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“Sansa?”
She looks up with a start, spoon paused halfway to her lips. Her other hand rests on the paperback she’s reading, index finger marking her spot.
She slowly lowers her spoon. “Jon.”
She hasn’t seen him since her parents’ reception last October. His silhouette in his dark peacoat is striking against the bright reds, oranges, and yellows of the leaves behind him.
His hair is shorter, she thinks.
“You cut your hair,” she says, surprised. “No one mentioned that in the group chat.”
He moves the books he’s carrying from one arm to the other and scratches the back of his neck self-consciously. “Yeah, it’s new. I’m still getting used to it.”
They stare at each other for a few moments before she remembers her manners. “Oh! Would you, um, like to sit down?”
Jon takes off his messenger bag and slips into the chair across from her, brows furrowed. He licks his lips. “What are you - that is - how are - “
“I transferred here from The Eyrie over the summer.”
“Oh, Robb didn’t mention-”
“Yeah, only mom and dad knew until a few weeks ago.” She glances down at her book, willing her voice not to quiver. “I asked them not to say anything until I got enrolled and settled.”
Jon is looking at her quizzically, his confusion palpable. “You didn’t come home for Christmas.”
It’s not an accusation, but it still stings like one. She had stayed in The Vale for the holidays at Harry’s insistence. She had thought that maybe - just maybe - they could recreate some of the magic she had felt with Jon in that parking lot.
She was wrong.
“I just moved back,” she replies quickly, side-stepping his unasked question. “I’ve got an apartment off campus. It’s tiny but I like it. I think mom would have liked me to move in with Robb but, you know, he just moved in with Jeyne and Arya is studying abroad in Braavos. Bran and Rickon helped me move in. I mean, mom made them help. But, at least they didn’t break any of my stuff…”
She trails off, cheeks flushing. She rambles when she’s nervous. Jon studies her, lips pressed into a thin line. She pulls her jean jacket tighter and tries not to fidget under his perceptive stare.
He clears his throat. “What are you reading?”
She exhales gratefully and slides Medieval Dress and Fashion by Margaret Scott across the table. He scans the cover before flipping it over to read the summary on the back.
“Is this for a class?”
She nods, taking a quick sip of her latte. “I decided on a major.”
He meets her gaze and quirks a brow.
“Art history. I already finished most of my core classes at The Eyrie so I can take ones that pique my interest and support my research here.”
“Which is?” He prompts, handing back her book.
“Early-modern era fashion,” she says with a faint smile.
He adjusts his glasses, nodding excitedly. “That’s great, Sansa. You know, I’ve got some history books you could borrow - for additional context - if you want.”
“I’d love that,” she replies, her smile growing.
He glances down at his watch and pushes his chair back from the table. “I’ve got to run to class, but I’ll text you, okay?”
“Sounds great.”
He pulls the strap of his bag over his shoulder and starts off in the direction of the keep. He pauses a few steps away, turning on his heel to look at her again.
“Hey,” he teases, smirking mischievously. “I like your jacket.”
She blushes and tucks her hands into its pockets. “Thanks. You’re never getting it back.”
He throws his head back, laughing. She grins and watches the wind ruffle his hair.
***
They start meeting at the coffee shop around the corner from her apartment once a week. Jon is always early for their meetings, waiting for her at the table they’ve unofficially claimed, with a stack of books in front of him. They spend hours discussing his research, her classes, and their families.
She discovers that he prefers his coffee black and loves pumpkin scones. He tells her stories about his mom and his adventures with Robb and Theon in college. She teases him about having never watched The Princess Bride . He shares his favorite playlists with her and compliments her taste in music. She shows him some of her sketches and shyly agrees to make him something one day.
Jon doesn’t laugh at her dreams like Harry did and he doesn’t mention The Vale.
***
“You’ve never asked,” she says one day in early November after she sits down.
“What’s that?” He asks distractedly, digging in his messenger bag for a pen.
“About The Eyrie. You’ve never asked.”
He stops and straightens, pen in hand. She takes a bite of her lemon cake - knee bouncing underneath the table - and waits for him to respond.
He licks his lips (a nervous habit she's discovered) and shrugs. “You don’t owe anyone an explanation. I figured you’d talk about it if or when you wanted to.”
She takes a deep breath, resting her hands on the table. “I found out that Harry had been, uh, cheating on me basically since we’d started dating and-”
She hears Jon inhale sharply and rushes to finish before she loses her nerve. “I just didn’t think - I just couldn’t - stay.”
She can’t meet his gaze.
“I couldn’t stay,” she repeats, voice wavering.
She can’t stand his silence.
“You probably think I’m so stupid, moving home because of some boy-”
“Hey,” he interrupts, reaching across the table to touch her hand. “You’re not stupid.”
She scoffs, rolling her eyes and retracting her hand. “I am. I’m just a stupid, silly girl-”
“Sansa,” he says, tone desperate. “Look at me. Please.”
She reluctantly looks up to find his grey eyes focused on her, a pained expression on his face.
“You’re not stupid, okay?” He continues vehemently. “Harry is a piece of shit. And, if you wanted me to, I would drive to The Vale right now and punch him in the face.”
“Jon,” she admonishes, sniffling. “You already punched someone for me once.”
He nods, reaching for her hand. “And I’d do it again, in a heartbeat, if you asked.”
“He’s not worth it,” she replies, squeezing his fingers. “I know that now. I just… You’re my friend and I wanted you to know.”
The brilliant smile he gifts her makes her stomach flip-flop.
“You’re the sweetest, most amazing person I know,” he says softly, caressing her knuckles. “He didn’t deserve you. I hope you know that.”
“I’m learning,” she whispers, smiling back.
***
She stops by Jon’s apartment between classes a few days later. Her classmate, Gilly buzzes her into the building. She checks the time on her phone and smiles. His last class should be ending soon. She has just enough time to drop off his gift before she has to get back to campus.
She hangs the brown bag she’s carrying on the handle of his front door. Inside the bag, there’s a pumpkin scone, a DVD copy of The Princess Bride, and a note.
Dear Jon,
Thank you. For everything.
Lunch tomorrow?
Love,
Sansa