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0 miles.
“Do we really have to do this?” asked Valarr as he put their luggage in the trunk. He spoke with a cigarette hanging from his lips, smoke curling into the air as the question escaped his lips. It was a little over five in the morning, the sun had not yet risen, but he and Aerion had already stood in the driveway, two cups of coffee deep.
“I can manage on my own, Val. It is fine if you do not want to come along.” Aerion leaned against the car door with his head bowed, eyes fixed on his phone as he checked the route on the maps. “Besides, Uncle Baelor sent you here for holiday, not to be my chaperone.”
Valarr let out a little huff. “I’m not trying to be your chaperone. But there is no way I’m leaving you on your own.” The cigarette fell to the ground, and he stepped on it until the fire died.
“And there is no way I’m leaving Daeron on his own either,” Aerion muttered without lifting his gaze from his phone. He could feel Valarr approaching him, leaning against the same car door, and standing far too close to him, their shoulders brushing.
Neither of them said anything.
There was no point arguing with Aerion. Valarr had no intention of wasting his entire day locked in a pointless back-and-forth with him. “You never cared about him before.” His words came out before he could even think about it. He looked at Aerion from the corner of his eye and noticed how the smaller man’s body went rigid.
“Shut up,” Aerion said through his gritted teeth. His jaw set and eyes flickered between his phone screen and the cobblestone under his feet.
“Aeri, you worry too much.” He was checking the time on his watch when Aerion kicked his shin. “Ouch, what the fuck?” Valarr winced slightly, shooting a sharp glance at Aerion.
“It is Daeron. I will always worry about him.” His voice came out soft and hushed, barely above the whisper. He stared blankly ahead, as if hoping Daeron might just appear before him out of thin air. “I cannot get hold of him. He is not replying to my messages and he is not picking up the phone either. What do you expect me to do, Val? Just sit here and do nothing when I know he has gone missing?”
Something inside Valarr broke when he caught the hurt written so plainly on Aerion’s beautiful face. His hands twitched at his sides, itching to reach for him, give him a hug, or make any physical contact, even a brush of fingertips. “Alright, then. Let’s go and look for him, shall we?” He straightened his back and walked around to the driver’s side of the car. “Do you know where we should go?”
“Starfall. Mum’s place.”
18 miles.
The sound of music drifting from the car’s speakers filled the silence between them. Every now and then, Valarr tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the melody, inaccurate lyrics slipping from his lips, humming through the parts he clearly did not know.
Aerion could not help but laugh. A chuckle escaped before he could stop it. “You do not even know the lyrics, but you are still singing along.” His voice was light, teasing, but there was fondness seeping through it. His head turned to the side, looking at Valarr who was still singing along with the lyrics he had made up in his head. A crooked grin spread across Aerion’s face, tugging at both cheeks, reaching his eyes, which glimmered with mischief.
Valarr glanced briefly at Aerion, then snorted. “Just so it is not too quiet, you have been silent this whole time.” He paused to look at the GPS and cursed when he realised he had missed a turn. Aerion, who was supposed to be his navigator, had abandoned the task half an hour ago (“I believe you can see the maps yourself. I get motion sickness when I look at my phone for too long,” he said, looking at Valarr with those big, violet eyes, the ones Valarr could never say no to). “I can hear you thinking, Aerion. Why are you so preoccupied in your own head when I’m right here? I’m right here with you, but you act as though I'm invisible,” he said as he turned the car back and took the right turn. His eyes kept darting between the road and Aerion, who was slouched in his seat.
“But you are not. You are here beside me as a driver,” Aerion replied casually, deliberately trying to annoy his cousin. For some reason, seeing the man sulk and pull a sour face gave him a peculiar sense of satisfaction. Valarr’s face rarely gave anything away, he looked uninterested in everything most of the time. Aerion always got the idea that he was trying to embody his father, Uncle Baelor—calm, level-headed, restrained, calculating his every move. But the young man failed adorably, because to Aerion he just ended up looking as though he was constipated.
Valarr grunted in annoyance. He leaned back in his seat, head thrown back, exposing the long expanse of his neck. Aerion could not help but look. He, without a shred of shame, let his gaze linger on his cousin’s slender neck, tracing every freckle and mole. He suddenly felt the urge to leap across the centre console, sit on Valarr’s lap, and leave red marks that would turn purple and yellow along his neck, like he did one summer ago, when they were in Dragonstone with alcohol running in their veins.
“That is not what I meant, Aerion. Talk to me. For goodness’ sake.”
Valarr’s voice pulled Aerion from his not-so-appropriate thoughts. He blinked and tore his gaze away from his cousin's neck, drifting it upward and fixing it on his mismatched eyes. “I’m not much of a talker,” he murmured, his gaze falling to his lap as he played with his fingers and picked at the skin around his nails. He had to do that, occupy his jittery hands with something, otherwise they would reach out to Valarr and brush the white streak in his hair.
“You used to be a chatterbox, when we were just kids. Do you remember that?”
Aerion hummed in response. He did not like to talk about his childhood, or anything before his mother died, her body burned on the pyre. He did not like it when people pointed out how he used to behave before anger took root in his chest and made him pull himself away from everyone else.
Valarr tightened his grip on the steering wheel, sensing the shift in Aerion’s mood. From his peripheral, he could see his cousin leaning against the window. “What on earth is going on in that head of yours? Mind if I take a look?” He truly wished to know what happened in Aerion’s head, what thoughts plagued his mind from the moment he hit adolescence and decided to make everyone his enemy.
For a moment, Valarr’s words were left unanswered. Aerion kept his eyes on the road, watching the blur of trees and streetlights through the window. His mind was elsewhere, scattered among matters that brought nothing but pain, the kind of pain he could not put into words. There was his mother’s death, and how everything had fallen apart after that. There was also the matter of Valarr, the one he had been avoiding since he learned how to put a name to the kind of feelings he harboured for his cousin. Sick, twisted, forbidden feelings. Things he pushed to the back of his mind, locked away along with disgust and shame. Things that only surfaced when he was relapsing on the floor, calling for his mother, his father, Valarr. Things he acted out only when there was alcohol pumping adrenaline through his bloodstream.
It was forbidden, something unforgivable, something beyond what was considered normal for families. But they danced anyway—they danced until they bled all over the floor.
They danced on the fine line between family and lovers, unwilling to let go of either. Sometimes, Valarr would pull him to the other side, but his legs were shackled by the roots of disgust and shame. He was disgusted with himself for shamelessly lusting over his own cousin, the one who had built a fort on his bed when they were kids just because Aerion wanted to go camping outside, but his father had said no. The shame he would bring to the family if they ever found out what kind of things he and Valarr had been doing, what kind of thoughts were poisoning his mind. Sometimes, he would pull Valarr to dance on the other side, when he was desperate and broken, but Valarr would slip away to dance with someone else.
It was a never-ending circle. A tiring, repetitive dance they had been doing ever since touches under the blanket stopped being innocent, and kisses that once meant nothing more than making a scraped knee feel better had turned into something else entirely.
But Aerion thought about how they would spend the next few hours together. Just the two of them, trapped in an iron box on wheels, travelling down the long road to Starfall. They might not be in this situation again. Valarr had just graduated from university, and soon he would leave for King's Landing, where he would work alongside his father at their family business' headquarters, and there would be no more holidays at Summerhall or Dragonstone. They would only meet once every few years for family gatherings, and whatever they had left behind would be forgotten.
