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There’s something about Charles away from all the flashing lights and cameras in his face that Pierre finds nothing short of beautiful.
He’s quieter away from it, sometimes so lost in himself that Pierre can forget he’s even in the same room as him, finding things to keep himself busy as the hours pass by in the ever darkening sky and traffic outside the window.
Pierre can hear him breathing heavier sometimes, back hunched over the table watching him write against the low rumblings of the TV in the background and the sound of a pen scribbling across paper.
Charles will check up on him occasionally but Pierre is either feigning an interest in whatever is on TV to keep himself awake for just a little longer or he’s distracted with his phone but Pierre knows when Charles is looking at him, eyes burning into his quickly reddening face.
He doesn’t need to ask, he doesn’t actually need to speak, neither of them do, both serene enough.
They’ve come to learn they don’t need to hold conversations either, sometimes they’ll barely exchange more than a few words in hours just knowing that the other is there, that they’re in each other’s company, that’s enough.
Being with Charles is different.
It takes everything that Pierre has known from previous relationships and demolishes them in front of his eyes because Charles is so different from them. He’s his best friend, through and through and that being the foundation to where they are now,
It feels like he’s taken Pierre’s brain and rewired it to allow Charles to be Pierre’s calm.
Pierre switches the channel to the middle of a black and white film that he’s not going to pay attention to when he hears the chair push away from the desk across the room and Charles crossing it to fall onto the couch and into Pierre’s side.
Pierre’s arm slips from the back of the couch and lands awkwardly somewhere between Charles’ shoulders and the too many cushions on it.
Charles nestles his head into between his boyfriend’s neck and collarbone as Pierre gently traces his fingers against the hairs on the nape of Charles’ neck, the film continuing to play in the background.
Charles places his hand atop of Pierre’s free one that’s loosely gripping his phone and starts to tangle their fingers together before flipping his boyfriend’s hand over so they can link hands properly.
For a moment, both of them do watch the film watching the dramatic reunion between the main love interests and Pierre turns to say something but instead catches the softness in his boyfriend’s eyes instead and the small smile that’s twitching at the corners of his mouth.
Charles catches Pierre looking at him after the characters kiss and to his surprise giggles to himself before pressing his face into Pierre’s cheek shaking his head at himself.
Pierre holds him closer and kisses his hair.
Charles’ breathing evens out a short while later, hardly surprising, Pierre thinks.
Curling more into Pierre’s side, Charles’ arm moves across until his fingers grip the side of his boyfriend’s shirt, holding it to within an inch of its life.
Rain starts to hit the windows outside as Pierre feels the lull of sleep and Charles’ warmth against him pulling at him, it’s not often he craves things like this but with the chaos of their lives around them, is it so hard to just stay like this?
***
It’s three minutes past three in the morning by the time they get back to the hotel, cheeks flushed pink and growing deeper as Charles’ arms curl around Pierre’s body making it awkward to try and open the hotel door. Charles’ face is pressing into the back of his boyfriend’s shirt and his words are coming out in breathless mumbles as the door clicks to an open and both of them stumble into the room.
The event had dragged on for hours longer than it should’ve or at least longer than they both should’ve stayed for. Stuck in endless conversations that lost their interest about two minutes in but both too polite to excuse themselves, a free bar that is always a terrible idea if you’re wondering and the knowledge that they could but probably shouldn’t spend the day in bed tomorrow recovering.
All in all - great idea, terrible execution.
Now Pierre is kicking his shoes off and watching them roll across the room with bleary eyes and Charles is lying on the bed with his hands over his face giggling like a child as he begs the room to stop spinning.
Pierre might’ve tripped, Charles might’ve wrapped his leg around Pierre’s and pulled him forward but Pierre’s arms are tense as he holds himself above Charles, eyes tracing over the red splotches on his cheeks and the cloudiness in his eyes as the alcohol finally starts to settle in.
Charles’ lips are wet with remnants of alcohol as he drags his tongue across his bottom lip and struggles to keep focused on the way that Pierre is looking at him, he kisses him.
Messy but both of them are too drunk to care about that.
