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Burn's halfway down campus to meet Rinko when his phone buzzes with a text from Travis.
Charlie's od'd on candy. Code red. Send help.
Burn blanches, and weighs his options. He could either enjoy lunch with Rinko at that sketchy-but-perfectly-charming Mexican place as planned, or he can go and face the beast. It's not much of a choice, but when he tries to take another step in Rinko's direction, a quick but unpleasant backflip occurs in his stomach.
So he re-evaluates, and mulls over whether that was indigestion or his conscience. Either way, he obviously isn't meant to eat the dubious tacos at the Mexican restaurant this afternoon, which is a both a shame and a blessing, really.
He sighs at the prospect of facing down a sugar-high Charlie Day. He just hopes the universe has its reasons.
He sends off a text to Rinko -checking it twice, Charlie had fiddled with the dictionary on his phone last week when he wasn't looking and Burn didn't really know how to change it back- hopefully suggesting dinner on Friday instead, and trudges towards their dorms.
There aren't any screaming civilians fleeing in panic when Burn reaches the dorms, which is always a good sign. He knocked on their door just in case. "Permission to enter?"
"Oh no, wait till I put my pants back on!" Charlie's voice calls back.
As far as signals go, that's as good as any, so Burn goes in. Charlie's rummaging through the fridge, and he throws a glance over his shoulder at Burn as he comes in. "Oh, it's you." Charlie says, feigning disinterest. Burn notes that he is, in fact, wearing pants. For a moment, he'd been genuinely worried. "I was hoping it might be one of my suitors."
He grins hugely at Burn, and Burn rolls his eyes. "Yes, well, I aim to disappoint." He looks around for casualties, and sure enough, Travis is sprawling bonelessly on the couch. He's showing signs of life, though, his chest is rising and falling minutely, and his fingers twitch gently every time Charlie speaks. "You seem to have slain Travis." Burn says, feeling strangely proud. "Well done."
Charlie beams happily, and the queasiness in Burn's stomach re-introduces itself. "Uh-huh. Up top!"
They high five. Travis groans loudly from his defeated position, his limbs stirring weakly. "Someone," he says, slowly, "sent him a bag of Twix minis. Why would they do something like that? I mean, we may be over-populated and a little gross, but we're an okay planet. Why?"
"It's possible God is punishing us for our urge to dance the night away until we die, et cetera, et cetera," Burn replies, as Charlie begins stuffing candy in his mouth. "If it explains the floods, why not this?"
Someone snorts, and Burn's head snaps to look at Charlie's bed. That jarringly stoic kid who's taken to following Charlie around is sitting on it, his lips pulled up in a smile. He looks away, cheeks faintly pink, when Burn makes eye contact. Burn raises an eyebrow at Charlie.
Charlie's still grinning like a lunatic. "Cut it out, Rob, you're acting like a-" his eyes widen, comically as if having a monumental epiphany, and Burn can't help smirking in anticipation. Charlie looks at Burn, still looking exaggeratedly horrified. "Could he be?"
Burn's not quite certain where this is going, but he knows Charlie well enough to play along."Is it possible?" He asks, in the same extravagantly hushed tone and posh accent.
Charlie's eyes dance in amusement and repressed delight, but otherwise, he is the picture of scandalized terror. "That this man is," he pauses for effect, and Burn can all but hear Travis roll his eyes. "Ahomosexual?"
Charlie collapses into Burn howling, and the kid blushes a bright, bright shade of red.
"Oh my God." Travis says loudly. "Why did I think it would be a good idea to call him in?" he jabs a finger in Burn's direction.
"Because Charlie has little to no comedic timing to speak of on his own," Burn supplies. Charlie, still laughing, shoves him a little, and Burn shoves back, and then they have a mini shove-showdown which Charlie wins because he's a sneaky son of a gun and a bastard.
Travis is watching with raised eyebrows. "Uh-huh. You get that you're not half as cute as you think you are, right?"
Charlie glares. "We're adorable."
