Invisible String

by nslf131989

Summary:

"Having Jon as a neighbor was just a lovely, unexpected bonus. A bonus that she wasn’t even looking to take advantage until they randomly met on the elevator one morning. She knew he lived there, Robb had mentioned it off hand, but it still caught her off guard. He looked so different; his longer hair now cut in a stylish trimmed fashion. She had to blink a few times to finally recognize him. Jon seemed to know who she was right away though. Invited her for coffee at his place sometime and if Sansa wasn’t so goddamn lonely, she would’ve decline what was probably just politeness on his behalf.
But here she is, as coffee has turned into beers..."

Sansa moves suddenly to Hardhome in order to finish university there and serendipity places Jon as her neighbor. Although they haven't seen each other in years, a friendship kindles between them. Even as he insists on calling her "kid", to Sansa's utter dismay.

Notes:

Hi guys, this my first fic on this fandom. I'm scared and excited! Please leave a comment or kuddos if you like what you've read.
Also, english is not my first language and this is unbeta'd, so be gentle w my mistakes lol
THANKS FOR READING IT!!!

 

“But then you come; and you're so much more than I remembered, and what I want of you is so much more than an hour or two every now and then, with wastes of thirsty waiting between, that I can sit perfectly still beside you, like this, with that other vision in my mind, just quietly trusting to it to come true.”
Edith Wharton, The Age of Innocence

Chapter 1: . the one.

“I am not a brat.”

Sansa huffs annoyed. Although she has been called a brat all her life, by her siblings, her friends and even her parents on an odd occasion. She hates it. She hates even more that it is Jon saying it all smugly, across the table from her.

“You so are. Always has been. I remember you yelling at Robb “Take me to the mall!”, “Take me to the diner” and so on. Your poor brother.” He replies mockingly.

“Shut up, Jon. It was not like that! Plus, I always asked nicely.”

He takes a sip of his beer, his left eyebrow raised as if to challenge her.

“Of course you did, like a lady.”

More mockery. Lady was her nickname in high school due to her outstanding manners and all around “snobbery” as Arya would’ve so rudely put it.

“I did not come here to be insulted.” She retorts, only half pretending to be offended. In reality, it felt good to be here, laughing with Jon after so long.

This was the first time they properly hung out in three years. After her sudden move to Hardhome to finish her Poli-Sci degree at Freefolk University, Sansa had known virtually nobody there, but Jon. And even then, he was never truly her friend. He was Robb’s much older friend. At least older than her. Her memories of him go back to when he was a sullen 14-year-old that hung around Robb all the time, stealing her older brother’s time away from her. Sansa was 6 then. She is 22 now.

“I’m sorry, kid. I’ll play nice.” He concedes, getting up from the table to grab them more beers.

They were in his apartment that coincidently was above Sansa’s. When she decided to move to Hardhome just a while ago, everything was arranged in a rush. She chose this building because it was close to school, in a relatively nice neighborhood – filled with Delis, hipster coffee shops and little restaurants – and it had a quaint one-bedroom apartment that checked most of her requirements.

Having Jon as a neighbor was just a lovely, unexpected bonus. A bonus that she wasn’t even looking to take advantage until they randomly met on the elevator one morning. She knew he lived there, Robb had mentioned it off hand, but it still caught her off guard. He looked so different; his longer hair now cut in a stylish trimmed fashion. She had to blink a few times to finally recognize him. Jon seemed to know who she was right away though. Invited her for a coffee at his place sometime and if Sansa wasn’t so goddamn lonely, she would’ve decline what was probably just politeness on his behalf.

But here she is, as coffee has turned into beers while she sits inside his impressively decorated home. At least impressively enough for a guy Sansa remembered being very spartan in his taste, never paying mind to nice things like she favored.

“You know, from the way you treating me, I deserve like two more beers.” She counters, as he scouts his fridge.

“Sansa, I didn’t invite you here so you could drink all my beers. Also, aren’t you too young to be drinking like this?” He jokes, picking up the bottles and placing them on the tabletop.

Even though they haven’t spent much time together, Sansa has already noticed that Jon likes to pester her for her age, as if they were worlds away. She’s 22, a legal adult and yet he likes to call her “kid” and annoy her endlessly about it. That she really, truly hates.

“Fuck off, Jon.” She rolls her eyes before aptly opening another bottle.

“Oh, the lady curses.” His hands placed on his chest in pretend indignation.

“What if instead of teasing me all the time, you tell me about your day? Your life?” She challenges, before taking another sip of her beer.

Jon smiles bemused. In the summer light of the late afternoon, his face looks soft and alluring. He always had that classic beauty, dark and handsome like in the songs Sansa used to listen back in high school. But now that he’s older and his looks have matured – the angles all sharper now –, he resembles what she imagined would be the perfect real-life version of Mr. Knightley.

“Ok, Stark. I had a good day. Managing The Wall isn’t easy and I never imagined running my own thing would be like this, there are always a hundred different problems to deal with at any given time of the day but I’m happy, you know? I’m working towards what I always wanted…” He shrugs then. “It feels good.”

Sansa opens a smile, feeling somewhat proud of him. It’s weird to see how different his life is. Different from hers, from what she imagined he would be doing someday. But it makes perfect sense. Jon always worked odd security jobs back when they were younger, at his university days with Robb. His mind was quietly observing his surroundings at all times and out of all of them – her siblings, their friends –, he would be the one to strategize his plans most carefully, even his dumb pranks with Robb. He was as much of a planner as she was and to Sansa that meant a lot. She has always been the most controlling, all composed and cunning of her siblings. If she was being honest, of most people she knew too.

“I’m happy for you.” She nods, looking around.

He made a good life for himself. A life better than some expected him to have, all the small-minded people of their hometown that always judged Jon for being an orphan, a “bad boy”, living with his foster dad for most of his life. Even her mom did, she would complain to Robb “that this kid” was a bad influence, a drag to his development.

Well, Robb turned out just fine as prosecutor in White Harbor, engaged to Sansa’s oldest friend and Westeros’ favorite socialite/influencer, Margaery Tyrell. All the while, he never left Jon behind. They were best of friends ‘til this day, even while living cities apart and leading completely distinct lives. Sansa admired them, even envied them a little bit for it too. They held onto each other fiercely, through the challenges of adolescence and adulthood. Robb and Jon truly were brothers in every other sense of the world.

“Thanks, kid. What about you? Full ride at FFU, on track to graduate with honors. Robb told me all about it. You’re doing great too.”

She is now. But it has been a long road to get her here and it hasn’t all been that pretty. Sansa is thrilled to have won her scholarship, to have worked on a flawless academic record despite her constant moving around – from KL, to the Vale and now to Hardhome – but it took a lot from her. She is humbled by her experience, most of the vanity and vapid ambitions from back in day now lost to her tumultuous past. She prefers it that way. It has allowed her to appreciate things more for what they are – such as this lovely afternoon, feeling the warm breeze flowing from the wide kitchen windows as Jon stares at her intently with a shy smile.

His eyes drive her a little nervous, she decides. Something about them, how the charcoal seems to be endless, dragging her in even as they discuss amenities. As if he’s trapping her. It’s weird, Sansa thinks.

“I’m doing alright. We both are. Cheers to that!” She moves her bottle in his direction, making them click with little sound.

“So what do you guys do for fun around here?”

She doesn’t mean it to come out as snob, because her curiosity is genuine. Hardhome is a small town, surrounded by a deep wilderness and sheltered by a bay along the Shivering Sea. While it was summer, the climate was somewhat agreeable (even though the nights tended to be freezing with unforgivable winds) and people were always outside. She had a feeling that winter would be startlingly different. 

“We drink the best whiskey made in all of Westeros, we do hikes, we climb, we fish, we sail. You know, real people just like you getting on with their day!” He replies with a forced northern brogue that makes her laugh.

“You’re dumb. I mean, what do you like to do? It’s summer and I haven’t seen much. I need you to educate me.” Sansa relies on her politeness and talent to suck up, just to mess with his ego.

Jon rolls his eyes.

