And he loves the way Charlie blushes whenever he touches him （or looks at him, or says words in his general direction）。 He loves the way Charlie pushes past the Fun Dev fa?ade and doesn’t get freaked out by what’s on the other side; the way Charlie makes him work for every laugh; the way Charlie’s body feels beneath his hands, and the way Charlie’s hands feel on his body. He loves the clumsy way Charlie kisses when he’s excited, and the way it feels when Charlie is tucked up beneath his chin, and the way Charlie’s face softens after, and it’s fucked up and unfair, because this was never supposed to happen.
“What are you doing out here?” It’s Jules. She props herself against the wall next to him. “You okay?”
He feels like his heart is scrambling uphill. “No. I’m really super not okay.”
She presses her head against his arm. “What’s wrong?”
“Jules…” He swallows through the pressure in his throat, because not saying it seems so much worse than saying it at this point. “I’m in love with him.”
Jules snorts. “No shit, dumbass.”
He laughs, and then he sobs. “No, really. I really love him.” He tries in vain to mop away his tears. “What am I going to do?”
Jules reaches over to scratch his arm. “Have you considered just letting yourself love him?”
Charlie
For a second, it seemed like maybe he was wrong. Like maybe he wasn’t stupid to believe they were something. Dev was right here—right where Charlie wanted him to be—and he was looking at him like he mattered, like Leland Barlow had fixed everything he was supposed to. But Charlie pushed, and Dev pulled away. Dev always pulls away.
He tries to anchor himself to this moment, to this wonderful, chaotic, impossible moment, with Leland Barlow singing for the crew. Daphne’s smile is so big it might break free of her face, and Angie is grinding on him during all the slow songs, and Parisa is here beside him, for two more days. He wants to stay here, in this venue, in the tangle of limbs and the smiles of people he considers friends. But Dev isn’t here.
He sneaks away from a dance circle forming around Skylar. Outside, he finds Dev and Jules leaning against a wall. Dev is crying.
“Oh, hey, Charlie,” Jules says in the soft voice she usually saves for Dev. “I was just about to go back inside.”
“You don’t have to leave.”
“Actually, I do. The two of you should talk.” Jules pushes herself off from the wall. The door clicks shut behind her, and it feels like Charlie and Dev are the ones trapped inside a tiny, claustrophobic room. Dev’s standing there, eyes on his feet.
Charlie licks his lips. “Was this too much?”
Dev looks up at him. “Not too much. Just the right amount of much. Charlie, I am so sorry.”
Charlie takes Jules’s spot against the wall. “Sorry for what?”
“For the other night. For being a dick about Megan and Delilah, and an even bigger dick about your concerns about my depression. It turns out that according to Ryan, I have a history of pushing people away when they express concern for my mental health.”
At Ryan’s name, Charlie feels everything sour inside him. He doesn’t want to think about Ryan and Dev in Franschhoek. “I shouldn’t have pushed you.”
“No, it was good that you did.” Dev angles his body toward Charlie, so Charlie turns, too, two parallel lines leaning against this wall. “You were right. I’ve been neglecting my health for a long time, and when we get back to LA, I’m going to find a new therapist.”
“I’m happy for you.” He means it, but the words sound hollow. All he wants is to reach out for Dev. He always wants to reach out for Dev, no matter how hard Dev pulls away. He wants to reach and reach and keep reaching.