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Curse the weather. Ordinarily, Sam would be welcoming the summer heat; some actual sunshine, pretty blue skies, and long evenings with which to enjoy them. Everyone piling into a pub garden somewhere, or having a barbecue. Just the lovely sense of everything slowing down for lazy afternoons of merely existing. Of relishing in the excuse that it was too warm to do anything of note, with drinks and chatter and laughter becoming the obvious replacements.
Yet this time, that sense of relaxation was certainly evading Sam.
On paper, it made no sense. Not only was the weather absolutely gorgeous – scarcely a cloud in sight, with such warmth that Sam felt as if he should be on holiday reclined by a swimming pool somewhere – but he had company. Luke was there. Being off work for a while, he’d flown back over and where better to stay than at Sam’s?
Well, realistically, Sam knew there were many better places to sleep than on the camp bed they’d squeezed into the bedroom. Original plans of somehow fitting the contraption into the living room failed when their efforts to put it up sent the items on Sam’s mantlepiece flying – and all that to realise there wasn’t actually enough floor space to put it down in the first place. In Sam’s defence, he’d only ever used the camp bed when, well, camping.
So into Sam’s room the camp bed went. His attempts to persuade Luke into a swap – to let him sleep in Sam’s actual bed – had fallen on deaf ears. Or perhaps less ‘deaf ears’ and more Luke telling him not to be stupid; that he could very much survive a few nights on Sam’s camp bed. Because it was, at the end of the day, free accommodation; with AJ being busy and Tom deigning to be away on holiday, the pool of people whose places Luke would willingly gatecrash was diminishing. It left Sam as the prime candidate, even if he did entirely lack a proper spare bed.
But that should be fun, right? Quite literally setting up camp in the same room together, the whole affair feeling like a glorified sleepover. Sam could think of little better than Luke’s company: amusement was guaranteed, but so was the joy of actual conversation. Be it dissecting an unsuspecting piece of media, playing devil’s advocate to keep the critique going, or falling into deeper conversation which took Sam right back to drink-clouded nights at university. Of sitting in various pubs with various crowds but somehow always gravitating back to Luke, the pair of them talking as if they’d forgotten about the world that kept on turning around them.
And on many occasions, Sam had.
Yet instead of seizing upon this fleetingly rare opportunity, of allowing himself to live in the moment and enjoy uninterrupted hours of Luke’s company, Sam’s own thoughts were betraying him.
Thoughts which he carefully pushed aside, studiously passing over for as long as he could remember, were now fighting for his attention.
Thoughts which wanted to veer away in directions Sam deemed off-limits as he woke up to the sight of Luke fast asleep down on the camp bed a couple of paces away. How he lay atop the sleeping bag, limbs draped over the sides of the camp bed as he slept splayed out on his front. Head turned to rest in the crook of his arm – the pillow Sam had offered him having long since fallen onto the floor – Luke’s hair cascaded down to shield his face. It glowed golden as the morning sun streamed in through the window. Golden hair and golden skin lightly tanned from the Spanish summer; a look which suited Luke so well, though guilt stirred inside Sam at even acknowledging it.
Thoughts which he would berate himself for having; the eternal frustration from betraying Luke’s trust. Even if Luke didn’t know it, even if Sam never wanted him to find out. The stinging mix of longing and self-reproach as he watched Luke fast asleep; the shame of not quite being able to force his gaze elsewhere, but knowing he couldn’t allow himself to be caught either. It simply wasn’t an option; Sam had to do as he’d always done and keep up the façade. Their friendship was too valuable for him to jeopardise over his own unrequited urges. He’d managed it for around fifteen years – he could get through these few days. Surely.
But the weather had other plans. As did his west-facing living room, which Sam had never imagined would become an issue in his life, but perhaps everything was just deciding to work against him. The blindingly strong afternoon sun caused the whole room to become insufferably hot, heat amplified by the glass of the windows. Eventually, they both admitted defeat, retreating to Sam’s bedroom to continue watching their programme on the bed instead with Sam’s laptop propped up on their legs.
Even that was maddening. Sam knew he must surely be imagining it, but it felt as if Luke was radiating warmth – each time Luke shuffled around to rearrange himself, a hot wave rushed over Sam. The graze of Luke’s leg against his own; Luke’s elbow accidentally knocking against him–
“You okay?”
Sam was startled out of his thoughts. Head jerking away from the screen he’d scarcely been watching anyway, he risked looking over to Luke, who eyed Sam curiously.
