you didn't have to offer your hand

SAMUEL stretch out my life & pick the seams out Sam certainly felt like he was a baby sometimes as life continued to dump new experiences and challenges on him, but despite his eternally smooth skin, he knew he wasn't. There was a tiredness in his soul that had really settled in in the last few years, something that he could recognise in Zeph too. He let out a soft laugh as Zeph swayed, surprised that he felt so comfortable around the man's drunkenness. Perhaps it was the knowledge that Zeph would not hurt him, not even as out of his right mind as he was. Sam was happy to help him up the stairs, politely turned his head away as Zeph stripped down: despite the pain of his rejected half-confession, there was something domestic and sweet about the whole thing; he had to swallow a bittersweet taste in his mouth. "I'm not go-going anywhere, Zeph. --- Sam spent a couple of hours sat not-really-reading in the living room, eyes mostly focused somewhere on the top of the book as he thought over everything, wondered if he could have said some magical series of words to make everything work out how it did in his wildest dreams; he concluded there probably wasn't. Zeph, just like everyone else he'd had feelings for, was a mess of his own traumas and issues: besides, they hadn't really known each other too long. Eventually deciding he needed to take his mind off things, he went to start cleaning. He had been tackling the room Zeph had given him recently; which had once been his sons. There were some things he didn't want to move, toys or old trinkets which seemed to sacred to move...but he saw a box in the corner, one that had 'ATTIC' scrawled on the side in Zeph's messy handwriting: figuring it's destination was pretty obvious, he grabbed it and headed upstairs. It was a pain getting up the ladder with the box as well, but eventually he managed. Sam sat on the top of the ladder on the attic floor, pushing the box out to the side; in doing so he knocked another, sending a case flying from the top of the pile down to the ground, where the lid fell off; papers scattered all around. Panicking, not wanting to ruin any of Zeph's things, Sam began to pack them back in. Then, something caught his eye: Ella. The wife that had gone so mysteriously. He held the letter in his hands folded, unsure if he dared to open it. It wasn't his place, but he had to admit he was curious about the woman that had been here once, that had claimed Zeph's heart long before he'd ever met him. Just one look at the letter couldn't hurt: it was probably some inconsequential love letter, he figured. A glance down the ladder later, he began to read. It very quickly became clear that this was not a love letter at all, but a different one indeed. His hands tightened on the edges of the letter as he read, unable to tear his eyes away even as his heart sunk lower and lower, the knowledge that these were not words he ought to read settling in at the same time as a morbid curiosity. So enraptured he was in the letter that he forgot to keep looking down the ladder, one leg resting down on a rung as he held the paper by his knee, staring at it as if it would talk and give him more answers. take what you like, but close my ears and eyes, watch me stumble over and over.

zephyr

The letter that Samuel finds in the attic reads as follows:

Zephyr,

I think you know me well enough to know where I am. But you deserve to know why I will not be coming back.

I'm not happy. I know you think it's your fault, but it isn't. I haven't been happy since Ray died. A piece of me died along with him, and I think it was the piece of me that knew how to love. He was the sun, and with him gone the world is gone dark, and I'm blind. I keep waiting for it to brighten so I can find my way back to you, but it doesn't and I can't.

I know that you've been hurting too, and I'm sorry there was nothing I could do for that. Maybe if we'd tried earlier, but now I fear we're too far away from each other to ever reconnect. I know what you're thinking, that it isn't too late, that we can keep trying... But that's the thing. I can't keep trying anymore. I have nothing left to give.

I know that you will blame yourself no matter what I say, so I won't bother telling you not to. Try to remember that this was my choice. You didn't drive me to it.

My soul died when Ray did. It's time for my body to follow.

We will be waiting for you in Mort's realm. Take your time, Zephyr. Please.

Yours,
Ella

---

You wake up in as comfortable a state as to be expected: which is to say, rather wickedly hungover, your face throbbing in pain. Why? It takes you poking your wound to remember it's there, a yelp of pain escaping your lips. Stagger to your feet, investigate the mirror, and there come the memories swimming back like fish in murky water. There was a, a fight? And a tall man with a knife? And you came home drunk as a sailor, and Red--

Ah, well. Fuck.

