by Aiden Bates
Sam was only aware of Adam returning when his hand gently brushed against his cheek, wiping away the tears that rolled down his face. Sam was fairly certain that he sobbed out Adam’s name but even he wasn’t sure of what he was doing at that point, leaning into his friend’s chest as he cried.
“Shh,” Adam cooed softly as he held him, his broad, muscular arms tender as they held him. “It’s all right, Sam. It’s all gonna be all right.”
“No, it isn’t!” Sam argued, and even in the depths of his own despair, he was aware of how petulant he sounded. “I…I feel so empty, Adam!”
“I know,” Adam shushed him, handing him the shirt and pants that he had requested. “I know, hon. It’s going to be okay. Can you trust me on that?”
“I—” Sam said with a hiccup, holding the articles of clothing like his life depended on them.
He wasn’t sure what to say, or what to feel at that point, beyond his unshakable sense of loss. For all intents and purposes, it felt as though he was processing a death, though all that had died was a relationship that had been on life support for so long that letting it end was a mercy. He felt anxious, agitated, his hands bunching and tugging at the clothes he was given, and Adam must have picked up on that, if the way he smiled shakily at him was any indication.
“Go ahead and get changed, yeah?” Adam offered, stepping back far enough that Sam had space. “How about I make us some tea? Maybe a nice decaf tea for you? Then we can get you situated in your room with some good food and help you relax. How’s that sound?”
Sam could scarcely fathom the idea of stomaching anything, even that wonderfully fragrant pho that he could still smell from the kitchen, but he knew that he had to eat something, He hadn’t done so all day, and even if he didn’t want to think about food, he knew that the baby was still in need of something to eat.
“Sure,” Sam said with a shuddering sigh as he brushed past Adam to head into the bathroom to change. He thought about just going up to his room to change. He would be right where he wanted to be and could have just tucked himself into his bed and just tried to pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist for a little while. But he was feeling particularly dizzy, had felt it even as he had stumbled into the bathroom and closed the door, and decided that risking the stairs would be a bad idea in his present state.
Still, now that he was in a position to change into these much more comfortable clothes—Adam must have either chosen the softest ones he could find, or he had just gotten very lucky with his selection—Sam suddenly had the unshakable need to be rid of the clothes he was wearing. Suddenly, they were too tight, too rough, too much for him, and he all but clawed them off of his form with shaking hands. He managed to get the shirt over his head, retching at the metallic scent of blood that pressed against his nose as he twisted the shirt off frantically, and he threw it on the floor some ways from him as though it burned him. With his body freed of his shirt, his jeans suddenly felt as though they were made of lead, trying to pull him down. He practically snapped the button off them in an effort to remove them, kicking them away from him to join the soiled shirt in a discarded pile.
Now cold but free of the constricting discomfort of his clothing, he stared at his reflection, clad in nothing but his boxers. Compared to how he had seen himself in this exact mirror the night before, very little had changed: his hair was still a mop, his eyes were still too bright and too filled with grief, and his belly was still only just beginning to show signs of housing life. Though, the bandage on his neck was the real standout. To anyone else, it wouldn’t have been; a little pale against his skin, sure, but it was just a bit of gauze and some medical tape, it was a fairly innocuous thing attached to his neck. And yet…and yet it signified so much more for him, and was suddenly the focal point of his entire appearance.
Even after he had stumbled into his pajamas and smoothed out the fabric, his eyes were automatically drawn to the bandage the second he looked at himself in the mirror again. It was what was—or was no longer—beneath the bandage that made Sam feel as he did, he knew. It didn’t go very far in making things better for him, knowing what the source of his anguish was, but at least there was some sort of physical indicator that something was off, something he could look at—something that some bitter part of him could blame.
Still…looking at it overly long made him strangely woozy, so much so that he was utterly graceless as he pulled himself out of the bathroom, his old clothes bundled in his hands. Adam was already standing by the kitchen entrance, leaning against the wall, waiting for him. He gave Sam a smile as he neared and reached out a hand in silent offering when Sam stumbled a bit on his way to him.