“Yeah, yeah,” Sam answered with a hasty nod, ignoring Luke’s doubtful expression. “Just a bit warm.”
“You are wearing a ridiculously thick shirt,” Luke pointed out, gesturing to the patterned material. He was right, Sam was sweltering; the shirt felt stuck to his skin in an almost suffocating manner, the collar increasingly uncomfortable and creating an urge to fidget around with it. And yet he could hardly tell Luke that the shirt was only half of the problem – that it was Luke’s presence, not merely the summer heat, which was getting to him.
“Hm.”
“It’s like 29 degrees, Sam.”
Gaze reluctantly trailing over Luke in his pale t-shirt and linen shorts, Sam supposed it was alright for him. Luke was more used to the warmth than he was, and quite crucially wasn’t heating up from such proximity to someone he really, really ought to fight down feelings for.
“And I’m surviving, aren’t I?” Sam protested half-heartedly with a tight smile.
He turned back to the laptop screen, a challenge yet also a relief to look away from Luke, no longer having to meet his eyes. Sam needed to get a grip on himself, that he knew; it was becoming almost ridiculous. Usually he masked everything so well – god, he could snog Luke on stage and still somehow compartmentalise it. He could generally judge when to kiss him; somehow navigating how many kisses were too many, and able to be so tactile with Luke as he feigned the ease of each interaction.
But now, overheated and hyper-aware of Luke’s every movement beside him, Sam felt increasingly overwhelmed by this newfound inability to compose himself.
“If you can’t be bothered to change it, just take it off.”
“What?” Sam reeled at him, head whipping back around to stare at Luke, who just shrugged.
“Why not?”
Sam blinked at him dumbly for a moment, computing the words.
“Because then you’d have to sit next to a shirtless me,” he finally said. “And neither of us want that.”
Luke sighed at him, fixing Sam with an exasperated look.
“Fine. Melt, then.”
They lulled back into a silence a little too awkward to be companionable, watching a show Sam was paying precisely no attention to. Various characters were speaking, yet he hadn’t a clue what they were going on about. Not when he felt the weight of Luke’s gaze keep on flickering back over to him. Not when the heat pricked at his skin, causing him to tug at his shirt in discomfort.
Eventually, frustrated by his own fidgeting and needing some physical space away from Luke in fear of simply combusting there and then, he got up. Swinging his legs off the bed, Sam went to the wardrobe to dig out a t-shirt. Determined to look anywhere but Luke, he faced the wall as he unbuttoned the offending shirt and pulled on the t-shirt. The cool, soft fabric was already a relief to his skin, irritated from the heat and scratchy shirt material.
Turning back towards the bed, he found Luke watching him. Sam’s cheeks reddened – likely an imperceptible change, however, as he imagined he’d been flushed already. He knew it was stupid, given Luke had probably seen him shirtless countless times before, but today Sam’s brain just wasn’t really staying on board with the whole ‘let’s not ruin this friendship’ agenda.
“Better?” Luke asked, a little teasing as Sam sat himself back down beside him.
“I suppose.” His body might feel a bit better, but his thoughts certainly weren’t showing signs of shutting up.
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Hours later, shop-bought pizza eaten and refreshingly cool beers cracked open, they were on the sofa. The front room was cool enough to be habitable again, so it was there that they found themselves and there that conversation petered out until they were simply sat studying one another. They were sitting so close, Sam painfully aware of his own shallow breathing. Luke looked unfairly pretty as Sam’s eyes flickered across him. While Sam knew he himself was just an uncomfortable, sweating mess, Luke was somehow radiant; the faint gleam on his skin made him look almost ethereal in the setting sunlight.
And yet Luke was, impossibly, watching Sam right back. Watching him with such an intensity that Sam’s thoughts were left unfinished, all trains of thought veering off because Luke was right there. It felt surreal. This wasn’t like being on stage, creating tension just to break it with a ripple of laughter through the audience. It wasn’t even like their old games of gay chicken; those were largely to get a laugh, always in front of at least some description of a crowd. It would rather stop being a game were it just the pair of them alone.
Now it was just them, sitting much too near to one another on Sam’s sofa. And, for quite possibly the first time since Sam ruled the possibility out years ago back in university, he wondered whether – just maybe – it wasn’t just him. That, somehow, similar thoughts were racing through Luke’s mind.
Should he voice it? Take the risk which he’d avoided for years and tell Luke some incarnation of the truth?
