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Sam can just make out Julia Roberts on the phone screen — he’s lying on his side in the hospital bed, face pressed against Fred’s shoulder, so no he won’t move to get a better view. They’re watching a romcom.
Together. Him. Fred. A surprise flatmate turned...what? Just Fred, he supposes. Fred, who has an alarming disregard for data limits.
He raises an eyebrow, tipping his face up to accuse Fred: "Are you secretly rich or something? You’re not even on wifi."
Fred ignores this, albeit good-naturedly. "How long do we have this bed?"
"I told the nurse to fuck off, so." Sam shrugs, which has the secondary perk of landing Fred’s hand on his shoulder. Fred’s fingers briefly touch his arm, feather light, but then they skitter away guiltily as Sam reaches out to brighten the screen.
"My hero." Fred’s breath ruffles Sam’s hair.
His breath. His mouth. Sam stoically bears it, recalling their kiss in brain tingling slow-mo as he stares blankly at Hugh Grant spilling orange juice on Julia Roberts's white shirt. It only happened half an hour ago, after all, the kiss. Surely he should address it?
But he doesn’t, and Fred doesn’t. They watch nearly half the movie on low volume as Sam’s arm solidly falls asleep but he doesn’t dare move. Once they leave this bed it will be like the kiss never happened. Fred will let it fade away, un-discussed, he’s a gentleman like that. Unless Sam mans up right now, that is.
He squints his eyes, willing himself to say something.
But keeps his mouth shut.
Fred won’t be able to wait forever, that’s one thing that’s for certain. That prick of an ex-boyfriend slips to the forefront of Sam’s mind before he violently banishes the memory. There are more like him waiting in the wings, happy to swoop in.
No, Fred won’t wait on Sam.
But if he could though? Just for a bit?
Sam tips his head up to give Fred his best imploring eyes…only to find that Fred has gone to sleep.
Sam sighs and lets the phone screen go to sleep as well.
After they’re unceremoniously thrown out on the streets - "discharged," the staff call it - Sam flags down a taxi to take them home.
The hospital (their hospital) is eerily quiet when they return. Mere weeks ago, residents milled about common areas at all hours, parties were being thrown, this place had life! But by now many people have already moved out, bulldozing imminent. And none of their floor is there - Colin is still in hospital, of course, having fallen out the window mere hours ago (Sam had caught a glimpse of Melody still waiting with him in her tiny nurse outfit before they left.) The trio that is Anthony, Kate, and Lulu are nowhere to be seen, at least not in the half-lit lobby or the kitchen, and there’s no light coming from under their doors as he and Fred pass. Sam is thankful for that, he’s had enough of the drama for one day.
So really it's just him and Fred. Fred and him.
Fred shoots him a look. "Are you walking me to my room?"
"Of course." He puts a hand over his heart. "Knight in shining armor."
The words fall flat between them, both of them thinking it. My tiny prince.
"Please, baby, don’t make me sleep on my lonesome!" Sam shrieks. It cuts some of the tension, his screech echoing down the dark hall, Fred's laughter following close behind.
He idles hopefully by the door until Fred says, "well what are you waiting for?" and Sam nods and follows him in.
He nearly trips over a half-packed suitcase, and catches himself against the bookshelf. The books have all been placed in boxes. He smiles down at the pot of daisies he’d left for Fred last week, the last object on the shelf.
In the morning it's no better, that feeling. Sam allows himself three seconds to gaze longingly at the back of Fred’s sleeping head (three, two, one) before he makes himself shimmy out of the bed, trying to find shoes.
"Fuck. That's cold." He hops from foot to foot.
"I have 10 voicemails from you."
Sam whips back, looking down at the bed. "So you are awake." He points at Fred. "Voicemails? Don't listen to those. I didn't mean any of it."
Last night had been high drama! Heartbreak! Tragedy impending! Now, in the cool light of day and the patch warm next to Fred where Sam had burrowed in, the audio evidence would be unseemly. Neither the time, nor the emotional place!
