I stare at my phone as if that will magically make more words appear.
It doesn't.
I read the text again, even though I already know all the words off by heart. It isn't a very long message, nor is it especially complicated. Daenerys wants to know if it would be alright for her to come over for a little bit.
To talk.
It's a perfectly straightforward message. Perfectly clear and comprehensible.
I just can't for the life of me think why she sent it. Could she have meant it for someone else? Doreah, perhaps? Hard to get our numbers mixed up, though.
No, I think she must have meant it for me. But why?
Somewhat belatedly, it occurs to me that I should probably reply. I wouldn't want her to think I'm ignoring her.
Of course it's fine for her to visit. I'm not working today, and I've already finished this week's coursework. (And she knows both of those things, because I mentioned them to her earlier in the week.) I don't have any particular plans for today other than putting the finishing touches to my costume before tonight's LARP.
I tell Daenerys she can come over anytime today.
A few moments later, my phone beeps again.
She wants to come over right now?
Well, I did say anytime. And it isn't like it's a problem. I guess I just wasn't expecting…
Well, I guess I get to find out what this is about all the sooner. Which is good, because the curiosity is killing me.
I text her back, and then set about trying to make my room look vaguely presentable.
(I'm not assuming she'll want to come up here, but my housemates are about and she might want privacy for whatever she wants to talk about. If it's about Doreah, I mean.)
I wonder what she wants?
At first, I ignore the sound of the motorbike pulling up outside. But a few moments later I hear footsteps echoing in the narrow passageway between this house and the one next door and it belatedly occurs to me that yes, Daenerys probably would use her bike to get here.
Sure enough, there comes a knock at the kitchen door. (We can't use the front door, because the front room belongs to one of my housemates. You'd be surprised at how many people don't seem to see the sign telling visitors to come around the back.)
"I'll get it," I tell my housemates, leaping to my feet. "It's probably my friend."
Daenerys is wearing leathers again, her helmet hanging loosely from one hand. I don't know why the sight discombobulates me so, but it does.
Belatedly, I remember my manners and invite her into the house, leading her through into the living room where my housemates look up with interest.
"Thank you." She smiles at me, but it doesn't quite seem to reach her eyes. She looks… tired.
"Um, these are two of my housemates, Farah and Indira. This is my friend Daenerys." The three of them greet each other, Farah eyeing Daenerys with open curiosity. Indira is a little more circumspect, but I can tell she's also curious. "Do you want a coffee or something?" I ask.
"You're not working today, remember?" Daenerys' tone is gently teasing, and I flush to the roots of my hair. I start to stutter something incoherent in reply, but luckily she saves me before I can make a total fool of myself. "Actually, a coffee would be great, if you don't mind."
I manage to recover my composure.
"I don't have a machine, I'm afraid, but I do have a cafetiere and some fresh beans. Plus, a small set of syrups. Um, wait a minute." I duck into the kitchen to check the packet. "Just hazelnut, gingerbread, peppermint and caramel. Oh, and I have chocolate powder if you'd like a mocha."
She thinks for a moment.
"Could I please have an extra strong espresso with hazelnut syrup and just a dash of milk?"
"Of course. Oh, um, please have a seat."
I gesture vaguely around the living room. In lieu of armchairs, we have two small, mis-matched sofas, one of which is occupied by my housemates. There are hard-backed chairs at the battered dining table, but they're about as comfortable as they look.
Daenerys settles gracefully onto the unoccupied sofa, setting her helmet to one side, together with the small backpack I hadn't even noticed she had slung over one shoulder.
"Thank you," she says.
I turn to my housemates. "Um, do either of you want a coffee or anything?"
"Just a plain espresso, please," says Farah, the bulk of her attention still on Daenerys.
"Would a hazelnut mocha be too much trouble?" Indira asks, looking hopeful.
"Not at all." I smile at her, and then turn to address all three of them. "I won't be long."
I head into the kitchen. As I start to bustle around, I hear the conversation start up again behind me.
Sounds like it's the usual 'what are you studying, what year are you in?' ritual common to the greater spotted student.
"Third year medic here," Farah is saying cheerfully.
I'm not trying to eavesdrop or anything, but the connecting door is open and the sound carries really well. Honestly, I'd have to try *not* to overhear.
