” her mom asked pointedly.
“Maybe orange?”
Her mom’s eyebrows shot up. Her dad actually laughed out loud. “Orange pie?” he repeated, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Well, that’s a new one.” He ruffled her hair—a rare affectionate gesture. Her mom rolled her eyes at the two of them.
“We’ll see what we have,” her mom said. “No promises.”
“Cool.”
Her mom headed back to the car, probably for another grocery run, while her dad slung an arm across her shoulders—half a hug, half a way to guide her back inside. “You can’t keep whining about Texas forever, you know,” he told her as they walked. “You’re gonna have to get used to the heat, and the internet. Maybe even the rednecks.” He squeezed her shoulder.
She shrugged, knowing he was probably right but not wanting to admit it. The screen door creaked as they walked inside—the air-conditioned coolness jarring after the sun’s heat.
“I’ve got a surprise for you, anyway,” her dad threw in casually as he let go of her and headed for the couch.
“Really? What is that?”, girl said in surprise.
He plopped down on the couch, grabbing the remote and flicking on the TV. “I was talkin’ to one of the guys at the base—another pilot,” he said as he scrolled through channels. “He’s got a couple boys, similar age to you.”
Her ears perked up at that. “And what I should do with them? It isn’t a surprise.”
Her dad flicked off the TV, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He fixed her with a look. “He said his oldest son is about your age. Maybe y’all could hang out, since you’ve been complainin’ about being bored and lonely all day.” His tone was even, but she knew the underlying message in his words: no more whining. Make friends.
“I already have… uh… an acquaintance,” she said. No way. Worse than my father’s military assignments. Military boys from his base. A dirty cowboy would be better - she thinks.
Her dad froze for half a second, then leaned back on the couch with a slow, knowing smirk. “Oh?” he said, too casually—like he had just found out something interesting and was deciding whether to poke at it. “Acquaintance? That ain’t what I called that boy from next door.” He crossed his arms over his chest, the military way of saying I know more than you think.
She frowned slightly. “Don’t make Texas any worse, Daddy,” she said. “I won’t hang out with the military. Don’t look for a groom for me.”
Her dad raised an eyebrow at that—a little surprised by her reaction. He seemed to mull over her words for a second before replying. “I ain’t trying to make things worse, sweetheart,” he said gruffly, his expression softening. “Just tryin’ to help you adjust. It’s a big change, I know that.” He sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. “The military guys aren’t all bad, you know… Most of them are decent.”
“I will be fine.”, girl frowned slightly, pouting her lips.
He exhaled through his nose—almost a scoff. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees again. “Fine?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow. “You were fine in Minnesota. You’re not fine here.” His tone was firm—not angry, just the way he got when he was trying to be patient and failing slightly. “Fine means you don’t complain about everything under the sun for two weeks straight.”
“I’ll try to get used to it.” She rolled her eyes. Maybe Texas’s aesthetic would inspire her to draw - she thinks.
Her dad watched her roll her eyes and exhaled through his nose again, clearly frustrated. He wasn’t used to dealing with teenage girls, much less one as stubborn as this. “Well, tryin’ is better than complainin’, I suppose,” he muttered. He looked like he wanted to say more, but the front door opened and her mom came back, bags of groceries in her arms.
Mom breezed in, already talking before she even set the bags down by the kitchen counter. “Found everything I needed. The oranges look nice this year.”
She looked over at the two of them, taking in the tension in the air. Her gaze flicked from her daughter—arms crossed, leaning against the wall—to her husband, lounging on the couch and still eyeing the girl. “Is everything okay?” she asked tentatively.
“Yes,” she said, coming up to help her mom.
Her mom handed her a grocery bag—still warm from the car. She gave her dad a pointed look, but he just shrugged and reached for his keys. “Gotta get to base,” he muttered, already heading toward the door.
Mom sighed as she watched him leave, then turned back to her daughter with an apologetic smile. The pie filling waited in the fridge—ready for when they finally decided this house felt like home, too.
“This house… is big… not like an apartment in Minnesota… that’s good,” the girl said.
Her mom smiled as she took over unloading the groceries. “It is bigger,” she said, placing a carton of orange juice in the fridge. “More space for you to get settled, paint your nails or…” She trailed off, like she wasn’t quite sure what teenage girls did to occupy their time these days—except complain, apparently.
