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Sam wasn’t sure how long he’d been on the couch at this point. He was curled up against one of the arm rests, controller in hand, deeply immersed in Octocook. …Well, immersed might not be the right word, exactly. He was spacing out more than anything. He just liked to play Octocook when he wanted to pass the time without having to think about much. He was having fun, though, as mindless as this game had gotten over the last few days. It couldn’t have been that long since he’d sat down, though, because usually by now he’d be interrupted by Joel and Sophie trying to settle an argument, or the Rat chewing on his sleeve, or…
…A sliver of dark blue was sitting in the corner of his vision. That too, he supposed.
Lyle was standing next to him, watching him with a pair of wide lens-like eyes. The blush dusting his artificial face was visible even through the shadows enshrouding it. His thin fingers pinched the fabric of his robes as he suddenly averted eye contact. How long had he been there? “Um…” Lyle started, but quickly trailed off, starting to sink into himself. Sam recognized this behavior. To some extent, it was similar to how he usually was– awkward, fidgety, and anxious– except it was increased tenfold. He only ever got like this when he was about to ask for some sort of physical contact.
Sam paused the game, subtly leaned in his direction, and asked, “You need something?”
A strangled, very endearing sound escaped Lyle’s throat. “...Um,” he said again. He had his robes pulled over most of his face now, obscuring most of his worried expression. “C… Could I…” He took a deep, shaky breath. He lowered his hands and finally looked at Sam again. Sam felt especially aware of his own facial movements now. One of his eyebrows twitched into a furrow. Lyle exhaled and meekly asked, “...Could I take a p-picture of you right now?”
“Oh.”
Lyle had never actually asked for a picture before. He kind of just stopped taking photos of Sam after he found out about all the creepshots he'd been taking before this whole apocalypse thing started. Probably because he was afraid of making him uncomfortable again, if Sam had to guess.
“Yeah, sure,” Sam added before Lyle could overthink the one-word response. “Should I, uh… do anything, or…?” He didn't mind that Lyle liked to look at him– it was awfully flattering, now that he's not as intrusive about it– Sam just wasn't used to being in pictures. He never looked quite right in them, anyway.
Lyle was already settling down and extending the large, square lense from his body. He glanced up from behind the setup. “You could just… s-smile? If you want,” he said, voice wavering. “You don’t have to. Y-You don’t have to do anything.”
Alright, then. Sam was still unsure of himself when he leaned back. He took in a breath and tried to smile in a way that probably didn’t look weird. Right before the flash went off, he saw Lyle’s usual toothy grin peek out from the shadows. Lyle was quick to retract the lens after that. The red on his face had become much more prominent. …Sam hoped his face wasn’t doing that, too, considering how warm he felt.
Lyle stood there for a moment before scuttling over to Sam’s spot on the couch. He hesitated, then reached a shaky hand out towards Sam’s face, just slow enough that he could stop him, if he wanted. Sam leaned in to meet him halfway.
Across the room, Sophie loudly pretended to dry heave, while Joel lightly shoved her and whispered a quiet “Stop that!”