"English lit, second year." Indira sounds half-asleep, as usual. She isn't, though. It took me a little while to realise it, but she's not tired all the time, she's just extremely laid back. I don't think I've ever seen her even the slightest bit stressed. But she never seems to miss anything going on around her - as far as I can tell - and once in a while she'll drawl something surprisingly incisive about whatever is going on.
"Indira has the 'honour' of being the sole representative of the humanities in this house," Farah observes drolly. "Soo-Jin — our other housemate — is a physicist, and you probably already know Sansa's studying cognitive neuroscience."
Well… okay. Maybe I am just a *bit* curious about what my housemates are going to talk about with Daenerys.
Hey, I'm only human.
"I don't know how I cope." Indira sighs dramatically before adding: "Still, I have high hopes of being able civilise this lot eventually. Even if I don't seem to have managed it with Farah yet."
"Hey!" I laugh quietly to myself at Farah's mock-indignation. The word is followed by a short period of silence — no doubt my housemates are having a staring match while Daenerys, apparently, does an admirable job of holding in laughter.
Eventually Indira breaks the silence, "So, what about you?"
"Second year law, for my sins."
"Ah, a potential ally against the heathen hordes," Indira says at the same time Farah raises her voice and calls into the kitchen: "Sansa, are you letting just *anyone* into the house these days?"
I resist the urge to shrink into myself - after a few months living with them, they've trained me out of that impulse, at least a little - and reply, in a somewhat softer tone, "Do you want that espresso or not?"
She doesn't say anything in response, but I can just imagine her doing her usual mime of zipping her mouth shut.
If Daenerys says anything in response to Indira, I don't manage to catch it, and silence falls in the other room, for at least a few moments, until Farah clears her throat.
"So," she says. "Daenerys."
"Yes?"
"You have a motorbike?"
"No, I just like dressing the part," Daenerys replies gravely. I can imagine her quirking an eyebrow. "Yes, I do," she adds, in a much lighter tone. "I have for a few years, now."
"Isn't it dangerous?" Indira wants to know.
"Only if you're don't know what you're doing."
"You know, the medics have a nickname for motorcyclists," Farah says, and there's a mischievous lilt to her voice that I recognise.
"Oh?"
"We call them organ donors." Farah pronounces the words with relish, making me wince. I try to work faster.
Daenerys doesn't reply straight away, and I really wish I could see into the living room right now, because it seems like a particularly fraught kind of silence to me.
(I've had far too much practice at identifying those.)
When she does respond, her tone is glacial.
"That isn't funny."
I can almost feel the temperature drop several degrees.
"Um, sorry," Farah says slowly. "I didn't mean anything by it."
I hurriedly finish off the drinks and put them on a tray, barely even taking the time to make sure the load is properly balanced before I pick it up and head through.
(Part of me is tempted to hide in the kitchen until the unpleasantness is over, but I can't. I have to try and head this off before it gets bad. I *have* to.)
(Even though I'm quivering like jelly inside.)
(I wish I wasn't such a…)
("-pathetic little scaredy-cat!")
(…coward.)
"You should be more careful what you say," Daenerys is saying as I enter the living room. "I've… I used to know someone who was killed in a bike accident. I don't think his family would appreciate that kind of… humour."
The way her voice wavers a little — just a little — makes me think that this wasn't just someone she knew, but someone she was close to. My heart breaks for her as I wonder who she lost.
"I *said* I was sorry."
Uh oh. There's an edge to Farah's voice that means her contrition is on the brink of becoming irritation. And Daenerys' back is ramrod straight, her eyes glinting in a way that reminds me of the fact that *Asha* thinks she has a temper.
(Even though unease claws at my gut, and I have to concentrate to keep my hands steady enough not to rattle the drinks on the tray, I can't help feeling something like awe at Daenerys' sheer *presence*.)
(I know I'll never in a million years be able to capture anything like it in prose, but I really want to try.)
"Drinks are ready!" I say brightly, doing my best impression of being utterly oblivious to whatever might or might not be about to kick off between my housemate and my friend. I offer the tray first to Farah, 'accidentally' breaking hers and Daenerys' eye line as I do so.
She takes the cup with a tight, muttered: "Thank you."
