He spends the evening brooding. Full of regrets and anger, he downs a few too many beers. Sansa had turned in early, fobbing off Arya's pleas to not leave her the only girl as they hung out in the Wolf's Den. But Sansa insisted that she was exhausted from her drive and needed rest- that they had a full week together before Arya would head back north. She hadn't even bothered to say another word to Jon however before she headed upstairs and disappeared into her childhood room.
Theon had already passed out on one of the couches when 1am finally rolled around and Jon shrugged on his heavy winter coat.
"You're leaving?" Robb was surprised - Jon usually crashed at the Stark house on nights like this. But he couldn't shake the ghosts of the past that this house brought him tonight, not with Sansa sleeping just upstairs. He'd rather face the ghosts at the empty home he grew up in down the road. He had moved out years ago, but the black mansion was guaranteed to be empty tonight with his family on their cruise and he didn't feel like driving to his apartment. He made some excuses before pulling on his now dry boots and stepping out into the snow. Nothing like a quiet night and frozen air to cool his racing mind.
He had done the right thing by turning her away back then, right? She was a beautiful, privileged girl off to a bright future. What could he have offered her? He only had to look at Catelyn Stark to know what the prissy heads of society would think. He had tried his best to ignore it, as he had for years. He had tried to accept that to Catelyn Stark, and to all the rest of them born with a silver spoon in their mouths, that he would always just be that dirty kid that didn't belong in the realm of high society. The filthy street urchin that had been plucked from obscurity when they should have left him to rot like the others. How many years had it been that he had joined the Targaryen family? How many years since the proper courtesies had been beaten into him by the strict nuns at St Baelor's? But no matter how polished he had become, Catelyn Stark would never forget who he had been - the little bastard boy who started fights on the playground.
Rhaegar Targaryen had been all but a king in this world, with just about everyone in the south carrying some variation of 'Dragon' - his state-of-the-art cell phones. His pretty Dornish wife, heiress to the Martell tech company, had brought him the other half and together they captured the heart of the nation. Carrying a Dragon was a status symbol and you would be hard pressed to find a magazine from the last decade that didn't feature some story about the Targaryen family or their fancy phones.
But as the wheel of fate turns, so does power. When it seemed that there would be no end to the 'Dragon Dynasty', a wave of tech advances had put a bullet at the heart of Rhaegar's company. New, sleek Tyrell inventions flooded the market, making the heavy, clunky Dragon's all but obsolete. Rhaegar had seen the writing on the wall and jumped ship, selling off his patents before they became worthless, but the loss of popularity had hit him hard.
He had taken his money and moved north, taking his whole family with him, and settled into society quite nicely. After all, they had come from an old family and the north prided themselves in lasting legacies. Elia had been unhappy about the move, but had quickly wound the old families around her little finger - the perfect socialite. Rhaegar had struggled to do the same and had ended up finding happiness where he could.
And he had found happiness in the arms of Jon's mother, a waitress at a local sports bar trying to make ends meet. Jon tries not to judge his mother too harshly for falling into bed with a rich married man. But he doesn't know her enough to make any kind of call about her judgment. She had died when he was only two, some gripping northern flu that had sucked the life right out of her. He also doesn't try to think about whether Rhaegar actually knew about his existence while he was shuffled through the foster system. When he had made it to middle school, apparently Elia had discovered some proof of the affair, had sent out private investigators to track down Lyanna, and that had led them to Jon.
The PR was shaping out to be a nightmare for the man who had found a slippery hold on his place in society and the only solution that had not cost him everything had been an adoption. And just like that, Jon had been plucked from the years of hidden beatings, ridicule, and neglect he had faced at the hands of the Bolton family. Suddenly he had all these resources at his fingertips. Elia had placed him in etiquette classes, had him enrolled at St Baelor's and had quietly insisted he excel at everything- let no opportunity be wasted. Her children had reacted to him in a way you would expect a child to react to an exotic animal at a zoo at first. As time went on, Rhaenys had all but ignored him and treated him like he didn't exist at school. Little Aegon waffled between being desperate for his attention and jealous fits.
Luckily, he had met Robb at school and they had become fast friends. Robb wasn't like the other stuffy, full of themselves assholes at Baelor's. They had gotten close when Jon had stood up against that Umber bully who had been tormenting the rather round Manderly kid. The teasing had been relatively easy to ignore, but when they had shoved the kid so hard he had fallen, hitting his head on a water fountain, something in Jon just snapped. The years of injuries he had experienced under the Boltons had flashed through his mind and the next thing he knew, his fist was connecting with the Umber's jaw. Unfortunately for Jon, the 'Smalljon' Umber wasn't alone. Smalljon was the quarterback on the football team and, just like on the field, seemed to always have a team of absolutely giant linebackers trailing him. Jon had been no match. Luckily, Robb and Theon had both witnessed the brawl and had immediately jumped in when things were starting to go sideways. All three had both ended up with black eyes and split lips, but as they sat in the principal's office, they had both been grinning ear to ear.
It was then that he started hanging out at the Stark place. He, Robb, and Theon had been as thick as thieves - even if the squid could be immature and annoying at times. He had instantly taken a liking to the other Stark kids - to the scrappy Arya, the sharp as a tack Bran, happy-go-lucky little Rickon, and then the pretty, gentle Sansa. He had grown to love them and be loved in return. They were very dear to him. She was very dear to him. So how could he ruin her? He could just see the look on Catelyn Stark's face if he dared to sully Sansa's bright future with his mud.
He finally made it to the big black mansion and trudged up the steps leading to the side door. How many nights had he taken this exact walk from Winterfell past curfew and snuck in? He fished his spare key from the ring he never used and unlocked the door. The alarm bell dinged softly and Jon cursed under his breath. He quickly punched in the number and huffed in relief when the bells ceased. At least he wasn't so disconnected that they would change the security code without telling him.
He had accepted that he would never feel at home with the family who had adopted him. He had never even really felt like his room was his own and after he had moved out, Elia had been quick to convert his space to her scrapbooking room. It's not like there wasn't space elsewhere in the giant house, but Elia had reasoned that she wanted the precious photos up on the top level to ensure they wouldn't ever be damaged by flooding or anything of the like. Jon hadn't looked too hard at her logic and had moved the few belongings into his apartment without fuss. But the fact that Rhaenys and Aegon both had their own spaces in this big home while he was relegated to the guest bedroom on the rare occasions he slept over grated on his nerves all the more.
Not wanting to invite those particular demons into his head this night, he flopped down on the living room couch and turned on some dumb Marvel movie. As he drifted off to sleep, he tried not to think of the pretty girl down the road.