Sam writes, sometimes.
He's not a writer by any means, but he does like to write about the weather. He describes it, and it grounds him, somehow - fastens him in the moment. Leaves him tranquil. Or at least, as close to the state as he can get. Pure tranquility is kind of a difficult thing to achieve. But hey, he tries.
Unlike a certain irritatingly… verbose French guy. An irritatingly verbose French guy who's currently tapping him on the shoulder. With a pen. For the third freaking minute in a row.
Sam shivers as a draft from the cracked-open coffeehouse window behind him picks up - a real sign that he's gone a little soft living here, he thinks vaguely, and with a tiny bit of pleasure, seeing as it's barely in the sixties - and the pen tapping picks up. He tries desperately to ignore it.
"Honestly, Sam." He ignores it. He does. "How can you just sit here and scribble? There are women out there to woo. Men to cajole. Everything and everyone inbetween to charm senseless with vivacity- are you listening to me? Samuel. Samantha."
"Dude. It's Sam, and it's 'cause unlike you, I have patience." Which earns him a scoff and a sharp jab of the pen ("ow!"), and honestly, Sam wants to be kind of pissed at this point, but it's raining outside right now and it never rains in California and as such it automatically makes the irritating things in life a tiny bit more bearable. "Bal, jesus! Come on."
Which only makes Balthazar pout harder.
"Yes. Patience. Because that's what brings the good things in life." Sam's pretty sure if Bal had a bottle of some expensive wine right now, he'd be guzzling it entirely for dramatic effect. But then. Then. He finally, amazingly, blessedly drops the pen - and tacks a long-suffering sigh at the end, just for good measure. "Look at you, driving me to immature annoyances. Sometimes I don't know why I even bother with it all."
"Seriously, man? You know me." Sam's exasperated, but also, god, he's torn between stifling down a grin and full on snorting. "You made sure of that." Bal's sullen expressions were ridiculous. The guy was old enough to be one of his own professors; Sam, at least, had age on his side if he wanted to be sullen. "'Sides, like I said, I'm taken."
"I know." Balthazar sniffs solemnly. "Life is never fair."
"I'm like twenty years younger than you." Sam points out fairly, ducking his head back to the lined paper in front of him to hide his grin.
"And I am like a fine wine."
"Too bad I'm more of a beer guy."
"Words do hurt, you know."
Balthazar stayed to chat up the short barista with long, platinum hair, and Sam ducked out of the coffeehouse, backpack slung over his shoulder, hands securely buried in his pockets. He shivered as a wall of the cooler air hit him - and then, once he was out from under the rarely-relevant but, happily, still-present awning - the rain. It wasn't pouring, but it was drizzly, and chilly, and the California cold threatened to soak Sam's hoodie through in a matter of minutes if he didn't high-tail it home. His bones still carried a pleasant warmth from the coffeehouse, though, and that was definitely what counted here - moreso than any warmth-impeding wear-and-tear holes his hoodie might or might not currently have.
Hey, it was an old hoodie, okay? He loved it. It was warm. It was comfy. It was… really, all he could afford at the present moment, but it was mostly the first two. Honestly.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. Sam paused; frowned. It was nearly six on a Tuesday. Who- oh.
Right. Right, duh.
He fished around for his phone, extracted it, and flipped it open.
[5:54 PM From: xxx-xxx-xxxx]
[Had to reschedule. Stop by thurs afternoon instead. -R]
Thursday. Goddammit. Right. Yeah, okay. He could do that this time. They had enough, he'd just need to-
"Telling all your friends about me, Samosa?"
Sam jolted, sucking in a breath and snapping his phone shut and turning--
Balthazar.
"Dude."
"Oh, what's with the face? Don't tell me I'm your only one."
"My only- what? What, no, man- you can't just sneak up on people!" And then, a thought occurred, because Bal was here, not there, and what the hell? "Wait, what happened? Weren't you getting that girl's number?"
"She prefers the term 'they', actually, and yes, I already did."
Sam blinked. And blinked again.
"What, already?"
Balthazar, for what it was worth, managed to look so spontaneously offended that it was almost an art form.
"Samantha. How many times- this is my specialty. I'm appalled by your surprise. This gorgeous, goldi-locked human was gushing over me."
And you know what, didn't it just sum up their friendship that he believed that completely.
"Jesus. You are unreal." He half-rolled his eyes, smiling lopsidedly despite himself while hiking his backpack higher up on his shoulder and casually re-pocketing his phone. "But 'goldi-locked'? Seriously? That's so not sexy."
"Really? Then you clearly interpreted the fable about the three bears much differently than I did."
That took Sam roughly five seconds to get. And then-
"Oh- oh, gross!"
"Different strokes." Balthazar returning smile was way too smug. Sam didn't even have to look to know. He looked anyway, because ultimately bitchfaces didn't shoot themselves. "Keep your opinions to yourself, my skinny, celibate friend."
Which- oh. Hey, no.