"Thanks, Sansa." Indira beams at me as she snags her own drink. To anyone who doesn't know her, she would seem unaware of the awkwardness in the room, but the careful glance she darts towards Farah tells me otherwise. "Oh, this smells *heavenly*. There are definite benefits to having a housemate who works in a coffee shop! Don't you think so, Farah?"
"I guess so," Farah says grudgingly, a beat later.
"I'm glad you approve," I say lightly, even managing something like a smile of my own. (Although I'm sure it doesn't come anywhere near my eyes.)
I turn and cross the room towards Daenerys, but don't hold out the tray.
"Um, shall we take these upstairs?"
My heart flutters a little in my chest. Will she think I'm being presumptuous? But she said she wanted to talk, and she might not want to do that in front of strangers. Well, I guess it might be about the Radford Lights project, but then wouldn't she have said that in her text?
Anyway, I think separating her and Farah right now could only be a good thing.
I manage to avoid biting my lip while I wait for her reply.
"Of course," she says, her tone perfectly neutral again. (Although anger still sparks in the depths of her eyes, making me swallow nervously despite my best intentions to appear calm.) "Nice to meet you," she says in the general direction of Farah and Indira.
Well, mainly Indira.
"Likewise!" she says with a smile. Farah just sips her coffee and says nothing.
That's probably for the best.
"Your room's in the attic?" Daenerys asks as I continue on up the second flight of stairs.
I *think* I left the door to my room open. I hope I did, anyway. The stairs are too narrow for Daenerys to squeeze past me to open it, especially when I'm carrying these drinks.
"Yep, right at the top of the house." Oh, thank goodness. The door is open. I step carefully over the threshold and cross the room to set the tray down on the little table that serves as my desk. "Come on in."
"It's bigger than I would have expected. It must stretch the whole length of the house."
"The benefit of being all the way up here in the stratosphere. It gets a little cold sometimes, though." I make a mental note to buy another hot water bottle. One just isn't enough on the chillier nights.
She turns around slowly, taking in the whole room, her gaze lingering on the posters and prints I put up to cover the bland beige walls. She laughs a little as she looks up.
"You have stars on your ceiling."
"Um, yeah." My face flushes a little with embarrassment. Does she think I'm childish? (It's probably childish.)
"Wait a minute, that's Orion, isn't it? And Cassiopeia. And…" She laughs again, but despite the instinctive hunch of my shoulders, and the embarrassed heat in my cheeks, there's no mockery in it. Maybe there's even something that could perhaps be… admiration? "That's great, Sansa. I didn't know you were a stargazer."
"I'm not, really," I demur shyly. "I mean, I enjoy it, but I'm a bit of a wimp when it comes to the cold, so it's hard to motivate myself to get out there a lot of the time. It's more my brother Rob's thing, really. He used to drag me out skywatching when I was younger. He helped me put these up." I shift a little self-consciously, unable to interpret her expression. My gaze falls on the steaming mugs. "Oh! We'd better drink our coffee before it gets cold." I hand Daenerys' mug to her, and then take my own, folding myself awkwardly into my slightly-too-short desk chair. "Please, take a seat."
I wave my hand vaguely in the direction of the lone armchair, a match to one of the sofas downstairs.
"Thank you," she says, sinking gracefully into its depths with an elegance I couldn't match if my life depended on it.
We both sip our drinks, and the silence settles companionably over us. I think about asking Daenerys how she is; maybe even broaching the subject of why she wanted to come over, but I'm not sure I'm quite feeling brave enough for that just yet. My nerves are still jangling from the… unpleasantness downstairs. I concentrate on just sipping my coffee, on taking slow and even breaths, and I feel the tension start to leave me.
It's fine. Everything's fine. So, Farah was a little insensitive. Film at eleven. It's not like she and Daenerys are likely to be hanging out or anything.
(Film at eleven. Where does that saying even come from anyway? I think it's an American thing. I seem to remember coming across it in some old sci fi film once. 'Flight of the…' Something. Astrogator? No, 'Flight of the Navigator'. That was it. I remember! Rob made me watch it when I was little.)
"Is that your costume for tonight?" Daenerys asks, startling me out of my wool-gathering.
