Chapter Text
Grizz is grateful for his friends. It’s an admittedly weird thought to have on this chilled November morning, especially considering he just watched Clark struggle with the bolt cutters for three straight minutes, but it rings true nonetheless.
He feels a sudden and small burst of affection for these guys, the very ones he’d been preparing to never see or speak to again. Grizz thinks if there’s any silver lining to be had, it’s that such measures no longer feel necessary. It feels important to note this, if only to himself, in light of how difficult the last few months have been.
He knows what they must look like - the four of them walking around in their matching letterman jackets, every inch the stereotypical image of a group of dumb jocks. There’s many days Grizz is grateful for that camouflage, finds it easier to lean into people’s expectations than to try to be something else and risk being so wildly misunderstood. It leaves him a bit lonely, sure, but if he has to be stuck here, so far removed from the life he’d always envisioned for himself, at least he’s trapped with his friends.
Days have fallen into a bit of a routine, recently. Morning rounds with the Guard dissolve into lazy afternoons. They still have work shifts but they’re on the rotation far less, a rare upside to being practically on call 24/7. And when none of them have a work shift, which is often, they shoot the shit or toss the football around or try to find some other attempt to break up the monotony.
Today seemed like it would be much of the same. Even breaking into the jewelry shop felt semi-normal. Luke and Helena have been dating for forever, at least in high school terms, and besides, the standard definition of time seems to have evaporated along with their parents or any civilization outside their town. Grizz doesn’t necessarily understand but he thinks he can grasp the concept, on an intellectual level at least.
They love each other. They want to choose each other, forever. They want to stand before their friends and whatever higher being stranded them in this place and make that commitment publicly.
Everyone should be so lucky.
But then Luke had a surprising moment of clarity and insight, and Grizz felt the stirrings of a familiar longing beneath his ribcage, of feelings neglected and ignored so often and for so long that sometimes he wonders how they haven’t died of drought. Perhaps hope really does spring eternal.
Usually, this longing, this ache, is faceless by nature. More of a general yearning for a world that’s not quite his and a future that he can pin his hopes on. Something to tell the restlessness in his chest: settle down, be patient, your time will come .
This time though? The feeling has soft red hair and piercing blue eyes and a smile that transcends any language barrier imaginable. The feeling sounds like the thumping bass at prom, of a butchered attempt at connection before their world was upended for the second time in as many weeks. The feeling no longer wants to be patient, insists that fortune favors the bold and that he can’t be seen if he keeps hiding away from anyone who might try.
Which is how he ends up at the library, nearly ducking back out the same door he charged in through. Wonders if this was a stupid idea, if he should’ve spent more than three measly hours on such a gesture. Curses the fact that the book has been lying unopened in his room for months now because he kept putting it off. But Grizz has grown a lot over these past few months. Had no choice but to. He thinks he’s brave enough to follow this through.
So he turns again. Collects himself. Wanders over to Sam and gets his attention.
Grizz cuts the poor boy off before he loses his nerve, which in all honesty, is not one of his finer moments. But he knows on an intrinsic level that if he’d stopped to listen to Sam, he would’ve gotten too distracted and risked forgetting what he came here to do.
So he continues and signs the few phrases he worked so hard to drill into his memory. Manages to make it through with only one screw up. Waits on baited breath for the reaction.
“Am I supposed to understand that?” asks Sam with his voice and his hands.
And suddenly, Grizz wishes for nothing more than the ground to swallow him whole. Because things like that can happen now, right? Entire towns can vanish and forests can magically overtake highways and people can be transported to new worlds or dimensions. And yet, despite the inherent and endless possibilities of this new reality, he’s still the same idiot.
He’s mortified, and it’s coming from a place so deeply buried, carries so much more weight than making a dumb mistake in front of his crush. And it probably shouldn’t be that big of a deal but it is.
Because Grizz has spent his entire life trying to speak a different language than the one that’s truly in his heart. He learned how to talk to girls, about girls. Learned terms like blitz and snap and fumble while trying to forget ones like kick-ball-change. Learned to keep his words and phrases simple, lest they fly far over the heads of his less eloquent peers.
He’s thrown himself into literature, into poetry, into any medium where people can bravely and beautifully express what they feel. He’s been memorizing their words since before he can remember - an instinct borne from the gratitude that someone somewhere can speak about the things he cannot.
And it’s why he checked out that book on sign language in the first place. Because he understands what it’s like to be forced to speak an unfamiliar language. Doesn’t want to force that upon anyone, especially Sam. Remembers prom so vividly, when Sam apologized for not speaking well and Grizz remembered thinking, even in his drunken haze, how messed up it was that so few people had ever tried to learn sign language. How messed up it was that he never learned to sign, back when he had the whole breadth of the internet at his fingertips.
Sure, that was ages ago but the idea had never left. Despite how much harder the past six months have been, they solidified the fact that this was home. A realization exacerbated by Luke’s comments this morning.
Grizz thinks that nobody has ever seen him before, not really. But he also thinks that nobody has ever really heard him. Thinks, maybe naively, that Sam might feel the same way. Thinks that learning sign language and trying to connect with Sam could be Grizz's version of putting down roots in their strange new home.
So yeah, this goes beyond simple embarrassment. This is the heavy burden of knowing he is never going to get it right, of knowing that even in a world where the impossible is suddenly not, he doesn’t get to have what he wants. That even when he’s being brave and trying so hard to say I see you, I understand you and I want you to understand me too , it falls flat.
He’s not a genius; he knows this. Grizz has worked hard for the decent grades he has - or had? - knowing that they were his best shot to leave West Ham and its ever prying eyes. Picking up that signing book should’ve been the same as studying for any test, right? Except Algebra 2 never made Grizz this nervous or unsure of himself, never felt like it was this important to get right.
He’s doing it again - that thing where he analyzes every fraction of a second he’s just experienced, turning it over in his head to see where it went wrong. It’s a bad habit, he knows.
Well, maybe not an entirely bad habit. On the field, when they have so little time between plays and Grizz is trying to correct mistakes made mere moments before? It’s helpful as hell. In literally every other instance though? It makes him seem spacey. But maybe that’s for the best. He’d rather that than people knowing just how locked in his own head he was.
So he continues, forges ahead with a Hamlet-esque soliloquy as he ponders the way he’d cut Sam off, how he’d been so determined to get those few signed phrases right, knowing that if he made eye contact, he’d lose his nerve or do something stupid like forget the correct orientation of his hands.
Turns out, that was the least of his worries because the whole thing failed. Spectacularly.
Sam hadn’t understood one single word that Grizz signed. And Grizz didn’t get to see the other boy’s eyes light up, impressed on his behalf. He’s reminded, in that moment, what it feels like to give someone else’s opinion that much power over him.
