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“Sansa, come out.”
Jon stands at the end of the hall and watches his best friend knock softly on the bathroom door again. There's no answer, and Robb runs a hand through his hair.
Jon's not quite sure how he's always around for Stark family drama. Well, alright, so he spends almost all his time here, so he figures it's inevitable, but this is absolutely not the first time Jon has stood uncomfortably off to the side as they argue or cry or yell. It's just Jon and his mom at home and they rarely fight (they rarely see each other, which is probably why) and so the Stark household is a different world to him. You think he'd get used to it, but he never really does. Maybe it's because he always forces himself to remember that he's an outsider, no matter how often he eats dinner here or sleeps on Robb's futon.
“I don't want to talk to you!” Sansa's voice eventually filters through the closed door.
She hasn't wanted to talk to anyone in her family – Mrs. Stark had finally come down and found them in the basement and begged Robb to come up and try.
They're home from college, their first week back after finals and it had felt like high school again, sitting in the Stark's basement and playing video games. Sansa having a meltdown only makes that feeling stronger.
That's terrible of him, he thinks. Sansa's a good kid, she's grown up a lot in the past few years, and it's not like she's throwing a tantrum like she used to when she was younger (there isn't a Stark child that Jon hasn't watched throw a tantrum at one point or another, though they all go about it in different ways. He'll take Sansa's locking herself in the bathroom and crying over Rickon's feral screaming or Arya's punching a hole in the wall).
And honestly, he thinks she has every right to be upset right now.
“Look, Joffrey's a prick, don't let him ruin your prom,” Robb calls through the door, throwing a look over his shoulder at Jon in desperation. Robb can never handle seeing any of his siblings upset, but Sansa in particular really gets to him and Jon feels a stab of pity for his best friend.
“It's already ruined!” her muffled voice comes through, tinged with tears, and then the crying starts again.
“Way to go,” Arya mutters from her doorway. “She was at least not crying anymore before you got here.”
Robb makes a sound of distress. Mr. and Mrs. Stark are in their bedroom, an attempt at giving Sansa space while still not going very far. Rickon and Bran hover at their own doors.
“Sans,” Arya steps out of her room, into the hall, “you should just show up anyway looking absolutely killer. That'll show him.”
“I can't,” Sansa's voice is shaky and low. Uncertain. “I can't show my face. I can't go alone.”
Jon and Sansa have never been close, really, but hearing her like that crushes him. She's normally so confident, so bubbly and positive, hearing her sound so broken... he really hates it. He'd really like to punch Joffrey – he has for years, honestly, but never this badly. Who the fuck cheats on their girlfriend with her best friend and then publicly dumps her in the middle of lunch and asks said best friend to prom, two days before prom? That's sociopath behavior, Jon thinks.
“Jon will go with you.”
Arya's words seem to freeze everyone in place and slowly, her entire family turns to look at him like it was his idea.
He's about to say something, some sort of protest, when there's a shuffling noise from the bathroom and then the door flies open and Sansa stands there, pink pajamas and fluffy blue slippers and her eyes and nose bright red from crying.
“You would?” Her eyes seem to find him immediately, she doesn't even look at the rest of her family or acknowledge that it was Arya who suggested it, not him. He's near the top of the stairs, as far back from the bathroom as he could get, only here because Robb had sighed and said come on, let's go see if we can get her to come out - like Jon being there for family business was just a given.
He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out and he wishes desperately that her entire family weren't just staring at him. His eyes flick to Arya and she's giving him a look, one that says say yes, you moron.
“Uh, of course,” he manages, finally looking back at Sansa and his panic immediately lessens as her mouth stretches into a wide smile.
“Robb, you have a suit that would fit, right?” Mrs. Stark asks, and that surprises Jon more than anything. He always sort of thought Mrs. Stark didn't like him, but here she is, not even questioning that he's taking her daughter to prom.
In two hours.
“Yeah,” Robb heads off towards his room with Mrs. Stark following behind. The rest of the Starks start to move then – Bran and Rickon head back to their own rooms, bored now that the drama is over. Arya says something about going down for ice to get rid of Sansa's puffy eyes, and Mr. Stark also starts to go downstairs – on his way, he claps Jon on the shoulder without a word. Like Jon's done something good or heroic and not just panic agreed to someone else's idea.
Sansa comes out, slippers shuffling along the wooden floor of the hall. She's still pale, her eyes and nose are still red, and he'd say she looks almost shy as she stops in front of him.