“I already got the tea in a thermos for us,” Adam said with a smile. “I moved our food up to your room, so we can just get you situated and comfortable and try to relax a bit.”
“I’m—” Sam thought to protest, to say that he wasn’t hungry, but his stomach betrayed him, gurgling loudly. Sam sighed. “I’m glad you’re such a good friend,” he opted to say instead, though the sentiment was genuine all the same.
“Right, come on, then, hon,” Adam said, gesturing for Sam to go ahead of him.
When he moved to do as Adam had suggested, Sam’s legs buckled on him again, and though he would have likely been fine after a moment, it seemed that Adam wasn’t going to take the risk, scooping him up and carrying him up the stairs. Sam blushed, feeling ashamed of his sudden weakness and frustration that he was experiencing this so intensely—all over breaking a bond with a man who let his jealousy taint his heart and turn his soul black! That was the most frustrating part of it all!
Yet, Sam couldn’t deny that he had an intense need for…for something to fill the void—for it felt as though there was suddenly a part of himself that was missing, something that he wouldn’t be able to get back, and the sensation was driving him insane. It didn’t help that Adam smelled so good, felt so warm and so safe, Sam noted, breathing in his scent, drinking deep of his musk as Adam carried him to his room. It was such a heady scent, thick with his pheromones and calming as chamomile tea.
“Adam,” Sam murmured, his voice a soft coo as he nuzzled against the Alpha’s pulse point. He was drunk on Adam’s scent and the need to be loved—there was some distant part of himself still cognizant of what was right and wrong outside of his personal needs, that was aghast at the thought of taking advantage—or worse, using his position to try and coerce Adam, of all people, into being with him. But that part of him was lost amidst his grief, the desperation to fill the void that removing the mark he had borne for almost a decade making him do things he would never actively choose to do. “Adam,” he mewled, his mouth brushing against Adam’s throat.
The Alpha’s step faltered—clearly not expecting Sam to do that. Sam continued, undeterred, pressing open little nips against his skin, tracing a path up to his jawline. He felt himself being shifted, and suddenly he felt his mattress beneath him. There was a spark of desperation and fear that Sam’s loneliness ignited into an inferno at the sensation—fearful that he would not be able to feel someone beside him if Adam let go, not wanting to do anything else but drink in Adam’s thick scent longer, to pretend that he was safe with an Alpha that was his, and the sensations welling up inside him pushed all those complicated feelings to the surface, and suddenly Sam was clutching at the back of Adam’s shirt, trying to hold on for dear life.
“Sam,” Adam growled as he removed his hand from the bend of Sam’s knee. “Just relax, and—”
“Take me,” Sam whispered, tears welling in his eyes again. Truly, he didn’t want to put his friend in this position, he didn’t want to beg like this, and though he was internally screaming at himself to just stop, his anguish spoke for him. “Adam, please make me yours. It, it doesn’t have to be forever, just help me forget, just for a little while.” He clutched at Adam’s neck to keep them connected, still nuzzling into whatever crevice of the Alpha that he could fit into. “Adam, please, I feel so empty.�
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“Sam.” Adam snapped, his voice stern.
Sam flinched, and it was just enough to break his begging, just enough for Adam to stand upright, his large hands engulfing Sam’s wrists as he carefully maneuvered them to extricate himself from the Omega’s needy hold. Even in his rejection, Adam was gentle, carefully smoothing his thumbs over Sam’s knuckles, his eyes patient, if tired. It was a look that made Sam feel strangely small, though he couldn’t stop himself from breathing a sigh of relief when he couldn’t see any anger in Adam’s eyes.
“Sorry…” Sam mumbled, looking away.
