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It’s Charles’ first day on the job when Monty first notices him. He’d never admit this, of course. He’d pretend that he only learned who he was when they were all preparing to share their deception strategies, but it’s actually when he’s being shown around the building that Monty first spots him. The first thing he notices is how nervous he looks, constantly fidgeting with his collar, his tie, the bottom of his shirt, and avoiding eye contact with the people hanging around as much as possible.
The second thing he notices is that this new guy is, honestly, very cute.
He observes across the corridor as the new colleague fumbles with a door, first pushing it, then pulling it, then giving it a shake and looking back towards Hester, terrified. For her part, she doesn’t look too annoyed by him, simply opening the door for him and gesturing for him to walk through (she does, however, roll her eyes and re-compose herself when she’s no longer in his eyeline).
Monty continues to watch until he’s just out of view, only then realising the way he’s been leaning over the desk to see better.
“Watching the new recruit, are you?” he jumps slightly, leaning back into his seat and turning to see a sly smirk on John’s face.
“Who is that?”
“Charles Cholmondeley, I heard. One of the girls is showing him around. I heard him going on about a bird he saw on his way here. Bet that’s why Bevan’s got one of the girls to show him what’s what, probably bloody sick of him already!”
Monty hums absentmindedly in response, trying to keep the name in his head. John is still talking, but Monty caught the name and, honestly, isn’t bothered about whatever else he has to say, though luckily for John, Reggie has moved towards the two of them, eager to take part in the gossip. He scoffs - considering how much they’ve complained about the typing pool girls for loudly sharing stories with each other (“nature of women, eh?”), it’s concerning that he hears these two gossiping much more often than the girls.
He’s intrigued to find out more about Cholmondeley.
-
His second time coming across Charles Cholmondeley is when he spots him out of the window one lunchtime. Monty has brought lunch with him, choosing to eat at his desk today in an attempt to avoid the pointless conversations his colleagues keep trying to involve him in. His sleeves are rolled up, a few buttons unbuttoned to try and save himself from the sweltering heat of the office, and he sighs, pushes back the strands of hair that have stuck to the sweat on his forehead. He looks around, hoping to find something, anything that could help cool him down, when he realises the window across the room from him is still closed.
Getting up from his chair, he walks over and pauses momentarily when he spots Charles sitting on a bench outside. His lunch discarded to the side of him, Charles is looking intently towards a tree above him, looking down every few moments to scribble something in a small notebook resting on his knee. Though Monty strains to make out what he’s looking at, all he can spot is some slight rustling in the leaves. He figures there must be some kind of creature up there, further confirmed by the delight on Charles’ face as it moves down the tree, his eyes following the movement.
“My God, you’re obsessed!”
“What?” he replies, quickly reaching to open the window as initially intended.
“You’re always looking at that Cholmondeley! What’s he doing now, collecting bugs?”
“No, I just… spotted him when I was going to open the window. I think he’s looking at something in the trees.”
John pulls a face, “right…”, and wanders back towards his desk, muttering something to himself.
-
The third time he spots Charles Cholmondeley is just over a week later - Monty is having his lunch when Charles ventures into the kitchen alone for the first time, anxiously looking around as he enters. He waits by the door until everyone has finished what they’re doing and moved away before he walks over to the counter, scanning the different cupboards. Upon finding the one containing the mugs, he freezes, uncertain of what to do next; Monty watches as he reaches for a mug, then stops himself, reaches for another, pauses again.
He looks relieved when Bella strolls into the room, a tray of dirty coffee mugs in her hand.
“You alright, Charlie?” she asks as she places the tray down beside him.
He gestures to the open cupboard, full of a variety of mugs and glasses.
“Um, which mug can I use?”
“Whichever’s fine. If anyone gets mad at you for using their mug, that’s their bloody problem,” she looks pointedly towards John as she speaks.
“Right. Um. Thanks, Bella.”
She smiles at him before beginning to make up a new tray of drinks ready for Bevan’s meeting later. Charles takes a step back, patiently waiting for her to finish, bobbing on his toes as he waits. As soon as she finishes and heads out of the door, he looks up at the cupboard again, nods quickly, as if to hype himself up, and reaches for a mug.
“Not that one.” John shouts from across the room.
“I’m… sorry?”
“That’s my mug. You’ll have to pick a different one.”
Charles nods anxiously, carefully placing the mug back where it was and reaching for another.
