Sansa caught Mr. Clegane as he was leaving practice on Monday.

She'd been dreading this moment all weekend, ever since she escaped from his truck with unshed tears in her eyes and his jacket clutched in her terrified grip. She had the jacket with her now, overly large and folded up in her arms. The thought of just not giving it back and avoiding this situation altogether plagued her constantly, but she knew that was the coward's option. Besides, it's considered very unladylike to steal. And there is, of course, the very realistic option of him accosting her in the middle of cheer practice in front of all her friends, demanding his jacket back. Who knows how mean the man could be if she actually did something to make him angry. No, she had decided, it would be much better to face her fears and give it back to him herself, on her own terms and as quickly as possible. Like ripping off a band-aid. (Though now that she thought about it, Sansa had always winced when she saw Arya doing just that, and preferred the method her mother taught her of soaking them in hot water to pull them off as softly and painlessly as possible.)

So here she was. She'd run as fast as she could to the track where the football players did drills and laps for practice on Mondays. Her own cheer practice, held in the gym and halfway across the huge school, had only ended a few minutes prior and she was terrified Mr. Clegane would leave before she could get to him. Then she'd have to spend another whole day as a ball of worry over this stupid jacket. She found him outside, right by the doors and leaning against the building, smoking a cigarette (which was definitely against school policy, but she wouldn't be the one to tell him that.) The boys had already gone in from practice and he stood by himself.

Terrible anxiety curled up in her tummy at the thought of being alone with him again and she was filled with half dread for the upcoming conversation and half relief that this whole situation would finally be over. Sansa had learned her lesson. That was the last time she ever got into a car with a strange man. How stupid was she for there to even be a first time? Maybe this time she'd be lucky. Maybe he was in a better mood this afternoon than he was Friday night. Maybe he'd had a bad day and was normally a much calmer man. Maybe he'd take the jacket and let her go without one insult to her brains or lack thereof. Maybe she'd even get a thank you!

He looked over when the doors opened and the moment he saw it was her, his eyes narrowed and his lip curled up into a sneer, looking like a growling dog, interrupted from chewing his favorite bone. She felt her hope for this interaction being even slightly pleasant crumble like ash in her chest. His glowering made her nervous and she found her heavily practiced words now hard to come by under his stare. She waited for him to acknowledge her instead. He took a few deliberate moments and took his time flicking ashes off the end of his cigarette before finally rasping down at her, "What do you want?"

With all the other awful things to focus on in her memory of him from that night; his burned face, his rage, his imposing stature, she'd forgotten about that terrible, snarling voice. She wondered if that was caused by the fire as well, if the smoke had caught in his lungs and burned his vocal cords. Ravaged him from the inside out. She also wondered if just throwing the jacket somewhere in his general direction and hightailing it back inside would've been the best idea.

"Um, yes," she managed to stammer out, hating the speechless effect he had on her. "Here you go, sir." She held out his jacket, hoping against all hope that he'd just take it and let her go on her way. To better her chances she even smiled and looked him in the eye. Or tried to, at least. His face really was just horrible but his eyes were even worse, steel grey and always full of rage. The moment only lasted a second before she was looking away from him again. The harshness in his grip as he grabbed the jacket from her told Sansa he had noticed her balking at his face once again and didn't appreciate it.

It was chilly for a southern afternoon, even in early October and she hoped he hadn't been cold this whole time without it. He was only wearing a long sleeved shirt that he now shucked the jacket on top of. His shoulders were so broad and his chest so wide it was probably very hard to find things in his size. She wondered if it was the only jacket he had.

"I wanted to wash it before giving it back, but I didn't know what to do with leather." Washing someone's clothes was the polite thing to do after borrowing them, Sansa knew, though in this case it was less borrowing and more of accidentally stealing while running away in terror. She did try and spritz some of her favorite lemon scented perfume sparingly on it to try and cover its stench of cigarette smoke and alcohol. She was mostly successful.

He puffed on his cigarette and breathed out black fumes, ruining all of her good work, as he spoke. "It's fine as it is, little bird."

