fletcher, fletchling. ah.

didn't take sam a minute to figure out. it wasn't an alias, it was a failsafe. it was something that knox did to keep himself hidden and grounded because of shady things the prescott family was involved in.

but what knox didn't know, was that where sam sat, in the mass of graves, at the peak of mt. pyre, on his fucking mountain... there were no sides. there was only one power there, and that was death. not rocket, not league. not good, not bad. just death, the final destination for all souls.

"at least you saw a fletchling, and not something else. fletcher's a good cover name."

sam's not playing at anything and he shows as much by setting aside his notebook and leaning forward, to look knox in the eyes.

"your life is your business, knox. you don't owe me anything. not an explanation, not a story... if you want to give me one as a friend, then i am willing to listen until my ears bleed."

because i've grown fond of you in ways i don't dare try and explain.

perhaps the silence and the look in sam's eyes speak for itself.

"and then, perhaps, i'll tell you my own stories... but for now, for the sake of business," he took the notebook and started to scribble over what he'd written, correcting the surname. "it's a pleasure to meet you mr. prescott."

knox prescott

his future hangs in the air. and if he could touch it, he wouldn't - he would let it spin and slip and slide and do whatever the universe ought to think it should. and he would bare witness to it with a laugh, and probably with a wide-brimmed smile.

he is not prepared, however, for the seriousness, for the quiet blanket in the room. pari and isla's snores are soft and that only makes the moment more intimate, more something.

he feels the most naked he has ever felt in front of another man, and that is a feeling even knox is unfamiliar with. even more unfamiliar is the blush that crawls up his sides, that burns his cheeks and his ears and forces him to look away, to draw his hands to his face to hide that heat. 

i haven't done this in years. since i was a kid. since summer fucking beat it out of me.

he gathers himself - what little of himself he can, and wills the heat to go away (which never, ever works). and he ruffles his hair and he drops his hands, clenching fingers, searching for purchase on something the size of a pen, but with a different sort of ink.

"ah, fuck. just knox. please. mr. prescott is my father." he shudders. gods know he's tried everything in his power to distance himself from that man.

"thanks, sam. really."

samuel carter

☉

...had he...had he caused knox to, to blush?

there is something like pride in sam. a warm and fuzzy sort of pride he's not sure he's ever felt. he liked seeing knox so comfortably flushed. it was, to sam, as if knox wasn't sure what to do with how sam was treating him. with kindness? or was it sam's openness?

unsure of what it was, sam decidedly didn't stop himself. he just continued to be himself. or perhaps he was just too tired form mt. chimney to keep up polite smiles and the charade of manners his mother instilled into him when doing business.

instead, it's a genuine smile that meets knox. a smile that sam wasn't sure he'd really given many. for it wasn't any old smile, it was a smile that started in sam's stomach as unfamiliar flutters and bubbled up into his lips with a quiver.

"you're most welcome, knox."

his name falls without effort, seamless and easy. knox makes sam feel less overwhelmed with the day and sam shows as much with how he relaxes.

"and, don't thank me just yet. i haven't even gotten your will fully written."

perhaps a bit of humor would lighten the blush from knox' cheeks... pity.

knox prescott

you're most welcome, knox.

gods help him. does he have to be so polite? and weird? of course, he'd come here expecting nothing less and he wants sam to be himself, but if sam being himself is going to derail knox's thoughts every time he says something nice, this meeting isn't going to go anywhere. 

and knox's decision about taking the boy out to dinner first before trying anything will get sabotaged and thrown out the window because if there's one word anyone could ever use to describe him, it's impulsive. 

"yes. okay, please. back to death." i'd rather talk about fucking death. 

get a grip, brother dear. her sing-songy voice rings in his head and it actually helps settle his nerves. he is, after all, here to ensure that his precious pokemon and what little remains to his name are properly taken care of. 

"i'll make it easy," he says. he pulls a print-out of his current roster of pokemon and hands it to sam. "they're all i have. and if anything happens to me, i want them to go to Eden ."

samuel carter

☉

"Eden," sam mumbles the name while writing and then glances to the roster, setting it with his notes. he dates the paper, which he'll scan and add to the will virtually at a later time. "anything else to add? or just where your pokémon will go? if anything else is in your name, it will default to next of kin otherwise."

or storage in a locker, depending on his death, but sam kept that bit to himself.

he instead looked up and noticed that knox was still a bit flushed. was it warm? had he embarrassed knox in some way?

concerned it might be the temperature, he sets his notes down and turns enough to get the window beside the couch their sitting on open. he's got burns about his body, so a little breeze would do his own skin some good.

which i should likely see somebody about... his mind moves to Rory Faust, so he makes a note on the notebook he picks up in short hand reminding him to text rory and ask him how to tend to the wounds he'd gained.

knox prescott

what else does he have to his name? he has his charming personality, for one, but once he's gone, that's gone too. he looks at the pokeballs on the table, on the pokemon in sam's lap, and he thinks that despite the silver spoon in his mouth, that's all he's ever wanted. 

companionship and trust, and he's only truly ever found those with them. and with eden. should he mention that he hasn't spoken to her in months? that after the news broke, he doesn't even know if she's alive? 

would it go to her next of kin then? and end up in the hands of her terrible father (the one that gives his own a run for his money)? he's heard hadley senior requests pokemon replacements quite often because his keep breaking.

pari and isla express their discontent with sam's movement with a couple of warning shocks to his wrists. they nip as they go, tottering away from him and back up to the cozy comfort of their own trainer. 

knox grimaces apologetically. "sorry. they can be a bit testy. they're young. i didn't mean to add more to . . ." he examines sam's scars as the boy stretches to open the window, "those." 

he softens. "leave my clothes to my sister. she'll get a kick outta that." he shrugs. "i don't have much left to give." 

no money, no home, no nothing. if he even asked sam to dinner after this, would he want to go?

samuel carter

☉

"i think she's too well endowed to pull them off."

sam had, in fact, met Summer Atreides. they worked together to complete a task sanctioned to them by the league. he looked to knox, wondering if he knew that or not, finishing his shorthand after eye contact.

the little shocks? he's used to being mildly abused by pokémon. at least the shocks were a present thing. his ghosts usually just haunted his dreams and gave him goosebumps, odd feelings. while his dark types tended to bite him and leave marks.