Fred rolls his eyes. "I already listened to most of them." He sits up. "Yesterday. Well, the beginnings of them at least. I was pretty pissed at the time."
Fred’s finger hovers over the voicemail button, a smirk growing on his mouth.
"No!"
Sam leaps onto the bed, bouncing once and then landing. He clasps his hands over Fred's mouth. He searches Fred’s widening eyes, looking for any hint that Fred is aware he’s, well, a coward.
"Mmph?" asks Fred.
"Don’t," Sam says.
"Why not?" he says humidly into Sam’s palm.
Sam leans down, nose brushing Fred’s cuter one, whispering, "Because I said so, that's why."
Fred smiles and clicks to voicemail anyway, ready to air Sam’s desperation. Sam reflexively smacks the phone out of his hand, and it clatters away under the side table. He freezes, waiting for the sound of his own begging, but after a loaded couple of seconds nothing plays from the speaker and Sam collapses bodily onto Fred.
"Oof," says Fred.
Sam sighs against soft skin. His secrets are safe. For now.
"Sam…"
Fred pushes Sam off him, sitting up, frowning.
"I was comfortable," Sam whinges.
"Sam." Fred says it like a sentence, his t-shirt rumpled and showing shoulder, hair sticking up in tufts. Sam averts his eyes from the enticing image.
Sam sits back on his heels. "So, what now? Wanna do brunch? Mimosas?"
"Sam."
"Or I got it!" He snaps his fingers. "Croissants."
"Last night," says Fred over him. "The messages. The hospital. The, you know. If we can't even talk about it…"
He's frowning, mouth sad. Sam did that.
"Ok fine. Fine! I may have meant some of it." He points to the phone. "Just don't listen to them. I was distraught, it's embarrassing."
"Ok," Fred says.
Sam's eyes widen as Fred leans up on his elbows. And that is where he stays, perhaps waiting for a... well anyway, it never happens.
"Cheeky." Sam mutters. "So, erm, brunch?"
"I’ve got to get to work, Sam."
"What, again?!"
Fred gets up and starts putting on long socks.
He stumbles but persists as Sam grabs hold of the back of his t-shirt, stretching it, trying to drag him back into the relative safety of bed, ignoring Sam's shout of: "But you nearly died last night!"
"So you do want to talk about it." Fred widen his eyes like a dare. "Go on then."
Sam abruptly lets go and Fred stumbles a bit but manages to stay standing. "If only I could! But no time!"
Sam, energized by a sudden flighty fear, leaps out of bed and begins gathering Fred’s clothes and papers that may or may not be work-related and shoves them into his arms.
Fred smiles, a bit sadly maybe. "I can make time."
Sam shakes his head. "Be that as it may, I've got to get my little lad off to school!" (He does, actually, the bulldozer crews are outside now, he can hear them gearing up.)
He turns away as Fred gets dressed, peeping over once he's sure its been long enough, taking his fill of watching Fred adjusting his collar and examining his face. Once you start spending time in someone’s bed, Sam reflects, surely there’s an understanding between you. Right?
Fred nearly catches him watching but Sam darts his eyes away just in time. He spares one last glance at the room, and adjusts the tea towel where its been hung over a light bulb like a semi-flammable lamp shade before he heads down to the kitchen to find them something to eat.
There are flowers on Fred's desk. For a wild moment, once he's seen them, he imagines Sam somehow raced ahead of him to the office in a fit of romanticism (he’s been to Fred’s work before, after all, it wouldn't be out of the question?) but then his boss approaches, murmuring sympathies about Fred’s health. He suddenly spots a 'get well soon' card nestled in the bouquet. So the flowers are thanks to Sam, but not in the way he'd thought.
"Thank you sir," says Fred. "But I’m fine actually!" He waves a hand as if he can wipe memories of his presentation fiasco from history. "It was, uh, a false positive. I’m in perfect health!"
He’s not sure if the strained smile sells it but his boss claps him on the shoulder.
