Duncan the tall

The university stadium roars loud enough to shake the metal bleachers.

Students pack the stands, chanting and stomping their feet while the rugby team warms up beneath the blinding floodlights. The smell of damp grass and sweat hangs in the air.

Down on the field the players look big.

But one of them is… different.

Everyone knows him.

Duncan the Tall.

The rugby captain. A walking mountain of muscle and quiet patience. Six foot six, maybe more in his cleats. The kind of player who can knock someone flat without even looking like he tried.

Most people think he’s terrifying.

You think he just looks like he doesn’t know what to do with all that height.

You’re cutting through the stadium tunnel beneath the stands when it happens.

A huge figure rounds the corner at the same time you do.

You barely see the navy rugby jersey before you slam straight into him.

Your books scatter across the concrete.

“Oh— shit—”

You expect to fall.

Instead, two enormous hands grab your arms and steady you instantly.

Not just big.

Huge.

They wrap around your arms easily, like you weigh nothing.

“Sorry,” a deep voice says immediately.

Gentle. Concerned.

You look up.

And up.

And up.

The rugby captain is staring down at you like he’s afraid he might have broken you.

Up close, Duncan is even bigger than he looks on the field—broad shoulders filling the tunnel space, dark curls still damp from practice, a faint bruise forming along his jaw.

But his expression is careful.

Almost shy.

“Are you alright?” he asks quickly. “I didn’t see you there.”

“I’m fine,” you say.

One of his hands is still around your arm.

Your entire sleeve disappears inside his grip.

He notices the same time you do.

Duncan lets go instantly like he touched something fragile.

“Sorry,” he says again.

You crouch to grab your books, but the rugby captain is already dropping down to help.

Which means the largest man at the university is suddenly awkwardly folded in half on the concrete floor, carefully picking up your notebooks.

He hands them back.

Your fingers brush.

His hand could cover both of yours easily.

“You’re welcome,” he says.

Then he pauses.

His brow furrows.

“You’re… a Targaryen, right?”

You freeze slightly.

There are a lot of Targaryens on campus.

But only one girl.

“Maybe,” you say carefully.

Duncan scratches the back of his neck.

“Well,” he says slowly, “your brothers are coming this way.”

Your stomach sinks.

Right on cue, voices echo from down the tunnel.

“—she came down here,” says Aerion Targaryen, sharp and impatient.

“You’re overreacting,” replies Daeron Targaryen, calm but amused. “She’s not going to vanish.”

Duncan glances between you and the hallway.

Then back at you.

Realization slowly dawns.

“You’re Aerion’s sister.”

You tilt your head.

“Twin, actually.”

Duncan goes very still.

Footsteps are getting closer.

He looks like he’s just realized he’s about to be caught alone in a tunnel with the sister of the two most intimidating men on campus.

“…this might be bad,” he mutters.

You grin.

“Oh,” you say sweetly.

“Just wait until Aerion sees you.”