Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Nick Nelson starts his day just like any other: sipping an earl grey tea from across the street (splash of cream, one sugar), hunched over his laptop at the sales counter of his boutique plant shop, Nellie’s. Today he is once again on the phone with plant distributors, begging anyone who will listen to send him more alocasias. There must be a national shortage, he thinks, because they’ve been flying off his shelves before he can even create care labels for them.

“I’ll take any variety you’ve got! Please! Yes…mhm…mhm…yes, I’m sure they are…mhm…yes, I’ll hold.”

Exasperated, he runs his free hand through his thick blonde hair, pushing it out of his eyes so he can read the fine print on his purchase contract for a shipment of 300 assorted two-year-old cacti from a greenhouse in Costa Rica. 

Just as he gets to the section that releases the shipping company from liability should the inventory arrive with spider mites, Nick hears the jangle of the bells hanging from the shop’s front door. 

He calls out a welcome to the customer, not raising his eyes from his small computer screen so as to not lose his place in the dense text. 

“...yes, I’m still here. Thank you. Sure, when your tropicals manager gets back later this week, please have her call me back. I swear, there must be some sort of obsession with alocasias here in Kent, I simply cannot keep them in stock! Thanks again. Speak soon.”

Nick sighs as he hangs up the phone. Although no progress has been made on his urgent request, Nick strives to never ever lose his cool with customer service agents, no matter how utterly useless they are. 

As he returns his attention to the e-contract for plants he has secured, someone clears their throat from the other side of the register. 

Nick had promptly forgotten that there was anyone else in the moderately sized store. At full capacity, he could probably fit about twenty-five customers inside, although it would certainly be cramped given the towering fiddle leaf figs, lush palm fronds, and bushy ferns splitting the space into smaller zones. Nick loves the feeling of intimacy that the inventory creates in the way he’s set up his store. 

The store owner peels his eyes from his laptop to greet the customer more personally this time.

Before him stands a strikingly handsome man with floppy brown curls and hypnotizing blue eyes.

“Hi,” the man offers a closed-mouth grin to Nick.

It takes Nick’s breath away.

Although he’s only an arm’s length away, the counter between them makes it feel like Nick is miles from this beautiful mirage of a person. The animal instinct that rears its head tells Nick to lean forward and close the gap. He needs to drink in the deep, tantalizingly aquamarine eyes looking back at him.

Luckily, Nick is a professional, and chokes out what he hopes is a much more acceptable response than what every cell in his body is screaming at him to say and do.

“Hi.”

The man’s eyes study his face in a way that makes a blush rise from Nick’s neck like the bottom of a timer’s sand counting down the seconds until he needs to think of something, anything to say. Although Nick’s flush betrays him, he conversely finds himself grateful for his body’s natural reaction to being flustered, because as the man watches Nick’s reaction, the cutest dimples grow deeper and deeper on the man’s face as a toothy smile widens.

“Uh, hi. Sorry, I hope I’m not interrupting, that sounded like an important phone call. But, uh, I’m kind of in a hurry, I’m here for a birthday gift,” the man explains, “and I am completely out of my element.”

A birthday gift. So this stranger is not a plant lover. That’s ok, Nick has converted many people over the years who had convinced themselves they had brown thumbs. 

Who is this birthday gift for? His wife? Girlfriend? Crush? 

Nicholas. You have said one single word to this man. You can not be pondering his relationship status. You need to help him find his sweetheart a birthday gift, so that way he can prove his ongoing love for her. Say something. Anything!

“Well, let me help you! I know a thing or two about houseplants,” Nick manages to reply, despite his throat drying up like the Sahara. 

This earns Nick a snicker from the customer.

Nick comes around the counter, internally cursing his two left feet that only ever make an appearance when in the presence of someone he’s trying to play it cool around. He kicks a ceramic pot showcasing a large snake plant, which shakes rather violently from the impact, giving away Nick’s clumsiness. 

“You ok?” the man asks. 

Great, he’s clocked Nick’s nerves.

“Oh, yeah, thanks. Sometimes I wonder why I opened up such a small plant shop - my body is a bit too brawny for so much easily-damaged inventory, isn’t it?” God, with these two left feet, how does he also manage to put his foot in his mouth and sound like he's hitting on this unsuspecting person?

By the grace of all that is holy basil, the man gifts him another smile as he gives Nick a once over. As he approaches, Nick can now see that the man’s eyes are swirled teal with darker blues. They remind Nick of the Atlantic ocean. The tie dye irises pause, just for a moment, on Nick’s upper arms. Thank goodness he opted to wear his favorite blue t-shirt today, the one that manages to stay double-cuffed around his muscular biceps. 

“So. What kinds of plants does the birthday person like?” Nick asks once the man meets his own brown eyes. 

The man’s face is overcome with the most adorable look of horror. “Um…green ones?” 

Nick lets out a laugh that is probably a little too enthusiastic, but by god, it makes the entrancing person before him light up. 

“Ah, I see. You really are out of your element. Here, let’s go look at some succulents, right over there,” Nick hovers one hand a few inches away from the stranger’s Fjallraven knapsack, using the other hand to gesture in the direction of a floor-to-ceiling librarian’s card catalog. Nick is particularly proud of this repurposed cabinet, having won it at an antiques auction the year prior. He’s styled it with smaller leafy plants spilling out of the many tiny drawers. Atop the display surfaces are trays of his more modestly-sized succulents that are best-sellers for people like this man. 

Nick’s brain catches up to his body, and he snaps his hand down and shoves it in his front trouser pocket, willing it to stay put instead of reaching out to this man again. 

As the pair walk across the creaky wooden floors to the towering shelf, Nick notices that they both must duck below the huge overhanging monstera leaves, meaning the man is only slightly shorter than Nick. One of the man’s curls barely catches in the fenestration of a leaf, and he raises a hand to gently pat his hair with his long, slender fingers. 

Not that Nick is noticing the shape of the man’s fingers. Or how he wishes he knew what they felt like stroking his cheek.

“It’s like a rainforest in here!” the man notes with a sense of wonder. 

“That’s my goal! Bringing a little Amazonia to Kent,” Nick proclaims. He’s going to have to treat himself to a second cuppa later on to celebrate his ability to form complete sentences in conversation with this customer. 

After only a few steps that feel like a lifetime, the men stop in front of the card catalog. Nick musters the inner strength to actually do his job and help this poor lost man. Courageously, he asks the question he needs to know the answer to, so he can squash his life-ruining ten second crush on this stranger who is completely unaware of Nick’s inner turmoil.  

“Does your friend live somewhere with a lot of windows?” 

“Yeah, actually. She’s got viney things hanging in most of them. Her flat is really cool.”

Ok. This is good. The birthday person is a girl, but he didn’t correct Nick on the term ‘friend.’ It doesn’t rule out a girlfriend or crush, but he did clarify that she's not someone this man lives with. That’s a positive.

“Ah, ok, so it sounds like she’s got lots of natural light. That’s great! So I bet any of these would thrive in her home,” Nick points to the main shelf of beginner-friendly succulents. He can’t be sure how well this person’s maybe-friend-maybe-partner can take care of the more finicky plants like the touch-sensitive kiwis, and if the plant he sends this man away with dies, he will probably never return to Nellie’s, thinking that Nick sells plants that are doomed from the start. 

Nicholas, what is your problem?

The man leans over and hums, gazing across the selection of plants with odd shapes and unusual growth habits. His attention is drawn towards an echeveria that is blooming with lovely orange flowers. Nick is close enough to smell the man’s cologne - very subtle, unlike a lot of the men who come through here looking for gifts for their significant others. Chypre, with a bit of leather.

“I think this might be the one! It’s blooming her favorite color,” he states with a gentle smile. 

He carefully extracts the flimsy four-inch plastic pot from the tray that’s packed tight with other nursery containers. 

The man turns his head to once again grace Nick with another few moments of heart-stopping eye contact. He wants to drown in these deep blue eyes. Nick tries to cover up his panic, and the man puffs out a coy chuckle and averts his eyes, as if…ashamed? “Uh. Can you show me some pots that might work with this?” 

Nick preemptively stuffs both of his hands back into his jeans, not trusting them to not reach out to brush the man’s locks off his face. In a level-headed, strictly professional manner, he leads the customer to the back wall of the store, which is where all the planters are displayed. He nods to the shelves at the man’s eye level, slightly below Nick’s own.

“You’ve got a four-inch lady here, so any of these will work. I’ve got mostly locally handmade options, but I do have a few plastic pots that come in your more vibrant colors.”

The man reaches his empty hand to graze the glazed pottery, but catches a glimpse of his wristwatch. “Oh! I really do need to get going! I have a meeting with my loan officer in ten minutes at the bank up the road.” 

He selects a bulbous pot that is painted in oranges and yellows reminiscent of a romantic sunset. One of Nick’s personal favorites. 

Nick takes the plant and the pot from the customer and quickly steps to the register. The man requests that Nick package the gift in a paper bag securely enough to survive the eight-block jog, as well as his bus ride home. 

Putting on his best customer service voice, Nick thanks the man and picks up the bag by its handles. As he hands the purchase across the counter, Nick misjudges the distance to the man’s awaiting hand. 

His index finger brushes against the ridge of the man’s knuckle, and if Nick hadn’t been staring intently at the interaction, he would have thought literal sparks burst from the brief touch. Any composure that Nick had managed to summon flies right out the window and down the street. 

Though the contact lasts only for a fraction of a second, Nick knows that his world has been flipped irrevocably on its head. The store owner freezes, and although his mind is wiped blank in an instant, he sees the man’s hand also stops in its tracks. 

Hazel eyes meet blue, and now it’s Nick’s turn to mumble an embarrassed laugh as he stares back. His face is on fire, and the deep blue pools of this person’s eyes do nothing to extinguish the rising emotion spreading across his skin. In fact, they only add fuel to the blaze.  

“Uhm-”

“Thanks for your help. Have a nice day,” the man stutters before pivoting and rushing towards the exit. 

