Charlie and Miles

Charlie

"Into a place where thoughts can bloom. Into a place where it's nine in the afternoon. And we know that it could be, and we know that it should. And you know that you feel it too, 'cause it's nine in the afternoon." - Nine in the Afternoon, Panic! At the Disco

***

The cancer had continued moving after the medicine, just slowly enough to not get caught by the tests. Stage IIB, they called it. I couldn't believe it. Morse started talking about

After a few days in the ICU, I was back up in my room with my new friend, my oxygen tank, to keep me alive.

"What name do you think I should give it?" I asked one day, probably a week after the Incident. Miles was getting the blood test prepared. They had stopped me on the Xylotrol, and chose instead to try chemo. He was testing to make sure the other medicine was flushed out, apparently.

Miles was frustrating me. Neither of us mentioned what had happened in the ICU, but I couldn't stop thinking about it. Of course, I couldn't say anything until he said something, because I didn't want to be awkward, but just the memory of his hands in my hair, his breath on my skin. I felt a blush creep up my cheeks, and I tried to divert my thoughts. Of course, I've found that trying not to think of something makes you think of it even more.

I didn't even realized Miles was talking to me until he was shaking my arm.

"Charlie? Earth to Charlie."

"Sorry," I said, avoiding eye contact. "What were you saying?"

"What about Aria?"

"Isn't that a Pretty Little Liars character?"

"Yeah, but it also means air, like, you know, oxygen."

I shrugged, and he growled. Growled.

"Stop moving. How am I supposed to do this if you keep moving?"

"Make me stop." I began to wiggle my arm, and he grabbed it, trying to stop the motion.

"Stop," he said, but I laughed.

"Say the magic word," I sang, waving my arm everywhere, above and around his head, almost whacking him in the face.

"Stop please," he begged, and I stopped, letting my arm rest on his shoulder, my hand lightly touching his cheek.

His eyes flicked from the tray to my eyes, my lips and back to my eyes. I, in turn, took a glance at his lips. If I just lean forward...

"Sorry, Charlie, you're not getting out of this with flirting." He moves my hand off, and finished prepping, taking the needle.

"Was it working?" I asked coyly, and he just shook his head and chuckled, sticking the needle in. At this point, I didn't need his hand, and I just gasped a little.

"There," he said. He smiled at me, and I saw the bags under his eyes from lack of sleep. His eyes, though, were bright, blue as always.

"I think—," I started to say, but he interrupted me, standing up. "I think I should go take this," he said, leaving with the tube.

"Right," I said after he shut the door. "Of course you should."

***

Classes soon began, and between sleeping, chemo and class, I barely had time to think about Miles unless he was right in front of me.

On the weekends, after homework, I decided to start writing a note. It was probably something he'd never read, or hear, but it's something.

Dear Miles,
I like you. Not in the, "Bro, I love you as a brother and a friend," but the "I want to kiss you and have babies with you."

I erased the last line.

Not in the "Bro, I love you as a friend/brother," but "I romantically like you. Maybe even love you."

He would never like me back, I told myself. Shut up, I told myself.

A knock on the door. I looked up, and it was Dr. Morse.

"Hey, Charlie. How are you holding up?"

"Considering I have a 31% chance to live, pretty well."

"The chemo is working so far. We might end up looking at surgery or radiation, though, as a fail-safe."

"That sounds fine."

"But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about."

"Oh."

"It's about Miles," he continued, pausing to wait for my reaction, which was equal parts uncomfortable and eager to finally talk to someone about my crush.

"What about him?" I asked, trying to hide the blush in my cheeks and my pounding heart.

"I've talked to Miles about it, and he denies it stubbornly. But," he said, pausing again. "But, I wanted to know what you thought of him."

"I don't know what you mean, exactly. Like as a nurse or..."

"Just as a person."

"He's great," I started, intending to keep some of my opinions, but my mouth talked before my brain could stop it. "He's funny, and smart, and we have similar taste in bands and sarcasm, and I feel horrible every time I see bags under his eyes because I just want to protect him from the world, and he's so adorable when he talks about something he's passionate about, because his eyes just light up in this way I can't even begin to describe."  I abruptly stopped. No, no, no.

Dr. Morse was looking curiously at me, like he had guessed correctly about something, but I wasn't worried about Morse. I was worried about the shadow the size of an approximately 5'11" guy in the doorway, listening through a crack with his ratty converse stopping the door from closing all the way.

Shit.

I slowly began sinking into the bed, cocooning myself into the blankets. If I hide here, I can pretend I was sleep talking, and I didn't mean any of it. If I hide here, I can't see him, which means he can't see me, and that means that he didn't hear what I said.

"Charlie?" Shit. I stayed quiet, the cord of Aria still delicately around my head. "Charlie, are you okay?" Nope, I thought. My crush just heard me fanboying about him like he was 5 Seconds of Summer or something.

"Charlie, I'm going to go, but I'm here if you need me." I heard the door click, and carefully peeked at the room, making sure he didn't do that thing where he shuts the door but stays in the room to trick me into getting out of my hiding space.

A heavy sigh left my lungs as I leaned back against a pillow. Dear lord, what have I gotten myself into now?