[ that is the worst part of it, sam thinks. not only that it happens, that he's aware of how irregular it is and it's not something anyone should ever be used to, but that he can't ever decide where it is he's supposed to be standing. a blessing, or a curse. part of him knows that nothing in his life has ever been that simple, nor will it be that simple. it's not good or bad, but about mindset, maybe. how he should be seeing it as a blessing, though the lack of any pattern, of any expectation, of anything to really believe he can return home to at the end of the day...
sam had never been one to be comfortable without steady footing. so much that the second things started getting rocky, back at home with his parents and the house and the boat, he took to the skies. literally. and now? now it just feels like anything he might try and dig his heels into will just fall out from under him anyway, any foundation would simply be made of the same sand that stretches out in each direction, all around them.
sometimes that's how shit feels. fucking pointless.
which...is pretty much, to the t, of what he expects to hear. it catches him for a moment all the same, a single moment where he just thinks about that. not necessarily the blunt tone to which he's said it, but the truth of it too. the way sam had been sitting on the sentiment, on that knowledge, and knowing that was coming - whether or not because he knows it to be true or because (maybe) he knows geralt that well.
either way, sam feels himself huff a kind of laugh - and with that laugh, a release of tension. not all of it. not everything. but enough. it releases enough that he can take another deep breath, can unwind himself enough to reach for the drink and take a long sip of it. it's not until geralt continues, that the question of you made friends, didn't you? that sam pauses again, freezes mid-drink because he always does whenever memories of riley strike him across the jaw. but then it passes, just as it always does, and sam blinks away the feeling of a different desert, a different time. we move through life, anyway. they have to, don't they? they don't really have the choice.
geralt must know this. sam knows it, too. but leave it to this place, this time, so far from his solid footing, that has him feeling... whatever this is supposed to be. ]
Yeah. [ he offers, because he doesn't know what else to say. he can feel the urge to turn it on its head, to ask geralt something about him - anything - because he feels the focus and attention on his own problems, on his own discomfort at that, even knowing that he shouldn't. he wants to change the subject, but also doesn't really want to run off like that.
so for a few moments, there is silence. the distant sounds of the street, of the creaking of the building, of the life all around them. and then, when sam feels like he's solid enough, he lifts his mug as if to inspect it. ]
His name was Riley, by the way. [ he doesn't even look over to geralt, when he says it. doesn't feel like he needs to. ] The friend I made.
[ geralt didn't ask, but the implication is there. the was. the imagineda future. sam lifts the mug almost like he's offering it in cheers before he finishes it off.
riley. steve. natasha. vision. he supposes he should be ready for any of them, shouldn't he? (god, even his parents.)
he feels exhausted, now more than before, as he focuses on the taste of the wine instead of anything else. ]
no subject
sam had never been one to be comfortable without steady footing. so much that the second things started getting rocky, back at home with his parents and the house and the boat, he took to the skies. literally. and now? now it just feels like anything he might try and dig his heels into will just fall out from under him anyway, any foundation would simply be made of the same sand that stretches out in each direction, all around them.
sometimes that's how shit feels. fucking pointless.
which...is pretty much, to the t, of what he expects to hear. it catches him for a moment all the same, a single moment where he just thinks about that. not necessarily the blunt tone to which he's said it, but the truth of it too. the way sam had been sitting on the sentiment, on that knowledge, and knowing that was coming - whether or not because he knows it to be true or because (maybe) he knows geralt that well.
either way, sam feels himself huff a kind of laugh - and with that laugh, a release of tension. not all of it. not everything. but enough. it releases enough that he can take another deep breath, can unwind himself enough to reach for the drink and take a long sip of it. it's not until geralt continues, that the question of you made friends, didn't you? that sam pauses again, freezes mid-drink because he always does whenever memories of riley strike him across the jaw. but then it passes, just as it always does, and sam blinks away the feeling of a different desert, a different time. we move through life, anyway. they have to, don't they? they don't really have the choice.
geralt must know this. sam knows it, too. but leave it to this place, this time, so far from his solid footing, that has him feeling... whatever this is supposed to be. ]
Yeah. [ he offers, because he doesn't know what else to say. he can feel the urge to turn it on its head, to ask geralt something about him - anything - because he feels the focus and attention on his own problems, on his own discomfort at that, even knowing that he shouldn't. he wants to change the subject, but also doesn't really want to run off like that.
so for a few moments, there is silence. the distant sounds of the street, of the creaking of the building, of the life all around them. and then, when sam feels like he's solid enough, he lifts his mug as if to inspect it. ]
His name was Riley, by the way. [ he doesn't even look over to geralt, when he says it. doesn't feel like he needs to. ] The friend I made.
[ geralt didn't ask, but the implication is there. the was. the imagineda future. sam lifts the mug almost like he's offering it in cheers before he finishes it off.
riley. steve. natasha. vision. he supposes he should be ready for any of them, shouldn't he? (god, even his parents.)
he feels exhausted, now more than before, as he focuses on the taste of the wine instead of anything else. ]