“Aerion?”
What on earth is going on in that head of yours? Mind if I take a look?
“There is no need, you will only see yourself. In my head, I mean. You always have been there.” After those words came out, Aerion wanted to disappear. Embarrassment crawled up from the back of his neck to his cheeks, painting them a vivid red on his fair skin.
Hearing Aerion’s words, Valarr suppressed a smile. “Rent-free, I assume.”
“Shut up. Just drive. You talk too much.”
Valarr burst out laughing, the sound of it infectious enough to pull a smile from Aerion and send warmth blooming through his chest.
29 miles.
Aerion was drifting off in his dream when he felt a shake on his shoulder. He groaned, refusing to open his eyes, trying to get back to his dream where he was flying with dragons. But something, someone was disturbing him, and this time not only did the shaking grow harder, but it was also accompanied by a familiar voice. The fragments of his dream slowly faded away, the dragons vanishing with them, and his consciousness slowly returned. Harsh light blinded his vision when he opened his eyes. His mind was still foggy with sleep, but he could make out The Beatles playing from the speaker, and Valarr’s voice calling his name repeatedly.
He swatted away Valarr’s hand that was still shaking his shoulder, silently cursing the way the man had pulled him from his sleep. With his eyes half closed, he muttered, “Ugh, fuck, Val. I’m sleepy. Leave me be,” in a hoarse voice. He could feel the inside of his mouth—the walls and roof—dry and rough, as if stuffed with a pile of sand.
“I’m hungry.”
“What the fuck can I do about that?” Aerion slowly opened his eyes and rubbed them to shake off the drowsiness still lingering in his eyelids. “I have already packed some food for us to eat. Just fucking eat it and let me sleep.”
“I cannot, cousin. I’m driving. See?” The man gestured towards the steering wheel, as if Aerion could not already see it for himself. “Aeri, feed me, please,” he pleaded, and for a moment Aerion, still half-asleep, wondered if he was hallucinating things. Valarr never begged, he was too prideful for that, yet here he was, asking Aerion to spoon-feed him.
“What? No way. Do it yourself.”
Valarr clicked his tongue. He had thought saying please would work, but Aerion was always so difficult. “Fine then.” Carelessly, he took his hands off the steering wheel and reached for the packed lunch box sitting on the car’s dashboard. He put it on his lap and opened it—all while taking his eyes off the heavily trafficked highway.
Suddenly, Aerion jolted awake, his senses returned fully, his drowsiness vanishing without a trace, and replaced by a surge of panic. He leaned towards Valarr as he took the wheel. “Valarr! Have you lost your mind?! What if we crash?!”
The one being yelled at shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “I’m hungry and I have been told to feed myself. I’m simply doing what I was told.” Valarr placed his hands back on the steering wheel, the lunchbox resting half-open on his lap. The smell of grilled salmon and roasted chicken with warm rice filled the confined space of the car.
Aerion growled in exasperation. “Fine! I will feed you. You are such a brat. Are you a little kid or something?” He shifted in his seat and straightened his back, suddenly having no desire to try going back to sleep. “Does Daddy’s favourite son love to endanger himself and others when he does not get what he asked for?”
“That would be you.”
“Well, but right now I'm not the one who almost made us crash just because someone refused to spoon-feed him.”
“How am I supposed to feed myself when I’m driving?”
Aerion deadpanned. “You can pull over.”
“We are in the middle of a highway and we cannot just pull over without an emergency.”
Without another word, Aerion reached for the lunchbox. While Aerion was preparing cutlery for both of them, Valarr silently watched him before turning his eyes back to the road. He suddenly felt giddy at how Aerion tended to him, preparing his food and about to feed him. He felt the warmth centred in his chest spread throughout his entire body, carried through his bloodstream, making his toes curl inside his shoes, and rising to his face until a blush spread across his freckled cheeks.
“Do you want salmon or chicken?”
Aerion’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Valarr cleared his throat to hide his shyness. “Both.”
“You greedy bastard! Share one with me!”
Valarr laughed until his shoulders shook. “Fine, then. I will have the salmon.”
Aerion scooped a mouthful of rice and brought it towards Valarr. Without taking his eyes off the road, Valarr opened his mouth, letting the food greet his taste buds and satisfy his hunger. He caught Aerion doing the same—eating his chicken, spooning rice into his own mouth using the very same spoon. Something stirred low in Valarr’s stomach, nothing to do with food, more like a swarm of butterflies flying around. He found himself wishing, absurdly, that he could trade places with that spoon just so he could taste Aerion’s mouth.
100 miles.
Hours passed on the road. They had left the highway behind, now riding through the countryside with its endless sunlit meadows. The sun sat high in the sky and the car’s clock read a little over one in the afternoon. Aerion had slept for maybe an hour after they ate and woken up feeling refreshed, but he could not say the same about his cousin. Every now and then, Valarr’s head would nod off and bump against the steering wheel, the car swaying each time before he jolted awake in surprise. “Val, let’s take turns driving,” said Aerion, gently shaking the shoulder of the man beside him.
“We can switch later, once we stop for gas.” Valarr groaned and stretched his body, feeling the dull ache that came from hours spent hunched behind the wheel. His back was sore all over, a stiffness that settled deep in his spine, crawling up to his shoulders and along the base of his neck. His legs felt cramped from being folded into the same position for too long, his fingers curling and uncurling around the wheel as he tried to work the ache in his palms. “There must be a gas station around here,” he said as he rolled his shoulders, wincing slightly at the pop of a joint.
The road stretched on ahead of them, and the thought of hours still left to drive made the ache worsen. He shook his head harshly, hoping to shake off the sleepiness.
Violet and brown bored into Aerion’s eyes, tired but trying to stay focused. Aerion huffed in annoyance, “do not be ridiculous. Let’s switch, now. I do not want you to crash the car and kill us both.”
Valarr stared at Aerion intently, something flickering behind his eyes, his mouth twitching as if he was about to say something. But instead, he swallowed the words back and tore his gaze away. There was a long pause before he opened his mouth again. “All right, let’s switch then.”
They pulled over. Valarr got out through the driver’s door and flopped down into the passenger seat, while Aerion, thanks to his smaller frame, swung himself over the centre console and took his place behind the wheel. With a satisfied groan, Valarr stretched his stiff limbs, his head tipped back against his seat, arms raised above him. Relief spread through his joints, finally free after hours of being folded and hunched behind the wheel.
At the sight of his cousin, Aerion chuckled softly. He adjusted the driver’s seat and pulled it forward so he could reach the pedals more easily (Valarr had long legs and he wasn't blessed with the same, leave him alone). “Oh my God, are you that tired? Come here, do you need a massage? Head pats? Belly rubs?” His voice took on a teasing tone as he reached over to Valarr and ruffled the brunet’s hair.
Valarr rolled his eyes and pushed Aerion’s hand away as it tousled his hair further. Aerion let out a giggle before pressing down on the pedal, and the car moved again.
