imagine for me sam giving gabriel a bunch of dandelions and daises when hes like 5 because he has the biggest crush on his best friend and gabriels like 9 and thinks its super cute and sam never stops giving him dorky little gifts even when gabes 15 and sams 11 and all gabes friends are like dude thats so weird hes like shut the fuck up okay sams adorable and ill fight you
Oh my god this is so cute thank you so much. *hugs*
It’s only tiny, tiny things. Bunches of flowers and weeds, that keychain he knew Gabriel had wanted when they went to the aquarium, little boxes of chocolates the day after valentines because they were on sale and he hadn’t had the courage to buy him anything the day before. He gives him them with a shrug and an ‘I thought of you’ or ‘I know how much you like chocolate’, always an excuse. Gabriel’s friends snicker and Sam’s ears turn red and he stops handing Gabriel things in front of people, even after Gabe tells those people to quit it. He waits until they’re in a house, alone, and gives him his gifts and his excuse and his lovestruck eyes.
And Sam keeps giving him things even when he’s fifteen and Gabe’s nineteen. By now Gabriel expects it, never knows when it’ll happen, but expects it. He expects something else, as well, something that seems to have been a long time coming but that still hasn’t come. Sam’s sixteenth birthday comes and goes, and Gabriel gives him three presents, and Sam gives him a rusted pocket watch with angel wings carved into the metal hood and no chain. It doesn’t work properly, and Sam had found it in a charity shop for under fifty cents, but it’s worth more than all of Gabriel’s presents to him put together.
Gabriel keeps all Sam’s presents to him in a box under his bed, that’s where he puts the pocket watch. The flowers are there, not so much flowers any more than dried grass and fallen petals. And the boxes from the chocolates which he’d eaten years ago. There’s wristbands and jewellery, a few notebooks that Gabriel has filled to the brim with drawings and words over the years, no few words about Sam himself, most of his sketches of his face.
And one day Gabriel gets sick of waiting. He feels like there’s a string, heading back, back towards the first gift. And with each year - with each day that passes that string gets weaker, leaves less time for the things that need to be said to be said. Sam’s eighteen, Gabriel’s twenty two. Sam gets into Stanford: Gabriel’s college, and Gabriel decides that it’s past time.
He goes for a walk, one misty morning. The air is crisp and he goes out to the meadow by the park. The grass is thick and long, and dotted with white and yellow. Gabriel bends down and picks a dandelion, the dew soaks into the hem of his jeans and dampens his hands as he picks flowers. He has a ribbon, one that he found in the charity shop. It’s green and frayed, and fits around the flowers twice.
His walk from there takes him to Sam’s house where Mary answers the door to a Gabriel with a red nose and matching cheeks, and a bunch of dandelions and daisies. And Mary gives him a knowing smirk and rolls her eyes in a way that says ‘finally’ better than anything. She calls Sam down the stairs, he comes down and is met with a Gabriel who looks like he did when he was nine years old and Sam had just thrust a handful of flowers at his face with a grin.
When Gabriel asks Sam to finally, finally become his boyfriend, they both know the answer. When Gabriel comes home with a bouquet of dandelions and daisies and a ring in a velvet lined box four years later, they know the answer then too.