Drake was already smiling just in greeting, but the explanation is very charming. Enough that his grin broadens and dimples his cheeks.
"Flowers for a date are a thing, yeah..." he closes the door behind Sam and leads the way back to the kitchen. "I've never actually had anyone get them for me before, though. Thank you."
There's beer in the fridge, as usual. Drake fetches one and holds both his hands one, one offering the beer and the other open to accept the flowers. It feels odd to be the one receiving them but societal gender expectations are bullshit anyway. He doesn't see the point in explaining something he doesn't even buy into when Sam bringing them is, frankly, adorable.
"Happily." He hands over the flowers and accepts the beer, rolling the bottle between his hands a little. "What are we gonna try tonight, do you think? Through the shirt again, to start, maybe?"
The massage last time had been... nice. Worked out some of the knots in his shoulders. And he'd lasted fifteen whole minutes. Much longer than when people caught him off guard.
They're actually really nice flowers, bright and fragrant. Drake rummages around to find something to put them in, already imagining how charmed his partner's going to be by the story of where they came from. When he finds something suitable as a vase (it's a flagon, but whatever) he glances back at Sam over his shoulder while filling it with water.
"Through clothes, yeah. I have a few ideas, and picked something up for you to--"
He's cut off by the beep of the oven timer, and leaves the watered flowers beside the sink to go peek at dinner. Yup, looks done. Drake cuts the alarm and shifts gears slightly.
"It's just a theory, but the more relaxed you are the better it might go. So try not to think about it, just enjoy the company for awhile, I guess? Trust isn't something you can rush but I've got a good track record."
Sam jumps a little at the timer, rubs at the back of his neck. Trying not to look too nervous. Trying not to feel too nervous.
"And then I'll think about trying not to think about it," he deadpans, watching Drake bustle around the kitchen. It feels... nice. It feels homey. Something he hasn't had in a long time.
"If you're only thinking about not thinking about it, I'm a worse conversationalist than I realized," Drake quips, portioning things onto three plates. The third is put aside to be wrapped up for his partner later, while he grabs the other two for them and nods for Sam to follow him out of the kitchen.
The table is already set, though after putting their plates down Drake does glance back towards the kitchen -- then thinks better of whatever he was going to go back for.
"I'd put the flowers on the table but I don't think I could see you over them."
"Oh right, conversation. I'm great at that," he deadpans, but there's a small smile there. Slight, but visible.
"This way we can gaze into each other's eyes and make a deep, soulful connection." But dinner does smell amazing and he follows Drake out to where they'll be eating.
"I haven't gotten anyone flowers in -- god. Ten years?" he admits, a little shyly. "It just seemed like the thing to do."
It's a close thing that Drake doesn't call Sam out for disparaging himself again, but on catching sight of that smile he curbs the impulse. And the next comment earns a soft laugh.
"Not sure that's ever happened in the real world, man. In my experience the soulful gazes come after connections, and they're hard part. Like--" he stops himself, thoughtful as he sits down. "I guess you've never been on one, but have you ever seen a roller coaster?"
Dinner is a simple but comforting pot roast, one of the few things his mother was really good at that he learned to make from her. The only thing he does differently is roasting the potatoes separately so they're crispy on the outside. Drake lifts his fork, offering Sam a warm smile back.
"I've seen pictures. I think a video, once. I can get the idea." The food is a good as it smells, and Sam digs in. Looking thoughtful for a while before he speaks again.
"I was married, once. A long time ago. But my wife, when we were dating, found this thing on the network. It was a list of thirty-six questions that you ask your potential partner. Some of it shallow, some of it really intimate, deep shit. But anyway, by the end of it you were supposed to be in love with the other person. I didn't believe in that shit, but I liked that she did."
Drake doesn't ask what happened to Sam's wife. Doesn't ask how they met or what else the other man liked about her... it seems like the sort of thing he should let someone bring up on their own if they want to. That poking around with questions blindly could lead to hitting somewhere painful. But he does ask something.
"You remember any of those questions?" he asks curiously, spearing a carrot.
"Yeah, uh. If you could be famous, would you? And for what?" He sticks a few potatoes and carrots with his fork. "I said no. I was already famous. I didn't want to be famous anymore."
"Ugh, no." Drake shakes his head, sounding very certain. "I wouldn't want to be in the first place. My whole deal has always been about not being noticed."
"See -- " Sam gestures with his fork. "You get me. I don't want to be noticed. I just want to do my job and go home at the end of the day. Sit under a tree, build a fire, play my harmonica.
Drake nods along in agreement until that last item on the list, at which he tilts his head curiously.
"You play the harmonica?" Has he ever seen anybody play a harmonica? Not in real life, he's pretty sure... he probably knows what one sounds like? Maybe. "That's unique enough I have to ask how you picked it up."
"It was a gift, actually. I finished a tough delivery for this guy, a musician. He thanked me by giving me a harmonica. I'm still learning it, but... it's cool. It gives me something to do."
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"Flowers for a date are a thing, yeah..." he closes the door behind Sam and leads the way back to the kitchen. "I've never actually had anyone get them for me before, though. Thank you."
There's beer in the fridge, as usual. Drake fetches one and holds both his hands one, one offering the beer and the other open to accept the flowers. It feels odd to be the one receiving them but societal gender expectations are bullshit anyway. He doesn't see the point in explaining something he doesn't even buy into when Sam bringing them is, frankly, adorable.
"Trade you?"
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The massage last time had been... nice. Worked out some of the knots in his shoulders. And he'd lasted fifteen whole minutes. Much longer than when people caught him off guard.
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"Through clothes, yeah. I have a few ideas, and picked something up for you to--"
He's cut off by the beep of the oven timer, and leaves the watered flowers beside the sink to go peek at dinner. Yup, looks done. Drake cuts the alarm and shifts gears slightly.
"It's just a theory, but the more relaxed you are the better it might go. So try not to think about it, just enjoy the company for awhile, I guess? Trust isn't something you can rush but I've got a good track record."
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"And then I'll think about trying not to think about it," he deadpans, watching Drake bustle around the kitchen. It feels... nice. It feels homey. Something he hasn't had in a long time.
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The table is already set, though after putting their plates down Drake does glance back towards the kitchen -- then thinks better of whatever he was going to go back for.
"I'd put the flowers on the table but I don't think I could see you over them."
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"This way we can gaze into each other's eyes and make a deep, soulful connection." But dinner does smell amazing and he follows Drake out to where they'll be eating.
"I haven't gotten anyone flowers in -- god. Ten years?" he admits, a little shyly. "It just seemed like the thing to do."
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"Not sure that's ever happened in the real world, man. In my experience the soulful gazes come after connections, and they're hard part. Like--" he stops himself, thoughtful as he sits down. "I guess you've never been on one, but have you ever seen a roller coaster?"
Dinner is a simple but comforting pot roast, one of the few things his mother was really good at that he learned to make from her. The only thing he does differently is roasting the potatoes separately so they're crispy on the outside. Drake lifts his fork, offering Sam a warm smile back.
"It was."
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"I was married, once. A long time ago. But my wife, when we were dating, found this thing on the network. It was a list of thirty-six questions that you ask your potential partner. Some of it shallow, some of it really intimate, deep shit. But anyway, by the end of it you were supposed to be in love with the other person. I didn't believe in that shit, but I liked that she did."
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"You remember any of those questions?" he asks curiously, spearing a carrot.
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I'm an easy guy to keep happy."
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"You play the harmonica?" Has he ever seen anybody play a harmonica? Not in real life, he's pretty sure... he probably knows what one sounds like? Maybe. "That's unique enough I have to ask how you picked it up."
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