An anger that was rare in her, but terrible when stirred, flared up suddenly. Of all the things he had said to her in the car, calling her dumb and empty headed like a bird was one of the meanest. Sansa could admit she wasn't perfect, but she wasn't dumb, she wasn't. The straight A's on her report card could speak for that. Well, except for the B- in geometry, but she was working on it and it's not like Mr. Clegane knew anything about that blip anyway, and even if he did he would be so blown away by her good grades and ashamed for calling her stupid that he wouldn't even notice it. "It's Sansa," she said, surprised at her own boldness.

"What?"

"My name." She made sure to enunciate every word very clearly. "It's Sansa Stark."

The raised eyebrow on the good side of his face made her think he was surprised by her as well. "I know what your name is, girl." He smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. "I just think mine fits better."

Never before had she met someone so rude and intolerable. Maybe the gods had known what an awful man he would become, she thought wildly, maybe they ruined his face early to let the outside match the ugliness of the in. But that was unkind, and she regretted the thought the moment it passed through her head. It wasn't her fault though, something about this man brought out the worst in her. He made her lose all the charm and grace and dignity she possessed. She wasn't dumb or mean it was just...him.

Suddenly she looked up and he was there, much closer than he was before her little outburst, looming over her. She wasn't super sure he was looming on purpose. Mr. Clegane was very, very tall and gods knew he had a frightening presence naturally, he might've just loomed naturally too. Though she had a distinct feeling he liked to make her uncomfortable. That it gave him a kick to watch her squirm.

Whatever the case, it worked. What little fight she had was sucked out of her and she found her eyes glued to the ground once more, trying to pretend that he wasn't too close for comfort.

She had to stick to the plan. Get in, give jacket, get out. Like ripping off a band-aid. "It was lovely talking to you again, Mr. Clegane." That was a lie, but there was no harm in a lie kindly meant. "But I really have to be getting back to practice now."

A heavy hand came down on her shoulder, stopping her from the quick escape she was about to make. "Your little cheer practice is still going on?" The question was laced with derision.

"Well—"

He cut her off, "Football practice only just ended. You're telling me you lot need more time than my boys just to memorize some idiotic chant and dance?"

She could feel her cheeks getting hot. Her face always got an intense flush whenever she was embarrassed, or angry, or about to cry. She didn't know if one was happening or all three, but she did know her auburn hair made her look like a ripe tomato when she blushed which only ever made her even redder. It was true at the beginning of the year when Margaery asked her to join the squad, Sansa thought it would be a lot easier than student council, her first choice for an extracurricular. But each practice had her sweating in places she'd never sweat before and after only a few months she was starting to see definition in muscles she hadn't even known existed. Cheerleading was hard, but nothing else about her seemed off limits for ridicule, so why should this?

"Actually," she said, putting on her best dignified 'you didn't just catch me in a lie so I could leave this terrible conversation' voice. A voice she didn't have to use often, not because she didn't regularly lie to get out of uncomfortable situations, it was just rare that she was caught. "Cheer practice also just ended."

"So you lied to me." Oh, he was actually angry now. Not just the generally irritated mode he seemed eternally set on. The burned side of his mouth was twitching.

"No!" she said, lying. "I just meant—" she gave herself a few nervous moments to think, trying to find the words that had the least chance of making him angrier. Good luck. Mr. Clegane just seemed to make up reasons to be upset with her. "I just meant," she said, hoping she came off calmer than the current state of her rapidly beating heart, "that I have to go back. My things are still in the locker room. I didn't have time to get them because I rushed off as soon as practice ended. I didn't know how long you stayed after school so I didn't want to miss you." That was actually true.

He eyed her disbelievingly, and she made sure to look him in the face to prove her innocence. She didn't falter this time. When he gave her a slight nod she let out a silent breath of relief and patted herself on the back for a job well done. She'd managed to save herself from getting murdered by her school's football coach in a fit of rage for the second time. (Sansa couldn't die. Not only was she not ready, but she hadn't written a will yet and she refused to let all her lovely things get passed down to Arya who would have it all broken and mud stained within the week.)

