Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Aerion didn’t want to do this. 

Technically he didn't even have to do it in the first place, but he’d be damned if he let his small feet carry him back home where his brother was surely waiting at the door to say I told you so. 

Little Aerion puffed out his sun warmed cheeks and furled his eyebrows in concentration down the narrow dirt path. Large patches of overgrown grass stretched on for miles on either side, flowers running amok along the plains. He wiped a small bead of sweat that escaped his hairline. 

Today was the day. He’d make sure of it. 

Aerion gripped the handle bars of his bike, a mechanical beauty of metal painted in a glossy red that reflected rays of sunbeams in glittering waves. His knuckles whitened and his chipped fingernails dug uncomfortably into the rigid metal as he leaned down. He kicked his foot once in the dirt like a bull charging for an attack. Except there was no actual opponent, unless he counted himself. 

A small cloud of dust drifted off the toe of his sneaker disappearing into the sticky humid air. 

He could do this. 

“You don’t have to be scared,” a soft voice spoke from his side. 

Aerion snapped his head to meet his mother’s tender gaze. “I’m not scared!” he insisted. A small pout formed around his little mouth. 

His mother reached out, pinching the soft skin of his dusty-pink cheek with her lithe fingers and Aerion tried to squirm out of her hold. He wasn’t a baby after all, contrary to what his mother called him. 

The seams of her mouth curled up in amusement, like she didn’t buy his words for a single moment. “We can try again tomorrow. The world won’t disappear overnight.”

“You said try tomorrow yesterday!” Aerion snapped, his chin turned away in haughty offense. “I am done with you woman,” he huffed under his breath. 

A breathy laugh escaped his mother as she raised an eyebrow. She never took his harsh words too seriously. At his young age, Aerion was all gangly limbs and loose lips, not putting much thought into his words or his actions. Unfortunate as they may be. She ought to teach him a lesson whether she found her son’s antics amusing or not. “Alright,” she relented. “But don’t say I didn’t warn ya.” 

With that, Aerion’s mother clamped a firm hand on the underside of his bike saddle and settled the other on his lower back. The tires on the bike jerked on the dirt and gravel with a crunch that rang loudly in Aerion’s ears. 

“No wait! Wait just a seco—”

Aerion’s words were cut off before they made it out of his lungs. His feet suddenly hung useless off the ground as his body was propelled forward with a strength he didn’t know his slender mother possessed. His heartbeat momentarily stuttered at the shift in ground, his vision lightly blurring at the edges. 

As soon as he got his bearings in order, Aerion spared the few brain cells needed to place his feet firmly on the bike pedals. There was a churning in his stomach that he thought was better to ignore lest he empty his stomach in a moving projectile. Instead, he focused on moving his legs in rhythmic loops, drowning out the sounds of wheels on textured ground and the clinking of bike chains with each rotation of his feet. 

“Don’t let go,” Aerion said in a breathless gasp. 

“I won’t let go, sweetheart,” his mother replied, slightly winded by the exertion of building momentum for a growing boy. 

The wind glided across the thin hairs on his arms and crept into the gaps in his cotton t-shirt. His shirt billowed out in the back, the airflow carving out waves in the fabric like a sail. As he found his pace, his mental disarray settled into something much more pleasant. 

He was doing it. 

A lightness filled Aerion’s chest like he was one pedal stroke away from floating off the ground entirely. 

The firm hand on his back lifted off slowly. There was a sharp transition when Aerion realized he was doing this on his own now. The triumph surging through his veins turned into something unsure.

Running on pure adrenaline, Aerion continued the motion of his taut muscles. He narrowed his eyes towards the end of the path, some place he couldn’t quite see past the green lush strewn about.

With every click of pedals, Aerion forced his body to fly forward against the current of air that tried to knock him sideways. He wobbled a little with every unsteady jerk of his wrist but he was still moving. All by himself. 

“Mom, I’m doing it!” Aerion beamed. A toothy grin split his mouth at the corners as he coasted along the slim road.

Aerion turned his neck back to look for his mother’s reaction whose figure was now shrinking with the added distance. 

She must feel so foolish right now. She didn’t think I could do it right? Aerion giggled at the thought of proving her wrong, the sound coming out high-pitched in the calm breeze. 

He could just barely make out her crinkled eyes and watery smile. When they made eye contact she brought a hand up and waved it frantically in the air. Aerion must have looked for just a tad bit too long. Something about the sight clenched his heart in a tight knot. He didn’t realize how far he’d made it. How far he was from where he started. 

When he turned his head back, he didn’t have enough time to notice the small hitch in the road. It was the smallest dent in the earth but it caught his tire like a mouse trap.

Next thing he knew, Aerion was veering off the side of the road as his tires grated against the uneven earth.

His balance gave out against the sudden loss of control and his world tilted left. The handlebars of his bike hit the grassy terrain hard before his own small body landed in a heap next to it with a small thump at the impact. 

The thin spokes of the wheel continued to whirl leisurely in creaky rotations where it now laid parallel to the ground. 

“Aerion!” a voice called from a distance, barely audible. 

Aerion spat out the few blades of grass that made its way into his mouth, coughing in succession at the bitter taste. A small flush crept up his neck, humiliation blossoming in his stomach from falling so unsurreptitiously. In front of the person he was leering at in his head no less. 

Huffing in frustration, Aerion rolled onto his back, which was now sore, and stretched his arms out into its full wingspan just to feel the overgrown meadow tickle his dirt lathered skin. He squinted his eyes up at the sweltering sun illuminating his forlorn self. He looked until his eyes got teary. Aerion didn’t know if it was from the embarrassment or the blazing sunrays stabbing white dots into his pale blue eyes. 

The first tear was just about to fall when a fuzzy silhouette trickled its way into his periphery. Shadow fell upon his sprawled form, as his mother’s worried face gradually came into clarity. Aerion quickly blinked the tears away, waiting for the impending scolding. That he should have been more careful and kept his eyes on the road. 

The rebuke never came. When Aerion’s mother found him in a jumbled pile of wrinkled grass, scraped knees, and muddy cheeks, her eyes melted into a softness only reserved for him. She extended an arm out towards Aerion, palm up in sympathy. “I knew you could do it.”

“I didn’t do anything! I fell and now Daeron has one more thing to laugh at me for,” he glowered. 

His mother knelt on the ground next to him, the satin in her long dress wrinkling where they met grass and soot. Her hair swayed with the light breeze, the sun casting a halo through the long silvery strands. Aerion thought she looked nice like this. With her white dress and pale skin, she could’ve been a dandelion among all the daisies that scattered the field. 

