Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The late afternoon sun is brutal. It’s hot out, so incredibly hot out for May, and the sun doesn’t seem to care. Sweat is heavy in the air, bare humidity thick and insulating in the worst way. Bright light beats down onto every surface it can scramble into. With it comes heat that turns every inch of pavement and wall and grass into a hot plate that is slowly cooking everyone and everything alive. Everything feels like it’s melting.

Charlie is melting. He’s sitting in an office chair with plastic-feeling faux-leather covering it. It sticks to any bit of bare skin it can reach out to. Every shift in his position feels like it’s tearing off a layer of skin with it. The wooden desk he’s sat at isn’t helping, either. His forearms stick to it like there’s a layer of school glue slathered on his skin. Both he, the table, and the chair are melting into each other, sweat shining on each surface.

“Charlie, it’s literally ninety-three degrees out, you’re going to live, idiot,” Quackity scolds. His voice is thin as it travels through his phone speaker and skirts over the desk it’s propped up on. Charlie groans, lacing his fingers under his glasses and pressing his hands against his face. His palms are warm. It’s uncomfortable. He leans back in the office chair, and the cushioning does nothing to absorb the weight he’s pressing into it. “You’re so dramatic,” He scoffs.

Charlie rolls his eyes from under his hands. He stays there for a single moment longer, hiding himself from the world, but then he can feel sweat gathering under the cusps of his palms and he decides he’s had enough of that. His arms snake back down to his sides. Charlie sits up and rolls his eyes again. This time, Quackity can see, and he laughs quietly. “Shut up, dude. It’s hot for me. It’s, like, never this hot in May. I might die.” He can almost hear Quackity’s mocking thoughts he knows he will always bite back. He sighs and turns back to Craigslist.

Charlie is looking for ads for roommates. He’s currently a year out of college, living with his parents with a fairly decent job, and while he appreciates the space he’s been given, it has been a lot to deal with. He hates living with his dad, to be point blank. Quackity, his best friend and roommate from college, had almost immediately moved into an apartment with some guy from an ad he’d found on Craigslist. Both his family’s lack of understanding of respect and Quackity’s happiness living in one has completely convinced him to move into an apartment. He just has to find one first.

“Uh, here’s one that doesn’t seem too bad. Hector, in that one building we saw getting repainted a while ago. It’s half-floor and on the…third level,” He reads, squinting and leaning in towards his laptop. The black writing is bleary in his tired gaze. Charlie blinks, and it clears slightly. “No pets, okay, has to…oh. He’s…looking for girls,” He says. The words feel sour on his tongue. He scrolls down, glancing at his phone screen.

Quackity’s nose wrinkles. “Ew, what the fuck? He’s probably, like, fifty-five or something.” He says. Charlie laughs as he runs his finger pads lightly over his mouse. Random advertisements color his screen as he continues looking. “That’s gross as hell,” Quackity adds.

Charlie’s eyes catch on another ad. He shuts his eyes and sighs. “This is the last one I’m looking at today,” He mutters to himself. His brain feels like a melting slushy in his skull. His lids peel open. “Okay. Mariana, in- wait. Don’t you live in Maple Gardens?” He looks to his screen, where Quackity’s face is blank, mind whirring. Charlie gives him a look as he waits. Dark eyes suddenly widen, the brows hanging over then furrowing in apology.

“Oh my God, yeah, and I literally remember Mariana, I knew he was looking for a roommate, and I fucking forgot to tell you.” Quackity groans, and it’s his turn to cover his face with his hands, eyelashes peeking daintily through the cracks in his fingers. “Oh my fucking God. I could have saved so much time. I forgot. Dude.” Charlie throws his head back in annoyance. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry. You should move in with him, though. He’s super chill, he’s just a few floors below me, the layout is great, seriously. His old roommate left a week or so ago to be a caretaker for someone. He’s a great guy. Respond to his ad!” Quackity encourages. Charlie pulls his head back up rather laboriously and looks back at the advertisement.

Mariana, 24, in Maple Gardens Apartments, Room 202. Looking for a roommate 20-30, preferably male. No pets. Charlie mentally checks all of the boxes. He fits what Mariana wants, and Mariana and his apartment fits what he needs. Quackity is vouching for him. This could be good. This could be his new home. “What do I do? Do I just, like, hit reply and tell him I’m interested? Should I tell him I know you?” He asks.

Quackity hums in thought. “I’d just mention me, and then I can mention you, so he at least knows you’re real. But yeah, just kinda introduce yourself and say you’re interested.” His words are lazy, but not unkind. Charlie watches him slump backwards into his couch before turning back to his laptop. He clicks reply and begins typing his email, keys clicking smoothly under his fingertips as he does so. “Do I have to just sit here while you type?” Quackity whines. Charlie rolls his eyes. He’s just begun the second line of his message.

“Go bug your own roommate, man, I didn’t FaceTime you to entertain you. I called because I needed help,” He mutters under his breath as he continues typing. Quackity mumbles something Charlie doesn’t truly listen to but can hear the mocking tone of. He sighs, shaking his head slightly. A small smile curls at the edge of his lips as he does so.

They lapse into a comfortable silence as Charlie writes. It’s calming, but it’s not thought provoking in the way Charlie needs in order to write a competent reply to the ad. A minute passes of Charlie typing something out, deleting it, and freezing in thought for a moment. “Quackity, seriously, throw out the empty cereal boxes when you’ve finished them,” A faint voice scolds, trickling like a thin stream of honey from his speaker. The clip of the accent is familiar to Charlie, and he doesn’t bother to tell it to be quiet.

“Hi, Wilbur,” Charlie calls. He looks back to his phone, where Quackity is turned to look over the back of his arm chair. He assumes Wilbur is behind him. He can’t see anything through the wild tufts of raven hair peeking out from the beanie that covers most of the screen. “I’m trying to move in with someone in your building.” He says. Quackity glances at him, neck turning slightly back to him, then turns to Wilbur.

“Is that Charlie?” He asks. It’s louder than it was before, clearer to Charlie’s ears. Quackity nods. Charlie is about to ask him to shove over so he can actually see who he’s talking to. His phone, though propped up a few feet away from Quackity, only catches the back of his head in the frame. “Who are you moving in with?”

Quackity answers before he can. “Yes, it’s Slimecicle, and it’s Mariana, that guy a few floors down. We met him at that one diner that night, remember? And when we all had a little get together to raise money for his roommate. Well, now ex.” He pauses for a moment. There’s no noise from Quackity’s end. Charlie turns back to his email. “Do you seriously not remember?”

“He’s not the one with a husband, right?” Wilbur asks. Charlie can almost hear the face he’s making. He smiles to himself at the sound, smiles even brighter when he can hear Quackity’s exasperated sigh. “Is he?”

“No, dumbass, that’s Roier and Cellbit. They’re his neighbors, they still live together, one would not be leaving,” Quackity explains. His tone is akin to that of a kindergarten teacher, slow and patient with a bite of annoyance that seeps through him like venom. “Mariana’s the one with the glasses. Remember?” He prompts again. There’s another bout of silence. Charlie thinks Quackity’s about to drag Wilbur down to meet him again if he doesn’t remember soon.

“Oh,” Wilbur drags out the sound. Realization dawns on him like the sun oh the horizon. “Oh, yeah, the one with the…the shirt, uh…I don’t remember what it looked like, I just remember thinking it was a bit odd-looking.” Quackity laughs. Charlie can imagine him nodding slowly, glasses slipping, hair rebounding airily. “Yeah. He was nice. I think. I don’t really remember, but he’s probably a good guy.” Quackity snorts. He faces Charlie again, who’s still peering into the camera, fingers stilled against the keyboard.

“Keep writing, I don’t wanna be on FaceTime with you all day,” Quackity groans. Charlie sputters, raising his hands defensively. He can hear Wilbur laughing as he formulates a response to Quackity’s attitude. Quackity gives him a look.

Charlie rolls his eyes. “Then hang up, I’m not forcing you to be here. Go…fight with Wilbur more. I’m over here, trying to get an apartment, and you’re just being a bitch about it.” Wilbur’s laughter turns a little more high-pitched in the background. Quackity scoffs in annoyance and raises his arm slightly. Though his hand is out of frame, Charlie knows he’s flipping his roommate off. “I’m basically done, anyway, I’ll just…put, like, something nice at the end and send it.”

“Something nice?” Quackity questions. The hint of a laugh toys at his voice and face. Charlie wants to roll his eyes again, but he’s done enough of that on this call. “Like what?”

“Like, ‘have a good day’ or ‘thank you for your consideration’ or something,” Charlie explains. Quackity snorts. Charlie looks down to him again. Annoyance is mellow in his tone. “What?”

Quackity grins. “‘Thank you for your consideration’? No. Just do the first one.” He says, and there’s a lick of mockery in his sentence Charlie chooses to ignore. He silently types out the end of his email and quickly scans it for any spelling mistakes or weird phrases. When he’s satisfied, he turns to Quackity.

“I think I’m done, should I send it?” Charlie asks, watching Quackity. A small smile tugs on the boy’s mouth. Charlie notices the gleam of excitement in his dark eyes, and he thinks it’s sweet. Quackity, though he will never consciously tell him, seems happy he’s found a way to attempt to live in the same apartment building as him. He grins to himself.

“I mean, yeah, what else are you gonna do with it? I’ll find a way to talk to him about it soon. I dunno if I’ll see him or when he’ll reply to you, though. I can always send Wilbur to chat him up or something and then mention it. My little British errand boy,” He says fondly, laughing to himself. Charlie chuckles as Wilbur makes a sound of protest. He clicks the button to send it and grabs his phone off the screen it had been leaning on. His laptop shuts with a quiet click. “I hope you move in, though,” Quackity says. Charlie can pick apart the earnestly in it, and it makes him grin, leaning back into his chair.

“Me too. I’m just glad I don’t have to live in the same apartment as you for another four years,” He teases. Quackity laughs, teeth showing as he grins into it. He can’t hear anything from Wilbur anymore, but his other friend’s voice is enough to keep him smiling.

“Okay, fuck you, too, bye,” Quackity says, grabbing his phone. Charlie just laughs. His face magnifies as his camera is brought closer to it, teeth shining, lips split and crow’s eyes deep, and then three identical tones ring out and his face fades into Charlie’s home screen. His thumb presses in on the power button and his screen flattens to black. Charlie grins to himself, setting his phone in his lap and slowly dragging his feet along the floor as he begins to spin in his chair. His mind is sluggish and unhurried. So is he.

If Mariana responds, he’ll move out of his parents’ house, which he's more than ready for. He’ll move into the same building as Quackity and they will live and bicker like brothers again, but this time, they’ll be separated by a few floors. He will have to learn to live with Mariana the same way he learned to live with Quackity. But he believes he’s prepared. The independence this will bring is long overdue. This will be good. As long as he doesn’t die of heatstroke before he gets to move in.

He sighs. His breath puffs softly in the heated air. His skin is suctioned to his plastiky chair. Charlie feels like a crayon melting into a puddle of wax. Maybe Quackity was right in calling him overdramatic, but he doesn’t care, because he is dying and wants to sit in a cool shower until the fall comes to save him. He wasn’t prepared for anything above eighty-five degrees today, because summer has just dawned upon his state and he had begun to live the day expecting it to be barely warm.

When his parents call him down to eat with them, the heat has let up a little bit. They eat and talk, silence quick and voices even quicker. Charlie tells them he’s finally found an apartment he’s really interested in, and they congratulate him and attempt to give him advice before lapsing into bickering punctuated with sharp remarks. Most of the pointed insults spill from his father’s mouth. Charlie rolls his eyes more times than he can count. They’ve ignored their argument and pulled out a pack of cards by the time he’s rinsing his plate and putting it in the dishwasher. He mutters something quietly to himself as he walks up the stairs.

The wooden door to his room groans for a moment under the pressure of him opening it. He’s gotten used to it, but even now, he winces, face screwing up as if the noise has latched onto his skin and is injecting him with venom as he shuts the door. Charlie only has eyes for his laptop as he glances around his room. It’s darkened significantly since he’s left. Only a fraction of the sun shines into his room from his window. It tints everything orange and dusts it dimly. His hand slides around the wall until his pointer finger catches on the switch. He flips it. Warmly artificial light pours from the light in his ceiling.

Charlie snags his laptop off his desk and sits on his bed. The metal is cool and hard under his fingertips, but by contrast, his comforter is soft and warm under his legs. He opens it and logs in, slipping his phone out of his pocket during the short amount of time needed to wait for it to load. Craigslist opens back up immediately. Charlie is about to open YouTube or a game, but a new notification snags at his eyes.

Mariana responded. In the few hours his laptop had been shut, he’d received a reply. He pauses for a moment, eyes shining and frozen on his email. Charlie guides his mouse to the new email. He clicks on it. It unfolds. He immediately begins scanning it. Something in his gut tightens a bit. Though he’d never tell Quackity, he’s a little nervous. He misses living so close to him.

As he continues to read, a smile slowly spreads across his face like an infection. “I was wondering if we could meet at Ms. P’s Coffee, a coffee shop on Niagara and South Holly, tomorrow at 2 P.M. to discuss this further?” He mumbles aloud, attempting to get the information to stick in his mind. The widest grin wipes it away, making him feel stupid with happiness. He can’t help but feel a little relief.

Mariana will consider allowing him to move in. He’s made it past the first step. Sure, it was probably the easiest, but it’s okay. He will meet with Mariana for coffee tomorrow and hopefully convince him to let Charlie move in. Things will work themselves out. He and Mariana are both just two twenty-four year olds trying to find a roommate. They’re basically exactly what the other is looking for, and now that Mariana has acknowledged him, he’s excited.

Charlie shuts his laptop. He grabs it and leans off his bed to place it back on his desk. Giddiness runs through him like blood does a vein. It feels so right, and even though this is all new and a little scary, he’s so excited. He falls back onto his bed and grabs his phone where he had left it. Immediately, he begins texting Quackity, who immediately responds.

This feels good, he thinks to himself as he shuts off his phone once he’s done talking to Quackity. This is the best he’s felt in a while. The most excited for what’s to come in what must be forever. It fills him with hope, which he’s missed the all-encompassing feeling of. He grins up at his ceiling.

Sleep comes to him easily. The night is chilled, but his slumber is soft and warm. He feels comforted by it, swallowed and secure and pleased as he lays unconscious. When the morning arrives and draws the fatigue out of him, he rises with the sun. Bleary eyes blink and are shoved under the lenses of his glasses. The morning passes him quickly, and before he knows it, he’s ending yet another call with Quackity and stepping out the front door.

Charlie is familiar with Ms. P’s. A little coffee shop tucked into a corner of a long, popular strip mall, it’s overlooked by most of the shoppers that lounge around the area during the week. The summer has just worsened its visibility, because so many people crowd the sidewalks and storefronts it’s nearly impossible to see anything without flashing signs. Still, Charlie had noticed it his sophomore year, and had used it as a quiet spot to study for the rest of his highschool. He hasn’t been inside of it since his senior year. Even in college, he missed the coffee shop’s warm environment and quiet feel. He wouldn’t call it unknown, but compared to the streets and plazas outside crawling with people, it was a relief.

Charlie is sweating. The sun is beating down on him, smiling menacingly and mercilessly on his weary body as he walks around large groups of teenage boys and women around his age. He squints under his glasses, which are slipping because of how sweaty his nose has become. The thought draws a small cringe to his face. He slips through one last group of boys and reaches out his hand to the metal grip of the door. It’s cool to the touch, which is soothing. He smiles to himself as he pulls open the door and steps inside.

Nearly nothing has changed, which he appreciates. The small booths are still weathered and the barstools still sway gently by their own accord. The air conditioning feels like a blessing upon his skin. The floor is still the same dark tile that clicks softly underfoot. The door slides shut behind him and the talking from outside muffles. It’s an escape against the crowded outdoors that feels like a salve against a burn. Sweet and cooling, calming his mind as he looks around the booths and tables for the man he’s meeting with.

The shop itself is small. There aren’t very many places to sit, and even those are scarcely filled. Quiet conversations mumble through his ears. He blinks. He’s still stood in front of the front door, he realizes, and he takes a step to the side, hip brushing against the wooden backing of an empty booth. The fabric of his pants serve as a barrier to prevent the chill of the surface to plant onto his skin. A quiet bubble of anxiousness drags against his throat and squeezes his stomach as he looks around again.

He has a general idea of what Mariana will look like. Glasses, dark hair, dark eyes. He said he’d be wearing a white shirt and black pants. Quackity had told him he was over six foot. Charlie can piece the descriptions together in his mind, and yet, none of the people sat before him can fit into the mold he’s thought up.

“Charlie?” An unfamiliar voice calls. He turns his head sharply to the direction it came in, and is met with the sight of a stranger sat at a table near the back of the shop. Relief chokes out most of the nervousness as he walks over to the wooden table, grinning. “I thought that was you, sorry for shouting,” He apologizes warmly. Charlie notes the slight accent that thickens and thins in his voice.

“It’s fine, I couldn’t find you, anyway,” He waves him off, pulling out the chair across from him and sitting in it. It drags across the floor nearly silently. Mariana reseats himself, smiling at Charlie. The way his eyes lean into it is cute. Charlie ignores that though, shoves it into the depths of his full heart. “Um, I’m, well, Charlie. You knew that.” Mariana laughs.

“My name is Mariana. You knew that,” He replies. Charlie grins at him. A soft silence blankets them. “I’ve never done this before, to be honest. I was already friends with the person I moved in with, so…this isn’t something I’ve done before. Sorry if it’s a little awkward.” He confesses, brows knitting slightly. It’s almost apologetic, and Charlie is quick to both brush him off and confide in him.

“Oh, this is my first time moving into an apartment, so I get it. I kinda walked into this blindly, I’m not experienced, either,” Charlie says, and Mariana smiles and sighs quickly. There’s pockets that release breaths of relief in the actions that Charlie quickly sucks up. Dark eyes shine at him under the warm lighting of the shop, and Charlie has to bite down an unwelcome and random compliment regarding the depth and color of them. They’re just very nice. He forces himself to say something, anything so he can’t also mention the way his irises shine mellowly in the light of the sun. “Like, what do we do? Is it an interview?”

Mariana laughs quietly. Charlie draws his hands together under the table from where they had been resting on his thighs. He picks at his nails in silence. “I guess it is, a little bit. I think we’re just supposed to talk. Learn about each other. Y’know? I don’t…I don’t really know what to ask, but I think I’m supposed to ask questions.” Charlie’s lips split slightly into a smile. Mariana seems about as awkward as him, and so far, that’s been something that has eased his nerves greatly.

“Um…well, like, what are questions they ask at real interviews? Like…tell me about yourself.” Charlie finally lands on. One side of Mariana’s grin quirks up higher than the other. It’s sweetly endearing in a way Charlie thinks is funny. His eyes lift to the top corner of his vision, as if he’s peeking over the hinges of his glasses. Thoughtfulness displays heavy on his face.

He holds the expression for just a moment before looking back at Charlie. “Wait, I thought I was interviewing you. You do it first. I’ll answer second.” Charlie blinks in surprise. He’d unconsciously deflected their interview bit to Mariana and had been expecting more time to think. Mariana’s attention falls on him easily. He wavers beneath it for longer than he would like to admit.

“Well, my name is Charlie, but some of my friends call me Slimecicle. I dunno, it’s been a joke for so long I can’t remember where it started.” Mariana snorts softly at this. “I’m twenty-four and graduated a little over a year ago, and I’ve lived with my parents since. My friend Quackity was the one who really convinced me to start looking for an apartment, and he really wanted me to reply to your ad because he actually lives in your building.” He nods slowly, as if attempting to remember his supposed neighbor. “And…yeah. That’s kinda it.”

Mariana gives him an odd look, his brows furrowing teasingly and head turning slightly to the side. “‘That’s it’? That’s not really interesting. Do more of the facts like the “Slimecicle” one. Not just about apartments and where you lived.” The bluntness of it is a small shock, but it’s one Charlie welcomes. He smiles softly at the invitation.

“Well. I went to college and majored in CompSci, and I actually got a pretty good job right out the gate, but I kinda hated college. I liked meeting new people, but I’ve never really liked school. I didn’t really like the moving part, either. I had the same roommate all four years. It was Quackity, actually. That’s how we really bonded. He’s the one who started calling me Slimecicle, and then it was a whole joke for our college group, and now he keeps trying to get his roommate to call me that.” He rolls his eyes. Mariana grins. “It was weird, though, because Quackity and I went to high school together, but we were never really friends, so we’re, like, still constantly together, even after going home. But it’s nice. I think I would have kept living with my parents if he didn’t convince me to look for an apartment, even though I kinda hate living there. I know I’m still not gonna like moving, but I think the change will be good, and I’m honestly excited to move anywhere away from my parents.” Mariana laughs. “Your turn,” Charlie says.

“Well, I’m Mariana, I’m also twenty-four, and I went to college in America after living in Mexico my whole life and then decided to move here with a friend. I majored in health, and they let me minor in Spanish, even though it's my first language.” Charlie grins at that, and Mariana’s eyes smile back as he continues. “My friend had to leave to take care of family issues, and I can’t afford to live by myself in a two-bedroom apartment, so I just started putting up a couple ads. You’re the first person to respond. I really don’t know what I’m doing. I think this is going well so far, though, so I’m happy about that.” Charlie nods. Mariana talking to him feels soothing in a way. The small, unimportant information he’s gathering feels new and special to his mind. “I don’t like moving, either. It was a lot to move from Mexico to America. But I’ve met a lot of great people here, and I love the apartment and where it is, it’s beautiful.” It’s sweet, the way Mariana’s lips upturn as he talks about the apartment and the community. Charlie knows firsthand that at least two people in the building are incredible. He’s hoping Mariana will be the third, and he’ll have a new home.

There’s a pause in Mariana’s speaking. A hand reached out, extended for him to gracefully accept. He does so gingerly. “Do you ever, like, visit your family? I’ve always lived really close to mine. My moves have always been just to different states, never countries.” He questions. It should feel polite, like a pleasantry he’s asking to seem involved, but he’s genuinely interested. The way Mariana speaks makes him want to hear more.

“I try to visit them every Christmas, but school would sometimes kick my ass, and other times it was just…a lot of money, flying out of country and being a college student. But I call them a lot, so it’s not like I never hear from them. My mom tries to friend me on all of my social media accounts.” Charlie laughs. His heart warms as he is reminded of all the times his mother has sent him friend requests on every account of his she could find. Mariana smiles at him from across the table, and Charlie swallows his words whole.

“Yeah, my mom does that too. That, and trying to tag me in posts but typing it wrong and tagging no one.” Mariana nods quickly, grinning. “It’s so bad, dude, sometimes I forget I have her added and I post something I really don’t want her seeing, and then she likes it, and I don’t know what to do.” The man laughs, gently yet loudly, satisfying a craving Charlie didn’t know he had. It’s a warm sound, so sweet to his ears and his mind and his heart. He already makes him want to laugh again.

Charlie does manage to find ways to draw laughter out of the depths of Mariana. Through jokes and quiet quips, their conversation is never deprived of the quick pleasure of laughter. They sit and talk like old friends, two people with stories that had been entwined at one point and broken off at another. Charlie can almost feel the connection in his heart. Quackity truly was not lying when he labeled Mariana as a “great guy”, and Charlie can’t help but enjoy getting to experience this firsthand. Their conversation is easy, gliding from topic to topic, never slowing from awkwardness or lack of words to say. It’s so easy to get lost in it, Charlie finds. Lost in the things Mariana tells him, about where he grew up, and the sports he hated as a kid, and how he used to love the guitar but hated how he could never play it right, so he got a harmonica. And it’s easy to tell him about his own home, and how he rarely did extracurriculars after middle school, and how the only instrument he’s been able to play consistently is the kazoo.

It’s amazing. Charlie feels so light, even as the hours of day are stripped away from them and the early afternoon falls late. He feels disconnected from his surroundings and enveloped by the sound of Mariana’s voice and the call of his response. Their conversation only slows when they are approaching the two-hour mark, the sun reaching burning fingers under the tops of the windows and streaking warmth across their faces and bodies.

“Well,” Mariana starts, and there’s a sense of finality to it that Charlie finds bittersweet. He’s tired and still sweating and a little hungry, but Mariana is someone he has immediately clicked with, and he will mourn the absence of it as he drives himself home. “I don’t exactly know…how this all works, but I’d be really happy to have you move in,” He says, and the smile that pulls up on his face braids in with his words to puncture Charlie’s skin and inject the most relieving happiness into him. The dumbest grin slips onto his face.

“I’d be really happy to move in! Is there…like, is there a date I should move all my stuff?” He questions. Mariana pauses in thought, and Charlie swallows the silence like it’s a pill. “I really don’t have a whole lot, just, like, clothes, stuff for work, some little knick knacks, y’know, just…general things. It won’t take very long.” He adds. Mariana snorts quietly.

“Uh, honestly, anytime. I think you should come over and look around first, though. The weekend would be good when you move so we have a whole day, because even though it probably won’t take all day, I don’t think trying to move in after work is a good idea,” Mariana suggests. Charlie nods in silent agreement. A ray of sun catches in the lense. “But if you want to do a different day, I can do that.”

Charlie shakes his head. “No, it’s fine, I think next weekend would be good. Thursday to look and Saturday to move, maybe?” He offers. Mariana nods. A small strand of his hair slips away from the wave it had been teased into. It draws a line like charcoal against the skin of his forehead. Mariana quickly reaches up and runs his fingers through his hair, the gently looped lock falling back into place.

“Okay, then, I’m really happy we got to meet, and I’m excited for Saturday,” Mariana says. It’s spoken like a firm statement, but there’s an uplift to it that fills Charlie with the same feeling. He scoots his chair back, legs shrieking quietly against the tile. He stands up a moment before Mariana does. “Thank you, Charlie. Slime. Slime…what was it?” Confusion flits across his face.

He laughs. “Slimecicle. Slime is fine, too, I guess.” Mariana grins. “But really, thank you, Mariana. You don’t even know how happy I am that this is gonna work out.” Charlie smiles earnestly at him, pushing in his chair. Mariana mirrors him with a second of delay. The table is left clean as they both amble towards the door.

“I am too, man. Living alone in a two-bedroom apartment felt weird.” Charlie laughs, hand reaching out to the door. Just as it had been hours earlier, the metal is cold and bites deep into his skin. He ignores the feeling and pulls the door open. Charlie steps to the side to let Mariana through. He flashes him a closed-mouth smile that Charlie can’t help but find endearing. He follows him out of the shop, out to the crowded sidewalk. “Okay, see you on Thursday?”

Charlie grins. “Yup. See you!” He confirms, raising his hand slightly in a small wave. Mariana nods. His mouth is curled upwards as he does so. Charlie’s eyes linger on his face for a moment longer before he tears himself away to find his car. The street is hot below him as he slips around others and squints to search for his vehicle in the sea of them it’s been parked in. Spotting the shining grey paint on the short, sleek body of it feels like a miracle. He strides over to his car and slips into the driver’s seat.

The fabric is hot under his skin, and the air is stuffy and humid and warm, but he doesn’t care. His heart feels so fuzzy. Charlie is amazingly happy, the emotion choking him out and filling him heartily. He sighs, and there’s a stupid smile on his face. He doesn’t care to wipe it off, where the privacy his car provides shields him from the judgment of strangers.

His first thought is that he needs to tell Quackity. While Charlie might feel insanely excited, he knows his best friend will be, too. His fingers fumble as he tries to grab his phone out of his pocket. The fabric of it has tightened with his sitting position, and he has to lift his hips in order to reach deep enough into it to get his fingers to close around it. It glides out of the lined pocket easily. Charlie sits again and quickly pulls up Quackity’s contact and calls him. He presses the speaker button and puts it into his cup holder. The tone is robotic in his ears as he shoves his keys into the key cylinder and lets the ignition light.

Quackity picks up quickly. “Are you finally done with your date?” Charlie rolls his eyes as he shifts into reverse. “I told you to call me when you got done, it’s been two hours since it started. Was he like…interrogating you? Or was he late? Oh my God, Charlie Slimecicle, don’t tell me you were late.” He laughs at the rambling as he pulls out of his parking spot.

“No one was late, we were really just talking for two hours. I’m going over this Thursday to check it out and moving in on Saturday. I already know the layout, ‘cause I’m at yours a lot, but he was nice and just wanted to show me all the stuff before I bring in my own stuff. You have to help me pack.” There’s silence for a moment. Charlie bites back a smile as he shifts the stick forward and begins driving out of the lot.

Quackity whoops loudly, then devolves into a fit of giggles. Charlie sits with his grin as he waits for him to calm down. “Yes! Oh my God, yes, dude, this is fucking awesome, holy shit,” He says. Charlie snorts to himself. “Wilbur, he’s moving in with Mariana!” Quackity shouts away from the phone. There’s a quiet word spoken Charlie can’t hear. “Charlie, you dumb fuck!” He says. Charlie laughs.

“It was so nice, we just clicked. He was so nice, and easy to talk to. And he smiles so nicely. I couldn’t stop looking at it, it was almost weird. Like, it was just really sweet, and it looked good, I dunno,” He speaks without thinking as he focuses on the zipper pulling the line of traffic he’s caught in forward. “I really like him, I’m glad we’re moving in together, and I’m not stuck with Herbert or whatever his name was. He’s super funny and I really like his laugh. And he has glasses, which is awesome, and his eyes are really deep in them. It was a lot of fun,” Charlie finishes.

There's another bout of silence. This one lasts for a moment longer, which Charlie does not appreciate. Awkwardness is missing from their quiet atmosphere as Charlie finally pulls up to a light, meaning he’s on the real road now. His left blinker clicks hollowly. “Charlie…do you think Mariana is cute? Do you find him attractive?” He asks. It’s almost shocking, the nonchalant way he questions such a thing. Charlie wants to immediately shut him down. His mouth opens to say “no”.

But he pauses, because something in that word feels untruthful. The light turns green. He turns left in silence as he mulls over the questions. “Oh my fucking God,” He whispers, mainly to himself. “I do, don’t I? I think Mariana is cute,” He mumbles. It would explain why he’s so drawn to his smile and his laugh and his hair and his eyes, why the instant, mutual connection feels so incredibly important to him.

Charlie groans. Quackity giggles into the phone. “It’s okay, Slimecicle, just because you think he’s cute right now doesn’t mean you always will, or that it will be anything more than that. You’ll be fine.” Quackity comforts. He just sighs in response.

A yield sign, bright yellow and triangular, pauses his driving for a moment as a driver passes him. He wishes it would stop his thinking as well. “You’re right. It’ll be fine,” He says. Charlie is mostly trying to convince himself, tell himself that just because he wants to have Mariana’s smile framed doesn’t mean he’s in love with him, just that he’s cute. It’s really not that big of a deal.

But then he thinks about living with Mariana, and it makes his stomach twist in a familiar way, like he’s nervous but also giddy. Like a teenage girl at a sleepover with her crush, shy and scared but the happiest he’s ever been. And he remembers he wouldn’t feel that way about someone he met two hours ago unless he really did think they were cute. He groans again. He’s royally fucked.

Charlie pulls up to another stoplight. Neither blinker is flipped on. He sits in dead silence, hot car drowning him with thick and warm air. “It won’t mean anything.” Charlie says. Quackity hums in agreement through his phone. He stares up at the red light that paints him in rose. When he looks away, the dot is burned into his eyes. He blinks, hard.

He hates how he can already feel it meaning something.

Chapter Text

The May sun has been kind the last few days. The bitter edge of ninety-degree weather, though very manageable, has been dulled. Highs in the eighties are what now bless the people that amble the streets or lounge in front of air conditioners and fans. The star is wide, and yellow, and bittersweet, a lemon drop suspended in the sky. The light is welcome and shining along the cities. Summer is thick in the air. Though it’s just begun, though kids have just gotten out of school and the temperatures will continue to climb, the smile of the sun and the bright blueness of the sky and the way there’s always noise underlying conversations portray the season in a beautiful way.

Charlie is walking out of his new apartment building, Quackity at his side, Wilbur and Mariana walking behind them. Laughter is ripped from their throats like ripe berries off the vine and bit into by the others, savoring the sound. They’re headed for the parking lot, where Charlie’s car sits, his things shoved inside.

