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Dreaming
Freddie wakes up disoriented. He blinks his eyes blearily and his dream hangs over him; he thinks that there is actually an evil link of German sausages intent on crushing his lungs.
Then reality crashes back and Freddie realizes that there is no link of German sausages. His dreams have never made much sense; they only got worse after he had moved in with Sam, as if her weird dreams had been infectious. Freddie tries to shift over onto his back, but there is something around his waist, restricting movement. Freddie frowns and turns his head at an angle that makes his neck protest, all so that he can see that the owner of the hands is indeed Sam, and she is fast asleep. She looks peaceful and relaxed, and Freddie smiles contentedly at her. He stays on his side, so that Sam can continue to hold onto him.
He sighs quietly and notices that their positions should be reversed. He is the "small spoon" and Sam is the "big spoon". Traditionally, the man is the big spoon. But Freddie has been dating Sam for all these years and he's learned that she rarely follows traditions. She determinedly ignores Valentine's and St. Patrick's Day (though she does pinch people not wearing green); she hates any mention of Easter—after a childhood incident involving her, a frilly dress, some eggs, a man in a rabbit costume, three other children, a foghorn, and a spork.
Sam does however love Halloween, and every year dresses up in hideous and gruesome costumes to scare the small kids who come to the door. Freddie dresses in more low-key costumes, because Sam insists he must dress up, and calms the kids down and hands out the candy. All night he fights Sam off, telling her the candy is for the kids, and she eats it anyway. Freddie has learned to have a real bowl and a decoy bowl of candy. Sam eats them both regardless, but Freddie tries.
Freddie glances at the clock. It is almost noon, and he is not surprised he has slept in. He hadn't gone to bed until around five, and that means he has only gotten seven hours of sleep. That's good enough for him, but Sam needs her full nine hours. Freddie attempts to fall back asleep, but his mind is already up and running. So he tries to work out a way to get out of bed without waking Sam; then, coming up with no working plan for that, tries to think of way to appease Sam when she does wake up. Freddie settles on making her a big breakfast. Food is the fastest way to Sam's heart, Freddie knows, and he is glad his mom made him take those mother-son cooking classes.
So he eases himself away from Sam's grip—not as easy as it sounds, especially when she is dreaming and thinks he is a bucket of fried chicken trying to get away—and eventually manages to roll off of the bed onto the floor. He freezes, afraid the dull thud he has made will cause Sam to wake up. She is vicious when woken up without proper reason or breakfast. But with a great snore, Sam rolls over on the bed, hogging all of the covers spectacularly, and Freddie is safe.
With a sigh of relief, Freddie stands up. He's where a loose shirt and his boxers. He debates briefly about putting on some sweat pants, because it's summer and the AC in the apartment is frigid; but he decides against it. Freddie's mom had never allowed him to walk around their apartment unless he was "properly, politely, and fully dressed". Freddie is still reveling in the freedom of not living with his mom, after all these years. It makes him feel like a rebel every time he does something that his mom would definitely not permit. Like turning the stove on and leaving it unattended for the moment it takes Freddie to grab a frying pan from the cabinet next to the dishwasher.
Freddie places the pan on the stove and walks over to the fridge. He'll eat two eggs, but Sam will eat five or ten depending on the mood she wakes up in. Freddie tries to remember her face. Her dreams always affect her moon without fail. Her dreams are odd, strange, and a psychiatrist's nightmare. Freddie has long since stopped trying to translate Sam's dream, every since the one with an edible Christmas tree made out of gravy, decorated with rabbit's feet and key chains, with Freddie's head at the top and gnomes in hula skirts dancing all around. Freddie wonders if the dreams are why Sam goes against the grain; why she dances to her own beat. It would certainly explain a lot.
He finishes the scrambled eggs with the ease and expertise of much practice. Freddie turns off the stove and goes to toast some bread. Whole-grain, healthy bread for him; white bread junk for Sam, who says she doesn't care if she gets fat, as long as she has her food to comfort her (Freddie believes this). Freddie has just started a pot of coffee—he takes it black, Sam dumps cups of sugar into hers—when he begins to here the sounds of Sam waking up. There are a series of loud thumps and a battle cry as Sam starts the process of untangling herself from the blankets. Freddie smiles to himself and gets two plates out. He sets them on the island, in front of two tall stools, and turns to get glasses.
