The Gods only knew why you were doing this. Well, the Gods and Prince Maekar. Daeron had been missing for two days. Your worry for him battled with your knowledge that he had done this before and returned to Summerhall quite safe, if a little worse for wear. And perhaps, with a few less gold dragons in his pocket. 

Yet, when his father had beseeched you to find him, you had not refused. How could you? Daeron was your dear friend. He was the boy you had played with as a child. 

Maekar had requested a man of his guard follow you, to ensure your safety along the treacherous roads. Even though you could handle yourself, you grouched. 

When the sky had opened and turned the path into a quagmire though, you had insisted he return to the castle and tell Prince Maekar you would return soon. In truth, you had no intention of turning back anytime soon, not without Daeron.

You had checked inside each tavern and inn you came across, scouring the places. Downstairs and upstairs. You had ignored the shouting and strange stares when you had burst into the rooms unannounced, bearing witness to things you really, really did not want to think about.

You wondered briefly if the pubs closest to Summerhall had denied him entry. Though he paid well, Daeron did have a knack for unsettling other customers. Especially if he found himself passed out at a table, dreaming. 

You frowned at the thought and gently guided your horse onward. 

“Only a little while further, boy,” you soothed, running a hand down his neck. He was a noble thing, your steed. An old war horse who delighted in galloping when the weather was warm and despised it greatly when it was a night like this.

You set your jaw as he whinnied in discomfort. The rain had surely soaked him by now, just as it had done to your cloak and, steadily, your clothing beneath it. You shivered. The next tavern for a good few miles slowly came into view, windows lit with warm light. You prayed that you would find him here. The thought of Daeron, drunk and alone for a third day pierced your heart sharper than any blade could.

…💫…

You left your horse in the stable, passing the stable boy a coin for some oats and, after a moments thought, a carrot. For good measure. He was to carry you both home, after all. 

The wooden door to the inn swung open as you pushed it. A fireplace roared in the corner and the inn was warm, almost too warm for your frozen self. Nevertheless, you continued inside, shedding your cloak and hanging it over your arm. Your eyes scanned the room carefully, catching the eye of a couple of regulars until your gaze paused. There. In the far corner, where it was darkest. 

“You going to buy anything, love?” The barkeep, a stout man, asked, before following your eyes to Daeron.

“Ah.” He said, clearing his throat, “apologies.”

You offered him a small smile, taking no offence. It was easy to feel powerful when a person recognised you as a friend of the crown. The power was not yours, you had quickly realised. It belonged to house Targaryen only. That fact didn’t bother you anymore. 

What did sting, though, was remembering the happiness you and Daeron had held as children. No matter how often you had tried to return to those days by inviting Daeron to dinner like you used to. Let you read to him, like you used to. Ride your horses side by side, like old times. He declined each endeavour at bettering your friendship. You sensed there was something to his attempt at distance but you had never pushed him. 

Looking at him now, the top half of his body collapsed over a wooden, sticky table. You think maybe, you should have pushed back. If only a little. 

The times when he would speak to you freely about his dreams were gone. They were too heavy for you to carry too, he had told you on a rare day when he was sober. Few and far between those day were, now.

You missed him. It had felt as though you had actually had him, once. He was slipping through your fingers. Well, enough of that. You were determined to make him see reason. 

Storming over to him, you slid into the seat to his right and snatched his discarded cup. Your cloak was swiftly laid over a stray chair. While you were taking a swig of wine, Daeron squinted his eyes and peered up at you. His sandy hair was tangled in places. You put the tankard down, grimacing at the taste, and combed through it with your fingers. Daeron sighed deeply, his cheek smushed against the table.

“You have found me,” he murmured, his voice vibrating the wood below him.

“As I always do, my friend,” was your quick retort.

He smiled slightly, a small upturn of his lips that you would have missed, had you not known him as well as you do. 

“Why?” He whispered. Ah, you were familiar with that question. Too familiar, by all accounts. 

“Because,” you replied, shoving the drink away when he reached for it.

“That is all you ever say. ‘Because’. I am sick of it.”

“What would you have me say, then?”

Daeron said nothing. He closed his eyes again.

