Somehow, despite the fact that Nathan had suggested the movie, they ended up in Charles' living quarters, sitting on his couch, drinking what alcohol was left from their previous nightly meetings. After an hour, Charles had lost his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, and his shoes were across the room. On Nathan's end, the only thing he had lost was his shoes, but there were plenty of empty glasses around them. A bottle of rum was shared between them.

To say that they were drunk was an understatement.

"You can't fucking fight like that! Fuck, that fucking chick, she's fucking brutal, you can't sit there and say you'd fucking kick her ass! She'd cut your damn dick off!" Nathan was laughing as Charles was trying to protest the fact that if he fought Uma Thurman, he'd certainly win.

"You…you don't know!" Charles slurred, eyes narrowed as he looked over to Nathan, "I'm pretty damn good with a sword." Though, the point wasn't proven so well when Charles gestured with his hand as if he had a sword and knocked over a bottle. This only caused Nathan to laugh harder.

"Bullshit! You can't even hold your fucking arm straight!"

"I fenced in college!"

"That's not with a fucking Samurai sword! Do you even…what the fuck is fencing?"

"When I am sober, I will show you. I know we have them around here somewhere."

"We do? Nice. Wait. What other weapons we got?" Nathan asked, and Charles didn't notice his arm had shifted behind the couch.

Charles laughed, "No." He grabbed the bottle of rum between them and took a drink from it, "You don't get to see them, you'll end up cutting off Pickles' arm or something."

"No I…would. I would. It'd be fucking brutal though, then he could have a robot arm."

"I'm, ah, pretty sure he wouldn't appreciate that."

If Charles was sober, he would have realized that they weren't watching the movie anymore and they were focusing more on the conversation between each other and nothing more. Instead, he was too caught up in talking with Nathan, because he couldn't remember the last time they did this.

Well, that was a lie. It was right before he was shot with the arrow, it was right before the album release, and it was right before he faked his death and left for nine months.

If that wasn't a sobering thought, he didn't know what else was. He frowned, his features suddenly changing while Nathan was talking about turning Pickles into half a robot, and Nathan stopped mid sentence and looked at Charles with a raised eyebrow.

"Uh…you going to pass out?"

Charles shook his head, and the room spun slightly. "No. No, I'm good." Pause. "I need to ask you something." He took another drink from the bottle and handed it to Nathan. "Why…"

Nathan cut him off. "No, me…first." He drank what was left of the bottle and tossed it to the floor and shifted on the couch. "How many scars do you have?"

Charles was visibly taken aback from the question and tried to laugh it off, "I have the one on my cheek, but that's –"

"That's not it. I saw them. When you came back."

Clearing his throat, Charles sat up a little straighter, and tried to stay focused but that was hard when he was this drunk. "I know. I…I, uh…remember. I saw you."

"So how many scars do you have?"

There was a long silence and Charles diverted his eyes from Nathan for a moment. "Depends on where you're looking, but I have a lot. Some are from college. Some are from my past job –"

"What, you were in the army or some shit?"

"…you...could say that if you wanted."

Nathan leaned forward, inches away from Charles' face, and pressed his finger to Charles' scar on his left cheek. "I want to know about the recent ones."

"You know where I got that one." Charles kept his eyes focused on Nathan, but unbuttoned the top of his shirt a little more, to pull back and show the scar tissue from where he was shot with the arrow. "You know where I got this one."

He started to button up his shirt again but Nathan grabbed his wrist. "No." The grasp was strong but loosened after a minute. "I want to see them."

Despite his better judgment, and perhaps because he was drunk and unwilling to think logically, Charles just nodded his head. He pushed off the couch, standing up and leaning against the edge of the couch to keep his balance, and managed to unbutton his shirt once he could focus enough. He didn't take the shirt off but instead let it hang open. The bruises from his fight with Nathan were still fresh, but the last cut he had gotten before returning had almost healed up. The arrow scar was easier to see now, and various cuts, faded bruises, and scars littered his chest like a road map.

Nathan stared at him, and Charles felt strange being the object he was staring at, and started to feel a little too open. Nathan didn't need to see this, and it was killing Charles' buzz.

He fell back onto the couch, sinking into his seat as he looked at the movie still playing instead of Nathan, who was still way too interested in Charles' battle wounds.

Charles could feel Nathan's eyes on him still and he turned towards him, "Anytime you want to stop that, it uh, would be great."

Nathan just stared at him, and said nothing. Maybe it was because he was drunk, maybe it was because there wasn't anything to say, or maybe it was that Nathan was taking a longer time to try to figure out what he wanted to say, but Charles was feeling strange. He wanted to scream, he wanted to do something but he didn't know what.

"My turn," he finally said, shifting on the couch, "Why did you-"

Again he was cut off. "I'm not done," Nathan growled.

"Then what do you want from me?" Charles asked, frustrated, feeling like he was the one getting the short stick in this situation. "You...what do you want, Nathan?"

"I want to know why you came back."

"I already-"

"No. I want to know why you came back," Nathan's voice rising in anger, "What those reasons were. Why you...came back to-"

"No, Nathan," Charles said, narrowing his eyes in frustration and the movement caused the room to spin slightly. "You don't get to ask the questions anymore." He looked around for more alcohol, but it was gone, in broken bottles on the floor and maybe he didn't need anymore than he already had. "You have to answer my question now."

