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hot take: the phrase “there is no platonic explanation for that” fucking sucks, bc it not only hurts aromatic people, but also emphasizes the ‘friends can’t be too close’ this can either be rooted in homophobia or sexism
Terrified and traumatised, you find comfort in the terrifying and emotionally constipated Happy Lowman. No one understands why. But he makes the fear in your veins settle.
He's more than happy to be there for you. Even if he's not very good at communicating his feelings.
The first time Happy Lowman sees you cry, you apologize for it.
That’s how he knows something terrible happened to you.
Not the tears themselves.
The apology.
You stand outside the clubhouse at nearly one in the morning, hands shaking so badly you can barely light your cigarette, whispering sorry like fear has taught you grief is an inconvenience.
Happy watches from the shadows near the bikes for a long moment before he finally steps forward.
You flinch instantly at the sound of boots on gravel.
That familiar reaction slices through him sharper than it should.
“Easy,” he says quietly.
His voice is low enough not to startle you further.
You look up.
Eyes red.
Face exhausted.
And despite the fact Happy looks like every bad decision and every warning sign wrapped into one terrifying human being—
Your shoulders loosen slightly when you realize it’s him.
Not fear.
Relief.
Happy feels something shift unpleasantly in his chest.
“You okay?” he asks.
The question sounds awkward coming from him.
Unused.
You wipe quickly at your face. “Yeah.”
Lie.
Obvious lie.
Happy leans against the wall beside you silently instead of pushing.
That’s another thing about him.
Most people mistake his silence for indifference.
It isn’t.
Happy just understands that pain gets mean when cornered.
So he waits.
And eventually, quietly, you say:
“I don’t like loud noises anymore.”
Happy turns his head slowly toward you.
You stare straight ahead.
Not looking at him.
“Used to not bother me,” you whisper. “Now every time somebody yells I feel like I can’t breathe.”
There it is.
Not the whole story.
But enough.
Enough for Happy to understand.
The coldness that settles over him then is immediate and dangerous.
“Who hurt you?”
You laugh weakly.
Not because it’s funny.
Because apparently everybody asks that eventually.
“Does it matter now?”
Yeah.
It matters.
It matters so much Happy can taste violence rising hot at the back of his throat.
But he looks at your trembling hands and forces it down.
You don’t need rage right now.
You need steady.
So Happy reaches over slowly.
Carefully.
And takes the lighter from your shaking fingers.
You blink at him.
Happy lights the cigarette himself and hands it back.
Your fingers brush his briefly.
Warm.
Tiny contact.
But your expression softens instantly like your body doesn’t know how not to react to gentleness anymore.
Happy notices.
Of course he notices.
He notices everything about you after that.
Nobody understands it.
Not Gemma.
Not Tig.
Not even Chibs.
Because you’re terrified of almost everything.
Slamming doors make you jump.
Raised voices send your pulse skyrocketing.
Too much attention makes you visibly panic.
And yet somehow—
You gravitate toward Happy Lowman like he’s safety itself.
Which is insane.
Objectively insane.
Happy is six feet of tattooed violence with more ink than not and dead eyes and enough bodies behind him to haunt several lifetimes.
People move out of his way automatically.
Children cry when he stares too long.
Prospects get nervous around him.
But you?
You settle beside him on the clubhouse couch like he’s a weighted blanket.
Nobody can figure out why.
Happy can.
It’s because he never asks anything from you.
Never corners.
Never crowds.
Never raises his voice.
The world expects softness to look gentle and clean.
But your trauma learned different.
Your trauma trusts danger that announces itself honestly.
Happy never pretends to be harmless.
Which somehow makes him safer than men who smiled while breaking you apart.
“She’s asleep again,” Tig whispers one afternoon.
Happy looks down.
Sure enough, you’ve drifted off against his shoulder without him realizing it.
Curled into his side on the clubhouse couch while some terrible reality show plays in the background.
Your face is peaceful for once.
No tension.
No panic.
Just rest.
Happy’s hand rests heavy against your back automatically.
Keeping you there.
Grounding both of you.
Tig looks deeply confused.
“I still don’t get it.”
Happy doesn’t answer.
Because he does get it.
You sleep near him because Happy never touches you unexpectedly.
Never startles you for fun.
Never demands explanations for your fear.
You sleep near him because the violence in him is controlled.
Directed.
Contained carefully behind your name.
And maybe because he looks at you like hurting you would be the worst sin he could commit.
The nightmares are bad.
Happy figures that out quickly.
You don’t scream often.
That would almost be easier.
Instead you wake up quietly terrified.
Sharp little gasps.
Ragged breathing.
Hands shaking while you try desperately not to wake anyone else.
The first time Happy finds you after one, you’re sitting on the bathroom floor at four in the morning trying to breathe through a panic attack.
You don’t hear him come in.
Just suddenly notice heavy boots in your peripheral vision.
Then Happy crouches carefully in front of you.
Not too close.
Giving you space.
Your eyes are wide and panicked.
“I’m okay,” you say automatically.
Happy’s expression doesn’t change.
“You’re on the bathroom floor.”
You look away ashamed.
That feeling again.
Embarrassment.
Humiliation.
Like being afraid is some kind of moral failure.
Happy hates that expression on you more than almost anything.
“Look at me.”
His voice is low.
Steady.
You do eventually.
Happy holds your gaze.
“Breathe with me.”
You blink shakily.
“What?”
He inhales slowly.
Deliberately.
Waits.
Then exhales.
Your breathing stutters trying to match his.
Happy does it again.
Again.
Again.
Patient as stone.
Until eventually the panic loosens enough for oxygen to reach your lungs properly.