“Seriously, Quackity, you didn’t have to drag Wilbur down, too. It’s, like, four little boxes and a backpack with my computer ‘n stuff. I probably could have done it on my own,” Charlie says. Quackity rolls his eyes, waving Charlie off. Charlie whacks him lightly on the shoulder. Quackity scoffs, Wilbur laughing behind them. Charlie can hear a quiet giggle from Mariana. It warms him wonderfully.

Quackity shakes his head. “Okay, well, us all taking a box will be easy and fast. It’s not that big ‘f a deal. Besides, Wilbur wanted to help. Right, Wil?” Quackity says, turning to look behind him. There’s a sharpness to his stare Charlie can sense even while not looking at him. It pulls a grin across his face, one no one but him will know is there.

“Uh…yeah, I did. Sometimes, you…help Quackity and I, so I wanted to help,” He confirms. He sounds unsure of himself. It’s unconvincing, and judging by the way Mariana laughs and Quackity rolls his eyes again, they all know it. They’re a few feet away from the car by now, Charlie notes. “You put so much faith into me, Charlie.” Wilbur says sarcastically. Charlie shakes his head. His smile is still looping across his face.

“My bad, Wilbur,” Charlie replies. Laughter is airy in his tone. He reaches out and pulls on the passenger door. The metal is heated under his skin. He pulls open the door to reveal a cardboard box sitting in the seat, pale brown and taped shut, and a black backpack slumped on the floor of the seat. The sun shines through the windshield and paints the box in warm light, leaving the dark material of the backpack to linger in the slight shadow of the dashboard. “I’ll take the backpack, and then everyone can take a box, too,” Charlie says. He grabs the bag by one of the arm straps and slings it over his shoulder. The bag is cool on the fabric of his shirt, which had been heated by the sun. Its weight feels familiar on his shoulders. Charlie steps back, turning to open the other side door. Three of the same boxes sit side by side on the warm seats. “Just…take a box, I guess. There’s not a whole lot,” He says, rounding the car to open the opposing door so it’s easier to reach the boxes farther away from the open door. He can see Mariana reaching into his passenger seat through the windows. When he pulls open the door, he can see Quackity pulling out another box. Wilbur stands behind him. Charlie places his hands on opposite sides of his box, planting his palms into the cardboard, and uses it to push the box in the middle towards Wilbur. The Brit quickly catches on, stepping forward and latching his own hands onto it. They both pull the last boxes out of the car. Charlie uses his hip to shut the door. It closes harder than necessary. He can hear two other mimics of the sound as he walks around the rear of his car again.

“Okay, I can hold the door for everyone,” Mariana offers as they group again. Quackity and Wilbur are now the ones that trail behind. Charlie smiles. “I can unlock the door and hold it.” He adds. He turns to look at Charlie, who nods at him.

“Okay, thanks, Mariana. Do you have the key out, or do you need help?” He asks, feet nearly slipping as they step back onto the raised sidewalk. Mariana pauses for a moment, then smiles sheepishly, a silent admission. Charlie grins and rolls his eyes.

He frowns, almost mockingly. “It’s in my pocket, shut up. I didn’t pull it out before I got the box.” Mariana defends. Charlie smiles and shakes his head. They round a small bend in the sidewalk, the front door becoming in-view. “I can put the box down and grab it.”

“Someone has to push the elevator buttons, too,” Quackity complains from behind Charlie. Charlie sighs, though there’s no real malice behind it. “Not saying Mariana has to be the one to do that, too, but…” He adds, trailing off.

“I can do that, quit being annoying,” Wilbur cuts in before Charlie can. He’s grateful for that, glad Wilbur is the one spitting joking insults at Quackity’s feet. Of course, that launches the pair into another wildly faked argument, which leaves Charlie with Mariana. He smiles to himself.

They approach the door, and Mariana gently sets his box on the ground, grimacing as their companions’ bickering turns slightly sharper behind them. “I’m so glad they love each other,” Mariana says flatly. Charlie laughs as he reaches into his pocket, producing a thick, grey card from his pocket. Mariana presses it against a sensor on the white wall next to the doors. The black box beeps at them and the doors click. “They act like they’re old people. It’s funny, but they don’t shut up.” He says, reaching for the door handle and pulling it open in a grand sweeping gesture.

“They do bicker like an old married couple,” Charlie agrees, laughing again. They pass Mariana and Charlie, so caught up in each other they slip through the door without acknowledging the others. Charlie thinks he hears Wilbur calling Quackity “an obtuse prick”, which seems to be one of the most British things he has heard. Mariana watches them for a moment, then turns again to Charlie, whose mouth is caught in between a line and a smile. “They're fun,” He comments. Mariana laughs. It feels like nectar down Charlie’s throat.

Mariana leaves one foot in front of the door and leans down and out to grab his box. His fingers find the sides easily. It’s lifted to his chest, and Charlie takes that as a queue to follow his other friends through the door. Air conditioning hits him like the wave of an angry sea. He blinks, feet still carrying him to the elevator. Charlie can hear the door clicking shut behind him. He smiles as he nears the pair standing in front of the elevator. The button has not been pressed, he notes. It sits dimly on its metal plate.

“You’re the one always leaving your damn dishes in the sink, Wilbur, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Quackity shoots over his box. Wilbur rolls his eyes. Charlie stands awkwardly across from the elevator button, a triangle point as Wilbur and Quackity face each other. “Just because you-”

“Can you press the fucking button?” Charlie interrupts. Quackity and Wilbur both glance over to him at the same time. He watches Quackity’s cheeks redden, eyes moving away from his face. Wilbur turns away to press the button. His fingers fumble as he attempts to keep his balance of the box on both hands while reaching a finger out. “Jesus,” He mumbles. A disbelieving smile tugs at his face. He can hear a snort behind him, and he assumes the sound comes from Mariana.

Wilbur finally manages to click the button, which glows warmly. The elevator almost immediately dings. Shining silver doors slide open. They file into the mirrored box, their bodies reflecting around it. Charlie leans into one of the metal bars lining the walls. Mariana is the last to get in, and he stands in the middle of the elevator. Wilbur presses another button on the inside of it, which causes the doors to shut.

The elevator starts up with a slight jerk. Charlie is glad to have the support of the hand railing. Quackity stumbles slightly into the wall with the weight of his box throwing him off. Wilbur snickers, grinning. Quackity rolls his eyes and smiles. “Man, shut up.” He says. There’s no real malice, which Charlie is grateful for on Wilbur’s behalf. Mariana looks over to Charlie. He immediately intercepts his gaze. There’s a glint in his eyes, heavy and shining, that tells Charlie he’s feeling the same. Charlie’s lips curl upward of their own accord.

The elevator doors slide open noiselessly. Charlie and Mariana both look forward, away from each other. Their carpeted hallway stares back at them. Mariana immediately strides out, Charlie following. Wilbur and Quackity amble along behind them. Charlie, having already looked around the apartment, knows to pass the first door, knows to stand with Mariana as he yet again sets his box down to dig out a key. Charlie smiles. “Dude, maybe just pull them both out next time,” He says. There’s a tease in his tone Mariana rolls his eyes at, grinning.

“Shut up,” He mutters, shoving his key into the lock above the gleaming knob. It twists easily and he pulls it out, fumbling before getting it to slide into the lock on the door knob. It clicks. He puts his key back in his pocket and opens up the door. The box hits against his calves as he moves back to pull it open farther. Charlie snorts as he slowly shuffles back, kicking the box gently so it moves with him. It’s a stupidly endearing sight, and as Quackity and Wilbur enter the apartment and Mariana nearly falls backward when his foot misses the box, Charlie can’t help but laugh. “Shut up,” He says again, this time louder and in a nearly mocking whine. He reaches behind him, lifts the box, and quickly walks around Charlie, into the apartment. Charlie can hear him set the box on something near the front door.

“You’re just gonna leave the door open?” Charlie says, standing in the doorway. Mariana looks up from his box and grins at him. The look shines all across him. Charlie feels a pearl hardening in his gut.

“Yes,” He replies simply. Charlie laughs and shakes his head, taking a few steps into the apartment. The sun streams through the glass doors to the balcony, lighting most of the space. No one bothers to turn on any of the artificial light, which Charlie likes.

Wilbur is standing in the kitchen, his phone pulled out, eyes trained on the screen as his fingers fly. Charlie notices Quackity opening the door to his bedroom. He blinks, brows furrowing in confusion. “I’m using your bathroom,” He calls, as if he can see Charlie’s face. Quackity slips into his room, grins at Charlie, and shuts the door. Charlie looks over to Mariana, who shrugs.

He enters the apartment. The door stays wide behind him. Mariana can close it, he figures. When he turns to the side, he sees a stack of two boxes and one sitting alone on the ground. Charlie sets his box on top of it. Something in it clunks hollowly, and he winces. His eyes flick up and attach to Mariana. However, his eyes are trained on something over his shoulder and slightly above his head. A small grin tugs at his lips. “Hi, guys,” He says. Charlie turns around and looks through his doorway.

He’s met with two boys who look to be their age, both smiling. One is wearing a loose collared shirt and shorts, his hair dark and pulled away from his face in a thin side part. The other is wearing a t-shirt and shorts. His own hair is pulled into gentle loops, sandy brown, with a white streak running in the front. Their hands are entwined. The elevator is closing behind them. Charlie smiles at them. “Hi, Mariana.” The shorter says. It sounds almost like a quip, witty and teasing.

The other man opens his mouth. “You’re Charlie, right? Mariana mentioned you. We were out when you came in on Thursday, or we would have met you then.” Charlie nods, savoring the sound of his accent. He has nothing to say, and he prays he continues or someone else cuts in. “I’m Cellbit. This is Roier, my husband.” The man standing slightly behind him, the one almost taunting Mariana, grins and raises a hand in greeting. Charlie nods his head once. Something vague in his memory shifts at the mention.

“Hi, Charlie! We’re excited you're moving in,” Roier says. It’s warm, honeyed in an accent similar to Mariana’s. “Mariana is a bitch, but I hope you have fun living with him. Everyone else is nice.” Roier confirms. Charlie snorts at the blunt insult, turning his head away. His eyes follow his neck and glance into the apartment. There’s clear annoyance on his face, an eye roll pairs with a stupid smile pulled across his face like drapes. Charlie can hear a quiet burst of a giggle from inside the apartment, and he recognizes it as Quackity’s laugh.

Footsteps sound quietly behind him as he looks back to the couple in front of him. “Don’t listen to him, Slime, he’s a bitch. He lies. He’s weird,” Mariana says. It’s low, a stage whisper that airs out across the back of his neck. His breath is warm and shoots a funny feeling down Charlie’s spine. He fights shivers, grinning to try to hide it.

“Stop trying to turn him against me, Mariana, you’re weird!” Roier argues. Cellbit snickers quietly, looking to Charlie. He grins and shakes his head back. “Eres un cabrón y necesitas callarse,” Roier nearly spits. Mariana scoffs from behind Charlie. He can hear the threat of real, spilling laughter in it. The air is thick against his skin.

“Él es mi compañero de cuarto, déjalo en paz, pendejo,” Mariana shoots back, and Charlie has never in his life been more aware of how limited his Spanish knowledge is. Roier grins at the response. Faux-offense paints thickly across his face after a moment. Mariana laughs, and Charlie cranes his neck to look up at him out of instinct, the noise loud enough to make him snap his gaze to him. Mariana is way closer than Charlie had assumed he was. His face is inches from Charlie’s, noses nearly staring off. His breath catches in his throat. Wide eyes of honey and obsidian attempt to swallow him whole. Mariana’s breath trickles down his neck like water down a riverbed. He holds himself there for a moment, embracing the lack of space, losing himself in the way he can feel Mariana breathing and see the defined cupid’s bow of his lips.

He turns back to Roier and Cellbit, who are caught in the middle of exchanging a look. Roier’s face is drawn in skepticism, brows furrowed and eyes cut into slices of their original wide shape. Cellbit is raising his eyebrows in a way that makes it look as if he’s offering something. Their eyes dart back to Charlie and Mariana. Charlie can feel himself reddening. Their eyes feel glued to him. “Uh, where are you guys living?” Charlie asks awkwardly.

Cellbit jerks a thumb to the right. “Next door, actually, so we’ll see each other sometimes.” Charlie hums and nods, leaning forward and into the doorframe. His collarbone catches him and his forehead presses against the white wood, which is slightly chilled against his skin. The frames of his glasses are just barely out of reach of the frame, which prevents them from being shifted. “Mariana and Roier hang out a lot, so we might be stuck with each other,” Cellbit jokes. Charlie smiles. His cheek skates against the frame.

“Don’t worry, Slime, I don’t really like him.” Mariana says. It feels more directed at Roier, who laughs, open and wide. Mariana has a grin tugging at his voice. Charlie can imagine it on him, sweet and soft and friendly, even as he bites insults into his friend. “He’s a bitch.” Roier rolls his eyes.

“Okay, we just wanted to say hi to Charlie, not talk to Mariana, so we’re gonna leave,” Roier says, tugging on Cellbit’s hand slightly. Cellbit looks back at him, warm and gentle. and Charlie thinks it’s very cute. He takes a step back. “Bye, Charlie, see you later! I hope when Mariana isn’t here,” Roier calls, adding the last part quietly. Charlie laughs and waves in departure. Cellbit returns it, sheepishly smiling as Roier tugs him to the door across from theirs. Charlie can hear it clicking, and muffled talking streams through the thin crack in the door before it shuts completely.

Charlie stands against the doorframe for a moment longer, gazing out into the hallway. He can still feel Mariana over his shoulder. He wishes he could forget, because the presence is making his stomach twirl lightly. “I don’t call everyone in the building bitches, I promise. Roier’s the only bitch,” Mariana mumbles. The words spill across him, dripping off his ear, collecting in the dips of his collarbone. Charlie laughs again, head turning to the side slightly. Mariana is grinning quietly.

“I hope you don’t call everyone here bitches, because I live here now,” Charlie says. Mariana shakes his head, as if to say “never”, and Charlie smiles up at him. The hallway light catches in the corner of one of Mariana’s lenses. “Besides, maybe you should be nicer to him.” He suggests. There’s a hint of joking in his tone. Another shake of Mariana’s head, another “never”, another laugh drawn from Charlie. His neck is starting to hurt from the angle. He doesn’t care, grinning at Mariana, whose lips are split open in a mirroring expression. He can’t look away. Mariana doesn’t either, though, and it just enables Charlie.

“Guys?” Wilbur says. Mariana’s gaze slowly panes over to Wilbur. Charlie turns his head, eyes staying on Mariana until he has to snap them to the other man. He’s behind the island, the counter at his waist. His face is penned with amusement, watching the pair, just inches apart. Charlie can suddenly feel his cheeks burning. He doesn’t risk a glance at Mariana to see if he’s also red, because it would just be more for Wilbur to mock them for. “I was just gonna ask if you wanted help unpacking. Quackity will help, too.” He offers. Charlie swallows, fighting the urge to look up at Mariana for confirmation.

“Uh, yeah, some help would…be great,” Charlie says. He can see Mariana nodding in his peripheral vision. “What time is it?” He leans to the side so he can look farther into the kitchen. His head brushes against Mariana’s shirt, which jolts him with slight shock. The black hands of the clock hanging on the wall don’t point at whole numbers, so he estimates. “Three?”

“Three thirteen,” Quackity corrects. Charlie rolls his eyes and turns to look at his door. It’s obviously wide open, the frame like a gaping mouth. He wouldn’t expect Quackity to care to close it. Mariana’s shoulder blocks half of him, leaning against the wall next to the door, phone pulled out. “Do you have a box cutter, or can we just use, like, a steak knife?” He asks, looking up. Charlie glances up at Mariana. His eyes are directed towards the kitchen.

“I have scissors, I think,” He says. His face twists in thought. Charlie smiles at the expression, the way his lips tug to one side. “They’re in one of the little drawers.” He raises a hand and gestures vaguely into the kitchen. Wilbur glances to the side, as if to look where Mariana is pointing. He looks back up after realizing the amount of little cabinets built under the countertops.

“It’s just, like, my clothes and some random stuff. It’s not going to take long. I don’t really have a whole lot,” He expresses again. Quackity shakes his head. Waves of ebony hair that are pulled in tightly to frame his face by his beanie lick his skin. “I literally just have to put my clothes on a hanger or in the dresser and then put stuff on the desk and dresser. It’d be fun, and I’d appreciate help, but you guys really don’t have to.”

“Okay, but it’s not about whether or not you need the help. It’s about the experience, man. I’m not leaving you to move your stuff into an apartment alone. Even if you had one thing, I’d, like, hold your hand while you put it there.” Charlie snorts to himself. Mariana snickers just above him, and he knows Wilbur is laughing, too. Quackity grins widely. Pearly teeth catch in the sunlight as he walks to the kitchen island, passing Charlie. “It’ll be fun. Even if it just takes, like, thirty minutes. I wanna help.” Charlie pauses for a moment and watches Quackity. The boy is still wearing a grin, open and inviting.

He sighs. He wants it to be tired, wants it to sound like he’s giving into something he doesn’t want to do, but a smile crawls onto his face anyway. “Okay, but don’t be surprised if everything is away in, like, ten minutes.” Quackity brightens. Charlie laughs, and it’s light, Quackity leaning against the kitchen island with happiness etched thinly into his face.

Charlie looks up to Mariana, who turns down to look at him. “Which drawer?” He asks. Mariana’s lips curve into a small yet sweet smile. Charlie swallows. “With the scissors,” He specifies. It doesn’t feel necessary, but nervously filling the silence does. His voice is almost foreign in his throat, no longer slipping easily out and instead being choked out. He swallows again.

“I know,” Mariana says simply, and he turns and strides away from Charlie. It’s all the blonde can do to start his feet and catch up to Mariana. The tile echoes his footsteps back to him dully as he follows him around the island, Wilbur watching them in silence. Mariana pulls open a thin drawer, filled with what Charlie makes out to be random items jumbled together. He digs around for a moment before producing a pair of scissors, the handles an orange dulled with dirt. The legs gleam dimly. He holds them out to Charlie.

Charlie wraps his fingers around the body of the point, careful to not cut himself. He makes a face of faux pity. “Junk drawer?” He asks. Mariana nods almost sorrowfully. The boy hums, and it’s deep in his throat, reverberating as Charlie lowers the hand wielding the scissors. He nods once, then turns back to face Quackity. “Can you carry the boxes into the room, please?” He asks. Saccharinity drips heavily in his voice like honeyed blood. Quackity rolls his eyes. “Wilbur, too.”

“Why do I have to do everything?” He whines as he pushes himself up and off the counter. He dramatisizes his posture, hunching over as he drags himself towards the front door. Charlie can hear Wilbur stifling a laugh at the sight. The Brit follows him to the boxes.

Quackity squats, which Charlie snorts at, and begins wiggling his fingers underneath the bottom box. The top gently rocks with his movements. “You’re gonna lift both?” Charlie asks. Quackity hums, but it’s almost a grunt, hands attempting to slip under the cardboard.

Wilbur shrugs, then does the same thing, leaning forward to get a grip on the lower box. Charlie laughs. “Wilbur, you’ll run into the door and hit the box and your head,” Mariana warns. Wilbur turns his head to them, flashing them a smile. It’s stupid and childish, and Charlie can see Quackity turning to see it. Wilbur glances down at him. Eyes meet in silence.

Quackity turns back to his boxes. Wilbur blinks, then looks back up to Charlie and Mariana. “No, I won’t,” He argues. His cheeks are dusted pink. Charlie notes it, yet doesn’t mention it. “I’ll duck.” Quackity laughs, the sound high and light in the air. Charlie can just make out Wilbur’s cheeks growing with a smile.

Quackity stands with his boxes. They wobbly in his unsteady grip. Charlie turns to Mariana, who’s behind him, leaning against the drawer he’d just been looking through earlier. His hands are braced against the countertop next to him. There’s a small smirk tugging on his face, quiet and amused. His eyes flick down to meet Charlie’s. “This is gonna take longer than doing just one,” He mutters, rolling his eyes. Charlie laughs quietly.

“I heard that,” Quackity calls over his shoulder as he brushes past the doorframe of Charlie’s room. The door slowly creaks shut after his entrance. There’s a slit left for Charlie to watch him through, and he can just barely see him dropping the boxes on the bed. They rebound slightly. “Shut up and fuck you.” He shouts. Wilbur, making his way to the door now, laughs. Charlie looks back to Mariana, who shrugs. His lips purse slightly with the action. Dark eyes are topped off with sass Charlie can’t help but find himself slightly drawn to.

A muffled thump draws both their gazes to the door. Wilbur is paused at the doorway. His head has retracted into his neck. “Ow,” He mumbles. Mariana laughs loudly. Charlie grins at the sound. Wilbur slips by the door, head slumped over. Quackity giggles as Wilbur leaves the main area. “I couldn’t really see over the boxes, shut up. I thought I was farther away.”

“Maybe you need real glasses,” Quackity quips. Charlie can almost hear Wilbur’s eye roll from the other room. He looks back to Mariana. He’s already watching him. Charlie, suddenly aware of his gaze, nearly crumbles. Mariana’s lips curve up. Charlie likes the way it pulls his eyes into a thinner shape. He smiles back at him. His stomach feels like goo.

“I dunno why we waited for that. We’re just going into the room, anyway.” Charlie says. There’s no thoughtfulness in the observation. Mariana still seems to mull his words over, pulling meaning from them deeply.

Mariana shrugs. “It was funny.” Charlie’s almost surprised by the blunt obviousness of the response. It carries an air of simplicity to it he can’t help but find different from his contemplative look he’d worn moments ago. He laughs. Mariana’s smile splits open to reveal ivory teeth.

It really doesn’t take long, as Charlie had predicted, to unpack his things. He’s lucky the person that had lived here before had left all of the furniture untouched, the dresser, bed, and nightstand sleek and simple. He, too, is simple, and his clothing and other items are placed where they belong rather quickly. It’s easy to slip into the friendliness of the people around him. Mariana, though not very well known by the others, feels like an old friend as he slides easily into their banter. It's comforting. Charlie is overwhelmingly aware of how lucky he is to have found a roommate that’s already amazing.

It takes them about an hour, the majority of which is filled with them messing around rather than being productive. It ends with them flattening the boxes and moving to the living room in the main area. Charlie can feel happiness swelling in his heart as their conversation leads them to stay in the apartment for another hour and a half.

Eventually, however, it dies down. “Okay, and you’re…stupid, stop talking,” Quackity says in response to Wilbur disagreeing with him. He rolls his eyes. Charlie laughs, looking to his left, where Mariana lazily rolls his eyes and grins. He’s completely shoved himself into the corner of the three cushion couch. He’s comfortable, knees open, feet touching the coffee table, so Charlie doesn’t pay mind to it.

Wilbur clears his throat. “Thank you for that, Quackity.” Quackity snorts from the other side of Charlie. Wilbur just turns his gaze to the other two lounging on the couch. “Have we overstayed our welcome? It’s getting close to dinner time, if we need to go, that’s fine.” Charlie immediately looks up to Mariana. His own eyes are trained on Wilbur, but the moment he can feel Charlie’s eyes of molten turquoise and jade, he glances down to him. Question is written silently onto his face.

“It’s your apartment, too, now. We just moved you in,” Mariana murmurs. It’s humbling and reminding to Charlie, who sits there to digest it. Mariana turns to Wilbur. “If you want to stay for dinner, that would be fun. We could get pizza. If you need to go back to your apartment, that's fine, but we’d love to have you,” Mariana says. Wilbur smiles. Charlie looks over to Quackity, who shrugs. His lips twist and his brows raise. “Do you guys want to stay and have pizza?” He asks.

“Sure,” Quackity says. Wilbur just nods. Brown curls reach out to his skin like gardens of greedy vines. “Can we do that one small parlor, by Kings? I love their pepperoni, oh my God,” Quackity asks. Mariana’s eyes widen, head snapping in a quick nod. A small lick of confusion brushes past Charlie.

“It’s so good. I have their number saved, I live off of it.” Quackity laughs and nods in agreement. Mariana grins, and Charlie, though lost in the conversation, finds their connection almost comforting. “I’ll call them. What are we gonna get? We need pepperoni, should we get cheese, too?” Charlie nods. Mariana isn’t looking in his direction, though, so the confirmation is lost.

Wilbur, however, mirrors him in Mariana’s peripherals. “Yeah, we should probably get a large cheese and a large pepperoni. Quackity or I can Venmo you for one of them.” Mariana waves him off. He stands, the couch shifting with the change in distribution of weight. His back arches slightly with a stretch as he slowly snakes a hand into his back pocket. His phone barely peeks out over the fabric.

“It’s fine, really. We’ll get two large pizzas, you don’t have to owe us anything,” Mariana says. His phone slips easily out and he pulls it into his hand. He takes a step away from them, ambling towards the balcony across from the front door. Charlie hadn’t even noticed, but the sun had lowers significantly, and it shines brightly down on Mariana as his phone rings with a call he holds to his ear after. moment.

Charlie looks to one side, where Wilbur sits in an armchair, and to the other, where Quackity is squeezed in next to him. Mariana’s voice serves as a soothing undertone. “I live here now,” He whispers. Quackity rolls his eyes, smiling. Wilbur hums in question. He leans forward. Charlie brushes it off, instead saying something else. “This feels weird. It still feels like I’m a little kid asking their parent for permission.”

Quackity snorts. “Well, yeah, you literally just finished moving in, like, barely over an hour ago. The first time you ever saw this place was two days ago.” Charlie rolls his eyes and mutters something under his breath neither he nor Quackity listen to. “It’s gonna feel weird. It’ll be fine eventually.” Charlie nods softly.

“Okay,” Mariana says louder, turning back to the trio in front of him. A smile stretches gently across his face. “They can’t deliver tonight, they said we have to go pick it up. Will someone come with me?” He asks hopefully. Charlie can’t help but want to volunteer. When eyes of black coffee find his own, the words begin to gather in his mouth. He’ll go.

Quackity interrupts before he can speak. “Wilbur should go. I need to have a talk with Charlie,” Quackity says. For just a moment, Charlie thinks Mariana looks crestfallen. There’s a quietly fresh sting rejection hidden in the glassiness of his eyes, the way his brows ever so slightly furrow. Charlie wants to tell him so badly it’s reciprocated. He doesn’t want to talk to Quackity. But he blinks, and it’s gone, and Wilbur is getting out of his chair and they’re leaving the apartment, Mariana laughing loudly at some joke Wilbur made. Charlie sighs. He mourns the absence of Mariana, even if Mariana doesn’t feel the same way, even if Charlie can only think he does feel the way Charlie does in the depths of his mind.

The door clicks shut. Charlie sits still and sadly on the couch. Quackity’s hand immediately shoots out and grips his wrist. The unexpected pressure causes him to yelp slightly. He turns to Quackity and rips his hand out of his grasp. He cradles it to his chest, making a sour face. “What the hell was that for?” Charlie whines as he rubs his hand over his wrist. Quackity’s eyes are wide with disbelief.

“‘What was that for’? Dude, you’re literally…in love with Mariana. What’s your deal?” He snaps. Charlie blinks in surprise. It’s harsh, brows furrowing, voice sharp. A very stark difference from their phone call just last weekend. He doesn’t know how to react, doesn’t know what to say to get Quackity to calm down. He’s not used to this. He’s never had to react to this situation.

Charlie swallows. “I’m not ‘in love with Mariana’, I just…think he’s cute. And he’s been a good friend to me. That’s all.” He says. His voice is gentle in an attempt to sooth the angry wrinkles out of Quackity’s. “It’s not that big ‘f a deal, like we said, it’s not gonna mean anything.” His stomach twists like he’s lying. Charlie doesn’t even know if he is. “Besides, why is that a problem for you?”

Quackity takes a breath in. The way his eyes shut slightly with it feels promising. He expels it with a sigh. “I just…I don’t want you to, like, fall in love with your roommate and then get hurt. Y’know? I love you, Charlie, you’re my best friend, and shit like this can…be rough.” Charlie blinks at him. His voice has calmed like the tide retreating from the shore, his face softening with it easily. His brows are still loosely knitted with a twinge of worry. “Obviously, thinking a friend is attractive is one thing, and that’s fine, but, like, you…you’ve looked at him funny, like, eighteen times just in the past few hours. I dunno. I really don’t want to be overbearing or mean, I just…I don’t want you to hurt yourself,” Quackity explains.

Charlie nods slowly. “Okay, yeah, I get that. I’m sorry.” He says sincerely. Quackity makes a face, brows furrowing again in slight confusion, head cocking to the side.

“Why are you sorry? You shouldn’t be, you didn’t do anything.” Quackity argues. Charlie sighs. He collects his hands in his lap, fingers twisting and untwisting around each other. Guilt and uncertainty boil in his stomach.

“I dunno, I just…I dunno. I don’t want to, like, do stupid shit you warned me about. Y’know? I feel bad.” Charlie’s hands wring out. Quackity shakes his head, waving him off. It’s a bare comfort to him, and it shrugs around his shoulders warmly.

Quackity sighs. “No, it’s okay. I don’t…I shouldn’t have gotten that mad, I was just a little worried, it’s fine. Like you said. Nothing will happen. I’m just overprotective, it’s all good.” He offers Charlie a small smile. Charlie mirrors it waveringly. He still can’t tell if he believes himself when he says “nothing” to Quackity, and that makes the relief charging through him slowly feel almost like a curse. “Everything’s fine. We’re good. Right?” Charlie nods, his smile widening slightly.

“Yeah. We’re all good.” He confirms. Quackity’s teeth poke through his lips in a grin. “As long as you and Wilbur stop bickering like an old married couple. I think if I have to sit with Mariana through one more argument, we’re both gonna die.” Quackity rolls his eyes. Charlie doesn’t miss the way his cheeks warm like red wine has spilled across them.

“He’s so stubborn, oh my God. I can’t believe I’ve lived with him for this long.” He says, a smile tugging on his words. Charlie laughs. “Doesn’t ever want to listen. Whatever. Most of it’s jokes, anyway.” He shrugs.

Charlie grins. “Don’t say that, you love him.” Quackity shakes his head. His hair sweeps across his face with the action. When he stills, Charlie can see the stupid smile on his face he’a obviously fighting and the way his cheeks have maintained their flushed appearance. Charlie doesn’t care to mention it aloud. “I’ll tell him you said that.” Quackity laughs.

“He doesn’t care, he knows,” He says. “I call him annoying all the time. He doesn’t care. He knows when I’m full of shit.” Charlie snickers. Quackity shrugs, grinning lazily. They fall back into their familiar relationship, the way they poke fun at each other harmlessly. Quackity’s sharpness and Charlie’s meek shock are both gone. Their laughter runs wild in the apartment.

When Wilbur and Mariana return, pizza boxes in hand, smiles on their faces, Charlie can’t help but be drawn to the positivity. They dish the pizza out amongst themselves and talk and eat and laugh. It’s peacefully lovely in a way Charlie thinks he will always be homesick for. Marinara sauce smears across lips open with the stab of insults that fly across the island with laughter.

Charlie tries not to focus on Mariana. It’s hard, ignoring the way deep eyes seem to eat away at his soul as they look at him. He watches his easy mannerisms through his peripherals. It’s too hard after less than an hour. He gives in, eyes shining as he takes in Mariana, who tosses him glances Charlie indulges in. Quackity doesn’t scold him when he catches them. Charlie takes that as Quackity enabling it. He can’t find it in him to truly be that embarrassed. He’s too giddy.

The night creeps up on them. Before Charlie can protest against it, the moon has risen high in the sky. The crescent of it is ivory and slender against the dark. It shines in the glass of the balcony doors. Wilbur and Quackity return to their own apartment only after the clock ticks past ten thirty at night.

“G’night,” Charlie says one last time. He’s called it to the backs of his friends, and they don’t respond or seem to even hear him. He shuts the door when Quackity presses the elevator button in the dimly lit hallway. The knob clicks, and when he locks the door, there’s a hollow tick to it. He turns around.

Mariana is standing behind him. They’re not nearly as close as they had been earlier, with a generous few feet separating them, but he can still see the small smile on Mariana’s face. Charlie grins at him. “I’ll put the pizza away,” Mariana says. Their eye contact breaks, splintering like wood as Charlie watches him walk to the kitchen island. “That was a lot of fun. I didn’t know Quackity and Wilbur that well, I’m happy I got to talk more with them,” He says as he grabs a Ziploc back from a drawer he’d just barely pulled out. Charlie smiles. He can’t help but find it sweet.

