Chapter Text
Sansa had anticipated her family hating her first boyfriend - had thought it part of the fun. Just how much they would hate him, however, came as a surprise.
"Joffrey?" Margaery exclaimed, a more than a little dramatic look on her face. "Sansa, you're not - not ... Joffrey Baratheon?"
"Yeah, him. He asked me out today at lunch", Sansa said, hating herself for blushing. She wished Margaery would keep her voice down - they were alone in the Stark kitchen for now, but in a second the room could be flooded with siblings demanding to know every last detail about Sansa's love life. Moments alone with Margaery were rare since she had started dating Robb, her time in the Stark house being claimed by two people now instead of one.
It was all going surprisingly well, Sansa's best friend and brother dating, Margaery's social graciousness making everything less awkward. Apart from one forgot-to-knock-incident that all three of them had silently agreed never to speak of again, Sansa couldn't be happier for them.
However, she was only human, and could not help but occasionally miss the simpler times when she could have these sort of talks with Margaery whenever she liked. That was all Sansa wanted now, really, some of that famous Margaery encouragement and giddyness.
It seemed, however, she would not get it today.
"Sansa, no!" Marg exclaimed. (Sansa really thought she was overreacting: she truly did not have to look that horrified, did she?)
"Don't you mean oh, Sansa, congratulations! I'm so happy for you?" Sansa tried, willing her tone to be light-hearted. In reality, she was disappointed - could Margaery not fake excitement even for just a moment? Her friend looked tortured.
"Sansa, I - not him. Literally, anyone but Joffrey fucking Baratheon ..."
"What's this about Baratheon?" Robb, who just entered the room, demanded to know with a frown. Sansa nearly spit out the sip of tea she had just taken. Oh, dear gods. It seemed her time of privacy was coming to an end.
"Joffrey Baratheon? Satan's spawn?" Arya came in right after her brother, joining the party with her usual ability to smell when humiliation was about to be served. Sansa shot Margaery a death glare that would have sent a weaker woman running. Marg only mouthed "sorry" while trying - and ultimately failing - to surpress a smile at Robb's half-confused, half-already angry face.
"Marg?" Robb urged when no one answered his question. Margaery hesitated.
"Marg?" Arya said, looking at the older girl with pleading eyes. Margaery had always had a soft spot for Arya.
"Sans has a date tonight", she eventually yielded to Arya in a somewhat ashamed, but still conspiratorial tone. Sansa fought an inner battle with the side of her that wanted to rise and scream 'traitor' at Margaery and stomp out like baby Rickon during one of his fits.
"I'm sorry!" Margaery turned to Sansa again. "They were going to find out anyway, weren't they? If he's picking you up-"
"Who's picking who up?" The question was from Bran and asked with his normal curiosity, as he rolled his wheelchair into the kitchen, nearly bumping into Arya who had turned her attention to the fridge for a few seconds.
"No one is picking anyone up!" Sansa made a last, desperate attempt, but it seemed her dignity was beyond saving.
"Sansa has a date", Arya said, mouth full of something Sansa did not care to identify.
"I do not", Sansa tried again, but her voice was low now, defeated.
"Sansa", Robb said. She could have sworn his face had paled - really, truly paled. (Why did everyone around her have to be so mindblowingly dramatic?) "Tell me I got this wrong."
"You got this wrong."
"Please, Sansa, tell me you are not going on a date with Joffrey 'Asshole' Baratheon?"
"This family truly needs to learn to mind their own business."
"If you go on this date, we will disown you from the family", Arya shot in, still chewing. "Problem solved."
"Sansa", Robb said, apparently failing to find words. "Please ... Baratheon? Really?"
The bad blood between Robb and Joffrey Baratheon had begun early. While their father still had lived, all the Stark kids had been forced to visit their dad's boss and friend, Robert Baratheon's, house every so often, with his young, bitter wife and three pretty kids. The Starks had of course been expected to play with the Baratheon children, and had done so happily with Tommen and Myrcella.
Joffrey, however, had been a different matter. If he was not bossy and rude, ruining every game they played, he was mean to his siblings or the younger Starks, even to Sansa at times. He never dared cross Robb, who was a fierce defender of his siblings and much bigger than Joff.
Joffrey had been in the same grade as Sansa for two years now, since the year father died and the Baratheons moved to town, and to Sansa his childhood misdeeds were long since forgiven and forgotten-
To Robb they clearly were not.
"Gods, Robb, leave it be", Bran muttered, still waiting in line behind Arya for the fridge.
"Thank you, Bran", Sansa said. "Butt out, Robb. Besides, I don't understand what the big fuss is! If Arya can be with Gendry all day every day-"
"Don't be jealous", Arya grinned as she stepped aside to let Bran have access to the fridge.
"- and Bran can have Meera over whenever he wants -"
"Hey!" Bran protested. "I was on your side, Judas!"
"- then I don't understand why me going on a single date can be so upsetting?"
"Sansa", Robb said again. She was going to kill him if he kept that whole in-disbelief-of-my-sister's-stupidity act going for a second longer. "It's not that you're dating."
"It's who you're dating", Margaery nodded. Sansa decided she needed new friends.
"This is an intervention", Bran added.
"I thought you were on my side?" Sansa snorted.
"You turn on me, I turn on you."
Sansa arose then, unable to take it any longer. "Enough now, all of you! Gods, you're such assholes."
"Sorry, darling", Marg said softly, over the sounds of Robb muttering something about challenging Joff-Joff (Joff-Joff? Really? Robb had overheard Joff's mom calling him that once, when they were, like, ten) to a duel, and Bran arguing with Arya for eating the last of the chocolate.
