#bsf!sam

A/N — reader has hair long enough to braid

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sam's pacing. you wonder if he's going to wear a hole in the carpet. you watch silently as he pin-pongs back and forth. five minutes pass, and when you realize that he's not slowing down anytime soon. when he scoots past the edge of the bed you're sitting on, you catch his elbow pulling him towards you.

his eyes focus, the wrinkle between his eyebrows finally easing slightly. you pat the bed, and slide onto the floor. he sinks down, and you pull the scrunchy from your hair. his eyes land on the top of your head as you lean back against the bed between his knees.

you'd known sam for years, and growing up, you didn't have anyone around to braid your hair. sam, had taken to learning how to do it for you. and over the years, it had become something of a grounding ritual. something for sam to focus on that wasn't destructive and kept him from spiraling.

sam's fingers glide through your hair, separating it into sections, "one or two?"

"up to you, samsquatch." you say, and he huffs, you can almost hear him rolling his eyes behind you.