Note: Jon x Sansa, AU fic, tumblr prompt fill

Jon lifts his beer in salute, as she looks from her seating card to the table number stuck in the floral arrangement and back again. Table nine is eight kids from Arya's footballer team, Jon, and the bride's sister.

Arya apparently has a really bad sense of humor. It's hard enough that her little sister is getting married, while Sansa is coming off a broken engagement without her sister sticking her at the kid's table with Arya's football mate, who looks like he's going to trip over his feet anytime Sansa speaks to him.

She's used to him being in stained, smelly football kit. The tuxedo is a decided improvement, she thinks, sticking out a hip and giving him her most winning smile. He's almost handsome with his curls slicked back. Might even make this kind of fun.

"Looks like we're at the kid's table," she says, sliding her clutch onto the table.

"Looks like."

Handsome, but still hopelessly quiet. It's a good thing she doesn't need him to speak to her to piss off her sister.

"We could get out of here."

"You and me?"