The sun is setting but it's still pleasantly warm out by the lake. Charlie holds Bartleby's hand loosely, the baby monitor tucked in his pocket. He sighs with contentment.

Still dressed in the tuxedo from Meg--and still a bit damp and chilly--Charlie lets himself into his room.

He smiles to see Bartleby there.

"Hey, you."

[ooc: post Bartending]

Charlie catches Bartleby's hand and kisses him hello. "Busy," he remarks.

[ooc: post first date. yes, seriously messing with milli-time.]

Charlie sits cross-legged on the bed, guitar in his arms, playing a song of happiness.

It was a very good night. Practically perfect. The only thing that would make this better would be to not be alone in the morning--but he tells himself there's plenty of time.

Charlie lays out his entire meager wardrobe on the bed and frowns at it. He has two pairs of jeans and a few t-shirts, and two sweatshirts both worn so often the fabric starting to look thin in places ( Read more... )

While everyone rests and eats, Charlie writes a letter.

Angel baby ( Read more... )

Charlie sits on the bed crossed-legged and writes.

Last night with Bartleby, he did . . . something. In my head. Moved something away or sheilded it or covered it or something. So I was still sick and sore, but I wasn't begging for horse anymore. That's a step up.

He's a real, actual angel and that must be why when I'm with him I feel like ( Read more... )

Charlie makes his way downstairs by touch, not bothering to search for a lightswitch or even a torch in the wall. He pauses every few steps, swaying and shivering, and slowly makes his way from the stairs to the corridor that leads to the staff rooms. He mutters to himself, "Third door on the left, third door on the left," through chattering teeth ( Read more... )