“None of that.” You lifted his shoulders and forced him into a sitting position. Daeron slouched against your shoulder. A prince, slouching. You could laugh but he would not take it well. He needed some sort of reassurance, that was clear. Some sort of truth to snap him out of…this. 

“Because,” you began. Daeron gazed up at you, his eyelids drooping. He looked at you the same way he always had, you realised then. Like you were the only thing worth focusing his eyes on. 

“Because, when Aerion stole and stomped on that worm I was holding, you kicked his shin and wouldn’t speak to him for a fortnight.”

He breathed a soft laugh through his nose. 

“You loved that worm, Gods knew why.”

A smile lit up your face. 

“I even named him, do you remember?”

“Yes,” Daeron hummed. You stroked his cheek with your thumb. “Wormington. Quite a name.”

“A strong name,” you protested, though there was no ire in your voice. You were too pleased for annoyance. To be reminiscing with him - it was special. It happened so rarely nowadays. 

“I dreamed, the other night.”

You nodded and stayed silent, eyes glancing around the nearly empty inn, challenging any of the remaining locals with your gaze. Your conversation was quiet but their eyes still wandered to the both of you. Multiple heads turned back to the bottom of their drinks.

“I will not tell you,” Daeron mumbled weakly. You hummed and smoothed your hand over his shoulder. 

“I understand.”

“I will not burden you with it.”

“You, and your dreams, are never a burden to me, Daeron.”You soothed. The rain continued to hammer against the windows. Moonlight cascaded into a puddle on the floor in front of you.

“You died.” He whispered hoarsely. Finally.

You blinked and looked down at him. He had somehow inched himself closer to you, until his head was resting on your chest.

“We all die someday, darling.”

“Fire.” Daeron said, so quiet you could barely make out the word. 

A chill ran down your spine, one that you could not attribute to the cold rain. It took a moment for your head to clear. You swallowed.

“Not for a while, I do hope?”

It was typical of you to try and turn such a topic into a lighthearted question. If it would make him feel any better, you would try and make a joke even while on fire.

“No. Not for a while.” 

He pulled away and leaned back in his chair, sobering up. 

“Why did you trail through the rain?” He wondered softly, “I had thought I would not be found here, so far away from Summerhall.”

Your answer appeared in your head immediately. You waited for a different one to come to you, perhaps one that wasn’t so certain, so exposing. You found that there was nothing in your mind but your original thought.

“Because, I love you.”

He blinked a few times, then turned away from you, staring resolutely at the wall. You may have been offended, if it weren’t for the sheen of tears in his eyes.

“Let us return home, my friend.”

You stood and held out a hand to him. Daeron threw a couple of coins onto the table and took your hand into his.

“Gods, you are freezing,” he frowned. “Take my cloak on the way back.”

His hand squeezed yours, as if he was trying to give you his own warmth. It was enough of a reply. For you, for tonight. 

…💫…

As you carefully unhitched your horse, the old boy now dried and ready for the ride back, you felt something tug at the much warmer cloak you were wearing. Daeron’s cloak, as he had insisted. You looked over your shoulder to find Daeron’s fingers twisted in the cloth. 

“Thank you,” he hesitated and then murmured your name, glancing at you intentionally, “I…”

He stopped. Gods, he looked ridiculous in your cloak. 

You nodded once, smiling, “I know.”

Daeron dipped his chin and moved to help you onto the stallion. 

“Home?” You murmured as he mounted behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

….💫🌅🏰….

It was summertime, the days were warm and the nights blessedly cool. The sun was low in the sky tonight, dipping below the horizon with each second that passed. The halls of the Red Keep shimmered as the orange rays bled themselves through the windows, over the walls and the cold floor.

You had been stuck here for a few weeks, having travelled from your home to King’s Landing alongside your father.

He meant to betroth you, you knew that much, and it weighed heavy on your mind. So heavy, in fact, that you had taken to pacing the halls all night as soon as you had been permitted to leave the dinner table. You could not sleep for worry.

It was not the company you despised, not entirely. Little Aegon brightened your days with his quick retorts. Prince Maekar was welcoming, in his own way, and you had the feeling that, though your father was hard to bide, he approved of you. He was what your father considered a good friend, though you highly doubted Prince Maekar would say the same.

