Chapter Text
Sam stared at the wall, eye level with the permanent scuff marks the bed frame had made from years of using the mattress as a trampoline. By his estimation he’d been here for at least an hour since waking up, though he couldn’t verify it. He’d left his phone on his desk last night after receiving the text from Sebastian and had not yet found the energy to retrieve it. Outside of his room he could hear his mother singing to herself over the din of clattering dishes. Today’s song choice was a pop tune that had started playing on the radio a few weeks ago. Under most circumstances Sam found it pleasant enough, or at least benign. This morning, however, it made his sheets turn to sandpaper and his mattress into stone. Every note put his brain to a cheese grater. Discomfort on all sides, he elected to stop listening to his rapidly eviscerating grey-matter and let the rest of his body decide what to do next. An auspicious rumble gave his stomach the lead.
“Morning,” he mumbled to his mother as he retrieved the required implements for a bowl of cereal.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” Jodi replied, her permanent veneer of positivity ever shining, “Did you stay up late last night? Your brother missed saying good morning before he left.”
“Yeah, kind of late,” he lied. It bothered him it was so easy to lie for something that didn’t matter.
“We’ve got to get a handle on that sleep schedule of yours. I know you wake up in time for work, but I worry if you’re getting enough.” She finished rinsing the last of her dishes as she spoke, glancing briefly at the bowl and spoon sitting on the table before moving to stand behind him. She ruffled his somewhat deflated hair. “It is the weekend, however, so I’ll try my best not to nag you too much. I just worry.”
Sam pulled his head out of her grasp and tilted it back to finish off his milk. He stood, taking the dish with him, and placed it in the kitchen sink. Even with his back to her he could feel her grimace. He hated himself for enjoying it.
“I’m gonna be out for most of today,” he told her, pointedly avoiding her gaze, “I’ll be back for dinner, I think. Let me know if you need anything from Joja and I’ll pick it up when I come home.”
“Okay, I’ll be around town. Stay safe and bundle up, alright?”
Sam nodded.
Almost as long as Abigail and Sebastian had been “destined”, Sam had been their friend. A misplaced kick of a soccer ball had brought the sporty blond to the two oddballs, who came to enjoy the energetic weirdo who wouldn’t leave them alone. The ease of childhood camaraderie had never left their trio, and they had spent more time than they could count together. They had gone through school as a group; joined, quit, and restarted their own band as a group; and even held a joint graduation party when they’d left high school. Their Solorian Chronicles campaign had been running continuously for 4 years. Inseparable was the only term that made sense to refer to them.
Yet, for the past two and a half weeks, Sam hadn’t seen either of them except from across the pond at the Festival of Ice and for a brief moment when he gave Sebastian a gift for his birthday. Texts went unanswered, calls ignored, and offers to hang out were met with disinterest or weak excuses. After the first week, Sam had assumed they were planning something big for Sebastian’s birthday. After the second, when no big surprises came, he hoped it had something to do with the Feast of the Winter Star. He stopped hoping for anything when the third week began.
The crisp, cold air and bright white snow, piled high like miniature mountains on the sides of the stonework path weaving through town, did nothing to improve Sam’s mood. If anything, they made the world seem as pointless and awful as he felt. In a few weeks this would all disappear, so why bother shoveling it now? It will just come back next year. Why bother doing anything? In honor of that philosophy, and out of spite, he had ignored his mother’s instructions and left in his usual thin jacket. It was proving a poor decision.
He wondered, as he walked along the riverbank, who his suffering was even supposed to hurt. Was his miserly chill intended to make his mother worry? Did he hope his friends would psychically recognize his discomfort and feel bad? Was he just trying to feel as physically shitty as he felt otherwise?
“I guess I was always just tagging along,” Sam grumbled to himself. He stopped just shy of the bridge to the beach and kicked a stone into the frigid water of the river, somehow surprised at the resulting iciness which splashed his face. “Fuck me.”
“Heck of a sailor’s mouth on a boy I’ve never seen fishin’,” Willy commented. Sam spun on his heel to find the fisherman sitting on the bridge over the river, line in hand, back against his tackle box, and bucket to his left. A few catches already sat in it. “Unless you’re fishin’ in secret, in which case, let me know if the spot’s any good.”
The red of Sam’s cheeks was no longer exclusively from the cold. "Sorry, Willy, I didn’t see you there. I’ll watch my mouth.”
“Didn’t say I minded it. Just that I’ve never seen you fishin’. Something on your mind?” He gave the space next to him a few pats, inviting Sam to sit. Feeling rather pointless, and with no other goal to his wandering besides “don’t be home”, Sam obliged.
Willy handed him the fishing rod and began pulling the component parts of a second from the tackle box he had been leaning against. He cast the second line into the water and returned to his seat.
