Work Text:
“Remind me why we’re getting froyo when it’s 40 degrees outside and about to rain?”
“I was craving it,” Charlie shrugs, although his attempt at nonchalance falls short with how stiff his shoulders are and the fact that Charlie has never been nonchalant about anything in his life.
Zay shakes his head as they move forward in line, which the existence of is baffling, since, again, it’s October and cold and, “How can you crave discount ice cream?”
“Hey, it’s healthier, and you were the one who took me here before, remember?”
“Because it was close by and we were melting,” Zay replies, stuffing his hands into his vintage varsity jacket and pulling it closer to his frame to keep warm, emphasizing how the weather is very much the opposite right now. “Not exactly with the same excitement of you basically taking me hostage in the parking lot and telling me we’re gonna do something special.”
“Do you really not like it? We can go somewhere else, or nowhere at all, or you can drop me off at home, or Triple A, or just leave me here, really—”
“Dude, chill, I’m just teasing you,” Zay nudges Charlie and sends him a reassuring smile. “This place is lowkey good, and I’m happy that you whisked me away.”
The corners of Charlie’s lips turn upwards, shy and youthful as always. “Really?”
“Really,” Zay nods. “I like doing anything with you.”
Somehow, Charlie’s bright grin grows larger, green eyes shining. “Oh. Me too.”
“So, pray tell, Charlie, why are we really here? And remember, I know lying is a sin.”
Charlie rolls his eyes fondly and tucks a section of his long hair behind his ear as he thinks to himself. Zay thinks the length suits him, shows off how nice his hair really is. He likes it when it’s tied up as they work through routines in their studio, likes the way it falls in his face when he’s reading, and how he flips and fixes it throughout the day. (Though honestly, it’s distracting during class, which is not helpful considering how much harder he has to work to understand what’s going on half the time). Mostly, he likes it when they steal a moment for themselves, on the costume loft or in Zay’s car or late in the evening when they stayed behind to choreograph something and it’s silent, just them breathing, with Charlie leaning against his chest and Zay running his fingers through his hair.
“I guess I just wanted to come here because it reminded me of this summer.” Charlie admits, staring at the geometric pastel tile flooring in the small shop. “With school and everything… I just wanted to feel like the world was all ours again, you know?”
Charlie finally shifts his gaze back to him, and Zay swears he can feel his heart glowing brightly under his stare. Shit, Charlie can probably see it himself after what he said, those words he manages to stumble upon in the most perfectly earnest and endearing way.
And maybe it’s teenage melodrama and lovesickness, but it really does feel that way. This summer the world was theirs, or, really, they were wrapped up in their own world. A world they tentatively formed with the brush of their hands or a quick kiss, a world that was imperfect and messy at times but a world of their own. With summer’s end, it’s not that the place they’ve created for themselves has changed necessarily (other than it’s solidification), but the bubble of warmth and never ending lackadaisical afternoons has burst and they have to share their world with others. Their time is shorter now, and constantly infringed upon by classmates or family or the war going on in Charlie’s mind.
“Yeah, I know what you mean.”
Finally, it’s their turn to order their frozen yogurt, but Charlie is so distracted by his own head (and Zay, probably, not to brag) that he doesn’t notice. Zay clears his throat pointedly after they stand awkwardly for a few moments, and Charlie blinks, confused until he realizes he spaced out and then his eyes turn comically wide.
Charlie apologizes to the employee behind the bar as they step forward. “Oh my God, I’m sorry about that—”
“Ah, ah, ah,” Zay chastises Charlie, “Commandment numero tres.”
“I’m sorry, did you take a Bible Study course when I wasn’t looking or something?”
“No,” Zay shook his head, “I just watched The Prince of Egypt a shit ton as a kid.”
“Really?” Charlie asks, a little surprised. “Doesn’t seem like your thing.”
Zay shrugs. “I dunno, it makes sense. Amazing artistry, extremely underrated—basically my life story.”
Charlie looks at him blankly. “Are you… comparing yourself to the Prophet Moses?”
Zay is saved from coming up with a response when the girl behind the counter asks, “Do you two need a sample to decide, or are you ready to order?”
(Although, it is a little embarrassing that they just wasted so much time not once but twice. At least there was no one else behind them in line).
“Um, sorry, we’re good—” Charlie looks at Zay to confirm, and Zay sends him a thumbs up, “Yeah, we’re ready to order. I’d like vanilla, please.”
Zay snorts as the worker turns to machines so she can fill up the small cup with frozen yogurt. “Predictable.”
“I’m not predictable,” Charlie glares at Zay halfheartedly, squaring his shoulders as the girl returns with the cup.
“Any toppings?”
“Yeah, I’ll uh, take some gummy bears.” Charlie glances at Zay again, who just smirks. Gummy bears, how wild. “And some mochi. And strawberries.”
Zay raises his eyebrows. Charlie must be trying to prove a point. Once more, Charlie glances over to him, but he must misread his expression for “that’s it?” instead of “is that even gonna taste good?”, because he adds one more topping.
“And, uh, those … Captain Crunch Berries thing too, thank you.”
“It’s Cap’n,” Zay corrects.
“What?” Charlie scratches his head and looks at the label again as the worker puts his cup to the side. “Oh, yeah, I guess you’re right. I dunno, I’ve never had it before. We usually only have Raisin Bran or Cheerios at my house.”
Zay shakes his head, putting his hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “Now that is a sin. And now I’m also concerned that your teeth are going to instantly rot or you’ll pass out like some sickly Victorian chimneysweep the second you try it.”
Charlie’s eyes widen in fear as the worker behind the counter laughs before asking what Zay wants to get.
He ends up settling on some fruity tropical blend, Orange Mango Peach, because if this day is about trying to recapture some of the magic of summer, he might as well get something refreshing. The mochi bites Charlie chose out look good, so he picks that for his toppings, opting to keep it simple (especially compared to his boyfriend). Charlie makes some incomprehensible noise when Zay says that’s all he wants, which Zay tries not to laugh at as they get rung up.
Since it’s so overcast and chilly out, they decide to sit inside the shop at the table in the back corner to enjoy their frozen yogurt
He takes a bite of his food, smooth and just the perfect amount of tart, the mochi adding a fun texture to it. “Mmm,” Zay hums contentedly, “I change my mind. This is bomb.”
When he doesn’t get a response, Zay looks up from his food to see Charlie frowning into his paper cup, like he lost all his stocks in Wall Street, or however astrology for dull rich white guys works.
“What’s wrong dude?”
Charlie sighs. “I think I may have gone overboard with the toppings.”
“Did the cereal thing freak you out? Don’t worry, if there’s any fatally melanin deprived old-timey orphan haunting the halls of Triple A, it’s Farkle.”
“It’s just…” Charlie scoops some of his froyo and inspects the spoon, “Y’know, we have pas de deux tomorrow, and I don’t wanna be all sluggish when I’m supposed to be helping out Brenda.”
Zay tries to recall who Brenda is, but he can’t think of her face. “Who?”
“My partner for this semester?” Charlie says, but honestly Zay pays no attention to who Charlie’s paired up with. He only focuses on his own moves and Charlie himself when he has a spare moment. It’s really a shame they aren’t partners, since they work so well together, and it would be an excuse to be close with Charlie, to have his hands on his waist and trailing down his arms gracefully in front of everyone. Stupid gender norms. (Plus, Maya’s his partner, which predictably gets very grating very fast). At least they practice plenty outside of school.
