The Charm Offensive(58)

He’s not. Charlie’s been carrying Dev’s duffle since they got off the plane. He wishes he could carry Dev, too, wishes he could scoop him into his arms. But Skylar is right in front of them, and Ryan is right behind them, and everywhere Charlie looks, there are reminders of all the reasons he can’t hold Dev through the rough parts. So, he says, “Another fun fact: did you know locals call the cloud coverage over Table Mountain the tablecloth?”

Dev looks up and rolls his eyes. Charlie will take it. It’s a reaction, at least.

For all Dev’s talk about “bouncing back,” and his insistence that he’s fine, the last few days in Munich were difficult. Dev’s recovery was more recursive than linear—more two steps forward, followed by a catatonic collapse back. Long stretches of silence, bursts of irritability, little crying spurts. But when Charlie asked what he needed, Dev would tell him, mostly, even if all he needed was space.

Charlie knows there is no magical cure-all for depression, just like there is no magical cure-all for anxiety, but he can’t help but want to make Dev feel better. To show him what he deserves. So he maybe did something slightly irrational in the service of cheering Dev up. Something Parisa had to fly to Cape Town to help him coordinate for the end of the week. Because fun facts alone obviously aren’t going to do the trick.



* * *



The show has booked a top-floor suite at a hotel in Green Point with three bedrooms for Charlie, Dev, and Jules. Since Parisa was supposed to go home after Munich, she has to convince a production manager to let her sleep on the couch in their suite, promising to keep everything pristine for filming Charlie’s confessionals the next morning.

“I’m not sleeping on the couch,” Parisa says as soon as it’s just the four of them. She drops her luggage in the first bedroom, and Jules claims the second, prompting a very awkward shuffle where Charlie and Dev pretend to be uncomfortable at the prospect of sharing the master. At least, Charlie’s pretending.

Jules puts her hands on her hips. “It’s a king-size bed. You’ll be fine. If you’re worried about cooties, build a pillow barrier down the middle of the bed,” she suggests, and then she slams her bedroom door in their faces.

Dev responds to the revelation that they’ll be sharing a bed for the next week by simply dropping his duffle on the floor and flopping backward onto the bed.

“Shoes,” Charlie scolds.

Dev sighs and kicks off his filthy shoes in a pile on the floor. Charlie props his suitcase up on the stand. He hangs his shirts, then his slacks, then—

“Can unpacking wait until morning?” Dev asks with his head in a pile of pillows.

“That’s how clothes wrinkle.”

Charlie is also maybe stalling a little bit.

“That’s what irons are for.”

“I do not believe you’ve ever used an iron in your life.”

When he’s done folding his shorts into dresser drawers, Charlie goes into the bathroom to perform his nighttime routine. Thirty minutes later, he comes out of the bathroom, and Dev is still lying on top of the bed in his khaki shorts, scrolling through his phone. “Are you going to change for bed?”

Dev turns toward him, heavy-lidded. “Are you going to come over here and help me?”

Charlie crosses his arms and leans against the bathroom doorframe. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Can you promise me something?” Dev squints one eye. “Promise you will always blush like you are right now.”

Charlie feels his face heat around the collar of his shirt. “I think I can safely make that promise, yeah.”

“Good. Now are you going to come to bed?”

Charlie wants to climb into bed next to Dev, but he can’t seem to unstick himself from the wall. They haven’t slept in the same bed since the one night in Munich, haven’t kissed since New Orleans, haven’t talked about any of it at all. They’re back to pretending like it never happened. And Dev—Dev is still so closed off. Charlie isn’t sure what he’s allowed, and if he climbs into bed next to Dev, he’s going to want all of it.

Dev studies his not-so-casual lean. “What are you doing over there?”

“Just looking.”

“Looking at what?”

“At you.” Dev nervously knocks his glasses up his nose with his knuckle. Charlie likes having the power to make Dev nervous, so he adds, “I like to look at you.”

Dev swallows, his face suddenly serious. “You shouldn’t say things like that to me.”

“Why not?”

“Because it makes it very difficult for me to keep my hands to myself.”

Charlie smiles. “That’s kind of the idea.”

He slowly approaches the bed—their bed, the bed they’ll be sharing for the next week. He feels as nervous as Dev looks. Nervous about the kissing, and about not talking about the kissing, not admitting what the kissing means. About what this is, about how it wasn’t supposed to happen. About how badly he wants it to happen.

Dev meets him at the edge of the bed. “You’re spiraling,” Dev whispers as he brushes his fingers along the ridge of Charlie’s twisted brow. Dev plants a kiss there, in the place where Charlie’s eyebrows bunch in the middle. “Tell me what you need.”

Charlie needs to kiss him, so he does. And when Dev kisses him back, the spiral loosens. Dev traces Charlie’s bottom lip with his tongue, and when Charlie opens for him, everything shifts around the fixed point of where they come together. Hands in his hair and hands up his shirt, and Dev’s tongue and Dev’s teeth, falling back onto the bed, the beautiful asymmetry of their bodies. Moving quickly. Too quickly.