Since quite a little, you’ve liked a boy. A new boy in Winterfell. Your age, tall, handsome. You’ve started to have a crush on him when you two started to have eye contacts all the time, to talk and laugh a a little together.

But he was looking at your best friend. Earlier, he went to you and asked you if you could help him to get with her.

Her. You loved your best friend, of course. But all of the guys you’ve liked, they’ve always liked her.

You needed to clear your head, so you got out of Winterfell for a little, alone, sitting near a lake against a tree, silently crying.

And you heard footsteps. It was Jon, your worst enemy.