“You were scared but still chose to fight,” she said softly, looking straight into his eyes. “And no one can fault you for that.” There was something steady in her eyes. Something certain. Like she just revealed a truth so precious, Aerion ought to remember it. 

Aerion took her hand, promising himself he’d remember.             

Hues of light spilled into Aerion’s bedroom, beams dancing across his face and forming pulses behind his eyelids. 

Aerion grunted and rolled onto his side, shoving his pillow against his face to protect himself from the assault. He mentally slapped himself for forgetting to close the curtains last night, after stumbling into bed half drunk.

Now that he was half conscious, he could feel a headache forming behind his eyes. The cheap liquor from last night must have disagreed with the photons trying to invade his brain. His fingers squeezed tighter around the soft pillow, willing himself to sleep through the discomfort.

But alas, his body was now awake and his brain was running laps to catch up. Aerion reached blindly for the phone on his nightstand. He blinked an eye open and unlocked the screen to check the time. 

2:13 pm.

At twenty two, Aerion thought he would have been better at maintaining a proper sleep schedule. One where he at least set alarms before choosing to sleep through them. He had missed approximately half a lecture which wasn’t that bad if he considered that it was two yesterday.

It was all the harder to beat himself up about it when there was no one to reprimand him for it. No loud knocks rumbling across oak doors and certainly no calls that breakfast was ready. Aerion kind of missed it but wished he'd just stop thinking about it altogether. 

There wasn’t much to think about in the first place. He’d been hauled off to another country and told he could come back when he had a degree and a better attitude. Aerion briefly wondered if missing lectures instead of quarreling with professors counted as having a better attitude. He liked to think it did. 

Aerion yawned and stretched out his limbs, cracks sounding out along his stiff joints. He looked up at the ceiling, grounding himself in the four corners of rigid walls. He had decorated the walls all those years ago in maximalist chaos with colorful posters, records from all different genres, and shelves stocked with knick knacks and souvenirs he had hoarded since childhood. 

His guitar remained mounted on the wall across from him, losing its shine from the coat of dust that now covered it. It probably wasn’t wise to leave a vintage Gibson hung up for months on end to rust but Aerion would rather eat his left hand before he tried to play again. The sounds would probably come out all creaky and clunky, his fingers having long forgotten how to tune the strings. 

Aerion savoured the brief time between waking up and physically getting up. He could hear the sound of distant cars weaving through the winding streets of the city and birds chirping a high pitched melody overhead. There was a calmness that filtered through the mayhem like the dewdrops that formed along his windowpane from the autumn chill. 

The peace only lasted so long until a ping pulled him out of his stupor. Aerion lifted his phone to his face, squinting at the message that appeared. 

Slamdunk: game latr? 

Aerion rolled his eyes and typed out a sharp reply, fingers darting across his screen. 

Brightflame: Some of us have jobs.

The responses chimed in not even a minute later. 

Slamdunk: true! 

Slamdunk: like me in fact 

Slamdunk: not you tho :)

Aerion scoffed, the exhale half muffled in his pillow. The audacity of this man. He should really stop entertaining him. 

Aerion reluctantly got up and dragged himself to his bathroom, toeing over cold floorboards, to rid himself of the alcoholic stench that clung to his skin and the roof of his mouth.

He nearly flinched when he caught a glance of himself in the mirror. He looked slightly crazed, the dark shadows underneath his eyes heavily contrasting his pale skin. His head was a disarray of loose waves that fell across his forehead and strands that stuck out at the crown at odd angles. His hair was slightly longer than he used to keep it, now a length that tickled his ears and reached his eyebrows. 

After a not-so-quick shower, Aerion made his way to his quaint kitchen wrestling his damp skin into a t-shirt and ignored the half finished bottle of wine sitting on the counter. He made a beeline for the keurig, opting to combat the alcohol induced drowsiness left in his system with caffeine. It was a perfect combination the more he thought about it. A depressant mixed with a stimulant basically made up one fully functioning person. 

Aerion poured himself a cup of the dark liquid, steam curling in hazy wisps towards the ceiling. He leaned his back on the counter and brought the ceramic cup to his mouth, letting the sting coat his tongue.

Not even a second later, Aerion spat the contents back out in the cup, scowling down at the offending substance. Too bitter. He spooned in three more heaps of sugar and spun the cup in lazy circles by the handle to mix the sweetness into the acridity.

After taking another sip, Aerion tilted his head back and sighed contentedly into the empty space. A headache was still brewing somewhere in a far corner of his mind but the frigid shower water and piping hot coffee had jolted his body just enough to kick start the day.

With the microdose of pleasure flitting through his veins, Aerion slammed his bedroom door shut with the back of his elbow. He settled his cup down on the wide desk at the corner of the room with a clunk, a few drops landing in arcs on the sleek metal surface.

He slid down on his black leather chair, legs sprawled out in front of him as he swiveled idly, waiting for the computer to boot up. Aerion pulled the headset over his ears, freshly washed hair mussing up from the friction. He grabbed the controller that was haphazardly left in front of his monitor as the screen lit up, blue light illuminating the sharp lines of Aerion’s face.  

“Finally!” The voice on the other end came out slightly staticky from the shit quality mic he was no doubt using. 

Aerion winced at the loud noise. His fingers briefly stiffened around his controller before relaxing and continuing to tap a tune into the plastic, a song he had heard once on the radio that annoyingly anchored its chords in his brain.

His quiet morning (afternoon) was once again interrupted by the asshole on the other line he had found himself talking to more and more these days after playing random pairings one night and surprisingly making a good team. He didn’t even remember what game it was — they had played too many since to keep track. He ignored the fact that he didn’t have to engage with him after that night and probably should’ve blocked him a long time ago. 

To be frank, he didn’t actually know this guy’s real name or even age for that matter. His mind simply called him Dunk from the username attached to the profile picture of a man in a rubber horse mask. Aerion was pretty sure it was Dunk himself and didn’t know what it meant but would keel over and die before he asked such a ridiculous question. 

“Is it necessary for you to talk like everyone around you is deaf?” Aerion asked flatly. 

“No,” Dunk snickered. “But my friends say it’s endearing that I care for the unfortunate.”

“Well, that makes one of us.” 

“What? The one of us with friends or the one of us with morals?”

“Mm,” Aerion’s tongue peeked out of his mouth, wetting the corner of his pink lips as he thought about the question. “The latter.”

“Liar,” Dunk said. “I know I’m your only friend.”

It was said as a joke but something ugly stemmed in Aerion’s gut, the roots already placed there long ago. Aerion had friends in the city. Or used to, to be more accurate. Cornwall wasn’t exactly the most exciting place to live no matter how much he loved the countryside, so when Aerion stepped foot in the crowded streets of New York City he didn’t find it very hard to immerse himself in the social circles of the up and coming elites.

