Chapter Text
Jamie’s POV:
The car rolled to a stop outside the Daynes’ summer home. Jamie stepped out with his lone duffel bag, the ocean breeze meeting him before his boots hit the gravel. Moonlight spilled over the waves, turning them silver, and for a moment he could almost hear Jon’s laughter in the distance. The soundless memory tugged a smile out of him.
He sighed and started up the path to the door. No lights glowed in the windows, though that didn’t mean Arthur was asleep. He tapped his knuckles against the door, sharp and loud, then glanced back toward the water.
Gods, he hoped he didn’t look like a cub begging for a den.
The thought made him grimace. He hitched the duffel higher on his shoulder, straightened his spine, and schooled his face into something that didn’t scream wounded.
It didn’t take long before Jamie heard steps on the other side of the door, the clink of locks, and then it swung open.
Arthur stood there in his work attire, hair tousled from bedhead, though he didn’t look like he’d just woken up.
Jamie flashed a smile. “Got room for a new roommate?”
“You know where the guest bedroom is,” Arthur said softly. His tone wasn’t pitying, but it didn’t ignore the fact Jamie was trying to hide his wounds, either. He stepped aside, letting him in.
The house felt open yet warm. Cozy, even. He’d never really thought of houses as cozy. The Targaryen place was more of a family home than a cozy one, and the Lannister estates, whether in Lannisport or here, had never felt that way. Not since—
“You hungry?” Arthur asked, shutting the door and locking it.
“No,” Jamie said, smirking faintly. “But you got anything to make me forget what day it is?”
Arthur’s mouth curved in the barest smile. “Do I have the stuff for you.” He turned toward the kitchen. “Make yourself at home.”
“Yeah…” Jamie murmured, “Home.” The word sat foreign on his tongue, edged with bitterness.
Jamie set his duffel bag by the kitchen and hopped up onto the counter. He watched as Arthur opened the cabinet above the sink, pulling down a bottle. The kitchen was smaller than the Targaryen's’ but somehow warmer, purple-and-white towels neatly hung, a few stickers on the oven and fridge that didn’t match but felt lived-in.
Arthur poured two glasses of whiskey and crossed over, handing one to Jamie before leaning against the opposite counter.
Jamie took his and knocked back half in one go, the burn crawling down his throat. Arthur only sipped.
“Rough night?” Jamie asked.
Arthur exhaled through his nose. “Yeah… rough day?”
Jamie stared into the amber in his glass. “Yeah.”
They stayed in silence, listening to the ocean waves crash against the shore nearby. Jamie finished his glass, and without a word, Arthur handed him the bottle. Without thinking, Jamie took long swigs until half the bottle was gone. His head spun, light and heavy all at once.
Arthur took their empty glasses and moved to the sink. “You know Jon’s coming back tomorrow? He’s moving in with Rhaegar and setting up his tattoo shop.” He turned on the faucet, washing the glasses with steady hands.
Jamie stared at the whiskey bottle, watching the liquid swirl as he tilted it. A small smile tugged at his lips, and his heart felt lighter. “Maybe I’ll pay a neighborly visit.”
“Jamie, they live on the other side of King’s Landing.” Arthur set the glasses on the drying rack without looking up.
Jamie smirked. “Well, he’ll need help moving, won’t he?” He hopped off the counter, stretching. “I’m going to bed.”
“Goodnight.” Arthur dried his hands quietly. He said nothing about the bottle, so Jamie assumed he could take it with him.
Jamie sat on the edge of the guest bed, the empty whiskey bottle resting loosely in his hand. The room was quiet, too quiet, but his mind buzzed with the weight of their conversation.
He thought about Jon. Not the words exactly, but the way Jon looked at him, the hesitation and something else beneath it. There was a kind of vulnerability there that Jamie hadn’t expected, something fragile, yet stubborn.
Jamie wasn’t ready to unravel it all tonight. Some things were better left alone for now, like the steady pull of the tides outside his window.
So, he let the silence stretch out, letting his thoughts drift back to Jon’s laughter, his quiet strength. Maybe tomorrow would bring clarity. Maybe not.
For now, Jamie just sat there, waiting, hoping, and holding onto the small flicker of something he wasn’t ready to name.