Chapter Text
It was 7:36 before Sam even left her room. Josh can tell in part because of the smell of coffee wafting through the air with a bold, fresh voice. For once, it doesn’t feel like an entirely empty call, either. Laying open-eyed at the ceiling for the majority of the night in numbing dread.. eventually only boredom manages to finally stir you. Or something of the sort.
“You’re up early,” Sam smiled over a steaming cup. “Looks like you got a good night’s sleep, though. That’s good.”
“What?” He thought it might have been sarcasm, but she looked completely sincere. “I—“ It was a little confusing. Josh had hardly slept at all, let alone well. With a half smirk of resignation, he decided to just sit down for the time being.
“Well in that case,” a mug of his own was set in front of him, complete with hot coffee— and it smelled good— “here you go.”
“Thanks..” It was the first thing not to smell rancid in as long as he could remember. Chris’ Starbucks always made him retch. Almost cautiously, Josh moved to pick it up. The warmth of it was oddly grounding. Another wary glance to Sam, and he lifted it to his lips.
“Well?” She looked apprehensive— like she might need to grab him a bowl in a moment.
“It’s…” He swallowed. “…fine.” Then frowned.
“Fine? Well that’s better than bad, right?” She offered hopefully. “I like to think I brew a pretty bitchin’ cup of joe.”
“Yeah.”
Though he hasn’t had any direct contact with the others since what happened, Sam seems to be doing the best of all of them. He’s proud of her for that- even grateful for that. And yet, in her flawless way, she alienates him. Even in the kitchen, making coffee and jokes and being supportive as ever, he finds that her perfection makes him wary. Guiltily, he just can’t bring himself to put his guard down to really engage in the conversation, and she seems to notice.
“You can talk to me, you know.” Sam is trying hard to say the right thing, he can tell. And it’s nice of her— really, it is. But ripping out the frantically sewn stitches holding together the aching wound that was his shame and hurt wasn’t exactly something he felt comfortable with. It was still too fresh.
Josh took another sip of coffee without looking at her. “I know.” He picks at an imperfection in the handle of his mug anxiously, figuring she wanted more from him than that. “I just can’t get that image out of my head.” Paranoid eyes glance up in Sam’s direction, probing for any trace of fear or disgust.
She’s looking at his mouth. Or what’s left of it, at least. Sam realizes she’s staring and averts her gaze quickly— but the damage is done. He’s already hidden his self disgust with an emotionless mask. He’s already crept back inside himself without a sound.
He’s sick, and he’ll never be well. How could he forget that?