prompt: it's okay to cry.


in the end

.

This is far from the first time they have broken up. But this time it feels different. It's quiet. The silly argument is long forgotten by the time Jon steps out of the plain grey door into the warm summer's night. Across his shoulder, he has slung a small bag with the most essential of his things. He finds little joy in the warm breeze and the faint orange glow of the sun that refuses to go down entirely during these precious months of the year.

In a haste, he has packed his things, and as he slips into his car, he remembers that he forgot to pack his toothbrush. But right now, he has no intention of going back up, and so he lets the engine roar to life, carelessly throws the bag over his shoulder onto the back seat. From his peripheral vision, he can see Ygritte's sweater which she has left there yesterday (he can not phantom how they went from a carefree, wonderful day at the shore of a crystal clear lake to this, can still hear her laughter and feel her hands in his, her lips on his), and the sight makes him both angry and sad.

They do not talk for a week, and it is yet another reason why this is different. Usually, one of them eventually gives in after a few days, calls to apologize, to ask the other to come back. But Jon lays awake on Robb's couch night after night, his phone in his hand, waiting, waiting for nothing and everything. He can't do it, stares at her number for hours until sleep finally takes over.

Every fibre of his body misses her, but to make the call is an act that requires too much strength, a courage he suddenly can not find in himself any more.

It's not until two days later that he walks back into their flat, and the awkward conversation between him and Ygritte breaks Jon's heart. All the ease is gone, washed away by the scraping of time. Desperately, he tries to remember when things have begun to fall apart, but even through the haze of fights and shouts, all the glorious moments stand out. They shine brightly in his memory, the kisses and smiles, the bickering, the unwavering trust, the touches.

She stands in the doorway in her pyjamas – no, they're his, he notices, and he looks away immediately – and watches him as he grabs stuff from their closet. He's run out of clothes days ago, but Robb has more than enough, and while his brother kept urging him to go back and fix things, he wouldn't deny Jon a fresh shirt.

She asks hesitant questions about where he's staying, how he's been doing, and he asks the same in return. But the two of them know each other too well to buy any lies, and so neither of them even attempts to make the other believe they have been fine.

It is not at all like all the other times in the past, when they have fallen back into each other's arms and forgotten all about what had torn them apart in the first place. Jon keeps stuffing his clothes into his bag, and he wants to crush the part inside of him that wants to leave, to get away from the tension and sadness clinging to the air in this place. Their place. Everything is theirs, they have made it their own over the years, and he would not know where to start differentiating what is his and what is hers.

Even the thought of finding a place of his own scares Jon, makes him feel a chill despite the warmth of summer. He can hardly remember a life without Ygritte in it. In all the years that lay behind him, she is there, everywhere. Ever since that day she had nearly run him over with her car, and yelled at him for not paying attention.

To find a new place, to even look for one, would mean that this time, it is really over. That the time they were given has passed. He can't stay with Robb and Talisa forever, and he can not, in his heart, find the desire to return here when all seems changed.

He needs to find a new place.

It really is over.

But he desperately does not want it to be.

It is all too much, and with a sigh, he sinks down onto the floor, back propped up against the bed they have shared for so long. Quietly, Ygritte watches him for a while longer, as if she has no clue what to say. If he is being honest, neither does he, and so he continues the pattern of silence, even when she slowly sits down next to him.

She crossed her legs beneath her, and shivers run down his spine when her knee bumps into his thigh. When once her touch had comforted him, it now only makes him more anxious, more aware of everything that has gone wrong, all the cracks they neglected and are now unable to fix. So, this is it? he asks eventually, avoiding her eyes. Earlier, when she had opened the door, he had seen the dark circles under her eyes. He wants to remember a different Ygritte. One who was smiling, or even yelling at him with fire in her eyes.

She shrugs. I guess. Her words indicate indifference, but in the way they are spoken, Jon can hear the pain she tries to hide – she has always tried to hide her pain, even more than him.

I don't want that. His voice trembles when he speaks, and he can no longer fight it. Looking up, he sees her blue eyes staring at him with a profound sadness. There is no anger, just pain.

Might be best,Ygritte murmurs, nervously kneading her hands in her lap. His pants are much too big for her, tied at her hips with a lazy knot, and he wants so badly to reach out and calm her down. Still, nothing can soothe his own pain, and he has no clue what to do, so his own hands remain immobile on the floor by his sides.

Her words cut deep, but they also allow for thoughts to shyly grow in his mind. Thoughts of a life without her. How different the past would have been. How uncertain his future. Do you really believe that?

I don't know any more than you do, she replies, nothing but a whisper now, and even through the quiet words he can hear the unmistakable sound of unshed tears. His eyes hold her gaze, and he is surprised she does not try to look away. If this is to be their last fight, she would be the winner. A victory that would go uncelebrated.

Jon feels tears burning in his own eyes, but he ignores the pain. The only thing that matters are the crystal clear drops in Ygritte's eyes, making them shine in a morbidly beautiful way. It's okay to cry, he whispers carefully as his hand finally reaches out and finds her own.

She does, and the sight breaks what little of his heart is left unscathed. Every single one of her limbs seems to shake when she sinks into his arms, and he wraps her up so tightly he is sure she must be in pain. But he just needs to hold her one last time – it has only ever been her who kept him together, and for one last time, they can be that for each other.

Her warm tears soak his shirt, and he can still hear her pained sobs when he carries his bag out of the door an hour later, salty trails drying on his own flushed cheeks.

It isn't for the better. But it is over.