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Real life doesn't come with a soundtrack or a lighting crew. It just comes with humiliation, piled one mistake on top of another, until somehow, against every possible odd, it turns into something good.

Before any of that chaos began, you already knew who Jacaerys Velaryon was. Everyone did. You could have been living under a rock and you still would have heard his name at least once a week. He was the top student in your entire batch, the one professors used as the gold standard when they wanted to shame the rest of the class into studying harder. He had a 4.0 that never seemed to slip, an easy confidence that made him look like he belonged wherever he stood, and the sort of effortless style that made you wonder if he'd woken up already fully put together. Someone completely out of reach.

Then he sat down next to you in an 8 a.m. lecture, and your entire semester fell apart.

There were a few things you could always count on in that lecture hall. The air conditioning was always cranked way too high, cold enough that half the room kept hoodies stuffed in their bags just for that one class. The coffee from the cart outside tasted like lukewarm dishwater no matter how much sugar you dumped into it. And Jace was always there early, sitting straight backed with his notebook already open, looking like the concept of being tired simply didn't apply to him.

You, meanwhile, looked like something that had crawled out of bed and directly into a lecture hall without stopping anywhere in between, which was more or less exactly what had happened. Three hours of sleep and a fistful of dry cereal eaten on the walk over will do that to a person. Your hair was shoved into a bun that had already started falling apart, and you were fairly sure you still had a pillow crease on your cheek.

The professor dimmed the lights to click through a slideshow on statistical variance, and that was it for you. The room went dark and warm and quiet, and your body made the decision for you before your brain even had a say in it. Your head tipped back against the chair, your mouth fell open, and somewhere in the fog of half sleep you stopped caring about anything at all, including the fact that you were sitting two feet away from the top student in your year.

Then his voice cut through, suddenly loud as the lights snapped back on without warning. "And that brings us to the core hypothesis. Let's ask our sleeping friend in the third row."

You jolted awake so hard your whole body flinched, your arms flying out on instinct like you were bracing for a fall. In the split second of pure panic that followed, trying to look like a person who had definitely been paying attention and not someone who'd just been drooling in front of two hundred classmates, your knee shot upward and caught the bottom of your metal water bottle sitting on the edge of the desk. It went flying, hit the floor, and rolled a few feet before slamming into someone's backpack with a metallic CLANK! so loud it might as well have been a gunshot in that quiet room.

Every head turned. You felt your face catch fire, heat crawling up your neck and into your ears, as you leaned down to grab the bottle just to have something to do with your hands. That's when you realized the truly horrifying part. There was a thin, shiny line of drool running down your chin, and it had clearly been there for a while.

Beside you, Jace froze for half a second before his instincts kicked in. He reached back for his bag, clearly trying to play the smooth rescuer, digging for a tissue. He moved just a little too fast, probably more aware of the class watching than he wanted to admit. His fingers snagged on the inside lining of his jacket, a brand-new one by the look of it, still stiff at the seams. Before either of you could process what was happening, there was a sharp RIPPING sound.

The front pocket tore wide open. Mints, pens, a stray USB drive, all of it spilled out and scattered across the floor in a chaotic little avalanche, rolling under desks and skittering across the tile in the dead silence of the room.

Jace stared down at the mess, a single mint still rolling past his shoe. His ears went bright red, the kind of red that spreads fast and gives everything away. He didn't say anything for a second, just reached into his bag, pulled out a slightly crumpled napkin from the cafeteria, and slid it over to you without quite meeting your eyes.

"Uh," he muttered, voice cracking before he cleared his throat and tried again. "For the... yeah. And for the record, I meant to redesign this jacket anyway. It's fashion now."

You took the napkin and said nothing, because there was genuinely nothing you could say that would make this better, and wiped your chin as discreetly as a person can wipe their chin in front of an entire lecture hall.

Two weeks passed. You spent every single one of them avoiding Jace with how things ended last time, moving your usual seat three rows back to the safety of the back benches where the top student in the batch had no reason to look.

It was a Friday, ten minutes before the end of class, and everyone in the room was silently begging the professor to let them go early. You could feel it in the air, that restless energy of people already packing their bags. Naturally, that was the exact moment Jace raised his hand and asked a question so specific and so unnecessarily detailed that you felt the collective will of the room shatter around you. A groan rippled through the hall, low and tired, the sound of two hundred exhausted students made in unison when they realize freedom just got pushed back another ten minutes.

