Work Text:
Truth be told, Sansa wasn’t exactly thrilled about her brand new summer job.
Contrary to what she was constantly accused of, she wasn’t lazy or spoiled. Well, maybe she was, but only to a degree. Sansa wasn’t allergic to working or anything, but she would much rather spend her summer trailing behind her mom in Winterfell’s Royal Museum than driving a golf cart under her father’s supervision, collecting the sports equipment that the members of the country club left scattered around the grounds.
But her real problem with the job wasn’t the endless heat, the mosquito bites covering her legs, the sweat making her shirt stick to her back or watching her siblings and classmates lazing around the lounging chairs while she worked. No, to Sansa, the worst part was having to put up with Jon Targaryen of all people while she dealt with all the rest.
It wasn’t like she didn’t like him. Objectively, there was nothing to dislike about Jon. He was reliable, never complained about their jon (even though Sansa believed that he had many reasons to) and handled her occasional whining with grace. He wasn’t much of a talker, and sometimes he could pass off as mildly rude with his frowning and his staring, but he never made her feel uneasy. Quite the contrary – Sansa felt unusually comfortable around him.
If it wasn’t for the fact that she became an idiot around him, there is.
Maybe it was the Marlboro Red he always smoked mid-shift, with her covering for him in exchange for him covering the tall and crispy cup of lemonade that she always took from the kitchens when no one was looking. Maybe it was his – honestly criminal – soulful grey eyes, or his beautiful curls, or his big strong hands that she so wanted him to–
“Is there something in my face?” Jon frowned down at her, rubbing his cheek as if he was trying to clean an invisible stain.
“No, nothing!” Sansa squeaked, looking away and busying herself with some tennis rackets so he wouldn’t see the red in her cheeks.
“Oh, okay then.” He mumbled and they went back to their chores, as if nothing at all had happened.
Not a week later, they both found themselves collecting pickleballs all around the southern tennis court, after Joffrey and his horrible friends – gods how could she ever have a crush on that douche was beyond her – when Sansa caught Jon staring at her.
Her face reddened immediately, and she couldn’t help but feel slightly embarrassed. Sansa was sure her hair must have been an utter mess with all the humidity and heat, and the uniform they were required to use wasn’t cute at all. Oh gods, had she put on at least a little bit of concealer on that horrid pimple that she had poked at that morning?
But before she could spiral any further, Jon looked away.
Sansa’s stomach dropped, but she told herself that it was better this way.
It was hard to look at a point in her life where Jon Targaryen hadn’t somehow been there.
Being irish twins, Sansa and her brother Robb were always placed in the same classes, which led her to be around to all the ups and downs of her brother’s strange friendship with Jon. During one year, they would be close to best friends, and Jon would actually smile. On the next one, things would be awkward and distant and he would avoid everything and everyone.
It had been a pattern for so long that Sansa had barely noticed. In truth, she barely noticed Jon, at least not since they started high school. He wasn’t talkative, he didn’t really frequent their house, and he quite frankly didn’t seem to enjoy her company all that much, so Sansa was very happy to keep to herself. Besides, she spent most of her high school years in her very own complicated relationship with her toxic ex-girlfriend and best friend, Margaery.
And who could blame her? Jon wasn’t exactly charming. Damn, he was barely hot up until sophomore year when he went from being a short guy to one of the tallest in school. And it wasn’t until junior year when he started frequenting her uncle Benjen’s gym after school, so who could blame a girl?
Looking back, maybe that’s why despite his politeness, Jon didn’t seem to like her that much.
He was too cool for someone who could be, in her sibling’s words, so shallow.
“I can drive you.” Jon insisted for the tenth time, grabbing her bag from her shoulder and gently leading her to the employer’s parking space. Sansa had woken up with a sore throat and a stuffy nose, and through the day she had worsened up until she started feeling feverish and in pain. She had tried to push it away through the day, and mostly succeeded. But as their shift came close to its end and the club’s members started going home, Sansa started feeling a strange chill that soon enough turned into a fever.