It was fun at first as most things are. The clique he barged into his first year of college merely raised an eyebrow at his entrance, not accepting him with open arms but not hauling him out the door either. 

The fresh start was exhilarating. He could mold a new Aerion from the old, one that did not make mistakes that cast shame on his family’s name and made his father stop talking to him apart from the heap of money he wired into his account every month.

Aerion found himself studying on the days it mattered and under strobe lights with his chest pressed up against sweaty bodies when it didn’t. He thrived in that atmosphere, one where everyone was slack jawed and loose limbed against their own inhibitions. It momentarily severed his past self with the present, the shame that followed his teenage faults merely sawdust in the wind. 

But if the winds are able to carry your mistakes to a far off distance, it can hurl it back at you with the same force. His friends had grown distant when Aerion’s reputation finally caught up to him, a bruise he used to hide finally blooming across the pale expanse of his skin. Word spread quickly in the city, a whisper turning into a mumble that turned into a shout until the truth was hollered at you from the confines of where you left it.

It wasn’t anything theatrical or a falling out that he could pinpoint to one specific event. Aerion simply started waking up to less texts in his inbox and the invitations to hang out seemed to go with it. When the calls stopped coming altogether he assumed it was a done deal. 

Aerion wasn’t sure how he made it to the final year of college without flunking out but here he was with scribble filled notebooks lying in his desk drawers alongside sticky notes with mindless lyrics he wrote if not just to have a physical manifestation of his thoughts on paper. In the last few years, his handwriting had gotten more jagged and the notes he had taken had grown smaller in number with all the lectures he had missed.

He made it a habit of sauntering into exam days with just enough knowledge in the material to scrape by with a passing grade. He wasn’t happy about it with himself but not necessarily mad either. 

He wondered how he ended up here. Once a social pariah, making the connections his father no longer handed him, now a mass of limbs lounging on a swivel chair more often than not. With Dunk of all people, someone who never even stepped foot in a reputable university let alone attend it. Now working night shifts at whatever labor intensive job he got after trade school, Aerion relied on the man during the day for the little socializing he engaged in to keep himself sane. 

Aerion shifted in his seat, lip curled in mild irritation at the insinuation that he’d be friends with someone so beneath him. Sure, they played games together sometimes which was in some ways just an activity that helped one gain strategic skills that could be used later. At least that’s what Aerion told himself.

Friends, on the other hand, went out for drinks, laughed breathlessly into each other’s space, and hugged a tight goodbye when the late night called for it. But he never did any of that with Dunk. Laugh at him maybe, but never with him.

“We aren’t friends.” 

“Nuh uh. That’s not what it says on the server,” Dunk said, metaphorical finger wiggling in Aerion’s face. “Look, it says we’re friends and have a chat history that goes back months. We’re practically best friends if you think about it.”

Aerion glared at his screen but didn’t rise to the bait. He was getting impatient with this man, opting to rock back and forth on the wheels of his chair. “What are we playing?” he asked. 

“Ah, you finally ask. There’s this new game that I wanted to try. Something about medieval knights and magic stuff.”

“Magic stuff,” Aerion repeated back. 

“Ya, you know, like wands and pointy hats and abraca-”

“I know what magic is!” Aerion snapped. “Just shut up and start the game.” 

“Okay grumpy, no need to get worked up.” Mouse clicks and keyboard clacks could be heard in rapid succession on the other side of the screen. 

Aerion frowned and grumbled under his breath, no longer outwardly complaining about the nickname after the previous hundred complaints went unacknowledged. “What is it even about?”

“Basically, it’s an RPG where we choose a character from this fictional kingdom.” Dunk could be heard munching on chips as he explained the game, crumbs no doubt spattering out of his mouth. “Based on our role we have different powers and can use them against enemies and if I remember correctly—I think one is a dragon. Fire and everything.” 

There was a small itch under Aerion’s skin at the thought of slaying a dragon. Not one he could make very much sense of. 

“Doesn’t that sound fun?” Dunk asked excitedly. 

“Not bad,” Aerion replied, taking a long drawn out sip from his now lukewarm cup of coffee. He had always been a fan of the fantasy genre after all, having fake swords and daggers piled up in a cardboard box under his bed. All the books he had read about kings and sorcerers as a child were still in the library back home, somewhere on the lower shelves where his little hands could reach.

The pair played their first game, Dunk opting to play a knight, shiny armor and all, which Aerion thought was boring and told him as such. Aerion himself chose to play a hybrid half human half bull that, according to its description, wielded a humanly intelligence yet a ferality when provoked. With bullhorns that framed its temple and eyes red with undisguised fury, Aerion was sure this abomination of a creature could lead him to victory. 

The game started slow, with the two merely exploring the seemingly endless world of lush forests and towering castles all while throwing jabs at each other about how dumb the other’s character looked. 

“Are you supposed to be a knight or a can of tuna?”

“Funny coming from you. I’m pretty sure I had some of you for dinner last night.”

Aerion smirked. “How does your girlfriend feel about that?”

He could hear sputtering on the other side of his headset. “I didn’t mean it like that! Oh my god, please don’t tell her I said that to you.”

Aerion was glad he was alone so no one could see the amused smile that curled around the corners of his mouth, a sight not many were meant to see. “I don’t know. Might have to write her an email breaking the news.”

“That’s not funny. She would kill me and then you would have no one to carry your ass to victory.”

“Right,” Aerion scoffed right before a beast emerged on his screen from behind a thicket of trees, an orc of sorts with a crudely built battleaxe wielded at its side.

Aerion didn’t hesitate. His deft thumbs flew across his controller, clicking some buttons and holding others. His knuckles whitened where they rested next to the bumpers and triggers, index finger ready to strike. The device vibrated against his palms with a satisfying buzz at every successful hit. 

“Behind you,” Dunk called through his headset.

Aerion jerked his thumb on the joystick, dodging a hit from where the opponent had just jumped and landed in a jumble of decayed olive green skin and razor-sharp teeth. Aerion lunged his spear into the mangy beast’s shoulder causing a decent amount of damage.

He was getting into the momentum of the game, brain zeroing in on only the space between him and his screen. His eyes glossed over as he leaned in, a sheen reflecting the swords and blades clashing in discordant harmony. 

That’s what he loved about video games. At the peak of battle, Aerion himself was the half man half beast throwing winding punches that struck jaws with a crunch. It was his own spear splintering flesh and splitting ribs where the sharp metallic tip found the gap in his enemy’s armor. 

