Oh. Well. This is...hmm.
Unexpected? Yes, 100%. After your confession (Hey Red I'm a grumpy drunk old widower/one time dad who steals shit for a living and ruined every good thing he ever had!) you expected... well, not outright rejection because let's be real, Sam seems to put his trust in the worst people, but at least some degree of withdrawal. Sort of an oh, well, that's a lot reaction. Not, y'know, a fucking hug.
Is it unpleasant? Not exactly. You're not unaccustomed to physical contact, be it platonic or... otherwise, but there's something distinctly different an unnerving in this particular hug. Something about the way his arms snake around you, the way his face presses into your shoulder, the way he seems to care, to forgive.
You feel your breath catch in surprise, a shiver running up your spine at the strange intimacy of it. Half of you wants to laugh and push him away, half wants to raise your own arms up to return the embrace, to pull him against you and not let go, to undo all your fucking mistakes and just once, be the good guy.
You do nothing.
Eventually (seconds? minutes? hours later?) you clear your throat, voice gruff. "Well... lemme know what you decide." Very gently you push Sam away, enough to be able to look at his face with a bewildered, unreadable, almost-smile, a flush on your neck. "I thought I was s'posed't be makin' you feel better tonight, though." Your fingers itch to wipe the last tears away from his eyes, but you resist. "So... y'wanna talk about it? Or hear more stories? Or..." Or whatever. Whatever you can give, and maybe a little more than that, too.
Unexpected? Yes, 100%. After your confession (Hey Red I'm a grumpy drunk old widower/one time dad who steals shit for a living and ruined every good thing he ever had!) you expected... well, not outright rejection because let's be real, Sam seems to put his trust in the worst people, but at least some degree of withdrawal. Sort of an oh, well, that's a lot reaction. Not, y'know, a fucking hug.
Is it unpleasant? Not exactly. You're not unaccustomed to physical contact, be it platonic or... otherwise, but there's something distinctly different an unnerving in this particular hug. Something about the way his arms snake around you, the way his face presses into your shoulder, the way he seems to care, to forgive.
You feel your breath catch in surprise, a shiver running up your spine at the strange intimacy of it. Half of you wants to laugh and push him away, half wants to raise your own arms up to return the embrace, to pull him against you and not let go, to undo all your fucking mistakes and just once, be the good guy.
You do nothing.
Eventually (seconds? minutes? hours later?) you clear your throat, voice gruff. "Well... lemme know what you decide." Very gently you push Sam away, enough to be able to look at his face with a bewildered, unreadable, almost-smile, a flush on your neck. "I thought I was s'posed't be makin' you feel better tonight, though." Your fingers itch to wipe the last tears away from his eyes, but you resist. "So... y'wanna talk about it? Or hear more stories? Or..." Or whatever. Whatever you can give, and maybe a little more than that, too.
and in the sea that's painted black
creatures lurk below the deckbut you're my king and i'm your lionheart
creatures lurk below the deckbut you're my king and i'm your lionheart