Nick feels paralyzed as the doorbells echo in tempo with the shutting door. He stares out the door’s glass pane far longer than it takes for the man to leave his view. Apart from his burning face and chest and the ‘thank you’ screen still displayed on the tablet as evidence, Nick can’t be sure that the previous five minutes were anything more than a dream.

For fuck’s sake, Nicholas. Really?

Chapter Text

“You’re coming tonight, right, Nicholas?” Darcy asks as she slides Nick’s oolong to-go (fixed just how he likes it) to his perch at the end of the bar. This caffeine break was originally planned to be a celebration of his ability to hold a normal adult conversation with the dreamboat that visited his plant shop, but during the few seconds it took Nick to walk across the street to LGBTea, it quickly devolved in his mind to a self-pity party. 

“Definitely. Wouldn’t miss it. Besides, I need to do something other than sit in my flat and stew over the fact that I didn’t even get that guy’s name, let alone find out if he has a girlfriend!” Nick says dramatically, then slams his head into his awaiting elbow on the countertop.

Tara clicks her tongue from behind the espresso machine. “It’s ok, Nick. If it’s meant to be, love will find a way! It’s not like he doesn’t know where to find you again. Besides, it would be cosmically criminal for him to be straight.”

This only makes Nick groan even louder. Everyone knows he’s a walking bisexual disaster, and has been a spectacular failure at love ever since his Truham days. He’s grateful to have these queer friends who are not only supportive of his bisexuality, but put up with his unending emotional rollercoaster of pining and heartache. Since they became fast friends in secondary, he’s certainly cycled through countless highs and lows of what the coffeeshop owners lovingly call ‘bi panic.’

Mumbling through the crook in his arm, he changes the subject away from his pathetic love life, or lack thereof. “What kind of plant should I bring Elle tonight? And who is buying me a shot of whiskey?”

“Maybe a string of dolphins? Isn’t that what you got us for our anniversary last year?” Tara asks.

Nick turns his face to the side while nodding silently. 

“A string of dolphins suits her! Quirky, interesting, and understatedly gorgeous,” Darcy finishes with a chef’s kiss. 

Nick raises his head, amused. “Please write that down for me. You're like a fortune teller. Why haven’t I hired you to annotate the symbolism for all the plants that I sell?”

---

The rest of Nick’s day advances uneventfully. A few university kids aimlessly file through to avoid revisions, and an older woman purchases a variegated pothos to gift to her daughter as a housewarming present. Nick mostly passes the time by studying the smattering of cartoonish rainbow flower petals his mum had helped him paint all over the ceiling when he was first setting up shop, replaying the interaction from earlier on loop in his mind. 

He closes up a few minutes past six, locking the entrance from the outside. Using the same key, he unlocks the metal door around the side of the building and pads up the stairs to his studio.

He really should have the landlord rekey one of the doors; it surely isn’t very secure to have both his living quarters and his business behind identical locks.

“Nellie, I’m home!” he calls out, setting his keyring on the entry table. 

An elderly brown border collie bounds off the couch and greets Nick with a wag and a lick of his hand. Although she’s getting up there in years, Nellie has energetically been by Nick’s side for as long as he can remember.

Nick fills a large pot of water and sets it to boil on the stove while he hooks Nellie’s leash to her collar. He doesn’t bother locking the door behind him, as Nellie can only make it once around the block anymore before deciding she’s done with exercise. 

They stop at all the usual spots she loves to sniff: the second parking meter from the street corner, the row of box hedges behind the two-spot car park, the dumpster in the alley, and of course, the tree in front of the empty shop next to Nellie’s. 

Nick ponders the ‘For Lease’ sign that’s been hanging in the window for months. The space used to house a candle shop owned by a gay couple a few decades Nick’s senior, but as they grew older, they decided to move north to be closer to family. They couldn’t find a buyer for their business, so they opted to close up shop for good at the end of their lease rather than renew it and hope for another spritely young queer couple to come along and pick up where they left off. 

He’d gotten on well with Nathan and Youssef. Their shop closing was certainly a loss for the little neighborhood, a sleepy enclave of Kent that is more outwardly queer than most - which is what attracted Nick to the area in the first place. Nick counts himself lucky that he scouted one of the remaining few landlords in the city who actually screen their tenants; Ms. Singh, as she’s known around the block, specifically seeks out LGBTQ+ business owners to fill vacancies, even to the detriment of her profit margins.

Nick lets his mind wander a bit as Nellie continues her business outside of the empty storefront. What kind of operation will move in next? A sweets shop might be cute, though dangerous to Nick’s gym routine. Or a vinyl record store, selling rare jazz albums? Maybe a hair salon! It would be nice to not have to slog all the way across town for a decent cut, or trudge across the street to Darcy and Tara’s flat for a wildcard trim that occasionally turned out ok. 

Nellie brings his attention back from his reverie by pulling on her leash, indicating it’s time for her dinner, and Nick’s too. They head in through the unlocked door. Nick gives her a scoop of her food, and he dumps a box of macaroni into the now-boiling water. 

---

Nick arrives to the pub a fashionable fifteen minutes past eight, and finds several people he knows on the expansive patio out front. He greets Tara and Darcy with a wave, and gives Elle a big hug before handing her the string of dolphins in an orange and yellow glazed pot. 

“Can I get anyone a drink?” Nick asks the table.

“No, thanks, Tao is inside grabbing a round for us!”

Ah, Tao. Elle’s new boyfriend she met online. This is the first time anyone is meeting him, and frankly, Nick can’t think of a more terrifying way to meet your girlfriend’s friends than all at once at her birthday party.

Nick smiles in response to hearing that at least this new boyfriend buys rounds, unlike several previous boyfriends of Elle’s. 

He removes his quilted jacket and slings it over the back of a vacant chair, and heads inside to order while checking his lockscreen. He missed a text from his lovely mum wishing him a happy weekend, which gives him a tiny burst of joy. 

As he approaches the door, he is shoulder-checked by another man a few centimeters shorter than himself, who is also entering the pub. 

“Sorry, mate, I should really learn to not text and walk!” Nick banters as he slides his phone into his front pocket and turns to look at the person beside him.

Nick’s heart stops. Or maybe it falls into his gut. Or maybe it leaps into his throat. Or maybe it turns to goo. He can’t be sure, because all thoughts and feelings drain from his body to the point where Nick can’t be sure he’s still even alive.

It’s the man from the plant shop. 

It can’t be. 

But those gorgeous blue eyes couldn’t belong to anyone else, and they’re staring right through Nick’s hazel eyes into his soul. 

“Hi,” the man offers after a beat.

“Uh, hi…" Nick responds. Smooth.

“Please, after you,” the stranger gestures for Nick to enter the pub first. 

Nick’s brain lags as he takes in the sight of this beautiful person for the second time today. He looks different now. Skinnier, and more fashionable. He’s got on a blue and white plaid flannel over a pale grey shirt that makes his eyes pop. Accentuating his long legs are a pair of tight black jeans. What was he wearing earlier today? A suit? He did say he had some sort of meeting to attend, and that’s why he was in such a rush. Oh no, did Nick change before coming out tonight? What was he wearing at work? He looks down at himself, checking for dirt stains on his thighs; luckily, he must’ve had the foresight to change out of his usual uniform of utility jeans, because he’s wearing a crisp pair of khaki trousers and a pale green liberty print short sleeve, open over a white t-shirt. 

When Nick raises his eyes to meet the man’s, he notes that he is also taking in Nick’s (thankfully acceptable) outfit.

The man flashes the same look of…guilt? Shame? Embarrassment? that he wore earlier when he thought he had been caught looking at the store owner. 

Nick mirrors the expression, mutters a noncommittal hum, and nods as he passes through the doorway. 

What is he supposed to do now? This is clearly some divine intervention. Twice in one day he’s been blessed to be in the orbit of this absolute angel? 

The pub is small, and only about six stools fit at the bar. There is not much room to stand, especially as a short man wearing a beanie squeezes his way through the crowded space carrying four beers. Wanting to avoid being caught in the splash zone, Nick steps back, right onto the high-topped toes of the curly-haired beauty. 

“I am so sorry!” the man apologizes. 

Nick furrows his brow momentarily. “You have nothing to be sorry for? I’m the one who just crushed your foot, I’m sure…”

Whatever Nick must have done in a past life to deserve the treat he is given next must have been sainthood-level. 

The man smiles at him, and those irresistible dimples appear once again.

“It’s ok, you didn’t crush me. You’re not as brawny as you think,” the man smirks. 

Holy. Fuck. He remembers Nick. This devilishly handsome man remembers meeting Nick. And for better or for worse, he remembers Nick making a clumsy fool of himself while also sounding totally conceited. 

Nick seizes his second chance of the day to attempt to play it cool. “So you do remember me from earlier?”

D’oh.

“It’s hard to forget a man with the brains to match the body,” he quips in a way that Nick can’t quite tell if he’s complimenting or mocking his intelligence. Frankly, Nick doesn’t even care. He is just enraptured by the fact that this man, this real life man who wasn’t a figment of his imagination, is speaking directly to him.

Either way, Nick blushes at the man’s statement. “...Thanks?” 

The man seems to realize what he said, whether that’s being a little too mean, or a little too forward. “Oh, uh, sorry. I just meant, um, you really helped me earlier! With the birthday gift. I haven’t given it to her yet but I’m sure she’s going to love it.”

He holds up the small paper bag, shaking it gently to show it off to Nick. The unforgettable paper bag that caused Nick to spiral all day from the knuckle brush.

Unsure of what to say next, Nick smiles shyly then gestures to the man to move up to the bar as a space opens. 

He orders and receives his drink, and as he turns around he tips it towards Nick in cheers. In the most heartbreakingly sweet tone, he says his final word to Nick: “Bye.”

And with that, the man disappears into the Friday night crowd, and from Nick’s life.

Solemnly Nick secures his own beverage, a double whiskey neat, and heads out to the party. 

“Oi, Nicholas, I thought you promised me a shot of whiskey?” Darcy yells across the patio when she spots the drink in his hand.

“Uh, no,” Nick scoffs in return as he nears his group. “ You were the one who was supposed to buy me a shot, after the pathetic day I-”

He stops in his tracks. Seated next to his saved seat is none other than the beautiful stranger that seems to be haunting Nick. 

