Two and a Half Men: Waking up as Charlie Harper

[2 days later]

Charlie sat on the couch, barefoot, guitar across his lap, flipping through the chords of Midnight Kind of Love like he was half-memorizing it and half-afraid to ruin it.

Lisa was at the dining table nearby, reading a newspaper. Alan was nowhere in sight (thank God), and Berta was out terrorizing the laundry.

Then Charlie's phone buzzed on the coffee table.

Unknown number.

He answered. "Hello?"

A pause. Then a woman's voice came through, clipped and professional.

"Charlie Harper?"

"That's me."

"This is Ava Tannenbaum. I'm with Firelight Records. We listened to your demo yesterday. The track Midnight Kind of Love... It's good. Really good."

Charlie blinked. Sat up straighter. "Oh. Okay. That's great to hear." 

"It's clean. Raw. Vulnerable. Something we think audiences are missing right now."

Charlie smiled. "Appreciate that." He gave a thumbs-up to Lisa, who was looking at him. She smiled.

'He did it,' She thought.

Pause.

"But here's the thing," Ava continued, tone shifting slightly. "We don't release singles anymore from unknowns. We package three-four song EPs... gives the artist some room to breathe, gives us more material to market."

Charlie's eyebrows lifted. "You're saying…?"

"We want you," Ava said directly. "But we need three more tracks. Same vibe. Real, intimate, stripped down. Something people would play at 1 AM and cry about later."

Charlie let out a breath. "Okay. Alright. Yeah, I can do that."

"You have five days."

He blinked. "Five?"

"We are running tight on schedule, and yours came at the right moment. So, five days is all we can give."

"Yeah, five days' work."

"Then send me something by Friday. Midnight."

Call ended.

Charlie stared at the phone like it had just handed him a live grenade.

Lisa looked up from her stack of papers. "Well?"

"They want the song," he said slowly.

She smiled. "That's amazing."

"But they want three. Like, a full EP. Five days."

Lisa blinked. "Can you do that?"

Charlie stood, pacing now.

"I think I can if I get some motivation every now and then."

Lisa raised an eyebrow. "Motivation, huh?"

Charlie stopped pacing, giving her that boyish, lopsided grin. "You know. The usual creative fuel... love, heartbreak, unresolved childhood trauma, and boobs."

She folded her paper with deliberate calm and set it on the table.

Then she stood, walked toward him with slow, exaggerated steps, and without breaking eye contact, lifted the hem of her shirt just enough to flash a glimpse of red lace.

Charlie's grin dropped.

Lisa smiled sweetly. "There's your teaser."

He blinked. "Red?"

She tilted her head. "Thought I'd switch it up. You've earned a preview."

He swallowed. "I suddenly have a lot of feelings I'd like to explore musically."

She stepped closer, lips brushing his ear. "You finish one full song by tonight? Verse, chorus, bridge... something that makes me feel something?"

Charlie nodded, slightly dazed.

"I'll give you a lapdance you won't forget," she whispered. "Maybe even put on heels."

Charlie's eyes widened. "High heels?"

"Tall enough to bruise your ego."

She kissed his cheek and walked away, cool as anything, heading toward the kitchen like she hadn't just detonated a bomb in his chest.

Charlie stood in the middle of the living room, heart pounding, guitar still in hand.

"Okay," he muttered to himself. "Focus. Channel the hormones into lyrics. No distractions. Except that one. And that one's worth it."

He dropped onto the couch, flipped open his notebook, and started scribbling like a man with everything to prove... and something very real to look forward to.

...

[Balcony – Late Morning after Lisa left for work]

Charlie stretched out on the balcony couch, guitar propped beside him, notebook open, pencil tucked behind his ear. The breeze was perfect, his coffee still warm, and for once, the words were sort of cooperating.

He strummed a few chords, jotted down a line or two, then looked up...

...and froze.

Down on the beach, like a mirage conjured by every teenage dream he'd ever had, was a group of bikini-clad women playing volleyball. Not two. Not four. A whole pack of them. It looked like a Victoria's Secret photo shoot had collided with a Gatorade commercial.

Boobs. Everywhere. Bouncing in every direction. The kind of bounce that defied physics and maybe also federal laws. Asses jiggling, sand flying, bodies twisting in slow motion like his brain had entered Sports Illustrated Matrix mode.

And then came the oil.

Not metaphorical.

Literal.

One of them sat on a towel, rubbing coconut oil across her thighs. Another leaned over a cooler, her top holding on by hope and a prayer. Charlie's eyes locked onto the scene like he was trying to study it for science.

He blinked. Swallowed. Tried to look away. Failed. Looked again.

He set the guitar down.

"...well, that's distracting," he mumbled. "Temptation everywhere... So many temptations and jiggles." 

Then, from behind him...

"So," came a gravelly voice, "is this a relapse or a farewell tour?"

Charlie nearly jumped out of his seat.

He turned to see Berta, arms crossed, leaning against the sliding door, looking at him like a zookeeper catching a monkey with a stolen soda.

