Chapter Text
God blessed him with a curse.
Sam’s drunken footsteps echoed through the chamber of the hallway. He’s pretty certain that it’s woken everyone up. But he honestly couldn’t care less. The cobwebs in the corner created huge, exaggerated shadows across the tiled ground. Following him, urging him along.
His limbs felt foreign, like his body had been resigned to instinct–mind fading back into the sweet contents of his digitised, curated personality.
Fumbling with his house keys, he tries and fails to unlock the door, succeeding only once he had accepted his fate of sleeping against it for the night. Swinging the door open, he drops everything, including his phone, into the corner of his, honestly, disgustingly, nicotine-stained walls.
Feeling his body default into autopilot is something he’s used to. It allows his brain to shut off before his bones do. It’s comfortable, safe. Relieves him of the hassle that life always seems to hand him.
Pomni’s alive. He hasn’t really fully processed that yet, and right now he can’t. It’s sitting in his mind like a boat on still water, the rain clouds above just waiting to burst. They won’t, though- not yet, and he can deal with that. He can deal with later.
Kicking his boots off under his bed, he hears them clatter against something. Bending down slowly, so as not to upset the dizziness that’s brewing behind his eyes, lies his keyboard. Dusty, plastic, and bought all the way back in 2008.
The sight jarred him more than he was ready for. He hasn’t touched it since he moved in, and even then, he isn’t sure he made eye contact with it. His mother passed it down to him in his early teens when he started showing an interest in music. She was clearly ecstatic about him finding a hobby that wasn’t fighting with his dad or arguing with his friends on a game chat.
It was probably the nicest gift anyone has ever gotten him.
He feels sick.
Reaching over to his guitar stand, he grabs his guitar and leans against his bed. Craning his head to just stare at the ceiling littered with dozens of plastic glow-in-the-dark stars. In hindsight, he probably would’ve tried to make them more astronomically accurate.
The room spinning isn’t sickening; it feels like he’s floating, and his fingers start to dance along the fretboard, playing the same first two minutes of the song he’s been working on for the last month. His heart is slamming against his chest, and he feels his face get warm and tight with whatever is trying to happen in his brain. But really, he feels none of it; he doesn’t even really hear the music. He just grabs his sheet music and writes down what his fingers are urged to play.
Just a passenger in his own body.
Eyes fluttering against the morning sun, he regrets not having the inhibition to close the curtains.
When did he actually go to bed?
He sure as hell hopes someone didn’t put him there.
Simultaneously covering his eyes with his arm, he slaps his bedside table haphazardly for his phone. Noticing that it’s empty, he freezes. Realises that in his stupid, idiotic, drunken state, he dropped it in the hallway and proceeds to drag his hands down his face.
Jesus, he’s sore. And hungover.
His head aches even more than it normally does when he wakes up. You’d think that with his size, biology would’ve granted him the power of alcohol tolerance.
Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he stills himself before the dizziness causes him to spew on the already ruined carpet and stands to go retrieve his phone.
09:43 AM.
If he had a clock in his room, he would’ve just gone back to bed. But he’s up now, and so fucking thirsty.
Fixing himself some water, ibuprofen and toast he probably won’t eat, he sits lengthwise on the couch–closing and reopening the same three apps. He actually hates social media. He barely thought about it in, well, the circus, but as soon as he came back, it was like his brain was pre-programmed to be addicted to it again.
Opening Instagram for probably the fifth time, he scrolls through posts of people he’s sure he should know, but doesn’t. Quickly unfollowing his ex-girlfriend once he comes across one of her posts. In his mindless scrolling, he almost skips the follower suggestions from his contacts, but stops when he sees the profile picture.
Dark bangs, smiling from the corner of the frame. A cat and a tiny little kitten– lounging on the couch below her. One calico, one brown. It’s an old photo, and he knows she probably hasn’t changed it because she can’t bring herself to.
