#actuallyjonsa

The day the new florist moves in, he’s busy working on a six hour piece.

It’s his only appointment for that day- full color, full sleeve, and when they finish there’s still another six hours to go before it’s finished. And even then, knowing him, he’ll have touch ups to do in the weeks after that.

So, he doesn’t notice. 

At least not that day.

But on the second day, as he’s unlocking his front door, he sees the shadow in the window, a girl behind the glass stringing up greenery, standing not on a step stool but a folding chair. He chuckles to himself, thinking how likely it would be that she’d fall, and then headed inside, knowing he had a long day of appointments ahead of him. 

That very same night, as he leaves two hours after his usual time, the door to the florist shop opens and out comes the most beautiful girl he thinks he’s ever seen. She has what must be long, red hair, twisted back into a claw clip, a few messy strands left out to frame her ivory features. And from behind her comes a dog, white and fluffy, who immediately makes a beeline for him, ignoring her owner's calls of: “Lady! Lady, come back!” 

Jon laughs as the dog barrels into him, demanding pets and wagging her tail. “Hello, Lady,” he says, patting the dog on her head, taking in the sight of her golden eyes. “A wolf dog?” He asks as the young woman approaches, an apology stammering from her lips. “No worries, I have one myself,” he chuckles, thinking of Ghost, who is snow white versus this dog who is a combination of white and gray with touches of gold. “Hi beautiful girl,” he says as he pats the dog, shifting his folder of drawings to his other hand for optimal petting. “Just moving in, huh?” He asks of the girl, who blushes to the roots of her red hair and nods. “When is your opening day?” 

“Tomorrow,” she says, a smile taking root, her excitement apparent. 

“Well, good luck.” Jon says, reaching down to give the dog at his feet one more pet. The young woman turns to go and at the last moment, Jon stops her. “I’m Jon, by the way, I own the tattoo shop next door, if you ever need anything, come on by.” Her blue eyes widen slightly and then she nods, another smile curving on her lip gloss lips. 

“I’m Sansa… And thanks.” She calls to her dog and they turn away, making their way down the block, turning the corner and disappearing from his view. Jon lets out a breath and can’t help but to grin, suddenly looking forward to the next day more than he’d been five minutes before. 

[ x x x ]

The day the florist shop opens, nearly every client that comes inside his business comments on how busy the new shop next door is. Throughout the day, though he stays focused on every tattoo he does, the girl is there in the back of his mind. And her beautiful dog. 

And so, when the day is just about over, he closes up a little early and takes himself inside the small shop, which despite the hour still has several customers inside. 

The florist, Sansa, stands behind the counter, her hair worn long and loose, proof that he’d been correct about how long it must have been. She’s smiling, glowing really, as she offers a simple bouquet of flowers to the customer she’s ringing out, an older man with a hat and cane. He takes the opportunity to look around, taking in the sight of the ivy he’d watched her string up along the window, and the various blooms scattered about. There’s beautiful pieces, colorful flowers knitted together in the most intricate of ways, and dozens of classic bouquets that would make any woman smile. He continues his way around the shop, stopping to look at the stained glass pieces that hang on the wall, pieces he’ll later learn she’s made herself, until finally his eyes fall upon a vase of flowers like he’s never seen before. 

They are bold and blue, roses he notes, but their scent is somehow far sweeter than all the others. He reaches out, gingerly tracing his finger along the soft petals, surprised by how silky smooth they are to the touch.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” 

He jumps, turning around to find himself face to face with Sansa, who grins a hello. “I’ve never seen blue roses before,” he says, gesturing back towards the flowers. 

 “Winter roses,” she explains, coming to stand beside him instead, reaching out to pluck a single rose from the bunch and handing it to him for a closer inspection. “They’re from the North, from my home.” It clicks for him then, that she must be from Winterfell, or at least near it, and suddenly he recalls the lost knowledge of school when once he had known about winter roses. “Keep it.” She says when he tries to hand it back to her. “No one bought any today and I can get them whenever I want. They’re my favorite and my father knows it.” She laughs to herself, thinking of the bouquet that had arrived at her apartment that very morning, a congratulatory gift from her parents on her opening day. 

“Thanks,” he grins and they make small talk for several moments until the last customer is at the desk, waiting for her to cash them out. “See you tomorrow?” He questions, realizing he doesn’t know her shop hours. 

“Tomorrow.” She nods, raising her hand in a wave before she turns away to return to the counter. Jon watches her for another moment or two before he makes his way out of the shop and into the twilight. High above him, the sun is finishing its descent to the horizon and it briefly reminds him of the color of her hair, so scarlet and gold woven together. 

“Tomorrow,” he murmurs, before making his way back home. 

[ x x x ]

That night, he sits at his kitchen counter sketching, as he so often does.

