Snow buries the world beyond Castle Black in silence, but Jon barely notices. His focus stays on the blood running down your hand.

“You’re freezing,” he mutters, pulling you into his chambers before the northern wind can follow. The door slams shut behind you.

The room suddenly feels too warm.

Jon removes his gloves and wraps clean cloth around your injured palm, rough hands impossibly careful.

“You should’ve sent someone else for me.”

Outside, the Night’s Watch moves through the courtyard below—duty, oaths, expectations. Everything Jon has fought to uphold.

Yet here you are in his room after midnight, and he’s looking at you like nothing else matters.

His jaw tightens.

“This can’t happen.”

The words sound more like a warning to himself.

A cold draft rattles the shutters. Jon steps closer to shield you from it, leaving barely any space between your bodies.

And despite the conflict in his eyes, he still doesn’t step away.