“Shut up. You should be grateful I drove us this far while you were playing sleeping beauty in the passenger seat. Oh, aren't you such a passenger princess, cousin?” Valarr cooed, his tone annoying and mocking. A teasing smirk appeared on his lips, then he turned his gaze out of the car window, watching the trees dance until they became a blur as the car picked up speed.
“What shall I give you in return, kind sir?”
“Suck my cock, Aeri."
“Gladly.”
Valarr let out a loud groan, he brought his palms up to cover his face, which had flushed a deep red. He could feel his whole body tingling, and something hot burning low in the pit of his stomach. “Careful, dearest. I’m holding you to that later.”
Aerion barked a laugh, light and free, as though his mind wasn't filled with grief and anger that refused to leave. “Go ahead,” he replied with a smirk that mirrored the one Valarr had worn.
Though the words came out so casually, like it meant nothing at all, tossed out with an easy grin and a teasing tone, Valarr could see that Aerion’s face was just as red as his own. “You need to shut up."
“That is a no, then?” Another tease, eyes darting between the road and Valarr’s burning face. “Would you also say no if I took you out for a drink? Fuck, I really need a drink now that I think about it.”
“You are turning into Daeron.”
Valarr’s words were met with a small chuckle. Aerion’s big, toothy grin dropped and turned into a faint smile, and silence once again fell between them when Daeron’s name was mentioned.
143 miles.
Another hour passed before they stopped for gas. Valarr was at the pump while Aerion wandered off inside the dimly lit convenience store, which smelt of old wood and dust, the kind of place in the middle of nowhere that seemed frozen somewhere in the past. Lights flickered faintly above him, buzzing every so often along with the low hum of the fridges, and the wooden floor creaked beneath his shoes as he moved between the narrow aisles. His fingers danced over the products arranged on the shelves, sorting out which snacks he should buy—some brands were familiar, the ones he could easily find at home, and the others clearly locals the way he did not recognise them. After what felt like hours, his choice fell on a bag of potato crisps, two cups of chocolate pudding, and a pack of sour sweets.
Behind the register sat a woman with her hair pinned up in a tight knot. Her face, creased with wrinkles, looked unfriendly, yet her hands were deft as she picked up Aerion’s items to scan them. The beeping sound as each item brushed against the scanner filled the silence in the store. Aerion’s gaze wandered while he waited, drifting from the cartons of cigarettes lined up behind the cashier to the row of condoms stacked right beside the register that caught his attention for reasons he did not want to admit.
“You want that as well?” the woman suddenly asked, snapping Aerion out of his thoughts. He glanced up at her, then followed where her gaze lay. His face immediately flushed—she was pointing at a box of condoms. “H-huh?”
The woman only shrugged, but her gaze now drifted out of the store window, towards Valarr, who was leaning against the car door with a cigarette between his lips. Aerion cleared his throat, trying to mask his embarrassment. He said nothing more. Once he had paid for his things and the gas, he grabbed the plastic bag and walked out of the store, embarrassment still prickling at the back of his neck.
“What is the matter? Why is your face so red?” Valarr asked with a frown on his face. He stared at Aerion intently, at his flushed face and eyes that refused to meet him, and the other man felt small under those mismatched gaze.
Instead of answering his cousin’s question, he reached into the pocket of Valarr’s jacket, pulled out a cigarette, and clamped it between his lips. “A lighter, Val.”
Rather than handing over the lighter clutched in his palm, Valarr reached out instead, cupping Aerion’s face between his slender fingers—a touch that sent a jolt of electricity beneath Aerion’s skin. His thumb grazed the curve of his cousin's high cheekbone, gentle and tender, as though he were some kind of porcelain doll. Slowly, he drew Aerion’s face closer to his own, close enough that he could count the long, pale lashes that cast shadows on his cheeks. He tilted his own cigarette, positioning the lit end to touch Aerion’s. He stayed still until the small flame passed between them.
Aerion was startled, his eyes slightly widened as he focused on Valarr and the flame from the man’s cigarette, which began to spread to his own. Valarr then pulled away, and something inside him whined in protest, already missing the warmth the man had brought.
“This is better than using a lighter,” the brunet said, a lopsided smile tugging on his lips.
Aerion snorted, his cheeks warm with colour, and moved to lean against the car door beside Valarr, enjoying the way the wind brushed against his face and the smoke filled his lungs. “Did you really have to light it like that?”
There was no reply from Valarr, only an arm that suddenly wrapped around Aerion’s waist, pulling him closer—a gesture that made his brain short-circuit instantly. Valarr’s arm remained around his waist, staying there, its warmth radiating through him until his heart pounded hard enough to make his ears ring, and his jeans grew uncomfortably tight. Aerion stiffened, before his body relaxed and he let his head fall against Valarr’s shoulder.
His hand, stuffed into the pocket of his jacket, clenched around the pack of condoms he had just bought until his knuckles turned white.
213 miles.
“You fucking thief! Stay the fuck away from my stuff!” Aerion yelled as he walked over to Daeron, who was sprawled on the couch in front of the television, with heavy, stomping steps. His chest heaved with anger, eyes narrowed at the pitiful sight of his brother, arm flung over his head to cover his eyes from the harsh glare of the overhead light. Daeron smelt of liquor, weed, whore, and everything that had not been washed for four days. Aerion gagged, and almost threw up in his mouth. “Daeron! You fucking bum! Wake up!”
His brother groaned in protest. His movements was slow and swaying as he tried to sit up. Daeron looked half dead, his pupils blown wide when they met Aerion’s, clearly high and drunk. “What?” he slurred, a deep frown appearing on his face.
“My pudding! The one in the fridge. You ate it, did you not?!”
For a moment, there was silence. Daeron tried so hard to form a sentence in his head, judging by the face he made. The man swallowed hard before answering. “What? What pudding?”
Aerion felt as if his head was about to explode. He threw a pillow at Daeron’s face, hard and fast, making the older man fall from the couch with a groan. “The chocolate pudding, you idiot! The one I have been craving for weeks!”
Daeron, still lying on the carpeted floor, glanced up at Aerion without making any move to get up. He looked pathetic, he looked like a disappointment, he looked like the epitome of a failure. Aerion was disgusted by him.
“Do not make such a fuss, ‘Rion,” he said, clearly oblivious to the steam beginning to pour from Aerion’s head.
After spending nine hours working with his father for his internship program, after being berated and shouted at over every small mistake he made, he just wanted to rest and eat the pudding he had specifically ordered from Dorne. When he discovered that the cup of his chocolate pudding, all gone, had ended up in the bin, he felt like crying, his head was throbbing with pain, and Daeron was only pouring fuel on the fire of his anger.
“It was my pudding! Mine! No one else is home except your bum ass!” His voice rose a few octaves as he stood in front of Daeron. He looked down at the state of his brother, drenched in alcohol and high on weed. “Fucking idiot!”
“‘Rion, calm down.”
“I’m exhausted, and I just get even more exhausted at home!”
Daeron finally pulled himself up and sat on the floor, his back leaning against the couch. “Please, stop yelling. My head hurts,” he pleaded. His voice laced with pain Aerion did not give a fuck about. “Y–yes, I ate it. I will buy it again for you later. Sorry, ‘Rion.”
“It is not about that!” Aerion closed the gap between them. He bent down and grabbed Daeron by the collar until he was standing on his unsteady feet. “You ate it without my permission. You are a grown-up, yet you have no manners!”
