Here we go. I've been working on this for a quite a while now, and I'm glad it's finally coming to an end. It turned into a monster I never intended it to be. This is the first of three parts.

It's set in a modernized Westeros, but there are references to pop culture, so it's all a bit of a loose setting.

A massive thank you to Annie for reading this and being the absolute cutest.

there is a wall of silence in our way
what's quiet in the voices I cannot say
through all the walls I fought in my mind
and your eyes are the only refuge I find

mikky ekko, a place for us

Jon cursed the moment Pyp had finally worn him out and talked him into going on this hiking trip. It was a stupid idea, a team building trip up North in March when the ground was still covered in snow and frost and the wind was biting at whatever small patch of skin still left uncovered.

Jon would have rather stayed back at his flat like Sam had done, but Pyp had been relentless. There's girls and they'll need warming up. You need to suck up to Professor Mormont after you set the lab on fire. You need to move your arse out of your flat, mate. The list went on and on, and finally, Jon had given in.

He hated every second of it. The seemingly endless ride in the car with Pyp and Grenn and their advice on girls, blaring their music for all the world to hear. Quorin's endless preaching about the threats of the wilderness and the importance of team work - he admired the man, truly. But out there in the deep snow huddling into a much too small tent, all he wanted was for the man to leave him be. But most of all, Jon was annoyed by the others.

In an effort for more open-mindedness or some other political hypocrisy, a handful of students from the community college had been invited on the trip. It wasn't that Jon cared what college they went to. Yes, his father's name had opened him doors and gotten him into one of the most prestigious schools in he country, but he respected the others just as much as his fellow students. What had him on edge was the tension.

Neither group seemed particularly happy with the arrangement, and so the already achingly long hikes seemed to stretch on forever. All Jon wanted was to leave (and maybe print that picture he'd taken of Pyp during his last birthday party and plaster it all over town, because without him he would never have agreed to come along in the first place).

So, of course he got lost. And whatever gods there were had not even had the mercy to put him in the miserable situation by himself, no. He was stuck in the freezing wilderness with the most aggravating girl he had ever met.

She was one of the community college students. He had first noticed her in the parking lot where they had all met up, flaming red hair not easily missed. She stuck with her own people much like he did, but over the last few days, Jon had overheard more than one of her nasty comment. Also, the way she talked to Quorin - interrupting him, blatantly accusing him of telling them all the wrong things, correcting him without so much as a polite word - spoke of little respect from her side.

After the first two days, their large group was split into five smaller groups, and Jon rolled his eyes when she was the single community college student chosen for his group, the group lead by Quorin.

After just one day, she ended up tripping and falling right next to him, only a few miles away from where they were to make camp that night - for once a cabin with staff and hot water and electricity.
He knelt down next to her before anyone else had even noticed her fall, and in that split second it took her to realize who he was, he saw the way her pale face contorted in pain.

A twisted ankle, and harsh words from her when he gently tried to help her up.

Stark, you stay with her while we walk ahead and get help. We'll be back right away, it's not far.

Jon cursed the moment Pyp had talked him into going on this trip even more. He shot his friend a glare, and got nothing but a suggestive wink in return.

When the last of their group had disappeared behind a snow-covered hill, Jon sat down next to the girl on the small rock onto which she had pulled herself.

Are you alright?

This look alright to you? Her blue eyes were piercing, but as Jon looked at them for a moment longer than necessary, he began to think they might be capable of more softness.

What's your name?

Ygritte.

I'm Jon.

You're Eddard Stark's bastard, right?

Jon wanted to ask how she knew, but to fool himself into thinking someone would not have gossiped about it by now seemed naive even to him.

He was my father. The pain of losing him was still too fresh.

She was quiet then, staring into the nothingness of the wild. But Jon looked at nothing but her. The deep red of her hair stood out against all the snow that surrounded them, her braids gone frizzy, loose curls fighting their way out and down over her shoulders. From the side, he could see the straight line of her nose and the shadows cast by her eyelashes on her freckled cheeks. And he could see her quivering lips.

Are you cold? I think I've got another hat in my backpack. He moved to take the heavy bag off his shoulders, but she only scoffed.

I don't want your fancy hat. Why did they even leave us here? It's not far, the Halfhand said. He knew the nickname for Quorin, but had never actually met anyone bold enough to use it. It made him cringe. Let's go, don't want to freeze to death here.

She suddenly scrambled onto her feet, and Jon could hear her the pained moan she tried to hide when she put her weight onto her injured foot.

Sit down, you'll make it worse.

What'll make it worse is sitting here freezing my fucking foot off. If you help me, we'll be at that cabin long before they're even on their way back to us.

She was unsteady, and Jon really didn't want her falling over and breaking something else on his watch. He stood, grabbing her a little roughly by the arms.

We'll wait for them here.

You some survival expert, Jon Stark?

Quorin said to wait-

The Halfhand tells you to jump off a bridge you do that, too?

Fifteen minutes later, Ygritte had worn him out, and they were heading in the direction their group had left. Jon was holding on to Ygritte to support her, but they were slow and the wind had blown away whatever footprints had been left behind.

We need to get to those hills. Ygritte had not spoken much since Jon had groaned in defeat and given in. He thought it might be the pain of putting so much weight on her injured foot - and he could not help but think that she deserved it. Just a little.

We can't go that way. It'll take you hours to climb those hills. We'll go around them.

The look she gave him reminded Jon of his sister Arya. And you know where we'll end up, Jon Stark?

At the cabin. He sounded much more confident than he really was, but climbing those hills with Ygritte clinging to him would be a futile attempt.

Have it your way.

A few hours later, Jon was starving, had no feeling in his hands or feet and there was no cabin anywhere in sight.

Will you finally admit we're lost? He was pretty much carrying Ygritte at this point, cursing her silently. It was all her fault, after all. The sun is going down and your friends are nowhere close.

I'll find them. If he was being honest, he could already see Quorin finding their frozen corpses in a few days time. And it was all her fault. We'll stop here. It's too dark to go any further today. The sun was barely visible, nothing but a red, bloody glow on the endless snow.

Here? Ygritte squirmed in his grasp to take in the rough plateau of rocks. There's no shelter here. He wanted to shake her, but instead he sat her down on the rock, icy but dry.

