Hair and Makeup and Other Stuff
Author’s Note: Hello! This was written for the Sam’s Sixty June Jobs Challenge by @teamfreewill-imagine and @sparklingsammy back in June 2016. I think it’s my longest fic to date (clocking in at 5,848 words), and it’s also the one I had the most fun writing.
Warnings: n/a. some cringy scenes; forgive me, i was 18 when i wrote this
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The last vestiges of sleep cleared from your head as you finished your second mug of coffee. It was less than you usually had, but it would have to do since your husband practically annihilated the remaining bag of coffee grounds you had. Thankfully, he was decent enough to leave you enough for a pot of coffee. If he didn’t it would be a week on the couch for him, along with the removal of midnight cuddle rights.
You shook your head a bit, trying to make your eyes focus on your phone. It was a full day for you today, a whole day of driving and eye shadow shades graffiti-ed on the back of your hand. The worst thing was you didn’t have your partner for the first appointment, and the Lord Almighty knew you had to have him help you get through your morning crankiness. Not that you couldn’t handle it yourself, but Sam always made the mornings brighter (way brighter than you would have preferred, but you appreciated his sunniness), and therefore made the appointments easier to go through.
As you put the mug in the sink, you heard the tell-tale vibration of your phone on the countertop. You let it wait until you’ve washed the mug before going to pick it up. As expected, it was a text from Sam:
Don’t forget, 8764 Prince Ave by Firestone Blvd at 10:30. I’ll see you there.
You rolled your eyes. Of course Sam would send you a message reminding you of where the first appointment was. He was a bit high-strung that way. You couldn’t blame him though, not when your performance on these appointments basically paid your rent. With a sigh, you texted him back:
I won’t forget, Sam. And good morning to you too. ;)
You smiled cheekily. Sometimes Sam got so worried about work that he forgot basic pleasantries, and you had no qualms about reminding him of them every chance you got.
Slinking out of the kitchen with your mouth wide open in a yawn, you went to your bedroom, the sheets still in disarray from your neglect at waking up almost a half hour ago. You didn’t bother with them, knowing that nobody would actually care if you straightened them out or not, and made a beeline straight to your closet to pick out the day’s clothes, in the end coming away with a loose peasant top and a pair of long denim shorts. Like hell you were going to wear pants in this California heat. Plus, if you were going to be driving and bending down repeatedly the whole day, why not do it wearing comfortable clothes?
Faint buzzing from your phone alerted you that Sam had replied, and you dropped your clothes on the bed, sat down with a flop, and thumbed through your phone.
Of course. Sorry. Good morning, Y/N. :)
God, he was such a dork. And the weight of your first solo mission in a while was getting to you again, so you opted out of answering back to just hop in for a quick shower. You were in and out in fifteen minutes and were in the middle of putting on foundation when your phone buzzed again.
This time, it was a call from Sam, and you deftly twirled your brush in your hand and accepted the call, putting him on speaker so you could work freely.
“Hey, Sam,” you answered, the sound slightly garbled with the position your face was in.
“Hey,” he said, the background oddly quiet. “You putting on make-up?”
“Yeah,” you put down the foundation and grabbed your eye shadow primer, and applied it. You took your BYS NUDE 2 palette, deciding on a shade first before applying some on your lid. “I’m on eye shadow.”
“Great, so ten minutes, then,” Sam said, evidently showing his perfect memory of your make-up routine. “Good thing you got up early, huh?”
You groaned, checking if the application was balanced before continuing. “Too early. I mean, the appointment’s in an hour and it only takes, what, ten minutes to get there. I don’t see why you had to set my alarm for 8 AM.” It was a challenge to speak clearly while doing make-up, but talking with Sam almost every single day while doing it gave you a lot of practice.