"Well, glad to hear it. Speaking of which, we’ve arranged a second meeting. You can give your pitch then. How does next Friday sound?"
Relief washes over him. "Ye-Yes, sir! Thank you, sir."
He places his bag in a drawer and his phone on the charger. As his computer turns on he smiles at Maureen over their shared half-cubicle wall, answering simply "it was fine thank you, and how was yours?" instead of regaling her with tales of his truly wild weekend. As she responds, Fred’s mind wanders over moments of the past 48 hours: Will, storming off forever (good riddance, honestly), the all-day bender at the bar with Kate and Jessica, the sense memory of Sam in multiple beds, fitting against him like their bodies were made for one another, and the one, life-altering kiss.
Yeah, it was a lot. Fred resists the urge to tug on his hair, and instead takes a couple of calming breaths. It’s normal to feel stressed when your emotional life is a mess, not to mention the fact of having to come into work and pretend everything is fine even though your home is being bulldozed out from under you.
He tries to focus on his computer screen, reading through emails that came in over the past few days. But who is he kidding? After lunch, he's given up on productivity entirely and instead he's looking at flats.
There's that abandoned fire station someone mentioned. But wouldn't a flat be even better? He tips back in his chair, allowing himself the briefest fantasy. Sam in a sunny kitchen, arranging potted plants. Fred with tea at the table, sneaking glances. A secret flower man of his own, brightening the place they share.
Moments after this thought, his phone pings.
come outside
Fred finds his cheeks hurt he's smiling so hard. He packs up quickly and waves away a couple of bemused glances, announcing to the room that he’s heading out early.
"Er, doctor's appointment," he says to more understanding nods, which may well cause another round of sympathy cards tomorrow.
Sam is waiting for him in the alley as promised.
"Skiving off again?”
"I guess I'm just bad like that?" Fred says. It comes out as a question but Sam looks too nervous to notice. His eyes rake over Fred.
"Nice shirt. You look..." He falters.
"What?"
"Good."
Fred feels himself flush. "You saw me this morning."
"Yeah and it's still true."
Sam himself is wearing a shirt that shows off his arms but Fred doesn't comment. "It's an awfully long journey to say I look good."
Sam thrusts out a bag. Fred glances inside to find an aero, a bag of minstrels, and a mini ribena. "For your hypoglycemia."
"Thanks." He opens the minstrels and puts four in his mouth. "But what are you doing here, really?” he asks through chocolate.
Sam shrugs and doesn't answer, just kicks at a pebble. Fred rocks on his heels, trying to wait him out. It’s clear they're both thinking about it. Sam had kissed him.
Fred finally throws up his hands. "I can't stand this!"
Sam's eyes go wide. "Stand what?"
"Why can't you admit you have feelings for me?"
Sam relaxes. "Oh, that."
"That?"
"Shhh…Don't have a conniption. Last time you were in hospital you almost died."
"Not even close!"
"Fine, I almost died," Sam amends. "From seeing you all weak and ghostly behind those curtains. Come over here." He hooks Fred by the jacket pocket, pulls him toward him. Then looks chagrinned. "Sorry, it's just, there was a rat."
"Oh, Sam," says Fred, stepping away. "Let's go home."
The journey is pensive, even as they're talking, and when they walk in through the near deserted hospital, Sam grabs his hand and clings on for dear life. Fred gives him a look but Sam won't meet his eyes.
Their floormates are assembled on the couches. As they enter, Melody pauses sticking a plaster to Colin’s forehead, while the man only cracks an eye open to look over. Kate claps excitedly and Lulu strums her potentially cursed banjo from where she's sitting on the counter.
"Where’s Anthony?" Sam asks.
Lulu looks guiltily down, while Kate just looks righteously furious. "I kicked him to the curb,” she says, then stands to announce, "And I’m dating Jessica!"
Sam cackles. Then pauses. "Oh hold on a second, you’re not joking. Like, Jessica? Smoking hot Jessica?"
