In the darkest light I love you

He loved this crazy guy. [Name] was a force of nature, an introverted force of nature. Colorful, unique, crazy, and strange according to the internet. A gamer, a professional gamer, a frequenter of many fandoms, bookemdias. Someone—Valarr purses his lips, his fingers freezing over the laptop keyboard—who painfully doesn't fit into his world. Valarr's world is a world of big business, business dinners, meetings, partnerships, the family business… A father who looks at him and sees success.

"Val! I'm done for today, shall we order pizza for dinner?" [Name] sat down on the couch next to him, sighed heavily, and leaned back against a pile of pillows. His colorful hair was now tied up.

"How did the stream go?" Valarr closed his laptop, making sure the report was saved.

"Okay, there were quite a few people, more than usual, but that's probably because the game is pre-release. And it was a demo… you know." He says with a smile, but the smile doesn't reach his eyes. Valarr knows why. Haters must have appeared on the stream again.

"[Name]…" He starts, placing the laptop on the table, but his boyfriend stands up abruptly, silencing him.

"It doesn't matter, let's order pizza."

They won't go out to eat. Not if they don't want to be recognized. No. Not if Valarr doesn't want to be recognized. Not with [Name]. Valarr, who's building a career, his name, as heir to a fortune, future CEO. And [Name], colorful, quiet, bird… so cruelly, painfully out of place in this world, though Valarr loves it more than himself.

[Name] sent him photos from a fantasy, gaming, and anime convention he'd gone to, and he'd also been invited as a guest. He smiled as he looked through photos, stories, and Instagram posts of him. He was supposed to go with him, but at the last minute, he said he couldn't make it. He promised himself this would be one of the first times he started showing his face… but he chickened out.

[Name] had a wonderful time. And although he felt immense jealousy, he had to swallow it in the silence of his office.

He traveled with trepidation the next day. The second day of the convention. Where [Name] didn't have any official meetings. His boyfriend, however, agreed that he would stay, privately, as a participant, not a guest.

His private plane was flying with him across the country, just in time for a few hours of the party, and then they would return together. As hard as he tried to keep his hands from shaking… he barely managed. He was afraid. How would he find his way around… such company?

It was easy to spot [Name] in the crowd. His distinctive hair, finally shimmering like a rainbow, his gentle smile, the glitter on his face… everything Valarr loved. And he convinced himself that he loved him in secret.

"You are," [Name] murmured into his neck as he hugged him tightly. He left a bit of glitter on Valarr's neck.

"I missed you."

They walk around the facility. Valarr is a little scared, a little fascinated. He hides behind glasses and a simple baseball cap, wearing pants and a sweatshirt borrowed from [Name's] collection of sweatshirts and sweatpants. A huge collection.

He pulls away when someone asks [Name] for a photo, keeping his eyes downcast. He sees the smile fade from [Name's] lips, and he feels like an asshole.

A few days later, he sees the photos. Photos of [Name] and him getting into a luxury car, then someone else adds photos from the airport as they board a private plane. [Name]'s colorful hair is clearly visible, and there's no doubt it's him, while he—no one can guess who he is. But… the comments, the rumors, the speculation… are all different. It literally pains Valarr just to read the disgusting comments suggesting [Name] has a sponsor or other things.

Valarr feels like an ass. Right now, [Name] is competing in a tournament, fighting for the [GAME NAME] championship. And instead of being with him, he's stealing glances at the official stream. He should be there. Backstage, where—as his colorful bird has often said—other players' partners often are. Instead, he's in his office, in his hometown's skyscraper, writing checks and emails.

His calendar is so full that he won't be able to meet with [Name] until a few days later.

"Valarr? Can we talk?" His father cautiously opened the door to his office. Baelor had long since removed his jacket, keeping his shirt on, and even casually unbuttoned it at the neck, taking off his tie and rolling up his sleeves. He closed the door behind him and, giving his son a serious look, sat down in the chair he'd placed in front of his son's desk.

"Is something wrong?" he asked cautiously.

"You know… it's hard for me to talk about this because… I don't even know where to begin. But… I feel like I've failed as your father in some way." He said seriously.

"I'm terrified, tell me what's going on." Valarr immediately closed the laptop and set it aside.

