I'm Your Guy
i'm your guy | arya/gendry | pg-13 | warnings for blood and alcohol | words were hard, and Arya found herself stumbling over them, leaning on Gendry’s arm for support. | modern zombie au, because it's not an otp until you drop some zombies in there
The door opened with a click, and Arya stomped in, flecks of blood spiraling down to the carpet. “Hey now,” Gendry teased, “I just had that cleaned.”
She stopped and looked at him, eyes deader than he’d ever seen them, before shaking her head and continuing to the bathroom.
The water creaked on, and Gendry sat back on the ragged couch they’d fished out the dump the week before. Hard day? He mused, pretending that he was talking to Arya about this, pretending that he could talk to Arya about this. We’ve all been there, he soothed the imaginary figure beside him. That’s what I’m here for; I’m your guy. You need a sparring partner? I’m here. You need a handle of booze and a quiet place to just not think? I’m here. He went on until the shower dripped to a stop, trying to comfort the air beside him, trying to pretend that it made a difference.
And suddenly, there was Arya, wrapped in towels, skin still damp, hair still dripping. She dropped onto the couch beside him, close enough for him to feel the heat of her skin. Her head fell back, and her eyes shut. “Don’t,” she warned. “Just-just don’t.”
Wordlessly, Gendry got up and headed into the kitchen. Glancing back at Arya curled on the couch, so small swathed in their threadbare towels, he pulled out the whisky and a couple of glasses. Dropping the glasses onto the table, he poured them both generous measures and knocked his back before he’d even reached the couch again.
“Here,” he said, nudging her hand with the glass. “You look like you need this.”
Arya opened her eyes, gazing at the glass gratefully. She drained it in two sips, holding it with both hands, like a baby with a bottle. She smacked her lips and held her glass out for more, knocking it back in what seemed like only one gulp.
“You know, maybe you should slow-”
She looked up, glass halfway poised to her mouth. “Don’t,” she said again.
Arya fell back on the couch, feeling the booze slowly slide through her veins. She’d never drank before, not really, not beyond wine at dinner and stolen sips in basements in times before, but she knew what to expect. Everyone was half drunk now it seemed, the liquor seeping through their pores, sinking behind their eyes. And why not? Why not her too? Screw what Robb, or Mum said; she wasn’t a child anymore, if she had ever truly been one. This, this was all she knew now. Killing, fighting to survive, to scrape by.
She motioned for more whisky and noticed that Gendry had been matching her sip for sip. He looked like he was handling it better. She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks, the numbness in her teeth, but he, he looked fine. He always looked fine. The thought came, unbidden into her mind, and she shook it away. No, she cautioned herself. No.
“It was a...bad day,” she found herself saying, more to keep from thinking than anything else. Thinking was dangerous right now. “Came across some people I used to know.”
Words were hard, and Arya found herself stumbling over them, leaning on Gendry’s arm for support.
“Maybe you should take a break?” Gendry said softly into her hair. “You’re out there everyday, you’re not sleeping enough, you’re barely eating. Just-just take a few days off?”
“No,” she said, fiercer than she’d intended, than she’d thought possible. “My father is missing. My father is missing. I can’t just take a day off, Gendry.” She took a swig and tried not to splutter. Drinking was going to take some getting used to. “Not like you’d understand,” she muttered into her glass.
“Like I can’t understand family, can’t understand what you’re going through, because I’ve got no family? Is that what you’re getting at?” She could feel his face turn to hers, could feel the burn of his stare.
Arya sat up unsteadily, glass still clutched in her hand, meeting Gendry’s gaze and matching it. “Yeah,” she spat out. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I meant.”
The two stared at each other, breathing heavily for a moment before it was hands on faces and hands on shoulders, hands on places that they had never been before. The glasses forgotten, the whisky knocked to the floor, Arya climbed on top of Gendry, her towel riding up as she straddled his waist. Gripping his hair, the black, inky hair she loved so much, she brought his face up to hers, dipping her tongue into his mouth, scraping her teeth over his lips.
Gendry moaned into her mouth, slipping his hands down to her waist, down to where the towel ended. “Are you sure you want to do this?” He asked thickly, his face flushed.
“Why not? It’s the end of the world,” Arya bit out as she lowered her mouth back down to his.