You didn’t expect flowers. Or a grand dinner reservation. Or some ridiculously overpriced piece of jewelry wrapped in a velvet box.

You did, however, expect Aegon to at least remember.

And for most of the day, you had convinced yourself that he had. He wasn’t the best at planning, but he had mentioned Valentine’s Day last week, had smirked against your neck and promised, I’ve got something in mind, baby. So, when the day came, you told yourself to be patient. That maybe—just maybe—he’d surprise you.

But by the time evening rolled around and there was still no word from him, that small flicker of hope had died out.

The dinner you made sat cold on the table. The wine bottle you’d opened was half-empty, because after two glasses, you stopped bothering with the pretense that you weren’t just drinking to wait. The worst part? You weren’t even angry—just tired. Tired of hoping he’d be different. Tired of making excuses.

It was past midnight when you heard the front door open.

Aegon walked in, hoodie slightly wrinkled, keys jingling in his hand. He smelled faintly of beer and smoke, like he’d spent the night out—like he hadn’t once thought about you sitting here, waiting.

He blinked at you, his brows furrowing slightly, clearly confused by the tension in the air.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, voice still thick with whatever haze he was in.