“It’s crazy how you guys live in the same building, and now we’re roommates.” Charlie says. Mariana grins up at him as he rounds the island to where the pizza boxes sit, greasy and melting in the dying light of the lights. “It’s a small world,” Charlie adds lightly. Mariana nods as he grabs the last few pieces and stacks them in the plastic bag.

“I’m glad you found me, though. I feel better knowing you’re friends with people who have lived here without doing bad things. And you already seem like a good, funny person,” Mariana says. The final piece is shoved into the bag as he finishes. Charlie can feel a wobbling smile pull onto his face. The compliments don’t go unnoticed.

The lips of the bag snap together slowly. Mariana’s focus is on the pizza and the bag. Charlie wishes he could see his face, but the lack of a burning desire of it mellows him out. “Same here, I’m glad I didn’t reply to the ad of, like, a crazy person.” He jokes. Mariana laughs as he carries the bag to the fridge. When he opens it, the light is cold and harsh. It’s snowy against the warmth of the kitchen lights. He places the bag on an empty spot on the lower shelf. A wave of slight chill washes over Charlie. He can feel it from the refrigerator.

The doors close. Mariana turns to face him and leans against the fridge. A small smile grows sweetly on him, a rosebud of happiness. “It’s your first night sleeping here. Do you think you’re going to sleep well?” Mariana asks. Charlie grins at him.

“I hope so. ‘m not usually the best sleeper in new places, but I have people I know around me. It can’t be that bad.” He says. Mariana nods, lips pulled into a smile that anchors to one of his cheeks and drags the other corner of it along. “It’s probably time for us to go to sleep, anyway.”

“I think it is.” Mariana says. He uses his back to push himself off the fridge and ambles over to Charlie, still stood next to the front door. Charlie’s eyes won’t leave Mariana’s. Deep hickory eyes stare into those of shining cyan. Mariana’s hand comes to rest against the light switch next to the door. Charlie swallows. “Goodnight, Slime.” Mariana says. His mouth twists farther up as he says the nickname.

Charlie grins. “G’night, Mariana.” Mariana smiles down at him. His teeth are pale against the flush of his lips and the warmth of his skin. Charlie wants to take a picture of him and then die. Quackity’s words truly feel like they were in vain at this moment. There’s a click of the switch.

They’re plunged into darkness. The night offers them gentle light through the windows on the wall across from them. In it, he can just barely make out his surroundings. Mariana pads away. Charlie mirrors him, walking to the door opposite to Mariana’s. He enters his new room.

A stupid grin pulls up on his face as he falls backwards onto his bed. His shoes still hugging his feet, his glasses still perched on his face, he stares up at his ceiling and smiles.

There truly will never be a time he listens to Quackity’s advice.

Chapter Text

The morning is bright and heavy in the air. With it carries the musk of day, earthy and sweet and sharp. The sun shines like a pearl in the sky; its light is yellow and blazing and bathes everything. There is no escaping the summer sun. It’s inevitable, and it’s beautiful, and it’s horrible. It feels like a curse that has been placed upon the residents of America. Heat and light are never lost.

Charlie groans and rolls over in bed. The sheets wrinkle quietly beneath his weight. Though his room doesn’t lack drapes, it also doesn’t lack windows, and the sun certainly wants him to understand that. A thin, angular strip of sunlight beams onto his arm. It’s hot and bright and Charlie really doesn’t care for it. He’s been drawn out of his slumber too early. He wants to go back to bed. His blankets call to him like sirens and he wants to give in, despite the fact he has work in just an hour and it’s far too hot for blankets.

He sighs. His eyes crack open. As if stared down by Medusa herself, his body feels like it’s been turned to stone. Charlie’s lashes crumble in the debris as they slowly adjust to the morning. The feeling is unwelcome. Paired with the fact he’s still incredibly tired for no reason, the only conclusion he can draw is that the morning has never been kind to him.

The alarm on his phone begins beeping. He groans again as he turns back to turn it off. The exhale is louder this time, much more dramatic than the previous. It only feels good for a second before all Charlie really wants to do is fall asleep. Still, he sits up in bed. His hand reaches out to his nightstand. Fingers fumble around blindly for his glasses.

Bleary eyed and yawning, Charlie slips out of bed to get ready for the day. His closet, shining and new, holds his clothes. He slips on the first presentable t-shirt he can dig out from the hangers. His shorts are the ones he wore yesterday. He truly does not care. He brushes his teeth and combs his hair in his bathroom. His shoes lace up easily. His fatigue dissipates only slightly in this time. He’s disappointed.

When Charlie leaves his room, he’s met with Mariana in the kitchen, standing on the side of the island across from him. His face is soaked in the same sluggish exhaustion the morning always brings. The sun spills across the floor of their common area and just barely licks into the kitchen. The overhead lights are on as an extra precaution. They, along with the deep shadows the sunlight throws across his face, wash him out. A mess of dark hair sits atop his head. His eyes are dull under his glasses as he looks down to whatever his hands mess with. The morning is not kind to either of them.

He steps out of his doorway. The click of his shoes against the wood draws Mariana’s attention to him. A small smile slowly widens his lips. In the face of the sleepy morning, it’s warm, and the sight of it makes him feel giddy. It’s the most humbling feeling. Here he is, stood in front of his roommate, melting at the sight of him grinning. His eyes catch in the sun and they shine like amber. Charlie has to look away.

“Good morning, Slime,” Mariana says as Charlie wanders to the fridge. His grin is audible through his sleepiness. While undying positivity definitely isn’t something Charlie would associate with Mariana, the gentle and unthinking happiness in his voice is comforting to Charlie as he navigates the sharpness of the morning. “It’s Monday, and I don’t want to go to work.” Charlie snorts at the bluntness. The fridge doors open easily. Harsh light falls onto his skin and crystallizes like frozen rain, clinging to him. The chill from inside blankets him.

“Me neither, but we have to pay rent somehow.” He says, eyes scanning the contents of the refrigerator. There isn’t much to go off of. Mariana had told him he wasn’t expecting anyone to be moving in so quickly when he had bought groceries a week ago, and that once their food supply ran dry, they could go shopping together and get things they both needed. This fact is blatantly obvious when checking the fridge for food. “I dunno, maybe if we hide in the bathrooms, we could live here for free.” Mariana snickers quietly. The sound is sweet.

Charlie shuts the fridge doors. The layers of cold air and brutal light thaw off his skin as he turns around. Mariana’s eyes are on him, watching him curiously. He tries not to let the sight get to him. His gaze is honeyed and soft, and while it’s on him, Charlie might be grinning like an idiot. He can’t tell. “‘m gonna run to Ms. P’s,” He says. “D’you want me to grab you something?” He offers.

Mariana blinks. Charlie thinks he looks almost surprised. However, it might be his fatigue blurring his vision. “Oh, uh, yes, please. Can you get me a black coffee and some creamer cups?” Charlie nods tiredly. Mariana, eyes blanketed with the same bags that decorate Charlie’s, smiles at him. Even the slight brightness of it partially unlodges a dam preventing happiness from flowing through him. “Thanks, Slime,” He says, eyes pulled in a way Charlie can’t shy away from.

“‘f course, I’ll be back in, like, ten minutes.” He sweeps his keys off the counter and lets them hang loosely in his hand. Mariana nods in acknowledgment, then turns back to his own breakfast. Charlie wields his key like a weapon as he unlocks the apartment and slips into the hallway. He doesn’t bother locking the door behind him as he walks to the elevator. The downwards button lights under his touch.

Doors grumble as they roll open. He steps inside, elevator lights shaky and dim as the doors shut, and he’s plunged into a steady descent to the floor below. He luckily doesn’t have to stop at any other floors. The solitude of his ride is comforting. When he reaches the first floor, the ding of the sensor is almost a burden he slings over himself. Charlie prepares himself to face the city, already missing the isolation of the elevator. His feet carry him out of the building.

His car sits patiently in the lot. The morning sun reflects off the silver paint of it. The handle is warm to the touch as he opens the door. Fabric soaked with sunlight is warm against his skin as he slides into the seat. His steering wheel, too, is heated under his skin as he grabs it. He thinks the weight of it is comfortable as he begins to pull out of the space he has been in and leave the parking lot.

There’s a few commuters out on the sidewalks, which Charlie deems reasonable. Early morning traffic is light and he’s pulling into the lot of the strip mall before he knows it. When he walks into Ms. P’s, there’s two people inside other than the singular employee working at the counter. One is sitting at a table with their laptop, the other walking away from the counter holding their order.

Charlie walks up to the front. The teenager standing at the counter looks up at him under wisps of brown bangs. Her eyes are tired, and her smile is bright and fake as he nears her. Sleepy pity curdles in his gut. “Hi, what can I get for you?” She asks. The light above them falters for a moment. She glances up, then looks back to Charlie.

“Uh- just two medium black coffees and one of those…egg cup things, please,” He says, gesturing at the display case holding their pastries and other food items. She taps the screen set to the side a few times. Charlie digs into his back pocket for his wallet. Slim and leather, slipping out should be easy, yet it feels like the hardest thing he’s ever had to do as he fumbles with it.

“Your total’s gonna be ten fifty-two, are you paying with cash or card?” Her eyes drag to his hands as he pulls his card out of the pocket of the wallet. He glances up at her. The same tired happiness thickly coats her face with a faux glaze. “Okay, just stick it in the chip reader when you're ready,” She adds. He nearly drops the card as he inserts it in the black card reader in front of him. It processes for a moment, then asks for his pin, which he punches in. It scans his chip for another second before angrily beeping at him. He pulls it out. “I’ll have those out for you in a minute.” He nods, and she steps away from the counter.

Charlie steps to the side of the counter, out of the way, and pulls his phone out of his pocket. The screen flashes at him. He doesn’t bother actually looking at the time. His home screen stares up at him for a few minutes, and then the barista is pushing two coffees and a small brown bag towards him, telling him to have a good day. He puts his phone away clumsily and takes his order, grabbing some creamer cups and telling her to have one, too, and then he’s back outside. The morning eats away at his skin.

The cup holders in the car are just barely too big for the coffee cups. Distant worry of them spilling all over the insides of it tugs at him gently, but he pays it no heed as he backs out of the spot and begins to retrace his steps. Drive back to the apartment, grab one of the coffees and half of the creamers, buzz himself into the building. Take the elevator to the fourth floor. Open the second door. Be met by his roommate, smiling at him and looking much more put together than he does.

The sun splashes like water colors across Mariana. His hair is combed and his glasses shine in the light spilling into the room from the hallway. “Oh, thanks, Slime.” Charlie smiles at the familiarity of the nickname and nods. He holds the coffee out in silence, other hand curled loosely around the creamer to stop it from falling out of his hand. Mariana takes both graciously. “You got yourself coffee, right? You didn’t just go out and get me this?” Mariana’s brows knit slightly.

Charlie shakes his head. “No, I left mine in the car. I’m just gonna grab my bag really quickly and run back down.” Mariana nods, another sweet grin curling his lips. Charlie is about to take a step towards his room, where his bag waits for him, but is stopped when Mariana leans into him. An arm slings around his shoulder. He’s brought in for an awkward half-hug.

His breathing hitches for a fraction of a second. Mariana smells nice, he notes to himself, face pressing against his chest. Like wood and musky vanilla. It’s a comforting scent. “Thank you,” He murmurs again. Charlie smiles into his shirt, eyes looking up at him. Mariana’s own gaze is trained on him. It’s a wonderful feeling.

“‘f course,” He mumbles. Mariana releases his hold on Charlie. Charlie, mourning the loss of contact, still steps away. Smiles grace both of their faces. “I have more creamer in my car, too, if I didn't grab enough,” Charlie offers. Mariana shakes his head.

“No, this is good, thanks.” Charlie nods at him, finality seeping into the action, and turns to walk to his room. His door slips open, and his bag sits below the foot of his bed. The dark canvas is familiar as he hosts it up by one of the shoulder straps and loops it over his arm. He pats his pockets, double checking his phone and keys are still tucked within the denim, and when he’s met with familiar outlines pressing against his skin, he leaves the room. His hand hits against the switch. The lights dim out to complete darkness behind him. The sun still washes gentle light into the room.

Mariana is standing in the kitchen, his own shoulder bag slung over his body. He’s typing rather quickly on his phone, and after a few seconds, he turns it off and slides it into the front pocket of his bag. Dark eyes glance up and meet Charlie’s. “I’ll lock the door. I’m leaving in a few minutes.” Charlie nods again, offering him one last smile, and turns to the door. The wood opens easily. He slips out and begins to shut it. “Have a good day,” He hears Mariana call.

He grins. “You, too, Mariana.” The door clicks shut. His hand lingers on the knob for a moment longer than necessary. His eyes are trained on it, as if he can see through the wood. He can’t. He wishes he could. Mariana stands behind it.

Charlie leaves for work. Charlie works. Charlie comes home. Charlie and Mariana share dinner together, then watch TV, Mariana in the arm chair and Charlie tucked into the corner of the couch. When he wakes up, he asks Mariana again if he wants the same coffee. He gets it for him. Charlie receives another hug. He feels like he’s being rewarded, a treat he can indulge in after getting his roommate morning coffee. But why would he not want to indulge in the reward? The contact feels sweeter on his skin every day.

This routine carries them to Saturday. Neither of them work on the weekends, as they had learned at Ms. P’s two weeks prior. Charlie takes this as a time to sleep in. Waking up at nine in the morning is a privilege he takes pride in. Mariana seems to feel the same way, because he comes stumbling out of his room thirty minutes after Charlie does, bleary-eyed and obviously much better rested than he’d been during the week.

Charlie, sitting at the island on one of the barstools, turns his head as he hears the door clicking to the side. Mariana walks out of the open doorway. He squints as the sun shines down at him. Messy locks of ebony reach out in all directions like the heads of serpents. His eyes and glasses shine in the sunlight that can reach at him while he faces to the side. His head turns to Charlie, who smiles at him through a mouthful of cereal. Mariana returns the gesture. “G’morning,” He mumbles. His voice rumbles in his chest. The sound of it is sweet in Charlie’s ears.

He swallows his bite. “G’morning,” He replies, turning back to his breakfast and phone. Mariana doesn’t voice any other greetings, opting instead to wander past Charlie to the cupboards. Ceramic clinks and silver shuffles as Mariana prepares himself a bowl of cereal. Charlie continues scrolling on Twitter and eating. At one point, he looks up, and Mariana is gently shaking the milk carton to try and get the last of the milk out. A few drops splash into his bowl, but other than that, it’s out. He barely screws the lid back on and sighs.

“We need to go shopping for groceries today or tomorrow,” Mariana says. His eyes flicker up to meet Charlie’s. Charlie, startled and warm, glances at Mariana’s cereal bowl for a second before intercepting his eyes again. “Probably today. We’re out of the strawberries I really like.” Charlie’s face twists with thought and gentle sympathy.

“Okay, I just got paid yesterday. Let’s go later today.” Mariana shakes his head, eyes falling to his cereal. His spoon slips into his grasp, and he slowly stirs his cereal. Cheerios push up the inner walls of the bowl. He clears his throat. When he speaks again, his morning voice is nearly completely dissipated.

“No, I can pay. You always buy the coffee. I got paid on Thursday, we’ll go today and I’ll pay.” Charlie shrugs at the words. He knows groceries definitely cost more than a three dollar coffee everyday. He’ll find a way to make it up to him.

They eat their breakfast in silence. Charlie finishes first, and after he rinses out his bowl and sets it in the dishwasher, he continues to scroll on his phone. Mariana opts to watch a show on the television instead. Charlie is grateful for the fact he uses a low volume.

Before he can truly enjoy the morning, it’s been ripped out from underneath him. Two o’clock rolls around. Charlie has taken to his room and is checking his work emails one last time before deciding he can put the computer away until Sunday. There’s a knock that clicks hollowly against his door just as he’s about to shut the laptop.

Charlie smiles. “Come in,” He calls, voice light. The door whines in protest as it’s opened like a mouth. Mariana’s head peeks in. His hair is still a mess of wild and dark streaks. Wide eyes cradled in crow’s feet bore into his own, and when he steps out from the doorway, his small smile is more visible. Charlie wants to eat his expression raw.

“Hey, Slime. I think we should go get groceries now. There’s a King Soopers near us.” Charlie shuts his laptop quickly. His legs tug him out of his bed, a grin pulling at his face. Mariana’s smile splits open to show his teeth as Charlie carries himself to the chest of drawers his shoes lay next to.

“Yeah, I’ll put my shoes on and we can go,” He agrees easily, and though Mariana doesn’t seem shocked, there’s a quirk of surprise in his brows Charlie thinks to be related to his willingness to leave. “I’ve done, like, nothing all day. Not complaining, but I wanna go outside.” His explanation feels more like it’s directed at himself. Mariana shrugs at it, eyes of burnt sugar catching on the sunlight and shining into Charlie’s before stepping out of his room. He can’t help but miss the presence of the boy, even if he’s just moved by a few feet.

His shoes lace up his feet. Charlie stands, snatching his phone off of his nightstand. It flashes his home screen at him as it lifts. His mind doesn’t grab onto the time that glows up at him fast enough. The numbers slip from his mind quicker than he can interpret them. He doesn’t care enough to look at them again. His legs carry him out of the door. Habit raises his hand to the light switch, but thought lowers it before he can smack it in the already dark room.

Mariana is leaning against the kitchen island as Charlie leaves his room. He’s on his phone, and when he looks up, Charlie feels like a bride being seen by her groom for the first time. A smile pulls his face open, and he pushes himself off the counter. Eyes of simmering honey swallow him. He blinks harshly. He feels raw and picked apart by his gaze, but in such a tender and unsuspecting way he can’t do anything about it. “I’m ready, let’s go,” He manages. Mariana nods, hand reaching into his pocket. A familiar ring of silver keys shines in his hand as he walks to the door. Charlie follows.

Mariana unlocks and opens the door with a short series of clicks. When he opens it, the mouth of the doorway is wide and invites them to the hallway. Mariana holds it out for him. Charlie takes the hint and walks through, heading to the elevator and pressing the down button. The dim yellow light goes off. He can hear Mariana locking the door behind him, and the elevator dings right when he settles behind Charlie. They both walk in.

Turns out, Charlie can’t drive a car if he’s left his keys in his apartment, so they take Mariana’s. The air conditioning in his is nicer than Charlie’s, which he’s sure he’ll appreciate later in the summer. The seats are thick fabric that is warm under his thighs. He lets Charlie take the aux, and he’s glad for it as they both sing and hum along to the random pop song he hadn’t even meant to click. At some point, Mariana had turned off the air conditioning and rolled down their windows slightly. The breeze ruffles through their hair, carrying their laughter out of the car.

The parking lot connected to the King Soopers is surprisingly unoccupied. Out of the many spots, Charlie only finds around fifty that are taken by other cars. This plays to their advantage as Mariana pulls into a spot a row from the front entrance made of bricks and concrete.

Mariana parks, and Charlie unbuckles himself and slides out of the car. He rounds the back of the car to find Mariana leaning into the open door to the backseat. Charlie snorts. Mariana pulls himself out of the car, grinning sheepishly. A plain tote bag that seems to be stuffed with something hangs off his arm. Charlie cracks a grin. “Whatcha got?” He asks. It’s almost teasing.

Mariana shuts the door. “Bags. They make you pay ten cents for a bag now.” He wrinkles his nose. Charlie laughs at the animated expression. “One of my friends gave me these because his girlfriend wanted prettier ones.” He raises the bag in hand slightly as he takes a step forward. Charlie sidesteps, and Mariana walks past him and turns to get to the store. Charlie, yet again, follows.

The automatic doors sweep to the side for them, and Mariana glances back to make sure Charlie is still behind him. The lights of the store are fluorescent and cold, and they wash both of them out against the bright white tiles and beige painted walls. The air conditioning is cranked to the point of it almost being too cool. When Charlie reaches to grab a cart, the metal is cold under his touch and sears chill into his skin.

“We need to go to the fruit. I want more strawberries.” Charlie nods as Mariana pulls a piece of folded paper from his back pocket. “I have a list, but if you need anything, we can get that, too,” He says. He waves the paper gently. Charlie nods again as Mariana leads them to the produce. The fruits and vegetables stacked in the wooden displays shine unnaturally in the light.

Mariana reaches out as they pass boxes of berries and grabs a container of his strawberries. They’re plump and a deep red. The seeds are small and light against their skin. Mariana drops them into the silver cart. Their color stands out against the plain grey.

“Okay. I didn’t put any other fruits or anything on here, but we need some. You can pick,” Mariana offers. Charlie scans the selection. He opts for some bananas, just barely tinted green, and a small carton of blueberries. Mariana also grabs celery and a few salad kits from the vegetable section. “For lunch,” He explains, dropping the bags of spinach and extra toppings into the bottom of the cart.

“Can we also get Cheez-Its? Please?” Charlie asks as he follows Mariana to the dairy aisle. Mariana turns back to Charlie, eyes dark in the snowy lighting, and laughs, teeth shining. His stupid whining paired with the grin on his face tugs amusement to Mariana’s expression.

There’s a pause, though they both know he’ll give in. “Okay, whatever, go get some.” He agrees. Charlie laughs, abandoning the cart in favor of searching for a red box of the snack. He scans the signs hanging from the ceiling for guidance. When he sees one that probably has Cheez-Its among its shelves, he turns in.

Sure enough, halfway down the aisle, he’s greeted with a familiar box. He snags the first box and turns around, exiting from where he came from. He peeks down every aisle he passes with his prized collection, and eventually spots Mariana and the cart with the frozen meals.

Mariana doesn’t notice as he walks up to him. He drops the Cheez-Its into the cart, and he turns quickly. Charlie’s face splits open into a grin. Mariana shakes his head, but there’s a smile on his face that erases the action. “Can you pick some you’d want? I grabbed some.” He waves half-heartedly at the cold doors. Charlie has to fight to divert his attention from Mariana to the fridges before him.

He opens one of them by the plastic handle. It’s cold under his skin. Cold air falls over him like impossibly light snow. He reaches out and grabs a few single meals. Gentle frost melts against his fingertips. He collects four before shutting the door with his elbow. The thick glass chills him. “Okay, do I need more?” Mariana’s eyes find his for a moment, darkened caramel melting into the crevices of textured aquamarine.

“Uh, maybe. They have two-person meals. We can look at those,” He offers. Charlie nods. Mariana’s hands slip off the cart and wander to another door to the frozen meals. Charlie walks around it to stand near him. “We can also get other things, these are just easier. I didn’t know if you wanted real meals and I forgot to ask.” Charlie shrugs him off as he looks through the boxes.

“It’s fine, we can always plan more later.” He tugs a box off the shelf. An identical one pushes forward. “How about…chicken and broccoli noodles?” He reads, looking up to Mariana. He shrugs, unbothered.

“Put it in the cart, I guess.” Charlie sets it on its side next to the Cheez-Its. “I hate trying to plan meals, but we probably shouldn’t just eat frozen ones forever,” Mariana says as he leans into the door he’s opened to look at something pushed far back. Charlie walks behind him to look through the frosted glass of the one next to him.

“Well, just for this week. Next week we can plan more.” He reaches out to grab the handle next to the one Mariana is looking in. He leans forward, and Mariana turns back around. Wide eyes snap to each other as Charlie ends up nearly toppling on top of Mariana, who is shoved against the freezing glass of the fridge. He trips over one of Mariana’s feet in his haste to move. His shoulder catches on his chest and he takes that as an opportunity to throw a hand out to stabilize himself. His palm freezes and then burns against what it lands on. Mariana’s arm somehow is wrapped over it, which pulls it into his side. A handprint is smeared across the frost.

Silence thickens as Charlie’s wobbling slows to a stop. He blinks, and Mariana returns the gesture, a small smile tugging at his lips. Charlie can feel his face heating, and it makes him so embarrassed he wants to crawl away. “I- hi,” Mariana mumbles. Charlie’s stomach feels like it’s doing backflips as he nervously smiles back at him. “What…um, hi,” He repeats. It’s breathy with a laugh. Charlie’s grin wavers with embarrassment. They’re so close, and it’s so perfectly awkward, and Charlie can’t help but feel butterflies and moths fluttering against his stomach lining.

“Should I…” Charlie starts, attempting to free his hand from where it’s been tucked against Mariana. Mariana makes a small noise and begins raising his arm, lifting one of his feet so Charlie can move. “Sorry,” Charlie says, eyes instinctively flicking to the ground as he recollects himself.

Mariana laughs quietly. “It’s fine, Slime.” He says. Charlie looks up at him. Here, painted in the unflattering supermarket lights, hair slightly awry, a grin pulling at all corners of his face, he has to be some sort of divine being to be looking this pretty and acting so kindly. Charlie’s cheeks flush again. He turns back to the door he was just going to look through. It feels like a miracle to be remembering what he was doing before. “No es un problema en absoluto,” He hears him mumble.

Charlie doesn’t understand Spanish. He doesn’t have it in him to ask what he said. Instead, he reaches in for another meal. “What about this one?” He asks, holding it up. Mariana nods and jerks a thumb towards the cart. He drops it in.

The rest of the trip goes smoothly. They manage to find everything they need and pack it all into Mariana’s little tote bags. Charlie mocks him for them until they reach checkout, where he gives him a pointed look as he selects the option for zero bags used. Charlie nearly drops his bag laughing at Mariana on their way out.

Their groceries will carry them for the next week or so. However, that next Saturday, Charlie is not focused on the amount of food in their fridge and pantry.

It’s a shitty day, Charlie thinks. It was already not going well in the morning, because he’d awoken at two from a nightmare he doesn’t remember, but one that plagued him so heavily he couldn’t sleep again. Once the sun had just barely peeked over the horizon, he’d finally escaped his room to have breakfast and ended up dropping one of the glass cups in the kitchen and nearly crying in front of Mariana as the boy tiredly exited his room, told him to go back to bed, and began cleaning it up. And when he had rolled into bed, eyes wet, the message notification from his dad just made things worse.

He scans the paragraph he’s been texted with vision blurred by tears. Charlie takes his glasses off and sets them on his nightstand, rubbing at his eyes. The words draw quiet tears down his cheeks in long streams. He hates it. He hates how long he’s been awake for it to just be six thirty in the morning, hates how Mariana is the one cleaning up after his mess, hates how he’s crying in bed because his dad has taken a moment to text him back-handed compliments and awfully phrased questions only on his worst day.

He tells him he’s surprised Charlie has lasted two weeks without help from anyone else. He tells him Charlie has always been one to run away from his problems, that he’s always been quick to leave and ignore his issues, and that his leaving home might have been no different. He tells him he’ll be expected to pay rent when he inevitably gives up on his apartment with Mariana. He signs off with “-Dad”, and not once in the message does he tell him he’s proud, or he misses him, or he loves him. It rips Charlie’s heart to shreds. He yanks the blanket over his head.

There’s a knock on his door after what can’t be longer than a minute of quiet sobbing. Charlie holds his breath the moment he hears it. His heart twists in a familiar way, but there’s a broken edge to it that stabs into his ribs. The blanket is pulled down to his chin by one of his hands. “What’s up?” He calls. It comes out like a croak.

“I just wanted to tell you I cleaned all the glass.” There’s a silence that thins out into his room. Charlie sniffles. “Are you okay? Can I come in?” Mariana asks. There’s a gentleness to his voice that has increased from his previous tone. It makes his heart feel like it’s broken wax being placed on a burner on low-heat.

He takes a shaky breath. His eyes flutter slightly with it. “Um…yea,” He says. The knob immediately begins rotating. The door is pushed open slowly, and Mariana’s head is the first thing he sees, bleary eyes staring warmly through his glasses. Charlie all but breaks down at the softness in his gaze. Mariana steps into his room and shuts the door behind him.

“Are you…Why are you crying? You don’t have to say. I just want you to be okay.” Mariana takes a step into the room. He stands to the side of the edge of the bed, fingers dragging lightly against the comforter. Charlie sniffles again. He feels pathetic, utterly pathetic as he tries to stop more tears from rolling down his face. “Is it because you broke the cup? It’s not a problem, Charlie. We have many. And I can get more.” Mariana soothes. Charlie shakes his head.

“I, um…it’s not just that. I woke up really early and couldn’t fall asleep, and then I did break the glass, and…wow, this is a lot to put on you, but I don’t…have the best relationship with my dad? And he just texted me and basically told me that he doesn’t think I’m gonna be able to support myself in this apartment for very long. But also that I’m not…exactly welcome at his house? It was just…a lot to take in. And he’s always been shitty, and I’ve always handled it, but today has already been shitty.” He laughs wetly. Mariana’s eyes tug open with sympathy. Charlie feels undeserving of the gentleness of the gaze, and he fights the urge to squirm under it. He snivels. “I’m sorry, you didn’t have to be involved. It’s not that big ‘f a deal. I’ll be fine.” He assures Mariana. He doesn’t believe his words as he speaks them. He feels cursed when Mariana doesn’t seem to, either.

He sits at Charlie’s feet, which Charlie notices is over halfway up the bed. His knees are curled to his chest. He hadn’t realized it. “I want to be involved. You’re crying, Slime, you aren’t okay. I want to help. What can I do?” The sincerity in his tone makes Charlie want to die. He’s so caring, his sweet doe eyes held against under eye bags boring into him. “The kitchen is clean, and you can probably sleep the rest of the day. I can’t do a lot about your dad. But I can do other things.” He offers. At that, an idea weakly comes to mind.

“Can…can I just have a hug?” Charlie whispers. Mariana’s eyes somehow widen, and there’s a smear of pity that disappears just as quickly as it appears in his pupils. He nods, and Charlie sits up, careful not to kick him. The minute he’s upright he’s wrapped into a side hug, Mariana’s arms pulling him in. They’re comforting and encompassing around him. Charlie can’t help that his head falls against Mariana’s neck and collarbone. He’s still warm with sleep, and when he breathes, Charlie can feel his clavicle pressing gently into his forehead. “Thanks,” He mumbles. Mariana hums in response. His throat vibrates against the top of his head.

They stay like that for longer than necessary, frozen in time, warmth building walls around them. Charlie’s eyes dry, tear tracks staining his face. Mariana’s hold on him never slips. It’s comforting and sweet, and Charlie can’t do anything but feel fuzzy in his arms.

After what feels like forever, Charlie can feel Mariana’s mouth open, chin bumping his head. “I’m sorry about your dad. And I’m sorry today hasn’t been a good day. I can…Do you want anything for breakfast? I can go and get it.” He says. The sweetness of the offer melts Charlie.

“Can I have one of those blueberry muffins from Ms. P’s?” Charlie mumbles. Mariana nods against him. “But…just wait for a little.” He nods again, and Charlie can hear his smile when he exhales quickly, a quiet and quick laugh. He doesn’t care to be offended by it.

Mariana does eventually get him his muffin, and by the time he’s returned home, Charlie has emerged from his bed and lays on the couch in a similar curled up position. However, it looks a lot less defensive, and more lounging. Mariana tells him he looks like a cat. Charlie laughs and rolls his eyes.

They waste the day away in the living room and kitchen, Mariana cooking them lunch and dinner and reassuring Charlie and giving him hugs and Charlie slowly piecing himself back together. It’s domestic, and Charlie doesn’t want to think about it like that, but he feels so loved it’s hard not to. He and Mariana have bonded so quickly, it’s almost a shock to remember they just met three weeks ago. Charlie forgets that surprise when Mariana wraps him into another hug, which he gladly returns.

“Do you feel better now?” He mumbles into his ear. Charlie smiles into his shoulder, eyes shutting. The growing night is blocked out of his vision. He feels warm and safe, leaning deeply into the touch.

“Yeah. A lot better. Thank you, Mariana,” He whispers. Mariana squeezes him slightly tighter for a moment before relaxing and releasing him. There’s a wide smile on his face. Charlie loves the way it looks so badly he feels sick.

“Of course, Slime.” He says it so warmly Charlie can’t help but feel like he’s going to melt. He scratches the side of his arm as if to distract himself, grinning with a face of putty. “But it’s getting late. We should go to bed. So you can sleep more tonight.” Charlie nods in understanding, but he can’t help but wish the day could stretch on forever. “Good night, wake me up if you need anything,” He rubs his shoulder one last time and shuts off the lights. Dim moonlight washes into their apartment. Charlie knows he won’t be able to bring himself to wake up Mariana, but he nods anyway.

