It takes another hour before dinner is ready to be served. Catelyn watches with thin lips while Jon and Arya joke and tease each other as they set the table, but before she can say anything Bran's friends have arrived dripping wet from the storm outside, and by the time they're dried and in fresh clothes it's time to put out the food.
The table is humming with conversation as Sansa seats herself: Bran and his friend Jojen are telling Catelyn about a school project, Rickon and Arya are arguing about something loudly, and Jon is listening to Bran's other friend Meera talk about a different school project. The chair on the opposite of him is open, and as Sansa slips into it he flashes her a grin she finds hard not to return.
The rain drumming the roof gives the meal a warm, cozy feel that Sansa hadn't realized how much she missed. Arya and Meera compare the soccer teams at their school, Bran makes faces at Rickon until he's giggling helplessly, and even Jon and her mother make polite small talk. Sansa slips in and out of the conversation, mind wandering. It's dumb, but she can't help but be distracted by every smile that flits across Jon's face when he says something to Arya or Bran, the way his lips quirk when he catches her looking at him and she has to glance away quickly and ask her mother how work is going.
When the food is finished everyone moves to the family room. Jon and Meera shove the couches into the corners, Sansa helps her mother heat up a round of hot chocolate, and Bran pulls out a board game from the closet. It's cramped with all of them, but Sansa doesn't mind: with the Reeds and Arya on the couches it gives her a good excuse to squeeze in next to Jon who's sitting cross legged on the ground. Arya casts her a suspicious look, but Sansa studiously avoids her gaze and gives Jon a perfectly innocent smile. Jon for his part just smiles back faintly, not seeming at all bothered by the shape of her next to him.
The board game ends up being some kind of spin on monopoly that quickly devolves into Arya and Bran owning ninety percent of the board between them while the rest of them are stuck paying rent out of dwindling stacks of cash. Sansa doesn't mind. The last time she and Jon were this close was the night of Margaery's party, and she finds herself again noticing the clean laundry detergent smell of him, the way the musk beneath it makes her nose tingle, how warm his shoulder is against hers when she leans forward to roll the dice.
The game begins to wrap up, and Sansa finds herself fiddling with her piece before each move until Arya finally yells at her to hurry up already. You're being pathetic, a part of her whispers, but when the game is done Jon will leave and every moment she stalls is another with him beside her.
Finally the game does end though. For the last hour her mother has worn a frown each time she glances at her phone, and an alert beeps from it as they pack the board back in its box. "There's a flood warning," she says, voice strangely tight, "the highway's closed."
"Actually closed?" Jon pulls out his own phone and Meera shifts so she's leaning over his shoulder. "What about South 58?" She asks him.
"Closed." Jon frowns at his phone and chews at his lip. "You guys could take-"
"No." Catelyn says sharply. Her face has drained of color, leaving it bone pale. "You can drive home in the morning if the storm's cleared up. But you're not driving in this rain."
There's a long pause, house silent, before Meera blinks and frowns at Jojen. "I mean, we're Jewish, so I don't think dad will care."
Jon glances at Sansa, face still and strangely vulnerable. "I don't want to get in the way-" he begins slowly.
"You're not." Sansa flashes him a smile she doesn't feel, tries to ignore the pit that yawned open in her stomach at her mother's words. She rises and begins gathering up the empty mugs. "We've got the room. Meera, you can stay with Arya, Jojen can take Rickon's bed, Rickon can sleep with mom-"
"I'm not a baby!"
"-and me and Jon can take the couches."
"There's enough room in Arya's room for you, Sansa." Catelyn rises and takes the mugs from Sansa. "I'll get the sleeping bag-"
"Mom, I can-"
"-you and Meera can both fit," Catelyn says firmly, and Sansa catches the way her eyes snap to Jon. Anger sparks in Sansa's chest, but she forces it down before she can snap that she's not a child just as childishly as Rickon had. Jon's an adult. You're still in highschool.
They watch a movie to fill the last hour of the day. Because she's in the kitchen Sansa doesn't get a chance to choose her seat this time, and Arya's already monopolized Jon's personal space on one of the couches by the time she gets back. It irritates Sansa more than it should, but she simply takes a seat on one of the chairs in the back and glances at the wine bottle her mother left out. She wishes she could pour herself a glass, mute the jittery nails on a chalkboard itch building in her ever since her mother said the highway was closed. It's what she'd do at Lysa's though there she never uses a glass, just sips whatever she's smuggled in from Margaery's last party.
