sam’s almost convinced himself that the tape just randomly fell into his hands last night. 

it’s a bleeding morning ;  orange light and creeping shadows,  spindly fingers stretched across the horizon.  he’s picked frost–dry knuckles raw in an effort not to resort to the crumpled pack of smokes at the bottom of his bookbag.  corinne has mentioned that getting caught with cigarettes at school could get him in bad trouble.  namely,  detention   ‒‒‒‒‒   which seemed a far less attractive concept before sam heard levi hayes be sentenced to it for caving some kid’s face in.  wiping clammy palms on porous denim,  sam stares holes into the asphalt between his scuffed shoes,  remembering ( ... ) as the floodlights on the football field die in favour of the rising sun. 

he couldn’t have done it himself,  what levi did   ‒‒‒‒‒   sam’s never fought back against or stood up to anyone.  except once,  but that rebellion left no one bleeding but himself.  he’s jealous and awestruck and sorry,  and there’s not a chance in hell he’ll be able to play that casual at all.  because this is a pretty big deal.  limited edition.  and sam (very famously,  to his own detriment) hasn’t really talked to anyone at school yet.  he’d prefer to have saved that for graduation.  or the next time he needs to find weed.

but by the time levi’s car peels into the parking lot,  coming to a stop all crooked between the pale white stripings,  sam has made up his mind.  it’s cool,  after all.  he just coincidentally found the tape laying around when he was closing up shop,  and his sister didn’t want it anymore,  and he himself for some reason doesn’t,  either,  so he brought it here.  because he also coincidentally remembered that levi would break someone’s nose for that tape.  and that,  coincidentally,  meant something to sam when that cover began to haunt him from its place on the shelf.  it’s meant something to him since levi’s fist hit its target,  all the way up to now. 

with a minute shiver and the cloudy exhalation of a bad word,  sam pushes off the hood of corinne’s car and grabs the very offering he intends to make with the shrug of his shoulders,  like it isn’t a big deal at all   ‒‒‒‒‒   like that tape doesn’t weigh a ton in his hand and he can’t feel bile rising in his throat.  all cool. 

he’s tapping on the driver’s side window before he can think better of it.  or think about booking a flight home.  behind the glass, with helpless eyes   ‒‒‒‒‒   this poor,  poor thing,  barely a person yet ;  pale skin,  wispy hair and dark circles in the newborn winter light.  he takes some empty breaths,  then proffers the tape like a magical boon,  a shield to guard him.    ❛❛  i heard you lost yours.  ❜❜

﹙   ＊   ﹚      &*  @daevilhorns:      𝚒 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙.