Sam doesn’t mind the weather. It’s more snow than they usually get, likely related to the other odd weather events happening across the other regions, but it makes Pallet Town feel cozy.
Even if the front yard looks odd untouched, no footprints or snow angels or half destroyed snowmen, all things Sam had gotten used to after raising three kids in this house.
Sometimes he likes having it all to himself, peace and quiet after a long, complicated life. That was years ago; now the emptiness is suffocating, dragging him down. Having Lucas in the house help takes some of the pressure off, but Lucas is out for the evening (Sam is fuzzy on the details, something involving Green and alcohol) so Sam is left alone with his thoughts for at least a few hours.
He curls up in the living room with a book to try and distract himself, though the temptation is there to open the liquor cabinet and drink until he’s stopped thinking. It’s something he’s read before, some of it familiar, some things forgotten with time, so Sam is only half paying attention when the doorbell rings; either another welcome distraction, or a momentary nuisance.
He considers ignoring it, but solicitors tend not to be doing their rounds this late. It could be one of his assistants in need of something, or one of Green’s friends’ mothers come to chat. That doesn’t sound appealing either, even the thought of socialization exhausting, which doesn’t make a whole lot of sense when being alone is likely the whole reason for being down, but… that’s fine, he’s gotten used to it, he’s learning to live with it. Poorly.
It takes an effort of willpower for Sam to get out of the armchair, drag himself to the door. The only reason he answers is on the off chance Lucas decided Green’s particular style of having fun wasn’t for him and came home early, but it isn’t Lucas and it isn’t a solicitor and it isn’t Red or Leaf’s mother.
“Oh.” He lets out a little breathy noise, not quite surprise, not quite discontentment, and shifts from one foot to the other, tendrils of nervousness coiling up in the pit of his stomach.
It’s hard to look at him. He’s met with Giovanni a handful of times by now, a few encounters he’s emphatically informed the younger man are not dates, but the awkwardness hasn’t subsided, and Sam had… put on his best face for those occasions. He doesn’t know how to deal with Giovanni here, tired and drained and depressed.
Sam averts his gaze. It’s hard to look at him right now, not without that anxious feeling in his stomach; that longing for someone he once knew so well, now gone from his life. He misses that quiet teenager. Misses that little apartment in Viridian.
“Giovanni. This is… unexpected, I… um. Would you like to come in?”
He’s been persistent. Home visits, once or twice, courtesy calls and deliveries of flowers. The world may speak ill of Giovanni, but nobody can say he doesn’t know how to play the role of a romantic. Maybe it’s the Kalosian in him.
Sam refuses his advances every time, may accept his gifts and tag along to dinner but insists it has nothing to do with courtship. He’s a sentimental old man. He sees no reason not to catch up after... Thirty years. Giovanni smiles, nods, assures him with simple ‘of course’, but he isn’t so easily fooled. Nor has he ever been the type to give in without a fight.
That pursuit of challenge brings him back to the Professor’s doorstep. The house is quiet, he notices, and the only aged footprints in the snow are retreating toward the outside world. But there’s lights on, and so surely his quarry is home. The brunette knocks. Isn’t kept waiting long.
Sam looks... Worse for wear. They haven’t spent any significant period of time alone together, yet, but it isn’t the first time Giovanni has noticed Sam fraying at the seams. It leaves the younger male with a sense of discontent that surprises him every time he notices the little things -- the way Sam wrings his hands, averts his gaze at every opportunity, says little when he might once have said much. He knew the Professor well enough, once, to know that these things are strange. That perhaps he can provide Sam a different kind of service with his company than he might have previously intended.
“I apologize if it’s not a good time,” he offers, removing his hat and holding it to his chest, “I thought to check in, make sure you’re settled in. They say the weather’s only getting worse.” But he smiles, softly. He’s allowed to visit, then, at least for a short period of time. Next time Sam looks up, Giovanni makes sure to meet his gaze. “Of course, Professor.”
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