Staring at the suggestion for probably too long, he debates whether it’s weird for him to look at her profile. Logistically, he knows that it’s not. Shit, in the circus they all talked about occasionally ‘stalking’ people’s accounts. He, of course, argued that it was beneath him, and Zooble told him he probably doesn’t have any friends to do it with anyway.
He swallows the pride that he thought was behind him and clicks it.
It’s public.
A small part of him finds that a little surprising.
Her username is ‘jul.ietx’, and she has eight posts. They’re all multiple photos of her friends, plants, food, and, of course, her cats. There’s a video from Christmas two years ago of an older man, whom he presumes is her dad, handing her baby Mimi. She’s wearing a little red pompom collar. Juliet and the woman behind the camera are giggling like maniacs. If he were anyone else, he probably would’ve stopped watching after the first minute. It’s strange to see this side of her because they’ve only spoken a handful of times. But also, it’s exactly the kind of cutesy, quirky shit he imagined Pomni would post.
But every photo is of Juliet, not Pomni.
His brain swallows that thought before he can feel anything about it.
The following hours are more mundane than most of his days. After his hangover started to fade, he got the very sudden and very rare motivation to clean. At twelve o’clock, he washed, dried and folded all of his laundry. By one thirty, he managed to hand in his music theory essay three days early. By three o’clock, he actually unpacked the rest of his boxes and hung up all his posters. He even showered. Showering was the hardest part because it required him to be still, and right now, being still is the last thing his body is letting him do.
After towel-drying his hair and putting on freshly cleaned clothes, he decided to go down to the local grocery store. It’s excessively overpriced, but his head is fuzzy, and he realised he hasn’t made bruschetta in a long time. After arguing with the clerk over the price of tomatoes, he decides to buy them anyway and just leave.
With it being the beginning of April, the days are blistering, but at night you can almost see ice form on the ground. It’s weirdly nice, and he enjoys the stark difference.
Rummaging his pockets for a packet of cigarettes, he fishes them out and realises he only has one left. It’s the one he left upside down, and a stubborn part of him begrudges smoking it. Instead, he closes the carton over and agrees with himself to only smoke it once he’s bought more.
Stepping into a corner shop just off his street, he picks himself up an energy drink and orders his cigarettes from the cashier. They must be new because they’re scanning all the shelves individually even though Sam could point them out in a second. As they’re searching, Sam turns on his phone to check his college schedule.
As he’s about to put in his password, he sees a new notification for his messages, and he already knows who it’s from before he swipes it down.
“Hii. The only day I’m available this week is Tuesday after work, but I have to pick some stuff up. You’re welcome to come if you want.”
“Might not be the most fun though lol”
He knew she was going to message him; she said she would. But for some reason, his body is almost reacting the same way it did when she messaged him the first time, and it’s sending his whole nervous system into a battle.
“That’s thirteen fifty-one for you.”
“What? Sorry.”
Shoving his phone back into his pocket, he takes out a few bills.
The cashier sighs at him like he’s wasting their time and repeats themself. Sam counts out fourteen dollars and hands it over, thanking them and begrudgingly tells them to keep the change before he picks up his items and speed-walks out.
His feet are heavy against the concrete as he tries to dump his drink into his grocery bag while simultaneously lighting a cigarette and re-reading Juliet's message. He isn’t sure what she thinks of him. He isn’t sure what he thinks of her. But he’s going to reply. He’s going to reply confidently, and they’re going to hang out.
Holding his cigarette in his mouth, he stares at his screen aimlessly.
Just fucking type something. Anything.
“Not my idea of fun.”
Well done. Good job. That’s how you make friends, Sam.
“But I do need to get some stuff anyway, so I could join you.”
The ash of his cigarette flies off in the wind, his hair blocking his eyes and sticking to his skin. He feels like he’s floating next to his body. It’s all so much, but nothing at all, and life is improving in all the worst ways.
He hopes Juliet tolerates him as much as Pomni did.
Cars roll down the bumpy road, leaving dust to float in their absence. It’s a beautiful day, and parents are playing with their children in the park.
