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Sandor sat at the bar nursing his drink. He was leaning with his elbows over the table, gaze settled somewhere far away in front of him. It was just another night. After a long day working construction Sandor would head to his local bar and sit and drink his whisky before heading home to sleep as the sun rose over the horizon. The bartender, Bronn, would sometimes force talk out of Sandor. He acted as if he found it bothersome but truthfully the blue eyed bastard had become somewhat of a friend to Sandor after all these years.
Today had been a long day. It was late already, the clock ticking closer to midnight. The pub was darklit and smelled of cigarettes. Rock music was playing in the background. It was never too crowded, the costumers consisted mostly of regulars. On rare occasions a newcomer would stumble in but they seldom stayed long. It wasn’t the type of place for singing and dancing.
“Rough day?” Bronn had appeared before him, leaning towards Sandor with a towel draped over one shoulder.
Sandor grunted.
“Need another?” Bronn asked, gesturing towards Sandor’s near empty glass.
“No, this’ll do tonight” Sandor answered.
The door chime dinged over the low music. Sandor didn’t bother turning around. Presumably one of the regular guys. But when Bronn whistled low Sandor’s head perked up.
“There’s something you don’t see everyday.” Bronn said.
Sandor turned in his seat and searched for the source of all the commotion. Two women, looking completely out of place, were heading towards the bar. One was blonde, the other had hair like flames. Sandor had a hard time looking away from the burning locks cascading over the tall woman’s shoulders. The contrast of her white skin against her dark dress was painfully appealing to look at. He watched the blonde say something to the other, a shy smile appearing on the redhead’s sweet lips as she nodded. Sandor gulped and turned back around. Bronn was leaning his hip against the bar, smirking at him with a wicked glint in his eyes. Sandor shot him a dirty glare.
“Hi. Can we have one Pink Lady and a Lemon Drop, please”, the blonde called out to Bronn.
Bronn winked at Sandor before turning around towards the two women with a wide smile on his face.
“Coming right up.”
Sandor was highly aware of the women seating themselves at the bar, the redhead settling herself right next to him. Sandor sat gripping his glass, conscious of the fact that the burned side of his face was to her.
Bronn handed the women their drinks before turning his back to his work. From the corner of his eye Sandor could see the redhead sipping her yellow drink and swinging slightly on her chair. He didn’t bother listening to what they were talking about. Sandor swigged the last of his whiskey, feeling like it was time to leave. His mood had turned sour. He was about to stand up when a small voice chirped at him.
“Hi. I’m Sansa.”
Sandor turned towards her, eyes landing on brightly shining blue eyes. Strands of red were falling around her face. Her lips were rosy, curling in a shy smile as the woman looked expectantly at him.
“Sandor”, he answered.
“Nice to meet you! Do you come here often, Sandor?” The woman chirped.
She looked young. Younger than Sandor’s 35 years. Maybe in her mid twenties. The smile on her lips faltered the longer Sandor observed her, gray eyes flitting across her features. Yet she held her ground, her eyes locked on his, looking him straight in the eyes. She seemed determined not to show a reaction towards his horrendous scars. Sandor was slightly impressed.
“Most nights”, Sandor finally answered.
“Do you always drink your whiskey neat?” She asked.
Sandor snorted. What kind of question was that?
“Do you always drink such sickly sweet drinks?” he retorted, jerking his head in the direction of her glass.
“I suppose. Lemons are my favorite”, she said enthusiastically as the smile returned to her lips.
Sandor hummed. She looked over her shoulder and saw Bronn shamelessly flirting with the blonde.
“Looks like your friend found company for the rest of the night”, Sandor said.
“She often does. I usually have to make my way back home alone”, she said pouting.
Sandor searched her expression, trying to understand her intention. She was smiling sweetly up at him, one hand resting close to his on the table while the other held the rest of her lemony drink. Her cheeks were turning a pleasant pink.
“I can give you a ride if you want”, he attempted.
“Thanks!” She said cheerfully and gulped down the rest of her drink before hopping down from the chair.
Sandor followed after her, shooting one last look over his shoulder at Bronn. The bartender seemed engrossed in his conversation with the other woman, totally oblivious of one of the regulars waiting on his drink at the other end of the bar.
Sandor watched Sansa skip out of the bar and into the street. She walked on somewhat unsteady feet, seemingly already tipsy from her one drink. A small smile curled Sandor’s lip as he gestured towards his truck. He held the door for her before walking around to the driver’s side.
“Where to, little bird?” He asked.
She told him her address. Sandor started the car and drove. He noticed Sansa wringing her hands nervously in her lap. She was watching the passing citylights out the window.
“You know you really shouldn’t go around trusting strangers like this”, Sandor warned her.
“What? Were you planning on hurting me?” She asked with disbelief in her voice as she turned her head towards him.