“I can take my bike…” She vaguely gestured to where she had parked her pretty baby-blue vintage bike, her entire body feeling heavy and sore.
“What? No!” Jon protested, grabbing her by the shoulder and all but sustaining her body as they stumbled towards his Mercury. “You can’t bike home in this state.”
“I’m fine.” Sansa tried to insist, but she sagged against the comfortable passenger seat and more than gladly accepted the leather jacket Jon pushed into her arms. His leather jacket. She couldn’t help but bury her nose in it, scenting him even through her sickness. Cigarettes, pine and deodorant. It shouldn’t be so good, but it was.
Jon ignored her, closed the door and walked to the other side, quickly turning the car on and driving off the club. “You think you can call your mom? Hey, Sansa!”
“Hm?” She mumbled, half-asleep in the car seat, drenched in his scent. Suddenly, a brief thought of how much she would enjoy if he took her on the backseat crossed her mind, making her face flush all over.
Jon must have thought that it was a signal that her fever was getting worse, because he started driving faster, shooting worried looks at her that she saw through half-lidded eyes.
She so wanted him to want her.
‘Hey, just checking in if you are okay.
It’s Jon, btw.
Jon Targaryen.’
Sansa ends up confined to her bed for two entire days, until her mom took her to the clinic to get an antibiotic shot on her bum. The meds did work great, but she had a limp for an entire day that kept her off work.
By the end of the third day, Sansa was ready to climb off the walls in frustration. If you told her a month before that she would hate being at home during summer – where she had air conditioning and quiet and all the lemon popsicle she could ever want – and would much rather prefer collecting sports material in an ugly uniform with Jon Targaryen of all people…
“She’s acting strange.” Sansa heard Robb whispering to Arya as they both got ready to leave.
“She is strange.” Arya shot back, not even bothering to keep her voice low.
She groaned in frustration.
‘Hi Jon! Thanks for checking in!
I’m doing way better. I’ll be going back to work tomorrow.
I had your number saved already lol. Dw :)’
Sansa sees Jon in the background of Margaery’s Instagram story, awkwardly holding water bottles as who looked like Myrcella Baratheon had a hand on her arms.
She didn’t know what was more pathetic – the stupid awestruck look on Myrcella’s face, the fact that Sansa was checking on her ex’s Instagram story using a burner account after all the things Margaery did to her, or the burning jealousy on her chest.
Probably all three of them.
‘I’ll pick you up.
Be ready at 9.’
He did pick her up by 9.
Jon and Robb were on their distant phases, where her brother scowled anytime his supposed best friend was around, and therefore Sansa had to sneak out of the house without being seen, last she wanted to have to handle her brother’s endless whinings.
She got into his car, clutching at her blue bag and thanked him shyly.
“Don’t worry,” Jon shrugged. “It’s on my way, anyhow.”
Technically, it was not. It would be much easier to get to the club from his house by taking the highway instead of driving through the gated community where she lived, but Sansa opted not to point that out, lest she risked sounding ungrateful.
“I should repay you later.” She offered, but regretted it the very next minute.
Jon seemed to consider it for a moment, sneaking a quick glance at her, taking her in.
“Do you know Old Nan’s?” He asked her.
“Yeah,” She agreed, feeling her ears burn.
“It’s a date, then.”
Those goddamned words burned in her mind the entire day.
It’s a date. A date! Surely he didn’t mean it that way. It’s just what you say, right? There’s no way in hell he would want to go on a date with her. He didn’t even seem to like her most of the time…
“Sorry!” Someone bumped on her shoulder, making her drop the clean towels she was carrying. The person left before Sansa could see them, and before she knew, Jon was kneeling on the floor with her, helping her with the towels.
“Thank you.” She mumbled.
“Anytime.”
It’s a date, then. Her heart fluttered.
“What kind of person doesn’t like lemon cakes?” She nearly demanded, her voice sounding high-pitched even to her own years.
Sansa almost felt self-conscious about it but… but lemon cakes!
“Cheesecake is much better.” Jon shrugged.