“G’night,” Charlie mumbles in response. Mariana’s door clicks open and Charlie takes that as a queue to head to his own bed. He doesn’t hear Mariana shut his own door until Charlie has entered his room. He finds it sickeningly sweet.

His own door sweeps shut quietly, and, grateful he hadn’t had to change out of his sleep shirt, Charlie carries himself into bed. His phone still lays innocently on his nightstand. Gingerly, heart nearly beating in his ears, he picks it up and unlocks it. He’s lucky only the iMessages main screen pulls up and not his dad’s text. He quickly clicks on the notifications he notices popping on Quackity’s contact to distract himself. Without even looking at the texts, he presses the call button.

Quackity picks up after a few seconds of empty ringing. “Why didn’t you answer my texts? I hate you, I actually hate you.” He immediately chastises in Charlie’s ear. He laughs quietly. “You were supposed to be the third vote in Wilbur and I’s argument. What the hell? I’m still not over it,” He groans. Charlie grins at the ceiling and rolls his eyes.

“If you really needed me that badly, why didn’t you just come down here?” He questions quietly. He knows Quackity is shrugging dumbly at the thought.

“Same reason you called and didn’t come up here,” He says, voice easy and familiar. One of Charlie’s eyebrows quirks up. “Too lazy.” Charlie snorts. “Why’d you call? And why so late?”

Charlie pauses. “I…I wasn’t near my phone. I was with Mariana, like, all day. I had a rough morning.” He sighs. Quackity is silent on the other end. He’s grateful he knows when to not pry. “Um…among other things, my dad texted me.”

Quackity grumbles. “That piece of shit! Oh my God, Slime, I’m so sorry. You should’ve just blocked him, man. Or just let me beat him up. I can take a guy entering his sixties.” Charlie laughs quietly again at Quackity’s willingness to fight his father. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, Mariana helped me. A lot.” He takes a deep breath in, letting it out in something akin to a sigh. “He just…he said some stuff that hit home. About running away from my problems. But…I’m better now.” Quackity hums into the phone. “He told me he thinks I won’t be able to support myself in an apartment for very long. But Mariana said he thinks I can, and I think I believe I can.”

Quackity hums again. “I think you can. Wil, too, probably. You’re gonna be able to support yourself, Charlie. He doesn’t know shit.” Quackity pauses. “It’s kinda late, and Wilbur keeps looking at me from across the rooms and giving me a look. I think I gotta go. Love you, man. Take care of yourself.”

“Love you, too,” Charlie mutters into the phone. Three tones beep quietly into his ear. He sets his phone back on his nightstand, staring up into the dark. His ceiling is all that meets his gaze.

Eventually, his eyes slip shut. Sleep finds him quickly and easily. When he wakes up the next day, Mariana will ask him how he slept, and when he says “good”, he’ll pull him into a gentle side hug and smile down at him, and Charlie will feel warm again, and all will be right.

Chapter Text

Time feels brutal. Too slow in the wrong spots, too fast in the others. It’s brutal and agonizing and beautiful. A messy waltz to a melody well out of tune, an ungraceful path up a mountain mid-avalanche. There is much to do and nothing to do and it feels like everything is rotting.

Time moves too fast, Charlie decides as he is forced out of his bed by the late morning. It’s the weekend, his one-month anniversary of his first few days in this apartment. And it’s ten in the morning and he’s just now getting out of bed. He could not think of a better way to start his inevitably predictable day.

Charlie groans as he nearly falls out of his bed. His mind feels like it’s wobbling for a moment, going lightheaded, before it settles. The morning air nips at his exposed skin. His usual sleep shirt is not draped across his upper body, he notices. He vaguely remembers stripping it late at night in a desperate attempt to shake off the summer heat. A quick scan of his room does not show where it had landed. He doesn’t care enough to look more thoroughly. Charlie instead opts to tug on the first t-shirt he can grab off the small stack of clean tops draped on the top of his chair. It ends up being a very loose black one he doesn’t care enough to look at the front of. He sighs and opens the door.

Mariana, of course, is awake. Charlie wouldn't necessarily say he’s alert, but he’s sitting at the island, scooping a forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth. His eyes are slightly hooded as he scrolls on TikTok. At the sound of Charlie padding towards the kitchen, he looks up. Sweetly bleary eyes find his. “Hey,” He greets simply. Charlie smiles at it. “I left some for you. I can heat it up,” Mariana says, pointing over the sink to the stovetop. There’s a steel pan resting on one of the burners. When Charlie passes it to grab a plate, he can see the fluffy orange clouds coating the pan.

“Oh, thanks, Mariana,” He says. He reaches up for the cupboards and pulls out a ceramic plate and a glass. There’s already a spatula resting on top of the pan. Green and plastic, Charlie smiles to himself as he uses it to scoop his breakfast onto his plate. “Can I take all of it?” He asks, turning to Mariana. The boy nods. His eyes are on him in a way that feels soft and makes him feel special. They’re big and gentle on him, and Charlie thinks he could find his reflection in them if he tried hard enough. He quickly turns back to the eggs to pretend he doesn’t notice the attention, even as his cheeks heat.

He takes his glass to the sink to fill it with water. This is when he finally looks up. When he does, he notices Mariana’s small smile. It’s too kind to be labeled a smirk. “Slime,” He says, and it sounds careful, but also almost teasing. Charlie’s caught off guard by the tone. “That’s…you’re wearing my shirt.” His grin splits open wider when Charlie quickly looks down to his shirt, eyes opening larger as he realizes.

It isn’t Charlie’s shirt. He wasn’t expecting Mariana to be lying, but the fact still comes as a slight shock. “Oh,” He says dumbly. Mariana laughs. Charlie notes the faded word he assumes is in Spanish that rests on the left of his chest. “I…I didn’t look at it, sorry. D’you want it back?” He asks, looking back up at Mariana. Mariana smiles at him.

He shakes his head. A few pieces of ebony hair reach savagely out to the skin of his forehead and cheekbone. “No, it’s fine. Keep it.” Mariana says. He looks back down to his eggs. Charlie is left with that sentence.

That’s their newest “thing”: they’ve given up on truly separating their laundry. Charlie will often find Mariana’s shirts and hoodies in his laundry basket when Mariana is the one to come back up with the laundry. He thinks he’s doing it on purpose, but Charlie will never confront him, because not only does he enjoy it, but he does it, too. Rarely does Mariana ask for his clothes back, and rarely does he receive them. Charlie wears the shirts sometimes to sleep when he just needs a little bit more comfort. They’re all soft and worn and even though they go through the laundry, they still smell a little bit like Mariana. It’s a guilty pleasure, collecting his roommate’s clothes. One he prefers they don’t mention, because it’s a little embarrassing how much he likes it.

This is the first time it’s been addressed. The first time Mariana has pointedly noticed Charlie in his shirt. The first time he’s told him it’s fine. Charlie feels slightly giddy as he sits with his plate of eggs and glass of water on the barstool next to Mariana. He’s enabling this. Charlie can wear his clothes.

So he does. Even though it’s summer, morning chill can still seep into the apartment, and he wears hoodies he knows aren’t his in the earlier hours. Mariana splits into the widest grin every time he realizes Charlie’s wearing a shirt that belongs to him. It never fails to draw color to his cheeks.

One morning, early on a Wednesday, Charlie wakes up before his alarm. His room is still dusted with the dusk, and he can just barely make anything out. His fingers fumble for his glasses as he slowly sits up in bed. It feels nice, in a way waking up early usually doesn’t. Intimate with the night and the time that blends it with the day. He gets up and doesn’t bother changing out of his sleep shirt, one of Mariana’s. His throat is dry. He needs a glass of water.

Charlie opens his door slowly to avoid making noise. He has no clue if Mariana is still in deep sleep or not. Still, opting to play it safe, he takes painfully slow movements to get out of his room, walking backwards. He shuts the door softly and turns on the heel of his sock.

Mariana is in the kitchen. Charlie can’t read the clock because of the lack of substantial light, but just judging off of that, he probably should not be at the stovetop, flames flickering under what Charlie assumes is a pan. He’s cooking in complete silence, and it’s almost ethereal and perfectly poised in a grossly realistic way. Charlie takes a few steps closer and realizes something with a slight start as his eyes begin to focus without light.

Mariana is shirtless. His back is almost shiny in the gentle moon and streetlight rebounding onto him. He is in their kitchen, shirtless, cooking something in the dark. Charlie has to swallow a bite of laughter. A snort forces its way up anyways, and Mariana turns to look at him. He’s not wearing his glasses. Mariana blinks at him. Charlie blinks back. His feet stay planted just outside his room.

“Hey, Slime,” He says quietly. Charlie cracks a smile at this. Mariana’s lips tug upwards at the sight. “Sorry I woke you up. I couldn’t sleep. I’m making eggs.” He says, gesturing to the pan. Charlie walks to the island. His vision has almost completely adjusted to the dark, and he can make out the slight pride in Mariana’s grin. He finds it cute.

“You didn’t wake me up, I was thirsty,” He says. He passes to the other side of the island, grabbing a glass he’d forgotten to put away last night. Water fills it up by just a third. He raises it to his lips, and though slightly warm, it’s refreshing against his dry mouth. Mariana has turned back to his breakfast once Charlie is done drinking. “Are you okay?” He asks.

Mariana shrugs for a moment, pauses, and then nods his head. Charlie raises an eyebrow. As if he could see his reaction, Mariana explains himself. “I was too hot. I don’t know why. I couldn’t sleep, and I was hungry, so I’m making breakfast now.” Charlie smiles softly at the childishness that seeps into his voice. It’s almost defensive, which is funny to him. Charlie has no power over him. It’s sweet and nearly endearing to hear him trying to rationalize his five-in-the-morning-egg-making. He can see how the dark turns his smile and the whites of his eyes grey when he flashes him a grin over his shoulder. He can imagine his own teeth and corneas aren’t exactly vibrant, either.

“Okay, just…it isn’t really that hot out, are you sure you’re fine?” Charlie asks again. Guilt for repeating his concern nags at him slightly. Mariana’s hand snakes to the side in the dark and flips the burner off. The fire sparks blue, then turns off. The eggs sizzle quietly. Mariana abandons them.

Charlie can finally catch a glimpse of his full front. His shoulders and collarbone, too, look shining even in the dim room. “I’m fine,” He mumbles, eyes soft. He takes a few steps to Charlie and wraps his arms around him. Surprised, Charlie reciprocates the gesture without second thought. Their skin feels slightly tacky against each other. He can feel the texture of Mariana’s skin against his shirt. Charlie sighs. He lays his head down, ear pressed against his chest. “I’m fine.” He repeats. “Thanks for asking, though. Go back to bed for a few more hours.” A familiar hand comes up to cusp the back of his head. A finger thumbs the bone just behind his ear in a soothing motion. Charlie melts against it.

“You promise?” He asks. The reassurance isn’t for his sake or for Mariana’s. He just wants to soak up more touch from his roommate. They stand there, in the dark, attached and quiet, and it’s so lovely Charlie doesn’t want to go back to bed. Mariana snorts softly. His chest moves with it.

“Yes, I promise, I’m okay. Go to sleep, Slime.” And, God, he really wants to just stay here with Mariana and live in his arms, but the gentle way he speaks and the nickname makes Charlie so acutely aware of how weak of a man he is. A stupid smile fights its way into his face. His cheeks heat, despite him
not wanting them to.

Charlie sighs against Mariana. “Okay. Have a good breakfast, I guess. Get more sleep if you can.” He holds on for just a moment longer, lingering in Mariana’s attention. Where they touch feels like beautiful tulips budding and blossoming on his skin. He hates to rip them
away as he slowly untangles their arms. They cling to him roughly until finally snapping when he and Mariana are no longer touching.

Mariana smiles at him softly. Charlie wants to eat his expression whole. He’s muted and glassy, here in the bare moonlight, and he’s still so stunning. Charlie feels hypnotized as Mariana faces his eggs again. He doesn’t miss the way Mariana’s eyes stay glued to his face for as long as they can before having to focus ahead. Charlie’s heart aches. He’s so in love it hurts.

He finds his way back to his room. His steps are underneath him, and as badly as he wants to turn around and talk to Mariana again, or even better, return to his arms, he can’t bring himself to. So he just turns around when he’s reached his door and admires him in silence. It feels stupid. The sun has not yet risen and he has already found a way to watch Mariana while he’s shirtless. He watches him push his eggs onto a plate with his spatula. It’s painstakingly slow, the scraping motions feeling excruciating, but then he notices just how quiet he is, how his eyes flicker up towards his door every few seconds and somehow manage to miss him every time.

Mariana’s being quiet. He’s doing the most mundane task in the world, something that could be done in seconds if given less care, but he’s chosen to do it silently and put in effort to be the most considerate person Charlie thinks he’s ever met.

He smiles and his eyes drag down with it, sweet and soft and loving. He tries to open his door as quietly as he can, but it still clicks, and Mariana still turns quickly to look back at him. Charlie’s grin turns sheepish as he slowly shuts the door. Mariana’s lips curve, and it’s the last thing he lets himself see before he shuts him out completely.

He feels like a lovesick teenage girl as he flops back into his bed, smiling hard. His textured ceiling blurs when he takes his glasses off again and sets them back on his nightstand. Charlie pulls his covers back over himself. He settles back into bed, and he knows he won’t be able to go to sleep again, but he still lays there and grins to himself.

He’s so stupidly obsessed with Mariana. It’s almost bizarre to him, how easily he finds himself fixating on him. Every little thing Mariana does feels endearing. He feels so free around him, smiles never leaving his face and warmth constantly running through him. He feels fuzzy and silly around him and it’s the best feeling he’s ever felt. He’s in love. There’s nothing else it could be. He’s completely and totally in love with his roommate and there is nothing to be done about it.

Sleep finds him for a light half an hour before he’s drawn back awake. The morning shines on him, and when he leaves his room, Mariana is there again, completely ready for his day. He’s so far melted into their couch Charlie assumes he has been for a while. His phone is loose in his hand as he scrolls. When Charlie walks out, he looks over it, eyes bright under his lenses. Charlie almost misses how unguarded and soft he’d looked without them just a few hours ago.

“Good morning, Slime,” Mariana says, smiling. Charlie can feel how his heart melts at it. “Do you want me to make you eggs, too?” He asks. Charlie shakes his head, heading to the kitchen to make himself breakfast.

“No, I’ll have cereal, thanks, though,” He says, reaching out for the pantry and opening it to grab his Cheerios. “Do you even need coffee today?” He asks him. When he turns back aronx with his box of cereal and starts grabbing a bowl and spoon, he can see Mariana pause, then nod his head.

“Probably, just in case.” He says. Charlie nods once at him, then pours his cereal into his bowl. “Thank you,” He says. Charlie looks up again. It’s so earnest he can’t help but glance at him. His eyes are incredibly sweet as they stare back up at him, wide and deep. Charlie has to look away. Pink creeps up his cheeks.

This is worse than death, better than life. This is love, and he feels drugged and helpless and hopeless. He’s drowning and it feels so good. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get over it.

Wednesday passes, and so does Thursday, and Friday, and Saturday, and then Charlie is laying in bed at four in the morning on Sunday staring up at his ceiling. His covers are pulled up to his chest and his arms pin them against his sides. His mind won’t stop sticking to the man across the hallway. The one he knows is fast asleep, enjoying each fraction of peace he can scramble for on the weekends. He can’t bring himself to fall victim to the same unconsciousness.

He can’t stop thinking about Mariana. It’s bad. It’s so, so bad. He and his sweet mannerisms and honeyed accent and cute smile won’t leave his mind. Sleep will not find him because Mariana will not leave him. It’s almost torture, but to be honest, Charlie doesn’t mind thinking about him. He’s one of the most beautiful people he’s ever met. There are worse people to obsess over, he reassures himself as he groans up into the air, eyes screwing shut.

He needs to tell someone about this. Flush it out or his system so it can stop preventing him from going through with easy tasks such as sleeping. He needs someone to share the burden of his little crush with. A therapist, or someone online. Someone meant to carry this weight.

Charlie could also just talk to Quackity about it. He deems this the more reasonable answer. Quackity, his best friend, the boy he calls when he doesn’t know what to do and who returns the same back, is the one he will talk to. Quackity already knows he finds him cute. Telling him he really has a schoolgirl crush on him might not make him super happy, but he knows Quackity will help him no matter what. He needs Quackity. It’s four in the morning, and he’s in love with his roommate, and he needs Quackity.

He grabs his phone off his nightstand. It almost slips out of his grip. The glass is chilled against his fingertips. Face Identification unlocks his phone for him, and he finds Quackity easily in his phone. The call button is being pressed before he can even think about how bad of an idea this could be. Quackity has gotten pissed at him before for calling him earlier than when he gets up.

It rings into his ears. buzzing and simple. Slight guilt stabs into his veins like venom, but when Quackity picks up after just a few rings, the feeling dissipates. “What?” Quackity mumbles. His voice is scratchy into the phone. Fatigue is heavy in his voice, thick and dry. He smacks his mouth. “Wha’s up?”

Charlie swallows. “I, um..we need to talk, I think. It’s about…y’know…” He starts. He can hear Quackity sigh from the other end. It’s comforting, the way he sounds annoyed, yet how it lacks any malice.

“Mariana?” He asks tiredly. Charlie hums quietly into the phone. Quackity exhales softly through his nose. It crackles in Charlie’s ear. “Okay. Right now?” Charlie pauses, phone held to his face still.

He hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Whenever. I just…I need to talk to someone about it.” His voice slows to a whisper as he finishes. It’s much meeker than he remembers wanting it to be. His eyes crumble at the realization. Fear curls into a small ball in his gut.

Quackity sighs. “Okay, right now. I don’t want to wake Wil up, and Mariana is in your apartment, so let’s go to Ms. P’s.” He says tiredly. Charlie feels a wave of gratefulness wash over him like he stands in a rocking sea of it. Muted shuffling emits from his side
and Charlie stands up with him. “You’re so high matinence,” Quackity grumbles. Charlie snorts to himself in the dark. “I’ll drive.”

He meets Quackity in the elevator, the boy already leaning into the corner when the doors open for Charlie. He smiles at him, teeth shining in the light bouncing around the elevator. “Do I know you?” Charlie asks as he steps into the elevator. A stupid grin tugs at him lazily as Quackity rolls his eyes, arms crossing. His lips still hold their curve. “You look familiar.”

“No, I don’t know you, shut the fuck up.” Charlie laughs. His tone is tired and he sounds over it all, but there’s still a bite in it that makes Charlie think he doesn’t completely hate him right now.

Quackity has already pressed the button corresponding to the first floor, and it dings when they hit it. The doors open and they wander out into the early morning. Quackity pulls out his keys and pushes open the front door. A quiet morning chill nips at their skin. It’s soft and just barely uncomfortable, stars shining and the moon falling into the horizon. It’s a crescent, carved out against the dark sky. Charlie’s pupils rest in the curve of it as he gazes up at the silver rock.

Quackity’s car is only recognizable by its general shape and the way it’s the only car that makes a noise when Quackity unlocks it. The darkness proves it difficult to identify really anything. Charlie slides into the passenger seat and loops his seatbelt across his body. Quackity mirrors his actions with barely a second of delay. He starts pulling out the moment his hands are free and can grip the wheel and the stick shift.

“It’s Saturday, right?” Charlie asks after a moment. Their silence melts and hides in the cracks between the seats. “I can’t remember.” Quackity flicks his blinker on. Rhythmic clicking interrupts him.

“Yeah, it’s Saturday. Feels like it’s still Friday night. So dark,” He comments. The light switches to green, and the strawberry staining the dashboard is swapped for a shiny green. Quackity turns to the right. “What time does it say?”

Charlie leans forward in his seat, eyes trained on the small digital clock at the edge of his dashboard. “Uh…it says some time after four thirty.” He settles back into the cushioning. “They’ll be open.” Quackity just nods. He pulls up to another red light. This time, there’s no noise from the car to be woven into their silence.

They don’t talk much during the car ride. There isn’t much to say. They’re going to a coffee shop in order to talk. Charlie can’t think of anything to say he can’t find a way to being up when they get to Ms. P’s. So he stays silent, eyes melting in their sockets and mind racing as Quackity follows the familiar path to the plaza that holds the strip mall that holds their beloved coffee shop.

The parking lot is nearly empty. When Quackity pulls into a spot, the moon shines in the corner of his windshield. Charlie thinks it could almost be mistaken for a sticker, small and perfect and sweet against the clear glass. The illusion is shattered when it disappears behind a building when he gets out of the car.

“C’mon, you said you wanted to go, let’s
go,” Quackity urges. Charlie pays no heed to his impatience and exits at a pace he finds respectable. Quackity rolls his eyes when he rounds the car. “Should’ve told you ‘no’,” He says, arms crossing as he turns. Charlie laughs. It’s hollow and echoing in the empty parking lot. He likes the way it sounds.

They amble into the coffee shop, the warm artificial lights that hang like lamps beaming down onto tables and chairs. The moon is nowhere to be found. There’s one person at the counter. She sits with her chin in her hand, drooping, until she notices them come
in. Charlie recognizes her as the teenage girl that he sees many times getting coffee in the beginning of the day. The reminder of his coffee runs for him and Mariana makes him sick. He’s so in love with him. Quackity leads him up to the counter anyway.

“Hi, can we just have two medium hot cocoas? Thank you,” He says, smiling at her. She tiredly returns the expression. They have a quick conversation over his credit card and the scanner and if he would like to round up for charity, and then Quackity drags him to the side of the counter to be polite, even though no one is here other than them and no one seems to be coming anytime soon.

Charlie elbows Quackity lightly. He turns to him, expression questioning and a little warm. “Hot cocoa? Really?” He teases. Quackity rolls his eyes and smiles.

“I’m not feeding you coffee when it’s not even five in the morning and you’re this anxious.” Charlie scoffs at him. He wants to argue, but he has no real response to it that doesn’t prove Quackity right, so he shuts his mouth. Quackity’s grin turns slightly sly and triumphant. “Plus, maybe it’ll be better than coffee. Hot cocoa is good, Slime.” The nickname punctures a hole in him that leaves stupid love spilling out, and he fights to cover it up as he excuses himself to get napkins over against the other wall. He hates how he’s letting his dumb crush on his roommate seep into every piece of his life, but at the same time, it’s his fault for never being able to stop thinking about him. Maybe if he was less obsessed. Less drawn in. Less in love.

That isn’t happening, he admits to himself as he walks back to Quackity with a handful of thin napkins he has clenched in one fist. Quackity turns back and watches him as he hears his footsteps nearing. Light cascades down his face, catching in the shallows of his skin, where his lips cave out, the scoop of his nose, the hollow of his eyes. Shadows slick his skin as he turns back around.

“Here are your hot chocolates,” She says, pushing two lidded cups across the counter towards Quackity. The boy mumbles his thanks and grabs one drink in each hand. Steam rises from the little mouth holes at the tops. Charlie can feel the beginning of gratitude for the hot chocolate instead of his usual coffee growing in his gut. When he sits at a small booth and Quackity pushes one across the table, the smell of it quickly grows the feeling. He doesn’t try to take a sip. He doesn’t need a burnt mouth.

Quackity looks up at him. Dark eyes slice into his chilled ones. He blinks at Quackity. His eyes stay steeled open. “What did you need to talk about?” He asks. It isn’t harsh, but it’s honest, cut and dry, straight to the point. There’s no beating around the bush. Charlie swallows, not out of anxiety, but rather to clear his mouth. His stomach twists slightly.

“I think…Quackity, I think it means something now.” He says. Quackity’s eyes stay trained on his face. In the dim lighting, the night lurking in the windows, he’s still. Charlie holds eye contact until he needs to blink. The moment his lids are open again, Quackity slumps backwards into his seat and groans. Dark hair is pressed against the seat, wood and peeling cornflower blue the backing of ebony wisps. “I…yeah.” He drinks from his cup from lack of anything to do. The liquid is barely less than scalding in his mouth. He swallows quickly and blinks hard. His tongue throbs in his mouth.

Quackity sits back up. “Okay. That’s…it’s fine. Honestly, I think it’s fine. I know-” A smile
tugs on his face, “I know I said to not, y’know, let it mean anything. But I don’t think it’s a…horrible idea, y’know? There have been worse things. Plus, he’s a good guy. This won’t be the end of the world.” Relief floods through Charlie, breaking a dam of worry he hadn’t even noticed he’d been building. Quackity’s approval, however odd and seemingly conditional, still gives him hope. Hope that he isn’t delusional, hope that this is an okay thing to do, hope that he isn’t insane for crushing on him this hard.

“I just don’t know what to do, y’know? Do I tell him? I really don’t wanna, Quackity. Why would he like me back?” He groans. Quackity rolls his eyes, forever a voice of reason. Charlie knows how stupid he sounds. His hand curls around his cup again. “Why is this all so hard?” At this, Quackity laughs.

“You’re fine. Seriously. This isn’t the end of the world. Does it feel like it means something in a serious relationship way, or in a…” He trails off. Charlie’s nose immediately wrinkles at the weird way he suggests it. Quackity’s hands come up defensively. “Okay, okay, I was just throwing that out there. Jesus,” He mutters. Charlie relaxes his face.

He scratches the corner below his ear where his jaw blends into his neck. Short nails drag across dry skin. “I just…I don’t know what’s happening. I think I really do have, like, a gross crush on him.” Quackity laughs. Charlie smiles despite himself. Words continue to tumble out of his mouth, now slightly upturned. “It’s so bad, Quackity. And I feel so delusional whenever I get a little…an inkling that he feels the same. It just feels kinda hopeless, y’know? I dunno what to do.” He finishes. His sentences feel awkward and heavy in his throat, but he spits them out anyway. Quackity seems to notice this fact.

“I know that it’s, like, scary, but it’s how you feel. Nothing can really change that. You’re stuck with this.” Charlie can’t tell if he should celebrate this fact or mourn the loss of feeling normal. “It’s ultimately up to you. Obviously, you live with him, you know him better.” He groans again, head tilting back. He can hear Quackity’s quiet laughter. He doesn’t care, even as the strain in his neck starts to become uncomfortable.

Charlie swallows. It goes down tightly. “But that’s the thing, what if my judgment isn’t right because I like him? I’m biased. Of course I want him to like me.” His voice is strained awkwardly. His head falls back to its original placing. Quackity looks at him like he’s studying a small calf that’s been torn from its mother. Small and weak and defenseless, oblivious but still wracked with anxiousness. Charlie can’t keep eye contact without feeling stupid. He focuses on his drink. He’s pretty sure it’s cooled down by now.

“Okay, but Charlie, you’re a normal person. He probably does like you, and you’re talking about how we can’t trust your judgment because you’ll be biased. You’re biased against yourself, Slime. Stop, think for a minute. Think about how he acts and how you act. And how you act together. It’s not about whether or not he tells you he likes you. It’s about us using social cues and body language to figure it out.” Charlie rolls his eyes so hard he’s surprised he doesn’t immediately get a raging headache. Quackity looks baffled at his ignorance. “What’s wrong with you? I’m trying to help, dipshit. Shit like this is never black and white. You have to figure out what he’s thinking by the way he acts or you’re gonna be stuck being miserable and in love forever.” Charlie takes a drink of his hot chocolate to give himself an excuse to not talk. It’s still warm in his mouth, but it doesn’t burn his sensitive tongue again. It’s sweet and creamy. He likes it, but he puts it down. He can feel it slosh slightly as it clips against the wooden table.

“I just don’t know what’s gonna happen. Nothing feels like a good idea. I don’t even know if I really like him, what if I just think he’s a great friend? I don’t even think it’s like that.” He knows he’s spewing bullshit. Charlie almost winces at his own words. There is a heavy confusion that clouds him, but he’s almost certain it isn’t related to that aspect. Quackity seems to be aware of this as well. His arms cross. He shoots him a pointed look. Charlie cowers under it.

“Okay, well, if you really don’t like him like that, then we can move on. You can just live there. It’s all good, y’know?” His words are teasing. Charlie can hear it. They tear at his defense, rip shredded marks into his thin skin. He has to fight to not get protective and snap at him as he holds the wound. He knows Quackity’s underlying message is true.

He shuts his eyes and sighs. A note of cocoa is slipped in with his breath. When his eyelids peel open again, Quackity’s cool stare has softened into one of knowing. Charlie swallows a tight groan. “Okay, shut up, you win, fuck,” Quackity laughs, even with the desperation in Charlie’s voice clear and strained. “Fuck off.” He takes another drink from his warm cup. The liquid goes down easier now. He takes another. Quackity mirrors him for just a moment before he sets his own sweet drink down again. Charlie notices he can’t see any steam rising delicately from either cup anymore. There’s no wisps of warm humidity to follow anymore.

“So you do like him, Slime. We know that. Idiot,” He jabs, grinning. Charlie curses him out under his breath. Quackity ignores him. “So are you just gonna…deal with it silently? That’s kinda what I…that’s kinda what a lot of people do.” Charlie stopped listening after the suggestion that he needs to do something. He’s perfectly fine with ignoring his romantic feelings towards his roommate, the one man he’s guaranteed to see every day. He knows it sounds stupid, but he would rather live a thousand lifetimes pining in silence over him than risk shattering everything they’ve built up just because he wants to kiss him. There’s no reason to lose a friend over a stupid crush, and that is glaringly obvious when the crush is on said friend.

Charlie clears his throat. “I’m not doing anything, are you kidding? I’m not that stupid.” Quackity butts in at this break in his sentences and tuts at this. Charlie rolls his eyes and flips him off under the table, knowing he can’t see, as he continues. “I have to live with him. If I mess up, it’s over, Q. There’s no coming back from that.” He groans and runs his hands down his face. His palms scoop out his eyes and rub them along his cheeks.

“Okay, but you're acting like everything you love is going to die if you tell Mariana you like him.” He sounds exasperated, and Charlie truly knows he cannot blame him.

“It all might as well,” He says. Quackity shushes him. The attitude in the small sound surprises him. His hands finally fall off his face.

“All I’m saying is that it honestly might not even be that big of a deal. You haven’t been weird with him the past few months. Well, weirder than he is back. He’s a chill dude, too. I really don’t think your life is gonna fall apart if you tell him.” Charlie sighs. Quackity raises his coffee cup to his lips. His eyes stay bright as he drinks more chocolate. When he sets it down, there’s a small crescent of chocolate milk tracing his cupid's bow that’s clung to the peach fuzz growing there. “Plus, what if he likes you back?” Charlie freezes at the question.

He hates to admit it, but he’s thought about that before. The good ending. The one that he would pray for if he was a religious man, the one he’d become a better person for if he believed in fate. He has never been a religious man, nor has he believed in fate, but the idea of Mariana feeling the same way makes him want to just so he can feel he’s making a difference in the outcome. Maybe if he manifests it. Maybe if he meditates on it, or writes it in a journal, or focuses on it hard enough, it will become reality. If only it was that easy.

Charlie despises himself for thinking about it like that sometimes. He feels hopeless when he knows he can’t do anything and helpless when he thinks he can but can’t find it in him to do anything. This stupid love has ripped him apart and sewn him back together. And as he looks across at Quackity, lips shut with white thread, brain a mush as he tries to squash the hope he’s implanted, he can’t help but try to explain all of this to him without moving his mouth. He doesn’t know if he even could. He feels weak, sick to his stomach. He hadn’t realized. Charlie’s gut twists with love and hope and pain and longing and some of the most stinging happiness he’s ever felt.

He blinks at him, eyes flicking down. “Okay, but how realistic is that? Really. I wouldn’t bet on him liking me back.” Quackity raises his eyebrows in disbelief.

“Are you sure? I can’t tell you he one hundred percent likes you, but don’t think I only notice the way you act. He isn’t clean, either.” Charlie groans. Some piece of him, hardened into a pit, believes him. The rest of him rejects his words savagely. His hands come up to cup his face again.

“Don’t say that,” He says. It’s weak. He pulls his fingers down just under his waterline. Quackity shrugs at him. The way he’s so obviously unbothered by the whole situation both comforts Charlie and sends even more nerves spiraling down his spine and contracting his stomach with awful cramps. “Seriously. Don’t do that.” He repeats himself hoarsely.