“I–I said I’m sorry.”
“I wish I did not have you as my brother, you useless fucking cunt.”
Aerion jolted awake from his dream. His eyes flew open and Daeron was gone from his sight. He could feel his hands trembling and beads of sweat beginning to trickle down his temples. His breath came out in short, unsteady gasps, and his heart hammered against his ribs.
“Aerion? What’s wrong?”
Valarr’s voice was like cold water dousing his sweaty body, his heartbeat slowly returned to normal, and the image of Daeron vanished from his mind. “I … I had a dream.”
The car slowed down, and Valarr turned his head to look at Aerion, concern swimming in his eyes. “What sort of dream?”
Daeron’s face flashed again in his mind, his voice distant and distorted, pleading with his little brother, looking at him with fear. Aerion wrapped his arms around himself, pretending the embrace belonged to Daeron. “The last time I saw Daeron, we had a fight.”
Valarr’s grip on the steering wheel tightened as he glanced carefully at Aerion. “About what?”
“Something stupid, a fucking pudding. I do not know why I got so angry. It wasn’t really a big deal,” Aerion answered, his voice small and vulnerable, trembling with every word. “Val, I miss Daeron. I wonder what he is up to. Where has he gone?” He gulped, trying to swallow the lump rising in his throat that burned with held-back tears. “I bought some chocolate pudding earlier. I will give it to him when I see him.”
There was no reply from Valarr, but his hand reached for Aerion’s. He intertwined their fingers, held them tightly in his palm, and kissed each of his knuckles tenderly.
368 miles.
The sun had dipped under the horizon when they stopped at a motel. Aerion whined, saying that if he spent another hour inside the car while his body yearned for a soft bed and a hot shower, he would set the car on fire. Valarr did not object to that, because frankly, he was also craving the same thing—a bed (with Aerion in it) and a shower (with Aerion in that too). The motel was in the middle of nowhere, the kind of place that attracts truck drivers, weary travelling families, convicted felons on the run, or serial killers.
A man with a creepy smile sat at the reception, saying they only had one room left even though there were only three cars parked outside. Valarr did not bother to ask more, even though he knew the man must be lying for reasons he did not care about, he was too tired and just nodded. After checking in and taking the room key, they walked to room number 6, which was fortunately on the first floor, near the parking lot and an ice maker that no longer work.
The room looked decent, tucked in the corner with dim lightning. It was cheap—extremely cheap—and the bed creaked at the slightest movement, but at least the water heater was working. The room smelt of still air, cigarette ash, and citrus air freshener. There was a suspicious red stain on the rug, and Aerion wondered if it was from spilled wine or if someone had been killed in the room. The TV mounted on the wall showed nothing but static on its screen. Overall, the place looked like it came straight out of a roadside horror game Aerion loved to play in his free time.
"I'm pretty sure this place is haunted," Valarr said as he dropped their luggage at the foot of the bed. He swept the room with his gaze, a mix of disgust and discomfort appearing on his face as he looked at the state of it.
"That, or it is a crime scene where somebody died."
"That is what makes it haunted. Someone got killed here and their soul stayed, seeking revenge."
Aerion laughed. "Are you afraid of ghosts, dear cousin?" He dropped his phone and wallet on the bedside table before flopping onto the bed, groaning in contentment when the soft mattress met his stiffened body.
"No, I'm not." Valarr approached him and pulled him off the bed. "And no outside clothes on the bed. Please, take a shower first before you get on the bed. Germs are actually more terrifying than ghosts," he said as he straightened the sheets that were slightly rumpled because of Aerion.
Aerion rolled his eyes, then pulled a face, his lips flattening into a thin line. "Only because you have the immune system of a Victorian child." He bent down to open his overnight bag and pulled out a towel and his toiletries. "It makes me wonder, did you get vaccinated when you were a babe? Or is Uncle Baelor an anti-vax?"
His question was met with a dramatic gasp. Aerion looked over his shoulder and found Valarr gaping like a fish. "First of all, you take that back. I do not have the immune system of a Victorian child—"
"If your stomach is not upset, it is your head. And if your head is not pounding constantly, it is your acid reflux acting up—"
Valarr looked genuinely offended, and it was funny. He continued defending himself despite Aerion cutting him off mid-sentence. "—second of all, my father is not anti-vax. I have taken every possible vaccine you could imagine—well, maybe not really, but—"
"—and oh my God, Val, do not get me started on how frequent you catch a cold."
"All right, dearest, you just want to make fun of me now."
And then they both laughed until their shoulders shook and tears prickled at the corners of their eyes. Aerion was so sure he was smiling from ear to ear, red-faced, but when he saw the same smile on Valarr's face, it only widened and warmth bloomed in his chest until he could barely breathe. Valarr stepped forward and closed the distance between them. He pulled Aerion closer until the smaller man snuggled into his chest, his chin propped on the crown of Aerion's head, and his arms circling around his shoulders. There was still laughter left in his chest, the way it rumbled against Aerion's cheek—it felt warm, familiar, and everything Aerion had ever wished for.
"Gods." Valarr buried his face in Aerion's silver-gold locks, breathing in the aroma of his shampoo and sweat. His eyes closed and his heart beat a million times faster than normal. "Aerion."
"Hm?"
"Gods, how I love you," Valarr sighed, as if loving Aerion was a surrender to the Gods. "If this sickly body of mine ever gave up, and the doctors examined my rotting body, they would only find you. In my head, in my heart, in everything that was once touched by you." His voice was muffled against Aerion's hair.
Aerion's tongue suddenly felt too thick in his mouth. His eyes stung with tears that refused to fall, and the words left unsaid in his throat felt like thorny vines around his neck. He did not say anything, but his arms around Valarr's waist tightened. He nuzzled his face deeper against his cousin's chest, wanting to get closer, but even if he could crawl into his ribcage and make a home there, it still would not be close enough—because being near Valarr only made him want to be nearer.
With a small, hoarse voice, Aerion said, "Shower together?" and it was met with a chuckle and a nod against the top of his head.
The hot water felt nice on his skin, melted away all the exhaustion from the road. Valarr's lips also felt heavenly tracing every mole on his shoulders with soft, open-mouthed kisses. Aerion sighed in contentment, his head leaned back against Valarr's naked chest, body going lax and his knees trembling slightly under his cousin's touch. Valarr's hands did not stay still. They wandered, mapping every inch of Aerion's skin, soap sliding over him, and hot water rinsing it all away. Perhaps heaven wasn't some far-off place in the afterlife the septas preached about, perhaps it was a cramped shower box at a worn-down motel in the middle of nowhere.
With trembling fingers, Aerion placed his hands on top of Valarr's, following them up and down his own body, and smiled when he felt them trembled under his palms. They had seen each other naked many, many times before, they had explored each other's bodies with lust-driven touches, but it never felt as intimate as what they felt right now—because everything they had done before was always under the influence, something they could blame on alcohol. Unlike right now, where their minds were clear.
"Valarr," Aerion whined softly when Valarr's lips settled at the curve of his neck, littering kisses and mouthing "I love you"s. He opened his eyes, looking at the showerhead, which was still raining warm water. "Valarr," he called him again, louder this time.
"Hm?" Valarr hummed in response.
"Let me wash your back."
