Thinking in detail about how many times Tahmoh tried to tell Sam about his feelings, but because they were so young and he was afraid other - or most importantly Sam - would laugh at him he kept dropping small hints, like laugh at Sam's jokes, always carry a fond smile when looking at him, touching his hand, telling him how /grateful/ he is of Sam. And Sam, who sees this as a friend's confession to a friend, beams in a way only Sam can, all the while unaware of the other boy's feelings.
Oh god, and think of how larger Tahmoh would be as a younger kid, too. Bigger than Sam, his smaller friend. He’d protect him from bullies, though Sam didn’t actually need his protecting (not that he knew that). And how Tahmoh would always bring an extra pudding cup or an extra brownie to lunch to give to Sam, “It’s okay, it’s an extra. I want you to have it.”
And the day Sam left the school on an urgent hunt, he didn’t get a chance to tell Tahmoh goodbye. They planned to study just that Friday - Tahmoh made sure to have extra fruit and veggies (Sam was the only kid he could think of who loved fresh fruits and veggies), made sure there were extra movies on hand, and decided to try different words with Sam. Friday rolled around and Sam did not.
No word. No explanation. Sam’s dimpled grin staying in his memories … until that fateful day decades later in that hospital in Kansas.