Quackity’s brows soften slightly. The set of his face doesn’t feel as strong. “Okay, I’m sorry.” It’s genuine, but it doesn’t soothe him in the way he thought it would. Angry welts bubble up his throat. He takes another swig of his drink to try and wash them out. “All I’m saying is that this doesn’t have to be the curse you’re making it. You can tell him, y’know. The world won’t end. Or you can just not say anything. Do you have, like, a plan? At all?” He asks. Charlie blinks.

“Well, ten minutes ago, I was trying to convince myself I didn’t even feel that way, so no. I’ve kinda just been…living with it? Y’know? I really don’t want to feel this way, because it can ruin everything. So I just pretended I didn’t.” Quackity looks at him with teasing disbelief pocketed in the folds of him. His eyes are wide with it, forehead pinched and lines spilling it down his temple and nose. Charlie feels like he should shrivel away from it. He doesn’t. He takes another drink.

Quackity laughs. It’s quiet, and it only lasts a single beat, but it’s warm and braids with his sweet drink nicely down his throat. “Okay, well, that’s something you can think about. You have to talk to him eventually. You know that, right?” Charlie just nods defeatedly. His eyes drag to the bottom corner of his vision unthinkingly. “Hey. Charlie. It really isn’t something that’s going to, like, flip your life upside down. You can talk about it or you can ignore it. I’d say the former, but you do you, dude. You aren’t, like, contractually obligated to talk to him. Don’t, if you really don’t wanna. I’ll be here no matter what.”

Charlie props his elbow against the table and slumps his head into his hand. The bottom of his palm hikes his eyebrows halfway up his forehead. The pressure is comforting on his racing mind. He cannot find purchase on a single thought. Each one slips from his hand like a guppy squirming through a toy in its tank. It feels hopeless to do anything. “I should, though, shouldn’t I?” He mumbles. It’s mainly directed at himself. His heart sinks slightly.

“You should. But no one’s gonna make you.” Charlie almost hadn’t expected Quackity to have heard him. The other’s voice is soft and understanding. There’s no teasing left. Charlie can feel a pebble of guilt kicked into his ribcage. It rattles around before dropping pathetically into his lap. His eyelids droop shut. Warmth from the lights bleed his vision orange. He sighs. He can hear Quackity drinking.

He groans. Quackity laughs quietly. Charlie finds none of it funny, but a small smile pulls at one corner of his mouth anyway. His eyelids peel open. “Okay. Okay, I’ll talk to him. Sometime soon, I dunno when.” Quackity smiles at him. It’s wide and proud. Charlie can feel himself twisting inside with embarrassment and happiness and nervousness. He takes a sip of his hot chocolate to stop a wobbling grin from slipping across his face.

The pair stay there for as long as it takes them to finish most of their drink. Charlie still has a good amount left, so he holds his paper cup close as Quackity pitches his empty one on the way out. The sun is just beginning to peek out over the horizon. Wandering hands of heat cup his face and stick to his cup. It’s no longer dark enough out for Quackity to need to keep his headlights on as they travel back to their apartment building. The sunrise etches itself everywhere, stretches upon the sky, bleeding out like a growing bruise. Charlie watches it from the sliver the rear view mirror provides. It doesn’t help him much because of the angle Quackity has it tilted.

When they park in the lot, Charlie is the first to get out. The morning sun eats at his skin. Quackity is quick to follow, his ring of keys already in his hand. They gleam in the attention of the sunrise. Charlie’s fingers are looped loosely around the cup as Quackity lets them both in. The building lights are still on. Morning has not officially been set into the sky, even as the sun rises more with every waking second. Sunlight streams gently through windows. Quackity leads them both to the elevator. Charlie raises the cup to his lips just as the elevator jolts. The liquid splashes against its container. A few drops lick up to his face. Quackity laughs.

They stop at Charlie’s floor first, rather obviously. The door dings open and the number two lights in the top corner of the metal box. Charlie steps out onto the carpet first. Quackity follows. “Did you lock the door?” He asks.

Charlie turns to face him, smiling sheepishly. Quackity rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t thinking, okay? It was, like, four in the morning and I was desperately in love.” Quackity snorts at his dramatics. Charlie flashes him a showy smile before twisting the golden knob of the door and pushing against it.

Light from inside his apartment spills out before anything else does. Mariana is standing, leaning against the kitchen island. His face is twisted in a way Charlie interprets as worried. He’s on his phone, but the moment the door squeals, wide coffee eyes look up to him. Pearly irises split themselves open. He looks glad, happy, almost relieved. Charlie smiles at him quietly. “G’morning,” He says quietly. Even he can hear the sweetness in his voice. He cringes internally at it.

The set of his eyebrows hardens slightly. “Slime, where were you? Your phone is still in your room, you left your keys on the kitchen counter, you didn’t tell me where you were going, and it’s so early. You scared me.” The almost immediate burst surprises him. A strike of sternness flashes through his eyes like lightning. Thundering worry washes them out again. “I texted you, too, Quackity.”

Charlie can’t see him, but he knows he’s probably shrugging stupidly. “It’s early, I’m still on Do Not Disturb. I didn’t get any of the notifications. Sorry, dude, Charlie probably should have left a note or something,” He says. The addition feels like an attack, and the soft smile in his voice only Charlie can pick up proves it to be one of jest. He blinks up at Mariana. Brown eyes that mirror the richness of the chocolate drink he still holds bore into his. They’re soft, even against the worried way his brows are etched.

“Okay, well, please at least tell me you’re leaving? I woke up and you weren’t there. It was scary.” His brows relax again. Mariana’s face has been shaped into one of relief again. “Te amo demasiado. No puedes salir y no decirme. Estaba preocupado.” It’s a mumble, lips barely moving. His words are muddled far beyond Charlie’s understanding. Out of pure reflex, he looks behind him to Quackity. The boy is looking over his shoulder at Mariana with what has to be the worst poker face Charlie has ever seen. His brows are set higher than normal, eyes widened and lips fighting a smile. Charlie knows not to press for a translation from either of his companions. He turns to Mariana again.

“Sorry, man. I wasn’t really thinking, I had to talk to Quackity, I wasn’t doing too well this morning.” He apologizes again. Mariana’s face softens with more worry. There’s a slit of guilt that runs deep through his expression. Charlie’s heart lurches at it.

“Are you okay? You should have woken me up, are you okay?” He pushes himself off the counter, walking to Charlie, who still stands in the doorway. His hands are slightly outstretched. Charlie easily steps forward and finds solace in them, warm arms wrapping around him.

He smiles to himself. Charlie’s glad no one but him can see it, his back to Quackity and his face just peeking over Mariana’s shoulder. “I’m fine, dude, seriously,” He reassures. He still hugs him back, careful to not spill his drink on Mariana’s shirt. “I’m good now.” Mariana mumbles something he doesn’t catch at all in his ear. His breath is warm on his skin. He can’t fight the grin as it grows in his face.

Quackity clears his throat from behind him. Charlie attempts to look over his shoulder at him, but he’s too far tucked into Mariana for it to be anything other than futile. “Well, I’ll take this as a sign to leave. Bye, you guys. Have a good day, call me if you need anything.” He can feel Mariana’s chin moving slightly against his shoulder and neck. The door clicks behind him. Mariana doesn’t let go.

After what feels like not enough time, they part, and Charlie explains with flushed cheeks and twists of the truth what they talked about. He makes Mariana try some of his hot chocolate, and he tells him it’s cold, but he takes another drink of it before setting it back down. Charlie laughs at him when he does that. They eat cereal together at the island.

It’s when he’s putting his bowl away that he pulls out his phone and sees a text from Quackity. It’s from a little under thirty minutes ago, around when Quackity left. It reads: “i changed my mind u rly have to tell him”. When he reads it, blush is smeared over him like the juice of ripe strawberries crushed in hands of stone. If Mariana sees how red he is from his chair, he doesn’t mention it. Charlie leaves him on read.

This is the text he reflects back on four days later, while he’s scrubbing dishes in the kitchen Mariana had dirtied while making their meal. He’s listening to music with his AirPods in, and Siri’s voice chimes over his music, reading out a text from Quackity. A robotic voice calls out the words: “You need to grow some balls.” He snickers to himself, but then he realizes what he’s referring to, and a surge of anxiety shoves itself down his throat and hardens like concrete. Charlie swallows dryly.

Another text is read out: “I promise he likes you, you just have to talk to him”. The words burn like hot metal into his brain. He’s seared with their mark as he sets a pan down on a cloth next to the sink to dry.

It’s a Friday night, which means they’ll probably find some movies or shows to watch together until a little before midnight. It’s an unspoken rule between them. Sometimes they have snacks, sometimes they nearly fall asleep, sometimes they can’t find anything either of them really want to watch and they talk through the whole movie. The first few weeks, Mariana had consistently curled himself into the armchair and not even spared Charlie a second glance. However, after Charlie’s struggle with his dad, he’s slowly come closer and closer to him. He sat on the couch with him that week. Three weeks later, he’d rested his arm on the top of the couch, sweet skin brushing against light hair.

He’s scrubbing at the last object, a square casserole dish he hadn’t managed to squeeze into their dishwasher, when he catches Mariana exiting his room out of the corner of his eyes. He glances up. A wide grin pulls at Mariana’s face. It’s cute, his cheeks pushing his glasses higher up. He bites the inside of his cheek to keep from completely melting at the sight. Charlie instinctively reaches up and taps one of his AirPods twice. His music halts. The white noise of the apartment is soothing even through the buds in his ears. “Are you ready?” Mariana asks, his grin widening with his teeth.

Charlie smiles. The sponge in his hand scrubs aimlessly. All his attention has been pulled to Mariana. “Yeah, let me just get this last dish. ‘m almost done.” It’s a battle to pull his gaze back down to the glass dish he’s cleaning. The feeling of Mariana’s sweet eyes still on him makes him feel wobbly. More thought than he thinks should be necessary is needed to clean the casserole dish. He rinses it with hot water when he’s done, then sets it next to the pan. Charlie runs the sponge under the same water a few times before setting it next to the faucet and shutting off the water. When he looks up again, Mariana is already just about to sit on the couch. Charlie hurries to dry his hands and settle in next to him. He doesn’t bother turning off the dim kitchen lights or rolling down his sleeves again in his haste. He nearly drops an AirPod putting them back in the case, which he slips into the pocket of the hoodie he’s wearing. He leaves his phone on the counter.

They find a movie they know neither of them will really be paying attention to. It plays softly as they look without watching. He can occasionally feel Mariana glance at him. He’s sure Mariana can feel it when he does the same. There’s affection written deep into his eyes when he looks over at him. A little bit of his heart wants to believe that same lining is sewn into Mariana’s eyes.

Halfway through the movie, Charlie can’t take it. He needs to grow a pair, as Quackity had advised, and tell Mariana he likes him. Nerves wrack his gut at just the thought of it. But the idea of Mariana saying he feels the same is even stronger than that. Quackity had told him he thinks Mariana will have a positive reaction. He trusts him. He needs to do this.

Charlie takes in a deep breath, then lets it out slowly. He feels weak as he does. Mariana looks over to him. “Are you okay, Slime?” He asks quietly. His voice is barely heard over the movie. Charlie turns and meets his gaze. The movie reflects in muddled blues and reds and brown sun his sclera. His pupils shine like black diamonds, and his irises have been melted down to a simmering pot of gold and coffee. He can’t look away. “Is something wrong?”

He shakes his head. “No, I’m okay. I just…I have something to tell you. Well, maybe…show you?” He says. Charlie’s voice nearly squeaks near the end of his sentence. One of Mariana’s eyebrows quirks up in confusion. Charlie’s cheeks flush. He has no clue what he’s doing.

“Okay, then do you want to…show me?” Mariana mumbles. There’s no judgment on his face. Confusion and intrigue are the heaviest expressions he can find, and he clings to them like a lifeline as he prepares himself to lean in.

Charlie swallows. “Yeah,” He whispers. His lips part. Mariana watches him, almost dumbly, as he slowly leans closer and closer to him. Anxiousness boils in his gut. It feels so wrong and so right, and all he can feel as he does so is how scared he is and how his phone is digging into his thigh.

He kisses him. Charlie’s lips land on Mariana’s, the movie just a hum in the background. It’s a blessing. His lips are so soft Charlie almost wants to cry.

Mariana isn’t kissing back. It’s a curse. He leans back. Charlie’s eyes open. There’s no batting of eyelashes, or fluttering of lids. It’s ungraceful and panicked.

Mariana is staring at him, eyes wide as saucers. His lips are still limp. Charlie thinks he almost looks terrified. Just his expression is enough to tear his heart out from his ribcage and throw it to the streets for the raccoons to eat. His eyes suddenly sting, face numb. Mariana doesn’t move. Neither does Charlie, until he feels like he can’t sit there any longer.

He has to leave. There’s no other option. This is the worst thing that has ever happened to him. Mariana blinks up at him. There’s nothing but shock written across his face. Charlie shoves himself off the couch. His hands fly to his pocket, making sure he can feel at least something in it. The shape of his AirPods is familiar. At least this can offer him some useless comfort.

“I- um, I, I have to go.” He stammers. His voice wobbles as he looks around wildly for his keys. He feels dizzy, and hot, and so disgusting, like he’s going to melt into a puddle of blood and flesh and other nasty things he’s built himself from. He can’t breathe. He doesn’t know if Mariana is talking to him, because his ears ring. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” His voice his choked as he basically stumbles to the door. The lock and knob are cold against his hands. Charlie trembles as he unlocks the door, opens it, and steps out. He slams it shut behind him. He didn’t mean to do that. The noise startles him. Charlie jumps, and his eyes water horribly.

He jabs at the elevator button. The doors open almost immediately. There’s no one in it. Charlie nearly trips into the mirrored box. His vision blurs, and making out the numbers becomes a task he has to fight to even start. Charlie eventually finds the four and presses it. The doors shut soon after, and it jolts as he begins moving up. He blinks rapidly. Though glassy, his eyes have not allowed any tears to flow. He’s planning on keeping it this way until he physically can’t.

The doors ding as he’s brought up to the fourth floor. Charlie steps out from the elevator hurriedly. His breath is fast in his throat. The hallway is so familiar, so exact to his own, that he wants to cry. He needs to leave, go to his parents’ house, move to a small town and never look back. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t have the courage for that.

He raps against one of the white doors. With a start, Charlie realizes how quiet it is. Other than his own forced breathing, it’s almost silent. He doesn’t know if he’ll even be let in. He doesn’t know what he’ll do then. Charlie left his key ring in the apartment in his moment of rushed stupidity. He’d have no access to a car.

Luckily, just as his mind begins to assume the worst, he can hear shifting of metal from the other side. His hands jump together and fidget with each other. The door opens softly. He’s so relieved at the figure standing there he almost breaks down bawling right there.

Quackity leans against the white door frame, his face passing from annoyed to pleased to worried. His eyes scan him as if to check for injuries. There’s no reason for him to vocalize his concerns. Charlie answers his question of “what happened?” before he can even open his mouth to ask it.

“Quackity,” He whispers, eyes brimming with tears. “I fucked up.”

Chapter Text

There are many things one can describe as devastating. Loss is one that immediately comes to mind. Whether it’s the death of a pet fish of a younger sibling, or the splitting of a child and a parent, it’s devastating. It leaves a ragged wound that only time can soothe. Patience is key, and many lose it easily.

“Quackity,” Charlie says, and it’s raw and awful as it peels from the back of his throat. His eyes brim with tears. “I fucked up,” He whispers hoarsely. Quackity’s face softens, his already waning smile hardening into a wavering line. He solemnly opens the door into his apartment door wider, a silent invitation. Charlie takes it. When the door shuts behind him, he lets sobs rip from his throat.

He’s lost the one man that meant everything to him. He’s just ruined it all, shattered a porcelain vase and left it to rot in the dust. He’s run away again. Just as his father had told him, again and again, that he is not worthy, that he will never have the courage to stand face to face with his problems. That he will always be a runner, a coward, and nothing more. That he will always need to be more and will never reach those expectations.

It’s rough. Charlie’s father is the last thing he wants on his mind now. But it taunts him. The wound of their conversation just a few weeks ago suddenly is cut open freshly. The tissue has not had time to scar over. It hurts so bad, and paired with the gash abandoning Mariana has left him with, it’s too much. He’s wracked with ugly, terrible sobs that seem to come from a bottomless well of sorrow deep within him. He comes undone on Quackity’s couch. His tears stain the sofa and his face and Quackity’s sleeves and his sweatshirt. And God, he realizes with an awful hitch of his breath, it isn’t even his hoodie he’s wearing. It’s Mariana’s. Another choked cry forces its way from his thick throat and congested nose. He’s pathetic, he knows he is.

“You’re not pathetic, Charlie, don't say that,” Quackity argues with zero resolve. Charlie knows he is, and the lack of evidence on Quackity’s part only proves him correct. “You’re…hurting. Really badly right now. It’s sad right now, but you are not pathetic. I mean it.” His voice is low, quiet against Charlie’s loud crying. Quackity’s arms open beside him and wrap around him. One reaches around his upper back where it settles against the back of the couch, the other snaking loosely around his chest and connecting with the first. The small embrace is comforting, and Charlie leans into it. Quackity pulls him farther. “I…do you want to talk about it?” He mumbles. His face is squished against the top of Charlie’s head. The other doesn’t have it in him to care if his hair is itching the sensitive skin of his cheeks, or if this is comfortable at all for him, or if he thinks he should leave.

His breath hiccups as he tries to soothe the desperate crying out of himself. “I- He, we… I…” Charlie stutters. His voice is weak and quivering as it leaves his mouth. Another few sobs tear from his chest, but they’re much quieter than before. Quackity nods almost absentmindedly. Charlie takes in a shuddering breath. “I kissed him, Quackity. And- and he didn’t…do it back, and he was so weirded out by it, I just left. And then I- I realized my dad was right, Quackity, that I’m never gonna stop running away from my problems,” He barely manages to get out. He tries to chuckle sadly, but it’s so wet and miserable that he’s just crying again. Quackity’s arms tighten around him.

“Okay, first of all, your father is not right. You don’t always run away, and plus, this isn’t even running away. You need time…to process. Just because you have issues that came up in that moment doesn’t mean you're pathetic, or that your dumbass dad is right. He doesn’t know you, Charlie. He isn’t right. He doesn’t know you. You get to choose what you are, and you didn’t choose to be a runner, and it’s stupid you even think you are one.” The words hurt him in a way that feels like the application of a stinging ointment to a burn. It’s cooling, and flaming, and soothing, and painful all at once. But it feels better when it’s over. When Quackity finishes, he can feel himself starting to believe it.

That’s quickly ripped out from underneath him as he begins spiraling again. “I- but I left Mariana. Quackity, I did something horrible, and then I left, and now he probably hates me, and…I- I dunno what to do,” Charlie says. The last part is a whisper, voice ghosting from his lips, and nearly silent crying shakes his body again. “I just can’t do this. My dad and I just had shit, and- and now Mariana and I have shit, and this is probably horrible for you, because you- oh my God, you warned me, I’m so- I’m stupid, Quackity, I’m sorry,” He’s crying harder again, and Quackity hushes him. His breath is light against his hair. Guilt twists Charlie’s insides until he feels like they’re going to rip out of him.

“Charlie, shut up. I’m serious. You have nothing to apologize for. Things can get complicated. I completely understand that. I’m never gonna be mad at you for this. You didn’t want to get this hurt. No one wanted you to. Sometimes…sometimes things happen, and it hurts, and sometimes they don’t, and that can hurt, too. Something would’ve needed to happen eventually.” He soothes. Charlie, still crying quietly, nods slowly. One of Quackity’s thumbs rubs his shoulder a few times. “Try to calm down. We can work this out. I promise you, Charlie, even if you really did fuck everything up with Mariana, which I highly doubt, you still have me, and Wilbur, too. This isn’t hopeless, you aren’t pathetic, we’re gonna figure this out.” His voice is almost a mumble, quiet and even as he comforts Charlie. Just the sound of a soft, familiar voice is almost better than the words he speaks. Charlie shuts his eyes. A few more miserable sobs strip him of any dignity he could have clung to.

He’s lost. He can feel it. He’s utterly lost. It feels hopeless, despite what Quackity says, and not in the fun, free falling way it was before. Any of the wild and wicked pleasure of being in love with someone he needs to hold close is replaced by despair. His soul feels like it’s been separated from his body and Quackity is slowly tugging it back down. He’s suddenly acutely aware of how bad his head hurts. His eyes blink open. His lashes feel knitted because of how wet and sticky they are.

He tries to calm himself. Compose of himself what little he has left. It feels futile, and it probably is, considering he just sobbed all over his best friend, but he clings to the idea that he can figure this all out if he matures for a second. Shaky breaths puncture his tears, chest heaving as it catches up with him. “There you go,” Quackity murmurs. Charlie blinks longer than necessary, one last break for his raw eyes, before completely stopping his crying. A dam is built, and it works poorly, but it’s enough for now. “Can you…like, what really happened? All of the details.” Charlie sighs. It rattles in his chest.

“Um…so, we were watching TV on the couch, and…y’know, I really like him, and…he kept looking at me, and then I would look at him, and it was…a thing. And then I said something stupid, and he looked at me, and I got closer to him, and then we just…looked at each other. And then…I kissed him, Quackity, and it was just a little one, and he stared at me blankly. He didn’t look happy about it. It was awful. And…so then I ran out, and I went to your room, and he just stayed there, and the whole time I was in the elevator, I was thinking about my dad. And that made it so much worse, and I’ve just been trying to keep it together, but…I dunno. Both of those things are, like, the worst right now.” He finishes by mumbling, and Quackity nods against him. “I was already feeling like shit because of my dad, and I thought maybe having Mariana would help, because just pining for him hasn’t made me feel the best, either, but I just made it worse. And then I thought about my dad more. And…I dunno, Quackity. It’s too much.” Another shuddering breath, another gentle thumb of his shoulder from Quackity.

Quackity sighs. It’s quiet, and Charlie thinks it’s terrible, but it isn’t upset. Charlie is grateful for it. “Okay, first step: stop thinking about your dad. I know he’s important in your life, for all the wrong reasons, but I’m telling you, man, he doesn’t know shit. You don’t have to think about him every time something goes wrong. He isn’t right every time you’re not. Shit happens, and sometimes it’s your fault, and sometimes it isn’t, but it’s never because of what your dad thinks you are. We can ignore him. He doesn’t have anything to do with this. It has everything to do with you and Mariana.” Charlie nods, wiping his nose on the cuff of Mariana’s sweatshirt. It’s gross and he knows it. He’s too busy trying to stop himself from crying again to care.

“I just…it’s so hard not to. I dunno. What he says always sticks. I need him to stop talking. Forever. Maybe die, while he’s at it.” Quackity snorts softly beside him. Charlie glances up to catch whatever he can of him in his vision. The sound, though out of place in their very serious conversation, calms him a bit. He wraps himself in the warmth of it. Charlie sighs. “I think…I need to just move on from him, for now. He doesn’t need to be involved.”

Quackity hums in approval. “So, do you want to talk more about what happened? Like, not about how bad you feel, or your dad, or whatever. What actually happened and why you left.” Charlie blinks, eyes glossy again. He’s done crying. He needs to be, for his own good.

He takes in a breath, which rattles in his throat. “Um, well, we were watching TV, right after you told me to grow a pair, and I thought I probably should. So I told him I had something to tell him, and then I kissed him. But he didn’t…he just sat there, he didn’t do anything back, so I pulled away and he was looking at me horribly. He looked shocked and, like, almost blank? Like he didn’t know what to do. And I just felt so bad, so I left, and he didn’t do anything even while I was trying to leave, so I just went. I left my keys, and here was the only place I could think to go to.” He finishes. Quackity nods along, forever patient. “I should have, like, explained myself a little more, I guess, but I dunno. I panicked.” Quackity nods again.

“Yeah, I can kinda tell.” Charlie doesn’t smile, but he can feel the awful feeling in the pit of his gut lessen at the joke. “I think you need to talk to him about it, Charlie. This was a lot to take in for me and I just had to sit and listen to you. Obviously, don’t do shit that’ll upset you again, but you gotta talk that out.” Charlie groans quietly. Quackity laughs softly.

“I really don’t want to. I don’t wanna lose him, but talking about that seems so scary,” He whines. Quackity sighs. His breath skirts past the shell of Charlie’s ear. “I know I fucked up, but, like, I need everything to just wait. Y’know? I can’t deal with all of this at once.” Quackity rubs a thumb against his shoulder a few times in pity before stilling his hands again.

“Well…at least you know you need to talk to him? And, again, I really don’t think you fucked up that badly. Have you seen the way he looks at you? Plus, he’s such a sweet guy. No way that ruined everything.” His comforting words are spoken so confidently that Charlie can’t help but start to believe him. They’re almost offhand, like what he says is an undeniable fact. Charlie is sold.

“That’s…well, okay, but still. I just…how do we even come back from this? Like, what I did isn’t okay, at all. And he’s still probably mad about it, because what the hell? But how do we move on?” And for the first time tonight, Charlie is greeted with complete silence. No humming of thought, or the beginning of a reassuring voice. It’s silent. It’s never been so loud.

Charlie tilts his head to the side. Quackity’s face is dragged away, but he repositions it once Charlie’s done moving. They look at each other. Seaglass to a dark night, engaged recklessly and thoughtlessly. Their faces are close. “I dunno,” Quackity admits. Charlie can’t find it in him to be scared. “It’s not my friendship to fix. You have to figure that part out.” Honesty is easy in his voice. Charlie is still not surprised by this. He will be the one to mend this. He will be made to, and he will do it. Mariana means too much to him to lose.

Charlie takes a breath. Its only purpose is to steady him. He’s already calmed himself of his despair. “Okay. I…I guess I’ll talk to him. About it. Apologize. We can work it out.” Quackity nods his head at this, and Charlie appreciates it. The swift and simple movement makes him feel like this is the right choice. He’s going to do the right thing, and no matter how badly it hurts, he will at least know Quackity stands behind him. This is comforting.

“‘m glad you’re gonna talk to him,” Quackity says. He leans back and unwraps his arms from around Charlie. The loss of touch is mourned silently. Quackity’s breath no longer ghosts his face as he speaks. “Are you feeling better now? Tonight seemed rough,” He says it soothingly, sweet but not coddling. He is not a son placed weeping before his mother, but a friend seeking comfort from within another.

Charlie nods. “Yeah, shit, dude.” He laughs quietly. Quackity cracks a smile at the warmth of the noise. “Thank you. Seriously. Still not, like, one hundred percent at my best, but I feel a lot better. Not spiraling anymore or anything.” Quackity seems pleased with his response. How much his well-being means to Quackity sometimes surprises him. Obviously, he wasn’t given the worst childhood, but he’d had to vie for positive attention from his father, fight his siblings to be the first in line to kiss his ass when he was in a good mood. There was no care for him or any of his brothers. Knowing someone will worry for him feels good.

“Okay, well, when do you want to leave to talk to him? ‘m not trying to kick you out or anything, go on your own timeline or whatever, but ‘m tired. What d’you wanna do about it?” Quackity asks him innocently. Charlie just now notices the way his words slur slightly with fatigue. He feels bad staying for so long so late. But then he thinks about going back down and facing Mariana, and he wants to start crying again. He can’t do it tonight. He’ll die if he does. He’s still much too raw.

“I’m…well, I dunno if I can do it tonight. I feel bad, but I think I’d have a meltdown again. It just happened, y’know? I’m not…ready. I need to sit with it.” Quackity nods, obviously understanding. Charlie doesn’t know what he did to deserve this man as a friend, but here he is, his saving grace against the cruel world.

He gives him an easy smile. Charlie’s worries die down again. “Okay, so what do you want to do? It’s late, man. You kinda gotta make up your mind right now. But we can figure it out, whatever it is.” Quackity says kindly. Charlie smiles sheepishly, knowing the request he’s going to make is one that will place her another burden onto Quackity’s shoulders. He feels bad about it, but not bad enough to stop the words from spilling out of his mouth and into his ears.

“Can I please just sleep here tonight? I promise, I’ll leave in the morning and talk to him. I just…I’m not in the mental state to do that, y’know? I just had an awful breakdown.” He feels awful as the words spill from his mouth. Charlie has placed so much of this onto Quackity. Guilt pours through him quickly, but he can feel Quackity nodding quickly against him. Relief freezes him.

“Yes, of course. As long as you talk to him tomorrow.” Quackity assures him. Charlie hums in agreement. Quackity pats him comfortingly on the shoulder. “I hope you and him get sorted out, man. I can tell you both really like each other as roommates, and maybe as more. You’re both fun little nerds.” Charlie makes a sound of protest at this, which Quackity laughs at. “But seriously, don’t give up on it.”

His words stick like glue. Charlie just hums again, but he mulls them over in his mind, examines each character until he thinks he’s going to die if he thinks of it any longer. He can’t give up on it. Quackity thinks he shouldn’t. Charlie hopes he shouldn’t. He hopes so badly something good will come from them, a beautiful rose blossoming in the dirt.

They stay on the couch, silent, for a while longer. Charlie appreciates the comforting presence and Quackity doesn’t seem to mind sitting with him and comforting him, even if he doesn’t realize he is. Charlie truly could not ask for a better best friend. He smiles to himself at the thought as Quackity takes a deep breath and exhales close to his ear, hand rubbing soothingly up and down on his arm.

They peel apart after a while. Decorative pillows are shoved under his head. A blanket is pulled off the back of the couch and draped over his body. Charlie rolls his eyes as Quackity, grinning stupidly, tucks the blanket in around him. The feeling is nice, he can’t lie. He’s safe and warm and pressed into a blanket on his best friend’s couch. “G’night,” Quackity coos, giggling to himself as he pretends to kiss Charlie on the forehead. Charlie laughs quietly and rolls his eyes again.

Quackity rounds the sofa and begins heading to his room. “Night,” He calls. There’s no sound of acknowledgment other than the door opening and shutting. And suddenly he is alone with his thoughts, very much awake and laying on Quackity’s couch.

Charlie thinks over the night. Why did he do that? He basically ruined his friendship with Mariana, then dumped everything on Quackity. He feels like shit. He cried so much he feels like he’s been shriveled, but he might be able to get a few more tears out, judging by the way his eyes start watering. He feels so bad. Nothing could have prepared him for the overwhelming guilt, so strong it chokes him out silently.

Then again, Quackity had continuously reassured him he hadn’t ruined everything. Quackity almost never lies to Charlie. Unless it’s something stupid like if he stole his Oreos or if he watched the TikTok Charlie sent, he doesn’t lie. And not only that, but Quackity had told him he doesn’t think everything is ruined because he sees how they look at each other. Not the way Charlie looks at Mariana. Quackity says it’s mutual.

But he didn’t kiss him back. He’s so confused. He falls into a restless slumber. It doesn’t feel good. It feels like he forgot how to sleep. Charlie continuously wakes up in the early hours of the morning, dragging himself back to sleep before he happens again. He doesn’t know how to stop it. He doesn’t think he gets any sleep at all.

The morning, too, is rough on him. He’s pulled from slumber as if a hand grips his shirt and yanks him up. The couch backing had twisted his neck to an awkward angle in his sleep, and as he slowly pulls his head out of the corner of it, he can feel how sore the joints are and how badly it hurts. Charlie’s eyes are half-lidded as he props himself up against the arm of the couch. He groans quietly. The sound hums hoarsely in the back of his throat. He feels drained and dead. Charlie wants unconsciousness to drown him miserably again. However, he knows that without the weight of dried tears against his eyes, he won’t find solace in sleep again. So he fights to wake up.

There’s a set of lights on. The ones in the kitchen, warm and dim, washing over the back of the couch and just barely peeking into Charlie’s lap. There’s soft noises coming from it. Sizzling and occasional crackling pairs with quiet humming. The volume is soothing. His body hurts from stuffing himself into the couch, but he can feel any part of him that can relax. His eyelids feel so heavy. He doesn’t care.

Charlie sits all the way up and looks over the back of his seat. He finds Wilbur, who is standing in front of the stove, his back to Charlie. There’s a few bowls and a carton of eggs next to him. His heart twists abruptly at the sight of the food. Just the simple animal product reminds him of Marina, of the early mornings they share, the way he almost always makes him eggs. He has to shut his eyes again to stop from spiraling into another meltdown. He’s twenty-four years old. He needs to pull it together.