“No, I won’t hurt you, little bird. But you still shouldn’t go around trusting just anyone, let alone ask for rides home from complete strangers. Especially from old scarred dogs like me”, Sandor rumbled.
She sat silently for a while, evidently deciding on what to say. Sandor glanced at her every now and then. She looked radiant even in the darkness of his old truck.
“Your scars don’t bother me, Sandor. I don’t know why, but something about you just made me feel safe”, she finally stated.
Sandor snorted again. She seemed vapid, dreaming up fairy tales about noble men riding on their stallions, ready to rescue the fair maiden. She could have asked anyone else and then she might only have been a headline he would have read about the next morning. Yet Sandor was already starting to feel protective of her.
“Wait! Oh no! You shouldn’t drive, you drank alcohol!” She suddenly yelped.
Sandor nearly drove into a ditch at the sudden intensity of her voice.
“Calm down, woman. It would take a lot more than one glass to get me drunk.”
Sansa kept eyeing him suspiciously.
“You really shouldn’t drink and drive, you know…”, she trailed on.
Sandor hummed, turning a sharp corner and onto a small street. He parked the truck in front of the building Sansa pointed to. Then he got up and opened the door for Sansa. She thanked him with a timid voice but her mouth smiled wide. Sandor walked behind her to her door. He watched Sansa pat around her dress, looking alarmed. She turned her wide eyes up to his face, her lips forming a little o.
“I don’t have my keys”, she stated.
Sandor stared back, thoughts coming up empty.
“Marge has the other keys but she probably already went home with the bartender…” Sansa trailed on, looking slightly embarrassed.
“What do you suggest we do, little bird?” Sandor asked.
He didn’t want to be the one to ask her to his apartment. He didn’t want her to get the wrong idea. Didn’t want her to be scared of him.
“Would it be too much trouble if I stayed with you tonight?” She asked.
“Unless you have a girlfriend or something..” She went on.
Sandor gestured to Sansa to walk back to the truck.
“It’s just me”, he grunted.
Sansa beamed up at him.
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As Sandor opened the door to his apartment, his enormous black Irish Wolfhound jumped up from the darkness of the hall. Sansa yelped as the dog’s snout pressed into her hand.
“Back inside, Stranger!” He commanded the dog.
“Sorry if he scared you.” He said, looking at Sansa and expecting her to be running away by now.
Instead she grinned up at him and hurried inside after the dog. Sandor watched as she squatted down and scratched Stanger behind the ears while murmuring to him softly. He watched in disbelief as Stranger sat himself between her knees and whined appreciatively at the attention.
“Bloody traitor you are”, Sandor mumbled and shrugged off his flannel shirt, tossing it over a chair.
“He’s gorgeous! Stranger, is it?” Sansa asked.
“Yeah. Big wimp is what he is”, Sandor grunted while bending down to stroke Stranger affectionately between his ears.
Sandor walked further into the flat with Sansa and Stranger hot on his heels. His flat wasn’t big, but it was enough for him and Stranger. He headed towards the sofa in the living room, already dreading the backache it was going to give him in the morning.
“I’ll take the couch, little bird. You can sleep in the bed.”
“Are you sure?” Sansa asked him, biting her lip in a way that drew Sandor’s eyes to it.
All he could do was grunt. He started piling the pillows on the sofa, attempting to make it as bearable as possible, when he heard Sansa clear her throat behind him. He turned around, finding her wringing her hands in front of her as she stood in the middle of his dark living room. Stranger sat next to her, looking like a ridiculous gargoyle.
“I don’t have anything but this dress. Is there something I could borrow to sleep in?” She asked.
Sandor’s heart skipped a beat. He took a calming breath and walked past her to his bedroom to find her something. He handed her a black and yellow flannel shirt. She took it carefully from his hands, as if it was something precious that needed to be handled with care.
“It won’t fit you very well, but it’s all I have.” Sandor said.
“Thank you.”
“No need to thank me, little bird.”
Sador closed his bedroom door behind him to give her some privacy. He groaned as his back hit the couch. He was going to sleep in his jeans and t-shirt. He didn’t want to alarm the young woman by parading around in his underwear like he usually would have.
When Sansa opened the door and stepped out, Sandor's breath caught in his throat. The flannel reached just over her knees, the sleeves hung low, covering her hands completely. She had buttoned the shirt but left the last two undone, exposing a plane of creamy skin. Her red hair hung over her shoulders and fell over her breasts in gentle curls. No one had ever looked so stunning in an old worn flannel shirt before. Sandor sat up and passed his hand in a quick motion over his groin to ease the tension of his jeans.
“It suits you.” Was all he could get out as he continued to let his eyes roam over her figure standing in the doorway.
Sansa smiled again.
Fuck .
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Sandor slept fitfully that night. The armrest of the sofa dug uncomfortably into his shoulders; the furniture was too short for his long form. His jeans felt constricting and he felt like he was running a fever with the sweating he was experiencing.
