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If growing up ever taught Sam anything, it was to take a hint.

To leave the room if his parent’s discussion was starting to get heated, to head home when Sebastian started to quieten and recluse while hanging out—

…and you probably don’t like him as much as he liked you.

It’s such a cynical thought to have while playing on stage in front of countless people. Spotlights highlight him in a bath of brightness, his fingers move almost effortlessly on the strings of his guitar. All his friends and family are in the crowd, cheering the Pelicans on for their first performance.

They’re all showing their support, yes—but Sam can only really notice you.

Right in the smack front-middle is you—the silly farmer he’s fallen head over heels over; you’re bobbing your head to the beat of the song with a tentative, almost secretive smile. Not like the big proud grins that you usually offer him, when your teeth are bared and lips stretched so far your cheeks hurt—no, you look every bit the pining yearner in the books Penny would tell him about.

It’s a look he’s terribly familiar with, it’s exactly how he looks at you.

When he’s on the stage, all the attention on him as he sings every high and low note, it’s easy to shut his eyes and picture you staring up at him with that lovesick expression that he reserves for only you.

It’s wishful thinking. But Sam knows how to take a hint. You aren’t looking at him, who’s right under the spotlight and center stage—but right over his shoulder.

You don’t smile at him like that.

He knows the adoring look in your eyes is only for Sebastian.