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just a touch of your love

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"Look, Jon, a flower. It's so pretty", Jon hears Sansa gush behind him and he has to look beside him to realize that she has stopped to look at flowers, again. He's not even sure how she can make out anything that goes beyond vague plant things since it's well past midnight. Her red hair shines in the light of the street lantern and Jon sighs. It's not that he's annoyed with her (he could never) but he's tired and he didn't have nearly as much to drink as his roommate.

He knows she will crash sooner rather than later and he really doesn't want to have to carry Sansa back to their apartment.

"Yes, that's a very nice flower, Sansa", he tells her but she pouts when she stands next to him again.

"You shouldn't make fun of me, Jon."

He swallows a laugh. "I would never."

She looks like she doesn't believe him but then she takes his hand unexpectedly and begins to pull him with her. While in general he likes drunk Sansa she also has a tendency to be much more tactile than when she's sober. And that's very bad for Jon's general mental health. But he's afraid she could stop if he told her that it's bothering him and he does want that even less. So he suffers.

After ten minutes they finally manage to reach their destination. Jon concentrates on getting the key into the lock while Sansa next to him hums softly under her breath. She manages to look soft even in the harsh hallway light and she looks oddly young in this moment. Her hair is coming free in wisps from her neat braid and Jon feels his heart swell with affection. Platonic affection, he tells himself as the door swings open and he nudges Sansa inside.

She struggles with her shoes for a few seconds but manages to take them off without falling over herself. She collapses on the couch with her long legs hanging over the edge. Jon is suddenly glad that she's wearing jeans and averts his eyes.

These stupid feelings for his gorgeous roommate are becoming a problem.

Sansa disappears from her spot while Jon is in the kitchen to pour her a glass of water. He's worried for a second when he comes back into the living room before he sees her coming out of his bedroom struggling to take off her bra from under a shirt that he realizes belatedly is actually one of his. She succeeds with a triumphant "ha!" and tosses her bra across the room. Jon is barely able to duck under it and it lands on the bookshelf behind him. He blushes a little when he realizes that Sansa is now standing before him only clad in his shirt and her sleep shorts that are far too short to be considered appropriate but he reminds himself that she's drunk and that he shouldn't be thinking about his roommate this way anyway.

"Finally free", Sansa crows and plops down onto the couch again. Jon has to smile a little and hands her the glass of water.

"Come on, you should get hydrated." She pouts and Jon rolls his eyes. "You will thank me in the morning."

Obediently she takes the water from him and chugs it down. "There", she says and then tugs him by the hand onto the couch so that she can lay her feet in his lap. Jon's hands go automatically to rest at her ankles and Sansa sighs. She roots around for the remote and gets Netflix going after she's found it. Jon reminds himself that he's tired but the next day is Saturday so he doesn't really have an excuse. So he stays.

She moves sometime around the second episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine and lays her head on his shoulder. And before he knows it she's slumped completely against him and snoring softly. Jon is seriously contemplating all his life choices at once as he stares down at her head.

Instead of screaming in frustration like he wishes he could, he turns off the TV and slides carefully out from under her, trying not to wake her. Sansa only mumbles incoherently and clutches one of the throw pillows she bought after she moved in.

"It looks like nobody even lives here", she had told him, nose scrunched up adorably and Jon had relented almost immediately. Since then she has taken up decorating the apartment and it really does feel more lived in.

Sansa makes soft sleep noises and Jon scrubs a hand across his face. He could just let her sleep on the couch but he knows how much their couch fucks up your back. But he doesn't want to wake her up either. He sighs and settles for pulling the blanket they keep over the back of the couch over her. But apparently Sansa isn't lying when she tells him she's a light sleeper because she stirs just as he's about to leave.


He turns around. She's sitting up, the blanket around her shoulders, her braid now in complete disarray and she's quite possibly the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. She cocks her head and Jon tries to put the emotion that he's sure she can see on his face away. But then she stands and makes her way to him. She stops just a few inches in front of him and touches his cheek.

