[It must be that Sam never looks away that he feels so -- tight. Tightly wound, like a garrote, sharp around his neck. Against the wall.
Then Sam moves. He exhales, the cider warm and sweet. His shoulders become less taut. And finally, he can look back at Sam. His warm eyes. The smile that didn't even waver. It isn't even the first time he thinks, if he'd been there, I might have been okay.
Goddammit. It's so annoying that he's so charming. He's not even trying.]
My apologies, Sam.
[It's his only interjection. He drinks deeply, letting it settle. Not entirely relaxed, but not as eager to bolt at the first sight of escape.] I know. It's very good. [He smiles more with his mouth than his eyes.] Thank you. [It's only a compliment. He knows that. It's only... of course it's a good song. He wrote it. He wrote it in a terrible place.] I didn't realize you were listening.
[It's always a surprise, honestly, when a friend does show up to listen.]
no subject
Then Sam moves. He exhales, the cider warm and sweet. His shoulders become less taut. And finally, he can look back at Sam. His warm eyes. The smile that didn't even waver. It isn't even the first time he thinks, if he'd been there, I might have been okay.
Goddammit. It's so annoying that he's so charming. He's not even trying.]
My apologies, Sam.
[It's his only interjection. He drinks deeply, letting it settle. Not entirely relaxed, but not as eager to bolt at the first sight of escape.] I know. It's very good. [He smiles more with his mouth than his eyes.] Thank you. [It's only a compliment. He knows that. It's only... of course it's a good song. He wrote it. He wrote it in a terrible place.] I didn't realize you were listening.
[It's always a surprise, honestly, when a friend does show up to listen.]