Play It Again, Charlie (28 page)

“Will,” Charlie warned. Will sat up and then leaned backward, crossing his arms.

“He was cute, I guess.” Will's tone cooled at that admission. “Smart, even if he doesn't properly appreciate
Cabaret
. Can I have a beer?”

Charlie pointed to his glass. “Cake,” he said, and Will blanched, then scowled at him. “Finish your water first. You really don't look good.”

“At least I'm not wearing khakis,” Will grumbled, but he took another sip of water. “You really know how to flatter, Charlie.”

“I think everyone understands that you didn't like Mark, Will,” Charlie snapped back, then he jumped to get a spoon to stir the pasta. He picked out a piece and flung it against the wall when he didn't feel like tasting it. It didn't quite stick and landed on the counter. Will's eyes went wide. “And heaven forbid I think you should eat something before you get drunk again. What?”

Will was staring. Then, with Charlie watching, he drank some more water and licked it from his mouth.

“I don't think he liked me either.” Will's mouth turned up smugly when he was done. Charlie rolled his eyes, then turned off the stove. He was busy draining and adding pieces of butter to the hot pasta for the next few minutes, then sprinkling cheese over the top. He spooned some onto a plate and put it in front of Will. He handed him a fork when he sat down with his own plate, then looked over through the steam.

“I know it's not exciting, but... .”

“It's fine, Charlie, really.” Will had some on his fork already. “Thank you.” Charlie shrugged and watched Will eat for a moment before digging into his own.

“It's easier to cook for two.” He dismissed it, and Will arched an eyebrow but didn't comment. Which was good, Charlie wasn't sure what he'd say if Will kept pressing him about Mark and Mark's pants. He choked a little at the idea of asking more about that, not sure what Will would have to say about what Charlie had been wearing when Will had first seen him: an old suit with a tie his sister had picked out.

He looked over again, and Will was cleaning his plate in record time. He froze with a guilty look on his face when he saw Charlie watching him.

“Guess I may have forgotten to feed myself. Unless lime counts?” His innocent blink was sort of adorable. Charlie breathed out.

“Not when soaked in vodka.” It was the last thing said for another few minutes, and he felt his shoulders start to ease back down. Though that could have been the alcohol. Will burped when he was done, then shot an embarrassed look at Charlie, as though after everything inappropriate he'd said and done, the burp had been too much.

“Nice.”

At that, Will grinned sheepishly, then leaned back again, patting his stomach. He wasn't moving, wasn't getting up and saying good night or gulping his water and grabbing a beer. Charlie swept a quick look over him and then chewed his food for another few minutes. “Will,” he said, and the apartment was quiet again, though he could hear the news in the background. “Why... .” He could do this. “Why don't you go relax? Or grab your movie, if you wanted to borrow it.” Charlie swallowed and cleared his throat. He had a bite or two left. “I'll clean up and be in in a sec.”

“I can help,” Will instantly offered, half standing, but Charlie waved him off. “I know, I know, it's fine,” Will spoke for him, then looked superior as he emptied his water glass and set it back on the table like he was at a bar and it had been filled with whiskey. He narrowed his eyes but didn't go for a beer. It was a challenge, and Charlie really wasn't in the mood.

“I'm not useless.” Charlie didn't want to read his expression and heard his voice go up. He felt horrible the moment he said it and met Will's gaze, only to blink when Will didn't look upset.

“Charlie.” Will put a hand on his hip. “You are talking to someone who knows for a
fact
that you aren't useless.” He rolled his eyes. “Honestly.” And with that, he turned and went into the living room.

Charlie breathed out, then snuck his last forkful as he got up, gathering up plates and carrying them to the sink. He had to gulp more beer to get the pasta down and felt his face heat as he turned on the water and reached for the sponge. Will was... just too much for him to even try to think about right now.

He couldn't hear anything but the water for a few minutes, and then, when everything was stacked on top of a towel, he grabbed his beer and stepped carefully around the corner.

Will was lying on the couch, his head propped up on two of the cat pillows, another at his feet. His shoes were on the floor. He looked over when Charlie appeared, and was warm enough now that he'd eaten that his cheeks were pink.

