Chapter Text
Somehow, Pim and Charlie make it home.
Pim doesn’t remember most of it. His memories of the previous night start off hazy: sitting with Charlie, body heavy and defeated at how much his own family hates him, the faint and fleeting comfort being with Charlie provides buzzing in his fingertips. He remembers when the two eventually got up and left the party, flipping Amy off as they passed.
At the time it had felt nice - the shocked expression on his face had even cheered him up a little. Now that cheer has drained from his body and left him tired and guilty - he can’t even understand how he managed to feel so gleeful about it.
He should probably apologise to her, right…?
No. No, he remembers as soon as the thought enters his mind. Pim had told Charlie he’d distance himself more from his family going forward, he remembers that now. And Amy… she had said some horrible things to him last night. Those words are still vivid in his memory, far more painful than anything his parents have ever said to him.
She hates him. How had things gotten so bad between them both? What had Pim done?
These thoughts are like a weight on Pim’s chest, making his breathing rasp around them. He groans, rolling onto his side and curling up, yanking the duvet until it covers his head and he can bury his face in his hands. It hurts. It hurts to think about and so he does his best to block that memory from his mind and focus on recalling the rest of the night. Or morning, maybe.
Right. That’s right. Two two of them had got in the car and drove away, giggling at the look on Amy’s face - but he’s not thinking about that - and Charlie had talked Pim into pulling over a few blocks away, pulling out a few bottles of alcohol from the glove compartment.
Pim had frowned at Charlie for that and asked him when the yellow man had hidden those bottles, but he had gratefully taken one of them and drank it. They had drunk at least one bottle, Pim remembers, getting more giggly and less upset with everything until they went back home, and - well, Pim’s memory goes black here. Had he driven the car drunk? Oh God, was it alright?
He rolls onto his other side and freezes, brain short-circulating at what he sees. Beside him, Charlie snorts in his sleep, drool spilling out of his mouth and onto the pillow where it joins a slowly growing puddle. Pim chokes out a quick squeak, scrambling back out of bed and onto the floor, hands over his mouth in shock.
What happened last night???
He examines his body quickly: he is in his pajamas, still wearing one of his socks for some reason. Is Charlie dressed too then in the pajamas Pim had to go back to the store to buy because they had forgotten to buy some with the rest of Charlie’s clothes? Or is Charlie - and Pim feels his face burn at this thought so much it’s nearly painful - naked under the duvet? Did they…
Nope. He can’t think about this with Charlie fast asleep in the bed right there - he can already feel just how scarlet his face is right now. Without a single glance back towards the sleeping man in his bed, Pim flees into the sitting room, letting the door swing shut on Charlie and everything his presence in the bed might mean. This room is quiet and empty, a safe space from everything Pim really doesn’t want to think about right now. It is exactly the same as it was yesterday and every day before - save for the discarded clothes crumpled on the ground.
Okay. Right. Laundry.
Pim scoops the clothes, noticing the alcohol stains on Charlie’s shirt and quietly thanking Charlie that he didn’t go overboard with helping Pim out last night. If you were being extremely charitable - and Pim tries his absolute best to do so - you could call Charlie a little bit of an obnoxious drunk. At least he had just stood up for Pim and been there for the smaller man, even if he had been a bit brusque at times. No one had been punched. Nothing seriously bad had happened - nothing caused by Charlie at least, Pim amends with a wince before banishing that thought from his mind.
He reaches for his phone, finding it half-wedged in a couch cushion. There are a lot of unread texts and phone calls from numerous cousins and aunts and uncles displayed on the lock screen and the pink critter grimaces as he scrolls through them all and dismisses them one by one.
None from them are from his parents or Amy.
Throat tightening, Pim plugs his phone in to charge and leaves it on the side table. It was nearly dead anyway. It’s fine. The laundry is much more pressing than all of that anyway. If he doesn’t wash all of these clothes what will Charlie and Pim wear today? They’d probably just have to go naked -
Nope.
He throws the clothes into the washing machine a little harder than normal and adds a little more fabric softener than usual so their clothes will be especially comfortable today and lets the machine start. The noise of the washing machine is rhythmic, soothing, a gentle thud-thud -thud that calms Pim’s somewhat frazzled nerves and slows his breathing. His eyes creep closed and he jerks back awake a second later, legs trembling underneath him as he looks around the room with wide, tired eyes.
Back to the couch then, Pim decides and scurries back over to it, tired body sinking into the sofa like it could swallow him whole. Charlie’s duvet (a blanket he’s been sleeping under for the past few days) is laying on the opposite end of the sofa and Pim lazily grabs it and pulls it over his body, instantly feeling a million times cosier.