"Small woodland creatures adorable." Burn clarifies, then looks at Travis with a frown. "I see why Charlie's skipping Latin, but what's your excuse?"
Travis makes a face. "Here's a life lesson for you, Burn. Never underestimate the distance Professor Hunnam can throw shit from." He shudders, obviously not for effect, while Charlie nods along vigorously.
Burn smirks. "You know, that's probably the meanest thing you've said about anyone, Travis."
Travis flips him off right when there's a knock on the door.
Charlie lights up. "Suitors!"
Burn and Travis watch with equal amounts of fascination and horror as Charlie flings the door open and bats his eyelashes at the kid from his Psych class -Mike, Burn thinks his name is- who still has a hand raised as if to continue knocking on Charlie's forehead.
"Oh thank Lord you came," Charlie sings, fluttering his eyelashes madly. "I was about to languish away on booze and anti-depressants to kill the loneliness."
Travis and Burn exchange glances. Then, as one, they move forward, Burn to restrain Charlie and Travis to usher a stunned-looking Mike away. "You get used to it, I swear." Travis says soothingly.
"It's not polite to swear in front of a lady!" Charlie calls out before Burn can stop him.
"Have a great day!" Travis says loudly, and from the looks of it, wrestles Mike away from where he's frozen in terror.
The door closes after them and Charlie casually reaches for a Twix. "I liked him." He tells Burn, ripping the wrapper open with his teeth. "He seemed an upstanding kinda guy."
"Based on how he didn't run screaming when you threw yourself at him, yes, I'd have to agree."
Charlie munches thoughtfully. "I think he was too freaked out to get his muscles working. It's a good look for him, I should mention that to Travis." He sprawls on the couch Travis had just vacated, and loops his legs over the arm of the couch. When Burn raises his eyebrows, he sighs and raises his legs so that Burn can settle on the other end with Charlie's legs on his lap.
"I should probably go." Says a voice from somewhere to their left, and Burn starts. Then he remembers the kid and turns over to look at him.
"Nah, stay," Charlie says easily.
Burn watches with faint disbelief as Charlie shoots him a look through lowered lashes, and the kid blushes brilliantly.
Burn clears his throat.
The kid jumps like Burn had fired a cannon, and looks away guiltily. He mumbles, "I'll, uh," and flees without a second glance.
After the door closes again, Burn looks at Charlie skeptically. "Really, Charlie?"
Charlie shrugs. "He's cute."
"I assumed it was his conversational skills that attracted you."
Charlie laughs. "Hey, you don't even have the pretty face to redeem you. Guess I have ridiculously low standards."
"I have it on good authority that I'm completely irresistible," Burn pouts for effect and Charlie's eyes linger a little on his mouth before he laughs.
The laugh isn't strained, or off in any way, but it makes the back of Burn's neck itch. He'd been so sure they were past this, but times like these, Charlie would make him pause and wonder. Burn really, really hates that.
And then Charlie nudges him with his foot and Burn gets caught up with gagging and shoving it away, and all is back to normal.
"I'm hungry." Charlie complains after an indeterminate amount of time of watching multiple reruns of Project Runway.
"And in other stunning news, the sky is blue and unicorns shit rainbows." Burn says, not taking his eyes off the screen.
Charlie pushes at his shoulder. "Didn't you have plans with Rinko?"
Burn turns his head to level him a glare. "I had to cancel because Travis complained about getting mauled by your sugar-high arse."
"Oh," Charlie scrunches up his face and looks genuinely regretful. "That's too bad. What'd she say?"
Burn shrugs. "I texted her, and assumed she received the message. It's not a big deal," he adds, seeing Charlie open his mouth to protest. "She knows that I'm no more than a glorified babysitter." He pauses, and considers adding something along the lines of, not that I'm terribly disappointed.
It's not as if he can tell Charlie that. Charlie firmly believes that the principal function of university was to hook people up, and passing up a chance to get laid places him with the lowest of the low in Charlie's opinion.
Charlie shoves him a little for the babysitter comment, but doesn't seem to notice Burn's bluff. "So maybe we should go out instead."
