Emma

The first time Egg realized his father was in love with his aunt, it came to him as most truths did in his childhood: carelessly and from the mouth of someone who should have known better.

The afternoon was hot, with the sun beating down hard on Egg's back, slicking it with hot droplets of sweat. It felt unbearable. Dust was also clinging to the air, to his skin and to the back of his throat.

He thought that squiring would be something finer than this. Something worthy of the stories and songs. Instead it was just weight. It was sweat. It was the sour, lingering scent of wine that followed Daeron everywhere he went.

"Seven save me," Daeron muttered, swaying as Egg struggled with the fastening at his shoulder. "Did they give me a squire or a stableboy?"

"I can do it," Egg said eagerly.

"You always can," Daeron replied, listing his cup. "And yet..."

He did not finish his thought. Egg bit down on his tongue and tried again. His fingers slipped. Until by chance or pure stubbornness, the buckle caught.

Egg stepped back and looked up at his perfect work, waiting for some well deserved praise. But recieved nothing. Egg groaned and looked up ready to complain to Daeron but the older boy was no longer looking at him.

His gaze had gone elsewhere, beyond the yard, beyond the garden hedges, fixed on something Egg could not yet see.

"What is it?" Egg asked, rising onto his toes, as though the height might grant him some assistance with the high hedge. It did not.

Daeron did not answer at once. He drank what remained in his cup, slow and unhurried.

"Have you ever noticed the way Father behaves around her?"

Egg frowned. "Around who?" (the boy was now jumping up and down to try and gain some view beyond the hedges).

"Our aunt. (Y/N)"

Egg blinked. "No?"

Daeron hummed softly. "It's nothing. Less than nothing."

Egg wracked his brain trying to come up with some possible answer to what Daeron was insinuating. "Does Father have some problem with her?"

Egg was worried then because you as well as your family were meant to come to Summerhall before coming with them to Ashford for a tourney.

"Quite the opposite." Daeron turned to Egg and wiggled his brows. Egg frowned, knowing what that meant. "That doesn't mean anything."

"No, it doesn't."

"She's married. To Prince Baelor."

Daeron hummed.

"Father wouldn't-" Egg stopped, the rest of the thought refusing to settle into something. "He loved Mother."

At that, something in Daeron's experession shifted.

"He did."

The words hung there, unfinished. Egg waited for more but none came. "She's our aunt."

"And he's our father."

Egg shook his head. "You're wrong."

"Perhaps." Daeron set his empty cup aside and crouched slightly, bringing himself nearer to Egg's height. "Just watch him. You'll see it, or maybe you won't. These sort of things aren't meant to be seen at all."

He straightened, clapping a hand against Egg's shoulder. "Come on. I'll need another drink before I pretened to be a knight again."

Egg followed, though more slowly. He told himself there was nothing. Daeron was just drunk and imagining things.

The second time Egg noticed, no one said a word at all.

It happened in the Great Hall, in the lull between courses, when the noise softened just enough to hear the quieter things. The scrapes of a cup against the table, the half whispers of conversations and all that. The portion of the night where everyone was relaxed.

Egg had not meant to watch. He told himself he wasn't. But Daeron's voice had settled somewhere in the back of his mind and it was impossible to ignore it. So he took Daeron's words to heart. Watch him.

So he did. Egg watched his father from his place at the dinner table next to Aemon (who had his head buried in some large textbook. Egg was slightly concered over his brother's potential future neck problems).

His father sat at the end of the high table by his brother and Egg's uncle. His posture was straight and his expression was carved hard. He spoke when spoken to, nodded whe required and drank very little. There was little to nothing strange about it.

Until, his Aunt (Y/N) laughed.

It was not loud, nothing that would turn heads or draw attention to it. (Y/N)'s laugh was a lovely one and a familiar one to Egg. (The laugh came from a joke that Matarys told her but Egg did not hear what it was. From what he knew of his cousin, Egg didn't think it was a funny joke and his aunt was just being polite).

But Egg saw it. The way his father had stilled. Not entirely or in a dramatic way. But it was as if the statue had been shooken. A breath that was being held onto for a second too long.

Egg frowned. His father did not turn, did not look, his gaze remained fix on Baelor as the two were in a conversation. Maekar did not speak right away. Baelor carried on, asking a question that was answered by some lesser lord sitting next to Maekar. His paused moment slipped past, unoticed by all except for Egg.

It meant nothing, Egg told himself. Less than nothing.

People paused all the time. People lost their places. It was not uncommon. Afterall some people just get lost in their thoughts. It was not-

His father's hand tightened slightly around his cup. So slight it might have been imagined. Egg watched however, as he took a measured drink and set it back down with too much attention than it required.

Still, he did not look. Not at you. Egg found his gaze looking upon you instead. Looking radiant in the red silks that were probably made in Dorne. You had now reached your hand over to your husbands to get his attention, and leaned in to speak with a soft smile.

Prince Baelor and Princess (Y/N). Future King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. They looked right. They looked happy. The very pitcture of what Egg thought a loving marriage would look lile. As though the world had placed them exactly where they were meant to be. Egg was content knowing they loved each other.

So Egg went back to his food and started to shift his peas from his plate to Aemon's instead. Content to pretend that he was overanalyzing his father's behaviour.

The third time Egg noticed, it was close enough to touch.

It happened in the gardens, where the air was softer and world felt far away from the Seven Kingdoms. Egg had not meant to follow. At the time it had felt like nothing at all. He was just wandering paths he knew well, doing his best to avoid the maesters and his lessons.

That was until he saw them. He stopped before he could be seen and hid behind a tree.

They stood beneath the shade of an overgrown arbor, where the light filtered through in fragments painting them in gold. It was rather close. Not close enough to be indecent or improper. Just, closer than what was necessary.

(Y/N) was speaking, though it was too soft that the words could not reach Egg. Instead he had to settle on watching the shape of them. As (Y/N) was speaking his father did not interrupt, did not look away. Just gazed at your face.

