Work Text:
Charles sat alone in the dining hall, eating the stack of pancakes Whit had made for him today. Every day, they were in new, strange shapes. The first day Whit offered to make them for him, they were just the traditional circle shape.
Then the next day, they were triangles. How does one even accomplish that?
Today, they were in the shape of hearts, no doubt a reflection of Whit’s Ultimate Talent. But he couldn’t help hoping that the hearts had a different meaning, just for him. Wait, no, of course they couldn’t. Whit was probably just teasing him again to see his reaction.
Besides, Arei and Whit were fairly close. Maybe Whit liked her. They both did like to tease others and joke around together.
Charles sighed angrily, shoving his safety goggles farther up his face in annoyance. He stabbed the fork into the stack of pancakes and cut them into small pieces, making more of a mess than he’d like to admit.
It wasn’t like him to act so childish, much less about some stupid schoolgirl crush he had. Yet, Whit had somehow wormed his way into Charles’ heart- against his will, Charles would add. There was no way he would have let this happen on his own. Right?
Of course. That’s elementary.
That also had to be the reason Whit had offered to make him something he had wanted throughout the killing game, today in the shape of hearts. Whit was just toying with him.
Before he could ponder that tangent any longer, the muse of his thoughts sat down in the chair right across from him with his own plate of pancakes; also heart-shaped. He had a mischievous look on his face, but when did he not?
“Heyyyy, Cha-Cha!” Whit chirped, crossing one of his legs over the other.
Charles shot a sleepy frown at him. “Whit.”
“Damn, good morning to you too,” Whit said, half-affectionately and half-surprised. He slumped slightly in the chair. “Is there something bothering you, Charlie?”
As much as he wanted to deny it, the use of the nicknames Whit gave him made his heart flutter. Obviously in a platonic way.
“No, it’s nothing,” Charles snapped. When he saw Whit’s cheerful expression falter slightly, he cleared his throat. “I... didn’t sleep well last night. Just some nightmares; nothing to worry about.”
Damn it, when did I become so soft?
This answer didn’t seem to appease Whit because he leaned forward, fixing his horrible posture that would probably lead to severe back pain when he got older- that is not something Charles should be worried about; why was he even worried about that?
I need to get over this stupid crush and return to my daily life.
“That’s not it, is it?” Whit asked, even though he seemed to already know. Whit gave him a reassuring smile. “I won’t push you to talk about it, but if you want to tell me... you’re always welcome to knock on my door, alright? Any time.”
Oh no.
Charles felt his face warm up in embarrassment. Stupid schoolgirl feelings. To cover up his moment of silence, he quickly shoved one of the torn small pieces of the pancake into his mouth (using a fork, obviously; he wasn’t an animal ).
It was... delicious. As always. But it still never failed to amaze him at how good Whit was at making them.
I wonder what it would be like if he was able to continue cooking for me for the rest of my life.
Charles almost choked on his breakfast.
FUCK. NO. STOP IT.
Swallowing the piece of pancake, he decided to finally reply to Whit, who was staring at him, hope shining in his eyes. How could he say no to that?
The chemist tried to ignore his brain screaming at the universe, and decided to slip back on his usual mask of elegant composure. “...I’ll... keep that in mind.”
Whit beamed at him, but it was a new type of smile- one he’d never really seen on him before. He seemed utterly overjoyed at Charles’ acceptance- why, though? But he couldn’t deny that this new expression made Charles want to see it more on him. It was even cuter than his usual face.
He, more carefully this time, took another bite of the (formerly) heart-shaped pancakes.
“Even if I come over at the most ungodly of times?” Charles challenged.
“Hmm... well, I do have to get my daily beauty sleep. It’s not easy looking like this, you know?” Whit teased, pointing his fork at the chemist. “All jokes aside, I wouldn’t mind. Any more opportunities to hang out with you is an opportunity I’d take.”
Charles blinked a few times, before a pout crossed his face. “You...”
“I...?”
“Even if I woke you up during your... ‘beauty sleep’? Would you still open the door?” Charles asked. He already knew the answer, but he still wanted to hear him say it.