Now what? Should he go back to sleep? What time even is it? Pim pulls the TV remote over and switches the TV on, quickly and frantically muting it before the noise wakes Charlie up. It starts to play another Mr Frog movie - just as terrible as the Christmas movie they watched a few days ago - and Pim watches Mr Frog run around faster than the speed of sound, mouth opening and closing as he silently monologues about eating bugs or something to that effect.
The clock on the bottom of the screen kindly informs Pim that is is 6:37am. Pim glances back to the bedroom door, considering getting back into bed beside Charlie and pretending to be shocked by Charlie’s presence when they both wake up again - but no. The sofa is far too warm and comfortable for that.
Just like before, Pim’s eyes flutter closed, that thudding noise more relaxing to him than any lullaby he has ever heard. This time his eyes’ don’t reopen.
Blinding red snow, warm and sticky and half-solid - blood in the snow. Pink hands - Pim’s hands - tear through it, pulling up clumps like he can put Charlie back together like Humpty Dumpty and all the King’s men.
Did you know, Pim had told Amy once like it was the most interesting fact anyone has ever heard, that they never actually said Humpty Dumpty was an egg. Everyone just assumed that.
The two of them are walking home from school together, the sun beating down on them like it did in Australia and Amy’s pace picks up until she is walking far ahead of him. Pim watches her walk away and frowns, speeding up so he can keep talking to her. She must want to get home soon - why else would she do that? It’s not like she doesn’t want to talk to Pim or that she hates him or -
Pim trips because of course he does, landing in a snow so red and cold that it burns. Allan and Glep are behind him, he can feel their horrified gazes on Pim’s back as he lifts his hands up from the snow, stained with a blood he can never wash out.
His gaze travels upwards, away from the snow and the blood and he can’t help but cry out when he sees it, scrambling backwards, tears already in his eyes and falling down his face. Maggots writhe in the Charlie’s flesh and blood drips from shattered bones and Pim sobs and sobs and sobs -
And then Pim wakes up, eyes snapping open like someone has just screamed in his ears. For a moment he pants, looking frantically around the room until it all comes back to him and he sighs. That’s right, he’s in his own apartment, Charlie is asleep in the bedroom and he isn’t talking to Amy now (but maybe in a month things will be better between them?).
Everything is fine. He’s fine.
The room is eerily silent. The laundry cycle must have finished while Pim was asleep. He slides off the sofa and to his feet, wrapping the blanket around his short body to keep the cold out as he slowly pads over to the now still washing machine.
“I should buy slippers,” Pim mumbles under his breath, shuddering at the coldness of the floor against his bare feet. “I wonder if Charlie would like a pair too?”
This subtle reference to Charlie’s feet inspires no strange and awkward feelings nor sudden blushing and Pim gets to work taking all the clothes out, methodically putting the ones he can in the dryer and the rest on a radiator, making sure he turns the heating up as high as he can afford.
Once this is dealt with, he stands for a brief, blank moment and taps his hands against his legs. What now? Going back to sleep has no appeal - especially not now - but he doesn’t know if turning the TV on and actually watching the Mr Frog show will wake Charlie up.
But what else to do then? Pim turns and examines the room: the TV still airing that same movie, books he’s read and books he intends to read on the shelves, a few boardgames he bought for a rainy day and a paint by numbers book in drawers and on spare shelves and tables - and none of it seems appealing in the slightest.
Grey, sinking despair hits Pim so hard he feels weak at the knees. Today, he realises, is a bad day. The kind of day where this awful, cloying pain sits itself down in his heart and burns away at it until any fun or joy that could exist has been drained away. He sits heavily on the ground, this realisation too unbearably heavy for him to stand through, gaze dropping away from this room full of boring, worthless possessions.
While Pim stares off into space, distracted by these depressing thoughts, a heavy sigh escapes his lips. It is incredibly loud in the room and despite knowing how ridiculous this is to do, he looks worriedly over to the bedroom door like Charlie is going to come barreling in in response.
Charlie does not appear. Pim braces his hands on the ground and lets his head hit his knees, fighting to keep his suddenly rising emotions under control. Why does he feel this way? It only takes him a moment of thinking things over - the confrontation with his parents, everything between himself and Charlie - and groans in annoyance.
Why doesn’t he feel this way, honestly.
Everything had been so good. This week had been going so good!
Charlie had literally come back to life and given the two of them the chance to talk about their argument and make up for lost feelings - they had spent the rest of the week practically glued to each other. There had been small disagreements or hurt feelings (usually on Pim’s end) but they had been few and far in-between. In all honesty, Pim might even consider it the best week of his life.