“That’s because you take a while to get your bearings, Y/N,” he countered. Sam always set your alarms. And he would set it two and a half to three hours before the appointment time, depending on how far the house was. It proved to be a challenge for you because something in your biology refused to cooperate at seven in the freaking morning unlike Sam, who was always up at the crack of dawn and ready to go for a run or something. You and Sam were such opposites in some respects that you sometimes wondered why exactly you chose to have him as your partner. “And I also know that if you don’t get caffeine in your system, you’ll be rude and cranky all day. Did you get a drink?”
“Yeah, two mugs,” you scoffed, setting down the eye shadow and picking up your favored eyeliner. “Barely did anything for my disposition, but I can handle it.” You twisted open the cap and said to Sam, “Liner.”
“I’ll wait,” he simply said, and while you tried to perfect your double-up lining. When you were done with the right eye, you relaxed your closed eye for a moment and waited for it to dry.
“By the way,” you said suddenly, remembering why it was so quiet earlier, “aren’t you supposed to be snipping away at the old ladies’ hair in the salon? Where are you?”
“I’m on break.” Picking up the pen you readied yourself to do the left eyelid as Sam continued speaking. “I’m in the café across the street. Busy morning, and I couldn’t find anywhere quiet enough to make a call so I decided to treat myself.” You could practically head the smugness in his voice. He knew you liked that café and never failed to stop by for their Panini when you went to the workplace. You rolled your eyes as soon as you were able, nodding to yourself at the equal liner thickness. “Perfect?”
“Perfect.” You rummaged through your lipstick collection to find the shade you want, all the while still talking to Sam. “When do you get off?” At the sound of poorly hidden snorting you paused in you treasure hunt to roll your eyes again. “Seriously, Sam?”
He burst into laughter just as you found the L’Oreal Riche Lip in Nude you’d been looking for. Ignoring the howling Samsquatch on the other line, you expertly applied it and surveyed your face before deciding you didn’t need to contour today, and you’d just save the effort for the clients.
Sam had sobered up while you put on the lipstick, and caught his breath a little before saying, “10:30. I’ll be there at 45.”
“’Kay,” you answered, slipping on your Oxford shoes and gathering your things as you two made plans—where to eat, who was gonna drive the rest of the way, whether to stop by the salon after. By 10:00 you were buckled in your car and more or less prepared for the day ahead.
Though California in June was hot as fuck, you still loved the climate. Hey, at least you didn’t need a variety of clothes that would only fill up your room. And the sunlight streaming through your car wind shield caught at just the right angle to make the silver band on you left ring finger winkle like the most precious gem.
***
Thanks to the mid-morning traffic, you got to the first house with three minutes to spare. You and Sam made it a point to arrive ten to five minutes early to set up so you didn’t waste precious time trying to sort out your stuff and trying to find them in the messes that were your “tool boxes”.
The Spanish white-stone house sat imposingly before you. If you’d gotten there earlier you could’ve spared a moment before going up the door to knock. Unfortunately you were running out of time, so better just wing it.
You made three sharp raps on the door, and mere seconds later a middle aged woman came swooping it open. Quickly you put a friendly smile on your face. “Good morning, ma’am! I’m Y/N, the make-up artist you hired for the wedding today.”
Recognition replaced the confusion on her face and she beamed at you. “Of course, come in, come in, dear!” She eagerly waved you inside and you stepped right into the living room. At the lady’s behest, you slipped off your shoes by the entrance and she offered you slippers to wear around the house. Briefly you wondered if they had any slippers in Sam’s size and grinned.
The lady, Mrs. Fernando as you came to know, led you to the living room, where a chair was placed in the middle of it, the coffee table sitting a little ways behind it. As you set up your things, Mrs. Fernando (“Call me Rica, hija!”) called down her two daughters, who were apparently both bridesmaids in the wedding that afternoon. So all in all, you and Sam had to do three clients that morning.
“You said you had a partner?” Louisa, the older daughter, asked as she sat down on the chair. The girl had lovely tanned skin and beautiful chocolate brown curls. You knew Sam was going to have a field day working with this family, since it seemed they all had great hair.