His fingers thrummed in sync with his heartbeat, chest rising in anticipation at striking the final blow. He wound his shoulder back, lance aimed straight for the orc’s chest where a grotesque muscle sat pumping a sickly purple blood into the veins of green flesh.

His thumb hovered over the trigger and was just about to release his wrath, when the orc fell to its knees right in front of his eyes before collapsing face first into the earth, ground quaking in its wake. An armor clad knight remained standing behind the corpse, long sword swinging back to his side. 

“Easy peasy,” a grating voice pierced Aerion’s ears, effectively snuffing out the final flame of immersion. 

Aerion lifted shaky fingers to his headset, muting the mic and letting the device collapse around his neck. The idiot just stole his kill from right under his nose. Like he wanted to give Aerion another reason to reach through the screen and strangle his throat. The irritation reached his ears in a pink flush and his chest in heaving breaths. Aerion could only let the feeling seize him whole as he slowly took his controller in one hand and swiftly threw it at the wall in a perfect line. 

It collided with the plaster in a sharp clatter of wires and buttons forming a small spiderweb crack along the drywall where it impacted. The controller bits fell to the floor, once a cohesive unit with mechanical function now a pile of electrical rubbish he’d have to clean up later. Aerion stared at the spot where the wall paint chipped, eye twitching once before he resolved to cover it with a poster of a dinosaur.  

“Hey man, you good?” Dunk’s muffled voice echoed out of the earpad. 

Aerion quietly opened a lower drawer on his desk, where a stack of new controllers laid in neat rows. He extracted one, connecting it to his computer with a ding before shoving the headset back on his seething head. “Yeah,” Aerion lied. 

Dunk must have caught the glower in Aerion’s voice because he made it a point to not comment on the stolen kill. “You sure you’re good?” Dunk pressed.

“Can you fuck off?”

“You got it, chief.” 

They continued playing until the sun dipped lower in the sky, golden beams streaming through Aerion’s window, spilling across his lap and painting his walls in a copper glow. Dunk let out a breathy yawn, belatedly trying to muzzle the sound behind his hand. 

“Bed time?” Aerion jived. 

“I don’t have a bed time!” Dunk insisted. “You’re the one with the bed time. Still in school and shit. Like a little kid,” he muttered. 

Aerion scoffed a humorless laugh. “Yeah, some of us can actually afford it.”

“And look where that got you,” Dunk said. “Sitting on your ass talking to me,” he sing-songed. 

“Goodbye.” 

Aerion was halfway through ripping his headphones off when Dunk’s voice yelped for him to stop. He reluctantly slipped them back on, mumbling curses under his breath.

“I wanted to ask you something before I let you go,” Dunk said hesitantly.

“Continue.”

“I remember you said that you didn’t really want us to share super personal stuff and I guess I technically don’t even know your real name or anything yet but still I thought there’d be no harm in aski—”

“Just get on with it,” Aerion barked, annoyed by the rambling impeding his eardrums. 

“Well, it might seem a little silly to you.” A beat passed. “I proposed to my girlfriend last week…and she said yes,” Dunk said, an airy breath behind his words as if he couldn’t believe it himself.

Aerion tensed. His hand twitched with the need to squeeze something between his fingers but he’d already broken enough controllers today. He didn’t necessarily care about the proposal or even Dunk for that matter. But the notion that someone was not only in a long term committed relationship but now decided to sign a contract to make it indefinite stirred something in his stomach.

The concept of legally binding yourself to one person didn’t sit right with Aerion, who’d once taken to having a different person in his bed every other day, a revolving door of bodies he didn’t care much to learn about beyond the most primitive functions that incited his pleasure.

The deed got boring as all things do and Aerion’s current routine now involved only one body in his bed that would sometimes end up on the floor if he rolled around too much. He didn’t much suit having people in his bed anymore, nevermind someone to hound him when he spilled a cup of coffee or pat him on the head when he washed the dishes. 

Dunk, on the other hand, wore the badge of being in a relationship like it was his second poorly paid job. He goaded about the smallest accomplishments — like a successful hike together on a rather steep hill — just to nearly rupture a forehead vein trying to figure out why his girlfriend had ignored him the following day. Well fiance he should say now. The word sat ugly in Aerion’s chest, mixing unpleasantly with the alcohol, coffee, and simmered down rage from missing a kill. His kill.

Aerion swallowed around the lump in his throat trying to keep his voice neutral. “So, the wife wants you off the game now? Wish I could say it was nice knowin’ ya but I’d be lying.”

A laugh sounded out from the other side, hoarse from the lack of sleep. “Always with the theatrics, grumpy.”

“Why are you telling me this then?” Aerion questioned, not liking where this was going.

“I wanted you to come…you know…to the wedding,” Dunk finished awkwardly. 

Aerion sat back in his chair, blinking slowly at his screen. Of course, the moron would ask such an absurd question knowing Aerion warned him against the exchange of exactly this type of personal information. “No.”

“Okay, before you you say no—”

“I already said no.”

Dunk was unperturbed by Aerion’s outright rejection. 

“I know you’re not that far from me,” he accused out of nowhere. “You let it slip once how you spilled a coffee on yourself from Flicks and Flames and there’s only one of those. I met the owner, she told me! It’s not a chain or anything, so you must be near where I live which means you are now obligated to come give me a toast and have a dance battle with me,” Dunk said all in one breath. 

Aerion’s tongue poked the inside of his cheek, the migraine banished to the far back of his mind making its way to the forefront. Aerion himself had made the connection early on since Dunk didn’t have a fraction of the reservations he possessed, continuing on in long winded spiels about everything that happened to him in a given day from seeing a five legged spider to having a picnic at the park across the same city hall that was coincidentally a few streets over from Aerion’s place of residence. 

“Impressive. Didn’t think you could connect the dots with that puny brain of yours.” 

“Don’t change the subject,” Dunk insisted. “It would mean a lot to me truly. We’ve spent a lot of time together—you can’t deny that.”

Aerion didn’t say anything, letting the faint thrum of static tingle his ear.

“It’s in a few months…if you want to just think about it a bit,” Dunk said. There was a pause. “And you can bring someone too if that’ll make it a little better,” he offered, hopeful. 

Aerion closed his eyes, pressing his eyelids tight to block out the gnawing in his gut. He didn’t want to go. In fact, he would rather do literally anything else. Like eat his left hand. But he had already rejected every other invitation to meet up, finding such pleasantries too far beneath him especially with a half-wit brute whose mediocre personality could only compare to his even more mediocre background. They weren’t friends after all and he sure as hell didn’t owe him anything. I won’t go, Aerion told himself.

“I’ll think about it.”