She saved him. She saved them all. Jax-Not Sam-Jax pushed her away. Pushed everyone away in a feeble attempt at self-preservation. That wasn't him, but he doesn’t feel confident in that fact.
Monday passed by like any other day. Classes, studying, work. He even briefly forgot about his and Juliet's upcoming shopping trip. Upon remembering, he had to convince a coworker to take his shift tomorrow in exchange for a double on Saturday. When he got home that evening, Juliet had randomly sent him a photo of her cat, and he nearly choked on his dinner. He spent a good five minutes thinking of a response before settling on “You’re still more embarrassingly little.” And she accused him of being freakishly tall. They talked for a bit about what time to meet up and where they plan on going.
Tuesday wasn’t unlike Monday, but as he got home to study, his pencil tapped against the page more than it was written on. His guitar lay next to him, fast asleep. He spent some time fixing his hair and trying to see whether he should change clothes before he decided that he actually liked his outfit.
Now, he is sitting on his couch with his backpack at his feet. Juliet said she should be about twenty minutes, and it has been eighteen.
On his phone lies a list of items that he’s pretending he needs. He technically does need them, but he wouldn’t have thought about it outside of this.
It’s a weird situation, and he’s terrified of what’s going to become of it. But since he escaped, all he needed was confirmation that he wasn’t crazy. So even though Gangle hasn’t posted fan-art, or Zooble hasn’t reached out to give him a free tattoo, or Ragatha hasn’t just shown up at his doorstep. He’ll settle for Pomni–Juliet not remembering, because…
A message dings on his phone.
“I’m here!!”
She’s here.
Collecting his belongings, he turns off all of his lights, locks his door and makes his way down to the bottom floor.
Car windows down, he can hear the hum of sixties music from the radio, and she’s adjusting the volume. As he approaches the car, she turns around, pauses, and gives him a small wave. There was a half-second where she looked like she was about to say something else, but didn’t. Sam couldn’t tell if he imagined it. He makes his way to the passenger door, watches her turn off the child lock and steps in.
She’s still in her work uniform, and her hair is down, bumpfled and messy, like she had just taken it out. She smiles while adjusting her glasses.
“So what’s the plan?” Placing his bag down at his feet before clicking his seatbelt in, Juliet takes her car out of park and leans forward to see if the road is clear.
Pulling in behind a car, she starts down the road, “Well, I need to pick up some calcium for my plants. So I’m thinking that first?”
“Calcium for your plants?”
“Yeah! It’s good for the soil.”
“They don’t even have bones.”
Slightly lifting her hands off the wheel in disbelief, “You don’t need bones for calcium to be good for you.”
They had previously agreed to go to the shopping centre to save the driving time, and, quite frankly, the gas money.
In the backseat sat a cat crate and a folder full of papers, and Juliet had changed the air freshener since he was last in the car. It had that synthetic cherry smell that he secretly always liked.
“Yeah, yeah…” He smirks at her, and she tucks her hair behind her ear whilst giving a scoff that seemed more authentic than she probably meant it to. “...And what about after we get your calcium?”
Handing him her phone, she gestures for him to put on a song– slowing behind a car that’s driving at a walking pace. There’s a purple and orange hue reflecting across the sky, shining into the car and turning Juliet's eyes from brown to hazel.
“We’ll just go wherever the wind takes us.”
With the window ajar, Juliet’s hair flew around her head. She’s smiling, laughing and talking to him like she did when her short hair was covered by a ridiculous bi-coloured hat. Houses and workplaces swam past his vision, blurry and blending with the contrasting colour of the sky. Juliet slows down every few minutes to take in the view at a particularly clear area. Unlike Sam, she’s managed to memorise her shopping list and is trying to compare it to his. She tells him to leave it once his out-of-date phone crashes for the third time.
If he explored the idea enough, which he won’t, it’s almost like one of Caine’s particularly half-baked adventures. Jax always preferred the high-stakes ones; it was one of the very few things he and Caine could agree on, but when Pomni descended into the circus, he found himself enjoying the mundane.