His guilt and his shame threatened to burn him alive, it felt like—here he was, having just managed to get out of an abusive relationship, where he had been manipulated into doing plenty of things that he didn’t want to necessarily do, and he was going to try to push and beg Adam, his best friend, of all people, into doing this with him? All because he was lonely? He didn’t care about the fact that he was going through a drop or not. Adam deserved better than that, and besides, Sam had thought himself above it. A dark thought crossed his mind, then, dark enough to cast a shadow over his heart: was it only the drop that was making him like this, or was it something else, something darker in himself that had come of his failed relationship? He resolved to be better, to not do that to Adam—or himself—ever again.
The promise to himself did nothing to stem the tide of guilt and shame, however, and he bit his lip, waiting for the moment when Adam spat in his face and told him he was no better than Dustin. He would have deserved nothing else, he felt. He was startled when Adam’s warm hand cupped his face and coaxed him into looking back up at him. Adam gave him a sad smile, his thumb stroking his tears away.
“Listen, Sam,” he murmured, letting out a soft sigh. “I get it, all right? You’re going through something awful, and you can’t control what you’re feeling, right?” Sam let out a soft whine and nodded. “Yeah, I thought so.” Adam blew out a breath and raked his free hand through his hair. “I get it…but you’re smart, right? Like,” he flinched, clearly uncomfortable with what he was going to say. “Like you know, don’t you? How I feel?”
Sam flinched and had half a thought to lie and say that no, he didn’t have any idea at all, but it would be a lie; as close as the two were, had always been, there had been more than a few hints Adam had dropped, though admittedly, by the time that Sam had caught on to the fact that Adam wanted something more out of him, he had already been in a serious, committed relationship with Dustin—and he had opted to simply bury whatever…complicated feelings that had come up with Adam as an end result. But..but he had known. Admittedly, that it was still a thing was a revelation, but not at all surprising.
“I wasn’t sure if you still did.” Sam said, sniffing. “I was sure, back when we were in high school, but I was already dating…”
“Yeah, I guess I’ve been hiding it a little more.” Adam admitted quietly. “Still…feels like I just walk around with my heart on my sleeve with you around.”
“You do.” Sam said as he let out a watery laugh, cupping Adam’s hand with his as he nuzzled into the Alpha’s palm. “But that’s not a bad thing.”
“Feels like it sometimes.” Adam replied, chuckling a moment before his expression grew more somber. “I’m just…I mean yeah, don’t get me wrong, I want...more.”
“I understand.” Sam said as he nodded into Adam’s hand.
“But I’m not going to take advantage of you like this. You’re not in your right mind, all right? It wouldn’t be right of me. I care about you too much to do that to you.”
Adam sighed and removed his hand. Sam bit back a noise of protest and fought his entire being on trying to still hold his hand there, trying to keep himself in check. He’d done more than enough to humiliate himself—and hurt Adam—at that point. Adam took a step back, his smile still on his face.
“Adam—” Sam tried to say something—anything—to try and salvage the situation; he wasn’t even a full twenty-four hours into being Adam’s roommate, and already things were awkward and tense.
“I’m not gonna push for anything—even after you pull through the other side of this drop you’re going through. I just don’t want you to ask for something that you’re going to regret later is all.” Adam said, taking a seat in the armchair that he must have moved in here at some point after Sam’s things had moved in. “And I’m not gonna make you promise anything but that we’re still gonna be best friends at the end of all of this, all right?” He smiled tiredly as he picked up his own bowl of pho, his fork at the ready. “So let’s just talk about stuff—anything that comes to mind—and we just eat our food and hang out like we always do. Sound like a plan?”
Sam had a wild, obstinate and stubborn thought that no, they should address this feeling because they both clearly wanted something that they weren’t getting right now, had never gotten. They wanted it with each other—or at least, something in Sam’s heart of hearts was demanding something strange and complicated that he didn’t know what to do with—but he could acknowledge that he wasn’t in a good place, mentally, emotionally, or even spiritually, to even entertain the notion of them becoming more. They both deserved better.
“Sounds good, Adam.” Sam finally said, smiling for the first time in what felt like an eternity.