“If you really can’t mak—” Dunk stopped midsentence, processing Aerion’s words. “Did you just say you’ll think about it?” The voice came out startled.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” Aerion jeered, cracking his fingers. “You fucking plebeian,” he muttered after. 

“I heard that!” Dunk squawked. “You said something mean just now, didn’t you?” 

Aerion sipped the rest of his coffee, slamming the empty cup back on the desk after he was done. 

“What does it mean?” Dunk pressed. 

Aerion didn’t bother replying. 

“Don’t ignore me you little shi—” 

Aerion clicked out of the server without preamble and ripped himself out of his seat, back sweaty from where he was slumped against warm leather. 

He was massaging a knot out of his neck when a series of pings rang out from his phone. Aerion teetered over to his bed where he’d thrown his phone haphazardly earlier, belly flopping onto the sheets and blindly pawing through the linen for the device. 

When he found his phone, he unlocked his screen and sneered at the nonsense text messages that had just appeared.

Slamdunk: ur the pleben!!!

Slamdunk: but ur my plebin <3

Slamdunk: *pleben

Slamdunk: sorry 

Slamdunk: fat fingers

Aerion let his head rest against his pillow, muffling his loud groan into the soft cushion.

Street lamps cast patches of white blobs along the sidewalk, the light disappearing along the cracks in the pavement. A strong gust of wind whipped through the branches attached to the groves of trees that lined the path on one side. Municipal buildings lined the other, all varying heights and shades of brownish reds.

Leaves were strewn about the ground where they’d been blown off their stem. The trees hardly did much to filter the wind from reaching the few pedestrians walking about. 

Aerion zipped his hoodie all the way up to his neck and roughly drew the hood up over his head for good measure, silver blonde hair falling across his forehead. It was almost midnight and the chill had already turned the pads of his fingers cold and numb against his palms. 

Aerion hated the cold. He hated several things, truth be told, but the cold was definitely high up the list. The way it stretched its wispy fingers into his space like it wanted a hug but instead left its icy claws in his skin, the consequence for choosing once again to go outside.

Regrettable.

November didn’t even seem like a month that warranted the ferocity of this frigid air but this wretched place had a way of taking very normal things like weather and shaping it into a ball that would subsequently be hurled at Aerion’s face. 

The countryside was different, if he remembered correctly. The heat stretched on for miles on end over grassy plains and slate house roofs, warming his pale skin with a pink glow and a light sheen of sweat under his thin clothes. On the hottest days, the sun shined down with an oppressive heat that burned the back of Aerion’s eyes and made his skin feel like it’d peel right off if he picked at it enough. He hadn’t felt that burning sensation for a while now and probably wouldn’t for even longer. 

A car passed by, headlights casting yellow streaks into the pavement in front of Aerion and drawing him out of his thoughts. He shoved his hands into the front pockets of his pants and shuffled hurriedly down the street, eager to quickly make it to his destination so he could even more quickly get back home to a tiny space heater waiting at his bedside. 

The door chimed as Aerion pushed his way into the corner store a few blocks away from his place, squinting against the fluorescent lights flickering above as blood finally rushed back to his fingertips. He ignored the cheery “welcome” coming from the general direction of the cash register and dragged his feet across the tiled floor, skirting between shelves half stocked with chip bags and assortments of various candies. 

His shoes scraped the tile where he stopped in front of the frozen aisle. The options were tragic. But he didn’t feel like cooking and he sure as hell couldn’t order in after getting banned on his food service app. Something about treating service workers poorly, which Aerion thought was nothing short of an exaggeration. If the guy had gotten his drink correct, maybe the drink would have stayed in the cup. 

But here he was, deliberating the nuances between a frozen pasta and a frozen steak from a cow he was pretty sure died last year. Pasta it was. Aerion yanked the freezer door open, shivering slightly from the blast of coolness. 

A meal in hand later, Aerion pulled a sugary drink from the beverage aisle, wrapping his slender fingers around the neck. He stopped at the rack next to it, narrowing his eyes—a display lined with cigarette cartons of all varying brands. Marlboros, Camels, Newports, all pressed tightly against each other as if this dingy store only cared about maintaining stock when it came to biohazards. 

The back of Aerion’s throat itched; it ached to inhale a lungful of smoke, to keep it there until his body inevitably choked it back out into the cold air, deciding that the smoke was a foreign intrusion and not a therapy that warmed his insides. He licked his lips, thinking about it before his eyes flickered to the lighters sitting next to the colorful packs, fingers tensing around the bottle. The sight alone dislodged the idea from his brain before it could manifest. Aerion took a sharp intake of breath as he pivoted on his foot. 

He sauntered back towards the register finally looking at the worker behind the desk. 

Oh.

That’s why he’d gotten a greeting. She was new.

The cashier was wearing a pastel uniform and a chirpy smile that didn’t fit this time of night, empty streets and lingering shadows only a few feet away. She was young, probably younger than Aerion, had dark hair and a glimmer in her eye that indicated the world hadn’t worn her down yet. Hadn’t taken that glimmer and replaced it with a chasm so deep that she’d think twice before deciding to smile so brightly and at Aerion Targaryen no less. 

“Good evening!” she said eagerly. “Did you find everything you were looking for?”

Aerion grunted in affirmation, not in the mood to chit chat. 

“That’s good to hear!” the girl beamed, scanning the few items he tossed on the counter and carefully punching numbers into the small machine with a concentrated wrinkle in her brow.

Aerion crossed his arms and tapped his foot impatiently, willing the cashier to move a bit faster so he could be anywhere but here. 

“Your total is on the screen, sir.” The girl lifted her head back up, smile unfaltering. “Would you like to round up your total to help fund food for children at the homeless shelter?” 

Aerion blinked once. Then twice. He tilted his head a few degrees, eyes never leaving hers. 

“Is this a joke to you?” he hissed sharply.

“Pardon?” the girl asked, caught off guard. 

Aerion laughed, dry and bitter, body hunching over with phantom trembles, his hand coming up to cradle his chest in grounding. 

Not a moment later, he straightened his form and his face morphed back into neutrality like she had imagined a laugh that had never been there at all. 

The cashier’s eyes widened and her arms hung uselessly in the air, not knowing what to make of the situation. 

“Miss, if you hadn’t noticed,” Aerion started. He leaned in with hands planted on the counter and a cruel smile marring his pretty face. “I myself am a student, meandering about the streets, fiending for meals, trying my best just to make it through every day.”

There was panic in her voice now. “I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to assume your financial circumsta—” 

“Of course you didn’t!” Aerion bellowed. “You see a sullen man walk into your little shop, buying scraps for a meal, and you jump the gun to rid him of the little coin he has left.”

