and on the way back, he comes down and he spirals. he docks the boat listlessly, thinking of all the ways he can and should punish himself. the harbormaster tells him he can't just leave the yacht there, that he has to pay for it, and he just kind of stands there, staring, pupils still dilated. until the gibberish becomes something resembling english; he throws him the rolled up hundred, tells him he'll be back in a day or two.

it doesn't really matter if the boat is impounded. fees are just nuisances for the rich. 

it takes hypatia a bit of time to get back, but he doesn't mind. on the way home, he picks up a scone from some coffee shop, but ends up dumping it in the trash, half a bite taken out of it. 

it's on the last leg home that he's seeing mt. pyre in his head and when hypatia shakes her head and paints a watercolor portrait of the prescott manor, he frowns. looks down at the ground. has to shrug off the anxiety that he swears is from the comedown. 

hypatia puts her hand on his shoulder and gives it a squeeze. a small healing pulse soothes what she can and then they're whisked away. 

she brings him just inside the foyer and he puts his hands in his pockets, nods her off instead of returning her to her ball. when he crosses the floor, on his way to the stairs, he looks back at the spot on the floor where merrick had stood over him, ring ripping through his skin. 

breaking his nose. his ribs. 

coming back here wasn't a good idea. but was staying on mt. pyre an option either? when it was killing him? and what about summer? alone in this empty house with awful memories of her own. 

he takes the stairs up two at a time and rounds the corner, but slows as he approaches his room. music's playing from behind the door. fingers curl. he almost knocks, but that's crazy. instead, he nudges the door open and pokes his head in first.

"hey," he says and looks around at the measly boxes sam left just beside his dresser. 

samuel carter

☉

sam's looking at him happily, but there's a tightness around his eyes, a drawn tug to his lips. knox's gaze wanders over him and settles on his shoulder. it isn't hard to put two and two together, especially when it looks like knox woke sam up from a nap. 

welcome home. his shoulders sag a little, but mostly out of relief. because with sam, he is home. in this bubble, he's home. so he steps closer and wraps one arm loosely around sam's waist. the other goes to cup his cheek.

already, he's spinning the story in his head. that the dye job took longer than he thought. that he bought a boat and docked it, but he never made it out. he never went out to sea and he never threw everything away. 

"you feeling okay? hurt?"

samuel carter

☉

"if you remember," knox repeats, somewhat amused, somewhat concerned. does sam forget anything? he never thought it possible. but maybe even after enough pain, even the walking computer has trouble rebooting. he looks up at the hand as sam runs is through his hair and then back down to the boy in front of him. 

"mm, that's too bad though," he says, because sam knows what playing with his hair does. and he's a sucker for the dressed down casual look. 

he follows dutifully, but stays in the threshold rather than stepping in the guest room. well, sam's 'room' now. he recognizes bits and pieces from sam's place in mt. pyre and it makes him sad all over again. 

everything is going to change. 

knox bites his lip when sam switches so abruptly again. and then, very gently, he tilts his head and kisses sam's lower lip. rests just his fingertips on sam's waist. 

"been too long since a touch-up." he pauses. "thought it'd be a nice change."

samuel carter

☉

and oh boy does knox especially love it when sam shows him he's happy for the company. it's really not until this moment, when sam's fingers curl at the hem of his shirt, when that transcribes in knox's brain to sam is comfortable and he likes kissing you, that this is closeness. this is what it means to know someone. to listen to their little quirks, the way they move without knowing. 

he cracks a wide smile and makes a sound in his throat, but the sound is only because his body's buzzing at the realization and it's taking everything in him not to launch himself at sam. 

he presses their foreheads together instead, lips parted. he puts that frustration straight on his face, that same smirk from all those moons ago at the party that started it all. 

"you, sam carter, drive me insane. now, how about we relax before we get ahead of ourselves, hm?" he catches sam's wrists and raises a brow. "get you your meds. movie night in? take it easy?"

samuel carter

☉

there goes sam, driving the point home. but knox refuses to be beaten. mostly because once that dam breaks, there's no going back, and sam's shoulder will be mad at the both of them by the time they're finished. and then knox will have to wait even longer to really go about breaking his bed back in. 

"i'll get some food delivered, too," he says. something nice. something they haven't had in a while. because money's no fucking object anymore. funny, how quickly he's fallen back into old routine.

"theater's back down the stairs on the other side of merrick's den." summer's den? does merrick have a claim to it anymore? if his ghost still haunts it in knox's vision? 

samuel carter

☉

knox snorts, but it's a valid point nonetheless. merrick prescott lived in two rooms: his study and his bedroom, and even the latter was a stretch. most of his time was spent at his apartment in slateport, of which knox doesn't even know the whereabouts. he liked to be close to his operation. 

knox pulls out his phone and draws his contacts up. he goes above and beyond with his order because he's pretty sure they don't have much in the fridge. i'll have to go out and get some oatmeal and coffee, he thinks idly while he chatters away with the host taking his order. 

he pulls out his summer's card and rattles off the numbers, leaves a generous tip, and then informs sam it'll be about forty minutes. 

"now meds," he says, but he doesn't move to follow sam. nope, he'll wait right outside. 

samuel carter

☉

he doesn't protest, even though he thinks well i've done it plenty times before and it doesn't hurt. just makes it duller. makes it work faster. work its way into the blood and push everything else out and away. but he's not going to say something stupid like that when sam is being so infectiously affectionate. 

he looks at him out of the corner of his eye, almost in disbelief. he's been doing that a lot lately. 

everything's changed and sam's changed for the better. and he doesn't know why that sits kind of wrong in his throat; he hasn't been able to figure it out because as soon as he thinks it, he shovels shit on top of it and thinks about the surface level. that this is nice. that this is what he wants. 

for sam to be himself, however it is, with him, regardless of how they got here. 

"i don't think you've ever been this clingy before," he says because he can't help himself, but he grabs sam's arms so he can't pull away and laughs so he knows he doesn't mean it in a bad way. and just in case, says, "it's cute. i like it."

and because sam's still wrapped around him and knox refuses to let go, he slowly waddles both of them forward toward the stairs. 

samuel carter

☉