Chapter Text
A baby’s cry cut through the apartment like a cracked bell, sharp and insistent, echoing off thin walls that had heard it all before. Maegor sat enthroned in his plastic baby chair, a tiny tyrant in a kingdom of crumbs. One fist clutched a wooden spoon dripping with something that had once aspired to be mashed vegetables; the other reached out into the air as if summoning servants only he could see.
“Ma...ma…,” the baby babbled intelligibly, waving the wooden spoon.
“Give mama a sec, sweetheart,” Aerion called from across the room, breath already halfway gone.
He stood by the narrow counter that pretended to be a kitchen, tugging his crop top down with one hand while trying to wipe puree off his jeans with the other. The fabric clung to him like a second thought, tight and deliberate. It wasn’t comfort. It was armor. Or bait. Depending on the night.
He crossed the small space in three steps, plucked the spoon from Maegor’s grip before it could be flung into legend, and set the abandoned bowl in the sink with a soft clink. 14 months old Maegor pouted and glared up at Aerion with the cutest pair of mismatched eyes.
One blue. One brown.
“Right,” he muttered, “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Maegor protested as he was lifted, a string of babbled complaints spilling from his lips, but he settled quickly against Aerion’s chest, small fingers curling into the warm fabric.
The apartment they were living in was small, barely more than a box with four walls. The tiny living room could barely fit an old worn sofa pushed against one wall and a small table. It bled into a space meant to be the kitchen and dining room cramped into one. A bedroom meant for one but now had to make space for a crib. There was barely space to walk. In the tiny bathroom, a narrow stall with a toilet and a thin curtain separating it from the shower space. Still, Aerion made do with what he got.
Ten minutes later, Maegor emerged, clad in a clean cotton shirt, smelling faintly of baby powder and fruit shampoo. He shifted Maegor onto his hip and stepped into the narrow hallway, knocking gently on the neighbouring door. It opened almost immediately. A short curvy woman in her twenties, with red hair and kind eyes greeted him.
“You’re cutting it close again,” she said, already reaching out.
“I know,” Aerion said, breathless, as he passed Maegor over with careful hands.
“I know, I’m sorry, I just—”
“Go,” she adjusted Maegor slightly as he snuggled against her shoulder. “Before your boss decides to replace you with someone less chronically late.”
“Oh, he’d wish he could find another me,” Aerion laughed under his breath, as he braced one hand against the doorframe and slipped into his heels with the other.
“Thank you, Rowan,” he said, “Truly.”
“Come on now,” Rowan said, “You know I don’t mind it at all.”
Maegor reached back towards Aerion then, babbling something that might have been “mama” or an unhappy protest at the sudden change in scenery. Aerion smiled apologetically before leaning in to press a kiss to the soft crown of his son’s head.
“Be good,” he murmured.
He pulled his jacket tighter around his body as he stepped out into the night.
————————————————————
The nightclub pulsed with life. Not just with music, but with heat, with bodies, with that electric, reckless hunger that gathered in dim places after dark. Neon lights bled across polished surfaces. Laughter rose and broke like waves. Money changed hands with the casual flick of fingers.
Aerion belonged here in the way a spark belongs to dry tinder. He moved like something choreographed by instinct and necessity, climbing the pole with a grace that turned effort into illusion. Under the lights, his skin gleamed, his pale hair like spun moonlight, his smile sharpened, his exhaustion erased beneath layers of glitter and intention.
Here, he wasn’t tired. He wasn’t worried. He wasn’t calculating how many shifts it would take to cover rent, formula, and the bills that stacked up like a mountain on the dining room table. Here, he swung around poles, grinding on drunk men while green bills were tucked into his waistband.
Here, he was wanted.
Here, he was the Bright Prince.
His gaze swept the crowd in practiced arcs, measuring interest, spotting opportunity. Then, it snagged. There, in the low-lit section reserved for those who didn’t need to ask the price, sat a man wrapped in expensive ease. Sharp suit and a watch that could probably pay more than three months of Aerion’s rent. The champagne on that table lifted like it was water, laughter easy among companions who leaned in to catch it.