“Of course, Cha-Cha. I would always be willing to let you in, alright?” Whit said with a ferocity Charles didn’t know he had. “No matter what. You’re stuck with me, whether you want me to be or not.”
Before he could stop himself, word vomit decided to spill from Charles’ mouth.
“I guess- I guess I wouldn’t... mind being stuck with you. O-Obviously until we get out...! It’s not like I want to be stuck with a... parasite like you!” Charles spat out, feeling his face warm up.
Despite his harsh-seeming words, Whit grinned like that cat from Alicia in Dreamland.
“Aw, Charlie~! I really like you too!”
“Shut up!”
Charles continued to stab one of the pancake pieces over and over in frustration. Stupid Whit. Stupid Whit and his stupid hair and his stupid face and his stupid clothes and his stupid smile. It frustrated him.
But... he was still a strangely kind person who took an interest in him for whatever reason. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad to be stuck with Whit until the killing game ended. And then they’d go on their separate ways, forgetting about each other because their bond was only built on the need to survive.
The thought of Whit forgetting him, though... it made his chest hurt in a strange new way he had never really felt before. He had felt snippets of this pain when he saw Arei and Whit joking around in the hallway, when he saw Whit trying to talk to Nico, and when he saw Whit playfully flirting with Teruko.
“Charles? Are you okay?” The matchmaker asked, placing an open palm out for him to take if he wanted.
Charles looked down at the extended hand, if only for a distraction. “It’s nothing. I was just thinking about what would happen if we’re ever able to leave this place.”
“Oh? I didn’t take you for the type to daydream about the future.” Whit suddenly put on an impish smile and rested his cheek on his other palm. “Was I in there, Charlie?”
No. Absolutely not. This will not stand.
Charles narrowed his eyes, trying to make himself sound spiteful. “Yeah, you were the family dog.”
“How charming...” Whit muttered, the smirk being replaced with a joking pout. “But I’ve been thinking about the future too.”
The chemist quirked an eyebrow at him.
“Hm. Really, now. What was I, your housewife?” Charles sneered, deciding to put a bit of the same teasing energy into his voice that seemed to come so naturally to Whit.
Whit snickered in response, finally taking his outstretched hand back to cover his face to prevent himself from laughing too hard. Charles swallowed and tried to ignore how warm he felt inside. Whit was laughing at a joke that Charles had made. He never made jokes. What the hell was Whit doing to him?
But was this feeling the same reason why Whit tried so hard to make Charles genuinely smile for so long? He still refused to do it where Whit could see him, but knowing Whit, he probably already knew the effect he had on him.
Whit drummed his fingers on the table, having a contemplative look in his eyes; Charles somehow didn’t notice he put his hand back on the table.
“...Whit. You better not be thinking about me being your housewife.”
“Aw, but Charlieeee...! You looked so good in that 50’s dress!” Whit whined, putting on dramatic puppy eyes.
Motherfucker.
Charles barely resisted the urge to hit his head on the table out of sheer embarrassment. “Ugh. I would never disgrace myself by wearing something so stupid. So get that silly little image out of your head right now.”
“There’s the syrup!” A new voice chimed in. “Damn, you guys need to stop hogging it every day! When are you going to finally eat something that isn’t pancakes?!”
“Oh, hey, Arei!” Whit chirped. “Sorry, we were almost done. You can have it now, if you want.”
Arei grinned and took the container of syrup.
She’s up to no good, isn’t she?
As soon as she picked it up, Charles felt something room temperature and wet splash all over him, making his hair and clothes sticky.
That stupid bitch.
“Whoopsie!” Arei said, laughter dripping from her voice. “Sorry about that- I really didn’t mean it!”
Charles shot her a glare- how dare she? At the sight of his pissed-off expression, she ran off, crying her usual crocodile tears.
Whit was staring at him in bewilderment like a dumbass- though, when did he ever not look like a dumbass? “Whoa... Charli- Charles, are you alright? We should probably get you cleaned up...”
“Ugh. It’s nothing ten hours of scrubbing and two cycles in the washer can’t get rid of. I’m fine, just... I really want to kill Arei. Right now.” Charles spat. “In fact, I could probably poison her breakfast- she left it here like a fool.”