He was pulled out of his frenzied attempts to weigh up the risks of that particular endeavour when suddenly Luke brought up a hand, fingers cupping Sam’s cheek in a motion which had Sam startle and freeze up. Wildly his eyes darted away, Luke’s gaze too intense for Sam to truly meet. He looked down at his lips instead. Lips which moved forward to press against Sam’s.
For a stunned moment of stillness, Sam didn’t move. Then, just as Luke seemed about to draw away, Sam kissed back. Hesitancy gave way – for Sam, at least – to a sudden desperation, hands reaching out and not knowing where to settle because this was Luke. Luke who he’d kissed on so many occasions but each having meant precisely nothing. Until now, anyway. Or so Sam hoped.
“Do you mean it?” Sam asked as he drew back for breath, urgently studying Luke. “Are we,” he started. “Are we playing a game or do you mean it?”
He wished he could keep the pleading tone out of his voice, that he could keep his yearning hidden away for just that little while longer. Anything to give the impression that Luke’s answer wasn’t going to send his whole world sideways, regardless of his reply.
“Do you want me to?” Luke asked. “To mean it?” He watched Sam with an almost unreadable expression which sat so wrong, knocking Sam even further off-kilter.
“Please, Luke,” he begged quietly, hands which had been vaguely floundering dropping to rest in his lap. “Do you?”
The world seemed to sway around Sam as he waited for Luke’s answer, the corners of his vision blurring to focus solely on Luke before him. Because, however Luke answered, this changed things, didn’t it? Even if Luke didn’t mean it, that he’d kissed him for the hell of it – because Sam was there and Sam was willing – then Sam knew he’d go along with it. He knew that he’d humour Luke, that he’d entertain wherever Luke had wanted to go because it was probably the best he’d get.
Would that be using Luke? To do whatever it was Luke had been after while Sam muddied the waters with feelings he ought’ve quashed well over a decade ago? But then he supposed in that case Luke would be using him right back. Bitterly, Sam imagined they’d just be using each other: Luke getting, well, whatever he wanted, and Sam getting a broken heart. His own fault, as he shouldn’t have even allowed himself to long for something that would never be reciprocated. It was a hope he should never have harboured, yet could just never help himself.
But Luke was nodding.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I do.”
Sam felt his eyes comically widen. He looked up to meet Luke’s gaze, searching it for traces of teasing but only finding honesty. He heard Luke laugh softly, felt his hand return to curl around his jaw.
“Why are you so surprised?” Luke asked, thumb grazing over Sam’s cheek. Sam’s eyes fluttered briefly shut at the motion. “Pretty sure everyone else saw this coming a while ago,” he murmured. “Think we might be the last to notice, actually.”
Rather than process the chaotic muddle of thoughts in his brain – this absolute revelation, compounded by other people seemingly having seen something they’d not realised themselves – Sam surged forward to kiss him again. He let himself reach back out for Luke, touch gliding over him as if the moment might disappear without warning. Because this was somehow real: Luke’s lips on his; the cotton of his shirt, the warmth of his skin, all real under Sam’s fingers.
It had Luke shifting to move impossibly closer, and for a moment Sam thought he was about to clamber onto his lap. Then Luke's knee knocking the TV remote off the sofa to clatter to the floor startled them both, Sam letting out a small yelp which had Luke pausing mid-manoeuvre to duck and laugh into Sam’s chest.
“Maybe your bed instead?” Luke suggested when he looked back up, still chuckling to himself.
“Yeah,” Sam quickly agreed, distantly stunned as Luke stood up, took Sam’s wrist, and tugged him up off the sofa towards his own bedroom. The world was taking on an almost dream-like state, surreal with Sam’s entire perspective on his and Luke’s relationship having shifted so dramatically. Luke’s fingers clasped around his wrist were grounding as Sam let himself be led to his room. As they avoided stumbling over the camp bed, he heard Luke laughing once more.
“At least we won’t be needing that anymore,” he commented, nodding towards the offending contraption before pushing Sam in the direction of the actual bed.
Sam laughed happily in response because, well, everything seemed to have worked out okay, hadn’t it? Flashing Luke a giddy grin, he let himself flop down onto the mattress, pulling Luke after him. Because, somehow, for some incredible, miraculous reason, Luke liked him back. That sense of slightly dazed amazement thrumming through him, Sam found Luke’s lips once more.
He could find his words later; for now, Sam was very content to stay exactly like this.