Of course the first time Sansa Stark sees Jon Snow in God knows how long, the first time since the funeral, since they lost the house and she'd come to live with her aunt Lysa and her freak of a son, it would have to be at a house party where she's already tipsy on peach schnapps. And of course it would have to be the one time she's wearing the ridiculous red push up bra Margaery talked her into buying.

She'd needed air, air and a break from guys staring at her jiggling shelf of cleavage (and yeah, but still), and that was why Sansa had found herself slipping out the side door of Margaery's house into the chill night air. She'd gone to shut the door behind her, and that's when she'd caught sight of Jon: a slim figure in jeans and a button-up leaning against the fence opposite the garage, hands stuffed in his pockets. It's a sight from a different life, a sight so familiar it almost hurts, and it freezes Sansa midway through closing the door. "Jon?"

Jon glances up at her and frowns. His eyes dip from her face to her cleavage, then snap guiltily back up. "Sansa?"

Sansa crosses her arms in front of her, but in her muddled state she's not sure if that make her cleavage situation better or worse. And because she's had enough of Margaery's peach schnapps for her head to be tingly and numb, she says the first thing that pops into it: "what are you doing here?"

"I needed air." He shrugs, eyes carefully not straying from her face. "It's too loud in there."

"No, I meant-" Sansa starts, but it's hard to know what she meant with the schnapps still humming through her veins and music shivering through her skull. How many years has it been since she's seen Jon? Two at least since the funeral, maybe another two before that. It's hard to remember. Growing up she'd always been a little embarrassed of him, Robb's weird charity case friend he insisted on bringing everywhere. But that was before. Before Joffrey, before the car, before the house. Sansa shivers and finishes closing the door, the blare from inside instantly muffled. "Aren't you in college?"

"Yeah. My roommate Theon dragged me out." Jon nudges his chin towards the house. "He wanted a wingman, insists hitting on seniors isn't a felony here."

"Oh." Sansa bites her lip. "I thought you were out of state."

"No, I go to Castle Black Community College. It's a few minutes from here."

Community College. Why had she thought that was such a bad pair of words growing up? Like going to one was something to be embarrassed about, the kind of place you only went to if you were going to fix drains or cut lawns and had no future, a secret you only whispered if you really had to. Did you hear? Poor thing went to community college. Sansa had never had to worry about that being her growing up, never had to worry about how to afford whichever ivy league school she wanted. Now she'll be lucky to get through college without drowning in student loans.

"Sansa?" She looks up to see Jon peering at her like he's said it a couple times. "You ok?"

She rests her head back against the wall and gives him a half lidded, nose up smile. "I'm a little tipsy. Don't tell."

The corners of Jon's lips lift and he smiles back, maybe the first time she's ever seen him do it when he isn't around Arya. "Don't worry about it. Arya's the only person I have to tell."

Sansa curls her nose. "She's always texting me random animal sex facts."

"Yeah, she does that." Jon's smile quirks. It's a nice smile, something quiet and unassuming in it, like it's just for her. He'd never smiled much when they were young, but then he's also grown up since they then: lankiness filled out and shoulders broadened, and under his button-up Sansa can make out the kind of long muscle that in her current fuzzy state of mind makes her want to lean forward and see what it feels like under her fingertips.

Jon scratches his cheek and shifts against the fence. "Why are you out here in the cold?"

"My friend Margaery dragged me." It's true, but it's not all of the story, not the part she doesn't want to think about now, not ever, the part she's come here to escape. "And I'm all danced out."

"Really? You never used to get tired of dancing."

And how would you know, a part of Sansa hisses. But that isn't fair. She'd been the one embarrassed of him, the one that wished Robb would stop bringing him everywhere. They'd been inseparable, the two of them. Even with her mind pleasantly fuzzy Sansa can picture them side by side with their backs to the couch playing some shooting or sports game on the TV. Jon would curse and Robb would laugh, that deep laugh he had that-

Robb. Sansa lets her eyes flutter shut, lets the throb of music through the wall shiver through her arms and legs and bones. She wishes she could sink back into the wall, melt into the shiver of music and not have to think, not have to be. That was why she'd come after all, why she always lets Margaery talk her into coming out on a week night despite how much she needs to do well at school if she wants a shot at college next year.

A breeze sifts through the alley, pimpling the skin of Sansa's bare arms. Though Jon's eyes have stayed carefully fixed on her face since she first came out, with her eyes closed Sansa feels suddenly vulnerable, shark bait hung out to dry in front of Jon, all too aware how skimpy the tank top she's wearing is with the push up bra beneath it thrusting her chest up and out. I don't normally wear this, she almost tell Jon, but bites her lip hard enough to bruise to stop herself. The Sansa he knew wouldn't dress like this, but she hasn't been that girl for a long time. Without opening her eyes she leans her head to the side and combs her fingers through the waterfall of her hair. "Do you like it?" She asks Jon.

It's a long moment before Jon answers. When he does his voice is careful. "Your hair?"

"Yeah. The color." How long ago had she dyed it black? Before the funeral or after? Sansa can't remember. She blinks her eyes open, slips a stray lock of hair behind one ear, and smiles at Jon the smile guys like: the one she gives the guys Margaery pushes her way once she's had her pick, the one that tells them that the night will go the way they hope, that it'll go the way they want, that she'll be who they want. "You like it?"

But instead of smiling back Jon just frowns. "You look... different without the red."

And suddenly it's too much: all of it, the cold and schnapps and shiver of music clenching painfully tight in Sansa's chest. She doesn't want to be here at this party with its press of bodies and cloying beer stench, and she definitely doesn't want to be here with Jon-mournful-fucking-Snow: Jon who has no right to be showing up and reminding her of a life she no longer has, Jon the charity case who's looking at her with his quiet eyes as if she's the one that's damaged goods, Jon who'd been there in the car that ripped a gaping hole in her chest that she can never fill no matter how much schnapps she pours in or how many parties she goes to or guys she lets touch her.

From inside comes a shout, and the music cuts off. The side door bangs open and kids start spilling out. One of them, dark haired Mya Stone, stops long enough to grin at Sansa. "Cops! They're checking IDs."

She vanishes with the other kids, leaving Sansa frowning after her. She knows she should bolt, that the last thing she needs is to have to call Lysa from jail, but it all feels very far away. What does it really matter?

Someone grabs her by the arm, and she turns to see Jon beside her. "Come on," he says and tugs at her arm, "this way."

AN: follow me on tumblr (tacitwhisky) for sneak peaks of upcoming works.