You were not stupid, you also knew that your father had only accompanied you on the journey because he held the belief he could charm Maekar into wedding you to one of his sons. You did not know the prince well at all but you did know he was not so easily swayed.

Of his sons, the thought of marrying Aerion troubled you the most. Swiftly, you pushed his face from your mind, along with the way he would look at you over dinner, as if he were the hunter and you the deer.

Daeron, you had not met yet. He had not been there to greet you when you had arrived, nor did he attend any meals. Often before you entered the dining room, you heard his father speak of his lack of attendance with disdain.

Your family had told you that the realm had named him Daeron the drunken. To be married to a man who preferred his cups over you, that would certainly be a different kind of marriage. A sad one, to be sure.

In your musings, you found that you had wandered a good distance away from your room. Glancing behind you, the corridors all looked the same. You were lost. A deep sigh left you and you cursed under your breath. The Keep was a maze. Perhaps, you could find a guard that would be kind enough to point you in the right direction.

A groan echoed through the hall, catching your attention. Frozen for moment, you listened. A mumbled curse quickly followed.

You hesitantly reached into the hidden pocket of your wine-red dress and tugged out your small dagger from its leather scabbard, to be safe. Holding it out at arms length, your curiosity directed your feet to walk in the direction of the noise. Whoever it was, they could help you find the way back to your room. Or, maybe it was an intruder. Then, you reasoned, for a coin or two they could steal you in the night to a far off place. You could not marry Prince Aerion if you weren’t here. You silently peered around the corner.

In a heap by the wall, bathed in orange sunset, was a man with sandy blonde hair. He grumbled to himself, cursing something or other. Clearing your throat, you inched closer, sharp dagger still raised.

“Excuse me?”

The man scoffed, making you jump.

“And now,” he said to himself, waving a hand grandly in the air, “I hear you while awake. I have truly gone mad.”

You blinked down at him. His eyes were shut, eye lids pressed together harshly, causing his brow to furrow. His clothing, though rumpled and creased, was a fine quality. Perhaps he was a lord. With that thought, you tried again.

“My lord, are you well?”

“That ale was…” He visibly struggled to find his words, finally landing on, “…not strong enough.”

You prodded his side with your foot and his eyes snapped open, pale and clouded. A gasp left you and you took half a step back. The lord focused on you with some difficulty, his pupils growing bigger.

“You. I saw you.” He whispered softly, scrambling to sit up and absently brushing a lock of hair from his face so he could see you better. The hand he had raised then pointed vaguely to his head.

“Yes,” he muttered, as though to himself, “yes, it is you.”

Now that he had faced you, you could see small embroidered threads on his collar. They were ruby red, and made the shape of a dragon. This had to be Prince Daeron. Your eyes widened as you quickly dipped into a bow, hiding your dagger back inside its sheath. Fear sent a shiver down your spine.

“My prince, forgive me for kicking you, I did not mean…”

“What is your name, my lady?” He interrupted your apology swiftly.

After a beat of silence, you gave him your name. He repeated it quietly, then a small smile appeared on his lips, soothing your worries. He began to stand, stumbling slightly, so you rushed forward to grasp his upper arms, steadying him. In turn his hands held onto your wrists.

“Thank you,” Daeron breathed. He smelled like ale and the smoke of a fireplace. Now he was on his feet, you let go of him and put some distance between you, remembering how improper you have acted. The thought of ‘what would father say?’ entered your mind and left it just as quick. Prince Daeron did not seem to care about impropriety, so you made the effort not to as well.

“What are you doing in the halls at this hour, my lady?” He wondered.

You fidgeted with your hands.

“I seem to be lost, my prince.” You admitted reluctantly. He laughed, a short, gentle sound that, by his surprised expression, appeared rare to him.

“Then, allow me to guide you back to your room.”

He held out his arm and you smiled and took it carefully, your hand resting on his elbow.

As you walked, he turned to look at you.

“It is wise of you to carry a blade, even in these guarded halls,” Daeron murmured, “do you know how to wield it?”

