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janie_tangerineIt wasn’t like Brienne never got drunk calls from Jaime at three in the morning.
It’s actually been… something that’s happened more than once, but they usually were bad drunk calls. And she hadn’t received any since he finally packed up and moved out of the family mansion, which she’s always been vocally happy about.
So she doesn’t know what the hell to expect when she grabs the phone, except she hopes it’s nothing bad.
She also expects him to go straight to the point, but do you realise you’re the only true friend I ever had wasn’t exactly what she had been picturing.
“What?” She replies, still feeling half-asleep. “You have other friends.”
“Bronn was Tyrion’s first, he doesn’t count.”
All right. Definitely drunk. She can hear it.
And — okay. Fair. Out of his entire circle, she thinks she and Bronn are 95% of the total of contacts he has with people that aren’t his brother beyond mere acquaintances, but still. He has a lot of acquaintances.
“And how did you get to that conclusion?” She asks, figuring she’ll just humor him for the moment.
“You never asked for money.”
“Wait, what?”
“You never asked for money,” he presses. “Not once! Okay, you let me pay dinner and stuff if I insisted, but —”
“Well, why would I ask for money? I have enough, I have a job, I don’t care that you can pay things for me? I don’t hang out with you because of that.”
“That’s the fucking point! Most other people I know do! And if it’s not the first thing they talk about it’s in between the first thing, so you’re the only one who hasn’t, so you’re the only one who’s actually a true friend here, and I don’t know if I ever told you enough, so I should.”
“I mean…” She’s completely thrown off the rails right now, honestly, what the hell do you even answer except please stop hanging out with people who only care about your surname, but — “I mean, likeways. I like spending time with you, you know. And not for your financial assets. I wouldn’t have for what, ten years otherwise.”
He sniffs. What the fuck.
“That’s the nicest thing someone’s ever told me, or at least top three, but you also said all the others, so I don’t know how much it counts.”
“Fucking — where are you now?”
“… Outside your place? I told Bronn to leave me here.”
“‘Course you did. Just ring the intercom and you can sober up and we can watch some bad Italian western until you crash on the sofa, how about that?”
“You’re the best,” he says, and she can hear him grinning before he closes the call and she gets out of bed, reaching for her nightgown.
If only he knew she hasn’t felt just friendly things towards him for a damned long time this would have been an entirely different conversation… but she thinks she’ll take watching the bad westerns at three in the morning for now, and if she’s grinning to herself like an idiot as she expects the intercom to ring and if she won’t mind if he’s a bit more touchy than usual when he’s buzzed, well.
She thinks she’ll let herself have it.
End.