The man obliged. He pulled himself off Aerion and turned his back to him. Aerion took the soap from Valarr's hand and started running it over his broad back. He felt Valarr's muscles twitch under his touch before it relaxed, and Valarr hummed in satisfaction. When the water had rinsed the bubbles away, Valarr turned off the shower and pushed Aerion against the tiled wall. His lips met Aerion's in a slow, tender kiss.
Aerion moaned against his lips, his hands tightening around Valarr's neck. Their bodies pressed flush with each other, stuck together like a letter and a stamp, but Aerion found himself drawing Valarr impossibly closer to him in a desperate embrace. Their kiss became rough, tongues and teeth clashing against each other, and when they ran out of air, they pulled away, leaving a thin string of saliva between them before it snapped.
"Do you have any idea how much I love you?" Valarr asked as he rested his forehead against Aerion's, those violet and brown staring at Aerion as though he were the one who hung the sun and the moon in the sky.
Aerion's heart clenched. He bit his lower lip and darted his eyes, looking at their feet instead. "I do not understand." A pause, his chest suddenly heavy with something he could not name. "The possibility of us ending up together is near impossible—perhaps it is impossible. So why, Valarr, why are you still holding onto us?"
"It is not impossible. We could always run away and leave everything behind."
That earned a bitter chuckle from Aerion. "Leaving your father and all of your responsibilities?"
Valarr nodded, and something inside Aerion broke. "Yes, because the possibility of you is better than the reality of anyone else."
"Since when do you talk like this?"
"Like what?"
"Like you have been possessed by Kafka or Dostoevsky."
Valarr let out a hearty laugh before he pulled Aerion out of the shower box. "Let's go to bed, my love."
Blue was Valarr; calm, reserved, a silent sadness, grief buried deep under a tight smile, and a tomb of everything left unsaid. Red was Aerion; rage that burned everything he touched, pain that turned into walls of self-defence that kept everyone out but also trapped him inside, a missile fired off because he hated himself and destroyed everything around him. And purple was the mark Valarr left upon Aerion’s sensitive skin.
Their skin was still slightly damp from the shower when they fell onto the bed, limbs tangled together, mouths meeting in a wet, desperate kiss. Valarr could taste the grief on Aerion’s lips, and he devoured it like a starving man, because Aerion’s pain was also his, as much as his love was. His kiss was rough, but his hands were gentle on Aerion’s skin, tracing every curve, muscle, and bone jutting out. He pulled away, just enough to whisper against Aerion’s reddened lips, “I love you. So, so much.”
His confession was met with another silence, a sad smile tugging at Aerion’s lips before he pulled Valarr down and kissed him again. Aerion never said it back, every confession he made, drunk or not, always went unanswered. But he paid it no mind. Aerion did not have to say it—Valarr could see it in his eyes, feel it in his touch, and taste it in his mouth.
“Aaah,” Aerion moaned when Valarr pinched his nipple between his fingers. He was flushed, from the root of his hair to his chest. He looked at Valarr from beneath his lashes, shy and coy, and at that moment, he did not look like someone who was constantly angry at the world.
Valarr smiled, taking in the sight of him before pulling Aerion closer until his cousin had to wrap his legs around his waist. “Can I make love to you?” he asked, the question coming out hushed and sweet. “But I did not bring any condoms with me, fuck.”
Aerion nodded. He bit his lower lip to hide his smile. “I—um, I bought some. At the gas station.” His face suddenly felt hot from embarrassment. He had bought it as if he was so sure they were going to fuck. “It is in my jacket.”
“Thank you, love.”
But Valarr did not tease him for that, instead he stood and walked to a chair nearby where his jacket was slung. Valarr came back onto the bed within seconds, with a pack of condoms in his hands and a bottle of scented oil he had found inside his bag because neither of them had brought any lubricant. “Open your thighs and hold them,” Valarr commanded as he poured the oil onto his fingers.
His cheeks flushed and his breath ragged, Aerion did as he was told. He opened himself up to Valarr, showing the small, tight hole nestled between his ass, and the hard length of his cock, already drooling pre-cum.
Valarr groaned, he felt as though his cock would combust at the sight of Aerion, looking pretty, willing, and his. “Gods, I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.”
“And what would that be?”
“Beautiful, precious, a dream breathed into life, and everything you thought you were not.”
Aerion wanted to cry. He wanted to curl up on the floor and cry until his heart stopped. He tilted his head back against the pillow, looking at the ceiling instead of Valarr to hold back his tears, but it was a futile attempt, as they slid down his temples in a silent sob.
If Valarr noticed it, he did not say anything. The man started circling his hole and pushing his finger instead. Aerion hissed at the intrusion, and a kiss fell upon his forehead as a comfort. “Hurt?” His kiss moved downward to both of Aerion’s closed eyes and his flushed cheeks.
Aerion shook his head lightly. “No, just … it has been a while.”
The finger moved in and out of his hole for a minute before Valarr slid another one inside. The stretch was there, but it wasn't pain, just a dull ache that brought discomfort. But when the third finger joined the other two, a sting of pain rushed through his body and Aerion bit his lip to muffle his grunt.
“I’m sorry, my love, do you want me to pull out?”
“No.” His breath heaved, face as red as a tomato. “Keep going, just do it slowly, please.”
Valarr’s mouth found his and his other hand stroke Aerion’s cock, his thumb circling the sensitive slit. Aerion moaned in pleasure, the pain in his ass forgotten, and it was a cue for Valarr to start pumping his fingers. He curled them, trying to find a spot that would burst stars behind Aerion’s eyelids.
“Fuck!” A scream escaped Aerion’s lips when the pad of Valarr’s fingers brushed against his prostate.
A knowing smile curved on Valarr’s lips. “There, baby?” He nosed his neck, inhaling the smell of soap and sweat. His tongue darted out and licked the salt on Aerion’s skin. “Yeah? Feels good?”
Aerion nodded frantically, and suddenly fingers weren't enough. He let his legs fall onto the bed as he brought his hands to Valarr’s face. “I’m ready, please,” he begged, voice trembling with need and the intensity of their closeness. “Valarr, please, fuck me.”
Valarr did not have to be asked twice. He pulled his fingers out and reached for the condom. He ripped it open and rolled it on his cock with trembling fingers. Aerion could not help but laugh. Suddenly, his mind wandered to their first time when he was fifteen and Valarr was seventeen, both of them a bundle of nervousness. They were both in Valarr’s bedroom, their family out in the backyard for Matarys’ birthday. They did not know what they were doing, Valarr was clumsy with his hands and Aerion wasn't stretched enough so it was more pain than pleasure. But he did not regret it, it was the very first time he felt happy after his mother's death.
The nudge of a blunt cockhead against his hole pulled Aerion from his thoughts. “I’m going in. Hold onto me,” Valarr said as he lined his cock up with Aerion’s gaping hole.
The first push always hurt. It burned and Aerion felt as though his body was ripped apart in two. Valarr slid in agonisingly slow, his jaw clenched and eyes shut tight. Every time Aerion winced in pain, he paused immediately, whispering sweet reassurances against his damp skin. He pushed another inch, then stopped again, letting Aerion’s body adjust around his cock. “Fuck, you feel so good, Aeri.”