“You're really ok with this?” she asks, hands twisting in front of her. She's got her nails done – he remembers Mrs. Stark taking her earlier in the week, before everything happened. They're those acrylic ones, painted a sapphire blue, he remembers her saying they matched her dress.
“As long as you're ok with it,” he shrugs. “I'm a terrible dancer.”
That makes her giggle and there's a red flush creeping up her neck, putting color back in her cheeks.
“I'll go get ready,” she whispers, hand coming up to press her fingers to her lips, like she's trying to hold back a smile, and he has the disjointed thought that her nails match her eyes.
Jon doesn't know what else to do, so he goes to Robb's room, where Mrs. Stark is inspecting a suit and nodding like it will do. Then she says something about going to help Sansa, but she pauses just before she leaves the room and turns to Jon and that little spark of intimidation he always feels around Mrs. Stark flares to life inside him.
“Thank you,” Mrs. Sark says and Jon feels even more confused than he did before. What is happening.
“Come on,” Robb cuts in, holding up the suit. “Let's get you all dolled up.”
“Sansa's gonna swoon,” Arya says dryly as she comes into Robb's room, passing her mother.
Jon wants to protest that he is not the sort of guy that makes girls like Sansa swoon, but words don't seem to be working for him, especially when Robb throws Arya a look, like he understands what she means, but Jon doesn't and no one seems intent on telling him what the hell is happening.
He's dressed in Robb's old suit (it mostly fits, only a bit tight in the shoulders, the pants just a tad too snug, hopefully no one will be able to tell) and then he has to go sit in the living room and wait while Sansa and Mrs. Stark are holed up in her room, doing whatever it is girls do to get ready for prom.
He and Ygritte had skipped prom – she said it was stupid and so they didn't go and Jon was fine with it at the time, instead going to the park and drinking with her and her friends for some sort of anti-prom that was just them complaining about how stupid real prom was. It hadn't actually been that fun, and listening to all his friends talk about the real prom for the next few weeks had left him feeling a bit bitter about the whole thing. He guesses he gets a real prom now, even though he's not in high school anymore.
Gods, he has to go back to high school.
Does he want to go back to that school? Not particularly. He didn't have a bad time, but he knows he isn't one of those people that will look back on their high school career and know they peaked there. He thinks that's a good thing, but even knowing that, he's glad to be out, and going back makes him feel a particular way that he can't quite name. College has been good for him, he's perfectly happy to leave high school in the past. In any other circumstance, he would never go back. But for Sansa? It turns out, he'd do a lot of things for her, he's only just starting to realize.
Movement on the stairs makes him look over his shoulder and he stands up from the couch when he sees her. If you ask him later, he will deny it, but he swears time slows as she walks down the stairs, carefully holding up the skirts of her blue dress, head bowed and watching her feet so she doesn't trip in her heels. He can tell Mrs. Stark has done up her hair, and he'd be hard pressed to tell that she'd been sobbing on the bathroom floor an hour ago.
“You can take the Rover,” Mr. Stark says, handing Jon the keys to his car and Jon stares at them in his hand. What is happening? Why is no one questioning this? He feels like he's in some sort of alternate reality, some world where him and Sansa going to prom together isn't the weirdest, most unbelievable thing he's ever heard.
When she stops in front of him, she looks up at him expectantly and Jon opens his mouth to say something charming or suave, but all that comes out is a stuttering, “you look nice.” He hears Arya snort out a laugh at his idiocy, but Sansa just smiles at him, one hand coming up to pat at her hair. That's when he notices, somehow for the first time ever, that when she blushes, it creeps down her neck, to her chest and-
He rips his eyes away from the neckline of her dress, back to her face, incredibly aware that her parents and siblings are standing in the room with them.
“Now,” Mrs. Stark is saying, like she didn't notice him ogling her daughter, “curfew is technically eleven, but I think we can relax that for tonight. We know you'll get her back safe.”
“I will,” he stutters again, utterly baffled by this faith Mrs. Stark has in him.
Outside, he helps her into the Rover, making sure she can get into the raised vehicle in her heels and dress, while her family watches from the front door. He feels incredibly aware of them, and somehow incredibly aware of Sansa's soft hand in his as she climbs into the car. When he's in the driver's seat, she turns and says, “you look very handsome.”
He has no idea what to say to that. He doesn't know how to act in this alternate universe where Sansa Stark thinks he's handsome. She's probably just saying that to be nice; Sansa has always been too nice for her own good.
