Work Text:
1:02PM
On a Thursday
The heatwave had burned Charlie on his cheekbones and on the back of his neck. Dennis was drinking his third whiskey cola and playing absentmindedly with a quickly melting ice cube that hadn’t quite made it into his glass. Paddy’s Pub was empty, like bars usually are at one in the afternoon on a normal Thursday. But it was their bar, their job, and most importantly, a source of free alcohol. Mac, Frank and Dee were fighting behind the bar, their voices bouncing on the walls as heated up echos.
Charlie was sitting at one of the tall tables, wearing shorts that he had cut following the example Dennis had set for him. Dennis’ gaze slithered down Charlie’s bare thighs and shins. He was too short and sitting on a stool too high for his feet to reach the floor. Dirty Vans hanged in the air, flailing, waving around the thick, hot, dust filled air.
”Charlie, how come I can smell your sweat from all the way over there?” Dennis asked lazily. The heat had drained him out, he had no idea how the rest of the gang had it in them to fight right now. Charlie didn’t lift his gaze from the contents of his beer glass, of which foamy goldness he had gotten immersed in, but he did give Dennis a middle finger. Dennis smiled shortly and turned to pour himself a fourth whiskey cola.
When he turned back, Charlie and his beer were gone. To the basement, Dennis concluded, he could hear Charlie stomping down the stairs.
As he was free to do. Dennis wasn’t Charlie’s keeper.
The shitty air conditioning in the bar was not enough to keep the heatwave out. Mac, Frank and Dee had left somewhere, the sounds of arguing had gotten into Dee’s car and driven off. Time passed by slowly, seconds merely trickling away. Dennis poured himself a vodka soda instead of another whiskey cola.
”Charlie?” he tried sluggishly. Even Charlie couldn’t bash rats in heat like this.
Most likely Charlie was sitting in the basement and huffing glue. Dennis gave himself a moment to really ponder over that thought. Charlie hadn't answered to him hollering, so he took his vodka soda and made his way down to the basement.
Charlie was laying on his back on the basement floor. A bottle of paint thinner was laying next to him like a mini-me.
”I thought I’d get going”, Dennis said and gestured somewhere behind his back.
”G’ahead. I’m going to stay, uh, here. For a bit”, Charlie answered and tried to take a sip from his glass. The warm beer ended mostly on his face, neck and the front of his shirt.
”Is it cool there?” Dennis asked. The heat had made him lazy and tired, and the gloomy basement with it's lingering thinner fumes had done the rest. The floor looked filthy but actually very tempting.
”Yeah”, Charlie assured. He looked at Dennis with his eyes half open, and then squirmed a bit to the left to make space.
Dennis sat next to Charlie and put the vodka soda on the floor. He took the paint thinner bottle and lifted it up to his nose. He didn’t inhale much, just enough for the idea of laying on the grime covered floor to be fine for him.
So Dennis laid on the floor, the rest of the world feeling soft and distant. Time was a pile of sticky goo. Dennis was melted wax.
”You’ve burnt yourself here”, Dennis mumbled and lifted his suddenly very heavy hand on Charlie’s cheek.
”It’s s’fucking hot out there”, Charlie said with a whiny, suffering tone in his voice. It was amusing for Dennis. He forgot his hand where it was, the sunburnt skin hot on his palm.
”You’re so fucking hot”, he said. Charlie looked at him with a hard to read look on his face. Then he exploded into a laughing fit.
Dennis looked back at him with a sincerely confused smile, dumbened by the paint thinner, hand between Charlie’s hot cheek and the cool floor of the basement.