She was about to flounce off in victory when he rasped, "I hope Baratheon isn't your ride again, 'cause he's already gone." His eyes were menacing as he lifted his brow at her. "My passenger's seat is always open, little bird." He leaned forward. "Besides, I already know where you live."

She couldn't get the words out of her mouth fast enough. "Um, no thank you, sir! My father's coming to pick me up." His laugh was like the sawing of wood as he leaned back into his own personal bubble and flicked the remnants of his cigarette to the ground, stomping out the light from the cherry with his black boot.

He was already lighting another one from the cartridge in his jeans when he said, "It's no problem, really. Give him a call and save him the drive. I'm sure he's fine with the nice football coach giving you a ride again. Got you back home safe and sound last time, didn't I?" His grin was almost feral.

That thing about him making her uncomfortable on purpose just to mess with her? She was almost certain that was the reason for this new tangent. She wanted nothing more than to be done with this conversation but there really was no polite way to excuse herself after he'd already seen through her earlier lie. And he knew that. She found herself hating the rules of propriety and wishing she could be as wicked as her little sister for once, who had no qualms about walking off when she was done with a person, without a word if they were lucky, or with a very rude finger gesture if they weren't. Sansa would know, she'd been on the other end of both scenarios too many times to count.

"Thank you, really," she made herself say, the image of a perfect lady. He would not make her crack. "But he's probably almost here...and he doesn't know about the car ride."

He looked genuinely surprised at that. "You didn't tattle on me for making you cry?"

"I didn't cry," she argued before thinking and his following huff of disbelief made her blush. He made her feel like such as a child.

"I was surprised to find that I still had a job this morning," he continued as if she hadn't said anything. "Thought for sure the little bird would go running to daddy about mean ol' Clegane."

He really thought the absolute worst of her, didn't he? That she would go off crying to her parents at the first inconvenience? To be completely truthful, it wasn't an inaccurate portrait of her but something about the situation made her hold her tongue.

"If you didn't tell him, who did you tell?"

A shock of fear went up her spine at his narrowed eyes. "Nobody!" It was true. Yes, he'd scared her worse than she'd ever been scared in her life, but he had given her a ride home when he didn't have to. And told her about his scars. Maybe it was silly but it had seemed wrong to share any details about how she'd gotten home that night to anybody. It made her feel weird to share a secret with a man such as Mr. Clegane.

What he told her that night...she didn't pity Mr. Clegane, but she did have a deep empathy for him. Despite his growling and snarling she couldn't find it in herself to hate him, nor did she want him to get in trouble. "I wouldn't," she said softly. Then again louder, "I wouldn't do that. You helped me when you didn't have to, I wouldn't throw that back in your face by getting you in trouble. If you're worried about that other thing you told me, I didn't tell anyone about that either. I'm really not a gossip, and besides it's not my secret to sha—" He'd inhaled a puff from his cigarette and cut off her rambling when he blew it in her direction, making her face scrunch up. Ugh, she hated the cloying smoke and stench of cigarettes. Robb's friend Theon liked to smoke them back home when Ned wasn't around to tell him to knock it off. The smell would be stuck in her clothes and hair for days it seemed, no matter how much she washed either of them.

"That's enough, girl. If you kept your mouth shut so far, no need to open it back up, not to me or anyone."

Spite made her say, "Those things can kill you, you know?"

A harsh, quick laugh seemed to burst out of him. "I can only hope."

He really was the worst. Clenching her fist so hard she could feel her nails leaving half moon impressions against her palms, she waited for the next insult to come but he was leaning against the wall again, smoking and looking out over the track, just like he'd been when she first found him. After a few moments, he spared her a glance and said, "You're still here? Fly away, little bird. Or do I have to make you leave?"

She didn't need to be told twice.

Sansa wasn't sure what she done for the gods to punish her like this, but it must've been pretty bad.

