[Chuck wills himself not to think about it either. It's a good thing he's used to thinking about everything and anything, and quickly he can replace thoughts of Mike's calluses running across his skin, and memories of his name being whispered and breathed in gasps against his own cheek - he focuses on other things.
He thinks of the cars' safety systems. He plays the various noises Mutt makes when Mike switches gears, and he replays the feeling when the wheels hit a bump. In his mind he pulls up the holograms and works on the endless programming, hiding all other thoughts behind lines of numbers, letters, barely intelligible symbols. It's much easier like that, and before he knows it he's finished and climbing out of the shower, grabbing his towel to dry himself.
He stares at the rack. Mike's towel is right there. He has to fight the urge to lean closer and take a sniff, maybe even bury his face into it a little. (He manages not to do it; mostly because he knows Mike would be able to tell later.)
He swats the thoughts away and quickly moves to put on his clothes and fix his hair. Not that he needs to do much, it always falls in the same way, even when Chuck doesn't comb it.]
[And he's making his way to the bathroom, hearing the piping soothe down from the rush of the water after it's closed. He rasps his knuckles on the door, opening it without waiting for an answer - normally he would, but Mike and Chuck have shared the bathroom, the room, the food, the car [everything now], plenty of times, and he figures it's not any different.
[And it's not any different really - Chuck jumps a little in surprise, but it's more out of habit than anything. He's happy to notice that, even when everything changes, it all still remains the same.
He nods as he moves to grab his toothbrush.] Yeah, come in.
Thanks. [He's already inside as Chuck tells him to come in, tugging at his shirt with one arm and reaching for the water knob with the other, stopping when his stretched arm makes it only able to slip out of his back and head, and then finally taking it off fully - dropping it on the floor, uops, he'll pick it up, Chuck, don't worry - to test the water with his hand.] How's the water when you had yours?
It was-- [He looks up from the sink to answer Mike and gets treated to a reflection of Mike's back. Okay, so maybe he should have been expected that, but still it came as a surprise. He nearly chokes on the toothpaste, and leans back down to both spit it out and break eye contact.] ... hot.
[Chuck just shoots a thumbs-up, making it a point to not lift his gaze until Mike is actually inside the shower and out of view.] I'm cool, no worries!!
[He shrugs.] If you say so! [And he tests the water again, lip quirking when he finds it at least warm enough, pushes his boxers off - with an elastic old enough to not need much pushing - and dropping it into the pile with the shirt as he steps into the shower.
A sigh. He had been aiming at a cold shower but a tepid one was good enough to not feel the shiver and yet not ease the tension of his muscles too much. Just perfect.]
[Chuck makes quick work of brushing his teeth, then grabs his own dirty clothes before walking out.
Once he shuts the door behind him, he rests his back against the wall. It's puzzling. Considering what they just did, and how this was so usual for them before, he shouldn't have been this flustered. His heart shouldn't be threatening to beat right out of his chest and his world shouldn't look so small. But it does.
He sighs deeply , hand resting over his stomach. He can see things changing - the taste of the toothpaste in the morning, the white noise when he lies in bed at night, and Mike's smile - and it scares him because he knows they won't be able to just not talk about it for too long.
He makes a bundle with his clothes and moves back to Mike's room, to gather whatever things he left scattered about.]
[The shower cleans him, but aside from the sweat, the sand in his eyes, the remains of the mess they did on the bed, he didn't feel dirty at all. Which was slightly new to Mike. He usually made sure his hands were washed thoroughly, but right then, he only made a quick work of his body and hair to make sure the water doesn't turn cold at the last second, and comes out of the shower.
After drying himself off, he wraps the towel around his waist and checks himself in the mirror, just to make sure if he should shave. He was still young, after all. The hair on his face still took a while to grow back after a cut. So he pads barefoot to his room, shoulders hunching at the dry and cold air outside the bathroom.] Hey. We need to get soap. It's almost running out.
Yeah... [He looks up from where he's crouching near the bed, folding his clothes, and really, big mistake. He knew, should have noticed Mike didn't really bring any clothes with him into the bathroom - he should have seen it coming before it actually happened, Mike heading down to the room wrapped in only a towel, hair still dripping onto his shoulders and...
And he looks away, clearing his throat.] Y-yeah! [There's that nervous giggle, that turns into a hum, somewhere between awkward and pleased. Because he won't deny to himself the new, smug feeling it settled on him, knowing what happened earlier, and that he could drive Mike that far, that fast.]