Burn tenses up, and then curses himself. He makes sure not to look at Charlie as he says dryly, "Or we could go really crazy and order in."
"Or that," Charlie says. Burn figures he's just imagining the disappointment in his tone.
When asked how they met, Charlie will pull on a serious face and launch into a story about the weird British kid who wore tiaras and stared at squirrels intensely and lived next door when he was growing up. Burn, on the other hand, prefers the traditional tale of the social outcast in junior high, a hopeless weakling that Burn, being the majestic and magnanimous soul that he is, saved from pariah-dom.
They would both be full of shit.
Burn and Charlie, in fact, didn't meet until they were both assigned the same room two years ago when they first started college. They'd been shy and awkward, hesitantly exchanging personal information. Burn had found Charlie slightly chatty, but nice enough; he didn't really know him.
And then there was a party. Burn had been there with Rob and Clifton and Charlie had been with Ron, and they'd made eye contact and greeted each other comfortably enough.
A few hours in, though, they could be found draped over each other, five or six empty beer bottles each around them. Charlie was talking about… something. Something about space stations and ninja loaves of bread, and Burn was laughing so hard he saw stars before he remembered to breathe. Charlie was flailing around, jabbing fingers at stuff and Burn had been too preoccupied with trying to connect his ramblings to see it coming when Charlie kissed him.
Burn had turned his head on instinct, so that Charlie's lips trailed over the corner of his mouth, warm and strangely soft, before Charlie understood. He froze up and jerked back, his eyes as wide as two twin moons.
Burn raised a hand to his lips, assessing. They tingled a little, and he chalked it down to the alcohol. "Straight," he said, mostly to see if he could still speak.
Charlie looked so frightened Burn felt a bizarre urge to cuddle him."Man, I'm so sorry, I don't-" he swallowed. "I'm sorry," he said, finally, in a low, defeated voice.
Burn got his act together. "You're gay?"
Charlie, if possible, looked even more stricken. He nodded, not making eye contact.
Burn flailed around inwardly, completely out of his depth. "I, I couldn't tell. I'm bad at people."
Charlie stared at him for a long moment. Then, a grin spread across his face, slow but gathering momentum, large and incredibly bright.
Two afternoon lectures later, Burn comes back to the dorms, eating the last of the stash of Twix bars he'd nicked from Charlie. Their door's open, so Burn doesn't think twice about walking straight in, saying, "I refuse to eat ramen-"
For a second, Charlie and Rob just stare blankly at him and Burn stares back. Then slowly, his eyes drag down to where Charlie's fly is open Rob's got his hand down Charlie's-
Oh.
"Didn't see that!" Burn yells, scrambling out the door hurriedly. He jams his elbow in the doorframe painfully, but he doesn't even pause.
"Burn, wait!"
Charlie grabs his shoulder just as Burn's halfway down the hall. He squeezes a little to make him turn around, and Burn does. He keeps his gaze elevated, and stares somewhere to the left of Charlie's face.
"Hey," he says, wishing there were films that taught you how to handle this sort of thing. Because, while this was a situation not unseen on most romantic comedies, those characters tended to resolve their issues with a few well-timed confessions and by looking very pretty. In stark contrast, Charlie looks like he's swallowed his own tongue and therefore, severely mentally challenged.
While he's mulling all this over, Charlie's just standing there blinking and looking stupid and incomprehensibly hopeful, so Burn decides to act fast. "It's perfectly fine," He says, feeling like a dickhead, because Charlie hadn't, in fact, mentioned anything about it being not-fine. "You go, uh, do your thing," and there's a bad little moment when Burn's sure he's about to point at Charlie's crotch as he says it, but somehow his addled brain kicks in and tells him no no hell no.
Charlie bites his lower lip and looks at Burn through his bangs. Burn smiles encouragingly, and finally, Charlie nods, slow and hesitant. Burn gets the urge to pump his fist in the air, because he is clearly a master of manipulation, but then he remembers that he's not actually the one getting laid tonight.