She's staring at his lips and Jon's frozen. Her thumb is tracing soft circles on his cheekbone and Jon can't stop himself from leaning into her touch.

"Jon", she says again and he finally comes to his senses. She's drunk and probably won't even remember this in the morning. He takes her hand and pulls it from his face. She looks hurt and Jon wants to apologize, wants to touch her, to hold her but he reminds himself firmly that she won't remember it anyway.

"You're drunk. I don't want to take advantage of you", he says and flees to his bedroom. He catches the confused look on her face but doesn't stop. She would have regretted it.

He tells himself that the whole two hours he's staring at his dark ceiling, not able to sleep, and sometime around 4 am he believes it.




The next morning when Jon finally emerges from his bedroom with dark circles under his eyes and his fair share of regrets, Sansa is standing at the stove, making pancakes and humming softly to herself. She sways her hips a little as she turns to slide another pancake on the stack on the kitchen table and Jon has to look away. She's so beautiful it hurts, even more so in the soft glow of the morning, her hair a mess and a sleepy expression on her face, still.

"Good morning", she says cheerful when she sees him standing in the doorway. Jon groans in response and scrubs a hand over his face. Sansa only laughs softly.

"You're such a grump."

But she seems amused by his grouchy attire and all Jon can think about is the almost-kiss. She clearly doesn't remember any of it and Jon feels terrible that he can't get it out of his thoughts. He tells himself that she wouldn't want to kiss him when she's sober.

He notices too late that Sansa slides into the other chair and is now watching him with worried eyes. "Are you alright?"

"Sure", he says, a bit gruffly. "I just haven't slept well, is all."

She doesn't seem convinced but she also doesn't pry. Jon thinks it's a good thing Sansa has grown up with Arya as a sister because he and Arya are very similar in a lot of ways and Sansa knows when not to ask too much questions. But, he kinda wishes she would.

But, he tells himself firmly, it's better this way. Sansa doesn't remember a thing, obviously, and Jon won't be the one to bring it up. She has made it clear time after time that she only sees him as a platonic friend and Jon won't do anything that could jeopardize the relationship he has with her.

Still, it's hard to act as if nothing has happened. In a way nothing has happened, he supposes. But it had definitely been on the verge of something.




After, Jon just can't stop thinking about it. What if he had let her go through with it? He is so hung up about it that it transfers to his interactions with Sansa. He shies away from her touch because somehow it makes everything even worse. It reminds him of everything that he can never have. He tells himself that he's being stupid, that Sansa doesn't deserve this over something she can't even remember doing.

Sansa seems increasingly irritated with him but Jon can't help it. Whenever he sees her now everything he can think about is her face inches from his, her expression and he can't stop staring at her mouth. It's becoming a problem and Sansa doesn't remember a thing.

Just like you told her she wouldn't, a voice whispers and Jon supposes it's at least worth something that he stopped her when he did.

Because how much worse would it be if she had gone through with it and then couldn't remember it?

"At least talk to her", Sam snaps at him the next time they are out for drinks. Jon is taken aback because Sam almost never gets angry with him. But the look on his best friend's face now tells Jon that he is fed up with this situation. "You are moping around and Sansa doesn't know what's wrong. She thinks she did something."

Jon can't help but glance at the corner where all of their friends are sitting. Sansa is laughing at something Arya has said but then she catches his eye and gives him a slight frown. He forces himself to smile a little and looks away.

"I can't. She doesn't remember anything and I don't want to make her uncomfortable."

Sam rolls his eyes. "I bet you are making her more uncomfortable by refusing to look at her and the way you flinch away when she touches you."

Jon is saved from answering by the bartender who slides their drinks their way. Sam gives him a last look that Jon really can't read before they're back at their table. Sansa is still frowning.

"Is everything alright?", she asks him when he sits next to her again, so low that nobody else is able to hear it. Jon swallows hard.

