Work Text:
Charlie Brown stares at the wilting carnation Linus pinned to his shirt earlier. Outside, snowdrifts bury sidewalks like frosted cake, and Linus's living room smells faintly of microwave popcorn and the pinecone garland still draped over the mantel. Valentine's Day. Worst holiday ever invented.
"I know nobody likes me," Charlie mumbles, toeing a loose thread in the rug. "Why do we have to have a Valentine's Day to emphasize it?" His voice cracks halfway through. He wishes he hadn’t said it aloud.
Linus pauses mid-stride, balancing two sweating glasses of lemonade. He sets them down on the coffee table, scattering crayon drawings of anatomically improbable hearts.
"I like you," he says, simple as a math problem solved correctly.
He pulls a folded valentine from his back pocket—construction paper with glitter glue still tacky—and presses it into Charlie’s palm. Then, without fanfare, Linus leans in and kisses him. Quick. Dry. Like shutting a book. Charlie freezes. Linus’s lips are chapped, faintly lemony. And suddenly—suddenly—Charlie remembers: the time Linus kissed him after Charlie missed the game-winning kick last fall. And after the Christmas pageant, behind the auditorium curtains. And that Tuesday in October when Charlie cried over his failed kite. All those times Charlie thought Linus was just… being Linus. Weirdly affectionate.
Linus straightens up, adjusts his blanket. "Would you like a glass of lemonade?"
Charlie stares at the Valentine in his hand. *To CB*, it reads in Linus’s blocky print. *You’re okay. Love, Linus.* Realization crashes over him, cold and bright as the snow glare outside. Oh. Oh, wow. They’re—they’re dating. Aren’t they? Since when? Since forever, probably. He just hadn’t noticed.
"Uh," Charlie manages. His ears feel hot. "Yeah. Lemonade. Thanks." He takes the glass Linus offers, fingers brushing, and tries not to spill it everywhere.