Nick focuses his thoughts enough to fix his face from total shock to one of amicable neutrality. As confidently as he can, with the sudden reappearance of his two left feet, he takes the final few steps towards his chair, and lowers himself. Thankfully, without tipping the chair backward or otherwise making a complete arse of himself.

“Hi?” the man greets Nick with a single breathy word. 

“Hi,” Nick allows his eyes to wander all over the stunning face sitting right next to him. The dimples are there, and the eyes as striking as ever, but Nick now notices the man’s thick eyebrows and lusciously long eyelashes. 

The two men hold their eyes locked for perhaps a moment too long, Nick’s stomach swirling with want and desire and nerves and fright. Tara clears her throat and asks, “Do you two know each other?”

The man, who apparently is a friend of Elle’s, is the first to break eye contact. He darts his gaze across the table to Tara, flicks his eyes back to Nick, then angles his face slightly away from Nick. It feels like the sun went behind a cloud, as Nick is suddenly aware how frigid he feels without the brightness of this man’s attention.

“No, well, not really anyway. I stopped by his shop for a gift for Elle earlier today.” 

Details in Nick’s brain connect, and he realizes that he gifted Elle a near-identical plant, in an exactly-identical pot not minutes before. Shit.

Darcy chimes in, sensing the thickness of the air between the two, “Well, Tara and I were just getting acquainted with the local gays here, Nicholas,” gesturing to the man to Nick’s right. “Charlie here was just regaling us with all his life’s hopes and dreams!”

“Uh, I wasn't really, sorry, what’s your name again?” the man questions frenetically as he folds his arms and hunches his shoulders forward. 

Unable to process the fact that Nick did not at all clock that this man - Charlie, what an adorable name! - is GAY over the circus music playing in his head, Nick butts in before Darcy can make the poor man any more uncomfortable. He can’t bear to see him shrink any further into himself. “Sorry. This here is Darcy. She and Tara own the coffee shop across the street from Nellie’s.”

“LGBTea! I sped right past it today! I wish I had more time between my meetings to stop in.”

Charlie is gay.

Smugness overtakes Darcy’s face, and she leans over to kiss Tara on the temple before responding. “Thanks! You should come by next time you’re in the neighborhood,” she looks between Nick and Charlie, clearly trying to brainstorm and set into motion some sort of dastardly plan. 

Charlie is gay. 

“ Darcy! Please, ignore her,” Tara interrupts to apologize for her girlfriend’s forwardness. 

“Anyway, Charlie, you were in the middle of telling us about your plans to open a bookstore.”

Charlie is gay and he wants to open a bookstore.

“Oh yeah! Well, my friend Isaac and I met in uni. We both studied literature, and became fast friends on the first day of our intro to Shakespeare class, when we recognized each other from the queer mixer for new students. He took some business classes, and I took several in maths, so…yeah!” Charlie gives an adorable, bashful shrug that communicates that he has no idea how amazing he is. 

Not that Nick has any right to speak on how amazing Charlie is. Charlie, who is gay. They’ve barely exchanged names. How is he one to judge someone’s character based on two and a half stilted conversations? Even if said person is GAY?

“What brought you both to Kent, then? Seems a bit far from Birmingham,” Darcy’s eyes go wide with disbelief that anyone would choose to live in Kent. There is a mutual agreement amongst Nick’s group of friends that none of them would decide to live here - they ended up here, and just stuck around. 

That being said, if Charlie wants to live in Kent, it must not be so bad after all.

“Isaac grew up near Dover, but always loved this area when he’d travel. I guess he actually met Elle in secondary, when he competed on the quiz bowl team against your lot. He had a connection to a banker out here from his business classes, and so we kind of decided to settle out here?” 

Charlie is gay and he wants to open a bookstore in Kent.

“Well, you’re awfully cute, don’t you have a boyfriend back in Birmingham that will miss you?” Darcy leads.

“ DARCY!” Tara warns with the tone of an angry schoolteacher. “Charlie, you will have to learn to just ignore my lovely, subtle girlfriend. You don’t need to answer that.”

The whimsical music bouncing around in Nick’s brain finally quiets enough for him to join the conversation semi-properly. 

“Is that what your meeting was about today? Your bookstore?”

Charlie takes a sip of his cider and nods, placing the bottle back down on his coaster with a gentle thunk. “I had a meeting to get approved for a business loan. Isaac and I are touring potential shop locations on Monday.”

Nick’s brain bursts into flames from the thousands of firecrackers popping off inside his skull. There is an empty storefront next to Nellie’s. It would be absolutely perfect for a bookstore. Charlie is gay. He fits the profile of what the landlord is looking for. 

“That’s so cool! You should-”

Clink Clink Clink

Elle stands at the head of the table, commanding attention with her stature as well as her confident, sing-song voice. Nick notices that several more people have gathered round the table and have been immersed in some game involving dice. How long had Nick been absorbed in the gravitational pull of Charlie’s presence?

“Ahem! Hi everyone, thank you all for being here, celebrating moi!” Elle strikes a pose with her hands over her heart. “I want you all to meet Tao, my new boo.”

Tao, the man in the beanie that Nick had narrowly avoided being spilled on by earlier inside the pub, has a look of terror splash across his eyes. He must not like the attention that his commanding new girlfriend is forcing upon him. 

“He loves all things film, he loves cats, he’s a Libra, and he is thrilled to be here meeting you all. Tao, would you like to say a few words?” Elle invites him to stand, which he refuses.

Obviously, he wants to do anything except speak publicly.

“Uhm,” Tao begins, remaining seated. “Hi, Elle’s friends, my name is...Tao….I’m…not sure what else there is to say that Elle didn’t yet touch upon…uhm…happy birthday, Elle? Next round is on me?”

The table whoops, and Tao looks instantly relieved that his minor bribery has seemed to win over the group of strangers before him. Nick will make sure to introduce himself to Tao later to find out what the film buff thinks about the latest Marvel film.

“Here, I’ll help you, Tao!” Charlie volunteers as he takes the last swig from his amber bottle and stands from his seat next to Nick.

Just as Nick pulls out his phone to text his mum back before the drinks really start flowing, Darcy kicks him in the leg below the table. “Psst. Nicholas! Go help Charlie!” She emphasizes each word with an extra foot to his shin.

Nick shakes his head, catching on to Darcy’s ignorance of subtlety, but obliges. “What are you two drinking?”

---

Inside the pub, Tao hands the bartender the list of drink orders from Elle’s groupies. What a clever, organized thing to do. Meanwhile, Charlie looks intently at his phone. 

“So, Charlie. What kind of storefronts are you touring next week?” Nick hopes he’s not overstepping boundaries with this near-stranger, but he needs a way to naturally broach the fact that there is the perfect location for his bookstore right next door to Nellie’s.

It takes a moment for Charlie to peel his eyes away from whatever’s clamoring for his attention on his screen. “What? Oh, um, we aren’t quite sure yet. My meeting went well today, so we can pretty much afford any modestly-sized place. I’d like something about the size of your shop, actually, Nicholas.”

“Nicholas?" his mind skips like a record as he thinks through why he was just called his full name. "OH, no, that’s just what Darcy likes to call me. Everyone else calls me Nick. Darcy says that calling me Nicholas makes her feel powerful, like the mom friend.”

Charlie smiles in a way that makes it all the way to his eyes. “She honestly seems more like the older sister who sneaks you alcohol when you’re underage. Or maybe the rambunctious cousin who dares you to go skinny dipping at the hotel pool, then locks you out of the room.” 

His eyes that are so bright blue, they luminesce in the dim pub lighting.

Nick is like a moth to a flame, his attention singularly focused on the wrinkles outlining the beckoning beacons of those eyes.

Charlie continues, “Anyway, Nick, the thing that’s most important to us with the location is that it be in an accepting area of town. We’re opening a queer bookshop, after all.”

Nick might have to go to a neurologist for a check-up, because this is about the fiftieth time his mind has been wiped of all thought today. 

“...what?” Charlie asks, new nervousness knitting his dense eyebrows.

“Hm?” is all Nick can manage as the TV static in his mind comes into focus. How long was he out for?

“You’ve got a funny look on your face. You…did know I’m gay, right? Sorry, is that ok?”

Bloody hell, Nicholas. Pull yourself together. You’re making this man think you’re homophobic by freaking out internally.

“You say sorry a lot, you know? Of course it’s ok you’re gay! I’m bisexual. Not that me being bisexual makes your being gay ok. Not that I care that you’re gay. I mean, it’s cool that you’re gay. But it’s irrelevant to you as a human being. No, I mean, of course it’s relevant, but I just mean that you don’t need to feel self-conscious about your sexuality,” Nick has fully dug himself into a thirty meter hole and sees no way out except to continue on in denial of the word vomit that just spewed from his mouth. “Anyways, don’t apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Well, after that speech, I kind of want to say it again…”

Nick can’t help but laugh, and, oh god, reach out and clasp the man’s shoulder. “Don’t say it!” 

Charlie glances down at Nick’s hand, who realizes with a start what he’s done. He’s touched this person without consent, and now he’s going to think Nick is some overbearing weirdo with no sense of boundaries.

But then Charlie shows a new smile, one that Nick hasn’t yet been granted. It’s close-mouthed, quirked to the side in such a way that pulls his button nose along with it. He gazes at Nick, seemingly searching for…something. 

Nick is definitely not reading too much into this, is he?

Doesn’t sound like something he would do.

Except, that’s what he always does. 

He jerks away as fast as if the contact were scalding his hand.  

“Uhm. Well, I did want to mention that there’s a ‘For Lea-”

“Ok, mates, here we go. These pints are for the people seated up by me, the mixed drinks on the bar are for the trio next to Elle, and why don’t you,” Tao gestures to Nick with the five pint glasses, sloshing beer all over Nick’s trainers, “bring the drinks to the girls you were chatting with. Unfortunately, I do not know a single person’s name here, so I worry someone’s going to get a gin and tonic when they ordered a Guinness, and all the blame is going to fall on me.” 

