since she was young, people have told charlie that she looks like she’s constantly on the brink of a smile. even when she’s not. even when she’s miserable. it’s only reflex that her lips should turn upward now, right as she’s shaken from the melancholic trance that always follows working on her father’s creations. this time, though, it’s different. she’d never met another that could... communicate. not like him. not like her. she tries not to think about theodore’s warbled words, how freddy’s voice is now the closest she’ll come to hearing her father again. “don’t mention it,” charlie tells him, wiping off the excess grease on the front of her jeans. “family fixes each other. that’s how it works.”