“Oh, yeah. Sam’s coming in a bit. Had to work a shift at the salon, but the dude’s coming. Trust me,” you said smiling, as you tied Louisa’s hair back, getting handfuls of her soft hair to gather it in a messy bun. You moved in front of her and asked her how the wedding was going to go, what the theme was, and how she preferred her face done. She replied as well as she could while you applied foundation and concealer to her skin.
As you were rifling through your many eye shadow palettes, there came a knock on the door. The other sister Gloria answered it and you watched her reaction as she looked up and up and up at Sam’s no doubt imposing frame. You smiled and shook your head, deciding on your Clinique 8-Pan palette and one of your Sephora Collection Filter palettes for the shimmer. Louisa said the wedding was going to be a garden wedding (that was, in your opinion, poorly timed since it was blistering today), and the bride wanted shades of soft pink all around.
You stood up in front of Louisa, tilted her chin up, and poised the brush over her eyelid. Suddenly you felt a slap to your ass and whirled around to face Sam, who was grinning like an idiot. He had another chair in front of him, requested probably because of how you usually did things: two chairs in one space and a table separating them if you had more than one client, so they could just stand up and move to Sam’s chair one you were done with them for their hair.
Throwing your partner a bitch face, you turned back to the teenager in front of you and asked him, “How was the salon? You know, after you were done slacking off.”
Sam snorted, continuing to arrange his tool box beside yours on the coffee table (that he probably moved on his own; jerkface was too strong for his own good) before answering, “Well. Less busy than when we first opened. You know they like getting a good look at me in the morning.” You looked at him beyond Louisa’s head, eyes meeting and he gave you a wink. You turned back to your work with a sardonic smile.
“Plus, the Panini was awesome,” he finished, smirking. You flipped him the bird, making sure to keep it out of Louisa’s view, not that she could see right now, since her eyes were closed. She hasn’t opened them yet, obediently keeping them shut since the moment you asked her to when you started. You tried to tamp down a smile when her eye twitched, knowing she wanted to see what Sam looked like after hearing his voice and your conversation.
Showing some mercy because you knew after years (and you meant years) of friendship and partnership with Sam, he was handsome. Very much so. And sometimes, during the early stages of your acquaintanceship, he would go to your apartment on random mornings coming from a run, soaking with sweat and shirtless, making up some excuse like, “Oh, your apartment’s nearer, can I just take a quick shower?” and back then you had to dig through your ex’s old clothes just to find some that fit him.
Oh, and add to the fact that Sam was kind, smart as hell, and knew his make-up and hair? As well as a total animal lover? He was bound to have ladies tripping over themselves to get his attention.
You had Louisa open her eyes and she wasted no time sliding them over Sam’s god-like build. He was lounging on the other chair, waiting his turn. He was all long limbs and muscular frame, and you let Louisa get her eyeful, completely used to it at this point. Sam used to joke about him getting all the attention since most of your clients were women and the occasional gay models, and you both had a laugh over that. Yeah, once upon a time, you would’ve minded the obscene amount of ogling Sam got, but you were past that.
Taking out eyeliner, mascara, and your eyelash curler, you asked Louisa to close her eyes again (which she did, reluctantly). You finished up her shadow and added a very subtle contour and blush to her face before applying your Clinique Almost Lipstick in Pink Honey, for a sweet and fresh feel. Once you were done, you patted her shoulder and directed her to Sam’s chair, where he marveled at her hair as soon as he got a hold of it.
Rolling your eyes at him and his enthusiasm, you gestured to Gloria, proceeding to do the same to her with a little bit of tweaking, since her hair and skin were slightly lighter than her sister’s. If you had to guess, Gloria stayed in more and Louisa made herself welcome under the sun’s loving kisses.
As you contemplated which shade to use for Gloria’s eyes, Rica, who was sitting on the small sofa and watching the proceedings with excitement, suddenly said, “So Sam, do you have a girlfriend?”