Aerion recognized the unmistakable dark brown hair with a streak of white from the top to the side of his head.
Valarr.
The name landed in Aerion’s chest like a dropped weight. The world didn’t stop, that would have been kinder. Instead, it kept spinning, loud and relentless, while something inside him went very still.
He doubted Valarr would even recognize him. Not like this. Not with the heavy makeup, the lights, the carefully constructed version of himself designed for strangers. Still, he turned his face away. When the song dipped, he slipped down from the pole with controlled grace, landing light on his feet before threading through the crowd towards the backstage corridor.
Almost there…
“Aerion?”
The voice cut clean through the noise. Aerion tried to ignore it. His steps quickened, heart climbing into his throat. If he could just make the corner—
A hand closed around his wrist.
“Aerion, is that you?”
Aerion turned, slowly, like someone being dragged back into a story he had already tried to end. He kept his gaze down.
“Let go of me, please.”
Valarr ignored him.
“I thought you’d be in college,” he said, confusion threading through his voice. “What happened?”
Aerion pulled at his wrist, but Valarr’s grip held, unyielding.
“Please, sir,” Aerion said, soft and practiced, slipping into a role like it was second nature.
“You’re hurting me.”
They both know it wasn’t true. Valarr barely put any strength into it.
“Or I’ll have no choice but to call security,” Aerion added quietly.
As if summoned, a shadow fell over them, followed by a booming voice behind Valarr.
“Aerion, is this guy bothering you?”
It was Duncan, the bouncer. Duncan the Tall, they called him. He was as big as a castle, towering over even Valarr. Not wanting to risk causing a scene, Valarr’s hand loosened, then fell away entirely. He held up both his hands in surrender.
“I’ll go,” he said before backing away.
Aerion wasted no time as he offered Duncan a brief grateful nod before disappearing into the dressing room like a vanishing act, a breath of relief leaving him in a rush.
“Rough crowd tonight?” Lysa asked, watching him in the mirror as he reached for makeup remover with unsteady hands.
“Something like that,” he muttered, dragging the pad across his eyes. Black smeared, turning sharp lines into shadows.
“You looked like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Worse.”
“An ex?”
When Aerion didn’t answer, she smirked knowingly.
“Gods, Aerion,” she said, almost fondly.
“I need air.”
Aerion stood so quickly the chair scraped loudly across the floor. He grabbed his jacket from the chair and pushed through the back door before anyone could stop him.
“Don’t go too far, Bright Prince,” Lysa called after him. “You’re needed in twenty!”
————————————————————
The alley greeted him with cool night breeze and the distant hum of the city. Aerion looked up. The moon was bright tonight. Too bad the neon lights here were too bright for him to see any stars. His warm breath fogged in the cold air. He leaned against the wall, fumbling with a cigarette. It took him three tries to light it. His hands weren’t as steady as he wanted them to be.
The first drag burned all the way down. He exhaled slowly, the smoke curling in the misty air. He pulled his jacket tighter around his small frame. For a moment, it was just him, the quiet, and the fragile illusion of control.
He recognized the footsteps before they reached him. His gaze remained on the ground.
“Will you kindly refrain from stalking me, sir?” Aerion’s voice sounded hoarse.
“Aerion.” Came Valarr’s voice. “I know you remember me.”
Aerion looked up then, and met Valarr’s gaze. He could make out the colours even under the dim streetlight.
One blue. One brown.
Gods, those eyes…
“Didn’t know you were back in town,” Aerion commented nonchalantly.
“Business brought me here,” Valarr said, “Might just settle down here after going all over the place these past years.
Aerion scoffed softly, flicking the ashes of his cigarette.
“I see you’ve found yourself a new prodigy,” Aerion said, “I saw the guy earlier.”
For a moment, Valarr just stared at him. The guy Aerion saw earlier was barely old enough to enter a place like this, sporting a buzz cut and innocent eyes, who was obviously struggling to handle the drink but still trying to impress the others.
