Chapter Text
Jon Snow was kneeling behind the counter putting supplies away when he heard it—the slam of the door and the quick clack of footsteps on the tile floor. By the time he stood up, the door to bathroom slammed shut. It was only fifteen minutes before midnight and the place was empty.
It sounded like only one person, and he had a thought about who it might be. After they hadn’t come out for five minutes, he made his way to the back hallway, where the bathroom was, and knocked on the door. “Hello?”
“Can I help you?” came the voice from inside, a soft girly one, muffled but familiar. She sounded peeved.
“Uh, can I help you?” he offered.
“No.”
He scratched his head. “We close in ten minutes.”
“It’s OK. I know the owner.”
He chuckled into a sigh. “Do you need help?”
“Yes.”
“Should I come in?”
“If you want to.”
He wasn’t sure what to make of that. Slowly, he turned the knob. The first thing he saw—as always—was the garish tiling, bright orange like the hair of the girl who had chosen it. Ygrette. She was long gone, but the ugly bathroom she left behind was still here.
He turned and got a look at its current occupant, whose hair also matched the walls. She was sitting on top of the toilet, legs spread, holding a beer and looking like she was 100 percent done with the world and everyone in it. Wrung out and unfinished. Like he felt basically all the time, but it was unusual for her.
She was still pretty, though.
Sansa Stark was never not pretty.
“What are you doing in my bathroom, Sansa?”
“This color means there’s good autumnal energy in here.”
“OK . . . how can I help?” he asked.
“What?”
“You said you needed help.”
“Oh. I meant just in general. Life, you know. I didn’t mean specifically right now.” She took a sip of her beer. "I broke up with my asshole boyfriend last week, so I’m celebrating.”
“Finally.”
“I know, right?”
“So you were out by yourself?”
“I left Arya at the bar.” She took another drink and closed her eyes like it was the most satisfying thing she had ever done. The thought of Sansa Stark being satisfied took his train of thought in a dangerous direction, so he focused on the bottle in her hand.
“You can’t have that here.”
“Why?”
“You know I don’t have a liquor license.”
“Which is a shame.” She proceeded to finish off what was left and dropped the bottle into the metal trash can next to the toilet with a loud bang. “I keep telling you you’d make a killing if you served wine.”
“I like it the way it is. It’s a coffee shop.”
“Suit yourself.” She jumped off the toilet and in doing so almost lost her footing and fell into him.
“Are you going to be OK going home?” he asked.
“You need to stop asking me existential questions.”
He couldn’t help but smile, and she narrowed her eyes turned her head as if to inspect his expression. Then she looked down and seemed to realize for the first time, she was leaning against him and he was holding her forearms.
He took a step back to give her space. “Sorry. How about some coffee? On the house.”
“Yes, that would probably be a good idea. But do you, um . . . ”
She smiled that smile that asked him to read her mind. He couldn’t pinpoint when he’d realized that was a thing he could do.
“Yes, Sansa, I have pumpkin spice.”
With a giddy grin, she finally stepped out into the hall. “You’re right. Never change this place.”