There's no shelter anywhere.

There is if you know where to look. Her know-it-all tone caused him to prop her up a little more roughly than intended. If she knew so much about the wild, why had she insisted on leaving the one place where they would easily have been found? The cold could kill us both. If we light a fire-

No fire. Jon sat down a few feet away from her, rummaging through his backpack for a blanket and some food. Pyp had the tent. Of course he did.

But a fire-

No fire. I don't want any animals seeing it. I don't want to end up as dinner. He threw a granola bar at her, and she gave him one of her looks. Over the few hours he had spent with her, Jon had come to hate those looks with a passion. She seemed too confident, and looked too deeply.

Have it your way. He was surprised, but came to think her own strength might be growing weaker. As they ate their modest dinner in silence, he noticed her occasional sigh, the way she shut her eyes and breathed deeply.

Too quickly, the sun disappeared, and Jon had never been so scared in his life. He moved to lay down a few feet away from Ygritte. He had given her his blanket - she had not carried her own, lucky as they were. There had not been so much as a thank you, just an annoyed scoff as she took it from him, and he would have wished for a few hours of sleep to forget she was even here with him.

We'll stay warmer if we stay close. He stopped moving, but kept quiet at her suggestion. I bet you'll freeze to death before I do.

She was probably right, and he rolled his eyes in defeat. Turning around, he laid down beside her. She was on her side, turned away from him – quiet. Jon pressed his front against her back, the warmth of her body already seeping through their clothes. Her hair tickled his nose, and whenever he breathed, he could smell the comforting scent of smoke and wood and cinnamon.

Think they're out looking for us? Strangely enough, Ygritte's voice was soft, quiet, her words carrying gently through the darkness.

Of course.

Think they'll find us?

Yes.

You're brave. Stupid, but brave. Jon did not understand this woman. Or any woman, really. But Ygritte... She was different.

We'll start again at first light. Get some sleep.

She grew quiet, and when Jon shut his eyes, he fought hard against the flutters her scent and warmth sent throughout his body. With every breath he took, the warm, spicy scent of her flooded his nostrils, and with each breath she took, her warmth seemed to increase. She fit perfectly against him, and Jon could only imagine the faces his friends would make if they could see him right now.

Slowly, Ygritte began to stir against him. For the first few seconds, Jon thought she might only be trying to get more comfortable on the rough stone, or that she needed to adjust her injured foot. But when she did not stop, her hips moving in torturous, slow circles against his own, Jon's breathing began to hitch.

Stop moving. He kept his eyes shut, the sound of his voice harsh. The pressure of her hips against his own stirred his blood, and he fought the urge to push closer to her.

I'm just trying to get comfortable. The words slipped from her mouth as if she had no idea what she was doing to him, but even Jon understood that she was moving on purpose, aggravating him even more, teasing him the way she seemed to enjoy so much. What she planned to achieve, he did not know.

Stop it. The friction between them grew steadily, and Jon moved his own hips away from her as far as he could manage. She did stop then, suddenly perfectly still against him, and Jon took a few deep breaths, praying for his blood to rush back to his head. Even though she was turned away from him, he could basically see the smug grin on her pretty face – when did he start thinking of her face as pretty? He took another deep breath and closed his eyes, praying for sleep to take him quickly.

Ygritte had other plans. Pushing her body back against his, her hips resumed the circular movements that had tortured him before. You're still moving. He spat out the words, grabbing her arm to still her.

Was I? I didn't notice that time. When he closed his eyes again, Jon could see her pleased smile, and when he stopped fighting it, the image drowned out the harsh blow of the wind, the piercing cold and the faceless sounds of the night.

.:.

Jon was only half awake, the cold wind biting at his back and face. But there was something warm in his arms, and he pulled it closer. Heat ran through his veins like fire. It was not until the warmth in his arms suddenly moved that Jon was pulled back into consciousness.

When he opened his eyes, the pink glow of the sun on the endless planes of snow blinded him, but that was not what caught his gaze. It was the mess of red curls that obscured most of his view.

He remembered then.

His leg had moved during the night, propped up on Ygritte's thigh, and his eyes widened when he realized that his hand was flat on her breasts. The thick layers of their clothes prevented him from really feeling anything, but he quickly pulled his hand back anyway. The movement was what woke Ygritte fully.

She squirmed again, and when her hips accidentally – this time he was sure it was not on purpose – pressed into his, she stilled. Jon knew exactly why, and he scrambled to his feet so quickly that his vision turned black for a few seconds. He almost lost his balance, pulling down his thick coat with nervous hands, heat flushing his cheeks.

What's the matter? Ygritte propped herself up into a sitting position, but Jon tried hard not to look at her directly. Can't be the first time you've pressed your bone against a woman's arse.

The only other person Jon knew who was as crude as Ygritte was Theon, and he had never gotten along with him as well as Robb had. He swallowed, still avoiding her, and flung his backpack back over his shoulders.

Let's move. His voice was still raspy from sleep, and he knelt down to grab his blanket, stuffing it silently into Ygritte's backpack.

Or it is the first time. His hands stilled at her words, and he felt as if his face could not turn any redder. How old are you, boy?

The sound of her voice was as sleepy as his own, different from her usual sharpness, but the edge of her words drove him mad once more. I'm not a boy. He closed the zipper of her backpack, handing it back to her.

She took it with a crooked grin, pulling it onto her back. No, but you're a virgin. She said it as if it was the most entertaining bit of information she had heard in years, so painfully obviously holding back a laugh that Jon balled his hands into fists to stay calm.

Let's go. He helped her to her feet, not looking at her, eyes focussed on the sun rising in the distance.

They had been walking for at least two hours, the sun high in the spotless sky. The exhaustion in his legs slowed Jon down even more than Ygritte, who could barely take a single step on her own at this point. They needed to find shelter, or they would end up stranded, exhausted, unprotected and even more lost than they already were.

I heard they get all swollen and bruised if you don't use them. Ygritte spoke for the first time since that morning, her tone almost curious as she let him drag her along. The snow was getting deeper, every step achingly difficult. Of course, maybe that's just what the lads say when they want me feeling sorry for them. As if I'd feel sorry for them. He believed that, rolling his eyes. Don't you like girls?

