Sam loved socks.

He’d collect them like it was life or death, like he’d never see one ever again. He’d collected so many they took up two drawers in his dresser, every last one of them matched perfectly.

Once you’d started living in the bunker and soon dating Sam, you’d seen all of this for yourself; the way it took him at least an hour to match all of the pairs, they way he never mixed them up.

You’d never seen him lose any, until now. Earlier today, Sam had taken a nap with you and had somehow lost his sock in his sleep. Nor him or you realized it until much later, and Sam half had a heart attack. You’d never seen him this panicked over something so simple.

After an hour of searching, you and Sam finally managed to find his poor lost sock, now laying back in bed, Sam’s face pressed into your chest.