How had last night ruined everything so quickly? Pim’s family hates him - there is no denying that anymore. Even the brief silver lining of that conversation with Charlie and the way the yellow critter had stood up for him, it was all hanging in the balance now. What had happened last night? He had gotten drunk - so drunk he doesn’t remember anything after the first sip of alcohol and then he had woken up in bed to find Charlie laying beside him.
And, well…
Charlie is not gay.
Charlie has a girlfriend he loves and is a proud Christian and certainly isn’t gay. Pim isn’t gay either, obviously, but that went without saying. And not that there’s anything wrong with being gay! Charlie just isn’t and neither is Pim.
So then, Pim wonders again and again and again - what does this mean for their friendship? Charlie has already shied away from any moment or conversation that got a little too intimate, there is no doubt in Pim’s mind that he won’t be upset at what happened last night.
Maybe he could just not bring it up? Surely Charlie will think nothing of waking up in Pim’s bed after a night of drinking, right? Guys share beds with their best friends all the time, don’t they? Pim can just ask Charlie if he slept well, unmute the TV and then the two can just go on like nothing ever happened?
There is a brief moment where clarity breaks through Pim’s racing thoughts. For just this single moment the idea that Charlie will laugh this entire thing off and nothing about their friendship will change after this crosses his mind. Even though the idea of their relationship being changed or destroyed after this makes Pim sick with fear, this second scenario barely makes him feel any better.
Something soft and comfortable hits the back of Pim’s head and he blinks, only now noticing that he had walked back to the sofa and sat on it while he thought. It takes Pim a few more seconds to unravel the blanket from around his body, sighing and closing his eyes in a vain attempt to calm his swirling emotions and panicked thoughts.
“Okay,” he says aloud to the empty room, voice weak and devoid of any emotion.
Pim can’t bring himself to say anything else for fear of Charlie hearing it and being woken up. Instead he presses his hands against his eyes and runs through everything again, trying to look at it rationally. No matter how much he tries to focus on recounting the events of the past week, one question keeps coming to mind over and over again, and eventually Pim sighs, unable to ignore it any more:
Is Charlie homophobic?
It feels wrong to assume that not wanting to make love to his platonic male friend would automatically make Charlie a bigot - uncharitable, Pim would say and quickly amends the question. Is Charlie the kind of person to get upset at that idea in the first place? Not that there's anything wrong with feeling that way; if Charlie wants to keep his friendships strictly platonic then that is fine, Pim tells himself and does his best to believe it.
Pim has always been far more touchy-feely than Charlie, the one to hold someone’s hand or hug them, to tap them to get their attention, reach over to fix their hair or wipe something off their clothes, anything to feel the warmth of another person against his clammy skin. Charlie, for all he goes out of his way to avoid touching people, has never reciprocated… but he’s never told Pim to stop, either.
At his best, Charlie has always quietly accepted Pim’s touches, even a little grateful at times. At his worst he has put up with them even when he would normally slap anyone else away.
Pim’s breathing slows. His thoughts, going a mile a minute, come to a halt as he considers this. Pim has always considered himself and Charlie to be best friends; they work together, they spend a lot of time together, Charlie is literally Pim’s favourite person in the world! And yet Pim has never once considered the idea that Charlie might feel similarly abou Pim.
But then, why else would Charlie let Pim get away with so much more than he would any other person?
On the side table Pim keeps his keys on, there is a framed photo of Charlie and Pim. Pim had taken it after their first job together - “for the memories, Charlie!” - and bought a frame for it the same hour he had it printed off. In the picture he is beaming into the camera without a care in the world, eyes screwed up so much they are almost closed, one hand up in a classic peace sign and the other stretched out to hold the camera.
Beside him is Charlie, right where he should be. His brows are furrowed and he squints into the camera, holding his hand up behind Pim’s head to give him bunny ears. When Pim had first suggested the two of them should take a picture together, Charlie had complained so much about it so much Pim had almost changed his mind, saying today was an off-day for his appearance, that it was a corny and cheesy idea - but in the end he had let Pim take the picture.
He was even smiling.
From across the room, Pim can’t actually see the picture but he can picture it clearly in his mind as he takes one last deep breath in and out, the panic finally leaving him. Maybe it would be okay. Maybe Charlie would be okay with it. Maybe nothing had even happened between the two of them and Pim had gotten himself worked up over nothing.
That greyness still lingers in Pim’s chest and without that panic to keep him going, the semi-amphibious critter feels heavier than he has in a while. He tilts his head back, staring up at the ceiling with tired eyes and wondering what to do now he has finished panicking. Charlie is still sleeping in the next room, after all. That problem he had before is still a thing and it never really stopped being a thing.