Of course I like girls. Jon had wanted to stay silent, to not give her the satisfaction of provoking him. But the words slipped past his lips quicker than he had even processed hers.

So, you've only got your hands to help you out, then. He could feel her staring at him, but kept his eyes straight ahead. No wonder you look so miserable.

He had enough. He had enough of Robb asking when he'd finally bring home a girlfriend. Enough of Sam smiling, telling him he'd find a girl long before he would as if that could somehow made him feel better. Enough of looking at couples eating each other's face right in front of him, enough of Pyp and Grenn trying to set him up, enough of being alone, enough of Ygritte tearing at his seams.

He stopped walking so suddenly that Ygritte lost her balance, and he only clutched her arms to stop her from falling over because he did not want to carry her if she broke her leg. Would you please shut up?

Would you please shut up. She mocked his voice, leaning closer to him. He could feel her breath fanning over his skin, warm and damp, her blue eyes staring up at him. You think you're better than me, crow. The name dripped from her lips like poison. Jon knew it was what the others called them, the completely black school uniforms serving as inspiration. But there was something else there, something despicable, and he hated hearing it.

Jon wondered what his life had become, stomping through the knee deep snow, dragging a girl along who screamed right into his ear about his privileges and how his school refused to support her college and how he could shove his dead father's money up his arse. He wanted to drop her, just sit here and wait for both of them to freeze to death. Instead, he yelled back, right in her face, so close their noses were almost touching because it was not his fucking fault that they had better libraries and better labs and his father was dead, for fuck's sake, what did his money matter to her, anyway? And who was it who constantly caused an uprising with the demonstrations and the shouting and fighting in the streets?

Eventually, neither of them could breathe any more, and Jon fell into the snow with a pained groan. Ygritte yelped when her injured foot hit the ground, but she collected herself, sitting upright next to him. Their breathing was laboured, could be heard by each other even over the shrill blowing of the wind.

They ate their last food in silence, chewing with aching and tired jaws. He would die out here, Jon was sure of it now.

You should get out of that school and get a life. Where she found the energy to speak, he could only guess. Her words irritated him, all the venom and spite gone, no shouting, but an honest touch to her quiet words. Get a job, find a woman.

He turned to look at her, lips a terrifying shade of blue, eyes clear, cheeks flushed, her breath forming steam in front of her mouth. She was looking at him, too, not as close as before, but looking deeply into his eyes. Too deep. Her words echoed in Jon's heart and in all the dark corners of his soul that he kept locked away and hidden. Why had she found a back door? Why was she crawling into his brain and picking at the things that caused him so much pain?

You're a pretty lad. Girls would claw each other's eyes out to get naked for you. There it was again, the grin, mocking and teasing him.

We should get up and move.

She showed no sign of even having heard him. Instead, she leaned in closer, her voice dropping to just louder than a raspy whisper. I could teach you how to do it.

I know how to do it. Jon wanted to groan as soon as the words had left his mouth. Again. He had given her what she wanted, again.

Ygritte bit her lip, the grin not fading. You know nothing, Jon Stark.

It was no longer about walking to find their group or to find shelter. They were moving now to keep from freezing. As soon as they would make another attempt at sitting down, Jon knew they would not get up again. There was no strength left in either of them, not even to stop. And so they talked, because while they did, it distracted from the pain that spread like fire through their legs and the hunger that bit their bellies and the exhaustion that pulled their eyes shut and slowed their breathing.

They talked about the cold, about what food they would eat if someone found them now – he would eat the biggest burger the world had ever seen, and she could keep her grilled cheese. About beaches in the sun they had never been to – You tell me you're some rich guy's kid and never went on any fancy vacations? - or about survival tips they once heard and how not-helpful they were turning out to be – I'm not eating poop just cause Bear Grylls says so, thanks very much.

It was starting to get darker, or as dark as it ever got here. The bright light of the sun reflecting from the snow was slowly gleaming orange, and come the next morning, Jon knew the chances were slim for both of them to still be alive.

I don't think they'll find us. Ygritte sounded oddly indifferent, the words – words they both had thought over and over for hours without actually uttering them – strangely calm and lacking any panic.

Jon was not sure if he wanted to reassure her or himself. They will.

When they did find them only half an hour later, Jon almost started crying. He was barely moving at this point, could hardly hold his own weight, much less Ygritte, who was clinging to him, quiet now. Her breathing was shallow, and his every breath felt like ice running down his throat. But he saw them nonetheless, appearing on top of a nearby hill, shouting, running towards them.

They tried to pry Ygritte away from him, but he only held on tighter, and remembered nothing after that.

.:.

He had just dumped his backpack into Pyp's loaded trunk when he heard her voice. Jon! Turning, he saw her nearby, walking towards him on crutches. She looked oddly helpless, not an adjective he had come to associate with Ygritte.

Hearing Pyp and Grenn mumbling in the car, he smashed the trunk shut, walking away from the run-down pile of scrap metal that Pyp liked to call his ride. He met Ygritte halfway, unable to read the smile on her face. What is it?

Her lips were back to their normal shade of pink, her hair tied into a messy bun and the thick coat exchanged for the most unfitting, knitted cardigan he had ever seen, the colour reminding him of overcooked salmon. Still, he felt warmth spreading through his chest at the sight of her. After Quorin, a few other students and the rescue team had found them and taken them to the local hospital – turned out they had been lucky and much more sturdy than they had felt – he had only seen Ygritte once. Then, she had been laying in a hospital bed, sleeping, covered in layers of blankets and her face unnaturally pale.

Nobody knew he had sneaked into her room that night - and no one would ever know, he would see to that. Especially not her. Ygritte would probably find a way to strangle him the next time he dared to go to sleep. Still, he had found no rest in his own bed, and when Pyp and Grenn had been ushered out by the nurse – an elderly woman with a cap and a voice that reminded him of Old Nan - the only thing he could see in the darkness behind his closed eyes had been his last memory of Ygritte's face. Her slowly closing eyes, the shocking blue shade of her lips. The feel of her hands holding on to him for support. So, he had wandered off, searching for her, needing to make sure she was alright. He had only stayed with her for a minute, breathing in deeply before heading back to his own bed.

She came to a stop before him, putting her weight on one crutch to use a free hand to tuck a loose strand of hair back behind her ear. You all thawed?