The moment snaps back into real time, spotlight fading and monologue ending as Grizz allows himself to focus on Sam’s face one more time. He’s thinking about giving up - wanting nothing more than to barrel back out that door and return to his vaguely lonely existence - when Sam asks what he’s doing. So Grizz, brutally honest about everything except the one thing he cannot come to terms with, staggers through his explanation and pulls the weathered book from his backpack and then? Sam’s laughing.
Grizz tenses, for just a moment. Wonders how this could possibly go any worse but as Sam keeps laughing, Grizz finds the embarrassment receding to the corners of his mind. Because Sam’s laugh is one of the most genuinely cheerful sounds that’s ever graced his ears and he knows in that moment he’ll do anything to hear it again. It’s also pretty clear that Sam isn’t mocking him which is, all things considered, the biggest relief he could hope for.
“That’s BSL. I use ASL,” explains Sam with a cheeky grin.
British Sign Language. Grizz wants to kick himself for not paying close enough attention.
But really, how was he supposed to know they’d be so drastically different? Brit Lit was his favorite class last year. He’s read more Wordsworth and Coleridge and Southey than anyone in this entire town, has practically worked his way through every resident of the Lake District at this point. He knows the British have some weird phrases but don’t they still speak English over there?
His disappointment must be broadcast all over his face because Sam continues on; asks if Grizz is planning on going deaf and tries to keep the mood light, like maybe he doesn’t think Grizz is a complete idiot. Or hell, maybe Sam does think he’s an idiot but seems to grasp there’s something out of the ordinary here, something worth lacing his smile with affection for. And Grizz thinks, oh . Maybe this boy does understand him after all.
Sam is so kind, looking at him with blue eyes swirling with curiosity and amusement and something else that Grizz wishes he could find words for. So when Sam points out that Grizz ought to be preparing for the expedition, it gives him the courage to admit, “I’m also preparing for when I return.”
The subsequent days blur together in a delightful haze. He feels more alive than he has since the now-infamous night that they stepped off those buses - even before, if he’s being honest. It feels weird, admitting that, but Grizz figures he’s spent enough time apologizing for how he feels. He’d rather focus on other matters. Like how grateful he is that Sam didn’t blow him off.
Not that that’s Sam’s M.O., or anything. The boy is kind and patient, owner of a gentle smile and a sharp wit. But, in Grizz’s admittedly limited experience, Sam isn’t the type to say things he doesn’t mean or make plans he doesn’t want to make. So yeah, Grizz is pretty grateful that something about his embarrassing display at the library made Sam want to see more of him.
He’s also grateful for whatever weird twist of fate allows their cell phones to still work because now he has Sam’s number.
Sure, they’ve been hovering in each other’s orbits for months now - the Pressman kitchen vacillates between domestic ease and war room these days - but this feels different. It feels like a choice, special and sacred, something they don’t share like everything else in the community.
Sometimes, Sam sends stupid memes from a seemingly endless folder on his camera roll, always mysteriously arriving whenever Grizz needs a laugh the most. Grizz sends quotes from his favorite authors; apologizes for the wall of text every time, even when Sam tells him not to.
But most importantly, the phones allow them to make plans. Sam teaches some basic signs, starting with the alphabet and simple phrases. Grizz hates how clumsy his hands are, wishes he could express himself as fluidly as Sam.
Sam is full of encouragement though, eager and helpful. One time, Grizz tries to copy the sign for “making coffee” and the redhead lets out a startled cough, clearing his throat before a knowing smirk overtakes his face.
“Mimic my motions exactly,” he tells Grizz. “That’s not a sign you want to get wrong.”
Grizz never finds out why. He’s slightly embarrassed but mostly just distracted by the rush of heat pooling in his stomach when Sam looks at him that way.
On Thanksgiving, Grizz shows Sam the garden. He watches carefully as the other boy takes it all in, eyes raking over the rows of planter boxes that Grizz helped build.
Grizz doesn’t mind silence here, never has. It’s a rare commodity, with all of them living in such close quarters and eating meals together. He loves the retreat of working with his hands and bringing something good into the world. It reminds him that dirt doesn’t just serve to bury the dead; it can raise new life too.
So when he invites Sam, it kind of feels like a big deal. He’s excited and Sam’s excited and Grizz’s hand brushes against the other boy’s and the shock shudders up Grizz’s arm, ripples through his heart that’s been told to stay dormant for so long. Grizz shows Sam the best way to water the plants, making sure the soil is saturated but not flooded, and then sets about harvesting the carrots.
He’s nearly done when he hears Sam return to his side, kneeling down next to the wooden planks. Grizz swallows, suddenly hyper-aware of his actions under Sam’s watchful blue eyes. And then Sam’s asking to be shown how to harvest the carrots and Grizz thinks finally, finally, here’s something I can teach in return .
If Grizz thought a simple brush of skin was enough to send shivers, he’s wholly unprepared for the way it feels to encompass Sam’s hand with his own. It’s an epiphany of epic scale, pulled from every battered book he’s ever read and made real before his very eyes.
When the conversation lulls, even just for a moment, Grizz fills the space with a quote from Cicero. He can still remember the first day he’d read it, alone in his bed on a Thursday night. Remembers filing it away alongside quotes from Socrates and Tolstoy. Never really thought it’s something he’d bring into the light, where the golden hour sunbeams are dancing off Sam’s eyelashes and even his freckles seem to shine.
It’s not lost on him that Sam spends countless work shifts in the library while Grizz spends his, amongst other places, in the garden. Grizz wonders, momentarily, if that particular quote is too much of a confession. If it’s too risky or too cheesy or too… everything to admit that they are the library and the garden, that being together could be everything Grizz needs.
He focuses his efforts on fingerspelling Cicero , grateful for something to do with his hands while these thoughts run rampant.
And then Sam’s calling him smart and Grizz can’t help but duck his chin, has to comb back the hair that falls in front of his bashful grin. Because if he’s being honest, he’s never really let himself have a crush before. Has never flirted when it matters and it feels so different than Gwen’s drunken compliments at post-game parties.
Grizz feels, for the first time, like he might just understand what those poets meant. Thinks that maybe tonight, instead of continuing his reread of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes , he might pick up Romeo and Juliet and see if it’s different being able to feel these things he’s read about for so long.
Of course, it never happens. He goes back to his room but he’s not alone. His heart threatens to leap from his chest as he sits beside Sam on his bed, miles and mere inches between them. Grizz doesn’t know when it got so dark outside; all he knows is this moment. And he’s trying desperately to ignore the fact that he’s read how this plays out in literature across the ages, trying desperately to pretend like this isn’t everything he’s never let himself wish for.
Time expands and contracts. They tell secrets without realizing they’re doing it. Grizz watches, mesmerized, as Sam’s hands move fluidly through childhood stories, dreams, and nightmares.
As handsome as Sam is and as expressive as his eyes and the swell of his lips are, it’s his hands that really captivate Grizz. He finds himself laser-focused, latches onto them like an anchor when his nerves overtake him. When he can’t meet Sam’s all-too-observant eyes but knows he needs to let loose the words clawing at his chest.
