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The torrential rain makes the cobbled streets slick and slippery as Jon keeps his head down and darts through the streets as quickly as he can dare to do. His water-logged hair is plastered flat against his forehead. He can feel the rain soaking through his clothes to the skin underneath, his boots squelching with every step, until he finally makes it to the apartment block he had been aiming for.
He leaves a wet, dripping trail behind him as he makes his way up the stairs to his brother’s apartment. Water drops from his hair, down his nose. Wiping his hand over his face doesn’t seem to do a single thing to stop it.
He knocks on the door when he makes it to the third floor. It takes Robb less than half a minute to answer it, the grin on his face the same as it always was. It’s as if they have never been apart.
“Look at you; you’re soaking,” Robb says. “Get in here, you great lump.” He guides Jon inside his small home, laughing at the sight of him. “I always knew you couldn’t take care of yourself. Haven’t you ever heard of an umbrella?”
“I wanted to get here as quickly as I could,” Jon explains. “Couldn’t wait to see your smug face again.”
Robb’s grin only widens, and he beckons Jon into his tiny kitchen. He grabs up a towel and attacks Jon’s head with it, mussing up his hair in an attempt to dry it. Jon thinks it’s actually just an attempt to annoy him, so he shouts and flails his arms. His hand cuffs Robb on the jaw, and he hears laughter even if he can’t see through the mask of the towel.
“Stop squirming,” Robb says, rubbing harder at Jon’s head. “Can’t have you dripping all over the flat, can I?”
“It’s not my hair that’s dripping,” Jon complains. “My clothes are soaked too.”
Robb pulls the towel from his head, grinning suggestively. “Wouldn’t want you to catch a chill,” he says.
Jon looks over his shoulder, and wets his lips nervously. “Are your flatmates home?” he asks. They can’t risk getting caught. Maybe they can explain this to each other, to themselves, but there would be no way to get an outsider to understand. He needs his half-brother. All the time they had been apart it had felt like he was losing his mind.
Robb shakes his head. “They’re gone for the weekend,” he murmurs. The grin begins to fall, and he slides his hands onto Jon’s shoulders, still holding onto the wet towel. It hangs over his shoulder, useless against the puddle Jon is dripping onto the ground. “Come here,” Robb says.
Jon takes a step forward, only a few inches, but it’s enough to bring him close enough to Robb. Robb’s hands slip down from his shoulders in order to ease his wet coat from him, and then he peels away the rest of Jon’s layers - scarf, gloves, cardigan, t-shirt. “Why do you have to wear so many clothes?” Robb complains, but then there is only bare skin and his complaints seem to die away. In the warmth of Robb’s kitchen and the heat of his hand, Jon forgets about the cold day outside.