Baelor takes a deep breath. "I know you're seeing someone. I know. Don't deny it! I have proof!" he adds, immediately seeing Valarr about to protest. "I suspected—I knew—it for a long time, but I didn't want to press the issue. Besides…" he says more quietly. "Security was with you, discreetly, especially when you took the plane last time."

"You're spying on me," he said dryly. Now, now it's going to be revealed who he's dating. Father will be disappointed. That it was [Name], that if he's already gay, he couldn't have been interested in someone… of their social standing.

"I'm rather… curious. Valarr, you're seeing someone, right? Him?"

The photos landed on the desk. A few photos from the last convention, a few photos from various outings, over the course of a fertile year and a half. [Name]'s colorful persona is unmistakable, always him next to him – in sweatshirts and glasses.

"It's… me…"

"Are you ashamed of your own relationship? Boyfriend? Partner?" Baelor looks at him seriously. "That's you in the photos, right?"

"Yes, that's me." He admits after a few minutes, quieter.

"Are you ashamed of your relationship? Are you ashamed of that boy?" He tapped the photos with his fingernail, precisely on the colorful blur that was [Name].

Baelor didn't ask. He already knew. He just wanted confirmation from his son. Valarr knew it too. His father's stern expression said it all. He just had to say it out loud now. Something he knew, deep down – it was true.

"Yes."

"Hmm…" His father fell silent. He was looking through the photos. The security guard must have taken them. His father silently studied the photos. "Why, Valarr? It seems…"

"Because he doesn't fit," he muttered before Baelor could finish. His father frowned at him. His hands began to tremble under his gaze. "You know who he is, I'm sure you've already found out and investigated. He… is… different. He's an influencer, a gamer, profesional games, he's… himself. Loud, colorful, crazy. He doesn't fit. I love him. But… he doesn't fit. He doesn't belong in formal meetings, in golf or polo tournaments. He doesn't… belong in this world." His voice broke, he almost cried under his father's sharp gaze.

Baelor said nothing. He looked at the photos for a moment. "I think I've failed as a father," he said finally. "What you said about him was disgusting. How can you claim to love him when you say so? Truly, Valarr, I am ashamed of you. This is not how I tried to raise you."

"Dad…"

"Listen. This isn't right. It's not right for him, especially." He placed the photo in front of Valarr, with [Name] centered in the frame. "I feel like I've failed as a father, since your values… hmm…

Valarr felt tears welling up in his eyes. He blinked rapidly to clear them away before they could float away.

"You should end this. Think about it, and stop not wasting his time if you don't have the courage to show your face next to him. Decide what's truly important."

[Name] lost. He lost the Championship. Valarr wasn't even there. He only saw the relationships. [Name's] sad eyes, forced smiles… He should have been there with him, in the front row. He should have been supporting him. His father's words still echoed in his mind.

You don't have the courage to show yourself next to him, so don't waste his time.

But the thought of someone else being by [Name's] side instead of him gave him a truly strange feeling. Baelor's words were harsh, and he definitely expected him to resolve the situation.

So Valarr had to make a decision. Did he want to hide his relationship for the rest of his life? [Name] really didn't deserve this.

He hadn't planned on seeing him today; they weren't supposed to meet for another three days. But he had to talk to him. [Name] was in his apartment, streaming, playing some game. Valarr entered the apartment using his keys. He was surprised to see him in a door to his gaming and streaming room.

"What are you doing?" He asked. Valarr heard the beeps, new comments asking who was in [Name's] apartment, etc. He could bet on it.

"Can't I visit my boyfriend?"

[Name's] eyes widened, and he nervously glanced at the cameras on his desk. He even paused the game. "You know I'm online?…"

"I know," he said quietly. He grabbed the boy's hand and pulled him away from the computer. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a literal avalanche of comments on the monitor.

"I'm sorry to bother you, but I have something to tell you." He said more quietly as they stood to the side of the desk cluttered with equipment, out of the camera's view.

"What happened?" [Name] asked. Valarr watched anxiously as fear spread across the boy's face.

"No, I mean yes, but nothing bad. I wanted… for us to stop. For ME to stop hiding, I don't want to be an incognito boyfriend anymore."