“I don’t know, Sansa. Everything really. I can take you to some places, if you’d like. We can do a trail on the ancient caves, it’s pretty cool. I’m not sure if it would be your thing, though.”

“You’d be surprised. I’d love that, really. I’ll let you be my guide.” She replies with a flirty wink, dragging the last word with a breathy tone – the one she uses just for boys; and for a second, just a second really, Sansa is not even sure if it’s her imagination or reality, but Jon seems to blush at her words. It’s sort of adorable.

She decides she’d like to see more of it. Jon takes a final gulp of his beer and replies at last:

“Alright, we can do that. It’ll be fun.”

Yes, it will. Sansa thinks to herself, giving him a sly, contented smile.  

Chapter 2: . two.

Summary:

They go see the ancient caves. Fluff ensues.

Notes:

I'm obsessed with these characters. I don't know what to say except that I can't really stop writing them and that I hope you like it too.
Bare it in mind that Sansa is a dumb, confused mess at times (we all are at 21, i guess lol), so that should be your warning for the rest of this story!!!
Actually, they are both pretty dumb. Maybe the tag should be "idiots in love", idk.
THANKS FOR READING.

ALSO, INSPO FOR THE FIC: obviously a lot of taylor, but if anyone is wondering, other than folklore (August is a big highlight) in its entirety, the songs have inspired me:

Trechearous, Dress, Red and Delicate.

Byeee.

The early morning sky is the softest shade of blue with clouds scarcely spread. It’s the kind of Sunday Sansa loves, since everything feels a bit lazy and slow. As she gets ready to meet Jon downstairs for their hike to the ancient caves, her gaze keeps going out to the window. From the way it looked, it would be a lovely day; perfect for wondering around the woods as Jon annoys her with historic facts. Not really annoy as much amuse, if she’s completely honest. Sansa figures that everything about him is equal parts charming and infuriating.

“Morning, kid.” He utters while Sansa walks out of the building to greet him.

Dressed in a puffy vest and flannels, his looks remind her of the Jon of his teenage years. All that was missing was the long curly locks, Sansa really missed those.

“Hey! I’m excited, look how nice it is today!” She gestures around before hopping in his truck. His laughter in response is faint on her ears, but pleasing all the same.

“You know, there can always be summer rain. So, don’t keep your hopes up.”

Sansa grimaces at him.

“Don’t be pessimistic. It’s not a cute look on you.”

“You think I’m cute?” He counters with a roguish smile while turning on the car.

“That’s what you got from what I said?” Her eyebrows raised in incredulity. “That’s some ego you’ve got.”

Jon openly laughs at that, even as his eyes remain focused on the road.

Sansa huffs in annoyance, but decides to pay attention to the panel in front of her instead. His car is clean with a fresh smell of pine wood that matches Jon’s vibe. When she first glanced at the pick-up truck, it reminded her of the car he used to drive back in college, the one he and Robb took a road trip through the North so many summers ago, to her mother’s utter dismay. That pick up was old and the faintest shade of Red, Jon had bought it used. This one’s pitch black and looks fairly new.

Before turning on the radio, Sansa asks:

“Can I choose the music?”

“Not if it’s that melodramatic Trystane stuff you used to listen to around the house.”

Her gasp is involuntary, but honestly, how dare he?

“Trystane was and still is amazing. His music saved me! Who are you to put yourself above him?” She demands in outrage.

When she turns to glare at him, Jon has a teasing smirk splattered across his face.

“I’m just saying… I’d rather listen to anything other than that sugary crap.” He rebukes with a shrug.

“You are such a snob. I honestly don’t think you’ve heard it correctly, Trystane’s music is fantastic. Let’s hear some of it until you change your mind.”

Her grin is wicked as she hooks the Bluetooth radio to her phone. Soon the opening strings of “My Dornish Crush” are blasting through the device.

Jon rolls his eyes, but Sansa ignores him in favor of mouthing her favorite lyrics.

She can feel him staring at her sometimes, but it feels so good to be this carefree, singing songs of her adolescence, she can’t bring herself to mind. And then once, only once, their eyes meet and Jon has this tender gaze that makes her feel just a bit warmer inside.

“Brat.” He murmurs finally, but it sounded almost fond.

Sansa smiles.

 

The hike through the woods towards the caves is peaceful – the sounds of birds chipping and leaves crushing under their feet only interrupted by Jon’s random tidbits of history about the region. Sansa enjoys hearing his ramblings, even more due to the fact that he seems to get lost in them. She always thought of him being so quiet and reserved, it feels nice to see him this comfortable around her. She thinks about mentioning it to him, but the atmosphere around them seemed so delicate, she decides against it.  

They are surrounded by the Taiga with trees going for miles and miles high, all ever growing pines and timbers. It instantly reminds her of home and the woods around Wintertown – it’s the good kind of nostalgia too, the kind that lends bliss to her spirit. She wonders if Jon feels it too.

By the time they finally reach the site of the caves, the floor is now covered by soft snow and the winds are brisk. Still, Sansa is hot and bothered with sweat from the hiking while Jon seems completely unbothered by the effort, save for the slight blush in his cheeks.

He looks adorable, she thinks in annoyance.

The caves look ordinary to her at first, with their rocky exterior only slightly covered in sleet. There is a larger one at the front with smaller ones around it. However, when Sansa approaches to further inspect it, something surprises her.

“Jon!” She gasps, amazed by the insides of the primary cave that were made out of ice so clear, it resembles glass.

“They are called “glacier”, formed by melting ice and flowing water within and under glaciers.” Jon explains with a grin.  “Let’s go inside, it’s even more beautiful.”

He gestures for her to go in first.

While they walk into the larger cave, Sansa’s overwhelmed by it’s walls which radiate in blue, casting colorful shadows in their faces. The ceilings are covered by frozen icicles and stalactites mesmerizing in their twisted shapes. Everything about it feels magical and otherworldly to her.

“I can’t believe this place is real.”

“They were once called “screaming caves”, but now the Freefolk deem them magical, similar to a safe haven. We just have to be very careful walking around here, because the cavities are influenced by the very slow flow of the ice, which tends to collapse the caves sometimes.” Jon clarifies, in a lecturer tone that both fascinates and astonishes her.

“You’re a bit of a nerd, aren’t you?” She asks teasingly.

Their bodies are close and she virtually feels him turn into her direction, his fingers grazing hers for a second. It’s so cold inside, Sansa almost thinks about taking his hand into hers. Almost.

“No, I’m not.” He counters peeved. “I just took a course in Geography when I moved here. Seemed like the sensible thing to do.”

His justification grants an instant laughter out of her.

“The sensible thing to do? Who says that? Who even thinks that?” She doesn’t mean to be this taunting, but Jon is so gullible, it’s impossible not to be so.

“Shut up, kid. You can’t be laughing out loud in here.” He gruffs whilst moving deeper into the cave.

They spend minutes marching quietly until suddenly Jon interrupts the silence.

“You know, there’s a popular belief that if a person puts their hand up the wall and then closes their eyes for two minutes, whatever they wish for will come true.” His tone’s conspiratory and the way his eyes pierces Sansa’s causes her to shiver.

“Should I try?” She asks tentatively.

 “Go for it!”

Despite not wearing gloves, she raises her left hand to the icy cold wall. Then, her eyes are closed while her mind wanders through possible desires. Before she can properly focus though, something pinches her nose and she hears following giggles.

“What the hell, Jon?” Sansa pulls herself away from him, arms crossed in utter exasperation.

“You’re so gullible!” He justifies with a smirk, raising his hands as if it wasn’t his fault. “Plus, you deserved it…”

“Because I called you a nerd?” She demands bewildered. Jon simply shrugs silently. “You’re a child.” Sansa decides, her tone dripping with coldness.

“Don’t be too mad, Sans. I have something to show you.”

And then his hand drops to the small of her back, leading her further into the cave, where the daylight doesn’t quite reach. Sansa feels a bit afraid, but at the same time the warmt from his hand on her back, through the layers of clothes, grounds her.

It doesn’t take long for them to reach a clearing with a crystal clear pond, so clear it is possible to see the round rocks and granite beneath it. It reflects fluorescent blue light all around. Everything about it seems fantastical, as if brought to life straight from a sci-fi movie.