He sits there for a moment longer before he finally realises how hungry he is, not because his stomach rumbles but because he suddenly realises how achingly empty it is. It’s gotta be around 8am at this point, right? When was the last time Pim ate?
The kitchen is still freezing cold despite the fact that the rest of the flat is heating up nicely. Pim, who foolishly chose to leave his blanket on the sofa instantly regrets getting up the second his foot touches the cold floor, pouring himself a bowl of cereal as fast as he can. He must be close to breaking the speedrunning any% WR for making a bowl of cornflakes before he escapes back to his warm, safe sofa and gets to eating.
Either the Mr Frog Show has taken a strangely educational turn or Mr Frog has done something especially newsworthy (again) because there is a news anchor on TV solemnly talking while pictures of Mr Frog appear on the green screen behind her. Whatever is going on, it seems pretty serious, not that Pim will be able to find out right now, he reminds himself with a glance back to the bedroom door.
Pim barely manages to get halfway through his cereal before he hears the door open behind him, his heart instantly pounding like he’s just ran a marathon, blood roaring in his ears. He turns abruptly, almost spilling his cereal everywhere and making eye contact with Charlie - yawning, tired, thankfully wearing clothes.
“Hey,” Charlie mumbles, going straight to the other side of Pim’s sofa and curling up on it - knees up, head in hands, back trembling as he wheezes. “Dude, Pim, what time is it?”
Charlie has never been a morning person, especially when compared to Pim, but he’s in far worse of a state than he usually is after a night of drinking and poor life choices. His voice is so hoarse and slurred Pim can barely make anything he’s saying out - just how much had he drunk last night? Far more than Pim had, surely.
Pim blinks, smiling nervously at Charlie as every rational and groundbreaking thought he had earlier flying out of the window now that Charlie is actually awake and talking to him. “Morning, Charlie!” he chirps in a voice a little shakier than it usually is. “Um, I’m not actually sure what time it is now, but I woke up at around 6am and that was a few hours ago. Did you - did you sleep well?”
Charlie considers this question for a moment, staring blearily into space before finally shrugging and lifting his head to look at Pim. “You didn’t want to do anything today, did you,” he asks flatly, voice too rough from exhaustion to actually form the question properly. “Time doesn’t matter, dude, I can barely think right now. Gotta stop drinking…”
His voice trails off into a quiet, regretful mumble, gaze shifting away from Pim back off into the empty space of the room.
“Right,” Pim replies slowly, more than a little concerned at how rough Charlie looks right now. Just how much did he drink last night? Pim might have forgotten most of what happened but at least he woke up somewhat functional. “Are you alright? You look like you’re about to throw up or something.”
Charlie shifts, dark eyes squinting at Pim from across the sofa. “Yeah, dude. Just, just hungover as fuck.”
Unsure of how to respond, Pim reaches across and pats Charlie’s arm sympathetically. Charlie’s eyes flutter closed at the touch and he briefly leans into the touch before Pim pulls away.
“Don’t fall back asleep,” Pim tells him, the urge to be helpful overpowering his nerves. He even manages to smile a little at how well everything is going so far. They’re just having a nice, normal conversation! Charlie hasn’t asked any bed related questions or anything “You should really get yourself some water.”
Charlie slowly unfurls himself, one hand braced on the arm of the sofa to support himself as he reluctantly gets back to his feet. He yawns widely, bending so far back it looks like his spine is about to snap in half, stretching his arms out above his head until they tremble with strain.
“Good idea.”
With that, Charlie starts towards the kitchen, walking surprisingly steady even though he is so very hungover. After only a few steps he stops in front of Pim, staring down at the smaller critter with one hand outstretched. Pim blinks back up at Charlie, gaze flitting between the offered hand and his friend's face in confusion.
“Pim, come on. Join me in the kitchen,” Charlie says after that awkward pause.
“I’m not getting water for you,” Pim replies and ducks his head. The thought of taking Charlie’s hand is making his face go red and the last thing he wants is for Charlie to notice. He probably won’t be able to explain that one away.
“Kinda insulting that you think I’m that helplessly dependent on you,” Charlie frowns. He’s obviously joking but something about the way he says it makes Pim feel a little guilty. “All I want you to do is supervise my hungover ass so I don’t hit my head and die again or something.”
Pim frowns at that, the thought of Charlie dying again filling him with dread. He carefully balances his half-full bowl of cereal in-between two cushions and hopes it doesn’t fall, jumping off the sofa and onto his feet, giving the taller critter a gently scolding look.
“I probably don’t have to tell you this but you drank far too much last night,” Pim informs Charlie brightly as the two head into the kitchen. “Sorry to be the one to break the news to you but I don’t think either of us are young enough to drink - sorry, how much did you even drink last night?”