From the looks of it, you had finished speaking and there was a moment of silence between the two of you. Then, your hand had lifted.

It wasn't anything dramatic. Just brushing your hand against his sleeve. It should have been nothing because it was nothing. But again, his father had stilled. The way his breath seemed to catch, the way his hand at his side tightened just slightly.

He did not pull away, did not reach back, did not move at all. The two of you stood there, closer than what one would expect, with your hand on his arm. To Egg, it looked like a different sort of painting. One he had not seen at the dinner the other night.

Then you stepped back and distance returned. Whatever had just been there, slipped neatly back into place.

His father inclined his said, said something Egg could not hear but it was probably something drab (his father was a rather blunt speaker). Whatever it was, it resulted in a smiling (Y/N). Your smile was smaller and softer and gone quicker than normal.

And then it was all over again.

Egg did not move from where he stood, though he knew he should. He felt as if he was intruding on something. His thoughts felt tangled. Nothing had occured.

With that, he took a step back and starting walking back into the castle.

The fourth time Egg noticed, it nearly did not remain theirs alone.

It was not meant to be a moment at all. That was what made it dangerous.

The corridors were quieter at that hour, the castle settling into itself as the evening wore on. Voices dulled behind closed doors. Footsteps softened. Even the torches seemed to burn lower, their light unsteady against the stone. Everyone was preparing for bed.

Egg had been sent on some errand he no longer remembered.

It did not matter. He would forget it entirely, later.

What he would remember, what would stay, was this:

The turn of a corner. The sound of a voice, too low to make out. And the way he stopped before he understood why.

This time, from behind a corridor, Egg saw them at the far end of the passage, half-shadowed, as though the castle itself meant to keep their secret.

They were close. Too close. Much closer than before in the garden.

Once again you were speaking. Or not. Even in the dimmed hallway, Egg could see you were loosing your composure. The normal picture perfect you seemed frazzle in the dark corridor. Words were spilling out quick but quietly. As if it was something that had been held back for too long.

Egg could not hear them, only feel the shape of them in the air, sharp and unsteady. (He was thinking to himself that he should really work on his sneaking abilities so he could somehow find himself closer so he could properly eavesdrop).

His father said nothing. He only watched you. Not as a prince might. Not as a brother should. As though the rest of the world had fallen away.

Egg’s breath caught, though he did not know why. He should not have been there. He knew that. And yet he did not move.

You stopped speaking. The silence that followed was not empty. It pressed in, taut, waiting.

His father took a step forward. It was small, measured and hesitant. Enough to close what little distance remained between you.

Egg felt it then, that strange, tightening awareness, like a thread pulled too thin. Something was about to happen. Something that could not be undone.

Your hand lifted, hesitant, uncertain, as though you had not meant to do it at all. His father’s followed. Not touching. Never touching.

But close enough that the space between them felt like something real. Something fragile. Something one breath away from breaking.

And for a moment, the two of you didn't move.

Footsteps echoed from the far end of the corridor. And the spell shattered. Your hand dropped at once. His father stepped back just as quickly, the distance snapping into place as though it had never been crossed at all.

By the time the servants turned the corner, there was nothing to see.

It was just a prince standing where he ought to stand. A lady composed, untouched. Silence, neat and proper, where something else had been moments before.

Egg pressed himself back against the wall, heart beating too fast for something he did not understand.

No one noticed. No one said a word. And yet, Egg knew.

That it had almost—

He swallowed, the thought slipping from him before it could take shape.

It had been nothing.

A step taken. A hand lifted. A moment that came too close to becoming something more.

The fifth time Egg noticed, nothing threatened to happen at all.

There was no interruption waiting in the wings. No footsteps. No tension poised to break. Only certainty.

It happened in a corridor (the same one as before) and he was not meant to linger in, though he had long since stopped believing that mattered. The castle had begun to feel less like a place one moved through, and more like something that simply contained him.

He heard your voice first. And then his father’s.

Egg stopped before he saw you.

You stood facing one another, not hidden, not secret, simply… there. As though there had never been anything to conceal.

Your hands were folded neatly before you, composed and contorlled. The opposite of what you looked like the previous night he had seen the pair of you.

“I leave with Baelor at first light,” you said. Your voice did not tremble. It did not need to.

His father nodded once. “I know.”

No hesitation. No question. Only acknowledgment.

Egg watched the way you held his gaze for a moment longer than was necessary. Not lingering. Not resisting. Just, steady.

“As it should be,” you added quietly.

It was not said like a comfort. It was said like a truth that had already been lived. His father’s expression did not change. But something in him did.

Not outward. Not visible in any way that would matter to anyone else. Only Egg saw it.

The smallest tightening at the corner of his mouth. The faintest pause in his breathing. As though something had been set down carefully, something heavy, something once held too close.

“You will be well,” he said. It was not a wish. It was a fact he had chosen to believe.

You gave a small nod. “As will you.”

And that was all.

No step forward. No reach. No fracture in the space between you. Only distance, held deliberately in place. As if it had always belonged there.

You turned first.

Not away from him in avoidance, but toward what was waiting for you beyond the corridor. Beyond the castle. Beyond this moment entirely.

Duty, already ahead of you.

His father did not watch you leave. Not when it mattered. Not when it might have changed anything.

He simply stood there until your footsteps faded completely, until even the echo had gone soft enough to disappear.

Then he turned away as well.

Egg remained where he was. Not because he was unseen. But because there was nothing left to witness.

Only something he finally understood in full:

Not all loves ended in ruin. Some ended in choice. And in that choice, quiet, certain, unspoken they had already lost each other long before either of them ever reached for anything at all.

The one and probably last time Egg understood how truly doomed they were, it was at Ashford Meadow.

Some loves are loud enough to shake kingdoms. Others live and die in stolen glances, in half-finished sentences, in the spaces between what is felt and what is never allowed to be spoken.