Your friend Jessie was sitting right beside you, arms crossed, glaring at the back of Jace's head with the exact same betrayal you were feeling. You were running purely on spite at that point. You pulled out your phone, zoomed in on the back of his perfectly styled head, and snapped an unflattering, slightly blurry photo. Underneath it you typed, if golden boy asks one more question I am going to throw my textbook at his perfect hair, and pulled up the share sheet to AirDrop it to Jessie like you always did when you wanted her to see something without whispering across the row and getting shushed.

Multiple names popped up on the screen, starting with the same letter. Your thumb moved faster than your brain did, tapping the first one without actually reading it, and you went right back to glaring at the back of Jace's head, waiting for Jessie's reaction.

It took a second to register that something was wrong. Jessie's phone never buzzed. Yours did instead, a small delivery confirmation lighting up your screen, and your stomach dropped straight through the floor before you even opened it to check. You looked at the name still sitting there under the AirDrop icon and felt every bit of blood leave your face.

Jace's iPhone.

Three rows down, his phone lit up in his hand. You watched his shoulders go stiff as he looked at the screen, and then, slowly, a grin spread across his face, which told you he already knew exactly how he was going to make your life difficult for the rest of the semester. He started turning around in his seat, clearly getting ready to deliver some devastating comeback, looking far too pleased with himself for someone about to embarrass you in front of the entire class.

What he forgot, in that moment of triumph, was the iced caramel macchiato sitting open on his desk. His elbow caught the edge of the table as he spun toward you. The cup tipped sideways in what felt like slow motion, and a whole wave of sugary, icy coffee dumped straight into his lap.

The sound he made was not dignified. It landed somewhere between a gasp and a yelp, and he shot up out of his seat so fast his chair nearly toppled backward, frantically patting at his lap with a single sheet of loose paper while half the row dissolved into laughter around him.

Through all of it, his eyes found yours, wide with betrayal and something that might have been the start of a laugh he refused to let out. His face went beet red, coffee still dripping off the edge of the desk. He pointed a sticky finger in your direction and mouthed three words.

This is karma.

The moment class ended, you were already moving. You crammed your laptop and binders into your bag and yanked the zipper shut with more force than necessary, because the top priority right now was getting out of that building before the smartest person in your year could catch up to you and demand answers.

You practically ran for the exit, dodging around slower classmates and taking the steep concrete steps of the lecture hall two at a time. Then you heard it. A sharp pop from somewhere behind you, and a second later your overstuffed backpack gave up entirely. The zipper split clean along the seam and the whole bag burst open at once, spilling everything down the stairs behind you.

Your laptop slid out and went sliding down the steps like it had somewhere better to be. A half-eaten granola bar launched out of the side pocket and sailed through the air in a small, tragic arc, hitting Jace, who happened to be walking a few steps ahead of you, directly in the back of the neck.

"Ow, what the-" He spun around fast, one hand flying up to rub his neck, just in time to watch you trip over your own misstep.

You went flying down the last two steps and collided with him at full speed, no time to catch yourself or even brace for impact. There was no graceful way to describe what happened next.

Both of you hit the floor in a tangle of limbs, scattered papers, crushed oats, and rolling highlighters, the granola bar wrapper somehow ending up stuck under someone’s shoe a few feet away. Jace took most of the impact, landing hard on his back with a breathless “oof” underneath you.

For a few seconds, neither of you moved. You were completely wrapped around each other on the floor, your face only inches from his, close enough that you could count his eyelashes if you'd been in any state to think that clearly. Jace, who always had something clever ready to say, seemed to have lost the ability to speak entirely. His hair was a mess, sticking up on one side where it had hit the tile, there was a piece of almond stuck to his collarbone from your granola bar, and his cheeks had gone a soft, embarrassed pink that had nothing to do with the coffee stain still drying on his jeans.

He looked up at you and blinked, twice, before a nervous laugh slipped out of him.

"You know," he said, breathless, his arms already wrapping around your waist to keep you both steady on the slick floor, "most people just ask for my Snapchat or number. I have to say, I respect the commitment to a full-body takedown."

He didn't rush to let you go. His eyes softened, and a small, slightly dorky smile crept onto his face, nothing like the composed, untouchable version of him you'd been watching from three rows back for weeks. "You good? Nothing broken?"

"Just my dignity," you whispered, wishing more than anything that the floor would open up and take you with it.

That night, your phone buzzed with a text from a number you didn't recognize.

“Hey. It's Jace. The guy you bruised, slandered, and spilled coffee on today.”