“She’s from B-Class, and well… I mean, she’s nice—well actually sort of strange,” which is a red flag if Charlie’s saying that, “she asked me for more info about Asher and Farkle which was weird since I don’t hang out with them and I don’t know why she’d wanna know about those two—but y’know, means well—”
“But she can’t dance, can she?” Zay interrupts.
Charlie frowns. “I wouldn’t say that.”
“No, you wouldn’t, Saint Charles, you’re too nice. And I’m nice too, but I’m honest, so I will.”
Charlie sends him a withering look.
“Anyways, eat your froyo before it melts,” Zay nods to the creamy mixture dripping off his spoon, “I believe in you, Charlie Gardner. You’ve done braver things.”
Something flickers over Charlie’s face as Zay says that, pupils going wide and his breath hitching ever so slightly. But then Charlie huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. “Okay, here we go.”
He puts the spoon in his mouth, dragging it out slowly (is he trying to kill Zay in the middle of this gentrified pastel shoebox?) and proceeding to chew with a focused look on his face.
Zay leans forward to wipe off some of the froyo that clung to Charlie’s bottom lip, thumb swiping the soft skin. “So, the verdict?”
Charlie blinks as Zay licks the vanilla off his thumb, slowly finishing his bite and swallowing thickly before he answers. “Uh. Not bad, actually.”
“Really?” Zay raises his brows skeptically, leaning back into his chair.
“I mean, it’s, like, probably too much. I could’ve held off on the gummy bears, maybe. But it’s actually good.”
“God, for someone so fit, you are such a sugar fiend,” Zay shakes his head, taking another bite of his own froyo. Charlie’s pale face grows rosy at his words. “I mean, seriously, why is it that like, pretty much every time we hang out we get junk food?”
Charlie shrugs. “Cheat day?”
It’s a harmless joke, but for some reason it strikes a little too deeply in Zay’s chest. Like Charlie’s not just talking about the greasy crispy fries from their diner, but really about their relationship. That they just get to have one day where they don’t have to hide their relationship, where they can go on a date together. A day where Charlie gets to have his sinful indulgence in a smaller dose so he doesn’t feel too guilty, so no one figures it out. Zay knows Charlie doesn’t mean it this way, and it’s so unfair and shitty of his brain to register his words like that, but there’s still part of his heart that’s soft with scar tissue from the mess of his last relationship, feeling unappreciated and taken advantage of. His relationship with Charlie is so different, really, the way Charlie looks at him with such unguarded adoration can be kind of scary sometimes, but it’s nice. And he totally gets that Charlie needs to take his time, and Zay respects that, will care for him and kiss him and listen to him when he’s sniffling on the phone too late at night and send him smiles from across the stage without condition, but sometimes it’s hard.
He doesn’t say this, of course, but Charlie picks up on the sudden shift in Zay’s mood. It’s surprising how Charlie’s started to learn how the crease in Zay’s brow means he’s upset, or how he fidgets with his rings when he wants to reach out and touch Charlie but can’t. Just a couple months ago Charlie couldn’t even tell Zay was angry because he thought Charlie wanted to break off their summer romance. Though, Charlie has room to grow in that regard (many regards, really, though Zay’s happy to report the kissing and cuddling has only improved) since he’s a little too caught up in his own head, but Zay appreciates it.
Charlie doesn’t ask what gives, just splays his hand out on the tabletop, the edges of their fingertips just barely touching. He gives the shop a quick onceover with his green eyes, noticeable but not as nervous as he was over the summer. Charlie traces the rose quartz that’s nestled in one of Zay’s rings, the one that Zay gravitates to the most when he’s watching Charlie do a presentation in Matthews’ class, or they’re sitting shoulder to shoulder in the black box theatre, so close but still unable to touch more than awkwardly bumping elbows on the arm of the folding seats. Then, he takes Zay’s hand slowly, their fingers intertwining, cold from their frozen treats but creating a warmth that settles in Zay’s chest. Charlie’s thumb runs up and down Zay’s index finger, creating a rhythm that Zay can’t help but count. One and two and three and four and one and—
“If we were alone right now, I’d kiss the back of your hand.”
Zay’s head snaps up, caught off guard that Charlie would say that, even as a whisper. “Oh?”
“And then I’d flip your hand over,” Charlie continues, untangling their fingers and turning over Zay’s hand, “And kiss your palm.”
He traces one of the long lines of skin that curve on the soft underbelly of his hand, slow and gentle.
Zay should be finding this weird, and it is, sort of, but it’s so tender and tense and Charlie that he can’t help but get wrapped into it.
“You are darksided,” Zay mutters halfheartedly.
Charlie traces a star on Zay’s palm, tickling him ever so slightly. “Sure. Hey, you like the red gummy bears the best, right?”
Zay snorts at the sudden change in topic, wondering how Charlie is a real person. “Yeah, I do.”
“Here, take one of mine.” Charlie scoops one out and puts it in Zay’s cup.
Charlie gives his hand one last squeeze before letting go, using the hand that was holding his to hold his spoon and take another bite of his froyo.
Zay smiles to himself, biting off the head of the gummy bear. He knows that was a lot for Charlie, even though they’re in another part of the city people from school don’t go to, and he didn’t actually kiss his hands. But to hold them, to say that out loud when one of the other patrons could overhear… that was big. And he knew Charlie was showing how much he cared for Zay through that simple action.
They banter and talk about their days as they finish up their afterschool snack, steering clear of the new drama of the week, because this was their time and Zay wasn’t gonna spend it talking about Maya’s theatrical antics or Lucas’ scowl or whatever the hell was going on with Farkle lately.
When they leave the shop, there’s a light sprinkle coming down from the sky, though it looks like it’ll get harder pretty soon. Charlie holds out one of his hands, wiggling his fingers as the rain falls down on them.
“So, are we done exploring our world for the afternoon?” Zay asks, putting his hoodie up, because his hair looks really nice today (everyday), and he doesn’t want the rain to ruin it, thank you.
Charlie smiles, and flicks the water that’s been collecting on his fingertips at Zay, promptly receiving a middle finger in return. “I’m not done yet. In fact, I think its perfect weather for a stroll, don’t you?”
Zay laughs at Charlie’s ridiculousness, but agrees. “Sure.”
They head to the nearest cross walk, even though they could’ve totally walked in the middle of the road, but Charlie’s leading and he’s a stickler for the rules (except of course, when it means leaving an event and running across the city to make out with Zay in a dressing room, or having a secret boyfriend in general). The vibrant murals and graffiti along the buildings they pass provide a pop of color in the midst of the gloomy weather, strokes of magenta and electric blue brightening the day. Zay doesn’t love walking in the rain, but the upside is that the streets are less crowded than usual, everyone trying to find a spot to hide out at as it starts to get worse.
That, and he’s with Charlie, who strolls the unknown streets with a wide excited look behind his eyes. His gaze meets Zay’s, and it really doesn’t matter where they are, if the sky is gross and gray like it is now, or they are passing a store with red neon signs in the window—Charlie’s green eyes stand out, light and shining with life, like a beacon Zay can’t look away from.
“Here, let’s go this way,” Charlie grabs Zay’s elbow and takes a right.
“I like this carefree impulsive side of you,” Zay comments.
Charlie scoffs, “Hey, I’m carefree.”