A pitiful whine escaped Aerion’s bitten lip. “And you are so big.”
“Careful, do not feed my ego.”
Aerion laughed. He smacked Valarr’s chest playfully. “Are you fully in?”
“Yeah,” Valarr answered, voice tight with restraint. His hips stilled, and he used everything in him to hold himself back from thrusting. “Tell me when it is okay to move.”
After a few minutes of only kissing, the burning ache slowly began to fade, replaced by a deep, throbbing pressure that made Aerion’s toes curl. He kissed Valarr’s lips briefly before he nodded. “Move, please. I’m okay now.”
Valarr buried his face in the crook of Aerion’s neck as he started to move. The first snap of his hips earned a long whine from Aerion, before it turned into a litany of moans and sobs as Valarr built up his pace. The sex did not feel like their usual sex, hurried and rough, heads swimming in alcohol, waking up with only fragments of it. This one felt real, they could feel everything to very the tips of their fingertips.
“Fuck! Ah! Ah! Val,” Aerion moaned, mouth gaping as Valarr’s name slid out repeatedly like a prayer.
Valarr put Aerion’s legs on his shoulders. He folded him until Aerion’s knees were positioned beside his head—God bless Aerion and his flexibility. “Oh Gods, my love, my heart,” he moaned against Aerion’s lips. “I love you. I love you. I love you,” he mouthed his “I love you”s repeatedly with every thrust—and when they both reached their peak, those three words escaped from Aerion’s lips before their mouths met in another kiss.
Aerion’s tears found their way between their kisses, but this time, Valarr did not taste grief in them.
Some time in the middle of the night, Valarr woke up to an empty bed. Aerion’s side of the bed was cold, a sign that the man had been gone for a while. He blinked, trying to adjust his eyes to the darkened room. Every light was turned off, except the one in the bathroom, its glow seeping beneath the closed door. He climbed out of bed and walked over to the bathroom, thinking that Aerion must be there with a full bladder.
But his movements stopped when he heard faint cries from the other side of the door. Daeron’s name was repeated again and again, along with a litany of “sorry”s, and “I miss you”s.
Valarr climbed back into the bed, and when the bathroom door opened, he pretended to sleep. The mattress dipped beside him, and Aerion pulled himself into a hug, cheeks still wet with tears. Valarr kept pretending to sleep.
They checked out in the morning. The man at the reception stared at both of them with a knowing look, his eyes lingering on the red marks along Aerion's neck. Valarr was always so careless about where he left his kisses. Aerion had not brought anything that could cover the marks, nor had he brought any clothes with collars high enough to hide them. Aerion pouted in irritation. Meanwhile, beside him, Valarr was smiling, looking far too pleased with himself.
After they returned the key, a question rose to the tip of Aerion's tongue. "Have you seen any blond man around here? Sandy blond and tall."
The receptionist shook his head. "I'm sorry, I haven't seen anyone around here matching the description," he said. "And even if I did, I don't think I would remember."
"All right. Thank you."
They both left the motel. Their car rolled onto the road once more. Valarr was behind the wheel, Aerion slumped beside him, and Daeron lingered in their minds.
436 miles.
"I wish you had never been born," Aerion said through gritted teeth, his tone cold and sharp. "I wish you had died from—I don't know—alcohol poisoning or an STD you caught from one of those whores you fucked."
Daeron's eyes were glassy when they glanced up at him, a hint of sobriety flashing behind them. "Over a fucking pudding? You wished me dead over a fucking pudding?"
His brother sounded hurt, but Aerion did not care. He twisted the knife further, staining what had left in their bond with blood. "What use are you in this family, Daeron? You do nothing around here but rot all day in your bed. Father has spent thousands on your therapy, different fucking therapist every few months, but none of them worked," he snarled, disgust written on his face. "Because you never had the willingness to change. You would rather be a bum for the rest of your worthless life."
Daeron snorted, his head falling into his hands. "I do not know what you want me to say."
"I do not give a single flying fuck about anything that came out of your mouth!" Aerion snapped, his voice cracking at the end. "Every day you spend your life drinking and fucking any hole you can find because of what? The voices in your head? The things you imagined?"
"They are real! I have lived with them for as long as I have been alive!" Daeron was crying now. Pathetic whimpers fell out of his lips as he curled up on the sofa. "I want them gone as much as anyone! B–but they are not … they stay, fuck. Leave me alone. Leave me alone!"
Aerion did not stop even as he saw Daeron grow pale and begin to pant. "Drowning yourself in alcohol and fucking whores? What would the Gods think of that?"
His brother stood abruptly and gripped his shoulders tightly. Aerion's breath hitched in his throat as Daeron's much taller frame towered over him. "Brother, I believe you have no place to talk about how I have sinned when you also have your own. A sick, forbidden, twisted one," Daeron said, his tone sending shivers down Aerion's spine.
"What the fuck do you mean by that?!" Aerion shoved Daeron away until he fell back down onto the couch.
"You know what I mean."
"I better not see you here tomorrow, Daeron."
With hurried steps, Aerion fled the living room, and when he came back downstairs in the middle of the night, Daeron was gone. He was nowhere in the house, and neither was his car. That was the last time he saw him; pained and broken. That was the last time they talked; shouting and cursing.
When Aerion opened his eyes again, he felt the trails of tears on his cheeks beginning to dry. He groaned as he stretched, trying to shake the drowsiness from his eyes. When his consciousness finally returned, Daeron's face was gone. "Sorry, I fell asleep," he said, glancing over at Valarr. "Are you tired? Want us to switch?"
Instead of answering his question, Valarr looked at him with concerned eyes. He reached out and wiped the traces of tears from Aerion's face. "What happened? Daeron again?"
"I said terrible things to him before he left," Aerion muttered with a bitter smile. He could still feel the regret lodged in his chest, gnawing at him from within. "I just want to apologise. I did not mean any of it."
"Aeri, my love, it is not your fault. I'm sure he had already forgiven you."
Aerion hoped so.
580 miles.
There was a river located not far from the main road. It was the same river where he and Daeron would dip their feet and splash water at each other every time his family went to visit Starfall when his mother was still alive. For seven years, it was only him and Daeron—there was no Aemon, Aegon, Daella, or Rhae. For seven years, Daeron was as close as his own pulse, before he became as distant as the sun, because Aerion started being angry at everyone and pushing people away, and at the same time, Daeron's dreams worsened.
They stopped by the river, enjoying the sound of running water, which somehow brought some sort of comfort. Aerion sat on top of a big rock, while Valarr stood not far from him, feet dipping in the shallow water.
"I used to go fishing with him," Aerion said after a comfortable silence lingered between them for quite some time. "I would drag Daeron out of his bed just for fishing. I used to think I liked fishing—well, I think I did, at some point in my life, but then I realised, I did not like fishing as much as I liked spending time with him."
Valarr bent down and picked up a small rock on the ground, then threw it into the water, the rock skipping for a few times before sinking. "Why did you stop going with him?" he asked without turning his head.
Aerion drew his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them, and propped his chin on top of them. "I do not know. I pushed him away like I pushed everyone else," he answered, voice hollow. "I do not know what is wrong with me. I constantly pushed people away and then got mad when they actually left—everyone left, and in the end, it was just me and my anger."