Whit let out a nervous chuckle. “Let’s not do that, alright?” He pushed his plate aside and grabbed Charles’ hand before standing up. “C’mon, let’s get you washed up.”
Charles narrowed his eyes in suspicion at their connected hands, and then transferred his skeptical look to Whit’s face. He wasn’t as good at Whit as detecting emotions, but it seemed like he was genuinely eager to help him. He shut his eyes with a small snarl and stood up as well.
“How, pray tell, do you think you can clean this mess up?” Charles asked.
Whit hummed in consideration before dragging him into the kitchen. “You’re on your own for changing your clothes, but I can help wash the syrup out of your hair! And maybe if you ask politely enough, I may even do your laundry for you just this once!”
“Ha. No thanks. I can do it myself.”
“Are you sure? I can be great help, I swear! And, besides... Arei is my friend- I should at least help clean up her mess,” Whit countered.
He’s got a good point. Although I have no idea why Whit would be friends with someone so mean.
Then again, I’m not exactly the nicest person on the planet. Maybe we’re his pity projects, trying to make us ‘better people’. Ugh.
After a moment of consideration, Charles gave in. “Fine. But don’t you dare do something to my hair. It took a while for it to grow out this long, you know.”
Whit beamed at him, making a wave of fond warmth spread through his body. Stupid mushy feelings.
“Alright! I promise I won’t do anything to your precious hair, Charlie!” Whit continued to drag him to the sink before letting go of their conjoined hands.
“Wait, what do you plan on doing, Whit?” Charles asked cautiously.
“Uhh, didn’t you hear me? I’m going to wash your hair. Can you hear me up there?”
Charles rolled his eyes at the immature humor. “Ha-ha. Very funny. Just... hurry up, alright?”
“You’re lucky you at least got some safety goggles to protect your eyes from the syrup. You should probably keep them on if I’m going to wash your hair,” Whit pointed out as he started to clear the sink of the dishes from everyone else’s breakfasts and last night’s dinner. After a moment, he added, “Maybe I should start calling you ‘honey’ from now on.”
He was lucky Whit seemed to be focused on clearing out the dishes that he didn’t see Charles’ face and heart burst into flames.
“What?!” Charles hissed through his teeth. He sucked in a deep breath. Stupid bleeding heart. “There- There’s a difference between honey and syrup, you know! A very, very obvious one!”
The matchmaker finally turned his head to look at Charles, his eyes half-lidded and gleaming with a knowing look. “But you know, they’re both sweet and I personally think both are delicious. Close enough, honey.”
The fucking implications. He knew what he was doing. There was no way he didn’t know what that could be interpreted as. Even if the joke sucked ass.
“You...!”
Whit poorly held in a snicker, turning on the water to warm it up. “What? I what?”
“Just shut up and hurry it up! I have work to do, you know!” Charles hissed. “I don’t have time for your idiotic drivel!”
“You know, my mother always told me that when a boy was being mean to you, it means they like you~!” Whit joked.
“Shut up! That premise is entirely flawed! Some people are just assholes, you know? Not all people that are mean to you like you. That would just be stupid. If I were to steal your lunch money and call you twenty different slurs, that doesn’t mean I like you.”
Whit turned and grabbed Charles’ gloved hand, pulling him closer to him- the sink. Definitely the sink. Right. He almost forgot.
“Ah, ah, ah! But you didn’t! Aaand, you’re still here, you big tsun-tsun!”
“Only because you promised to help me. Just- hurry up, alright?” Charles said. “You’re making me lose my will to stay here and my will to live.”
“Awh, fine!” Whit paused for a moment, looking left to right before perking up again. “I just have to get some towels real quick, so wait for me here, Cha-Cha!”
Whit patted Charles on the shoulder gently before running into some pantry nearby. In the background, he could hear him digging around in some bin.
I have so many better things I could be doing right now! And syrup will dry quickly in my hair! I should have just gone to my suite and taken a shower.