"I... I was just observing the... the local wildlife," Charlie stammered.

Berta raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? What species is that, exactly? Hot-tubus bouncius?"

Charlie cleared his throat and sat up straighter, trying to act normal despite the very abnormal stirrings in his swim trunks.

"I'm writing," he said, tapping his notebook. "Creatively. These are just... background visuals."

Berta stepped onto the balcony, squinting at the volleyball game like it was a personal insult.

"Uh-huh. Let me guess," she said. "You're about three bounces away from writing a song called 'Booty by the Bay.'"

Charlie gave her a look. "That's actually a decent title."

"I swear to God," Berta muttered. "Lisa leaves for one morning a little early, and suddenly it's spring break in your brain again."

He sighed. "I'm trying to be good, Berta."

"Oh, sure. You look very committed. Real 'monogamy and taxes' energy radiating off you while you watch that one with the pink bikini practically oil herself into a fire hazard."

Charlie dragged a hand down his face. "Okay, yes, it's... challenging. But I'm not doing anything. I'm just sitting here. Quietly. Like a reformed sinner. Tell me, when was the last time you saw me fooling around with strippers, single moms, and prostitutes?"

Berta smirked. "Uh-huh. And if one of them knocked on your door asking for sunscreen, you'd hand it over with your phone number, a guitar pick, a signed copy of your demo, and a massage."

Charlie held up his hands. "You know what? I am very committed to Lisa."

Berta nodded, deadpan. "Sure. So committed you might accidentally trip and fall into a group hug with Bikini Squad Alpha down there."

He sighed again, more dramatically this time. "Why are you like this?"

She gave him a sideways glance. "Because someone in this house needs to keep you from turning into vintage Charlie Harper again. The one who woke up in Jacuzzis with strangers and once gave a woman your entire fridge as an apology."

Charlie blinked. "Okay, that was one time. And technically, she stole the fridge."

Berta turned, heading back inside. "Just remember," she called over her shoulder, "Lisa's a principal now. She's got discipline. She'll find out if you start assigning extra credit to the beach volleyball team."

Charlie looked back at the group, then sighed and picked up his guitar.

"No lap dance if I screw this up," he muttered. "Focus. Words. Music. Boobs later. No! Not boobs later. No boobs. Just lyrics. Rhymes. Emotional depth. God, help me."

He strummed a chord.

Then another.

And slowly, slowly, the music started to win over the distraction.

Until someone down below yelled, "Do you have a spare towel?!"

It was a very familiar voice. 

Charlie froze again. A familiar girl with somewhat ample boobs, but not like Lisa's. She was wearing a blue and white striped bikini. He could see her sweaty skin and two tiny pokies. She had sand on her upper chest and thighs. Tattooed legs, arms, and a bit of ink just below her belly button. And that familiar smile.

Laura.

"...dammit." 

Charlie stood frozen like his hard drive had just crashed.

Laura, grinning like a sun-kissed succubus in a striped bikini, stood in the sand below the balcony with both hands on her hips. Her tattoos practically sparkled under the sun. She waved up at him, cheerful as a Girl Scout trying to sell sin.

"Hey, neighbor!" she called out. "Got a spare towel?"

Charlie leaned over the railing, trying not to let his jaw hit the potted fern.

"Laura? What the hell are you doing here?"

She tilted her head innocently. "Vacation. You know… sand, sun, unsolicited oiling."

"Here?" he said, pointing down at the beach like it had personally betrayed him. "You're vacationing right outside my house two days after you walked down your mom's stairs eating a granola bar in no pants?"

Laura gave a carefree shrug. "Is it my fault your house happens to be in the exact spot my friend's cousin's roommate's boyfriend rented an Airbnb?"

Charlie narrowed his eyes. "That's too many degrees of separation to be believable."

She smiled sweetly. "So is abstinence, but here we are."

Charlie sighed, already regretting having vocal cords. He turned, grabbed a clean towel from the lounge chair, and tossed it down.

"Here. Just dry off. And don't climb over the balcony."

Laura caught the towel mid-air, then pressed it to her chest like she was auditioning for a shampoo commercial.

"Thanks," she said. "You've always been generous with your... fabric."

He muttered under his breath. "This is not happening."

She glanced up at him again, biting her lower lip in that way she absolutely knew worked. "So..."

Before she could speak, Charlie interrupted, "Nope. Whatever you are thinking, not happening. It's all in the past, and right now, I'm seeing someone and we are in a serious relationship."

Laura twirled the towel around her shoulders and leaned one hip dramatically into the curve of the sand, as if the Earth itself had invited her to strike a pose.

"Relax," she said, eyes twinkling. "I'm not here to cause trouble."

Charlie narrowed his eyes. "Every time someone says that to me, I end up shirtless, drunk, and covered in love bites and scratches."

Laura grinned. "Well, all of those things happened last time."

He rubbed his temples. "Please tell me you're just here to tan and flirt with volleyball players."