Zay cocks an eyebrow, sending him a judging look. “You really wanna go with that?”
“Okay, fine,” Charlie puts his hands up in surrender, “I am full of cares, usually. Today, I let the whims of my soul carry the wind beneath my wings.”
“That was literal nonsense, but okay,” Zay laughs, “I fuck with it.”
Charlie smiles, and leads them down another street. It’s quiet for a moment, just the pitter patter of the rain against the pavement and the honk of a faraway taxicab filling the space.
“Okay, confession,” Charlie blurts out.
“I don’t think I’m qualified by the Catholic Church to do that but, okay, I guess I’m well versed enough in sin—”
Charlie rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”
“Alright, what’s up?”
“Well, I’m not being impulsive, not really. I actually like, planned this out for almost two weeks, or, well, like the different parts of it, not necessarily all together at once, like, vaguely-ish,” Charlie says in a rush, barely making sense (though that’s not really new). “I just didn’t know when I was gonna whisk you away, but you’ve been stressed, and today just felt like. Divinely right, I guess.”
Zay kind of wants to laugh and kind of wants to pull him between the towering buildings and kiss him against the bricks, which he probably would have if they weren’t full of trash and rats and, like, the possibility of getting shanked. Charlie’s propensity for overthinking is both absurd and deeply thoughtful and heartwarming to Zay. When was the last time someone put so much effort into thinking about how they wanted to spend time with him?
“The angels weeping down from heaven felt like a holy sign?” Zay quips, because he can’t help it.
“You think I’m weird for thinking that much, right? God, I shouldn’t have said anything—”
Zay stops in the middle of the pavement, putting his hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “No—well you are weird, but in the best way.”
Charlie doesn’t seem very convinced.
“Seriously, thank you Charlie. I feel… special, knowing that.”
The worried look on Charlie’s face is replaced by a relieved smile, and he lets out a shaky sigh.
Zay tucks away some of Charlie’s hair, letting his finger drag along the shell of his ear as he pulls away. “So, what’s next on the plan?”
“Actually, you stopped us right in front of it,” Charlie replies, turning Zay to face the other side of the street. “See? Divine.”
Zay takes in the unfamiliar storefront, an awning with the words “Mae’s Nook” hanging over the teal painted door. There are large windows painted with pastel rainbows and advertising sales, “buy one Mystery get one free”, behind them the sills are full of messy piles of books, some propped upwards with their covers facing out onto the street.
A bookstore. Charlie brought him to a bookstore.
“Uh, Charlie?” Zay asks after a moment.
“Yeah?”
“You do know I’m dyslexic, right?” he stuffs his hands in his pockets, “Or were you tuning out everything I said because you were lost in my beauty when you were tutoring me?”
Charlie’s face falls, growing serious. “What? No—”
“You weren’t admiring me?”
Charlie sighs. “Okay, yeah I was admiring, but no, of course I know that. Of course I was listening to you.”
He can tell he offended Charlie by the insinuation, which feels shitty considering how Charlie lets himself get insulted by the other divas and just pulls a face before letting it go. But he supposes it’s because it called into question how much he cares about Zay. “Sorry, I didn’t really think you weren’t. It’s just… Like… A bookstore.”
“This place isn’t just a bookstore, they sell movies and records and CDs and stuff. The first time I went to your place,” Charlie pauses, his face flushing as he remembers what they were doing, “I noticed you had some CDs,” Zay remembers this, because Charlie was a stuttering mess about it as he tried to avoid the tension between them. “But not all of your favorite albums and stuff, so I thought I could pick out some poetry while you pick up some music.”
“Oh.”
Charlie chews on his bottom lip, like deciding whether or not to say something else. “And, uh, the website says it’s, like, a safe space or whatever. They give part of their proceeds to help LGBT homeless youth, so, y’know. Good cause.”
Zay can feel his own heart swell at Charlie’s intentions. How he looked for a space they could be themselves (although, bookstore? A bit nerdy, but he’ll take it), a place where they can help people like them. It’s something he admires about Charlie. Sure, sometimes it’s frustrating how Charlie will downplay himself or step to the side so someone else can have the spotlight, when Zay knows how amazing he is, how he’s deserving of so many opportunities he passes up on. But there’s a part of it that makes Zay feel lucky to know him. How selfless Charlie is, how much he just wants the best for other people. At times, he’s misguided, but he really just wants to help.
And Zay doesn’t claim to know everything going on in Charlie’s mind, because that part of him will always be wonderfully incomprehensible to Zay, but the faraway look in his eyes—the part that Zay knows so well, gives him an indication. That he’s probably thinking about how that could be him kicked out from home or his community for being gay if he told his family. (Zay’s honestly not sure how he’s gonna deal with the musical and seeing Charlie’s parents in the atrium after the show, because part of him really wants to cuss them out for making Charlie so nervous and wrong in his own skin). That Charlie’s not ready yet, that he can’t think of losing his family, but he wants to help the people who had no choice.
It’s his turn to not ask questions and take Charlie’s hand in his own. “C’mon, let’s go in then.”
Charlie smiles softly at him and lets Zay lead him across the street (no crosswalk!), the pair jumping over a puddle forming in the middle of the cement.
Their hands stay woven together as Zay opens the door to the shop, the sound of bamboo chimes knocking together as they enter. The person behind the wooden counter has long dyed hair, black and white split down the middle and a denim jacket full of pins; bottlecaps and film references and pride flags and political statements.
“Welcome to Mae’s, friends,” they look up from their book to greet them, something way too long with a French title.
Charlie’s a little overwhelmed, so Zay nods at them. “Hey.”
“Just let me know if you two need anything, alright?”
“We shall do just that!” Charlie blurts out and promptly slaps his hand over his mouth. Quickly, he leads Zay further into the shop to get away from the employee. “Oh my God, why did I just turn into some 18th century town crier?”
Zay laughs unashamedly, clutching at his sides. “I dunno dude, I think it’s always been inside of you.”
Charlie’s lips turn into a flat line, his eyes narrowing at Zay.
“Nah, but forreal,” Zay reaches up to brush his fingers against some paper stars hanging from the ceiling before meeting Charlie’s eyes. “This place is cool. Good find.”
Despite how much Zay can tell Charlie wants to keep glaring at him, Charlie smiles slowly, ducking his head to the ground bashfully. “Thanks. I think the music is in the back?”
“Let’s check out the books first. I’ll let you live your nerdy fantasy life,” Zay quips.
“It’s not nerdy, it’s poetry,” Charlie replies, like he didn’t just say the same word, “It’s an expression of emotion, a critique of society, capturing of moments like an idyllic afternoon in the fields, the lowest point of desperation, a bit of joy from your childhood… All in a handful of carefully crafted lines that somehow manage to resonate with you.”
Zay grins at how passionate Charlie is, shaking his head. “You literally just proved my point. Also, can you write my next English essay?”
Charlie ignores that, trailing down an aisle of books in different stages of usage, some brand new, others with broken spines. He takes Zay along with him, their hands still holding. “If you really think about it, it’s not that different from music. I mean, there’s meter and rhythm, most of them have this beautiful sort of cadence—did you know they used to be set to music?”
“No,” Zay answers, though he’s genuinely interested in how interested Charlie is in all of it.
“It’s sort of how… Dance is this way to feel free and express yourself, like you can channel all of your emotions into the movement of your body. Just… lose yourself on the floor and let everything fall away, y’know?”