Yeah. He smiled at her, unsure where they were picking up their unlikely companionship. Back when she called him a stupid, spoiled brat? Back when she offered to teach him... things?

Listen, she said quickly, and Jon could see her friends over her shoulder, eyeing them suspiciously. When they saw him staring, they turned towards each other, suddenly deep in conversation. I work at Rayder's Coffee Shop, down at the Fist. Guess that's not a part of town you've ever been to. But just in case you want to... learn things. She winked, actually winked, and Jon almost skipped a breath. I work weekdays and every second Sunday.

With that, and another smile he could not decipher, she turned around and walked away from him. Jon tried not to stare after her for too long, but her words were repeating in his mind over and over and he felt a slight blush creeping onto his face.

A deft clap on the shoulder ripped him back into reality, and he turned to see Grenn's broad grin. What was that about?

Nothing. His answer came too quickly and too unsteadily, Jon knew it. Avoiding his friend's mischievous grin, he made his way back to the car.

Didn't look like nothing to me. Jon muttered a curse under his breath when the passenger door would not open, all rusty and ancient. And you were holding on to her pretty tight when we found you guys.

The blush Ygritte had conjured on his cheeks only increased. He had little recollection of what had happened when they had been found, but according to his friends – and the utter enjoyment sparkling in their eyes when they kept reminding him only proved that it was the truth – he had been holding on to Ygritte, refusing to let anyone else take her. She was my responsibility. And we were half-dead.

The door finally jumped open with an ugly creak, and Pyp shouted at him not to hurt his most precious possession. It belongs to the junk yard, Pyp.

Music was already blaring out of the speakers, and when Jon reached for his seatbelt, Grenn put his hand on his shoulder. Mate, she sure doesn't seem like the kind of girl who wants to be anyone's responsibility.

.:.

Ygritte had been wrong. The Fist was a rough part of town, and almost a thirty minute bus ride away from his school, but he had been there before. A lot. Hidden away in an alleyway that could serve as a murder scene for some crime show on television, was the only decent comic book store in town, and Jon was a frequent customer. Not that he would tell that to Ygritte. She did not need another reason to tease him. Not that he needed to tell her anything at all, really.

It had been three weeks since the disastrous hiking trip, three weeks in which he had to talk to his little sister Arya on the phone twice every day because she was scared out of her mind that any harm would come to him, three weeks of other students whispering behind his back, a very uncomfortable conversation with Quorin, an even more uncomfortable one with Professor Mormont - so much for making up for setting the lab on fire. He tried not to think about all the sly remarks from Professor Thorne. Three weeks of restless nights, filled with dreams of red hair and blue eyes, and he cursed Ygritte for planting the seed in his brain.

So, because he was smart and strong and not at all curious, he somehow found himself in front of Rayder's Coffee Shop. It was the first warm day of spring, and the sun tingled on his face. He recognized the small shop, had seen it a few times when he was walking by. Yet he had never been inside.

He had no clue what he was even doing here. Or if Ygritte was even working. Every weekday, she had said, but what time? The afternoon was late and his books resting heavily in his backpack. It had been a stupid idea, an hour wasted. She was probably not even here, and even if she was, what would he do?

The bus stop was just around the corner, but Jon knew he'd have to wait at least twenty minutes for the next bus to take him to the corner of Eastwatch Street where he might catch the right bus home.

Groaning, he pushed open the heavy door to the shop. Inside, he looked up at the high wooden ceiling, rustic and sturdy looking. Dark leather chairs were scattered all over the room, pictures of animals and forests lining the walls, candles casting a comforting glow. He was surprised by the place – it looked a lot more run-down and shabby from the outside. A handful of customers were sipping on their drinks, one elderly lady chewing on a piece of cake. Spotting an empty chair by the window, Jon dropped his backpack and sat down, all the while avoiding the counter at the back.

He sank deeply into the chair, the scent of pines and smoke filling his nostrils. There was a small candle flickering on the table, which seemed to be carved right out of the trunk of a tree. Other customers had carved their names into the wood, small and almost unrecognisable pictures, quotes and other scars. Jon ran his finger along a deep gash that formed a T.

Well, look who's come to be enlightened. He looked up at the sudden voice, staring right into that pair of blue eyes that had haunted him for weeks. Ygritte grinned that grin that drove him so mad, her hair braided away from her face, the black apron she wore over her orange shirt – same salmon sort of colour as the cardigan, he noticed (and why on Earth did he remember what colour her damn cardigan had been?) - was spotless and clung to her. Back in the wilderness, with her thick coat and layers of scarves, he had not noticed how skinny and tiny she was.

A lump formed in his throat, her words suggestive and an echo of their last conversation in the parking lot. Of course he had not forgotten her proposal, but thinking about that would only make him blush. That's not why I came.

It's not? She laughed, a clear laugh he would not have anticipated, one hand pressed against her hip, the other clutching a small notebook. Why honour us with your presence, then?

Right. Coffee Shop. An order. His eyes caught sight of a menu on his table, but he could feel his fingers trembling even as they rested on his thighs. A coffee? He blurted out the words, eyes dancing from her face to the counter in the back and to the old lady wiping cream from her mouth with a mossy green napkin. Black.

Sure. Ygritte turned on her heels, striding towards the counter.

I'm such an idiot, Jon murmured to himself, holding his scarred palm over the small, flickering flame of the candle. The elderly woman in the corner was staring out of the window into the dim light of the street light. He had not noticed them turning on, or how quickly the street was turning dark. Turning away, his eyes found the menu again. Green letters listed all sorts of baked and cooked meals and snacks, variations of coffee he had never even heard of, teas he knew and did not.

What happened with your hand? Jon flinched, wondering if she was sneaking up on him on purpose. His eyes fell from her curious face to his own hand, which he turned up. The thick scars and angry red skin stood out, ugly and disfigured. Thankfully, the pain had faded by now, even though he felt as if his fingers would never be as flexible as the ones on his unscathed hand.

Burned it a couple of months ago. There was no need to tell her how he had accidentally set the lab on fire. It was not a story he liked to tell, one he had suffered for enough and had been teased for on any occasion his friends deemed fit.