"Really?" A smile, huge and wide, spread across [Name's] lips. "Are you serious?"

Varr nodded. He wasn't lying, and he was completely serious. He was tired of his own acting like he didn't want to be photographed with his lover. And it was entirely his fault how badly it made [Name] feel, even though the boy hadn't complained.

"I talked to my father and… it was terribly wrong. He said it to my face. I want to apologize you for that."

"You have no idea how happy I am." [Name] hugged him. Tightly, and kissed him. "Can we talk later? I have…" He nodded at the desk where Steram was still the only one, chat comments were flying wildly, and the game was waiting to be restarted.

"Sure, sweetheart." He smiled and kissed him on the lips.

With a wide smile, he placed the confused [Name] on the transmission, at his station. He leaned over the camera. "I give you [Name] back."

SHOCK! Valarr Targaryen is in a relationship with streamer and professional gamer [Name-NICK]

[Name-NICK] and Valarr Targaryen are together. Does this relationship have a chance?

Two worlds! A young billionaire and a professional gamer! A joke or a real relationship! See the photos!

Aerion would have once called him a typical nerd, but… the universe laughed in his face. Because now he's at a student gathering (though he's not even a student), and he looks at him, feeling truly like an idiot. He still doesn't know why he's here; it's basically like the gathering Valarr took Daeron to, and Daeron took Aerion to. But there he is – he can passively spend time with [Name], so he doesn't complain.

He likes him, he likes [Name]. A friend of Valarr's, someone from a completely different background. How the world must have mocked him. Bile churns in his stomach. [Name] barely looks at him, absorbed in Valarr and the others. Jealousy burns through Aerion's veins.

"Why don't you talk to him? Invite him out sometime." Daeron suddenly appears beside him with a large glass, wine instead of juice.

Aerion almost bristles like an animal. "What are you talking about?" Daeron shrugs. "[Name] and you. Ever since you met him… You like him. It's obvious."

"Not true," he says immediately. He's lying. He's liked him ever since Valarr introduced his friend to him on some occasion a few years ago.

"Don't lie." Daeron snorts. "Even Valarr can guess. You never had a problem taking what you wanted. You did what you wanted and never cared about the consequences. What's stopping you now?" Daeron says indifferently, but Aerion senses the seriousness in his words.

Exactly. What's stopping him? Maybe it's that they seem to be from different worlds. [Name] is books, literature, art, peace, rainy afternoons smelling of tea. Days spent in museums, libraries, or archives, writing in cafés, quiet places, not the loud, online ones. Walks in the forest, evenings watching movies and TV series, essays, lectures, meetings with writers… Aerion is… the noise of the media, the roar of cars and motorcycles, boxing training, fights, parties, and alcohol. They're like polar opposites.

"Come on," he says finally. "It only works in those trashy movies or books," he says, the words tasting bitter.

"What trashy books are you talking about?" [Name] appears beside him, and Aeiron almost squeals in surprise at his sudden appearance. Daeron drinks his wine to hide his smile.

[Name] glares at him, his eyes like the center of a painting, his black glasses framing this magnificent work. He studies Aerion, and he feels a treacherous warmth creeping up his cheeks.

"Aerion says romances about opposites are trashy and unrealistic." [Name] laughs loudly, and something tightens in Aerion's stomach. Maybe it's a bruise from yesterday's boxing practice, or maybe something else entirely.

"What are you laughing at, I'm right." Aerion snorts, trying to defend himself even a little, though he knows he has no chance. Not in this fight. He'd rather get beaten up by Dunk in training.

"Maybe so, maybe not." He says mysteriously. "Personally, I believe in such relationships. That two completely different people can be together."

Daeron hides his smile in his wine cup. "Really?"

[Name] nods vigorously. "I think that makes a lot of sense. It's… more interesting."

"If you were to be in a relationship, who would you be with?" Daeron asks, still smirking, and Aerion kicks him in the ankle.

"Certainly not with someone like me or Valarr, I'd die of boredom."

[Name] smiles, and the axis shifts within Aerion again. Damn, maybe Dunk hit him too hard?

