For Research Purposes | ✔

CHAPTER NINE

     Sam sleeps in.

     He doesn't mean to, and he normally doesn't need an alarm to get him up on time, he just naturally wakes. He does naturally wake, but when he checks his phone, it's nearly ten in the morning. His stomach spikes acid, until he remembers it's the day before Thanksgiving and the American holiday grants him half a week off from classes.

     He lays there, enjoying the feeling of being rested, of waking without anything looming on his schedule. He doesn't have anywhere to be but here.

     The peace lasts all of five seconds before Sage throws open the bathroom door. Actually, it's less of a throw and more of a tentative ease. Still an intrusion. The bedrooms dark, the curtains still drawn, and Sage is back-lit by the bathroom light, looking a little too angelic for the early morning.

     He peaks his head into the room, and Sam watches him, mildly amused, while he squints trying to check if Sam's there, or awake maybe.

     "Do you always stare into people's bedrooms like a creeper, or is that just something you reserve for me?" Sam calls out to him.

     Sage makes a face, which is more comical given the fact his toothbrush is in his mouth. He removes it as he steps backwards into the bathroom. Sam hears the sink running and then Sage returns.

     "Come downstairs and have some breakfast," he tells Sam. It's not an offer of breakfast, not a suggestion or even a request. It's a full command. Sam doesn't argue with him only because he's hungry.

     He slides out of bed, leaning towards the nightstand so he can turn on the lamp that's there.

     "You could say please," he mutters as he gets up and pulls the sheets and comforter back.

     "And miss out on getting that look from you? It's what jumpstarts my morning," Sage retorts as he steps back into the bathroom. Sam hears a door shut and assumes it's the one to his bedroom.

     It's a good morning for Sam. One of the better ones. He feels the most rested he's felt in a while and he's as soft as the sheets he slept in (seriously, rich people go all out on their bedding.)

     He's quick to wash up but then he's not sure if he's meant to meet Sage at the kitchen or if they're going down together. He's uncomfortable with wandering Sage's home without him, so he pushes the door to his room open and walks in on Sage changing.

     "Fuck, sorry," Sam says turning swiftly and nailing himself on the doorframe. He bites down on a groan as he tries to get his body far enough into the bathroom to close the door behind him.

     But Sage has turned towards him, shrugging a shoulder as he says, "It's fine. You ready?"

     Sam is most definitely not ready. Now has the image of Sage in dark gray briefs, bending over, hamstrings fucking pulling like violin strings down the back of his legs, ingrained in his head. And that thing that was so gratefully soft when he woke has just pulled a swift U-turn.

     No because seriously he's not going to get hard at the sight of Sage's legs. This is ridiculous. Yes, the man is beautiful. That's always a been fact and it's been a fact Sam has lived with for three long years without it ever being an issue. It isn't going to be one now.

     "Yeah," Sam says squaring his shoulders as he steps back into Sage's room. "I'm ready."

❧

     Sam is staying in Hudson's room. And Sage hasn't stepped foot in that room since the funeral. And now there's a living, breathing body sleeping in the bed Hudson used to sleep in and Sage didn't get an ounce of sleep last night. He's been stuck in a loop of memories.