But for some unknown reason, his feet stayed firmly planted on the ground, not daring to run away. Charles took a deep breath. It wasn’t like this was going to hurt. Or at least, not physically.
The blonde soon came back with an armful of towels, setting them down on the counter before appearing back at Charles’ side- a little close for comfort. The matchmaker raised his hands up towards the chemist’s face and just as he felt his heart flutter, Whit’s hands made their way to the hairband that kept his hair in that low ponytail.
He flinched, but he was unable to pull away. “...Whit, what are you doing?”
“What, did you think I was going to just wash your hair without taking it out of the ponytail? That’d just be silly, honey.”
Still not dropping the nickname, huh?
“Stop calling me that. And when, exactly, did I give you permission to touch my hair?” Charles asked, venom dripping into his voice. To be honest, he sometimes wondered what it would be like for someone (Whit) to play with his hair, but those thoughts were always fleeting.
“Oh. Well, um. How am I s’pposed to wash your hair if you won’t let me touch it?” Whit questioned, pulling his hands back quickly.
Charles felt his ears and heart warm up. “I didn’t say you couldn’t. It just... took me off-guard, alright?”
“Ah, gotcha! I’ll make sure to let you know if I’m going to do something from now on, alright? And you can back out at any time if you want- I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything.”
Ah. That. That was why Charles adored Whit. No, admired would be a better term for it. He didn’t exactly trail after the matchmaker like a puppy, and what he felt couldn’t be classified as adoration. At least, not entirely.
“Good. Well? What are you waiting for?” Charles snapped.
Whit’s hands immediately returned to Charles’ syrup-soaked hair. He gently tugged on the hairband until it finally popped off, leaving a mop of purple hair no longer contained by the rubber band. His purple hair was long and usually silky (now it’s sticky and gross), and he preferred to have it up because it could get in the way of his daily tasks. And maybe because he thought it looked too feminine, but he didn’t have time for a haircut.
The matchmaker looked up at Charles with an amazed look in his eye. “Wow. You should definitely have it down more often. It makes you look more, like, approachable.”
“Thanks for that, Whit,” Charles grumbled, crossing his arms. “Let’s get this over with, alright?”
“Alright, bend over the sink and under the tap water!”
Charles quirked an eyebrow at Whit but decided not to say anything about his poor choice of words, instead choosing to lean over the sink. A few moments later, he felt the hot water from the tap pour down on him like an isolated heavy rain shower.
“Jesus, turn it colder! I’m not trying to get first-degree burns here, Whit!” Charles hissed, yanking his head out of the trajectory of the water while still keeping his head in the sink- his hair was fully doused and it wouldn’t be smart to make another mess.
“Oh, crap, sorry!” Whit shrieked. He could hear that he quickly scrambled for the faucet handle and quickly shifted it to something that was probably cooler. “I’m sorry, Charles, that wasn’t intentiona-”
“It’s alright,” Charles blurted before he decided to backtrack. “I guess. I... know you wouldn’t mean to.”
Whit was silent for a moment, so Charles decided to rotate his head a little so he could see his face. He wore a shocked expression, his hands hovering above the sink handles, before it quickly turned into a genuine, sappy, lopsided grin.
God-fucking-damnit.
“Thank you for trusting me, Charles.”
He quickly turned to shoot a glare at the metal of the inside of the sink, feeling Whit’s eyes boring into him. “...Whatever. Turn the water back on.”
He dutifully follows Charles’ order, soaking his hair with now comfortably warm water; not too hot, not too cold. He lets Whit guide him, but not without keeping his guard up. To be honest, he enjoys the feeling of Whit’s hands running through his hair, gently picking out the pieces of the fully dried and hardened syrup if necessary.
“Excuse me, but what are you doing with that soap? That isn’t shampoo or conditioner,” he observed coldly.
“It’s Dusk soap. In the ads and on the label, they show people using it on oil-soaked baby ducks,” Whit said cheerfully, holding up the bottle with a cheerful grin. “You know, you do sometimes remind me of a baby duck.”
“What.”
“Well, you know... um... I don’t know where I was going with that comparison. Oh well.”