They started cooking. The kitchen filled with the sound of clinking dishes, the hum of the oven, and the occasional instruction as her mom guided her through the steps of assembling the pie. She was patient, even as the girl’s fingers got covered in flour and she made more of a mess than she was probably helping with.
“Mix a little gentler,” her mom instructed, a smile in her voice. “You’re not making concrete.”
“Dad is talking about his little soldiers again,” the girl muttered.
Her mom let out a small laugh as she added sugar to the mix. “He does get a bit carried away with that,” she admitted, shaking her head slightly. She glanced over at her daughter, a knowing expression in her eyes. “Military men and their boys, am I right?”
They both fell into a comfortable silence as they worked, the kitchen filling with the sweet smell of fresh-baked goods. It was almost soothing—the domestic task a far cry from the earlier tension with her father. Her mom leaned against the counter, taking a minute to just watch her.
“You know,” her mom said suddenly, her voice soft, “your dad’s just worried about you, sweetheart.”
“I never had friends… Why does he think it will be different in Texas?”, girl speaks sincerely, a childish wrinkle appears on her forehead.
Her mom’s expression softened. She took a step closer, placing a hand on her daughter’s arm—the touch gentle and reassuring. “It’s not about here versus there, sweetheart. It’s about trying—it’s about putting yourself out there. Making an effort.” She looked at her daughter, the concern in her gaze clear. “And it starts by being a little less… pessimistic.”
“I am not pessimistic,” the girl said. “I’m making a pie with you.”
Her mom let out a laugh at that—part exasperated, part fond. “True, true.” She gave her daughter’s arm a little squeeze before returning to the pie mix, continuing to stir it. “I just think you’d be happier if you found someone to… you know… socialize with. Make a friend or two.” She glanced up. “Have a boyfriend, even.”
“Ew… Mommy… ew.”, girl winces, as if on purpose, showing her dislike for this whole topic, like a rebellious teenager.
Her reaction made her mom laugh again. “What’s so ‘ew’ about boyfriends?” she teased. “They can be fun, you know.”
Her mom chuckled, watching as she finished adding the orange zest on top of the pie mix. She leaned back, a satisfied look on her face as she surveyed the finished product. “We did good, sweetheart. Nice work.”
“And when are you going to the base? How long will you and Dad be gone?”
Her mom sighed, some of the lightheartedness leaving her expression. She checked her watch and grimaced. “Your dad’s briefing is soon. I should probably get ready.” She looked at her daughter, her gaze apologetic but firm. “We’ll be gone two days. Can you manage on your own?”
“Of course… just like before.” The girl drooped slightly while her mom packed the pie into a plate.
Her mom patted her on the arm, the gesture meant to be reassuring even as she packed the pie away. “We know you can take care of yourself, sweetheart. Still…” She hesitated for a moment, almost as if debating whether to bring up the topic of “friends” again. “Maybe you could find something to… occupy yourself while we’re gone.”
“Why are we taking the pie to our neighbors?” the girl asked. “We’re the new ones… it should be the other way around.”
Her mom rolled her eyes at the logic, but there was a hint of amusement on her face. “Oh sweetheart, don’t be such a stickler for decorum. It’s called neighborly courtesy, you know. And I heard our neighbor Maekar Targaryen is a widower with four sons. And the two eldest are very problematic.” She checked the pie once more, making sure it was presentable. “Besides,” she continued, her tone soft but firm, “it’s a nice thing to do. A gesture to show we’re trying to be part of the community. We want to make a good impression, sweetheart.” She picked up the pie, the scent of freshly baked goods wafting through the air. Her eyes met her daughter’s. “Come with me, yeah? Just to be polite.”
The girl pressed her lips together slightly. Will I see that guy… Aerion? “Okay,” she said.
Her mom smiled at the reluctant agreement, relieved that she wasn’t putting up too much of a fight. “That’s my girl,” she said, slinging a casual arm around her daughter’s shoulders as she guided them toward the front door, pie in hand. “Now let’s go be neighborly.” With that, they stepped out into the Texas heat—the afternoon sun beating down as they made their way across the street.
They saw a two-story house. Simple and old. Shabby. Definitely Texas. The US flag fluttered. Children’s toys were scattered on the lawn. And in the background stretched vast acres of land and a ranch.