"Yes", he lies and gives her what he hopes is a reassuring smile. He can tell she doesn't believe him but she only shrugs and starts a conversation with Gilly.

Jon could whack himself over the head and Sam certainly seems ready to do it for him if the look he levels at Jon over the table is any indication.

He doesn't know how to deal with his feelings. He never had to make the first step in any of his relationships. Ygritte and Val both were the ones to ask him out and not the other way around and he's kinda used to it now. He doesn't know how to get over the fear of rejection and objectively he knows he shouldn't be this scared. Sansa would let him down gently.

He looks at her out of the corner of his eye and takes in the way her eyes crinkle when she laughs and how her nose scrunches up adorably.

You are in deep, Jon Snow, he thinks, somewhat resigned.




He can't remember how it happens but the next thing he knows he's lying down on their couch, head in Sansa's lap and he's playing with her hair and telling her how pretty she is.

Sansa snorts a laugh. "You're drunk, Jon."

"But that doesn't change the fact that you look like a princess", he insists, petulant. Her smile softens at that.

"Thanks, I guess?"

She looks like she contemplates something before she runs her fingers through his hair and says "You don't look so bad yourself."

Somehow, this has him beaming up at her.

He drifts away a little bit after that because Sansa is still running her fingers through his hair and it's very soothing and comforting. His eyes flutter closed.

He's half asleep when he hears her mumble "I'm sorry I tried to kiss you. I didn't want to make you uncomfortable." He thinks he's imagining things and he's so tired. He wants to open his eyes and tell her that he didn't mind and that she should try again.

"I'm not", he manages and her hand stills in his hair.

"You are drunk", she says again and Jon feels like he's witnessing a déjà-vu of sorts. But his eyes flutter closed again against his will and the next moment he's fast asleep.




"Do you remember anything from last night?", Sansa asks, not looking at him, the next morning. Jon stares into his cup of coffee and wracks his brain. The last thing he does know is drowning his sorrows in alcohol.

"Did I puke on you?", he asks, wary. Her shoulders relax a little bit and Jon imagines she's smiling.

"No, you were a perfect gentleman." She sounds strange. Jon frowns at his coffee.

"Sansa? Is something wrong? What did I do?" She turns around at that, arms crossed over her chest. She looks vulnerable, like she's afraid she could crack at any moment. Before he knows what he's doing he's out of his seat and standing in front of her, arms outstretched but not sure what to do exactly.

"Did you mean it?" She sounds so small and Jon's frown deepens. He lets his hands fall.

"Did I mean what?"

She looks at her feet. "I said I'm sorry for nearly kissing you and you answered you weren't. Did you mean it?"

Jon can't manage an answer. Sansa continues. "I know you remember what happened. I know you remember that I tried to kiss you and you fled. And then you were really strange. And you didn't bring it up again, so I assumed you didn't feel the same way. I guess –"

"I do", Jon interrupts her. He lifts her chin gently to be able to look her into the eyes. "I feel the same way. I thought", he swallows, hard "I thought you were only drunk and that you wouldn't want to kiss me if you were sober." He laughs a little. "I thought you didn't remember anyway and so I continued to pine."

"Jon", Sansa says, a smile playing around her lips. "I wasn't that drunk."

She closes the gap between them and kisses him. Jon's hand hang a second just there before he uses one hand to pull her closer by the waist and buries the other in her hair. Sansa sighs into his mouth when he uses his tongue to coax her lips open. She tastes like cinnamon and it's basically the best feeling in the world.

Her hands rest at the nape of his neck and she tugs a little on his hair. Her whole body is pressed against him and Jon marvels at her softness. He feels like all his dreams have come true.

Sansa pulls away a little. "You were really stupid." But it's fond and her eyes are twinkling when she says it.

Jon sighs and lets his forehead touch hers. "I know." She laughs. "Sam has told me. Countless times."

Sansa pulls him in again and kisses him. And Jon thinks if being stupid ends this way he will gladly bear being called stupid again.