"I just don't get it. We do all these things together, so why does the word 'dating' seem so terrifyingly repulsive?" Your voice rang out, sharp and edged with desperation, as your hands tore off the jewelry you had meticulously chosen for the party. The makeup, once accentuating your beauty, now only made you look like a clown—desperate, pleading for a committed relationship.

Six months of this—two young men starved for touch, lost in an addictive pattern of casual encounters. Outings filled with deep conversations, playful teasing that ended with one of you pinned against a wall, breathless, moaning. You were content with it. Aemond had made it clear: you were not a couple, just an escape. Until that wasn’t enough anymore.

Perhaps you were naive to fall for him, but you did, deeply. Nights spent tangled in each other's arms, his body pulling yours close, the tender kisses on your forehead as you slept. That one night, after the most intense moment you’d shared, he cried, opening up about his family, the loneliness that consumed him. It was a low blow.

Congratulations, you fell for the broken straight boy.

The story now brings you to the end of a loud party, half-drunk teenagers playing "truth or dare." You wanted to push him, hear the words he never said. But you ruined everything. "Is it true what you said that night? You said you loved me." The tension was instant, all eyes fixated on you.

Damn it.

Aemond didn’t wait long before grabbing your hand, leading you upstairs to the muffled sound of some Avril Lavigne's song."It’s cruel," you said once alone. "You treat this like a relationship and get mad when I want one."

Aemond sighed, tension in his shoulders."We agreed," he said, his voice low. "No attachment. You knew this."

"I’ve changed, Aemond. I’ll wear skirts, makeup—hell, I’ll stop thinking about being trans. Just stay with me. You love me, we both know it."

"But not the way you need." His gaze was cold, final. "Not the way you want, you deserve love, but not from me."