He’s kind of a mess, honestly. Thinks Sam must be able to detect the waver in his voice, even without hearing it. Wonders briefly when he lost any ounce of cool he’s ever had.
Because surely, he could’ve been smoother about this whole thing. Grizz, in rare moments of loneliness and weakness, has wondered what it would be like to kiss a boy, to kiss this boy. He’d never imagined it happening in his freaking bedroom and he’d always kind of figured, if he were lucky enough for such an event to transpire, he’d be much more sure of himself.
He’s practically memorized all of Tennyson & T.S. Elliot’s works for god’s sake; the perfect words were supposed to come to him. He was supposed to be composed and suave, not stuttering out a question and praying the boy before him understood the subtext. He was supposed to be able to make a move or eye contact at absolute bare minimum.
But, for what it’s worth, he asks Sam to show him the sign for “kiss me”. And it might not seem like much but Grizz is pretty sure it’s the bravest he’s ever been. It’s not a confession that will wind up decorated with floral wreaths in a Pulitzer-prize winning novel but it’s all he has to offer. Wishes for Sam’s sake it was a bit more.
The words leave his mouth and he can feel the pinprick of every fraction of second’s worth of silence that follows. Still cannot bring himself to look at Sam, so terrified that he’s misread this entire situation, that maybe Sam isn’t actually interested, that maybe Grizz just outed himself for no reason other than sheer humiliation.
Later on, Grizz will remember the kindness Sam showed in those moments. The way that the boy before him, though probably curious and confused, never pressed Grizz before he was ready or pointed out the nervous tension covering Grizz’s face. He’ll remember the change in Sam’s voice during his own admission, his quiet wish to hear Grizz’s voice. But most of all?
Grizz will remember the way that Sam leaned in for their first kiss, the way he took control when Grizz could barely move - so shell shocked because this, this was different. This was how it was supposed to feel.
He’ll chuckle to himself, when Sam has drifted off to sleep, about being so overwhelmed that he couldn’t freaking move. About suddenly having no idea what to do with his hands. About not tilting his head to avoid their noses smashing gracelessly into each other.
But now? This moment is a specific type of euphoria. This is a type of bliss he doesn’t have words for, is half convinced the English language doesn’t have anything appropriate. Grizz, who has filed away quote after quote, saving them for the special occasions they might be useful - to himself, to grieving friends, to fellow confused souls - is at an utter loss for words.
Grizz has never had a very good read on what his face is doing in any particular moment. He’s been told, frequently in fact, that it’s pretty loud. That it gives away a lot more of what he’s thinking than he intends. He cannot, for the life of him, fathom what his face must be saying now.
Sam though? Sam is ecstatic and fascinated and a bit smug, all at once. He’s the one to break the kiss, a hushed laugh leaving his lips as Grizz instinctively chases them with his own. Pausing, Sam pulls back and his eyes roam over Grizz’s face with searing intensity.
“You okay?” he asks, speaking and signing with the same hands that cupped Grizz’s face seconds earlier.
Silence stretches between them for a few moments before Grizz realizes that he’s supposed to respond, that he should be saying something - anything - because with each passing second Sam is looking less and less sure. But Grizz is just stuck there, buffering, and it feels a bit like that one time Clark misread the recipe for pot brownies and Grizz ended up seeing through space and time, when forming a simple sentence seemed like a Herculean task.
Not that he really wants to be thinking about Clark at a time like this but his brain is so used to working in analogies that it does so even now, when it can’t manage to articulate words like yes, hi, hello, I loved it, please kiss me again. Through the fog and the minutes that he’s hoping are actually mere seconds, Grizz notices Sam start to speak again.
“Sorry. Don’t have much practice. I’m sure you’ve had better.”
Sam’s looking down at the comforter now and Grizz knows what that means. Knows the other boy is basically shutting down before his eyes, cutting off their means of communication, misinterpreting Grizz’s silence as anything other than absolute ecstasy.
Instead of waiting for any functional response from his language centers, Grizz carefully leans forward and wraps his hand around the side of Sam’s face, allowing his thumb to sweep over the freckles that adorn Sam’s cheek. He gently tugs Sam upward, until their eyes meet again, and then Grizz closes the gap.
This time, his lips crash into Sam with an urgency. This time, his hands cannot be stopped, roaming through Sam’s hair, over his shoulders and down his chest. This time, Grizz lets his lips communicate the things his voice can’t.
When they break apart again, they’re both breathless. Grizz rests his forehead against Sam’s, taking just a second in an attempt at composure, and then he pulls back to make sure Sam can see his lips. Slowly, and with more enunciation than Grizz has ever used in his life, he tells Sam, “Trust me, I’ve never had better.”
If there’s one thing Grizz can pride himself on, it’s being well-read. Be it philosophy or poetry or classic literature, he knows heavy hitters and deep cuts alike. He’s read books filled with mysteries and aventures, moral quandaries, and yeah, sex.
Those authors, they’re always waxing on really poetic about it. And he just… never got it. Figured maybe it was like beer, where people didn’t actually enjoy the thing itself, just liked how it made them feel. Though honestly, it’s not like Grizz ever felt that great afterwards. Never really believed the hype.
Until now.
It’s nothing but sheer bliss as Sam tucks into his bare chest and the intimacy of this moment lights Grizz on fire, makes his heart soar because he didn’t know that a physical connection could have this much emotion behind it. Because he finally understands what it’s supposed to feel like, when it’s with the right person.
Sam is the right person.
It’s weird, how even alone with him in this room, that feels like too loud of a thing to admit. But he is, he’s confessing to noticing Sam. To noticing Sam and staying away, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to keep his feelings under control if he’d actually gotten to know the other boy.
Grizz likes to believe everyone makes their own destiny. That people are generally responsible for their own actions, their mistakes and victories. But he’s a bit hard pressed to imagine this not being pre-ordained.
And it’s selfish, he knows, to be glad about finding something this special during an inevitably difficult time for everyone else but fuck it. He thinks maybe he’s earned the right to be a little selfish.
Because when Sam looks up at him, eyes ablaze with affection, it’s hard to be upset about anything else. Like, maybe if they hadn’t gotten stranded here, Sam would’ve been just another name on the list of people Grizz never spoke to again after high school. And what a tragedy that would’ve been.
For the longest time, Grizz thought his obligatory high school stereotype would be repressed, closeted jock. But maybe, just maybe, he gets to be the boy who finds his own high school sweetheart.
This boy, this incredible boy, drapes over him, lighting his entire body aflame. It breaks down Grizz’s carefully constructed filter, leads him to tell Sam stories that no other soul has heard before.
It’s been years since he’s even thought about that picture from tap class. He’s pretty sure it’s buried in a box in the upstairs linen closet - the irony of which is not lost on Grizz. It’s a photo that never made its way into the giant, leather-bound photo album that still sits on the living room coffee table.