The ground, though cleared of snow, was far from warm, and the freeze taking hold in Sam’s bones settled in faster the longer he sat. He awaited the inevitable query about his life, annoyed at both its predictability and the fact it hadn’t come yet, but Willy just kept fishing. The only one who spoke was the river, babbling its usual story.
“Aren’t you going to ask?” Sam demanded.
“Ask what?” Willy replied.
“So, boyo, what be going on in yer life?"
He chuckled, “You’ve got a bad habit of assuming, ‘boyo’. And poor impression skills, if you ask me. All I asked is if there was something on your mind and offered you a seat. What you tell me is up to you. I’m happy to sit and fish till my bucket is full and my ass is frozen. Hopefully the first before the second.”
Sam smiled, despite the misery. He had never really spoken to the old fisherman before, except at a few festivals and holidays, but those were always a formal interaction. This casual version was far more entertaining. Still, he wasn’t feeling like sharing his life story. Instead they let the river continue to tell its tale.
Despite the ever decreasing sensation in his legs, he could still feel the incessant buzz of his phone in his pocket. A few years ago, in an effort to ignore spam texts and calls he couldn’t adequately block, he had assigned unique vibration patterns to the important contacts in his phone. That way, he knew without hearing a sound or looking at his phone which messages he could ignore and which one’s he’d get grounded for ignoring. The short, sharp taps and long, meandering fuzziness had never fit into the first category, but he felt they’d earned their place today.
“Do you have friends, Willy?” He asked, wincing at his own brashness and wishing he had phrased the question with less implication.
“Aye, a few,” Willy answered, unaffected, “I’ve taken a liking to the new fellow who moved in on the beach a bit ago, Elliot, and Clint and I grab a drink at the Saloon on occasion. I’ve got a few fishing friends from out of town I meet with once a year or so. I’d even say I’m friends with your father, to a degree, though it’s been a number of years since he and I took a boat out.”
The mention of his father put Sam on edge. He hadn’t seen him in over a year now, with no indications when he might be back or if he would be coming back at all. Most of the time he tried not to think about it. Most of the time he talked to Seb or Abby instead of thinking about it. Willy, through no fault of his own, was a poor substitute for the pair, but he was the substitute available.
“Do you have anyone who used to be a friend?”
“I don’t think anyone gets through life without losing a few folks they care about. And I’ve lived a nice, long life so far.”
“Do you miss them?”
“When the sun hits a certain spot in late summer, or when the waves act up along the pier, or when I catch myself a catfish the size of your little brother,” he sighed,
“There are moments that serve as reminders of friends I’ve not thought of in some time. For those that are truly long gone, these moments can be misery. But for those still kicking, I’m more inspired to give them a call and see if we can find that friendship again. My years have taught me that missing the living ain’t as helpful as reaching out. You missing a friend, Sam?”
Sam missed a lot of people at that moment. He missed his little brother, despite how annoying he could be. He missed when his mom felt like a friend, and not someone he thought only cared about how productive he was being. He missed his dad. He even missed Penny, a friend he hadn’t said more than “hello” to in years. More than any of those, however, he missed Sebastian and Abigail, and the fact that when he felt this bad they were the people he talked to.
“Is it possible to miss people before they’re gone? I don’t know, I think I miss the time when we were friends and it was simple,” Sam explained, “It feels like that time is gone. Or going away. I just wish things could go back the way they were.”
A tug on his line pulled his attention away from the conversation. Though it had been a quite some time since he last fished, the skill flooded back to him as soon as his hands felt resistance. The creature pulled in vain as he reeled it closer and closer, until it landed on the bridge with a wet flop.
“Too small to keep, I’m afraid. But excellent angling, lad.” Willy gripped the slippery perch and removed the hook, careful not to injure the fish any further, before tossing it back into the river. It continued its journey unbothered, as though it hadn’t almost been dinner.
“Can I tell you something, from one angler to another?” Willy asked.
Sam reeled in the rest of the line, set the rod down behind him, and agreed.
“When salmon want to spawn, they swim back up the river where they were born to find the place their parents laid their eggs. It’s an arduous journey. They swim against the current, up waterfalls, through thin rivers with predators and fishing lines, eating what they can and hoping for clean waters. They travel for months if necessary. When they finally arrive, they lay eggs or fertilize them, and hope their young make it out. Then they die. You can visit the rivers and find them all, rotting on the banks. Some time after, the little ones try their best to get back to where their parents came from and the cycle starts again.
“The point of this story — besides filling you in on the best time to catch a salmon without having to try and the worst place to have a romantic picnic — is that even if you fight against the current of time, you’re never going to go backward. You’ll only get to a place that looks like where you came from and you’ll have to face the future when you get there.”
