WEEK SIX
Cape Town, South Africa—Sunday, July 11, 2021
6 Contestants and 28 Days Remaining
Charlie
"Did you know that South Africa has eleven official languages?"
"I did know that," Jules groans as she jostles forward in the horrendous customs line at the Cape Town airport, "because you already told me. On the plane. Twice."
"And fun fact—"
"Ten bucks says the fact will not actually be fun," Parisa interjects, because she clearly chose to extend her trip with the ulterior motive of mocking him on a new continent.
"Fun fact," Charlie says louder. "South Africa has three capital cities, and Cape Town is one of them."
"Told you. Where's my ten bucks?"
"No one bet against you," Jules snaps. "No one thought the fact would be fun."
There's nothing quite like a twelve-hour flight to turn the entire Ever After crew into a bunch of grumpy zombies, sniping at each other over travel arrangements and bickering about permits and paperwork. Charlie only really cares about one grumpy zombie, though, and he's standing quietly next to him in line, his shoulders stooped forward like he's carrying an impossible weight.
He's not. Charlie's been carrying Dev's duffle since they got off the plane. He wishes he could carry Dev, too, wishes he could scoop him into his arms. But Skylar is right in front of them, and Ryan is right behind them, and everywhere Charlie looks, there are reminders of all the reasons he can't hold Dev through the rough parts. So, he says, "Another fun fact: did you know locals call the cloud coverage over Table Mountain the tablecloth?"
Dev looks up and rolls his eyes. Charlie will take it. It's a reaction, at least.
For all Dev's talk about "bouncing back," and his insistence that he's fine, the last few days in Munich were difficult. Dev's recovery was more recursive than linear—more two steps forward, followed by a catatonic collapse back. Long stretches of silence, bursts of irritability, little crying spurts. But when Charlie asked what he needed, Dev would tell him, mostly, even if all he needed was space.
Charlie knows there is no magical cure-all for depression, just like there is no magical cure-all for anxiety, but he can't help but want to make Dev feel better. To show him what he deserves. So he maybe did something slightly irrational in the service of cheering Dev up. Something Parisa had to fly to Cape Town to help him coordinate for the end of the week. Because fun facts alone obviously aren't going to do the trick.
The show has booked a top-floor suite at a hotel in Green Point with three bedrooms for Charlie, Dev, and Jules. Since Parisa was supposed to go home after Munich, she has to convince a production manager to let her sleep on the couch in their suite, promising to keep everything pristine for filming Charlie's confessionals the next morning.
"I'm not sleeping on the couch," Parisa says as soon as it's just the four of them. She drops her luggage in the first bedroom, and Jules claims the second, prompting a very awkward shuffle where Charlie and Dev pretend to be uncomfortable at the prospect of sharing the master. At least, Charlie's pretending.
Jules puts her hands on her hips. "It's a king-size bed. You'll be fine. If you're worried about cooties, build a pillow barrier down the middle of the bed," she suggests, and then she slams her bedroom door in their faces.
Dev responds to the revelation that they'll be sharing a bed for the next week by simply dropping his duffle on the floor and flopping backward onto the bed.
"Shoes," Charlie scolds.
Dev sighs and kicks off his filthy shoes in a pile on the floor. Charlie props his suitcase up on the stand. He hangs his shirts, then his slacks, then—
"Can unpacking wait until morning?" Dev asks with his head in a pile of pillows.
"That's how clothes wrinkle."
Charlie is also maybe stalling a little bit.
"That's what irons are for."
"I do not believe you've ever used an iron in your life."
When he's done folding his shorts into dresser drawers, Charlie goes into the bathroom to perform his nighttime routine. Thirty minutes later, he comes out of the bathroom, and Dev is still lying on top of the bed in his khaki shorts, scrolling through his phone. "Are you going to change for bed?"
Dev turns toward him, heavy-lidded. "Are you going to come over here and help me?"
Charlie crosses his arms and leans against the bathroom doorframe. "You're ridiculous."
"Can you promise me something?" Dev squints one eye. "Promise you will always blush like you are right now."
Charlie feels his face heat around the collar of his shirt. "I think I can safely make that promise, yeah."
"Good. Now are you going to come to bed?"
Charlie wants to climb into bed next to Dev, but he can't seem to unstick himself from the wall. They haven't slept in the same bed since the one night in Munich, haven't kissed since New Orleans, haven't talked about any of it at all. They're back to pretending like it never happened. And Dev—Dev is still so closed off. Charlie isn't sure what he's allowed, and if he climbs into bed next to Dev, he's going to want all of it.
Dev studies his not-so-casual lean. "What are you doing over there?"
"Just looking."
"Looking at what?"
"At you." Dev nervously knocks his glasses up his nose with his knuckle. Charlie likes having the power to make Dev nervous, so he adds, "I like to look at you."
Dev swallows, his face suddenly serious. "You shouldn't say things like that to me."
"Why not?"
"Because it makes it very difficult for me to keep my hands to myself."
Charlie smiles. "That's kind of the idea."