“No, I would never!” she cried in denial. The poor thing was on the verge of tears now, eyes shined over and lips wobbly with guilt. She coughed once to expel the emotion, trying to keep whatever semblance of professionalism she had left. “If it would rectify my error, I’d be happy to cover your meal sir.” 

Aerion narrowed his eyes. “Ah.” He chuckled low, no mirth behind the sound. “You think me in need of pity. Another charity case for your customers to toss a few cents at.”

“No,” the girl quickly interjected before Aerion could continue listing her faults in chronological order. “I insist on covering your meal—just for the offense I caused earlier.” Her hands were raised placatingly. 

“Well—” Aerion poked a canine into his bottom lip and brought a hand up to his chin, weighing the offer. 

The girl swallowed, eyes round with anticipation, hoping, no, needing him to say yes so she could feel even a tad bit better about herself. 

And who was Aerion if not the bringer of joy to all those around him. A smile worked up the corner of his lip. “If you insist.”

That’s how Aerion found himself strolling down the sidewalk back towards his apartment. A plastic bag with his comped meal hung precariously on two slim fingers swinging back and forth with each step. 

It was past midnight now—the small amount of traffic on the sidewalk and road had cleared entirely. A lamppost flickered overhead, the bulb probably needing replacement. 

Aerion smiled around the lollipop in his mouth, a freebie the trembling cashier slipped into his bag in apology for the abuse he suffered at her hands.

Aerion scoffed. His family could afford to feed the whole city ten times over if they felt strongly enough about it. But what was the point in that? Feed a dog one day and they’ll never stop showing up at your door. Aerion bit down on the sucker, the hard sugar crumbling under his sharp teeth and covering his tongue in small shards of sweetness. He flicked his wrist lazily, flinging the paper stick in an arc that landed somewhere in some direction. 

He didn’t know why lying came so easily to him or why he did random assholey things that didn’t technically benefit him in any way. He didn’t know if ruining a young cashier’s night was worth the spike in serotonin, but he also didn’t care enough to find out.

Aerion supposed he was just perpetually bored, no longer having family members to torment or friends for that matter to keep him distracted. He missed that about home if nothing else. The warm pit in his stomach whenever his little brother scowled up at him after he pulled one of his notorious pranks. 

Aegon. That was his favorite to pick on. Not even the youngest but the one with the most expressive outbursts, small brows drawn together and lip twisted in an ugly frown at Aerion’s antics.

He remembered the time he offered to cut his hair, the thin overgrown strands hanging low on Aegon’s face and obscuring his vision. Aerion spun Aegon around on the chair, telling him to open his eyes on the count of three. One. Two. Three. Aerion could still hear the high pitched scream if he concentrated hard enough. 

“I’m bald!” his brother shrieked.

“You’re aerodynamic,” Aerion replied. 

Aerion chortled at the memory. The things he’d give to shove his brother’s egg shaped head one more time. To spill milk in his shoe to see him slip on wooden floorboards. To say nasty things to his little form when he came back from school in an already foul mood. 

That was the thing about losing contact with someone Aerion didn't necessarily like. There was a pent up collection of things he wanted to say but didn’t have a good enough reason to pick up the phone and actually say. It’s not like he could just dial in to ask “Hey, are you still shorter than me?” Because if he was shorter, that was just another thing Aerion had on the little rascal. 

He probably wasn’t. He was probably taller than Aerion by now, growing past the insults and jibes, to actually engage in hobbies for once instead of coming home with hackles raised for a fight Aerion would surely win. 

Aerion's mouth soured at the thought, the sugary candy having long dissolved on his tongue. He didn't want to write a list of all the things he couldn’t say. No, he wanted to detonate with all the mean and nasty words he kept buried in his chest for all those who wronged him. Hell, even those who didn’t.

And with his worst thoughts finally unleashed, Aerion didn’t want people to forget how those mean words made them feel. He wanted people to carry a piece of him with them always, a pin of mockery that they were seen thoroughly enough by Aerion to leave a scar. 

He wished he had it in him to leave a scar like that on Dunk. He was similar enough to his little brother. Naive. Dumb…maybe a little dumber if he pondered about it enough.

But he couldn’t bring himself to unsheath the words that would make him truly walk away forever. The ones that digged at his past and reopened wounds that Aerion knew Dunk fought hard to stitch up thread by thread. At least from what he gathered on those nights the man sleepily mumbled in his ear about the hard earned life Aerion had warned him not to speak out loud. 

Perhaps he had grown weak over the years, barbed teeth dulled by all the shoes that have walked out the door. He didn’t care. Not really. He’d be fine if Dunk was one of them. If he looked at Aerion with the same winced expression the others wore. Those tightly pressed lips and furrowed brows at the charged language Aerion used when he was especially riled up. 

He should honestly just say what he really thought and be done with it. Tell the man that he didn’t give a rat's ass about a beggarly wedding and even less so about the fool hosting.

Then Aerion could finally go back to his regularly scheduled life. One that didn’t involve mindless conversation over trivial things like game skins and most definitely not important things like legal bindings and plus ones. And if Aerion ever got bored, he could always torment the cashier down the street to remind him why it was worth going outside. 

Aerion still wasn’t sure if today was one of those days. 

He shivered at a particularly sharp draft of wind that swept past his body, like it came from somewhere directly within his periphery rather than the dark skies it had come from earlier. The barest hints of fog trailed its wake and curled around the lammposts. 

Fuck. Was it this cold the whole time? 

He knew it was windy when he walked out of his flat, but there was a certain bite to the air that wasn’t there before. Aerion peered around to see if anyone else felt that. 

Oh.

He was the only one here. 

Aerion quickened his pace. 

He was only a block away, when the cawing started. It was followed by the distinct sound of a violent rustling that echoed louder and louder in Aerion’s ears before halting altogether. 

Dark plumage floated down to the earth. 

A bird? 

Aerion cocked his head up to where the sound had come from. 

Oh. 

Many birds.

Perched on the power lines above were tens of crows, all shifting their feet in unison. Some gaped down at the ground and others pecked their neighbors with sharp beaks. The collective cawing had died down but a few croaks rang out overhead. 

“The hell,” Aerion muttered. 

He didn’t even know crows were awake at this time. It was late enough into the night for them to fuck off to whatever nest they came from. And stranger it was that they had all assembled here of all places, where the only light present in the surrounding area was casted along the path Aerion had just stopped walking on. 

The humidity pressed against Aerion’s neck, goosebumps sprouting along every inch of exposed skin. His hands tightened around the handle of the plastic bag. He ought to leave before the crows grew bored chipping away at strands of aluminum and decided to chew on him instead. 