"Yes." I glance over at the material spread out over my bed, finding a small, no doubt pleased smile curve my lips. Well, why not? I *am* pleased with it. I worked hard on that outfit. "It's almost finished," I say, wondering if Daenerys can hear the pride in my voice; wondering if she thinks it's justified or if she thinks I have way too high an opinion of my work. ("You can't do anything right, can you? God, how did I end up with such a useless lump for a girlfriend?") All of a sudden, doubt clogs my throat like cobwebs. Or like poison ivy, thick and toxic, strangling my voice until it's nothing more than a choked stutter. "I'm, um, I just want to put a few ah, finishing touches to it before tonight. I think… I think it'll be ready in time. I hope, so anyway."
("Just shut the fuck up, Sansa.")
Shut up, Sansa! Stop rambling. She's going to think I'm an idiot.
"It's really impressive," Daenerys says, and I'm so busy spiralling that it takes me a moment to register the words, spoken in tones of clear admiration. "The detail in the embroidery is amazing. You must have been working on it all week!"
I shrug self-consciously, but a warm feeling pools in my chest at the praise. I mean, she's probably just being polite, but it's still nice of her to say it. And she noticed the embroidery!
"I haven't spent that long on it, really. Just a little bit here and there."
"Now I'm even more impressed," she says, smiling. "I don't think I could manage anything so fine if I took a whole month, never mind a week. Just between you and me, needlework is *not* my strongest skill."
It seems a little strange to think of Daenerys *not* being good at something. She just seems like the kind of person who would be able to effortlessly pick up anything she turns her hand to.
That's confidence for you, I suppose.
"My mother taught me," I say. "She tried to teach my sister too, but Arya wasn't having any of it." I grin a little, remembering the massive strop she pulled over being 'forced' do something so 'utterly and completely pointless.' My darling sister has never been shy about making her feelings known. "I really enjoy it, though."
Fragments of memories flutter across the surface of my mind. Laughing with my mother, feeling a warm rush of pride as she praises my work. "I used to do it all the time, but I guess I got out of the habit." I remember feeling close to Mum in a way I haven't really ever since… since… Well. (I bury those dark thoughts under these memories of happier times.)
"I was a bit rusty at first," I continue. "But it seems to be coming back to me."
"Apparently so," Daenerys says cheerfully. "I look forward to seeing you model the finished product." I blush, naturally, but before I can say anything in response (and, anyway, what would I say?), a concerned expression passes over her face. "I'm sorry if I'm keeping you from working on it," she adds. "Please do continue. I promise won't be offended."
"Um, I might do that, thanks. When I've finished my coffee."
This would be the perfect opportunity to ask her what she wanted to talk about, but as I'm gathering my courage to say the words, she asks me a question.
"So, you have a brother and a sister?"
I nod, thrown a little by the change of subject. "Actually, I have four brothers. Well," I amend. "Three full brothers and a half-brother." It suddenly occurs to me that this is the first time we've ever talked about families. She didn't ask, and so neither did I. Well, I guess we're rectifying that now. "How about yourself? Any siblings?"
It's like a mask drops over her face, shrouding her expression with blank neutrality. "One brother." Her voice is just as expressionless as her face. "He's older." Okaaay. I guess there's a reason why this subject hasn't come up before now. "Anyway," she says, and I don't need any particular perspicacity to be able to work out that she's done with this topic. "Thank you for letting me impose on you like this."
"It's not an imposition," I hasten to reassure her. "You're welcome to come around any time."
"Thank you," she says softly, taking a deep drink of her coffee before continuing. "I just wanted — needed — to talk, I guess."
I've never seen her this hesitant before. It seems alien and wrong and not at all like the Daenerys I know.
I don't like it.
"What is it?" I try to make my tone soothing, to sound encouraging without being demanding.
She takes a deep breath. "I broke up with Doreah last night."
"Oh." And suddenly, it all becomes clear. "I'm so sorry to hear that. Are you okay?"
"Yes. No. I don't know. Mostly? It went pretty badly, actually. I was hoping we could still be friends, but after that… I'm not sure we're even going to talk to each other again."
She looks so lost all of a sudden that it makes my heart catch in my throat.
"Do you-" want to tell me what happened, is what I want to say, but she interrupts before I can finish my sentence.
"Do you think I use people?" The words tumble out of her all in a rush, anxious and sad and uncertain and-
"No, of course not!" My voice is louder than I intend, startling me. Startling the both of us, judging from the wide-eyed expression she turns on me. "Of course not," I repeat, in a gentler tone. "You don't use people, you help them."
