"What is this piece called?" Jon grins at her.
Arya ignores him as she continues playing, her fingers moving over the piano keys like a lover's caress.
"Arya!" He calls out again, just to annoy her.
"Jon?" Arya hums, "Shut up."
"No, seriously. It's a beautiful piece. Maybe I can play it on my violin?"
Arya stops in her playing and looks up at him with a bright smile, "We can play it together for Sansa's Sweet Sixteenth. She will love it!"
Jon crosses over the room to stand beside her, and puts his arms around her shoulder in an embrace. Still seated on the bench in front of the piano, Arya leans into him.
Jon settles into his new flat rather quickly. He puts their piano at a corner of his living room, the large beautiful instrument fitting in gracefully with the elegant décor of the flat. Needle, Arya used to call it. He wonders how Arya would find his new flat. She would probably hate it. "Chaos, Jon,"he can hear her saying, "chaos has its own sort of beauty in it."Growing up at the Stark Mansion, her room has always been just that: chaos. Even after she had moved in with him, their room had always held a tiny bit of chaos, despite his efforts to keep it orderly. He can still see her in his mind, sprawled across their bed, painting stars on her wrists. Arya Stark had been chaos and whirlwind and music, and Gods he had loved her.
Loves, he corrects himself, he loves her. After all, he knows that even if Arya is not here, their song is not over. Their song is still playing, and sometimes he sees her in front of the piano smiling at him, and he thinks their song will never end.
Not everything ends, Jon muses to himself, not love.