As they pull into the junction that takes them to their destination, Juliet gasps and turns the volume up on the song that just started. She explains, way too enthusiastically, that this is from the first band she ever saw live. Apparently, she never heard of them before that night, and since then, they’ve been her favourite.
He subconsciously takes note of that.
Driving in circles around the parking lot to ‘wait for a space to open up,’ she hums along to the song with the most restraint Sam has ever witnessed a human being give. Only finally parking once the last thirty seconds are left.
Turning the engine off and ordering Sam to retrieve her shopping bags from the glove box, she retrieves her purse from the back seat and turns to him,
“Ready to spend our entire paychecks?”
Juliet's work sounds so boring, but he listens nonetheless, pushing the shopping cart as she dumps various plant care products in it. Every so often, when the aisle is empty, Sam will run and jump to roll down the aisle, and it’s followed by Juliet smacking him on the arm with an empty plastic bag.
The only thing Sam needed from this store was lightbulbs, and he only gets them once Juliet has exhausted her list for this particular store. He briefly thinks he may be crazy when he asks her what her favourite plant is. But after going on and on about her monstera, she forced Sam to let her buy him a cactus after finding out that he had never owned plants.
They dash in and out of various shops. Juliet picking up pens, while Sam collects notebooks. She gets bread as he gets milk. At one point, they enter a clothing store, and Sam is left to stare at the ground from a chair as she tries to decide between two almost identical shirts.
Entering their final shop, they’ve exhausted most of their energy, and it’s the only shop Sam actually had to go to. The music shop, for plectrums.
It’s vast, and it’s the size of three normal stores. But secretly, it’s one of his favourite places on earth.
“I’ll just be two seconds.” Leaving Juliet by the acoustic guitars, he walks up next to the counter and picks up the same brand and size of plectrums he’s owned since he was fourteen. Walking back, he sees Juliet standing in front of one very particular guitar, her hand stuttering like she wants to touch it.
“This one’s nice.”
“Yeah. It’s a Gibson.”
Her eyes follow the length of the guitar until they land on the logo written on the headstock.
“Hah, so it is. Expensive then?”
He whistles into his words, “Whoo, Yeah…” Taking a step back, he scans the wide selection until he finds the one he’s looking for: “...I’ve got this one–Well, the Epiphone version of it.”
She nods slowly, eyes wide as she tries to comprehend the purpose of all the different models,
“If you could have any of these, what would you pick?”
The question surprised him a little and made him feel like he’s never had an opinion on anything before. It wasn’t the kind of question Sam was used to her asking. It felt oddly specific, like she actually cared about the answer in a way he couldn’t explain.
What kind of model does he like again?
“If I were to get another guitar…” He spins on his heel as he points towards a red electric Jazz guitar. “...it would probably be one of those.” She makes an approving sound and takes a step closer,
“Ooooh, that is nice.”
Nodding in agreement, Sam watches as Juliet examines the selection, and she tends to linger on the fancy, colourful options. She asks him questions about the difference in sound and purpose, and he tries his best to rack his brain for the answers. He’s more of an acoustic man himself.
It’s strange having someone ask him about this stuff; the only other people in his life who are interested are his classmates, and they know as much as he does.
Their conversation finishes up, and Sam assures her that, finally, he’ll pay for his pics. The cashier tries to get him to sign up for promotional emails, so he ends up taking much longer than he intended. But once he’s finished, he turns towards the exit, expecting to see Juliet.
Almost cartoonishly, he turns in a circle once he realises she’s not there. Instead, Sam catches a glimpse of her, walking through the piano and keyboard section.
That was the last place he wanted her to be.
Keeping his head down as much as possible, he walks down the aisle of pianos and shelves of synthesisers that many years ago, he would have appreciated. Slowing down, he stands ten feet away from a huge grand piano. Juliet has his back to him, and she’s quietly playing Heart and Soul.