Embarrassment touched your cheeks with heat. You considered lying to him, telling him that you were well taught but found that you couldn’t. He had been kind by forgiving you and now helping you. The truth was, Father had been adamant you did not use a weapon. You are a lady, he would say, and ladies do not use blades. You shook your head.

“Not really, my prince.”

“I will show you, tomorrow. If that is agreeable. I am not much of a fighter, though, I must warn you.”

He smiled at you again, and you returned it.

“That would be lovely.”

…💫🌅🏰…

The next morning, Prince Daeron arrived at the breakfast table with a pounding headache and a lightness in his chest he had not felt since he was a boy. Last night, his dreams had consisted of you, not falling dragons. Just you, and a babe with his eyes.

No longer a figment of his dreams, you entered the room shortly after him, with your father. You were dressed in a green dress today, one that you could move around easier in. You looked beautiful. After bowing to Maekar, you then looked to him, to find him already watching you closely.

“May I sit beside you, Prince Daeron?”

•••

You were a guest here. Queen Cersei and the late King Robert had known your father well and Cersei had invited you to visit.

You and your father were to attend the wedding of her son, though he had taken ill before you could depart. As much as you wished to attend to your father, you were his sole heir and had to abide by your duty to your house. You’d brought your handmaiden instead, hoping she would help you feel less alone.

You had never seen King’s Landing or the Red Keep, though you were quite updated with the goings on inside. It was haunting and thrilling all at once, to stand in the place your forefathers had, in their pledges to each new king. Your house were survivors, sure, but your loyalty still rested secretly with the greater good, and those who your father deemed worthy.

The architecture of the Red Keep was pretty but the gardens were your favourite part. The flowers, and even the hedges, were cultivated to perfection. It was pleasant to walk through and, when not making nice with the Lannisters, you were sure to be found between the roses.

It was one such day that yourself, and your dear handmaiden Evy, were walking through that you spotted something - no, someone, far more beautiful than the gardens, and entirety of Westeros combined. A woman.

She stood by the lovely veranda, where you had lunch with soon-to-be Queen Margaery and Lady Tyrell a day before. Her hair, a pale shade of yellow, shone in the sunlight. Her eyes were such a bright sapphire that you could discern their colour even from a distance. She stood strong, self assured, and carried a sword at her hip. The juxtaposition of the armour she wore and her soft features only made you more curious.

Evy and yourself crept closer, by your subtle direction change. If you could brush her arm, perhaps you could apologise and be introduced. It was rare you indulged in crushes, or even love, but something about this woman drew you to her.

A thousand thoughts flickered through your head. Was she a knight? (It was possible, with that sword and her muscled build.) If so, who was she loyal to? Was she waiting for someone? A sweetheart, maybe?

The last thought soured something in you. The mystery woman glanced around, as if feeling eyes on her. Gods, you were staring. Evy tugged your arm, whispering your name.

“What is it?” She hushed into your ear.

“The lady stood by the rose bush,” you replied quietly. Evy looked across the way from below her lashes.

“Yes?”

You were slowly approaching her now and the embarrassment engulfed you. Here you were, taking a walk and ogling the poor woman. She would surely be uncomfortable if she found your eyes upon her, watching so intently. She was in earshot now, and Evy nudged your arm in question. You hadn’t answered her, you realised.

“She’s…” You were momentarily lost for words, “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”

So busy were you waiting for Evy’s response, you didn’t notice the woman’s head snap towards you, her face carefully blank.

Evy peered over your shoulder and her eyes widened.

“I think she heard you, my lady.”

Turning, your eyes fell back onto her. She was frowning. Her eyes stared resolutely forward, away from you. Shame welled up in your throat. You patted Evy’s hand as it slowly slipped away from your arm. Moving towards the woman, you left your concerned handmaiden behind you.

“Excuse me, my lady,” you murmured meekly, handing twisting in your dress, “I apologise for talking about you…like that, I simply meant…” You trailed off when her gaze met yours.

She stared you down with a strength you had rarely seen in anyone. It was as if her blue eyes pierced your very soul.

“You simply meant?” The blonde woman prompted, then smiled tightly, without humour.

“I saw you from across the garden,” you began to explain, “I wished to speak with you but I knew not how.”