“I don’t even know what to say.” Sansa whispers while clutching his hand on a reflex.

Jon doesn’t reply, squeezing her hand softly instead.

The smile on her face is euphoric.

 

The hike back is exhausting, but Sansa feels energized by everything they saw and babbles constantly about it. Jon nods, occasionally smiling or laughing at her observations. She looks a bit like a toddler who had too much of their favorite candy, but it’s endearing. Her smiles are broad and overjoyed and he can’t seem to stop staring.

By the time they arrive at the car, however, the dialogue is quieter.

Jon opens the door for her and then circles back to the driver’s side.

After they are both settled, Sansa blinks at him a few times.

“What?”

“You can pick the music this time.” She says feeling generous.

“It’s okay, Stark. I can tolerate another hour of Trystane’s sappy lyrics.”

His concession strangely pleases her. Just the thought of him doing things to make her smile. She grins at Jon.

“Just admit that you love him now. It won’t ruin your tough guy act, Jon. I promise!”

He rolls his eyes at her, even though his attention remains on the drive.

Instead of playing Trystane again, Sansa favors something else. The first accords of “August” immediately fills the ambient.

Jon turns his head to her, awestruck.

“It’s the Direwolves!”

She nods contentedly. Back at his house, it was hard to miss the framed poster of the band in his living room. It felt only right to play it now, as an indulgence to him.  

“They are alright.”

They fall into a comfortable silence for the rest of the drive.

Chapter 3: . three.

Summary:

They go out for lunch, just lunch. And then some wine. Just a bottle. A lot of sharing ensues.

Notes:

Hey guys, hope you like this chapter. Felt like a big one to me hehe.
Keep the comments flowing, I love to read your feedback and your takes on the characters. It makes me really, really happy.
I'm overall super excited about this story and this chapter in particular. I hope you like it too.

The walk back from Jon’s pickup to their building is short. Sansa’s exhausted, her legs are slightly wobbly and feet sore from walking all morning. She’s pretty sure that Jon is tired too, since he’s quieter than usual, staring straight ahead as they march side by side. However, Sansa can sense he is stealing glances at her from time to time and it unnerves her.

“What?”

He turns to her confused.

“What, what?” Jon repeats. She rolls her eyes, exasperated by his hesitancy.

“You keep looking at me. Is there anything you want to say?”

He blushes then and Sansa decides that it is utterly absurd (and endearing) that since they’ve reconnected, she has seen him blush a total amount of three times. It’s more than ever before in her entire life. What is happening to him?

It takes a beat before he responds.

“I was just thinking if you’d want to grab some lunch at the pub by the corner? If you’re not too tired from the hike, that is…” He scratches his nape, eyes escaping hers.

The jolt of delight that subsequently assaults her comes as a surprise. Jon’s quiet confidence was something she was growing so used to, it felt kind of nice to see him unsure of himself. If just for a moment. As if there ever was a chance that she’d say no.

“Yeah, that’d be cool. But, if I could just shower and change before, it would be better.” She looks down at herself. Her leggings are dirtied from dust and what was probably mud. Her flannels are sweaty and if she were to take a guess, her smell probably wasn’t that pleasing to be around.

Jon smiles then and it is so captivating – not shy, small, teasing or sarcastic: the staple four he’d thrown around at her – but something else entirely. The kind of smile that seems to take Sansa off of her feet for a second. She had never seen it directed at her; wasn’t even sure he could smile like that. It takes her some restraint to stop herself from sighing in his presence.

Her, Sansa Stark, refraining a sigh because of Jon Snow. Now, that’s just ridiculous. She shakes her head and starts walking faster. It’s clear that she’s too tired and therefore her mind’s too clouded, confused. What she needs is a shower, the sooner the better.

Jon’s steps easily fall in line with hers though and soon they reach the building.

“Do I meet you down here in 20 minutes?” He asks once they are inside.

“Sure.”  Sansa replies while pushing the elevator button.

The ride up is quick and the second the doors open, she steps out, mumbling a brisk “see you later.”

Once she’s inside the apartment, Sansa releases a deep breath. Something about being around Jon is good, perhaps too good and it scares her. But it also excites her. Reminds her of the time she jumped off a cliff, back at when she still lived at the Vale. She had been terrified then; the shimmering water underneath fascinated her, calling her to it even and yet, she knew, that maybe something horrible would happen if she fell. Still, she couldn’t resist doing it. Whatever called to the recklessness inside Sansa, usually wasn’t something that could be ignored.

Jon feels just like that. Like something wild, treacherous and exquisite.

Sansa wants to jump.

But maybe, she should control her impulses.

 

Thirty-five minutes later, Sansa feels refreshed and ready to face Jon again. She has changed into her favorite summer dress – the emerald number, that hugs her body tightly and is covered in tiny daisies – and foregoing her normally clean make up look, she favors a cherry lip-gloss that makes her mouth look “criminal” according to Margaery. Just something to make her more comfortable in her own skin again.

Dressing up always worked as an armor for her. Throughout her life, Sansa was always poised to be a lady and people would either admire or belittle her for that. Either way, whenever she felt insecure, anxious or afraid of something, the best way to deal with it was to organize her thoughts, lay out a plan and present her best version to the world. Her mother was like that too. They both prized elegance and appearance and for a time, Sansa did it over everything else. The years down in KL and at the Vale changed this. But at her core, it remains as one of her defensive mechanisms.

As she rides down the elevator, Sansa decides that perhaps she’ll have a glass of wine with her lunch today. Dornish wine. Crimson, tannic, perfect. It will be good; it will unwind her and perhaps Jon will have a glass too. Perhaps his cheeks will grow redden from the alcohol. Perhaps.

When the elevator doors open, Sansa catches him leaning by the lobby counter. He seems aggravated, staring at his phone with a frown on his face.

When his head moves up, a glare painted in his charcoal eyes, Sansa feels electrified at her spot. Jon angry is a sight to behold.

“You’re late.” He affirms, but it sounds like an accusation. His left eyebrow is raised, his arms are crossed.

He has such broad shoulders – it’s what catches her attention. Broad shoulders and bulky arms that are quite snug in his raven Henley t-shirt.

“I’m sorry, Jon.” Her tone is softly spoken. She bats her eyelashes a couple of times too, akin to a deer-caught-in-the-headlight.

Jon sighs, disarmed. His eyes travel from her face, to her lips and then finally to her dress. Sansa looks at him expectantly. Craving for a compliment, a sign of approval. While his gaze does linger, more than it probably should, he says nothing.

She’s deflated. Almost snaps at him.

“Let’s go.” It’s what he ends up saying and then turns around without waiting for her to catch up.

If she calls him an “asshole”, it would simply confirm his “brat” theory. She would die before doing so, thus her only option is to follow him and swallow down her frustration.

 

“Foghouse” is a small looking pub, squeezed in a roll of similar spots, located at the corner of their street. Its’ exterior is deceptively simple, a two-store brownstone with a narrow burgundy door; but when they walk inside, Sansa is marveled by how extensive it is, stretching all the way to a rose garden in the back. It isn’t very large or spacious, but its length is impressive.

She notices then that Jon has a penchant for places that are never quite what they first seem to be.

A blonde woman with a flirty smirk greets them, seeming familiar with Jon.

“Hey, Val.”

“I haven’t seen you in a while…” She teases, a twinkle of flirt as her gaze fixates on him, virtually ignoring Sansa, even though Jon has introduced them a minute ago.

Jon shrugs and mumbles:

“Yeah, I’ve been busy. Is there a good table available?” He asks and Val nods, marching to the back of the pub. They follow.

Jon’s hand rests shallowly on Sansa’s small back once again, in order to guide her at the cave and a tiny part of her hope it becomes a habit. She decides to ignore it.

“This is nice.” Sansa observes, as the waitress leads them to a table by the corner, placed in front of a large window pane facing out the garden.  

“Yeah. It’s never crowded and they have the best lamb stew. I thought you might it like here.”