"She's not the first one to say that to me." Daenerys sounds miserable. "Or to call me selfish, or self-absorbed. Or to tell me I care more about my 'causes' than about them."
Before I really have time to think about it, I'm setting my cup aside and striding across the room to place my hand on Daenerys' shoulder, looking deep into her wide, startled eyes.
(Even now, like this, I can't get over how blue they are.)
(How beautiful she is.)
(It almost takes my breath away.)
"People can say hurtful things when they're angry," I tell her earnestly. "But you are kind, considerate and compassionate. You've been nothing but nice to me, and I don't think that's because of some cause. You're a good person, Daenerys, and don't let anyone tell you different."
She stares at me.
We stare at each other.
I can't believe I'm doing this. I can't believe I *sound* like this; so… so… sure of myself, so confident.
(The way the light catches her hair, just so, makes it gleam like spun gold against her tanned skin.)
From the look in her eyes (so wide and deep; I could drown in those eyes), she can't believe it either. Her lips (so full and soft) are parted slightly as she stares at me, head tilted up so she can meet my eyes.
I think I might be trembling.
(I think I'm trembling.)
"I-" she breathes softly, but she doesn't say anything else, just *staring* at me with those blue, blue eyes.
A few strands of hair have fallen across her face, and I have a sudden, mad, utterly inexplicable urge to brush them away.
(And then…)
But suddenly Daenerys leaps to her feet in an explosive motion, startling me so much that I trip over my own feet trying to back away and give her room to stand. She grabs my arm with the hand not holding her coffee — and even in this discombobulated state, I marvel at the grace and control she must have not to spill so much as a drop on either of us — and stops me from falling flat on my behind.
For some reason, both of us are breathing heavily.
It must be the adrenaline of the almost-fall.
That's the obvious answer.
"Sorry!" I say. Or squeak, more like. "Um, thanks. For steadying me." I take a deep breath, trying to cool my flaming cheeks through sheer force of will. "I'll, um, I'll just get out of your way now."
Daenerys looks at her hand on my arm as if surprised to find it there. She drops my arm like she was holding something hot; like she's just got burned.
We do an awkward sort-of dance as we shuffle around each other, getting in each other's way (well, I get in her way), but I make it back to my chair without further incident. Daenerys remains standing, downing the dregs of her coffee in one convulsive swallow and setting her cup back down on the tray before pacing restlessly back and forth.
She glances over at me a couple of times, but doesn't meet my eyes.
I wonder what I've done wrong.
(This time.)
I wonder how I can fix it.
(If it can be fixed. If I haven't driven away another friend. If-)
"I'm sorry, Sansa."
I just blink stupidly for a moment, utterly nonplussed to hear those particular words coming from her.
"Excuse me?" I say, because I have to say *something*, and maybe I just misheard what she said, because she was practically muttering the words which is also so completely and utterly Not. Like. Her. That I don't know what to think.
"For being so… so… so all over the place today. I'm really not at my best right now, in case you couldn't tell."
"Well, you did just go through a break-up," I say slowly, watching her closely for any hint of whether that's completely the wrong thing to say.
"I know," she says, sounding a little more like herself. "But I was the one who initiated it. I suppose I thought it that would make it easier, somehow." She stops pacing and sighs softly. "I wasn't expecting it to affect me as much as it has."
"Why wouldn't it? A relationship is an emotional investment. When that comes to an end, no matter who breaks up with whom, it's only natural to for you to be affected by it. You wouldn't be human if you weren't."
Her lips twist in a wry smile, and she actually does meet my eyes then.
"Well, I *have* been called inhuman before," she says sardonically. She shakes her head; a clearing motion, I think, not a gesture of negation. "But you're right, I know. And I know it's going to get easier."
"It will," I confirm, smiling up at her.
She gives me a… searching look? I don't know. I can't quite figure it out. I'm still trying when she clears her throat and turns her smile all the way up to scintillating.
"I should do something. To thank you," she says abruptly, crossing the room and taking one of my hands in hers. I'm so shocked that I just let her draw me to my feet.
"Um, that isn't necessary," I say, blushing furiously.
