CHARLES

Charles woke up at his desk with the ctrl + enter keys pressed into his check. He was groggy, a little sick from the sodas he downed trying to stay awake for Motts’ video game marathon. And he didn’t really remember what he was doing until he looked up to see the throwaway email Motts created for him as a joke open to a thread, which he must have sent sometime in the middle of the night.

But why was he writing an email in the middle of the night?

Charles’ eyes nearly bugged out of his head when he remembered, and his breath caught in his throat when he realized the worst thing of all:

There was a response.

To: charcharbinks@gmail.com

From: GSAatwestwood@gmail.com

Re: You

Hi,

It seems you didn’t mean to send this email. But I’m glad you did. I’m flattered, but unfortunately, I don’t know who you are. Which, by the way, not signing your email doesn’t help. I assume you’re a student at the school, do you want to join the GSA? And all this talk about your father has me worried… Does he not like you being gay?

Sorry if this is too personal, but I’m worried about you, whoever you are.

Back to the main subject of your email… Again, I’m very flattered, but at least take a guy to dinner first :P I don’t mean to turn you down, but again, I don’t know who you are. I do hope you will keep talking to me. I’m here if you need anything, I know how difficult the closet can be.

Even if you think you’re doing fine.

I like your sign-off. I think I’ll steal it.

Respectfully Yours,

Lucas Sawyer

President of the GSA

Charles read the email again. And then again after pulling it up on his phone. And a third time while he made his way to the bathroom. The more he read it, though, the worse he felt. At least he hadn’t gotten around to signing his name, or else he would have been truly mortified. But at the same time, Charles’ palms were sweaty, and his face was flushed. He looked over that last line again: I like your sign-off. I think I’ll steal it. Just that one line was almost more than Charles could take.

He let out a heavy groan and leaned against the far wall of the bathroom, toothbrush idly dangling out of his mouth.

He should respond.

He knew he should respond.

Lucas took time out of his precious evening to write all that out, and it would kind of be a jerk move to pretend it never happened. Then again, Charles was the King of Jerk Moves. At the very least, though, Charles knew he should apologize for that disaster. It may have been an accident, but he still sent it.

The sigh that escaped Charles’ mouth was more like a gurgle on account of the toothbrush, and he rubbed the back of his neck a little.

Then, he pressed reply.

To: GSAatwestwood@gmail.com

From: charcharbinks@gmail.com

Re: You

Lucas,

I'm so sorry you had to read that. Any of it. God, that was a mess of an email. This is why I used a fake account, cause I can't tell you who I am. Or anyone. It's too risky... sorry. And my dad doesn't know, so it's fine. He thinks I'm taking a break from girls to get through college apps. Again, sorry for being weird.

Respectfully Yours.

Charles leaned back against the wall again, finished brushing his teeth, and pulled his t-shirt over his head so he could start getting ready for the day. He always wore the same style—a button-up, a sweater vest, a jacket if it was cold, jeans, and some nice boots.

He wasn’t going to check his phone.

In fact, he set it face down on his desk because he said what he needed to say, and he wasn’t going to respond again.

He was halfway through buttoning up his white dress shirt when his phone dinged again, and he practically dove across the length of his queen-sized bed to get to his desk.

To: charcharbinks@gmail.com

From: GSAatwestwood@gmail.com

Re: You

No, please don’t apologize! You didn’t make me uncomfortable at all. I’m flattered, really, but I wish I knew who was confessing!

It’s ok that you’re not ready for the GSA, but know that there’s no judgment in that space. You can talk openly if you need to.

Here, I’ll give you my personal email. Email me if you ever need advice or maybe just someone to talk to; it’s best not to use the club email since all the officers can see.

luckyinlove666@gmail.com

You don’t have to tell me your name, but it would be nice to have something to work with.

Respectfully Yours,

Lucas Sawyer

President of the GSA

Charles’ cheeks warmed, and he hung his head. Of course. Of course, the other officers were on the club email. And Charles didn’t even know who they were! He let out a string of curses as he tossed his phone on the bed and busied himself with buttoning up his shirt the rest of the way.