“Frightened?” She quipped. Confusion drowned out your embarrassment.

“No, my lady.”

“You know who I am, I presume?”

You shrunk further into yourself, the fabric of your dress rubbing between your thumb and fingers. This was not how you had imagined this conversation going.

“Not at all, my lady.”

Something tiny changed within her expression, a simple quirk of a blonde eyebrow. She regarded you, from the hem of your dress and back up to your face. You felt a traitorous warmth run up your neck, to your cheeks. Gods, you were blushing.

“I am Brienne, of Tarth.” She said.

Your eyes widened in recognition. How you had not pieced it together in the first place was a mystery to you. Your father was good friends with Selwyn, Brienne’s own father. Though, in your defence, you had never met either of them.

You were not stupid, far from it in fact, and you had heard the guard’s whispers as you walked the halls of the Red Keep. Brienne the beauty, they called her. Their tone full of disdain. Oh. Oh no. Had you—? Yes, you had. You had called her a beauty, and she had heard you.

You introduced yourself, watching recognition spark in her eyes too, then began.

“Lady Brienne, I know you overheard me a second ago. I want you to know, I didn’t mean any ill intent—.”

“It is alright,” Brienne said softly, “you don’t need to explain, I am used to it.”

“You should not have to be!” You cried, overcome suddenly by rage on her behalf, “My lady, I have heard how people talk about you, it is not fair. I noticed you as I entered the garden, and I thought you beautiful. You are beautiful, Lady Brienne.”

You immediately remembered yourself as soon as your passionate speech finished.

“Please forgive me, I was too forward.” You murmured, all too aware of the people walking around you that had heard your rant. One look from Brienne had them turning their heads away.

“No, my lady,” Brienne answered, voice low, “I…appreciate your kind words.”

“Oh,” you said in relief, a smile lighting up your face, “That’s…good. That’s good.”

“Nobody, save my father, has ever…” Brienne struggled to find words. You placed a hand on her forearm in comfort and Brienne jumped at the sudden contact. She watched you carefully, her cheeks flushing.

A second or two passed in comfortable silence, and then you had an idea.

“Lady Brienne, would you like to join me for dinner?”

“Dinner,” she repeated thoughtfully.

“Our fathers are friends,” you said, “I would like for us to be friends, too.”

“Yes,” Brienne smiled hesitantly, “I would like that as well.”

Not wanting to seem too eager, yet feeling as eager as you had ever been, you proposed having dinner together tonight. Brienne agreed as soon as you asked. You could have been floating, for all the happiness you felt bubbled up in your chest.

“I will see you then,” you told her sweetly.

Brienne nodded and attempted to hide a smile.

“Very well.”

You held out your hand for her to shake, as you had watched your father do with his friends. Brienne took it gingerly and brought it to her lips, pressing a kiss to the soft skin on the back of your hand. Your breathing hitched, your eyes widened and Brienne? She laughed gently at your flustered state, a genuine smile on her lovely face.

Somehow, you found it in you to step away from her and walk back to Evy.

“My lady?” Evy asked in bewilderment, “what happened?”

You took her arm again and turned on your heel, in the direction of the castle.

it was a celebration, a night full of laughter and merriment. the evil had been banished and you found yourself on the outskirts of it all, in the garden. the sun was setting, leaving a pink hue in the sky. it travelled over the flowers and rose bushes, over you, your clothing and jewellery glimmering.

boromir found you then. he had not attempted to sneak up on you, but his footsteps were unintentionally light. he paused, beside you and watched as you peered at the flowers.

“i thought i might find you here.”

you jumped, still on edge after your journey.

“boromir!” you hushed, a hand over your heart, “you frightened me.”

“my apologies, my lady,” he replied honestly, “twas not my intention.”

you smiled at him,.

“my name isn’t ‘my lady’” you reminded him.

“i know.” he did, truly but the title carried weight, a respect he knew you were deserving of after everything you had done.

“i was admiring the roses,” you murmured, turning away from him, your expression pensive.

“ah,” he said, not once taking his eyes off you, “they are quite beautiful. as are you, tonight.”

your eyes widened in surprise, both at his words and the gentle tone of his voice. misinterpreting your look, boromir backtracked quickly.

