sam squirms. it isn’t the couch that leaves his skin feeling prickly &
OFF, but the girl accompanying him. he could feel her eyes on him
every time he focuses his line of sight somewhere else, could feel
how badly he acts as company for her. it shouldn’t be this way – he
knows, but isn’t able to do anything about it. & that makes him feel
all the more bad.
“so, um,” he always starts off, but ends up pushing any thoughts
of what to say down his throat, nearly suffocating from them instead.
he’s BORING her, he frets, with the only thing exchanged between
them is the silence he hates to place anyone in.
his head lowers, eyes fixating on his hands, which he fiddles with.
he could barely make lo out from the corner of his eye. not that it’d
matter – he’d just get the perfect window to watch her feel just as
awkward as he feels ( or so he BELIEVES ). but she isn’t like that.
& it shows.
the unnerving silence he’s so swamped by begins to drain out once
her fingers tuck something beneath his curly hair locks. he looks at
her as she reclines, taking a look at what she’s done. “a flower?” the
boy asks, touching its petals. butterflies – or something light – floated
about in his stomach, unsure of how to respond. his feelings just
rushed in, cumulatively. his cheeks turn into a light red tint. “um,
thanks,” a smile, followed by a small bit of sheepish laughter.
THAT diminished sam’s boulder of discomfort with lo.