Charlie grabs the only cup sitting out, frowning a little as he considers Pim’s question. The cup doesn’t seem to have been washed - in fact it still has dregs of coke sitting in the bottom of it - but he fills it to the brim with water and guzzles it down without a moment of hesitation.
“Uh, three bottles of vodka at that shitty party,” he mumbles in-between swallows, a little trickle of water seeping from his mouth and down his soft chin. “Then all the shit we drank in the car and the alcohol I’ve been hiding under your mattress.”
“What!”
It takes Pim a minute to realise Charlie is messing with him and he gives Charlie a light glare that quickly drops as he realises the rest of what Charlie said - at the reminder of how dumb they both were last night. Charlie’s frown twists into something a little more sympathetic.
“It was a pretty bad idea, though,” he agrees with a shrug. “Made being around your family a hell of a lot more bearable at least.”
“Well, I’m glad you had fun.” Pim frowns at Charlie. Why did he think Pim would feel better to hear his family be insulted? They weren’t all bad! Most of his family were just average Australian people - and they all seemed to love Pim. Or like him at the very least. “I’m not going to feel better if you start insulting my entire family, you know.”
Charlie rolls his eyes at that but when he apologises it’s more sincere than Pim had expected. He tilts his head back to finish off his water, discomfort rolling across his face as he sets it down on the counter. “Fuck drinking water actually,” he groans, one hand clutching at his stomach. “Pim, that was a shit idea, I feel a million times worse than I did before I drank this.”
He also seems a million times more awake and alert than he did a few minutes ago but Pim doesn’t say that.
“Well yeah, you aren’t supposed to drink it quickly like that.” he picks the cup up and washes it quickly in the tap, gently nudging Charle out of the way of the sink. His stomach is very warm. “When I told you to drink water I meant for you to sip it to settle your stomach.”
Charlie shrugs and stumbles back into the living room. “I don’t know what to tell you, Pim, I was really fucking thirsty. I’m just gonna have a redbull next time I get hungover, that’ll wake me up.”
Pim follows Charlie back to the sofa, placing his unspilled bowl on the ground and sitting back in his spot, legs crossed underneath his body in a way that tugs on his thighs. “You would have thrown up if you had a redbull, actually.”
He bites back a question - why don’t you take care of yourself? The unspoken sentence sits in-between them both uncomfortably, spoiling the mood like a rotten fruit poisoning the rest of the batch. Charlie watches Pim with his dark eyes, an uncomfortable grimace still lingering in the corners of his mouth.
“Did you sleep well?” Pim meekly asks when it becomes clear that Charlie isn’t going to respond to what he just said.
“Did I sleep well in your bed?” Either Charlie is desperate to bring the conversation back to a more comfortable mood or he didn’t notice Pim being upset at him, because he immediately jumps on Pim’s question, perking up as he speaks. “Uh, I absolutely did, dude. Your bed is so comfortable, why have I been sleeping on the sofa for the last week?”
Pim’s emotions are all over the place right now - concern and annoyance with how Charlie treats himself, panic at how the conversation is going - and in this moment he lets the panic win, forcing a sharp laugh from his body. “You want to sleep in my bed?” he asks, struggling to make eye contact with Charlie as his face heats up. “I guess we could both fit if we stayed really still, or something like that...”
Charlie doesn’t laugh along with Pim and Pim’s laughter slowly dies down as Charlie’s silence grows oppressive. The yellow critter is still watching him.
“I was just thinking about stealing your bed and letting you take the sofa,” he finally shrugs. “Sharing a bed would be kinda gay of us.”
“You slept in my bed with me last night, Charlie. Wasn’t that also ‘pretty gay’ of you?” Pim asks, fingers tearing quotation marks through the air. This, he figures, is probably a good way of circling the conversation back to last night, because it’ll have to be discussed at some point. Pim might be anxious about this discussion but he isn’t going to avoid the topic forever. Whatever Charlie chooses to say next is on him and they can discuss it together.
“I’m getting back pains from sleeping on your shitty sofa all the time,” Charlie points an accusatory finger at Pim like Pim built the sofa with his own bare hands. “I was bitching about it so much last night and everything.
“Oh. You - you actually remember last night?” Pim asks.
“You don’t?” Charlie replies.
Pim can’t look Charlie in the eyes anymore, lowering his gaze to his hands. He feels deflated, beyond stupid for believing - worrying - that anything out of the ordinary had happened between the two of them last night. For worrying that Charlie would hate him or no longer want to be his friend. All that panic and worry and racing thoughts, and for what?