Water splashed against the rocks below, as if to emphasize the point. The sheet of snow which covered the town dulled all other noise, leaving Sam alone with his blurred reflection and his thoughts. It was torture.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket if only to have something else to do besides live in his head. The stiffness of his fingers made the process of unlocking a bit of a challenge, but he managed to get to his messages without reading too much of what his friends had sent today. Instead, he focused on the message from last night; the one that had set him off in the first place.
🏍 Seb 🏍
Hey man, I didn’t really know how to tell you this, because we didn’t mean it to be a secret in the first place, but things sort of got out of hand. But I’ve been putting it off and I’m just gonna say it. Abby and I have been seeing each other for the past few weeks. Like, dating, I mean. That’s why we kept blowing you off. We were afraid you’d be mad that we didn’t tell you, then it had been even longer without telling you and we had blown you off, so we were even more afraid you’d be mad, and it just kept going like a loop with no end condition. You guys are my best friends, and it wasn’t right of us to keep this from you. I’m really sorry Sam. It’s totally fair if you’re mad, and let me know if you need time to deal with it all, but I’m still here for you, and Abby and I would love to chill tomorrow if you want. I’ll even buy you a pizza. Text me.
The most annoying aspect of Sebastian’s message was not the admission of dating, though he was willing to admit that did make him upset. Rather, he was irritated with the idea that he would want to hang out with them after one lackluster text apology. The act felt like the guilty party administering themselves a slap on the wrist and considering it time served. If it had been a weekend of no communication, or even a full week, maybe this would have cut it. Now, after all this time, it only told him he wasn’t worth the effort. Now, they were a couple and he was a hanger-on. He knew how this worked; how insular couples became. They wouldn’t need him anymore. It seemed like they already didn’t.
“Thankfully, I don’t think your future is only going to be laying eggs and death,” Willy joked, emphasizing his bit with a slap on the back and knocking the near frozen air out of Sam, “no, no, you’ve got bright things ahead. The future is what you make of it, boyo."
Rolling his eyes, Sam chuckled and stood. “I’m going to go face the future now, I guess,” he declared. He turned to Willy and offered his hand to shake. “If you’re still here in a few hours I’ll bring you a coffee as a thanks for the advice. And to warm up your ass.”
The blond’s brashness got a howl out of Willy and he happily shook the offered hand. With a wave, Sam jogged back toward his house for warmer clothes and a chance to make up for trying to drag his mom down with him.
“Hey mom,” he called into the house as the winter chill slammed the door behind him, “Sorry about that, wind got it.”
Jodi came around the corner from her bedroom, her eyes a touch redder than when he’d left. She greeted Sam in the living room, “Oh, hi sweetheart! You’re back earlier than I expected. Are you alright?”
“I’m okay, yeah. It’s just a lot colder out there than I thought it would be, I should have listened to you. You okay?”
Her face got stuck somewhere between confusion and joy at his admittance that she was right. It settled on feigned dismissal as the question registered.
“I’m fine, just got a bit of red from the cold when I stepped out to get the mail.”
This was one of many moments where Sam could confidently trace his skill in lying back to his mother, but he pretended not to notice. They both thought it was a courtesy they gave one another, and they both hoped the other would break first. Not to win, but so that they could finally stop the game. The pieces stayed in play today.
Sam moved to the sink, finding his bowl untouched as he had hoped. The hot water burned his chilled skin as he scrubbed and rinsed, but he was still happy to be warming up. A suspicious eye followed him as he worked, meeting his own when he dried his hands.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” Jodi asked, more genuine than usual.
“I will be, I think, eventually” Sam replied, “So will you. Love you, mom”
He gave her a hug and walked to his room to change. A pawn disappeared from the board.
🏍 Seb 🏍
Sam?You have every right to be mad, but I would really like to hear from you.
I’m sorry, man
I promise, this doesn’t change anything, we’re not going to leave you out of anything anymore. It was stupid of us to think you’d be mad about it, and stupider to end up making you mad for no reason
Listen, I’ll stop bothering you soon, but I would really like to just know that you got this
You don’t have to see us, but please
Okay
I’m here if you want to talk
I love you man, im sorry
The Abigator 🐊
Hey Sam? Are you there?Seb told me he texted you about us, but that you haven’t messaged back
I’m not trying to pressure you, I’m just worried
Sam?
Listen, we really want to talk with you about everything, and we get that you’re mad, but I don’t think anything will get better if we don’t talk to each other
I’ll be at his house all day, so you can just drop in if you don’t want to text
You’re important to me. You’re important to Sebastian. Please talk to us.
We’ll see you later, okay? I’ll stop bugging you for now.