Shouldn't play with fire, then. Ygritte grinned, softer than he expected. Here you go. Setting the steaming cup of coffee down in front of him, she smoothed her flat palm down her apron before sitting down in the chair across the small table.

Jon threw her a curious glance. Do you always sit down with your customers?

Can't say it's a habit. She crossed her legs, burying her hands between her thighs. My shift just ended. You're lucky. This was why coming here had been such a massively stupid idea. Here she was, sitting right in front of him, and all he could do was to wrap his hands around the coffee cup and stare blankly at her knees.

How's your foot? The hot coffee burned as it ran down his throat, bitter and strong. It reminded Jon why he hated coffee so much.

Fine. Still hurts a bit when I walk. Their eyes met, and she seemed to inspect him, giving him that deep stare. It made him feel naked and vulnerable. Coffee okay?

He nodded, forcing down another sip as if to prove his point. They sat in silence for a short while, the only sounds the clinging of cutlery and the deep hum of a coffee machine.

Ygritte was tapping her foot in a steady rhythm, and Jon wondered if a matching song was playing in her head. Saw your brother on the news this morning. Jon looked down at his lap at the mention of Robb. He had seen him, too, although what exactly the news had been about, he could not tell. At the time, he'd been half-dressed and had nearly impaled himself on his toothbrush on the way out of his room. Ever since Robb had taken over their father's seat as head of the family business, Jon felt as if he was on the news every day. Fine guy, I'm sure he's not a virgin.

He sat down his cup, immediately craving the heat on his skin. Do you have siblings? It was a stupid question, but at least it would steer their conversation away from where she had been taking it. Again.

Not that I know of. Her answer surprised Jon, and he furrowed his brows. Yet, before he could ask what she meant or if she was just joking, she spoke again. How come you don't work for him?

The coffee was so dark that Jon felt lost staring at it. Looking up, he saw Ygritte's face softened and curious. He noticed a small red stain on the collar of her blouse, but from the distance, he could not tell what it was. Robb asked after... The words died on his tongue, turning to ashes as his heart darkened. Talking about his father's death would never come without grief, and neither would the anger ever diminish. Someone had shot him in the middle of the road, while Arya was right there, tiny, innocent Arya who had never been the same since. After our father died. But I didn't want to.

Ygritte uncrossed her legs, thereby freeing her hands. She leaned forwards, propping her elbows on her knees and her chin on her fists. Might be better. Looks like you need balls for that kind of job.

She had no idea how right she was. It was a brutal world, one that had claimed his father's life, and Jon was scared for Robb every day. His brother was the perfect heir to their father's position. Strong, intelligent, charismatic. Yet, Jon knew him better than most, and he knew of his weaknesses and blind spots, of all the ways the world could kill him.

His eyes caught sight of the menu again, and he was reminded of the sad and empty part of the fridge that belonged to him (he'd end up stealing Sam's food again, as usual). So, if I wanted to eat something here, what would you recommend?

Nothing, the food sucks. He laughed at her dead-serious words, and she gave him a broad smile. Her teeth were slightly crooked, he noticed, but it made her smile more special. But there's a diner down the road. Best burgers in town, trust me. Vaguely, he remembered his dying wish for burgers back in the icy cold when they had walked into the unknown, and he grinned. Don't tell Mance I said that, though.

Who is that?

My boss. She crossed her arms in front of her chest, looking him up and down. So, you hungry, Jon Stark?

Her gaze was penetrating, and suddenly Jon felt his palms becoming clammy. Not really. He was a coward and a liar, and maybe he was naive for thinking that she had just invited him for dinner, but if sitting here with her already made his stomach twist, how could he eat a burger when she was around?

They spoke little after that, and Jon regretted his lie when she eventually scrambled back onto her feet. I need to change. She looked down at him, eyes flickering between him and his half-empty cup of now cold coffee. Will I see you again?

She left him no time to reply as if she knew he did not have an answer, only winked and walked away, untying her apron as she did. He could hear her saying something to the young woman behind the counter, but could not make out the words.

Sinking deeper into the leather chair, Jon cursed himself. He was stupid and hungry and sweaty and it would take ages to wash away the bitter taste of the coffee. Fumbling through his bag, he found his schedule for the upcoming week, eyes burning into the empty space on Tuesday afternoon.

.:.

On Tuesday, after almost missing the bus and cursing Professor Thorne for not ending the class on time, Jon stumbled into the coffee shop with a fluttering sensation in his guts. Surely she wouldn't be working, that would be too big a coincident. The warmth of the shop greeted him, and the heady spices and scent of wood were more comforting than the slowly spreading spring outside. One look at the counter showed no sign of Ygritte, and Jon was taken aback by the rush of disappointment he felt. For thirty minutes on the bus – and the past five days since he had seen her last – he had been going over their conversation in his head, taking apart every word she had uttered and every word he should have said.

The shop was busier than last week, a man in an ugly brown suit sitting by the window, a couple holding hands while their coffee cups steamed on the table, some teenagers with their noses buried in their books or phones, and a weird-looking guy with a headband who was sitting at the counter – who actually wore headbands?

Spotting the same seat from last week still empty, Jon walked over there, ignoring the used plate still on the table. Pink frosting was smeared all over the blue plate, and he checked the menu for a large selection of doughnuts to choose from. Then, smiling to himself like an idiot, he remembered Ygritte's warning about the food, and shoved the menu to the far end of the table.

Didn't think I'd ever see you again. She had sneaked up on him again, a cup of steaming black coffee suddenly appearing on the table in front of him.

He looked up at her, trying his hardest not to look as nervous as he felt. I didn't order that.

Ygritte grinned, the orange of her blouse in stark contrast to her hair, which fell loosely down over her shoulders. I know. Her smile shone brightly, and when she sat down opposite him, Jon noticed the way she tapped her fingers against her thigh and flipped her hair back over her shoulder. The movement seemed perfectly practised, and he suddenly felt the urge to reach out and tuck another loose strand of hair behind her ear. He shook off the thought, shocked at the bluntness of his own mind. It was annoying enough to always be as terrified and clueless around women as he was, but with Ygritte, his mind started to fill in all the blanks in the most vivid of colours.