Wilbur turns around to face the island. Brown eyes wander up and catch on Charlie’s. “Oh, hey, Charlie. I’m making omelets. They’ll be ready soon.” A gentle smile is looped into both the words and the friendly way he looks at him. Charlie nods, returning the grin. It isn’t exactly forced, but there’s no true feeling in it. Wilbur’s eyes are the only features that reflect upon his look. They become weighted down by pity. Charlie wants to tell him to stop. “Let me know if you need anything. Quackity’s still asleep, I think.” He faces the pan Charlie assumes holds an omelet without waiting for a response. Charlie’s glad for it. He slowly settles himself back into the couch. The cushions eat him welcomingly.

Eggs crackle wetly against the pan. The morning is quiet. It’s a weekend, which means Mariana is probably sleeping still. Charlie has no idea what time it is, but the sun looks fresh in the sky, and he’s familiar with how late Mariana likes to sleep on Saturdays. He shuts his eyes tightly, face screwing up. He needs to stop thinking about him. His life does not need to revolve around the man. No matter how much he wishes it did, his life does not revolve around him. He will be fine if Charlie allows his name to slip from his thoughts for more than an hour at a time.

He can hear Wilbur clear his throat, rather awkwardly. “Um…I wasn’t…trying to eavesdrop, but I did…hear what happened. Last night.” Charlie feels hollow embarrassment flick his head like a pebble shot to his temple. He hums quietly. He refuses to sit up from where he’s tucked himself into the couch. “And I just wanted to say that I really don’t think you’ve ruined everything. Y’know, I might be biased, because I am your friend, but I also can see the way you and him…are. I truly don’t think you’ve messed up as badly as you make it seem.” He falls quiet again, and Charlie has nothing to respond with at the moment, so they’re pushed into their pocket of silence again, save for the sound of the food he’s making.

He’s the second person to tell him that, judging by the way he and Mariana simply are, he didn’t mess everything up. Charlie doesn’t know if he should take them both to heart. He’s always been taught that while three means something, two is a coincidence. He doesn’t think he should believe them. “Do you really believe that? Or are you just saying that?” He blurts. Even he is surprised when the words come spilling out. Wilbur clears his throat again.

“Well, yeah. If I didn’t, I’d just say ‘I’m sorry that happened’ and move on. I’m not one for lying or sugarcoating, especially not shit like this. You’re obviously distraught. Why would I lie?” His question doesn’t seem as rhetorical as Charlie wished it would be. He, again, cannot call a response to mind. After a few seconds, Wilbur sighs. “I’m not going to lie, Charlie. I really think you guys are special to each other. If Mariana feels it’s a different special, good for him, but I highly doubt it.” Charlie listens to his words, and despite his surprise at it, he can feel some of his resolve crumbling. He’s trusting his words. It’s still a coincidence, and he’s trusting it.

His voice is weak. “But he looked at me funny when we kissed? He looked, like, scared. He didn’t say anything. I left and he didn’t even text me or anything.” Charlie is blinking away fresh tears now. His wounds are still fresh from last night, and the way Wilbur is gently and unknowingly scarring them over is frightening. He seems so genuine.

There’s a pause. For a second, Charlie’s worst fear is confirmed. “You had your phone? Did you not charge it? We have cords you could have used.” And then the fear is gone. He feels like an idiot.

He can picture his phone, sitting in the kitchen, balanced just before the corner of the island. Where he had set it while doing the dishes. Where he had left it in his hurry to get out. He can feel his AirPods in his pocket, but his phone is unaccounted for. He laughs. His throat is thickened slightly, but he laughs, and it’s real and feels so good. “I left it in the apartment, oh my God,” He says. Wilbur laughs along.

“Okay, so, maybe both of you are contributing to the no-contact. Apart from not even having your phone, you haven’t tried to go down and talk it out or use someone’s phone to talk to him, either.” That stings. He hadn’t thought of it that way. Still, he tries to rationalize himself.

“But I’m the one who left? I made the move, and he froze, and I left, and he stayed frozen. Shouldn’t he be the one trying to talk?” He crosses his arms across his chest. Gravity presses them harshly against his rib cage.

He can almost hear Wilbur shrugging. “He was sitting on a couch, and then his roommate kissed him and then left the apartment and didn’t explain anything. What would he even have to say? I’m really not trying to make you the bad guy, I’m just trying to see both sides. Maybe you need to go down and you both talk.” He suggests. Charlie’s face twists with sympathy. He’d completely forgotten how weird this must have been for Mariana. He’d just kissed him, out of the blue, and then left, and then expected him to reach out. It sounds laughable when he thinks it all out.

Charlie groans. “Oh my God, I feel so bad. Why did I do that? I’m so stupid,” He screws his eyes shut again. The morning paints oranges and reds and yellows across his eyelids. He embraces the awful warmth of it.

“The situation is messy. You obviously feel bad. Stay up here for breakfast, wait until you think is a good time, and go down and talk to him. You can’t avoid each other forever.” The burner clicks a few times, and the sizzling begins to die down. Charlie misses the white noise. “I’ll drag Quackity out here, we can have a little family breakfast.” Charlie snorts at this.

There’s a groan from behind him, accompanied by the sound of a door opening and closing. “‘m up, ‘m up,” Quackity says. His voice is just barely over a mumble. Charlie tilts his head back to catch a glimpse of him. He’s obviously tired, just woken up. Bags hang under his dark eyes, which have been thinned to almost slits with heavy fatigue. He’s grumpy. Charlie laughs. Quackity flips him off in silence.

“I made omelets,” Wilbur says soothingly. Charlie almost laughs at how sweetly he says it, but he sees how Quackity softens, a smile tugging onto his face, and he shuts up. Eyes of hardened coal chip away and melt like thick tar. The set of his eyebrows looks much more gentle, eyes tugging down to meet the small curls of the corners of his lips. “Grab the one on that plate, it’s already cooled down.” Quackity walks out of Charlie’s line of vision. He relaxes his neck. “Charlie, come get breakfast.” Charlie has to fight a harumph as he starts pushing himself off the couch. He feels like a kid being called down for a meal by his parents. Judging by the way Quackity looks at Wilbur after taking a bite, he might not be far off.

The omelet is good. It’s still warm, almost hot, as he shovels a forkful off egg and pepper and cheese and other ingredients into his mouth. Wilbur has stuck himself with the one he’s just pulled off the pan. Steam rises from it thickly. He blows on it every few seconds as Charlie and Quackity unceremoniously devour their breakfasts. Crying all night has made him hungry.

“So,” Quackity starts through a mouthful of food. Charlie points at his cheeks, which, too, are full. Quackity rolls his eyes and swallows. “Have you…thought about what you’re gonna do today?” He’s gentle around the subject. Charlie hums and swallows his food.

“Yeah, Wilbur and I talked, and I’m gonna go down after this and talk to him. We just need to communicate more, I think.” Quackity looks surprised, eyebrows lifting at the mention of Wilbur. The British man sitting with them just shrugs before biting a piece of omelet off his fork. Quackity glances at Wilbur, who stands across from them, and then at Charlie again, who’s sitting next to him. “What?” He asks.

“Nothing,” Quackity muses. A small, toothless smile pairs with the rise of his brows. He shakes his head slightly. “Just wasn’t expecting Wilbur to get through to you better than me.” Charlie groans, dropping his fork next to his plate. The metal clinks lightly against the ceramic before settling on the cabinet. Wilbur laughs, the sound muffled by the food in his mouth. Quackity laughs freely. Charlie can feel a smile growing on his mouth. He feels so incredibly lucky to get to spend his morning with the pair sitting around him, even if it’s because of a bad circumstance.

The rest of their breakfast passes without event. Quackity and Charlie snicker as Wilbur drops a forkful of omelet on the floor, and Wilbur is the one laughing as Charlie and Quackity bicker over who had the bigger omelet. All is well. He’s at peace with his friends, talking and laughing and eating and pretending nothing is wrong.

Every few minutes, he remembers what’s happened. Why he’s here in the first place. Who is missing. It sends a pang of hurt echoing through him. The feeling especially hits home when he sees the way the sun settles into the crook of the sky. Mariana is awake. His roommate, the boy he has a stupid little crush on, is conscious, going through his morning routine in their shared space as he eats breakfast with different people in a different apartment. He feels bad about it. But the thought of talking to him leaves him with a bad stomach ache, so he tries not to dwell on it.

“Okay, but that’s not even what I mean,” Quackity says. He rolls his eyes, a smile he’s obviously fighting and losing to tearing across his lips. “It isn’t about portion size, Wil, it’s about favoritism. I have to live with you, you can’t favor Charlie!” Wilbur laughs as Quackity finishes his outburst. There’s joy so evident in his tone that Charlie wants to collect it in a jar and release it when he needs it.

“You both got the same amount, Q, and what if I do favor him? You can’t do anything about it,” He teases. Quackity scoffs and rolls his eyes again. Charlie laughs at their stupid fake fight. Quackity flips them both off.

“He gave me the bigger omelet because he likes me more,” Charlie says. It’s a taunt. One Quackity gladly entertains, eyes wide with a smile and slighted with a determination Charlie laughs at.

“Okay, well, maybe he poisoned that one,” Quackity argues. Charlie mockingly widens his eyes as if in shock. He looks over at Wilbur. He looks tired, eyebags dragging along the floor, his smile small.

“I didn’t,” He clarifies. Charlie and Quackity laugh. Wilbur just shakes his head and grins, eyes thick and shining with amusement and endearment as the pair sitting before him crack themselves up. It’s peaceful in one of the wildest ways. Charlie wishes it would never end.

However, he knew he’d be pushed out sooner or later. Charlie finds himself standing in the doorway, Wilbur ushering him out as Quackity shouts for him to leave as he washes the pan in the kitchen. All three are laughing, which is why Charlie assumes no one comes out to wonder why someone’s yelling for another person to leave their apartment.

Wilbur is grinning as he finally shoves him all the way out into the hallway. His shoes give way, and he stumbles off onto the carpet before trying to press himself against the door again. Wilbur’s already thinned the opening to a crack. “Have fun talking to him! Text us how it goes,” He says cheerfully. Charlie isn’t even allowed a nod before the wooden door is shut in his face. He stands there for a moment, then laughs, bright and airy. It feels good in his mouth. The sound is like water to a parched throat. He thinks he should use the elevator now.

He’s being lowered down to his floor before he knows it, doors opening smoothly, creamy off-white walls like a grand entrance before him. His door is right there. The one he’d run out of last night. The one that shuts him away from his phone, and his keys, and his roommate. The one that separates him from his love. Anxiety suddenly surges through him again. Bile rises in the back of his throat.

He can’t do this. Charlie freezes with his first step out of the elevator. He can’t do this, he can’t find the courage to walk to the door and knock or open it. He doesn’t have it in him. He’s going to pass out. His head swims with the worst feeling ever. His gut feels like it’s dropped to the first floor. This is too much. He topples forward slightly, feet stumbling beneath him. The elevator immediately closes and shoots off to another floor. He’s trapped until it comes back. He doesn’t want to wait for it.

He takes a few staggering steps towards the white door. It’s almost mocking him. He feels like he’s crawling towards it, begging for its safety, the warm embrace of its insides. Charlie feels faint. Everything in him is pounding with nerves. Mariana is going to find him curled up in a ball outside the door either crying or throwing up. He’s so scared.

He knocks. The sound makes him almost pass out. Charlie did it. He knocked on the door, and he’s here, probably white as a ghost but alive. He’s survived this. Mariana probably has, too. They’ll continue to survive it. They can move on, be normal, be roommates, friends, never more. Charlie won’t make that mistake again. He’s learned his lesson the hard way. Last night was one of the worst in a while. He’s recovered, but he doesn’t know if he could do this all over.

The doorknob clicks. Charlie’s stomach drops. He notices there’s no sign of the door unlocking, which means Mariana hadn’t locked it after he left. He doesn’t know if that means he was waiting for him to come back or if he’d been so confused and shocked he’d forgotten to do so.

A crack between the door and the door frame is created. In it rests Mariana’s face. Charlie can feel his heart throb as he looks at him. He looks so tired, pretty brown eyes heavy in exaggerated eye bags. His glasses are on his nose at an angle. Guilt flushes through Charlie. He looks like he’s been killed and brought back to life. The fact that Charlie is the reason he looks this way almost kills him, a double homicide only Mariana will still be able to walk away from.

They look at each other in silence for a few moments. It isn’t awkward, but Charlie can taste discomfort growing in the air. He can’t tell who it’s radiating off of. “Come in,” Mariana says. His voice is groggy and quiet. Charlie’s heart wrenches. He sounds sad and tired and over it all. He wants to hug him so badly he can feel his fingers fluttering at his sides, but he knows not to.

He steps back, opening the door for him. Charlie steps through. That is the beginning of one of the most awkward days of his entire life.

Chapter Text

The morning is peaceful to the outside. Summer has lived half of its heated life. The sun hangs in the sky for longer and longer with every day that passes. Where it decides to lay is always bright blue, happy and soothing against the angry rays of the star. Sometimes clouds will find their way to the simple set and paint themselves against the cerulean above the Earth. This morning, there are only a few Charlie could pick out before having to focus elsewhere. They’re wide and fluffed like expensive pillows. They’re pretty. Elegant, adding slight depth to the easiness of the sun and the sky. Birds sing from trees. Traffic skirts by. It’s soft.

Charlie is sitting at his kitchen island. Mariana is sitting next to him. There is a bowl of cereal in front of him that he’s hunched over. Charlie sits empty handed. There’s nothing more he needs to eat. Wilbur’s breakfast has already filled him, and so he sits, waiting, eyes trained on nothing as Mariana eats his cereal from his spoon. It’s undeniably awkward. There’s nothing to say or do to fix this fact. So Charlie allows them to marinate in the uncomfortable feeling, staying still and silent. Mariana keeps eating. Charlie tries not to mind.

Eventually, he finishes. The bowl is placed in their sink. He rinses it before the ceramic clinks dully against the metal. And then he turns and faces Charlie again. He doesn’t know what to say or do. The morning is peaceful outside of their apartment. Inside is torn apart with awkwardness.

Charlie clears his throat. “I, um, just wanted to…apologize. For doing that. Last night. Um. I shouldn’t have just done that. And…y’know, I understand if you’re…over me. I get that. I just wanted to say that I really do regret what I did.” He says. Once he starts, the words come pouring out, and he has to forcefully bottle himself back up. He blinks at Mariana, who leans against the sink behind him.

“Thank you. For apologizing. And I’m sorry I made you feel like you had to run off for the night. I was worried about you. You left your keys and phone here. Please…if anything happens, please at least just go to your room. I was so scared after I realized what happened.” He sounds genuine. The same tones of tiredness and strain are evident in his voice, but he really does sound genuine. Mariana had worried over Charlie after he left. Maybe everything isn’t ruined after all.

He fights down the bubble of blissful hope that rises in his chest at the thought. Charlie needs to stay focused in this moment, not the ones that will come. He needs to make sure it really is all okay before moving on. He glances away from Mariana. “I’m sorry about that, too. I messed up. I…hope we can move on, I guess? Just, kinda, forget it happened? I don’t want that ruining our friendship, and I made a mistake that I wish I could take back, and I just hope you understand and we can forget it. I won’t do it again, I’m sorry.” He looks back up at the man. His eyes are slightly widened for just a moment before their resolve melts, the corners of his eyes tugging downwards. Charlie wants to say he softens, but he can't. He looks sad. Guilt pools like poison in his gut.

“Oh, so, pretend it never happened?” Mariana questions. It isn’t a jab, which is what Charlie nearly mistakes it for. He sounds almost curious. As if he doesn’t understand where Charlie is coming from. “Just…move on?” Charlie hums. Mariana doesn’t seem to lift his features at all. Suddenly, Charlie is worried.

“Um, obviously, if you want, we can…talk about it. Or set boundaries, things like that. I just feel so bad that I did that and it made everything really awkward. I just want to move on from it, y’know? But, obviously, you get to decide when we’re over it. You’re the one that had to, like, deal with it. So…I just feel awful for you.” He rambles. The words pour out, his eyes wide and searching as he watches, waits, for any sign of Mariana reviving himself into at least indifference. Charlie would almost prefer it if he looked sour. Mariana looks like a kitten, eyes open but sad, other features drawn into lines that stay still.

Mariana blinks. It’s slow, but it’s a movement. He nods once. It’s small, but still, it’s movement. He swallows. Charlie’s pupils trace his Adam’s apple as it pulls with the action. “Okay. Um. Well, I guess we can just move on from it right now. I don’t…I’m not mad at you, Slime.” And, God, the nickname weakens him every time it comes out of his mouth, his Mexican accent wrapped so dearly around it. Charlie feels a wavering smile tugging at his lip. He fights it with every ounce of strength he can muster. Mariana still looks flattened.

“Are- are you sure? We have all the time in the world, you really never have to, like, forgive me. I don’t want you to feel pressured to say you’re good now.” He asks. His eyes search for anything in Marina’s face to side with his statement, to take back his “right now”. To repuncture his fresh scar tissue even though it seems like he’s asking for it.

Mariana blinks at him again. Then he shrugs his shoulders so slightly Charlie almost misses it. “I don’t…care. We can move on now. It’s fine. We can go back to being normal roommates and just not talk about it. I really don’t mind. I just want…you to feel…comfortable, I guess, sleeping here again.” His words are carefully crafted and spoken softly. Mariana seems so small, and it breaks Charlie a little. There’s nothing left of his funny and shining exterior. Charlie’s actions have stripped him down to his core, and the thought of it makes him sick. He did this to Mariana. He’s ruined him so bad he’s pretending he’s fine.

“Well, yeah, I am comfortable. I just…I didn’t know if you were comfortable. Y’know? Like, I, like…tried to kiss you. That’s weird.” One of Mariana’s eyebrows tilts upwards gently. Something akin to confusion carves into the curve of his lips. Charlie doesn’t understand for the life of him how he’s still so pretty when he looks so hurt.

“I mean…it’s fine, honestly. Not that big of a deal. We can just…move on, like you said. Um…from your…mistake.” Charlie thinks he sounds like he’s asking if it’s a mistake. Mariana sounds almost like he’s forcing the words out. They aren’t sweet or lifted like his voice usually makes them. They’re dampened by his poor defense and splatter to the ground unceremoniously. Charlie has to fight a wince. These are the consequences of his actions, and he needs to face them without shattering what little he and Mariana have left.

He nods and swallows. His spit is harsh against his throat. He realizes with a startle how beaten his body still feels from sobbing last night. “Uh, yeah. It was my mistake, and I’m sorry for it. If you’re ready to forget it, I am too.” He says. His voice feels awkward in his mouth. He doesn’t like this. Charlie’s eyes finally find Mariana’s. His own eyes of shining turquoise meet ones of glassy zircon. There’s a barrier shielding them that they’ve each thrown up over their pupils. Mariana doesn’t feel as deep anymore. There’s a layer of brown coating his iris and that is it. Charlie’s sure he doesn’t have much more emotion. He’s done this to them.

“Um…okay then, yeah. We can…do that.” Mariana blinks. Their eye contact sustains for a few moments after it, and then his eyes fall. They don’t have a focus. They’re empty and quiet. Charlie feels hollowed out as he watches them. He isn’t waiting for anything to happen. He just feels so guilty, watching him look so sad.

A beat of silence passes them. Then, Charlie’s mouth opens. “I’m really sorry, Mariana. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. It…was stupid of me. So stupid. And, like, I can tell you’re not okay with it.” He blurts. The other still won’t look at him. It stings a bit. “I really hope you believe me when I say I know I shouldn’t have done that.” With every word, Mariana’s brows set harder. Charlie doesn’t know what to do. “So, if I need to do something to show that, or-”

“Stop talking. I’m fine, Charlie, I told you. Just…stop talking.” Mariana snaps, interjecting into Charlie’s nervous rambling. Gentle shock paints across his face in thick latex. His mouth shuts. His eyes widen. Both his tone and the use of his real name wrench his heart in the worst way. Mariana finally looks over to him. His eyes look wet. Charlie doesn’t question it. He listens to what he’s just been told. They look at each other for a few more moments. Mariana looks away again. Charlie states straight ahead. The seconds hand on the clock ticks. “I’m sorry,” Mariana eventually says. It’s hoarse. “I just…I need you to stop talking about how you made a mistake. I get it. You didn’t mean to do it. I’m fine. Stop.” His voice trickles down to a whisper by the time he’s finished talking. Charlie stays watching his face. He doesn’t feel like he can move. Mariana has made it clear he shouldn’t talk. He has nothing else to do.

Their silence is thick and overpowering. Neither attempt anything to staunch it. It makes every blink and swallow painful. Charlie doesn’t like it. He keeps his eyes open as long as he can, his throat staying dry until he thinks it can’t go any longer without moisture. All he does is stare at Mariana, at the way grief and the smallest touches of annoyance have carved his face. He looks like a statue, stoic and graceful and grimacing. Charlie can’t imagine he looks any good. It most certainly would be a sight, him and Mariana in the kitchen, Mariana all sharpness and him pale and weak, both leaned into the kitchen island. Charlie wishes he were blind.

“You can…talk. I didn’t mean to make you mute. I’m sorry.” Mariana mumbles. His voice draws Charlie out of the depths of his brain. He can feel his lips forming the general outline of a circle. He doesn’t know if he’d gotten lost in his thoughts or if he truly hadn’t spoken because of what Mariana said. Either way, his tongue has been untied. He is free to speak. He doesn’t know what he needs to say.

Charlie clears his throat. The action feels out of place, but he doesn’t know what else to put there. If Mariana notices how awkward it is, he doesn’t say anything. The air has already been tainted with the feeling for their entire conversation. One action might not notify Mariana. “It’s…fine. I get where you’re coming from. I’m sorry for pushing it.” Marina nods absently. Charlie swallows. He thinks his teeth hurt. He honestly has no clue anymore.

Mariana’s eyes feel stuck on the unknown rock of the island. Charlie wants to lift them so badly, but he knows there are unspoken boundaries between them now. Wires he had once not had to be weary of. He peels his own gaze off of Mariana and instead applies it to a random spot on the wall. Charlie memorizes every line of paint on it like he'll never see it again. He supposed he should be doing this to Mariana, but he’s too scared to.

“So,” He says quietly. He isn’t sure Mariana has even heard him until he sees brown irises flash at him in his peripherals. The feeling of Marina’s eyes on him still manages to make him feel nice. “We’re good? And we don’t talk about it?” He asks. Mariana pauses for a moment before humming. Charlie wants a smile to fall into his face, but there’s no sign of one. He just feels empty. Gutted, like the insides of a pumpkin. He swallows a sigh.

The morning is only a kickstart for their problems. Charlie and Mariana cannot seem to escape the awkward air their little talk has tainted the apartment with. Any interaction is one Charlie internally cringes at for the entirety of. He feels sick because of it. He misses how they were before this. He wishes he never tried to kiss him.

After breakfast, when Charlie sits on the couch to scroll on his phone, Mariana snags the remote off the coffee table and sits in the armchair. It hurts way more than it should. Around lunchtime, Mariana flat out ignores Charlie. When he confronts him, he shrugs. Tells him he needs time to think by himself. That Charlie should be fine without him sitting around and “watching him”. He knows the jab is supposed to anger him. All he can manage is a small “oh” that cracks while it leaves his mouth. Mariana doesn’t look up at it. He tries to avoid him after lunch.

He spends most of his day after that wallowing in sadness in his room. There are a few silent tears shed. Charlie just truly cannot get over him. Mariana’s sadness of the morning has been compounded into a maliciousness Charlie cannot bear to deal with. He considers living in this room for the rest of his life for a while, compares positives and negatives of blocking Mariana everywhere and never seeing him ever again, tries to figure out if it would be worth it to go back out there and shout in his face. He knows any and all options will lead to tears for days. However, the track he’s on now doesn’t seem to have a different outcome. Charlie feels useless and helpless. All he hopes is Mariana feels the same under his rugged defense against Charlie.

His last straw is the end of the day. He’s laying in his bed, scrolling on apps he isn’t paying attention to, the untamable feeling of anxiousness twisting all around him. His stomach still hurts. He keeps getting TikToks with manifesting audios that will “make him like you”, and every time he sees one, his throat gets thick and he has to quickly scroll away. Charlie feels miserable. There’s so much in his mind, and he can’t help but want to just leave the apartment again and never come back.

He checks the time. It’s almost seven. Charlie remembers with a start that it’s his turn to make dinner tonight. Mariana had made it last night, and he had cleaned. He can’t remember what all they bought for dinner. He has the recipe saved somewhere. He’ll find it once he’s in the kitchen and has to pull out ingredients.

Charlie pulls himself out of his bed and makes his way to his door, footsteps quiet but heavy. He feels weighed down by his guilt. He feels like he’s going to break the doorknob, so he grips it weakly in one hand as he turns it. The door opens. He steps through it and looks out to the kitchen. He’s surprised to find Mariana, pulling something out of the fridge and setting it on the counter next to it. Something that looks very similar to the microwave meals they save for their worse nights.

He can see him pick at the plastic, and he quickly walks to the island. “Hey, Mariana, what are you doing?” His voice doesn’t carry very well, but even then, he knows he’s just being ignored as Mariana’s hands try to find a way into the food. It only continues for about another second before he can see Mariana stop. He turns to look at Charlie. His eyes make his heart pang in the worst way. He thinks he’s going to die.

“I’m making myself dinner,” He says simply. There is a fine line between his easy speech and clear annoyance, and his voice is wobbling on it. Charlie tries not to take it personally. He knows he’s just upset, knows he has so many things he’s feeling, but it still doesn’t feel great. The sound of his nails prying at the plastic begins again. Charlie rushes his words to stop him.

“I- Mariana, we got stuff for me to make us dinner, remember?” Mariana stops again at his words. For a moment, in his naïveté, Charlie thinks he’ll listen. That he’ll apologize and put the food away and help Charlie cook like he always does. Or that he’ll at least put down the meal. Brittle pieces of him feel like they’re going to pull themselves back into their elaborate puzzle.

But then he sees Mariana shake his head, slowly and gently. The feeling disappears. “I assumed you were too upset to.” This answer confuses Charlie. He doesn’t think he’s been hostile or sad around Mariana at all today. Other than this morning, his emotions have been kept fairly at bay. He tries not to read too far into it.

“Well, I’m not, so put it away. Please don’t waste one of the dinners.” Charlie tries to make his voice as gentle as possible. He isn’t in the mood to be fighting him, however one sided it feels. Mariana’s saltiness has done nothing but break him down into finer and finer shreds of who he once was. It’s an awful feeling. He doesn’t want to feel it again.

The plastic shifts again. Charlie bristles at the sound. “I’m not wasting if I’m gonna eat it.” Charlie feels numb as Mariana pushes against him, arguing for no reason. Charlie wants to go back to bed and never have to talk to anyone ever again. He wishes he wasn’t in love with him, wishes he never was, wishes he never kissed him. Then Mariana wouldn’t hate him like this. Then he wouldn’t have to pretend to hate him back.

“I just said I’ll make real dinner, stop.” He says weakly. His words barely have anything holding them up. He’s beaten down and broken and when he blinks, it’s so slow he feels ill. This cannot be normal. Charlie shouldn’t have to feel like this. He knows it’s his fault, and that makes it all even worse. “Put the dinner away,” Charlie pleads.

Mariana huffs. Charlie decides this is it. If Mariana is going to be an asshole, he’ll try his hardest to be one back. Maybe he can defend himself a little bit if he’s harsher. He doesn’t want to be, because, God, what little left of his heart still squeezes when he looks into his sweet doe eyes, but he will push it all away. Anything to save himself from breaking down sobbing right here. Anything to stop Mariana.

“What the fuck? What the fuck is wrong with you? I know I fucked up, and I apologized, and you said we could move on. I get it if you aren’t ready to be normal again. But tell me. Stop fucking with me.” Charlie says it almost desperately. His words come out strong. He’s over Mariana’s mood swings, and even though it hurts him to see him so obviously upset, Mariana won’t let him be nice to him about it. He can feel his eyes narrowing as Mariana freezes at the counter.

His hands slowly begin moving again, unwrapping the packaging on the meal. Plastic crinkles in air so still Charlie thinks any movement from him would shatter it. “Oh, I’m sorry, is this not fun for you? Do you really think I want to be here, yelling at you? I don’t. But you made your shitty problem mine and now we’re both stuck dealing with your little mistake.” Annoyance rides high in his tone. Charlie is almost surprised at how quickly Mariana has matched him. He hadn’t expected to truly fight Mariana. But his bottled sadness suddenly turns to flashing anger, and he can’t help but savor how it spills over, coats his affection towards him in dust so he can hide it away as he argues.

“I know that! I’m not saying we aren’t! I know this affects you! But Jesus, Mariana, you could try to be normal about it for three seconds.” Charlie’s words rip from his mouth without thought. He regrets them for just a moment, hands itching to gather his words back up. His eyes open slightly wider. But then he sees Mariana’s hands ball into fists next to his still unopened meal, and he lets them launder around their air like pool floaties.

A sharp breath is sucked through Mariana’s teeth. Charlie can hear it. He’s never heard that sound before. Mariana’s head turns to look at him. His pretty brown eyes are white-hot against him. “Normal? Fucking normal? Charlie, you kissed me last night and then just dipped. Didn’t tell me where you were. Didn’t say anything. I thought I fucked up, which, I don’t know how I would’ve, this is all your fault. And then you come back in the morning and you- you won’t just shut up about it! Maybe you try being normal!” His words sting. He knows they ring true, but that part still doesn’t hurt as much as his tone. It’s raised, harsh and ugly in Charlie’s ears. Gone is his sweet roommate. His ignorance has replaced him with someone who is fed up with him easily.

Charlie exhales through his nose quickly. “Oh my God, seriously, stop. I wouldn’t feel the need to keep apologizing if you maybe stopped yelling at me for every little thing! I can’t deal with this. You can either be mad and tell me we can’t be normal, or you can say we can move past this and stop it.” The ultimatum comes flying out of his mouth. Fire singes the back of his throat. Mariana stands there, then turns back to facing the microwave. Deep down, Charlie knows neither of them want this to be happening. He hopes that side of Mariana will show.

The plastic is quickly ripped off of the meal. Charlie’s heart sinks. “Fine. The first one, whatever the fuck. Leave me alone.” The last three words are almost snarled. He reaches up and pops open the microwave. Yellow light spills out weakly. Charlie can only stay to watch him place the meal on the microwave dish before he needs to leave.

His footsteps feel loud to him as he walks to his room. He knows they really can’t be this loud, but the idea is still scary. Charlie can hear the buttons of the microwave beeping, and in return, Mariana can probably just barely make out Charlie padding towards his room. The wood is gentle underfoot. He’s grateful for at least this. Any noise is suddenly drowned out but the buzz of the microwave spinning. His heart feels numb.

Charlie doesn’t know what to do. Tears glazing his eyes over, he makes it to his room. The door handle is cold under his palm. It feels like it burns him. He slips into his room and shuts the door carefully behind him. There’s barely a click to it. The moment he hears the small noise, he throws himself to his bed. His messy blankets eat at him. He wishes they truly would swallow him whole.

Charlie still doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to fix all that he’s done. He groans into his bed. It comes out watery. He’s so scared. Scared of what he’s done, scared of what will happen, scared he can’t fix it. He can’t do anything. He feels completely and utterly useless to the world. A single tear wets his lashes. He shuts his eyes tightly. Another drops from his other eye. He wants to rot away in here forever. He can hear the muffled sound of the TV being turned on from outside his room.

This isn’t helping. Moping isn’t helping, staying silent isn’t helping, crying isn’t helping, he isn’t helping. Charlie doesn’t have any better ideas, though, so he lets himself flatten against his bed. He feels like he’s deflating, fatigue hitting him in stronger and stronger waves. There’s no more resolve in him. He doesn’t try to fight it. He’ll wake up in the morning and pray it was all a dream. Mariana will cook them breakfast and Charlie will come out in one of his shirts and smile at him and they will stare at each other when they think the other isn’t looking and all will be right.

