The taller of the two standing on his porch is the one who speaks, although not before he sort of stares at Chuck like Chuck’s something weird and strange, like he doesn’t know what he’s seeing, like he thinks there’s something else there, and it’s honestly a little bit friggin’ creepy.
>"Are you Chuck Shurley? If so,” - the guy glances over at his companion for a second, and when he looks back in Chuck’s direction he looks decidedly less uncertain, more like he’s some sort of authority figure, and Chuck’s knee-jerk reaction is to protest that he didn’t do whatever it is they think he’s done - "we need to talk."
“Uh, yeah, that’s me. What, uh... what seems to be the problem?” He makes no move to let them into the house (if he can, he’d like to avoid doing that at all, honestly - the place is a disaster, empty pizza boxes and empty bottles and empty cans thrown all over like the aftermath of a crazy high-school party thrown when parents are out of town, but it’s all just his own mess, there was no wild party and there’s no one to blame the mess on but himself), leaning against the door-frame a little, an unspoken settling-in in case this gets lengthy, unless they indicate they want to come in. Chuck’s home is not open to the public, as a general rule - it’s his safe place, his retreat, and letting these random guys inside to screw that up for him is totally not on the cards.