Your eyes fill suddenly.
“Oh god, I’m sorry.”
There it is again.
Sorry sorry sorry.
Like your suffering inconveniences people.
Happy’s jaw tightens.
“Quit apologizin’.”
“I woke you up—”
“Don’t care.”
His answer comes immediate.
Absolute.
You stare at him.
Happy stares back.
Then, awkwardly—almost aggressively—he shrugs off his flannel and holds it out toward you.
You blink at it.
“What’s this for?”
“Cold.”
You’re not cold.
But the gesture punches straight through your chest anyway.
You take the flannel slowly.
It smells like smoke and leather and something distinctly Happy.
Safe.
Your fingers clutch the fabric unconsciously.
Happy notices that too.
His expression softens almost invisibly.
“Better?”
You nod.
A tear slips down your cheek before you can stop it.
Happy reacts instantly.
One massive rough hand lifts uncertainly toward your face.
Pauses.
Like he’s asking permission without words.
You lean into it before you can think better of it.
The second your cheek touches his palm, something in you breaks quietly apart.
Because he’s so careful.
This terrifying man everyone fears touches you like you’re something fragile and precious.
Happy looks almost angry about it.
Not at you.
At whatever taught you to expect roughness instead.
“You okay?” he asks again.
And somehow that question sounds different coming from him.
Real.
Like he genuinely needs the answer.
Your eyes close briefly against his hand.
“No,” you whisper honestly.
Happy’s thumb brushes once beneath your eye.
And for the first time in years—
You don’t feel alone inside your fear.
It gets worse after that.
Because once Happy realizes physical contact calms you down, he becomes impossible.
Subtle about it.
But constant.
A hand on your back guiding you through crowded rooms.
His knee pressed against yours under tables.
Fingers brushing your wrist when he notices you dissociating.
Grounding you before panic fully takes hold.
And every single time, your body betrays you immediately.
Relaxing.
Melting.
Like it recognizes safety before your brain catches up.
Happy becomes addicted to that reaction embarrassingly fast.
“She follows him around like a duckling,” Juice mutters one afternoon.
You’re sitting beside Happy outside the garage, reading quietly while his hand rests absently on your ankle.
Not possessive.
Not sexual.
Just there.
Steady pressure.
Grounding.
Chibs snorts softly. “Aye, but look at him.”
Juice glances over.
Then pauses.
Because Happy is watching you.
Not obviously.
But soft.
Softer than anybody’s ever seen him look.
Like your existence alone settles something violent in him too.
The problem is, you start needing him.
Not in a helpless way.
In a terrifyingly emotional way.
You start looking for him automatically in crowded rooms.
Sleeping better when he’s nearby.
Breathing easier when his hand finds yours during loud arguments at the clubhouse.
And Happy—
Happy lets you.
No hesitation.
No embarrassment.
Like caring for you became instinct somewhere along the way.
One night you finally ask him the question that’s been haunting you for months.
“Why do I feel safer with you than anyone else?”
Happy looks up from cleaning his gun.
Studies you quietly.
Then shrugs once.
“Cause I’d kill anybody who hurt you.”
The sincerity in his voice steals your breath.
No dramatics.
No performance.
Just truth.
Simple as gravity.
You stare at him.
Happy’s expression shifts slightly.
Concern replacing blunt honesty immediately.
“Was that weird t’say?”
A startled laugh bursts from you.
“Extremely.”
“Alright.”
“But also…” Your voice softens. “Kinda sweet?”
Happy looks genuinely suspicious of that accusation.
You smile helplessly.
God.
This man.
This terrifying, emotionally constipated hitman who holds your shaking hands through panic attacks and walks on the outside of sidewalks and notices every tiny shift in your breathing.
You love him before you mean to.
Maybe before you realize it.
The confession happens quietly.
Of course it does.
You’re curled against Happy’s chest late one night while rain taps softly against the clubhouse windows.
One of his arms is around your waist.
His fingers move slowly against your spine in absentminded circles.
You haven’t had a nightmare in almost three weeks.
That alone feels miraculous.
“Happy?”
“Hm.”
“You know you make the fear stop?”
His hand stills briefly.
Then resumes.
“Good.”
You tilt your head enough to look up at him.
The low light catches the scar through his eyebrow.
The exhaustion in his face.
The tenderness he hides from everyone else.
Your chest aches with it.
“I love you.”
The words slip out softly.
Honest.
Happy freezes completely.
You immediately panic.
“Oh my god, you don’t have to say it back, I just—”
Suddenly his hand cups the back of your neck.
Firm.
Certain.
His forehead presses against yours hard enough to stop your spiral instantly.
“You do that,” he mutters roughy.
Your breath catches.
“Do what?”
“Say huge shit like it’s not gonna kill somebody.”
A watery laugh escapes you.
Happy’s eyes stay locked on yours.
And there it is again.
That unbearable softness nobody else gets.
“I love you too,” he says quietly.
Like it costs him something.
Like it means everything.
Then, after a brief pause:
“Probably loved you awhile.”
Your heart folds completely.
You smile through sudden tears.
Happy immediately wipes them away with visible irritation.
“Why’re you cryin’?”
“You’re being emotionally available,” you whisper shakily. “It’s terrifying.”
Happy snorts softly.
Then pulls you impossibly closer against his chest.
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Just watched Adam Conover (of Adam Ruins Everything) make such a solid point that I think we should spread far and wide. Yes, having AI write your emails is lazy, sure, but people love being lazy. We need to really emphasize that sending AI emails (or using AI responses on social media, or publishing AI flyers, or or or) is rude.
