A/N: I've decided to also publish this story on Wattpad for old time's sake. Crazy that I made this account in middle school and that I am in college now! Enjoy!

The Hound had always been a solitary man, preferring the company of his sword and the quiet of the wilderness to the raucousness of the cities. Y/n, a fellow warrior who had earned the Hound's respect and admiration, was the only face in the sea of thousands that Sandor Clegane could comfortably tolerate. He could hold his own and always looked out for himself. King's Landing, the Crown, the horrors of the Lannister family — Yn had survived it all and with a very watchful eye. The Hound saw him as an equal, and although he would never admit it directly the thought of the man being anything other than alive and well was a frightening one.

"I don't want to die in this city," Y/n said, breaking the silence and punctuating his statement with a swig of ale.

The Hound grunted, "Stay here and you will."

Y/n's cup thudded onto the wooden table top, "To hell with the Lannisters!"

Clegane raised his head to meet Y/n's gaze with a warning expression. You can never be quite sure of who was listening, and despite the disdain the man held for all of King's Landing, he knew when and where to tread lightly.

"Careful boy," He said, his deep voice rumbling.

Y/n's eyes flicked back to the drink grasped firmly in his hand, "I know — I know."

The orange tavern lighting returned the warmth robbed by years of battle and service in the Kingsguard to the younger man's face. The Hound observed him silently, recalling when Y/n was first sworn into protecting the King. He was bright, young, and loyal. He knew when silence was the best remedy and was not afraid to look Sandor Clegane in the eye — a feat many were too cowardly to attempt. They feared the man, the monstrous killer with a face mottled by fire. Many stories circulated as to the scars' origins, each more fearsome and frightful than the one before. Some thought him to be inhuman, simply a killing machine, but Y/n had seen the fear dance across the man's face. He saw the terror of a small child glint in The Hound's eyes at the sight of fire, and the soldier suddenly became human. He understood.

Clegane watched as Y/n continued to drink, the younger man's eyes beginning to gloss over. He frowned as he realized that he would soon become a babysitter.

"You better be able to make it back to the White Sword Tower without pissing yourself," The Hound stated, breaking the tense silence between them.

Y/n laughed, "I can handle myself."

"You sure about that?" Clegane asked firmly.

Y/n pushed his hair out of his face and met The Hound's eyes once more, "Fucking certain."

He slammed his cup on the table, and Clegane noted the drunken coordination of his companion's movements. He was piss drunk. Losing himself in thought once more he recalled the many nights he had escorted a drunk Y/n through the darkened streets of King's Landing back to the Red Keep. Being a member of the Kingsguard required a higher mental fortitude, and an even higher alcohol tolerance. King Joffrey had caused the patience of his soldiers to wear thin, with many choosing vices to cope — for Y/n it was a night at the tavern, and for The Hound it was the few minutes he shared alone with the man as they parted ways in the White Sword Tower before heading to bed. Each time he lingered in the doorway just a moment longer, unsure of how to communicate his desires to stay. He was a monster, and monsters deserved solitude.

He stood up from the table, his chair making a grating noise as it slid across the tarnished stone beneath them. Now towering over Y/n he spoke, "Come on."

Y/n held one finger up as he chugged the rest of his drink and slammed his cup down one last time. He stood to face the man, but despite his own tall stature he had to look up to meet The Hound's gaze.

"Yes sir," Y/n said playfully, smirking at the man.

Clegane's eyes widened for a moment before he resumed his usual stone faced expression, "Oh shut up."

Y/n rolled his eyes and followed The Hound out of the tavern. Now struck by the cool evening air the warmth of the alcohol diminished some and he felt inclined to push some boundaries.

"I think you like this little game we play, Clegane," Y/n stated suggestively.

The gruff man was caught off guard by this statement. His face contorted into a look of disdain, "And what game might that be?"

"The one where you walk me home and stand in my doorway like a beggar," Y/n replied, hiccuping slightly.

While it was rare, The Hound could be disarmed — and it was usually words that left him defenseless. The simplicity of their post-tavern interactions, and the ritual of building tension intentionally left unresolved, was something the man rather enjoyed. They had never discussed this behavior.