You jerked up, almost stabbing your boob with the brush, and looked to Sam in amusement, a corner of your lip quirking up. Sam got this question all the time, and every time it happened he managed to evade the question or distract the person asking it.
“Uh, no,” he said succinctly, going back to clipping a section of Louisa’s hair while you went back to your work. “I don’t.”
“Oh, boyfriend, then? Or a husband?”
“Mama!” you heard Louisa exclaim. You continued to work on Gloria as Louisa (respectfully) reprimanded her mom for love of gossip and slightly overstepping boundaries. This would usually be the point where Sam would blush and concentrate on the hair in his hands.
When Rica knew she couldn’t get anything out of Sam, she turned to you, an amused smile on her face. “And you, Y/N? Are you in a relationship?”
“Ma!” This time it was Gloria who called out, and you smiled and shook your head.
“It’s okay, Gloria.” You switched the palette to your other hand and turned to Rica, waving your fingers at her so she could see the silver ring. “I’m married, actually.”
“Oh, Jesus, Maria, who’s the lucky man?” she exclaimed, and you slightly regretted fueling her excitement, but you might as well gush about your husband.
“Well, he’s tall. Handsome and a little goofy sometimes. He does not know how to cook, can’t even make a salad to save his life,” you said, a bright smile on your face as you went back to work, still talking. “We met at a restaurant near where he worked. He bought me a latte because he said I looked really mad at the air in front of me.” Everyone laughed a little at that. “Afterwards, he asked me out to dinner, and now, five years later, I’m a happily married woman.” You finished talking as you applied lipstick to Gloria’s pink lips. Honestly, the girls didn’t need any make-up, they were already really pretty.
You waved her off to Sam who just finished doing Louisa’s hair. Her long brown curls were gathered up at a low side bun, a few delicate strands hanging out to frame her heart-shaped face. Simple, girly, classy. As always, Sam did a good job.
Rica, who had been patiently waiting her turn, finally stepped up onto the chair. She told you that she was one of the people wearing cream, as she was supposed to be a godmother to the wedding. “I’ll leave the make-up stuff to you, hija. You did very well with my daughters, and I trust you.”
The praise made your face heat up. “Thank you, Mrs.—,” at the eyebrow she raised at you, you immediately backtracked. “Thank you, Rica.” Your face was still warm as you turned away from her, rifling through Sam’s stuff to look for the cloth headband he insisted on keeping. You thought he wanted it for when he secretly used face masks; after all, Sam was not your usual guy. Sure you made fun of his feminine tendencies when you guys were starting out, but eventually grew to appreciate them, especially when he could see that you were having a bad day and he’s do out of his way to buy you double-scoop ice cream after an appointment.
When you found it, you sneaked a look at Sam, saw how his hands worked flawlessly through Gloria’s hair, and couldn’t help but be mesmerized for a while. He was busy curling and pinning to the top of her head, periodically pausing to go in front of her to peer at her make-up, making sure that the hair suited what you did, going for the innocent look that you used as well. Sam’s eyes met yours and you remembered that you were supposed to be doing Rica’s make-up. You turned back to her, taking a cursory glance around the room, and realized Louisa wasn’t there, upstairs putting on her dress, maybe.
You secured Rica’s pixie cut behind the headband and primed and put foundation on her face. You consulted your array of palettes before going purely with the Urban Decay NAKED palette. The middle colors complemented Rica’s tanned skin nicely and were sure to make her green eyes pop. Browns were classic colors as well, and if they could, the shades in your palette (virtually untouched since you didn’t use them as the clients preferred other colors) were going to have a field day.
“Hey, you’re breaking them in?” Sam asked, looking at the container in your hands.
“Yeah, finally.” You smiled, amused that Sam raided your tools once or twice because you never told him that you hadn’t used this one yet.