I noticed too, mmhm. [He nods, attention back on his clothes. (Mostly.)]
[The repetition strikes Mike as odd. Chuck was often nervous about something - a beansprout body resonating everywhere all the time - but he was usually eloquent when he wasn't. Which meant he was incredibly distracted, even if folding clothes wasn't a millenarian tactic that needed utter concentration, or he was nervous.
The reason for such nervousness, Mike reckons as he puts on his boxers and gives a little jump to pull up his pants, he has no idea what it can be--
[Really, he has to wonder, even if only for a moment, if Mike is even doing this on purpose. One could guess he's both nervous and distracted; folding clothes can't be quite as attention-grabbing as... the current alternative, after all.
He finds himself staring, although barely glancing over his shoulder, looking scattered around the room as Mike speaks, and promptly grabbing one of Mike's shirts off the floor and tossing it haphazardly at him.] Here.
[Mike makes a quick job of putting it on, padding over to Chuck. The shirt is slightly riddled with creases from being thrown onto the floor, but he knows it'll straighten out with time.
Now to straighten something else out first.
He did not do it on purpose - he actually couldn't find his shirt - but he knew that something was up. Knew that Chuck was nervous about seeing him naked. What happened when they woke up really does change things, he found, because as he made his way towards Chuck, his hand itched to brush over the freckles peeking above the back of his collar.
He doesn't do that, though. Instead he's doing something that'll more than likely get his best friend more nervous.]
This is better, right? [He says as he crouches beside him, very quietly, putting the cards on the table gently.]
[Chuck doesn't get it, doesn't make the connection between Mike's choice of words and what he is actually asking him. So he perks his head up, finding it much easier to look back at Mike now that they're closer, eyebrows arched in a silent, questioning hum.]
... oh. [And Chuck almost looks away again - almost, but he stops himself from doing it because he knows Mike would read too much into it. Well, maybe not too much.
He swallows dry, and tries to play it cool - failing miserably, mind you. His voice is a little shaky, even, much like his flailing hands.]
That's 'cause, oh gee man I'm sorry, actually I though I was having problems not looking at you so I guess I was just trying not to... stare... because, you know... uh.
[His own words hit him with the speed and force of a meteor, and he winces inwardly.] I'll just. Shut up now.
[It's not really how Chuck ends up saying it, but what he's saying that makes his lips part, his eyes widen just a little. He knew that Chuck had a bit of trouble looking at him so exposed, but not to the point of staring.
He closes his mouth, sighs through his nose, shoulders rising and falling to a relaxed slump. He smiles, a little flustered, looking down and then peeking at Chuck.] I wouldn't mind if you stared. I mean, I stare a lot at you even with clothes.
[A quirk of his lips] You have really distracting freckles everywhere.
[That's a knowledge Chuck could have lived without. It makes him flush deeply, thoughts stammering in his brain more than they would if he turned them to words, and he can literally feel his heart swelling in his chest, because Mike didn't just say he had freckles everywhere, he had to use that expression - really distracting freckles everywhere. And Chuck doesn't really like to have so many freckles that go everywhere, but somehow the fact that Mike likes to stare at them (at him) makes it kind of alright.
But mostly he could have gone without the first observation. Because, really, he stared at him? A lot? Since when? For how long? Why didn't he ever notice? He would replay every single quiet moment they had if he could, but mostly, this knowledge wouldn't die down, his self-awareness would kick in at the most random moments now, he knows, and he can already imagine the feeling of Mike's gaze digging into his skin.
He blinks, wide-eyed, before he scuffs, makes a dismissive sound with his lips puckered - it sounds a lot like a pfffffftt -, hopes it drowns the fluster, awkwardness and all that overthinking on his end. He instinctively reaches a hand to shield the skin of his own neck, adding in what probably sounds like a sighed complaint.] I know...
What I mean by this is... [He moves a little to place his weight better on his ankles, decides on resting a knee on the floor instead, running a hand through his wet hair. Because in essence, the problem isn't about staring or not, it's not about being comfortable about their own or the other's body and how long one looks at the other. It goes slightly further than that.
Because Mike has been looking and staring at Chuck all this while, while he was working, while he played videogames, while Chuck was looking at Claire and while Chuck settles on Mutt whenever there's another safety feature installed. It's what Mike does, because he looks at everyone already and he lingers more in Chuck because it's him, the one guy who sticks with him no matter what and makes most of the hardships worth-while.