A second message followed almost immediately, like he'd typed it out in advance and hit send before he could talk himself out of it.

“My ribs are fine but my pride took some real damage. Only fix I can think of is you letting me take you out tomorrow night. No backpacks allowed. I'll buy the coffee this time, since I clearly can't be trusted to hold my own.”

And so, the next evening, his car pulled up outside your apartment right on time. When you opened the door, there he was, looking suspiciously put together in a brand-new jacket with all its pockets fully intact, holding a small, neatly wrapped box like he wasn't sure what to do with his hands otherwise.

"Open it," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, a faint blush already creeping up his cheeks.

You tore off the paper. Inside was a heavy-duty metal water bottle and a roll of industrial-strength duct tape, both wrapped like they were something precious.

"For your backpack," Jace said, leaning over to help with your seatbelt once you'd climbed in. "And in case you feel the urge to tackle me again later. Though, honestly, I wouldn't mind if you did."

I mean, I get it, Mo Xiuyao. You were avalanched by so many feelings with Ye Li's admission of what happened to the decree & its relation to her mother. That she knew about it all along was something that made everything worse.

You hated to be pitied, you didn't want her to stay out of guilt, I get it.

Still didn't stop me from gloating that it didn't take you long to get full blown remorse for your hasty reaction. You know Marquis Muyang was sowing discord between the two of you -- the time you took to ruminate over the revelation should have brought you further in terms of processing the situation but noooo ...

You did not take this time to cool down.

You did not take this time to think how your wife has always treated you, the care and affection she has shown you.

You had to pitch a fit and write her a letter of divorce, all teary.

You didn't even look at her.

You didn't see that she looked catatonic.

Of course you ignored the letter she left you, thinking work was the solution. You raged at your staff because their joy stings you with the reminder of how she made that success possible.

Of course you had to get drunk and then clumsily attempt to win her back.

Ah, your dawning horror as the truth about her was slowly revealed was utterly delicious. The guilt. The confusion. The terror that it was too late to make amends. Hahahaha!

Then you see her at her home.

Her desolate, creepy home. Where she is painfully alone, and has been for God knows how long. You see for yourself that she barely had any food, nor decent furniture.

You see how her vacant expression brought to mind the term: the wheel is turning but the hamster is dead.

The gaps in her memories. Her insistence that her people are just at the back hills.

Her continued worry about your greying hair.

And now you pay the price for your careless cruelty.

You will have to figure out how to deal with her delusions without harming her further.

You will have to find out what actually happened to the people in Li Shan.

And then you will have to figure out how to make good on all your promises to her that you broke with your callous ignorance and selfishness.

You deserve to suffer this torment of your creation. Hahahaha!

You clutched his hand in your own, and it felt colder, but mayhaps that was your imagination. You swore your hand still felt as if it was submerged into the cold water, the waves rocky against it.

And if you stopped moving too long you could hear the ongoing battle surrounding you. The cries of Vermax. Your own dragons roars of furry as if he fed off your own anger.

The blood. His blood from his injury stained your clothing, but you could not find it in yourself to care currently.

You could still smell the burning flesh of men in your nose, as Vermithor burned the ships as you worked to pull his body out of the water. His body that seemed so lifeless an arrow piercing through his back. He almost—

He is alive.

He is alive.

He is alive.

You had to keep repeating it to yourself in the silence as your mind wandered. Rhaenyra had stayed for sometime, but once it was assured that he would pull through she once more had to return to duty.

Leaving you alone with nothing, but the comforting sound of his breathing. You had never once thought you would be so thankful to hear it, to be able to see the steady rise and fall of his chest, but you were almost without it.

You looked out at the sky once more as if that would ease anything. If it would seize the loudness of your mind despite the quiet room.

Then you heard it. Your name. It was so clear and coming from the only man you had ever loved. Your head snapped over to the bedside.

Jacaerys sat looking at you, his eyebrows drawn together sitting himself up slowly, his face cringing in pain, "Where am I?" he asked, looking around at the room, trying to search for some familiarity.

You sat unmoving. Staring, blinking at him as your mind finally went still. He was awake. He was calling your name. He was staring at you with those brown eyes you loved so much.

And he was alive.

"Oh thank the Gods," you cried shooting forward wrapping your arms around him. He winced slightly, and you tried to pull back, but he did not let you he stood clutching you tighter holding you to him.

