Chapter Text
It happened like clockwork. Every night when the sky was still dark but morning was slowly creeping in from the shadows; at three o’clock the moaning would begin.
The first time Sansa heard the deep growl, mournful and slow, it she thought perhaps the new neighbor had a dog who was going into labor.
But then it happened again the following night at the same time and combined with the movements she heard on the other side of the wall, she realized it sounded more human than animal.
The third night she identified it.
It was a man. He was having nightmares.
It took her awhile to realize the movement was him thrashing about on his bed, which apparently shared the wall with her own. There were times as the days wore on where she could press her palm to the wall, and his movements were so loud, his accompanying moans sad and anguished, that she could feel the vibrations through the wood construction, and through the insufficient insulation and wallpaper, thick and gaudy as it was.
Had it been anyone else she may have suspected it was the new tenant having sex.
But no – she caught a glimpse of the man a week after he arrived and she was certain there wasn’t a soul around who would look past his angry, moody, and scarred visage to carry on a relationship with him. He was animosity personified as he passed her in the hallway, leaving at the same time she had arrived home from the store. The glare he sent her chilled her to the bone, though she managed to set aside that impression of him in fairly swift fashion; her opinion of him already partially formed by what he went through on a nightly basis.
Two weeks of nightmares consistently woke Sansa up at the same time every night, and then a third week went by with no change.
That he could be so afflicted, so regularly terrorized by nightmares, baffled her at the same time it tugged at her heart strings. How awful it must have been for him to go through that nightly, and how much more awful the events in his life must have been that had led him to that point.
Nearly a month into his tenancy she made a decision; a split second decision as she was falling asleep, to program a second alarm into her phone that would wake her at precisely 2:55am. Since every night she awoke to his dreams at 3:00, 3:02, 3:03, she decided just several minutes prior would be enough time to…
To what?
As sleep overcame her, she still had no clue what she was going to do.
When her alarm went off and sleep left her in a rush, she dismissed the alarm on her phone and simply rolled towards the wall, using the flat of her hand to bang three times on the space just above her full sized mattress.
Then she waited, barely breathing to see if she could hear any reaction. When there was none, she scooted closer and pressed her ear awkwardly to the wallpaper.
It took a minute, but she heard a rustling that made her think the banging had actually woken him and he was adjusting his position to go back to sleep. After another minute the sound quieted, and she leaned back to listen for anymore movement or sounds that might come from his apartment.
When there was none, she laid back down, closed her eyes, and smiled herself to sleep, happy that her plan had apparently worked.
She started a routine the next night, waking to the same alarm and banging the same three loud bangs against the wall at 2:55. And again, she heard the rustling of bedding, the squeak of aging bed frame as he shifted his massive body around on his mattress. Then again, she fell asleep feeling that she had accomplished what she set out to do.
The next night was the same, and the next, and the next. She didn’t run into him in the hallway after that, and she wasn’t sure what she would have done had that happened.
But he found a way to communicate to her that caught her off guard at the same time it made her smile.
A week and a half after beginning the routine she set her alarm, laid down on the pillow, and promptly fell asleep. Then at 2:55 she woke, dismissed the gentle alarm, and banged on the wall. She no longer felt like she had to listen to see if it had worked, so instead she rested her head back against her pillow and prepared for sleep to come once again.
But then came a soft noise, almost as though he had simply bumped against the wall, though it was suspiciously close to the point on the wall where she herself had banged not a minute before.
It was odd, but she brushed it off and went back to sleep.
The noise came again the second night, and then the third, but it wasn’t until the fourth when she realized what it was.
He was acknowledging her. The towering beast of a man was recognizing her effort for what it was, and she was certain he was thanking her for it.
And so it went, for a month, two months; until soon winter was coming and Sansa felt that their early morning waking was as important a part of her nighttime routine as brushing her teeth before bed. Life went on, her job continued, and her family remained a constant in her life, but the greatest accomplishment she experienced was that in the four months she had lived next to the man, he hadn’t had a night terror since she had implemented her early morning wake-up alarm. Just knowing this was enough to encourage her to wake up with a smile on her face just about every morning.
Thanksgiving was coming up and she had planned on going shopping for a new winter coat, so on the day her office was closed and she had a weekday to herself, she bundled up in her threadbare North Wall jacket and headed out, turning to lock the door to her apartment at the same time his opened.
Suddenly not wanting the awkwardness that might come with acknowledging their odd, late night interaction, she quickly turned her back and strode to the single elevator at the end of the hallway.
But in a moment he was there, also waiting for the elevator that would take them down the eight floors to the lobby of the building.
Sansa didn’t look at him, and she felt an unfamiliar embarrassment rising up her throat at the thought that he might think she unkind. After all, someone – a man, no less – who wore his hair long to cover his scars, and whose impressive size was probably enough to scare away any pickpockets and would-be thieves, was most likely used to similar treatment done out of sheer intimidation. Sansa thought there was a pretty good chance he was shunned on the street, looking as dreadfully grumpy as he had the first time she’d seen him.
That didn’t stop her, though, from avoiding his eyes as they entered the elevator once it arrived, settling into separate corners of the carriage. He pressed the button for the bottom floor and since it was her destination, she didn’t say anything.
The old machine began its descent, and Sansa thought she might have avoided the awkwardness as the floors began to count down.
Until she heard it. Banging – three, to be precise. The man banged his palm against the wall of the carriage behind him, three times.
Sansa thought in that moment that she probably looked as red as the local weirwood leaves, and she hazarded a glance in his direction, her face sternly masked with indifference so she wouldn’t react to his appearance.