It's rude. You're making someone take their time to read something you couldn't bother to write. You're telling them they were so unimportant you couldn't be bothered to actually take the time to say something yourself. And frankly, you're lying about it while you're at it.
The above is doubly true if the content of the email is something that will be important to the person receiving - especially something that affects them negatively. They see that this thing that affected them so much didn't matter enough to you to write it yourself. I was a bystander to such a thing not long ago and it was just awful.
If I may offer the lecturer's perspective on this idea:
Currently, it's marking season for us in the UK. I have an exam board in four hours, in fact, which is where we all go over every profile of every student on our courses, see what results they've achieved, and work out their "decision" - if all is well, the decision is to let them continue the course, or the final degree grade calculated if they're in final year. If it hasn't gone well, the decision is about whether they get to rework the pieces that failed, resit exams, repeat the whole year, or be required to withdraw.
And, as has been the case for the last two years, the profiles are now littered with plagiarism investigations. Every one of those - every single one - will have come in as an assignment that the lecturer received, and started reading, and then with a sinking feeling thought "This isn't your work." Every one had to go to an academic misconduct hearing. Every one is an enormous draw on time and resources, including the emotional reserves of the lecturer.
And I know that's not the main issue! I know in the grand scheme of things, our feelings aren't the most important part of this equation! But as we're talking about rudeness, let me explain:
Firstly, the work itself. You begin reading, you see it's AI. Contractually, we have to read it anyway, and give feedback on why it's shit, and what makes it bad, and that is absolutely fucking soul destroying. Most students who use AI are doing so because they've managed to train their brains to find reading something boring abhorrent, and they want to skip that part; but a ChatGPT-generated report is bland, vague, and utterly devoid of any passion, insight or personality. In short, it's boring. You simply passed your boredom on to us.
Secondly, regardless of your personal feelings about the assignment, it at least had a purpose. It was there to stretch you, and make you think about the topic so you could learn about it, and to test that learning so we can all make sure you have actually learned what you need to. But the slop you handed in, that I now have to mark? What's the point? Literally what is the fucking point of me marking it? You didn't even write it. None of the feedback I'm obligated to give means anything to you. I'm marking ChatGPT, and it can't read.
Which means, not only is it fucking boring, it's actively pointless. Ask anyone in the world what a boring but pointless obligatory task does to your mood. Imagine that.
Thirdly, the misconduct hearing. Because listen, again, the lecturer's feelings here are, once again, not the main point. Students who cheat like this aren't doing so because life is hunky dory. They're stressed and overwhelmed and struggling, and they think they've found a magic way out, and so being pulled into a misconduct hearing - where the best they can hope for is to have to redo the whole piece for a capped mark, on top of all the rest of the work they have (functionally, a bonus assignment), and the worst is expulsion - is a mental breakdown-inducing experience. That, obviously, is the biggest issue.
But, the lecturers know all that, which means we know what we're triggering if we do report it. I cannot tell you how upsetting it is to receive a slop assignment, realise what it is, and then have to make the call to report it. I know damn well how upsetting that's going to be for you. I know how stressful and painful that's going to be. I know this might mean you're going to be thrown out of university. In some cases, I know it means you will be.
I know I could look the other way to spare you that
And oh, that gets tempting. When things are really bad for you, and I see you struggling, and this is your third strike; fuck me but it's tempting to pretend that I can't tell.
I cannot do that.
Which brings me to number four: the soul-bleachingly fucking horrible ordeal that is the misconduct hearing itself. Most people are non-confrontational; I'm no exception. I also simply do not enjoy a sobbing, panicking student sitting in front of me, telling me about how stressed and scared they are and how they're terrified they're going to fail. But that's how these things go.
Our most recent example is an international Masters student. I don't know the particulars for him; but I do know it's not uncommon in his part of the world for families to go into obscene debt, often to loan sharks, to send their kids to UK universities. Failure means more than just academia for him. Having to sit through him turning white and quietly begging us to give him another chance before he left in tears he tried to hide from us was, obviously, much worse for him than us; but it was honestly traumatic. Even now, two weeks later, I can't get it out of my head. There's nothing we can do; but, I feel guilty anyway. I could have looked the other way.
(It wouldn't have passed anyway. It was terrible. But at least he'd probably be allowed a resit - we're still waiting on the outcome of this one, but he may well be withdrawn)
To bring this back to the point of the post:
I know my feelings aren't really the ones that matter here. I do know that. But, every time a student chooses to use AI to write an assignment, all that is what happens behind the scenes. My job nosedives into being shit. Whether it's reading the boring slop, having to write pointless feedback, or making the upsetting decisions to report it when I know what the consequences will be and then having to deal with the guilt, my job that I love suddenly becomes shit. And that, actually, among the many other things it is, is fucking rude.
Imagine being the gays at a pride event in 2004 living their lives when someone grabs the microphone and announces to the room that Ronald Reagan was pronounced dead. Can you even imagine the hype, the celebration, the pure elation
You have a dragon and Aerion falling in love. Crack fic, no descriptions of reader
“Leave her alone! She hasn’t done anything!” You shout pushing through the crowd to reach stormfrye, the dragon who you found moons ago as only a hatchling. The poor thing was starving when you came across her looking for herbs. “She’s good! Don’t hurt her!” Poor Stormfrye is clearly terrified as she’s having ropes thrown over her and is getting surrounded by people trying to catch her. But she doesn’t hurt anyone, she’s a gentle dragon like that. She just looks at you with pure terror in her eyes. “She’s good!”
“You know this dragon?” The village leader asks, when you throw yourself between a pitchfork and the dragon. Knowing it won’t hurt her but not wanting to risk it. The man viewing you as the crazy ward of the village healer. Who admittedly was also a bit crazy when she was alive.
