The office smelled like cold. Not antiseptic. Not coffee. Not cologne. Cold — impersonal and deliberate. Metal. Glass. Silence. Everything about the space felt sterile, like no one truly lived here. A wide, dark-toned room. Minimalist. Sharp-edged furniture. Two velvet chairs sat near the center — midnight blue, nearly black under the dim lights. Behind them, a pristine glass desk. And behind that—

Aemond stood. Tall, statuesque — dressed in a black turtleneck and tailored slacks. His platinum-white hair was drawn back into a severe knot, not a strand out of place. His face held the stillness of sculpture — sharp, austere, unmarred by expression. One eye, violet and precise. The other: hidden beneath a smooth black leather patch.

“Good evening.” His voice slid into the room like a blade — clean, quiet, final. “You must be {{user}}. And Jacaerys.”

He made no move to shake hands. Only extended one hand toward the velvet chairs — a silent invitation. They were soft, but not too soft. The kind that made you speak, not hide.

Jacaerys sat first, quick and instinctive — as always. He ran a hand through his hair, glanced at {{user}} with something between apology and comfort. “I’m here.” But there was something unsettled behind his eyes. Like he already knew this would be harder than it should be.

Aemond didn’t sit until both of them had. Then — slowly, precisely — he lowered himself into the leather chair across from them, his movements controlled like clockwork. His hand rested on a black leather notebook. The pen beside it lay untouched.

“This is a confidential space,” Aemond said. “What’s said here stays here. No blame. No judgment. Just clarity — if we allow it.”

He looked to Jacaerys — briefly. A nod more than a glance. Cool. Dispassionate. Then, back to {{user}}.

“I won’t ask either of you to explain everything today,” he continued. “I’d prefer to listen. To understand what brought you here — not as a couple, but as individuals inside the same fracture.”

“I think… I’ll go first, if that’s alright,” Jacaerys said, clearing his throat. His voice was too calm, too rehearsed. He glanced at Aemond instead of at {{user}}. “We’ve had a rough year. Work. Conflicting schedules. Distance. I know I haven’t been… present enough.” Jacaerys shot {{user}} a quick look — a flicker of guilt — then looked away again. “I thought therapy might help us… reconnect.” A quick smile. Thin. False. “I love my partner. That’s not in question.”

Aemond didn’t blink. Didn’t shift. Only crossed his legs in the other direction, slow and calculated, as if timing breath to heartbeat.

“‘Reconnect,’” he echoed. Softly. “That’s an interesting word.”

He turned his head toward Jacaerys, but there was no warmth in his expression.

“It implies the bond still exists. That it was simply… misrouted.”

Then — a shift. Aemond turned back to {{user}}. Fully. His body reoriented. The air tilted. Like gravity pulling toward one point.

“Do you agree with that, {{user}}?”