The tourney had turned the world bright again.

Colour returned in banners and gowns, in the gleam of armor beneath the sun, in laughter that carried too far across the fields as though nothing in the world had ever been wrong.

For a moment, Egg believed in that brightness.

He had never seen so much life. Never felt so far from the boy he was meant to be. He had lost Daeron somewhere in a tavern’s chaos and shaved his head in reckless relief, as though shedding identity might make him freer. He had even met a hedge knight, Ser Duncan, before the crowd swallowed him whole.

Then the royal family arrived. And everything began, quietly, to fall into place.

Egg hid among skirts and passing legs as he watched them take their places. His aunt stood near the pavilion.

The wind caught at her dress, lifting it in soft, unsteady motion, and for a moment she looked less like a princess and more like something imagined, something almost too gentle for the weight of her name.

She smiled more easily now. Baelor lived. And so she could, too.

He stood beside her with easy warmth, speaking to those who approached them, his hand resting at the small of her back as though it had always belonged there.

She laughed at something he said, turning toward him, bright and unburdened.

It should have been enough. It was enough.

And still... Egg knew, somewhere deep and unspoken, that in another life, in another shape of the world, it might have been his father standing there instead.

Behind them, Maekar stood at a careful distance, speaking with a lord he was not truly listening to. His attention kept returning, again and again, to where it should not.

There was no grief in it. No rupture. No visible wound.

Only something quieter. Something held too tightly to be named.

Their eyes met once. His father’s. Hers.

It lasted no more than a heartbeat. And yet Egg felt it as something entire. A silence stretched between them, thin, precise, almost reverent.

Until Baelor spoke her name.

She turned. And the moment was gone. The world continued exactly as it should have. But Egg did not move. He watched.

Later, Baelor was called away. And Maekar stepped into his place beside her. It looked like nothing. It was nothing.

A conversation between in-laws. A passing exchange. A courtesy sustained by courtly habit.

But Egg saw too closely now. The ease that should not have been ease. The closeness that should not have existed at all. A handmaiden passed. Words were spoken too quietly to catch.

And then, Maekar offered his arm. She took it with no hesitation. It was a simple thing.

And yet the way her fingers settled there, the way his arm did not move away, the way neither of them corrected the distance. It felt like recognition. Like something remembered instead of chosen.

Too familiar to be coincidence. Too natural to be allowed. A blush rose faintly at his father’s neck. Gone as quickly as it came.

And for a moment, it felt almost right.

Until Valarr came running, bright and alive, breaking everything open again. The spell did not shatter. It simply… dispersed. Like smoke.

The world ended at Ashford Meadow.

It did not, of course.

The sun still rose over Ashford, pale and indifferent. The wind still moved through the fields, stirring banners that now hung heavy and dark. People still spoke, still walked, still breathed.

But something had ended all the same.

Baelor died.

The bells had tolled for what felt like hours, their sound low and unrelenting, echoing through the castle and out across the tourney grounds. Even now, standing among his family, Egg swore he could still hear them, like something lodged deep inside his chest.

They had chosen to burn him at Ashford. Egg wasn’t sure why that made it worse, but it did.

This place had been bright, only days ago. Full of laughter and colour and life. He could still remember it, the banners snapping in the wind, the roar of the crowd, the way everything had seemed so large and full of promise.

Now everything felt hollow.

Egg stood stiffly beside his father, his hands clasped too tightly in front of him. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He wasn’t sure he could.

His thoughts wouldn’t stop circling back. If only he hadn’t left Daeron. If only he had stayed. If only—The pyre crackled. Egg forced himself to look.

Flames climbed steadily, consuming what remained of Baelor’s body. The heat pressed against his face, sharp and unbearable, and still he couldn’t look away.

His gaze shifted. His aunt stood closest to the fire. She did not weep. She did not speak.

She stood as though carved from stone, her face pale, her expression empty in a way that frightened him more than tears ever could.

Valarr stood before her, shaking. Egg could see it even from where he stood. The way his cousin’s shoulders trembled, the way his head bowed forward as though the weight of it all might crush him.

Her hand rested gently in his hair. Not moving. Just there.

Behind them, Kiera stood still and silent, her presence quiet, almost ghostlike.

Egg swallowed hard. He had heard what happened. Everyone had.

Whispers had spread quickly, slipping through corridors and between servants like smoke.

They said she had been the first to reach him. That she hadn’t believed it. That she had demanded a maester, again and again, as though saying it enough times might undo what had already been done.

They said she had knelt beside his body, hands pressed to him, begging the Seven to give him back.

That she hadn’t seemed to notice the blood. That it had soaked into her sleeves, her hands, her skin.

Egg squeezed his eyes shut briefly.

They said Ser Duncan had tried to pull her away. That she had fought him. That she had screamed. Not words, just sound. Raw and broken.

And then his father came.

Maekar had been the one to pull her back. They said she had struck him. That her fists had hit his chest, over and over, as though he were something she could break. That she had cried into him like the world was ending.

Egg opened his eyes. He looked up at his father now.

Maekar stood beside him, unmoving. Rigid. Every line of him held tight, controlled, as though he had locked something inside himself and thrown away the key. Every line of him held tight, controlled, as though he had locked something inside himself and thrown away the key.

Egg wanted to say something. Go to her.

He didn’t know if he would have said the words aloud or not. He only knew the thought pressed against his throat, desperate and insistent.

Go to her. She shouldn’t be alone. Not now. Not like this.

But Maekar did not move.

He stood where he was meant to stand. He did what was expected of him. Nothing more.

Egg felt something twist inside him.

But he had learned, by now, where to look.

So he looked closer.

He saw the way his father’s hands were clenched at his sides, knuckles pale beneath the skin. He saw the tension in his shoulders, in his jaw, in the stillness that was not calm but restraint stretched too thin.

And then it happened. Briefly.

So brief Egg might have missed it, if he hadn’t been watching.