Beneath his pencil he sketched out several variations of that rose she had given him, some with its petals still curled into itself, others fully bloomed to perfection. He rarely does floral pieces, it’s true, but there’s something about that single blue rose that inspires him to do more. Before he knows it, he’s sketching other flowers, greenery, drawing until there’s three pages worth of sketches that he longs to translate to skin. 

On a whim, he takes a few snapshots of those various sketches and uploads them to his various social media accounts, thinking if he gets enough interest, he might consider adding floral to his resume. 

[ x x x ]

He’s just about to take his lunch break when the door to his shop opens.

Looking up, he’s surprised to see the florist from next door there, coming in through the door. She wears her hair twisted back again, that same shade of lip gloss on her lips he’s seen every day now. “Hey,” he says, rising up from where he sits beside the table his last client had just been laying on. “Lunch time?” He asks, figuring it must be if she were able to leave the shop like this in the middle of the day.

She nods, flashing a smile as she approaches. “Yeah, I had to come over to ask you about those flower tattoos you posted last night.” 

Jon’s eyes widen, wondering just which of the notifications he’d gotten overnight could have been hers. “I don’t wanna seem like a stalker but I’m kind of familiar with your work…” She shifts awkwardly from one foot to the other. “You’ve done work for my older brother, Robb,” she continues, her cheeks flush, blue eyes bright. “I’ve always wanted something done but never really knew what to get… But then you posted those sketches last night and it kind of clicked.” It only made sense, she supposed, for a florist to have at least one flower tattoo. “So if you have some spare time, maybe we could work out a time and idea.” 

“I’ve got time right now.” He nods, grinning, already thinking of the ideas possible to create for her. “I guess it makes sense for you to be my first floral tattoo, it’s not usually something I do,” he says, reaching for his sketchbook. “But that rose you gave me really just… Inspired something inside of me.” Jon gestures for her to follow him and they each take a seat at the table in the back corner of the shop, where he normally sits to sketch or eat lunch, the latter of the two suddenly forgotten. 

They spend the next hour talking, while Jon sketches various pieces for her, until at the end they settle upon something that will be perfect. “Can I come by tomorrow?” She asks as she rises up to leave. “My shop is closed on Wednesdays.” 

He nods, knowing he had more than one time slot available. “Noon?” He suggests and she nods, grabbing her bag and slinging it over her shoulder. 

“Noon.” She agrees and then she’s gone, turning once at the door to flash him a smile and a wave, then she’s gone, bouncing out into the sunlit street. 

[ x x x ]

When her tattoo is done, she doesn’t want to leave.

Sansa can’t really say what it is that draws her to him, but there’s something about Jon that has captured her entirely. “It’s amazing,” she says, looking into the mirror, the tattoo on her forearm simple yet somehow intricate. Exactly what she had wanted. “Thank you,” she says for probably the tenth time, turning back to him as he chuckles. “How much?” She asks next, realizing she’d never even bothered to ask that question.

“Let me use you as a model for my floral designs and it’s on me,” he says and watches as her eyes widen, listening as she stammers over her words. “I mean it. I’m only adding floral to my capabilities because of you, anyways.” It takes a few more moments of banter before she gives in, nodding, allowing him to take several photos of the new tattoo, also promising to return for additional photos when it’s healed in full. 

They talk for a short while more before the door to his shop opens and a client is coming in, telling her she knows it’s time to go. “I’ll see you later,” she says and Jon nods, watching as she goes, hyper aware of how she looks back at him at the door, just as she’d done the day before. There’s a part of him that wishes she didn’t have to go, but his client is there and he’s greeting the man now, knowing he was about to sit down for a long haul piece. 

And so, his day goes on. 

[ x x x ]

The next morning as he approaches his shop, he notices a box at the door. 

It’s a fairly large box, tied up with a fancy blue ribbon, with a small envelope tucked into place. Reaching down, he picks it up, carefully, and unlocks his door to step inside. At his table, he sets the box down and reaches first for the envelope and pulls out a small, beige colored card with a spray of flowers across the top. Thanks again! Is all it says, written it perfect script, signed with a small heart. He knows immediately who this is from and he can’t help but to grin as he unties the ribbon and opens the box.

He’s shocked by what’s inside. 

It is a bundle of flowers, a perfect replica of the tattoo he’d done on Sansa the day before, down to every last detail. From the cascading greenery to the delicate flowers, it was as if his sketch had come straight to life. He marvels over it, for he’s never known floral arranging to be such a skill, or in truth, an art. 

Setting it out on the counter, it will be the talk of the shop all day long, and each time a client brings it up, he directs them next door; a man goes to buy flowers for his girlfriend, a brother for his sister’s promotion at work, a woman for herself. Each time they walk out of his shop, he watches as they immediately head left, to walk into Sansa’s floral shop, and he wonders if every single time they tell her they’ve come because of him. 

He wonders if she smiles each time she learns this… 

Truth is, he hopes she does. 

[ x x x ]

At the end of the day, they meet each other as they lock up their shops. 

