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    Summary

    “And what would your type be?”

    “Well, usually taller. And bulkier. And darker. But I just – I spent almost a month walking in front of your desk and every time I felt this overwhelming need to just bloody ask you out.”

    “Guess it was my lucky day then,” Theon replies, praying that he still remembers how to do this.

     
    Or: where Theon goes to sleep in Westeros, wakes up in modern day London and gets asked out by a paramedic who looks like Robb.

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