The morning was still only beginning, yet he felt he couldn’t sleep any more. Sandor dug out his flip phone and squinted at the bright numbers on the screen. 5.30 AM.
He had to get out of these clothes. He headed towards his bedroom, carefully slipping through the slightly open door and beelined to his dresser. Quickly he stole a glance at the sleeping form on his bed. Sansa was curled up under the covers, her hair a halo of flames on the pillow. Stranger was nestled next to her, his long snout resting on top of Sansa’s pale forearm. A warmth spread over Sandor’s heart. He watched the pair for a while longer before scooping up a pair of sweats and a clean t-shirt and headed towards his bathroom.
The shower eased his discomfort. It loosened his tight neck and shoulders and he exhaled loudly as he leaned his head against the wall. His long hair fell in dark dripping ringlets around his face. For a long while he just stood there under the showerhead, feeling the water run down his back. Then he dried himself and dressed before stepping out.
The bed was devoid of Sansa. Stranger was still lounging on top of the covers, happy as ever. Sandor headed to the kitchen and found Sansa flipping pancakes over the stove. He stared at her in disbelief.
“What are you doing, little bird?” He asked, voice still hoarse from sleep.
“Pancakes! Thought I could repay you for all your kindness from yesterday”, she chirped happily over her shoulder.
“You don’t owe me anything”, Sandor answered.
Sansa didn’t reply, but kept flipping the pancakes. Sandor poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table from where he could observe the way Sansa’s hips swung to the tune she was humming. She was still wearing his flannel. Sandor looked dazed at how long legs were. Her feet were snuggled in what he could only guess were his socks.
“Here you go”, Sansa said as she placed a plate of pancakes doused in syrup in front of him.
She sat herself opposite of him, pouring milk and syrup in her cup of tea.
“Want some?” She asked, gesturing with the carton of milk to his coffee cup.
“I drink my coffee black.”
“Of course you do”, she retorted with a secretive smile.
Sandor dug into his breakfast, inwardly cringing at how sweet the syrup was. Yet he didn’t want to displease Sansa and ate every last piece on his plate. Sansa watched his every bite like a hawk.
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A part of Sandor was disappointed to see Sansa back in her dress from the night before; the flannel had suited her just fine.
Sansa had chirped about her family and work over their breakfast. Sandor had learned that she had recently got out of an abusive relationship with some cunt who didn’t deserve a sweet girl like her. She didn’t go into detail but what she told him was enough for Sandor’s blood to boil, fists clenching on his thighs.
Her family seemed a happy lot. One sister and four brothers. According to Sansa she looked just like her mother. Sandor thought no one could look as beautiful as Sansa, not even the woman she had taken after. Sandor liked listening to her stories. She filled the silence of his apartment, brightened up his gloomy kitchen. Stranger seemed an awful lot happier with Sansa than with himself, resting his huge head in her lap and sounding almost like he was purring as Sansa’s delicate fingers played with his floppy ears.
Sandor drove Sansa back to her place in comfortable silence. But by the time he parked the truck he felt a gloom hanging over him. Most likely he would never see this girl again. She was too good for him. Too sweet for his bitter world.
Sansa hopped out as Sandor opened the door for her, chirping her usual thanks. Sandor stood awkwardly on the side of the walkway, watching Sansa fidget around like a skittish horse.
“Can I give you my number?” She asked with round eyes.
Sandor felt his heart leap but gathered himself and handed his phone into her waiting palms.
“Wow. You’re like ancient, using a phone like this” Sansa giggled as she dialed on his Nokia 3710.
Sandor growled at her but his gut felt like it was dancing around inside of him.
“Will you be needing an artificial hip soon, too?” She joked.
“And how old were you again, kid?” Sandor asked, placing his hand on top of her head to indicate how small she was next to him.
“Hey! I’m 26, not a child.” Sansa pouted but her eyes gleamed with mirth.
Sandor removed his hand from her soft hair. His fingers tingled uncomfortably and he clenched and unclenched his fist to get rid of the feeling.
“Well, call me.” Sansa chirped and turned to head for her door.
Sandor watched her receding back and startled when she suddenly whipped back around and skipped towards him. He could do nothing but stand still when Sansa reached up on her toes and pressed a soft peck on his scarred cheek. She pulled away and smiled shyly up at him for a moment, a sweet blush creeping up her neck and dusting her cheeks. Sandor stared at her astonished, nothing in his brain but the feel of her lips against his skin.
“See you, grandpa!” Sansa squealed and almost ran to her door, leaving Sandor exactly as he was, still as a statue.
It took him an embarrassing amount of time to gather his wits again. He cleared his throat and pressed a large hand against his right cheek as he turned to walk back to his truck. He had a foreboding feeling that his nights would be different from now on and he didn’t mind one bit. His burnt lips turned up into a weak smile as he drove off.