“It is not!”
“Yes it is.”
Frustrated, Sansa crossed her arms as he laughed at her, looking way more at ease than he ever did at work. Jon took another bite off his cheesecake, watching her with playful eyes.
“I don’t think we can be friends anymore.” She declared, stuffing her mouth with her lemon cake to keep herself from saying anything else. If she once thought she liked Jon Targaryen, those feelings were now dead and buried. Who in their right mind didn’t like lemon cakes–
“Jon!” An elderly lady arrived out of nowhere, patting Jon on the shoulder and looking curiously at her. “And who is this sweetie?”
Jon smiled up at the woman. “Hi, Nan.” He shot a quick glance at where Sansa was frozen mid-chewing. “That’s my partner, Sansa.”
Whatever she had to say got stuck on her throat. Parter? Well, they were partners, in a way. Work partners. But the way he said it–
“Nice to meet you, sweetie.” Nan pinched both their cheeks with her surprisingly strong fingers, winking at Jon as she left. “Have a nice date!”
“It’s not really–”
“Thank you!” Jon waved at Nan as she left. Then, he noticed Sansa staring at him. “What?”
“Nothing!” She was quick to say.
Jon looked thoughtful for a moment, up until he leaned over to press his thumb on the side of her mouth, swiping off some frost from her dessert and bringing it to his mouth. Sansa felt as if she was about to pass out.
“You’re right.” He said. “It is better than cheesecake.”
Things keep escalating after that.
Not in the ways Sansa would want. There’s no teary-eyed love confession in the rain, no fiery kiss straight out of a song.
Instead, there was him picking her up every single day from home, and driving her home after their shifts. Sometimes they would go to Old Nan’s after their shifts to complain about the patrons and the heat, other times they would change their uniforms for their regular clothes and laze off under the chemtrails while reading books. Jon never once complained when she went on one of her monologues about classic literature, and in exchange she got to see the way his long fingers took his cigarette to his sinful lips, smoke kissing his skin like she wanted to do herself.
No one bothered them in the quiet spots of the club, next to the woods or behind the tennis court. Instead, they had the entire place to themselves, and even when in silence it was comfortable.
He presents her to his friend Green who worked at the movie theater when they went to watch Mamma Mia! Here we go again after a particularly long week at work.
“That’s my partner, Sansa.” He gently urged her forward with a hand on the small of her back, smiling down at her.
Come on, it’s not fair!
By mid-summer, Jon is everywhere.
They text all the time, they spend all their free time together. Sansa didn’t have any friends anymore, not after the whole thing with Margaery, and her own siblings were way more interested in their own lives, so she had a lot of time to spend with herself. But instead, Jon was always there, listening to her, talking to her, spending time with her.
He called her sweet girl, twirled a strand of her hair around his fingers as he read, drove her three hours to Torrhen’s Square just so she could buy herself a limited-edition plushie of Cinnamon Roll.
Honestly, he confused her. All of that and…
And nothing.
No kiss, no talk, no anything.
Oh, and everything. Everything, everywhere, all of the time.
“You’ve been spending quite a lot of time out this summer.” Her mom commented while they were both finishing dinner. There was no chastising in her voice, but Catelyn Stark was not the kind of woman who would choose an indirect approach if she had something to say. Instead, she just sounded pleasantly surprised.
“I made a new friend.” Sansa shrugged.
Her mom nodded. “Jon Targaryen.”
Sansa looked up from where she was finishing the salad, alarmed.
“I like him better than Margaery.” Was all her mom said.
‘Hey, sweet girl.
So, I was thinking.
Wanna go to the waterfall tomorrow after work?’
Her things were in his car, so she had to go pick them up while Jon finished their work.
The waterfall was inside the country club, just a short hike away from the tennis courts, but not many people went there. It was the perfect spot, and it was so romantic. Sansa would be lying if she said that a part of her, no matter how small, felt a tinge of hope at the thought.
Maybe that was the day where he would kiss her (because she would never kiss him first).