Normally, he would leave it at that. Normally, he wouldn’t take the risk. Normally, his brain was screwed on right, and his mind was clear, and he wouldn’t do something as stupid as pulling up a fresh, new email, and typing a response. To Lucas, and his personal email.

But Charles wasn’t thinking straight.

In fact, he was thinking rather gay.

Because he hated that he didn’t get to have a life because of who his father was. Because he couldn’t stand that his existence felt like a play where he didn’t even get to learn his lines.

Because, at the end of the day, Charles wanted a love story, too.

To: luckyinlove666@gmail.com

From: charcharbinks@gmail.com

Subject: Sorry

Lucas,

Sorry, I didn’t think about the whole club email thing. Please delete them, I don’t want anyone to know how much of a screw-up I am. It’s bad enough that you know now. Just promise you won’t make fun of me, please.

Lucky in love, though? That’s a pretty, er, romantic email address. Minus the nod to the Devil. Do you already have a boyfriend? Sorry for bothering you with… all this.

Respectfully Yours,

A bang came from downstairs, and Charles nearly jumped through the ceiling. Heart pounding, he listened for a few moments for approaching footsteps. He came up empty, which meant his father probably dropped something.

It meant that Vincent hadn’t somehow figured out what Charles was doing and wasn’t marching up the stairs to give him hell about it.

Charles turned his attention back to the email, and the blinking light of the cursor taunted him the longer he looked at the screen. Risky.

He couldn’t tell Lucas his name, but also, it did feel weird for Lucas not to have anything to work with, as he said. Charles sank deep into his thoughts, trying to pull together something that was kind of a name but wouldn’t give him away. When he finally landed on something, he typed it out and pressed send before he could overthink it.

It made him feel stupid, but it was better than nothing.

To: charcharbinks@gmail.com

From: luckyinlove666@gmail.com

Re: Sorry

Binks,

Okay, first of all, Binks is adorable. It’s so cute, I’m not even mad I didn’t end up getting your name.

Second, you have my word that we won’t make fun of you. There’s nothing to make fun of! You’re not a screw-up, Binks. Accidents happen.

And finally, I’m a single pringle, as single as they come! I had a boyfriend at my old school, but let’s just say it didn’t end well. My friends call me Lucky. That’s where my email comes from. I know it sounds a little… vain, I guess, but it’s not me saying I’m lucky in love, it’s a nod to my nickname. And given your email… you’re one to talk, my friend.

As I said, my friends call me Lucky. So please, call me Lucky.

Respectfully Yours,

Lucky

Charles’ heart skipped a beat. A nickname. Lucas had a nickname. Charles started typing again, struggling to pull his vest over his head. His morning routine took twice as long since he was emailing Lucas, but whatever. He didn’t care. He was kind of having fun, anyway.

That was new. Flirting with girls never felt like that.

Besides, he was learning things about Lucas in their time going back and forth. Lucas said he wanted to get to know Binks a little better, to see if they could be friends—friends—and Charles certainly wasn’t complaining.

In fact, he was taking notes.

Lucas was called Lucky by his friends.

Lucas had two siblings, twin sisters, who were in 4th grade.

Lucas lived in the apartments on the other side of town, in a loft with three rooms and too little space.

And, perhaps the most important:

Lucas was single.

“Who are you talking to with that face so early in the morning? Got yourself a new girlfriend?” A gruff voice scraped against Charles’ ears. There was a huff, and then, suddenly, his phone was yanked from his hands. “Charles, I’m speaking to you. How many times do I have to tell you? No phones at the table. Girls can wait.”

Charles glanced at his screen, which had been clicked to black when it was pulled from his hands and relaxed slightly. He’d be dead if his father saw who he was talking to.

Vincent Aughtly was tall, and lean, with perfectly styled graying hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He wore a suit, like always, because he needed to play the part of the successful businessman. Caring father was not an act he had down, but Charles wondered if Vincent ever would. Vincent slammed Charles’ phone on the counter away from him and turned to finish piling the breakfast Charles had made for him onto a plate.

Charles flinched at the noise.

With his father in such a mood, it was sure to be a long morning.