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Charlie had been in the bathroom for nearly an hour.
Mac didn’t mind, really. He knew that Charlie would take any complaint he had about the lengths of his showers to simply not shower at all. And who knows when Charlie would next be able to bathe at Mac’s apartment.
Nights like this were pretty rare, now. Nights when Dennis was out all night wooing some helpless chick, leaving Mac home alone. Tonight was one of those nights, and Mac usually took advantage of them to invite Charlie over and drag him into his bathroom, threatening to send him back to his and Frank’s apartment if he didn’t shower. Mac would always be waiting in the living room with a selection of shitty movies and a case of beer for when Charlie got out. And they’d share a blanket on the couch, Charlie gradually getting closer to Mac as the night got colder and as Charlie got more drunk, eventually falling asleep with his head on Mac’s shoulder. Mac would sometimes end up carrying Charlie into his bed - which was super easy, by the way, because Mac was so strong, and definitely not because Charlie was fairly small.
But Charlie was still in the bathroom. The water wasn’t even running, leaving Mac wondering what the hell could be taking so long.
“Goddamnit, Charlie”, Mac groaned as he made his way to the bathroom.
He rapped on the door.
“What’s taking you so long, dude. The beer’s getting warm.”
No response.
“Charlie?” He said, pressing his ear against the door. He could hear… something. Was Charlie crying?
“If you don’t open the door, man, I’m gonna do a sweet karate kick and bust it open.”
Still nothing.
“Alright, man, I’m gonna do a sick flying jump kick, just make sure you pay attention to how badass I’m gonna look”
He stepped back, then ran at the door, jumping into a kick, failing miserably, and collapsing onto the floor with a grunt.
Charlie yelped from inside the bathroom at the noise. “Jesus Christ, Mac, it’s not even locked!” he shouted groggily from inside the bathroom.
Mac sat up, catching his breath after winding himself. “Yeah. Yeah I knew that”, he half groaned.
Opening the door, he saw Charlie curled against the wall, hugging his knees. The room stank of Dennis’ deodorant, so much that it made his nose sting. He noticed that Charlie was holding a bunched up shirt to his face, the can of deodorant in the other hand.
“For fuck’s sake, Charlie, are you huffing Dennis’ deodorant? Jesus Christ, man, give me that.”
Mac reached for the balled up shirt that Charlie was holding to his face, glancing down at him and noticing that he was topless.
“Is that the only shirt you’ve got? You can’t wear that now, I’ll grab one of mine.”
As he tried to pry the shirt out of Charlie’s hand, he glanced at his chest and stepped back, instinctively covering his eyes.
“Ah, fuck, dude, I forgot you, like, had tits. Shit, I’ll go- I’ll get a shirt for you first.” He stammered, stumbling out of the bathroom with his face half covered by his hand.
He thought he heard Charlie mutter something along the lines of “You’re such an asshole”, but he couldn’t quite make it out over the sounds of him spraying more deodorant onto the shirt that he didn’t manage to confiscate. He probably should’ve taken the deodorant off of him, he thought, as he sifted through the shirts in his closet.
Mac walked back into the bathroom with one of his t-shirts in hand (sleeves intact) and tossed it to Charlie, who was absently staring at the wall, barely aware of the garment that had landed on his head.
“Charlie, put the shirt on,” he ordered, lightly kicking his leg to snap him out of his dazed state.
Charlie groaned, grabbed the shirt, and motioned for Mac to leave the room. He shrugged and walked out, leaving the door ajar and leaning against the outside wall of the bathroom, arms crossed in a decidedly badass manner.
Mac heard the sound of Charlie shaking the deodorant can, and swore under his breath. He really should’ve taken that off him. But as he stuck his head back into the room he saw Charlie facing away from him, holding the can under his shirt, putting on deodorant like someone who cares about personal hygiene might. A weird look for Charlie, admittedly.
“Dude, are you putting Dennis’ deodorant on?”
“Well. I don’t have my own, do I?”
Mac felt his face burn up a little. He really liked Dennis’ deodorant. Not because he liked Dennis, though, no, the smell was just nice. Yeah, nothing gay about why he liked it. In fact, it was actually kind of straight for him to be blushing over Charlie wearing it because, well, Charlie was basically a chick. Nevermind that Mac forgot that Charlie was trans half the time. Or that Mac was far less worried about seeing his friend’s tits than the fact they looked so weird on a dude. Yeah, this was definitely straight.
“Mac. You good?”
Mac blinked. He’d zoned out a bit while convincing himself he was definitely not gay. “Yeah, man,” he responded. Now that Charlie had turned around, he noticed that his eyes were a little red and bloodshot, and his face looked kind of blotchy. “Are you?”
Charlie started, looking down and jamming his hands into his jean pockets. “Just need a beer.”
-
Curled up against the arm of the couch, underneath a blanket, Charlie peered at Mac as he rummaged through the shitty films he had sitting underneath his TV unit. He was explaining how The Room was actually a really good movie, or something, but Charlie couldn’t really focus on the words. He’d already downed a few beers, and he was feeling the lingering light-headedness of his aerosol high, making Mac’s rambling devolve into nonsense in his brain.
Besides, Charlie’s thoughts were preoccupied. Now that he was coming down from huffing the deodorant earlier, he was able to remember why he had done so in the first place. His hand absentmindedly fidgeted with the hem of his binder. Why did Mac have to make such a big deal out of him being shirtless? He would’ve been alright if Mac hadn’t made a scene out of it. The fact that Charlie had decided huffing whatever he could find in Mac’s bathroom was a favourable alternative to so much as looking at his body meant nothing.
