Work Text:
it is insane to me that my transgender queer self read this movie as a straight romance. i truly did. and i think it is valid to be read that way. in any interpretation, it is a relationship between two closed off people, evolving under extreme traumatic circumstances. genuine connection fueled by fear, but genuine nonetheless. in the separate interpretation of two gay people connecting, there is nothing romantic, but just true care and trust. i find that to be purer. after seeing it for the first time, i regretted that they hadn’t kissed. but now i see that the lack of conformation means that their relationship can be interpreted in a multitude of ways and can appeal to a bigger audience.
anyways here’s a scene of eric and sam figuring out that the other is gay.
Sam cozied up on the couch, letting her body take in the familiar surroundings. Her head buried in a pillow, breathing the familiar scent, and just being glad to have made it this far without involuntarily collapsing. Her legs had a slight tremor.
“I am going to whisper now. That alright?”
She sighed, but didn’t say anything. Eric took this as encouragement.
“Um. Well, actually,” he mumbled, leaning on the arm of his loveseat towards Sam. “Do you have food here?”
Sam pursed her lips, sighed again, and pushed herself to sit upright. “Do I look like I’m in the mood to be a good host?”
Eric bit his lip. “No?”
“Right,” she said in a harsh whisper. “No.”
She went to adjust the pillows behind her and lay down to rest for two decades, but when she looked back, Eric had the most pathetic look on his face. It was like his eyes were boring into her, like a lost puppy. But then he looked away, clearly being polite, but also clearly restraining further requests for amenities.
Sam looked at him, serious. “The pantry should still be partially stocked.” She nodded towards the entryway to the kitchen. “Left of the fridge.”
Eric had a small smile on his face when he got up and made his way to the kitchen. It kind of pissed Sam off, like he was smug or something, but she also felt satisfied to have led them to a safe place. If this little man was going to be stuck in this city by himself, at least she had brought him a comfortable place to die in. And he didn't seem hostile, or dangerous in any way. It probably would have been hard for Sam to consider any one person a threat, after what she had seen in the last day. But Eric seemed particularly soft. He had the nerve to ask to follow her, to quietly request food, but Sam had a feeling that was about as pushy as he would get.
Comforted by her companions docileness, she brought her head back onto the pillows, resting her weight on her hands before she finally settled, laying on her side. The pain didn’t flare much that time. She would look for her meds again in the morning, in the light.
She was fully tucked in with her favorite old throw blanket when Eric returned, with a tin of nuts, a warm gatorade, and a box of crackers that had probably been open for the past 6 months. He lowered himself carefully onto the loveseat, and then from his back pocket appeared several cans of Frodo’s cat food. Sam squinted at him. He gave her a smile, placing them on the table like a peace offering. “Figured you would need more at some point, yeah?”
Sam closed her eyes, but still gave him a quick nod. “Thanks,” she mouthed.
“Yeah, and uh,” Eric whispered, “You want any of this?”
Sam shook her head. She wouldn’t be able to keep anything down with the nausea, no matter how hungry she felt.
“Ok.”
She heard the lid being carefully lifted, then set down. The rain and thunder was certainly easing her anxiety and sense of impending doom, but she was still grateful Eric was being intentional about his noise. They shared their feelings of caution.
“I’ll still leave some if you change your mind,” he added. His voice sounded louder. Sam opened her eyes and found he had leaned back over the arm of his chair and set a few peanuts on the coffee table, right in her line of sight.
It was a sweet gesture. She stared straight ahead for a few seconds, waiting for him to enter her line of sight again, or do something the made her the littlest bit annoyed. But all she could hear was soft chewing to her right. She reached out and grabbed a few nuts, careful not to drop them to clatter on the floor, and popped them into her mouth. Sometimes food could help, in small doses.
“Sorry I followed you.”
This afternoon felt like so long ago. She waved a hand, dismissing the subject. She didn’t care to have some confessional conversation with this guy.
“So, you live here?” He sounded uncertain.
She suppressed another sigh. “Yes, Eric.”
“But your pantry is empty, and you don’t have any of the medicine you need?”
“I live in hospice now.”
“Oh,” Eric let out. It was the same pitying tone everyone took on when they found out how sick you really were. “Alright. Yeah, sorry.”
Sam listened to the rain hitting the sides of the building, waited for the next clap of thunder. They were talking under the rain. She thought about how difficult it would be to talk when like this when there was no rain to hide under. Was casual, nagging conversation going to become a lost art?
“You didn’t have your parents, or a partner to take care of the place?”
She wished he would stop talking. “I lived alone. My last girlfriend broke up with me after the first few months. My parents were covering costs for the last few months.”
“Girlfriend,” Eric said, his tone oddly careful.
Sam hummed in acknowledgement. Her fear of homophobia was much outweighed by literally everything else. So what if he was weird about it.
It was silent for a few moments, and then he said, “So it just sat here.”
She nodded, though they weren’t facing each other. “So it just sat here.”
“I have a small place in Midtown. For a few months now.”
She wanted to fall asleep. She felt like falling asleep.
“There are so many places to go here. It’s kind of incredible.”
Sam smiled to herself. Why was he still talking?
“Places to eat, to shop, to dance.”
“I stopped going to the city. This was my first time back in a while,” she said, hoping it would end the conversation.
He had another silence dense with pity. Then: “Do you like it here?”
The genuine question almost took Sam by surprise. She propped herself onto her elbows, looked at him, and said, “Yeah. Yeah, I do.” He nodded, looking at her right back. “But it’s been a while.”