Charlie turns around to go back into their room, and Burn tells himself that he's imagining the dejected slump of his shoulders.
It turns out Rinko's perfectly willing to accommodate him on a school night as long as he's paying for the pizza and to listens to her complain at legnth and a great deal of gusto about her tool of a Geology TA, Diego.
"It was a perfectly reasonable opinion," Rinko protests, her hand going in an expressive arc and spilling beer along the way. Burn's having trouble following, but as far as he can tell, Rinko recently tried to figure out why her TA's teeth were so shiny.
"I mean, that shit ain't right." Rinko tells Burn earnestly. "So I speculated -speculated- that he must make guys put toothpaste over their dicks before he gives blowjobs."
Burn's eyebrows fly up. Rinko's roommate's a tiny girl called Sandy who's probably the runner up at the International Puppy Eyes Contest that Charlie secretly won, and she makes a sympathetic face at Burn.
"Isn't that, uh." Burn tries, when Rinko continues looking at him expectantly. "Doesn't that seem unproductive? I mean, you aren't even supposed to use teeth, right?"
Rinko smirks. "Which is why he probably gives awful head." She winks before getting back into the story. "'Nyway, next thing I know, he's coming up from behind me and giving me shitty marks! How's that for professionalism?" She looks genuinely enraged. "I'm gonna complain."
Burn contemplates this, and then decides to agree, mostly because Rinko won't give him access to the pizza if he doesn't.
They hang out and watch Bruce Willis's wanton destruction of property, because that 's apparently Rinko's preferred way of winding down after a day of academic injustice. Burn knocks her up a couple of notches in his chart of cool points, and then decides not to tell Rinko that he has a chart for cool points in the first place. It's very likely she may castrate him with a paperclip just for being that incredible level of lame.
Halfway into some pretty hardcore explosions, Sandy yawns and looks at Burn pointedly. "Where's Charlie?"
Rinko shoots her a dirty look for speaking over perfectly decent explosions.
Burn makes sure the sequence is over before he replies. "He's back over at the dorms." Getting it on with an absolute man-giant, he doesn't add. Because that would just be petty.
Rinko gives him a shrewd look. "Ah, I get it. You get sexiled and you think, why not cash in on the Samaritan nature of the hot redhead?"
Burn's about to reply with something witty and cutting -really, he is- when Sandy interrupts, face scrunched up in confusion. "Wait, sexiled? How's that work? You guys are together, right?"
Burn blinks at her. "Huh?"
Rinko lets out an irritated huff of breath. "Oh for Chrissakes Burn, don't tell me you haven't gotten that before," she turns to Sandy, her tone a bit softer. "It's a common mistake, sweetheart. Burn and Charlie aren't actually secretly gay married."
Sandy's frown deepens. "But Idris told me he was at the wedding! He said some stuff about pink tulle bodices and anal beads and-" she blushes and looks down.
Burn wonders if it would actually help if he shot himself, or whether they would raise him from the dead to make him go through yet more awkward. Either way, it would be messy, and he didn't really want to die before the new Batman movie came out, so that was that.
"She's got a point, though," Rinko states thoughtfully, after Bruce beats the shit out of twenty odd guys armed with a stapler. "I mean, you guys are practically married already. Why not give the gay thing a chance?"
Burn raises his eyebrows, and she adds, hurriedly, "Of course the bromance is great, but I've seen the way Charlie looks at you. Something tells me he might be down with it if you are."
"Oh." Burn's not quite sure how to respond to that. He settles on smiling uncertainly. "Alright. I'll, um. I'll run that by him."
Rinko rolls her eyes. "Men."
The second time they kissed, it was Burn who initiated it.
Or more accurately, it was tequila. Glorious tequila with salt and lime wedges stolen from Travis who stole them from who-the-hell-knows, and so much of it it counts as a major character in this story.
There's something undeniably homoerotic about tequila; Charlie firmly and loudly believes that it dates back to the Greeks, back when they were wearing togas to make it easier to receive blowjobs. Burn was almost entirely certain there was a flaw in that theory, but it was hard to figure out because of, well, the tequila. And the mental image of Charlie in a toga.