Before Aerion can say anything, someone snatches [Name] away and calls him somewhere else.

The meeting ends an hour later. Aerion emerges from the university building exhausted. More exhausted than after training. Tired of seeing smiles, lingering glances. Tired of looking at something he can't have. His car sits where he parked it.

"Aerion?" [Name]'s voice rings like a bell in the evening silence. "Yes?" he asks, surprised. "Is something wrong?"

[Name] stands by his car, disoriented. "Valarr… he said you'd drive me, but if it's a problem…" He says awkwardly.

Aerion blinks. The sneaky cousin… "No problem." He's certain Valarr and Daeron have hatched this plot. Because it is a plot, an attempt on his life.

They talk. A lot, all the way to [Name's] small apartment. Aerion asks about his work at the library, how his essays and articles are going, because he knows that. He knows from Valarr, he knows from [Name] himself and their infrequent conversations. [Name] asks him about his training, his competitions, his vacations, his younger siblings. Everything. He's a little surprised at how much they know about each other.

"You know… I have a fight on Saturday. A few fights. Maybe… you'd like to come?" he asks when it's not far from [Name]'s apartment. What could happen?

"Sure, I'd love to."

"What do you mean?" Daeron finally spoke. "I don't see any danger."

[Name] stretched. The sheets shifted slightly against his body. Daeron watched him through half-closed eyes. Luxury looked good on [Name], matched everything expensive and valuable. Luxury was synonymous with [Name].

"My father." He sighed softly. "He doesn't like us seeing each other. Especially after your father made a scene with my father at our home in Edinburgh"

Daeron smiled. "Maybe that's why we're in Monte Carlo now and not England?"

A smile also appeared on his lover's lips. Sweet, like the wine stains still visible on [Name's] lips. Sweet, beautiful, like the tons of cocaine [Name's] family had in the basements of hotels and casinos. A smile as sharp as the edges of casino cards, belonging to the father of the young man lying next to Dareron.

They lay on a bed, in a villa paid for with blood money. Money paid for drugs, left in casinos. [Name] [Surname] – the son of a mafia boss, one of the largest in Europe. Daeron's lover. Daeron's beloved man. Someone with whom Daeron sees a future.

"I don't know who to fear more, your father or mine. They're both unhappy," [Name] purred again. Outside the room, Daeron heard heavy footsteps. Probably a security guard.

"They'll have to reconcile somehow." Daeron smiled faintly, the corner of his mouth opening. He leaned back against the comfortable headrest and reached for his glass, still filled with sweet wine.

[Name] stretched again. He stood and put on his silk robe. He stepped out onto the balcony, sighing in the air filled with sea breeze. Daeron quickly followed. The water was full of yachts. Daeron couldn't seem to find the one belonging to [Name's] family now, and the one belonging to his family hadn't arrived yet. He'd definitely make it to the Monaco Grand Prix.

"Maybe, somehow, it'll work out after all."

Daeron snorts. "If I hadn't tried to buy cocaine three years ago and lost a car at your casino, I wouldn't have meet you."

[Name] rolls his eyes, but smiles.

Baelor is actually enjoying every minute of the drive. Since [Name] became his driver, he's experienced the joy of a child receiving a new toy. He loved cars before. Now he loves them even more. Especially when his driver is behind the wheel.

"How's the car handling? I wasn't sure about the model, and I'd like your opinion."

"Immaculate, sir. A great machine," he replies quietly, focused on the driving. "It steers smoothly, like it wants to drive itself."

Baelor believes him. Sometimes he wonders where he learned to drive. He does it as if he was born in the driver's seat. Every car in his hands seems to drive itself, guided by his thoughts. [Name] drives so… nimbly that his hands barely touch the steering wheel. At the same time… there's something about him that seems dangerous. Baelor noticed him from the start, he knew people. He looked like someone who'd been through a lot. A man with a history. But he liked cars, so Baelor gave him a chance. And he wasn't disappointed. [Name] was a wonderful man.

"I take your word for it." He smiles, watching the man's hands lightly touch the steering wheel. Visible veins, two signet rings. Baelor knows those hands well, watches them. "You drive so… deftly, and yet I always feel like you're not touching the wheel."

