Charlie throws himself into his own bedroom, slams his door, and leans back against it. His heart hurls itself against his chest so loudly he’s convinced Dev can hear it from his room. He never should have asked to read Dev’s script, never should have gone into Dev’s room, never should have come on this show.
Because things were fine before, when he was not feeling things, when all his feelings were stashed away, unexamined.
He’s still leaning against his bedroom door, and his heart is still thrashing violently, and his body is still… doing body-like things. It won’t stop doing body-like things. He wants to alleviate the pressure, but he can’t, because it’s Dev, and Dev is his handler, and his friend, apparently, and he’s right on the other side of his bedroom wall.
But then he’s thinking about Dev on the other side of the wall. Shirt loose around his throat. White cheddar popcorn dust on his fingers. And Charlie decides, just this once. Just to get rid of these feelings before they devour him. He thinks about Dev’s script, and what Dev’s voice would sound like reading the script aloud to him, close to his ear, breath on Charlie’s throat as he pushes aside the waistband of his sweatpants.
And holy shit—Dev’s knees and Dev’s mouth and Dev’s Adam’s apple. He tries thinking about Daphne’s pretty blue eyes instead, but he can only see Dev’s dark ones, peering intensely at him behind his glasses. He tries to conjure the image of Angie’s soft body, but it’s superimposed with Dev’s wide shoulders, the slenderness of his hips, the sharp points and the beautiful brown skin and the smell of him.
He doesn’t let himself think about what it means, or why he feels this way. He imagines Dev beside him—Dev’s hand instead of his own—and that’s all it takes to send him over the edge. He shoves his mouth into the crook of his left elbow, so he doesn’t make a sound.
An hour later, after he’s showered, he enjoys the first night of good sleep he’s had in days.
Dev
He shouldn’t have pushed.
Dev paces at the foot of his bed. Why does he always have to push?
Things have been good. He’s gotten Charlie to open up just enough—enough for the occasional flash of sarcasm and gentle teasing; enough for compound-complex sentences; enough to start taking his antidepressants every morning in front of Dev; enough for smiling （sometimes） and laughing （like, twice）。 Just enough for Dev to feel a little wild with wanting more, so that when Charlie came into his bedroom in gray sweatpants, complimenting his script, Dev pushed. And Dev spooked him.
Dev grabs another handful of white cheddar popcorn and resumes his anxious pacing. Of course Charlie freaked out when Dev pushed him on his feelings about the women. Charlie has probably spent his entire life thinking he doesn’t deserve love, to the point that he’s taken it off the table completely. Dev thinks Charlie’s probably never let himself fall in love, out of fear of rejection, so how could he recognize the feelings he has now for Daphne?
Maybe Dev should go into his room. Check on him. Talk to him.
Next door, he hears Charlie go into the bathroom and turn on the shower.
Or… yeah, Dev should probably just go to sleep instead.
He doesn’t sleep, though, and when he goes into the kitchen the next morning feeling half-dead, Jules is already there with a bag of breakfast sandwiches from crafty. Charlie is shoving a load of clothes into the washing machine.
“The assistants can do your laundry for you,” Dev says as he comes up behind him.
Charlie nearly jumps out of his skin. “It’s fine. I… I can—” He cuts off and doesn’t bother trying to resuscitate the sentence.
Jules hands Charlie his breakfast. “Charlie, you look like you’re auditioning to be the thirteenth Cylon on Battlestar Galactica,” she teases.