Her mom paused for a moment, taking in the sight of the house—a mix of old Texan charm and the remnants of a simpler way of life. The children’s toys on the lawn hinted at a large family, while the acres of land and the ranch visible in the background painted a picture of wide-open spaces. She took a deep breath and led her daughter up the walkway, pie in hand. Each step closer sent a ripple of anticipation through the girl’s gut.
Her mom hesitated for just a second—knuckles hovering over the door before she finally rapped twice against the wood. The sound was loud in the quiet of the porch.
Footsteps approached from inside, slow and deliberate. Then the knob turned.
Aerion stood there, shirtless this time, sweat glistening on his chest as he blinked down at them both with mild surprise. “Ma’am?” he said gruffly to her mother—then spotted the girl behind her and quirked an eyebrow up toward his forehead, like he was already judging this situation wrong on principle alone.
Her mom smiled politely, seemingly unfazed at the sight of a near stranger shirtless on the doorstep, pie still in hand. “Sorry to bother you all,” she said with in a friendly tone. “We’re your new neighbors. I wanted to introduce myself and bring you this.” She held the pie out, as if it somehow made the situation less awkward.
Aerion’s gaze flicked between her mom and the pie for a moment before he stepped back to open the door wider. His expression was unreadable, his gaze lingering on the pie before finally meeting her mom’s again. “That’s real neighborly of you,” he said after a beat, the words delivered in that typical casual Southern drawl. “Come on in.” He stepped aside, gesturing for them to enter.
The interior of the house was simple—country chic with hints of old Texas. Photos were scattered around the walls, a large Texan flag sitting over the mantel next to a mounted deer’s head.
Her mom stepped inside, glancing around with a mix of curiosity and interest. Her eyes lingered on the photos and the various Texan decorations, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she took in the ambiance. She turned to Aerion, who was still standing by the door—arms crossed over his bare chest. She was trying to be subtle, but there was a gleam of curiosity in her gaze as she took in his appearance.
Then his father appeared. Maekar Targaryen. A tall, broad-shouldered farmer of about forty, with sun-bleached blond hair and a heavy, stubborn gaze. His face was weathered, with hard lines around his mouth—a man more accustomed to work than to talk. He wore an old hat, worn jeans, and boots dusted with the red Texas earth.
Maekar stepped into the room, his presence alone making the air feel heavier. His gaze swept over her mom—then landed on the girl.
Aerion straightened slightly at his father’s arrival, though he didn’t say anything. The tension in the room was palpable—a silent standoff between two different worlds colliding under one roof.
Her mom cleared her throat softly before extending a hand toward Maekar. “I’m SonTeri's mother,” she said with polite firmness. “We just moved in across the street.”
Maekar studied her for a long moment before nodding once—gruff acknowledgment of an introduction made but not quite accepted yet. Meanwhile, Aerion watched from the sidelines, quietly smirking almost imperceptibly, as if entertained by the whole situation unfolding before him.Maekar Targaryen removed his hat and nodded briefly to his new neighbors. “A pilot and a doctor, then…” he said, squinting into the sun. “Good neighbors. One guards the sky, the other repairs men.” He chuckled slightly. “Welcome. The land here is stubborn, but it treats its own fairly.” He smiled faintly. Or was it a snarl?
Her mom seemed pleasantly surprised by Maekar’s comments. “Thank you,” she said, her smile genuine. “We’re happy to be here.” She glanced around the room again, taking in the Texan charm—the mounted deer head, the photos, the worn-in furniture. Her gaze lingered on a picture of a young Aerion—maybe five or six years old, grinning widely as he sat on a horse.
Soon they were sitting at the table, sipping tea and eating pie. Maekar had turned out to be an overly respectable neighbor and wouldn’t let them go without tea. Aerion devoured the pie, still bare-chested, sunburned and pink. Their parents chatted. Maekar’s youngest son, Aegon—or Egg—had joined them, a funny, joyful boy also with fair hair like Aerion. They looked alike, but they didn’t seem to get along at all.
Her mom chatted politely with Maekar, occasionally casting glances over at Aerion and Aegon. The contrast between the two boys was striking—Aerion with his bare chest and defiant attitude, Aegon small and cheerful. Aerion continued to demolish the pie without a word, seemingly oblivious to the conversation around him. Aegon watched him with a mixture of curiosity and annoyance, though not daring to say anything in front of his father.