The driver laughs, softly. "I believe that a car should be touched with the same sensitivity as a lover." He says it so… gently, and his hand slides over the steering wheel; the movement does something to Baelor. For a moment, he forgets how to breathe. He feels the blood burning his cheeks. If [Name] looks in the mirror, he'll see Baelor, the CEO, a man in his 40s, blushing like his son in the company of his cousin.

"We'll have to vacuum the interior. Matarys ate chips here yesterday," he says, brushing crumbs from the leather seat. He says the first thing that comes to mind. The first stupid thing his brain can come up with.

[Name] laughs. "I'll take care of it. I was supposed to wash him all over after the trip anyway."

"It's good to know the cars are well taken care of," Baelor says, regaining his breath. The blood slowly drains from his cheeks, and his mind clears. He feels a bit like an idiot. How could he… fall in love at this age? In love like a teenager. He, a widower, with almost adult sons, a serious businessman, CEO of a billionaire company. In love.

"Don't worry, sir. I'll take care of everything."

Baelor nods. "[Name]…" he adds after a moment. With hesitation, which then subsides. "When you've parked the car, come to my apartment. There's something I'd like to talk about."

"Is something wrong?" the man asks cautiously, looking at Baelor's reflection in the mirror for the first time.

"No, no, nothing's wrong," he assures quickly. [Name]'s eyes look at him warily. "It's about cars." Almost. He thinks, but says nothing more. He would like… many things. Maybe today he'll be brave enough. After all, he has a good reason and an excuse.

The door to the hotel suite opens almost an hour later. [Name] enters cautiously, as if the marble floor were about to bite him. He must have changed in the meantime. He's not wearing formal attire—white shirts and suits with a pin and ID. He looks more casual.

"You wanted to talk to me, sir?" he begins cautiously.

Baelor gets up from the couch and sets his laptop down on the coffee table, next to the opened champagne and glasses.

"Yes, I wanted to show you something. It has to do with your… job as my driver." He points to the laptop. There's something on it. He wants him to look at it, wants to see those sparks in his eyes.

[Name] approaches cautiously. Like a dog to a hedgehog, which amuses Baelor a bit, but he's known him for a little over a year now, he knows that in a moment [Name]'s eyes will ignite with that light. They'll shine like brand-new paint on a car. Admiring [Name]'s sparkling eyes is Baelor's secret, sinful little hobby. At least since the man started working for him. Like a teenager, an idiot. He can almost hear Maekar purring.

The man approaches, steps carefully onto the fluffy carpet. He stares at the laptop as if staring into the eyes of a poisonous snake. Baelor reaches for a glass and drinks champagne to hide his smile. He waits for [Name] to read what's on the laptop screen, for the meaning to sink in.

"You bought a Lamborghini. Two. Limited." He looks at him wide-eyed. He doesn't even notice they've omitted the honorifics, which actually pleases Baelor.

"Yes… I don't have a Lamborghini. I finally fixed that shameful mistake," he says, pleased with himself. He stands up and goes to the cabinet for another glass. He feels his driver's gaze on him constantly. He returns to the table and pours the champagne into a glass, handing it to [Name].

"Why two?" he asks, confused. He takes a glass but doesn't seem to notice. "They're… expensive. Even for that make and model."

Baelor coughs softly. "Well, that's what I wanted to talk to you about." He sits down on the couch and pats the seat next to him. He's feeling brave. Before inviting [Name], he's had two shots of vodka. For courage. "I want you to come to Monaco with me. With the cars. For a test drive. Besides, one of my family's yachts will also be stationed there, so…"

"Wait a minute. You want…" He pauses, for a second. "You want me to go to Monaco to drive a luxury car and be on a yacht? Why?" He frowns.

Baelor finally gathers his courage. He leans in and kisses [Name's] lips. They're chapped, but warm. The kiss is short, quick, but full of hope. For anything.

"That's what I want."

[Name] and the rest of the dancers finished the first act. Maekar briefly considered going to join him, but decided it would be better not to interfere with the preparations for the rest of the performance. They would see each other later, and they would go home together. Maekar had to wait, even though he hadn't seen his partner for several days due to a business trip.