Nick is about to reassure Elle’s stressed boyfriend, when Charlie beats him to it. “Tao? Elle likes you. A lot. She talks about you constantly. We are all so happy you’re here. My name is Charlie, I know Elle from her monthly book club. This here is Nick, he knows her from…how do you know Elle, exactly?”

“We went to secondary together, before she transferred in year 11.”

“Oh! She’s told me a little about that. Sounds like she was a bit of a trailblazer, in a way, being one of the first to transfer from the boy’s school to the girl’s school. There’s no way my secondary would ever allow something like that. I am so glad I moved away the moment I passed my A-levels, I would’ve gone mad with how backwards the town I grew up in was,” Tao explains, perhaps slightly too frantically. Given the night Elle has orchestrated for him, Nick can’t blame his nerves.

Phew. Tao is cool with Elle’s transition. Nick ticks his eyes over to see similar relief play across Charlie’s face, which in turn feels like an even greater relief to Nick. The two men meet eyes, sharing an unspoken acknowledgment that Elle’s new boyfriend has passed one of many tests, without him even realizing he was being tested.

The three head back out to the party and distribute the beverages. Nick winks at Tao when it’s discovered that everyone’s orders were delivered flawlessly. Tao doesn’t smile back, but does raise his eyebrows without much emotion, to at least acknowledge Nick’s encouragement. 

Seated at the table in Charlie’s old spot is a man who must’ve arrived while they were inside. He’s wearing a beige jumper and has a slightly unfashionable haircut. In his lap is a novel titled Gender Explorers, a finger bookmarking his place. 

“Isaac! You made it!” Charlie exclaims as he leans over and touches his ear to Isaac’s head, an intimate approximation of a hug given their awkward positioning. 

A pang of jealousy twitches in Nick’s stomach. He wants to feel Charlie’s ear on his head, maybe have one of his soft curls cascade onto his own ear... 

Nicholas, get yourself together!

“Nick, this is Isaac, my good friend and business partner. Isaac, this is Nick, my new friend whom I met earlier today,” Charlie explains.

Oof . Friend.

“Hey Isaac! I am so excited to hear all about your business plans. A queer bookshop is exactly what Kent needs,” Nick enthuses, pretending that the word ‘friend’ did not stab a hole right through his chest.

“Darcy and Tara were just telling me about the empty space next to your plant store,” Isaac responds with a smile that seems genuine through and through, albeit a little dorky. 

“What?! Nick, were you holding out on me? There’s a storefront available next door to Nellie’s? What, is there some other gay English lit grad who wants to open a queer bookshop that you’re saving it for?” Charlie scoffs with mock offense. God, Charlie is good at playing up the drama in such a way that both terrifies and enchants Nick. 

“No. No! I was trying to tell you, I just kept getting interrupted, I promise!” Nick all but pleads.

Charlie reaches out the hand that’s not holding his cider bottle and grabs on to Nick’s bicep. 

He grabs on to Nick’s bicep. Thank fuck Nick did not skip arm day today at the gym.

“I’m kidding! I don’t expect you to be my real estate agent. I must’ve just missed the ‘For Lease’ sign in my rush out of Nellie’s today.”

Unlike minutes ago, when Nick dropped his hand from Charlie’s shoulder like he had touched a hot stove, Charlie removes his hand like he has been holding onto a warm mug of tea. 

That is to say, Charlie’s hand lingers on Nick’s muscled upper arm, and Nick could not be more thrilled with every millisecond of connection Charlie grants him. 

After giving Nick’s bicep a departing squeeze he removes his hand to read a string of messages pinging his phone. Any drop of lightness that Charlie emits drains from his face as he takes in the texts. 

“Everything ok?” Nick asks as Charlie slips the phone back into his pocket and takes a long swig of cider. 

The man looks numb as he stares into middle distance. 

“Yeah.” 

“Really?” Nick really shouldn’t be pressing, but to see this man’s joy be erased so suddenly breaks his heart. The whiskey hitting his bloodstream certainly isn’t helping his discretion, either.

“Yeah. I need to get going. It was really nice seeing you again, Nick,” Charlie sets his half-full bottle on the table and raises his eyes to meet Nick’s. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

Any trace of the smile that he had once graced the world with has disappeared, and the void left by its absence is devastating. Charlie mutters some quick goodbyes, and gives Elle her gift bag while apologizing for having to leave so early. 

And just like that, Charlie is gone.

Chapter Text

“Well, aren’t we looking chipper this fine day, Nicholas!” the perky blonde behind the counter proclaims as he enters LGBTea, feeling quite a few notches below stellar. 

“Darcy, you got anything stronger than English breakfast?” Nick pleads as he signals for Nellie to sit at his feet as he climbs onto a stool at the bar. 

“A little too much hair of the dog last night?” she winks as she begins grinding some espresso beans.

Nick groans as he rubs his face, then runs a hand through his unkempt blonde hair. “I normally would’ve gone for just a beer or three, but I was looking forward to a good old whiskey wallow. That is, until I realized too late that the subject of my wallowing would be sitting right next to me! And I couldn’t even hold a proper conversation with the poor guy, because the whiskey did nothing to calm my nerves, it only made me probe into who he was texting! And then he just left, and I didn’t get his number, again!”

“Hmm, yeah,” Darcy draws out her words as she eyes Tara as she emerges from the back storage room. “About that…”

“Seemed like you and Charlie were getting on quite well,” Tara jumps in. “He’s awfully cute, Nick. We know you said he is cute, but, like, those dimples? They’re dreamy enough to turn a girl straight!”

Darcy elbows her girlfriend in the side, mouth agape in pretend offense. “Don’t even joke, Jonesy. I know you kissed this one,” she eyes Nick, “once, when you were thirteen. We’ve been together for, like, a decade now, but do I need to start getting jealous of boys again?”

Tara leans up and kisses Darcy, eyes sparkling. “No, I only have a thing for blonde girls now. Well, blondes who dye their hair all colors of the rainbow, that is.”

This muffles Darcy’s over-the-top drama from an eleven to about a six, enough for her to return her attention to Nick. “You really need to work on your descriptive vocabulary, buddy!”

“What? I told you he’s dreamy. I called him a ten, I called him handsome and cute. I told you his eyes are like Yellowstone geysers, and that he has soft curly hair that I want to nuzzle my face in every day for the rest of my life. What else is there to say?”

“Well, he’s bloody hilarious? Fashionable? Fit? Sharp as a tack? Wants to open a queer bookshop? And, uh, you could have mentioned that he’s into you too?!” Darcy emphasizes.

Much too eagerly, Darcy hands Nick a steaming ceramic mug.

“What are you on about, Darce?” Nick distractedly takes a swig of his tea, his senses not communicating fast enough with his conscious brain to alert him to the fact that it’s not English breakfast in the cup at all. “Blech! What is this?”

“It’s called a ‘shot in the dark.’ You know, like the level of chance you led Tara and I to believe that you have with this guy yesterday. But it turns out he’s the complete package! So instead, it’s just a 'shot of espresso in a plain drip coffee,' to drown the last little tipple of your self-pity that your liver hasn’t filtered out of that handsome body of yours yet.”

Nick winces at learning the disgusting bitter concoction is a mixture of two preparations of his least favorite morning beverage. 

“How could you possibly say he’s into me? Did you not notice the way he practically Irish-goodbye’d me in the middle of our conversation about the storefront across the street?” 

Tara and Darcy look at each other, communicating something telepathically in the way only wifed-up lesbians can. They simultaneously turn to Nick.

“We know because Elle texted us in the middle of the night, passing along a message from Isaac, telling her to tell us to tell you that Charlie forgot to give you his number in his rush out of the pub,” Tara states.

The lack of caffeine is seriously hindering Nick’s ability to follow the gossip trail. Taking a moment to connect the dots of the literal game of telephone, it dawns on him that…

“Charlie wanted to give me his number?!” Nick shouts, prompting Nellie to stand up and let out a gruff bark. 

Darcy shushes Nick. “Calm down. Yes. Want to see the photographic evidence that Isaac sent Elle to send to us to show you?” 

Turning to the other, Nick asks, “Tara, can you please make me my usual? I cannot follow the convoluted way Darcy is explaining this situation. And this coffee is undrinkable.”

Darcy scoffs, and takes the mug from Nick and downs the entire thing herself in a few gulps. She slides her phone across the counter to show Nick the screen-captured conversation between Isaac and Charlie.

[Charlie, 23:39]: hey, still at the pub?

[Isaac, 23:42]: Yep! Just ordered another round. Elle wanted shots.

[Charlie, 23:42]: lol she would. is that guy nick still there

[Charlie, 23:42]: the plant store guy

[Isaac, 23:46]: You mean the one you were drooling all over?

[Charlie, 23:46]: ISAAC

[Charlie, 23:46]: no. the one who has a vacancy next to his shop

[Charlie, 23:46]: i think we should tour it this week

[Charlie, 23:47]: are him and his friends still there

[Isaac, 00:01]: Nope, that lot left pretty soon after you did. A little too much whiskey.

[Charlie, 00:01]: fuck.

[Charlie, 00:03]: can you have elle text tara or darcy to ask nick for the landlord’s #

[Isaac, 00:07]: Why not text Elle yourself?

[Charlie, 00:07]: bc im being polite and asking for your input, business partner

“...and he couldn’t have just asked Elle to ask you two for Ms. Singh’s contact information? You obviously have her number, since she’s your landlord, too,” Nick asks as he zooms in on the image of the conversation, hoping that if he moved it, more would magically appear to provide additional details. 

“Nicholas, I swear, you are proper thick sometimes, aren’t you?” Darcy rolls her eyes as she washes out her coffee cup in preparation for her long winded, chaotic explanation. “Of course Charlie could have texted Elle to have us text him. He could’ve also just asked Elle for your number and not looped Tara and I in at all. But he clearly wanted Isaac and Elle both to know his feelings for you without actually telling them he has feelings for you. And since anyone can tell that we are basically your Fairy God-Lesbians, Charlie including us in the transaction implies that he wants you to find out about all this calculus! And then Elle sent me and Tara that screenshot so that way we have context for the impending flirtation. And Isaac went along with this roundabout communication in the first place to loop all of us in on the gossip!”