His voice is quieter than usual, but she guesses it’s because of the mood of the pub. Everything about it felt understated and bashful. The kind of place people spoke in hushed tones while sharing a bottle of wine or a bit of a secret. Maybe both. The kind of place she could perfectly imagine him coming all the time, a regular.

When they are seated, Jon dismisses Val and picks up the menu. He studies it for a beat, but Sansa interrupts him:

“So… she has a crush on you, huh?” Her tone is speculative and cautious. She looks down at her nails, as if the baby blue polish is the most interesting thing in the world.

“Who?” He asks absentmindedly while still reading.

“Val.”

“I don’t think so.”

He eyes her then, as if Sansa’s being weird.  

“It seemed pretty obvious to me.” She observes with a frown. “Or are you still blind to your ever-growing crowd of admirers?” Her tone takes a sarcastic turn.

“I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about.” He states, crossing his arms and finally placing the menu on the table. His eyes are inquisitive, the charcoal slightly darker from the dimmer lighting of the pub.

“C’mon Jon, don’t play dumb. Theon used to complain all the time that it was impossible to hang out with you and Robb and get girls… You know, it's hard to compete with the golden boy and the bad boy… You’ve got a rep.” Sansa shrugs, as if merely recognizing a fact.  “Girls sighed longingly as you passed by.” She finishes jokingly.

Those stories were always around as she grew up. Theon was Robb’s other best friend, the one he met in college and was always hanging around her house, drinking her dad’s beer and pestering the family. By the time Sansa was 15 – around the trio’s graduation from Winterfell University - she had become pretty accustomed to their shenanigans, as well as their reputation around town. It was hard to ignore.

“It seems you know my reputation better than me.” He remarks whilst picking up the menu again.

Sansa bites her lip, repressing a wave of embarrassment. She didn’t mean to sound so stalkerish. There is the fact that she had researched his social media in the past few days, which had been utterly futile since Jon didn’t post anything remotely personal – only info and posts about his company – and the one picture she found was on the Instagram page of The Wall, a group photo. He looked nice in it, as always, and quite professional too, but it didn’t really give her any more context to what he might be up to otherwise.

Yet Sansa had rationalized this “potential stalking” as merely research to catch up on a friend’s life. Nothing out of the ordinary. People do it all the time and it doesn't mean anything.

It doesn't.

“So, what do you want to drink?” Jon asks, since she hasn’t said anything in a while. Sansa had foregone the attempt to converse in favor of thoroughly studying the menu as well.

At that moment though, she sighs in anticipation; a drink was a good idea, something to make her constant overthinking halt for a while. To diminish the awkwardness she created by interrogating him like a weirdo.

It seems unreal that once in her life, she prided herself on being sleek. Jon made her act like a dumbass sometimes. It didn’t bode well for her.

“I was thinking of wine, maybe, I’ve seen they have Dornish Malbec and it’s my favorite.” She confesses dreamily with a grin.

“Great, let’s have that! Do you mind having some chips too? They make the best ones with rosemary and thyme. You’ll see.”

Sansa agrees with a smile, amused by his enthusiasm.

He nods to Val who comes around to take their orders. To Sansa’s wonder, Jon orders them a bottle. When she gapes at him, he mumbles:

“Why not?”

Indeed, why not? She didn’t have any commitments tomorrow and it could be fun to share a bottle with Jon. Sansa was curious to see how it would affect him – albeit he seemed like the type to get reflective with wine, consistent with his already earnest aura.

When Val returns, she places the bottle on the table, leaving Jon to pour it.

“They’re more informal with these things here.” He justifies.

As he pours on her glass, Sansa requests for a bit more.

“Be generous, darling.”

She winks at him followed by a coquettish grin and Jon’s eyes flits to her lips, for a second. It had been so fast; Sansa isn’t even sure if it had happened at all.

Soon he’s filling his own glass and she’s just staring at his blank face, searching for something she doesn’t know what it is.

“Should we toast?” Her question is filled with uncertainty.

“Sure, to brats and bad boys.” He quips with a teasing half smile.

Sansa raises her glass to meet his – she tries to contain her beam, so instead her nose just crinkles in mock distaste.

“You’re not a bad boy anymore…”

It’s a pragmatic comment, but her eyes are suggestive and rather than conclude her remark, Sansa takes a large gulp of the wine, enjoying its tart taste on her tongue.

“Yep, my teenage years are long behind me, kid.” He supplies with a shrug. “But I think it’s better this way. I was so consumed with angst back in high school, it was exhausting.”

Sansa vaguely remembers the sullen expression always painted in his face. As a kid, it used to annoy her because it made him seem perpetually sad and she didn’t know why. As the years passed and Sansa learned more – off hand mentions by Robb or their father about Jon’s time in the orphanage before he was adopted by his foster dad, as well as the story of his mother’s death at childbirth -, she began to understand him better. Even if they never really talked and only saw each other once in a while.

“It’s good that you’ve worked some of it out. I think adolescence can be quite traumatizing.”

She observes between sips and Jon nods in agreement.

“Enjoy it while it lasts though.” He offers with a smirk.

Sansa immediately takes offense at his remark. She glares at him and her index finger raises to point at him accusingly.

“Look, I’m not a teen anymore and I haven’t been for quite some time, okay? I can vote, I can drink, I can fuck.” Her voice comes out ferociously while she reverts to using her fingers to count all of these points.

The twinkle of amusement in his eyes disappears at her last observation, it makes him gulp with unease.

Val approaches their table with a basket of fries before Jon can say anything else.

“Enjoy!” She exclaims in a chirpy tone. Jon nods politely and Sansa merely smiles sardonically in response.

When she leaves, he turns to Sansa rather apologetically.

“Hey, have the first taste. You’ll like it.”

So, he’s going to ignore her outburst? Fine.

Sansa takes a fry into her mouth deliberately, ready to dislike it out of spite, but it was impossible. The rosemary flavor assaulted her first, mixed with the crunchiness of the fry, it made for perfection. She immediately craves more of them.

“Dear Seven, this is amazing!” She concedes with an impressed grin.

Jon, who looked unsure a minute ago, now wears a cocky beam.

“I told you! It’s the best!” He goes for one, but Sansa bats his hand off.

“Get away from my fries!” She demands protectively, her face hardened.

“What? Stark, it's our fries!” Jon frowns in disbelief, but his eyes are lit up in delight.

“You don’t deserve them.”

She gives him a dirty look.

“You look adorable when you get mad. But I don’t buy it. Give up the fries, woman!”

Sansa rolls her eyes, but she can feel a flush creeping up her face. Although still annoyed with him, she supposes “woman” is better than “kid”.

Reluctant, she pushes the basket closer to him.

“Maybe just call me Sansa, okay? “Sans” if you’re feeling particularly endeared.”

Jon laughs then.

“I promise I’ll try, Sansa.”

 

After that, the conversation floats easily between them as the wine bottle runs out. They exchange college stories – Sansa’s first time getting drunk at a party (“I thought it was a fruit punch, honest to Gods!”). Her first big argument with a teacher who erroneously graded her paper (“that was a grade A essay Jon! No one will convince me otherwise!”). The time Jon got locked out of a girl’s room only in his boxers (his ex, Dany, who was quite tempestuous) and when he first met his best friend and now business partner, Sam (“We were both history buffs in a fencing class, what are the odds?”).

Sansa is pleasantly buzzed and she feels things more languidly now. Her smiles are freer and time seems to slip away from her grasp. Jon, although quite happy himself, seems to be more in control. The only way she can tell he is also sporting a nice buzz it’s because of how flushed his cheeks are. Once again, a sight to behold.

When the conversation dies down, a sudden thought invades her mind and she speaks on a whim:

“I'm sorry if I weirded you out with all that reputation talk before. I was just being dumb and nosy.”

“No, it's fine. I guess I just never cared for my reputation. Never wanted to be judged based on it either, you know? It's just so simplistic, "bad boy", what does that even mean?" He questions, slightly off put.

Sansa can't contain herself then. She burst into giggles before replying with a sly tone:

“I think it means that you've done stuff like fucking Ygritte Wilde in the principal's office."

Jon's blushes in crimson then.