Charles’ fingers are pulling at the longer strands of Pierre’s hair and there’s a cocktail of liquors on their lips that are mixing together that truthfully should be nowhere near each other but they don’t want to stop.
Until they have to.
Pierre kisses him once more before the dumb, drunk smile returns and Charles is lying back, fighting back sleep as his thumb traces across Pierre’s cheek before down to the cross that hangs around his boyfriend’s neck, he presses it between his thumb and forefinger before letting it slip and dangle in front of him instead.
Pierre moves so that he can fall onto the bed, lying on his side and for a moment he doesn’t move, mainly because the room is spinning for him too but Charles looks so peacefully stunning if you tune out the drunken talking.
Pierre knows this, god, he’s so fucking in love with this man that he never needs to be reminded of that.
Charles is barely awake at this point, he’s talking shit too as Pierre brushes his hair out of his eyes and drags his thumb across Charles’ cheeks and down to his jawline to his neck - which Charles fidgets at.
Pierre messes with the two unopened buttons of Charles’ shirt and flicks his collar before moving his hand away and trying to breathe through the haziness of the night coming to an end.
He can’t pull his eyes away though, passing out is racing towards him but he can’t tear his gaze away from his boyfriend flat out, already passed out, lips parted, eyes screwed together, breathing wheezily and the grimace on his face as his hangover begins to set in.
Even like this, Pierre thinks his boyfriend is the most beautiful person to ever grace the planet. If he could, he would spend all of his days like this just watching Charles do the most mundane things, just watch him exist and feel this insurmountable burst of love for him.
Pierre loves Charles at his best, worst, whatever.
He even loves him when he jumps up out of his passed out state, almost knocking Pierre out in the process to rush to the bathroom and throw up his entire stomach contents.
***
Airports aren’t real places, or at least they never feel like they are. it’s like stepping into a world away from everything you had known outside the revolving doors, sometimes they’re empty and other times they’re bustling.
They’re not real though, Pierre is sure of that.
Backpack hanging loosely over one shoulder, he’s pulling his suitcase behind him in his other, shoes squeaking against the tiled floors and looking around and across his surroundings.
Empty, like he’s stepped into a void and lost complete contact with the outside world.
People are different at airports, like they've disconnected from the outside too, some are sleeping, others are drinking and there’s even more that just don’t know what to do, twiddling their thumbs as they count down to their flights.
Pierre isn’t and has never been their biggest fan, usually wanting to get out of there before he’s even in and an almost five hour flight is the last thing that he wants, running on hardly any sleep and filled with the dread and anxiety that comes with flying.
At least Charles is by his side, still hungover from the night before and chugging water like there’s no tomorrow.
Whereas Pierre’s head just pounds with every step he takes.
After finding somewhere to sit and rest before their flight, they once again fall into the familiarness of the comfortable silence they love, or the sound of their own voices are going to make them sick in their current states.
Their loosely entangled hands swing slowly back and forth in the gap between their chairs and the noise surrounding them fills the silence.
Turning to the side to find somewhere to rest his head, Pierre watches as the departure lounge is flooded in a golden light as the sun begins to set outside, lines of yellow glide across the tiled floor. Charles turns around to watch it or at least to rest his head against the cool glass, eyes flickering between open and closed for the next few moments.
The sun hits him perfectly, illuminating Charles’ face so delicately, flecks of gold dancing through his dishevelled hair and across his shoulders swallowed in a hoodie that’s too big for him.
If Charles is the sun,
Pierre wants to go blind.
Pierre laughs, funnily enough, and it’s enough for Charles to turn around ready to ask him what’s so funny but Pierre immediately stops and lets his eyes trail across his boyfriend’s face so gently as though he’ll break him with a harder stare.
Charles looks at him like he wants to ask Pierre what’s going through his head but Pierre isn’t sure he’d ever be able to truly put into words how he feels at this moment, it’s the happiness he’s craved, desperately wanting but never sure if he’d get it.
Leaning in, Pierre kisses him, fingers flat against Charles’ cheek and their foreheads together.
“I love you.” He whispers against his boyfriend’s mouth,
The sentiment echoed not a second later.