Steve sits down on his bed, still in his coat and scarf and boots, and rests a hand on his chest. The December day is cold and windy and Steve's definitely feeling it, no matter how much he'd like to deny that the winter weather affects his asthma.
A hit from his inhaler and a minute focusing on his breathing, then that nagging, chest-deep ache dissipates as Steve warms up. He probably shouldn't have booked it across campus so quickly in the wind and cold, but now that he's back at the dorm, he's grateful.
The room he shares with Sam isn't just warm, it's cozy and in all the best ways. Sam's bed has a pile of soft, warm blankets on it instead of a quilt or comforter; earlier that day, he'd even made his bed, so the blankets look ready to be slept in all over again. Sam has books and posters all over his side of the room, art and sports and music and psychology and history. All the things Sam loves best.
Steve smiles as he gazes at his roommate's half of their space. God knows he hadn't meant to develop a crush on his first-year roommate, or for that crush to last through their sophomore year, but here he is, halfway through his second year of living with Sam, and the best part of his day is when he sees his roommate.
Steve smiles again and pulls himself up off his best. He drops his inhaler on his desk, tugs off his coat, and goes to turn on the holiday lights he and Sam strung up around their room. Instantly, the space feels a little warmer, a little more mellow, a little more like home.
"Hey," Sam says, behind Steve, as he walks in the open door to their room. "You beat me."
Steve counts to three before he turns around, knowing that the smile on his face is too eager, too sudden. He's pretty sure Sam's seen his inhaler out, too, and he doesn't feel like having that conversation, especially now that he's fine.
"Yeah, I got out of French class a little early today. We were just doing exam review, anyway." He smiles now, though, because he can't help it when Sam smiles at him, he has to smile back.
"Right, but I was just coming up from the study lounge. By all right, I should've beat you." Sam closes the door behind him, toes off his sneakers, and heads for his own bed after dropping his backpack by his desk. "Pretty sure my brain is full."
"You're going to ace that psych exam." Steve shakes his head when Sam frowns; he has to fight the urge to reach over and smooth the frown-lines from Sam's forehead, too.
He looks so cute, though, a little tired and a little worried, his brown eyes warm and then excited when Steve reminds him they agreed on pizza and studying together tonight.
"Pizza," Sam says, almost reverently, and motions for Steve to sit down on his bed. "What if we get enough pizza for the whole weekend?"
"That's... a lot of pizza." Not that Steve wouldn't buy Sam a half-dozen pizzas if that's what it took to (a) communicate how much of a crush and possibly more than a crush he has on Sam and (b) get his roommate through final exams. He'd get Sam a whole dozen pizzas if--
"--you know you can eat a whole on your own if we skip extra cheese," Sam's saying. He laughs when Steve blinks at him, then nudges his foot against Steve's leg. "C'mon, like, two pizzas. And we'll watch a movie, then study."
"That's a plan. I'll order since it's probably my turn to pay."
"I don't think so? Yeah, all right, don't give me that look." Sam nudges his foot against Steve again, then keeps on nudging him until Steve finally kicks off his boots.
He keeps the scarf on, though, and curls up next to Sam on the bed to scroll through Netflix together. Sam's in running pants and a hoodie, a look that just spells out warmth and comfort to Steve. His knee keeps brushing up against Steve's, fond and familiar, and he eventually shifts on the bed so Steve gets tucked up against his side, head practically on Sam's shoulder.
Steve's chest goes tight for the second time that day, though so much less painfully this time. Anticipation bubbles up in his chest and Steve tries to tamp it down, tries to keep his heart from beating too hard at the touch of Sam's fingers against his.
Just pick a movie. Please pick a movie. A Christmas movie that you already love so I can watch you watching the movie, and all the different ways your eyes light up.
"You can take this off," Sam murmurs. He loops one finger around the edge of Steve's scarf and makes a motion like he's going to pull it off for Steve.
And Steve, who's still hoping against hope, glances down not at his own blue scarf, but at Sam's hand, and then at Sam's mouth, and then lowers his eyes so he's not looking at anything at all.
"Oh," Sam says, really soft and under his breath. "Oh," he says again, and he sounds really fond this time. "Steven."
Steve smiles and gives a tiny shrug; he's blushing, too, embarrassed, then suddenly and horribly worried he got this all wrong.
Sam's the best guy he knows, the warmest and most generous, the most kind, too, and while Steve's pretty certain he's never heard Sam say any of their other friends' names that way, well, part of Steve doesn't want to presume.
"Steven," Sam says again. "Don't make me wait until after pizza to kiss you."
The expression in Sam's eyes is most definitely not one Steve's seen him give any of their friends. The anticipation and happiness that bubbles up inside Steve is like no other he's felt and all he can do is smile so hard it hurts. His heart is full, full to bursting, crammed full with how perfect this moment finally is.
Then he kisses Sam. He kisses Sam at least a half dozen times over, soft and light and quick at first, then meltingly slow, until Sam sighs against his lips and murmurs his name once more. Steve kisses Sam until he can't imagine ever wanting to kiss anyone ever again, until it feels like his body could never fit this well or right against anyone else's.