The image of Grizz in a feather boa never got its time to shine and shortly after, those same young shoulders were adorned with a football jersey and pads. There’s years worth of photographic evidence of this, of course. Proudly framed photos of their skilled, athletically-minded son covering most of the walls in the Visser home.
He marvels at how easily he tells Sam about that picture’s existence, how he laughs about it when he used to be so mortified about Luke or Clark or Jason ever finding out. But then, everything is easier with Sam.
Grizz has always been a bit serious. Goofy and always down to have a good time, sure, but serious. An old soul, his mother used to call him. He’s pretty sure it has less to do with being mature and more to do with never being able to just be himself. Because now? Grizz is giggling - actually giggling - and he’s pretty sure it’s the freest he’s ever felt.
It’s weird, he knows, to say he feels like a kid after the decidedly PG-13 experience he just shared with Sam but he’s not sure how else to say it. Because Grizz missed all of that. He missed that part of early adolescence where having a crush is celebrated, missed awkwardly walking up to that person and asking them to play on the playground or sit together at lunch or come over for video games after school.
And he’s so giddy that he doesn’t even care that he and Sam kind of did all of this backwards. That he didn’t actually try to find out how Sam felt about him before they were tangled up in his sheets.
Grizz thinks back to the library, mere days ago. About hoping Sam would see him, that Sam would understand this language that’s been so foreign to everyone else.
Sam does. He really does. He brightens up Grizz’s room with his barking laughter, teasing Grizz and causing those butterflies nestled in Grizz’s stomach to take flight. He’s also really freakin’ pretty and Grizz finds himself getting lost in the constellations of freckles adorning the boy’s body now that all pretense has been thrown out the window, now that Grizz is free to stare as openly as he pleases.
Grizz is lucky. He can’t get over just how lucky he is.
He always figured these firsts would be shared with someone in college, figured it would be a bit more casual because despite his hopeless romantic tendencies, he understands that’s not the way the rest of the world works. And yeah he knew - hoped? - love was out there for him but figured it would take its time unveiling itself.
So the fact that he found Sam, despite it taking a black hole anti-universe to really see him, is pretty special. Grizz feels… taken care of. Is that weird to say? Like he can tell, in just these few short days, that Sam really gets who Grizz is at his core. That he can see what Grizz has spent years hiding from the outside world and still likes him anyways.
It’s very judgment-free, with Sam, which is nice. It’s not a luxury Grizz has ever been afforded.
They spend the rest of the night trading jokes and childhood stories. Grizz has the biggest smile, knows it’s cracking him open in such a different way. He can’t see his own face but he can see the way Sam’s eyes are roving over it, like he’s seeing a whole new side to Grizz.
Grizz likes it. Thinks he could get used to being happy. For once, he’s not obsessing over what may or may not happen in the future. He gets to just exist, here, as he and Sam drift between typical first date topics and gentle kisses and genuinely comfortable silence.
Eventually, that silence takes over, diffusing between them. Sam’s breathing grows steadier and soon, the hand he’s been using to trace aimless patterns on Grizz’s chest stills. As slowly and carefully as possible, Grizz turns off his bedside lamp.
Smiling to himself, alone in the dark, he can’t shake the feeling that this might be the start of something beautiful.
The contrast between the comforting darkness of his bedroom and the harsh brightness of the hospital overheads is disorienting, to say the least. Grizz squints against the fluorescents, eyes blinking rapidly as he tries to take in the scene before him.
For a moment, he could almost believe he’s walked into the pages of Slaughterhouse-Five. Sprawling before him is the aftermath of a war he hadn’t even known was being waged. His friends - former classmates? Fellow citizens? What exactly is he supposed to call the ratag collection of teenagers populating their town? - lie on hospital beds in various states of duress.
It does not bode well if this is how things look after the alleged worst has passed. There’s close to a dozen patients. Friends cling to bedsides, looking far too young to shoulder such grief and concern, holding bottles of bright liquid. Grizz swallows thickly and hates that his first thought is whether he’ll need to dig another grave.
He’d turned his phone on to find a barrage of texts, most notably about Allie. He checks in on her first, hardly believing the sickly pallor that’s taken over her face. He tries to ask Will what happened and nobody seems to have any clue. Some sort of food poisoning, maybe. Guess he and Sam lucked out in more ways than one.
Speaking of, the red-haired boy who’d dashed from his bed a mere thirty minutes ago is nowhere to be found. Becca must’ve gotten sick like all the others, but he’s not sure why she’s not in the front with them. Had they run out of beds that quickly? It’s yet another blow, another stark realization of how unprepared they are. What if this isn’t just food poisoning but the start of an epidemic? They are so woefully in the dark.
He continues making his way through the hospital, wandering somewhat aimlessly until he bumps into Kelly. She gives him a kind of confused look when he asks about Becca. Which, he supposes, makes sense. It’s not like he and Becca have spoken more than a handful of times but it seems like an easier ask than trying to find out where Sam is. Grizz saw the texts this morning; he knows there’s no way Sam would leave her side if she’s as ill as everyone else.
Following Kelly’s directions, he reaches the back corner of the hospital, smiling in relief when the shock of red hair appears. Before he has a minute to say much else though, Becca greets him. She smiles and jokes, seemingly in a far better mood than her fellow patients.
“You’re pregnant,” Grizz breathes out, not bothering to hide his shock and confusion.
His brain moves sluggishly, as if it’s pushing through mud. He can’t quite figure out what’s going on, why Sam won’t really look at him or say much. Kind of feels like he’s missing something but it’s 3 AM, maybe 4, and he’s never been much of a morning person anyways. He blames the fog on that and tries to pay attention to what Becca’s saying.
“... following his example. I mean, he was so tired he slept through Thanksgiving,” chuckles Becca to herself as she speaks and signs.
Grizz is a bit too distracted to have a game face at the moment. In his exhaustion and confusion, the knowledge that Sam lied to her about what happened between them mere hours before kind of stings.
He’s not sure why. It’s not like he’d planned on shouting it from the rooftops but Becca is Sam’s best friend. Does she even know they’ve been hanging out?
The answer, evidently, is no, based on the guilty look now crossing Sam’s face. Grizz feels like he's suddenly in some story with an unreliable narrator, one who’s clueless to events that everyone else in his story is privy to. So he’s grateful when Becca gets his attention again, asks him for help thinking up baby names because Grizz likes to help, appreciates feeling useful. And it’s kind of fun, right? Maybe this will take his mind off whatever funk Sam is currently in, which Grizz is trying really hard not to take personally.
But then Becca turns her attention back to Sam and tells him they have to choose something and in horrific slow motion, everything clicks into place.
Up until now, Grizz has led a relatively easy life.
Sure, there’s the whole being closeted in a conservative small town thing but that’s kind of just been an ever-present thrum. He’s never faced, like, a ton of adversity. He can recognize privilege when he sees it and it’s stamped over his life like an overdue library book.