Did Greeks even wear togas? He'd have to ask Rinko. Rinko knew all sorts of useless stuff like that.
"Togas are overrated," he said, mostly just to locate the general location of his mouth on his face. It was hard to keep track when there was so much licking going on.
Charlie nodded seriously. That was what was so endearing about him, Burn thought. Charlie found sense in everything. It was a shame they weren't dating.
He ruffled Charlie's scruffy hair affectionately. Charlie dodged it, and predictably overbalanced and landed on his side. He lay like that for some time, blinking up at Burn owlishly. "I'm wasted," he announced.
"You sound like the world's most amateur frat boy." Burn told him. He wasn't quite sure whether amateur was the word he wanted, but it was what came and Burn was very Zen about that kinda thing.
"Your face is amateur." Charlie retorted, and looked pleased with himself.
"Your mom is amateur," Burn said automatically.
Charlie opened his mouth and looked puzzled. Then he said, "okay," and sat up again.
And then he was closer than he'd been before, right up in Burn's personal space. There hadn't been anything particularly compelling about him right then; he looked dorky and drunk and smelled like lime and alcohol, so it came as a surprise for both of them when Burn leaned over and pressed his lips against Charlie's.
He missed, naturally; but he'd managed to get a corner of Charlie's mouth and he licked it, tasting salt and tequila and just this flickering trace of something else, something Burn imagined Charlie tasted like every day. He tried to place it, shifting a little to get the angle right and it was so, so good, warm and sparkly and good.
That is, right up until Charlie pushed him away, looking stricken.
"Burn," he said, in this half-mesmerized, half-reproachful tone.
Burn smiled his best shit-eating grin. "You still wanna, right?" he licked his lips, chasing the taste of Charlie on them. "'Cause I think I do, too."
And then, Charlie's eyes went wide and soft and hurt, and Burn thought desperately, this isn't how it's supposed to go. No one should look so perfectly wrecked when there's tequila involved, and especially notCharlie.
Charlie smiled at him, sad and sweet, and Burn felt a little like crying. "Go sleep it off, Burn."
And then he stood up and left, wobbling a little but never looking back. Burn sat there until the room grew cold, and when it did, he went to his bed and fell asleep immediately, still thinking about the perfect clear hazel of Charlie's eyes when he looked at Burn and said no.
Charlie's waiting with tea with honey and lemon once Burn gets back, which instantly makes Burn both intrigued and wary. Ever since Charlie found out about his fondness for Darjeeling, the simple act of being offered tea has become irrationally complicated, as it always does when Charlie's involved. Charlie's one of those terrible people who very rarely use their powers for good instead of evil.
Charlie uses a perfect combination of tea, honey, sugar and lemon to lull Burn into a false sense of security before pulling the bottom out of his world so yes, Burn's a little apprehensive.
"Thanks," he says cautiously, taking the cup as Charlie hands it to him with a bright, innocent smile.
"You're welcome." Charlie says, beaming some more. The corners of Burn's mouth ached in sympathy. "Drink up," he adds, when Burn continues eyeing his tea mistrustfully.
Burn shifts his squint to Charlie, instead. "Are you gonna roofie me and make me your bitch?"
"Yeah, 'cause I'm in maximum security death row right now." Charlie retaliates without missing a beat.
"Kill anyone?" Burn asks, taking a sip.
"The President's brother." Charlie says cheerfully. "He was tasty."
"I can't actually tell if you're stealing plots off TV shows or just come up with this spontaneously." Burn drinks a little more. Roofied or not, he doesn't care anymore. "Either way, your head is a terrifying place, my friend."
"Sometimes I think about rainbows," Charlie says, unfazed.
Burn wrings his hands, then thinks better about having a panic attack over how he's living with a lunatic, and says instead, "Just because you're gay doesn't mean you actually have to think about unicorns and rainbows on a daily basis, Charles."