Sam didn’t notice when she moved over there. That wasn’t unusual, but something about it made him pause longer than he expected. He isn’t sure if it’s just because he doesn’t want to be there, but despite that, he tentatively walks up behind her and touches the keys to a piano for the first time in years.
His skills are definitely a bit rusty, but this is an easy song, even with him playing the harder part. Juliet laughs breathlessly whenever she fucks up and bops her head along with the music until she can start playing again.
They play the song for longer than the tune actually is. They stop once Sam accidentally plays the wrong note, and he promptly mashes the keys by high-fiving them. Juliet laughs loudly in surprise and has to physically cover her mouth, shushing herself. In the midst, Sam tells her they should leave before he gets tackled and handcuffed for defacing such a ‘beautiful’ instrument. She only agrees after informing him that it’s probably more to do with the five-digit price tag.
“Classic accountant, just always thinking about numbers.”
“It’s all I do for forty hours a week!”
He holds open the exit door for her, and she does a mini-jog through them.
“I bet you know your fifty-six times table off by heart too.”
She’s rummaging through her bag and looks at him through her bangs,
“I don’t think anyone is wasting their time on that.”
Shrugging, they walk next to each other as Juliet finally fishes her car keys from her bag. They stop at a crosswalk as an old, rugged truck with hay in the back passes them. It’s stuffed full of people and kids, more than there are seats. In the driver's seat, there's a woman with long, curly ginger hair.
The sight winds him on the spot, and he instinctively puts his hand on his chest.
It’s a ridiculous thought, knowing how unlikely it is to be her, especially just by sight alone. But he also found Juliet by pure chance. In his peripheral, he sees Juliet stare at the car, her eyes wide. Sam glanced at her for a second too long, but she was already looking away by the time he properly registered her expression.
The woman speaks from the driver's seat, and it’s pretty much confirmation that it isn’t her. It’s not Ragatha. But as he and Juliet start walking again, he can’t scrape the anxiety from his chest, and she has definitely noticed.
Unlocking the car, they both cram their bags into the trunk, slam it shut and walk around to their car doors. When they sit down, he can tell Juliet's trying not to look at him, but her brows are knitted tightly, an expression that is misguided and unneeded, because he's fine. Nothing happened.
Air thick and his chest quietly heaving, Juliet quickly turns on both the engine and the radio– reversing out of her spot slightly more erratically than normal. As they’re entering back onto the main road, Jax-Sam, fuck, it’s Sam- can see Juliet tap her fingers agitatedly against the steering wheel. She’s almost swaying back and forth in her seat, and he can feel her about to speak before she does.
“So that-um, that was weird.”
He has to hand it to her, it was very, very subtle on her part. But he should’ve known from their argument in the circus that she’s more than willing to get everything out in the open.
“Nah, it was nothing. Thought I just saw a friend from school.”
To that statement, she looks at him pointedly, as if she’s confused by his response. She turns her attention back to the road and huffs out a laugh,
“Yeah, me too.”
It’s only been five minutes, but every experience in those minutes has turned his mind upside down, and he has no idea how to handle it. Did Juliet actually see a friend from school?
“What?”
“So, you play piano?”
His chest feels like it’s inflating with emotions he has never experienced. What’s with all these questions? When did they become any of her business?
“Eh, not really. I only know like two songs.”
Sam watches as she blinks blankly at the road, nodding her head slowly before opening her mouth almost in recollection, “Aw, yeah, that’s right.” Before he has time to process the conversation, Juliet is confessing to getting mad at a new colleague at work. Apparently, he miscalculated the numbers for this week, and Sam was surprised to hear that she had actually shouted at him. Clicking on her turn signals, she briefly turns to him,
“It’s really not like me, I promise…” Looking back at the road, he can see her frown, her body subconsciously closing in on itself, “...I just got so frustrated, and I feel horrible.”