His aunt lifted her head, just slightly. As though something had pulled her attention away from the flames. Her gaze crossed the distance between them. And found his father.

Maekar looked at her. Not as a prince. Not as a brother. Just as a man.

Everything was there. Egg felt it, even from where he stood.

Grief, sharp and consuming.

Longing, familiar, aching, unrelenting.

Regret, heavy, suffocating, endless.

All of it, laid bare in a single look that lasted no more than a heartbeat. It was too much. Too intimate.

Her gaze dropped. Maekar’s jaw tightened. And just like that… It was gone.

The fire crackled. The wind shifted. The world went on.

And whatever might have been… didn’t.

Egg shouldn’t have followed her. He knew that.

Even so, he slipped from the hall, keeping to the edges where torchlight thinned and attention softened. He was careful, quiet and was left unseen.

He told himself he would stop at the doorway. He didn’t.

The hall was dim when she entered, curtains drawn heavy against the day. It felt smaller than it had before. Quieter in a way that pressed at the ribs.

She moved slowly, like each step had to be chosen in advance. Egg lingered just beyond the threshold, half-hidden in the corridor’s shadow.

She crossed to the high table to Baelor’s seat and sat down. For a long moment she did nothing at all. Then, carefully, she lifted her hands. Baelor’s rings caught what little light remained.

Egg’s throat tightened before he could name why. She turned one of them between her fingers. Over and over. Not fidgeting, holding on.

As though stillness might undo something. The door opened again. Egg went rigid. His father stepped inside.

There was a pause in him that Egg did not recognize. Not fear, exactly. Not hesitation either. Something closer to awareness. As though the room had become uncertain ground.

As though he was not sure he was allowed to cross it.

She did not look up. Did not acknowledge him. Did not move. For a moment, he only stood there. Then he crossed the room and sat beside her. Not close. Never close.

Silence gathered between them, dense and unyielding.

“I do not know where to begin,” Maekar said at last.

His voice was quieter than Egg had ever heard it.

She let out a breath that almost broke on its way out. “I do not know either.”

“I’m sorry.”

The words felt too small the moment they left him.

They stayed anyway. Unanswered.

“You know,” she said after a while, still looking at the ring, “my mother once told me not to love anyone more than my children.”

Maekar did not speak.

“I loved my children,” she continued. “And I loved my husband.”

Something in him shifted at that, barely visible, but real.

“And I loved you.”

The silence that followed did not feel empty. It felt held.

Carefully. Like something fragile that neither of them trusted to fall.

“(Y/N),” Maekar said at last, roughened, “there are no words—”

“You know,” she cut in, not unkindly, but with something steadier beneath it, “in a way, I wish you had meant to kill him.”

The air changed.

Maekar’s head turned slightly, as if the words had weight enough to move him. “How could you say that?”

“It would make things simpler,” she said. “For me. As selfish as that sounds.”

He did not answer. There was nothing to answer. A long pause. Then—

“Do you remember,” she asked, quieter now, “when Baelor and I were betrothed?”

A breath left Maekar that might once have been laughter. It wasn’t now. “Of course I do.”

A faint sound from her. Almost agreement. Almost nothing.

“You said you would burn your entire house down before you let it happen.”

His mouth tightened at the memory, something old and unguarded passing through him and gone again before it could settle.

“I was young,” he said.

“We were all young,” she replied.

Silence returned, softer this time. Less sharp. No less heavy.

Then she moved.

Slowly, she took one of the rings from her hand. Turned it once between her fingers. Twice.

And placed it in his palm.

“Here.”

Maekar looked down at it.

“I cannot take this,” he said. “He was your husband.”

“And he was your brother.”

That landed cleanly. Without argument. Maekar closed his fingers around the ring anyway. Not tightly.

Egg stepped back before either of them could notice him there, retreating into the corridor as quietly as he had come. He did not run. He did not linger.

Some things, he understood, were not meant to be seen all at once. Or spoken.

He understood then that some things were never meant to be spoken. Just simply known and lived with.

…Meanwhile, Simon’s entire body is imploding trying to think of what to say next. Like, we’re talking heart racing, palms sweating so fiercely they’re practically dripping, tongue glued to the roof of his mouth never to work again.

He doesn’t introduce himself. Doesn’t give you his name or even ask for yours. Nope.

What’re the first words that come out of his mouth, you might ask?

“You like Marlboro Red?” He grunts brutishly.

After sitting in silence for a few minutes, a respectful distance between the two of you, the fear is slowly hedging into straight up confusion.

“No,” you answer bluntly.

“…Okay,” he replies after a painfully long pause…LIKE AN UTTER IDIOT.

For the next ten minutes, you sit in pure, uninterrupted silence. Simon, holding the umbrella above your head even when his shoulders become drenched in rainwater, making sure to blow his cigarette smoke in the opposite direction.

And you, slowly taking stock of the man before you.

The way his eyes flit back and forth between your face and the street, watching carefully for a taxi.

The way his hands shake around the handle of the umbrella, not daring to move a single inch, as if you were a T-Rex threatening to eat him.

The way he quietly takes stock of the entire situation without you even having to ask, despite how you can practically see his pulse jumping in his neck.

When a yellow taxi finally comes cruising down the street, he doesn’t hesitate to let out a loud whistle—one that is much, much better than your crude attempt. Without jostling the umbrella, he takes your purse from your hand and wordlessly opens the door for you, making sure you’re comfortably seated before he withdraws the umbrella.

When he goes to hand you the purse, content never to let you see his face again, you don’t let him escape so easily.

You grab him by his pale wrist, yanking it through the taxi window while you pester the driver for a spare pen. Simon can only stare down in shock as you scribble ten little digits onto his skin, making sure they’re not smeared by the falling rain.

“See you soon,” you quip as the driver turns the ignition.

Meanwhile, all Simon can do is look on incredulously, only managing a single, hoarse word: “what?”

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you met your husband.

Andrew sat on the edge of his bed, his hands gripping his knees so tightly his knuckles bled white.

