No one here to set me free

And here we go, "Hello, floor. Have you met my knees?"

"Oh. Well...I suppose...um...did you...like seeing him?" Sam stressed the last word, wanting Zeph to expand on who it was exactly he saw: he was pretty sure he could make a good guess, but he didn't want to assume. If at least it was a good experience, Zeph wasn't going insane in a bad way, right?

He could see the instant disinterest (or...perhaps it was awkward discomfort?) in Zeph's face the second his question was out in the air and Sam wanted to cringe and go back in time, take the words back into his mouth. He watched as Zeph took a breath and looked up to the ceiling and he slowly sat up, sighing and rubbing the back of his neck, embarrassed; he was about to say it didn't matter when there was a response, one that made him blink back a couple of tears as he glanced ashamed to the floor.

"No, you're right. I know you are. I'm sorry. I just..." Sam dropped his hands into his lap, then put one to his stomach, feeling along the rough bumpy scar that was stitching itself up in his skin. "...I just want someone to...oh, it doesn't matter. I'm sorry." He shook his head, wishing he could be anywhere else in the moment.

SAMUEL

zephyr

The guilty undertaker sighs
The lonesome organ grinder cries

So everything goes about as well as you thought it would, which is to say rather poorly. You're not dumb enough to avoid the way he's looking down at the floor with those puppy-dog eyes, but you're also far too drunk to know what to do about it. At least it's out in the open now, the hard things said out loud. Maybe now the wound will start to close.

Or, y'know, maybe things will escalate in degrees of awkward. Given your luck, it's probably that.

Especially since now you don't know what you're supposed to say. Or do. Or...... anything. "Someone t'what, Red?" you murmur, eyes still closed, head still back. At least if Sam's talking you don't have to. And maybe when you wake up this will all be over.

The silver saxophones say I should refuse you
But it's not that way, I wasn't born to lose you

And here we go, "Hello, floor. Have you met my knees?"

Sam was beginning to spiral down into his own mind in a way that he knew wasn't going to end well, but it was hard to stop; fingers scratching too hard at his wrist he already wondered why he'd brought up this in the first place, when he'd known Zeph wasn't in the right place (and Gods, he was seeing ghosts. What kind of selfish asshole would talk over that with his romance woes?). Already he was swiftly becoming convinced Zeph had to hate him and that he was simply just not destined for love, for any kind of close friendship--

He'd almost forgotten the other man was there, by the time he spoke.

"Oh, we don't...we don't have to talk about it. I'm being selfish again." He shook his head, turned to look Zeph over. The man certainly didn't look good, and Sam took a breath to steady himself, thought he could try to help with actions rather than words. "You look a mess. Let me help you instead of ramble on about me, alright?" Standing, rubbing off fluid that still stained his hands on his pants (something he would normally not dream of doing, but he was not entirely in his mind at the moment), Sam went to the kitchen and drew a glass of water.

"You need to drink this. Otherwise you'll wake up in the morning with an evening worse headache than what you're going to have." Walking to be before Zeph, he handed out the glass, keeping his hand out afterwards for the booze.

SAMUEL

zephyr

The guilty undertaker sighs
The lonesome organ grinder cries

A wiser man would let it go. A more sober one, too.

Alas.

What is wrong with you, not to take advantage of this easy thing? He's good looking and sweet and clearly into you. Probably a good lay, or an obedient one at least. Bus even as he walks away you know you can't let that happen, because at the end of the day you wouldn't be able to hold on. Not in the way he'd want.

When he comes back with the water it's his hand you grab, staring up at him with the infamous belligerence of the very drunk. "No. Nope. Sit yer butt down, Red. We ain't done." Tugging him in a vaguely chair-like direction, you wait for him to (hopefully) sit down. "We've not talked long enough. 's time t'be real. What're ya hopin's gonna happen if we do kiss? Huh?"

The silver saxophones say I should refuse you
But it's not that way, I wasn't born to lose you

And here we go, "Hello, floor. Have you met my knees?"

For just a brief moment, Sam had pretty confident hope that he'd gotten away without having to have the awkward conversation, that he'd managed to run away for another day and would not have to face Zeph in this situation he'd made. However, as soon as Zeph opened his mouth, it became apparent that was not the case, and Sam didn't even bother trying to hide the disappointment on his face.

He let himself be pulled, but before he fully sat he thrust the glass out towards Zeph again. "Take this and drink it or I'm not saying anything." Sam insisted, and staying true to his word did not lean back in the chair until he had seen at least one swallow of the water.

When he was actually there and sat down though, he now had to try and talk. Immediately Sam began to drum his fingers on the arm of the chair, look anywhere in the room but Zeph; when he finally found the words, he sighed and scrunched his eyes shut for a moment before saying them. "I guess I'm hoping you might...find me...desirable. That you'd want me. And..." He glanced back at the face of the man who had so quickly come to mean so much to him, the vision painful with the knowledge he was never going to have what he voiced. "...I mean I just...I...this is so embarrassing. I suppose I just want someone to...care...and look after me...and you know, sometimes kissing and things like that could um...lead to that..."