The movie drags on and Sansa loses track of the plot as the itch worsens. It isn't as bad as at Lysa's during long evenings that never seemed to end, isn't as bad as when she's at one of Margaery's parties and the music is blaring; but still it's an itch she can't scratch. All that stops her from sneaking herself a glass is the scene she knows it will cause if her mother sees her, and Sansa doesn't trust herself not to snap something at her that she'll immediately regret.
The movie does finally end, and there's another scramble of activity as everyone gets ready for bed. Sansa manages to slip into Arya's room to change, and only as she pulls out her pajamas from her bag does she realize that the top she brought is Jon's flannel shirt, the one she wore home after Margaery's. It's embarrassing, but in just the month since then it's become her favorite thing to sleep in, the fabric soft and fuzzy and still faintly smelling of his detergent. Sansa bites her lip, but her only other options are either to sleep in the top she's in now, the one she's going to wear tomorrow, or borrow a shirt from Arya that will almost definitely not fit.
Sansa tries to convince herself as she slips off her shirt and replaces it with the flannel that no one but Jon will recognize it, but the thought does nothing to help the anxiety that coils in her stomach as she opens the door for Meera and Arya to pile in.
"Why are you wearing a guy's shirt?" Arya asks as soon as she's through the door. She flops onto her bed, already in a ratty t-shirt and loose pajama pants. "It's not Joffrey's, is it? Please tell me you didn't hang onto anything of his."
"Of course it isn't his. Do you really think he'd ever wear flannel?" Sansa snaps, and immediately regrets it as Arya frowns at the shirt, then glances up at her face thoughtfully. Sansa's cheeks burn. She crosses to the wall and switches off the lights. "Don't hog the blanket," she mutters slipping in next to Arya.
Sansa waits a half hour, until Arya has stopped tossing and turning, before slipping out of bed and padding out into the hallway. Jon is still awake on the couch, room dark but for the flickering of his phone screen. "Hey," he says quietly, peering over his phone at her. "Snack?"
Even with the heater on the house is still chilly, and Sansa shivers as she grabs a blanket and curls onto the couch opposite Jon. They're only a few feet apart, couches closer than usual after having been shoved together to make space for everyone, close enough that she doesn't have to raise her voice. "Arya snores," she informs him as she props a pillow under her head.
Jon snorts a soft laugh. "I forgot about that." A bitter note creeps into his voice. "You're not worried like your mom that I'm going to make a move on you while you're asleep?"
It's a joke. Sansa knows that, but a shiver tingles down her spine anyway, goosebumps her skin. She's thought about that moment in his kitchen weeks before when his eyes had flicked to her lips more than she'd ever admit, replays it as she drifts off to sleep at night. And she wonders what would've happened if he'd stepped forward: would his hands have gone to her hips? Slid behind her back to arch her into him? Lifted her onto the counter? And what would she have done: pressed herself against him? Looped her arms around his neck? Let out the whimper building in her chest as he growled low and rough against the dimple of her throat, sound shivering through his teeth?
The more time that passes the longer Sansa has to think of it, fit her imagination to what make her feel most stretched and aching. Guys have sexted her since Joffrey of course, but none of them have made her feel the way that just that simple look from Jon had, none of them sparked the same kind of deep ache in her. You're being pathetic, she's hissed to herself half a hundred times, but she can't stop herself thinking about it as she drifts off to sleep or at other more private and embarrassing times when her sheets are suffocating and won't stop sticking to her skin.
Sansa burows deeper under the blanket, glad of the dark so Jon can't see the way her face has flushed red. "You'd never do that," she says softly. "You'd ask."
Jon flicks off his phone. He gives her a smile she can barely make out in the dark. "I like your shirt."
She tangles her fingers in the long sleeves of his flannel and pulls it tight around her, gives him a sleepy, defiant smile. "It's comfy."
They lapse into silence, the rain outside a quiet patter against the roof. Sansa's gaze drifts to the wine bottle on the table, but it's too much work to get up and pour a glass, and she doesn't want to leave the warmth of the blanket. Her eyes dip closed. "Are you glad you came?" She asks, because she doesn't want to sleep, not yet, just wants to hear Jon's voice a little longer.
"Yeah. I thought… I thought it would be harder. You know, to see everybody again." The couch rustles as he turns to her. "What about you?"
Sansa shrugs beneath the blanket. "I missed them," she says, and finds her throat dry and aching. "I didn't realize how much I missed them."
AN: I just posted a sneak peak of the next chapter at my tumblr (tacitwhisky, link in bio) so follow me there if you're interested.