Sam didn’t know what he was doing anymore. Pretending to be fine and dandy all the time, a one night stand, and spending quality time with Peyton. He was lost. Although he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it. It was a distraction and a pretty good one at that despite how he despised thinking of anyone — let alone using them — as a distraction. Sam needed someone to lean on just as much as Peyton did. Which was why he found himself in Peyton’s bed again, one arm around the boy and only half focused on a movie he could probably recite in his sleep until Peyton’s voice brought him back to reality. “Hmm? What? I’m not trying to be a hero. Just a good friend.” Sam rolled his eyes from the TV to Peyton’s face, not as interested in the film as he usually was.
Peyton sighed and turned back to the movie. He was almost interested and more than that he was intrigued by Sam’s choice of words, “Blaine told me he wasn’t in love with me anymore today.” He said softly, not looking at Sam, “That’s why…that’s why I was such a fucking wreck when you got here.” He blinked the tears back, “But then you got here, and you’re….” He looked at Sam, “You made me feel better. You made me feel like it was okay that the OD didn’t kill me. As Jude. He has the text messages where I said I wished it had. So thank you, Sam. I get so, so broken. And you’ve become really, really good at fixing me.” He reached up to push Sam’s hair back, “And I hope I’m helping you. I know after last night, you can’t be, that okay.”
Peyton knew it was a bad idea to invite Sam over. With all of Jude’s talk of relationships and getting over Blaine, it was infiltrating his brain and a portion of Peyton hated Jude for it. But at the same time, he had been a wreck, and Sam’s arms—he refused to think that any arms would have worked—alone had him calm, helped to put in the first few stitches that would eventually heal the tear that Blaine had ripped through his chest earlier that day. I love you but I’m not in love with you anymore. Peyton couldn’t really believe it. He had always wished that he and Blaine would get together. Instead, he was curled up in Sam’s arms, his head on the other Blond’s shoulder as he watched the movie filled with guns and blue people and Peyton was pretty sure he was more enthused by how Sam smelled than by the movie. He looked up, “You know, You don’t have to keep playing hero.” He said softly, fingering the collar of Sam’s t-shirt distractedly.
I’m sorry for not being a dick and leaving my friend who I was already with just because you needed someone. I’m not fucking rude, Peyton. You’re such a spoiled brat sometimes.
I shouldn’t have thought the fact that I was just your friend would change ever.