“Oh, you mean Aegon?” Valarr lifted his eyebrow. “We’ve just closed another deal. His first successful one. So I thought, why not celebrate a little?”
Aerion hummed as his mouth curved, “Hmm…yeah…”
“And we know how that’d end up,” he added bitterly, almost to himself.
“What?” Valarr stared.
“Wait, you mean—,” his eyes widened as realization dawned on him. “It’s not—we’re not like that.”
“Oh, you’re not?” Aerion feigned innocence.
“No, Gods, Aerion,” Valarr exhaled heavily.
“What we had…,” he gestured weakly between them, “That was different—”
“Is it now?” Aerion continued to mock him.
“I—Aerion, what happened to you?” Valarr turned to him.
Aerion let out a short, humorless laugh, turning to face him fully now.
“What happened to you?”
The cigarette hung forgotten between his fingers, a thin ribbon of smoke curling upward.
“You disappeared, Valarr. No number. No note. No—,” he stopped himself, jaw tightening hard enough to ache. “And now you want a life update?”
“Aerion, I—,” Valarr swallowed, his mind racing to find the right words. Because the Aerion he knew wasn’t like this. Because Aerion was supposed to be in college, and not in a place like this. Because the last time he saw him, he’d …
“Do you— I can— Just let me help.”
Apparently, those weren’t the right words.
“Help?” Aerion’s lips curled, he could feel his anger rising. “What, you gonna tip me extra? Buy a private dance? That the kind of help you mean?”
“That’s not what I—”
“Then what?” Aerion cut in, the edge in his voice finally surfacing. “Because unless you’ve figured out how to rewrite the last two years, I’m not interested.”
Valarr ran a hand down his face, the polish cracking just enough to reveal something raw beneath.
“I’m sorry we parted the way we did,” he said softly.
“Parted?” Aerion let out an incredulous laugh. He couldn’t believe his ears.
“You left.”
For once, Valarr was at a loss for words. The word hung between them, heavy and suffocating.
“Just…” Aerion shook his head, exhaustion seeping back in now that the anger had burned through. “Get out of my way.”
He flicked the cigarette to the ground, crushing it under his heel.
“I have a shift to finish.”
He disappeared back into the building before Valarr could utter another word, leaving him stranded at a back alley under bright neon lights.
————————————————————
Lysa was a wall. A very pretty, very deliberate wall.
Aerion caught a glimpse of her through the crack in the dressing room door just before he slipped out the back, her body angled just so, one arm braced against the frame. Valarr stood on the other side, trying and failing to look past her.
Aerion had finished his shift without too much trouble, thinking Valarr had probably gone home now. It was not five minutes after he’d sat down in front of the vanity mirror that the knock came. Light and polite at first, then it grew louder and impatient.
Thank the gods the door was locked, Aerion thought.
“Who is it?” Lysa asked.
“Aerion, is he—,” Valarr’s voice came from the other side of the door. “I need to speak with him.”
“Please,” he added after a beat.
Aerion tensed immediately. Lysa looked over at him. He shook his head frantically, mouthing no.
“Please don’t,” Aerion whispered.
“Go,” Lysa said gently, “I’ll take care of this.”
“Thank you.” Aerion’s eyes burned from the sheer gratitude he felt. But there was no time for that, he hurriedly wiped his face clean, changed out of his glittery outfit and pulled on the comfier footwear that he’d brought with him.
Lysa opened the door a crack.
“Sweetheart,” Lysa purred, voice like honey. “If you’re looking for a show, you’re going to have to pay like everyone else.”
“I’m not here for—,” Valarr started, trying to look over Lysa’s shoulder.
“Aren’t you?” She tilted her head, lashes low, smile sharp. “Because you’ve been staring awfully hard for a man not interested.”
Aerion didn’t wait to hear more. He grabbed his bag and went out the backdoor. He slipped into the alley like a shadow shaking loose from its body, heart hammering as if it were trying to outrun the rest of him. The cool night air slapped against his skin, stripping away the heat of the club, the music still thudding faintly behind the walls.