Except it won’t. Charlie knows this. He’ll wake up and Mariana will still hate him and Charlie will still feel like he’s drowning in grief. It feels unfair. It feels gross and embarrassing, so embarrassing, to be crying quietly into his bed as the man he’s in love with watches a show and eats his dinner in the other room, unbothered. He was so close to shoving Mariana deep inside of his heart, and now they’re like magnets of the same pole, forever pushing away. It’s awful. But he has nothing to do.

Charlie, again, groans into his sheets. They muffle the noise significantly. He wants to drown himself in them. At least that end would be one of comfort, not one of anxiousness and awful hurt. Mercy is all he wants. What he’s done has ruined any chance of joy with Mariana he had, and just knowing that is enough to make him want to skip town and never come back. Nothing feels right. Without knowing Mariana will always be there, nothing will feel right. His head hurts. He doesn’t want to have to think ever again.

He’ll call Quackity. Charlie will call his best friend and figure out what his next steps need to be. Whatever happens, Quackity will be there, and that soothes him slightly. He props himself up on his elbows. His hips dig into the mattress. He leans into one arm and reaches out to his nightstand to grab his phone. It nearly slips out of his fingers a few times before he finally gets a solid enough grip on it to bring it to him. Charlie’s hands are shaking slightly. It’s a surprising observation. He doesn’t remember being shaky or anything close to such in the past hour. His phone opens and he quickly dials Quackity.

The phone rings a few times before it’s picked up. Charlie holds it to his ear and just barely catches the beginning of Quackity’s words. “Did you talk? You haven’t called me all day, Wil and I have just been waiting around for you to tell us! It went well, didn’t it? Are you, like, a thing now? Oh my God, did you kiss? Okay, sorry, that was a weird question. But what happened?” Quackity’s voice is so bubbly that Charlie can feel more tears glassing his eyes over. Hollow disappointment crushes what little happiness he had been clinging to. At his silence, Quackity quiets. “Are you at least friends again? You can always talk to him about that stuff later, y’know.” Charlie squeezes his eyes shut. His lips quaver.

“Do you know anyone living in a different building that needs a new roommate?” He whispers into the phone. His words are wobbly. When he finishes, more tears slip down his face. One collects in the lines of his lips. Salt seeps into his mouth. He swallows it down. Charlie sniffles. He hates how loud the sound is.

More silence. “Charlie,” Quackity says, and it’s so soft Charlie can feel himself truly crying now. “Was it really that bad? Charlie, man,” A small sob rips from Charlie’s throat. He doesn’t care if Mariana could hear it. He’s so pathetically over it all that it could not matter less to him. “What happened? What’s been going on?” Charlie shakes his head as he cries. Quackity obviously can’t see him, but the action feels right.

“We’ve just been…awkward, and kinda fighting, all day. He’s not being nice about it. At first, he was just, like, sad, and then he kinda got angry, and now he’s just been upset all day. And I can’t do anything, Quackity, because it’s me he’s upset at. I can’t do anything wrong, and if I do, he just gets all quiet, and if I try to help, he snaps at me.” He feels raw and red as he spills out before Quackity. “He wouldn’t let me cook, dude, he’s so mad at me. He hates me,” He buries his face into his pillow again.

Quackity hums soothingly for a moment. “Okay, well, what did you say? Like, what happened? Why is he so mad? Is it actually because of the kiss? Because I really don’t think he would be so…emotional over this.” Charlie swallows and props himself back up. His cheeks are wet. A few stray strands of hair reach out to his wet under eyes. They aren’t long enough, but prying hands of golden hair still strain.

He swallows again. “Well, I came in, and I told him I was really sorry, and that I didn’t mean to kiss him and asked if we could just move on. And at first, he was just really quiet about it, but then he, like, told me to stop talking about it and he just left the kitchen. And I don’t know what to do,” He sobs into the phone. Quackity is quiet for a few moments. Charlie considers crying louder, but he has a few shards of dignity left, and he holds them like diamonds to his chest.

“Hold on.” Quackity says. His voice is slow, meticulous, like he’s thinking something out, “You asked him to move on? And that you didn’t mean to?” Charlie hesitates before humming into the phone. He doesn’t quite get what Quackity is getting at. Quackity groans loudly. Charlie blinks in surprise. His lashes are so wet. “Man, why would you say that?”

He’s so confused. What else could he have said? There’s nothing that could have fixed their friendship. If trying to move on didn’t work, whatever Quackity thought obviously wouldn’t. “What do you mean? What else would I have said?” His voice wobbles. Quackity sighs into the phone. It crackles over his speakers. He feels sick. “Quackity? I said that because that’s what he needed to hear. It could’ve fixed us. I just- I don’t know what happened. I think I really did just talk for too long.” Another sigh. Charlie swallows. Dread builds in his chest.

“Charlie, you should’ve actually talked about it. Like, not brush past. Tell him how you feel and ask how he feels.” His gut heats like sour bile. Charlie doesn’t feel good. More tears wet his eyes. Quackity’s voice is so soothing, but he knows he’s just talking from his ass. Charlie did that. Charlie told him he felt guilty, told him he wanted to move on. And he knew that was what Mariana wanted, too. His heart feels so brittle as it suspends itself in his rib cage. He shivers. Nothing feels right.

He sniffles. “Quackity, I did that. I told him I felt bad and I think we should move on. I didn’t brush past it. I didn’t, like, just walk into the apartment and pretend nothing happened. We talked and I told him we should just forget about it.” Charlie’s words shake and catch in his throat. He feels like he’s vomiting them rather than speaking them. They’re expelled forcefully and bitterly.

“Okay, but did you ask him what he wanted? If he really wanted to just forget about it and move on?” Charlie pauses. He hadn’t. Not that he thinks it matters, because he knows what Mariana would have chosen, but he still hadn’t asked him. His silence speaks for him, and Quackity keeps talking. “Don’t you think that’s a little unfair?” He prompts. Charlie nods slowly. It dawns on him. He took a leap, made a choice, without Mariana’s input. Even if it was the best choice, that wasn’t a great move on his part. The realization pours more targeted guilt onto him thickly, but knowing how to fix it makes him feel better.

“Oh. I didn’t. Okay, so if I tell him I’m sorry about that, and that he should tell me how he wants to do this. Then we’ll be good.” His voice is still nasally. Quackity groans again into the phone. He’s obviously exasperated. Confusion floods him again. He has no other solution. There is no other theory he knows could be true that would give him a way to solve this. His vision goes blurry for the hundredth time that night. This is all so hard. He feels like Quackity knows things he doesn’t, and it doesn’t feel good.

Quackity stops for a moment. Silence chokes Charlie out. “So…no. What I’m saying is you should ask if he even wants to move on. How do you know he didn’t want it? What if he was just, like, surprised. And he wanted to talk to you about it. And you just left, and then tried to shove it all away, and now he’s…I dunno. Going through it.” As he talks, Charlie can feel more and more tears running. He’s crying again when he’s stopped. It feels good, to pour out everything again, but he still feels awful as he does. His under eyes are rubbed raw.

“Stop,” He whispers through choked sobs. “Stop, that isn’t true, he hates me. Stop it.” Quackity hums so quietly Charlie almost mistakes it as a hush. He lets out a single sob before trying to lower the volume of his crying again. “What does that even mean? No, really?”

Quackity sighs. “Charlie, I know this is a lot on you. But you need to talk to him. Tell him you didn’t mean it when you said it was a mistake or whatever. Ask what he really wants to do next. That’s the only thing that can fix you. Lying won’t do shit.” His words bury themselves like spears under his skin. Charlie can’t itch them away, he knows it, and so they sit on his dying body as he lowers his face into a pillow and cries. The worst part is that he knows they’re true. He’s known, since the beginning, in the back of his mind, that this plan wasn’t going to work out. He needed to come clean, because pining for his roommate all day did nothing for either of them. He gags on his silent, heaving sobs. “Charlie, it’s okay. You can still help figure this all out.” He tries to speak, and his words just get swallowed by sobs like a child against the heavy tide. They’re knocked back by his crying.

“I- Quackity, no,” He barely gets the simple syllables out before he can’t speak again. Quackity sighs in watered-down pity. Charlie cries and cries and cries and it still doesn’t feel like he’ll ever stop. Maybe he really will move in with someone else. He’s so pathetic over Mariana that he really shouldn’t continue living with him.

“Charlie, it’s okay. You can cry. I’ll stay here. Figure out when you feel good enough to talk to him. That doesn’t even have to be tonight. Just…find a time and a way to talk to him.” Charlie nods into his pillow. He knows he isn’t seen by Quackity. The action, again, comforts him. Imagining he’s sitting on the foot of his bed with him makes him feel a little bit better. Even though the crackling of the speaker proves him wrong, he still likes the idea.

Quackity whispers comforting phrases into the quick silences of his crying from time to time. Sometimes he’s told he’ll always be loved. Others he’s hushed like an irritated baby. No matter what is spoken, Charlie breaks down immediately after it. He doesn’t blame Quackity for it. He’s only crying because of how grossly attached he’s become to Mariana. He’ll get over this for the night eventually. Quackity seems to know this, too.

He couldn’t have been crying for much longer than five minutes when he hears something: a knock. On his door, while he’s crying. There is a knock. It rings clear and deep in the air. The metal jiggles quietly in its socket.

He hasn’t heard any doors opening, which means no one has entered. There’s only one person in the apartment that isn’t himself. One person, the person he’s crying over currently. His sobs pause brutally in his throat. Charlie isn’t even sure he’s heard it. It’s just a ghost of a noise. Charlie’s being so loud he doesn’t know if he could have heard an actual knock.

But then he hears it. Hesitant and quiet, worried and somehow still slightly hardened: “Slime?” He jerks his head away from the phone to look at the door. Charlie’s eyes widen. Wild and wet, he glances back to his phone. Quackity’s voice is muffled as it continues pouring through the speakers.

Charlie clears his throat wetly. “Um- I’ll call you back.” He fumbles to press the red button at the bottom of his screen. A single tear sits cradled in the corner of his phone case. He smears it away before turning back to his door. “Come in?” Charlie calls weakly.

The door begins to open. Charlie shuts his eyes and prays. He doesn’t know what for. But he prays, and the door opens, and his eyes squeeze tighter with every noise. Wet lashes brush tears all over his skin.

The door clicks shut. Charlie opens his eyes.

Chapter Text

One thing about Charlie is that crying takes a lot out of him. No matter what time it is, or where he is, or who he’s with, or how long he’s been crying for, he will always be tired while crying. He falls asleep soon after crying usually, and when he doesn’t, he’s out of it until he does. Charlie gets so drowsy that some people assume he’s intoxicated. He speaks slowly and with bad grammar, his actions are sluggish and uncoordinated, and he’s all around a mess. However, he’s never hallucinated, which is what he’s sure he’s doing right now. Because there is no way Mariana is actually stood in his doorway right now, worry struck across his face like lightning frozen in a tree.

Confusion is the first thing that hits Charlie. Confusion, and then a little bit of fear, which is immediately replaced by numb hurt. Mariana’s eyes are wide and sweet, the ones he remembers from just yesterday, the ones he fell for. He’s still crying, and a louder sob is torn from him like a wax strip at this. Mariana, despite how cold he was to Charlie all today, is still the sweetest person under it all. “Are…Slime, are you okay?” He can barely shake his head “no” as he continues crying. His glasses are slipping off his face, wet from tears. Charlie doesn’t care enough to push them up.

Mariana takes a step inside his room. It’s hesitant, and he looks at him almost scared, and when Charlie says nothing he relaxes and takes another step. “I- Mariana, I’m so, so sorry. Just…please. Stop being mean. Or tell me- tell me to leave, I don’t care, I just can’t do this.” His words are so raw that they crack and splinter with every syllable. A few shreds of them seem to dig themselves into Mariana, because his eyebrows knit together and his mouth parts slightly. He looks so sad. Charlie sobs out again.

“Can I…come in?” Mariana asks hesitantly. Charlie nods pathetically. He still seems to be unsure of himself, so he takes one step in and watches Charlie for a reaction. Charlie says nothing. His face does not change. Tear tracks still stain his bright red cheeks. He takes another step in, less cautious this time. Charlie tries so hard to not do anything that would scare him off. He needs this comfort now, and if Mariana leaves him, he doesn’t know what he’ll do.

After a third slow step, Charlie breaks. “You can come all the way in, you know.” His voice cracks halfway through his sentence. He cringes internally at it, schooling his face so Mariana knows not to react to how ugly the noise was either. Mariana blinks once, eyes opening wider once the action is finished. He looks almost surprised. Charlie doesn’t think he was being that forward. His mind is too muggy to try to worry about that.

Luckily, he doesn’t have to dwell, because Mariana comes and stands in front of him. His knees bend slightly into an awkwardly high squat. Charlie can smell him. He almost bursts into tears at this. He still smells how he did when he was kind. There’s too much for him to process. For a minute, he forgets about the last couple of hours. He forgets what he did, and what Mariana did back, and how he reacted. For a moment, it’s just them, just Charlie and Mariana, together in Charlie’s room. “Are you okay?” He repeats. Charlie swallows.

“Can…can I just have a hug?” He says weakly. Mariana softens so suddenly Charlie thinks he’s about to melt and that he’ll have to scoop him up and harden him in the fridge. His eyebrows fall away to frame his big eyes widely, and the thick brown irises thin out as his pupils grow. He’s so gentle, so sweet, like he’s just found a baby deer he’s become drawn to. His lips are straight but not drawn. His face is calm but not blank. Charlie sniffles.

He’s immediately wrapped into Mariana’s arms. The feeling is warm and comforting. He feels himself slowly loosening as he’s being held. Even with Mariana bent down awkwardly to hold him, it feels so good. He’s missed him. He’s been with him all day, and the whole time, he’s missed this Mariana. The kind one, that cooks for him and hugs him and cuddles him and smiles and laughs. The one he’s boarded off with coldness. The one that spills across them both like a broken glow stick. Something in him cracks at this. He can feel himself crying harder than he was before, tears spilling out like a dam has been loosened.

“I’m sorry,” Mariana mumbles into his ear. His breath is hot on his neck. His tears are warm on his cheeks. “I’m so sorry, cariño. I wasn’t trying to be mean. I just…I didn’t know how to process, and being mad at you seemed like the only way to process it. I’m sorry. I won’t be like that anymore. Lo siento. I’m sorry.” His thumb rubs soothing circles along his shoulder as he cries into the crook of his neck. His shirt is already damp. Charlie can’t stop.

Mariana sits on the bed next to him, arms still tight around him. A twisted side hug curls them into each other. Charlie tumbled into him. “I’m sorry I did that and that you had to do that. I messed you up. I- I’m sorry,” Charlie barely gets his words out. Mariana hushes him, comforting him quietly. Charlie clings to him so tightly he’s surprised Mariana isn’t struggling to breathe. He’s the one lightheaded instead, from crying so hard he can feel a splitting headache threatening him. He hugs onto Mariana tighter.

“Okay, okay,” Mariana says. His voice is even and calm as he holds onto Charlie just as tightly. Charlie screws his face up into his shoulder. He feels so pathetic as he cries against him. His body shakes with his crying so badly he knows Mariana is moving with him. “It’s okay, cariño, it’s okay. I’m sorry. We’re gonna be okay, alright? Everything is gonna be okay. You don’t have to be upset.” He shakes his head as he cries into him.

“I just- everything is my fault, and I feel so bad, because you’re so mad at me, and it’s all my fault, and I don’t know how to tell you that, because you keep yelling and I’m scared to tell you, but it’s my fault you’re mad, and-” He can’t finish. His sobs choke him out before he can. Mariana rubs swirls and loops on his shoulder with his thumb. Charlie is crushed into his side. It’s an awkward position, but it must feel better for Mariana than bending over as Charlie squeezes him in on himself.

Mariana shushes him. “Sh, Slime, it’s okay. We both messed up. I didn’t react well. I’m sorry.” Charlie’s crying has become silent against him. His body wracks with it. Mariana sighs. It isn’t annoyed, or defeated, or even sad. He needs the extra air, Charlie assumes. The oxygen in his room is thickened with his crying. “Okay- this isn’t…good. Hold on, let me sit better.” His arms slip from around Charlie as he repositions himself to face him on the bed. Charlie almost droops onto his lap before his body finally catches him. He looks at Mariana, tears still streaming down his face.

Mariana grabs him gently and pulls him towards him. At first, Charlie thinks he’s turning him to face him, but then he realizes he’s being tugged onto his lap. He doesn’t protest. He can feel his cheeks heating, and the observation is slightly comforting. It’s normal. That’s something he would do before all of this. A smile fights against his desperate crying. It doesn’t win, but just feeling the resistance of it makes him think a little more positively.

Mariana wraps his arms around him once he’s been settled onto him. Charlie tightens his legs, which have curled gently around his midsection, and does the same to his arms. He can feel just how wet Mariana’s shirt is when he lays his head against him again. Soaked cotton presses chill to his face. Already cold from layers of tears, the feeling isn’t foreign, but still uncomfortable. He can just barely hear squelching when he moves his head. Mariana says nothing about it. “You’re okay, Slime, it’s okay.” The sweet words push against more tears. His eyes feel so sore. He might fall asleep here. It would be embarrassing, but he’s so comfortable, and his eyes feel puffy and glued shut with tears.

He’s hit with another wave of grief. He doesn’t know how to control it. Tears stream again. “Why are you even helping me? I thought you hated me,” Charlie sobs, words thick with his sorrow. It’s a struggle to clearly get them out. Even after fighting to say them, he’s not certain Mariana understood what he said. He’s out of it, he knows it, and Mariana probably does, too. He’s miserable. He says it like they’re his last words.

Stunned silence grips their throats for a moment. Then, Mariana speaks. “Charlie, I don’t hate you, and even if I did, I’m not an asshole.” Charlie cries into the crook of his neck as he speaks. He so badly wants to not believe him, to ignore him and pretend that he’s hated and that Mariana isn’t doing any of this because it’s just so incredibly confusing to navigate his feelings. “I heard you crying from outside. I wasn’t going to ignore that. I’m sorry you thought I hated you,” He says softly. Charlie tries to swallow his sobs to talk.

“But- but you weren’t acting like this at all earlier. You were mean, and I know I deserved it, but you were just so…different. I’m so confused, Mariana.” His words come out almost desperately. He wants an answer, craves it so badly it hurts his chest to talk. Mariana is quiet again. It stings like a bite. He almost hisses in pain. It’s burning and unkind against his skin. “I just…I just want to understand. Please. I’m not mad or upset or anything. I just really want to know. Y’know?” Mariana sighs and nods.

“Uh, yeah. I dunno. I was just…confused, I guess. I didn’t know how to act around you anymore. And I didn’t know if it would just be easier on us to pretend like we hated each other, and I was just so tired, so I assumed that it would be. I don’t know, Slime. I really just didn’t know what to do, and once I started that, I didn’t think I could stop without you being confused.” He sighs. Charlie drinks the noise easily, a poison sliding down his throat. He’s addicted already. When Mariana opens his mouth again, he’s eager to listen. “I’m sorry, Slime. I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t hate you.” The reassurance is kind to him.

Charlie feels a little better again. Knowing Mariana doesn’t actually hate his guts has already helped him. As he sits there, cradled in the other man’s arms, he can’t help but feel like it’s all going to be okay. Mariana’s breathing is even against his own as he calms himself. His chest rises and falls with Mariana’s. It’s good. He’s good. They’re good.

Charlie is sitting in his lap, crying, and somehow, he still feels the best he has in days. It’s a realization that dawns on him slowly, as he’s becoming a normal person again, revived within the close confines of Mariana. He’s warm and sweet and says nice things even as he’s crying all over him. He’s pretty and has big doe eyes and the cutest little smile. This is normal. He can feel it. He has feelings for Mariana. They’re normal. He feels much more whole than he did earlier. Charlie and Mariana will be fine.

He sniffles again. Charlie feels bad when he remembers just how close his nose is to his ear, but then again, Mariana was the one who pulled him this close. He doesn’t have enough space in his mind to worry about how loud his nose is. His eyelashes are wet and stick to his shirt. They nearly thread in with the fabric of the clothing. Charlie wouldn’t be surprised if he and Mariana melt into the same person by the time he’s done crying over him.

“Do you feel better?” Mariana whispers after a while. Charlie, with a start, realizes he really does. He hadn’t noticed his crying slowing down. The silence and his own thoughts had wiped any feeling of the tears from him. Charlie nods into his neck. Mariana mirrors him. Charlie can feel his neck bobbing with the movement. “That’s good. Do you need to do anything? Need me to do anything?” Mariana asks. Charlie’s heart melts slightly.

“No,” He says. His voice is raw and it crackles like a sparkler when he speaks. “I just wanna sit like this for a little.” Mariana hums. His chest and throat vibrate against his collarbone and head. It warms him kindly. Charlie sinks into him a little farther. Mariana doesn’t seem to mind the deeper contact. He sits with Charlie, unmoving. Charlie is glad for it.

He doesn’t exactly understand why Mariana is comforting him, but he’s anything but upset about it. Charlie needed him more than anything, and he came and helped, and now he feels so much better about all of this. His body is warm and heavy. He feels much better than he did just twenty minutes ago. His eyes feel crusty and his cheeks still feel red and sticky and Mariana’s shoulder is still wet, but they are together, both in one piece, and it’s a good feeling. For the first time that day, Charlie’s lips tug up slightly. A small closed-mouth smile pulls on his face.

“Okay, if you want to leave, you can now,” Charlie eventually says. “You’ve been in here a while, I feel bad. Plus, I’m fine now. You probably have other things to do.” He’s disappointed as he says it. He doesn’t want to let go, not just yet, when he’s on Mariana’s lap and his arms are sleepy over him. He feels protected and safe and warm and he really wishes he could hold on forever without feeling guilty. However, he does, and he knows he can’t keep him forever.

“Are you sure? I was just going to watch TV. Maybe you could, like, wash your face and grab your glasses and we can watch it together?” Mariana offers. His voice is low. The offer is another hand, another branch out, another peace offering Charlie gladly takes. Anything other than hostility is what he needs. He will take anything over their constant bickering, sour looks, and crying. “But if you don’t want to, I really don’t have to do anything, and we can just stay in here.” Charlie shakes his head. As tempting as it is, nothing will come of sitting on his bed with him.

“No, we should watch TV together. I’ll wash my face. Maybe you should find another shirt. I kinda got yours really wet.” Marina chuckles at this, and Charlie smiles again. Mariana squeezes his arms around him tightly for a few moments before relaxing. Charlie mimics him, hugging him before loosening his grip on the poor boy. It’s nice. A sweet moment of finality before they move on from their kind cuddling.

Charlie slips his leg out from around Mariana and dumps himself unceremoniously on the bed next to him. His arms unravel and his other leg is removed from his back. Mariana’s own arms retract from around Charlie. He flops himself onto his bed as Mariana begins to straighten himself out a little and stand up. Charlie can just barely hear his small snort at his dramatic position. Limbs splayed out, face red and puffy, he knows he’s seen better days. Mariana is too kind to verbally agree with his thought.

He’s about to leave when he stops in his doorway, hand resting against the side of it. His fingers each drum against it once in rapid succession. It draws Charlie’s attention back to Mariana, who looks over his shoulder. The frames off his glasses and his nose cut off parts of his eyes. Charlie wants to piece them back together, admire them until they melt into sticky puddles of chocolate and coffee and mocha and earth. “Hey, Slime?” He calls. Charlie hums. “Did…did you really think I hated you?”

The question hits hard. Charlie himself doesn’t even really know the answer. He had told himself that to get over all of this. He doesn't know if he truly believed it. He blinks at Mariana, swallowing. “I…I don’t know. I don’t think so. But I don’t know.” He watches as Mariana’s face falls slightly. Charlie races to catch it as he tries hard to think of something to save this all. He stumbles over himself thinking up an excuse. “I- um, well, but, like, probably not, y’know, it probably-” He’s cut off almost immediately, and gladly takes the chance to shut up.

Mariana smiles smally. His eyes betray him, glinting sadly against the sweet curve of his lips. Charlie almost throws up at how bittersweet it is. “I don’t,” He says. It’s quiet and nice, and Charlie wishes it had a bite to it so he wouldn’t feel so bad. “I don’t hate you. Please believe me when I say that. No matter what happens, I will not hate you. Okay?” He asks. The sudden question, almost a check-in, startles him. He nods quickly. Charlie can feel how wide his eyes are. The meek sadness in his eyes slowly ebbs away. The smile left behind is something Charlie wants to have engraved into a diamond. “Come out to watch with me when you’re ready.” The door shuts. Charlie is left alone in his room, laying out like a dried starfish on his bed, heart hammering.

Mariana says he doesn’t hate him. He says he doesn’t hate him and Charlie believes him. This has to be progress.This is good news, something he can celebrate with friends like an engagement.

And then he realizes: Quackity. He’d just completely hung up on him after sobbing into the phone for a good fifteen minutes. He must be worried sick. Guilt sends a stabbing pain up his back like a disc has been twisted out of his spine and placed in his collarbone. He winces. Quackity will forgive him. Quackity always has and always will put up with him and his shit. Knowing this, he abandons his phone on his nightstand in favor of washing his face. Charlie rolls himself out of bed and wanders to his bathroom. He turns his tap on and water comes rushing out. He keeps it on cold. When he splashes it on his face, the temperature isn;t a surprise, but he still jumps slightly. He rubs at his cheeks and eyes as if he can wipe away all of his feelings with his tears. He just wants to look and feel normal again.

He grabs his glasses off the corner of the bed once he’s done. They slide easily back onto his face. Charlie cards a hand through his hair as if to make sure it looks perfect. His fingers catch on many knots. He doesn’t care. Mariana won’t, either. This, he knows. This, he doesn’t care about. They’ve been through enough together. He leaves his room, messy hair and all.

The main area is dark. The only lights are the two dim ones in the kitchen and the stars and moon hanging outside. Other than that, the TV provides unintentional brightness as it dances colors across the back wall and the couch and Mariana. Mariana, who sits on the couch again, arm hanging off the back of the couch, legs open and wide. He’s no longer closed off, no longer hiding from Charlie. He is out in the open and Charlie loves it, loves him. He smiles at the sight of it. He’ll get to sit next to Mariana again. It’s so simple, but he’s excited.

He rounds the couch, walking in front of the TV. Mariana mumbles under his breath at this, rolling his eyes and grinning hard. Charlie’s smile turns stupid at it. He sits down on the cushion next to Mariana, making sure to give them space without distancing from him again. The balance between the two is hard, as there is a thin line to wobble on, but he can do no wrong in Mariana’s eyes.

Charlie doesn’t know what show is playing. He has no clue what they’re watching it on, or what the plot is, or who any of the characters are, or if it’s even a show and not a movie. It could be in another language, for all he knows. He doesn’t focus on it. Charlie focuses on Mariana. Mariana, and the way his eyes widen and shrink with the events of the television. Mariana, who takes off his glasses and squints at something. Mariana, who’s hand brushes up against the back of his neck too many times for it to be an accident. Mariana, who Charlie’s in love with. Mariana, who sits so close and so far away from him. He takes as many secretive glances of him as he can. He hopes Mariana isn’t looking, but then again, when Mariana starts doing the same, Charlie can feel his eyes on him each time. He always does. He always will. They’re normal.

At one point, Mariana looks at him and won’t turn away. Seconds turn into moments turn into minutes. Charlie’s cheeks burn red. He turns to look at him, almost to scare him off, and he doesn’t. Mariana’s eyes stay on him. The brown turns obsidian in the low lighting. His skin is dyed blue because of the TV. They’re sustained in eye contact for a few brief moments before Mariana looks away again. Charlie feels like a hunter, his eye caught by a graceful deer, his heart set on finding it again. His own gaze stays fixed on Mariana.

He’s so in love with him he thinks he’s going to be sick. His stomach hurts, heart aching. He’s drawn to him like a moth to a flame. It’s an addiction he can’t afford to quit. Charlie looks over him, at his thickly-framed glasses, at his artfully sculpted nose, at his soft lips, at his deep eyes, and he knows they’ll never be normal. He knows he and Mariana will never actually move on from the kiss. The moment has been engraved into each of their brains so deeply it feels like a burn mark.

But that’s the beauty of it. They’ll never forget their first kiss. Just how Charlie will never forget their first day together, their first dinner, their first hug. Everything is sacred when it comes to Mariana. Charlie just hopes the opposite is true for Mariana.

Mariana looks at him again. His head turns slightly, and now they’re almost face to face, eyes intertwined in a waltz of eye contact. Charlie’s pupils trace the shadows of his face, the way the dimness makes the cuts of his jaw and cheek dramatic, how sharp his nose looks against the TV screen. He studies him in a way that serves neither of them any purpose. He just wants to look. He just wants his eyes to go over each angle so many times his face is seared right in next to their first kiss.

“Mariana?” Charlie whispers. He pretends his breath ghosts along Mariana’s skin. They’re so close, and so far away. The couch feels like a mile of stretched land that separates them. He wants to be close. Wants to touch him, hold him, love him. He needs him. His stomach twists.

Mariana hums lowly. Charlie swallows. “What’s up, Slime?” He asks. His tone mimics Charlie’s. It’s quiet and soft, just barely heard over their movie. The simple act is sweet. The nickname is sweeter. Charlie bites back a grin at it. He needs to stop. Before he does something stupid again.

“I…have another thing to tell you. Not show you.” He says. Charlie almost blurts it out. His words fall out faster than he can think of them. Mariana raises a single eyebrow slightly. The sight reminds Charlie of a puppy. He’s so endearing.

Mariana pauses for a moment when he realizes Charlie is waiting for him to tell him
to proceed. “What…what do you have to tell me?” He says. His eyes go wider as he says it. It’s a small action, so simple someone else could have missed it, but Charlie’s eyes hold his face in their hands and watch each little movement. This catches their attention. He likes how much his irises fill up his eyes.

Charlie blinks at him and looks away. Burning uncertainty licks flames up his throat. He shouldn’t be doing this. Last time ended in disaster. Last night has left a scar on his mind other than their first kiss. As he looks at him, he can’t help but be reminded of it. “I…just want to be honest with you. I still like you. I was lying when I said I didn’t mean to…to kiss you.” He admits.

Mariana’s face is frozen in time, features suspended without movement. His heart hammers in his chest. He feels sick. He doesn’t know why he’s doing this. Charlie hasn’t learned his lesson. Last time was awful. Last time ruined them. And yet, he still stays. He doesn’t leave. Charlie knows what happened last time he left. Mariana changed, over the course of the night, the few hours he was gone, and it took him a whole day to get him back. He won’t leave again. He won’t abandon this Mariana. This time, he will not leave.

Charlie swallows. Mariana’s eyes are glued on him, pupils stretched like spider webs over his face. He feels watched. Studied. He doesn’t know if it’s a good thing or not. He doesn’t know if this is what should be happening, or if he’s twisting things again, placing them both in an impossible position, tying their hands back and ruining things all over again. He doesn’t care to figure out if he is. He blinks at Mariana, and the other seems to start up at this. Charlie’s sure his heart is going to spill out from his throat. He’s so scared, but somehow, at peace with it all. Whatever happens will happen. They will find a way out.

Mariana’s lips part. Charlie’s heart skips three beats and is absolutely pounding. “Really?” He whispers. His voice is barely audible over whatever is playing in the background. Charlie nods slowly, eyes wide, and Mariana drinks the action in. He can see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. Charlie’s mouth feels dry. “Because…I wanted you to kiss me. I didn’t know what to do when you left.” His words nearly smack him.

Mariana wanted to be kissed. Last night, Charlie leaned in, and Mariana didn’t stop him. Last night, Charlie kissed him, and Mariana didn’t stop him. Last night, Mariana didn’t immediately kiss him, and Charlie stopped himself. And Mariana looked at him, and he overthought a million times over, and he left, and all of his belongings were still in the apartment, and, God, Mariana did not know what to do. It feels like a semi has just slammed into him. The realization hits him harder than anything ever has. Mariana wanted Charlie to kiss him.

The stupidest smile pulls at his lips. Charlie’s mouth wavers as he fights against it. His heart is still hammering. “Do…you still want to…” He trails off. His voice is weak in his throat. He doesn’t know if he can get the words out. He doesn’t know if he can even think them. They feel forbidden in his mind, the thought not foreign to his mind but unearthly in his mouth. It would feel dirty to speak it. He’s glad they share the same thought and he doesn’t have to shatter their sweetness, no matter how tame the idea truly is.