Nathan stared at Charles. He had to know what was coming, Charles thought. Nathan wasn't stupid, not by a long shot - despite sometimes doing stupid things.

"Why did you kiss me." It was more of a statement than a question, and Charles' tone was shaky but calm.

"Why not?"

Why not? "If you can't give me a real answer then...we are done here." Drunk or not, Charles knew when he was facing a lost cause. He was as horrible with actual emotions as the front man was, but at least he could formulate a thought when it counted. Drunk or not, he needed answers.

Still, it was clear Nathan wanted to say something, but that he couldn't figure out how. Was it that he was trying to keep his ego in check? If that was the case, it was a poor one.

"Because I knew that you were still alive. And I wanted proof." The front man looked away, clearing this throat with a cough, clearly becoming uncomfortable with their conversation, most likely at how un-metal the whole situation had become. Not that it ever had been metal to begin with.

He wanted proof? Charles raised an eyebrow, and his facial features softened. "How does...ah, how does kissing me give you proof, exactly?"

Nathan shrugged, his eyes slightly closed thanks to his drunken state and he brought his attention to Charles. "I don't know, to see if I…" He let his voice trail off, because there were some things you just couldn't admit. Not even to yourself. Saying out loud would be dangerous, and Charles knew where he was coming. It was one thing to know you felt something, it was another reason to admit it, to verbalize it and let it just hang out there in the open.

So instead of forcing Nathan to say it, Charles, in his drunken state, decided taking action would end up serving them better. Almost mirroring how Nathan had grabbed him and pulled him in before, Charles did the same, grabbing the larger man's wrist and pulling him towards him, crashing his own lips against his in a rough kiss.

It was a little sloppy, thanks to their drunken states, and it was a little unorganized, but there was no one to interrupt them this time. Nathan's hands had reached out, grabbing the edges of Charles' collar and pulled on them, in an attempt to make sure the manager wouldn't go anywhere - not that Charles had any intention of doing so.

They were fumbling, not sure of where to go from here - seemingly new territory for both of them - but they at least knew that there was something there they really couldn't deny any longer. Charles, unable to help himself, groaned into the kiss, which caused Nathan to kiss Charles harder. The pesky feeling of losing air finally came up, and the kiss broke hastily, both of them looking at each other as if they didn't know what to do next.

Eventually, Nathan laughed, "We need a drink, fuck." He got off the couch, heading over to Charles' liquor cabinet as Charles watched him from his seat. Charles swallowed hard as he watched Nathan walk around, his arousal fully visible, and once more Charles reacted without thinking.

He seemed to be losing himself around Nathan quite frequently lately, and Charles was too drunk to know if that was a good thing or not.

Getting off the couch, he walked over to Nathan, who had a fresh bottle of rum in his hand and had turned around to head back. Charles roughly shoved him against a wall, causing Nathan to drop the bottle, and it shattered on the floor into little pieces of glass, and the alcohol spilled everywhere. They were back to kissing, but it was far rougher than before, as Nathan pushed himself off the wall and pushed Charles towards another one, Charles slamming his back hard against the wall closest to his bedroom door.

"Fuck," Charles hissed, the kiss breaking the second he made contact with the wall, and he grabbed Nathan by his belt and pulled him into his bedroom, and kicked the door shut behind them.

He couldn't remember when he ended up passing out, but when Charles woke up, naked and face down on the bed, he was thankful he could at least remember everything else that had happened.

The reminder was still in bed next to him, grinning like a damn fool. "Hey."

"Hey." Charles replied, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment as his head pounded. "What time is it?"

"Fuck if I know, you keep a clock around here?" Nathan's voice was rougher than usual, and Charles opened his eyes as he looked over towards him, just as naked as Charles was, under the sheets with him.

He hadn't left. Maybe that was a good sign.

"Well, I have work I, ah, have to do if…" Charles tried to get up but the room started to spin again and he groaned, burying his head in the pillow. Work wasn't going to happen. Not right now. Though he didn't actually want to leave his bedroom, not while Nathan was still here.

Nathan was laughing, mostly likely at Charles, and Charles just raised his hand and flipped him off, which only caused Nathan to laugh harder. Charles mumbled something into his pillow that Nathan couldn't hear, so the front man poked Charles' side, just missing his bruise.

"What's that, Ofdensen?"

Charles turned his head to the side and looked over to Nathan, "Fuck you."

"That's already checked off the list. Next?"

This caused Charles to laugh, and he shifted on his back, "Yeah, I guess you're...ah, correct on that."

There was a silence between them, but it didn't feel awkward. It didn't feel out of place, it felt comfortable.

That alone should have been a warning sign, but Charles wasn't listening to any of those right now.

"I wouldn't mind that...again." Nathan said, sliding down back onto the pillow behind him and shrugged, looking at Charles. He watched as Charles' lips curled into a small smile, and the other man nodded.

"Ah, yes." Charles nodded once more for extra measure, "Same here."

There was another silence before Nathan rested his head on Charles's shoulder. "You tell anyone that I cuddle, and I'll fucking kill you." Charles could feel Nathan's slowly growing grin on his skin.

"You can try," the CFO said, laughing, "You can try."