Sam porter x reader one shot

Sitting at the table you tapped your fingers nervously against the wooden surface. He was late. And he was never late. Was everything alright? Did something happen to him? Maybe he got hurt and had no way to contact you? So many thoughts racing through your head and you had no way to stop them. You couldn't help but worry.
On one hand you knew that he was strong and resilient, that if anyone had what it takes to do all this, it would be him; on the other you couldn't ignore the little seeds of anxiety rooting themselves in your brain, always reminding you that this time something could go wrong. You didn't like the feeling, but you couldn't help it. The more you cared, the more you worried.