“Yeah, we like Isaac. He’s a meddler like us,” Tara says with a smile. 

“People don’t really send calculated texts like that so casually, do they? Seems like you two are really stretching a perfectly normal, boring text conversation,” Nick rolls his eyes as he hands the phone back to Darcy.

“Pfft, gays do, Nick! Get with the program!” Tara laughs.

“Whatcha gonna text him?” Darcy leans in with a cheesy grin plastered across her face.

Nick places his head in his hand, elbow resting on the countertop. “You two are exhausting. Uh, I’ll probably just send a link to my contact info for Ms. Singh?”

The women gasp as if Nick has offended their mothers, grandmothers, great-grandmothers, and the Queen all with one sentence. Tara holds out her hand, and Nick understands it to mean that he needs to hand over his phone immediately so she can type out a proper message.

---

When Monday morning rolls around, Nick is a ball of nerves knowing that he’s almost guaranteed to catch a glimpse of Charlie. He’s put on his freshest pair of utility jeans and a crisp white t-shirt with the sleeves double-cuffed. 

But is his outfit too clean? He works in a plant store, after all, and dirt smudges are bound to happen. In fact, a little mess probably would prove how good of a houseplant gardener he is, proving he is a hands-on business owner who enjoys what he does. 

He occupies his morning by unpacking a new shipment of parlor palms. Busying himself with carefully unfurling the brown packing paper from around each plant takes finesse that he’s mastered over the years. Nick has probably unpacked at least a thousand of these very same leafy individuals, and today he hasn’t lost a single frond to mishandling or carelessness. 

Nick clears a round display table in the middle of the shop’s main room for this massive delivery. It’s in full view of the large window facing the street, so it will certainly make a statement for anyone peeking inside. He plans to place the tallest one in the middle, then create rings around it with progressively smaller sized plants. On the floor, he will stage whatever remaining new inventory can’t fit in the layered wedding cake-like arrangement. Maybe he’ll bring over some of the textured pots from that new local artist that he likes so much. 

The dimpled pots by that artist make him especially happy. 

Dimples make him especially happy. 

Nick shakes the thought of a certain man’s dimples out of his head, and gets to work merchandising. He’s always found comfort in getting lost in the joys of arranging and rearranging houseplants, starting from a young age when his mum would have him help prune her ferns. She demonstrated care to him through routine: weekly watering, biweekly rotations, monthly trims, seasonal rearranging so each plant got the correct amount of sunlight. Nick carried these lessons as he grew up and learned that most things in life require attention to detail and a great deal of care: not just plants, but one’s health, keeping house, relationships…

Crack .

Just as Nick is placing the final parlor palm inside a ceramic pot decorated with an understated bumpy chevron pattern, he spies brown curls through the front window. The unmistakable thunderous laughter of Ms. Singh should have given away that it was 10:00, so he should’ve been prepared to possibly sneak a peek of Charlie. 

Not that Nick had asked Ms. Singh what time Charlie and Isaac’s tour was today. 

And even if he had, it’s not like he had planned his entire morning around needing to have a full view of the front window between 9:52 and 10:08, just in case the tour arrived early or maybe they couldn’t find parking and were running a bit behind schedule.

Which is silly. Charlie takes public transport, he doesn’t drive.

Nick had been so wrapped up in arranging the pots that he must have missed whatever inane anecdote the trio were discussing before the boisterous laughter startled him into glancing out the window. But it’s too late; Nick can only see the backs of three heads as they slow to let the shorter woman unlock the entry next door. 

Nick sighs at himself. He just broke a beautiful pot by dropping it when he tried to catch sight of a beautiful boy. He rolls his eyes, and bends down the start scooping up the spilled dirt and coconut coir from the downed parlor palm, before grabbing a broom and dustpan for the ceramic shards. When he’s done, he absentmindedly wipes the dirt from his hands on his legs, thus dirtying his formerly clean outfit that he had worried so much over.

Oh, well. At least it looks like he was busy this morning. 

He heads into the back office to fix a cup of tea while he casually waits for Charlie to hopefully stop by Nellie’s. As the kettle boils, Nick realizes that he can hear people talking through the wall. 

Huh, he doesn’t remember ever hearing Nathan or Youssef in their office. 

They were candle salesmen, after all. Probably the quiet type.

Nick wonders if the men could ever hear him. He thinks back on all the pathetic conversations he’s held in his office over the years: complaining to Tara and Darcy about being stood up on dates, calling his mum to gush about something cute Nellie did, reminiscing with old uni buddies about drunken mayhem on video chat. 

Crying after getting off the phone with his distant, withholding father. 

He suddenly feels very bad for the former owners of the shop next door. Not to mention, very exposed.

Nick will really have to remember how thin the wall is between his and Charlie’s new office.

Charlie hasn’t accepted the lease yet. Cool your jets. 

As his orange pekoe steeps, Nick can’t help but listen. Questions about leasing terms - three years, then the option to go yearly or monthly after that. A pleased noise from who Nick assumes is Isaac when they’re told the monthly fee. 

They’ll take it? Did Nick just hear that right?

He nearly drops his mug, but fumbles it back into his hand just in time to avoid a second ceramic tragedy. 

“Wonderful! I’ll get the papers drawn up, and you can pick up the keys as soon as Wednesday!”

Bless Ms. Singh’s booming voice.

Nick’s mind goes blank as he tries to brainstorm something to busy himself with at the front of the store - he should really start getting used to the fact that he needs to scramble for any thought whenever Charlie is even tangentially involved.

Watering. Watering is always good. And Charlie’s not a plant person, so he won’t notice that the soil of all the plants hanging in the window is thoroughly moist already.

Nick selects the cutest watering can off the shelf, shaped like an elephant. Sure, it’s a novelty meant for children, but if there’s even a slight chance it will catch Charlie’s attention, and thus grant Nick some of Charlie’s attention by extension, it’s worth it.

Somehow, Nick manages to truly get lost in the act of watering. He hadn’t inspected the pothos in a couple of days, and notices one or two brown leaves hiding behind some particularly robust new growth. He extracts the hanging pot from its hook and carefully rotates the plant with one hand, while plucking the dead leaves with the other, when the door bells jangle.

Crash.

“Gee, I was going to ask how you managed to get your pants so dirty! But now I see!” 

Nick cringes as he turns to see none other than Charlie, wild curls eclipsing the sunbeams streaming through the front window. 

Charlie has on a bright smile that tells Nick he means no malice, but still is snickering at the mess Nick has made for himself. 

“Here, let me help you with that. I didn’t mean to startle you,” Charlie offers. “Us neighbors have to look out for one another.”

What?

Nick stares questioningly back at the man who is unwavering in his observance of Nick while he struggles to rehang the trailing pothos.

“What?”

Charlie reveals a single dimple, on his left cheek. Not a full smile, just a half one. That’s ok. Nick accepts the challenge to coax out the missing half.

“Isaac and I are moving in next door! No thanks to you,” he teases.

Looking up at Nick’s joyous expression brings out his second dimple. Easy enough! If the world ended right now, Nick would die happy.

“That’s great news, Charlie! Congratulations!” 

Should he reveal that he already heard the news through the wall? 

No. There’s a time and a place for admitting how easy it is to eavesdrop on one’s new neighbor. And this is not the time. 

Charlie cracks a toothy grin that compels Nick to mirror it. “Thanks! So I guess we will be seeing a lot of each other. And thank you, by the way, for hooking me up with Ms. Singh. She seems really cool.”

“No problem! I’m so happy that it’s all going to work out! Though, to be honest, the moment you told me you’re opening a queer bookshop, I knew Ms. Singh would eat it up. Are you and Isaac even going to tour any of the other properties you had lined up?”

“I don’t think so. This was the first one of the day, and it’s pretty perfect. It’s the right size, rent is reasonable, it’s in a great location,” Charlie’s blue eyes find Nick’s, and pause for a moment while Charlie’s eyelids do what can only be described as a little dance, before he averts his gaze out the window. “I mean, how could we say no to being across the street from a queer-owned coffeeshop? I mean, it’s just flawless!”

Nick chuffs, having finally adjusted the hanging plant just so. 

“Well, since you’ve cancelled all your other tours, care for some tea across the street? I can’t guarantee Darcy and Tara will not squeal and tackle you with hugs, but I can guarantee that they’ve got a great menu.”

Charlie quirks his smile to the side, in the same wonderful fashion as before that brings the tip of his nose along for the ride. But as quickly as it happens, it disappears, replaced instead with indecision. 

“I don’t know. I do have some errands I need to run before-”

“Come on, it’s my treat. Consider it a ‘welcome to the neighborhood’ cuppa.”

With that, Nick has managed to fight for the return of Charlie’s precious smile, which he takes as acceptance of his offer.

“Let me sweep up my mess, and we’ll get going.”

As Nick cleans, he clocks Charlie perusing the plants. He pauses at a tray of spindly tall green ones. 

“Nick, what are these? They’re so neat,” he calls out over his shoulder. 

Nick replaces the broom and dustpan behind the register, then joins Charlie. Nick’s always been told he walks as quiet as a mouse, and it must still be the case, because Charlie startles when Nick answers the question from right behind the man’s back.

“Those are pencil cactuses. Wait, what’s the plural of ‘cactus’ again?” Nick ponders.

“Cactuses. Cacti? I’m never sure,” Charlie responds.

“I have owned this shop for three years now, and I still couldn’t tell you,” Nick adds with a chuckle. “They both sound wrong, don’t they?”

Charlie returns a much softer chuckle, and holds Nick’s gaze for a few seconds after they both take a breath. Nick notices how calm he feels in the presence of such a nerve-rackingly gorgeous person.

Nick flips the sign alerting potential customers that he’s across the street at LGBTea and will return in a jiffy, then flips the lock after Charlie leads the pair out of Nellie’s.