The sight of her is almost pitiful, and Sam speaks without thinking, “You shouldn’t. He sounds like an idiot.” Relaxing her shoulders, she shakes her head and sighs, “No, no, he’s not. He’s just graduated, and this is his first job.” Humming more out of an absence of knowing what to say than anything else, Sam nods his head. She pauses for a few seconds before speaking again,
“My mom and dad might split up...” Biting her lip, Sam watches as she reacts to her own thoughts, “...I know I’m an adult, but I’m still their child and–”
It shocks his nerves when he realises this is the first serious thing she’s ever told him. Sam is horrible in emotionally vulnerable situations, especially when they hit close to home; so he just stares directly out the front window until she catches his eye again, “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. Sorry…”
Visibly disturbed by her own display of emotions, she reaches over to the radio and turns it up a little, laughing in disbelief, “Shit, man, I’m so sorry; you should’ve stopped me.”
“I think you should just apologise to him.”
Pausing for a moment, she almost mechanically raises her eyebrows towards him,
“Shit happens, and so does life. If you feel bad, tell him. I think that’s all you can do.”
Throat bobbing as she swallows, her skin glows against the sun on the brink of setting, making the car seem cosier than it is, “...Yeah.” The conversation dies down to a melancholic silence, driving past the streets they met merely hours ago. Sam taps his foot to the song that’s playing from a band he likes, and he can see Juliet glimpse at it.
They pull into the town where Sam’s apartment is before he speaks again,
“Uh, with your parents...” She visibly stiffens at the mention, and Sam briefly thinks he should drop it, but she’s turned to look at him, and her pupils have shrunk against the sun, “I know it’s…Not easy, but trust that they’ll make the right decision.”
There’s a tinge of sadness on her face and bittersweetness when she whispers ‘yeah,’ that Sam can’t help but return the smile she gives him. They drive over speed bumps as the car's metal creaks. They're back on the familiar street that they seem to always depart from, except this time, he doesn’t want to vomit from the loss. Juliet gives him a knowing look when a song from the band he was tapping his foot to earlier comes on, and he returns it with a scoffing laugh.
Pulling in next to the curb, Sam begins to pick up his jacket and bag. “Well, this is where I leave you.”
“Yes, it is…Wait! I’ll open the trunk for you.”
“Shit, I forgot about that.” Chuckling as she exits the driver's seat, Sam stands next to her as she unlocks the trunk. They come to the horrible realisation that all their items are shoved into the same bags, and Juliet groans in response.
Sam stands idly by as Juliet quickly rummages through the items and sorts his into their own bag. Passing it to him, she closes the trunk and leans against it,
“Productive afternoon, I think.”
Twisting the bags’ handle around his wrist, Sam walks around her to stand on the curb. “Sure was, Julie.”
“Ugh, don’t call me that.” She pushes herself off the car with too much force that she almost staggers, and Sam has to actually fight his smile away,
“What? Julie?”
“Yes.”
“What’s up with Julie?”
Walking back around to the driver-side door, she puts her hand up in the air as if it would make him stop talking,
“I am not talking about this.”
Folding his arms, he tries to swallow the amusement in his voice. She must notice because she’s squinting her eyes at him,
“It’s literally just one letter less.”
Opening the door,
“Nope, no.”
“Awww, come on.”
“I’m leaving now, bye.”
She sits down,
“Coward!”
“Bye!”
Slamming the door shut, Sam stands ominously still for a moment, unsure whether he took it too far. As he starts to walk to his apartment building, Juliet rolls down her window,
“I’ll see you later, Samuel.” Even through the sun rays hitting her glasses, he can see that her eyes are filled with that familiar mischievous glint.
There’s an unfamiliar soft feeling in his throat, like a safety net. They probably will see each other later.
He doesn’t know what to do with it. It sits there, uneasy, like it might disappear if he stares too long.
He had always kept people at arm’s length. He kept them so far away that when they left, he couldn’t bring himself to make them stay.
He’s supposed to be selfish and horrible and bad. But when he took off the headset in that building from a town that he couldn’t recognise–everything he knew started to crack.
So instead of letting connection feel like doom, he takes out the cactus from the bag and says:
“See you later, Julie.”