"Nonsense! I feel so much better now, and it's all thanks to you. I want to show you how much I appreciate it." Her eyes glint (wickedly?) mischievously, leaving me helpless to interrupt as she continues, her voice low and silken-smooth. "And I believe I know just the thing…"
"I'll go really slowly," Daenerys says, her voice low and reassuring. "If it gets too much, just tell me and I'll stop, okay?"
"O- okay," I mutter, the butterflies in my stomach doing a loop-the-loop. I can't believe I'm doing this. I can't believe *we're* doing this. Everything just seems to be moving so fast.
I try to settle myself comfortably.
"You need to move a little closer than that." I tentatively do as she says. "Closer still." I move another infinitesimal amount towards her and she laughs lightly. "Come on, Sansa. I won't bite."
"Sorry," I almost-whisper, taking my courage in my hand and sliding all the way forward until I'm pressing right up against her.
I'm sure my face must be practically incandescent with the awkwardness of it all.
"Good. Now, hang on tight."
It feels like my mind whites out briefly, just overloads and shuts right down. When it boots up again, I have to swallow before I can speak.
"Um, to what?" I wish I didn't sound so timid. This is supposed to be me being brave; confronting one of my fears head on. Carpe diem and all that.
But I think it would be easier to seize the day if I wasn't practically trembling like a leaf in the wind.
"To me, of course." It's to Daenerys' credit that she doesn't sigh in frustration or let even the tiniest smidge of impatience into her voice. I'm sure my own voice would crack and wobble, so I don't even try to speak. I just gingerly reach out and wrap my arms loosely around her waist. "Tighter than that," she says gently. "You're not going to hurt me. And, trust me, you really don't want to fall off."
I do as she tells me.
(She doesn't seem to be wearing perfume, but I can smell what I think is her shampoo; a spicy and exotic scent. It suits her.)
"Is this okay?" I practically squeak.
"That's good. Now, are you ready? Or have you changed your mind? It's alright if you have, I won't be offended. I know this isn't for everybody."
For a moment, the temptation to tell her 'yes, I've changed my mind' is almost overwhelming. But hard on the heels of that impulse comes a flare of determination, almost need.
I want to be brave.
I don't want to be a timid little mouse any more.
I feel like made so much progress in the past few weeks, and if I back down from this it'll be like going backwards.
I can do this. I *want* to do this.
So I take my courage in both hands and try to sound like a girl who knows what she wants and doesn't second-guess herself.
"I haven't changed my mind." I take a deep breath. "And I think I'm about as ready as I'm going to be."
"Good." I can hear the smile in her voice, picturing it so clearly in my mind's eye that it's like I can see it. "Just remember what I said: you might feel the urge to tense up, but try to resist it. It's easier if you relax a little, especially as we go into the turns. Just don't relax too much, or you might fall off!"
Was that a joke? I really hope that was a joke.
I really, *really* hope that was a joke.
"Now, there isn't any traffic about, and I'm not trying to set any land speed records, so this is just going to be a nice, gentle ride, okay?"
"Okay."
"Visor down, then. We're not going to go very fast, but the wind can still make your eyes tear up. Wind-scoured eyeballs are never pleasant, and I'd really like the memory of your first time to be a happy one."
"Right," I say, stupidly. "Um, thanks." That isn't much better.
I slide the piece of plastic down into place and feel a brief twinge of claustrophobia. It's like my head is enclosed in a bubble. But that minor discomfort passes quickly, utterly subsumed into a mixture of confused terror.
I'm going on a motorbike.
I actually agreed to let Daenerys take me out for a spin.
Why did I do that again?
"Ready?" she asks again.
I make some sort of affirmative noise. It must be enough, because the bike suddenly starts up, almost making me leap right off it. I manage to stay on, reassuring myself that my grip on Daenerys is secure.
(Luckily, I'm too busy being terrified to feel self-conscious about the fact that I'm basically embracing her.)
(Mostly.)
I swallow hard and take a deep breath.
"It's loud," I say, striving for nonchalance. I don't even come close.
"That's part of the fun!" she calls back. "Last chance to change your mind, Sansa."
"No, I'm fine. I- I want to do this."
"Right then." She sounds pleased. And more than that, a note of something almost manic threading through her voice; a kind of wild excitement I've never heard from her before. "Off we go!"