“Yeah, you clearly didn’t put any thought into that. I don’t even do the silly duck lips thing I’ve seen that Eden girl do before.”
Whit hums in response, his mind clearly wandering elsewhere as he pours some of the contents of the Dusk bottle into the palm of his hand. If he was imagining Charles in a silly rubber duck costume, he would personally commit a murder-suicide. Veronika would probably enjoy that.
Soon enough, Whit’s soap-covered hands were back in his hair, tousling the strands of formerly perfectly groomed purple locks as he pressed himself close to Charles- clearly just to wash his hair. If it were anyone else, he would have been pissed. And he also wouldn’t have let anyone else do it in the first place.
He had to trust in himself that trusting Whit was worth it. No, he already knew. Whit defended him in the trial. If Whit hadn’t spoken up, everyone would have died. And, despite how much of an ass Charles had been to him, Whit chose to call him his friend. That might have been the moment he realized he fell in love. A highly inappropriate time, but c’est la vie.
However, he couldn’t stop himself from flinching or tensing whenever Whit’s fingernails would brush against his scalp or he’d accidentally pull on Charles’ hair. Whenever Whit would apologize, Charles would do his best to shrug or at least show he didn’t care. And he didn’t really... mind the first thing.
“Alright, that should be the last of the syrup!” Whit finally said, pulling away from Charles. “I’ll start drying your hair, so don’t get up yet!”
A moment passes before he feels something he could only assume is a towel pressed against his head and slowly massaging against his head. It was surprisingly relaxing, and he could feel tension from his back and shoulders almost fade away.
“Mhh...” he murmured against his will, before clamping his mouth shut immediately. That was not supposed to happen. He felt all of the blood rush to his face as Whit let out a small chuckle.
“Ok, maybe you’re not like honey, or syrup, or a baby duck. You’re actually really like a cat!”
“...Did you just say ‘actually really’?” Charles asked, ‘gracefully’ ignoring the fact Whit just called him a cat. “That was unnecessarily wordy, Whit. D-Did you never pay attention during English class or something?!”
“Charles... can I...” Whit mumbled, letting go of the towel with one hand and the other hand keeping it firmly in place. His eyes were wide and curious, like a child’s, but he seemed to be in a bit of a trance.
Charles’ breath hitched in his throat. This was finally about to happen. Whit was about to kiss him. He was somehow both completely ready and completely unprepared as his heart drummed in his chest. He closed his eyes in silent consent before Whit put his hands in Charles’ hair.
His eyes flew open as he flinched.
“Whit, what are you doing?” Charles snapped, a pang of disappointment resonating in his heart.
Of course he wouldn’t want to kiss me. I’ve been a jerk to him and the others. I know I have been trying to change- and Whit definitely knows it too- but the damage may already be done.
“Playing with your hair...” Whit mumbled in a soft tone that was simply impossible to be mad at. Then he seemed to snap out of the trance he was in, and his hand quickly retreated. “I’m sorry, I should have aske-”
Charles folded his arms across his chest, letting a huff of annoyance out. “It’s... um... it’s alright if you want to do that. Whenever you want. Just don’t ruin my hair.”
Whit’s eyes widened as he seemed to replay not only the words he just said, but the incident as a whole. His own face became redder and redder before he broke out into a smug grin. Oh no. This was not going to end well for Charles, was it?
“ Whenever I want?”
He was already regretting his choice in words. But was he really?
“I guess that’s what I said. So yeah. I guess you could.” Charles said. Then he noticed Whit’s mischievous look again, and he sighed. “But don’t abuse it, or I’ll revoke this privilege. ”
Whit’s grin only grew at these words, making Charles suddenly feel very apprehensive. He knew that Whit knew that he knew that he wouldn’t stop him.
“Aw, you have, like, no faith in me, Charlie!" Whit whined, wiping the pleased look off of his face in favor of puppy eyes.
"I wonder why, Whit, I wonder why," Charles retorted, rolling his eyes.
Whit groaned, clearly taking mock offense to the comment before matching Charles in the rolling of his eyes. "Love you too, honey."
