Darling boy

Chapter 7

Rehearsal felt like it dragged on forever. The band ran through their setlist, then ran through it again, each song bleeding into the next in a blur of noise and muscle memory. Charlie's fingers moved mechanically over the guitar strings, his mind elsewhere, his body buzzing with a faint, detached sensation. He was high—just enough to take the edge off, to blur the sharper parts of reality. It made everything feel lighter, more distant, like he was floating just above the room, observing rather than participating.

As the others started packing up to leave, Charlie stayed behind, his gaze fixed on the floor while he strummed idly, repeating the same chord progression over and over. His head lolled slightly to one side, and his thoughts drifted back to the night at the bar, to the way William had felt under his hands—warm, solid, real in a way that made him ache with something deeper than shame. He hadn't been able to look William in the eye during rehearsal. He wasn't sure what he'd see if he did.

But then, as the room emptied, he realized he wasn't alone. William hadn't left. He was lingering near the amps, pretending to adjust something on his phone, but his gaze kept flickering over to Charlie. There was an unspoken tension in the air, a kind of heaviness that settled over them as the last of their bandmates filed out, leaving the space almost eerily quiet.

Charlie slumped down to the floor, his back against the wall, guitar resting across his lap. The high made his limbs feel heavy, his eyelids drooping as he stared at nothing in particular. He took a deep breath, letting the warm fuzziness wash over him. Then he heard the sound of footsteps approaching, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw William crossing the room, moving slowly, like he wasn't sure if he should interrupt.

William sat down beside him, keeping a bit of distance at first. His presence was solid, grounding in a way that contrasted with Charlie's lightheadedness. They didn't talk. The silence between them was thick, filled with the unspoken weight of the last night and the kiss that hadn't happened—but almost had. It was awkward, both of them pretending not to notice the other's nearness, as if leaning against the same wall was a coincidence and not a choice.

Eventually, they unconsciously shifted closer, their shoulders brushing. The touch sent a jolt through Charlie's foggy mind, making him acutely aware of William's warmth. There was a moment of hesitation, a shared look—uncertain, searching. Then, as if pulled by some invisible force, they leaned in, their mouths meeting in a kiss that was tentative and unsure, testing the boundaries they had already blurred.

The kiss deepened slowly, fueled by an unfamiliar heat, their lips parting, breaths mingling in the small space between them. Charlie's hands moved without thinking, first cupping the back of William's neck, then roaming down to his chest, feeling the muscles tense beneath the fabric of his shirt. The kiss became more insistent, and William's hands slid down Charlie's back, pulling him closer. It was clumsy and desperate, the kind of kiss that felt like it was filling a void neither of them had wanted to admit existed.

For a moment, it was easy to lose himself in it—the way their bodies fit together, the way his pulse quickened with every touch. But then he felt William's hands slipping lower, fingertips grazing the skin just beneath the waistband of his jeans, and something inside him snapped. It was like the air was suddenly too thick to breathe, the room too small to contain the panic rising in his chest.

"No—stop," Charlie breathed, pulling away abruptly, his voice tight with a strain that had nothing to do with arousal. He pushed William's hands off of him, scrambling to his feet, his movements unsteady.

William looked up at him, his eyes wide with surprise and a hint of hurt. "Charlie, I didn't mean—" he started, but Charlie was already backing away, his hands trembling as he tried to gather himself.

"I—just... I can't," Charlie mumbled, his voice barely audible as he turned and stumbled toward the door, not trusting himself to stay any longer. "I'm sorry."

The apology hung in the air like a ghost as he hurried out of the room, his mind still buzzing from the high and the heat of the moment. His lips felt raw, his skin tingling with the fading sensation of William's touch. He didn't look back, didn't give William a chance to say anything else. He just needed to get out, to put as much distance between himself and what had just happened as he could.

Charlie's walk home was a blur, the cold air biting at his cheeks, making him feel more sober but no less confused. His thoughts spun in chaotic circles, replaying the kiss over and over, the way he had leaned into it before pulling away. It had felt good—too good. Like something that wasn't supposed to happen but did, and now he didn't know how to undo it.

He could still feel the weight of William's hands on his body, the way his touch had sent a shiver down his spine. But there was also a sick knot of fear in his stomach, a reminder of why he kept his distance, why he stayed behind his walls even when part of him wanted so desperately to break through them.

As he reached his apartment, he slammed the door behind him and leaned against it, pressing his palms to his face. The shame, the confusion, the remnants of his high—they all tangled together, leaving him feeling raw and exposed. He needed to forget what had just happened. He needed to block it out, to drown it in the kind of numbness that came with a drink or a pill.

But as he sat on the edge of his bed, his body still trembling slightly, he realized that no matter how much he tried to drown it out, the memory of William's kiss would linger. It was imprinted on his skin, etched into the spaces between his breaths, a line that had been crossed and couldn't be taken back.

And now, he had to figure out what to do with that.