The room was dark. The silence was deafening.

You stood by the door, your back pressed against the wood.

You didn't turn on the light.

You knew better than to bring light into Andrew’s room when he was like this.

"Andrew," you whispered, his name felt heavy and fragile all at once.

He didn't move. He looked like a statue carved from grief, a monument to a war he was losing every single day.

You knew the ghost he was chasing. You knew that no matter how close you got, how many times you held him, you were just a placeholder for a peace he was never destined to find.

"I have nothing to tell you," he said, his voice was low and raspy.

A sudden sting hit the back of your eyes, and your vision blurred before you could stop it. "You know I'm right here, Andrew. Look at me." Your voice cracked on his name, a pathetic sound that you hated yourself for making.

He finally looked at you. There was a terrifying emptiness in them, the kind that comes from looking at someone you love and realizing they cannot save you.

He reached out with slow movements, and his thumb brushed against your cheek. His touch was freezing, dragging through the silent tear that had just spilled over your cheek.

"I look at you," he murmured, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw, wiping the wetness away without actually comforting you, "and I don't know who I'm seeing anymore. I don't know who I am."

"You know me," you pleaded, a sob catching hard in your throat, choking you. You leaned into his palm, desperate for the friction, desperate for him to feel you. "Andrew, please. You know me. You know you. You know us."

But he was already looking past you.

The realization hit you, knocking the air straight out of your lungs. A hot rush of tears flooded your eyes, blurring his face.

You were willing to bleed for him.

You were willing to let the Cody family dynamic tear you to pieces just to keep him whole, but you were loving a man who was already half a corpse.

He belonged to Smurf.

He belonged to them.

He belonged to the darkness that lived in the corners of his mind.

You were just a visitor passing by.

"Why does this feel like we're just strangers who happen to know everything about each other?" you said, the words trembling on your tongue.

Andrew’s hand dropped from your face. The rejection was silent, but it made your breath hitch.

He pulled away, shutting the world out.

Shutting you out.

Your chest heaved as you pulled your hands up to cover your mouth, trying to muffle the pathetic sound that wanted to tear out of you.

You realized then that you could freeze to death in his shadow and he would never even notice the cold.

You had given him your heart, and he had used it to cushion the blows of his own misery, leaving you entirely hollowed out.

The tears were coming faster now, hot and blinding, spilling over your fingers.

"I love you," you whispered, the words trembling and completely broken against the back of his head.

It felt like a confession.

It felt like an apology to yourself.

Andrew didn't answer. He just breathed, trapped in a prison of his own making.

You stood there for a long time, your shoulders shaking with quiet, exhausted sobs, watching his back rise and fall.

You waited for a sign, a word, a glance, a shift in his posture, that meant he wanted you to stay. That he cared that you were breaking right in front of him.

But it never came.

You stepped out into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind you.

It felt like the version of you that loved Andrew Cody had died in that dark room, and you were just the ghost left carrying the pieces.

The hallway of the house felt instantly like a tomb. Every breath felt like inhaling broken glass.

Pushing through the front door, the cool night air hit your face, chilling the wet tracks of tears still burning your cheeks.

You made it to the driveway, your car just a few yards away, a dark place where you could finally fall apart completely.

Then, the front door slammed open behind you.

You didn't even have time to turn around.

A hand caught your arm, spinning you around with a force that nearly stole your breath.

Andrew was there.

His chest was heaving violently, his hair wild, and his eyes were terrified and full of heavy tears that were actively spilling down his face.

Before you could speak, before you could even process the sudden shift, his hands came up and slammed against the sides of your face.

They were trembling violently, gripping your jaw and your hair with a desperate intensity, as if he were trying to anchor himself to you.

He leaned down and kissed you.

It was hard and completely chaotic.

It tasted of salt, desperation and the panic of a drowning man finally breaking the surface of the water.

His mouth pressed against yours with a frantic attempt to erase the distance he had just put between you minutes ago.

When he finally pulled back just a fraction, his forehead crashed heavily against yours. His breath came in sobbing gasps, mixing with your own.

The tears running down his face smeared against your cheeks.

"I-I love you," he choked out, his voice cracking completely. "I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I love you."

He couldn't stop. The words poured out of him messy and desperate, his thumbs frantically wiping at your fresh tears even as his own continued to fall.

He gripped your face tighter, his eyes searching yours with a vulnerability you had never seen in him before.

"Don't leave. P-Please, don't leave me. I'm sorry. I love you. I love you, I do," he begged, his entire body shuddering against yours as he buried his face into the crook of your neck, his hands moving to wrap completely around your back, crushing you to his chest. "Please. I'm yours. I love you, so, so much."

Standing at the driveway, wrapped in the trembling hold of Andrew Cody, your heart fractured completely at the agonizing sound of his weeping.

You reached up, your own hands shaking as you buried them in his hair, pulling him closer as his tears soaked into your skin.

He was broken.

He was still theirs.

But he was holding onto you.

And you knew you couldn't walk away.

-'🖤⛓ ⁠*⁠.⁠‧₊˚

Bradley maneuvered the walkway as he carried the tray of beers to get you a spot next to him. Jake, who finally escaped the pool table to rejoin the Daggers at the table, was sitting right across from you.

"Alright, I'm judging whoever ordered the light beer," Fanboy joked, reaching across to grab a bottle.

"That one would be Payback," Bradley said, laughing as he settled back into his seat. His arm effortlessly draped over the back of your chair, his thumb lightly brushing your shoulder. To you two, was a completely platonic gesture, but you saw the exact second Jake noticed it.

His smile didn't leave his face, but it stiffened. He picked up his own beer, taking a long slow sip. His eyes started to track Bradley's hand.

"So, Maverick has us doing low-altitude drills tomorrow," Phoenix says, leaning forward to start the conversation. "Who's going to take the lead?"

"I figure Hangman will try to jump into it, per usual," Javy chimed in, tossing a crumpled napkin at Jake's chest.