His dog died when he was ten, and that sucked - he’d cried for hours before his dad told him to pull himself together - but he wouldn’t call that a genuine hardship, at least not the type that colleges are looking for on their admissions essays. He’s been a bit sheltered from most of the horrors of life and while it sometimes felt like a cage, he’s grateful that he spent a childhood without much worry.
Which is how Grizz can definitively say that this moment, in the back corner of the hospital, is the worst he’s ever felt. Words fail as his heart plummets to the very soles of his shoes. Exactly how big of an idiot is he? His breath feels like it’s catching in his throat, choking off any coherent response.
He’s always been pretty steady. Calm. Level-headed with few exceptions but this is chaos. This is worse than getting the wind knocked out of him in the championship game. This is worse than Daisy abandoning Gatsby in his darkest hour. This is -
Grizz blinks, trying desperately to clear the tears now flooding his vision. Tries to focus on facts, on what he can see and hear and smell. Grounding, he thinks it’s called.
The fluorescent lights burn his eyes. Becca is pregnant. Kelly’s sneakers squeak as she runs for more pedialyte. Sam is at Becca’s bedside, holding her hand. The prickling tang of antiseptic fills his nose. Sam is the father.
He’s not really sure what words are coming out of his mouth, if any. He’s trying to meet Sam’s gaze and the boy he’s just shared everything with is blocking him out, will barely look his way, and Grizz cannot breathe.
Becca’s eyes are on him and suddenly he’s never felt more exposed. He’s a frayed nerve and he can’t believe how badly this hurts. How raw this pain is. How it’s breaking the tender pieces of his heart that had only just been allowed to bloom.
He mutters some form of congratulations, tries to act like his world hasn’t just fallen apart, and escapes back into the cold predawn air. In the quiet of the night, the only sounds that accompany him home are the broken sobs he can no longer hold back.
Later, when Gordie tells him about their parallel universe discovery, Grizz doesn’t have it in him to offer more than a soundless laugh and a raise of the brow. Maybe it would’ve been more, if he’d been at the gazebo when the rest of the town was finding out together, if he hadn’t been off having what, at the time, he’d thought was the perfect first night with his first boyfriend. It’s times like these that Grizz is so at war with himself, finds his rationale and his emotions cleaved cleanly down the center into their right and left brain hemispheres.
Because that’s naive, right? To think the first boy he kisses and sleeps with is going to be his boyfriend without any actual discussion of the matter. He never asked Sam if he was single. Logic says he shouldn’t have fallen so far so quickly.
But then emotion comes charging to his defense. Insists that Grizz - for once in his seventeen years of life - followed his heart without hesitation and that is not something to regret. He’d put everything on the line, exposed every inch of himself, laying bare vulnerability after vulnerability, disrobing not just layers but years of repression and never, ever being able to say what he felt. It’s not his fault for assuming the boy lying next to him had done the same.
Anyways. Back to this parallel universe bullshit. It’s kind of ironic, honestly.
Grizz has spent years imagining his own parallel universe - one where he’s out and happy. One where he doesn’t have to lock parts of himself away. One where he doesn’t have to be hypervigilant about the words that fall from his lips. One where he finds a nice boy and it’s not revolutionary or dramatic, it just… is.
He’s imagined it a lot, this other Grizz. Thinks that version walks a bit taller, has more intention behind his movements instead of just loping along. The other Grizz is also not as quiet. He laughs a little easier, speaks his thoughts a bit more freely now that he doesn’t have to worry about being misunderstood.
The weird thing is, Grizz always used to feel guilty about this. Bad enough that he was living a double life in this universe. Though, considering how much of himself he kept hidden, could he really call that a second life? Could he call the feelings he absolutely would not allow to rise to the surface a life at all? All those nights spent reading in his room and never once had he picked up a book on queer theory, afraid that opening Pandora’s box would breed nothing but resentment while he was stuck in this town where he could. Not. Do. Anything. About. It.
But the fact remained. This second life - or half life or quarter life or god knows what other inane fraction - existed. And then there was this parallel universe he escaped to on occasion. And he felt a low, steady bass line of guilt coursing through his body over the whole thing because it wasn’t like his life was bad.
He liked his friends. He liked his family. He liked playing football and scoring district wide records for running yards and being generally, well, well-liked.
Ironically, ever since the buses dropped them off, he hadn’t thought about other universe Grizz. Had been a bit too busy trying to survive and figure out what the hell was going on and then shit got too real too fast. For all his theoretical knowledge and moderate survival skills, he wasn’t able to save Emily.
That was the first truly brutal blow, if he’s being honest. Parents gone? Weird. Cut off from the outside world? Trippy and concerning. But losing Emily from the snake bite drove home the fact that they were in so far over their fucking heads. Days later, Kelly would stand up at prom and say that childhood has ended. But Grizz knows his ended that day in the woods, when he failed to save his classmate’s life.
So yeah, fuck parallel universe Grizz and the one he kept hidden from everyone. It had been hard enough trying to keep one Grizz afloat.
Because the hits just kept coming. One night, he and the guys were blacking out from kegstands and two weeks later they’re responsible for maintaining order over an entire town? Before he knew it, Grizz became too familiar with how to dig a grave. He learned what he does and does not have the stomach to do, even if it’s for the supposed greater good. Fighting for survival has been really freakin’ hard, at times.
But last night, with Sam? That felt like every version of Grizz had teamed up and suddenly, Grizz couldn’t imagine a better world. Suddenly, despite all the bullshit, he hadn’t known it was possible to be this happy. Suddenly, it seemed like things might actually work out.
And then his world falls out from under him on a Thursday evening. And parallel universes are no longer just theoretical. And Grizz fractures all over again.
There’s a god named Anteros, in Greek mythology. Born from Aphrodite and Ares - a literal child of love and war - he’s considered the avenger of unrequited love.
This deity has always confused Grizz, a bit. Sometimes love is simply not returned. He knows this, perhaps better than anyone. And sure, that’s painful, but he never understood the venom and vengeance behind Anteros’ acts.
By the time Sam arrives at his house, Grizz is starting to get it.
Because Sam standing in his doorway suddenly feels like an intrusion. Grizz’s room, typically tidy, is as tempestuous as his emotions. His sheets are still crumpled from Sam’s hurried departure this morning and in the agonizing, sleepless hours since, Grizz has had some time to think.
And now? He’s pretty damn angry.
He doesn’t even recognize the person in front of him. Doesn’t understand how the same boy who treated him with such kindness and compassion could have kept such a massive secret from him. While Grizz was confessing to childhood trauma and god knows what else, Sam lay there holding back.
Everything feels tainted now. That is, perhaps, what Grizz is the most upset about. Sam has effectively ruined the beauty and simplicity of last night, recklessly spilled ink over the page that once held beautiful calligraphy.
It’s betrayal. Grizz is having a really hard time wrapping his head around the fact that he had finally, finally , allowed himself to be vulnerable, to put all of himself on display, and now he’s being treated like a dirty little secret. Like something to be hidden and ashamed of. As if that’s not how he’s viewed his sexuality for the past seventeen fucking years.