“Alright,” he says instead, starting the Rover, “let's get you to prom.”
It's hours later that he's walking Sansa back to the Rover, fully prepared to face the wrath of Ned Stark (or, more likely, Catelyn Stark). It's nearing one in the morning and Sansa is currently clinging to him and giggling, her heels dangling from one hand as they walk to where the Rover is parked.
He hadn't been paying enough attention to what she was drinking – or, he thinks, she's a complete lightweight and the little bit of punch that she did drink at the after party has left her tipsy and stumbling.
She had a good time, though, he's pretty sure. Despite her earlier despair, all of her classmates seemed to side with her and Jon had watched Joffrey and Margaery spend most of the dance alone. Sansa had seemed surprised by this, but Jon wasn't. Everyone loves Sansa. She's easy to love.
“You need to be quiet when we get back,” he warns as he starts the Rover. She turns in her seat to face him.
“Thank you,” she says, eyes heavy lidded but a small smile tilting her mouth up.
“Wasn't as horrible as you thought it'd be?” he jokes, but it makes that smile disappear and she shakes her head.
“It was perfect.” And then time does that slowing down thing again as she lifts up one hand and traces a finger along the scar through his eyebrow, the one he got trying to do a dumb trick on his bike when he was fourteen. “It's everything I've always wanted.” A pause, and her eyelids flutter for a moment as she yawns. “I used to dream you would take me to prom, but you never noticed me like that.”
He doesn't know what to say to that. He doesn't know how to act in this world where Sansa Stark thinks he's handsome and says he's everything she always wanted.
He doesn't know how to act in a world where he does notice her like that.
The drive back is silent, he thinks she falls asleep in the passenger seat and only wakes up when the engine shuts off. The porch light is on, which he expected, but there's also a light on in the living room window and dread fills him as he walks her up to the door. He isn't surprised when they find her parents in the living room, both reading on the couch together. Guilt sits like a stone in his stomach – Mrs. Stark had waived curfew, but he's sure she didn't mean this late, and definitely not tipsy.
“Sansa,” Mrs. Stark scolds, it only seems to take one look at her daughter for her to know.
“I'm sorry,” Jon starts, but Sansa cuts him off.
“Don't blame Jon, I kept sneaking punch,” she says solemnly, then bursts into giggles. When Jon looks over at Mr. Stark, he's shocked to see that her dad isn't angry – in fact, Mr. Stark's lips are pressed into a tight line like he's trying not to laugh. Jon has seen that look enough times over the years, whenever one of his kids has done something so stupid it's funny, but Mr. Stark needs to be a Parent about it.
Mrs. Stark stands, letting out a sigh, and holds her hand out. Sansa goes willingly, and falls into her mother's arms with her own sigh, though hers sounds much dreamier.
“Did you have a good time?” Mrs. Stark asks.
“The best.”
Mr. Stark stands and shakes Jon's hand, and Jon thinks he might just have to get used to this world where everything is the same, but slightly to the left. A world where Sansa wanted to go to prom with him – where her parents seem to approve of it all. As if he weren't just Robb's friend who hangs around too much and eats all their food.
“My stuff's still in the basement,” Jon says, as if to explain why he's here in their living room. “My keys...”
“Of course,” Mr. Stark nods. “Though I'm sure you can crash in Robb's room if that's easier.”
Jon nods dumbly, because it would be easier. He's tired and still wearing this suit and he'd really prefer just changing here and then sleeping on the futon in Robb's room like he's done a million times before.
Mrs. Stark takes Sansa upstairs and Mr. Stark follows and Jon runs down to grab his stuff before heading up, too. He changes in the bathroom and then tiptoes as quietly as he can back to Robb's room, but he hears Sansa's voice through her bedroom door and it makes him pause.
“...with me even though he doesn't like dancing, and he wasn't bad even though he kept saying he was...” she's babbling, and it sends his heart racing.
“Get some sleep, sweetheart,” Mrs. Stark interupts softly, and though her voice is muffled a bit by the door, Jon can hear amusement in it. But then he hears footsteps and Jon runs to Robb's room before Mrs. Stark comes out.
Robb doesn't wake up when Jon comes in, which is probably for the best. He wonders if tomorrow morning he'll be bombarded with questions. He wonders what his answers will be. He wonders if Sansa will ignore him like he always thought she did, because he's not sure he can ignore her anymore. Not in this new world.
He wonders if when he wakes up, things will be back to normal. He's honestly not sure if wants them to be.