Work Text:
Friday, 11th March 1982
East London
11:38pm
The same boombox blared a chaotic rock song that echoed and amplified along the tightly packed buildings of the narrow street. Some crust punk rocker was squatting in the abandoned building next door and ever since he had arrived the same noisy racquet plagued the street day and night. Sansa hoped eventually she would be able to tune it out like the car alarms or sirens, but to no avail. The constant noise had kept her awake for the past week. Sansa shook her head and took another drag from her cigarette, her arms crossed for warmth and kept pace to get home to her tiny flat after a long shift at work.
“Shut it off for chrissakes!” she shouted. Frustration finally got the better of her.
“Bite me, princess!” a deep voice shouted back.
On the stairs of the entryway, smoking a cigarette, was a large male figure dressed in black. The massive bulk of his shoulders would have been intimidating enough on its own, with the height and shadows added, he appeared to loom even larger on the dimly lit street.
Sansa froze and panicked, instantly regretting the impulse. His face was hidden by the shadow of the awning, not that she would have recognized him anyway. She hadn’t expected someone to be in front of the building, hadn’t seen anyone at all over the past week, only heard the music blasting over the boombox.
“Relax, I’m not a psycho. Be on your way m’lady,” he sneered.
The man in black took a step down and sat on the staircase leading up into the building, in a way to make himself less intimidating, which did not help much. In the light, Sansa could make out his face better and it did not lessen her anxiety. When people warned her not to talk to strange men in the middle of the night, they clearly meant someone like him. He wore a studded leather jacket with patches and pins covering it, black jeans, and black combat boots. Long dark hair hung in front of his face, making it difficult to read beyond the obvious annoyance in his voice.
“Your shirt’s dirty,” she said absently. There was a streak of white smudged across his chest that stood out against the black, the first thing that popped into her head when she realized he wasn’t going to murder her.
“The building’s facilities are shit. It’s a joke,” he added when her face wrinkled up in confusion.
“Oh,” Sansa breathed in relief. The cigarette began to burn her knuckles so she threw it to the ground to stamp it out.
“I live next door,” she continued, “You could use the laundry room in my building. No one’s in there this late. Just to say sorry for shouting at you before.”
He mumbled something that sounded vaguely like “All right” and shut off the music. He grabbed a duffel bag and walked towards her down the steps.
Sansa grabbed her keys out of her purse and opened the entryway to the building, leading him to the laundry room in the basement. The narrow steps were steep, with a low overhang that even she had to duck to avoid. She turned around to see the man almost doubled over to fit his large frame through the doorway. He grimaced and mumbled to himself, while she hid a smile on her lips.
“Do you need a few quid? I think I have some rattling around in here,” she said. Shaking her purse, she could hear some of the metal coins clinking together.
“I’ll manage,” he grumbled.
He turned away from her and shrugged off his jacket to remove the dirty shirt, chucking it into the washer along with a few other items from the duffel bag. Sansa couldn’t help but stare at the man’s back, which had tattoos covering nearly every inch of skin. There was an anarchy symbol, <I> no surprise there</I>, along with a bleeding heart, a skull with a mohawk, and dozens of other designs she couldn’t make out from across the room.
He put change into the machine and sat in one of the folding chairs nearby. At that point, he noticed her staring. He stretched out his arms in front of him, giving her a better look.
“They’ll ruin my life, right?” he asked.
“I like them,” she whispered.
He laughed at that and pulled the leather jacket on again over his bare chest. A hand brushed the hair out of his face, revealing scars along his cheek.
The laundry room was basic with only a couple washers and dryers for the large building. The fluorescent lighting always made the room seem gloomy, but Sansa was glad to be out of the cold. Although it should have been spring soon, the weather was still a bit too brisk for her taste.
Sansa looked away to stop herself from staring and stood at the doorway, keys in hand, with a hip leaning against the doorframe. Her job was done at this point, she had done her good deed for the day, taken care of her fellow neighbor. So why was she still lingering?
“I won’t rob the place if that’s what you’re worried about,” he said.
“Sorry, it’s been a long day. Working at some posh restaurant where everyone yells at me all night,” she explained. Unzipping her jacket to untuck her white button up shirt from her slacks, she sighed and rubbed the back of her neck.
“Why don’t you quit?”
“Trying to save money, pay the bills, you know?”
“Could always quit and move back home,” he suggested.
“No, I can’t.” Her throat started to close and it became difficult to swallow.
“Ah you get it then.”
“What?”
“The world’s not sunshine and rainbows.”
“Yes I do,” she laughed, it sounded thin to her. The kind of sound she made when she was overwhelmed, not genuinely amused. “My parents were in a car accident. House paid for the funeral bills. No home to go back to so most of my siblings took off. My sister’s in London too. We don’t get along all that well, decided not to live together.”
“My family… I’m on my own too.”
The room was mostly silent except for the low rumbling of the washer. There was another seat next to the man she could have taken, relaxed her aching feet from running around the restaurant. She was unsure about the man still and preferred the distance, could make some excuse to exit the room at any minute hovering about the door.
“Why pick in an abandoned building on the worst street in London?” she joked.
“Opted out of all that shit, consumerism and capitalism are parasites sucking the life out of people.”
“Suppose that’s true. But if you won’t participate, don’t they win by default?”
He cocked his head to the side and looked her up and down, “Never thought of it that way.”
“I want to be a model, at least make the most of it and get something for myself, maybe see the world. You probably think that’s stupid don’t you?”
“I don’t think it’s stupid, makes sense.”
Sansa smiled a genuine smile at that and began to relax her shoulders. She pulled the hair tie out from the tight low bun at the back of her neck and released her bright red curly hair. Her mother had insisted she keep it long when she was a child. When she realized she would no longer be able to disappoint her, she cut it into a shoulder length shaggy mess it was now. On her days off she could tease and hairspray it to her heart’s desire.
When she looked back at the man, he dropped his chin and she realized he must have been staring. For some reason, it warmed her to him more and made her smile brighter.
“Your music is awful,” she teased him, “Can’t you play something with a melody?”
“It’s better in person, have you ever been to a show?”
“Course not,” she laughed, “I’d rather listen to something I could dance to.”
“People dance, well, jump and fight. It’s fun,” he explained. A smile crept across his face, though it wasn’t very big.
“Sounds like it, anyway I’ll let you be. I need to get to sleep.” She tapped her keys against her thigh and turned to the door.
“There’s a show tomorrow, want to come?” he called after her.