I order our subs not long later and smirk to myself as Sam reaches for his pocket, only to realise that his wallet is missing. His cheeks redden and he wipes his palms on *my* sweatpants anxiously, although I pretend not to notice. I wonder how much he notices about me. I scoff internally at the notion that he would pay any particular attention to me or my habits and hand over a twenty from my wallet.

I accept the change quietly and slip it into my pocket, handing Sam his sandwich. His eyes are on the floor, his cheeks still tinged with pink but he smiles all the same.

"Sorry." He mumbles and I laugh, digging his wallet out of my back pocket and throwing it to him.

He catches it swiftly with one hand, which is actually very impressive for Sam, and his eyes widen in betrayal.

"Okay, this is getting out of hand." He says finally, snapping his mouth shut and glaring at me.

"Don't blame me, I'm only following orders." I say, holding up a hand in surrender and Sam looks momentarily baffled.

"Orders from who?"

"That would be telling." I say evasively, deciding to start on my sandwich as we walk. I feel less inclined to give up half to Sam, as I had forgotten to eat breakfast myself, but I know it would be a pointless feat to argue with a hungry Sam.

"Seriously, Elias, who?" He asks, seemingly forgotten about his own sandwich which is a miracle in itself.

"It's none of your business." I say, taking another bite and Sam sighs, exasperated. He watches me eat and suddenly realises the presence of his own lunch, eagerly digging in. He eats like a savage, mushing bites into his mouth and I stare at him, disgusted.

"What're you doing?" I ask incredulously and he attempts to answer, which I grimace at.

He swallows and tries again.

"You're nearly half done!" He says pointedly and my face morphs into one of only more confusion.

"So? I always leave you half anyway, cause you're a fat ass." I say, mumbling the last part and savouring my last bite. Sam looks ever so slightly guilty and I narrow my eyes at him.

"Tell me." I demand and Sam half smiles, a sheepish expression overcoming his face as we enter a little park near our dorms.

"The fillings you get are always so good and different and I never want to miss out." Sam says, shrugging his shoulders helplessly and my jaw drops.

"Are you kidding me?! I've been left hungry by all of these lunches because you're too stubborn to try something new?! No way, I'm keeping my sandwiches from now on." I decide, taking another huge bite from my own lunch.

Sam watches me as though he's been horribly betrayed.

"No! You can't! Eli! You can't just cut me off, they're all so delicious!" He cries and I shake my head stubbornly.

"Consider yourself cut off." I utter, taking another bite.

"No! Elias, please. You gotta help me out." He pleads and I sigh heavily.

"I can't believe him, all this time. Lies." I mutter dramatically, speaking into my sandwich as if it is now my only friend.

Sam whines beside me but I ignore his protests, continuing my sandwich until there's only a bitesize chunk left. Sam gazes at me wistfully and I sigh, glancing at his pathetic, longing stare. I move my hand towards him and his face lights up.

He reaches for it but before he can grab it, it's in my mouth and I'm grinning like an idiot.

"Delicious." I garble and Sam looks at me, horror-stricken.

"Elias! I- I can't- What the hell!?" He stutters, tripping over multiple different sentences, all competing to be said and I clutch my stomach laughing at his expression.

He frowns at me and storms off but I only keep laughing, jogging after him.

"Come on, Sam. You've been tricking me out of sandwiches for years, you weren't even hungry!" I reason, but Sam pouts and shakes his head.

I sigh and jog in front of him. He moves to go around me but I snake my arms around his waist and bend, pulling him up and over my shoulder.

He squawks indignantly, his hands punching my back but I ignore his protests, carrying him to our favourite bench. He gives up after a moment and hangs listlessly, tensing slightly as I reaffirm my grasp on his thighs.

I gently rest him down on the bench and he crosses his arms, glaring at me.

"You know I hate that." He utters and I shrug.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures."

Sam gives me a look and I scoff, sliding into the seat beside him. His anger is all for show.

"I really hate you sometimes." Sam says, attempting to sound hurt and I tut at him.

"No, you don't." I say assuredly, crossing my arms carelessly across my chest.

He sighs and glances down at me, who's slumped position is far more comfortable than his ram-rod straight posture, and he relaxes slightly.

"How'd you know?" He asks snarkily.

"Just do."

"But how?" He demands and I shrug.

"I do too much for you, for you to hate me." I say simply and he rolls his eyes.

"You're so humble." He mutters and I laugh.

"Only for you, dearest." I drawl and Sam rolls his eyes again. Slowly, Sam lowers his head until it's resting against my shoulder. I don't mind, he must be exhausted after last night. I internally debate whether to leave him or insist on going home. He would be far more comfortable at home and it's only a 3 minute walk.

I nudge my shoulder slightly and Sam peers up at me.

"Let's get you home, you look like you need a nap." I remark and Sam slumps forward, grunting in agreement.

We slink back into the dorms and Sam, without any conscious thought, moves towards the stair case, pulling his tired body up the stairs and waiting patiently beside my door. I open it swiftly, watching as Sam navigates himself to my bed. He groans in satisfaction and I shake my head, smiling slightly.

"Elias!" He calls out and I follow his path, humming in response.

He doesn't say anything but pats the bed beside him. I sigh, pick up the book I borrowed and lay down reluctantly beside him. He smiles sleepily and curls up beneath my blankets, already drifting out of consciousness.

There's a 10 minute period of silence, filled only with his slow, steady breaths and an occasional turn of a page. I am sure that he is asleep, which is why his voice startles me.

"Elias?"

Sam's voice is muffled and I peer over at him, his eyes still closed. It is known that Sam sleep-talks, although he's grown out of it over the years.