So yeah. Summon Anteros. Grizz wants vengeance for the way his heart - offered so openly and generously - has been shattered and swept aside.
He feels it course through him, too. Knows he’s never spoken to Sam like this before; hasn’t spoken to anyone like this before, really. His words are a barrage of arrows, piercing the wide gap between them and leaving destruction in their wake.
Sam’s trying to explain and Grizz kind of can’t believe what he’s hearing. Is pretty upset when his sexual history gets thrown in his own face like some sort of excuse for Sam’s behavior. As if the actual act of intercourse is what Grizz has an issue with, in all of this.
Why can’t Sam see how fucked up this is? How fucked up it makes Grizz feel?
“I didn’t want to mess this up,” says Sam. The poor excuse for his actions feels hollow, like even now, he’s still holding something back.
Grizz wants to scream, digs his fingers into his own hip bones just to keep from letting his rage get the better of him.
A small, timid voice in the back of his head begs him to hear what Sam is actually saying. But Grizz can’t really make out those words; all he can think about is how used he feels. Like Sam purposely waited for this reveal until they’d slept together. Like he’d weaponized Grizz being closeted so that they could stay a secret.
Grizz feels like he’s done something wrong and he hates that with every fiber of his being. Hates that he helped Sam cheat on Becca. And even though Sam is insisting what’s between them is platonic, Grizz saw the way she looked at Sam in the hospital. Saw the excitement on her face when she mentioned that they were trying to figure out baby names. Like they were prepping for the start of their nuclear family.
His pain and his anger clash together, swirling into phrases that trip over each other as they try to leave his mouth and then Sam is pleading with him to slow down, unable to read the mangled words leaving his lips.
So Grizz does. He makes sure the next phrase is perfectly, painfully clear: “Does she know who you are?”
The quiet voice tries again, asks him to look at the pain written all over Sam’s face, but Grizz doesn’t exactly have it in him to be empathetic right now. He spends so much of his time trying to do right by others. Is it too much to ask that, just for once, someone do right by him?
The emotional whiplash of the past 24 hours starts to take its toll and the tears threaten to burst from their dam once again. He knows that shouting won’t do any good, given the circumstances, but he can’t seem to control what his voice is doing right now anyways.
Grizz knows a choice when he hears one. He understands, with absolute certainty, what it means when Sam says he doesn’t want to upset Becca with this news. Knows that despite Becca evidently knowing Sam’s sexuality, the boy before him is really going to do this. That Sam is not just, for lack of a better term, the baby daddy in this scenario.
His heart finds a new way to splinter at this revelation and with it, any last grasp Grizz had on his composure. It’s why the next words that leave his mouth are cruel, bringing his worst fears to life in the form of a question. And he wants to scream at the top of his lungs because this, this is why he’d made peace with not coming out until he left West Ham.
He never wanted to sneak around. Never wanted something as beautiful as a new relationship - his first real relationship - to be marred by secrets and lies. Never wanted it to feel wrong in what should’ve been that sappy honeymoon phase.
It’s not like Grizz even knows how quickly he would’ve wanted to make their relationship public. Maybe he would’ve wanted to keep it a secret for a bit, a beautifully rare and hallowed treasure for just the two of them to enjoy. But words have dual meanings. And Grizz knows the difference between something being protected and something being hidden.
This time, it’s Sam who freezes, taking agonizing extra seconds when he’s usually so quick on the draw. Sam doesn’t have answers, at least not the ones Grizz is looking for, and it’s killing him.
As if their lives aren’t fucked enough, right? Different universe, same bullshit.
Grizz is leaving soon, back into the same woods that killed Emily. He is brutally aware, despite his seemingly desperate insistence, that there are bigger problems here. But he also thinks that’s why this feels so important. Because if everything else goes to hell, maybe this matters more than it ever did before.
Their days might be numbered. That’s like, a really legitimate possibility at this point. Being faced with death makes him wonder how he wants to live and when he throws the same question at Sam, it hits like an accusation, reverberating off the walls of his bedroom.
Listen, Grizz gets that Sam is out and he’s not. He understands that he doesn’t have, like, any sort of high ground here to tell someone how to live their truth. But Grizz also can’t believe that after all of this, when time is suddenly so precious, Sam would choose to destroy what they have.
Because it matters, damn it. This connection. Sam feels it, Grizz knows he does.
“What about us?” Grizz asks, knowing the moment it leaves his lips that the question is almost childish in nature. But screw it. He’s got to know.
So when Sam can’t answer, when he can’t give Grizz any sort of resolution or even just a smidge of fucking hope? That’s it. Grizz turns around, hiding the onslaught of tears from Sam’s view.
It’s more than that, really. Grizz knows that by turning his back, he’s essentially slammed the phone shut on this conversation. They can’t communicate like this. But it’s not like Grizz has anything else to say to the boy responsible for his first heartbreak.
December in West Ham - or, New Ham now, he supposes - is freakin’ cold. The wind nearly cuts through his jacket, leaving his exposed hands to take the brunt of it. At least he’s nearly done though, with covering the plants.
The garden is filled with seasonal and perennial plants. Some of the soil lies empty; its vegetables are already harvested, only meant to last for a few short months, but some will come back year after year if they’re taken care of properly. Grizz is sure there’s a metaphor in there somewhere but he’s a bit too exhausted to search for it.
Since his last conversation with Sam, he’s kind of given up on trying to salvage anything between them. He lets Sam’s texts go unanswered. He spends less time in the Pressman kitchen and more time focusing on the expedition.
It’s funny, in retrospect, that just last week he was telling Sam about preparing for when he returns. Grizz isn’t sure what there is to return to anymore but maybe that’s for the best. He can’t really afford distractions right now, not when he’s responsible for the lives of the four others joining him.
Mickey wanted to bring his Nintendo Switch for god's sake; they’re not exactly an A-Team.
Grizz promised Allie that he’d be more careful this time and he meant it. He’s doing everything he can to make sure they are prepared and the moment they’re out on that trail, or lack thereof, he’s going to be as vigilant as possible.
Which means there’s no time to think about Sam. Or the fact that in the weary hours of the night, he still cries himself to sleep.
If he thought he was lonely before, that was nothing. Now, there’s a permanent ache that’s settled into his chest. And he thinks that old adage about how it’s better to have loved and lost is kind of bullshit because at least before, Grizz was blissfully unaware. It’s like that switch in his heart had never fully turned on and he’s weirdly jealous of his past self.
It’s just so unbelievably lonely. Grizz can’t think of another word for it. He’s in the worst pain of his life and he can’t even talk to anybody about it. When Helena told Luke she wanted to take a break halfway through junior year, Luke had talked their ears off for hours, droned on ad nauseum about how much he missed her and made them all brainstorm ways he could get her back.