They took the stage again. The costume was different, but still beautiful. [Name] looked beautiful. Sometimes it was hard to believe how one random thing could change a life. If it weren't for an invitation to a ballet performance sent by someone—Maekar doesn't even remember how Baelor got those invitations—he would never have met [Name]. Even if all the gossip sites wouldn't leave them alone after all these years and still loved to write every possible nonsense about them.

He remembered how they wrote about them, about him, a rich jerk, and a younger ballet dancer, not much older than his eldest son. And the year they married, the gossip media seemed to be buzzing like a beehive. It was even amusing how, contrary to everyone's expectations and assumptions, their relationship was… good. Loving.

"Mr. Targaryen, your husband was wonderful as always." Someone says to him in the lobby, and Maekar barely recognizes the face. "Wonderful, don't let the years pass him by at all!"

And countless other comments. Some kind, ordinary, others passive-aggressive, envious, and malicious. He thanked for the kind ones, ignored the rest. Just as he had done for years. Him, [Name]; his brother, his nephews, his sons, anyone who had been asked to comment.

He headed straight backstage. The ballerinas were rushing to the dressing room to remove their costumes and makeup, and the stagehands were slowly cleaning up the backstage area. They already knew him, knew who he was and what he was looking for.

[Name] was in the dressing room, not alone; a few people were milling about. He was taking off his makeup and still wore part of his stage outfit. He was only left in a nice vest, and his favorite sweatpants were already on his feet.

"You were fantastic." He kissed [Name] on the cheek. He placed his hands on his shoulders; he could see their reflection clearly in the mirror. He—visibly older, with a snow-white beard, with the weight of years on his shoulders, the weight of a huge responsibility for a huge company and money, the weight of a deceased wife and children. And [Name], his second love, younger than him, though already showing signs of aging, still agile and flexible enough to dance professionally in ballet. Daeron was 10 years younger than him. [Name] was exactly 31, the same year Makear would turn 52. They had no children together, that's what they decided.

[Name] loved his children. Daeron, Aerion, and Aemon were already quite old, teenagers, and their relationship was healthy and good. The younger ones… loved him. Which delighted Maekar greatly. The girls – especially Rhae – were becoming fascinated with ballet.

"What are you thinking about? You have a terribly serious look on your face," [Name] asked quietly. He still has streaks of glitter on his face. Did something happen?"

"Nothing in particular. I remembered Rhae saying something about ballet school. I think she wants to follow in your footsteps," he said with a small smile. His youngest daughter had loved [Name] from the first moment. She loved watching him dance.

"Really?"

"Are you really surprised? He loves watching you on stage. She wants to follow in your footsteps. She wants to dance like a second dad." He leaned in and spoke softly, directly into [Name's] ear.

There's something incredible about the way his husband's face changes. The whole gamut of emotion, tenderness, joy… everything Maekar can't even name. His heart pounds. Maekar couldn't imagine anyone else.

"A little." He smiles. "I didn't think it would really go that way, I thought it was just a childish fascination," he says, but he keeps smiling. Maekar can't help but smile as well.

"Rhae asked me to broach the subject of teaching her. You know, you're a famous dancer, she'd like to take advantage of that. You know, as a student of a famous dancer…"

[Name] rolls his eyes. "Are we going into nepotism?" He snorts with laughter, instead of wiping the glitter off his nose, he rubs it more onto his cheek.

Maekar kisses him on the cheek, the one not dirty with glitter. "I'll leave the matter of Rhae and her dancing to you; I know you'll take care of her and her teaching."

[Name] sighs. He kisses Maekar, the kiss short, quick, the glitter still on his lips. "I'll take care of her and her career as best I can. Even if it's just a passing infatuation. I think I can also try my hand at teaching."

Maekar blinks quickly. "Would you like to… teach? At a ballet school?" [Name] shrugs. "I'll dance… as long as I can. And then I think I'd like to teach at a ballet school. Rhae could be my first student."

Maekar snuggles up to him. The locker room slowly empties. The dancers slowly leave, leaving the cleaning staff behind. Maekar feels like they're alone, even though there are still quite a few people.

"I love you, you know?"

"I know. Now, let's go to dinner. Let's take Rhae and talk about her and the ballet.