“Sorry,” he said softly. “But your couch is pretty comfortable, as couches go.” He made like he was going to get up, and Charlie waved again to let him know it was all right. He was glad his couch was comfortable, really. He glanced over instead and stopped when he saw
The Maltese Falcon
playing on the TV. “Is that okay?” Will asked. “I can turn it off, but you said before... .”

“Will.” Charlie took a sip, then realized the bottle was empty. No wonder he was warm and getting lethargic. He set the bottle down on his desk and then crossed over to his big chair and sat down. When Will settled back down, all Charlie could see were spikes of his hair and his jeans. He had on white socks.

Charlie's laptop was wedged between the arm and the cushion of the chair. He left it there and pushed back against the seat.

“You know, this movie is practically the originator of film noir,” Will commented, and Charlie imagined he was staring at the screen with a mesmerized expression despite having seen the film enough times to quote it word for word. “The costumes, the camera work, the lighting, the femme fatale.” He gave a happy sigh. “That's just one reason to love it, and I'm not even going into all the gay floating around in there. And then, of course, Bogie.”

Will moved, giving Charlie a sly look over the top of a pillow before sliding back down.

“I don't look anything like him,” Charlie remarked, coughing a bit as the camera swooped in on the name on the office door. He looked over at Will, but Will's attention was fixed on the screen.

“It isn't about looks, Charlie.” Will was off-hand, so Charlie tried to focus back on the TV. Seeing San Francisco like that surprised him; he'd forgotten the movie was set in the city. The fog was atmospheric, pretty and sinister at once. The moment the girl appeared, Charlie glanced back over at Will.

Will had a hand on the pillow, almost under his cheek, and breathed out quietly.

“Charlie?” he asked, and then he surprised him. “Did I mess things up?” He didn't look up, but Charlie hid his frown anyway. “I didn't mean to,” he went on, and Charlie rubbed at his mouth. “Well, actually, I did mean to, but I probably shouldn't have, right?” The actress in the movie had a trembling, lilting voice, polished, and as close as it was to Will's normal voice, it sounded nothing like him now. “I don't know why I... .” He made a frustrated noise.

“You didn't mess up anything that wasn't already messed up,” Charlie told him after too long of a pause, then he couldn't think of anything else to add. But he had a feeling Will was waiting for more and shook his head. “Don't worry about it,” he said finally, then he tried to follow what was happening onscreen.

The movie dialogue was quick and quiet. He noticed the lines Will had referenced before and expected Will to make a joke. But Will was silent, motionless. He didn't explain where “all the gay floating around” was either, unless he'd meant Peter Lorre's character. Charlie glanced over at him a few times as the movie played out, lie after double cross, and jumped once when Sam jumped onto the back of the chair rather than onto the couch in a statement about Will's presence.

Charlie made himself stop looking at Will about an hour in, leaning back in his chair and letting the mystery play out without trying to solve it. He wasn't feeling smart at the moment. He wasn't sure about anything, except that Will wasn't speaking to him.

“Will?” he asked when he couldn't stand the quiet anymore, and then he leaned forward when there wasn't an answer.

Will had his eyes closed, his cheek crushed against a cat pillow in an unflattering way, and was breathing slowly in and out. Charlie stared for a moment, then leaned back in the chair. He'd known Will had been tired; he just hadn't expected he'd put Will to sleep. But maybe Will
had
seen the movie too many times. Or maybe he was right, and it had just been a long day.

Charlie let Humphrey Bogart send the woman he possibly loved away and then got up to turn off both the TV and DVD player. He put the DVD back in its rental case and slid his laptop back onto the desk. Will didn't move the entire time, and Charlie stopped by the couch to consider him. He looked at Sam, who didn't acknowledge him, and then sighed and went into the bedroom. He came back with an extra blanket and draped it carefully over Will's sleeping form, already aware that Will was going to have something to say about that in the morning.

Will didn't twitch for that either, and Charlie was glad he hadn't woken him up. He switched off the lights and jerked his head at Sam before walking into the bedroom to get ready for bed. Sam, at least, perked up at the thought of sleeping with him.

Charlie smiled tiredly at the thought, ready to pass out himself.