“Yeah, I must have blacked out because I don’t remember anything really,” he says calmly. “The last thing I really remember is being in the car with you and drinking, it all gets pretty fuzzy after that until I woke up.”
Charlie nods along to this explanation, his lips pursed. “Is that why you’ve been so weird around me?” he asks. “Have you just been freaked out cause you blacked out last night?”
Pim blinks in surprise, staring up at Charlie with wide eyes and an open mouth.
“You noticed that?”
There is a small moment of silence in which the two critters stare at each other. Charlie’s face is blank, unreadable and yet incredibly scathing and even a little irritated. Pim stares back, unable to look away while also being unsure of why he is even bothering to stare back. Charlie is the one who looks away first, rolling his eyes a little as he speaks.
“Anyway,” he says with the tone of someone not even bothering to dignity Pim’s question with an answer (rude), “yeah, we just drove around and talked before coming back here and falling asleep. I think you might have cried at one point but I could also have just completely hallucinated that.”
Pim grimaces at that. That… does sound about right, unfortunate as that is to admit. He was - still is - processing everything that happened with his family. Even just this brief mention of it in his thoughts stings at his eyes.
“Is that it?” he prods, fingers tapping against his knees. By now, Pim is incredibly certain that nothing out of the ordinary happened last night. He knows Charlie. There is no way Charlie wouldn’t bring that kind of thing up, whether it be gay sex, flirting, or even just a provocative look, just to make a joke out of it if nothing else.
“Dude,” Charlie frowns. “What else are you expecting to have happened?”
“I don’t know,” Pim shrugs. “But you did sleep in my bed…”
This was intended to be a silent musing in his mind Charlie would never hear. Instead it comes out as a rotten, passive aggressive little mutter that Charlie absolutely did hear, judging by the way his eyes widen - first in realisation, then in understanding.
Finally, Charlie bursts out laughing and Pim sags in embarrassment.
“Oh my God, Pim, did you think we had sex last night?” he laughs, grinning at Pim like Pim has just told him the funniest joke of all time. “I only slept in your bed cause you felt bad for me and my back pains - we didn’t fuck or do anything gay aside from sleeping in the same bed, dude. And we only did that for purely platonic reasons.”
The last sentence is thrown on almost as an afterthought; a quick addition Charlie didn’t seem to need specified until he was finished speaking. Were Pim not too busy feeling horrendously embarrassed and even a little disappointed, he might have picked up on that.
“Oh.” Pim says flatly. He takes a moment to swallow the feelings bubbling up inside him and goes on, voice a little more expressive. “That’s… good. Sorry I didn’t notice your back has been hurting.”
Charlie shrugs. “I didn’t mention it. Felt a bit bad bringing it up considering you’re letting me stay rent-free in your beautiful apartment.”
Pim frowns, feeling guilty despite Charlie’s words. He supposes, after a moment, that he has been a little too wrapped up in his own mind to pay attention to the little details of Charlie he would normally notice.
“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable when you’re here.” his voice is a little reproachful as he replies. “You died and came back to life, it’s not like you’re just staying here for no reason.”
After a thoughtful few seconds, Charlie nods. There’s a little relief in his movement that Pim notices but doesn’t have the energy to unpack.
“Even if you were here for no reason I’d still want you to stay,” Pim continues. “You’re my friend, so I don’t - I don’t want you to suffer or be uncomfortable ever.”
Charlie’s gaze is unreadable for a moment. Pim holds his stare, throat going dry. Was that too forward for Charlie? He got dangerously close to telling Charlie he cares - or god forbid that he loves Charlie (as a friend), and while it’s not like he hasn’t done that before, things are different between them. Casual displays of intimacy and care feel a little more charged now.
Then Charlie smiles and the tension breaks.
“Thanks, man,” he says. “I’ll always come to you if I need someone to give me all the love and kisses in the world.”
Pim rolls his eyes and swats light at Charlie’s arm. Charlie laughs a little and shoves Pim back, missing the genuine exasperation in Pim’s sigh. He just gets tired of this, sometimes.
“Anyway,” Pim chirps, pushing those negative emotions somewhere where he doesn’t need to deal with them for now. “I’m glad nothing… different happened last night.”
“Me too,” Charlie says, smiling a little more sincerely. “Nothing weird. Nothing gay. Just two guys being friends, the way it should be.”
This does make Pim feel a little better and he smiles genuinely up at Charlie, eyes crinkling at the corners in the spots where his crows feet are starting to form. On the other side of the sofa, Charlie shifts a little, clearly growing uncomfortable with the open affection on Pim’s part, no doubt trying to think of a way to spin this back into a joke.