“Nope. That’s mine too.”
“Right, sorry, um…”
“That’s Reggie’s mug.”
“Is there a mug that I could maybe use, please? I’d just really like a cup of tea.”
“Get your own bloody mug, bug boy.”
Charles freezes, uncertain of what to do next, a tinge of pink beginning to creep up his cheeks. Monty is considering whether he should say something, but before he can decide, Charles is slipping out of the room, mumbling to himself. Immediately as the door closes behind him, Reggie lets out a cackle, John following suit.
“There’s really not one mug he could’ve used?”
“Well, I don’t want him touching mine.” Reggie responds, turning to John and pulling a face.
“Obviously, but surely there are others?”
“Why do I care? You go share a cup of tea with him if you’re that bothered.”
-
The next Monday, when he arrives at his desk, Reggie and John are chatting in the corner as usual; what isn’t usual, however, is the way they stop abruptly when he walks in, and moving towards his desk, grinning. He raises an eyebrow at them, confused, tries to figure out what they’re doing, until he notices a mug on his desk. It’s a plain, white mug, nothing in it, no stains, so definitely not some kind of weird prank where they try and make him drink some concoction (they have attempted this in the past). Before he can question what the hell is going on, Reggie speaks.
“Turn it around!” he says, and nudges John.
He tentatively reaches for the handle and picks up the mug, turning it so he can see the other side. The mug depicts Charles Cholmondeley’s grinning face.
“What the-”
“Because you’re so bloody obsessed with him! Don’t worry, he’s got his own mug now too. But there you go, your very own bug boy mug - hopefully you can stop staring at him all the time!”
The two break off into fits of laughter as if they’ve pulled the funniest prank ever, and Monty fixes them with a look of disdain before looking back at the mug in his hand. He’s surprised by the good quality of the mug: large enough to fit a good amount of tea in there, sturdy handle and, really, it is a nice picture of Charles. He questions how they managed to get this picture, how much they spent on turning it into a mug (two? Is this what they gave Charles as well?), how much time they spent on something so mundane and absolutely not appropriate for how hard they are continuing to laugh. Reggie is clinging onto John as if the two are about to fall down. Monty rolls his eyes.
He decides to keep the mug - he’s not got his own mug for the office, and this would work as long as he’s only drinking in this room, and absolutely not anywhere Charles or anyone else could see; he dreads to imagine the gossip that would spread around if Bella spotted him with it.
He also considers that using the mug would take away the fun of the joke for Reggie and John, and smiles at them proudly.
“It’s a good mug. Thank you!”
-
It takes six years, somehow, for him to have an actual personal interaction with Charles Cholmondeley. He pretends he doesn’t know who he is (he has no reason to, really) and allows him to begin to introduce himself when Charles pauses, confused.
“You’re drinking out of my mug.” he says, gesturing to the mug in Monty’s hand.
Monty, holding a mug that is absolutely his own, looks down at it, momentarily confused. He panics slightly - though he has used the mug every once in a while since it was given to him, he is usually very careful to only drink from it at his desk, so no one sees it and comes to the conclusion that he is absolutely insane (a valid conclusion based on the evidence, he considers). He quickly decides to go along with it rather than admitting it’s his own mug, realising that, if anyone were to think he was insane for having a mug with a colleague-who-he-has-never-interacted-with’s face on it, it would absolutely be said colleague.
“Oh, right.”
“It’s got a picture of my face on it…” Charles continues, reaching for the mug and turning it slightly towards himself. He pauses once he takes a closer look.
“Oh, right!” Monty repeats, as if only just realising the mug has Charles’ face on it. He’s about to continue the conversation when Charles looks back up at him, confusion evident in his face, and heads towards the door. He relaxes as the door closes, thinking that although the conversation was awkward, drinking out of Charles’ mug is much easier to explain away than the fact it is his own mug. And realistically, he’s unlikely to come across the man again; considering today was the first time they interacted in six years of Charles working here, he can’t imagine he’ll end up seeing him more frequently anytime soon.
As the door reopens, he realises he has relaxed far too quickly. Charles walks in, brow furrowed, the exact same mug in his hands.
“That’s not my mug,” Charles mumbles, nervously walking towards Monty, “why do you have a mug with my face on?”
