sam evans ( werewolf ) . (tamest) wrote in light_of_may, |
There had been a time when Sam would have worried about himself, how he felt or how a situation might affect him, but those days had long since passed. That way of thinking had been conditioned right out of him and now it didn't even cross his mind to look at things that way. As he stood there looking withdrawn and awkward and uncomfortable in his own skin -- all natural states of being for him, as anyone who spent more than five minutes with him could recognise -- he wasn't thinking about how he'd earned the scars that were making Jo feel the way she was, how he'd felt when they'd been inflicted, or the fact that he would carry them for the rest of his life. None of that even occurred to him and possibly never would.
As unexpected as her approach was Sam managed not to start or pull away. The tension didn't fade and his head did come up a little suddenly, a little surprised, but he didn't shy away from her. Sam surprised himself a little with that, the way he stayed rooted to the spot, but when he tried to think too much about why he did things the way he did it made him feel uncomfortable and anxious in a way he couldn't even begin to comprehend. Wolves didn't handle complex emotions too well and in that way Sam was much more wolf than man.
Sam released the shirt into Jo's grasp and would have done so anyway even if she hadn't pulled it from him. It was instinctive to him to relinquish anything he might have at any time to a more dominant wolf, whether it was food or a book or even a piece of clothing, like now. As close as she was to him while she disentangled the shirt Sam knew she could see the scars much clearer now than she would have been able to across the room but he still didn't shy away from her, didn't scramble to cover himself in any way. He kept his eyes down on the shirt in her hands instead of looking at her face, and when she offered it back to him he hesitated before reaching out with one hand to accept it. His hand was shaking a little, he realised, but he wasn't sure why. Was he scared? Not of Jo, he knew he shouldn't be scared of her, but that didn't mean he couldn't be scared of what she thought, did it?
"Thank you," he said to her, his voice small and quiet, his eyes still downcast, focused on the shirt, loose now as it was after Jo had fixed whatever was wrong with it in the first place. There was a part of him, a small part, that wanted to look up at her face, maybe even meet her eyes for just a second, and for just a moment, a single heartbeat, he allowed it to take control. His gaze lifted and he looked at Jo, just for a second, and then down at the shirt again, quietly and slowly turning it the right way around so he could do as she suggested and pull it on over his head.