To You and Back

Deleted Scene 3: Charlie's Box of Memories

They sat in the living room at opposite ends of the sectional, Charlie in a sweatshirt and gym shorts, his back to the armrest and bare feet stretched out towards Peter. The other man sat with his feet up on the coffee table, with only a towel wrapped around his waist. It was a lazy Sunday morning for everyone, even the sunlight shinning in through the drawn curtains sluggishly reflected off the polished wood floors and rich blue of the furniture.

Charlie glanced up at the other man. "Are you writing reports?" he asked, with a suspicious narrowing of his eyes.

Peter, sitting with a laptop, rose an eyebrow without looking up from the screen. "Are you reading them?"

Charlie glanced down at the tablet in his hands, where last week's reports were pulled up. "No."

Charlie laughed at the pinch on his foot, which said Peter clearly knew he was lying, and playfully kicked at the other man in retaliation. "We need a hobby," he said.

"I can think of something we can do," Peter replied, flashing a wicked grin.

"That's not a hobby," Charlie said. "That's a lifestyle." He laughed as Peter set his laptop aside and then spent the next few minutes halfheartedly fighting off Peter's wholehearted advances. He was just about to "reluctantly" give in when the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it," Charlie said, pushing a disgruntled Peter back and swinging his legs to the thick carpet. He went to the door and returned carrying a big brown box. "It's from Michael," he said. He waited for Peter to move the laptop off the coffee table before setting the box down, gripping a flap of tape, and tearing it off in one fluid motion. Inside on top was a folded sheet of paper, which he read aloud: "Found these in your old room. Thought you'd want them, since some of them are not exactly fit for a nursery."

"I'm intrigued," Peter said, moving to the edge of the seat.

"So am I," Charlie said. "I haven't been in that room in years." He began to unpack the contents, pulling out medals, certificates, plagues, a cheer outfit, treasured childhood toys and more.

"I see what Michael means," Peter said, picking up a DVD and turning it face out to show half naked men entangled in each other. He picked up some old, well worn copies of Playgirl and began to flip through them. Turning the magazine sideways, he cocked his head and said, "That is definitely not how you make babies."

Charlie laughed. "Oh," he said, reaching in the box. "My old yearbooks. You know, every person in my year signed my high school yearbook, including all my teachers and even the principle."

"It's a shame you weren't more popular."

Charlie glanced at Peter as the other man took the book and flipped to the back, knowing exactly what he was searching for. When Peter frowned, he said, "It's not there. Where you signed. I ripped it out."

Peter looked up at him. "Why?"

Charlie looked away as he dug into the box once more. "It was right before I left for college," he said.

"When you hated me." Peter closed the book with a snap. "Right."

Charlie glanced up at the morose expression. "You know I never really hated you."

"I know," Peter said. Setting the yearbook aside, he sat back and put his heels up on the coffee table, ankles crossed, and stretched an arm out on the backrest.

Charlie stopped picking through the box and stood up straight. "What?" he said. "You want me to apologize?"

"No," Peter said, picking at the blue fabric of the couch back.