Zay nods. That he does know, he knows it perfectly. There is something special about dancing, throwing himself into each move, getting swept up in the frenetic energy of fast-paced pieces, feeling each minor chord and swell of violins shake his rib cage as he extends his body gracefully during a lyrical number. Though the competitive performance aspect of it can be stressful, Zay finds the best way to try to work through his emotions (or distract himself from them, at times) is dancing.
Charlie plucks a book off the shelf, inspecting the back cover before putting it back. “For me, poetry’s kinda like that, but with words. Like all these feelings about the universe and nature and self-identity that I can never find the words for, that I can’t work through with dance… Somehow these poets get it, like, perfectly.”
A comfortable silence settles over them for a moment as Zay absorbs this, privileged to have a piece of information Charlie entrusted him with. In a way, Zay feels the same about music. Sometimes he just loves a fun bop to dance around to as he gets ready in the morning, or to show off his vocal ability to belt along with Ari and Beyoncé. But other times, there’s other artists who just seem to know the exact situation he’s in, commiserating with him or lifting him up or helping him fall even more in love. It’s how he has the perfect playlist for everything, sometimes several for the same situation, from feeling alone to the occasional sesh with Yindra and Nigel, walking to Riley’s favorite café with her afterschool or, of course, his top-tier make out playlist.
“I think I get it,” Zay says, squeezing Charlie’s hand. “So, who’s your favorite poet?”
Charlie makes an exasperated noise. “I can’t pick a favorite, there’s so many!”
“Which ones ‘get’ you the most often?” Zay amends.
“I mean, like, there’s the classics, like Wordsworth, and Keats, and there’s this one T.S. Eliot poem that’s like… Ugh! And Shakespeare is fun—”
“Fun?” Zay repeats incredulously. “I literally felt like my head was exploding when we read Romeo and Juliet freshman year. The only thing I understood is straight people are wild and Mercutio and Benvolio were gay, and that’s mostly because of the film adaptation.”
“The Zac Efron look alike one?”
“No, the DiCaprio one. Y’know, Shakespeare may be boring, but those movies sure know how to help the youth awaken their sexuality,” Zay jokes.
Charlie’s eyes widen, like he just realized something. “Oh wow. Um. Yeah, anyways, I’ve been trying to get into poetry that deals with like, religion and identity lately.”
“That’s cool. Any luck?”
“Sort of?” Charlie sighs, shrugging, “When I looked up, like… Sexuality and religion and stuff, most of the stuff that popped of was John Donne, which like, no thanks, I’m done.”
Zay snorts and tilts his head. “Very cute and clever, but you’ll have to elaborate, since y’know, I don’t know anything about this stuff.”
“Sorry. Though honestly, you’d probably be better off. I mean, it’s okay I guess, but it’s more like… I guess what you would say is ‘weird straight white people shit’.”
Zay laughs, excited that he’s rubbing off on Charlie a bit and helping him feel more loose, especially with the curse word. “Yeah?”
“He compares… making love with a flea drawing blood and stuff and frames it as this romantic thing. It’s... Weird.”
“Oh, what the fuck?” Zay’s face twists up. “Yeah, that’s hella strange. And not the fun Charlie brand kind of weird.”
Charlie rolls his eyes. “But yeah, I found out about this other poet who was a priest, Gerard Manley Hopkins. But he’s not as odd, and not straight—at least, that’s what some people theorize because of his personal writings and stuff.”
“Ah, I see. The classic historians erasing sexuality. I bet Mr. Matthews thinks Dylan and Asher are just ‘very good friends’. Although I’m not even sure he has a history degree. Or a teaching one, for that matter.”
He can tell Charlie tries to hold back from laughing out of good manners, but one escapes from his lips nonetheless. “Anyways, I wanted to see if I could find a collection of his stuff here. There’s some stuff online but I like to annotate.”
“Nerd.”
Charlie ignores Zay’s teasing and takes them down another aisle, stopping at the H’s. His eyes scan the shelves and finally spots whatever he’s looking for at the top of one of the bookcases. Although Charlie is taller than Zay (which is sort of annoying by way of Charlie having an advantage to tease Zay about, but is also very nice when they hug and Zay’s head fits perfectly under Charlie’s chin), he still has to go on his toes to reach the book he wants. Zay unashamedly watches as the hem of Charlie’s white sweater rides up, exposing the skin of his stomach.
When Charlie notices him, he gives him a reprimanding look, though it’s not serious. Zay can tell that he keens under the appreciation, a satisfied smile teeming at the edge of his lips even though he tries to hide it as he flips the book open.
“Here you go, this poem is perfect for the fall,” Charlie says, and starts reading from the book. “Summer ends now; now, barbarous in beauty, the stooks rise around; up above, what wind walks! What lovely behavior of silk-sack clouds!”
Honestly, Zay can only understand half of the words and sort of tunes them out, but he loves listening to Charlie’s voice as he reads the poem. The perfect rhythm of his voice, smooth and lush and excitement coming off every word.
Charlie seems to act out the lines, using his body to read the poem as well, like some sort of interpretive dance. “I walk, I lift up, I lift up heart, eyes, Down, all that glory in the heavens to glean our Saviour.”
“And, eyés, heárt,” his hands rest over Zay’s own chest, “what looks,” cradling his face, “what lips” fingers drag over Zay’s lips, “yet gave you a rapturous love’s greeting of realer, of rounder replies?”
Zay feels his skin shiver, despite how absurd Charlie’s romanticism is. It feels good to see him like this, especially out in the open. Well, they’re tucked away in the back of the store with no one around them because who else other than Charlie Gardner likes poetry, but still. And Charlie’s being goofy and ecstatic and free, uninhibited by the possibility someone could see them. Its everything Charlie tries to hide at school, and Zay wishes he wouldn’t. Charlie, who he really is, is a special sight to behold.
(Though, maybe it’s selfish, but Zay sort of likes that he’s the only one who gets to see Charlie like this. That he’s the one person Charlie feels comfortable being himself around when he suppresses who he is around everyone else. Zay hopes that one day Charlie will stop hiding, but he’d like it if there were still things that only he got to witness).
“These things, these things were here and but the beholder,” Charlie points to himself, giving a little wink. “Wanting; which two when they once meet, the heart rears wing bold and bolder and hurls for him, O half hurls earth from him off under his feet.”
“Wow,” Zay claps slowly. “I have, like, no idea what that meant, but loved the enthusiastic reading.”
Charlie snorts. “It’s about how Christ’s beauty and power is everywhere in nature, that nothing is quite as striking as it. But that beauty is only fully realized and appreciated through our eyes, when nature and man—people, really—meet, it creates this transcendent love, one that makes us want to be closer to the heavens.”
And that sounds nice and all, but it doesn’t explain why Charlie was essentially caressing him and reading it like some love letter.
“So, the interpretive movements?”
Charlie chews at his lip, face growing red. “There could be multiple meanings.”
“Hidden depths?” Zay teases pointedly.
“Sure,” Charlie closes the book. “Maybe some people are more a part of nature’s beauty than some devout people think. Less… shrouded by sin and more a reflection of God’s beauty.”
He gets the sense that Charlie is holding something back. That maybe, Charlie views him as something holy and striking too. That their own love is transcendent.
Zay nods, not wanting to push for the truth and make Charlie uncomfortable. “Well. I certainly feel appreciated and beautiful through your eyes.”
