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12
He's 12 when he stands on a stool in front of the mirror in the bathroom, stripped down to nothing but his underwear, sniffing hard against the tears that threaten to spill out of him.
His fingers shake as they trace the bruises on his skinny arms, tender to any touch. He chokes back a sob as he picks his chin up, looking at the dark red marks there. He pushes his hair down flat to his head from where it was sticking up, hands clammy. He picks up his arms to reveal the scratches on his sides, red and enflamed and thick. The inside of his thighs, red and raw. He's sore, and he's tired, and his cries are quiet and broken.
The bathroom light flickers, and he looks up at the lightbulb as it dies out.
18
He's 18 when he stands in front of the mirror in Mac's bathroom, Mac's hands on his shoulders.
"Come on, let's see it. Pop your shirt off." Mac grins, squeezing his shoulders slightly.
"I don't know, man, do I have to?" Charlie asks, chewing on his lip.
"It'll be good for you, Charlie, boost your confidence before you head over there." Mac tries again, voice genuine. He purses his lips together. "Want me to turn around?"
Charlie looks him in the eyes through the mirror, nodding subtly. Mac nods back and turns away from Charlie.
He takes a deep breath, pulling his shirt off over his head, fiddling with it nervously in between his fingers. He's bony, his ribs sticking out slightly on his sides, and while he's not cut he might be considered fit, but he just looks...ill. He probably is. Everything protrudes a bit more than he would like, has sharper edges than he'd prefer, except his face. His face still has this baby fat to his cheeks, making him look disproportionate to the rest of his body. His biceps have no definition and all of it makes him feel sick. He doesn't even look human.
"Okay." he says quietly.
Mac turns back around, smiling at the sight of Charlie. "Look at ya, you look great, Charlie!"
"Shut up." Charlie mutters, but not able to hold back his own grin at the sight of Mac's.
"Stacy's one lucky girl, you know? Gettin' all of this." Mac teases playfully, tapping Charlie's sides slightly. Charlie forces a smile, swallowing down the taste of bile at Mac's touch. "Have some confidence, Chazzy. Have some pride. You're a good-lookin' guy." He musses his hair a bit, putting a cheeky little kiss to his cheek. "She's gonna love you."
Mac walks away, and Charlie looks at himself in the mirror one more time, not able to recognize himself. He puts his shirt back on and shuts the light off, leaving whatever body that was in the mirror.
24
He lays on the grass, breath shaking as he looks up at the camera above him. Mac's backlit by the shining sun, grinning down at him, feet planted on either side of his hips.
"You're so beautiful, Chaz." Mac whispers, pulling the camera away from his eye. His shadow shields Charlie's eyes from the bright light, and he smiles softly up at him.
"You're the only one who thinks that." Charlie blushes, covering his face up in the crook of his arm.
"Nooo." Mac draws out quietly, dropping down to his knees to pull Charlie's arm away carefully, then covering his face in kisses, making Charlie giggle. "I wish you could see you how I see you. You're the most beautiful person in the world to me." In this little sanctuary of theirs, this hidden corner of the park, Charlie could feel the truth of Mac's words hit him in the chest, right above his heart. "Here." He stands back up again, holding one of Charlie's hands in his free one, using the other hand to hold the camera back up to his eye. "Smile for me."
Charlie can't help but let his eyes crinkle at the corners as he gives Mac a smile, and he hears the click of the shutter before Mac drops back to the ground and falls next to him, their hands still clasped together.
"Look at this beautiful boy." Mac giggles, showing Charlie the photos he took. Progressions of a smile, a person Charlie doesn't recognize to be himself.
There's a bit more of a jaw to him now, that baby fat having worn off and being replaced by a sharp edge to his face hidden underneath a five o'clock shadow. It looks grown up, in a way he doesn't feel he is. His sleeve falls off his bicep and bunches at his shoulder from where his arm is stuck up to hold Mac's hand, making the shirt look like it's three sizes too big on him, when in fact, it's the first shirt that's actually fit him half-properly in a long time. There's a little something to his arms now, enough to let people know he at least sort of cares about physical appearance, but not enough to convince anyone he makes the gym a daily habit. But you can tell by the way his shirt clings to his frame against gravity that there's no substance to him underneath. This person in the photos look like the hollow shell of a man, someone who shouldn't even be able to exist. Mac lets Charlie take the camera, and as he scrolls through the pictures, looking at photos of a guy who looks a helluva lot like him but can't possibly be him, his eyes start to well up.
"You're a great photographer." Charlie chokes out slightly, looking at Mac with dewy eyes.
Mac gives him a small smile, and cups his cheek slightly to press a kiss to his forehead. "I love you, Chaz."