More than once he had caught himself doodling in class, wild lines scribbled in red that resembled her hair, blue circles of ink that were darker and more fearful than her eyes. Last night, standing under the shower, he had wondered what shampoo she used, over breakfast he had looked at the back of the cereal box (Sam had bought it, and he didn't really like anything that tasted like caramel but wasn't caramel, but it was still better than no breakfast) wondering which of the proclaimed flavours Ygritte might prefer. On the bus earlier, driving past the many apartment buildings and run-down parking lots of the Fist, he had tried to picture where she lived, what a room she had put together would look like. He imagined total chaos, books and papers and clothes scattered everywhere.

Shift over? He asked, reaching for his coffee, the warmth of the blue cup immediately welcomed by his fingers. She cocked her head to the side, watching him silently as he gulped down the vile drink. How anyone could actually enjoy this, he had no clue.

I wouldn't be sitting here if it wasn't, dumb ass. Somehow, Jon found that her words were cutting less and less deep with each rude remark. She tucked one of her legs under the other, never taking her eyes off him. But it ended almost an hour ago. It was really busy earlier so I couldn't leave until now.

She told him about her day then, about smashed plates and salty cakes and coffee stains on the brand new menus and a few regulars with all their quirks, told him everything as if it was the most natural thing in world for her to do. He leaned in closer, his outstretched foot almost bumping into hers under the table, and the bitter taste of the coffee was long forgotten when he could listen to her voice and watch the way her tongue sometimes slipped along the crooked line of her teeth.

It was dark outside by the time she grew more quiet, her apron untied and folded messily across the side of her chair. Jon was still holding on to the now empty and cold cup, fascinated by the way the street lights illuminated Ygritte's hair, almost like dancing flames. So, after a day like that, you'd rather spend your free time sitting here with me than going home?

When the words had left his lips, Jon wanted to bite off his own tongue, only now realizing what exactly he had said. That was not something he said, not ever, not to anybody, not when the other person took every word and turned it into something else the way Ygritte did.

But Ygritte only smiled softly, and he did not miss the spark in her eyes. Maybe.

As it turned out, it was not as difficult to work on school assignment on the bus as Jon had always thought, and so the time spent on the way down to the Fist was not entirely wasted. Ygritte had scribbled her work schedule on a napkin and slipped it swiftly into the pocket of his jacket two weeks ago, and in that short amount of time, Jon had become a regular at Rayder's Coffee Shop.

He could not always make it there for the end of her shifts, and then he would sit in the comfy leather chair and watch her bustle about the shop, gulping down the coffee she always brought him without him ordering one. Sometimes she'd look over to him and grin, and after a while, the flutters in his stomach did not bother him all that much.

But his favourite days were the ones when she could sit down with him, would untie her apron and curl her legs under herself and tell him about this and that and ask him questions. It was surprisingly easy to talk to her, and her remarks and all the names she came up with for him formed a pattern and a bond between them. Sometimes, when she was so invested in what she was saying that Jon felt she was drifting away, her cheeks would flush a deep red, and she would gesticulate with her hand wildly. Then, when she listened to him, she would lean in, look at him with that deep, blue, haunting gaze, and her fingers would always flutter against her thigh.

Of course he mentioned his siblings, but they never talked much about family. She knew about the scandal surrounding his birth and the mother he had never known, of course. Everybody in the world bloody knew and he hated it. But somehow, she seemed to understand the scars he carried and never really brought it up.

One time, over a pretty dry doughnut (she had been right saying the food at the shop was no good, and not even the vanilla frosting could save the sad lump of dough) she matter-of-factly told him that her parents had died when she was very young and that she had been raised by Tormund, a giant guy with hair as red as her own who had been friends with her mother - and that was the end of it. Two minutes later, she talked about how they should take another trip North to forget about the time they had almost died up there - there were some caves there he would love - and when she licked blue sprinkles from her upper lip, Jon had forgotten all about dead parents and motherless little boys.

One day, and later Jon could not remember how the topic had even come up, he told her about the time after Bran's accident, the day Catelyn had looked him in the eyes - and how terrifying she had appeared, red eyes and dark circles, face swollen from grief and a severe lack of sleep - and told him he should have been the one to fall and nearly die, to spend the rest of his days in a wheelchair. Jon realized as he spoke that he had never told this to anyone, and he almost choked on the words.

Ygritte never said a word, only rested her surprisingly warm hand on his knee, drawing soft circles with her thumb, and it was the first time Jon wished to be brave enough to close the ever shrinking gap between them and kiss her.

.:.

The first time he walked her to her car had been after the end of her Sunday morning shift. He had been sitting in his usual spot all morning, watching her rush around the shop, pale cheeks flushed and complaining in exasperation whenever she had a free second to speak to him. Jon had never seen the shop so busy, filled to the brim with chatting customers. By the time Ygritte's shift was finally over, she had asked him to help her carry some boxes out to the yard.

Jon knew she did not really need his help, and even if she did, she'd never ask. Still, he paid for his three coffees and followed Ygritte through the small and cramped kitchen to the back. The smell of baking filled his nostrils, and even though he knew how awful the doughnuts tasted, the smell was divine. Ygritte had changed out of her work clothes, the apron and blouse stuffed into a small locker by the back door, and Jon's gaze lingered on the curve of her hips when she pointed at the boxes on the floor.

What's in them? He swallowed, hoping she could not see the flush that spread from his cheeks down over his neck.

Stuff we don't need any more. Dishes, pans, towels, some clutter from up front. She pulled on a light jacket, the gentle warmth of spring finally strong enough for winter jackets to be locked away and forgotten. I'm taking them to a charity shop, or at least whatever stuff isn't ruined.

Jon smiled as he picked up one of the two boxes. They were not heavy at all, and had she wanted, Ygritte could probably carry them both herself, but he was not going to say anything about that. Instead, he followed her quietly down the stairs to the yard and across the rough stones towards her car. He chuckled when he saw it. It reminded him of Pyp's car, a driving piece of scrap metal.

The red colour was peeling off at some spots, rusty patches of metal peeking through. One side mirror was missing – Not my fault, it was the arsehole bus driver who wasn't looking! – and the passenger door could only be opened from the inside. A purple blanket covered the back seats, apparently because the coffee stains on the seats had never washed out - I was going to kill Orell for that. Never taking him anywhere again. Orell had tuned out to be the weird guy with the headband Jon had seen sitting at the counter quite frequently, a friend of Mance Rayder and regular customer.