The pupils of said eyes grow, though Zay only catches a glimpse of it before Charlie is ducking his head and softly laughing in embarrassment.
“I, uh. Um. Th-there’s a couple of other books I wanted to grab if that’s okay.”
“Go forth, my nerd.”
Charlie rolls his eyes but sets off to find them, Zay trailing lazily behind. He pulls out a couple nice looking editions of books, some leatherbound, some covers with gold foil and ornate illustrations. It’s not very interesting for himself, but he thinks he could probably return here sometime and get Charlie gifts for the holidays and his birthday.
What is interesting is the music section. When Charlie’s done with his books (of which he said he wanted to get more of but he needed to stop spending so much on books—once again, nerd), they make their way over. It’s practically like a mini record store, a large selection of genres across different decades, and a place to listen with headphones in the back. He knows he could spend hours here, but they don’t exactly have that time right now. Maybe another day, if they come on a weekend together.
“Y’know, I actually have something I need to buy too,” Zay says, walking over the ‘S’ albums. “Jada fucking stole one of my favorite albums, Ctrl, by SZA before she left to college. Y’know, it has that one song you like—'Promise to get a little better as I get older, and you’re so patient, and sick of waitin’” he sings.
Charlie nods. “Yeah, that’s… I like it.”
“I think she was trying to look cool or something, jacking my room décor—she doesn’t even have something to play it on!”
Charlie laughs at Zay’s misfortune. “Sisters.”
Thankfully, Mae’s has the album, which bodes well for their selection overall. Even though he doesn’t have any other album particularly in mind, the pair search among the vinyl and CDs for a while. There’s a lot of cool stuff here, oldies and singles that are probably the cheapest he’ll ever find them at.
Zay check’s out the O’s, seeing if they have the new Omar Apollo project. No luck, but just after it is One Direction.
“Hey, you like One Direction, right?” Zay calls over his shoulder.
Charlie stammers. “Wha—no. I mean, I’ve heard some of the songs because my little sisters love them, and I took them to a concert, but I’m not, like, into them.”
Bullshit.
“Really? I think their song ‘Live While You’re Young’ is fun,” Zay says.
“It’s ‘Live While We’re Young’” Charlie corrects without thinking, and then shuts his mouth immediately.
Zay smirks. “Gotcha.”
“Fine. They’re alright.”
“Just alright?” Zay teases.
“Okay, fine,” Charlie throws his hands up. “I think ‘Fireproof’ is probably the best song ever created. You happy?”
“Very,” Zay grins. “Which album is your fave?”
He stays silent until Zay sends him a look. “I’m not playing around. Tell me.”
“A Lie.”
Zay rummages through them, “I don’t see it.”
“No that—it’s a song by them. 'Tell Me A Lie'. I don’t know why I said it,” Charlie buries his head in his hands. “They all have their own merits. But Four, I guess.”
Zay shakes his head at Charlie’s antics but adds the album to his pile of purchases. He’ll add it to his rotation of music in the car for them to listen to. If Charlie’s having his music taste greatly expanded by Zay’s curated collection, he can listen to Charlie’s self-indulgent pop anthems too.
“I thought Frank Ocean only had two albums?” Charlie asks from F’s.
Zay looks over at him. “Well, there’s Endless, but that was a visual album and you can’t really buy a CD of it except for that time he released it for 24 hours only, which I bought on my phone while I was in Mr. Matthews’ class.”
“I’d say you shouldn’t be on your phone during lessons or else you’ll miss something, but…” Charlie doesn’t finish the sentence, because he’s too nice to.
“Mr. Matthews barely teaches any lessons. I think we were listening to Hamilton again.”
“Was that the time Lucas stormed out when Mr. Matthews started singing along?”
Zay shakes his head. “No, I think it was the time Farkle ranted about the historical inaccuracies for half the class.”
“Well, anyways, this says 'Chanel'.”
Oh my God.
“What?” Zay asks, rushing over to Charlie.
“Chanel.” Charlie flips the cover over to Zay.
“Holy fucking shit!” Zay exclaims, taking it from Charlie’s hand carefully.
“Is—is that good?”
Zay stares at it for a little while longer, and then looks up at Charlie. “Good? Dude, I don’t even know how this place even has this! Only a few were made for promotional purposes to like, Japan, and they’re super fucking rare and expensive. The fact that they had it and that it’s still here is insane!”
“Divine timing,” Charlie grins, excited because Zay is. “I take it you like this song a lot?”
Zay nods. “There’s really not a lot of music that touches on bisexuality. Especially not made by a black male artist, and something that’s so… Confident and sexy, rather than sad. I dunno, it just makes me feel really good. Seen.”
Smiling maybe even harder than Zay, Charlie nudges his arm. “You are so cool.”
Zay wishes he could just kiss Charlie right there, but despite the little show Charlie put on earlier, he doesn’t think Charlie would feel comfortable doing it here.
“C’mon, lets go get our stuff. I don’t think we’re gonna top this.”
The employee is super chill as they ring up the items, chatting with both of them about their purchases. They smile at Charlie, amused, but not because Charlie is still so obviously teeming with excitement and nerves about being in an LGBT friendly space, but because of his general idiosyncrasies and the tangent he goes on about some modern poet. Zay smiles as Charlie excitedly waves his arms around, proud that he’s come this far, proud that he’s his.
The cool worker slips some free stickers into a paper bag and hands it over to them. “Come back soon friends!”
Since they’ve been in the shop the drizzle has become a downpour, water slipping down the awning of the shop in heavy droplets. Unfortunately, they left Zay’s car by the froyo shop, which isn’t too far in reality, but in what Zay would basically classify as torrential downpour it’s not an ideal distance.
“Well. As cute as it was seeing you walk in the rain earlier, I am not traipsing around and letting my outfit get more soaked than it needs to be. This jacket was thrifted. And vintage.” Zay says. “So, I think we’re gonna have to make a run for it.”
Charlie nods. “Yeah, I don’t want to catch a cold either.”
“Sure, that too.”
After chuckling and shaking his head, Charlie meets Zay in a fierce stare. A look before the battle between them and the cruel storms of nature. (Wow, Charlie’s dramatic poems really got into his head). Zay puts up three fingers, wiggling them. One, down goes his ring finger. Two, his index, so all that’s left is his middle finger. Charlie rolls his eyes and playfully swats at Zay’s hand, and Zay grins wildly. Three.
And then they’re off, making a mad dash through the city streets. It’s a careful balance of trying not to slip on the slick cement or jump into a puddle while being as fast as possible. (Also, holy shit, it’s hard to run in Doc Martens). They duck under scaffolding and any awning they can, almost barreling over some men in business suits as they weave around.
“WOO!” Charlie yells as he turns onto the street where Zay’s car is parked, sticking his arms out and waving the bag of their stuff around.
Although it feels ridiculous, Zay joins him, letting out a victorious shout.
Charlie spins in the middle of the street as he gets to Zay’s car, Zay just a few steps behind. He gives Zay the brightest smile he’s ever seen, chest heaving and eyes alight. His long hair is wet and there’s a strand that falls perfectly into his face, just between his pale green eyes. A water droplet drips off the tip of his nose, and another that runs down each of his lips, parted and pink and exactly where Zay wishes he could be. It’s so disarming that Zay forgets that he needs to unlock the car for them to get in, and they just stand there for a moment getting drenched in the rain, completely negating the purpose of them running.
