when knox tells him to wait, he does. like an obedient pokémon, he stays where he is told and just taps his skin. then he itches it. his thoughts are swirling. what will knox say? what will they talk about? should he be worried? is it a talk before he leaves? he said he wouldn't leave. he said, he wouldn't leave. he said he wouldn't leave.

he's solidifying it in his mind when knox moves and he is beneath the water then. his body relaxes, his mind finds the present, and knox is cleaning him. but there's a look on knox' face, and sam doesn't appreciate the look. mostly because he knows that look, it's in the depth of his soul.

but knox had said he didn't want to talk... so sam just moves a hand over knox' that's on his chest, the other that's more south, and with furrowed brows, he just moves to embrace knox.

it's a hug, a simple hug. no distance between them, beneath the spray of lukewarm water. but it means so much. sam forgives him. if he needs to say it, then he will. but he knows knox responds best to physical shows of emotional thoughts and so sam tries to show his forgiveness in the best way he knows how.

but embracing him, accepting him.

knox prescott

sam doesn't understand why he has to do this. not really. and that's his own fault too. but eventually, when he's healed and he truly apologizes, when he does it right, sam will look back on this moment and think oh, that's why. but he can't really understand what this means, and what knox did. 

knox doesn't push him away. he pauses, soapy fingers on sam's back, and then he tucks his head into sam's neck and he lets the water run over his face. this soothes him. this relaxes him. 

he is grateful, though he doesn't deserve to be. 

eventually, he withdraws, but only because the water is getting colder now. he washes off the last of the soap from their bodies and turns it off. 

he dries himself in silence and then goes to sam's drawers. he withdraws a set of sweats for them both and after slipping his own pair on, he sighs. "i need to go get all my shit. i can't keep wearing your clothes." pieces of his wardrobe are scattered just about everywhere in the region, at this point. 

forgotten on couches, left in motel rooms. most of it's probably in the trash at this point. shit. there's no way the motel he'd been staying at in lilycove still has his stuff. he hasn't even thought about it in over a week. he'll head to lilycove tomorrow then, when sam's working, and grab a few outfits from the mall. 

he sits on the edge of the bed and grabs one of the last few pills remaining. 

"i forgive you," he says. "it doesn't make it right, but we have to start there."

samuel carter

☉

being held felt nice. being held... felt, felt like forgiveness. but knox goes the extra mile after they've dried and are dressed. he says the words sam needed to hear.

i forgive you.

he feels so weak having to hear the words, but it means more to him than just a hug or an embrace. he knew the forgiveness didn't make it right for knox, but it made it right for sam. however, he also recognizes that he cannot be that beast anymore. because of that, he draws a glass of water for knox and moves over to kneel before knox.

he puts his hands on either side of knox' thighs, gently. he looks him in the eyes, for just a moment, before his brows furrow and he just lays his head on knox' lap.

"i'll relearn what's right for you."

because the truth isn't that he's never learned. it's that he's been desensitized from the notion of right and wrong. right and wrong are tropes in films and prompts in novels. for sam, they've just been a hindrance on his soul. when he says he'll learn how to be right again, he means he'll remember what it's like to feel.

"even... if it hurts to feel again."

knox prescott

knox isn't so sure he's the one qualified to teach sam the difference between right and wrong. at least he's got enough sense to think 'killing? bad.' my gods, we really are so fucked up. he runs his fingers through sam's hair, embracing his closeness. 

when he speaks, a weight comes off of knox's chest. he doesn't know why, but he'd thought it would be harder. he thought, for whatever reason, that he'd have to convince him to do this for him. 

and he did, really, but he doesn't realize that. 

"hey," he says, and takes sam's chin in his hands, makes him look up. "not all of it will hurt. i promise you that."

samuel carter

☉

how won't it hurt? sam doesn't understand. it's always hurt to feel. to feel guilty is the greatest pain. to feel guilty to have done an offense to knox.

the image of knox' watery eyes, the tear stains, his voice broken into a thousand shards of glass. irreparable. and his voice, haunting, petrified and confused.

'is this what you want? cause i'm fucking terrified right now.'

sam's eyes water. the guilt hits, and he blinks it away before nodding and sitting up and off of knox. just enough to sit beside him on the bed. every time he blinks, he sees knox' crying face, feels the weight of it against his soul.

his fragile soul, covered by a fortress of logic and disassociation.