He slowly approaches the bed—their bed, the bed they'll be sharing for the next week. He feels as nervous as Dev looks. Nervous about the kissing, and about not talking about the kissing, not admitting what the kissing means. About what this is, about how it wasn't supposed to happen. About how badly he wants it to happen.
Dev meets him at the edge of the bed. "You're spiraling," Dev whispers as he brushes his fingers along the ridge of Charlie's twisted brow. Dev plants a kiss there, in the place where Charlie's eyebrows bunch in the middle. "Tell me what you need."
Charlie needs to kiss him, so he does. And when Dev kisses him back, the spiral loosens. Dev traces Charlie's bottom lip with his tongue, and when Charlie opens for him, everything shifts around the fixed point of where they come together. Hands in his hair and hands up his shirt, and Dev's tongue and Dev's teeth, falling back onto the bed, the beautiful asymmetry of their bodies. Moving quickly. Too quickly.
Charlie rolls off of Dev to catch his breath. Dev pouts petulantly in response.
"I was thinking," Charlie pants.
Dev pokes his ribs. "No thinking."
"I was thinking… you know what we haven't done in a while? Gone on a date. My skills are likely to atrophy at this rate."
"You think you have skills?"
"I'm serious." He sits up so he can look down at Dev, black hair matted and messy against a hotel comforter, glasses crooked on his nose. "Let me take you on a date tomorrow."
"For practice, you mean?" Dev clarifies.
"Sure." Charlie swallows down the lump forming in his throat. "For practice."
Dev
He couldn't say no to ten drunken seconds against a brick wall with Charlie Winshaw, and now Charlie's staring at him with those earnest gray eyes like he thinks Dev has the willpower to say no to this. To a date with him.
"We have to film your confessionals first thing in the morning," Dev says, impressed by his own professionalism, particularly in light of the fact that he had his hands up Charlie's shirt two minutes ago. "You have to tell the cameras all about how you could see yourself falling in love in Cape Town."
"Hmm," is all Charlie says about that. "After confessionals, then."
"I don't—"
Charlie interrupts his new excuse by reaching for the sides of his face. Charlie kisses him again, and it feels so different than when they kissed in New Orleans. There's no frenzy in it, no razor's edge of panic cutting between their lips. No fear that at any minute the kissing could end. The kiss feels steadying, solid, like something Dev can lean against. Something that isn't going to collapse beneath him.
Even though, rationally, he knows it will. He knows that wanting Charlie is self-destructive and stupid—that he'll probably end up back in the dark, drowning place—but he wants him anyway.
"Okay. Yeah. A practice date," Dev says when Charlie releases his mouth.
Charlie smiles, and Dev tries to hide the fact that he's smiling, too.
Dev takes off his jeans and changes one T-shirt for another before he finally crawls into their massive bed. Charlie lies down stiff as a board on the opposite side. It feels like there's an ocean of space between them. There's been an ocean of space between them all week.
"Good night, Charlie," Dev says as he clicks off the light beside the bed.
"Good night, Dev."
Dev tries lying on his back, tries turning onto his side, tries not to think about how epically fucked this season truly is thanks to him. Tries not to think about Charlie five feet away.
"Are you asleep?" he asks into the dark.
"It's been three minutes, so no."
Dev twists and turns uncomfortably. "You know in Munich… when you sort of… held me?"
Charlie slides across the bed without further prompting. Dev can feel his body heat between the sheets as he gets closer. His solidity.
Charlie begins to gather Dev up and pull him up onto his chest. "Do you want to be on top?"
Dev opens his mouth to retort.
"Oh, shut up, I heard it," Charlie snipes as he wraps his arms tighter around his shoulders.
"Are you blushing?"
Charlie doesn't respond. Dev wishes he could see his face right now, but he settles for nuzzling himself into Charlie's warm throat.
"And now you're pretending to be asleep to escape your embarrassment."
"Please, Dev," Charlie says, but Dev can hear the smile in his voice, "just go to sleep."
So Dev does. It's the best sleep he's had all season.
It's winter here, fifty-five degrees with a cold breeze coming off the water, and early-morning clouds lingering over the mountain. Behind the clouds, though, Dev can see the sky is a perfect blue—as blue as the ocean, as crisp as the South African air, as beautiful as Charlie wearing a cowl-neck sweater and a pair of snug, dark-wash jeans.
"It's not too late to go back for real shoes," Charlie says as they climb into their Uber in front of the hotel. "We're going to be walking a lot. Victoria and Alfred Waterfront, please," he tells their driver. They've told the crew they're going to an undisclosed location to spend the day planning the rest of Charlie's romantic journey, and Dev has relinquished total control to Charlie to plan the entire (practice) date. So far, the date has only included Charlie being fussy about Dev's flip-flops.
"I can walk in these."
Charlie looks wholly unconvinced.
In his six years with Ever After, Dev's circled the globe numerous times, visited a dozen Caribbean islands, put his toes in almost every ocean; he's watched a proposal at sunrise over Machu Picchu, and he's written confessions of love on six continents.