Finally, Zay comes to his senses (though it’s hard when Charlie runs a hand through his hair to move the wet strands out of his face. He’d get mad at him for ruining it if that weren’t hot by itself, and also the fact that he should not be that affected by a piece of hair) and pulls his keys out of his jacket pocket. Once they’ve hurried inside the car, Zay blasts the heater and tries to catch his breath. (From the running and whatever Charlie’s doing to his lungs right now, beaming at him in the passenger seat, not as uncontrollably but still so fucking fond and enchanting that it hurts Zay’s chest).
In attempt to stop looking at Charlie, Zay unlocks his phone to check the time before they drive back to Charlie’s when he notices a text from his dad.
Oh.
Oh.
He sends a quick reply back and turns to Charlie.
“So, you know how you were talking about today being ‘divinely marked’ or whatever?”
When Charlie replies, he’s still a bit out of breath and shivering slightly. “Yeah?”
“Well, God keeps smiling down on us,” Zay says, although God probably wouldn’t approve of what he’s about to suggest, “Because my dad just said his coworker got promoted and is taking everyone out for drinks tonight, and my mom is working grave shift at the hospital.”
“Oh, cool, congrats to his coworker.”
Zay sighs at Charlie’s obliviousness. “That means my home will be parent-free until late at night.”
“Oh,” Charlie blinks. And then his eyes widen with realization, “Oh.”
“I can take you home, of course, and like, nothing. Has to happen.”
Charlie puts his hand up, “No, I. I want to come over. Let me just check in with my parents.”
Zay taps the steering wheel with excited fingers as Charlie texts them, hoping that their luck continues. He doesn’t want this day to end. It feels so similar to the night that everything really changed for them this summer, except now they’re dating and there’s no question about if they care for each other or not, or how long this thing will keep going.
(Hopefully).
Charlie’s phone starts ringing, a photo of his father popping up on his screen.
“Hey Dad, what’s up?” Charlie answers, his leg shaking nervously. Zay puts his hand on his thigh, trying to calm him down so he’s not so obvious. Charlie’s eyes dart to his and stills his leg. Then, he starts skating his fingers along the back of Zay’s hand as his Dad speaks on the other line, featherlight touch tracing his veins. When it’s his turn to speak, Charlie pulls his hand away, scratching the back of his neck nervously. “Ha ha, yeah. Did you get my text?”
His father talks for another minute or so.
“Yeah, well this routine is hard for us to nail down, and it’s really important we get it right. Plus, it’s also raining down pretty hard out there, so I don’t want my friends to have to drive and for something to happen. Or—or you to drive here. Either. Yeah.”
Zay throws his head back, trying not to groan out loud at Charlie’s poor ability to lie.
Charlie nods along as his Dad speaks. “Yeah, maybe an hour, hour and a half? Hopefully the rain will have let up by then. And we have to, uh, drop off Riley first, since it’s on the way to mine.”
Which is not true at all, since Riley lives on the opposite end in Greenwich Village, but that would hopefully give them enough leeway time for the difference between Queens and the Upper East Side. His Dad talks for a while on the other line, leaving Zay to wait in anticipation.
“Okay, yes, thanks Dad,” Charlie nods at Zay, and Zay takes the hand that was on Charlie’s thigh and throws it over his chest in relief. “Yes, yes, I will try to be home for dinner… And do the dishes… Yeah, okay. I’ll keep you updated. Okay. Bye!”
Charlie hangs up and lets out a huge sigh. “That was awful.”
“Wow, good job,” Zay praises, starting the car, “I didn’t think you were gonna stick the landing, but you did.”
"Earlier you were chastising me for being a sinful liar.”
Zay shrugs. “Well, it’s different when it’s to my benefit.”
“Yeah, I’m sure God is that discretionary when it comes to sin,” Charlie deadpans.
“Well, let’s go before we get struck down by lightning then.”
Charlie rolls his eyes, but they let the religious talk fade out as Zay drives slowly down the streets and One Direction sings existentially about broken hearts on the speakers. (They’re not what Zay would usually gravitate towards, but they’re better than he expected. Plus, he enjoys Charlie shyly humming along). As they drive across Queensboro bridge, Charlie’s hands reach over for Zay’s.
Unlike this summer, the weather doesn’t permit Charlie to idle outside Zay’s house and take it all in, or even do much dawdling around inside since they don’t want to drip all over the floor. Still, as they bound up the stairs to Zay’s room, he picks up on Charlie’s stiff shoulders and shifty eyes, still not completely comfortable in his home. He wishes that they could be out in the open, that he could be over more often to feel safe and cozy in Zay’s space. But for now, they’ll be okay with Zay’s bedroom being their own little haven—Charlie’s been in there more since this summer, at least.
Once they’re in his room, Zay shrugs off his jacket, hanging it over the chair on his desk. He peels off his shirt as he crosses the room to find a sweater in his closet. He stops when he notices Charlie still in the doorway, mouth hanging open a little as he looks at Zay.
Zay smirks, pleased at Charlie’s appreciative gaze. “You can just grab whatever you want, I’ll throw your shit in the dryer while we’re hanging out.”
“Uh.” Charlie replies, not breaking his stare even as Zay shrugs on a green knit sweater.
"You want to try again for a more coherent reply?”
Charlie blushes, clearing his throat. “I just feel uncomfortable going through your stuff.”
Zay scoffs playfully. “Dude, you are weird. But sure, I’ll pick something out for you.”
He grabs some sweatpants and socks, a pair for both of them, and turns his attention back to his sweaters. Zay grins when he spots one of the old, patterned sweaters he got on a thrifting trip and altered to be more his style.
“Here you go,” Zay hands Charlie the clothes he picked out.
Charlie examines the pieces, frowning. “Uh, dude,” Charlie lifts up the blue sweater to his frame, the hem coming up halfway across his stomach. “This is a crop top.”
“I know,” Zay grins. “That’s what you get when you ask me to pick stuff out.”
Charlie glares at him. “No. I’m not wearing this. And also, I’m literally supposed to be warming up right now.”
“Fine,” Zay rolls his eyes, “You’re no fun.” He hangs the sweater back up and grabs his maroon Triple A sweater with the school’s emblem on embroidered on the front. “You can go change in the bathroom across the hall, if you’d like.”
“Thanks,” Charlie cradles the clothes close to his chest. It seems like he’s debating whether or not to change in front of Zay, hesitancy apparent on his face. Like maybe that’s too much right now, even though they’ve been more vulnerable around each other before. Like maybe the tension that’s been building between them will be pulled too taut and snap. After another moment, Charlie ultimately pushes himself off the doorframe and turns to the bathroom. Although Zay would’ve certainly enjoyed having the same privilege of seeing Charlie shirtless (among other things) as he did Zay, it’s completely understandable.
Zay changes his bottom half quickly and also takes the opportunity to tidy up a bit. His room isn’t super messy—it usually isn’t, but there’s some spare sheet music and brochures and other miscellanea strewn about. It might be silly considering Charlie had already seen his room a minute ago, but Zay’s not sure he really saw it and registered anything other than Zay himself.
Charlie shyly enters his bedroom once again and tosses his wet clothes into the laundry basket per Zay’s direction. He looks good in Zay’s hoodie, the deep red suiting his dark brown hair and contrasting nicely against his pale skin. It’s not a miraculous step up from his plain white sweater he was wearing earlier, but the fact that it’s Zay’s is what makes his heart flutter.
