It started with movie nights in his dorm.

Sam isn’t a helpless, blustering idiot. He isn’t. He’s had crushes before, but they’d all been on girls. Definitely never his very male, very attractive best friend.

Then again, looking back on it, he knows there’s no straight way to describe how enraptured he was by Han Solo when Dean used to put the Star Wars movies on. He doesn’t think it counts as admiration if he was practically drooling over the guy. So maybe he’d found guys attractive before, but so did every straight guy… right?

Well, his brain could justify his on screen crushes as admiration, but it completely faltered when it came to you. What excuse could he really come up with when he realised he was watching your face more than the screen, taking in all of your reactions?

God, he was so screwed.

You’re too close to him for him to be comfortable, shifting awkwardly on his single bed next to you. No matter how he shifts, his leg and arm is pressed against yours, his laptop balanced precariously between the two of you.

Sam thinks he’s doing a good job of acting casual, but he’s all too aware of your warmth, how easy it would be for him to do the cheesy romance movie action of stretching his arm out and letting it fall casually behind you—

Stupid. Do not do that.

Recently, he’d been making you go through The X Files, because he thinks it’s a travesty that you’d never watched it before. He spent a lot of his fundamental years sitting in front of motel TV screens with Dean watching them while his dad was away, hunting. Everyone has to watch the show at least once.

Sam tilts his head to talk to you, and immediately regrets it when he realises how close he is to your face. He swallows, looking back over at his screen. “Told you it was good.”

His voice doesn’t crack. He’s nineteen years old, for God’s sake. “You know, I still can’t believe you’ve never seen this before. You’re so uncultured, I don’t even know how we’re friends.”

Friends, Sam. Remember that.