It's still mercifully blurry, just how badly you fucked up. Nothing to be done for it now. Groaning loudly you begin to search for a pair of trunks, which you do not find. Probably drying out in the shower. Hopefully Red isn't here, or is sleeping - it's barely dawn, after all - and you won't bump into him as you sneak downstairs in only your underwear, desperate for the freedom of the beach-

Zeph, since when has luck been on your side?

You all but walk into the ladder on which Sam is perched, noticing it only as it  invades your blurry vision from less than a foot away. Brown eyes, one half closed from swelling, follow it up to find the familiar, pale figure sitting at its peak.

Up above you.

What?

"Red..." Your voice is a deep croak; you clear your throat with little improvement, the sleep replaced with a low but rising alarm. "What... What're y'doin' in m'attic?"

burn all the things you have to burn
save all the people you're supposed to save

SAMUEL stretch out my life & pick the seams out The second Sam heard Zeph's door open the spell was broken; he panicked. He'd never been told not to go into the attic or not to look at the things in the case, but he knew he was being invasive; looking around he folded the letter back up and desperately tucked it under a box nearby, not having the time to put it back in the case and stack everything back up neatly. As Zeph walked up he tried to look busy, as if he were just finishing adjusting the position of the boxes. "Oh, g-good morning..." He greeted as he peeked down from the hatch, trying not to notice how little Zeph was wearing (impossible, but he was quite used to that by now). "Um, I was do-doing some tidying, and th..there was a box that said at-attic on it and it was f...ffff..full." He poked the box he'd brought up a couple of times. "So I brought it up. Is...th-that okay?" He asked, already shifting to come down the ladder, feeling a need to run away from the incriminating moved letter as soon as possible; slowly putting one foot on a rung after another, he stepped down to be on an eye level with Zeph. With what he'd just read, it was hard to look at the other man normally (especially with the bloody, swollen eye). "...Um...h..how are you?" take what you like, but close my ears and eyes, watch me stumble over and over.

zephyr

Is it okay? Your head is throbbing and your throat feels like you swallowed glass and your face alternately throbs and burns, so no, very little is okay. We're going to say that's why you scowl, and not the sudden memory of very drunkenly confronting Sam about his crush, and your uncertainty on the matter.

And now he's in your attic, where you shoved El's stuff when you couldn't bear to look at it and couldn't stand to throw it away. It's an old dusty shrine to your dead wife, and Sam's spent who knows how long in it, finding who knows what-

You swallow down panic and frustration, licking your lower lip and looking anywhere but at him. No longer saved from your emotions by the embrace of alcohol, you have no idea how to confront them.

"Don't go in there again." It comes out harsher than you'd like it to; you can hear it, wincing at your own voice. "I mean... It's messy, an' there's a lotta ol' stuff I gotta sort through. An' nails an' shit." Stuff and nails and shit. Solid recovery, Zeph.

Desperate to escape the awkward situation, you move to squeeze past Sam and head downstairs. "'m fine. Goin' for a swim. Be back after. You, uh... You need anythin'?" Gone are the smiles, the boyish laugh. By dawn's grey light you are walked off and stoic, unwilling or unable to confront the events of the night before.

burn all the things you have to burn
save all the people you're supposed to save

SAMUEL stretch out my life & pick the seams out Sam froze as the harsher-than-expected words left Zeph's mouth, the intensity of his guilt about reading the letter certainly making his reaction more dramatic than it had to be. Silently he nodded his understanding, though he was now wondering if it was worth trying to sneak up there again at some point to organise things how they had been before the case had fallen; probably not for a while at least. The thought would plague him for weeks, he was sure. He was thankful to have Zeph's eyes off him as the man moved to go downstairs; Sam finished walking down the ladder and turned to push it up into the hatch, still reaching with his arms up as he paused to look over and answer the question. "Oh, um n-no, but..." Another pause as he hopped up (not tall enough to do it on his toes) to finish returning the ladder and close the door. "...d...don't be too long. I'm go..going t-to need to wash your eye ag..again. It looks s..sssore." {FIN} take what you like, but close my ears and eyes, watch me stumble over and over.