So a few weeks ago I asked for some prompts. Long story short, I got a good start on quite a few of them, before getting distracted (by some magazine covers, a trailer, and Schitt’s Creek), and then getting more tired than anticipated by a new role at work. I was finding it a little difficult to write, but I think I’ve managed to finish this one. Here’s to hoping I get a few more of these finished this week! @alexisgalvez53 asked for:
“I’m running away from home - Meet cute with another passenger on the train going to the same destination” Now I’m not entirely sure that this counts as a ‘meet cute’, but it’s what my brain threw out at me. I know this probably isn’t what you had in mind, but I hope you like it? :)
She finds herself looking around, for something, anything, a diversion to pull her focus and calm her racing heart. She glances around for the one thing sure to have her daydreaming, but the dark mop atop the brooding expression is nowhere to be found. She sees him the mornings that she comes, often with a coffee cup, always with headphones, the black wires camouflaged by his dark curls until they reach the ends of his hair, and then disappearing into a jacket pocket. She recalls the last time she saw him, on one especially warm spring day two weeks ago, he had been without a jacket, and the cord had disappeared into the pocket of a pair of rather well fitted jeans. There had been a fading bruise around his eye, and he had tried to hide it with his hair. She often finds herself wondering what he is listening to, whether it’s music or a podcast, an audio book perhaps, or even nothing at all. She often wears headphones with nothing playing, a sign to others that she does not wish to be bothered without actually having to say so. It doesn’t always work, but Daenerys does it regardless.
She cannot see him this particular morning, and Daenerys finds herself missing the distraction he provides. If you asked her to explain it, she would not be able to, but she finds his handsome face a comfort, something as familiar as her journey to the train station. She pulls at the hold-all on her right shoulder, it feels awkward as it knocks against the small handbag slung across her body. She clutches the ticket in her hand tighter, the first time she’s actually purchased one despite coming here at least twice a week for the past year.
She feels half in a daze, is she really doing this? Can she really do this? Can she really leave Viserys to his destructive self? She tries to swallow the knot in her throat, the guilt settling in her stomach. She reminds herself of all the broken promises of change, the shattered apologies that grew all the more hollow. No, she has to do this; needs to do this, it is the only way.
It hadn’t always been like this. He had been loving and caring, to a point, and she did have some good memories of the two of them after mother had… But now… all that was left was self loathing wrapped in a cruel shell, and Daenerys could no longer take being his verbal punching bag.
She sees the train approach, and as everyone on the platform shuffles forward, she takes a moment for a deep breath and joins them. She can do this, and she will. It is after rush hour, so it is not as busy as it might have been, but Daenerys still struggles to spot a seat. She wanders up the aisle before she spots four empty seats at a table in the middle of the carriage, and places her bag in one of the seats before shuffling in and sitting next to the window.
“I’ve never actually seen you get on the train before.” Her eyes snap open at the question, and she sees curly hair sat across from her, his expression gentle, a tentative smile forming on his lips. She had not heard him shuffle into the seat opposite, had purposely not worn her headphones.
She opens her mouth to reply, before realising she needs to clear her throat and that she hasn’t actually spoken yet today. “I haven’t actually got on the train before.”
He nods, and there is something that Daenerys finds comforting about his face, a seed of trust sprouting within her, and she’s not sure why she decides to latch onto it.
“I don’t know.” There’s a small quirk to his eyebrow at her response before his eyes glance down and widen slightly, and Dany drops her gaze as she realises what he has seen on her arm. She tugs on her sleeve, but it is too late, he has already seen it. The fading yellow around her wrist only visible in certain light, but it was still there, the pallor of her skin different. “I’m running away actually.” She’s not sure what has possessed her to tell him, this stranger, about where she is going with a clear overnight bag, but Daenerys finds a slither of comfort warming her spine as she does so.
“Yeah?” She only nods her head in reply, before ducking her head to avoid his kind eyes.
“Me too.” Her head snaps up, and she sees the earnestness plain on his face. That’s when Daenerys notices it. He has a large duffel bag today, and when she looks back up at him, he’s fiddling with his hair and her eyes widen. It wasn’t just a fading black eye he was trying to conceal.
“You know, it’s not the first time I’ve run away?” She quirks her brow at his admission, and he shrugs. “It’s lonely. I find it lonely here, but, people are still there, you know?” And Daenerys does, she does. Despite the loneliness, she still finds a comfort in knowing Vis is still there, and she hates it. Hates it because it’s why she stayed so long, why she let the voice in her head chant about how having him was better than having no family at all.
A weighted quiet settles over them, before he breaks it. “Want to run away together?” She should say no, knows that she should say no. But when she looks up and into his eyes, she finds herself nodding.
He allows a small smile, an understanding silence overcoming them both. A long moment passes, and then he reaches across the table and holds out his hand. Daenerys feels her body stiffen for a moment, before she relaxes. She hesitates for a second before she reaches her own hand out, and closes it around his. He squeezes softly, and Dany finds a comforting warmth at the gesture, spreading from their joined hands to the rest of her body. She can feel pressure pricking at her eyes, and she closes them.
“I’m Jon, by the way.” She blinks, and they both ignore the tear that escapes.
“Nice to meet you Jon. I’m Daenerys.”
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