"I am," she said sweetly. "Mostly."

Then she looked up at him, expression shifting into something vaguely sentimental... the kind of look that usually precedes a lifetime subscription to bad decisions.

"You know," she said, almost casually, "after you… uh… popped the ol' cherry, I never actually hooked up with anyone else."

Charlie blinked. "I'm sorry... What?"

Laura shrugged, as if she were talking about skipping dairy. "Yup. No one. Nada. I tried once, but it just felt... wrong. Like my vagina had chosen a team and refused to sign with another franchise."

Charlie stared, frozen in time and poor life choices. "Laura, that was... years ago."

"Seven," she said, holding up fingers like she was counting Girl Scout badges. "Seven long, lonely, battery-powered years."

Charlie sat back down on the chair like gravity just turned up to eleven.

"Okay," he said slowly, "that is... flattering, horrifying, and medically concerning."

Laura laughed. "Relax. I'm not proposing or asking for an heir. I'm just saying, if you and your girlfriend ever want to, you know, spice things up... I'm available. Think of me like a trusted third-party vendor."

Charlie raised a hand like he was stopping traffic. "No. Nope. Absolutely not. You are not a condiment."

She tilted her head. "Are you sure? 'Cause I've got some whipped cream and no allergies."

"Jesus," he muttered, standing again. "I'm going inside now. You enjoy your vacation, the beach, the sun, the oil, and please, for the love of God, do not knock on my door after 10 PM."

Laura gave a mock salute. "Got it. Knock before ten."

"No! That's not... dammit, Laura."

She laughed and walked away toward the volleyball girls, towel over her shoulder, hips swinging like a parody of every problem Charlie had ever had in swimwear.

He closed the balcony door behind him and locked it.

Inside, Berta was walking by with a basket of towels.

She glanced at him.

"You look like you saw a ghost."

He pointed toward the beach.

"Too many temptations. I'm gonna work in my room, and if anyone other than Lisa or Alan rings the bell, scare them away," He reached his pocket, took a wad of cash, picked a 100$ bill and held it before her.

"As you wish, Boss," Berta took the bill with a satisfied smile.

"And not a word to Lisa about that situation..."

Berta gave him that look, and then her eyes went toward the wad of cash in his hand.

"Haa... Fine," Charlie took another bill and held it before her, and she snatched it in less than a second. Just like woosh and the bill disappeared.

"What situation? You were in your room."

With that, he went straight to his bedroom.

...

[Charlie's room]

Charlie sat cross-legged on the floor, his back against the bed. The guitar rested in his lap, half-played, fingers calloused from hours of work. His notebook lay open on the carpet, covered in crossed-out lines, messy chords, quick sketches of phrases that didn't quite land.

He'd skipped lunch. Skipped the sunset. Didn't even hear Berta yelling at Alan for leaving the cap off the toothpaste again.

Because somewhere between the heat and the quiet, something had started to form.

A melody that wouldn't let go.

A mood.

A night.

He'd been thinking about Lisa. Not her body this time. Not the games or the teasing. Just... her. Her stillness. Her patience. The way she didn't demand anything from him but somehow made him want to give everything anyway.

And then the words came.

One line first.

Then another.

Until the whole song unfurled like a tide rolling in after dusk.

[AN: The song is available on pat reon with proper music and vocals.]

Title: "Where the Ocean Knows Her Name"

She walks the beach after sundown

Kicks off her shoes without a word

The tide don't ask where she's been

And neither do the birds

She hums a tune I can't place

Maybe something soft from '88

She won't talk about the bad days

But they hang there anyway

And I ask if she's alright

She says, "I'm not the kind to break at night"

Where the ocean knows her name

And the breeze forgets her shame

She can breathe in salt and moonlight

And leave behind the weight

No past to rearrange

No lipstick-stained mistakes

Just a girl in a hoodie

And a sea that never asks why she came

Where the ocean knows her name

She doesn't pray out loud

But I've seen her close her eyes

And whisper to the water

Like it's keeping her alive

She lets the wind untangle

All the knots that I can't reach

And every wave that touches her

Washes back a little piece

I don't ask what she's been through

I just watch her find the truth

Where the ocean knows her name

And the stars don't need her pain

She can dance in stolen silence

Till the tide rolls in again

No headlines, no stage

No need to be brave

Just a laugh, a sigh

And a woman who's finally okay

Where the ocean knows her name

Some girls want roses

Some want rain

She just wants the sea to take her

Far enough away

Not to disappear

Just enough to breathe

She's not lost

She's just learning how to leave

Where the ocean knows her name

And it never plays that game

It just holds her like a rhythm

That no man ever could tame

No dresses, no flame

No sweet-sounding blame

Just her shadow in the moonlight

And me whispering from the edge of her wave

Where the ocean knows her name

...

---

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[9 advance chs] [All chs available for all tiers] [No double billing.]

[Early access to Brooklyn 99> 11 advance chs] + [Early access to Deadpool> 3 chs]