He steps forward and sees Charlie’s eyebrows raise just a bit in interest as his hands drift towards him. Zay fixes the hoodie strings so they are the same length on either side, and while Charlie lets his guard down, presses a kiss to the side of his mouth, just missing his lips. He hears the hitch in Charlie’s breath, notices how his mouth parts ever so slightly. Charlie turns his head just enough so they’re facing each other completely, lips so close that it would take just centimeters for them to touch. In fact, Charlie moves forward to do just that, but Zay pulls away at the last second.
“I’m gonna go throw our stuff in the dryer.”
Charlie lets out a deep, shaky breath. “You are the worst.”
“Aw, thank you,” Zay quips, snatching up the laundry basket. “Be right back, darling.”
Although Zay was teasing Charlie, he also didn’t want to waste a lot of time of the precious time they have. Once he’s out of Charlie’s sight, he runs down the stairs and practically throws their clothes in the dryer.
When he returns, Charlie’s sitting awkwardly on the edge of Zay’s bed, hands clasped together on his lap.
“You good?” Zay chuckles.
“Oh, yeah,” Charlie responds, “I just. Don’t really know what to do with myself. Is this okay?” he asks, gesturing to him sitting on the mattress.
Zay keeps himself from rolling his eyes. It’s endearing how nervous and overly polite Charlie is. “Yes, though I’d prefer it if you’d relax and sit like you’re hanging out with your boyfriend and not like you got called into Principal Hunter’s office.”
Embarrassed, Charlie tries to loosen up his muscles, spreading out his legs and leaning back on his palms. Zay rummages through the bag of stuff they bought at Mae’s Nook, thankfully unharmed from the rainstorm. He grabs Ctrl and puts it in his stereo, then puts the case back to the place where the original had been on his CD wall—take that Jada. Zay turns the volume so it’s loud enough to enhance the atmosphere but not too loud that it’s distracting, bobbing is head along to the beat.
He does a silly dance as he turns to Charlie, moving his arms in a fluid wavy motion and shimmying his hips. Charlie’s laugh is soft and heavenly, rivaling the music. As Zay dances closer to the bed he plays up the ridiculous movements. Charlie throws his head back and lays down on the bed, his legs hanging off the side as he laughs breathlessly, covering his face with his arm.
Zay hovers over him, taking his hands and gently uncovering Charlie’s face so he can see the joyful tears in the corner of his eyes, how they crinkle as he laughs. Freeing his uncontrollable grin out of the cage he always seems to put it in, relishing in how his bright teeth flash in the gloomy lighting of the bedroom. He presses a kiss to Charlie’s forehead and traces the along the arch of his brow as Charlie looks up at him through his lashes with wonder.
With their intertwined hands, Zay pulls Charlie up from the mattress, his body so loose and pliant now that they stumble just a bit once Charlie’s up on his feet. They’re practically nose to nose, both of their hands interwoven.
“Dance with me.”
Charlie bites his bottom lip. “I don’t know the song.”
Teasing bastard.
“You don’t need to,” Zay says. “Just follow me and feel the music.”
There’s not a lot of space in Zay’s bedroom, at least compared to their dance studio at school, but that’s okay since they’re really just swaying. One of Charlie’s hands settles on Zay’s waist while he places his own on Charlie’s shoulder.
“My shoulder? How gentlemanly,” Charlie comments jokingly. “Surprising considering how you’ve been acting today.”
Zay’s brows shoot up. “Me. Me?”
“Yes, you, Zay. You’ve been driving me crazy all day,” Charlie groans. “The way you’ve been… touching me all day, so softly and then not acknowledging it to the point where it’s like I’m not sure it even happened. Except I know you have been because the feeling stays on my skin and has been ingrained in my mind.”
Well, at least he’s been going insane too. But he’s not gonna let Charlie absolve himself of blame.
Zay continues turning them around in slow circles, his fingers ghosting on the edge of Charlie’s neck, just to make him a little crazier. “You’re the one who started it. Saying all that hand shit back when we were eating.”
Charlie’s eyes shift to Zay’s hand on his shoulder, and then back to his face.
“Well. We’re alone now.”
Zay can feel his breathing stop as Charlie takes his wrist and pulls Zay’s hand towards his lips, slowly, tortuously. He holds it with care, like Zay’s skin is some holy artifact, a precious relic that’s proof of divinity, of the holy nature of this thing they share. The music, the sound of the rain against the windowpane, everything feels like it’s faded out except him and Charlie.
(Jesus, Charlie is turning him into such a fucking romantic).
Finally, mercifully, Charlie grants him a kiss on the back of his hand. After another moment, he gently turns his wrist and presses his lips into the center of Zay’s palm, tickling a little as Charlie’s lips meet his soft skin. Just before he pulls away, Charlie’s eyes flit up to Zay’s, and it makes his stomach flip a little bit. He feels like a king in that moment, revered and powerful.
And yet, whatever Charlie asked him to do right then, he would do it. Maybe it should be scary how intense it feels, how Charlie hasn’t even said “I love you” yet but he feels that love in the marrow of his bones, feels it like the rain on his skin and the kiss Charlie leaves on his wrist just now. Maybe it is scary. But it feels good. Zay likes the feeling of throwing himself into something, the thrill of experience. This something, this someone, makes him feel seen, safe, and sacred.
Charlie intertwines his fingers with the hand he kissed once more, loose and hovering in the air as those damned eyes drift to Zay’s mouth. He leans forward, lips parting to kiss him at last, so close he can feel the ghost of his breath against his skin. But Zay takes their hands and twirls Charlie under his arm, having to go on his toes just a bit with the height Charlie has on him.
“Zay,” Charlie laughs as he returns to their original position, though it’s less out of joy and more like an exasperated plea to stop this drawn out ritual they’ve started.
As fun as it is having Charlie practically beg for a kiss, he’s also tired of holding himself back, of staring at Charlie’s lips without doing anything about it. Though Zay is mischievous, he is also a most gracious King.
Cupping either side of Charlie’s face, Zay pulls him in, slowly but deeply, putting in all of the want that has been building inside him all afternoon into the kiss. One of Charlie’s hands splays across Zay’s chest, right over his heart, then twists the knit fabric as he gently grabs at his sweater with his fist, trying to bring him closer, closer, closer.
Just as impossible as it is for Zay to get closer, no matter how much he wants to, it’s also impossible for them to keep kissing without any air in their lungs. He pulls away first, because Charlie’s never really been that great at ending kisses, always wanting to hold onto the few moments they’re able to do this as long as possible.
“Zay,” Charlie repeats breathlessly, his name escaping his lips like a prayer.
Even though he barely sucked in any air, Zay moves his hand to the back of Charlie’s neck and brings him in for another kiss, the way Charlie said his name making him desperate. Charlie responds with the same amount of fervor, deepening the kiss.
Each kiss is passionate, weighted with intention and emotion. He can tell that every press of Charlie’s lips against his own is one that Charlie had been waiting to give to him for ages. (Or, maybe the whole week. It feels the same when their moments are few and far between). For every thought he had about Zay, Charlie kissed him. For every time he wished he could reach out for him in front of everyone else, Charlie kissed him. For every time he wanted to say how much Zay meant to him, how he really felt about him, but was too scared to, Charlie kissed him.
