Chapter 10: Gendry

The snow was falling in thick chunks. He didn't know when winter had come, and hadn't realized that it could come this early in the year. He did not approve.

Gendry Waters hated winter. He hated having to wrap himself up so carefully, and he especially hated the feeling of the inside of his winter coats. They always started out so nice and always ended up so covered in engine grease.

He took one look at the streets and refused to ride his bike.

So—walking to campus it was, then.

Gendry was a rather impatient person when it came to some things. He hated moving slowly when he was used to moving quickly. He was used to speeding along on his trusty bicycle, and a fifteen-minute walk to campus suddenly seemed unbelievably long. He sighed and set out.

Five minutes later, he saw Arya. She was wearing spandex (he did his best not to notice how well it showed off her muscled legs) and a fleece. A fleece headband kept her short hair out of her face, and her cheeks were bright red, her grey eyes bright from blood flow.

She smiled at him and he had to reprimand his stomach for tightening.

"You are going to fall and die," he said, when she paused to talk to him. Or rather, stopped moving forward. She was still running in place.

"No I'm not." She sounded breathless and he almost groaned. She made it so hard for him to ignore how attractive she was. There. He admitted it. She was attractive.

She was very attractive, dammit. With her laughter, and her frankness. She was attractive when she was poking Jon with a cooking spoon, or when she was studying Ornithology on the floor of their living room, with her tongue stuck slight out in concentration. (He didn't think she was aware she was doing it, which made it cuter still.) She was stunning now.

"Yes you are. There's ice everywhere. You're going to fall and break your neck."

"First of all, breaking my neck does not mean that I'm going to die, stupid. Second of all, I've run in worse than this. I'm from Winterfell. This barely constitutes a smattering of snow."

"And the ice on the ground?"

"Keeps it interesting. I'm well practiced in this. I know what I'm doing. You on the other hand should be worried about yourself."

"What does that mean?"

"You're bundled up so much I could hardly recognize you. You're probably going to fall and die just because you can't see the ground in front of you."

"I have enough padding to prevent me from dying."

Arya's eyebrows shot up. Her cheeks were already flushed from the run and the cold, but he wondered if he saw them get a little redder.

"The coat, Arya. And the sweater. And the other sweater," he supplied before he could help himself.

"Right… In any case, I'm fine. I have always been fine and I will continue to be fine. Now if you don't mind moving your stupid self out of my way, I need to get home and clean before I have Syntax."

Gendry stepped aside and she was off. He watched her go, his eyes falling to her backside, which bounced lightly as she went.

Oh, he was in trouble. That was going to haunt him for the rest of his life, of that he was quite sure.

It certainly haunted him through the discussion section for Chivalry and the Hook-Up Culture that he was leading. Every time Ned Dayne or Myranda Royce opened their mouths (they were the long-winded ones), Arya's ass bounced right into his mind, and it was all he could do to force his attention back to the discussion at hand—in this case (appropriately) the manifestation of objectification in popular culture.

After section, he found a quiet bench on the quad, sat in the snow, and, for the first time in over a month, called his mother.

"Gendry?"

"Hey mum."

"What's going on? Is everything all right?"

"Yes and no."

"That's not cryptic." He can hear the smile in her voice.

"Well, there's a girl—"

"And it just got less cryptic," laughed his mother.

"She's a freshman."

"And now I see the not all right. Please tell me you aren't teaching her, Gendry."

"No. No. She's not in Anthro. She's…She's a neighbor."

"I didn't realize they let freshmen live off campus."

"They don't usually. Mostly because they don't know where they would live. She's living with her sister though."

"I see. How do you know her?"

"She's my housemate's younger sister."

His mother made an intensely pleased noise. "Gendry, I swear, you are more scandalous than half of the idiots I serve at the bar. Does your housemate know about all this?"

Gendry wondered whether he should tell his mother about the birdwatching conversation.

He decided against it.

"He might have an inkling. I don't know. It's not something you say. Hey Jon, I fancy your younger sister. You know, the one you are really close to and is much to young for me. That's ok though right? It's not the one who's suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder for the physical and emotional abuse in her last relationship, so that's good."

His mother laughed. "She's got to be what, nineteen?"

"Eighteen," Gendry corrected. Then groaned.

"Young, but she's an adult. She can do as she pleases. Besides, you're as good a person to make a youthful mistake with as anyone."

"Thanks mom," said Gendry dryly.

"Go get 'er, champ! I really should run. This isn't the best time to talk. But I want you to keep me updated. She sounds like a delightful girl."

"She calls me stupid pretty regularly."

"I like her already. Goodbye, love. And call me more frequently. I miss you."

The line went dead and Gendry sighed. His phone buzzed, and he read a message from his seminar professor saying that he couldn't get his car out of his driveway and thus was cancelling class.

Suddenly, gloriously, free, Gendry got up from the bench and made his way home again. He saw Arya walking up ahead of him, her gym bag over her shoulder, on her way to practice he assumed. He paused, watching her.

Seemingly out of no-where, a very fat boy appeared and walked with her. He seemed to be talking with her, but Arya wasn't saying anything. The two of them rounded the corner that would take Arya to the gym and disappeared.

Well, thought Gendry, she's not the only one spying at the moment.