Charles' brain immediately flatlined. He knew Whit had to be teasing him. But... did he know? Whit was very intuitive- he made it a point to point it out a couple of times in the past, and with his work as a matchmaker, he had to know the signs that he was in love with him.
So why wasn't Whit doing something about it? He could politely (or rudely, but he doubted Whit would ever do that) reject him, or he could make a move and tell him that he liked him. At least Charles would get some confirmation.
Charles ducked his head down and forced himself to look away from the love of his life. (He internally cringed at that choice of words; he wasn't some lovesick schoolgirl.)
Besides, he didn't want to jeopardize what they have right now. Their friendship was perfect, at least in his eyes. In the beginning, there were arguments, but every friendship had those, didn't they?
He had no doubt in his mind that Whit had definitely kissed someone before. How could he not have? He was the Ultimate Matchmaker; surely he was a magnet for romance.
However, Charles had never even kissed his own mother. It wasn't necessary, so they didn't do it. When he left for school in the morning, sometimes they didn't even say goodbye to each other. Just get in the car and to school.
How could he ever measure up to the blonde? Not even just in kissing; Whit was better than Charles in almost every aspect, almost to the point of perfection in comparison. Whit was kind; almost too kind. He was selfless to a fault, and could crack a joke to lighten the mood.
Charles? He was just some standoffish coffee-addicted chemist who pushed everyone away.
Whit was trying to change that for him so that he could open up to others more, but that just only proved his point more; Whit was amazing, and Charles was just some asshole.
Sure, Charles probably had better grades, but what do grades even matter here in the killing game?
He squeezed his eyes shut. He was wrong. He was superior in every way. Whit was just some naive fool. He was the Ultimate Chemist, a talent that could actually be useful to society-
"Charles. Charles!"
He snapped out of his stupor at the sound of the matchmaker's voice, immediately feeling guilty for his cruel thoughts toward him.
"Are you okay...? Is something wrong?" Whit questioned, looking worriedly over at him. "Did I say something to upset you?"
"No... it's just... I... I feel jealous of you. I think."
"Jealous? What for?" Whit's voice was impossibly kind, just plunging the stake of shame into his heart further. He never teased Charles when he was down like this. That was another good quality of his.
"It's... nothing. It's just... you." Charles bit his lower lip, trying to think of a way to express his feelings, without completely making a fool of himself. "You're so... nice. And forgiving. And patient with everyone, but especially me. I've been an ass to you, especially in the beginning. But I can't fathom how you do it. It makes no logical sense."
"Charles..." Whit seemed almost rueful at his words. "It doesn't have to make logical sense. I know you're an amazing person, even if you try to deny it or cover it up with a sassy remark. I used to be pretty judgemental of you in the beginning, you know. But... through the time I've spent with you, I realized that there's so much more to you than that. I even think that I..." Whit trailed off, seemingly unable to complete the sentence. But he understood, at least to some degree, what Whit was talking about. Because it was the same for him.
"Whit, I-" Charles couldn't think of more words to say, his mouth moving faster than his brain. "I-I think I'm in love with you...!"
Once his brain managed to catch up with his subconscious blurting, his face turned bright red with embarrassment and he rushed out of the dining hall before Whit could react.
Oh God. This was not good.
He screwed everything up. Their friendship? Gone. Whit's teasing remarks? Definitely gone. Whit in general? Might as well just report him missing from his life.
Whatever. He was just going to have to act like it didn't happen. He would just chalk it up to a nice lesson he learned, and move on.
Besides, Whit will probably end up dying in this killing game. He's too nice and naive, and he's not strong enough to defend himself from the stronger members of the group, such as Levi or Arei. Might as well not get too attached.
He'd find another love, and even when he moves on, if he doesn't, he didn't care. Love was never his thing to begin with.
That was always Whi- no, stop it.
Charles finally found his private room, and quickly locked himself inside. While he was running, he didn't look back to see if Whit was following him. Maybe he was; it's not like he cared.
He felt himself growing dizzy, the room rapidly spinning around him. He knew he was not thinking rationally, but he had to get away from Whit and the kitchen. Maybe he'd force MonoTV or someone else to bring him food when he got hungry.