What had happened that morning changed the way he looked at him, sure. He's noticed that since he opened his eyes and found Chuck catching his breath with his hand on his hip.]
No matter what changes, from now on, I'm pretty sure I'll be okay with it. [Or, optimism aside:] Or that we can work it out. Trust me.
[Chuck purses his lips again as he hears Mike. It goes without saying, of course, so he'll spare the words - he trusts Mike, he always does, even when he's too scared or too unsure, he always knows Mike's guts and instinct will always compensate for whatever he's lacking at that particular moment.
The case is a little different now, though, because Chuck can't leave it up to just Mike - he has to be sure about it, whatever it is. There has to be common ground and the both of them have to move forward an equal amount of steps.
There's a whole process. He smiles, then bites his lips; he tucks his hair behind his ear, and distracts the strands with his fingertips; he inhales deeply, holds his breath for a while - and finally, he nods.]
I think I'll be okay with whatever too. [And he's pretty much sure about this. Pretty much works for Chuck.]
[At that, Mike grins. His relief radiates in waves as his shoulders relax and his neck arches a little. It's not that he didn't know Chuck's probable reaction, it's that this was all so very new to him that he was afraid both of them were heading towards different directions, now that their minds are clear. ] I'm glad.
[Hand on his knee, he smiles.] Let's go get breakfast.
[Chuck's stomach, as usual, grumbles at the mention of food. He grins sheepishly and nods, getting up from the floor.]
Ugh, yes please. I'm starving.
[He picks up his pile of folded clothes and sets them on top of the bed, adding with some dread.] But none of Jacob's cooking. I'm pretty sure I saw a piece of the cake he made yesterday crawl out of the plate.
[ Mike grins, standing up as well, shrugging at the memory. He did spot the cake moving, but he had no idea if it did move out of the plate. He makes his way through the hallway, smile thrown over his shoulder.]
[Chuck shrugs as he thinks about the question, following Mike down the hall.]
I'm gonna guess something like pancakes isn't happening, is it.
[He asks hopefully, even if he knows neither of them can make pancakes, and that the ingredients to make them are scarce to say the least. Can't blame a guy for trying, though.]
Guess cereals are cool. Or those toasts you talked about earlier.
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He thinks of the cars' safety systems. He plays the various noises Mutt makes when Mike switches gears, and he replays the feeling when the wheels hit a bump. In his mind he pulls up the holograms and works on the endless programming, hiding all other thoughts behind lines of numbers, letters, barely intelligible symbols. It's much easier like that, and before he knows it he's finished and climbing out of the shower, grabbing his towel to dry himself.
He stares at the rack. Mike's towel is right there. He has to fight the urge to lean closer and take a sniff, maybe even bury his face into it a little. (He manages not to do it; mostly because he knows Mike would be able to tell later.)
He swats the thoughts away and quickly moves to put on his clothes and fix his hair. Not that he needs to do much, it always falls in the same way, even when Chuck doesn't comb it.]
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He peeks his head in, grinning.] You decent?
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He nods as he moves to grab his toothbrush.] Yeah, come in.
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... it was hot.
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A sigh. He had been aiming at a cold shower but a tepid one was good enough to not feel the shiver and yet not ease the tension of his muscles too much. Just perfect.]
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Once he shuts the door behind him, he rests his back against the wall. It's puzzling. Considering what they just did, and how this was so usual for them before, he shouldn't have been this flustered. His heart shouldn't be threatening to beat right out of his chest and his world shouldn't look so small. But it does.
He sighs deeply , hand resting over his stomach. He can see things changing - the taste of the toothpaste in the morning, the white noise when he lies in bed at night, and Mike's smile - and it scares him because he knows they won't be able to just not talk about it for too long.
He makes a bundle with his clothes and moves back to Mike's room, to gather whatever things he left scattered about.]
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After drying himself off, he wraps the towel around his waist and checks himself in the mirror, just to make sure if he should shave. He was still young, after all. The hair on his face still took a while to grow back after a cut. So he pads barefoot to his room, shoulders hunching at the dry and cold air outside the bathroom.] Hey. We need to get soap. It's almost running out.
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And he looks away, clearing his throat.] Y-yeah! [There's that nervous giggle, that turns into a hum, somewhere between awkward and pleased. Because he won't deny to himself the new, smug feeling it settled on him, knowing what happened earlier, and that he could drive Mike that far, that fast.]