“Yes, she’s my friend. She doesn’t want to hurt anyone.” You say standing protectively in front of the bright blue dragon. The girl hissing when someone tries to touch you.
“Sure looks like it.” The man who tried to pull you away says sarcastically.
“If she wanted to hurt you you’d be dead.” You snap, pulling the pitchfork off the moron.
“Exactly, so we’d better kill the thing!” Someone else shouts, multiple others agreeing with the idea.
“No, if the Targaryens find out we’ll all be dead. Best have them deal with it.” The old woman who sells cattle says wisely. Not wanting to think about what would happen if the royal family found out the village killed a dragon.
“You want to pass a dragon over to the Targaryens?” The butchers boy shouts, his father slapping him over the head to shut up.
“What choice do we have?”
“Kill it!”
“Please.” You beg tears welling up in your eyes. “She’s good, I’ve kept her hidden for moons. We can leave and no one ever has to find out.”
“I’m sorry dear.” The village leader says giving you a sad smile before looking over to his wife. “Contact the Targaryens.”
-
“They’re clearly lying.” Aerion says riding his horse along side his father, uncle and kings guard. The three going to investigate the alleged dragon.
“I agree with Aerion it’s clearly bullshit.” Maekar says having dragged his second son along, not wanting to go himself but Baelor made him.
“We still have to check it out.” Baelor sighs wishing he brought Valarr, at least then it could be a nice father son trip. “We’ll go, smooth over their worries and go home.”
“So you also agree it’s bullshit, good.”
“Maekar-.”
-
“So where’s this dragon?” Maekar asks as soon as he dismounts his horse not even to do the introductions like Baelor. Aerion just looking at a peasant boy in disgust when he tries to touch the prince.
“I’m the caves your grace, we’ve got people on watch so it can’t leave with the girl.” The village leader says bowing in greeting, stumbling over his feet as he does so.
“What girl?” Aerion asks thinking even more that this whole thing is bullshit. Why would a dragon show themselves to some girl when he’s alive. It just doesn’t make sense.
“The one who found the dragon, she’s been keeping it secret for moons we only found out a few weeks ago your graces and we immediately sent word for you.” The leader over explains not wanting to get in trouble for possibly hiding a dragon.
“Have you actually seen this dragon or a you taking a crazy girls word for it?” Maekar asks deciding to take the lead, ignoring Baelor’s look.
“Oh we’ve seen it alright.” The butcher says with a scoff before Baelor can interject. “Vicious blue thing, it almost took my arm.”
“Yet you still have it.” Aerion says raising an eyebrow at the man who clearly still has both of his arms attached.
“Look just see for yourselves.”
-
“We’re coming in!” The village leader who Baelor learnt is called Dale shouts into the cave that has multiple ‘guards’ standing outside. Ser Roland being sent in first to check if it’s a trap.
“Holy shit.” The knight says from in the cave. “You might want to look at this your grace!”
Maekar and Baelor share a look before making their way into the cave, hands on weapons with Aerion following behind. When they reach the open area they are met with a light blue dragon with yellow lines shooting across it, looking like lightning. Curled up in the corner like it was trying to hide with you stood next to it looking like you’re guarding the mighty beast. “What the fuck.”
“Hello, this is stormfrye.” You say offering a small wave, not sure how to greet them.
“Marry me.” Aerion blurts out dropping to one knee in front of you. Making you blink at him in confusion, you thought the Targaryens would try and steal Stormfrye not marry you.
“I don’t know you.” You say tentatively not sure what to say to the pretty silver haired boy.
“That doesn’t matter.” He says looking at you and your dragon in wonder. “I love you.”
“Get up you pathetic boy.” Maekar says pulling his second son up by the arm. “Have some dignity.”
“That’s a dragon.” Baelor says staring at the beast who kept its eyes on you all.
“Yes.” You answer simply, scratching the dragons head.
“Right, how did you find this dragon?” Baelor asks after a moment. Not expecting there to actually be a dragon.
“I found Stormfrye when I was out looking for herbs during a storm and she was curled up crying, the poor girl looked so hungry. So I took her home and fed her.” You explain, like it’s an every occurrence to bring a dragon home and feed it back to heath. “And when she got too big for the house I took her here.”
“Right.” Baelor says, trying to think of what to do next.
“You’re not going to take her away from me are you?” You ask worried, loving the growing dragon. Who only got caught that day because she wanted to explore and got too close to town.
“Of course not! You’re my dragon queen.” Aerion says quickly trying to get closer to you but his father pulls him back.
“Aerion shut up.” Maekar snaps, looking back at you and your dragon. “We’re not leaving a dragon here.”
“You can come with us, I’m sure Stormfrye will need a familiar face.” Baelor offers, wondering how to even transport the thing. “Have you ridden her?”
“A few times around the cliffs.” You say fidgeting on the spot deciding not to mention the first attempt when you both fell into the sea.
“Then you’ll have to come with us.” Baelor tells you, still trying to think of where to house the dragon.
“Why?”
“You’re her rider.”
-
“I shall ride with you my dragonness.” Aerion says to you kissing the back of your hand, as you check you’ve got everything before you leave your village. No one coming to say goodbye, not that you’re surprised you’re always been seen as odd.
“Aerion stop being so fucking weird.” Maekar sighs, having no idea his second son could be so pathetic.
“That would actually be a good idea, Aerion you can show her the way.” Baelor says, having sent word to his father to meet at summerhall.
“Will two even fit?” Maekar asks looking at the relatively small dragon.
“I think so, we might just be a bit slower.” You say looking at stormfrye knowing your girl can handle it.