Three weeks. It had been three weeks (well in truth it had only been seventeen days, but she didn't think anyone would judge her for rounding up in her situation) since she'd given Mr. Clegane his jacket back and fate seemed determined for them to constantly run into each other. Literally. The man must have a Sansa shaped bruise from how many times she's smacked into him.

Before the incident, she had seen him on occasion, but always where he was supposed to be; yelling obscenities at his players every Friday night at the games or at practice when Sansa would come to watch Joffrey and be his own personal cheerleader. And he's still at those places too, though now any moment she's alone, no matter how brief, she almost always seemed to stumble upon him. Now some cruel god had him finding her in the hallways at school, she even saw him once early in the morning in the parking lot after her father her dropped her off for tutoring. Sansa likes to think this is all some weird coincidence, but even she can only fool herself for so long. It almost feels like Mr. Clegane is seeking her out intentionally, though for the life of her she can't figure out why. It couldn't be for the stimulating conversation…

If it had been up to her, these weird meetings would be nothing more than a passing moment. A stammered apology for her inevitable running into him (the man had a thing for popping out of corners and shadowy alcoves at the worst possible second), a grunt from him, and her politely speed-walking as fast as she could away so it didn't actually look like she was running from him. But Mr. Clegane is apparently a talker.

He liked to pick her mind about seemingly inconsequential things; her ideals, her religious beliefs, her favorite movies. And then he liked to mock said things, mock her until she got irritated enough to defend herself, then he would get down right nasty which either left her to stand there and take it until he dismissed her, suddenly done with the conversation he started or, on the rare occasion, when she got fed up enough, she'd turn and walk away on her own with her head held high and trying not to cry.

She had one of those movies he'd called romantic drivel on in the background now, while she sat on her bed doing homework. Or trying to anyway. She gave up after reading the same sentence for the fifth time in a row and with the most feminine huff possible she promptly shut her textbook and pushed it away from her. Sansa wasn't actually that worried about the homework. She was the type to do it as soon as she possibly could so she that she was able stay on top of things, it wasn't actually due until next week. No, what she was really worried about was that it was Thursday night which meant tomorrow was Friday which meant she had a game which meant she'd have to see him. It was true that she now had any number of chances to see Mr. Clegane throughout the week, whether by fate's own hand or his, but tomorrow night's meeting was inevitable and unavoidable. It had gotten to the point where she tried not to be anywhere alone, but she had to go to the bathroom eventually.

Ugh. She remembered not so long ago she couldn't get anything done on Thursday nights out of excitement. Being a cheerleader and dating a football player was supposed to be fun but he was spoiling everything.

She reached for the unfinished embroidery work on her nightstand and started to stitch. It's the one thing she could always turn to when she needed a distraction but was too anxious to actually concentrate. She told herself the hand towel she was working on was a present for her mother's birthday, but that was months away and doesn't excuse the blanket, pillow, and three handkerchiefs she's done in the past few weeks. Arya liked to say that she 'stress embroiders' and that she 'had a real problem,' and though Sansa would deny that accusation to the ends of the earth, she couldn't help but think that at least she channels her negativity into something productive and not, let's say, a broken window.

She was detailing a particularly vexing flower when her phone pinged. She was in the zone and not planning to talk to anyone for at least another hour, but she stops immediately when she sees who's texted. Joffrey! Her heart was already fluttering by the time it took her to unlock her phone and read his message.

How was ur day?

Oh, he really was the sweetest! Joffrey and her didn't share any classes together, since he was in the eleventh grade and she was only in the tenth, but he usually gave her a quick peck in the mornings and sometimes he'd wait to walk her from her Valyrian to her history class. The fact that he was still checking up on her even though they'd already seen plenty of each other today practically made her melt. It made her want to just spill her guts and all her worries to him, but she knew there was nothing he could do to help her unfortunate situation and she definitely didn't want to burden him when he obviously cared so much.

Good! I got a 93 on that math test I've worrying about, which was better than I was expecting, so I'm glad all the extra work is paying off. Oh and Margaery and I made plans to go shopping after the debutante meeting this weekend so I'm really excited about that. I was just doing some embroidery when you texted me but I'm not busy at all :)! Do you want to see a pic of what I've done so far?