Chapter Text

Wednesday begins as any other typical day: checking messages (no calls back regarding alocasia resupply yet), and slowly roaming the store to scout for any of his favorite little dewdrops that sometimes form on the tips of leaves from overnight transpiration. Nick had the chance to congratulate his new neighbors the day prior when they picked up the keys to their new storefront. In fact, Nick may or may not have brought over some sparkling apple juice and popped the bottle triumphantly with the other local business owners. 

But at 9am sharp, just as Nick is settling into his routine of flipping on grow lights while his computer loads the daily crossword, he hears a cacophony of banging, drilling, sawing, and a few curses next-door. Curiosity gets the better of him.

“Nick! Good morning!” Isaac greets Nick as he pokes his head through the bookstore’s open front door. 

“Hi, Isaac! What do we have here?” Nick looks around the once empty store, now crowded with people who look nothing like professional carpenters or handypeople. Isaac sits on the floor assembling a spinny desk chair. Two tall, slender women in coveralls work side-by-side to piece together an imposing wooden table. A short man in cutoff shorts stands on a ladder, changing a lightbulb. Someone with an undercut and a floral shirt sorts screws into boxes based on length.

“It’s my book group! Everyone’s volunteered to come help us start setting up Small Spaces,” Charlie pokes his head up from behind a table saw in the middle of the room. 

Small Spaces? What a unique name for a bookshop... 

Just as Nick is about to say hello to the adorable man wearing safety glasses and work gloves and inquire about the name, Elle pokes her head out of the secluded back room. “Is that Nick I just heard? Nick! Come in and meet everyone!”

Elle walks Nick around and introduces him to each helper, who in turn greet him with varying levels of enthusiasm. 

“You all didn’t think to ask for my help? You know I would love to,” Nick tells Charlie, the last on his tour of new faces. 

“Yeah, Charlie! Nick’s got these strong rugby arms,” Elle pinches one of Nick’s biceps for emphasis.

“Elle, what did I tell you about leaving that nonsense in sixth form?” Nick blushes as he jerks away from her playful grabbing. He knows he's got muscles for days, but he doesn't want Charlie to think he's a narcissist. 

He just likes to look good, is all. 

“Oh come on, you know it’s true though! Have you seen Nick’s strong rugby arms, Charlie?” Elle pushes.

Charlie looks at Nick’s arms, then locks eyes with him, and is immediately flushed. “Uh-”

“ Elle! Anyway, Charlie,” Nick can feel the heat rising from his neck as he tries to think of anything to say to get Elle off of the obvious meddling, “you know I’m just next-door. And you’ve got my number. Anything you need, I’m there!” 

With that, Nick offers a kind smile, then scowls at Elle before departing. 

How has Nick managed to surround himself with so many women insistent on humiliating him in front of cute men?

---

The rest of the day passes without incident. An older gentleman comes in looking for a special rare lasianthum orchid, not realizing that Nick no longer carries orchids at all. Not after a particularly bad bout of thrips last winter that caused his entire stock to drop their buds overnight.

The overcast sky can’t decide if it wants to open up, so an occasional spittle drips down the front window, but the threat of rain seems to keep most customers at home.

Nick completes his crossword, then clicks over to the daily sudoku puzzle. 

As Charlie and Elle’s friends filter home over the course of the afternoon, they each peer inside Nellie’s and offer friendly waves to Nick, which he gladly returns. By half four, the carpentry sounds next door that have been on and off throughout the day have all but ceased. 

Nick wonders whether his new neighbors are finished for the day.

What’s the harm in popping over to say good night?

When he rounds the turn from his door to the window into the bookshop, he stops in his tracks. He must take in every detail of what he sees. 

Isaac and Charlie are sprawled out on the dirty dropcloth-covered floor. Limbs are spread out as far as each man can reach, as if they’re making snow angels in the sawdust. Although he can’t hear, Nick can see that they are laughing maniacally, and shouting something in unison. He wants to bottle the fuzzy feeling flooding his gut to take by the teaspoon. 

Seconds or maybe minutes later, he can’t be sure, he decides it’s not enough to witness the joy emanating from the men. He pushes open the door and is assaulted with the deafening sound of a children’s song playing in Spanish over a wireless speaker placed on the table saw. 

Isaac is the first to notice Nick’s presence. He rolls his head to the side to face Nick, and points to him as if he is serenading him directly. Nick has no idea what any of the lyrics mean, but he adores the scene he’s stumbled upon nevertheless. 

The song finishes, the two men's laughter filling the silence. Isaac rolls to his side to switch off his phone, and addresses Nick through a giggle. 

Charlie sits up with a start, presumably not having realized Nick was there.

“...Did you hear all of that?” Charlie looks horrified and…guilty? Why would he feel guilty for having a little harmless fun with his business partner after a hard day’s work?

“Most of it,” Nick shrugs as he breathes out a laugh. 

“Sorry,” is all Charlie says, downcast. 

“What? You have nothing to be sorry for! That was probably the cutest thing I’ve seen since, well, ever.”

This garners a giggle from both men. Isaac flicks his eyes between Charlie and Nick.

“Welp. I oughta get going, then. See you bright and early for day two, yeah?” Isaac stands to leave, attempting to brush off the sawdust from his backside but misses big swaths ingrained in his knitted brown jumper.

After his business partner makes a needlessly hasty exit, Charlie also stands and powers off the speaker. 

“Well I for one will never be able to look you in the eye ever again,” he jests, cheeks still flushed with embarrassment. 

“Seriously, that was the best thing I’ve walked into since Tara and Darcy got drunk on peppermint schnapps at their employee holiday party last year, and I stumbled in on them singing Jingle Bell Rock to one another. What was that song, anyway?”

The question softens Charlie’s face a bit, and though he doesn’t look Nick directly in the eye, he looks in his general direction. At his bicep, actually.

“It’s this song that my family used to sing when we were kids to celebrate when we did something good. You know, acing maths tests, completing chores on time, taking our vitamins…being toilet trained,” any redness that had momentarily faded from the man’s face floods back threefold at the admission. “My dad didn’t do a great job of raising us in a truly bilingual household, but he always played us music from his childhood in Spain.”

Charlie is half Spanish?

“That’s so cool!” Nick enthuses.

“It’s dorky more than anything. But when I was having a particularly rough year in uni, when I couldn’t finish any of my coursework…some days I couldn’t even get out of bed...Isaac asked me what motivated me as a kid, and all I could think of was this silly song. So he downloaded the same version my dad would play for me. He would pretty much follow me around and play it when I’d submit assignments, or on some rougher days when I’d take a shower, or agree to eat a few bites of dinner. I almost dropped out that year, actually. Isaac really helped me get through it. And now it’s a Pavlovian thing - I do something I’m proud of, and I crave that song.”

“Well, you deserve to feel proud! This is a huge accomplishment for both of you,” Nick gestures around the storefront that, two days ago, was devoid of any life. Now, it has several handmade bookshelves, a fresh coat of primer, a pile of antique-looking light fixtures ready to be hung, and some boxes of knick-knacks that are very obviously rainbow-colored, with a few other pride flags’ color schemes mixed in as well.

Charlie folds in on himself slightly as he crosses his arms tightly. It’s clearly tough for him to accept compliments.

Before he can stop himself, Nick blurts out, “Hey, what are you doing for dinner? There’s a great curry shop just around the corner.”

The man’s beautiful blue eyes widen with an emotion Nick can’t quite decipher.

Feeling the need to hedge his proposition, he continues, “Uh, I feel it’s my obligation to show you around the neighborhood, since I’m basically the one who dragged you here…”

Charlie’s wide eyes morph into smiling ones, but the smile doesn’t quite reach his lips. Though his face doesn’t show amusement, his words do.

“Dragged me here? You were basically keeping this place a secret from me,” he banters back. 

“Agree to disagree. So can I interest you in some vindaloo? If you’re hungry now we can go, I can close up my shop early-”

The man’s smiling eyes once again contort into something reminiscent of disappointment. 

“Uhm. I can’t, tonight, I’ve got plans, unfortunately.”

Nicholas. What the hell are you doing? This man thinks you asked him out on a date and now he’s struggling to find any excuse to let you down easy, since you’ll be seeing him every day for the next three years!

Charlie continues, “How about a rain check? I love curry.”

PHEW. 

Charlie glances out the window behind Nick, then back to him. “I’ve got to run. But, thanks for stopping by. Thanks for everything, really. I’m looking forward to getting to know you, Nick.”

A car’s horn beeps four times, and Charlie flicks his eyes towards it. Nick follows his gaze, and sees a flashy blue two-door Volkswagen parked in the loading zone directly in front of Small Spaces. In the driver’s seat is a fascinatingly handsome man, with slightly feminine features and swoopy caramel-colored hair much nicer than Nick’s. 

The driver sees Charlie and Nick staring at him for a moment, and yells something indecipherable while gesturing for Charlie to get in. Then he beeps the horn four more times. 

Charlie smiles weakly up at Nick as if in apology, then follows Nick out the front door and locks it. The men wave goodnight - Charlie's a quick but small wave held in front of his chest, Nick's more of a saluting motion held in the space beside his shoulder. 

Charlie gets in the passenger side of the car, which pulls away before he even has time to settle in. 

Luckily, this means that Charlie wasn’t lying about having evening plans. 

Unluckily, it means that Charlie has a boyfriend.

Chapter Text

“He has a boyfriend. How, in all your meddling, did you not find out he has a boyfriend?!” Nick groans into his hand-delivered earl grey (splash of cream, one sugar). 

“Listen, I don’t think even Elle knew!” Tara commiserates as she places her elbows on Nick’s sales counter. 

“Yeah, bad luck, Nicholas. What if Tara and I do some digging and find out all the dirt on this dicknozzle?” Darcy suggests as she pets the waxy leaves of a bright pink bromeliad.

“No. No more digging. No more meddling. I am swearing off crushes. Besides, for someone as sweet as Charlie, there’s no way he’d ever go for any guy who could be described as a dicknozzle .”

Tara and Darcy give Nick matching disbelieving looks before snickering. 

“Nick Nelson? Swearing off crushes? Sir, you hold the world title of #1 Certified Bisexual Disaster - I think legally you are required to have at least one embarrassing crush per month, per your contract.” Darcy cracks herself up at her assertion.