"i'm... probably alright. with my own medical experience, i won't get infections, and with a bit of medicine i'll be able to sleep until i can manage to make an appointment and be see by a friend."

he set the notebook down and shrugged, a breath taken in slowly.

"as for business, you're all set. if you want to look over the details, you're more than welcome before you leave."

and since he hadn't given the notepad to knox just yet to look over, and instead leaned over enough to set them on the desk, he was pointedly saying he didn't want knox to leave yet.

knox prescott

the comment makes his head spin. too many possibilities open up at once. let's go over the scenarios:

1. sam knows summer, is in cahoots with summer, and this entire situation has been puppetered by the bitch herself as a way to extend her control over him again.
2. sam is working for summer and is trying to figure out what knox did with the money she just lent him.
3. summer has suddenly discovered sam's existence and is blackmailing him so that she can get . . . something from knox. 

he cuts himself off before he drives himself insane and just ends on number 4: it was pure coincidence that he met her and he's only just made the connection that they're siblings.

knox is silent for a noticeably long time, grimace on his face, as he struggles to swallow that pill. he and his sister have never been good at sharing, especially when it came to men, and sam was supposed to be a secret. different.

he just keeps coming back to that. different, different, different. 

he looks at where sam placed the notebook. close, inviting. knox doesn't think. he reacts. he picks up on the move and he scoots himself closer, shoulder brushing shoulder. 

you know, all those bruises are actually kinda - 

so there's something i can actually give you - 

kiss him kiss him kiss him kiss him - 

he sulks back, head in his hands, and says, "can i take you out to dinner?"

samuel carter

☉

the silence is something sam is comfortable with, but he's not a telepath and can nearly hear knox' thoughts vibrating in the air. like fuzz on a television with no signal. or static on a radio.

and for those silent moments, sam watches knox' movements closely. he looks to his eyes, from one to the other and then both. then, for some strange reason, he's finding himself looking at his lips, the curves of his jaw. then to his chin, and his collarbone.

as knox scoots closer, it's as if sam has jumped into an ice cold pool after a morning jog. his thoughts are cleared and he watches as knox puts his head in his hands. confusion rattles his brain.

the question is asked, but the tone seems ... confused? hesitant? no... anxious, he'd wager.

"at..." he looks at his clock. "eight thirty in the morning? no, i'm afraid dinner isn't possible."

sam raises a hand to put on knox' shoulder. just to sooth, to try and calm that anxiety. hopefully touch doesn't make knox' anxiety worse.

"but you can take me to breakfast."

knox prescott

he has a few jobs lined up this upcoming week. now that his probation's lifted and he's not as strapped for cash, he can move around a bit to replenish some of what he's spent (a hefty sum of summer's original loan, but he'll make it back). so he'll be around the mountain for at least this upcoming week, and he should have this upcoming wednesday and onward available.

not that any of this matters because sam clearly misunderstands him and assumes that knox had meant now. right now.

which, hey, is fine in his book. it actually manages to perk him up; the dark cloud that had cast itself over him turns sunny. that and sam's touch on his shoulder. yeah, that's nice. 

"i imagine you don't have much of a restaurant scene on your mountain of isolation," he says. 

samuel carter

☉

"if we did, it'd be killer."

the extremely dark dad joke leaves his mouth before he can stop it and sam finds himself frowning at the line. it's awful. it's so bad, and then he's chuckling as he leans forward a bit to cover his mouth with his free hand.

"i'm so sorry, that-- i'm tired, i usually don't say those things out loud."

not that he didn't think them in general. oh no, he did. he usually just kept those thoughts to himself. it was the sense of humor that he and his gengar, alecto, had in common. a humor that most of the time had gotten him into fist fights. which was why he never really voiced it.

knox prescott

given the thought of his impending death, whenever it may be, and his finally coming out about his identity to the boy who's managed to capture his interest, and every other anxious worry that's been piling onto his shoulders for the past few days, the humor, as corny as it is, is beyond welcome.

and it's so sudden and so unexpected and such a damn funny one-liner that knox stops and he wheezes and he doubles over with his laughter. and he just keeps laughing, until his eyes water and his jaw hurts. 

when he finally straightens, wiping his eyes while he does, he spots sam's nervousness. from his shaking, all of those worries had toppled off his back, and he leaves them behind, forgotten. 

suddenly buoyant, he throws an arm around sam's shoulders and shakes his head. "first one's free, if only 'cause i owe you. but after that, there's a price to pay for every dad joke."

samuel carter

☉

the laughter doesn't make sam feel embarrassed. because it isn't a pointed laugh. it isn't a laugh that says sam is an idiot or that is mocking him. it's laughter to be had with sam, and he does. he laughs alongside knox. though not as much and only because knox' laugh is something sam finds contagious.

after the arm is moved around his shoulder, sam leans into knox. he doesn't mind the close proximity. he never has. he's had plenty of people in his personal bubble. some by request, for a hug or for comfort, sometimes even support in physical situations. but other times not by request.


knox didn't smell and being surrounded by him was comforting. sam found he would request this kind of closeness from him, given the chance and thought.

"what would be the price i would have to pay, then?"

best to know what the consequences were before they switched topics.

knox prescott