Mariana nods. Charlie is nearly shaking as he processes it. This is all so much. It isn’t too much, maybe it all isn’t even enough, he has no clue what’s going on. His head is fuzzy. Mariana leans in closer to him. Charlie immediately mirrors him. He feels lightheaded, eyes fluttering shut, him and Mariana drawing closer and closer to each other. Right before their lips connect, he smiles quietly. This is what he’s needed. This is what he wanted last night.

They kiss. It’s uncoordinated and they’re both so scared, but they kiss, and it’s beautiful. Mariana is soft and sweet against him. He isn’t limp, not like last night, and Charlie is so grateful to get to know that this is what it should be like. There’s nothing but slow affection written into it. It’s simple and kind and so good. Charlie wants to sit like this forever. He’s content, so content, and he smiles stupidly into the kiss. It breaks their lips apart. He can feel Mariana mirroring it as he pulls away slightly, grinning widely. His eyes open. His lashes kiss his undereyes a few times before they stay open. Mariana’s already looking at him. His own eyes are pressed into near slits with his smile.

They bathe in the silence for a moment. The only sound is the TV. The only real light is the few kitchen bulbs and the dim stars and moon. Mariana’s glasses shine with the reflection of one of the glowing pieces of the night. Charlie could mistake the gleam for the shine of his eyes, bright and easy and loving as they take each other in.

Mariana is the one to break their careless silence. “Thank you,” Are the words that come out of his mouth. Charlie is so surprised by them that he laughs, head thrown back slightly. The sound slips out of his throat so seamlessly he feels cured of any uncertainties he’s ever had. It’s so nice that he does it again. Mariana doesn’t question him, nor his random laughter. He sits patiently beside him until Charlie looks down again, still grinning.

“Why are you thanking me? I should thank you, I fucked up so bad last night, if I were you, I wouldn’t have ever want to come in contact with me again,” He says. As he finishes, his smile shrinks a little, but it’s still there, sitting small and gentle as the curve of a cupid’s bow. His eyes no longer gravitate toward it. He blinks at Mariana, whose smile is still holding up his crow’s feet.

“Slime,” He starts, and Charlie feels so loved. His voice is warm and his accent wraps around the word like a hug. “You didn’t fuck up. We just…we didn’t talk to each other enough. And we both got confused and you left and I was mad today. But it’s okay now. We’re okay.” And at that, Charlie really does believe it. They aren’t getting better. They aren’t becoming okay. They are better. They are okay. And they will be, no matter what, because they’ve kissed and Charlie hasn’t run and Mariana hasn’t yelled. And Charlie will not run and Mariana will not yell. They’ll be in love and live together and Charlie won’t have to worry about having an unrequited crush on his roommate, because Mariana will kiss him and he’ll know he’s loved.

Charlie’s grin widens again. Mariana looks at him so gently he feels like he’s going to die from being loved so much. “Okay. We’re okay.” He mimics. Mariana nods, face sweetly upturned. The feeling of knowing that this will all play out well in the end is comforting. The look on Mariana’s face is, too. Charlie’s face burns in the sweetest way possible. He’s a little embarrassed about it. He hopes Mariana can’t see him blushing in the dim living room area.

There’s a moment of silence, and then Mariana speaks again. “Can…can we kiss again?” He asks. It’s almost timid, as if he’s scared of what the response will be. Charlie laughs quietly at the thought. He nods, smiling wide and carefree, and they kiss again, all honey and burnt sugar, and he doesn’t think he’s ever been happier. His night has been switched upside down. Charlie’s glad it was.

When they pull away from each other, Charlie feels light. The knot in his stomach he’s been carrying for two months finally loosens. His face stays flushed red and a stupid grin is fixed to his face. He feels complete. Without Mariana, without his presence and kindness and love, he’d felt awful. Charlie feels like he could cry of relief. It all feels so right to him. The stars outside their window have had them written into their patterns for years. Charlie and Mariana have only just now taken the time to read it, and what has come from it has given Charlie happiness he’s never been able to draw from another source. It’s amazing. He smiles up at the ceiling and flops back onto the arm of the couch. It catches the middle of his back.

Mariana snorts. “What are you doing?” Charlie just laughs. He knows he looks stupid, his glasses falling up his face, chest pressed up with the protrusion of the couch’s arm, arms limp at his sides and legs twisted awkwardly off to the side. He doesn’t care. He could look the worst he ever has and he would not care. Everything else has already gone right for him tonight. How he looks, how he acts, the way his body twists and curls around the sofa, they could not be farther from his mind.

“I dunno,” He answers. It’s truthful, but it sounds stupid, and so he elaborates slightly. “I just…wanted to lay back. Y’know? Like, falling back made me feel good.” It’s Mariana’s turn to laugh, a small giggle falling from his mouth. Charlie likes how it sounds, especially now knowing he gets to kiss the mouth it comes from. The smile on his face feels like it’s going to be stained on his face because of how hard he’s grinning. Just like how he was told his eyes would be stuck crossed if he held the odd eye position for too long when he was younger, he feels like his face is going to freeze around his smile forever. He doesn’t care.

He can hear the smile in Mariana’s voice as he talks. “Okay. Well. Do you want to just stay there? Or do you want to sit up again? I…haven’t really been watching the movie, we can pick another one or go backwards. I don’t know what’s happening.” Charlie laughs again. It bubbles in his chest with the way he’s arched around the couch. He’s starting to feel how tipped back his head is, blood coming to flood it, and he knows he’s going to want to sit normally again.

“I’ll sit up, we should pick another movie.” He draws himself up rather dramatically, his head the last thing to be pulled up. His neck hurts as he does it. Charlie winces quietly in the dark. Mariana is already reaching for the remote he’d set on the coffee table next to him. The movie stops playing as Mariana presses one of the buttons on the remote. Netflix reopens in front of them, and he starts scrolling to find another one in silence.

“Okay, do you have any ideas? I don’t. You’re going to have to pick.” Mariana eventually says. Charlie laughs, looking over to him. His eyes are shining in the lighting of the night, and Charlie can see his lips pulled up in a small smile. “I don’t know what to pick.” He says again. Charlie rolls his eyes fondly. Endearment smears across his face like thick paint being pressed on by a spatula.

He holds the hand closest to Mariana out. “Okay, give me the remote, I’ll pick something.” And just as he does this, he realizes he has to do something. The remote is placed in his hand before he can vocalize this. His fingers curl around it, but his arm stays suspended in the air as he turns back to Mariana from the TV. “Wait, I have to do something. You look for a little longer and then I’ll come back out and find something if you don’t.” He tosses the remote into Mariana’s lap and lifts himself off the couch. Mariana doesn’t say anything, instead opting to watch Charlie as he walks around the couch to his room. A stupid smile pulls hard at his face. He’s nearly jogging by the time he reaches his door. The knob clicks quietly when he opens it. He steps inside.

It’s dark inside. He can barely see, his eyes fighting to adjust as the barest amount of light spills in from the kitchen. Charlie can just make out his phone on his nightstand. He makes a beeline to it. His hand is out and fumbling for it before he’s even in reaching distance. It nearly slips from his hand as he grabs it. It turns on automatically, and Face Identification takes a moment to work in his low lighting. As he scrolls to find the app he’s looking for, he wanders back to his door. Charlie gently pushes it shut with his foot.

He finds the app, the icon green and white. Charlie grins and opens it. The contact he wants is at the very top. He wastes no time clicking on it and immediately holding his phone to his ear. The monotonous ring of the phone feeds into his ear. He’s very impatient. Even though it only rings twice, he’s on the verge of annoyance when he finally picks up.

“What the fuck, dude? Why did you just hang up? Are you okay?” Quackity’s voice is thin through his phone speaker. Just like Charlie, he’s impatient, but his wait has been far longer. Charlie can barely contain his excitement. He just giggles into the phone, and he knows he sounds like a little girl, but he truly cannot help it. There’s a small bout of silence, and then Quackity laughs, too. “What was that? Charlie, what happened?” His voice is much lighter, but there’s still some force behind the last question.

He grins into the phone like he’s going to share the most amazing secret. Whispering like he’s gossiping, Charlie says, “You’re never going to believe it.”

Chapter Text

The morning is peaceful. The sun is out, washing in windows and against walls and the ground. Clouds are scattered across the cerulean blue sky. It’s early enough for the edges of the sky to still have small layers of color kissed against the horizon. It’s quiet outside. Sunday mornings usually are. There’s very little traffic, very few pedestrians, and the few out there are tired and silent as they pass. Birds in trees only dare to speak every few minutes. The heat of the summer has died down enough for it to be comfortable outside, which means no one is pulled awake because of how sweaty they are. People can sleep in, and when they do wake, they stay in bed. Most everyone does.

Charlie and Mariana are a few of the ones who do. The couple are in Mariana’s bed, curled up into each other, the morning gentle on their skin. Charlie has been awake for a while. However, Mariana’s arm is thrown over his midsection and their legs are tangled and his face is pressed against his neck and he’s just so comfortable he’d rather pretend he’s still asleep. He usually does. It’s almost a routine, at this point. When they sleep in the same bed, Charlie wakes up first and lays there until Mariana wakes up with a start. They make plans to get up and then end up talking in bed for a while longer or falling back asleep all together. It’s rather domestic of them. Charlie loves it.

As if the thought has been spoken alive, Mariana groans quietly in his ear. The arm resting on him jolts before snaking tighter around him. The feeling is comforting. He feels loved. Charlie smiles and allows himself to be squeezed by Mariana. He groans again. His voice is grumbly. Charlie loves how it sounds. “G’morning,” He whispers. The silence of the room melts down like tin. It simmers over them warmly.

“Morning,” Mariana says. The morning voice turns the honey of his voice slightly husky. Charlie smiles. The sound is familiar, but he loves it more every time he hears it. He drinks it in like he’s addicted, savoring each grumbled consonant, each vowel that carries a hint of a Mexican accent. Charlie grabs the hand of the arm wrapped around him and lifts it up so he isn’t weighted down. He twists around so he’s facing Mariana. The blanket over them shifts uncomfortably around them.

Even without his glasses on, he can see just how pretty Mariana is. Big brown eyes, graceful nose, sweet lips, all placed artfully on tanned skin. His dark hair is messy and frames his face gently and unevenly. Charlie thinks it’s cute. Mariana smiles at him. Charlie mirrors it. He feels so lucky to get to lay in bed with this man. His pupils find and trace every line and outline of his face they can. He wants to sear Mariana’s face into his mind. He already has, but it’s soothing to pretend this is something he still needs to do.

Without warning, Mariana leans forward and kisses him. It’s soft and sweet. The pillows rustle under their heads. His lips feel puffy and warm against his. His breath is sour, but Charlie pays no mind. He’s content to kiss him no matter what he tastes like. The morning is sweet to them as they kiss. It’s warming and sleepy. He can feel how sluggish their few movements are, but he doesn’t care.

Mariana pulls away first. His face is screwed up, nose crinkled in on itself. “Morning breath,” He explains. He’s almost whining, but the depth of his voice cancels it out. Charlie rolls his eyes at this. The action carries no real malice. Affection and endearment are laced so deeply into it he’s surprised his irises don’t become heart-shaped once he fixes his gaze on Mariana again.

“Your breath wasn’t good, either, but you don’t hear me complaining,” He bites back. Mariana mimics him, eyes rolling dramatically at his words. Charlie’s grinning by the time he looks back at him. “We can brush our teeth soon. Just let me stay in bed for a little longer,” Charlie says, blinking at Mariana. He just hums, head nodding slightly. His arm comes to rest over Charlie again. The blonde leans into the touch, scooting closer to Mariana. The bedsheet catches on his leg and tries to hold him back. He just ends up dragging it with him so that it’s scrunched between them.

It’s quiet for a few moments. “What d’you want for breakfast?” He asks quietly. Charlie bathes himself in the sound of his voice for a few moments. It’s nice, getting to absorb it slowly and thoughtlessly. He knows he should probably think up an answer. Charlie doesn’t really care, though. Mariana’s arm is so warm against his side. He can barely think, mind only wanting to focus on falling back asleep or his boyfriend.

He hums in thought for a moment. His voice feels like it’s about to crack. “How ‘bout we go to Ms. P’s today? I want a muffin so bad,” He says earnestly. Mariana laughs at this. His chest vibrates so close to him Charlie can almost feel it on his cheek. He smiles. “Don’t laugh at me, shut up. I’m craving one. Really badly. Like, you don’t even know. A blueberry muffin and a coffee? Oh my God, shut up, never talk to me ever again. That sounds so good right now.” He rambles, groaning at the end. He truly has backed himself into wanting a muffin. Mariana laughs again, harder this time. Charlie squeezes his eyes shut and smiles.

“Okay, I’ll get you your muffin and your coffee. You can wait for a little, though, right?” He murmurs. Charlie immediately nods. At his confirmation, the arm around him starts tracing thoughtless loops onto his skin. His shoulder, his back, and his upper arm are all suddenly a canvas for Mariana’s fingernails to drag lightly across. Every gentle line injects affection into him. He can almost feel sweetness swirling into his blood. Charlie’s face flushes with happiness.

They lounge for about thirty more minutes. The sun rises higher with each passing second, but Charlie doesn’t mind. He’s comfortable and secure in Mariana’s arms. He couldn’t care less about what time it was outside, because in their apartment, it will forever be the morning, the couple sleepy and cuddly in their bed as everything other than them freezes. They’re watched softly by the objects in the room. Nothing dares to move in their sweet silence, everything suspended in the air thick with affection.

Charlie eventually drags them both out of bed. He complains his stomach is growling, and Mariana, being the caring boyfriend he is, grumbles under his breath the entire time Charlie pulls him out from under the blankets. He giggles when Mariana slips on the blanket that has been shoved so carelessly away one corner melts on the smooth ground. Mariana rolls his eyes, slipping his glasses on his face from his nightstand and reaching out to grab at his dresser. Charlie is already sifting through his closet for a shirt that has not been slept in. He finds his victim and slips off the one he’s been wearing, shoving his head and arms through the holes. “Can you hand me a shirt or somethin’?” Mariana says over his shoulder as he zips up a pair of shorts. Charlie looks back at him, grinning, and his cheeks flush again. He grabs one off a hanger and tosses it to him. The collar of it catches on his head for a moment before falling to the floor. “Thanks,” Mariana mumbles, unimpressed. Charlie laughs.

Charlie dons a pair of Mariana’s sweatpants and leads him out of his room and into the kitchen. Mariana walks to the island while Charlie heads towards the couch. His glasses sit innocently on the coffee table, and he snatches them up and pushes them on his nose. Charlie’s vision immediately clears. He turns to look at Mariana, whose back is turned to him. The sink is running. Charlie assumes he’s grabbing a glass of water and goes to grab his phone from where he had left it charging in his room.

His room is dark and slightly cold. Even Mariana’s thick sweatpants can’t shield him from the gentle chill of the room. Charlie smiles. Summer and fall are coming to meet at an end, their ragged stitching pressing drops and rises in temperature into the building. He’s excited. He loves autumn and can’t wait to spend it with Mariana. His boyfriend. His smile grows. He feels stupid, like a fourteen year old girl with a boyfriend, but he can’t care enough to try and school himself. He’s in love, and he has a boyfriend, and they live together. Charlie grabs his phone off his nightstand. He still has the realization he’s really dating Mariana even weeks after they had established this. Each time it hits him, it feels a little sweeter. He leaves his room.

Mariana is just finishing his glass, still standing at the sink, when he re enters their shared space. He leans forward and starts filling the cup up again. Charlie laughs quietly to himself, walking up behind him and trying to make as little noise as possible. He snakes his arms around Mariana’s waist just as he shuts off the sink. He can feel him start slightly in his arms, and he laughs again, louder. One of Mariana’s hands rests on top of his. “Thirsty?” He says. His voice is almost teasing, his words light and meaningless. Mariana just hums before tipping back the second glass. His hand stays glued to Charlie’s. He takes that as a sign to stay there. He doesn’t care if he’s being held against him. It’s nice. His back is warm. Charlie presses the side of his face against his spine as his head slowly tips farther and farther back.

Once he’s finished his glass, he sets it on the counter next to the sink. His other hand is placed against Charlie’s, too. His palms are warm. They stand there like that for a moment, bathing in the sweetness of the morning, before Mariana, again, breaks it. “Are you ready to go now?” He murmurs. Charlie hums against him. One of Mariana’s hands pat the tops of his, and then Charlie unwinds his arms from around him. He’s about to grab his shoes from beside the door when Mariana grabs his hips and presses a short and sweet kiss to his mouth. Charlie smiles against it. His lips are warm. Every part of his body is warm. Charlie likes it. “I had to,” Mariana explains as he lets him go. Charlie knows his cheeks are red. He just grins and rolls his eyes, blushing as he shoves his feet into his shoes.

Charlie leads them both out of the apartment and to the elevator. Hand in hand, he’s nearly dragging Mariana out into the hallway. He presses the button with a click. It lights up dimly, flickering for a moment. Charlie frowns. “Is it breaking?” He turns back to Mariana, whose eyes are not at all on the elevator button. His sweet chocolate eyes are glued on his face, looking lost in Charlie’s own. He’s so endearing Charlie might be sick. “The elevator button looks weird.” Mariana blinks, then hums absentmindedly. Charlie rolls his eyes, smiling hard, and turns back to the elevator just as the doors slide open.

He hadn’t been expecting to see anyone, because it’s still fairly early in the morning, but there are two people in the elevator. Two men, one shorter and one taller, one with dark hair pulled away from his face and the other with curly brown hair and a few white streaks. Roier and Cellbit. Their neighbors. Charlie had almost forgotten about them. Truly, he’d forgotten about everyone other than him, Mariana, Quackity, and Wilbur, but he still feels a twinge of guilt when he realizes he really hasn’t seen them that much since the day he moved in.

Roier’s small smile turns into a wide grin at the sight of Mariana and Charlie. He bears his teeth wholeheartedly, and his eyebrows furrow slightly, making it look almost like a joking smirk. “You actually found yourself un novio?” He teases. As he says it, Roier’s hand almost subconsciously snakes up and loops into the crook of Cellbit’s elbow. Charlie finds it adorable. He grins at them and silently squeezes Mariana’s arm. It’s gentle, so soft he wonders if Mariana even felt the change, but then he feels a quick pulse right back, and it wides his smile.

“I did. Now get out of the elevator, I need to get breakfast.” Mariana shoos at them with his free hand. His other stays tightly clamped around Charlie’s. Cellbit begins graciously leading them both out of the elevator, but Charlie can see Roier dig his heels into the ground. The couple pauses their movement again.

Roier blinks, and his smile softens, turning genuine and sweet. “I’m happy for you. I know you already told me, but just seeing it is…nice. Good for you,” He says. Charlie can feel himself feeling nicer and nicer as Roier continues to talk. Mariana is still relaxed in his hand. Charlie looks over to him, and there’s an easy smile on his face, eyes shining sweetly. Charlie’s heart could explode.

“Thank you, Roier.” Mariana says. His voice is kind, and Charlie appreciates it for Roier and Cellbit’s sake. Cellbit smiles at them. And then they’re moving again, their short yet sweet moment closed as Cellbit leads Roier out and Charlie leads Mariana in. Cellbit winks at Charlie as they pass. Charlie grins at him.

“Have fun, wherever you’re going!” Cellbit calls cheerfully. The doors shut just as Charlie turns to face them. The last thing he sees is Roier grinning up at his husband as Cellbit grins, blue eyes shining under his soft curtain of white and brown curls. Mariana already stands next to him and faces the doors. Charlie leans his head on his arm. His shirt is warm under his skin. He smiles. He feels loved.

The elevator stops, and they get off, talking and laughing as they do so. Their hands stay linked as Mariana pushes the door open with his back as he faces Charlie. It’s sweet, the way he smiles as he holds it open for Charlie to pass through. He wants to grip his hand like it’s going to fall apart as they leave the building. He’s so in love his stomach hurts. But now, he knows it’s reciprocated, and he can’t help but feel giddy.

The early fall sun is gentle on them. Unlike the heat of summer, it’s light and just warms them comfortably. It’s still bright, puncturing burn holes into Charlie’s pupils, but it’s much more bearable than it had been before. “After this, can we go grocery shopping? I need more things.” He says. His smile carries his voice lightly. Mariana grins over at him, shaking his head.

“You always need more things, mi cariño,” Mariana teases gently. Charlie whacks his arm. It’s barely even a hit, and even then, Mariana grabs his upper arm and pouts. He pretends to sniffle once, and when Charlie grins and rolls his eyes, he drops the act. Charlie will never admit it, but it’s a little funny when he does it. “We can go to King Soopers or something. What do you need?” There's a genuine question in his voice Charlie can’t help but trip over his feet for. It’s sweet.

Charlie swallows. “Okay, really for us, but we can pretend it’s for me.” Mariana snorts at this. “Milk, shredded cheese…oh my God, we need more strawberries, huh,” He says. Charlie starts making a mental list at this. He’s raised his fingers to start counting all of the things they need on them when Mariana stops them. They reach the car and the boy gently pushes his hands down until they’re lowered to Charlie’s sides.

“Don’t worry about that now. We can go real shopping later.” He smiles sweetly at Charlie, and God, he’s so adorable. Charlie raises himself onto the tips of his toes and presses a small kiss to the apple of his cheek. He has to reach to place it there, but it’s worth it. Where he’s touched him and the spot that mirrors it on the other side of his face are rosy when he lowers himself back down. Satisfied, he smiles up at Mariana, who’s flushed cheeks upturn with a small grin, and rounds the car to the passenger side. The car door is hot under his palm. He’s quick with it as he gets in the car.

Mariana slides in just as he’s getting his seatbelt on. It’s silent until he successfully completes this task, which doesn't take long. Their quietness feels comfortable and natural. They don’t need to talk. Any movement is just as good as words spilling out of their mouth. The car buzzes to life under them as their mouths stay closed and Mariana begins pulling them out of the parking lot. The silence is comforting, in an odd way. Charlie only starts talking once it feels right to do so.

“‘m kinda tired today,” Charlie mumbles. He’s quiet, so quiet he almost repeats himself. His voice is hidden under the sound of the car beneath them. But Mariana hums, almost apologetically, and Charlie smiles up at the red light Mariana has just pulled them to a stop in front of.

“We can get breakfast and go back to bed,” He says in response. His tone is soothing and soft, as if he’s lulling Charlie to sleep now. It’s Charlie’s turn to offer a hum in response. “Do you still want coffee if you’re just going to go back to bed?” Charlie pauses for a moment in thought. He picks apart the question like he’s scavenging for something in it, when they both know it’s as simple as that and he’s just waiting for an answer to come up as he purposely makes his digestion of the question as slow as possible.

“Probably. For after. I’ll get an iced one or somethin’ and put it in the fridge.” Mariana nods as he speaks. Charlie can see it out of the corner of his eye. It’s cute. The small grin on his face widens. He knows he’s flushing at the feeling. Knowing he can smile openly at Mariana when he does something cute will never completely rid him of the feeling of slight embarrassment and shyness when he does.

The car ride is simple and easy. They’re there in a few minutes, and when they get out, there are only a few people wandering around. Charlie bathes in the sweetness of the mid morning chill, the breeze that sweeps across the back of his neck, the tinge of warmth that pricks him from all over and only stays for a few seconds before evaporating into the air. He rounds the car quickly and finds Mariana already waiting for him, hand held out. Charlie takes it. Their hands fit together like two complex puzzle pieces finally snapped into one another. It’s a perfect feeling. Charlie smiles softly to himself when he feels the thin layer of sweat lining Mariana’s palm. It’s his turn to be dragged as Mariana leads them both into Ms. P’s.

The door creaks. It startles Mariana, and he quickly shoots a look down to it as Charlie giggles. “It’s been making that noise for, like, a few weeks now.” He says. Mariana rolls his eyes, but the massive grin on his face betrays the true feeling he hides behind the action. Charlie just squeezes his hand once and continues walking. The air in the shop is cold and bites at his nose as he slices through it. Mariana follows.

The employee at the counter is the same one he sees every weekday in the morning. Charlie almost feels bad. She’s obviously tired, but she smiles up at them, eyes sinking into it. Wisps of hair reach out from her ponytail. “Hi, how can I help you?” She asks. Her fingers poise over the keyboard like a spider waiting to strike. When Mariana starts to tell her their order, her hands are released and find the keys easily. She pauses a second before adding the muffin. Charlie doesn’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing.

They wait in the area they’re always directed to wait in, and slow conversation strikes up between them like a match familiar to its box. Easy smiles and quiet laughter bounces between them sweetly. It’s all Charlie has ever wanted. He’s so relaxed within the moment he barely even recognizes just how badly he had wanted this a few weeks ago. He has it now, and it’s pretty and shining in his hand, a delicate rose made of glass he holds tenderly in his palm. The petals will grow thicker, and one day, they will be able to toss it back and forth like they do their grins, but for now, it rests in his loose grip, catching on the light of their laughter.

Their coffees are placed in front of them. A paper bag, folded up on one side, is also pushed across to them. “Enjoy,” A calm voice, deeper than the one belonging to the girl at the counter, accompanies their food and drinks. The employee has turned his back to Charlie before he can look up at him. Tufts of dark hair peek out at him just as he opens the doors to the area in the back. He can see the cashier’s eyes linger on the doors before returning to her thin fingernails adorned with peeling cuticles. She’s bored. He doesn’t blame her.

Charlie turns back to his boyfriend and finds him holding both coffees and the muffin. It’s almost a juggling act, cups balanced in each hand, his ring of keys hanging off of one pinky and the paper bag pinched between the ring and other pinky fingers. Charlie immediately places his hands out and begins to try to slip the bag out of Mariana’s grip. “Why did you grab everything? Dude, at least let me carry the muffin.” Mariana slowly moves his hand away from Charlie’s outstretched ones. Stubbornness is written into the action.

“I can hold it, cariño, relax,” He says. Charlie snorts as he nearly trips over his own feet trying to shuffle away from him. “Shut up,” Mariana scolds, grinning stupidly at himself as he steps away slowly. He takes three steps, careful not to spill the coffee or drop anything, and Charlie catches up with him in a single moment. Mariana sighs, almost defeated, but the set of his face lets Charlie know he’s anything but done.

Charlie rolls his eyes. “Give me my coffee, then. I want to drink it.” There’s a pause, one Charlie is so close to filling with a bubble of laughter, and then Mariana truly does give in. It’s funny, how quickly his shoulders slump over and he holds out the hand with an iced coffee and keys. Charlie giggles as he plucks the cup from his grasp and takes a sip. The creamer in it is sweet. He takes another drink of it. “Thank you,” He says. It’s almost mocking, a croon Mariana pretends to not take kindly to.

“Okay,” He grumbles. He hands off the paper bag to his now free hand and drops it down to his side. Mariana isn’t nearly as careful now that he only has to hold one drink, and he holds out the arm holding the muffin for Charlie to grab onto. He smiles up to him teasingly. Mariana rolls his eyes. Charlie feeds off the sweetness in it.

They exit the coffee shop, sun shining down on them, and Charlie smiles. It’s big and wide and innocent in a way that makes him feel aged as he stares down the whole world. The sky swallows them, but it’s still so empty, and Charlie feels like nothing, but then he looks down and sees his arm holding the coffee his Mariana bought him that loops around the same Mariana’s arm, and it doesn’t feel like that all even matters. He doesn’t have to be anything for the sky, or the sun, or the world. He’s fine with just being with Mariana. It’s simple, yes, but it’s complex to him in a way he will never see the sky.

Mariana opens the car door for him. Charlie calls him chivalrous, and Mariana laughs like he’s never heard a funnier comment. It makes him warm inside. Mariana gets in on the other side and begins driving them back home. Charlie sings along with one of the pop songs on the radio. Mariana hums along with him. They both know he doesn’t know the words. It’s still sweet how he tries to fit a few he can pick up into his humming. When they arrive back home, Charlie opens his own door, and Mariana pouts until Charlie tells him he’s still chivalrous. He laughs just like the first time. He gets warm just like the first time.

Though he said he wouldn’t, Charlie takes small sips from his coffee all the way up to the apartment. He’s no longer ready to crawl back into bed by the time they’ve gotten off the elevator. “Do you still want to go back to bed?” Mariana reads his mind as he slips the key into the knob of their door. Charlie doesn’t pretend to think on it.

“Not really, but I still wanna just, like, chill, y’know? Maybe watch TV or something,” He replies. Mariana hums as the key turns in its lock and he lets them both into the apartment. The sun bathes the floor and the living area through their clean windows. Charlie wants to lie in it and stay there all day like a cat. Instead, he opts to place his coffee on the counter and snatch his bag from Mariana. The paper is unfolded and his muffin is pulled out. Round and dark, chocolate puffing it up and oozing through its crevices, Charlie smiles at it. “Thank you,” He calls to Mariana. There’s a small laugh as he begins to shove it in his mouth like he’s never seen food.

This is how mornings should always go, he thinks to himself as he takes a large bite out of his baked good. Cuddles and coffee runs and laughter and love. He’s grinning hard through his chewing. If Mariana sees how stupid he looks, he doesn’t say anything about it. It’s nearly silent as Charlie devours his muffin. He doesn’t mind it. It’s nice, the silence. It’s intimate. Even though what they’re doing isn’t, he loves how they find a way to make every moment special. He smiles so hard he thinks his half-chewed food is going to shove its way through the split of his lips.

Mariana settles himself on the couch. Charlie continues eating his muffin, and when he’s finished, he joins his boyfriend. His arm is almost immediately slung over the back of the couch, the inside of his elbow kissing Charlie’s shoulders. The position is familiar. He loves it, leans into it, lets Mariana’s touch swallow him.

Mariana picks the show. Charlie doesn’t care enough to complain or bicker. He knows he won’t be paying attention. Mariana probably won’t, either. That’s the beauty of them. Charlie doesn’t even have to think about the stupid show when all he can feel are his boyfriend’s eyes tracing every slope and corner and line of his face.

“There’s chocolate on your face,” Mariana comments lightly. It parts their soft silence. Charlie turns his head from the television to him. He hadn’t even noticed the boy looking over at him. One of Charlie’s hands instinctively comes up to rub at his face. “Right here,” Mariana says, and he points at a spot just above one of the corners of his lips. Charlie smears his thumb over the spot. Mariana shakes his head. He picks another area. Another head shake.

“You wanna lick it off?” Charlie muses, grinning in stupidity. Mariana’s face screws up, and Charlie laughs, the sound echoing off of Mariana. “No, seriously, at least rub it off for me. I dunno where it is.” Mariana rolls his eyes, but he raises a hand and thumbs over a spot near his cheek. The rest of his fingers cup his jaw almost absentmindedly. Charlie lets the touch mold to his face.

“There you go,” Mariana says, leaning back as if to admire his work. His hand does not pull away from Charlie’s face. He doesn’t mind it. “You ate that super fast. It’s impressive that’s the only place there was chocolate,” He teases. Charlie rolls his eyes. When the action ends, he’s left staring at Mariana, both of them warm and sweet.

Mariana leans forward. Charlie quickly catches on and follows suit. They meet in the middle, lips pressing against each other, and it’s so nice Charlie could cry. Soft rosebud lips sweeten on his. The feeling of Mariana’s hand still set against his jaw is warming and nice. He feels like he could pass out, feeling a lovesick teenage girl getting her first kiss, even though this is the millionth time he’s kissed Mariana. It has not gotten old. He doesn’t think it could ever get old. He’s ot upset that it won’t.

Mariana pulls away slowly. Charlie can feel the smile pulling at his lips, and it widens at the sourness threatening Mariana’s face. His nose wrinkles. His glasses ride up with the action almost comically. “Coffee breath.” The suddenness of the comment is surprising to Charlie. He almost subconsciously checks his breath, but, realizing it will do nothing, he just grins up at him.

Charlie laughs. “You are…insatiable.” He complains lightheartedly. It’s Mariana’s turn to mirror his expression, a small smile creeping onto his face. His lips curve with it so sweetly Charlie thinks he could die. The apples of his cheeks are all rose and crushed brick, and his face is so endearingly upturned.

“Oh, you love me.” He says. It sounds like it’s meant to come off-handed, but there’s weight to it. Weight Charlie gladly bears.

He smiles up at his boyfriend, and it’s so wide he thinks his face will break. “I do.”