Uncomfortable, Sam shifted around, a hand coming to tap against his knee. "You're a very nice man. It's just me, though. Any time I meet a man that's nice to me I fall i--..I get attached. Too soon."

SAMUEL

zephyr

The guilty undertaker sighs
The lonesome organ grinder cries

Begrudgingly you take the glass and raise it to your lips, swallowing down a gulp. Score one for the boy with the puppy dog eyes.

You're having a little bit of difficulty focusing on him, but he isn't looking at you either so maybe you're getting away with it. Not super confident how to best reply to the first confession you keep your big mouth shut, doing your best to listen intently to and not immediately run away from the disaster you've invited.

But his next bit? Wanting someone to care for and look after him? "Whaddya think I've been doin'?" you snort under your breath, feeling suddenly very wounded indeed.

And then he makes it worse.

Suddenly stony you lean back on the couch, arms crossing over your chest. "I see." Realistically speaking you have no right to feel this hurt - you're the one who rejected him, after all - but hearing that you're nothing more than another in a string of very nice men has rubbed you a little raw. So all he wanted this whole time was... What? A husband? Someone to be this perfect image of a man for him?

"An' here I thought ya liked me fer my charmin' sense'a humor." Deadpan as the grave you say this with a dry snort of amusement, scowling up at the ceiling. "So that's all this has been, eh? A means to an end?"

The silver saxophones say I should refuse you
But it's not that way, I wasn't born to lose you

And here we go, "Hello, floor. Have you met my knees?"

Once again (this seemed to happen regularly), Sam attempted to explain his feelings and what came out managed to be said and interpreted in the worst way possible: did he have a talent for putting things terribly? He certainly never meant to hurt Zeph and when he heard the questions, the reactions, he realised what he'd said and how it sounded: not what he had meant at all.

How on Caido did people correctly organise their thoughts in a way that didn't make everything worse?

"No, no. I'm sorry...I'm awful at explaining myself. I don't mean...not like that." He lowered his head into his hands, sighing and trying to think of rephrasing. "I jumble up a lot of thoughts at once and they come out wrong. Let me start again, please."

This was why he'd wanted to shut this down early: Sam could already feel the panic of oh is this where I lose him, is this where I lose this friendship, am I going to be alone again bubbling up, the ever-present overreacting anxiety that had been his companion for years. "You have cared for me and made me feel special in a way that no one else has ever done. What you said to me, when we were out in the ocean that night? It made me...I felt it mend something inside me, Zeph. Please..don't think I haven't noticed. What I meant was...I've always craved..you know, romantic care. The kind that comes with desire and partnership..that stuff."

He dared to glance up, hoping that he might be explaining himself a little better this time. "You have treated me better than anyone else I've known and I don't...I'm sorry it sounded like I didn't think that. You are not a means to an end." The very phrasing of it made him feel vaguely nauseous. "I just...I'm just trying to be honest with myself, and you, that a part of why I want to..you know...do anything...well, a lot of it is because you're great and um, attractive--" Sam laughed awkwardly, uncomfortably, down at the floor. "--But a little bit of it is just that I'm not used to people treating me like...well, like an equal. Like a friend. And I just want to..make you everything to me, which isn't healthy, I know..."

Feeling like he'd rambled for far too long now, Sam trailed off, shrugging, occasionally looking up to see if he'd made any improvements on how he had sounded.

SAMUEL

zephyr

The guilty undertaker sighs
The lonesome organ grinder cries

That's the thing about feelings, though. They generally make more sense inside than out.

Really, you should have known better than to assume the worst of Sam. And really, that assumption is based more on your own hurt and history than anything he's said. You've spent a long time keeping people out, and you're damned good at it these days. It's easier than letting yourself get hurt again.

But Sam deserves more from you. He's fragile and delicate and trying so hard. C'mon, fucker, get it together. Just open your eyes - there ya go - an' then lean forward - slowly, gods fuck, the world's already spinning fast enough - aaaand elbows on your knees so you don't keel over, there ya go, now reach out, try'n reach his knee or something, hand, shin, whatever, just as long as it isn't his cock----

"Red. Stop."

Your sable eyes focus in on his face. "'M sorry. I shouldn'a said that. Look." Rubbing your thigh, you scoot forward toward him. "I like ya, Red. A lot. Yer a good sort, an' I wish ya could see that. But what you need.... it ain't someone else. Havin' a lover ain't gonna fix th'way ya feel 'bout yerself."

Reaching out you try to put a finger under his chin, bringing his face back up to yours. "You gotta learn t'respect yerself. Find that... that value ya want in you. Or y'aint gonna find it anywhere. Ok?"

The silver saxophones say I should refuse you
But it's not that way, I wasn't born to lose you

And here we go, "Hello, floor. Have you met my knees?"

By some grace of the Gods, Zeph reached over and told him to stop with a tone that implied he had understood; Sam could have fallen to his feet  to kiss them he was so grateful (but thankfully, he was still sensible enough to not do that). While he knew this conversation wasn't going to end how he wanted, draped over Zeph like a romance novel heroine, at least it seemed like it wasn't going to damage their friendship.

