Chapter Text
The first time he says it, they’re sitting underneath the shade of a newly grown lemon tree. It’s far away from the flames of chaos, otherwise known as Sapnap, and the spark against flint, also known as Tommyinnit. It’s close to Sam’s base, close enough for Sam to see it towering over the trees as he walks to his portal and close enough for Ponk to not have to travel to the mainland to steal the materials he needs.
It was nothing short of impressive, how tall and wide the tree had gotten in the short amount of time since Ponk had planted it just months ago. It was far too big to be anything close to a lemon tree, but the zingy smell of citrus coming from the tiny oval suns that were surrounding them said otherwise.
If anything, it amazed Sam how much time and effort Ponk put into caring for his lemon tree to the point where he felt a strong admiration towards the other’s perseverance. For in the few months that he’d come to know the shorter doctor, he had learned a thing or two about the masked man asleep on his shoulder: one, that he believed that the Earth is flat, two, he was allergic to cats, and three, he really loved his lemon trees.
Sure, there was a lot more that Sam could list, how the man had an affinity to kneecaps or liked to hum a certain tune, but the giant lemon tree was enough to really prove how much Ponk really cared for his trees. So much so, that it inspired Sam to help out every now and then, digging, watering, getting closer to the doctor with every passing hour.
There was no hiding the fact that Sam really liked Ponk. The two seemed to just fit together perfectly, even with their occasional fights and arguments over fictional turtles. Even though Sam only just met Ponk months ago, he felt like he knew the doctor for years already. There was something so familiar in the other’s laughter and his sweet voice, something so comforting in his hugs and playful teases as if they perhaps knew each other from another life.
When Ponk called him “Sammy Wammy 123” for the first time, just out of the blue, Sam could’ve sworn his soul left his body. Not only did he find it incredibly cute and enduring, the random nickname just seemed like something that Sam should’ve been called for a lot of his life.
Of course, nobody called him anything remotely close to “Sammy Wammy 123,” that was Ponk and only Ponk who did that. And it was Ponk who Sam was falling in love with.
Sam was never one to believe in soulmates, being the logical person that he was, but Ponk made him think otherwise.
Cliche, yes, but Sam couldn’t hide the fact that he was one cheesy sap. Always telling Ponk he wanted the other to smile, showering him with unnecessary gifts, making sure he was always there to lend a helping hand; Ponk could ask for the world and Sam would bring him the Solar System. Flat Earth and all.
This is bad, Sam thought silently to himself, eyes watching as the green leaves danced above his head. He brings up a hand to his eyes and rubs them with a quiet, defeated sigh. Pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes now closed, Sam admits for the first time how he has fallen for Ponk.
“This is bad,” he repeats, this time in a mutter, “I’ve got it so bad…”
He can hear Puffy scoffing at him, teasing him that, “Yeah you do, it’s so obvious even Bad can see it.”
With a small chuckle and shake of his head, Sam lowers his head, brushing the thoughts of his ram hybrid who was more than sick of Sam constantly coming to her office to ramble on about Ponk.
But could you really blame him?
He looks over to the doctor, sleeping soundly on his shoulder. Caramel eyes are closed, the only features really visible to Sam because of the striped mask. Caramel eyes that Sam has memorized now, confident that he could recreate the color with his own eyes closed. Chocolate brown with a hint of gold outlined in orange, bright and mischievous, framed with blond eyelashes. Eyes that crinkled with delight, followed by melodious laughter every time Sam cracked a joke.
There’s a small tuft of blond curls peeking out from the top of his mask, a lighter shade of yellow than his bright lemons. It’s pale, almost white, and Sam wants nothing more than to run his fingers through the curls. He’s tempted to lift the mask, see more of his features and play with his hair, but he doesn’t.
Though Sam thinks that they’re close, he hasn’t once seen Ponk without the mask. He hopes that with time, Ponk might trust him enough to let Sam see him. Though, Sam would never pressure him to feel the need to do so, as Sam completely understood if Ponk never showed him his face.
Content though, Sam smiles fondly underneath his gas mask, specs of sunlight beaming down on Ponk’s masked face, giving the impression that the man was glowing.
Sam lifts a hand and gently runs the back of knuckles along Ponk’s cheek, slowly and carefully, not wanting to wake him. His hand then rests on his cheek, softly caressing it as three words slip out.
“You’re so beautiful,”
It comes out in a whisper, as if it was meant only to be a simple thought but it somehow gained a voice, as if wanting the surrounding world to hear. But no one hears, nobody but the beauty is around to hear this simple statement, this simple fact.
A fact that has Sam flustered after he realizes what he has said as he brings up his hand away from his face to cover his reddening face, peppered with green flecks, praying to Prime that nobody heard.
And nobody did.
Ponk was still sound asleep, snoring lightly, head still on Sam’s shoulder, his hands tucked away in his hoodie pocket. He only stirred a bit, shifting a bit when Sam moved his hand, but he didn’t wake. Keeping still and sleeping soundly as Sam covered his face, muttering under his breath to be more careful next time. To keep his thoughts to himself, no matter how true they might be.
Because Ponk is beautiful, he’s so beautiful; and one day, Sam wants him to know how beautiful he is.