He gapes at her and Sansa's giggles turns into full blown laughter. Her head whips back in joy.

"How do you know that?"

"I don't think it's a secret, Jon."

Actually, it was a known fact or, at least, consolidated gossip lore around her school. She didn't know it was true until Robb confirmed once, while drunk, on a truth or dare game.

"Fuck, can't believe that story's out." He mutters in disbelief.

“It's fine. I think it just upped your street cred as dangerous and sexy, okay?”

He rolls his eyes and sighs aggravated.

"Can we talk about you for a change? What about your dirty laundry?"

Sansa averts her eyes. Her dirty laundry was definitely not pretty enough to see the light of day. Especially not in a lovely pub like this one where they were having so much fun.

She goes for another sip of wine.

"No boyfriends? No flings, Stark?"

Sansa is pretty sure Jon has heard some stuff through the grapevine. Her family isn't exactly secretive and Arya or Robb probably must've let something slip out about the past affairs. Even if just small jabs about how much of an asshole both Joffrey and Harry were.

Instead of furthering the subject, she quips:

"Nope, I've got nothing on the romantic horizon."

Another look of incredulity from Jon. She was getting good at producing those.

"No broken hearts left back at the Vale?"

She thinks for a second.

“None other than my own, I guess.”

Concern clouds his features.

Sansa blames the wine for her honesty. It has her feeling relaxed and carefree, like she could share anything with Jon. Even mirthless declarations about her horrible love life.

“That's fucked up.” He mutters, brows knitted in dismay.

“What?"

“That someone as good as you had to deal with this shit.”

His earnestness is what gets her. Sansa has heard a lot of platitudes in her life, but this didn't sound like it at all. Like everything else about Jon, it was genuine.

“It's alright.” It is. It truly is now. “I'm just not very good at it, I don't think... Love, I mean. I'm not good at it.”

She's not as articulate as usual, since the buzz from drinking is leading all of her functions. She tries to smile at him, but her eyes are a bit glassy and she fears it comes out more of a grimace.

Jon sighs, seemingly ashamed. As if he had anything to do with the way she has been treated before. It makes her want to reassure him that none of it is his fault. How could it ever be? Yet her throat is constricted and she feels a bit like choking on air. So, instead, Sansa reaches for his hand over the table. Just a slight squeeze, to let him know that it's fine. Everything is fine now.

Suddenly, Jon picks up her hand and plants a chaste kiss to her knuckles; it was a light-feathered touch and soon her hand is dropped delicately on the table.

He stares at Sansa hesitantly then, perhaps embarrassed by his gesture, as if it happened on an impulse and he’s concerned that it startled her.

For once her face is blank, because she doesn’t know what to think or say. Afraid that if she utters anything at all, the moment will be shattered.

“You’ll find someone who deserves you, I’m sure of it.” Jon says at last, jaw set in determination.

Sansa nods, albeit worried she already has.

~

 

“The lamb stew is really great, but I’m not sure it matches my moms’ though.”

Sansa announces as they walk out of the pub. Jon, who walks in front of her, turns with his face twisted in consideration.

“I don’t know. I mean, your moms’ is killer, but here you have that savory aftertaste… It’s hard to compare.” He looks at his clock for a second and then adds: “Do you wanna get a cab home?”

Sansa shrugs and then looks upwards to the twilight – skies painted in different rues of pale pink and orange.

“Look how beautiful it is out here, let’s walk.” She mumbles wistfully, tugging at Jon’s sleeve.

He nods in contemplation.  

“You know, back when I used to paint, I spent hours trying to get these shades right, but I never could…”

His forehead furrows in interest and his gaze shifts to her.

“Why did you stop painting?”

“When I moved to KL there was so much to do and everything happened so fast… I just stopped. There was never any time.”

“You should start doing it again. Remember that painting of Winterfell you gave to Arya? She wouldn’t stop raving about it.”

“Really?” Sansa gapes at him. “I think it’s the last piece I’ve made.”

Arya never said anything about it to her. But then again, it was so like Arya to not say anything nice to Sansa about it, but then sing her praises behind her back.

“Yeah, I actually think she cried a bit. When she told me about it, I mean.”

The painting was a parting gift for her sister, since Arya was moving to Braavos for university. Sansa thought it would be nice for her to take a little piece of home along. She knew Arya wasn’t big on this type of gesture, but hoped that it would make her feel loved. It feels good to know now that it did touch her.

“Thanks for telling me that, Arya never would.”

Jon chuckles, then rolls his eyes.

“You know she loves you.”

“I do.” Sansa nods confidently. “She just has a weird way of showing it most times.”

“Do you miss her?”

“All the time. I miss all of them fiercely. It seems like so long ago we were all together under the same roof and now only Bran and Rickon are still with mom and dad…”

Sansa’s eyes are bit glassy and she feels stupid for it. Jon must think she’s a weirdo for getting emotional out of nowhere.

“How about you? Do you miss Winterfell?” She asks in an attempt to shift the focus from her.

“I guess living here reminds me of home, you know? The cold weather most of the year and the culture… obviously there are some differences, but still. I don’t think I could live down south though; too warm and strange.”

Northern men have a notorious dislike of the south – the history of animosity and past wars driving an enormous wedge between the regions. Sansa distinctly recalled her father’s warning about how “Starks don’t do well in the South.” as she scoffed in disbelief. She should’ve heard him.

“It is both of those things.” For all its natural beauty and dynamic lifestyle, Sansa found the South to be a cold and unforgiving place – in the worst sense. “I was stupid for moving down there.” She concludes with a grimace.

“You were brave, Sansa. So many of us talked about doing big moves when we were teenagers, but you followed through.” He points out and Sansa notices a bit of admiration in his voice.

She glances at him, biting her bottom lip sheepishly.

“Anyway, to answer your question, I do miss Winterfell.” He admits quietly. “I miss the weirwoods, Old Nan’s Bakery and my dad too.”

The last observation could’ve sounded like an afterthought to less trained ears, but Sansa knows what it means. Jon’s foster dad died two years ago; all the Starks went to the funeral – but her. She remembers Robb mentioning how torn Jon was over it at the time.

“I’m sorry about your dad.” She mumbles in earnest, cheeks turning pink from shame.

“I know, Sans.”

“Have you come back to Winterfell since?”

“Nope.”

When Sansa looks at him, Jon’s face is carefully guarded.

“Maybe we could go together sometime? I’m sure mom and dad would be thrilled to see you… And Rickon! He would freak, you know you were always his favorite.”

Her suggestion might be an overcompensation, but she just wants to see him smile.

Jon laughs.

“Don’t tell Robb, though.” He whispers back in conspiracy.  

“Never.” Sansa promises in return, voice laced with mock seriousness.  

“But yeah, maybe we can.”

She tries to gather if Jon actually means it, but he looks as unsure as she feels. ´

They change the subject after that.

 

 

Sansa curses the embarrassment that runs through her as they ride up the elevator. Soon it will reach her floor and they will have to say goodbye and she doesn’t know how to go about it. A hug? A handshake? A simple wave?

She hates goodbyes.

“I had fun today, Jon.” She blurts out as a way to escape the awkwardness.

“It was cool, kid.” He replies and then immediately shakes his head.

Kid. The forbidden word.

Sansa rolls her eyes, but doesn’t think too much of it.

“Whatever.”

And then she goes in for a quick hug at the same time as Jon stretches his hand out to her. They crash awkwardly.

“A handshake? Are we business partners?”

She poses teasingly. A slight flush ran to Jon’s cheek – Sansa thinks she might come out of this day immune to it. Maybe. Most likely not.

“No, we’re friends.” He supplies decidedly.

Friends. Sansa sounds it out in her head tentatively.

“Friends can hug.” She argues and Jon nods with a shrug.

Sansa moves towards him and the whole thing doesn’t last more than ten seconds, but she catches a whiff of his smell – pine wood, sweat and a bit of soap. It’s an odd mix, but it suits him. Jon gives her waist a light squeeze and she lets go of him.

Luckily, the elevator doors open next.

“Bye, Jon.”

“Bye, Sansa.”