Grizz doesn’t have that. He can’t bring himself to tell the Guard what’s going on and doesn’t really want the news of his sexuality to be accompanied by something so sad and pathetic. And even if he could tell the guys he was feeling like shit, he still couldn’t tell them why without blowing up Sam and Becca’s entire world.
He won’t be responsible for that, for breaking up a family. Grizz hates - really freakin’ hates - that he was ever put in a position to do so.
Which means that lately, his days are spent focusing on morning rounds with the Guard, expedition prep, and now this: his last task to tend to in the garden. Gordie offered to help but Grizz turned him down, insisted on wanting to return to his garden and its silence. Tries to pretend like he’s not wondering if it’ll be his last time here.
He’s so wrapped up in singular focus that he misses Sam’s approach completely, doesn’t even realize he’s no longer alone until Sam materializes in front of the planter he’s currently covering.
It’s weird, the things that warp with time.
The garden feels a bit haunted now, by Sam’s presence. Yet another thing that’s been taken from him. It’s hard to ignore the fact that the last time they were both here, the possibilities seemed endless, like they were on the brink of something grand and hopeful. Now though? The very air between them feels brittle, like just an ounce more pressure will shatter the weak grip Grizz has on his even temper.
Maybe that’s why Sam starts off with this inane small talk. Which, for the record, is a social construct that Grizz always hated. What a waste of time. Especially now, when there’s so little of it before he takes off for ports unknown. All Sam’s doing is dancing around the issue. What’s next? Is he going to stand there and talk about the weather?
Grizz doesn’t understand what Sam is doing here, honestly. Last he heard, Becca was on bedrest. He’s not particularly well-educated in medical jargon but that sounds kind of serious. And lonely, considering how much of their new collective lives are spent together. Sounds like something her partner should be helping her through.
So he asks how she’s doing and finds that he really does care about the answer. He can’t imagine what she must be going through right now. But he also finds he can’t spend much time pondering it, not when the entire situation still aches to think about.
Grizz is kind of shocked, if he’s being honest, at how seemingly casual Sam is being. He’s standing there, making poor attempts at jokes or different conversation starters, acting like nothing has changed between them. Like what they had wasn’t real. Like it didn’t even matter.
Thing is, Grizz doesn’t really have it in him to be generous. All he wants is for the world to be steady under his feet for a few moments. He doesn’t want to drift back out into that sea of wondering what Sam’s thinking or imagining pointless scenarios where Sam fights for Grizz and what they could be. All it does is break his heart even more.
It’s why Grizz is being so short. The wind whipping through the garden has nothing on the cold front radiating off his clipped answers. And hasn’t he been through enough already? Does he really have to sit here and suffer through small talk when he’s so hurt and so very tired?
Sam wanting to see him before the expedition feels selfish, somehow. Grizz doesn’t know what the guy before him is expecting. Is he trying to ease his conscience, in case Grizz gets swallowed up by the sprawling forest and whatever undiscovered terrors it might hold?
“What do you want, Sam?” asks Grizz, cutting Sam off. He signs the phrase simultaneously, leaving no room for error in this. Grizz’s gaze is firm and stalwart as he focuses for the first time on the boy he might have loved, if given the chance. A storm awaits Grizz in Sam’s eyes, flooded as they are with… well, Grizz isn’t sure with what exactly.
Guilt. Pain. Regret. Maybe all of the above.
The pause that lingers after Grizz’s question is heavy, weighed down by Sam’s unsaid words. The longer it stretches, the more Grizz wonders if maybe, just maybe, he’s going to get an actual explanation this time. If maybe Sam came out here to tell Grizz that he’s talked to Becca and that he wants to try to make something work.
“Just be safe out there,” comes the response.
The balls on this guy, honestly. Grizz feels his eyebrows soar up to his hairline, like even they are surprised by Sam’s audacity. Not sure what he expected, though. It’s a catch 22, isn’t it? There’s no version of this where it turns out okay for Grizz.
What he doesn’t get is why Sam would bother coming back in the first place, isn’t sure what there is left to salvage here.
Sam’s with Becca. And sure, they’re not ringing wedding bells and Sam hasn’t given any sort of clean cut definition for what they are but the consensus around town seems to be that they’re together. They’re going to raise this baby, their baby, together.
Grizz won’t sneak around, won’t suffer through having only part of Sam while his heart lies elsewhere. Won’t help anyone cheat, especially not on a soon to be teen mother in this fucked up parallel universe.
A couple days ago, when anger was the predominant emotion, he might have drummed up all sorts of ill intentions behind Sam’s visit. Might have assumed Sam wanted to torture him or came to broach the subject of carrying on some illicit affair. But now that he’s moved into the depression stage and the tendrils of anger have less hold, there’s just a fatigued sense of curiosity.
He’s confused about what Sam was trying to accomplish here. Thinks maybe the other boy isn’t quite sure himself. But that’s not Grizz’s problem anymore, is it?
“Will do,” comes the sarcastic response from his lips as he returns to the task at hand. Sam, for the first time that day, takes the hint and leaves.
If Sam pauses to turn around for a supposed last glance his way, Grizz pretends it’s just a trick of the fading light.
Fanfare and adulation have never really been Grizz’s thing. He’s not overly fond of attention, when it’s honed in on just him.
Football is different; it’s a team sport. Their victories and losses are shared, responsibilities and esteem spread over the shoulders of 30+ guys. But leading this expedition? That’s all on Grizz. Whatever happens out there, he’s responsible and he finds he kind of hates it.
It’s part of what pissed him off so badly about last night’s conversation. As Jason and Clark droned on and on about why they should be in charge, all Grizz wanted to do was scream at them. Had exhaustion and anxiety not been etched into his very bones, maybe he would have.
Because they were treating this whole thing like it was a game, like leading the town was just another pissing contest. Grizz meant what he said to them. He doesn’t know what happens if the Guard falls apart, he really doesn’t. Their grip on survival is hanging by a tenuous thread. If the town loses faith in the established order, what happens then?
Well. He’s read Lord of the Flies. He knows what happens.
As for Grizz, he’s happy to fill whatever role the town needs. Honestly he’s a bit surprised that after six, nearly seven, months here, more people aren’t like-minded. This is not territory that anyone can forge alone so, he’ll take responsibility when he needs to. Nobody else could lead this expedition, that’s just a given, and he’ll do anything to make sure they have the best chance at finding something habitable. Doesn’t mean he likes it though.
He’s uncomfortable, as Allie continues her speech about how important this is. Stares out at the crowd of cheering teens, at a banner not unlike the ones cheerleaders always made for pep rallies. Except this time, Jason, Clark, and Luke are on the other side of the crowd. And after last night, he’s trying to pretend that it doesn’t mean something more.
Once everyone breaks apart, he says a few quick goodbyes and wonders off. Needs just a minute alone to himself, to collect his thoughts before departure. He’s checking his bag when there’s a slight rustle in the leaves before him. Lets it go, though, taking advantage of one last moment of non-hyper-vigilance.
