'Cause you're the only Song I want to hear

i am waiting for you lonely every morning
i ´ve been hung up for you like this now for days
i am waiting , waiting every morning
i ´ve been giving you my twisted mixed emotions
you ´ve been tying me in twisted golden chains
i am waiting , waiting every morning
i am waiting , waiting every day

- Inchtabokatables, You chained me up-

The first time he sees her it's a sunny day, clear sky and all, and he is glad for the darkness between the shelves. His head is pounding with the aftermath of last night's drinking and if he could, he would be sleeping for a day... or maybe two, but the rent is hard to meet as it is already.

So he is here, prowling through this labyrinth of music like an especially ill-tempered Minotaur, when she and her friend enter the store.

He sees it from the corner of his eyes, a flash of red and stops in his tracks, staring. For a moment he thinks she is on fire, and it takes him a full three seconds to realize what it really is: Her hair, long and flying around her face, catching the sunlight and glowing like frickin' embers. He can't help himself, he takes a step back, back into the shadows, where it's cool and impossible to remember the heat of the fireplace all those years ago. A middle-aged woman looks at him curiously and he snarls at her, before spinning around and retreating farther.

He can't escape them though, can't escape her. Her hair draws his eye and he is not sure if it is out of masochistic fascination or because she is kinda pretty (fucking beautiful), with her long white legs and tall but slim form. He decides it has to be the former, after all she isn't the first pretty girl (but the first this fucking beautiful) to find her way to his store.

He has owned this place for a year now, so he has learned to place most of his customers as soon as they come through the door. And these two he can place immediately as well. He suppresses an annoyed groan, just barely. Girls like her usually come in small groups, wander between the shelves while talking loudly (too loud for his hangover) about how alternative and individual they are and feel no doubt quite intellectual. In most of the cases they leave shortly after without buying anything and complain (to fucking loudly) about the lack of new stuff of Nirvana. Doesn't he have anything after 1994?

This one stays longer than any of those chicks though. Patiently she walks between the towering shelves, dust raining from above, and scans the records, pulling one out, glancing at it and putting it back before taking another (she puts them all back in place, he kind of likes that). She is completely silent too. Her friend, a busty brunette, at least a head smaller than her, talks all the more as if to make up for it. All the while impatiently tipping her foot on the ground, arms crossed under her breasts. If it irritates the redhead, she doesn't let it show, just nods from time to time and mumbles something he cannot hear. A full hour goes by this way and he starts to wonder what she wants here, it's a nice day outside after all. Shouldn't they be out there, shopping or whatever girls her age are doing with her time (that's right, she is a girl, he hasn't seen her face yet, only in the profile, but he must have at least 10 years on her, probably more... what makes his lurking in the shadows kind of humiliating, not to mention a good deal creepy). No matter how much time she spends in here, it will not make her any less of the empty shell she is.

But then the song changes and her head shots up. This time he sees her face and her eyes are as blue as the sky outside, two cornflowers in a field of poppies (and isn't he just being damn poetic today? Curse Jorah and his endless droning about Shakespeare. Since he met this Dany-character it's just impossible to talk without him comparing someone to summer days and the like. And now it seems to be rubbing up on him. How fucking perfect).

And then she smiles. His breath catches.

"Ohh, I love this song!"

She clutches the record she is currently holding to her chest and swings slowly from side to side, her head tilted to the left, humming along. He is pretty sure he has never before seen someone enjoying a song this much. And he is staring, he knows, but it seems to be impossible for him to look away and it's dark here anyways. Nobody can see him and she is just so, so... perfect.

"Yeah? Well that's nice and all that honey, but we've been here for ages! I'm starving. Can we go now? Pretty please? I'm sure Joff is waiting already, too. Best not keep your Prince Charming waiting, eh?"

The bubbly voice of her friend (he had completely forgotten about her) breaks the spell and snaps them out of it, her out of her swinging, him out of his staring and they both blink.

"Oh my god, you are right! I'm soo sorry Margery. That must have been terribly boring for you. I just couldn't help myself. I'll make it up to you, ok?"

She stuffs the record back (still mindful of its original , he notes) and turns. Her left strokes longingly over one of the shelves near the entry before she sighs and allows her friend to drag her out of the door.

"I'll be back.", she says to nobody in particular and he catches himself hoping that it will be soon.

XX

She is back three days later, this time without her friend. Again she wanders through the corridors, lingering here and there to have a closer look, while he watches from the shadows. It comes pretty close to hiding, which of course he is not, not really at least.

It's just that he feels like this one time he run into the woods behind their house (he spend a lot of time there after the - incident, as his old man used to put it), back when he was younger. Away from the judging looks and his father's uncomfortable silence and most of all away from Gregor. His father was away at business for the Lannisters and his brother… he had a feeling he was better off not knowing. It been a lazy, quiet day, just wandering around and enjoying his freedom. And unexpected he found himself standing on the edge of a little clearing, bathed in sunlight.

He still remembers how suddenly the young doe carefully walked out in the clearing, ears alert and her pelt soft and shining, completely unaware of him. He froze where he stood, because he knew that as soon as he moved just a little finger she would be gone. Somehow he could not bear that. This was her place and he had felt like an intruder.

And just like the doe all those years ago the girl passes by him (again and again and again) without knowing he was ever there, leaving him breathless.

Again she leaves without buying anything. He does not mind. Not as long as she comes back.

XX

It takes her two weeks to return. Two weeks in which he does not spare her a single thought. Maybe he even forgets her. But as soon as she walks through the door he finds himself in a dark corner, eyes transfixed on her and he asks himself how, how he made it through two whole fucking weeks without seeing her.

(And if he is really true to himself, he knows that his dreams were filled with red and blue.)

XX

She starts coming at least three times a week, exactly one hour after he opened. She never buys anything, and he wonders, what she comes here for when this place has nothing she desires. But she returns. Again and again and again and maybe, he thinks, the why ain't that important.

He built this little fortress to keep the fire away and now that a little flame has found its way past its defenses he finds that he doesn't mind in the slightest. Before he knows it he finds himself waiting for her visits, at least one ear and eye at the door so he won't miss her.

A/N: AU I started writing some time ago but never really finished 'cause I kinda run out of ideas... but I thought I would post some of the stuff I've writen for it here^^

Also, the thing about music and individuality: Didn't mean offence to anyone (if there even is anyone. But this is the internet and some people make a hobby out of being offended), but there are really some people like this (my sister for example *coughcough* .. this is also where I stole the Nirvana line...)

BTW:

ASoIaF and all its characters belong to George R.R. Martin.

See ya, Mag~