How does one explain why they have a mug with someone’s face on, without coming across weird? He goes through potential excuses in his head. None of them help him to seem like a normal, well-functioning individual. He considers telling the truth, that some idiots made it as a joke, and he imagines the explanation would work until he realises he would then have to justify why he is currently drinking from it. Luckily for him, the conversation is interrupted, and he lets out a breath before realising who is interrupting.
“He likes looking at you,” John says, clapping Charles on the back. Charles looks panicked, shrinking away from the touch, and turns to John.
“...What?”
“He was looking at you all the bloody time. So we got him a Bug Boy mug. Seems like he likes it.”
“Uh. Right. What.”
He looks at Monty anxiously, as if hoping Monty has a reasonable, not-terrifying explanation. Monty isn’t sure he does.
“Well. You are a very handsome man, Charles. That said, I don’t make a habit of drinking out of this mug.”
“Um. Okay? And how long have you... had the mug?"
"Now that is a very good question."
Charles looks at him, awaiting a response, before looking back down to his mug, holding it next to Monty's.
"That's exactly the same as mine. And I've had it for... well. Since I started, almost?" he questions, perplexed.
"Well, there's your answer."
Charles nods slowly, as if trying to make sense of the situation with the little-to-no explanation he's been given so far.
"And you... drink out of this mug? That has my face on it?"
Monty looks down at the mug in his hand, at the tea within, looks back up at Charles, feigning shock.
"Looks like it, yeah."
It's silent for a while, and Monty hopes that's the end of it. There's only so long he can continue giving non-answers, and he's not sure there are any acceptable answers. But then Charles asks another question, quiet this time, uncertain.
"Why?"
"Well I'm not going to get rid of a gift, am I?"
"Right," Charles nods slowly, "okay then. Um-"
He's interrupted by the door opening, and Monty watches Charles' posture change as Colonel Bevan walks into the room, watches him clutch his mug towards his chest and salute with his other hand. Bevan nods back at him, and Monty rolls his eyes.
"Right. I'll be hearing your proposals for a deception strategy soon. I need your best work - the country is relying on you to work this out."
"Yes, Colonel Bevan, sir!" Charles responds enthusiastically, saluting once again and grabbing his files from the table.
"Don't bother, boys - I already have the solution! Johnny, I'll see you soon." Monty announces, grinning. Bevan fixes him with a glare; Monty smiles back innocently until Bevan turns to talk to Fleming, who is already eager to share his idea.
Charles is sitting down, flicking through his (far too large) file anxiously. He looks up when Monty approaches him.
"Good luck with your idea."
Charles quickly thanks him, looking back at his file and noting something on one of the diagrams.
"And, Charlie?"
Charles hums in response, focused.
"I don't make a habit of putting men on my mugs, by the way. You should feel flattered."
As he leaves the room, he looks back momentarily, smiling when he notices the tinge of pink upon Charles' cheeks as he furiously scribbles another note in his file.
-
+ bonus:
“So, you like looking at me?” Charlie grins, the alcohol he’s already consumed tonight making him bold, confident. Monty likes this Charlie. The confidence suits him (as does the fact that over the course of the evening, Charlie has ended up unbuttoning half of the buttons on his shirt, his chest deliciously visible and absolutely clouding Monty’s judgement).
“Perhaps.”
“You think I’m handsome?” he leans back and poses dramatically, lifting one leg over the other and smouldering.
“What if I said yes?”
Charlie smirks, shamelessly running his eyes over Monty’s body, making eye contact momentarily before moving back down to his lips. Monty’s heart races, the buzz from the alcohol rushing through his veins, head reeling from the way Charlie is looking at him right now. He takes in a breath as Charlie begins to lean towards him, eyes still on his lips.
Their noses almost touch, Monty anticipates finally feeling Charlie’s lips on his own, instinctively begins to lean further in himself.
“You’d be right.” he suddenly says, warm breath against Monty’s lips, and he leans back.
“What?” Monty responds, annoyed at the sudden change in tone, focused only on what had been about to happen.
“I am handsome,” he grins, before standing up, extending a hand to Monty, “now, let’s dance. Monty, we bloody did it.”
Monty stares at him for a moment, dazed, considering how Charlie’s lips would feel against his, how much Charlie’s alcohol-induced confidence is affecting Monty. He’s usually the confident one, the leader, but he has to admit, it’s sometimes nice to just follow along. Especially when Charlie is looking at him like that .
Monty reaches his own hand out, revelling in the way Charles grips him tightly. He looks up at him fondly.
“We did it.”
He just hopes they’re right.