how could he have texted grizz?
he wanted to- believe him, he wanted to. his fingers, in the car back to the house with becca, were tapping against the back of his phone case, itching to compose some sweet letter like they did in the old days, how prose could make a man fall at your feet when your appearance couldn’t. sam wasn’t a writer by any stretch of the imagination, but he could be CHARMING, sometimes. much more so than attractive.
blue’s words continually sank in his heart. he really was going to die a virgin, wasn’t he?
within the hour, he realized how lucky he was to just not die. not yet.
becca was immediately in one of the rooms, where sam’s heart forbid him from entering. his old sneaker, a hand me down from his brother, brushed along the linoleum floor, and he thought about how often he watched grizz do the same thing, usually from a distance. he knew the shoes, was able to find them in a crowd, when they were beaten and ripped from years of gravel.
his eyes rose to meet grizz’ when he noticed the shoes traveling towards him.
“thanks. for your number-” that was a totally weird thing to say, what kind of guys thanks another guy for his number- a straight guy, at that? wait, shit, did grizz know sam was gay? was that something worth mentioning?
even in this situation, where someone fucking DIED, sam was panicking about grizz. he hated himself for it- genuinely, with his entire soul. but he looked into grizz’ soft eyes and took a breath.
peachy. things might be peachy again. even this. even now.
he searched for words to say. “i’m really sorry for your loss.”
grizz spends a grand total of two minutes lingering in the doorway of the room in which keiran’s body lay, trying to gain some kind of information from blue beyond hey told me he loved me, you know. he told me he loved me tonight.
but blue just... broken-recorded the shit out of those words, and grizz couldn’t–– he couldn’t stand there and take it any more, his ex-friend sobbing over another addition to new ham’s body count. so he offers up clipped condolences and spins on his heels. ducks into that hall and walks with his eyes half-closed, because... maybe if he can’t see THEM, they can’t see HIM, bleary-eyed and ghost-white, hands trembling by his sides.
yeah. that’s it. and if HE can’t see himself, THEY can’t either, and maybe grizz can pretend to handle this situation with more grace. more poise. he trains his eyes on white tiles and wills himself forward, onward, nowhere in particular. he feels TORN in eighteen different directions : do people need water ? food ? is cassandra alone ? is somebody watching her ? who’s with tess; is she okay ? where is BECCA ? why does it feel like, any second, this hospital could IMPLODE ?
safety’s a commodity new ham isn’t privileged enough to hold. there’s a KILLER on the loose. their leader is comatose. keiran is dead. and he can’t shake the feeling that HE LET THIS HAPPEN.
rubber boot soles clomp against linoleum as grizz walks with his chin tipped down, gaze hung low. if he actually looks anyone in the eye, he might cry. but there’s that voice, gentle against the ongoing tin of panic, and he finds his eyes lift, lift, lifting before he can filter out the ache. chapped lips part but no words surface. so grizz just... stares, and almost forgets to breathe.
i’m really sorry for your loss.
and he doesn’t know how or why, but suddenly he’s smiling, a shredded, broken thing, but it’s something. oh, it’s something. on this iced-over hell of a night, only SAM ELIOT would be able to manage such outright sorcery.
“ yeah, ” grizz nods. his eyes glisten with tears unshed but he refuses to go there. his father’s words reverberate in his core as he shoves his hands in his hoodie pockets and rocks back and forth on his heels. he bites the inside of his cheek and twists.
A VISSER NEVER WEIGHS YOU DOWN.
“ i was shocked when the machines were out of peanut m&m’s, too. ” cue a watery chuckle. it’s shaky. sad. clipped. if it lasts any longer, it’ll morph into a sob, so grizz swallows the sound. purses his lips. meets those bright blue eyes and hopes he doesn’t look as shattered as he feels. “ glad i’m not alone in my grief. ”
grizz sniffles. signs the phrase he fucked up just days before, in asl this time. “ how are you ? ” his weight shifts from foot to foot, toe to heel. sorrow twists up his neck, wraps along his carotid artery, and sinks its teeth. he tags on more words because if he doesn’t, he might bleed out. right here. right in front of sam. “ with, uh... everything. ”
he’s not asking about the M&M’s.