-
“Are you sure about this?” Maekar asks his older brother as they mount their horses. Waiting for you and Aerion to mount stormfrye.
“No, but who knows maybe when we get there you’ll have a daughter in law.” Baelor says looking at you and Aerion talking.
“I think I already do.” Maekar says looking at Aerion who’s got the biggest smile on his face as Stormfrye nudges him wanting his attention.
-
“We’ll marry as soon as we get to summerhall, I can’t wait to show everyone our dragon.” Aerion says as you fly through the sky, his arms wrapped around your waist.
“Can I get to know you first?” You ask, finding him weirdly endearing. You know he only wants you for stormfrye but he’s the first person you’ve been able to actually talk about stormfrye to. No one else caring that she doesn’t like eel or likes to play.
“We can do that once we’re married.” He says simply kissing your cheek.
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SUMMARY - You don't answer any of Aerion's messages but that backfires as he talks to you in person. But even then, you still don't give him much.
CONTAINS - reader is slightly avoidant, aerion is aerion, banter (crack to a point), read part one
A/N - i couldn't tag most of your accounts for some reason so instead i replied to your comments hehe. Also i got carried away ahahahha can you tell...
You remained seated in your car. Staring at the notifications, you didn’t move until your screen turned back to black.
You jammed the keys into the ignition and backed out of the parking space. The drive back home was scary. You kept looking back at your phone, expecting another text to pop up but thankfully none did.
When you finally got home, you locked the front door and leaned against it.
“What the fuck…” You whispered to yourself, closing your eyes.
It was a good thing the next two days were a weekend. A temporary shield. For the next forty-eight hours, you didn’t have to step foot on campus and risk catching a glimpse of his silver hair across the building.
But hiding out in your room didn’t stop your mind from racing. A full day hadn’t even passed when you finally gave in and opened instagram. You pressed the search bar and typed his username into it.
You weren’t mutuals, he never followed you and neither did you follow him.
There wasn’t much to see. He only had one post and a highlight. It was strange trying to match that version of him with the guy who had texted you for the past month.
Though on sunday, while your phone was open on a groupchat, your peace was interrupted.
👻: youre online, i know you see my texts
You stared at the small block of text, your chest tightening. Again, you didn’t reply.
By monday morning, you had braced yourself to go to campus again. It was packed as you walked with Tanselle.
“So I told him if he thinks I’m letting that happen, he’s out of his mind,” Tanselle was saying, before her hand suddenly clamped down hard on your forearm. “Wait. Don’t look but Aerion is heading right to us.”
You looked up anyway.
Aerion was cutting through the crowded walkway. As soon as you looked, his eyes were already on you, his face tense and unreadable.
The people next to you instinctively quieted down, stepping back as he closed the distance and stopped in front of you.
You tried pivoting to the right but he blocked the way, cutting off your route.
“We need to talk,” he said, voice low and rough.
“I’m trying to get to class,” you replied, keeping your voice even, refusing to let the panic show on your face.
“Don’t do that,” he muttered, stepping closer. His form completely covered yours, and you felt suffocated in the open area. “You know exactly why I’m standing here.”
You kept your arms folded around your waist, your posture rigid. A few students walking past were already slowing down, noticing the interaction. “I have to go,” you mumbled.
“No–”
“Aerion!”
A sharp voice broke the tension between you. A girl with long, blonde hair walked over, calling his name as she hurried over. It was Jess—you knew because your friends had told you she was someone he used to talk to before things apparently ended badly.
“Aerion, hold on,” she said, totally ignoring you as she reached him. “Did you get my messages? You haven’t replied to any of–”
Aerion didn’t look at her. He tilted his head slightly, his jaw tight as he dropped a flat, impatient, “not now.”
It was a short distraction, but it was enough. You didn’t hesitate as you grabbed Tanselle’s wrist, pulling her with you as you turned on your heel. You moved as fast as your legs could carry you.
“Whoa–hey! Slow down!” Tanselle stumbled slightly, scrambling to keep up as you dragged her toward the stairwell.
Once you got on the platform between the stairs, you let go of her wrists, your heart still pounding hard.
Tanselle adjusted her tote bag, looking at you with wide eyes.
“What the hell is happening?” She demanded. “You barely explained a thing to any of us and now Aerion is doing this? Since when do you two even speak?”
“I’ll explain later, I promise.” You looked down to make sure he wasn’t anywhere close. “Let’s just go.”
“You’re a terrible friend,” Tanselle grumbled, though she immediately followed you up to the remaining steps.
Five minutes later, the bell rang and you were already sitting at your usual row in Davis’s class.
“Settle down,” Davis silenced the class. “Like I said, today we’re starting the peer reviews on the personal assignment from the start of this semester. You’ll be working with the same partner from the previous project, find them and get moving.”
Your stomach dropped.
Before you could even think about moving, the chair next to you moved. Tanselle was gone, shooting you a sorry look as she settled next to her partner.
You searched around the room when suddenly, Aerion sat down, his shoulder brushing yours as he turned his upper body toward you.
“How long?” he asked, keeping his voice low, but his eyes were drilling into yours.
You turned your head, gaze fixing on your laptop, your fingers resting still on your keyboard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Stop,” Aerion leaned closer. He looked guarded, a defensive edge tracing his words. “The text about the project. You knew it was me. How long have you known before that?”
The accusation stung, but you didn’t raise your voice. You looked over at him, offended by the fact that this was his main concern.
“A few days before that.” You furrowed your brows. “I didn’t know anything at the beginning. I put the pieces together when I saw you pull out your phone.”