"I told her I wasn't a lesbian.” She points to her chest and declares, "Not a lesbian! I'm bisexual actually."
"Called it."
Kate turns on Lulu. "No you didn't! I didn't even know."
Lulu snorts. "So did."
"Congratulations," says one of the goth duo who Fred hadn't noticed until then. They return to crocheting silently on the couch.
Meanwhile Kate launches into the tale of how this all transpired. Apparently just after Fred had left the bar, Jessica grabbed Kate and made out with her sensually and with abandon (Kate's words). And yesterday morning, after Kate realized Anthony cheated on her, she went to Jessica for comfort. She bows. "And the rest is history!"
They all clap, as seems only right given the gravitas of her story. Fred glances over at Sam who is already sending a secret smile over at him.
Melody suddenly turns her attention on Fred. "And what about you two?” Her cigarette flicks a line between their entwined fingers. "Are you two fucking?”
Sam's hand jerks away from his like it's on fire. "Pshh,” he begins but before he can get defensive, Fred shouts: "I'm buying a flat!"
It's a desperate attempt to distract Sam and it works. But now all eyes are on him and he really has to buy a flat.
"Quoi?" Melody says.
Just as Lulu shouts. "Unfair!"
Colin stands to shake his hand.
"See?" said Kate. "I told you I was not the only one saving up for a down payment!"
This is met with a chorus of groans. They begin trying to scrounge something in the near-empty fridge approximating dinner.
It's not quick to purchase a flat. No one ever tells you that.
Fred's up to his ears in notices and paperwork. When the loan officer had asked his current residence, he'd left it blank, and when Fred said he wanted to buy a place that very week they had looked skeptical but luckily granted him the loan anyway. Fred begins sending out offers in earnest.
"Anyhow, that's how we ended up living out of this car,” Sam recaps, as he plumps a jacket under his head as a pillow. He's twisted awkwardly so he can talk to Fred who's comfortable in the back seat.
"Not entirely living out of," Fred feels pressed to point out. "And only for three days. The situation isn't entirely dire."
Outside the car stands the half demolished hospital, the city having been much more expedient than one would expect. The bulldozers and tractors are silhouettes in the night, their necks sticking up from the rubble like dinosaurs. It turns out when they said they were going to level the building, they weren't kidding.
Sam puts his feet up on the dash.
"Where's Lulu anyway?" says Fred.
"No idea.” Sam twists in the seat more, making sure he can meet Fred’s eyes. "It was a one time thing. You know that, right? She's a laugh but I don't have feelings for her!"
Fred sputters. "This is her car! That's the only reason I'm asking!"
"This isn't her car. She hasn't got one! I think it's Colin’s. Although where he and Frenchie faffed off to I have no clue."
"I'm so confused right now." Fred bats Sam's hands away but only half-heartedly. "You know the last person to pinch my cheeks was my great aunt?"
Sam cranes his neck a bit. "Well did you know your eyes sparkle? Like, literally?”
Then he's lying down, his seat having reclined with a sudden thunk.
"Fuu,” says Sam. Then blinks up at Fred who is now at hovering-over-him level. "Oh, hi."
"Hi,” Fred breathes. And when he dips down, Sam is ready.
After a half a minute, their lips part on a silent pull.
"Well that answers that" says Fred.
"I can't believe you Spiderman kissed me. Who do you think you are?”
Fred kisses Sam again.
"I want to stay here forever, with you," Sam says, in gratifyingly awed tones.
"The flat is ready tomorrow."
"That will do I suppose." He grins at Fred and Fred grins back.
So they're not especially good at talking yet. Often there's miscommunication, even though he's sure they both mean well. But they laugh all the time, and the kissing…well, as just confirmed, they’re really good at that. The combination of the two goes a long way.
"You know, I think I'll actually miss them," Sam says, suddenly wistful. "The rest of the gang, I mean."
"Oh, ha. About that..." Fred smooths back Sam's hair before admitting, "I already spoke with them. They'll be crashing with us as well."