You two worked silently for a few minutes, before Rica started asking questions again, mostly about how your wedding went, whether you had kids (which made Sam laugh and joke how you had an irrational fear of babies), and how long you’d been married. You answered all of them diligently, and had to nod in appreciation at how Rica was able to keep almost still while talking. You contoured her face as well and finished off the look with your Nude L’Oreal Riche Lip, the same shade you were wearing.
Sam finished with Gloria’s hair as you waved Rica over to his chair. Gloria’s hair was fantastic. He pushed the top up into a little bouffant, and arranged her hair to make it look like she had it in a half-up do and that her hair was naturally that big. Light ash brown curls cascaded down her back, and you knew Sam used his special trick to ensure that they stayed curly the whole day. He tried to show you once, and proved that you really did not know anything about hair unless it was braiding your own. Likewise you tried teaching him the basics of make-up, only for him to fail miserably.
Since you were finished with all the clients, you sat yourself down on the chair and proceeded to arrange your mess of tools into your small make-up box. You really had to upgrade this thing so you could have more space. Maybe you had a Sephora gift certificate or something in your wallet you could use…
“And you’re done!” You looked up at Rica, her short pixie cut now organized into curls that framed her face perfectly, giving a very 1920’s feel. It always amazed you how well Sam could style short hair, and it made you smile to see how all the clients he handled loved their hair so much. Sam had talent, and you were glad that it’s being realized.
Soon Rica disappeared upstairs to herd the girls back down, where they all thanked you, and Rica joked about wanting you to do Louisa’s hair and make-up for her 18th birthday next year.
“Well, if you do decide,” Sam said, “you know how to find us. Just give us a call.” He smiled dazzlingly at the three women, and you were sure they were temporarily blinded by him. You collected her pay, thanked each other again, and made your way to the car.
You settled in shotgun while Sam got in the driver’s seat. It was commonplace that if Sam was there he’d be the one driving, which was practically always. He didn’t have a car, so you had to use yours. Sam probably took a cab from the salon.
Sighing, you carefully shifted to put your box in the backseat along with Sam’s. Turning back around you saw a paper bag with the logo of the restaurant near the salon and looked up at said mad with wide eyes.
“No way,” you breathed, snatching the bag from his waiting hands and peering inside. There was the restaurant’s chicken Panini and a container of the mango cheesecake you loved. You turned to Sam again, a grateful smile on your face. “Thank you, Sammy,” you said, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek.
“You know, you have to stop being surprised when I get you food from that place,” he said smilingly, pulling to the road and making a U-turn out of the street. “I mean, I always get you food from there when I get the chance.”
He had a point. Often Sam would randomly bring you a Panini or the chicken Alfredo from the restaurant. He knew your orders well enough that he could get what you wanted if he wanted to surprise you. And he wasn’t scared of getting a random dessert—you had a sweet tooth and he knew it, so he basically got you the day’s special.
“Eat up,” he said, eyes on the road.
“What about you?” you said concerned, but pulling out the sandwich either way and taking a huge bite out of it. The last time you ate was that morning and it was almost 1 PM. You moaned almost obscenely around the bit of food in your mouth.
“I ate in the cab on the way here. Plus I had a huge meal during my break this morning.”
You swallowed your mouthful. “By ‘huge meal’ you mean a large chicken Caesar salad, right?” You saw his face flush and his Adam’s apple bob in a swallow. “And that was hours ago, Sam. Here,” you unwrapped more of the Panini and pushed it at his face. He reluctantly looked at it for a second before turning his eyes back to the road and opening his mouth, blindly trying to figure out where to bite. You stifled a laugh and pushed it more towards him. He took a big bite out of it that almost had your regretting being so giving.
Taking another bite of the sandwich you asked with a full mouth, “How long until we get to the next appointment?”
Sam looked at the dashboard clock. “’Bout an hour, I think, hour and a half.”
You nodded. “Good. Gives me enough time to finish the cheesecake.”
Sam laughed as you took another bite.