Aerion watched your face, his brows drawing together as he searched your expression. “Then why did you go silent on monday?”
“Seriously?” You paused, “I don’t know, maybe because you basically called me boring.” You scoffed, looking right back at him.
“You barely even acknowledged me, and then what? You texted that your partner who happens to be me was just whatever. Why would I want to keep talking to you after that?”
Aerion flinched. The words seemed to hit him, the defensive wall in his eyes fracturing into genuine surprise. He opened his mouth to say something, his hand shifting on the desk, but a shadow fell over your screen.
“Are you guys actually working, or what?”
Jess had walked up the tiered steps, stopping at the edge of your row. She leaned on the desk, looking down at you with a fake, dismissive smile.
“Don’t take it personal,” Jess said, her voice loud enough for the people in the next row to hear. “He won’t even remember your name next week.”
The comment was explicitly meant to embarass you, and it worked. You felt your face warm up as a few classmates looked over.
But before the silence could stretch, Aerion turned.
The change in him was instantaneous. He looked up at Jess, his face turning cold.
“Go.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it brooked no refusal.
Jess’s smile faltered slightly. “I was just saying–”
“I don’t care,” Aerion interrupted, his stare landing on her in a way that made her step back. “Leave. We’re working.”
The people watching started whispering and nudging each other. Jess’s cheeks flushed a bright red. She wanted to snap back, but caught the total lack of interest in Aerion’s eyes, and quickly turned around.
You sat there, your hands unmoving. The frustration that had been building up since last week slowly started to ease, replaced by a strange, heavy feeling.
Aerion had just defended you in front of the whole class. You blinked twice, trying to process what had just happened.
He took a slow breath. Not looking at anyone else in the room, he turned back to face you.
“Thanks,” you murmured, swallowing as your eyes landed back on the screen of your laptop. You clicked open the peer review rubric Professor Davis had shared to the group. You had to find a way out of talking with him.
“Davis wants us to evaluate the thesis of the intro first,” you pointed out, acting as if nothing happened.
Aerion licked the bottom of his lip, caught off guard by the abrupt shift. His shoulders shifted as you continued looking through the rubric. “What?”
“Is your document open, or do you want to look at mine first?” you answered, tapping your trackpad to highlight the first section of the bibliography.
A frustrated sigh escaped him, you could see his confusion from your peripheral vision, his jaw clenching as he realized you were shutting him out.
He was used to people reacting to him by either backing down or trying to stay in his favour. This indifference was clearly a new territory for him. A difficult one too.
For a second, it looked like he might push past it anyway, his hand tightening on the edge of the desk. Yet he let out a heavy, defeated exhale, pulling his laptop closer. “Mine is open.” His voice was clipped.
For the rest of the period, you kept your barrier firmly in place. You weren’t sure why it was so hard for you to hold a proper conversation with him.
You two texted nonstop for a month. It wasn’t like he was a complete stranger. But somehow it felt like it.
Aerion complied, though his compliance was tense. His fingers tapped against the desk whenever you took too long to read through a paragraph. His focus was entirely divided between the text on his screen and your face.
Every time your fingers accidentally brushed his while adjusting the laptop, he would wait to see if you’d pull away. You always did.
When Davis dismissed the class at last, relief coursed through you.
Snapping your laptop shut, you slid it into your bag and slung the strap over your shoulder. “I’ll upload the comments to the docs by the end of the week.” You stood up, looking him in the eye for a brief, passing second.
Aerion stared up at you from his seat, his throat bobbing as he swallowed whatever he wanted to say.
“Okay.”
You walked to the exit, where Tanselle was already waiting for you. Turning your head for a moment before exiting, your eyes met his.
Reluctantly, you had to tell your friends everything as they kept demanding. No, almost everything.
You conveniently left out the part where you had grown to have this strange, unexplainable, and impenetrable feeling for him.
Tanselle then pointed out how she hasn’t seen Aerion with any girls recently. Everyone agreed, which didn’t help your case.
Yet two days passed without a single notification.
By wednesday, the silence had turned from peace into an uncomfortable, distracting weight. You spent the night trying to study, but your mind kept drifting back to him.
Eventually, you couldn’t resist and opened his chat. You scrolled all the way back to the start, back when he was just an anonymous stranger who made you laugh.
Just as you got to the part where you started icing him out, a new message came through.
You frowned, lips parting as you clicked on the button to the most recent chat.
👻: if you wont talk to me in person, fine
👻: lets do it here
Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of the text. You sat up and paced your room for a full minute before warily typing back.
YOU: What do you want aerion
It felt weird to actually acknowledge who you were talking to.
👻: do me a favour
👻: talk to me like you did before finding out. pretend you dont know who i am
Your eyes narrowed at his message. It was a bizarre request, but the familiar look of the text thread made it entirely too easy to slip back.
YOU: What???
YOU: Fine
👻: tell me everything
YOU: Ok u wanna know what i think?
YOU: I think the guy im paired with in davis’s class is an arrogant prick
There was a long pause. The typing bubbles appeared, vanished, then appeared again.
👻: an arrogant prick? really?
YOU: Yes
YOU: He refuses to talk to anyone outside his immediate circle, he walks like he owns the world, and most importantly he treats his project partners as if they were invisible
👻: maybe hes just focused
YOU: Nope, he didn’t even look at my face
YOU: Can you believe it
YOU: Then he has the nerve to say that im a whatever.. Like sorry i didnt juggle for your entertainment??
A couple minutes passed and you thought he wasn't going to respond, but he was still online.
👻: huh
👻: he sounds terrible
A small, involuntary smile tugged at the corner of your mouth, and you tried your best to fight it down.