"Hey, when you're the best, you don't wait in line," Jake replied easily. His tone was confident, but his eyes flew straight to you. It was almost as if he was begging you to fire back a sarcastic comment like you normally do.

Instead, you ignored him. You turned to face Bradley, laughing at an unrelated expression he made. "Please, Bradley," you said, your voice carrying just enough over the music and the rest of the squad. You reached out and placed your hand firmly on his forearm, letting your fingers linger against his skin. "I'd bet on you any day to be the one who'll clear the canyon first."

Bradley's arm twitched underneath your hand as he tried to hold in a laugh. "Did you hear that, Hangman? Someone's got faith in me."

Across from you, Jake stopped fidgeting with his beer bottle. His jaw tightened as he stared directly at your hand that was rested on Bradley's arm. His cool demeanor was starting to evaporate, and an irritation began taking it's place.

"Well, is that so?" Jake asked, his voice dropping an octave, which made him sound even more serious than you'd ever heard him. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table as he looked right at you. "Sweetheart, I didn't realize you were such an expert on aviation strategy."

You chose to keep your eyes off of Jake as you squeezed Bradley's arm one more time. You pull your hand back to take a drink of your beer. "I just know who I like to back," you mumbled, smiling at Bradley.

Jake gripped his beer bottle to the point his knuckles turned white. Not a single word escaped his lips for the remainder of the conversation. His eyes felt like they never left you and Bradley.

-

When midnight rolled around, Bradley announced to the group that it it was his time to call it for the night.

He stood up and stretched, "Alright, I'm out."

"Past your bedtime, rooster?" Fanboy called out. Bradley waved him off with a grin.

You decided to stand up from the table with him. "I think I'm going to take off too," you said to the group. You quickly caught Jake's eye; he was still sitting, leaning back in his seat. He was trying so hard to look like he didn't care, but his eyes were tracking your every move.

"I'll walk you out," Bradley offered smoothly.

You walked next to each other as you headed toward the exit. The moment the doors opened, the cold air outside hit you instantly. You walked into the parking lot, stopping by Bradley's Bronco.

Inside of the bar, Jake sat frozen for a few seconds, but to him it felt like minutes. The sight of you walking out of the bar with Bradley brought an ache to his chest. His brain told him to play it cool, to not let anyone see it messing with him. But his heart and gut had a bubbling, jealous anger that drowned out all of his reasoning.

He stood up abruptly and marched out of the bar.

Outside, you faced Bradley. "Thanks for the assist, Bradshaw. That was pretty enjoyable."

Bradley grinned, "Anytime." He glanced over your shoulder to see the bar's entrance doors fly open. "He just walked out. There's your cue to get the job done."

There wasn't an ounce of hesitation. You stepped closer to Bradley, wrapping your arms around his neck for a hug. You held on for a second longer than you normally would. Right before pulling away, you planted a kiss onto his cheek.

"Drive safe," you whispered.

Bradley gave you a subtle wink, one that Jake couldn't see. "Good luck," he mumbled as he climbed into his Bronco. As the engine turned on and he backed out, you started to head towards your car.

You managed to make it three steps toward your car before a hand grabbed your arm.

The grip wasn't painful. It was uncompromising as it spun you around until your back was against your car. It made your breath hitch.

Jake towered over you, completely in your space. His cocky arrogance that was seen an hour before was gone. His jaw was clenched so tight, and his green eyes were darker than normal. His expression was a mix or frustration and possession.

"What the hell was that?" he demanded. His voice had a dangerous growl that you felt through your chest.

Your heart hammered as you swallowed hard. You forced an 'innocent' smile to your lips. "What was what, Seresin? I said goodnight to a friend."

"Don't play dumb with me," Jake snapped. His hands came up and landed on each side of you on the window, trapping you between him and the car. "You have been over Bradshaw all night. Touching him, laughing at him. Then that?" He scoffed. "Do you think it's funny? You think I'm just going to sit there and see you do that in front of me?"

"I didn't think you would care this much," you teased. Your voice trembled just enough to betray you; his sudden dominance was affecting your game. "You seemed really busy with your pool game."

A breathy, angry laugh escaped from him, his eyes locked into yours intensely. "Didn't care? I've been wanting to rip him away from you for the last two hours. You're playing a dangerous game, darlin."

"And what if I am?" you challenged him. Your chin tilted up defensively.

Jakes eyes flashed with a desperation you'd never seen before. "Then you're about to lose."

He didn't give you any time to respond. His hand came up to your jaw, his fingers firm as he brought his lips down to yours with force. It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was a possessive, desperate claim.

The kiss was a dizzying, chaotic collision of tongue and teeth. The kiss tasted like beer and months of unspoken feelings. Your hands moved to his chest, pulling at the fabric of his shirt. You attempted to match the aggression as you pulled him closer to you, but you were never going to catch up with him.

He let out a slight groan against your mouth, a sound that sounded low and defeated. The grip he had on your jaw softened enough to graze his thumb along your cheekbone. He pulled back, both of you trying to catch your breath.

The energy between you two was heavy and completely charged. The weight of his feelings made it tight, crushing any playful feelings that were there at the beginning of the evening.

Jake didn't let you go, he couldn't get himself to. His chest heaved against yours as he looked down at you, his eyes still the same dark green they were when he first entered the parking lot.

"Get in my truck," he commanded. His voice was rough, sending a shiver down your spine. The usual, smooth Texan drawl he had was nowhere to be found.

You blinked, trying to clear your brain and process what he said. "What? What about my car?"

"Darlin, I don't give a damn about the car," Jake said, his fingers grasping a little tighter on your waist. You consumed every ounce of his focus. His grip on you was firm as he led you toward his truck. "I said get in."

You let out a breathless laugh, adrenaline coursing through your veins. He was completely unraveled by you. The controlled, unshakeable persona he always had shattered.

You were eating it up.