He glanced down, seeing the curves of his chest underneath Mac’s t-shirt. It seemed unfair to him, that even after swapping a combination of sports bras and duct tape for a real binder (at Mac’s request), he still wasn’t flat. He pulled the blanket further up, obscuring his chest underneath the fabric. He really wished he had something to huff. He settled for a solid swig of beer.
“Yo, Charlie. Are you even listening?”
“Huh?”
Mac threw his hands up in defeat. “Oh my god, you are infuriating. I’m just gonna put Thunder Gun on.”
Charlie hummed noncommittally in agreement as Mac sat on the opposite side of the couch, tugging some of the blanket over himself. He glanced over at Charlie, who was looking at the TV but seemed distracted. He nudged him with his foot under the blanket.
“Were you, uh, were you crying earlier? In the bathroom?”
Charlie’s eyes shot up at him, and looked away just as fast. “Um, yeah a little, I guess. Don’t worry about it, man.”
Mac’s eyebrows furrowed as he shuffled a little closer to Charlie, awkwardly resting a hand on his shoulder. “What’s going on, dude?”
“You, uh,” Charlie began, fidgeting with his hands, “You ever wondered why I, like, never shower?”
“Uh, because you don’t give a shit about personal hygiene?”
“No, man! Well, I mean, I guess so, a little. But the main reason is because,” Charlie glanced up at Mac. His eyes were still puffy from crying earlier, and Mac noticed just how dark the circles under his eyes were. “It’s because I can’t stand seeing my body, Mac.” He explained, wincing at the vulnerability and turning his face away from him.
“What, so much that you can’t even shower? Dude, nothing can be worth how bad you smell.”
“You don’t get it! I just… I can’t. You think I was huffing Dennis’ awful deodorant for the hell of it? No, man, I just couldn’t cope with seeing myself.”
“Shit, dude, I’m- I’m sorry.” He could hear the grimace in his voice.
“What?” Charlie choked. It wasn’t like Mac to give an apology so freely. He turned to face him again and tensed, realising that Mac had leaned in, leaving their faces alarmingly close.
Charlie was now acutely aware of Mac’s hand still on his arm and the weight of the silence in the room. Brown eyes bore into his own in a mix of confusion and concern. His face felt hot. His mouth was dry. Was Mac’s apartment always this warm?
Maybe it was the beer, or maybe it was the aerosol (although he had definitely come down at this point), but Charlie lifted his hand to rest it on Mac’s cheek in a unmistakabley gay fashion. Mac’s grip on his shoulder grew tighter as his eyes widened, and Charlie was pretty sure he saw them flick down to his mouth.
Charlie opened his mouth to say something to fill the silence, but was interrupted by Mac pressing his lips against his own. He froze, but only for a second, before moving his hand to the back of Mac’s head and kissing him back and, holy shit, he’d wanted to do this since fucking forever and, holy shit, this was super fucking gay. Mac was gonna freak the fuck out over how gay this was.
Mac pulled away to catch his breath and Charlie was stunned by how pretty he was. But he had a look on his face that was half dazed and half scared, and Charlie knew he was gonna freak the fuck out. He tangled his fingers in Mac’s hair as if to beg him not to say something stupid and ruin the moment.
“That wasn’t gay, right?”
There it was.
Charlie hung his head back and groaned in annoyance, lightly shoving Mac off of him. “Why wouldn’t that be gay?”
“Well,” Mac began, averting his eyes. “‘Cause you’re basically a chick?”
“Oh for fuck’s sake, Mac. Really?”
Mac sunk back into the couch, nodding as he crossed his arms.
“You’re such an asshole,” Charlie mumbled, getting up from the couch and trudging to the door.
“No, c’mon, dude, don’t leave. Thunder Gun still isn’t finished!”
Charlie considered mentioning that neither of them were actually watching it, but figured it just wasn’t worth the argument. “Bye, Mac.”
“How are you gonna get home?” Mac asked, as if pleading for Charlie to stay.
“I’ll walk”
“It’s midnight.”
“Whatever, dude, I’ll be fine.” Charlie looked over his shoulder at Mac, who looked visibly upset. He really didn’t want to go home. Any other day, he would have disregarded Mac’s ignorant comments. But it had been a bad day, and Charlie could not take this shit right now.
Gripping the door handle, Charlie paused for a moment. “Bye, Mac,” he repeated, this time with a sense of finality.
Mac just stared at the door as it swung shut.
“Goddamnit, Charlie,” he hissed, pushing himself off the couch and following him out into the hallway.
Charlie hadn’t gotten very far. In fact, he was sitting against the wall not two metres away from the door, head buried in his hands. It was eerily similar to how he had sat in the bathroom earlier, but this time Mac had no doubt that he was crying.
“Charlie?”
“Fuck off, Mac,” he whined between sniffles.
“Uh, dude, you’re the one sitting right outside my apartment.”
Charlie scowled up at him, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.
“Sorry, sorry,” Mac said, raising his hands defensively. “Just, come back inside, alright?”
Charlie didn’t move, just continued to glare.
Mac sighed defeatedly. “Fine, I’m sorry,” he began, looking down at his feet. “I’m sorry for being such an asshole, dude.”
Charlie’s gaze softened, and he slowly got to his feet. The pair stood in silence for a moment, save for the occasional snuffle from Charlie. He wiped his nose once more for good measure, and lightly bumped Mac with his elbow.
“You don’t really think I’m basically a chick, do you?” Charlie asked quietly.
Mac brought his hand up to rub the back of his neck, tapping his foot nervously. “Not at all, man.”
Charlie smiled, albeit slightly. “Wanna finish that case of beer?” he offered, already walking back towards the door.
“You know it,” Mac replied, throwing his arm around Charlie as they went inside. Charlie leaned into him in a pretty gay way, and this time, Mac didn’t bother to convince himself otherwise.