"When are you not messing with me?" he asked, letting out a breathy laugh as she brushed a piece of glass as small as a splinter from one of his eyelashes and into the bottom of the bowl.

"That," she said, squinting to make sure she had cleared his hair of any and all glass, "is a good question." She sighed and her eyes lost their focus, leaving her caught staring at the stitching on the seam of Freddie's t-shirt. She'd never admit it, but she missed the days when she could just be Sam and he could just be Freddie. They wouldn't have to skirt around the Seddie hype from the fans. They wouldn't have to worry about what Carly would think about this or that. There were no crazed fangirls stalking them in the park. But neither one of them had felt that much simplicity since elementary school. Freddie's mouth twitched, not sure if it was okay to smile. He reached out, resting his hand on hers and drawing her out of her thoughts.

"So," he asked, trying to patch up the awkward stillness in the hallway, "am I free to move?" Sam nodded and picked up the bowl, climbing to her feet.

"Yeah. I'll, um, I'll vacuum the carpet when I get a chance, so just don't go barefoot until then and you should be fine."

"Okay." Freddie nodded, turning around to face Sam's bedroom door. He listened to the sound of her footsteps as she walked into the kitchen and set the bowl down. With a smile and a shake of his head, Freddie turned the knob and quietly crept into the room he had spent many a summer in. But what he saw was nothing like what he remembered.

A cheap hotel room would have seemed homey in comparison.

The window was covered by a couple of towels hanging from a small curtain rod, letting in a triangle of light that came to life on her bedroom floor whenever the wind would blow the towels back and forth.

Her bed was shoved awkwardly in a corner, not really aligned with any of the walls. At the foot of her bed were stacks of cardboard boxes. It was too dark to read the labels so he sat down on top of one. There was really no other place to sit. No desk. No chair. Just lots and lots of carpet. Not even a bedside table or a bookshelf.

The room smelled of sleep.

The air was thick and humid and, if he listened closely, he could hear the faint breathing coming from the four year old resting under what looked like enough blankets to cover a football field.

White walls. White carpet. No posters. Nothing was left out on the floor. Even the blankets were pretty nondescript looking. This was not the kind of place he'd expect the Queen of Slobs to spend her nights in. He let out a loud breath, just to fill the thick silence that engulfed her bedroom. But something in the corner of her room caught his eye. A door. It was painted ivory with little violet details around the corners and a brass doorknob. He stood up and began walking towards it, intrigued by the only interesting thing in Sam's room. He was halfway there when he felt his foot stop short and bump into something solid, followed by his knee, then a loud sound of things rattling in containers and boxes falling to the floor. He scrambled to rebuild the tower of cardboard boxes, turning them so that the sides with the Freddie-shaped dents were hidden by the foot of her bed. He froze when he heard a rustling noise behind him.

"Sammy?" came a groggy voice from the bed. He turned and saw Tony sitting up and rubbing his eyes, trying to kick away the blanket cocoon he had been left in. Their eyes met and the boy let out a shriek that might have broken windows. Freddie's eyes widened and he hurried to explain himself.

"No no no no I'm Sam's friend! Stop screaming! I'm not going to hurt you! SAM!" he screamed, waving his arms in a way that was meant to appear friendly to the little boy but that probably appeared hostile. Tony shrank down beneath the covers and hid when Freddie gave up hope that his best frenemy would come to his assistance. Freddie backed up to the closet door and opened it, eyes darting around frantically for a diversion to calm Tony down. His eyes settled on an old guitar in the corner, behind another couple of boxes. He didn't know Sam played guitar. Freddie picked it up and brought it out of the closet.

Apparently Freddie's words had finally sunk in and the boy realized that Freddie was less of a threat than the usual things that emerged from closets while he slept. He was watching Freddie warily, but his eyes brightened when he caught sight of the instrument in his hand. Freddie took that as his cue to continue. He sat down indian style on the carpet and stretched his fingers out into the awkward shape of Bm and let his thumb fall, hitting the strings softly. His face contorted, trying to hold in his laughter. The sound resonating from the guitar sounded more like a dying cat than Bm. Tony, though, made no attempt to hide his amusement.

"You suck." he laughed, laughing so hard that he fell backwards onto his pillow. Freddie couldn't help but chuckle at his reaction, but he tried his best to act offended.

"It wasn't my fault. The guitar did it, not me."

"Yeah right." he laughed, calming down enough to sit up and watch him again. Freddie played the first string once and then twisted one of the knobs at the top until the note sounded more familiar.

"What are you doing?" Tony asked, climbing out of bed and dragging one of the blankets across the floor so he could sit in front of the guitar.

"I'm tuning it." Freddie said, "Sam's guitar is sick. That's why it made funny noise. So I'm helping it get better."

"Like a doctor." he said, his eyes lighting up with understanding.

"Exactly. See?" Freddie said, playing Bm again. "All better."

"Can I try?"

"Uh, sure. Just strum. Like I'm doing with this hand."

"No, silly. I want to play it."

"Okay. How about I give you something easier. And I'll strum."

"Okay."

"Here. Put this finger right here." "Perfect. Now listen."

"Cool!" "Play a song."

"Um, okay."

"Hurry up."

Freddie laughed and started playing random chords.

"You need words, stupid!" Tony laughed. Sam was having a bad influence on this kid, Freddie thought, but he pushed that to the back of his mind and tried to come up with lyrics on the spot.

"Well, I'm going to sing a song" Okay, not bad, but now what?

"...about a snake that was six feet long" Sure, why not.

"...named Slim Shady of Lake Billlabong" Uh, all right then. Crap, now what?

"...bleep bloop blop" Great and now we're settling on robot noises.

"GUITAR SOLO!" Freddie sang, playing whatever came to mind. Once he had played every chord he could remember, and some that he didn't even know existed, he stopped and set the guitar down next to him. Tony was laughing, still trying to imitate the robot noises. Freddie smiled.

"Come one. Let's go see if Sam has lunch ready."

I'm honestly not too happy with this chapter. I wrote it without looking at what I was writing and then I proofread once for typos. So it's not my best work. Review anyways? And Happy Christmas Eve!