She thought she did a good job of hiding her actual feelings and remembering the highlights of her day did actually help brighten her mood. Maybe she would've felt better if she had just texted him herself earlier, that's what boyfriends were there for, right? To make you feel better? She always felt guilty texting him first though, since he was so busy, and it was rare he responded back to her. Her phone pinged again almost instantly, drowning her worries. He obviously had time for her now, and that's what was important.

thats cool

When Joffrey did chance to text back it was usually in short quick sentences, which was fine since Sansa knew she had the tendency to ramble in her own texts. She was sure he just preferred to talk to her in person rather than over the phone. She also knew it wasn't his fault if his texts tended to sound abrupt or disinterested, she couldn't hear his tone through words alone and could easily misinterpret his intentions, so she tried not to over analyze his texting methods. She just wished she knew if 'thats cool' was a response to her telling him about her day or her asking if he wanted to see her embroidery.

She assumed the latter and was already happily maneuvering her phone to get the best image possible when it went off again.

Could u do a favor for me?

She replied back almost instantly.

Of course! Anything you need.

Maybe she'd been too quick to the draw, but Sansa really was willing to help Joffrey out with almost anything. She just hoped it wasn't about his school work again as she tried to help him with that before and just ended up doing his entire report herself. It wasn't that she minded all that much, but Sansa had never cheated or helped anyone cheat before (and it was cheating despite how he'd tried to console her that it wasn't) and it had filled her tummy with a gnawing hole of guilt for days.

Can I have a picture of you?

I wanna be able to see u whenever I want

She hurriedly muffled her squeal into a pillow before Arya could barge in and ask what all the noise was about. He wanted a picture! Of her! Just for him! Maybe Mr. Clegane was right, all her favorite movies were romantic drivel compared to this. Not wanting to make him wait, she quickly opened the camera app on her phone and took a look at herself. She preferred a natural look and only wore some concealer and a quick coat of mascara on most days, so she quickly bit her lips and pinched her cheeks, like her mother taught her to, to bring some color into her face. Sansa liked to think of herself as humble, but she also knew she was pretty, she'd been told so all her life and saw it in the mirror everyday. It still took her twenty tries to get the angle, pose, and lighting just right to take the perfect picture for him and she was quick to press send once she had it. He replied fast, in a bunch of small texts that came within seconds of each other.

Wow

Thats nice

Ur very pretty

But I meant something a little more personal lol

The compliments made her feel all fuzzy inside, but the last message deflated her a little. Maybe he thought she'd just sent him a photo she'd already taken and not one she took specifically for him? She wondered if he would like a video of her with some sweet message to him, but decided to promptly reply so he didn't think she was ignoring him. He'd accused her of that once when she'd been too distracted by the book she'd been reading and hadn't responded to him within a few minutes. She now always made sure to give him her full attention when he texted her, so he'd never think she was neglecting him again.

I'm sorry, I don't understand what you mean? I only took the picture just now, if that's what you didn't like.

It took a little longer this time before her phone pinged again.

No I wanted to see all of you

Sansa could pretend he just meant a picture that had her in it from head to toe, but she was starting to understand what he was getting at and she didn't like it at all. Her heart which was beating out of her chest only a few minutes ago now felt like a stone dropped to the bottom of her tummy.

I'm really sorry, but I don't know about that, Joffrey. We've only been dating a couple of months and I'm not ready for that.

She felt terrible for denying him, but she truly didn't think this was a line she could cross yet. Her phone let her know he responded, and for the first time she's filled with trepidation rather than excitement from getting a text from Joffrey. She hoped he'd be understanding and drop the subject entirely, but somehow she knew that was not what was going to happen. When she finally musters enough courage to look at his message, her heart migrates from its new home in her stomach to completely out of her body.

So ur saying u don't love me?