"I did not." This time, Valarr turned back to face him. A fond smile appeared on his face, eyes shining with adoration. "I did not leave. Never. No matter how many times you tried to push me away."
"Why? Why did you not leave like everyone else?"
"The same reason you never truly wanted me gone."
Aerion let out a laugh that sounded hollow, and a smile that did not reach his eyes. "And what is it? Love? Because you love me? Is love ever enough to make someone stay?" He thought about Daeron, about how he had loved him for seven years before he eventually withdrew himself from Aerion's orbit. He thought about his mother, she had loved him deeply, from womb to ash, but she left anyway.
Was love ever truly enough?
"What even is love? In the end, it only brings you pain." Aerion held Valarr in his gaze.
Valarr shrugged. "What is love if not grief agreeing to wait? They always walk hand in hand. To love means agreeing to the grief that comes with it."
"Then you should not have stayed. You are just going to get hurt from this, from us."
Valarr left the water, his feet carrying him until he stood right beside Aerion. The younger one glanced up, his eyes narrowing slightly as sunlight shone brightly behind Valarr's head. "I will not leave. I have love for you, and I have faith in us." He sounded so certain, as though the two of them were something written in the stars, destined for an eternity together.
Aerion scoffed. "Faith? That is not enough."
"But it is. People have built cathedrals for religions resting upon far weaker evidence," Valarr said, pressing a light kiss to Aerion's forehead before wading back into the river, splashing water like a little kid as if he had not just turned Aerion's life upside down.
After that, silence settled between them. The sound of running water did not bring Aerion comfort anymore, but Valarr's words, playing repeatedly inside his head like a broken record, brought a small hope he had never dared to have before.
666 miles.
"Have you ever wished that we weren't related so everything would be easier? That we were just two strangers wandering this world without knowing the other existed, only to finally meet when the time was right?"
Valarr was zoning out when the question came. He glanced over at Aerion, who was now sitting behind the wheel, they had just switched places after Valarr complained about his wrists being sore. "Yes, I have," he answered, his mind drifting off to the time when he was deep in the trenches. "Do you remember when we had our very first real fight? When you were spiralling and then stopped talking to me for nearly half a year?"
Aerion's brow knitted together as he tried to remember, before his face twisted into a grimace when the memory came rushing back. "Ugh, yes. It was bad, really fucking bad."
"Hmm," Valarr hummed, his eyes distant as he reminisced about the past. He was twenty and Aerion was eighteen. It was during New Year when he came to visit Aerion. They fought after Uncle Maekar almost caught them making out in Aerion's room—he did not, thankfully, but Aerion was so scared he spiralled. The we almost got caught and what if they knew were enough for Aerion to cut everything off with Valarr out of fear. They did not talk for nearly six months, and Valarr returned to university as a shell of a man, his mind and soul left behind somewhere in Summerhall. "During that time, I really wished we did not share the same blood. Because, as you said, it would have been easier that way."
"Do you still wish the same?"
Valarr chuckled softly, shaking his head. "No, dearest. Gods, no."
It seemed that his answer was not what Aerion had expected. His head snapped towards him in mild surprise. "What? Why?" he asked, this time his question sounding more pressing, as though he was desperately needed to hear the answer.
"Because if we were not, there is a big possibility we would not have grown up together. I would not have known you when you were just a kid. I would not have been with you when you blew out your birthday candles—and I do not want that. I want to be with you in every birthday celebration, from the moment you hit one and to the very last one," he said, pausing mid-sentence just enough to admire Aerion's side profile. "Besides, I do not even think you would spare me a glance if I was just some random passerby and we were not tied by blood."
A laugh slipped from Aerion's lips, then it melted into a faint chuckle before settling into a fond smile. "You are wrong, Val. Even if you came to me wearing a stranger's face and speaking in a voice I had not heard before, I would still know it is you. I swear, I would recognise you without a doubt."
And that was far better than any "I love you". Valarr smiled, heart full of Aerion and head filled with a future built around him.
706 miles.
The car pulled over at a small diner when their stomachs rumbled with hunger. The blinding neon sign above the entrance flickered, the place was surprisingly packed despite being in the middle of nowhere, eight cars parked outside while the drivers and passengers sat inside with warm food. It was a small, humble family diner that mostly served chicken noodle soup—a warm comfort food for many. Aerion used to visit the place frequently, back when his mother was still alive and his family loved taking road trips to Starfall.
He and Valarr sat near the windows, right in front of a wall displaying photos of “Winners of the Spice Challenge.” Aerion's heart clenched when his eyes landed on Daeron’s face amongst others—red-faced, and grinning from ear to ear with an empty bowl of chicken noodle soup in his hands. Daeron looked young, cheeks still full with childlike features, eyes glimmering with life. The photo was yellowing, a sign that it had been taken ages ago, when things were simpler, before everything had fallen apart.
“His photo is still there,” Valarr said with a soft chuckle. “I did not even know he could handle spice like that.”
Aerion leaned his head against Valarr's shoulder, his arms clinging around the man’s bicep tightly. “He could not, but he did it anyway.”
Years ago, when Daeron was barely fifteen, he took on a challenge to eat a bowl of chicken noodle soup with the highest level of spiciness after Aerion provoked him. His brother managed to complete the challenge, although it ended with him lying helplessly in a hospital bed due to a stomach ache.
“He really loved coming here, this might actually be his favourite place if we excluded the pubs,” Aerion sighed, face dropping, eyes fixed on the photo. “I thought I would bump into him here.”
Their conversation died when their food was served. Two bowls of steaming-hot chicken noodle soup that looked delicious, his mouth watering at the sight of the savoury broth. Valarr silently picked the bean sprouts out of Aerion’s bowl, because he knew Aerion did not like them. He did that without being asked, and Aerion smiled behind his spoon, his inside warming, though not entirely from the broth.
“I’m going to the toilet,” Aerion muttered when he felt a pressure on his bladder. He rose from his seat in a hurry and walked to the restroom at the back.
The restroom was empty, it was clean and smelt of lavender. After taking care of his business, Aerion stood in front of the sink to wash his hands. He stared at his reflection in the mirror and grimaced at how dishevelled and pitiful he looked, his eyes sunken, his complexion pale from exhaustion. He splashed his face with cold water, hoping that whatever troubled him would be washed away and he would at least look decent. When he lifted his head and dried his face with a paper towel, he caught a fleeting glimpse of a tall figure with sandy blond hair walking behind him, near one of the stalls. Aerion startled, and before he even realised it, his feet were hurrying after the figure.
Aerion kept running all the way to the parking lot, his breath coming in gasps, and his heart pounding with anticipation. His eyes darted wildly around, scanning the area, trying to spot a figure resembling his brother that he had just seen. Daeron was nowhere to be seen, and Aerion was alone standing in the middle of the parking lot, breath ragged, like a fool.
“Aeri? What happened?” Valarr asked, his voice coming from behind him, his footsteps approaching. His cousin’s voice sounded panicked and confused. “I saw you suddenly run from the toilet. Love, what happened?”
“I saw Daeron just now, I swear I saw him. But—but he is gone again. Valar, I swear, he was just here.”
Daeron had started disappearing as if he had never existed in the first place.
794 miles.
"Why …. you do that?"