He didn’t look back. Not once. He ducked his head low and quickened his pace. After two streets, he ducked into a quieter road. Still no footsteps behind him. Still no voice calling his name.
Good.
By the time he reached his building, his lungs burned and his thoughts had tangled into something messy. But he didn’t want to think about any of it now. He dragged his tired legs up the stairs, walked down the hall, and knocked.
The door opened after the second knock. Rowan stood there, one eyebrow raised in silent question when she saw the state Aerion was in. There was smeared mascara and faint glitters on his face, and he looked worn and tired, more so than usual.
Maegor was perched on Rowan’s hip like a tiny, sleepy monarch. His entire face lit up when he saw Aerion.
“Ma!” he chirped, arms already reaching. Aerion stepped forward, gathering his son into his arms with a soft, almost disbelieving laugh.
“My little dragon,” he said adoringly as he pressed his face into Maegor’s pale hair, breathing him in like oxygen.
“Ma,” Maegor babbled again, softer this time, as he patted Aerion’s face with his tiny hands and Aerion pretended to bite his fingers, making him squealed in delight.
Aerion made himself comfortable on the couch in Rowan’s tiny living room after she insisted he looked seconds away from falling apart. He’d cleaned himself up a bit earlier, he’d looked in the mirror and did not recognize himself. At least, not a version he’d had seen in the past two years. The smeared makeup was gone from his face but his hands weren’t quite steady, even now.
Maegor was in the playpen with his favourite stuffed dragon and blue blanket. Rowan emerged from the kitchen with two cups of warm tea and sat down beside Aerion. He took the cup, grateful for something to calm his shaky fingers with.
“Are you okay?” Rowan asked carefully after a moment of comfortable silence.
Aerion blinked. Opened his mouth. Closed it. His mind raced. The memory of what happened earlier replayed over and over behind his eyes. Bright lights. Loud music. White streak. The new guy. The alley. Valarr.
He huffed out a breath, something between a laugh and surrender, and tried his best to shrug.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” The edge of his lips curved upward, resembling a forced smile.
Rowan crossed her arms, unimpressed. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Deflect,” she nodded towards his face. “I know something’s wrong, Aerion. I know you too well to know that something…bad happened just now, and that it’s bothering you, a lot.”
Aerion kept his gaze down, staring at the tea in his mug silently. Rowan bit her lower lip.
“Do you…,” she spoke softly, “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I…,” Aerion suddenly found it hard to push the words out.
Rowan saw how hard it was for him. She touched his arm gently, giving him a sad smile.
“I’m sorry, it was rude of me to pry,” she said, “Forget I asked.”
“I was just…worried about you, Aerion,” she added.
Aerion’s eyes shone as he let out a heavy sigh, his hands tightening around the mug. The tea had gone cold. Neither of them had drunk it.
“I…uh…I saw someone tonight,” Aerion said, barely a whisper. “Someone I…knew. From before.”
Rowan understood what he meant. Before he came here. Before they became neighbours. Before Maegor. Before, when he was another version of Aerion. A version who was definitely not working night shifts at a nightclub, feeding the baby at 3am in the morning, and having to grow up way too quickly at just nineteen.
“Was he…,” Rowan started, then flicked her eyes towards Maegor, who was yawning and putting the silicone giraffe into his mouth.
Aerion nodded slightly, then shook his head. “I didn’t…I wasn’t ready.”
“I ran,” he said quietly, “I ran like a coward.”
“You don’t have to deal with him,” Rowan squeezed his hand gently. “Not if you don’t want to.”
Aerion lifted his eyes and stared at her. “Shouldn’t I?”
“I mean, he deserves to know…right?” he asked, suddenly unsure of himself.
Rowan tilted her head slightly, holding his gaze.
“Then you do it at your own pace,” she said firmly. “You don’t owe him anything.”
Aerion nodded. “Thank you.”
“I just need tonight,” he said, picking Maegor up. “To be…this, you know?”
Just this, he thought as he gathered Maegor close against him. Maegor immediately leaned his head on Aerion’s shoulder, eyes half closed from drowsiness already. Aerion kissed the top of his son’s head. He was so tired. He didn’t want to think about anything or anyone waiting outside the door.
