Greta Van Fleet // Oneshots

White Gold // Sam Kiszka

Warnings: none–all fluff!

I am still not formally taking requests but I did get a  request for some sweet Sam content and I am, as usual, here to deliver. If I ever go to the orchestra, I hope it's Sam who's going with me. Thank you for the request & I really hope you enjoy!

—

The choices were making you dizzy–you felt like you'd stood in front of your closet forever, eyes going up and down each half-hidden piece of material, sometimes something you'd forgotten about catching your eye, making you pull it out and lay it on the bed. The bed had become its own sort of closet, covered in a smattering of mostly black, hints of emerald, crimson and amethyst speckled throughout. It was the orchestra–it had to be something black, right? You weren't short on choices in that regard but you realized, standing in your bra and underwear in the middle of the room, that maybe you should have gone shopping for what you considered quite a monumental event in your young life.

"What about this?" Sam asked, holding up a pair of streamlined, tight-fitting black pants. He was also in his underwear but–surprisingly–he had figured out his outfit beforehand and it was laid out, waiting for him, at the foot of the bed.

"With what?" you replied, stepping toward him and surveying the pants yet again. You hadn't pulled them out of your drawer for no reason, but you needed to create the perfect ensemble. And wasn't a skirt or dress more appropriate for the opera anyway? There were so many social nuances you suddenly felt like you didn't know. Your idea of "fancy" had always been restaurants with cloth napkins and a wine list that included bottles older than you.

Sam tapped his chin, looking over the rest of the choices, then turned to you. "I thought you said you got a dress a couple months ago?" He moved past you and to the closet, rifling through it. "Wait a minute, Y/N–I remember! You wore it to one of our shows."

"If I wore it to one of your shows, that means it's not good enough for the opera," you said, eyes and hands returning to a different dress you'd taken out. But you felt that one was even less appropriate for such an occasion.

"How dare you," Sam chirped, turning around with a smirk. He held out the dress you had indeed worn to one of the shows in front of himself. He cocked his head to the side and reached his free hand out to touch it, running his fingers down the side. "It's nice. It's black, it's simple but elegant and it looks amazing on you."

You gestured to his all-black ensemble on the bed. "But yours is so–I don't know, suave. And yours has satin lapels–that dress isn't satin."

Sam slung the dress over his arm and took you by the shoulders, bracing you in front of himself. "Baby, it's beautiful. You're beautiful. You're making this out to be a bigger deal than it is."

You sighed. "Easy for you to say when you've been to the orchestra before."

He put one hand over his heart. "As someone who's been to the orchestra before, I can tell you I've seen people dressed in things a lot less elegant than this," he said, taking the dress off the hanger and holding it in front of you. "This is perfect. Try it on–I already know what jacket you could wear with it."

"I wish Josh were here to help me with jewelry," you grumbled, taking the dress from Sam.

"I'm not wearing any, so you can wear whatever you want, if you're so concerned with being coordinated," Sam said, standing back with his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes going from your ears to your chest. "You have those diamond earrings. Those would work. I don't think you even need a necklace."

"Cubic zirconia," you corrected with a chuckle. You unzipped and stepped into the dress, pulling it over your hips. "No necklace?"

Sam went behind you and zipped it up, then nudged you over to the mirror. He tilted his head again, running his hands down your arms. "I don't think so. But what do you think?"

"No necklace," you agreed, going to the dresser to retrieve the earrings. "Will you put your suit on so we can see how we look together?"

-

Walking into the orchestra hall, you no longer had any doubts–you and Sam looked amazing. Sleek, modern, chic and sexy in your all-black ensembles, decked out with clear, shimmering gems in your ears, the white gold ring he'd given you for your birthday, Sam's shiny satin lapels and the little white and gold daisy you'd plucked from the grass and tucked behind his ear. You were both undeniably strutting too, taking complete charge of the maroon carpeting that descended and then descended some more, Sam's arm in yours as he led the way to your seats. You turned and caught his eye; he smiled and you felt even more at ease, able to completely play the part of someone who had done this before, someone who was accustomed to such beautiful glamour.

Despite Sam's often boyish and sometimes downright immature antics, one thing you could say about him was that he always seemed like he knew what he was doing. He could adapt to any situation, take charge of it, and seem like a complete natural in any environment. Events and places you deemed "classy" and "intimidating" weren't beyond Sam and, even better, he knew how to help you feel more comfortable too. The anxieties you'd felt while preparing for the evening had disappeared–you didn't feel just like Sam's date, you felt like you two were truly a power couple.

"Oh," Sam said, sitting next to you and reaching into one of the pockets of his jacket. "Look what I found." He retrieved his hand, holding out three Jolly Ranchers–one blue, one pink and one green.

You laughed a little. "When's the last time you wore this?"

"I don't remember, but I must have had a good time." Sam extended his hand out further, smiling. "Want one?"

Who knew how old they were, but the simple offer warmed your heart even more. You plucked one from his hand and unwrapped it, the obscenely sweet taste that rolled over your tongue being another, even simpler way of making you feel at ease.

Sam unwrapped one of his own and popped it in his mouth, tucking the leftover back into his pocket. He rested his hand on your thigh and leaned over. "You look beautiful," he said quietly, then kissed your cheek.

You placed your hand over his and turned your cheek, kissing him delicately. "You too, Sam. Thank you for all of this."

He smiled. "I didn't do anything." He looked around, even lifting himself up a little and twisting in his seat. When he sat back down, he slid his hand behind you and stroked the back of your neck. "I'm telling ya, Y/N–we are the best dressed couple here."

You knew that wasn't true, having scanned over the crowd yourself, but you smiled and rested your head on his shoulder. The clothes, jewelry, seats, venue–all of that paled in comparison to Sam himself and to the way you both felt when you were together. You knew the two of you could sit together to watch dirt track racing and you would still find magic in it, still find a way to make it glamorous yet unpretentious, even if it was just by the help of some old hard candies found in a pocket.

The musicians began to make their way onto the stage–you and Sam became erect in your seats at the same time, and you tongued the Jolly Rancher to the inside of your cheek, an anticipation of music magic swirling around inside you. You'd only seen such performances in video form and although Sam had seen an orchestral performance before, he looked just as excited as you were.

He squeezed your thigh and turned to grin at you, the daisy tucked behind his ear a perfect reflection of youthful mysticism. "You're gonna love this, Y/N," he whispered, kissing you once more as the lights dimmed, and you knew, undoubtedly, that you would, even more with him sitting next to you.