"Yes, Sam?" I say, not expecting a coherent reply.

"I like your footlong." He mumbles, his eyes still closed as I glance over again, absolutely bewildered.

"Anytime?" I question and Sam smiles, somewhat strangely, before turning and falling back into silence.

I chuckle and shake my head at him, turning my attention back to the book in front of me.

_

When Sam groans and slowly manages to open an eye, it is quickly becoming dark and I have taken the liberty of cooking something for dinner. Sam hates spice, but loves flavour so I had decided on fajitas. Sam likes the DIY aspect of it, claims he feels manlier when he has to assemble his food.

Everything is prepped and being kept warm in the oven and Sam inhales appreciatively.

"Is'at what I think it is?" He mumbles and I hum in confirmation.

"What did I do to deserve you?" He utters quietly, still drowning beneath blankets and I scoff.

"I think you're delirious." I mutter and Sam makes a disgruntled sound of disagreement, but doesn't argue further.

I keep my gaze focused on my essay, which is essentially finished now, and double check it for any errors. I hear shuffling behind me and assume Sam has managed to extricate himself from his blanket nest.

His shadow looms over me suddenly and I turn to face him, his own face far closer than I expected. He looks at my essay with a frown and glances over to me, equally as shocked with the proximity of our faces and he leaps back, stubbing his toe against my desk and blushing profusely.

I wince at the sharp pain in my toe and shake my foot around uselessly as I attempt to will the pain away.

"Ow, sorry." He murmurs.

I shrug and stretch out, watching his unusual reactions all the while. He's not usually this disorientated when he wakes up, although his curls are falling into his eyes making him look exceptionally adorable for a teenage boy. The two contrasting appearances are oddly charming.

"How was your nap?" I ask, my shoulder cracking as I move my arms. Sam winces at the sound. I make a conscious effort not to crack my fingers.

"Good, did you not get any sleep?" He asks, fiddling with my borrowed shirt, which is a tad too long for him, the sleeves covering his palms.

"No, I had this to finish." I admit, tilting my head towards the laptop in front of me. Sam rolls his eyes and tuts slightly.

"You never get enough sleep, it's why you look like a scary racoon all the time." He mutters, leaning forward and sweeping the pads of his thumbs beneath my eyes, where I know dark shadows lay. I resist the urge to close my eyes, the sensation being oddly relaxing, and instead sigh.

Sam's touch lingers for a moment before he leans back, looking vaguely satisfied.

"Yeah, yeah, I know." I say defeatedly, waving off his concern. I stand up and head towards the little kitchenette, a thought popping into my head.

"You've started sleep talking again." I mention, glancing back to take in his reaction. He tenses slightly but doesn't look outwardly concerned.

"Have I? I haven't done that since we were kids, what did I say?" He asks curiously and I bite my lip, turning my attention to the plates in front of me. I briefly debate what to tell him, knowing the truth will likely embarrass him, even though he needn't be.

"Nothing coherent." I finally say, deciding that I would altogether prefer to keep this little nugget of information to myself, for now at least. It's not really a lie, he hadn't been thinking or speaking very coherently at all.

I don't pay attention to Sam's response, instead busying myself with cutlery and plates. I thrust them towards Sam's open hands and shimmy out the various pans that had been keeping warm.

We sit and eat amiably. I take my time whilst Sam eats as though it's going out of fashion, as per usual. There's moments of conversation, but for the most part we're silent and I enjoy it. It's not forced or awkward, just the acceptance of two people who don't need words in order to communicate.

Sam watches me finish and takes the plates to the sink, clearing up for once and I try to swallow my shock.

"You're washing up? Are you feeling ok?" I ask, needing to know the answers lying behind his radical behaviour.

Sam turns, only to roll his eyes at me, before resuming his actions.

"I figured since you cooked, it was only fair." He says, shrugging as though it's no big deal.

"You figured? Since when?" I ask incredulously. Sam sighs melodramatically and shakes his head.

"You did a lot for me today and I want you to know I appreciate it." He says quietly and I laugh softly.

"You don't need to wash up for me to know that, I already do." I state and Sam turns around grinning.

"Great!" He remarks, tossing the fluorescent yellow gloves behind him and I roll my eyes.

"You're ridiculous." I mumble, crossing my arms over my chest as I watch him bound back over to the sofa.

"I contest that. I figure that, if you maybe want to live together next year, I could do the cleaning stuff and you can do the cooking stuff." He says tentatively, nudging the idea into the open and I glance at him, his face unsure.

"I think that...that sounds pretty good." I say, smiling slowly and Sam beams at me, practically glowing.

"Well, this year is practically over already and we could move into a place during the summer seeing as neither of us really loves living at home and..."

"Okay! We can start looking at flats, and the year is not practically over, it's November!" I say, interrupting his rambling and he shrugs as though he doesn't see any difference.

"Our exams are in May, it's not that long." He reminds me and I nod.

"Let's get Christmas out of the way first." I mutter and Sam groans.

You would think that someone as happy as Sam would love Christmas, but no. He actively does everything possible to avoid the festive cheer, whilst I on the other hand can't get enough.

"Don't be like that, this year's going to be different, you'll see. I'm going to make you love Christmas." I say determinedly and Sam scoffs, although it's rather half-hearted. He folds his arms stubbornly across his chest and pouts.

"It'll be our first Christmas, just us. You'll love it." I say assuredly, getting up to finish washing the plates that Sam has abandoned. I turn and glance at him, but his attention has been stolen by a far-off thought, which has him smiling softly to himself.

I shake my head and get back to the dishes in front of me, wondering idly what could possibly be going on in that boy's head.