He wasn't sure if it was the light or the movement that woke him up, but Charlie went still and stared into the dark as his eyes adjusted. There was a thin beam of light shining from underneath the door to his bathroom. He put a hand to his pillow and pushed himself part of the way up before he remembered Will had been sleeping on his couch.

The living room was still dark, and there wasn't much light coming from outside, either, although there was a slight draft of cool air. Charlie made out a lump at the foot of the bed that was probably Sam and then turned back toward the bathroom when the door opened. The light blinded him and he closed his eyes, Will's silhouette lingering in his vision. He could hear Will whispering over the sound of the toilet flushing.

“Sorry.” Will's voice was husky with sleep until he cleared it. “
Someone
insisted I drink a bunch of water.”

Charlie opened his eyes, and Will turned off the bathroom light. “Sorry,” Will said again, and then he moved, or rather tripped, over Charlie's pants, which Charlie had left on the floor by the bed, too tired to bother with his laundry pile. Will bumped against the bed before he straightened. “Oh my God, I'm sorry.”

“Will,” Charlie sighed, and then he sat up the rest of the way and reached out to turn on the lamp on his nightstand. They both blinked and squinted at the influx of light, though it was dimmer than the bathroom light and not nearly as harsh.

Will was at the edge of the bed, still in his rumpled and twisted clothes. His belt was still on too, and Charlie winced at the marks Will probably had on his skin since he'd slept on it. His hair was mostly stuck in one direction, and it looked like there was something on his face, like a shadow. It could have been stubble except that it seemed concentrated on one side.

Charlie scooted up against the headboard and rubbed at his face. The alarm clock said it was very late— or early, he supposed. He couldn't even hear distant traffic through the open window. He scratched at his shoulder and saw Will's attention focus on him. He was wearing the same thing he usually wore unless the weather was cold, a T-shirt and his underwear, though Will could only see his shirt right now since the rest of him was under the blankets.

“Did you know Sam was in bed with you?” Will asked. Charlie tried to clear the sleep from his voice, then nodded. Will smiled. “It's so cute.” So far, Sam was refusing to move or admit to being awake, though he had to be. Will reached out as though considering petting him, then changed his mind.

“Anyway.” Will took a moment to twist his clothes back to where they were supposed to be. “It's chilly out there. And those pillows are itchy. I
have
to ask, Charlie, I can't take it anymore. Why do you have those hideous things?”

“My sister Ann made them.” He was going to have to throw them out, otherwise everyone was going to have something to say about them. Ann had probably moved on to a new hobby by now, anyway. Hopefully. Maybe Charlie would keep one, and have it out for when she visited.

“Oh.” Will looked dismayed, apparently understanding siblings with hurt feelings and anticipating the pillows being around for a while. Charlie bit his lip, then gave up.

“They're awful, I know.”

“Not to mention no good for sleeping on.” Will smiled, then tugged on his shirt and shivered. “And it's, um, surprisingly cold,” he offered, then he yanked on his shirt again and let it go. “I don't think I'm gonna head back upstairs yet, if that's okay.”

Will wanted to stay out on the couch? Charlie stared at him, his face stuck in a tired frown. “It's cold?” The draft
was
cool, but it was hardly winter. Will shivered again despite being fully clothed, and Charlie shut his mouth before he could say anything else stupid. Will looked serious and lowered his voice even more.

“Yeah, Charlie. In fact,” he said as he shifted, “while it was sweet of you to tuck me in and everything, I was wondering if I could just sleep in here. With you,” he added, in case Charlie didn't grasp the full picture.

Charlie was caught midway between forming an irritated response to the tucking-Will-in comment and trying to breathe normally. He shifted to put more of his back, and his pillow, against the headboard, not looking away, because Will was waiting. He counted off seconds, not too fast, but not slow, then swallowed.

“I... okay. If you want to,” he whispered back. He could have smacked himself at how uncertain he sounded, but Will lifted his head. He seemed about to smile, but then hesitated and walked around to the other side of the bed. He glanced over at Charlie before stripping off his outer shirt, slipping it from his arms in one practiced move. Charlie wasn't sure if he was supposed to avert his eyes or not. He flushed at his own stupidity and looked at Sam, who had stopped pretending to sleep and was now watching Will with his ears up.