Which is fine, of course! Pim is alright being sincere and open and Charlie struggles a lot with that kind of intimacy. These are the dynamics the two men have with each other and that’s just how it is.
“Hey, uh,” Charlie says, finally looking away from Charlie and getting to his feet. “I’m starving, I’m just gonna go and get coffee or something.”
Like he does every morning, Charlie shambles through to the kitchen and brews himself the blackest coffee the coffee machine can offer. Like he does every morning, Pim reminds Charlie’s back to eat actual food and then twists around on the sofa to watch him potter around in the kitchen, resting his chin on the back of it and feeling quietly happy to see Charlie alive and well.
Charlie opens the fridge while the coffee machine bursts to life, humming as he examines its contents and then giving Pim a quick, thoughtful look from around its door. “Erm, yeah. We might want to buy food later today.”
Pim nods, recalling that it’s been at least a few days since either of them had last gone out to buy actual food, having been too busy with work. A sad excuse he thinks quietly to himself, something heavy settling in his chest as Charlie finally closes the fridge door, a half-eaten burrito in hand. As he fetches his coffee and takes a daringly long sip, Charlie brandishes the burrito at Pim in a silent question. Pim shakes his head in return - no, I’m not hungry. Thank you for asking. Thank you for caring.
Unlike their prior unspoken arrangements for the past few weeks, Charlie is the one to sit on the armchair while Pim curled up on the sofa, warm under his blanket despite how sad and heavy he feels. Wordless, negative thoughts bounce around his head like a DVD screensaver as he watches Charlie unmute the TV, hunched over his food like a gremlin while his coffee mug sits in-between his thighs. No doubt collecting all sorts of crumbs, Pim thinks with a little grimace.
“Dude, are you okay?” Charlie asks, a mouthful of bread and cheese stuffed in his mouth. “You look like you’re about to kill yourself, I’m getting a bit concerned.”
“Hmm?”
Pim sits up straight at that, looking over at Charlie with wide eyes. That sentence had certainly shaken him from his surprised stupor. He shakes his head in response, feeling a little more awake than he had a second ago. “Oh, sorry Charlie. Did I look upset, or - something?”
“Wouldn’t say upset - “ Charlie says casually, tearing a huge bite from his burrito and chewing as he speaks. “- more like miserable. Last time I saw you looking so insanely depressed was after that whole Desmond stuff.”
“Oh.” Pim turns his gaze to the wall underneath the TV, Charlie’s gaze still burning hot against his skin. “I’m fine, Charlie. Just tired.”
Charlie shifts, straightening his spine and sitting a little straighter. Pim can see him move out of the corner of his eyes but he ignores that, tracing the wallpaper pattern with his eyes.
“You sure?” Charlie asks, voice gentler than Pim has ever heard it before. “Last night was pretty crazy.”
“Yeah, I - uh -” Pim hesitates, eyes suddenly burning. His phone is still charging across the other side of the room like it has been for the past few hours but he can barely stop his gaze from turning to it, again and again and again. A painful magnet that catching his attention the way a hook catches a fish - “I - when I woke up this morning I had a lot of texts from my cousins and - you know, aunts and uncles and stuff. None of them were from my parents. Or Amy.” - and it hurts so much.
Charlie doesn’t say anything to that. He doesn’t need to.
“It’s fine though. I don’t really have anything to say to them.”
This sentence is kept really casual, Pim managing to keep that stammer that always betrays negative emotions from his voice. He even tops it off with a shrug to show just how unbothered by all of this he is. A quick look at Charlie shows that he isn’t buying it at all.
“Charlie,” Pim says suddenly, willing to be open and honest about something else if it means a brief reprieve from this conversation
Charlie’s gaze turns expectant and Pim swallows, mouth uncomfortably dry.
“Yeah?” Charlie asks.
His voice is politely curious - Pim might even say he sounds a little accepting of Pim and his issues. Maybe Charlie has always been that way, though. Or at the very least he’s started to be that way.
“I’m not saying you did it to be mean, but could you not act like I’m an idiot for thinking something happened between us last night?” Pim asks hesitantly. “I mean, the last thing I really remember is having an intimate conversation with you before we went off on our own and started drinking. When I woke up this morning you were sleeping in my bed beside me which you’ve never done before. I know it must have sounded ridiculous to you and I might have overreacted a little but it really seemed like something had happened and I don’t appreciate being laughed at for it.”
“Oh,” Charlie says when Pim finishes speaking. “Yeah, sorry about that.”
A little, anxious part of Pim was worried that Charlie would be upset about Pim saying that, the thought gnawing inside him with equal parts concern and guilt for thinking so low of Charlie. Even now that Charlie just accepted Pim’s words and apologised for being hurtful, the pink critter still feels strangely empty inside.
