Chapter Text
‘Why are you staring at his butt?’
Henry gaped at Ellie as she signed, choking on his explanation as he scrambled to sign back.
‘I’m not!’ Henry signed with violence, darting fingers and slaps against his own hands, ‘I was just watching him, I am not staring at his butt!’
‘Really?’ The look on Ellie’s face really sold the implied question mark. ‘H-e-n-r-y.’
Both of them looked over at the pilot, leaning over a box he’d packed to frantically search for his wallet he’d apparently packed away with the rest of his belongings.
Yes, his ass was like...eye level. If he was looking. And he was wearing jeans today, and a hoodie, casual wear for a move to another base, covert, and jeans fit him a little...nicer...than his uniform slacks or the sweatpants he slept in at night.
But he wasn’t staring. He’d accidentally looked in that vague and general direction. He’d looked over when Charles had been searching, thinking about helping. Henry tried to decide which reasoning would be better to give his friend.
“I can’t believe this,” Charles’ voice was muffled, “I’m so sorry, guys, like so sorry, I’m looking!”
“It’s fine, Charles,” Ellie said, sitting on one of her small boxes she’d dragged in, legs askew. She proceeded to sign once again to Henry.
‘What’s sign for o-g-l-e?’
Henry looked around, but everything was packed away. Nothing to throw. He flipped her off instead, with both hands.
Ellie wrinkled her nose, flipping him off in return, scowling.
There actually was a sign for that but he wasn’t going to give it to her. Fuck you, Rose, he was being perfectly normal and casual. Someone could just glance over, like this, and see-
Henry straightened, abandoning all pretense, staring openly as he signed absently.
‘What?’ Ellie signed in the corner of his vision. ‘What does that mean?’
‘T-a-t-t-o-o.’
Ellie actually leaned up, half-standing, eyes alight with the information that straight-laced Charles had a tattoo.
She snorted, loudly, and Henry jumped in his seat when Charles pulled his head out of the box, eyebrow raised.
Ellie met Henry’s eyes, mischief a fire within them. “I didn’t know you had tattoos, Charles.”
The pilot froze, gaze flitting between the two of them, a flush creeping up his neck.
“Uh...yeah.” The man still clung to the box like it could offer him comfort. “I got...yeah.”
Ellie fumbled excitedly, pulling up her left sleeve. “Dude, we match, I’ve got one on my arm!”
There, Charles’ anxiety melted into sunshine. He beamed at her little stick n poke dinosaur holding a flower, something tiny Henry hadn’t ever seen even though he swore he’d seen her in sleeveless shirts before.
“That’s cute!” The pilot affirmed. “Yeah! I got all mine when I was like a kid. It’s, you know. Super embarrassing now.”
“Oh yeah,” Ellie told her friend, impressed, “I never had the guts to get a tramp stamp.”
Poor Charles appeared to be stuck in emotional whiplash. Henry was right there with him.
“It’s not a…” Charles flapped his fingers uselessly, “It’s just a tattoo.”
“Looks like some kind of tribal tramp stamp,” Ellie pulled her sleeve back down, leaning over her knees. “You said you got more?”
Charles pressed his lips together.
Henry and Ellie exchanged glances.
“Yeah,” He said, dragging the syllables along. “I have a few.”
Henry chewed the inside of his cheek, trying not to ask. Ellie had no such reservations.
“Well?” She said boldly. “Come on, Calvin. Show us the ink.”
“Ohhhh man,” Charles tugged at his shirt, laughing into his fist. “Uhh...I have a couple under my shirt.”
Ellie folded her hands primly. Henry hoped he looked only casually interested.
Charles groaned, pulling his shirt off.
Oh god, oh fuck, nope, Henry wasn’t ready to control his expressions.
Charles went to the gym, that showed; he had toned muscle in his arms, he was lean, but with a softer stomach that Henry’s brain was screaming at him to touch right now. A smattering of hair trailing down, and Henry was openly ogling him right now, absolutely, the sign for ‘look’ paired with your opposite hand dragging down your neck for desire.
“A friend gave me this one,” Charles pointed to a little scattering of stars above his heart, “When I was fifteen.”
“There’s the American flag, military boy,” Ellie laughed as Charles covered a small area of his upper arm.
“Shut up!” He nearly whined, “I was really drunk for that!”
“Why the hell were you getting tattoos at fifteen for?” The redhead teased him. “Why’s little baby Charles getting ink?”
The man laughed, awkwardly, and Henry tried to pry his gaze away from his collarbone.
“I...kinda ran with a crowd,” He scratched the back of his neck, awkwardly, and Henry could see every shift of muscle in his arms and torso. “I had piercings, too. All in my ears, and my nose, lips-”
“You’re kidding!” Ellie just looked impressed. “Holy shit.”
“Yeah, right!” Charles rested his hands on his own head, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s weird, I know, everyone’s always surprised-”
“No, no, it’s cool,” Ellie reassured, “It’s great that there’s a little bit of rebel in you, Headphones, it’s why you fit in so well with us.”
The way Charles beamed sent flutters through Henry’s chest.
Speaking of which.
The pilot looked over at Henry, tentatively, and Ellie’s smile vanished.
‘You didn’t know?’ She was signing behind Charles, brows lost in her hairline, ‘You never saw him without clothes?’
He was going to kill Ellie. Right after he killed Charles for the soft, worried look in his eyes that didn’t match his forced smile.
Henry was panicking. He had let this moment drag on too long to just answer ‘yes’ or something. He wasn’t sure he remembered how to sign, a doe-eyed Charles standing feet away from him, shirtless, every breath visible to Henry’s sharp eyes.
It was a little too much.
Henry stood, slowly. Both of them were watching.
“I have to go,” He said, and when he saw the look in Charles’ eyes, he blurted:
“You’re beautiful.”
Charles’ eyes widened, Ellie’s jaw dropped, and Henry fled from the room.
He ran the moment that door closed behind him, afraid one of them was going to come after him. Ellie to mock him, probably, and Charles to- Charles to-
He wasn’t going to think about it.
Henry left the building behind and sprinted all the way to the tent that Galeforce was working in currently.
He flew in the front of it, stumbling directly into the man’s makeshift desk, staggering against it like a deserted man in search of water.
“I,” Henry told the amazed General, “Will give you anything you want. I need pictures of Charles from his childhood.”
The man’s expression shifted from disbelief to something amused, then worryingly cunning.
“Sit down, Henry,” The General invited him. “I think we can work something out.”