Food... he was reminded immediately of Whit's oddly shaped pancakes. Damn it.
He placed a hand over his heart and closed his eyes, trying to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach, the dizzy feeling in his skull, and the painful stabbing of his chest.
"Charles? Charles, please, open the door!" Whit's voice was muffled by the door, but clear and piercing all the same. It brought Charles back, but just for a moment. "Charles, I know you're there. You don't have to open the door, but please, just talk to me."
Charles didn't open his eyes, only shutting them tighter. "Go away!"
"Charles, I'm just going to sit out here. I just want to talk about what happened, okay? And I'd rather do it face-to-face, but I understand if you wouldn't want to."
That stupid idiot. What did he think he was doing?
"Alright. I don't mind missing a few meals," Charles hissed sardonically.
"I could have someone deliver meals for us if I have to. Three meals a day is necessary for a human to function at its highest capacity."
Charles gritted his teeth. Whit wasn't going to give up any time soon. "Well, what about sleeping? I can't imagine it would be comfortable to sleep in the hallway on the floor, nor is it safe. Someone could murder you, you know."
A small laugh came from the other side of the door as he heard Whit sit down as well.
"You're right. I'll leave you alone to brood even though my answer was 'I'm also in love with you', so you never really had much to worry about, honey."
Charles' eyes flew open at that, but he immediately regretted it when his dizziness returned and became worse. However, he couldn't bring himself to care. He was stunned into silence, his mind reeling as if he had been punched in the face.
He could hear Whit stand back up with a sigh, but before he could get far, Charles jumped onto his feet like a startled cat and opened the door as fast as he could. He grabbed Whit's wrist and pulled him to the doorway. If Charles tried to shut the door, Whit would have had to move either forward or back to avoid getting smacked.
"Ow, ow, ow! Didn't your mother ever tell you to be gentle to the girl you love?" Whit whined, his voice teasing.
Charles resisted the urge to slap the matchmaker. "Shut up for a moment. Let me get this straight. You... like me back?"
"Yup! I thought I was being preeeeetty obvious about it, too, Mr. Oblivious Chemist Who's Practically Addicted To Coffee!" Whit chirped, nodding like a bobblehead. Damn it. Why and how was he attracted to the dumbass? "And I had an inkling you liked me too, you know, because of my intuition."
"This is embarrassing! If you knew I liked you back, why didn't you make the first move?" Charles spat hurriedly. "I'm less knowledgeable about romance than you, so you would have known what to do! Instead of- of flailing around like an idiot, like me!"
Whit's ears turned red as he glanced around the room with a conflicted look in his eyes.
"Well... like I said, I only had a suspicion. And, I'm not as good with romance as you may think. It's easier to guide others than to guide yourself, you know?" Whit murmured. Then, he looked up, downright gorgeous ice-blue eyes staring into his own. "And... I'll admit, I was embarrassed too. I didn't want to ruin our friendship in the instance that you didn't like me back. Love confessions are a lot harder than one would expect."
"...Hmph, guess I can't blame you since it's the same for me. Doesn’t make it any less stupid," Charles huffed. He realized he never let go of Whit's wrist, so he quickly panicked and pulled away. Half because he was flustered, half because he didn't want to accidentally hurt Whit.
Charles spun on his heel and marched back into his room, a silent signal for Whit to do the same, which must have been taken, as he could hear footsteps he recognized as Whit's behind him after he closed the door. The chemist sat on his bed and the matchmaker soon followed.
"So... what do we do about this?" Charles asked. "I like you in a romantic way, and you claim to like me back. So, like, what do we do? I don't know much about love and romance, okay?!"
Whit grinned up at him with undeniable fondness in his eyes. Normally, he'd curse the universe for making him feel this way about Whit, but... now that he knew the feelings were reciprocated, he could just let the warmth settle into his chest and curl up there like a cat in a box.
"We don't have to do anything, just what feels right, Charlie. And consent is always key! Consent is very, very hot, I've heard!"
Charles looked Whit up and down before deciding on something that he'd wanted for a while.
"Can I... hug you?"