"knox?" his brows knit together as he moves his hand to scratch at his chest. but there is no panic, and only then does he realize knox wasn't in danger in the rain... he was hurt. "my heart hurts too."

knox prescott

he doesn't say anything. he lets sam feel. he can't draw him away from this, can't help shelter him, because in the long run that will just lead to more cracks. knox knows this. knox has emptied bottles of superglue to try and piece himself all back together. 

when he joins him at his side, he raises his hands. he uses his thumbs to wipe away sam's tears. and he nods and he says, "that's okay," when really he's thinking i know, i know and i'm sorry, but you have to. you have to let it hurt. 

he cups his cheek and he leans in. his lips are gentle this time. no fervor, no fever. they press, mold against sam's own, and he sighs into him, holding him there, gracing his cheek with his thumb, showing him that it doesn't all have to hurt. 

samuel carter

☉

is it okay? it's what sam has run from his whole life. why is hurting okay? why does it have to happen? because that is what knox deems right. so he suffers, and he is rewarded with lips against his own and thumbs along his cheek. he is comforted in his surrender to having a heart.

because if he does not have a heart, how can he show knox how he truly feels? how much he cares?

not that sam even realizes the depths of his feelings. he doesn't realize the labels that go with it. but he doesn't want to label it, because he knows labels chase away the very boy who makes him feel.

accepting the kiss hurts less. he hurts less because of it. his anxious hands find anchor in resting against knox' arms, his eyes are closed, his tears are slowing, as he breaks the kiss. he opens his eyes and looks, almost as if for approval.

has he done right, aching and hurting before him?

knox prescott

he wipes his tears away again, knowing and accepting that this will not be the last time. and that brings him a comfort. there is salt on his lips and he wipes that away too, then tucks some of sam's hair down, fussing with him in an attempt to piece him back together. 

knox gently, slowly, touches their noses together. he's careful not to hurt himself but he wants to be all that sam sees right now. he needs to be all that sam sees. 

he understands that some of sam's behaviors have been put there because of him. he can't tell him he's not going to run; all he can do is show him. 

so he leans back and takes sam with him. "come here. my chest is fine. just watch the ribs." 

samuel carter

☉

as knox touches their noses sam's eyes open in panic. he doesn't want to hurt knox, but the touch of their noses and the way knox is looking at him... knox needed this, so sam lets it happen. because he is a pushover, because knox essentially owns him even if knox doesn't realize it.

because sam has never really cared enough about himself to stand up for himself. only ever for others. they mean more to him than he means to himself.

which is ironic because he equally hates people. he constantly at war with himself. help people he doesn't even know until he meets them, judges how they might fit to the world, executes his own justice, and claims he doesn't see right or wrong.

nothing about you is right, everything about you is wrong.

that is what he hears and that is what he chooses to believe.

come here.

knox helps sam melt into the present, into the motion of laying down. he is mindful of knox' ribs and lays upon his chest. the beating of his heart, fast because of the rise of emotions through the day, causes sam's eyes to soften even further.

"did you still want to talk?"

knox prescott

sam lays his head upon his chest and he forces himself to relax. there's nothing quite like being reminded that you can't leave when the boy who has your affections is strewn over you. knox stares at the ceiling with this knot in his stomach as his heartbeat quickens. 

he looks down, chin tucked, so he can meet sam's eyes. that relaxes him. or, it helps, at least. he shifts his arm so it's against sam's back, loose still, because he doesn't want to make him feel claustrophobic again. 

"we should," he says and then sighs, "but i don't want to.

"i'm happy. shell-shocked, probably, but happy that this is where we ended up. you?"

samuel carter

☉

he says he is happy but he is tense. he says he is happy, twice, but his heart rate quickens. sam wants to question it, but he doesn't want to scare knox away. but knox said if he did leave, he would come back, and that they should talk.

all the boxes on the list are ticked. shower, clothes, lay down.

shell-shocked, that must be it. he leans up and puts his weight on the hand beside knox, no longer laying on him, so he can look him over from a better perspective.

"i'm exhausted, confused, and hungry." a shrug of his shoulders, quick, then he shifts. "and don't take offense to this but you're not particularly comfortable to lay on. can we ..."

what did knox say it was? they'd done it before, when knox had started feeling better.

"um," he furrows his brows. it's a type of dish... oh! no, silverware. "spoon instead?"

why it was called spooning still alluded sam, but, eh.

knox prescott

exhausted, confused, and hungry. oh, right. they'd missed dinner. he's spent a lot of days and nights forgetting to eat, too in his head to feel the pangs in his stomach. it's never really bothered him before, but sam's had him on a strict eating schedule just by proxy of being around him.

his belly grumbles, but he doesn't really feel the hunger. without anything in his system, the meds are kicking in faster. he doesn't"t realize his eyes have closed until sam shifts away from him.

he snorts. well, that solves that problem. he rolls over and drapes an arm over sam, shimmying onto his side so he can bump his hips, tuck his knees, into sam's own. and then he relaxes, really relaxes, with a breathy sigh.

"we'll go get a big breakfast in the morning. before you work," he mumbles into sam's ear.

samuel carter

☉

as knox surrounds him, he doesn't feel caged. it's more like a warm blanket, or a hoodie.

oh, i left that in the truck... hm. i wonder if he'll want that back? then he remembers, oh, i left the truck too... hm.

his eyes don't close. his brain is going a million miles a minute and then he feels knox' breath on his ears. he relaxes into his hold, not feeling claustrophobic. he feels safe.

"a second date, then."

knox prescott