***
Your next appointment was at a studio, and as expected, Sam was immediately dragged off by one of the project managers. They were supposed to be doing a photo shoot for a new all-white line and were going to be shooting in the warehouse a little ways away. The clothes were supposed to look as clean-cut as they could against the dinginess and chaos of the old warehouse. It was your and Sam’s job to make the models look dirty but chic.
Well. It wasn’t the first time.
You trudged after Sam and the lady with a clipboard. She wasted no time sidling up to him and feeling up his arms (which you knew for a fact were toned as hell) as they walked to wardrobe. You trailed after them, eavesdropping on their small talk. The girl was doing her best to flirt with Sam and you could only smile at his reluctance to respond to her advances, sometimes even physically pulling away from her if she was pressing against him too much.
Sometimes when you told your friends about this they asked you if you were okay with it, or if you got jealous. You always answered that you were fine with it. Sure sometimes you got annoyed at a client or a manager or another make-up artist if there were a lot of you, but it was usually because they were flirting too loudly or being a diva. Sure sometimes you got jealous that there weren’t that many people ogling at you compared to Sam, but you just chalked it up to everyone’s innate desire to be accepted and noticed. That, and the wedding ring kind of turned people off.
Eventually, you forgot about the gaping thing and just directed your energy into judging people who are flirting too hard and then telling him in the car afterwards and laughing about it. It was a good distraction from the tiring day and you got a good laugh out of it.
You set down your usual box, plus another one that contained you more unused stuff, on one of the tables. Peering at yourself in the mirror, you inspected your face for any smudges or smears. You touched up your lipstick in the car, but other than that, you hadn’t had the chance to really look at your make-up yet. You took the palette from this morning and touched up your eye shadow.
When you were done you turned to look for Sam, who was finally alone and doing his hair, his knees bent so he could actually see his hair in the mirror. You chuckled at the sight and strode over to him, coming up behind him and ruffling his hair.
“Y/N!” he yelled, swatting away your hands playfully. “Don’t play with my hair, it’s getting tangled!”
“Why, but it’s so long and floofy!” you argued, proceeding to ruffle up his hair again, ending in a mini-tickle fight, waged slightly away from the tables so as to not hit anything. Eventually, though, you sobered up and the both of you just decided to wait for the models on the chairs.
“So,” you started, lolling you head sideways to look at him, “that project manager sure was flirting with you. Hard.”
He gave you a grin and let his head drop so he looked at the ceiling while he answered. “Yeah. Glad I finally shook her off.” He turned his head towards you, a stupid grin on his face. “Why, you jealous?”
You scoffed. “Nah. Just sorry for her ‘cause you’re already taken.”
He laughed loudly. “Damn straight!” He raised his hand and you hi-fived.
“Oh, Sam, you are anything but straight!” You laughed again at the inside joke.
“You’re gay?”
You looked behind you at the manager from before, who was now gaping at Sam with shock. Said man took a second to process the outburst, but finally shook himself out of it and said, “No—no! I’m not gay, I’m—,”
“Oh, thank god,” the manager said, putting a hand to her chest and sultrily gliding over to press herself against Sam’s shoulder, making sure that her boobs were right in his line of sight. “I thought you were, but thank god you’re straight. At least now I know I have a chance.” She grinned seductively at him, making you effectively gag at the sight. Sam was trying to keep a straight face.
“I’m, um…,” Sam swallowed. “I’m… actually… Not straight, either.”
The manager backed away. “Wait, what?”
As Sam fumbled for a reply, you just looked at the manager, still gaping like a fish out of water and trying to process this “not straight, not gay” thing that’s going on.
“He’s bi,” you said, interjecting just to get Sam to stop stuttering (he started to nod his head furiously).
“Oh,” the manager said, turning back to Sam and trying to ramp up her sultriness. Your eyes bugged out at her insistence. “Then that means I still have a chance, right?” She traced a lime green nail from the bridge of Sam’s nose to the tip and you two watched her strut away.
