He looked like a child.

There were times when Sam looked much older than fifteen. He had seen more grief than most children of fifteen. He had made decisions that were bigger than fifteen years. And he had scars to show it and when he smiled, it showed release from the pain of more than fifteen years of war.

Sam looked like a child beneath a large and empty sky.

It was strange to think this war-torn, tormented Sam had once been Quinn's best friend. He heard Sam's name spoken by other people more often than he saw Sam's face nowadays. Sam had given up the ocean they'd once surfed together for a life on land.

"Sam?"

Sam jolted up. His expression looked like it had been drawn on him, the smile on his face was lazy and had nothing behind it. "Oh." He looked transfixed by Quinn's face.

"Yep. It's me, Quinn. The fisherman. Your friend," Quinn said, trying to keep resent out of his tone. "What're you doing out here, Sam? You okay?"

"'M fine. Threw out some stuff from Howard."

Quinn was able to identify the problem quickly. "You're drunk. Sam."

"'M fine!" He said happily back to him. His posture was slumped.

Quinn shook his head in disbelief. He decided there was no better decision than to sit down next to him and make sure he didn't do something unwise. "Okay. You're fine," he said, not sure whether he was talking to Sam or himself. He hadn't really taken the time to just look at Sam since before the FAYZ started. Sam's hair had grown out and grew in long wisps around his neck. His bangs were uneven and tufts of hair had grown over his ears. There was no trace of the round, boyish haircut he'd had before the FAYZ. Quinn wondered if he had taken his friend for granted.

"You're wearing your glasses," Sam said. "You always wore contacts. So water wouldn't get in your eyes."

That hit Quinn harder than he expected. He hadn't really noticed that he'd stopped wearing his contacts. He'd just forgotten one day and then never questioned it again. Quinn Gaither washed his face and put on contact lenses in the morning. Quinn the Fisherman could take more than a little water on glasses lenses and his morning consisted of simply getting out of bed. "Yeah. You're right. I'm not."

Out of nowhere, Sam laid his head on top of Quinn's shoulder. He sighed softly. His breath smelled like Scotch. He was still smiling that dumb, drunken smile. It was strange for Quinn to feel like the responsible one in their friendship. Sam was the leader, the king of the FAYZ. He was also Quinn's best friend. Quinn stared out at the ocean. The water looked grey and unwelcoming. Waves were breaking on the shore but they were too far away to hear.

"I miss surfing," Quinn said, making an attempt at conversation. "I guess, in theory, we could still go surf."

"Let's go right now," Sam slurred. "Hang ten, Quinn."

"Whatever you want, Sammy," he said, and sighed. He wished there was wind. There'd been that one anomaly floating around but right now what he would have loved most would be an ocean breeze. He envied Brianna. She must have felt something when she moved around. Some sort of second-long rush that maybe felt like wind. Why else would she call herself the Breeze?

"Quinn?"

"Yeah, Sam?"

Then Sam was upon him. He had scrambling, confused hands. His lips were somehow still soft despite the chapped, peeling skin around them. It was warm and gentle, not at all forceful, like Sam was waiting for Quinn to say yes. Quinn had no idea what was happening. Being kissed by Sam Temple was the least weird thing out of all the weird things that had happened thus far. He gave him a nonverbal affirmative by wrapping his arms around Sam's waist. Apparently Sam leaned into it too much, because Quinn was suddenly on the ground and Sam was on top of him. They bumped noses and the ground made Quinn's back stiff.

Finally Quinn couldn't breathe anymore and pulled apart from Sam to inhale. His glasses, which he was now too aware were on his face, were most likely bent. Sam was looking down at him and panting, his mouth slightly parted. Then realization dawned on his face and his eyes widened. He stood up sharply but said nothing, looked at Quinn, then looked off into the distance to the lights of Perdido Beach. He mouthed something that looked like 'shit' and started walking off, looking absolutely dazed.

"Hang ten, Sam," Quinn called after him. He laid back down on the grass and began to laugh.

What's better than this, guys being dudes.