Daeron stood by Aerion's bedroom door, looking mortified. He stared at him with fear, confusion, anger, and disappointment. Behind him, Aegon cried while clutching at his brother's waist. The boy looked broken, face wet with tears, gaping like a fish out of water, trying to catch his breath between his cries.
"Why did … do that, Aerion?!" This time Daeron's voice came out harsher, he sounded angry and disappointed, he sounded like he hated Aerion. He strode across the room, approaching Aerion, who sat at the edge of the bed. "Why …. throw Aegon's cat … pool? Have … gone mad?! … cat died! You … psychopath!" He gripped Aerion's shoulders tightly, forcing him to face him. Daeron's face was only a few inches away from him, his breath reeking of alcohol, fanning over Aerion's face.
Behind him, Aegon's cries grew louder, constant whines and sobs that only enraged Aerion further. "Why not? Aegon pissed me off."
Daeron pulled himself away from him. His lips flattened into a thin line, face crestfallen. "What have you become?"
Aerion woke up with a jolt. This time, he did not dream about his last fight with Daeron. Instead, it was long before that. They had just burned their mother's body, the urn had just placed in the living room. His chest clenched painfully at the memory, and bile rose in his throat. His hands trembled when he tried to reach for Valarr. His face was a reflection of pure horror, drained of colour, sweat beading and trickling down his skin.
"My love, what happened?" Valarr tried to comfort him with kisses and touches while still keeping his focus on the road ahead.
Aerion could not say anything. His words lost their way somewhere in his throat. A cry threatened to tear out of him.
He had started forgetting Daeron's voice.
815 miles.
Valarr slammed on the brakes abruptly, causing Aerion, who was hunched over in the passenger seat, to lurch forward and bump his head into the dashboard. He yelped in surprise before hissing at the pain stinging in his forehead. His eyes were glaring daggers at Valarr when he looked at him, his face turning slightly red, burning with anger that suddenly crawled up beneath his skin. “Valarr! What the fuck? I bumped my head because you stopped so suddenly, you moron!” he snapped as he rubbed his forehead.
“Aeri, that’s it. We are going home.” Valarr said firmly, leaving Aerion no room to argue. The muscles in his jaw twitched as if he was trying to contain the scream that desperately wanted to crawl out of his throat. The look in Valarr’s eyes was the one Aerion hated the most—pity. “Aeri, my love, you have to stop. Please, you cannot go on like this. We have to go back home. It is enough.” He was begging, begging for something Aerion dreaded.
Upon hearing Valarr’s words, Aerion’s head throbbed with pain, and her heart felt as though it had been squeezed until it bled, then dropped onto the floor to shatter into pieces. “Why?! We are almost there! Daeron must be at Mum’s place. Why must we go home?!” Aerion screamed at the top of his lungs. His hands reached for the steering wheel, holding Valarr back as his cousin tried to turn the car around. They fought over the wheel, screaming and cursing at each other, the car swaying with every movement.
Aerion was hysterical, he did not even realise he was crying until a choked sob fell from his lips. Beside him, Valarr ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. He looked distraught, the pain in Aerion’s face mirrored in his own. “Aerion, please, stop this. Stop, I’m begging you.”
“No! We have come all the way here and you want us to turn around just like that?!”
“Aeri—”
“Daeron must be waiting for me. I want to apologise. I want to give him the chocolate pudding—”
“Oh, Gods, love—”
“Are you mad?! Don’t you dare turn the car back!”
Aerion’s voice kept ringing in his head. With all the strength left in his exhausted body, he caught Aerion’s hands and held them firmly. “Stop! I said stop! You are the one who is mad! Daeron is dead! He is dead, for fuck’s sake!” Valarr screamed in his face, his voice cracking and wet with his own tears.
Aerion stopped thrashing in his hold. Valarr’s words were like a bucket of ice-cold water poured onto his burning denial, jolting him back into a reality he had been desperate to avoid. His cries halted in his throat when he freed himself from Valarr’s arms and climbed out of the car. The sobs came back once he stepped out and breathed deep in the cool evening air, away from the tension in the car, away from the reality Valarr had just dropped—as if he had not been entertaining Aerion’s delusions since the moment he offered to come along in this godforsaken road trip.
The sound of the car door slamming shut echoed in the empty road. Aerion jerked away when he felt Valarr try to pull him back to the car. “My love, I’m sorry for screaming at you. Please, go back to the car,” he said, so very sweetly, but Aerion gave him the cold shoulder and refused to meet his eyes. “Aerion, it has been three years. You … you have to learn how to let him go. You cannot keep pretending he is still alive,” he whispered, desperately trying to hammer some sense into Aerion’s head.
“Then why do you keep playing along?!”
“Because I love you!” Valarr screamed, his voice hoarse. “Because I do not know what I can do to ease your pain, to make you okay with the grief. I do not know, but at the same time, I also cannot see you blaming yourself over and over again. And if pretending was the remedy to your pain, then so be it. I took my part, I let you play. But, my love, it has been three years, and you did not get any better. I cannot let you go on like this, I love you, your pain is mine as much as your love is. And it pains me greatly seeing you like this.” Valarr stepped forward hesitantly, as though he was afraid Aerion would run away if he got any closer. “Please, dearest.”
Aerion continued to weep, the pain raw and stinging in his shaking body. Valarr’s body moved on its own, he pulled Aerion into his arms, and this time Aerion did not pull away. He held him tightly in his embrace, his shirt wet with snot and tears. “Val, it is my fault.” He sobbed, and sobbed, and sobbed, until his words became incoherent, drowned by his tears. The words sorry, Daeron, and my fault kept slipping from his lips.
“Aeri, none of this is your fault.”
“He left home because we had a fight. I told him to go, and he did. If we had not had a fight, if I had not told him to leave, he would have still been alive. He would have stayed home. How is that not my fault?” His cries turned into pathetic little sobs, he nuzzled deeply into Valarr’s chest. “And the things I said to him the last time we spoke—Gods, I’m terrible. He died thinking I hated him, and I did not. I never—”
Three years ago, the car Daeron was driving crashed into a road barrier and flipped as he tried to make his way to Starfall. No matter how much his father insisted Daeron had died because of a drunk driving incident, Aerion kept blaming himself. He had his hands on his death. He was the one who told Daeron to leave after their fight—it was written in his last text to their father. Father, Aerion is mad at me and wants me out of the house. I’m giving him space, I will stay at Mum’s for a while. He believed he had killed Daeron, and he had been living in denial ever since.
Once a year, Aerion would drive from Summerhall to Starfall, trying to gather every fragment of memory Daeron had left behind, playing out a charade as if he were still alive, pretending to search for him, and returning empty-handed. And somehow, for a reason he called love, Valarr always tagged along.
The car’s headlights illuminated the dark road. Aerion was still crying in Valarr’s embrace. He clung to him like a lifeline, as if Valarr would also disappear if he let go even for a second. “Valarr, I love you. Please, do not go anywhere I cannot follow.”
“I will not, my love. I will not.”
On every anniversary of Daeron’s death, Aerion always used the road trip as an escape from the reality that his brother had died in a car crash. Someday, Valarr would also leave, he could not do anything when death came knocking at the door. Someday, he would have to live with the grief. Because, as Valarr said, love and grief walked hand in hand. Love was grief agreeing to wait, and grief was love persevering.