“I guess we’re both newcomers in our own ways. To this place.” His brows furrowed, kind of sad but also kind of confused. He always looked a little confused.
“What a nice, warm welcome we’re getting.”
He broke into an actual smile then, laughing to himself. She laughed too, but it was quiet. Sam wondered if she would ever be able to laugh with her chest again. They sat like that for a minute, laughing with their breath and not their chests.
When the moment passed, Eric turned his back toward her and laid his head on the armrest, so his head was facing Sam. She looked at it, before bringing her head to rest on her elbows towards him. Armrest to armrest. She had a feeling he was going to continue talking.
“So you like pizza?”
Sure. This was quality conversation. “Yeah. Who doesn't?” Then she had a disgusting thought. “You like pizza, don’t you?”
He let out another short breath of a laugh. “Of course. I haven’t gotten it a lot, but yeah.”
Another pause. She could hear herself breathing, but not Eric. He was so still, hands clasped on his belly, lying there like a plank.
“You had enough to eat?” Sam asked. He really had only a handful of peanuts and a sip of gatorade.
He looked sideways at her, neck straining from the angle. “Yeah,” he said with a quick nod. “Thank you.” He smiled that soft smile again, then went back to staring at the ceiling.
Sam’s head lulled to the side, and she watched his head for a few moments.
“Are your eyes even closed?” she said critically.
“No. Are yours?”
“Trust me, they are.”
He sighed. “I know, I’m tired too. I just - I can’t stop thinking about my life.” The rain continued to patter as he collected his thoughts. “All the things that this is going to take from me.”
Sam thought about how she already mourned her own life months ago, when she first realized she wasn’t going to recover. She thought about telling Eric that.
“I don’t know when I can have ramen next. Or go to a job. Or go dancing.”
That made Sam smile, despite herself and her tired body. “You dance?”
“Yes,” Eric said, almost to himself, and certainly with a smile on his face, though he still wasn’t facing Sam. “I love it.”
She heard him moving, and opened her eyes once more to see he shifted to sit up and face her. She didn’t bother raising her head from her arms, but she looked at him, hard. “I wouldn’t have thought,” she murmured.
“Yeah. It was like, the only time I got out of my flat,” he said wistfully. He was looking almost past her. Reminiscing. “Friday nights at FLEX.”
It was Sam’s turn to look confused. “Like, the Manhattan FLEX?”
He nodded.
A memory resurfaced, from years ago. Sam finishing college, rooming with a friend, being young and healthy and drinking whenever they could. Going to gay clubs and screaming along with their favorite songs. “My old roommate and I used to go there,” she said. “He would bring home a different guy every time.”
He nodded again. He looked her up and down, like he was waiting for an attack. That sad look was back, and his hands were wrung in his lap.
“It’s fine, Eric.” Me too, she said, with her eyes. Don’t make it a big deal.
He looked at her for a little longer, like trying to figure out if they were on the same page.
She repeated, “It’s fine,” with a little more emphasis.
“Sorry, I know. I just-” He was looking at his wrung hands. “I’ve only told like, three people.”
“Ever?”
He let out a small laugh, like he knew it was sad. “Ever.”
Sam smiled too. It was sweet. He was sweet. “Look, I don’t-”
Suddenly, her throat caught, and she coughed. Into her elbow, then into a pillow. They were short puffs of breath, barely even coughs, but she was terrified of the noise.
Eric must have seen it in her eyes. He had fear there, too, always at the surface. He got up and got a water, opening numerous cabinets to find plastic cups, and carefully turning the tap to it’s slowest, quietest trickle.
When he rushed back to the living room, Sam, was sat up, with her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. When he got closer, he could hear her heavy, controlled breaths. He sat next to her on instinct, a hand on her shoulder and placing the cup into her hands. She chugged most of it in one go (it wasn’t a very large glass), then rested her palms on her forehead again. Eric took the cup from her and placed it on the coffee table.
“Coaster,” Sam mumbled, breath still shaky.
“Yeah, sorry,” Eric replied, reaching for a cork coaster that was at the other end of the table.
He brought his attention back to Sam. “Are you alright?” he whispered.
Sam nodded, not lifting her head. “I’m really tired,” she said, so quiet Eric barely heard her.
He knew it in himself too, the exhaustion. Being constantly on edge doesn’t make your brain or body super happy. In fact, it makes them sad, and irritable, and desperate. Then he thought about how Sam was also sick, probably with some kind of cancer, and probably with a bunch of symptoms he didn’t know about. His tiredness suddenly felt a lot less important.
“Can I do anything else?” he asked, then considered for a moment. “Should I just stop talking?”
Sam’s shoulders shook with a silent laugh. She looked up at him, still slouching. “No, you’re fine.” She ran a hand over her short cropped hair. Her eyes looked sunken. “I’m going to go to sleep now,” she said, and started to lay down.
Eric got up carefully, giving Sam the full couch once again. She moved the pillows to her liking, and closed her eyes again and found sweet relief.
“You can keep talking, if you want.”
Eric looked at her from his chair, settling in.
She didn’t open her eyes. “If it will help you get tired, you can talk.
“You don’t have to say that.”
“No. It feels… normal. To just talk.”
“It does, doesn’t it,” he whispered, more to himself than to Sam. He hesitated, but given his racing mind, it might help. “Okay,” he said, getting comfortable and leaning towards Sam.
“Okay,” she said, already feeling herself drifting.
He had food, he had shelter, she had been kind. Now she wouldn’t feel so bad leaving in the morning.