“not that you are not beautiful everyday, of course, it is just—tonight you are extremely—“ resplendent, is what he would’ve said, had you not cut him off in his panic with a quiet call of his name.

“thank you,” you spoke, “you look most handsome, as well.”

he looked down upon himself. he was wearing his leathers, the same red tunic as usual. there was a sword still at his hip, it seemed the journey had not been so easily forgotten by him, either.

“i look the same as always,” he laughed ruefully.

“exactly,” you smoothed a hand over his collar. borormir felt his breath halt in his lungs. your touch left him too soon. “handsome,” you finished. so quickly could you break his composure. boromir felt himself weaken in your presence, becoming young again, so nervous and unsure. not entirely sure what to say, he cleared his throat. in the silence, you tapped your nails on the stone balcony before you, then looked to him.

“i had thought you may have found someone to dance with.” you said conversationally, something unsaid hidden beneath your words. boromir had received offers, of course, but none were you, and so he had politely refused.

“i confess, i am not the best dancer.”

“would you dance with me, if i asked?” you queried, voice soft and teasing.

“yes,” he murmured quickly, perhaps too quickly, for you looked quizzical for a moment before holding out your hand.

“dance with me, boromir?”

he took your smaller hand in his larger one without a second thought.

the music from the hall drifted out over the gardens, giving a soft melody to the quiet night. you moved closer and placed your hands on his shoulders. he laid his own a breath away from your waist, too respectful even in his selfishness. if only you knew how he had dreamed of you, just last night.

“boromir,” you scolded lightly. he pressed his hands to your waist as if on command.

“forgive me, i did not wish to make you uncomfortable.”

“you could never,” you assured. and so you both swayed lightly, on the spot, neither sure exactly on how to proceed. perhaps conversation would be best.

“have you seen your brother, the way he is with eowyn?”

he nodded, not trusting his voice. you were so close he could smell the sweet scent of your hair, blowing in the breeze, out of it’s usual style.

“i think it’s precious, that they have found each other. don’t you?”

precious. yes it was, to find love so soon after such dark times. he swallowed and nodded again. you laughed quietly, a puff of air on his chin.

“you seem nervous, dear friend.”

“i am,” he admitted in a whisper.

“is it the dancing? because i’m not certain what we’re doing could even be considered dancing.” you were joking in a voice that had always put him at ease, “we have faced a balrog, boromir, don’t tell me dancing is where you draw the line.”

he pushed the unbidden memory of the balrog from his mind, focusing on the feel of your clothes. the fabric was as soft as silk, he wondered if your skin was the same.

“it is not the dancing,” he murmured, looking at a flower over your shoulder, avoiding your eyes completely, “surely you must know, it is you who makes me so…uncertain.”

you paused in your swaying, and blinked as though you hadn’t expected to hear such a thing. perhaps you hadn’t, he had always been so reserved with his feelings, never acting as though there was something between you other than strong friendship.

“i’m sorry,”you replied in confusion, tilting your head to the side, “i dont understand.”

boromir looked at you then, straight in your eyes. it was as if it was the first time he was seeing you, back at the council. he was breathless.

“i find i have,” he hesitated, trying to find the words to convey his want, his desire to kiss you overwhelming him. you let him think for a while, then leaned up on your toes to press a kiss to his cheek. so gentle were you with him. he who had taken lives as easily as breathing, who had failed briefly in not succumbing to the power of the ring. the guilt ate at him still. you had seen it all, and you had stayed by his side. why? if not for love. you kissed his other cheek, a harder press of your lips to break him from his thoughts.

oh.

“stop thinking,” you murmured. boromir’s eyes fell to your lips. “boromir.”

his name fell from your mouth like a plea. he kissed you then, barely a brush of lips. he pulled back slightly to gauge your reaction, to be certain that this is what you had intended but your eyes were closed, your expression blissful. he let his eyes slip closed as well, and kissed you again. you tasted sweet, like the wine you had all been served. he was aware of every point of contact; your chest on his, his hands still on your waist, your own hands reaching up to cup his cheeks. you pulled away from him, yet there was so little distance that he could still feel your lips against his as he spoke.