Choosing to feign disgust Clegane retorted, "I would never beg you for anything."

"You sure about that?" Y/n asked. The Hound began to sweat, feeling his defenses be taken down one by one. He was not equipped for this conversation. The ale sat uncomfortably in his stomach as he was confronted. Y/n knew.

Clegane attempted to cover his shock with his usual defense: aggression. "Shut up and walk," he stated bluntly.

Y/n laughed, causing the discomfort in The Hound's stomach to make itself known once more. They walked quietly, the clinking of their armor the only distinct sound in the night landscape of King's Landing. The city was nearly silent at night except for the jeering of drunkards inside the taverns. It felt like they were the only people in the entire city on nights like these, and normally this was something The Hound took solace in; however, it was intimidating on this particular night for the first time. A night of many firsts, he felt as his monster facade was seen through in all its exaggerations. He was a man, and every man has a weakness — although for most soldiers, this weakness is not other men.

The White Sword Tower finally took shape in front of the two men. The stars spread across the night scar shone fiercely, casting a blue light across everything exposed to the sky. Leaving the night scape behind they entered the Red Keep.

The Hound helped Y/n up the stairs to his room, trying to ignore the way his heart raced at the sight of Y/n's muscular arms and broad shoulders. They both reeked of alcohol, filling the stairwell with the stench of soldiers and ale. Finally approaching Y/n's door, Clegane's anticipation had built itself up to a breaking point. He had planned on not lingering after dropping off his friend for the first time out of fear. For once, The Hound was intimidated. The two men stopped at the dark wooden door to Y/n's room before opening it. Clegane turned to leave.

"Not sticking around, hey?" Y/n asked, slurring his words slightly.

The Hound did not turn to face Y/n quite yet, stiffening in place. "I told you I'm not a beggar," He said.

Y/n laughed, "I guess I'll be the beggar tonight then, Sandor."

They strayed away from first names. Getting too personal was always a risk. Growing close was dangerous, for anyone in King's landing. The Hound finally turned to face Y/n. He felt the alcohol stirring in his stomach and sending a familiar warmth throughout his body. For a moment he was speechless, and the two sat within the thick air of Y/n's dark room.

"Stay with me?" Y/n asked softly. The tonal change did not fall upon inattentive ears, and Clegane immediately felt heat rising to meet his face. He turned away from Y/n and closed the door behind them both, wordlessly agreeing to keep him company.

Facing the man once more he asked the only question he had, "Why?"

It was not an accusatory or teasing question. It was genuine, and filled so close to the brim with insecurity that it was nearly spilling over. Y/n began unclasping the armor across his chest before posing more questions, "What? You don't want to?"

The Hound watched as his counterpart's muscular form was slowly revealed. The dark cotton garments beneath the armor of the Kingsguard strained across the musculature of the man's chest, pulled up and out by the broad span of his shoulders. Clegane watched breathlessly for a moment, "I'll stay."

"Good," Y/n stated, stripping the last bits of his armor. He kicked off his shoes before taking a seat on the edge of his bed, giving the spot next to him a quick pat. After years of training and military service, Clegane knew how to identify a command. Swallowing hard he approached the bedside, but was abruptly stopped in his tracks after attempting to take a seat.

Y/n held his hand in place, lazily blocked The Hound from sitting. He smirked, "You want to get comfortable first?"

Unsure of Y/n's intentions, Clegane followed suit and removed his armor before being welcomed in his seat on the middle edge of the bed. "What now?" He asked quietly. Y/n smiled and shyly reached out to move the man's unruly hair away from the scarred half of his face, only to be met by Clegane abruptly grabbing his wrist.

He shook his hand free, "I want to see you."

"You're looking at me right now," The Hound quipped, feeling dissatisfied with his appearance.

Y/n sighed heavily, "You don't have to be afraid around me, Sandor."

There was his first name again. His true name.

"And what would I have be afraid of?" He asked defensively.

Y/n leaned in a bit closer, beginning to close the few foot gap in between the two. He reached out again, and he was not met with opposition. Tucking Clegane's hair behind his ear Y/n finally replied, "Being vulnerable."