She already had grabbed her bag and Jon’s, and was on her way back to where she would meet her when she heard the unmistakable giggles of a couple.
And then she saw it.
Leaning against the small brick-building next to the employer’s parking space, was her brother Robb.
Kissing Margery Tyrell.
As if it was nothing.
Jon noticed that she had been acting strange, but besides the worried looks, he didn’t say anything, and for that Sansa was grateful.
Their hike was spent in silence, but he held her hand inside of his the entire time.
When they got to the waterfall, thankfully empty, Jon helped her setting their things and urged her into the water, grabbing her by the waist as they submerged, hugging her against his chest.
The truth came out of her lips in a series of sobs, and he just held her through it all.
Kissing her temple, mumbling sweet things in her ear.
She didn’t get home until late at night that day.
Robb had a black eye the next morning.
He said nothing, and so did she.
Sansa rewatched all of her favorite romcoms nearly compulsively through the next week, spending more time splayed on Jon’s bed while he worked on his summer homework than in her own house.
At work, she did her best to ignore the ever constant presence of her brother and her ex-girlfriend, shamelessly parading around as if it was nothing. It was almost as if they grew bolder by the day, by the stares and the whispers, by her parents disapproving.
“Don’t look at them,” Jon whispered as he caught her watching Robb lean over to press as a kiss against Margaery’s shoulder. Grabbing her gently by the chin, Jon brought her gaze back to him. “Look at me.”
Hockey practice returned three weeks before classes started, and so her time with Jon was cut short.
He was the star player of their high school team, and therefore Coach Tarth had him staying behind more often than not. It was something that always bothered Robb, how he managed to always lack when it came to Jon, at least on hockey.
Her brother never quite appreciated being outshinned.
Sansa spends that time rotting in her bed, taking long naps, journaling and rewatching Gilmore Girls for the tenth time. More often than not, she would wake up at the end of the afternoon with Jon lying by her side, reading a book or napping himself, having been left in by her mother.
It confused her to no end, this almost-relationship that they had.
But she said nothing, afraid that doing so would mean putting it all at stake.
“I don’t get what you see in this sheep.”
Sansa clenched her Cinnamon Roll plushie against her chest, scowling at Jon. “It’s a dog!”
“Looks like a sheep.” He laughed, leaning over her to poke at the plushie’s nose, standing so close that their noses would touch if they were of a height. Instead, he towers over her, making her heart skip another beat. “Sansa, I–”
“Your brother is home.” Her mother knocked at the door. “Time for Jon to go.”
It happened exactly when she wasn’t expecting it.
Sansa had a big cup of pink lemonade on one hand, a bag full of Cinnamon Roll-themed things that Jon had given her for her birthday hanging on her elbow. They were out to celebrate by themselves, a day earlier since her parents had a small gathering prepared for the actual date.
Jon had taken her to the movies, to Old Nan’s, and later to the itinerant amusement park that had chosen the end of the summer to arrive in town.
Truth be told, it had been the perfect night. The entire time, Sansa felt as if she was living in a dream, or a fairy tale. Or maybe in one of her beloved romcoms. She didn’t think there was a way of things getting any better, but then Jon had gently grabbed her hand as he walked her to the front door, and tugged at it until they were chest-to-chest under the yellow porch light.
“Sansa, I…” He tried to say, looking down at her and biting his lower lip in frustration. “What I mean is that I– lately I’ve been… I don’t know how to say that, but…”
“Yes?” She said, her heart nearly jumping out of her chest.
Jon blinked at her, taking her in. The stars were bright that late-july night, the air heavy with the promise of a summer storm. He looked at her for so long, that Sansa began to believe that he would say nothing at all.
But then, Jon leaned down.
He leaned down, and he kissed her.
Jon tasted like cheap cigarettes, cinnamon bubblegum and pink-lemonade as he kissed her, as he gently held her by the waist and held the back of her head. With her free hand, Sansa grabbed his bicep, getting on her tip-toes to allow him to deepen the kiss.
There were no words needed, in the end.
Not with them.