40
He's 40 when he stands in front of the mirror in their bedroom in his and Mac's apartment, a towel wrapped around his waist. He's staring at his stomach, running a hand over it for a moment before letting a long breath out between his lips and running that same hand through his wet hair.
Mac comes up behind him and wraps his arms around his stomach, making Charlie furrow his brow. Mac presses a kiss to his shoulder before resting his chin there, looking at Charlie through the mirror.
"Wanna talk about it?" he asks gently, holding Charlie against his chest.
Charlie swallows, and the person in the mirror shifts to a 12 year old boy, covered in bruises and marks and red...things that haven't graced the plane of his body in decades, yet they still sit there, they still exist, they still hurt, just as bad. He can feel Mac move his arms to wrap around his neck, holding him tight. He reaches his hands up to hold onto Mac's arms, the feeling solid and sturdy around him, and he takes a shaky breath in through his tears.
"Everything he did to me," Charlie starts. "I see it. Even when it's not there, I see it. Even when I know it won't happen again, I see it, when I look at myself I see it." He looks at himself in the mirror again, a man he doesn't recognize. "He took so much from me. He took me from me. I haven't been able to see myself since I was 12 years old, Mac. This..." he waves his hand up and down at the mirror, gesturing to this frame of himself. "This isn't me, I don't know who this is." His voice cracks.
Mac gives him a sad smile and takes his hand, leading him to the edge of their bed. "Sit here."
"Mac-"
"Do you know who I see?"
Charlie shakes his head, looking down at his lap and fiddling with the hem of the towel. He feels Mac put a finger under his chin, picking his head back up to look at him.
"I see...a man with the kindest, bluest eyes." Mac smiles, sweeping Charlie's damp hair out of his eyes and off of his face. "With the softest brown hair that gets the cutest curls right by his ears." He tucks a stray curl behind Charlie's ear. "I see a man with strong arms that have made me feel safe and warm and loved for as long as I can remember." He says as he runs his hands up and down Charlie's arms. "And freckles all over that are like a beautiful painting all over him." He runs his hands to Charlie's chest and his stomach, pushing Charlie's hands away gently as they try to cover himself. "I see a chest that holds the biggest heart full of love I've ever seen, and a stomach that makes the comfiest pillow when we're lying in bed." he chuckles, intertwining his and Charlie's fingers. He pulls them up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to each knuckle. "Hands that play the sweetest songs on the guitar and the piano, and hands that have held mine through the highest highs and the lowest lows, and play with mine when they get restless." Mac leans down slowly, capturing Charlie's lips in a kiss, deliberate and intentional with no ulterior motive to it other than pure love. "And the softest lips, that give the best kisses, and sing the best songs, and produce the best stories." Mac stands up again, and walks over to the dresser.
"Mac..."
"Look." Mac brings back over a photo album and sits down next to Charlie, flipping through the photos. There's Mac and Charlie in elementary school uniforms, a teenaged Charlie flipping the camera off with a cigarette in his mouth, Mac kissing Charlie's cheek in the middle of a party, drinks in their hands. A picture from their corner in the park, a smile on Charlie's face, a t-shirt sleeve bunching against his shoulder from his raised arm. "This person, here, is the same person I grew up with, the same person I fell in love with, and the same person sitting right here next to me." Mac says, pointing at Charlie in every photo. "He's always been here. Right next to me. He's dependable and incredibly sexy and the best person I've ever known. That's who you are. And if you don't feel like you can see yourself again, you come find me, and I'll tell you everything I see, all over again, okay?"
Charlie turns to look at Mac, tears spilling down his face, and nods. "I love you."
"I love you, too, Chaz." Mac whispers when Charlie wraps his arms around him. "Did I help?" he asks quietly after a moment.
"Yeah." Charlie says back. He pulls away and wipes his eyes. "I just...sometimes I forget there's more to me than just..." He chuckles awkwardly as he struggles to find the words, and gives up on spitting them out today. "Yeah, you helped me. Thank you."
"Of course." Mac says, putting a kiss to Charlie's forehead. "I'm gonna go start dinner. You okay?"
Charlie nods, and watches as Mac walks out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him to give Charlie whatever space he needed, just for a moment.
He stands back up and walks back over mirror, and this time, he sees it.
He sees the same hair Mac sees, wavy and curling at the ends, and when he reaches up to touch it he watches the reflection do it in time, and it feels...complete. And he sees the same hands Mac sees, the same ones that hold his hands during scary movies or sitting on the couch or playing with Mac's while they sit at the dinner table. He sees the same arms Mac sees that have given endless hugs to him, that have held him when he's cried and held him when he's laughed, dotted with the same freckles Mac sees that decorate him all over like a painting. He sees the same chest Mac sees and the same stomach Mac sees and the same eyes Mac sees staring right back at him, like he's never seen them before.
He's 40 when he looks into the mirror and sees himself for the first time in almost 30 years.