When she walks into her apartment, the first thing to go are her shoes. Sansa walks gingerly to the couch, feeling tired and still a bit buzzed from all the drinking. Her head is overflowing with thoughts and memories from the afternoon, but one moment keeps coming back to fluster her. The image of Jon’s lips on her knuckles feels unworldly. Did it really happen? But still, even if it did, it doesn’t mean anything. It was just a moment of kindness born from wine and compassion, perhaps even pity? It didn’t feel like it at the time though. It felt like he meant it, like he couldn’t stop himself. Still, irrelevant – she argues with herself.

They were friends. Just friends. Just. Friends. Just?

Sansa falls asleep before she can make up her mind.

Chapter 4: . four.

Summary:

Sansa invites Jon over for lemon bars and netflix. Fluff and angst ensues.

Notes:

Hi everyone, it's been three years, but I found this story on my computer and it surprised me how much pleasure I got from rereading it, so I decided to finish it at last. I hope you enjoy, if there are any readers out there still! Chapters will come out somewhat regularly and I hope to finish it sometime in the next two months.

Wednesdays are for her scheduled video chat with Margaery. They settle in front of the computer around eight o’clock, with a glass of wine or a cup of tea (it depends on the mood of the conversation) and they chat away for hours. The tradition started as a way for Sansa not to feel so alone when she moved to the Vale, but three years later it has turned into one of the best times of her week. She longs to hear the adventures of her best friend and her brother, stories of Marg’s mishaps at work and all the gossip. Margaery always has the best gossip. 

Tonight, Sansa is cuddled in bed with a cup of chamomile tea carefully placed at her nightstand and the laptop perched on her lap. It takes only 5 minutes before Marg’s face appears, her bright eyes and cupid bow smile gracing the screen. 

“Hey, bub!” She yelps excitedly. 

“Heeey.” Sansa replies with a soft smile. She misses her a lot. There was a time, back when she lived at King’s Landing, where they were inseparable – back when Sansa was a freshmen and Margaery was assigned as her “big sister” to help with the university life. Soon, they started to go to all the parties together and threw the most outrageous sleepovers, becoming famous around campus as “the duo”. You could never catch one without the other. That changed when Joffrey came into the picture, when he began to alienate Sansa from everyone else in her life, commanding all of her attention and energy. But even then, Marg did not give up on her. She made sure to pull Sansa back from the hell hole Joffrey trapped her and for that Sansa would always be grateful. 

“How is life at the end of the world?” Marg asks with a judgmental smirk.

“Hardhome is a great town, Margaery,” Sansa scoffs indignantly. “And it’s been fun! Jon introduced me to some cool places.”

“Jon? So, it’s ‘Jon’ now?” She asks maliciously. Margaery has always had a knack for making things sound way more salacious than they actually were. “How is it living under him?”

Her eyebrows raise suggestively, and Sansa sighs in frustration.

“How did you manage to make that sound dirty?”

“Darling, it’s a gift,” She replies with a shrug and a theatrical eye roll.

Margaery’s mannerisms are dramatic to a fault, and that is something that usually endears everyone to her. It’s what first drew Sansa to her too, but now it could get annoying quite easily.

“I’m just gonna give you the short version,” Sansa states matter-of-factly. “Jon has been kind enough to show me around, and it’s been nice. Nothing indecent about it.”

“So, you gave up on your plan to marry him and have all his babies?”

Sansa’s eyes widen, and her hand immediately raises to her mouth to cover it—the picture-perfect expression of shock.

“When did I ever— I’ve never— What?”

“Hon, I’ve read your eighth-grade diary…” Margaery remarks, green eyes glinting with mischievousness. 

Suddenly, Sansa regrets ever letting Margaery into her house.

“I don’t remember any of it.” She retorts categorically. 

It has been so long since she was thirteen – a dumb, naïve tween who didn’t know anything about the world and thought that Jon had a striking resemblance to the beloved protagonists in her favorite novels – dark, puzzling and a bit dangerous. It was merely a phase she quickly outgrew, considering the amount of infatuations she had after it. But, of course, Margaery would never let her forget about it.

“I’m just saying that if it’s something you would like to pursue, you should… Someone should get with that hot piece of ass.” While her tone is pragmatic, there is also a titillating edge to it.

Sansa rolls her eyes dismissively, but something inside of her is disturbed. 

“It wouldn’t be appropriate.” She declares hesitantly, as if trying to convince herself more than her friend. 

“Why? Because of Robb?” Margaery poses with a frown.

Yes. That is definitely a big part of it – although Sansa doesn’t buy into the patriarchal bullshit that prescribes Robb as the keeper of her virtue, it’s an undeniably tough position to be in. Involved with her brother’s best friend. The one who saw her grow up, so close to her siblings, they considered him more as family than just a friend. 

But there’s more. There’s the ever-growing doubt if Jon’s would ever be capable of even seeing her as more than just a pestering kid he had to walk around with. Sansa knows this might be an unfair, harsh assessment, but at the same time, her insecurities make her wobble between pure confidence in their mutual attraction and the overwhelming fear of being delusional. She has been wrong plenty of times before… 

The thought of conveying all of these to Margaery stunts her, so she says nothing instead. 

“Look, Sans. I don’t think you should worry about anyone else. If there’s something you want, just go for it, okay? Just do it.”

Sansa nods, taking her friend’s position into consideration. But at the same time, she can’t stop thinking about how easy it is for Margaery to say all these things. She had always been the one to simply chase her various desires with overwhelming success – between her career, Robb and everything else, she’s never had to properly deal with failure. Things just work for her, simple as that and most of the time, Sansa is thrilled for her. Marg does deserve all the best in the world. It’s just hard sometimes to take her advice when their situations are so utterly different. 

Before Sansa could reply, Robb’s head pops by the door. 

“Hi, Sansy-pants!” He greets excitedly. 

It’s a ridiculous nickname; Sansa always says so. But it has been so long since she heard it, an endeared smile immediately appears on her face. 

“Hi, dumbass.” 

He gaps in mock outrage.

“Respect your elders, Sansa.” 

They all laugh. Margaery could never take Robb overly seriously, he’s too sweet and earnest for that. And Sansa could never quite bring herself to do anything but smile in her brother’s presence. If she had to be candid, he has always been her favorite. For so long it was just the two of them, before Arya, Bran or Rickon. Robb was her childhood hero, he constantly tried to make sure she was safe and happy – even when he was no more than seven years old, following an unsteady, baby Sansa around, holding her hand so she wouldn’t fall when trying to take her first steps. Of course, they had fights, especially when she was a demanding, bratty teen, but overall, their relationship’s one of camaraderie and never-ending loyalty. He’s her ride or die. 

“Sure, when I see one, I will.” She retorts with a snarky grin. 

The conversation shifts after that. Robb comes to sit by Margaery and the three of them exchange news and anecdotes about their lives. It almost feels like old times, back when she first moved to the Vale with their help and the three of them spent the summer walking around the Eyrie. Sansa still longs for that time. 

 

~

 

Sansa Stark [20h58m]: Hey, wyd?

Jon Snow [21h00m]: I don’t understand teen slang, Sansa. Try again.

Sansa Stark [21h02m]: Ugh… u r so dumb. What r u doin’, old man?

Jon Snow [21h03m]: Millennials are killing the grammar… but I’m doing nothing much. Thinking about turning in, actually. I’m reading the biography of Lord Varys, have you heard of him? It’s really cool. 

Sansa Stark [21h04m]: C’mon Jon. U r 30, not 90. Who goes to sleep at this hour? Come over, I’ve made lemon bars. 

And yes, I’ve heard about Varys. We studied him in Medieval Figures of Westeros. 

They claim he was responsible for the downfall of the Lannisters back in the day. 

Jon Snow [21h06m]: He was!!! The book explores the political intrigues he orchestrated! It’s riveting stuff, really. 

But, lemon bars, you say… 

Sansa Stark [21h07m]: Yes! I make the best ones in the whole North btw. Also, I’ve made coffee.

Jon Snow [21h08m]: Coffee at this hour??? Are you crazy???

