[ sam notices the distinct urge to fidget, but does little else beyond that - a glance of his eyes, a seeing, and then he's back to geralt. he can tell there is a kind of processing happening, and it's actually quite familiar to him - watching as someone decides what it is they want to say. watching as they choose what aspects of themselves they want to bear clean, and what they want to keep hidden. for those who don't usually open themselves up, it can be that much harder - working to push upstream in an unforgiving current of habit and protective barriers. especially when those barriers make it feel like you're going backwards, into territory you had wanted to leave behind.
( he's been here before, watched friends - colleagues - random people who saw him at the va and found he was the only person they could come to. he's been here when people have said two words and then left, when people have sat and screamed at him like he's the person at fault, and he's watched silent, quiet suffering all come crumbling apart.
sam never goes into these moments with expectations. never goes into these moments with plans. he just reminds himself to be patient, to be understanding, and to let the other person decide. )
so he doesn't react when geralt leans forward. listens, when he finally speaks. there is no pressure from sam's side for geralt to speak sooner or later and when he does, no pressure to wrap up or continue. but there is a request in it, isn't there? and I can't put it away again. sam nods, understanding - because he knows the feeling. knows how exhausting it can be, when those memories suddenly come back with a vengeance that can't be controlled. sam thinks for a few moments after, before he looks over to geralt. ]
Usually- and listen, I'm not. A doctor or anything. You can tell me to fuck off whenever you want, and I know you will. But usually- talking about it can help, because our brains will latch onto shit that they're trying to make sense of.
[ a beat, and then sam lets out another breath. ]
I'm guessing it was something traumatic. It's why you can't let go of it.
no subject
( he's been here before, watched friends - colleagues - random people who saw him at the va and found he was the only person they could come to. he's been here when people have said two words and then left, when people have sat and screamed at him like he's the person at fault, and he's watched silent, quiet suffering all come crumbling apart.
sam never goes into these moments with expectations. never goes into these moments with plans. he just reminds himself to be patient, to be understanding, and to let the other person decide. )
so he doesn't react when geralt leans forward. listens, when he finally speaks. there is no pressure from sam's side for geralt to speak sooner or later and when he does, no pressure to wrap up or continue. but there is a request in it, isn't there? and I can't put it away again. sam nods, understanding - because he knows the feeling. knows how exhausting it can be, when those memories suddenly come back with a vengeance that can't be controlled. sam thinks for a few moments after, before he looks over to geralt. ]
Usually- and listen, I'm not. A doctor or anything. You can tell me to fuck off whenever you want, and I know you will. But usually- talking about it can help, because our brains will latch onto shit that they're trying to make sense of.
[ a beat, and then sam lets out another breath. ]
I'm guessing it was something traumatic. It's why you can't let go of it.