YOU: He is, hes mean
👻: i didnt mean to be
The sudden drop of the bit you two were doing made your breath hitch. The text continued.
👻: im sorry about monday
👻: and the thing i said
👻: youre not whatever
You stared at his texts, the honesty of it surprising you. You typed out a reply then deleted it. While trying to formulate a reply, another message popped up.
👻: i have to go
The chat went dead. You sat back on your pillows, staring at those four words, your mind spinning into a frantic spiral. I have to go. What did that mean? Go for the day? Or was this his dramatic way of saying goodbye to whatever you guys were?
You slammed your phone down on the mattress, irritated by the sudden exit. You needed to clear your head.
Sighing, you grabbed a towel and headed into the bathroom to take a long, hot shower, letting the steam wash away the stress of the week.
By the time you stepped back into your bedroom, it was already dark outside. Drying your hair and changing into your pajamas, you picked your phone up from the bed to check the time.
There was a new text, sent just a minute ago.
👻: open the door
You froze, reading the message over and over again to make sure you weren’t hallucinating.
You walked into the living room, your bare feet making no sound against the floor.
You never gave him your address.
The only people who knew the exact apartment complex you lived in were your closest friends.
Fuck, you thought. Tanselle…
Panic flooded your body as you approached the entryway, and right on cue, a knock came from the other side of the door.
Taking a shallow breath, you unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the door open.
Aerion was standing under the dim hallway light. He was wearing a tight gym shirt, his silver hair slightly messy from the harsh wind of the night.
He wasn’t empty handed. His right hand was carrying a bag that looked to be from a bakery. He saw your gaze switching from his face to the plastic. “You mentioned last week that you were eating cheesecake.”
Your brain refused to believe that Aerion Targaryen was standing at your door with a whole cheesecake because of a passing comment you had made a whole week ago.
The wall you had built felt incredibly fragile right now, but you had to keep your composure. Slowly, you stepped aside, opening the door just wide enough for him to move past.
Aerion walked into the apartment, getting his shoes off by the door. He looked at you, taking in your damp hair and pajamas, then walked to stand near the edge of the kitchen table, setting the bag on the counter.
You stared at him, your mind trying to catch up. The tips of your ears went red at the realization that you were wearing only your pajamas in front of him.
“How do you even know where I live?”
“Tanselle,” he said bluntly. “Don’t start a fight with her, I didn’t give her much of an option.”
“Of course...” You huffed mostly to yourself.
You walked past him to the water dispenser, grabbing a clean glass from the drying rack and filling it with cold water. You set it on the counter near him.
“Thanks.” He picked up the glass. Taking a slow sip, his eyes scanned the living room before settling back on you.
“Look,” he started, voice dropping an octave, sounding rougher in the quiet apartment. “I’ll get to the point. I know you think I'm a piece of shit. It's just that I... didn’t know it was you.” His shoulders shifted slightly as his muscles got less tense.
You raised a brow at that. “So just because you didn't know it was me you treated me like that?”
“No. It sounds terrible I know. I guess I was already comfortable talking to you online that I figured I didn't need to talk to anyone in person,” he explained, his tone stripped of its usual cold edge. “When you started ignoring me, it drove me crazy.”
“At first, I thought you knew the entire time. I assumed the worst, but then I started worrying. And I didn’t wanna stop talking to you.” His voice got quiet toward the end.
You didn’t know what to say. The honesty of his words rang through your mind, effectively breaking down the image you have already built of him in your head.
“...And what about Jess?” You asked after a beat and immediately regretted it.
Aerion’s eyes flickered with genuine disgust and annoyance before he shook his head.
“She’s nothing.” He leaned against the counter. “We used to talk,” he hesitated, “then I stopped but she couldn't accept it. She’s nothing.” He repeated, noticing the fidgeting of your hands.
“Oh,” was all you could say. Aerion seemed to recognize the shift in the air. He finished the rest of the water and set it back on the counter.
“I should let you get some sleep,” he cleared his throat, eyes lingering on your lips.
He walked toward the front door, putting his shoes back on. You opened the door, unsure if you even wanted him to leave.
The curiosity that had been lingering in the back of your mind all week finally slipped out. “Before you go... I wanna know something.”
Aerion paused, an amused spark gleaming in his eyes. “Yeah?”
“What did you think of me at the start? Like after you found out I wasn't Michael.”
He let out a low chuckle, a smirk splaying across his face. “I thought you had a ridiculously sharp mouth. You always called me out on my attitude, it was infruriating. But it was intriguing.”
Aerion then tilted his head, turning the tables. “My turn. Why'd you even reply to an unknown number?”
A smile broke through your expression, you no longer felt the need to put on a mask in front of him. “Mmm... being real I'm pretty sure I was just bored and couldn't sleep. I thought it'd be funny and it absolutely was.”
He laughed softly and paused at the threshold, turning back to look at you. “So you're saying you're glad you replied?”
You pretended to think for a second, looking up. “Maybe,” you teased, the familiar banter coming back.
A tiny smile touched his lips—the first real one you’ve seen from him in person. He let out a hum. “Right. I'll remember that. Go sleep now.” He backed up to the threshold, his eyes only leaving yours as he turned around.
“Goodnight.” You called out to him as you closed the door and locked the deadbolt, hearing the thud of his footsteps slowly fade.
An hour later, you tried to go straight to sleep, but you kept tossing and turning. Giving up, you got out of bed and walked to the kitchen, pulling the box out of the bag. You recognised the logo on the box as you opened the lid, it was from the expensive bakery near campus.
The cheesecake looked so incredible, you didn’t bother with a plate. Grabbing a fork, you stabbed the cake and took a massive bite.