You didn't protest any longer, letting him take you take you across the gravel parking lot to his car. Your heart was racing at how intense and undeniable the air had become.

The door of his truck slammed shut behind you as Jake climbed into the driver's seat. His movements were sharp, moved by pure adrenaline. His hands gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white, almost tighter than the grip he had on his beer bottle inside of the bar. He didn't look over at you right away as settled himself into his seat.

"Jake," you started slowly, not paying any mind to the teasing tone in your voice. "You're going to break the steering wheel."

He let out a rough chuckle, finally looking at you. His pupils were blown. "If I don't hold onto this steering wheel, darlin, I'm going to pull you over the console. And if I do that, we will not be making it back to my place."

Before you could process the depth of his words, he turned on the car and backed out of the parking lot faster than you've ever seen anyone drive. The number on the speedometer climbed quickly.

A wicked smile spread on your face. The tension in the truck cab was intoxicating. You shifted in your seat to turn your body towards him, completely unbothered by how fast he was driving.

"What's the rush, Seresin?" you asked, your voice bringing back the playful innocence from earlier.

Jake continued looking forward, keeping his eyes on the road. "Shut up," he grumbled, even though there was no maliciousness in his tone. Just the desperation of a man trying to hang onto his last shred of control.

But you didn't shut up. Instead, you reached across the center console, your fingers lightly tracing the edge of his jaw before sliding to the nape of his neck. You slowly slid your hand into his hair, gently tugging at the short strands at the base of his head.

Jake let out a sharp breath, his shoulders tensing as a shiver visibly ran down his back.

"I'm serious," you teased. You brushed your thumb behind his ear, "I asked you what the rush is."

"You knew exactly what you were doing back there," he growled. His voice made butterflies form in your stomach. "You spent three hours trying to push me to the edge. And congratulations, you did it. So now were going to my house, and I'm going to take care of it."

The intensity of his words and how they were said so confidently sent anticipation flying through your bones. A silent understanding sat in the air of the truck.

You chose to reply with your hands, not your words. You let your hand move from the back of his neck to glide across his chest. You could feel the heavy thudding of his heart racing through the fabric of his shirt. Your fingers lingered there for a moment, and then you started moving your hand lower down his abdomen.

You tilted your head with a playful smirk. "Whoops."

Jake let out another ragged breath, his grip on the steering wheel getting even tighter as he tried to focus on the road. "You're testing every bit of my patience." He was fascinated at how well you were managing breaking him. "We're almost there. Just try to stay still for five minutes, alright?"

A soft chuckle escaped your lips as you lifted your hands in a mocking defeat. "Alright, alright. I'm keeping my hands to myself," you mumbled as you leaned back against the passenger seat.

He tried to hide it, but you caught the glance he shot you before you settled back into your seat for the last few minutes of the car ride.

The moment Jake turned into his driveway, he cut the headlights and unbuckled his seatbelt. He was out of his seat before the engine even completely turned off.

He moved with laser-focused concentration. He sped walked to your side of the truck and yanked your door open, remaining a southern gentleman even in times like this. But you were more surprised he didn't break the door off of the hinges.

He didn't speak one word. He reached up to wrap his hand around yours. His grip was firm, tight, and full of the last hours of built-up tension. He pulled you down from the cab of the truck with a force that caused your heart rate to spike.

You looked over at him in the moonlight. His expression was serious, not an ounce of anything else was on his face. He looked like a man on a mission. You on the other hand couldn't fight off the slow smile that was spreading across your face.

You knew exactly what was coming, and you weren't complaining one bit.

His hand never left yours as he led you up his porch steps. He unlocked the front door, opened it, and led you inside.

The second the door clicked shut, it was game over. Jake didn't turn on the lights. He barely set his keys down on the entryway table.

In the dark of his entryway, his hands found their way to your waist. With one swift motion, he spun you and pinned your back against the wall. Your breath left in a gasp, immediately replaced by his mouth crashing onto yours.

This kiss was different than the one before. The pent up anger in the parking lot turned into a pure, needy hunger. He kissed you until your knees almost gave out, his hands moving their way up to your hair. He had you exactly where he wanted you.

He pulled away from you for a second as he rested his forehead against yours in the dark.

"Do you have any idea how hard it was to watch you tonight?" his voice vibrated against your lips. He nipped at your bottom lip in between his words. "Sitting across from you while you touched him." He grabbed your hips and pulled you until they were against his, moving his head to your neck and biting lightly. "You did this to yourself, darlin. I've been trying to be good. I tried to take things slow, be respectful. But you pushed me right over the edge."

You let out a small gasp as his mouth moved up to your jawline, his fingers laying delicately against your skin. Even in this state, you couldn't help but lean into the teasing.

"Please, Seresin," you whispered. You tilted your head to give him better access as a smile fell on your lips. "You love a challenge. I'm just giving you one."

He didn't say another word as a growl escaped his chest.

Before you could process the sound that came from him, Jake slid his hands to the backs of your thighs and hoisted you up in one swift motion. You wrapped your legs around his waist as you buried your face into his neck, playing the same game he was.

He began walking blindly toward his bedroom down the hall, but for you, the teasing wasn't over. As he carried you, you nipped lightly at his neck, your teeth grazing his pulse point. Jake let out a hiss as the grip he had on your thighs tightened. You were going to have bruises on your legs in the morning, but that was the least of your concerns.

You moved your kips up to brush his earlobe, your teeth catching it in a playful bite. Your fingers that were once locked behind his neck started to slide down his shoulders. You let your nails dig into the muscles of his biceps as you held onto him. He was completely undone by your touch.

Jake kicked the bedroom door open and walked you to the bed. You expected him drop you down forcefully. Instead, he lowered you down slowly, his body following until he was hovering over you.

He leaned down closer to you, pinning his arms on each side of your head like he had earlier in the parking lot. His lips lightly brushed against your ear; his voice was low and rough.

