Who:: Sam and Violet Where: P&P Bookstore When: Backdated to March 14, a Sunday What: Sam is monstrously jealous, and he doesn't understand why. Also, he really doesn't like that girl. Rating: PG-13 Warnings: Swearing and vicious hatred.
Sam had pulled the late shift at work, and he'd spent the entire morning and early afternoon working himself up into a right state. He hadn't heard Jesse stomping around above his head until two or so, and even though that was a fairly common thing, he hated what his mind had made of it this time. He didn't even know why it bothered him so badly.
Well. Yes he did. Jesse was not supposed to be friends with Violet. Sam disliked Violet intensely, and if the two of them started hanging out--or bloody dating--where did that leave Sam? He wouldn't be able to stand it, and yet he'd have to try to pretend to be all right with his best friend's girl. That was how good blokes were meant to behave, yeah? He wasn't sure he'd be able to pull it off.
He hated the thought of having to pull away from Jesse. He wasn't crazy. He recognised that the chances of that were slim. So the bloke had gone to Violet's last night for pizza. And apparently some "conversation." That didn't necessarily mean anything. Perhaps Violet had ended up driving Jesse just as mad as she often did Sam. Perhaps Jesse had merely been polite and accepted the free food, same as he often did with Sam's dinners. It didn't mean the two were going to be lifelong friends or fall into bed or fall in love or anything.
But Sam, despite going to bed early, had stayed awake, listening to the quiet upstairs. It had been somewhat unnerving. He hadn't been able to sleep until he'd heard music drift down through the ceiling, and even that wasn't easy after he'd looked at the clock and seen the time. How fucking long did it bloody well take to eat pizza? Honestly.
And then he's awakened just after ten, and so had had a good several hours to torture himself with stupid, irrational thoughts and scenarios. He knew full well he was being ridiculous, and somewhere in his brain there was a little iota of something new, something uncomfortable with how upset he was over this. But he kept that tucked away, his ego refusing to examine or even acknowledge that little part of his id, for his own sanity. He'd turned on the telly in an attempt to drown out his own thoughts, but it had done him very little good. Especially as he was fully aware of whom he would share a portion of his shift with.
Having no recourse but to suck it up and go to work (he couldn't afford even one sick day, especially as he wasn't actually sick) he slipped his jacket on with a sigh, and trudged his way to the bookshop, gloomy and glowering the entire way. He picked his head up as he opened the door to the shop, however, determined not to be an idiot and let anything show. It wouldn't be easy, but he knew it wouldn't get him anywhere, and probably only cause him more grief in the long run. So he powered through the small shop at five minutes to three, heading to the back to divest himself of his jacket, and deliberately not looking around for any of his coworkers.