“You guys!” Nick rolls his eyes and drops his head into his hands. Picturing the man who picked up Charlie in the blue car, Nick asks, “Hey, do you think I need a haircut? Do I look a little raggedy to you?” 

“Your dating life may be messy, but your hair is always on point. You look great,” Tara says genuinely.

If Nick can count on one thing from these women, it’s that despite their relentless teasing, they really do love him and will always be there to gas him up when needed. 

---

While filing some paperwork in the back office, Nick overhears someone next door yelling on the phone. Pleading? He knows he shouldn’t listen through the incredibly thin wall, but it’s been another slow day at Nellie’s, and Nick can’t resist the mental stimulation of a bit of gossip.

“You said you’d come today! How are Isaac and I supposed to do it alone? Uh huh…uh huh…yeah. Uh huh. Please don’t call me that. Actually? Please don’t call me, at all. I’m sick of this.”

Nick then hears the slam of an object being thrown on a table, and an exasperated scream. 

Nick had offered his help. Many times. He wants to help. Is he supposed to wait to be approached by his neighbors? Is it too much to keep volunteering his muscles when they have yet to indicate any intention of accepting?

Before his thoughts can spiral any further, Nick is summoned out to the main room by the jangling of the doorbells. 

“Good morning, Nick!” Isaac calls out in a dulcet voice.

“Isaac! To what do I owe the pleasure?” Nick greets his neighbor. Isaac has on a tan ribbed jumper over a pair of dad jeans. The trend of Isaac’s taste in clothing indicates that he doesn’t care about fashion at all, which Nick respects greatly.

“I’ve come round to see if you might have some time today to help us next-door,” Isaac asks with slight hesitation, but a grin that shows he already knows Nick’s answer.

“Of course, mate! What can I do for you?” 

“Well, erm, you see, we’ve had a bit of a cancellation by our helper today. And we were hoping to get the walls painted by lunch so that we can hang the shelves this afternoon. And I thought that we might take advantage of your strong rugby arms…” Isaac raises his eyebrows to hint at flattery.

“Did you hear that from Elle? Oh, she’s going to get a talking to later for bringing that phrase back,” Nick instinctively rubs his biceps to shield them from wandering eyes. “What time would you like me to stop by?”

Isaac looks around the shop, absorbing both the lushness of the plants, and the fact that there are no customers browsing. “Erm…now?” 

Nick puffs out a laugh, amused by the man’s forwardness. It’s refreshing. Not enough people in the world simply say what they want. 

“You got it. Painting, did you say? Let me lock up down here, then run upstairs to put on some grubbier clothes. I’ll be over there in a minute.”

Technically, Nick is already wearing his grubby work clothes: the well-fitted ripstop trousers with extra utilitarian pockets, and a heather-grey t-shirt that might be half a size too snug. He had wanted to look good today, for no particular reason, but he couldn’t risk mussing this outfit. He’s going broke with all the extra laundry he’s been doing this week.

Upstairs in the studio with input from Nellie, Nick opts for his actual grubby work clothes: frayed, paint-stained jeans with holes worn in the knees, and a promotional tank top from his gym that’s also flecked with paint from when he set up his own shop. If he’s going to really get over this crush of his on a man with a boyfriend, he needs to stop putting so much effort into hoping his outfits will catch Charlie’s eye. 

---

“...wow.” 

That’s not exactly the greeting from Charlie that Nick was hoping for. 

“You really came to work .”

“More like werk,” Isaac says under his breath.

Charlie throws a balled up piece of blue painter’s tape at Isaac, but misses, because he is gawking at Nick. 

Both men take in Nick’s assertive display of his arms, causing all the blood to drain from Nick’s face as he realizes that the other two are very much not dressed like construction workers. Isaac is in his tan jumper, and Charlie is wearing an adorable green and red flannel over a black t-shirt, and slim-fit jeans that look like he had purchased them from Marks just this morning. 

It’s too late now. It’s not like Nick can run back to his studio to put on a different outfit. They’ve already seen him. There’s only one option.

Nick runs his fingers through his hair, thus flexing his arm in a way that can only be partially misconstrued as showing off. 

“Are the paint rollers over there?” he points in an overstated fashion, defined arm muscles popping.

All Charlie can do is nod, mouth agape.

Nick darts his eyes over to Isaac, and they share a single amused chuckle.

---

Nick makes fast work of painting the entire store. Since Charlie had already taped off all the edges, all Nick had to do was roll on the sunny yellow paint. Isaac had purchased quality materials, unlike when Nick set up his own shop. His walls are still covered in tiny fibers from the cheap rollers he had used. 

“It’s not too bright, is it?” Charlie asks Nick, watching intently as he pushes the roller up and down the final wall, transforming it from stark white to inviting canary yellow.

Any other person would be scrutinizing the color change. Charlie only has eyes for Nick’s glistening shoulders.

For someone with a boyfriend, this man sure is captivated by Nick’s…presence.

“This color is perfect! It’ll draw people in from the dreary Kent weather. It already feels so cozy in here,” Nick looks around the space before his eyes land on Charlie’s fleecy overshirt. Nick imagines how pleasing it must be to touch it, and his eyes soften for a moment before snapping back to professionalism.

A colleague should not be imagining how comforting it would be to wrap Charlie in a warm hug to find out just how cottony the shirt feels against their cheek.

Nick continues, “The color yellow really suits you. The warm energy exudes, I don’t know, hope?” 

If Nick had been paying attention to anything other than the curly-haired ray of sunshine before him, he would have seen Isaac roll his eyes nearly to the back of his skull.

Charlie lets out the most melodic giggle Nick has ever heard. It has an almost bird-like quality to it, and Nick feels a monumental shift in his chest. It’s now his life’s mission to hear that spectacular sound again.

“Anyway, I think we’re just about done here. I’ve got to run up and walk Nellie. Do you two need any more help from me today?”

“You have to…walk your plant store?” Charlie asks.

“What? No! My dog, Nellie!"

"...you have a dog?"

"Yes, she lives upstairs with me!” 

“...you live upstairs?”

Huh. Nick hadn’t ever considered the fact to be odd. He wonders why Ms. Singh hadn’t offered to let the flat over the bookstore. Or maybe she had, and the men had declined? Charlie probably lives with his boyfriend, after all, so why would he need his own place?

Unsure of the proper response to the question, Nick’s mouth approximates a sentence that he’s horrified to hear himself speak.

“Would you want to come up and meet her?”

He can feel the red burning of regret push its away to the surface of Nick’s cheeks, but somehow, someone out there must be looking after Nick.

Because Charlie says yes.

---

“This is Nellie!” Nick declares as the fluffy dog ambles over to the men in the doorway to Nick’s flat. 

“Hi Nellie! You’re so adorable!” Charlie leans down to greet her properly. That is, with plenty of head scratches, and a few kisses on her nose.

After a few blissful moments of watching Charlie and Nellie fall in love with one another, Nick invites him inside. 

“Please, make yourself at home. I could give you the grand tour, but frankly, you can see about 90% of it from where you’re standing,” Nick explains of his tiny living space. “Are you sure Isaac didn’t want to join us for a bit of a break?”

Charlie moves his mouth in a way that indicates he’s trying to hold his tongue. “Uhm. Nope, Isaac prefers to take a quiet break to read midway through the day. I’m sure he’d love to come see your place soon though, if the offer still stands.”

“Of course! I have a feeling all of us are going to become very well acquainted,” What the hell, Nicholas! “Uh, anyway, just give me a second to get changed.”

Nick thumbs toward the short corridor to his bathroom, to the dismay of the other man.

“What? What is it?”

Charlie squints his eyes as if trying to decode a puzzle. He gives Nick a subtle glance-over, and says, “I rather like your outfit.”

“You like my outfit, or my strong rugby arms?” Nick Nelson what the hell are you doing?

Startled by his own question, Nick turns and retreats down the corridor to change into another set of clean clothes before he can watch Charlie's reaction. He's sure that he wouldn't be able to resist the temptation to wrap his strong rugby arms around the smaller man's waist if he were to bear witness, no matter if it were an indignant or an agreeable response. 

They head back downstairs with Nellie, and circle the block. Along the way Nick notes all the points of interest: the corner store down the block with the best selection of sweets, the cool graffiti in the alley, the place where Nick and Nellie found a dead rat covered in ants a few weeks prior.

During their walk, Charlie’s phone buzzes almost nonstop. The first few times, he pulls it out to check to see who is calling, but after the third declined call, it’s safe to assume that it’s the same person who's pestering him over and over. Nick senses Charlie could use a distraction, so he goes on about the different characters that frequent the neighborhood. Charlie does his best to engage with Nick, though it’s obvious to both men that his thoughts are elsewhere. 

“How about some lunch? I have some stuff to make sandwiches, or I could whip up some of my world-famous instant ramen?” Nick offers while they ascend the stairs after their short jaunt. 

Charlie appears dismayed, internally wrestling with something. Maybe he’s gluten intolerant? He checks his phone for the umpteenth time.

Wracking his brain for any food that is celiac-friendly, he offers, “Or, I think I have some fried rice stashed in my freezer?”

“Oh, thanks, but I’m not hungry. You go ahead and eat though!” 

“How about a smoothie?”

The man contemplates this for a moment, then shakes his head, and swipes notifications away on his phone. “I should be getting back downstairs. I’ll see you around?”

Without waiting for an answer, Charlie is out the door.

---

Nick lies awake all night mulling over what happened with Charlie. Was it the offer of lunch? Was it too forward to want to share his mediocre cooking with the poor guy? Was he offended that Nick hadn't thought to ask about any food sensitivities? Or was it the fact that Nick, a strange man Charlie had met less than a week ago, invited him alone behind closed doors? Did Charlie freak out when he realized he'd gotten himself into a potentially dangerous situation? Is he into true crime documentaries? Does he suspect that Nick is some sort of serial killer that lured him upstairs to make him his next victim? Or did Charlie already suspect that Nick is a murderer, and had agreed to meet Nellie as a means to do some sleuthing around the flat? 

He needs to apologize. For what, he’s not sure, but Nick definitely needs to clear the air. He can’t have Charlie wondering whether Nick wants to butcher his body and store him in his flat's mini freezer.