And he decided to do exactly that. 

Aerion put one foot in front of the other when a burst of white light flooded his vision. A booming pop followed not a second later. 

Aerion reeled back. His hands shot up to shield his eyes, plastic bag falling to the pavement with a quiet crisp. White dots throbbed against the darkness behind his eyelids. 

Aerion lowered his hands slowly and opened his eyes, blinking away his blurred vision. The burning light had come from somewhere on his right. 

Aerion turned his head, fists tight and gaze heavy with caution. Fiery sparks rained down from the lamppost most close to him, embers dying out as they approached the pavement. Shards of glass scattered around the pole and a few were startlingly close to Aerion’s feet. 

Aerion breathed heavily at the sight, heartbeats coming out stuttered. Did the lamppost just burst? He was just about to turn on his heel and fucking sprint when he heard it.

The groaning. 

It wasn’t loud, just a prolonged strain of low notes that would be lost in the wind if all of Aerion’s senses weren’t heightened in his current state. He was half convinced it was a figment of his imagination and if it wasn’t, he should probably pretend it was anyway.

Then he heard it again. Lower and more garbled until it stopped altogether. 

It came from somewhere beyond the lampposts and trees that lined the path. It was dark there, covered in mist. The orange glow from the street lights didn’t reach the source of the sound. All that lay beyond the poles and tree trunks was a field of grass or what the city pathetically called a park. It was more like a ditch if you asked Aerion.

But none of that could be seen from where he was standing. The fog came out in thick wisps from in between metal and wood. The lamppost that had just blown up had all but left a dark murky footpath for Aerion to follow. 

Aerion tilted his head and scoffed in disbelief. His eyebrows pinched and gaze narrowed at where the sound came from. He clenched his fists into balls, finally understanding what was going on.

Did some prick think they could mess with the street lamps to sneak up on him? And to what? Steal his cash? His fingernails dug creases into his palms. Well jokes on them because Aerion didn’t carry any. 

He all but stomped in the direction of the sound to give the asshole a piece of his mind. No one released a flock of birds on Aerion Targaryen without having hell to pay. 

Dried leaves twisted and crippled with a crunch as Aerion trudged over them, swatting at low branches that smothered his view. He grumbled under his breath while shoving his way through the foliage. 

He stepped into the clearing with a sharp exhale and fists raised ready to swing. The fog was densest here and he couldn’t see much beyond his own arms. The pale moon above shined just enough light down to cast hazy shadows on the twisted branches above which seemed to stretch towards Aerion himself. 

“Come out asshole,” Aerion snarled. “I don’t have time for this.” 

Silence met him in the misty whiteness. 

Aerion craned his neck, looking around. There should’ve been a guy launching a punch at him just about now. He was ready for the punch. Itching for it even. 

The punch never came. 

“Hello?” Aerion said stupidly. He lowered his fists, confused. 

Had he imagined the voice? No way. It had undoubtedly come from this direction. Maybe the guy was just luring him to walk further into the fog to catch him off guard. 

Aerion sighed. “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

He marched his feet forward. 

Aerion made it about two steps before his foot caught on a rather large lump in the ground. He let out a yelp as his body lurched forward, stumbling over the mass. His arms flapped uselessly in the air to hold on to something. Anything. 

There was nothing. 

Aerion hit the ground hard, palms scuffed where it met the dirt trying to catch his fall. 

Fuck. What was that?

Bewildered and disheveled, Aerion clambered onto his back and propped himself up on his elbows to get a better look at what just tripped him. 

Or rather who he should say. 

That thing was hunched on its side laying at the toe of Aerion’s foot, twitching in an unsteady pattern. Trembling from the cold or perhaps from being stepped over by Aerion’s uncoordinated foot.

Aerion’s eyes widened. Now that he was near enough, he could hear shallow breathing. It came out in gasps like it was struggling to take in air. 

The fog had cleared slightly in front of him from all the motion he caused while—well falling—and it let him see just far enough ahead to identify the creature that had brought him down in a tumbling mess. 

It was…a guy. The figure was covered in piles of fabric, a dark cloak of sorts that covered most of his body but the mussed up hair sprouting from what Aerion assumed was its head, gave it away. 

Was he in…cosplay?

The figure shifted to its side in a surprising display of strength for how pitiful it looked earlier. 

Aerion scrambled backwards, caught off guard by the sudden movement. His shoes made craters in the earth where they dug for purchase. His arms slid craggily against the rough surface of the ground until he was sufficiently far enough away. 

The peculiar figure, now darkened from where Aerion lay, forced himself onto his haunches with an almost guttural grunt. Like it pained him to do so. It almost looked like a creature that had crawled out of the goddamn earth, the way he groaned and clawed at dirt.

Aerion watched, mouth falling slightly open. His brain must have flown out of his head if he didn’t get the memo yet that it was time to leave. But he couldn’t. His body paid no heed to what his mind demanded like it was drowned in an ice bath. Was he in shock? 

If Dunk had seen him right now, Aerion would probably never hear the end of it. Something about charging into fights without any plan whatsoever just to get spooked by a dude dressed as Gandalf.

Well fuck Dunk and fuck his stupid voice for messing with Aerion’s head during a life or death situation.

Blades of grass crumpled under his fingers where Aerion clutched them in a death grip, anything to focus and keep himself grounded during this very odd predicament. 

The man slowly raised himself to his feet, teetering side to side as he did so. A strong breeze billowed through his cloak and the heavy fabric spread across his back like he’d sprouted wings. Dim light scattered around his towering figure casting shadows along the lines of his hunched shoulders as he stood over Aerion. 

He was menacing like this. The pale moonlight at his back made him look like a gob of black dye that spread its tendrils in clear waters. The shadowed tendrils could’ve been reaching for Aerion himself if he had the wits to check.

Aerion looked up at the looming figure, eyes glazed over. His mouth gaped around a sound that wouldn’t quite leave his tongue. His tongue was quite dry, his drink abandoned only a few feet away. 

The crows scattered all at once behind the man, flying into the moonlit night with several loud caws in tuneless harmony. 

The deafening shrill of birds blared through Aerion’s skull, ripping him out of whatever transfixion rooted him to the ground in the first place. He shot up to his full height, clenching his fists hard enough to stop shaking. He glowered at the gaunt man standing in front of him. He couldn’t make out a single detail on the man’s face. The fog blurred too many of his features. He could only be sure that the guy had a few inches on him and looked built enough to take Aerion in a fight. 

The figure suddenly staggered forward, an arm shooting up from where it was clutched at his side previously. He reached towards Aerion, pale fingers coming into view through the murk, and that’s all it took for Aerion to wind his shoulder back and fucking swing. 

