Summary: Modern AU. Margaery's eighteenth birthday present, the ugliest yellow van anyone has ever seen, throws Sansa and Willas together in an unexpected way.
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"That's the ugliest heap of metal I've ever seen in my life," Mace says, sticking his hands in the pockets of his trousers so that his ample belly sticks out even more than usual. "What would you want that for?"
Margaery rolls her eyes at him. "To drive."
They both look at the van. It is bright yellow. Banana yellow. There's a very noticeable dent in the passenger door.
"I don't understand you young people," Mace grumbles. But of course, he strikes a deal with the owner of the van despite this, and the following day, it is Margaery's.
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"Marge wants us all to come."
Willas groans, pointedly not looking up from the book he's reading. The idea of spending two months on the road with his younger siblings and a bunch of their friends sounds, right now, about as appealing as the certain death that the main character of the novel he's reading is facing. It's hard enough to stomach seeing Garlan and Leonette constantly glued to one another as it is…
"This once," says Willas wearily, "I don't care what Marge wants." He lets out an indignant noise as his book is yanked out of his hand.
"I'm not giving this back until you agree to come along," says his youngest brother smugly.
"For God's sake, Loras. Stop being such a child."
"Call me whatever you want. I'm not shutting up about this until you change your mind."
Willas pushes out a long, put-upon sigh. "Why do you even care whether I go on your stupid road trip?"
"Marge bet me that I couldn't convince you -" Loras starts, and Willas cuts him off with a loud, derisive snort.
"Oh. Of course. Yeah. Well, you can tell her she won. I'm not coming."
The Tyrells' living room door swings open, and Garlan peers inside.
"Don't be an idiot, Willas," he says, not unkindly, "Margaery wants you to come. It's her birthday. It can't be that bad."
There is the briefest of pauses. Then:
"Fine," replies Willas, relenting. To Loras, he says, "You lost your ridiculous bet."
Loras groans theatrically.
-OoOoOoOoOoOoO-
"I don't know why I liked him," Sansa says miserably, tugging at the hem of her faded lilac t-shirt, "Everyone warned me about what he was like. I'm so stupid."
Margaery shakes her head vehemently. "No, you're not," she tells her friend, "Come on, how many other girls have been fooled by Joff Baratheon? It's surprising how many people can overlook the fact that he's a complete twat, just because he happens to be a rich twat."
Sansa laughs despite herself, but her laugh quickly peters out and she twists a strand of hair awkwardly around one finger. "Maybe I shouldn't come on the trip," she murmurs, "I don't want to dampen the mood, or something."
The other girl sighs in mock exasperation. "You won't," she assures her, "This is exactly what you need."
-OoOoOoOoOoOoO-
Sansa stays at the Tyrells' impressive Kent home the night before the trip. Robb drops her off with her many bags, and stands in the hallway talking to Garlan about something or other whilst Sansa goes upstairs to find Margaery.
On the landing, she almost walks headlong into Willas, who is wearing his reading glasses and a vaguely startled expression.
"Oh," he says awkwardly, "Hi, Sansa. Are you - are you taking all that stuff with you?"
Sansa's cheeks flush pink. "Er. Yeah… I think so."
"Good thing it's a big van, then," Willas jokes in his mild way. "Are you looking forward to it? The trip, I mean. Marge hasn't shut up about it for days. I wasn't going to come, but I needed a break from writing my book, or so everyone keeps telling me, so…"
"So…" Sansa is suddenly unable to process an intelligent response. This has to be the most Willas has ever said to her in one go. "So… um… are you - bringing anyone? Tomorrow? On the trip?" I sound like a complete idiot.
Willas laughs wryly and shakes his head. "Who would I bring?"
"There are probably tons of girls who'd be dying to spend the summer with you," the words fly out of Sansa's mouth before she can contain them, and immediately she wishes she could unsay them. Her cheeks are hot, and she doesn't know where to look. Even staring at the floor doesn't seem a viable option; he'll think she's weird.
Willas squints at her. "I think you've got me confused with someone else," he says finally, trying to make a joke of it, "Just to remind you, I'm not Garlan or Loras. I'm the other one, who wears weird glasses and makes bad jokes and always has his nose stuck in a book." All this he says with a cheerfully self-deprecating air that makes him seem endearing rather than whiny, as far as Sansa is concerned. She's considering this new view of him; trying to fit it into what little knowledge she has of Marge's eldest brother, who's always holed up in his room, writing. It takes a long moment for her to realise that she's staring at him, and she tears her eyes away in furious embarrassment.
"I'll - um- see you in a bit, then," she says to him in a rush. "I'm going to find Marge."
And with that, desperately, she ducks around him and flees down the long landing towards the door to Margaery's room, from behind which loud music, brashly cheerful, plays.