Rowan gave a small nod, she understood more than he thought.
“I’m glad you told me,” she said. “I’m always here if you need me, don’t you forget that.”
“Thank you, Rowan,” Aerion nodded, eyes shining.
————————————————————
Back in his tiny apartment, Aerion went straight to the crib, ready to put Maegor to sleep. He was yawning with his eyes half closed merely minutes earlier. But as soon as Aerion lowered him into the crib, his eyes shot open as if possessed, and started screaming.
Aerion pulled him back into his embrace immediately, soothing him desperately with gentle voices. He did not want to wake the whole building at 2am.
“No—please, shh…shh…,” Aerion hushed him softly. “You were sleepy just moments ago. Please, what do you want?”
Maegor, of course, did not reply. He just squeezed his eyes shut and cried like the world was ending. Aerion tried the bottle, he tried his favourite dragon toy, all the while bouncing him gently against his hip. He didn’t know what else he could do. He gave up and instead, lay Maegor down beside him on the bed.
To his surprise, Maegor settled instantly. He blinked up at Aerion with his big innocent blue and brown eyes, then snuggled his face close to Aerion’s warm chest. Within seconds, his breathing slowed and he was soon snoring softly. Deep asleep. Aerion breathed a sigh of relief. He huffed a quiet laugh as he shifted more comfortably on the bed.
The apartment was silent now, with only the sounds of their breathing. Aerion lay down facing his son. He brushed a gentle hand over Maegor’s pale hair, down his cheek and round to his back, caressing up and down slowly in a soothing gesture. He leaned down and kissed Maegor on the temple, right on top of the brown tuft of hair above his left ear.
Valarr.
Who was he even kidding? He could never stop thinking about the man who gave him his son even if he tried. He saw him in Maegor every single day. In his eyes, in his hair. He moved slightly closer to his son, careful not to wake him.
“My little dragon,” he whispered as he pressed his lips against the crown of Maegor’s head. Gods, he loved his son so much it actually hurt. He could not bear to even imagine anything—anything at all—that could happen to him.
He closed his eyes. Another pair of mismatched eyes flashed across his mind immediately. He couldn’t help but wonder what it might have been if Valarr knew. A thousand what ifs flooded his mind. Would he have stayed? Would he’d wanted him? Would they be a family? Or maybe he wasn’t ready to be a father? He shook his head at the last thought. He told himself that he’d moved on. He had Maegor to take care of now. He had work. He was busy. Too busy to be dwelling in the past. And yet, he had not stopped thinking about him for the past two years.
He stared at Maegor, at his adorable little face sleeping peacefully. He swore, he would never let his son feel unwanted or unloved. Never. How could anyone not love this perfect little human being? Aerion thought to himself. We’ll be fine, just the two of us. Won’t we?
Suddenly, his breath hitched, his eyes burned, and within seconds, hot tears came spilling down his cheeks. It hurt. The thoughts hurt. His gripped the front of his shirt as if he could physically clutch his own heart. He slid off the bed before he could wake Maegor, and sat on the floor with his back to the wall. His shoulders shook violently. He gasped for air as he tried to slow his breathing without success. The tears came in waves. Aerion wrapped his arms around himself as if that could stop him from falling apart. It was the first time since Maegor was born that he really really cried. Gods, he was so tired, of everything.
It took him about another 10 minutes before his sobbing was reduced to sniffles. He forced his lungs to suck in oxygen and exhaled shakily through his mouth. He dragged his tired body towards the bathroom sink and washed up quickly. Gods, he did not recognize himself in the mirror. Puffy eyes, blotchy cheeks and reddened nose. He looked so tired and worn out.
It was almost 3am in the morning when he climbed back onto the bed beside Maegor. Maegor made a soft sleepy sound as the bed dipped. His brows furrowed and his fingers twitched. But he did not wake. Aerion let out a sigh of relief.
“I’m here, I’m here,” he whispered as he settled down close to his son.
Sleep claimed him quickly enough and there were no dreams.