Sam shuffled on the bed to nestle himself into it. It didn’t make him feel as safe as a nest would, but that wasn’t what he needed in that moment, he knew. Once he was seated comfortably, propped up by the many pillows behind him, he reached over and grabbed his bowl of pho—a hearty beef brisket pho that Adam had already tossed the noodles and bean sprouts into—just the way that Sam liked it.
For a few long moments, they fell into a companionable silence, cut off only by the quiet slurping of their soup and the sipping of their tea. Sam was slow to properly tuck into his food, feeling that his stomach was a touch sensitive from the nerves still prickling him from under his skin. Though he nearly retched at the first small bite of noodles the moment they passed his lips, he forced his mouth to work, and as soon as he had forced that mouthful down, his stomach practically roared, and he was suddenly ravenous, eagerly digging into his meal as much as his manners would allow.
“I’m glad you’re eating.” Adam said as he sipped at his mug of tea.
Sam looked up at him, his mouth still stuffed with noodles, and he must have looked utterly ridiculous, because Adam snorted a laugh into his tea. Sam chewed his food quickly, intent on saying something.
“Has it really been so worrying?” Sam asked wryly, already knowing the answer.
“It’s still worrying, Sam.” Adam said flatly, pursing his lips in displeasure. “I haven’t seen you eat since before you moved in. I’m happy that you’re eating, especially that you’re eating something you really like.”
“Pho has always been my weakness.” Sam sighed dreamily. “Ever since you introduced it to me.”
“I’m aware.” Adam said, laughing as he munched on a bit of bean sprouts. “That was…when was that? Middle school?”
“Seventh grade.” Sam said, setting his bowl of pho on the bed side table and picking up his mug of tea. “When your parents took us out for your birthday to that Vietnamese place down the street. I was never able to go back after that. It’s my ultimate comfort food.”
“That’s right—that was the first time you tried it!” Adam exclaimed, beaming. “Remember when I dared you to eat the whole bowl?” He let out a snicker. “I thought your stomach was going to explode.”
“I thought my stomach was going to explode.” Sam groaned. “I had never eaten that much food in my life—but I did it, didn’t I?”
“Of course,” Adam said with a broad grin. “Even though you looked like you were in agony for hours later.” He sipped at his broth. “I distinctly remember you lying on the couch next to me, groaning and whimpering about how full your stomach was.”
“Oh, hush, you.” Sam muttered as he glared playfully at him
from over the rim of his mug. “It wasn’t that bad.”
“Did you know that mom still has a picture on her fridge of us from that birthday slumber party?” Adam asked, scooping more noodles into his mouth.
“Honestly?” Sam said, setting his mug down. “I would say I’m surprised, but it’s your mom. She had photos of us all over the place when they still owned this house.”
It was true. For how many photos of the two of them throughout the years that his mother had framed and hung around the house, a stranger could hardly have been faulted for thinking that she had two sons when there was only one that she could claim.
“True—but let’s be real here, there were so few candid photo opportunities that didn’t have you in them that it wasn’t really her fault.” Adam said, chuckling again.
“Oh, come on,” Sam said as he sniffed, a ghost of a smile gracing his features. “I wasn’t over that often.”
“You can’t even finish that statement with a straight face, hon.” Adam said with a wry grin.
They both looked at one another for another long moment before they burst into a fit of giggles. Sam’s laughter sounded more like crying than anything else, but it was genuine, and Adam’s gentle humor was enough to put a little distance between Sam and the tumultuous feelings that the drop was forcing him through.
Sam had no idea how much he had needed to talk about something that didn’t involve what he was feeling, or what had happened, or any of the things stressing him out until they were just…talking, the same as they had for years. Granted, he still felt utterly broken inside and empty and needing things that he would simply have to make do without for the foreseeable future, and his eyes were still scratchy and puffy from crying, but it was the closest to normal that he had felt since the previous night. Possibly the most normal he had felt in much longer than that, and he was grateful that Adam was the level-headed one of the two of them.