Sansa Stark [21h09m]: It’s decaff, Jon. Now stop whining and come. We can watch the Netflix documentary about Varys too, if u like. 

Jon Snow [21h10m]: I’ll be there in 5. 

 

The polite knocking at the door snaps Sansa out of her thoughts. She has spent the last hour pacing around the apartment, cleaning things that had already been polished several times before, all while waiting for her lemon bars to bake. There is an unusual restlessness rattling her, which makes the thought of spending Friday night alone even more disturbing. For that reason, she decided to invite Jon over to her place.

Before opening the door, Sansa takes one last look around. Everything is in place: her vinyl records are neatly arranged in the rack by the TV, the dimmer light glows a warm orange just the way she likes it, and the lemon bars are cooling on the coffee table beside two steaming cups of coffee—caramel syrup and milk for her, sugarless black for him. A fluffy red duvet drapes over the sofa, inviting anyone to sit. Hopefully, Jon.

“Hi,” she murmurs, stepping aside to let him in. One quick glance at Jon, and she half-regrets the invitation. He looks entirely too cozy in dark sweatpants and a soft pullover, his hair slightly mussed—as if he’d just rolled out of bed. She can picture it vividly: Jon Snow, curled up under a comforter, reading some dense political biography on Lord Varys like the closet nerd he is. She didn’t know why this vision made her heart tug.

“The lemon bars smell nice.” Jon comments while stepping into her living room. “And you have quite the place here, Stark.”

“Thank you,” Sansa says with a bashful smile. She tries to see it through his eyes. Her apartment isn’t as grand as the one she had in the Vale—it’s a small loft, with a balcony off the living room where she keeps her plants. Bookshelves line the walls, filled with her favorite historical novels, romantic fiction, and the classics she’d collected throughout her adolescence. Paintings are everywhere—pieces she created before King’s Landing: a soft outline of her family on the snowy porch of their Winterfell home, the water lilies from Margaery’s garden in Highgarden, a golden sunset over the Eyrie, and sketchbook drawings of friends. All the places and people she loved.

Jon stands by one of the sketches, it’s Arya holding Nymeria close by the park. 

“You really should get back to making art. This is beautiful.”

She moves to stand beside Jon, and one look at him—quietly admiring her work— slowly untangles something she hadn’t even realized was knotted inside. For so long, Sansa had been valued for her manners, her beauty, her poise. It always felt like her mind, her work, her voice came second. She pushed herself twice as hard in school to dispel this inner insecurity. Art had always come naturally to her, but her feelings about it were ambivalent, she couldn’t stop creating, yet it never felt quite good enough. And after Joffrey, after the way he mocked her, her paintings, her dreams, her very self—she had felt so small. Sansa was still rebuilding her sense of worth.

“After everything that happened in Kings Landing, I just haven’t felt the inspiration to get back to it.” She confesses, staring straight ahead. While it felt good to be honest, there was still a tinge of shame mixed in with her vulnerability. 

“I’m sorry, Sansa.” Jon replies gently, giving a slight squeeze to her hand.

“Did Rob tell you what happened?” She asks unsurely, relishing on the warmth of his hand against hers, pressing their palms together while holding back a sigh.

“Just that Joffrey was a dick, broke your heart. I know there were some problems and you had to move to the Eyrie. Nothing other than that.” 

Sansa sighs in relief. While it felt good to share with Jon, she was not ready for him to know everything. She was still so ashamed of how stupid she had been back then, blinded by the glamour of the Lannister family, fancying herself the next princess of Kings Landing. What a load of bullshit. Instead of adding anything, she simply turns to face him. 

When their eyes meet, a shiver runs through her. Jon’s gaze is inquisitive, full of quiet concern—he wants to know more, but he doesn’t push. He’s always been respectful. Back when everyone else argued with her, demanding to know which boy had broken her heart that week in high school, Jon would just give her a look—and she’d know, deep in her heart, that he’d have her back. It’s mesmerizing to feel that same unwavering support, years later. Without meaning to, Sansa notices that she is rubbing her fingers lightly against his knuckle. Instead of pulling away, Jon stands still, watching her, drawing her in with those charcoal eyes.

“Should we watch the documentary?” She asks, breaking the moment when it feels too charged for her to handle. The pull between them is both tempting and terrifying. Jon, caught off guard himself, shakes his head and suddenly lets go of her hand.

“Yes, I want to try those lemon bars too.”

They sit side by side on the sofa with a clear space separating them. Though Sansa longs to move closer, she keeps her hands tightly folded across her lap after turning on the television. Jon picks a particularly appetizing lemon bar and gives it a small sniff before biting. 

“Sansa, by the Old Gods” He mumbles after finishing the first bite. She grins involuntarily. 

“Good huh?” The question comes out cockily, accompanied by a cheeky grin and a raised eyebrow.

“Don’t be a brat.” He retorts with a playful eye roll, but Sansa can’t contain the wave of pleasure that rolls through her. His praise always hits just the right spot.

“Well, you better not insult me at my home if you want another bite…” She threatens jokingly, but Jon ignores her and goes straight for another bar. Sansa suspects he knows deep down, she would never deny him anything.

“Let’s get into this doc then.”  She decided, pressing play in the remote and taking the lukewarm coffee cup into her hand. 

Jon nods, still eating and sighing with contentment. Enjoying the sight, right then, Sansa decides that she would keep making lemon bars every once in a while for him. 

~

Sansa doesn’t know when she fell asleep. But as her eyes slowly flutter open, she realizes her legs are stretched across the couch and Jon is still there, asleep beside her, her feet resting in his lap. One of his hands is curled gently around her ankle, his head tilted back, mouth slightly open as he snores lowly.

The sight is so endearing, she’s afraid to move. 

In the many years she has known Jon, there weren't many times they were this close together, with him looking so unguarded and relaxed. And she certainly has never seen him sleep so peacefully up close. Around her, Jon was many things: sarcastic, moody, annoyed, and even protective at times, but never relaxed. Back then, Sansa felt her presence always ticked him off the wrong way and that is why they kept sniping at each other, him calling her brat, her calling him a jerk. Apart from her stupid crush at the eighth grade, Sansa never knew how to feel around Jon. Now, she suspects the tension between them has changed, it is still sharp, but now warm and unfamiliar. 

Perhaps it was only a few minutes, although it felt like an hour, but suddenly Jon is blinking awake, his lashes fluttering as he adjusts to the dim light.

“Are you watching me sleep, kid?” He murmurs, voice thick with sleep, a smirk tugging at his lips. The look catches Sansa off guard, she feels her cheeks flush.

“Nope.” She scoffs indignantly, but for the second time that night, she feels Jon is winning at a game she didn’t even know they were playing. To push back, she jabs her foot lightly into his lap.

“Hey, ladies don’t jab,” He teases, grabbing her ankle.

“I’m not a lady, Jon Snow,” She shoots back with a mischievous glint, pressing her foot forward again in challenge.

This time, he catches it in a firm but gentle grip—and the moment stills.

Sansa feels it immediately, the jolt between them, electric and undeniable. Her breath falters, so does his. She thinks about looking away, but this time she wants to push him further. She won’t cave, if Jon is unnerved, he should be the one to look away first.

He does. 

“I think it might be time to go, it’s late.” He mumbles, carefully removing Sansa’s foot from his grip. 

Sansa nods, but doesn’t say anything. Somehow, it feels like her voice might betray her. 

They stand up together, and she walks him to the door. Before he leaves, she reaches for his wrist. They exchange bashful glances.

“Thank you for coming up, Jon.” 

“Anytime, Sansa.”

When she closes the door behind him, Sansa can’t explain to herself why her heart is fluttering. Or maybe she can, but refuses to. 

Later, curled beneath her covers with the lights off and the room around her pitch black, Sansa can still feel Jon’s eyes burning on her.

She sighs and squeezes her own eyes shut tighter. She can’t mess things up in Hardhome too.

Chapter 5: . five.

Summary:

short chapter full of text messages, teasing and overthinking.