Mom and Maekar moved on to discussing child rearing. The girl sat silently, sipping her tea. From time to time, her gaze met either Aerion’s or Aegon’s. Or the bare chest.
Aerion noticed her glances—specifically the ones lingering on his bare chest. He paused mid-bite, pie fork hovering in the air as he locked eyes with her.
There was a beat of silence before Aegon piped up, “Aerion, quit starin’ at her like that.”
Aerion kicked him under the table without looking away from her. “Shut it,” he muttered to his brother before smirking and taking another slow bite of pie—deliberately chewing just to make a point.
Maekar nodded slowly, his voice gravel-deep as he leaned back in his chair. “Discipline,” he said firmly, “that’s the key. Without it, you got nothin’ but trouble.” He eyed Aerion pointedly—who was now wiping pie filling off his chin with the back of his hand—then flicked a glance at Aegon too for good measure.
Aerion scoffed under his breath but didn’t argue. Her mom smiled politely, though there was something guarded behind her expression when she replied: “I think balance is important… Guidance without crushing the spirit.”
Then her mom started talking about her and her dad’s work and how they always disappeared for a few days or a week.
That information caught Maekar’s attention. He sat a little straighter, his gaze sharpening. “Away a few days at a time?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “For work, you say?”
Her mom nodded, sipping her tea. “Yes, we’re both busy with our jobs,” she explained matter-of-factly. “So our daughter always stays alone… we worry.”
“No, Mommy, I’m fine,” the girl said. Oh my god, Mom can’t embarrass me for at least one day - the girl thinks.
Her mom’s expression softened slightly, but she still gave her daughter a pointed look—one that said I know what I’m doing. Meanwhile, Maekar studied the situation with quiet intensity before gruffly adding, “Kid’s got sense. If she ain’t causin’ trouble or burnin’ the house down while y’all gone? Let her be.”
Aerion snorted into his tea at that comment, clearly entertained by this family drama unfolding right in front of him.
“So I was hoping you’d keep an eye on my daughter?” her mom continued. “Not closely… just… from a distance.”
Maekar considered the request, studying the girl over his cup of tea. His gaze was assessing but without malice. “Can’t see any harm in that,” he grumbled finally, though there was a glint in his eyes that didn’t quite match his nonchalant tone. “I’ll make sure my boys keep an eye out.”
The tea party continued. “Mom… I don’t need nannies,” the girl whispered quietly to her mother.
Her mom sighed quietly, patting her daughter’s hand under the table. “I know, sweetheart,” she quietly reassured her. “But it’ll put my mind at ease. Please?” She gave her daughter a pleading look—one that was hard to say no to.
The girl just turned away, continuing to drink her tea. While the adults talked, she caught Aerion’s eye. His gaze flicked up from his pie a few times, catching her watching him. His eyes were sharp, and there was a gleam in them that made it clear he was aware of everything going on around him. When their gazes met again, he smirked—the barest twitch of a lip, cocky and confident. It was hard to look away.
Her mom finished her tea and stood, smoothing her skirt. “I suppose we should be heading home,” she said, a hint of reluctance in her voice.
Maekar rose with a grunt, his gaze still weighing the girl silently. “Thanks for the pie,” he said gruffly. “And the… conversation.”
“Lovely house… Mr. Targaryen,” the girl said, smiling slightly. “And Aegon… and… Aerion.”
Maekar grunted in acknowledgment, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. He was pleased by her politeness—that much was clear. “Thanks, girl. You’re welcome here anytime.”
Aerion stood too, his chest still bare, a smirk still plastered on his face. His gaze flicked to her again, eyes glinting. “Yeah. Come back any time.”
Her mom nodded, giving her daughter a gentle push toward the door—her version of be polite but not too chatty.
Aerion leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. The smirk was still there. “Don’t be a stranger,” he said, his tone laced with something unreadable.
Aegon bounced on his toes behind him. “Yeah! We got cows to feed and everything!”
Maekar watched them leave with a grunt—half approval, half dismissal. Aerion lingered in the doorway, his smirk lingering as he studied her back. Aegon waved enthusiastically from behind him. “Bye! Come see the cows!”
Her mom smiled politely before steering her daughter toward the car—though not before casting one last glance at Maekar over her shoulder, like she was mentally cataloging potential allies in this new Texas life of theirs.
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