Work Text:
The doors were closing, unfolding from their origami openness. That is, until a young woman with long, flowing hair like fire (in colour and in the way that the hairs curled and some spun away from the others, like pieces of fire, breaking away), and sky blue eyes with a matching suit, stuck her hand out, extending her arm and holding her hands to signal ‘stop’. With her paying pass at the ready, she leaped on, apologising deeply to the driver, thanking him for his kindness.
Huffing and puffing, red faced and searching through her handbag for her water bottle, the woman sauntered her way further into the bus, finally noticing that every seat had been taken. So, the woman moved towards the back of the of the standing area, moving ever so carefully, only moving when her footing was sure, something that was needed in a functioning city bus. She stretched her hand out to grab the end hanging grip, but the vehicle jerked to a holt. This sudden stop sent the woman flying backwards and sideways, making her land in the lap of a fellow traveller.
“Hello!” the man hollered gleefully, a tone unfound in many work commuters at 7:30 in the morning.
The woman had not looked upon her seat mate yet, as sheer embarrassment soaked her whole being, but she managed a weak “Hi.”
“Do you regularly fall on strangers?” he asked cheekily, still as gleeful as before.
She turned her head to look upon his face to tell him off, her brows furrowed and her mouth in the shape of an ‘O’. When she saw him, she was pleasantly taken-aback. His stormy -cloud-grey eyes drew her in first, like a sailor to the torch from a lighthouse, his bright and shiny disposition beaming out of them. Then, his giant toothy smile, his pearlies not quite white, and his lips full and plump, the sides upturned into the most charming smile, one that would melt the sun. She noticed that his (what seemed to be) shoulder-length, curly, inky jet black locks were pulled back into a short ponytail. He was also sporting a charcoal-grey fitted business suit. The girl supposed that she didn’t quite mind falling into his lap, but it certainly didn’t help the tomato red covering that her face was sporting.
So, with her face tinged like a rose, she left the comfort of his lap (only because she got to sit), and after latching onto a nearby grip, she turned to him to protest, “Sorry. Do you regularly make fun of girls when they accidentally fall on you?”
At that, the man - in his apparently regular, jolly state - chuckled at the woman, his head thrown back and his chest bobbing up and down. She glared at him, outraged, and asked what was so funny.
“So,” he began, still struggling to get words out as his voice turned hoarse and his laughter escaping at irregular, perhaps even rude intervals. “Do you come here often?”
Was he flirting with me? The woman questioned herself, a doubting inner monologue beginning inside her mind. I mean, he’s so cute. Why would he want to flirt with me? Plus, he’s annoying. Why would I even want him to flirt with me?
Shut up! You’re a straight-up goddess. I bet he’s asking almost the exact same thing! A separate, more confident part of her voiced.
“Uh, yeah! I catch it every week day. Do you?” she asked, trying (and what she imagined to be failing) to flirt back.
The man chuckled again, slightly, and answered, “No. But I will. I’m starting today at the local publishing house.”
“Stark Publishing? I work there too! My brothers, Robb and Bran started together and I soon graduated from University with an English degree. I’m an editor.” She replied, raising her voice slightly, jumping with excitement.
“Really? I guess I’ll have to be nice to you, then,” he joked, and then cleared his throat, making way for a more serious discussion, and asked, “Listen, do you know any good coffee places around here?”
As he asked, the man wiped his hands on his pressed suit pants, and licked his lips. Why? To be honest, the woman found it a little weird, but realised he must have been nervous for some reason. Oh gods, what if he was trying to figure out how to get away from her, or end the conversation? What if it’s because he’s figured out she’s into him?
“Sure,” she answered trying to be calm as panic rose through her, “There’s one on Rickard Street that make great coffee. It’s close to work and it’s called ‘Black Sheep Caffeinery’.”
The man cleared his throat and wiped his hands again, “Would you like to grab a coffee there with me? After work?”
The woman giggled this time, the tomato red flush reappearing, happy that he was fairly straight forward, “Um… Sure! But shouldn’t you know my name first? Mr…”
This time, he was red in the face, and stuttered “Oh! S-S-Sorry! I’m, uh, J-Jon Snow! What is your n-name?”
Feeling proud that she pulled this kind of reaction from him, the woman answered, “Sansa. Sansa Stark.”
After five years of dating, they were married, and they started their own branch of Stark Publishing. Reader, they were soul mates.