You two looked at each other, grimaces on your faces. “Sorry for outing you like that,” you said, eyes downcast. You didn’t mean to, but it looked like he needed help.
“No, it’s okay,” he said quietly¸ taking your hand and smoothing his thumb over your ring. “I couldn’t really get a word out, so… Thank you.”
You two stayed holding hands until the manager came back with the models, and then you silently got to work. You mechanically applied foundation, eye shadow, contour, lipstick to them until all five models were finished and headed to the warehouse.
You asked Sam to ask for the pay while you offered to pack up yours and his things. You knew each other enough to trust each other with the tools of your trade, and knowing that, you shooed him off to mooch up to the manager.
Afterwards, you tried juggling the three boxes while looking for Sam, eventually finding him near the studio entrance with, yep, the manager plastered all over him. You rolled your eyes and gave a yell, prompting Sam to look around for you. Once he finally saw you he hurriedly said his goodbyes and helped you with the two boxes in your arms. As he took the two of them, he leaned in and kissed your forehead. You melted into the touch and wrapped around his waist as you two strolled to the entrance.
On your way out you saw the manager still standing there, watching your exchange. Her seething eyes followed you and you gave her a smile and a wink, tightening your hold around Sam’s waist. The last thing you saw before you got in the car was her gaping face. Hm.
She really looked like a fish.
***
Your last client cancelled her appointment so you decided you’d just order in some Chinese or a pizza and lounge on the couch. When Sam pulled over to the house you two got out silently and took out your boxes from the backseat. As soon as the front door opened you put your boxes and bags on the floor and immediately moved to hug Sam tightly, your arms barely meeting behind his neck because he was so tall. He closed the door behind him with his foot and proceeded to wrap his arms around your thighs, lifting you up and carrying you to the living room sofa.
He sat down and you followed the motion, ending up straddling him, with your arms still wrapped around his neck. You burrowed your face into his shoulder, took in the smell of his musk and the faint aroma of hairspray. Like always, he smelled like home.
Sam smoothed a hand down your back, his other arm wrapped around your waist. “Y/N, what’s wrong?” he asked quietly.
You shook your head, said, “It’s nothing. I’m just tired,” in a quiet voice.
“I know it’s not nothing, babe.” He put a hand on your cheek and gently lifted your face up so your eyes could meet. Sam smoothed his thumb over your cheekbone. “Tell me.”
You averted your eyes and shrugged, lifting your hands to grasp the chain around Sam’s neck and pulling it out. “Just the usual, you know. I try not to let it bother me, but that manager was giving me a headache.” You ran your thumb across the silver band hanging on the chain, a perfect match to yours.
“Ah,” Sam said. “So that’s why you suddenly became more affectionate than usual?” You nodded, and Sam gave you a fond smile. Sometimes, because you were always so playful and cool with everything, he forgot that you had insecurities, too, and he always sought to correct them before the badness could mess with your brain further.
Sam removed his hands from you and lifted the chain over his head. He took off the ring and slid it on the fourth finger of his left hand, where it belonged. He wished he could always wear it, but the salon didn’t allow any arm or hand accessories except for watches because they messed with the cutting or styling. You were the one who thought to fasten it to a chain so he could always have it with him. Sometimes Sam thought that he was more attached to his wedding ring than you were.
“Y/N,” he whispered and you looked up at him. “You know I’m yours. The ring I’m wearing right now proves it. And yeah, I don’t wear it as much as I would like to, but it’s always with me. It reminds me of you, of how much I love you, and as long as I am alive, I will love you.” He wiped the stray tear rolling down your cheek.
You leaned in and kissed him, and he followed your lead. “Thank you, Sam,” you said when you finally broke apart, and your fingers were tangled in his hair. He rested his forehead on yours and kissed you once more.
“I love you, Y/N,” he whispered.
“I love you, too, Sam.”