It’s not until the figure is directly in his space that he figures out who it is. Doesn’t even need to look up, really. Turns out Sam’s presence still has that effect on him.
He almost wants to ignore, pretend he doesn’t notice, but Sam sought him out. And honestly, in the few days since he last saw Sam, the lingering anger has all but dissipated. The pain is still there, raw and blistered, but Grizz doesn’t particularly like being angry. What good is it doing anyways?
So he pulls himself to full height and greets the boy before him. Marvels at the fact that Sam has gone from being the person he could’ve shared everything with to a stranger in less than a calendar week. How the miles Grizz is about to travel have nothing on the distance currently between them.
Funny thing about distance though? It can always be crossed.
Suddenly, Sam is closing the gap with a hunger, taking Grizz’s face between his hands and Grizz’s lips between his own. It’s nothing like the timid softness of their first kiss, urgency pulsing through this one with every fiber of his being.
Grizz wraps his arms around Sam’s back. Screw questions or new heartbreak or the moral fucking high ground. He wants this too badly to say no. Grizz deepens the kiss with a desperation and god, how he’s missed this boy. Is it weird that the one person he’s wanted to talk to about all this is the one responsible for his current state of duress?
Moments later, Sam breaks off the kiss but instead of pulling back, he rests his head on Grizz’s shoulder and crushes even closer. Grizz can feel the other boy’s hands grasping his jacket and with a sinking realization, Grizz gets what this is: a goodbye.
This isn’t a farewell on the expedition. This is one last kiss to mark the absurdly short time they’ve spent together. This is Sam finding a new way to break Grizz’s heart.
When the hug finally ends, Grizz can’t even bring himself to look at Sam. How can he stare into those crystalline blue eyes and not drown? Grizz has cried enough in front of Sam and all he wants is a little fucking composure, for once.
So he lets Sam talk. Pays attention instead of cutting him off like the last several times he’s attempted to barrel through this explanation. Keeps his walls up as Sam apologizes.
Sam’s being sincere. Grizz can clock that from a mile away and it makes his feelings that much more complicated because Sam seems to think that Grizz’s biggest problem is that Sam has strings attached . Talk about a euphemism.
If Grizz had any more fight left within him, he’d point out that the biggest issue isn’t the pregnancy, it’s all the fucking lies. Because honestly. How much of a prick does this guy think Grizz is?
He gets it. He knows his comment about sleeping with other girls and not getting them pregnant was a pointed jab, perhaps an unfair one. But Grizz understands simple biology. He’s not an idiot. West Ham might not have the greatest sex education cirriculum but it’s not a complete shit show. Which means he also gets that whatever happened between Sam and Becca was a long time ago.
Thing is, none of that changes the fact that Sam hid all of this. He had every opportunity to just tell Grizz about it. Gordie remains mildly unconvinced about any romantic ties between Becca and Sam; seems to be under the impression that maybe they’re just going to raise this baby as best friends, as weird as that sounds.
And like, how hard would it have been? To just tell Grizz that? Because now it just… it all feels a bit too late. Something has broken, irrevocably, and Grizz doesn’t know how to get that back. So while he appreciates this apology, he can’t help but to suddenly be grateful for a week or two away from all of this.
“But I need you to know, what happened between us was real. For me at least. I care about you, a lot.”
Sam's reply is the straw that almost breaks the camel's back, nearly cracks the wobbly seal Grizz has on his composure. The very words Grizz has secretly been hoping to hear but was afraid to let himself want.
Even now, he doesn’t really feel like he can trust it. But Sam continues, and there’s a desperation to his voice that’s never been there before. He’s saying he needs Grizz to come back and Grizz can’t help but to soften at that.
He knows, better than anyone, the potential risks inherent in this mission. Hadn’t quite… hadn’t quite realized there’d be someone back home, equally worried on his behalf. There’s such a bizarre mix of emotions swirling through his core. Because this might be everything Grizz wants to hear but what’s changed, in the end? Sam’s still about to be a father. Grizz still doesn’t get the boy.
But Grizz can see, really see for perhaps the first time, what a toll this is taking on Sam. It’s not as if Sam had been at all stalwart before, having worn his pain and regret openly. Somehow though, Grizz’s reserve is allowing his thoughts to be a bit more rational this time, allowing his senses to pick up on the nuances of this storm of complicated emotions they’re both trapped in.
When Sam hands over the book, Grizz can’t help but smile. He actually can’t remember the last time he’s done that in Sam’s presence. And then Sam reaches up to brush away Grizz’s tears that he didn’t even know were falling.
Grizz wishes for nothing more than the luxury of falling apart, right now. He doesn’t understand how his battered and bruised heart can still swell at this gesture but it does. Staring at the copy of Walden , he can’t help but be reminded of that day he walked into the library, of languages not understood by others and wishing to be seen.
Sam sees him. Sam is reaching out in the language that’s kept Grizz company for all these semi-lonely and confusing years of adolescence: literature. It’s been the way that Grizz has made sense of and related to the world for so long and yet, nobody’s ever actually given him a book before. Of course this first would belong to Sam, like so many others.
He thumbs through the pages, pausing at a seemingly inconsequential, highlighted passage. That’s when Sam admits it’s the only copy he could find, from English class, and Grizz can’t help the way the corners of his mouth perk up again. Because he can’t help but acknowledge the parallels, even know, of them both finding books that weren’t quite right in an attempt to speak the other’s language.
Grizz keeps the thought to himself though, opting for a simple “thanks” instead. And he knows he hasn’t said much but he keeps staring at Sam, memorizing the way his very freckles seem to be etched with sadness. Tries, futilely, to communicate how much he misses Sam and how much he cares for the boy and how hurt he still is and the fact that this was real to me too, god, it was so real .
They’re just thoughts though, in the end. They may see through to the other’s core, to a shocking degree at times, but Sam is not actually telepathic. He takes Grizz’s silence as a natural end to the conversation and this time, he’s the one to turn away.
Yet again, his lit analysis obsessed mind draws the comparison, of Sam being the one to cut off communication this time when his pleas go unanswered. The boy makes it all of five steps before Grizz is on the move. His feet are in motion before his brain catches up and all he knows is that it simply cannot end like this.
He told Sam, a mere couple weeks ago, that he was preparing for when he returned. And here he is doing it again. Grizz reaches Sam in a few long strides, grabs him by the arm and turns him around. He grips the front of Sam’s jacket and pulls close. That’s when Grizz knows.
Knows their story isn’t actually over. Knows that whatever this is, it’s not one sided, because the heartbreak on Sam’s face is exactly what Grizz has seen in the mirror for the past week. Knows that there are issues and a hell of a lot of discussion to be had but damn it, what they have is worth fighting for.
And since when has Grizz been one to give up?
None of those words ever leave his lips. Instead, he says and signs that he’ll see Sam soon. Hopes the intensity in his gaze is enough to lift the subtext, to echo his meaning throughout this small clearing.
Grizz is coming back. Whatever it takes, Grizz is coming back.