They both go to thank the other at the same time, bringing laughter from both of their lips. “Let me walk you home,” Jon says and she nods, brushing her hair across a shoulder before they fall into step beside one another. “You live close by?” He questions as they walk and she nods, explaining how her apartment was just around the corner from the shops. “Me too,” he says, surprising her, and himself, as they learn they live in the same complex but different buildings. “Neighbors at work and at home.”

“And we have matching dogs,” she reminds him, thinking of their first meeting. “Lady could use a friend,” she says, wondering what his dog would look like. “We should arrange a play date, if you ever take a day off, that is.” 

Jon laughs, realizing it was true, he’s worked every day since her shop had opened over a week ago. “I tend to get lost in my workload,” he admits, a sheepish grin on his face. “But I am closed tomorrow and Ghost desperately needs a friend in his life.” 

“Here,” she fishes in her purse and draws out her phone, unlocking it and handing it to him. “Give me your number so we can arrange said play date. Plus… We are neighbors after all.” He takes her phone and does as she bids before handing it back to her. A moment later, his phone dings with the text message she’s sent him- a simple hello with a smiling emoji. “This is my building,” she says, gesturing to the building marked H they stand outside of. “I’ll text you.” Jon nods and watches as she goes, unlocking the glass door that leads into the lobby of her apartment building. Just as always, she turns back before she disappears and waves, her smile bright. 

He lifts his hand in response and then she’s gone, perhaps to take the elevator up, or to walk down a hallway of the main floor, he’d forgotten to ask which floor she lived on. He makes his way to his own building, J, which is directly across from hers. He lives on the fourth floor and as he opens his door, Ghost is there, demanding pets from his owner he’d not seen all day. “Want to go on a date, buddy?” Jon asks as he pats the great big dog on his head, looking into his eyes. The dog's tail thumps twice, which he takes as a yes, and he proceeds all the way into his apartment, dumping his keys and sketchbook onto the counter. He’s thinking about what to have for dinner when his phone dings and when he looks at the notification, he realizes it’s Sansa who has texted him. It’s a photo of the dog he recalls, Lady, captioned with the words: She wants to know if noon tomorrow works? Jon grins and turns around, snapping a photo of Ghost to send back to her, typing afterwards, he says yes. 

They text back and forth for the remainder of the night and he finds her on social media (it was true, she already followed him and he wonders how she ever went unnoticed) and adds her back, taking a few minutes to scroll her page. Beyond posting photos of her various flower pieces, there’s family photos, photos with friends, and everything in between. Have a good night, her last text reads, and he realizes it’s well past midnight. You too… See you tomorrow! He answers back and she reacts to the message with a heart. 

As he drifts off to sleep, Jon can’t stop the flicker of excitement for what the following day might bring. 

[ x x x ]

It’s never been harder to choose an outfit. 

“It’s a playdate for the dogs,” she reminds herself out loud for the tenth time as she tosses another shirt onto her bed. “For the dogs.” Yet… Why was she so nervous? She had talked with Margaery the night before, who naturally decided at once it was more than just that, and had been saying all along this was like a love story from a book. We just met, Sansa had reminded her best friend with a sigh, like a week ago. Margaery had insisted their story would be one to tell their grandkids about and Sansa could only laugh, knowing better than to argue with her friend when she got into a mindset like that. 

Maybe those words were the reason she was so uncertain about what to wear, then, and she reminds herself to give Margaery some grief about it later.

Finally, on the realization she’d be late, she decides on something simple; jeans and a pale green top. It would be just fine. “Come on, Lady,” she calls to her dog, who scampers her way at the sight of her leash. “Let’s go play,” she chuckles as she clips the leash into place and when she’s tucked her phone into her pocket, they make their way out the door and down the hall to the elevator. 

Outside the lobby doors, Jon already stands, waiting, Ghost pacing at his feet. He catches sight of her at once, grinning, waving at her as she comes through the doors, Lady immediately tugging on her leash to come closer. After a moment or two of mutual sniffing, it seems they’ve become friends at once, bringing laughter from their owners as they watch. “Should we go?” Jon asks and she nods, so they make their way down the street, to where a dog park sits at the end of the block, one which Jon has frequented in his years living here. Once situated behind the fence, they release their dogs from the leashes and at once they take off, jubilant in their chasing of each other. “I guess they don’t need this,” Jon laughs, dropping the ball he’d brought along to the ground at their feet. They take to their places on the bench, talking, laughing, as they watch their dogs become best friends. 

After what could have been several minutes or hours, they decide it was time to take the dogs home, but as they make their way back to their complex, Jon decides he’s not sure he wants their time together to end. “If you have nothing else to do… Maybe we could grab some lunch?” She turns to look at him, surprised, but then she’s smiling, nodding. 

They drop the dogs back off at their respective homes and then they make their way down towards the city, both hyper aware of how it feels as if they’ve known each other for all of their lives. 

Something tells the two of them that this will be the first of many shared lunch dates.