“i love you.”

kyle🧢: meet us in the common room?

you had entered the room that night expecting a movie playing on the tv, kyle and johnny splayed across the sofa inviting you to join them, simon and john each sipping a bourbon in the two armchairs in the corner.

instead you found all four of them stood up, eyes focused on the door. a united front. it would’ve been intimidating, had you not worked with them for over a year now. they weren’t all that scary when you got to know them. not to you, anyway.

but still, immediately, you knew something was wrong.

“captain?” you looked to him first, 141’s leader. john hadn’t led you astray before, you knew it couldn’t be anything terrible, if he was here too. your heart pounded in your chest at the feeling of their attention being stuck on you. you closed the door behind you and stepped further into the room.

“has something happened?”

“no, love,” kyle said, “nothing’s happened.”

“thing is, bonnie, we have something to tell you,” johnny continued. distantly, you thought that he couldn’t have sounded more ominous if he’d tried but the nickname calmed your nerves a little.

as usual, john took the lead. taking a step towards you, while still maintaining a distance, he began.

“when kate recommended you, i was hesitant to accept,” he said honestly, “i wasn’t sure how you’d fit in with us, if you’d fit in with us.” he took a breath, and you struggled to focus on his words when your thoughts became increasingly loud. were they going to chuck you out of 141? had you unknowingly done something wrong?

“but, you fit in perfectly. better than i—we could’ve hoped.”

seeing your captain lost for words wasn’t a regular occurrence. kyle spoke for him.

“we like you, love. a lot. and we were wondering if, sometime, you’d like to go out.”

“just the five of us,” johnny piped up.

“like…a date?” you asked before you could think to stop yourself. mortification bubbled up inside your chest. was that what they meant? had you made a fool out of yourself?

to your surprise, they looked relieved. as if they almost couldn’t have brought themselves to say it, to potentially ruin whatever it was you all had going on.

“like a date,” john confirmed, his voice soft. it was quiet for a long moment. they waited patiently for your response, anticipated it.

“are you sure?” you spoke finally. john smiled at you gently, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“never been more sure of anything in my life,” he admitted, and if that didn’t fluster you enough, your gaze drifted to kyle, who was stood next to john, staring at you with those dark eyes, like he couldn’t bear to sever the only contact he had with you.

“i couldn’t go another day without telling you, love,” he murmured, his voice low and pleading. his sheer honesty sent a shiver down your back.

then you looked to simon. simon who was now staring at the wall behind your head. you swallowed thickly. never did you think he would feel anything for you other than friendship, not because you thought him incapable, never that.

but simon had been steadfast in keeping you at a safe distance. he wasn’t one to dish out physical affection as johnny so easily did, nor one to charm you with pretty words, like kyle. he didn’t hold you close when you began doubting yourself, like john. but that didn’t mean he didn’t care, at least that’s what you’d told yourself. he wasn’t john, kyle or johnny.

he was simon. simon who had your back, both on the field and off it. simon who occasionally placed a cup of tea and your favourite biscuits in front of you when he noticed you hadn’t eaten in a while. simon who cared in his own way. you could see it now, all of it, in your mind. the way his eyes would soften when they landed on you, the way he checked in with you first after a mission. you could see it too because those soft eyes flickered to yours and he nodded his head in agreement with the others. any doubts you’d had left your mind immediately.

the breath you were holding released in a puff as you fought to catch up with the sudden change in dynamic between you all. when you looked for johnny, you found him right by your side, like always. you had often joked about him clinging to you, but now you needed it. needed his touch to help ground you.

johnny hesitantly reached out to you, his fingers hovered just shy of your own fingertips, where they hung by your side. he was waiting for you to make the first move.

something unsaid shifted in the air when you moved your index finger to touch johnny’s. he watched your hands carefully, almost reverently, as you reached out further. as if you were an easily startled deer, one second away from skittering off into the woods.

but— you were neither of those things. you clasped his larger hand in yours, sighing in contentment at the warmth of him. johnny smiled then, brilliantly, his blue eyes lighting up.

“we want you, bonnie. if you’ll have us?” he muttered, just loud enough for only you to hear. a precious secret. and it was precious, to you. it was all you’d ever hoped for.