Chapter Text
Jon was still recounting the latest prank he pulled on Sansa when he got off from work. He should be chuckling like a teenage boy but he couldn't shake out the feeling, like lead had settled in his gut, when he remembered the look on her face after he drew a dick in the middle of a half-made reject of a painting he found in her room. He had to scrub a portion of the painting off with thinner so he could make space for his own art. He thinks he did more than okay.
But something about the way she stiffened and the thinning of her lips told him that it was something different. Too caught up in his own childish antics, he didn't really take note of it until now. He thought they were still in the middle of pissing each other off in the World's Worst™ Break-Up, both refusing to move out of the apartment they both bought, but something like guilt was niggling at him.
They weren't always like this, Jon thought. Their relationship started out slow, a budding attraction that began to build upon a tentative sort of friendship. Yet somehow, they managed to bring out the worst in each other now. Sansa, whether intentional or not, always managed to make Jon feel like he's disappointed her. And he doesn't even know what he did. When this happens, Jon becomes too sullen and pushes her away.
Until he pushed too hard and she finally called it quits on them.
The funny thing is, Jon thinks, he's still very much in love with her. He's just god awful at words. But this thing that they have now? That's all he can cling to because at least it's still something with Sansa. Even if it is fucked up.
Before he reaches the apartment, he sees Jeyne and Arya talking inside both with boxes in their hands.
“Did you get all her clothes?” Jeyne asks her sister-in-law as she puts more of Sansa's things in boxes.
“Yeah, I got all of them,” Arya responds distractedly. “What she needs 5 pieces of the same black dress for I’ll never - ” she stops mid grumbling when she spots him loitering by the door.
Jon has seen Arya stare at another human being coldly. She acted the wildest of the Starks with a protective streak to match and Jon has seen that look targeted at many of the creeps who dared to hassle her sister.
He just never expected to be at the receiving end of it, getting along as quickly as they did.
And Jon knew then that whatever he did to Sansa last night was enough for her to unleash Arya's barely reigned in wrath on him.
He was about to open his mouth to apologize, even if he wasn't really sure what he was apologizing for when she cuts him before uttering a sound.
“Her keys are on the table and her share of the lease is left in the bureau,” her voice was void of any warmth he may have gotten used to from her over the course of his relationship with her sister. Arya picks up the box by her feet and proceeded to head out. When she hovers by the door, he knows she wants to say something more.
“Just spit it out, Arya.” he closes his eyes, bracing himself for a tirade.
“Out of all the assholes she dated, I never thought you'd be the one capable of hurting her the most, Jon.”
Jon can't open his eyes after hearing those words, already feeling his guilt from earlier transform into something nastier. He only opens them to see her walk away.
“Jon,” he turns at the sound of his voice and sees Jeyne’s pitying face. “Sansa asked that you be given this.” She hands him an envelope with his name written in her neat script.
Jon snaps out of an emotionally induced paralysis when Jeyne moves to leave. “Please Jeyne,” he croaks out, afraid of this moment being the punctuation to their messy relationship. “Can you at least let me know what I've done? How can I - what can I do to -”
He's a mess, he knows he's a mess because just the thought of not having Sansa in any capacity in his life is giving him a panic attack.
Jeyne just gives him the same pitying look. “Just read her note, Jon.” It isn't until he hears the door click that he remembers to release the breath he has been holding in.
As if in a trance, he goes inside what used to be their room. It was bare of anything with her things gone and with him setting up camp in the living room. He sees her keys on the bedside table and stops at the painting of a lake from his childhood - the one where his mom used to take him as a boy. It had a pleasant shade from a nearby oak tree with a tire swing hanging from one of its branches.
It was the painting he drew a dick on and he could kick himself for not recognizing it right away.
He hastily opens the envelope, his heart pounding because My God Sansa -
He unfolds the letter and collapses on the bed.
Jon -
You win. You get to keep the apartment.
I want you to know, I don't regret you or the time we spent together. I just regret that we both suck terribly at communicating. I love loved love you. You helped me believe in people again, and I'm always going to be grateful for that.
You were good to me - the last few months notwithstanding. I guess we're just not good for each other.
The painting, as you may have deduced, is the one from your childhood you told me about before. I sneaked out a photo from your albums while you were gone. Don't worry, it's taped to the back of the frame.
I wanted to give it as a peace offering. An olive branch, I guess.
I don't resent you for what you did. I think it just made me realize that whatever this is that remains between us is probably best left alone. We've been broken up for a while now after all.
I wish you all the best,
Sansa.
His hand clenches over her letter.
“Shit.”