Zay feels so powerful, so strong and whole with Charlie, that it feels like them moving together is reshaping and creating their world. The breathy sigh Charlie lets out grows a forest, their noses accidentally bumping together splits coasts, and when they move together, they create a mountain range. And all the while, their wandering fingers and roaming hands create cartography, mapping out this new world they’ve made.
His fingers make their way into Charlie’s hair, carding through the long locks. Charlie pulls away again, looking at Zay like he can’t believe he exists, and kisses him more forcefully, pushing Zay backwards until the pair of them knock into the table that his sound system sits on.
“As—” Zay starts, but Charlie kisses him again and interrupts. He has to stop himself from continuing, leaning his head back. “As much as I’m enjoying this, I’m gonna get killed if this thing breaks.”
Charlie immediately steps back, a little too dramatically than the situation warrants. “Sorry, I—”
“You don’t need to apologize, dude,” Zay moves away from the stereo. “It’s good. You’re good.”
They look at each other for a moment, Charlie fixing his hair from Zay’s mussing, his lips red and glossy. Once their chests aren’t heaving and they aren’t acting so much like hormonal teenage boys, Charlie sits down on the bed, gently taking Zay with him.
The kissing is slower now, no longer frantic but soft, more like the gentle rhythm they find in the costume loft at school. Charlie keeps kissing him as Zay leans against the headboard, but it’s easy and languid and sweet. Zay kisses along Charlie’s neck like he’s imagined doing all day, pressing his mouth against each mole that trails up to his jawline. Charlie lets out a little giggle at the sensation, and Zay’s heart soars.
Charlie leaves a kiss on his forehead, and then his chin. He places one on his cheekbone just under his left eye, lastly giving his right cheekbone a matching kiss. He grins at Zay and then presses another to his lips.
“You are so strange,” Zay states, though he’s grinning too as he pushes Charlie’s hair out of his face.
“I can’t help it,” Charlie shrugs, resting his chin on Zay’s chest. “You’re just…”
Zay blinks at him. “Just… what?”
“Indescribable.”
The playful smile Charlie gives him makes Zay’s chest flood with warmth. It’s funny, how people at school viewed him as a heartbreaker. In a way he is, but not how they think.
Still, he’s gonna need a little more than that. Even Charlie’s boyish charm won’t let him off the hook.
“Well. Try,” Zay counters.
Charlie huffs. He thinks for a moment, brows furrowing until a little smile creeps on his lips.
Oh no.
“You are… talented,” Charlie gives him a chaste kiss against his cheek, “And bright,” he moves to the right side of his face, giving that cheek another one.
“Witty,” Charlie leaves a kiss on his brow bone, “Unapologetic,” one just at the edge of his mouth, and Zay tries to kiss him back but now Charlie moves his lips, retribution for when Zay did it earlier.
His lips drag down Zay’s skin until Charlie kisses his neck, “Alluring.” He presses his lips against his jaw, just below his ear. “Absolutely captivating.”
“Charlie—” Zay whines, feeling overwhelmed at the onslaught of praise. (Not that he doesn’t deserve it).
“Isaiah,” Charlie whines back jokingly.
Fuck, this boy is going to be the death of him, isn’t he?
As if he hasn’t ruined him enough, Charlie continues. “You’re kind,” he kisses the tip of Zay’s nose, “creative,” his lips brush against the top of his head, “all consumingly and undeniably beautiful,” he cups Zay’s face, thumb running along his cheek before he blesses his lips with his own once more.
Zay hums, his head falling back onto the pillows. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Am I?” Charlie asks, “Or are you just so special that you have this effect on me?”
Zay’s face warms. “No, you definitely are.”
Charlie lets out a sharp laugh, rolling off of Zay. He settles at his side before throwing an arm over him. “Okay, fair. But really, Zay, I—I meant every word. And every word I still haven’t said to you.”
Is it possible to feel like your heart is breaking in the best possible way? Because that’s what Zay’s feeling. Charlie’s words (even the unsaid ones) cause an ache in his chest, one that’s warm and blankets his heart.
“I know,” Zay replies.
He holds Charlie for a while, his arm over his back, and then slowly massaging his head. It’s nice, to just have a moment to hold each other. They don’t have to worry about someone coming in or maximizing the fifteen-minute break from rehearsal they have. Just them, peaceful as the rain falls down outside.
But they don’t have forever, even if it feels like it. The CD’s over and the rain starts to slow, and it’s getting darker outside. Even though Zay doesn’t want to, he knows he needs to take Charlie home.
“Charlie?”
“Hm?” Charlie hums into Zay’s chest, and Zay’s not sure if he dozed off a bit there.
“We should probably go.”
Charlie’s silent for a few moments, and Zay can practically feel the disappointment rolling off him in waves. “Okay.”
Zay lets them have another minute before he untangles himself from Charlie, stretching after he rolls off the bed. He takes out the other CDs he bought from the bag so Charlie can take home his books before shrugging on his jacket and grabbing his car keys.
When he’s turned around, Charlie’s sitting on the edge of the bed, his hair an absolute mess. Lazily, Charlie reaches for Zay’s waist. He pulls Zay closer, wrapping his arms around his body and burying his face into his abdomen. Zay holds the back of his head, brushing his fingers through Charlie’s hair in an attempt to make it somewhat presentable.
“Okay. Let’s go,” Charlie says, getting up and grabbing his bag.
Downstairs, Zay hands him his dry(ish) clothes and they pull on their shoes, the routine silent save for the rain outside. It’s not sad, necessarily, but it’s a little uncomfortable. Bittersweet. Today has been so good, but now it’s time for the real world again.
Zay hopes that the day the real world and their world collides will come soon.
He’s not sure if he should do the usual routine of stopping his car out of sight from the Gardner residence or not, considering the weather, but Charlie taps his hand when they approach the spot he typically parks at.
“Thanks for today,” Charlie says, turning to him. “I needed that.”
Zay smiles. “You’re the one who came up with this whole thing. I should be thanking you.”
“So you liked it?”
“Of course,” Zay answers, “I liked it a lot.”
Charlie’s eyes search Zay’s face, and he gives him one last kiss, slow and perfect.
Though it doesn’t look like he wants to go at all, Charlie moves to put up the hood of the sweatshirt, but then he lets out a gasp.
“What?”
“Shit, your sweatshirt—”
Zay puts up his hand to stop Charlie from going down some self-deprecating apologetic spiral. “No worries. Keep it.”
“Are… Are you sure?” Charlie asks.
“Yeah. I like it on you.”
Charlie’s face grows red, but then his forehead does that wrinkle thing it does whenever he’s worried. “Wait, but… What if someone knows it’s yours?”
“Dude, it’s just a school sweatshirt,” Zay says. “No one else is gonna know it’s mine except for you and me.”
After a second, Charlie nods, accepting that. “Okay. Yeah, I’ll keep it.”
Charlie puts his hood up and reaches for the door handle.
“Hey, wait,” Zay says, and leans over the console to give him another kiss, because he has a gorgeous boy in his car that cares about him, who’s wearing his sweater and looks at him like he hung every star in the sky, that whisks him away on adventures like this.
Charlie beams at him, blinking slowly as they pull apart.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Isaiah.”
(When he does, Charlie’s wearing the sweatshirt again, and Zay can’t hide the wide grin that spreads across his face).