From that day on, whenever he could stay for the end of her shifts, Jon always walked her to her car, and she'd drop him off at his bus stop. The car smelled like cinnamon and petrol, and Jon always had to shove aside books or empty water bottles to sit down on the passenger seat. By his feet, she usually dumped her backpack, cigarette stumps, crunched leafs and pebbles joining the mess. On the back seat, plastic bags and clothes piled up.

He was surprised that she turned the music up almost louder than Pyp, and she always drove with her window down, the wind rushing through the car, making Jon's ears throb whenever she crossed the speed limit - which she always did. The stick shift was covered with a leather glove, and a small stuffed bear dangled from the rear-view mirror - Tormund gave that to me when I was a kid, and he'd kill me if I ever got rid of it.

Most of Ygritte's co-workers ignored him when he followed Ygritte through the kitchen and past the office. Mance was never around, and the only one who ever acknowledged Jon was Gilly, a shy-looking girl who mostly worked in the kitchen.

Weeks had passed like this, him and Ygritte talking over a cup of coffee, him listening to her singing along to her loud music for those few precious minutes in the car before she dropped him off, working on his school assignments while she bustled about the shop.

His friends had not missed his sudden change of routine, of course, and Jon found it more and more difficult to make up excuses. Sam never pushed him for more information than he was willing to give, but Pyp and Grenn were as curious as teenage girl. But even if Jon had wanted to tell them the truth, he would have had no idea where to start. What was it that he and Ygritte had? And how could he explain Ygritte to them? How funny and smart she was and how beautiful she looked in the light of candles or street lights and how she always tucked her legs underneath her and could talk for hours without taking a breath and how he did not mind at all when she called him names. How could they ever understand all this?

It was dark already by the time he walked her to her car, her blue sweater glowing in the flickering light of the only lamp that illuminated the yard. She had been going on about one of the delivery guys for the last few minutes, but Jon had barely listened. He was kneading his sweaty hands, knees turning more into jelly with each step he took.

When Ygritte fumbled with the car keys, he took a deep breath. Ygritte?

Yeah? She did not look up, muttering a curse under her breath when she dropped the keys onto the pebble-covered ground.

I think I'm hungry today. He watched her as she knelt on the ground, picking up her keys. She furrowed her brows when she met his gaze, slowly rising back onto her feet.

You think? Jon could not read her expression. Had he been misreading her all along? He remembered their first meeting in the shop all those weeks ago, when she mentioned the diner and he hadn't been brave enough to make a move. Had everything in between then and now just been wishful thinking on his part?

He swallowed again, fighting to maintain eye contact and not drop his head. I am.

A broad grin suddenly spread across Ygritte's face, one he could barely see in the scarce light. And here I thought you'd never ask me out.

That... I wasn't-

Calm down. She ripped open the car door and threw her backpack in. I don't bite. Often. When she opened the passenger door for him, Jon climbed in wearily, his heart pounding. He had actually done it. He was going on a date with Ygritte, or at least that was what she had called it. Sort of. Then what had they been doing over the last few weeks? He was confused and terrified, but then she turned on the music and nudged his elbow with her own and he could not help but smile.

The diner was small and nearly empty. Ygritte dragged him to what she called her favourite seat at the back. The walls were painted in a sickly green, but the smell of food reminded Jon how hungry he really was.

No coffee? Ygritte asked with a grin when he had ordered a coke instead, the waitress rushing off towards the kitchen.

Actually, I hate coffee. Ygritte leaned forward, her forearms flat on the table, hands dangerously close to his own. Suddenly, the salt and pepper shakers and numerous ketchup bottles on the table seemed of special interest, and Jon reached out to fumble with a loose label.

Why keep drinking it then? She asked, laughing, and the clear sound of it drowned out the dull music and the rapid beating of his heart.

He looked up, giving her his best smile. I didn't want to give you another reason to make fun of me by ordering a cup of tea. It made her laugh, and how her fingers came to curl around his, he could not recall later. But they were warm and soft and fit perfectly between his and she asked him about all sorts of thing, smiling and laughing and nodding and wiping ketchup from his mouth with her thumb. It was not at all harder than talking to her in the shop, and Jon never wanted to spend another minute without her.

She had been right about the food, it was by far the best burger he had eaten since he'd moved here, and when she stole most of his chips, he did not mind. He ate a lot slower than his empty stomach told him to, but his eyes kept flickering to the clock, painfully reminded of the passing time. In the end, he could not stall forever, and when the waitress brought the bill and he rummaged through his bag for his purse,Ygritte put her hand on his arm.

This one is on me, Jon Stark. He was about to protest when she interrupted him. After all, I did almost get you killed up North.

She paid the waitress, and Jon grinned at her, keeping his words tucked away until the woman was gone. So you do admit it was your fault?

Ygritte chuckled, reaching across the table for his hand again, and this time Jon was prepared and less shocked, but just as breathless when her fingers drew patterns on his palm. Well, I did want to climb those hills. You're the one who thought walking around would be the better idea.

You never would have made it up those hills. He was looking down at their entangled fingers. She had a scar on the knuckle of her index finger, and he brushed over it with his thumb, wondering where it was from. There were so many things he did not know about her that he threatened to burst with curiosity.

Her voice was softer and more quiet when she spoke, and when he looked up, he saw she had been looking at their hands, as well. You know nothing.

.:.

Sam's room was meticulously clean, the neatly organized bookshelves crammed into every free corner. Jon was not in here often - they had a big kitchen with a sofa for a reason. The last time he had been in here, and he only remembered it now, had been after his father's funeral. Then, he had sat on Sam's floor in his black suit for over an hour, not talking, just sitting there while Sam scribbled on his notepad.

Sam sat on his bed, an open book in his lap, and he looked up when Jon appeared in the doorway, holding up a brand new box of cereal. He crossed the room, all the books making it appear much darker than it was, and Jon felt cheated that he had ended up with the room with only one window when he did not waste the light with endless books. Sitting down on the floor by the bed, Jon ripped open the cereal box, reaching in to grab a fistful before dumping it on the bed.

You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to. The two of them had only known each other for a little over a year, and it made Jon wonder how Sam could know him so well. Either he had a gift with people that was entirely wasted on a guy who was too shy to even order food over the phone, or Jon was much too easy to read.

