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Sam and Astrid aren’t dating.
They can’t... there’s too much history. Sam loves Astrid-- loves her more than life. She’s the only person he’s truly comfortable with, and he lives with his brother. He loves her in a way that gets codependent and scary if he lets it. Maybe romantically, maybe not, but he loves her, and she loves him. Neither of them really voice the scale of it, because that’s the sort of thing you don’t really voice. ‘I love you’ captures it well enough; there’s no need to detail every way Sam would for die Astrid if she needed him to. If she asked.
But, you know. His therapist would be pissed, so maybe only if she needed it.
Either way, Sam and Astrid aren’t dating. That doesn’t stop them from being ridiculously soft and intimate. Brianna and Edilio grimace about it when they think Sam isn’t looking, which is absolutely rich considering both of them are in relationships that are incredibly sappy on their own. Hypocrites. Still, Sam will endure the teasing to have Astrid in his arms, the droning of some documentary he’s half-watching secondary to the warmth in his arms.
He’s been combing one hand through her long hair for the past ten minutes, steadily working the knots out, but there’s more than he can do from this angle. Contented and sort of sleepy, he murmurs, “You should clarify your hair,” soft enough that she might not have heard it if they weren’t tangled together.
“I should what?” she returns, because of course, she’s actually watching whatever is playing. A close-up of a spider is on screen when he looks.
“Clarify your hair,” he says, mostly unaware that repeating it explains nothing. Mostly. “You’ve probably got lots of curls. Pete does.”
Astrid tilts her head to look after at him. “You know you can see my hair, right? I haven’t had curls since I was a little kid.”
“That’s why you clarify it. It’s like... a deep condition. Takes out all the product built up.”
And that’s how it starts. By the next week, Astrid has decided to humor him and they go out shopping for shampoos and conditioners, an excursion which leaves Sam very disappointed in Astrid’s hair care. (“Head and Shoulders 2 in 1? Really?”
“It works.”
“It’s just sad, Astrid. Sad.”)
When they finally settle on a shampoo and conditioner-- clarifying and normal shampoo, because her hair care is just miserable-- they go back to her apartment. They hem and haw over it a little, but end up in her bathroom in their bathing suits, setting up a bath. “Trust me,” Sam assures. “It’ll be great. Your hair is nice if you just take care of it.”
“My hair is fine,” she grouses, settling into the bath. Sam sits on the rim and dumps a bucket of water over her head, drawing a gasp and a retaliatory splash. “Prick,” she huffs.
“You look like a soaked cat,” he replies cheerily. Astrid scoffs and snipes about enjoying this too much, but when Sam works the clarifying shampoo into her hair she leans back, sighing against him. “Just like a cat.”
She reaches out one hand to slap half-heartedly at the water. “You say that like you aren’t a big dumb dog.”
“Oh, I absolutely am,” he responds, pulling his hand through from root to end. Her hair is long, longer than it had ever been. In the FAYZ she cut it shorter for manageability, but before then it’d been mid-back. Now it stretched down past that and she still only does the bare minimum. Honestly, it’s a personal affront to Sam, who spends a copious amount of product to keep his own hair soft. He’d stopped bleaching it when the dye ran out as a teen and then never picked up the habit again, leaving his hair a darker brown and, with adequate nutrition, healthier than it had been in years.
She rinses it out on her own and he offers to let her do the conditioner alone, but she presses it back into his hands. “No, it’s.. nice, when you do it.”
“Awfully domestic of you, Astrid,” he teases. “Nice to see that you care.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she hums as he lathers it through her hair. “I do love you.” It manages to be both long-suffering and tender all at once, her blue eyes soft as she looks up at him.
“I love you too,” he replies, perhaps a little quietly. It’s nice. He thinks this every time they have a quiet moment together, happy and unburdened. He thinks that every time he feels genuinely happy and unburdened, about how good it is to not be suffering. To not be dead. It’s dangerously sappy, but he does have to let himself appreciate life sometimes.
Eventually, though, her hair is all clean, and he opens the facet for new water to wash her hair out with before stepping out. His swim shorts are dry but his calves drip water all over her floor, which she complains about before promptly stepping out and soaking the place with how her thick hair sheds the water. She grabs for a towel over his head and starts drying her hair, much to Sam’s chagrin. “Astrid for the love of God--” he manages, prying the towel away.
“What atrocious sin of vanity did I commit this time,” she asks, letting the towel be ripped away with minimal resistance.
“You’re so mean to your hair. Don’t you have a blow dryer?”
“Why on earth would I own a blow dryer.”
Sam gives her a pained look. “I’m buying you a blow dryer.” Then he grabs his discarded t-shirt and starts drying her hair with it himself, in gentle scrunches of fabric.
“A tee-shirt,” she says flatly, but doesn’t exactly move to stop him.
“It’s softer,” he informs her. “Look! Curls,” he holds out a section for her, wrapping the curling strands around one finger.
Astrid gapes. “Where.. what? I don’t have curls.”
“They’re right here in your hair,” he says, holding back a grin. “I told you so.”
“I haven’t had curls since I was a kid,” she insists, stepping towards the mirror.
Sam rests his head on her shoulder. “That’s why you clarify. Lots of people lose their curls from a lack of care.”
She shoves him off her shoulder gently, pulling a laugh out of him. “You’re too smug about this.”
Maybe he is. “You look good.”
“Smug.”
“You do.”
Astrid looks back in the mirror, running one hand through her own hair. It’s as golden as usual, but softer and shiny under the dampness and new care. Layers cut long ago and never maintained make her hair fall in a frame around her face, her bangs fanning out once she runs her fingers through them. She considers herself for a long moment. “I do.”
Sam grins fully now, leaning against the door. “I told you so.”
“God,” she says, turning to face him. For all the exasperation in her voice, her face is soft, eyes crinkling at the corners with her smile. “Bastard.”
She’s still terrible with the upkeep, but she retains the curls. Brianna fawns over her soft and shiny hair the next time she’s over, and Sam sends her a smug grin. Astrid gives him the exact expression she gives him now.