Sansa left the kitchen then, Arya's final remark about how they could let the dogs loose on Joffrey accompanying Sansa to her room.
***
Her mother was slightly more supportive, although that was not that difficult a feat to accomplish, considering how low her siblings had set the bar. Sansa had made her whole "I-know-it's-a-school-night-but-can-I-please-go-on-a-date" speech, and her mother had smiled and given her approval after her usual questions of who, what and where. When she heard who the eligible bachelor in question was, she made a face Sansa could not quite read before smiling again and saying "whatever makes you happy, sweetheart".
Sansa returned the smile, and started going back to her room before her mother could change her mind.
Margaery helped her do her hair in the end - probably out of guilt for exposing Sansa earlier, though Sansa was certainly not complaining. The braid Marg did was show-stopping, and they picked out a blue blouse that Margaery claimed really brought out her eyes. Excitement, completely absent after the fiasco with her siblings earlier, slowly began rebuilding in Sansa's stomach.
Margaery had to leave at six - her grandmother Olenna was visiting, and her father insisted she be home for dinner - and she left Sansa with first a "good luck" and a wink, then, after a moment of hesitation:
"Sans?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't take any shit from him, okay? I mean, I know you like him, and I don't really know him and all, but just, take care of yourself, can you promise me that?"
"Of course, Marg."
"Good, darling. I have to go now. Wish me luck with the family tensions."
***
When there was a knock at Sansa's door at quarter past six, she startled. Joffrey was not supposed to be here until seven, and she feared it was one of her siblings that had come to talk her out of going in some way or another. But when she yelled "come in" - a little bit louder and angrier than necessary, if she was being completely honest - and the door opened, none other than Jon Snow was standing at the threshold.
Jon Snow, who had been around for as long as Sansa could remember, her brother's best friend, quieter than Robb and nicer than Theon. Jon Snow, who had helped all of them through that awful time after their father had died. Jon Snow, who taught Arya how to ride a bike. Jon Snow, who had been the first to make Bran laugh again after his accident.
(Jon Snow, who had grown up to be quite handsome. Jon Snow, with dark curls that she imagined had to be soft as ... as ...)
Without Sansa's approval, her cheeks went red. That seemed to happen when she met Jon unexpectedly, these days. Sansa wasn't quite sure why (and she had no particular interest in finding out.) Jon had frozen on her threshold now, almost stunned, looking her over from head to toe. Sansa felt she had to break the awkward silence.
"Oh." Hm. That did not necessarily make it less awkward. "Ehrm, hi, Jon." Better. "What are you doing here?"
"What?" he said, swallowing, looking adorable confused. "Oh! I just ..." He held up his right hand so Sansa could see the math book he was holding. "It's thursday, right? Study night, remember?"
She hadn't remembered, no. God. Her mother was going to murder her.
These study nights had started when her math teacher, mrs Mordane, had told Sansa she was failing the class. Her mother had gone ballistic. Sansa, wanting to save her math grade and with it her social life that her mother threatened to demolish, had become desperate. And like a knight in shining armour, Jon had offered to help.
It wasn't charity, Sansa time and time again reminded herself. Their mother payed Jon a small sum for helping Sansa with math once a week, a fact that did little to ease Sansa's humiliation. Jon had just never been as close with Sansa as he had the other Starks, and she thought studying with him would be a necessary evil, just a way to show her mother she truly was trying.
But the studying sessions were not as awkward as Sansa had anticipated. Jon was patient, and good at explaining, and never once made her feel stupid over a question. There was just something about him - a calm, a comfort - that made it so easy and nice to be around him, and the silence that she at first thought would be uncomfortable was just peaceful.
He was a good tutor, too - her math results had improved significantly - and when she got something right or did better on a test than, let's face it, they both had expected, he was almost as excited as her, giving her a proud smile and an approving nod.
Although she would never tell a soul, Sansa had more than once caught herself even looking forward to their quiet thursday nights.
But this wasn't going to be one of them.
"Shit. Jon, I - I'm so sorry, I actually don't - I mean, I can't tonight."
"Oh. That's fine, I - I'll just find Robb. Why, what are you doing?" he asked, leaning against the doorframe, surprising Sansa. Jon usually wasn't one for small talk.
"I'm just - I'm going on a date." He didn't seem too happy at that. Perhaps he knew more than he claimed - perhaps one of her siblings had already told him who, exactly, she was going on a date with. Jon, having been around Robb so much, couldn't really have that great of an opinion of Joffrey.
"Oh. That's great", he said in a monotone voice. She tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear. Jon quickly looked away from her, then, letting his gaze wander around her room instead. Was he mad at her?
"Sorry I didn't text you, I just -"
"No, Sansa, really. It's fine." Finally, he smiled at her. "Have fun on your date." He turned to leave with an awkward little wave that was so very him.
"Thank you!" she called out after him. Why did she feel so tense, now?
An impulse had her following him after a few seconds, going to stand in the doorway.
"Jon?" He was halfway down the stairs already, but stopped and turned when she called his name.
"Yeah?"
"I'll -" She paused, feeling that blush return with full force. What had she wanted, anyway? God, she was being silly. Joffrey was going to be here in an hour. She should be ... preparing. Or something. Jon looked at her, curiosity in his eyes but waiting patiently. Joffrey always looked at her as if he was planning her murder. "Just ... I'll see you next thursday, right?"
"Of course. Wouldn't miss it for the world." He smiled at her. Sansa wished he wasn't joking.