Notes:

hi guys, didn't want to take too long to update. next chapter will be longer :)

Sansa had two months of summer vacation before classes resumed. She was using that time to catch up on her reading, prepare for the courses ahead, research internship vacancies, and organize her fall schedule. It was always better to plan ahead.

She knew that to get the semester right, she had to find the perfect internship program. She scoured the internet every day, checking between Littlefinger Inc.—the political consultancy agency known for its top-tier spinners and high-profile clients but an iffy reputation—the Tyrell Journal, where she knew Margaery could help her get in, and where she had always wanted to write and do research for political coverage, though she still felt the need to do something on her own—and the Hardhome City Council. Of the three, the Council was the least prestigious, but perhaps a good starting place to learn the ropes.

She was working on the three applications, requesting recommendation letters from former teachers, polishing her CV, and practicing for the interview stage late in the afternoon when her phone rang.

“Hi, Robb,” she says mindlessly, still editing the CV before her on the screen.

“Hi! Have you seen Jon? Marg tells me you’ve been hanging out.” He sounds casual, with the background noise of people talking all around him as he walks, perhaps. Still, Sansa froze on the line.

“W-what do you mean? I see him occasionally! We’re neighbors, you know!” she justifies quickly, a bit too nervous.

“I just mean that I haven’t heard from him in a while. I just wanted to check if he was okay, if you had seen him.”

“Oh.” She catches up on her breath. “Yeah, I think he is okay. I know he is quite busy organizing this gig that will open on The Wall on Friday. Organizing ticket sales, managing the talent, prepping the venue… you know how it goes.” 

“Oh, okay. I know how he gets when there is event planning to do.” Robb acknowledges quietly. “I was just worried he was avoiding me somehow." 

Sansa bites her lip then. Jon would never avoid Robb, they are best friends. The only reason he would do so was if he was angry or maybe feeling guilty about something. Like he did in junior year, when he scratched Robb’s car. But there was nothing to feel guilty about! Sansa is just overthinking herself into nonsense, for sure.

“I’ll tell him that you called, don’t worry. Now, did you only call me to speak about Jon?” She asks admonishingly. Robb lets out a short laugh.

“Of course not, I wanted to hear from my favorite sister.” He adds sweetly. Robb was always a bit of a sugarcoater.

“Okay then, now let me tell you all about the internships I am applying to…” She trails on, explaining the pros and cons of each option while gathering his input. They talk for an hour, with Robb making reasonable, almost prosecutor-like arguments for why the Tyrell Journal is the best choice — even though he’s clearly biased. Margaery must have talked to him beforehand, Sansa was sure. Still, it felt good to get his brotherly advice, and she couldn’t fault him. She knew Robb always had her best interests at heart.

When they said goodbye, it was around 6pm. Sansa could either make supper for herself or check what Jon was up to.

Sansa Stark [18:01]: Hey, what r u up to, old man?

Jon Snow [18:05]: Hey kid, just finishing some stuff at the bar.

Sansa Stark [18:06]: Ugh… don’t call me kid!

Jon Snow [18:10]: Sorry, kid. What are you up to?

Sansa Stark [18:15]: Robb called. Wanted to know if u r avoiding him… r u?

Jon Snow [18:35]: What? No!

Jon Snow [18:36]: No!

Jon Snow [18:37]: I mean, why?

Sansa Stark [18:40]: Idk ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Jon Snow [18:45]: Emojis are dumb.

Sansa Stark [18:46]: u r dumb, old man.

Jon Snow [18:47]: You are such a brat… should I bring you any food from the bar? The fried chicken burger is nice.

Sansa Stark [18:48]: That’s rly sweet, thnx for offering. But I’m gonna cook, I think.

Jon Snow [18:50]: Anytime, kid. You are murdering the grammar, but I got you.

Sansa Stark [18:51]: Shut up, Jon Snow.

~

Sansa cooked her fusilli pasta with pesto sauce, an easy 20-minute dish she learned from her mother before going to college ( “In case you get hungry, don't buy those instant noodles, Sansa!” ), and sat down to finish the Lord Varys documentary. While she watched the political intrigues from the War of the Usurper, her mind wandered back to Jon. He sent her a flyer for The Night’s Watch concert that he was organizing at the bar.

Back in their high school days, Jon used to always escape into the night with Robb, going to seedy bars to hear their rock band obsession of the year. Sansa remembered the one time Robb got caught and their mom grounded him for a month ( “No Jon! No guitar! He’s a bad influence on you!” ). Sansa could see now how short-sighted their mother had been. Jon has always been so organized with their outings, the designated driver, making sure Robb made it home in one piece despite his tendency to always hit on the wrong girls—the ones with huge boyfriends that, despite Robb’s ego, he could not defeat in a fight—and Sansa knew, maybe because of Arya’s insistent blabbering about him, that Jon actually went to these concerts because of the music. He loved the music.

It made perfect sense now that he had his own live music bar/microbrewery. Perfect sense.

This current invite made Sansa nervous, though. She wasn’t one for dive bars with live music. Not because she particularly disliked it—it just was never her scene. In Winterfell, she never clubbed; her friends were all into house parties. In King’s Landing, Margaery, and later Joffrey, took her to all those glitzy nightclubs with the loud bass and cold martinis. Afterwards, at Eyrie, she didn’t go partying anymore. Harry was the outdoorsy type, so she became outdoorsy too.

 Of course, this didn’t come naturally to her. She had to plan beforehand what she was going to wear, take a look at the bar’s online page and menu to know what she could order, go over her entrance in her head, and think through things she might say. Sansa knew this could be interpreted as psychotic behavior, but she just wanted to be prepared. It was always better to be prepared—easier to avoid playing the fool. She had played the fool enough for her entire lifetime.

She already knew her outfit: suede dark ankle boots, the navy sweater dress Margaery always liked, and a leather jacket. She figures it will look mature, without being too grungy. Sansa had a sad suspicion that she could not pull the grungy look well and Jon probably knew too many girls who would look way better than her at it anyway.

Not that it matters what he thinks. It absolutely didn’t. Or maybe it did, a little bit. 

~

Jon Snow [10:31]: Hey, how’s the internship search going?

Sansa Stark [10:45]: Who told you??

Jon Snow [10:46]: Robb mentioned it…

Sansa Stark [10:51]: Omg, he is such a gossip!!

Jon Snow [10:55]: Is it a big secret?

Sansa Stark [10:58]: I guess not, I’m just nervous abt it…

Jon Snow [11:03]: You shouldn’t be, I think you will be great at whatever you do.

Sansa Stark [11:04]: Thx Jon, but u know, they gotta choose me first…

Jon Snow [11:06]: They will. 

Sansa Stark [11:10]: U don’t even know who “they” are yet… 

Jon Snow [11:15]: I do know, it’s either city hall, the Tyrell Journal or the political consultancy spot right? 

Sansa Stark [11:20]: Yeah… u r right. Robb told you that too? 

Jon Snow[11:21]: Yes.

Sansa Stark [11:22]: Any advice?

Jon Snow[11:25]: They would all be lucky to have you…. But maybe the Tyrell Journal? I remember you were a great writer.

Sansa Stark [11:30]: What do u mean?

Jon Snow [11:32]: Well, all those diaries you used to write… I’m guessing you are a Pulitzer winner by now.

Sansa Stark: [11:34]: HAHAHA very funny, Jon Snow. I’ll have u know, I did GREAT reporting back then. 

Jon Snow [11:36]: Please give me an example.

Sansa Stark [11:38]: Lemme think… Hm, I had a great headline in the 8th grade journal: Jon Snow stays brooding in his new leather jacket!!!

Jon Snow [11:40]: I did not brood.

Sansa Stark [11:42]: U soooooo did. All the time. It seems all u ever did was brood, pout and hang around in your leather jacket and pick up truck. 

Jon Snow [11:45]: It seems like you paid a lot of attention to me, Lady Sansa.

 Sansa Stark [11:50]: Shut up, Jon. 

 Sansa Stark [11:52]: and don’t call me lady!!!

Jon Snow [11:55]: Okay, brat.

 Sansa Stark [11:58]: i hate u 

Jon Snow [11:59]: I don’t think you do. 

Sansa Stark has left this message on read.