Charlie glanced across the room, nervously chewing on his lower lip.
Tom.
All it took was the mention of his name for Charlie's heart to pick up, and the colour to rise in his face, so sitting alone in a closed room with him just a few feet away was like
A train engine powering his heart
And an almost painful sunburn on his cheeks
And a dust cloud of flour coating the inside of his mouth
And trying to go for a jog without eating all day
And - Tom's looking at him.
Breathing - How's that one work?
Right, the one-two, inhale-exhale. He thinks he's got it now, but he's pretty sure it's not supposed to sound quite so arrhythmic and ragged.
And Tom looks away, something else capturing the bluenette's attention.
But Charlie revels in the moment it was focused solely on him