After eating a solid half of it directly out of the box, you stared at the remaining mess and pulled your phone out to snap a quick photo.
YOU: [IMAGE ATTACHED]
YOU: I forgot to thank you lol
You didn’t expect him to reply immediately, assuming he was already asleep. But the bubbles popped up almost instantly.
👻: youre welcome
👻: did you save me a bite or are you selfish
YOU: Nope its all for me
👻: next time ill just make you feed it to me
You bit your lip to contain your smile, sliding down onto the living room rug and propping your back on the sofa.
YOU: Hm
YOU: Depends on how well u behave the rest of the week
👻: im always well behaved
Giggling, you quickly texted back.
YOU: Liar
YOU: Anw out of curiosity what do u have me saved as
👻: unknown
👻: until about a day ago
YOU: Huh what is it now
👻: thats for my eyes only
YOU: Oh rly
YOU: Ok then im saving u as row four lol
👻: how creative
YOU: It fits
YOU: Reminds me that ure an arrogant prick everyday
👻: good
👻: think about me everyday
Your heart did a violent flip.
Going to his profile, you debated on actually renaming him as row four, but you decided on Aerion 🎱. The emoji just felt right.
YOU: Just changed it
Aerion 🎱: row four?
YOU: No and im not telling u
YOU: Thats unless u tell me minee?
Aerion 🎱: oh thats how it is
Aerion 🎱: never
YOU: Wow!! Ur impossible im gonna off myself
YOU: Ok im going to sleep before u piss me off more
Aerion 🎱: lmao alright
Aerion 🎱: goodnight dont die
You let out a content huff before getting up and heading back to your bedroom.
YOU: Goodnightt
The next morning, the lecture hall was filled with pre-class chatter. It was history class but your professor fell sick and Professor Davis was there as a substitute.
As usual, you sat beside Tanselle who was vibrating with anxiety, staring at you sideways ever since you arrived.
Leaning in close, she lowered her voice to a whisper. “Okay, you’re scaring me. You haven’t mentioned him once. Are you not going to kill me?”
You let out a small giggle, shaking your head. “Nope. It’s all settled.”
Tanselle clicked her tongue, utterly puzzled. “Wait… really?” So he didn’t actually go to your house then?”
“No, he did,” you corrected smoothly, as if it was completely normal.
A noise of confusion escaped her, her eyes bulging. “What!? He actually came over? And you’re acting like this isn’t wild?”
Just then, the doors swung open, and Aerion walked in. He was late, and Professor Davis didn’t bother calling him out, simply beginning the lesson.
You watched as he walked up the main aisle, expecting him to stop in row four, but he continued walking. He moved past his friends without a second thought.
Then without tilting his head up, his eyes locked onto yours. A warmth instantly bloomed in your chest, a smile growing on your face, and you quickly bit your inner cheek to hide it.
He reached your row and without saying a word, he pulled the chair beside you and slid effortlessly into the seat.
Nudging your chin toward the lower row, you pointed at a few familiar faces who had turned around their chairs to watch him. “Your friends are literally staring at you. They’re waiting for you.”
Aerion followed your glance for a split second before looking back at you. “So?”
Before you could reply, the screech of the microphone caught everyone’s attention. “You two,” Davis barked into the mic, his voice echoing. “If you two have matters that are more pressing to discuss then feel free to take it out of the class.”
The weight of Davis calling you out together made the class go extremely silent, staring back and forth between you and Aerion. You could see Jess staring menacingly from the other side of the room.
Your lips formed into a pout as Davis finally looked away, continuing his talk. Aerion, on the other hand, did not take his eyes off you, his smirk widening slightly at the sudden audience.
He slowly leaned back in his chair and for a moment you thought the distraction was over. But under the desk Aerion shifted. The side of his thigh bumped firmly against yours, deliberately pressing in with lingering heat. A sharp jolt shot straight up your spine.
You shot him a warning glare, but he was already busy on his phone.
A second later, your phone buzzed in your lap.
Aerion 🎱: z
Aerion 🎱: z
Aerion 🎱: z
You hid your hands under the desk, looking down to make sure Professor Davis wasn’t looking.
YOU: Wtf
Aerion 🎱: we cant talk out loud
Aerion 🎱: i have to find other ways to get your attention
You glanced at him out of the corner of your eyes, but his face looked to be absolutely calm and concentrated as he pretended to analyze the projector screen.
YOU: Oh ure a pro
YOU: Wait move ur leg ppl r staring
Aerion 🎱: doesnt matter
Aerion 🎱: if you care move yours then
YOU: Ok nevermind
Aerion 🎱: mhm
Aerion 🎱: what are you doing after class
YOU: Its a free period im probably gonna go to the cafe
Aerion 🎱: wrong
Aerion 🎱: we’re going somewhere
YOU: ??? Hello why wasnt i informed
Aerion 🎱: i just informed you
You almost laughed at that but managed to keep it in, not wanting to draw even more attention from Davis.
YOU: Stop before i get kicked out of the class
YOU: Ok im leaving u bye
Aerion 🎱: stay
Aerion 🎱: hes not gonna see
YOU: If he does im blocking u
Aerion 🎱: i know where you live it doesnt matter
Your lips parted at the sheer audacity of his last message, a rush of heat hitting your cheeks as the memory from last night flashed through your mind.
Looking up from your phone, you caught the subtle twitch at the corner of Aerion’s lips. It was then that you realised that replying to a random message was easily the best mistake you’ve ever made.
having audio processing issues is so humiliating like yeah i heard you and yeah i was actively listening but the problem is i dont know what the fuck you sayed
romaincrisis
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yousharknotpass
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