Charlie narrows his eyes. "How would you know? Did you read the Secret Gay Handbook while I wasn't looking? You did, didn't you? And there I was, thinking we had a bond of mutual trust and love of Christian Bale."
Burn raises his free hand in surrender. "No, Charlie. No handbooks." He points at the cup. "So what's the guilt tea for?"
"Heh. Guilt tea. Guilty. Get it, Burn?"
Burn just mimes shooting himself in the head in reply.
Charlie pouts. "Fine. God, you have no sense of humor."
Burn raises his eyebrows and waits.
Charlie takes a deep breath and draws himself up. "I wanna try this thing," he says, stepping closer.
Burn swallows. Charlie gently takes the cup out of his hands and keeps it on the desk. Then he turns back and cups Burn's face in his hands, the warmth of the teacup still lingering on his skin.
Burn looks up at him, feeling like someone shot him out of a cannon, like he's been flying all this time.
Charlie smiles. It's a nervous hint of one, but it's enough for Burn to really recognize Charlie.
"Okay?" Charlie murmurs.
Burn realizes that he's shaking a little. He tries to make himself stop. "Charlie, what-"
And then Charlie kisses him.
It isn't the most graceful thing in the world.
Their teeth knock against each other a little because Burn wasn't quite expecting it, and Charlie seems too nervous at first to really do anything other than hold his lips against Burn's and hope for the best.
But then Burn reaches up on instinct and tangles a hand in Charlie's stupid hair, yanking gently to get the angle right and Charlie whimpers softly, and it becomes worryingly easy to melt into him.
"Okay," Charlie gasps, pulling away. Burn whines low in his throat and chases his lips, and they make out some more.
"Okay," Charlie says again ten minutes later, breathing raggedly. Burn watches with a satisfied smirk. Charlie's lips are puffy and red and he's blushing so hard he looks like he's about to burst. He begins grinning, this huge, dopey grin and Burn grins back, just 'cause.
"So I guess you're down with it," Charlie says unevenly.
Burn smirks. "It, meaning hot gay sex with my hyperactive roommate? Certainly."
"You know, you could sound less like a successful pimp if you really tired." Charlie says, wrinkling his nose. Then his expression becomes serious. "Are you sure, Burn? Because it would be really bad if you-"
Changed your mind, hangs in the air between them.Like last time.
"I actually didn't change my mind last time," Burn says, just to set the facts straight. "I had a panic attack, but I still wanted to shag your brains out."
Charlie's eyes widen comically, and his mouth falls open. Then he smiles again, a big, ridiculous smile that grows and grows until it feels like Burn's staring at the sun. "What can I say? I'm very shaggable." he says, but he doesn't look like he knows what he's saying.
"Yes you are, Charlie," Burn says patronizingly. Then he swallows and looks down. "What about, um. Where's Rob?"
To his surprise, Charlie barks out a laugh. "He stood me up, the little punk. Told me he wasn't fooling around with someone who was in love wi-"
Burn reaches up and places his hand on Charlie's mouth, cutting him off. Charlie finishes an entire muffled sentence before his eyes go mischievous and suspiciouslysparkly and he licks Burn's palm.
Burn makes a face. "You're disgusting."
Charlie doesn't pay him any attention, just goes on to lick across each of Burn's fingers and the whole thing goes from slimy and vile to the hottest thing ever ridiculously fast.
Charlie keeps his eyes on Burn's while he does it, and when he nips a little on the pad of Burn's thumb, Burn makes a weird meeping noise that makes Charlie throw his head back and laugh.
Burn glares petulantly. "Cut it out."
Charlie grins, eyes lit up like Christmas lights and yes, Burn concedes he's a little bit doomed. "Or what?" Charlie asks, this promise in his voice that Burn's never heard before. If it makes him shiver a little, that's no one's business but his own.
He takes Charlie's hand in his, already preparing his defense for the ridicule that Charlie would put him through the next morning. "Or I will do vile things to you."
Charlie's still laughing when he kisses Burn again.