He turns around and is greeted by the sight of Sam, standing in the doorway of the kitchen, blanket clutched around her like a cape. Her curly, long blonde hair is hopelessly tangled and messy. She is still half-asleep. With robotic movements, she shuffles forward and claims one of the stools as her own. Freddie watches her move, bemused. Sam is not a morning person.
"Hello, Samantha," he greets her cordially.
Sam—who never would have let him get away with her birth name if she had been fully conscious—grunts and points at the pan full of scrambled eggs. She nods her heads towards the eggs for extra measure.
Freddie rolls his eyes. "Eggs for her majesty," he announces sarcastically, going to get the pan and a wooden spoon. Sam is tired enough she lets him get away with it or doesn't notice. He comes over to her plate and dumps half of the eggs onto her plate. He pauses and Sam grunts again. He sighs and gives her three-quarters of the eggs. Sam sticks out her lips, considering the amount, and finally inclines her head. Freddie hands her a spoon and she attacks her food with gusto. He slides the rest of the eggs onto his plate.
Freddie looks at Sam for a moment, before disgust overtakes him and he turns away to get the toast. Sam doesn't have any table manners whatsoever, or if she does she never uses them. Freddie shakes his head, knowing that seeing Sam eat is enough to put off any guy. It's endearing, but Freddie has known her so long that he considers it such because he loves her and knows that shoving her face full is her way. If she ate with small, dainty bites and breathed occasionally, she wouldn't be Sam.
Still, Freddie brings the toast over and Sam's demolished her eggs and eyeing his. Freddie grins and shoves his plate towards her. He knows his toast is safe, because Sam will only eat "healthy-crappy food" when driven to desperation by fierce hunger. Freddie munches on his toast, watching as Sam polishes off his eggs and nibbles on her heavily buttered piece of toast. The coffee maker beeps and Freddie heads off, biting into his toast and holding onto it that way so his hands were free. He pours coffee into the two cups, bringing over the pot of sugar. Sam immediately grabs a cup and starts shoveling sugar into it.
Freddie sips at his, enjoying the jolt of caffeine as he wakes up fully. He doesn't mind the mornings, unlike Sam. He is awake enough to make small talk, but Sam is gulping her coffee down like she's severely dehydrated. She needs three more cups until she will be conscious enough for any talking beyond grunting. Freddie senses that Sam is still hungry, so he goes to hunt down some fruit. Sam will choke it down reluctantly, because it's early and she's hungry; and Freddie is adamant she eats something healthy every once and a while.
His search for fruit brings him to the freezer, where there is an innocent Tupperware box sitting underneath a box of mango-pineapple Popsicles. His gaze is drawn to it and Freddie thinks. Sam is sitting behind him, downing her coffee unsuspectingly, wearing his clothes; Freddie wonders if this is the moment to propose. He wants to get it over with, but at the same time he wants to wait for the perfect moment. Freddie reaches, hesitating, for the Tupperware box.
Sam slams her cup down onto the island imperiously, signaling to Freddie she is done with her first cup and ready for her next. She grunts after a second, in case Freddie hasn't noticed her.
So Freddie's reaching arm grabs the Popsicle box instead.
Mango-pineapple flavored ice is almost the same as fruit, he thinks distractedly to himself, turning to grab the coffee pot, as Sam continues to tap her empty cup against the marble counter relentlessly; proposing while she is hungry, half-asleep, and in a mood is not the perfect moment. Freddie fills her cup up and pours some into his too. He puts some sugar in it as well, just for kicks. He sips at it and is surprised at how different the sugar makes it. He isn't sure if he likes it or not, but it isn't bad and he doesn't stop drinking.
Sam smirks at him approvingly, then attends to her full and steaming cup, peppering it with loads of sugar, enough to keep a three year old hyper for two days; it's enough to keep Sam hyper for an hour or two, Freddie surmises.