“Thank you for that,” Pim says carefully, gnawing on his bottom teeth. And then - “weird. I still feel - bad?”
“Bad?” Charlie repeats, a subtle urgence to the way he sits up a little straighter. Something about the way he looks at Pim changes and Pim shifts uncomfortably, suddenly feeling like Charlie has stopped looking at Pim and has started watching Pim.
“I don’t know,” he flounders, regretting even saying that. “Everything just feels kind of pointless, like nothing is fun or enjoyable any more. It just… it happens sometimes.”
The look on Charlie’s face hurts to look at. Pim shrinks down like a nervous child, mumbling his next sentence like it will make Charlie smile.
“It’s fine, though. Don’t worry about it.”
His voice trails off as his hands fidget in his lap. When Charlie speaks next, his voice is quiet like Pim might break if Charlie speaks at a normal volume.
“Pim, that sounds like depression to me. Do you - is this something you feel a lot?”
Why did he change topics to talk about this instead? This was just as horrible as the idea of talking about his family! Pim desperately considers shutting this conversation and denying everything, to insist that these feelings are something rare and that he spends most of his life being as cheerful and happy as he likes to pretend he is and hoping that Charlie will somehow buy it. But wouldn’t that be hypocritical, to spend all week insisting that Charlie be open and honest about his feelings, only to refuse to be open with Charlie about his own emotions?
Being honest here still feels like the most shameful thing Pim has ever done. He feels himself curl up on himself on the sofa, pulling the blanket over himself tighter like he can shut this out with the cold.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I do. A lot, actually”
Pim half-expects Charlie to pull the rug out from underneath him and turn this conversation into a joke. Isn’t this the kind of thing that would normally make him uncomfortable? Why is he looking at Pim so seriously, so sadly?
“Yeah,” Charlie repeats. “You don’t have to feel like this, Pim. This probably sounds dumb as hell coming from me but there’s nothing wrong with getting help - like professional help, not just talking to one of your friends about it.”
Pim nods, more to make Charlie happy than anything else. He’s never really spoken about these feelings outside of this one conversation - when would he ever get the chance? He has to be happy for work, he doesn’t date, he’s apparently been terrified of his best friend judging him for them all this time…
“How do you know talking to someone helps?” Pim asks. He already has an idea of why, but best to let Charlie say his side than just assume things about the man.
“Is it not insanely obvious that I’m depressed?” Charlie asks. The sadness - the worry - lifts a little and he shoots Pim a wry smile. “I never stop bitching about everything all the time, I thought it was obvious.”
“It was a little obvious,” Pim agrees. As he says this he wonders if it’s a little mean, but Charlie’s smile widens.
“My therapist actually suggested getting a job at Smiling Friends,” he goes on.
Pim’s eyes widen. He had no idea Charlie even had a therapist, although he had wondered a few times in the past why Charlie had even wanted to work at Smiling Friends in the first place. It just never seemed like the kind of job a person like Charlie would ever have, especially with how much he complained about the clients. This made sense though. Pim could only hope the job had actually helped Charlie be happier.
“You never told me you had a therapist,” Pim says and hopes it doesn’t sound accusatory. “Not that you had to, I’m just surprised it never came up.”
Charlie, ever the unoffended, shrugs. “I haven’t seen her in years, honestly. I just started feeling like I didn’t need to go back. Like I had learned everything I could and I had to go be a badass alpha male.”
The two stare at each other.
“Maybe I should go back,” he admits, losing the unannounced staring contest. “I did literally die and go to hell and everything and that was pretty crazy.”
“Yeah,” Pim agrees. There is a lot more he wants to mention here (and maybe he will one day) but now really doesn’t seem like the time. This won’t be their last day together. They will have the rest of their lives to sit like this and talk about uncomfortable topics each of them would rather die than address.
Charlie looks back over at Pim, a strange kindness in his eyes. “If I did, uh - would you want her number?”
Oh. Pim’s eyes grow wide.
“Um,” he looks away, back at his phone and then at that picture before turning back to Charlie. “I would. Like that. Her number. I’d like her number.”
Charlie nods in relief. “No problem, dude,” he says genuinely. “It’ll help, I promise.”
Pim smiles at Charlie. Charlie smiles back. Mr Frog does a cool spin on TV (it’s a crossover between the Cool Alien Show and the Mr Frog Show) and the two instantly get distracted by that. Or at least Charlie does. Pim watches the show alongside him, laughing at the right moments and genuinely enjoying it, but a part of him can’t help but sneak little glances at Charlie.
Everything, Pim thinks genuinely and sincerely, is going to be alright.