"..I don't...know how to do that. How do you respect yourself or find value in yourself? Did you do it?" It was obvious, from the continued drinking, that Zeph was not entirely done with his own baggage, though Sam was willing to accept that was more due to the whole dead-wife-and-kid thing than a self esteem problem. He sighed and looked around the room, wondering for the millionth time what other moments had occurred in it in years passed. "...What if I never manage to do it, and I'm alone forever?"

SAMUEL

zephyr

The guilty undertaker sighs
The lonesome organ grinder cries

"Pfffft." The sound that leaves you is half a snort, half a laugh, and entirely amused. Releasing Red, who seems to have calmed down, you lean against the back of the couch once more. Eyes narrow and crinkled with unshed laughter, you flop a hand expressively over your torso. "D'I look like I got my shit t'gether?" you ask rhetorically.

Your expression softens and grows serious once more; you run a hand through your hair, exhaling a sigh as your eyes fall shut. "Look, Red. Nobody knows what the fuck we're doin'. But ya can' need anyone else t'validate yer whole existence, person or god or whatever. It's... Hell, it ain't a fair thing t'ask fer."

The silver saxophones say I should refuse you
But it's not that way, I wasn't born to lose you

And here we go, "Hello, floor. Have you met my knees?"

"Mmm..." Sam looked Zeph up and down at his question, the traces of a fond smile on his face as he considered the man. Honestly, no, especially at the moment, Zeph did not look like he had anything together; though the sad truth of it was that he probably had more together than Sam did. "..Well, you're at least well liked. People talk about you to me a lot and it's always positive." That was true: even if they were usually...scoundrels of one kind or another, he'd never heard a bad word about Zeph.

Respecting Zeph's opinion more than most people he'd ever known, Sam leaned in to listen closely. "...You're...right, I suppose, but..." He took a breath, wondered if he wanted to ask what would surely be a very embarrassing question, but he supposed he'd already been vulnerable enough this evening: may as well go the whole way. "...What does it feel like? When someone loves you, and you love them? It's just...well, no one's ever...you know, said they do to me, and..." He shrugged.

"I've always wanted it, but I don't actually know what it's like."

SAMUEL

zephyr

The guilty undertaker sighs
The lonesome organ grinder cries

You snort very loudly at the notion of being well-liked, but make no comment on the statement. This isn't about you defending your carefully maintained and quickly deteriorating facade of grizzled no-fucks-given unlikability, and you're too tired to argue that point.

Taking another sip of the water Sam so generously provided (you'll thank him in the morning, you know; for now you're still a bit miffed), you wait for whatever next doozy he's going to drop, and almost groan when it comes. Closing your eyes in a clear act of gods give me strength, you raise a hand to rub the bridge of your nose.

"That ain't the point, Red," you sigh out with some exasperation, suddenly very much exhausted. "Whatever it feels like- it ain't gonna be enough. It ain't gonna fix th'hole ya feel. An' expectin' it to- it's fuckin' cruel t'the people who do love ya."

Rising suddenly (and very unsteadily) to your feet, you stare down at Sam for a moment while the world spins. "An' actin' like people don' love ya 'less they do it th'way ya want us to? That's cruel too, Red."

The silver saxophones say I should refuse you
But it's not that way, I wasn't born to lose you

And here we go, "Hello, floor. Have you met my knees?"

It was obvious that Zeph was frustrated with him, but Sam had never really had these conversations before, the space to think and work out how to operate healthier than he had been doing. He supposed he could see what Zeph was saying, though - it was certainly unfair to put such a burden on anyone he could love in the future; he only hoped he could find a way to unburden himself before someone truly wonderful came along.

Was that a perfect way of looking at it? No, but probably better than where he'd started.

His eyes followed Zeph as the man stood up, making sure he wouldn't fall, though Sam completely forgot that as the words said sunk in.

Us.

As in, including Zeph.

Immediately, tears sprung to his eyes and he stood too, standing in front of Zeph and opening his mouth a few times, words not escaping. Eventually all he could do was lean in to pull the man into a hug, whispering quiet 'thank you's and 'I'm sorry'.

SAMUEL

zephyr

The guilty undertaker sighs
The lonesome organ grinder cries

Not really the point you were trying to make, but you're too tired to do anything more than blink in mute surprise when Sam is suddenly standing as well, hugging you and getting your shirt wet with tears (Can Ascended cry? Do they have real tears? Questions for another time). Awkwardly you raise your arms to wrap around him, your large hands patting uncertainly on the younger man's back. "'S ok, Red," you murmur. "Go ahead'n let it out." It's the best you can offer at the moment: just being there, letting him work through it, not running away as much as you might want to.

And when it's done you'll still be here, because that's what you do. You stick around like a rock on the shore while waves push and pull against you, and you ignore the things that wear you down, and the birds that shit on you and the friendly barnacles that grow on you and the carved messages in you aaaaaaand this metaphor is getting a little weird, but watcha gonna do.

It's been a weird fucking night.

{fin!}}

The silver saxophones say I should refuse you
But it's not that way, I wasn't born to lose you