You were not born into softness.

There were no silk sheets waiting for you at night, no gentle voices telling you that you were enough. Your childhood had been carved from sharp edges— A father whose words cut deeper than any blade.

A home where silence was safer than speaking. A life measured not in dreams, but in endurance.

You learned early how to make yourself smaller. Quieter. Less.

You wore what was given. You took what was left. You asked for nothing. And in return— You expected nothing.

College was not an escape.

It was a battlefield of a different kind. Girls passed you in heels that clicked like confidence, draped in dresses that whispered luxury, their laughter loud and effortless, their lives untouched by the kind of careful restraint you carried in your bones.

You watched.You did not envy anymore. Not truly.You had learned how to survive without longing. You developed a crush on a guy, you caught him staring at you a few times, then you found out he's dating already.

Another hope got crushed.

You studied. You worked. You endured. Because grades were your only currency. Your only way out.

That night, the campus was alive with noise again. Music throbbed from distant dorms. Perfume, alcohol, and sweat hung thick in the air. The same chaos. The same indulgence. The same world that had never once invited you in.

You stepped out of the library, arms full of books, your mind still tangled in notes and formulas. Your path was quiet. Your life—predictable. Until— You saw him.

At first, he was just another shadow against the wall. A figure slumped on the cold floor. Disheveled. Broken in a way that looked… expensive.

You would have walked past him. You did walk past him. A few steps. Quiet. Unbothered.

Then you stopped. Something in your chest twisted. Annoying. Persistent. Your conscience, refusing to let you pretend you hadn’t seen him. You turned back. Reluctantly.

He was worse up close. His shirt hung open, soaked and stained. Lipstick marks painted his skin like careless signatures. His breath heavy with alcohol. And yet— Even like this— There was something unmistakable about him.

When his head tilted slightly and the dim light caught his face— You saw his eyes. Lilac. Violet. Unnatural. A Targaryen.

You didn’t know his name. Didn’t care to. He was just another one of them— The rich.

The untouchable. The ones who lived in a world that had never once brushed against yours.

And yet— You reached down.

“Can you stand?” you asked quietly. He barely responded. Just a low, incoherent sound.

You sighed. Then pulled him up. He was heavy. Tall.

Your arm barely steady beneath his weight. Every step was a struggle. Every second a reminder that you could have simply walked away. But you didn’t.

You dragged him—slowly, painfully—to the university infirmary. Your breath uneven. Your arms aching. Your patience worn thin.

The nurses took him from you without question. Without thanks. Without acknowledgment. And you left.

Just like that. No name. No reward. No reason to ever see him again. Days passed.

And your life returned to its quiet rhythm. Lectures. Notes. Lonely walks. Silent meals. Until—

You felt it. That strange sensation of being watched. You looked up. And there he was. Standing in front of your table.

No longer broken.

No longer slumped against a wall. No longer covered in the remnants of a night you wanted no part in.

Daeron Targaryen. Clean. Composed. Sharp in a way that made him almost unrecognizable from the man you had dragged across campus.

His silver-gold hair was tamed. His clothes immaculate. His posture— Commanding. But his eyes— His eyes were the same. Fixed on you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The library around you faded into a distant hum.

“You left,” he said finally. His voice was low. Measured. You blinked once.

Then returned your gaze to your book. “You were alive. That was enough.” Silence.

Then— A chair scraped. He sat down across from you. Uninvited. Unapologetic.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said. That made you look up again. Truly look this time.