It showed that for a moment he had felt the same fear that you had. That you would never see the other again. That your last conversation had been something about strategy and battle rather than your complete adoration for the other.

You had almost lost him.

But you hadn't. You had gotten there in time.

"How…I don't remember getting here," he said, finally realizing he was in Dragonstone. He was home. He was safe. Though he could not remember much other than the arrowing soaring into his back. He could put the pieces together.

Jace allowed you to pull back so that you could look at him, really look at him, "You think I would hear about you going into battle and not come?" you questioned.

He said nothing at first, his hand raising to trace your face as if to confirm that you were real. That this was happening, and not some twisted afterlife heaven giving him a scenario that he wished could happen, but never did.

"What were you thinking? Vermithor and I—" Your voice, began to rise half in anger the other in frustration of him going off without you.

He did not mean to smile, but he could not help it. You were real. You were lecturing him just like you always had, "You had other matters to attend to," he said, tracing along your brow, with a fond smile on his lips.

You scoffed holding his eyes, the anger on your face evident, but slowly drifting away, as his eyes visibly softened looking to you.

He is alive.

He is alive.

He is alive.

Your hand lifted, resting against his cheek. Both your heads leaned forward, your foreheads resting against the other, as your shaky breaths filled the air, "Nothing is more important to I then you, Jacaerys. The Gods will not separate us. Not yet. I will not let them."

"That is not for you to decide," he told you, as if it would release the burden, but it did not, because it was not a burden. It was the truth. You would not allow anyone, thing or power above attempt to rip him from your grasps.

You shrugged, "It is now, because I will not loose you. I could not bare it," you told him lowly, your frown deepening at the thought. That had almost been your reality. A life without him.

You could not imagine it. A world without Jace would be hollow.

Neither of you spoke for a moment, sitting the silence your heads resting against the other as it slowly soothed your fast beating heart.

He is alive.

He is alive.

He is alive.

Jacaerys was the first one to break the silence, "I wish to be wed. I cannot imagine dying not at least knowing you were my wife."

You pulled back from fully looking at his features once more. There was absolutely not hesitation in his words. He meant them just as much as you had meant yours moments ago. Your mouth oped slightly, as you tried to form a coherent though.

"You will not die," you insisted, and you meant it.

"Humor me…please. I do not wish to wait any longer," his hand reached out, cupping the side of your neck at the pair of you stared at one another.

Being married to Jace did not scare you, not in the slightest. He was the only man you had ever loved. He was already set to be your husband, and what harm could moving up the date do.

After-all you had almost lost him forever. You had almost been forced to live a life without him, and you could not bear the thought of that. You truly knew deep down that you could loose the other at any possible moment. This was a war nonetheless.

You both deserve some happiness.

You leaned forward pressing your kiss to his mouth sealing your mouths together as you tried to pour every single emotion you felt into him. You hoped he knew how much you loved him. How much you care for him.

You only pulled away when your lungs begged for air and even then it was almost painful. neither of you wanted to spend another moment unbound from the other.

"I will take that as a yes," he breathed out. You could feel his lips turning up slightly, as if he was laughing, and the sound warmed your heart.

He is alive.

He is alive.

He is alive.

You wanted nothing more than in that moment to tuck him between your ribs to keep him safe next to your heart, the one that beat only for him, "Once you can walk again…we can be wed."

He moved instantly trying to get out of bed. "Sit your ass back down I did not mean this very second you fool," you said pushing him back against it lightly.

"But—"

You shook your head, rolling your eyes as you pressed a delicate kiss to the top of his head, "You need to rest," you told him standing.

His hand shot out wrapping around your arm, "Do not leave," he pleaded, his eyes begging as if he was scared you would disappear forever once you were from his view.

You pried his fingers from his hand, before lacing your own through it sitting back in the chair at his bed side. You looked at him with a small reassuring smile as he watched your every move, "Rest. I am not going anywhere. Not without you. Besides you must rest if you wish to marry me."

Jacaerys nodded, not quite settling against the pillows, his face still full of the unspoken fear that you would disappear. Though he did not know you held the very same. That you wondered if your mind was playing tricks on you.

He is alive.

He is alive.

He is alive.

You smiled at him, "I am not going anywhere," you said, bringing his hand to your mouth pressing a soft kiss to each of his fingers that held yours so tightly, "Rest. Please for me."

He finally nodded, "As you wish, my love," he muttered, leaning back against the propped pillows, but he did not close his eyes instead he stared solely at you, and you back at him.

He is alive.

He is alive.

He is alive.