I noticed too, mmhm. [He nods, attention back on his clothes. (Mostly.)]
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The reason for such nervousness, Mike reckons as he puts on his boxers and gives a little jump to pull up his pants, he has no idea what it can be--
Hm.] Have you seen my shirt? The white one?
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He finds himself staring, although barely glancing over his shoulder, looking scattered around the room as Mike speaks, and promptly grabbing one of Mike's shirts off the floor and tossing it haphazardly at him.] Here.
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Now to straighten something else out first.
He did not do it on purpose - he actually couldn't find his shirt - but he knew that something was up. Knew that Chuck was nervous about seeing him naked. What happened when they woke up really does change things, he found, because as he made his way towards Chuck, his hand itched to brush over the freckles peeking above the back of his collar.
He doesn't do that, though. Instead he's doing something that'll more than likely get his best friend more nervous.]
This is better, right? [He says as he crouches beside him, very quietly, putting the cards on the table gently.]
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Is what better?
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He swallows dry, and tries to play it cool - failing miserably, mind you. His voice is a little shaky, even, much like his flailing hands.]
That's 'cause, oh gee man I'm sorry, actually I though I was having problems not looking at you so I guess I was just trying not to... stare... because, you know... uh.
[His own words hit him with the speed and force of a meteor, and he winces inwardly.] I'll just. Shut up now.
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He closes his mouth, sighs through his nose, shoulders rising and falling to a relaxed slump. He smiles, a little flustered, looking down and then peeking at Chuck.] I wouldn't mind if you stared. I mean, I stare a lot at you even with clothes.
[A quirk of his lips] You have really distracting freckles everywhere.
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But mostly he could have gone without the first observation. Because, really, he stared at him? A lot? Since when? For how long? Why didn't he ever notice? He would replay every single quiet moment they had if he could, but mostly, this knowledge wouldn't die down, his self-awareness would kick in at the most random moments now, he knows, and he can already imagine the feeling of Mike's gaze digging into his skin.
He blinks, wide-eyed, before he scuffs, makes a dismissive sound with his lips puckered - it sounds a lot like a pfffffftt -, hopes it drowns the fluster, awkwardness and all that overthinking on his end. He instinctively reaches a hand to shield the skin of his own neck, adding in what probably sounds like a sighed complaint.] I know...
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Because Mike has been looking and staring at Chuck all this while, while he was working, while he played videogames, while Chuck was looking at Claire and while Chuck settles on Mutt whenever there's another safety feature installed. It's what Mike does, because he looks at everyone already and he lingers more in Chuck because it's him, the one guy who sticks with him no matter what and makes most of the hardships worth-while.
What had happened that morning changed the way he looked at him, sure. He's noticed that since he opened his eyes and found Chuck catching his breath with his hand on his hip.]
No matter what changes, from now on, I'm pretty sure I'll be okay with it. [Or, optimism aside:] Or that we can work it out. Trust me.
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The case is a little different now, though, because Chuck can't leave it up to just Mike - he has to be sure about it, whatever it is. There has to be common ground and the both of them have to move forward an equal amount of steps.
There's a whole process. He smiles, then bites his lips; he tucks his hair behind his ear, and distracts the strands with his fingertips; he inhales deeply, holds his breath for a while - and finally, he nods.]
I think I'll be okay with whatever too. [And he's pretty much sure about this. Pretty much works for Chuck.]
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[Hand on his knee, he smiles.] Let's go get breakfast.
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Ugh, yes please. I'm starving.
[He picks up his pile of folded clothes and sets them on top of the bed, adding with some dread.] But none of Jacob's cooking. I'm pretty sure I saw a piece of the cake he made yesterday crawl out of the plate.
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Want anything in particular?
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I'm gonna guess something like pancakes isn't happening, is it.
[He asks hopefully, even if he knows neither of them can make pancakes, and that the ingredients to make them are scarce to say the least. Can't blame a guy for trying, though.]
Guess cereals are cool. Or those toasts you talked about earlier.
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heheheheheheheheheheheheh
goddamnit.
HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHHEHEHEHEHEH
GO TO YOUR ROOM
NNNNO
BAD PUPPY
WROOF
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I'm laughing like a lunatic
yes perfect
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I literally just squeaked
Pretty sure it didn't sound worse than me when I read that tag
I wouldn't be so sure
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