A sickening crunch rang out where his knuckle met jaw. 

The man’s face cocked sideways as he stumbled backwards a step from the force. He somehow managed to stay on both feet but swayed where he stood like he was one finger tap away from tipping over.

“Fucking fuck!” Aerion cried out. He clutched his fist to his chest, a sharp sting blooming across his knuckles. “That fucking hurt jackass!”

The man raised a hand to his jaw and pulled it towards his face as if stunned he’d been punched at all.

“Is your face made of steel or something?” Aerion spat. “Fucking hell.” 

Aerion had his fair share of throwing punches. But usually, the person on the other end absorbed most of the impact, their bodies flying in the direction the momentum took them. Usually it left his fist with a small burning sensation at worst and a satisfying buzz under his skin at best. Not fucking throbbing. 

This guy knew how to take a punch. 

Aerion had half a mind to scream at him again about the decorum one needed to possess when squabbling with random people at the park but was cut off by a sudden movement. 

The man lurched toward Aerion only making it a few heavy steps before stopping entirely. His body suddenly went taut, back rigid, and he pressed the heel of his palm into an eye trying to knead something away. 

Something Aerion could not see from where he was standing, fingers clenched against the flesh of his palms ready to throw another punch. 

“Stay back,” Aerion protested. “I’ll do it again I swear to fucki—”

His unfinished words swept into the stale air as the stranger’s entire body suddenly went lax, shoulders loosening and head banking sideways. He all but collapsed to the ground, a resounding thud following in succession. Aerion’s eyes traced the sequence of events in wide perplexity. 

The man’s body laid motionless. The small rasping breaths he let out before seized and the only indication he had gotten up at all from where Aerion had first found him was the reddish bruise blossoming across his strong jaw, marring his freckled skin.

Wait. Strong jaw? Freckled skin?

The fog must have cleared significantly since he’d last paid attention to it. The streetlamps finally made their presence known as they shed speckles of light through the densely packed trees. Aerion could finally make out the man’s features as he peered down at his sprawled form, curious against his own will.

He was nice enough to look at, Aerion decided. A strong nose bridge, plush lips and long eyelashes. 

Which was surprising.

At least for a wizard cosplayer who tried robbing people at odd hours of the night.

Aerion sighed. He was absolutely done with tonight. He was ready to go home, sleep it off, and pretend it never happened. “Get up.”

Silence. 

Aerion huffed a breath. “This is how you choose to surrender?” he asked. “By playing dead?” He kicked him lightly in the side, prodding more than anything, right where his rib ought to be. 

Nothing.

“Are you seriously keeping this up?” he demanded, voice rising. Aerion crouched down to his knees, heaving in anger, and clamped a hand down on the man’s shoulder. 

He shook once. The man’s frame jerked from the motion. 

He shook a second time. Harder. The man’s head slanted sideways back into the dirt. 

Fuck. 

Is he…dead?

Aerion’s breath left him in one fell swoop, his eyes reflecting every shade of panic he possessed from the fibers in his muscle to the sockets in his joints. Surely, he should check to make sure. Before he did something dramatic. Like join him on his death bed. 

Aerion climbed on top of the man, the pads of his fingers jabbing into some fleshy part under the chin. He should feel a pulse. 

Nothing. 

Aerion’s eyes widened. His body retreated, falling on his ass trying to get off the man. Or corpse he should say. A shudder so intense wracked through Aerion’s frame, rattling his teeth. The temper that had settled under his skin vanished, leaving something uglier twisting in his gut. 

He did not just kill someone. And from one blow at that. Aerion slowly brought his palms up to his face, in awe of his own strength. 

He shook his head quickly and slapped his hands back to his thighs, pushing the thought away. He needed to focus.  

This wasn’t a video game where skeletons were nothing but a stack of pixels arranged in keen detail. This was flesh and blood and the blood was on Aerion’s hand. He dealt the final blow. Well one blow to be precise. But that didn’t feel like something that would hold up in court. He needed to siphon any lick of intelligence he had left to figure out what to do. 

He’d never killed someone before. Wanted to sure. 

Several times actually. 

Even in a given day if he really thought about it.

No. 

Focus.

Aerion tried to wrack his brain for something. Anything. His eyes fell shut, eyelids pressed tight. He dug his fingers into his temples trying to extract any useful piece of information and pointedly trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. 

He recalled all those crime documentaries he used to watch curled up on the couch, eyes glued to the screen and steaming mug cradled against his chest. They showed all these accounts of serial killers who sliced through raw flesh with sharp knives and strangled throats with bare hands because it was more personal that way. More intimate. And then there were those who used bullets as the dealing blow for the victim they knew, the distance making the ordeal all the more detached, perhaps to abate the guilt. 

Aerion didn't know which category he fell under. He didn’t mean to kill this eccentric man but sure as hell didn’t feel bad for him. He was a stranger after all. One that started this in the first place.

Aerion exhaled a heavy breath. In the end, there was little knowledge to draw from all the hours he spent in front of a TV screen. What help did it offer if they were all caught in the end just to be broadcasted to the whole fucking world? Aerion didn’t want his face broadcasted to the world. Not like this anyway. He wanted to go home, crawl under his bed covers, and never come out. Ever. Because he learned a very important lesson today that he really should have learned a long time ago. 

Don’t go outside.

Aerion’s breath grew heavy as the reality of the situation set in. He just killed a man and first thing in the morning he’d be put in handcuffs and hauled off to a cell not suited for someone like himself. Prison wasn’t meant for pretty people. Aerion’s fingers clawed at his scalp, damn near pulling his hair out. His panic was rising the longer his brain drew empty for any idea on what to do.

It was self defense right? That had to count for something. Technically the man came at him and Aerion had no choice but to protect himself from the oddly attractive evil warlock trying to purloin his cash. 

The cash he didn’t carry. 

Fuck.

Aerion’s head snapped up squinting past the trees. He remembered there were security cameras that were mounted on top of the lampposts littered along the path he was just walking on. There’s no way they could have caught what truly happened. Not with all the fog that rolled into the precise place where Aaron had…defended himself. 

No. The only thing the cameras caught was Aerion’s smartass stomping off into the clearing with fists raised and eyes ready to kill.

Fuck.

He couldn’t call the police even if he wanted to. To explain that this was not his fault. To explain that he was the victim if anything. Not without his father catching wind of it. Another mistake that Aerion made. Another reason for him to tell people he only had three sons instead of four.

Aerion stared down at the corpse, gaze empty and realization sinking into every muscle in his body.

He knew what he had to do.