"You wanted to give me a challenge, darlin?" he whispered. His breath was hot against your skin. He pulled back just enough to look you straight in the eyes. "Challenge accepted."

Once those words fell off of his tongue, the last of the playful banter you had kept up with this whole time crumbled. The teasing attitude you held on to all night disappeared in his bedroom. You didn't want to play a game, you didn't want to have banter. You wanted him.

You reached up to tightly grab his shirt and pulled him down to meet you. Jake didn't hesitate. His mouth immediately landed back on yours. His hands found their way to your waist as he pinned you to the mattress.

His tongue parted your lips as he took everything you allowed him to. You moaned into the kiss, your back arching against the bed as his body pressed down on yours.

"My god, you drive me crazy," he muttered against your lips.

He took a deep breath in, the energy in the room no longer something that could be described. The playful games earlier on in the evening turned into something more serious than you could have planned for.

Without breaking the kiss, Jake's grip shifted. He moved one of his hands from your waist and slid it down your thigh, hooking his fingers on the bend of your knee. He pulled your leg up around his hip, moving you right against him. He closed every inch between you two.

Your breath caught in your throat as you let out a light gasp into his mouth. Your hands moved from his shirt to his arms, tightening against his biceps as you attempted to ground yourself to him.

He moved his hand out from behind your knee to your hip, pressing you against him. The other hand that was securely on your waist finally moved, slowly trailing its way up to your face to tilt your head so he could deepen the kiss.

Just as it felt like you were both boiling over, he pulled back from your lips.

The seriousness on his face turned into a slow smile as he looked down at you. "You talk a lot of talk," he chuckled, "you think you can actually handle this?"

A blush formed on your cheeks as he tried to tease you. You let out a small laugh and smiled at him. Your eyebrow raised in amusement as you kept eye contact with him.

Your fingers moved back to the small hairs at the nape of his neck, something that had him undone earlier. You grip tightened ever so slightly, pulling him back down to be close to you again.

"Try me," you whispered against his mouth.

The words barely escaped your lips before he crashed back down onto you. The months of pretending you both didn't want this and the tension it brought was released in that moment.

He shifted his weight to fully come down over you, burying both of you into the mattress. His mouth moved lower, moving down your jaw, then trailing a path down your neck, to your collarbone.

The room blurred away, the only thing you could focus on was the sounds escaping your mouth as he lifted your shirt and continued moving his lips down your body.

-

The late hours of the night crept into the early hours of the morning. The moon was still glowing into the bedroom through his window, but you couldn't bother to worry about what time it was.

Jake is lying on his side, facing you as his eyes still remained intently locked into yours. The fierceness and jealousy that was in his expression earlier in the evening was gone. His hair was messy from your hands. His heartbeat finally came back to a normal rhythm after the night's events.

For the first time that night, and one of the first times you'd ever seen it in your life, his guard was down. It made him look softer than he'd ever let himself appear on base.

He reached out to you, his thumb tracing your collarbone. His touch was light compared to the grip he had on you earlier.

"You really played me tonight," he whispered honestly.

You turned your head on the pillow to face him. "I just wanted to see if you cared, Jake. You always make it seem like there's nothing that can get to you."

Jake’s hand paused its movements on your chest. He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head at himself. His eyes dropped to the mattress, then locked back into yours.

"Nothing usually can," he admitted quietly. He moved his hand up to cup your cheek. "But you do. Seeing you with Bradshaw tonight, it made me hurt in a way I didn't think was capable. I pretend a lot on base because I have to, I need to. But with you? I don't want to play Hangman. I just want to be me. I want this."

Shock rippled through your body. Hearing the words actually come out of his mouth made your chest flutter. Until Bradley had told you about Jake's feelings hours before, you had been completely oblivious to what he was feeling. To hear him say that he felt deeply about you shook you.

You didn't reply to his confession right away. You reached over to intertwine your fingers with his, laying your hands down against the sheets.

"I've wanted you for so long, Jake," you whispered. You looked straight into his eyes, letting the pure delight of the vulnerable moment take over. "I had no clue you felt the same until tonight."

Jake’s eyes widened slightly as a smile tugged at his lips. The heavy tension he was feeling lifted from his shoulders. He leaned down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. His forehead rested against yours as he exhaled a breath he seemed to have been holding all night.

For the rest of the night, you were his. And you were going to continue to be as long as he had a say in the matter.

---

- you had never explicitly stated these fears to gwayne but he knew. even without you anxious behaviours, any smart person would assume you would have some trauma from her passing. he made sure to stay close by at all times, never neglecting his duties just… adjusting them so he wouldnt stray too far.

- hes a man of tradition and follows it strictly waiting outside the room pacing. your cries unsettled him but he couldnt go in. he shouldnt.

- its not until a rather pale looking handmaiden swings open the door and informs him that “s-she is refusing so let any of us help her, ser. she is only asking for you.” he feels like hes stuck on the stop, though before he cant speak of tradition and being proper you appear behind the woman nightgown transparent with sweat and tears running down you face. his feet quickly move to catch you as you stagger out of the room and towards him.

- you basically drag him into the room and insist he stays with you. pleading to him to not let them cut you open. his reassurances fall on deaf ears. you’re hysterical and he doesnt blame you. so he does his best. looking to the maesters for guidance and offering all the help he can.

- anyways thats enough angsty stuff lemme give you some fluff.

- will talk to your bump. telling the babe great tales of battles, funny things his brothers did, a beautiful flower he saw. and especially about how great and beautiful their mother is.

- finds every book in the library about raising a child and pregnancy. feels like he needs to know everything even if he doesnt fully understand it. he didnt have the greatest father figure himself so its not like hes got a good example to follow.

- will do everything he can to ease your pain. holding your bump, finding special oils for your baths, applying lotion to the fierce stretch marks lining your stomach.

- prays even more than usual. for the babe and their health, for your health and that they will make him a good honourable father to the babe.

- and when the babe is born? oh he loves them more that anything.