Things had been so good only a few moments ago! She had been having a terrible night and Joffrey had come like a gallant prince in a storybook to rescue her from her woes and she paid him back by making him think she didn't love him. Why did she have to ruin everything? She typed back so fast, she didn't have time to reread it and make sure everything was as grammatically correct as she preferred. If that didn't show how terrified she was of his text, she didn't know what would.

No! Of course I love you joffrey I love you more than anything please don't say that

Sansa didn't take her eyes off of the tiny bright phone screen the entire time, from the moment she saw those three grey dots to know he's typing to when his texts come through after what feels like eons, but her rational brain knew could only have been a few seconds.

Then I don't understand y u won't do this for me?

I just want something of u I can always look at and know is only for me

Sansa wondered why the picture she had just sent didn't check all those boxes but was already forming an argument for him in her head. She guessed he, or anyone else for that matter, could see a picture of her smiling face on social media anytime they wanted. Joffrey wanted something special, something for him alone, and it truly would be; no one had ever seen her without her clothes on other than her family and that hadn't happened in years. She was too shy to even strip in front of the other cheer girls, changing in a bathroom stall instead of in the main locker room. This was definitely more intimate than anything they'd ever done but she knew it was something real couples did all the time. Most importantly, she didn't want Joffrey to think she didn't love him…

Okay :) just give me a moment.

She waited to see if he'd respond again and when he didn't waited a few moments more before she forced herself to quit stalling and get up from the comfort of her bed. This is normal, she told herself, people do this all the time. Stop being the weird, religious, home-schooled girl and do this incredibly normal, nice thing for your boyfriend. She knew he loved her and thought, if she asked, would send a picture like the one he was requesting with no trouble. She briefly considered doing just that, before scrunching her nose in distaste. She really, really did love him, but Sansa found she had no desire for a picture of...that.

She got to standing in front of her wall length mirror, in only her bra and underwear, her clothes folded nicely out of the way, before she realized she couldn't go further than this. She wanted to but her shaking hands had other ideas. She had to hope Joffrey would be okay with only this much, which was still definitely more than anyone else had ever seen.

It's not that she was insecure. Her recent exercise had helped trim off her left over baby fat and let her natural curves shine through, which weren't too shabby in her own opinion. She was just shy and full of the religious guilt she was raised on. She hoped the gods could forgive her this one small slight. She still planned for the first time he saw her fully naked for them to actually be together in the flesh and preferably on their wedding night. She did wish that she had something better to put on than her white bra and the cotton panties that came out of a pack though. It wasn't her fault, she hadn't really had any female influences in her life in the North other than her mother, who would die before even considering buying her flashy lingerie, Jeyne and Beth, who were almost as sheltered as she was, and...Arya. Sansa doesn't think she's close enough to the girls she's met here yet to talk about anything so intimate, although Myranda had definitely tried more than once. Maybe Margaery would want to help her buy lingerie on their shopping trip this weekend. Just the thought made her feel so grown up.

She got back in bed and laid on her back, angling her phone above her to see herself before she decided the lighting was way too harsh (she could see everything), got up to turn off the overhead light and turn on her lamp which gave the room and herself a nice warm glow before getting back in position. She fanned her hair out in thick waves over her pillows because she knew it was one of her best features and tried to pose in a way that was tasteful and not too skimpy, she was doing this for the romance after all. She made sure to get her face in the photo, because that was the most important part. It was only special because it was her. She didn't know what expression to make though, and after taking another twenty photos ended up with a soft, gentle smile that she felt conveyed her feelings perfectly to him.

Her heart stuttering in her chest, she had to physically make herself press the send button and wait with baited breath for the few moments it took him to respond.

Aw that's it lol?

I was expecting more

But you look so fucking hot ill take this for now.

Sansa doesn't text him back, but she doesn't really get the feeling he particularly wanted her to. He'd gotten what he wanted. She got out of bed and quickly put on her pajamas so she wouldn't have to see herself. The sight of her own skin was making her sick to her stomach for some reason. He'd called her hot and she guessed that was nice, and she was always happy to make him happy, but she just couldn't seem to convince the feelings churning in her tummy that this had been a good thing.

She went to sleep that night feeling even worse than before.