Sam took a handful of cereal himself, and for a while, they sat there chewing in silence. It was always like this between them. Easy.

I've been seeing someone. The lingering taste of chocolate in his mouth only made the memory of last night's dinner with Ygritte sweeter. She had held his hand on their way out of the diner, brushed her lips against his cheek, her breath warm and damp against his skin before saying goodnight. Sam looked at Jon with big eyes, but the shock Jon might have expected never came. He must have suspected something after Jon had spent more and more time god-knows-where for the last few weeks. Do you remember when I went on that trip in March?

Where you almost died? Sam laughed, grabbing another fistful of cereal, crumbling it all over the massive book still on his lap.

Jon smiled. That one. The girl I was with, from the community college. We've been... seeing each other. Was that even the right word? He had no clue. All he knew was that she made him smile and laugh and feel things that were bursting in his chest and he needed to talk about her because she deserved it, the whole world should know but that was foolish and ridiculous and so he sighed. Her name is Ygritte.

Are you... together? Sam's question was hard to understand over the mouthful of cereal, and even harder to answer.

No. I mean we... We haven't... They definitely were not together, no. Did he want to be? He was not sure. Or he was, sometimes, whenever she smiled at him or when she had taken his hand yesterday. But sometimes, when she turned away or he was reminded how clueless he really was, the prospect terrified him. Oh, I don't know.

A soft padding sound interrupted the silence left by Jon's indecision, and he did not have to turn before a cold, wet nose nuzzled his arm. Hey, boy. He buried his hands in Ghost's soft, white fur, pulling him against his chest. No cereal for you.

You like her. Sam was looking at the two of them, his words no question, but still spoken with hesitation.

Ghost licked the side of his neck, tickling him, and Jon ruffled him behind his ears before letting him go, watching as he curled up by his side with a drawn-out yawn.

Yes.

.:.

It's no castle, I'm warning you, Ygritte said as she pushed open the yellow-painted door to her flat. Jon followed after her, two heavy plastic bags in his hands and eyes alert for every little detail he could take in. The mat in front of her door had a chequered pattern, the blue and green colours long faded.

I don't live in a castle any more, you know. Jon kicked the door closed behind him while Ygritte rather violently smashed her hand against the light switch.

But you did. Jon took in the room, most walls painted in a dark red. A sofa was crammed into one corner, scattered with cushions and blankets and books, two cardboard boxes serving a coffee table, loaded with empty cups, empty crisp bags and candles. Big as shit. There was a large bookshelf by the door, books and folders thrown in without much care. Clothes were strewn all over the wooden floor, along with shoes, both pairs and lonely ones. I googled it, you know. Through the single window, Jon could look out onto the parking lot behind her apartment building, the moon standing proudly against the night sky. Just put those on the floor. Ygritte waved at the bags in his hands, and he walked over to the small corner of the room that made up her kitchen. Anywhere. It's a bit messy.

The fridge was plastered with magnets and notes, old shopping lists and newspaper snippets. Jon put the bags on a free place on the counter, smiling at the chaos that surrounded him.

He watched as Ygritte stumbled while trying to take off her shoes, kicking them angrily into a corner. Her jacket she dropped mindlessly over the couch, and he walked back to the door to take his own shoes off. On the wall by the door, he noticed a large number of photographs, some framed, most of them not.

One stood out, the only black and white one, so far to the right it almost disappeared behind an umbrella hanging from a hook. Who is that? The woman on the picture looked a lot like Ygritte, but with darker hair and a more tired smile.

My mother. Ygritte walked up behind him, pushing her hand softly between his shoulder blades. The chaste touch send shivers down Jon's spine.

You look like her. The topic of mothers and family was still one they avoided, and the picture of Ygritte's mother brought back long buried questions of a little boy who had wondered so often if he looked anything like his own mother. The mother he never knew.

Ygritte was standing so close to him he could feel the warmth of her through his thin shirt, her fingers drumming gently against his back. Tormund says I am a lot like her, when I'm not quick enough to shut him up. She dropped her hand suddenly, walking away with brisk steps that Jon could feel in the wood beneath his feet. I don't like to hear about her.

Why? He asked as he turned, watching as she began to unpack their bags, bare feet tiptoeing from left to right.

Cause how do I know it's the truth?

Her words haunted him for a while, distracting him when he stirred the sauce, ugly red splatters covering the counter, and Ygritte cursed him as she wiped them away. They ate in silence, sitting cross-legged on the floor by the couch.

Can I ask you something? Ygritte had pushed her empty plate as far away from her as her arm could reach. The sleeves of her shirt were pulled up, exposing her freckled forearms, her hair a messy sea of red that tangled down over her shoulders.

Since when are you asking for permission? Jon laughed.

Have you ever had a girlfriend? She was not teasing him now. It was a sincere question, her eyes burning curiously into his own. Jon put down his cup of tea, watching the dark surface reflecting the light.

She knew the answer to her own question, he was sure of it. But to admit it out loud seemed a cruel thing to ask of him. He could only swallow, looking up when he saw her moving from his peripheral vision. Rising to her knees, Ygritte furrowed her brows. Jon wanted to speak, but the words would not come, and that seemed to be answer enough for her.

Moving forward to close the small gap between them, Ygritte knelt in front of him. His heart was beating violently against his ribcage, the warmth of her small flat combined with his own rising body heat flushing his skin. Inside, he was still fighting to give her an answer. Outside, his fingers were trembling and his stomach flipped when she leaned in slowly. He could feel her breath on his skin, could smell the mixture of cinnamon and garlic and smoke, inhaling sharply before her lips pressed against his own.

They were soft, so perfectly soft and warm and she brushed them delicately against his, as if she was testing the waters, trying not to scare him away. For a few seconds, Jon was stunned, overwhelmed by the smell and taste and feel of her, watching how her eyes fluttered closed and her lashes stood out against her pale skin before his own eyes closed and he leaned into the kiss.

There, she whispered when she pulled back, her face mere inches away from his own, a soft smile curling her lips. Jon could count each freckle that coloured her pale skin. Ygritte nudged her nose gently against his, the moment stretching on forever between them, nothing else mattering. That wasn't all that hard, was it?