Only today he didn’t look so… angry. He wasn’t smiling, but he was staring at her, making her feel slightly uncomfortable since she felt like he was waiting for something – gray eyes boring into her blue ones, his bearded face unmoving even as she stared up at him.
So she did the only thing she could think of, since there was really nothing for her to say.
She banged on the wall behind her, just once, mimicking his response to her early morning noises.
The softening in his face wasn’t immediately apparent, until she realized the harshness of his scarred brow had relaxed, and the slightest increase in the crows feet at the corner of his eyes signalled a smile that hadn’t quite reached his mouth.
Sansa returned it anyway, ducking her face as she blushed again at his recognition of her efforts. One last glance told her he was still looking at her, though his silence unnerved her slightly.
They rode out the remainder of the descent and he allowed her to exit the carriage first; not gesturing or telling her, “Ladies first,” or anything overtly gentlemanly like that. But he remained standing still as the doors opened, long enough that she took her cue and exited before him.
Without waiting to see what he was doing, Sansa stood off to the side to adjust her scarf around her neck, eyeing the way the leaves swirled around the sidewalk outside. Today was going to be a chilly day, and she had chosen the right day to go shopping for a new coat. She idly wondered if she should return to her apartment for a sweater, but thought against it. She could do this, she decided. The cold would only last as long as it took to walk between stores.
The man passed through her line of vision, exiting the building moments before she did and walking in the direction she had planned on going. It was funny, that after exiting the building she felt as though he might assume she was stalking him, although the busy city street only had two options – left or right – and the shops she intended to visit first had been to the left.
Whether he knew she was behind him or not, he didn’t let on. But as they walked she realized he was simply wearing an insulated flannel shirt over a t-shirt, and had done nothing more to protect himself from the cold than to tuck his hands into the pockets on his jeans.
Beneath the hem of his shirt she could see this stretched the fabric of his jeans over his butt, and Sansa quickly looked away, silently embarrassed that her eyes had wandered in that direction.
But then, she really couldn’t blame herself. He was significatly taller than any other man she knew. His shoulders were broad, his waist and hips narrow, and his legs impossibly long, capped with black work boots in a size she was certain had to be special ordered. And that hair – long and dark with a natural wave to it that had it flowing behind his neck and the backs of his shoulders with every breeze.
For the second time she was seeing him, he was certainly making an impression on her.
They walked for just a couple more minutes, Sansa already eyeing the intersection up ahead where she would be crossing the crosswalk and heading to the first destination. But just as she had determined she would be reaching the signal at the intersection on a red light and would have to wait with the crowd already standing there, she realized the man had veered off to the side, towards a coffee shop she frequented in the mornings before work.
Getting ready to pass him, she watched as he opened the door and glanced over at her, gray eyes connecting with hers once again as she made to walk passed him.
But… he had stopped, and was holding the door open. And there was no one else entering or exiting the establishment.
It appeared he was waiting for her, and Sansa nearly stumbled when she came to a stop as she realized what he was doing.
Still, she looked around, as though someone else might suddenly materialize and show her that she had been silly for stopping and that he had in fact been holding the door for someone else.
But there was no one, and she was left to dumbly stare back at him, her brows drawn together in confusion.
When he spoke, she immediately recognized the tone and timbre as that she had heard for weeks prior to her new alarm. It was the same voice she heard moaning, at times nearly crying out in anguish, as he was visited over and over by nightmares.
Only today it was low, a deep rasp as he phrased his invitation as a statement.
“Allow me to thank you properly,” was all he said, and he stood there, the breeze that swirled around the sidewalk lifting and dropping the ends of his hair as she felt the chill seep through the thin fabric of her old jacket.
Really, what did she have to lose? She had all day to find a jacket, and an hour or so having coffee with him didn’t sound like the worst way to spend her morning.
And she was intrigued, if she had to admit it to herself. She was fairly burning with curiosity, and had already developed a list of questions she wanted to ask him, no matter how forward or improper they were.
Where did the scars come from? What did he dream of at night that woke him up? Was he genuinely happy that she had taken it upon herself to rudely bang on the wall every night at the same time in an effort to wake him before the night terror rode in and captured his sleeping mind?
“Okay,” she simply replied, nodding slightly as she approached him. There was that smile again, the one that showed in his eyes if not on his lips. Though the closer she got, the better she could see the smooth lips beneath the mustache and how it nearly concealed the miniscule rising of the corner of his mouth.
He was smiling, she realized, just a bit off kilter at the discovery. The new awareness of it sent tingling shockwaves down to her toes as her imagination conjured images of a man who perhaps slept in boxers and a t-shirt, who now stood before her smiling down at her with an enigmatic smile.
Attraction, she realized, staring up into those soulful gray eyes as she came to a stop before him – close enough to reach out and touch but mindful enough to know she shouldn't.
But that didn’t stop her sense of smell from picking up on his aftershave, nor her eyes from detecting the slight flaring of his nostrils as she stood entirely too close to him as he held the door open.
“I’m Sansa,” she said softly, watching his eyes drop to her lips as she said the two words. Then they returned to hers as he spoke, feeling the warmth of his breath against her face from their close proximity.
“Sandor,” was his reply, and she smiled softly.
“It’s nice to meet you. Finally,” she added for good measure.
At that, both sides of his mouth turned upwards in an unmistakable smile. Sansa could see flecks of silver in his beard, she was standing so close to him.
“Finally,” he agreed, his voice so deep it hovered just above a whisper.