"Hey, I'm not judging." A pause. "Or celibate." Another pause. Sam looked down, then; eyed himself for a few seconds. And then his mouth twisted into something a little uncertain and a lot unhappy.
"I'm not that skinny."
Balthazar, for the life of him, did not see what the big deal was. But whatever; with different strokes came different... issues. Actually, no. No, Sam could hold on for one moment, because-
"Temporarily putting aside the quite frankly delightful conversational topic of you not being celibate-" Sam snorted at that, and yeah, he'd totally walked into that one, hadn't he? "Darling, if you were any skinnier you'd be rivaling my thin, handsome self. Which apparently you're not seeing."
Sam walked a little bit faster. Balthazar had absolutely no trouble keeping up.
"Is it anorexia?"
Sam stopped dead, startled.
"What?"
"Is- this, you." He motioned towards Sam's self. Sam stared back, blinking and shocked still and not really comprehending. "Is that why you've got this… caginess about your weight?"
"My- what?" Because again, what? Seriously, what the hell? Who just… asked about stuff like that? Well, Balthazar, apparently, but still-"You- jesus, no, it's not- it's not anorexia, Bal, okay?" Because it wasn't, and normally he'd be touched over a casual friend's concern for his wellbeing but this was veering uncomfortably close to uncomfortable territory. "Look, that's not what I meant, all right? It's not- I don't want to lose more weight. I'm not trying to. It's... I'm not happy being this thin."
And, ironically, those words now out, he felt skinnier and smaller than he had in a long goddamn time. He gripped the strap of his backpack a little tighter and shifted feet uncomfortably; there was something about being the same weight that you'd been in your late teens, and being honest about it, and having a spotlight on you because of that very fact that really mixed together into something especially awful.
Balthazar, however, seemed positively thrilled.
"Good! You never know. Sam, this is perfect."
Sam blinked.
"Um. What?"
Which earned him an impatient scoff and his tall, not-at-all-intimidating friend crossing his arms at him like he belonged in the mafia.
"You know what, don't play coy."
"I really, really don't."
"You don't want to be skinny?" He prodded, and christ, he was positively glowing with intent, and Sam still-
Oh. Oh.
"Dude, the chocolate shop?"
Balthazar nearly punched the air in victory.
"Yes! See, I knew you remembered."
"Dude, come on! I said- I said no." Balthazar, always a fighter, practically whined at that, but Sam hiked his backpack up and started walking again - away from Balthazar, towards his own apartment - because seriously, oh my god. Plus, he wasn't very warm anymore, in mind, body, or spirit. He'd really rather be home right now than talking about any of this.
"Okay- fine, fine! I give, you win, slow down." Balthazar caved, finally, trailing after him. "You win. I won't push it. Honest. Just tell me - why not?"
And you know, okay, fine. Fine, that was a fair enough request. Sam stopped, again, turned towards Balthazar, again, and let out this stressed, strained sigh, expression tight and a little on the nervous side.
"Cause I can't. You seem to think I'm made of money, but one, I'm in college, on scholarships," he stressed, "and two- I can't. I can't afford nice chocolate, man. I can't afford any chocolate, period."
Balthazar stared. Sam stared back, pulse wracking up a fraction, because what? What did he say? And then finally, finally-
"That's all?"
"That's- what do you mean, that's all?"
"I never said you had to pay for the chocolate." Balthazar said, simply.
"I-" Sam started, and then stopped, and then started again, and then- "What?"
"Honestly, Samuel, was that it? You kept refusing my irrefusable offer because of the size of your wallet? I can't believe- god, you're worse than- yes, you problematically skinny dolt, I'm offering you free chocolate."
Sam stared. Sam stared, this time, because- what, just like that? Just- they weren't talking cheap chocolate here, they were talking boutique chocolate, pricey chocolate, rich people chocolate, even, maybe, and-
"You're serious?" It so wasn't Sam's fault that his disbelieving voice went as unintentionally high as it did.
"Samuel, I am as serious as a bad bout of endometriosis. I'm offended that you'd think I'd make my friends pay at a place I invited them."
And- god, okay, I mean, he had a point, but- christ, he hadn't expected-
"So?" Balthazar cut into his thoughts cleanly. "Have we discussed this enough?"
Sam visibly wavered. On one hand, it wasn't the most conventional thing on any level, because one, Balthazar, and two, a guy buying another guy expensive chocolates was… yeah. Not generally accepted as a totally normal thing to do. He knew that. But he also knew Bal (as well as you could know someone you'd hardly known a few months, at least), and he knew that definitely wasn't the intentional angle here, anyway. And hey, since Balthazar's friend ran the shop, Sam was pretty sure they'd know about Balthazar's eccentricities too.
Because on the other hand: Free Chocolate.
Balthazar waggled his eyebrows in a motion that Sam figured, with more than a little amusement, was supposed to be tempting.
Sam caved anyway.
"All right. All right, yeah. I'm in."