Tossing and turning, Nick can’t settle his mind. He turns on a Spanish easy listening playlist he finds online, and strokes Nellie’s soft ears, until eventually his mind is calm enough to drift off to sleep while he meditates on the mental image of a particular pair of dimples.

---

A pencil cactus is the perfect “I promise I’m not a serial killer” gift, right? Charlie was enthralled by Nick’s display of them the other day. If anything, it shows that Nick values attention to details, and that he cares about Charlie’s interests. 

On second thought, if anything, this gift does nothing but make Nick look like a stalker. A true crime villain whose memory is way too vivid. 

But it’s too late now; Nick is already through the door of Small Spaces.

“Good morning! Anyone in here?” Nick announces, since the bookstore owners haven’t yet invested in chimes for their door. Nick will have to remember that for the next time he inevitably needs to procure another apology gift. 

He hears some muffled voices coming from the back office. 

“Please, just go. I have work to do.”

Nick freezes in place - that’s Charlie’s voice. He probably shouldn’t just swing by unannounced when the store isn’t even open for business yet. It is intrusive. It is a total breach of socially acceptable behavior. It is-

“Alright, mate?” an attractive brown-haired man asks flatly as he strides towards the front of the store from the office. 

It’s the man from the blue car, who picked up Charlie. The one who sped away before Charlie had even shut his door all the way. Charlie’s boyfriend.

“Alright,” Nick replies, completely noncommittally.

“See you later, then.”

Wow, what a prick.

Nick creeps his way towards where the voices had been coming from. “Charlie? Are you back here?”

He rounds the corner to find the curly hair man crumpled in on himself, curled up in the office chair Isaac had built. He’s not crying, though Nick can see a faint tear stain streaking a cheek. He stares at the blank white wall above the desk.

“Charlie?”

Charlie turns his head slightly. Through a shaky breath he addresses him by name.

“Um, hey, are you ok?” Nick doesn’t know whether to go in for a hug, or to bolt. 

Charlie wipes under his eye with the sleeve of his striped yellow jumper. “Fine. What’s up?”

“Um, I just wanted to come by to bring you something,” Nick reveals the small plant with comically gangly branches from behind his back. “It’s a ‘Welcome To The Neighborhood’ gift…and also an apology gift.”

“Apology?” Charlie sniffles, but his eyes are bright in Nick’s direction.

“For yesterday. I made you so uncomfortable in my studio, insisting you stay for lunch. You must think I’m some sort of serial killer.”

“...What?”

“For wanting you to hang around and eat with me. I was so insistent, and I totally ignored that you were obviously so uneasy being up there with me. So I just wanted to clear the air and say that it won’t happen again. I’ve been told I can be a bit thick at times, so in the future you can feel free to tell me-”

“You think I think you’re a serial killer?” Charlie lets out a laugh so sudden it causes him to cough on his own saliva. 

“Do you…not…think that?” 

“Nick. I don’t think you’re a serial killer. I’ve just been getting my phone blown up lately by some stupid guy, and it’s really distracting. I hate it. And I can’t really focus on eating when there’s a lot of stuff happening in my personal life.”

Someone, as in, his boyfriend? Why wouldn’t he want to hear from his boyfriend? 

Charlie continues, “So what is this plant, again?” He reaches out his sweater-mittened hands to accept Nick’s apology gift, even though apparently no apology is necessary. 

“It’s called Euphorbia tirucalli , a pencil cactus. I noticed you admiring them in my shop, and I thought it would be the perfect first plant for your office,” Nick grins.

Nick should not have grinned, because Charlie immediately starts weeping into his sweater paws. 

“Hey! Hey, it’s ok! You don’t have to take it! You’re under no obligation to care for plants!” Nick swiftly sits down in the matching office chair, and reaches over to place a hand on the man’s knee, which he has folded up to his chest. 

“No, I…” Charlie starts. “No one’s ever given me a plant before.”

…and Nick’s silly gift is worthy of such a violent cry?

“I’m so sorry,” Charlie laughs through sobs. “I’ve had a really tough couple of days. You don’t need to stay here with me while I cry over a cactus.”

“...do you want me to stay while you cry over a cactus?” Nick asks earnestly, ever so gently thumbing Charlie’s knee. 

Charlie gazes up at Nick through his tears that make the color of his eyes look like storm clouds. 

“Yes,” the man’s curls quiver as he nods. 

The men sit together until Charlie’s breathing calms. It takes a while, since the man’s sobs ebb and flow. Nick is not sure the depth of what is happening to Charlie emotionally, but he is happy to offer a free hand to console his knee, regardless. 

Charlie takes a deep breath with his forehead pressed into the knee that Nick is not rubbing, then rolls his head to face him. 

“Thank you,” he exhales. Nick expects him to break eye contact, but he doesn’t. So Nick maintains. 

“Any time. I’m sorry my cactus made you so upset,” Nick says with a wink.

Charlie scoffs, and cracks a grin as he

places a hand

on top of Nick’s

and circles his first knuckle with his thumb.

Nick dies. He is literally dead. All he can do is stare, frozen, at his own extremity sandwiched intimately between this handsome, upset man’s knee and palm. 

“Did you meet Ben?” Charlie wonders.

“Who? Your boyfriend from earlier?” Nick probes, a little too sharply.

“Ben is not my boyfriend. Well, he was my boyfriend. Back in Birmingham. Actually, he was never really my boyfriend. What do the kids call it these days? A ‘situationship’? Or, what do they call it when one person is ready to commit, and the other wants to stay in the closet so he can use it as an excuse to fuck other people, other women? And ghosts you for weeks on end, then suddenly wants to act like you’re in love again, repeatedly, for years?”

Nick doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know if there’s anything to say. He’s shocked that anyone would ever have the gall to treat sweet, perfect Charlie so horribly.

Charlie continues, “I finally had the courage to break things off for good when Isaac and I decided to open up shop down here. But he didn’t like being the one being broken up with for a change, so he followed me to Kent, promising that we could go steady for real this time. And he has proceeded to dump me, then get back together with me, twice in the last couple of weeks. He is completely manipulating me just to be in control of my life. I just want to open up my store and be happy. Is that too much to ask?”

The man removes his hand from atop Nick’s, and joins it with his other to rub the back of his curls as he presses his face into his knees again, tears once again starting to fall. 

“No, it’s not,” Nick finally replies.

“...what?” 

“It’s not too much to ask to be happy and follow your dreams. You deserve it. And it sounds like this dicknozzle is holding you back.”

Charlie perks his head up. “Dicknozzle. That’s exactly what he is.”

And there it is. Hearing Charlie describe Ben as a dicknozzle grants Nick permission to refer to him as such. And by god, is Nick going to ruin this dicknozzle’s life.

Chapter Text

Once Charlie is feeling a bit calmer, Nick brings them both some tea from across the street before he leaves the bookshop for the day. A mint and a chamomile, because in his haste to do absolutely anything to comfort the man, he forgot to actually ask for his order. As the curly-haired man wraps his slender fingers around his steaming paper cup, Nick can tell he has something on his mind. 

It's not like he doesn’t have a thousand things to be mulling over right now: his terrible boyfriend. His life’s work coming to fruition. The soft opening in just a few days, and the grand opening a few days after that. The fact that there's no merchandise in the store as of yet. Which high tops will go best with his outfit each day. Whether people will notice the dimples that form as an indication he's interested in what his conversation companion is saying. How often he must apply for the World’s Cutest Human award. Or, if it is more of a nomination system, is he worried that Nick wouldn’t nominate him? Because of course he would. Nick’s a supportive colleague. 

Blowing the steam away and taking a sip, letting the pleasure of the warmth and subtle sweetness play across his face, Charlie locks eyes with Nick. He sucks in a deep breath and forces out his question.

“Will you please help me tonight?”

He rather timidly explains that the plan is to spend the entire night and all day Saturday unpacking the shipment of books and zines he’s expecting overnight, in time for the shop’s soft opening on Sunday. 

Apparently Nick should’ve chosen some caffeinated options for their afternoon break. 

“...Seriously? You were going to do this all by yourself, in 36 hours? Set up an entire bookstore?” Nick is baffled. 

“It’s ambitious, I know. But my book club will be here! And…some other people were supposed to help too, but I don’t think that’s going to happen…” Charlie mutters, looking forlorn. He then looks to Nick again, the question still behind his captivating blue eyes. 

As if he doesn’t realize that Nick would say yes to quite literally anything Charlie might ever ask of him. 

“Well, I admire your gumption. How can I help?” 

---

The delivery truck arrives just after midnight, and the driver rolls up his back door to unfurl the ramp in the loading zone. The truck is much bigger than Charlie, Isaac, or Nick had anticipated, and is packed to the brim. 

“Yeah…We definitely underestimated how much 5,000 books actually is,” Isaac states as the three stare slack-jawed at the delivery driver wheeling down the first three of approximately 210 boxes that may as well be packed with bricks. 

Wordlessly, Charlie sends out the SOS to all his book club contacts, begging anyone not yet asleep to come start their unofficial volunteer shift now, instead of the agreed upon 8:00 Saturday morning.

Nick makes quick work of sliding and organizing boxes under the guidance of the men with the vision. Nonfiction to the left, memoirs and poetry in the back corner, zines staged in the back room for now, and the rest stacked wherever there is extra space to be found. Nick is grateful that the supplier had bothered to label the contents of each box, at least.

Within an hour, most of the people that Nick had met a few days earlier have shown up to help bring in the last few boxes of merchandise that the delivery driver had so helpfully tossed onto the sidewalk before zooming off. Some of Charlie’s friends have opted to go full slumber-party, like the two taller women wearing matching silky shorts and camisoles, arriving with bags of crisps and several bottles of Tesco brand prosecco. Others, such as the couple of stockier men of the group, come ready to work, complete with tool belts and knee pads. Isaac has a task list prepared and begins assigning folks to building the last of the shelves, organizing inventory, hanging décor, and moving furniture into place.

Nick’s sense of time distorts due to a mix of intensive manual labor, being up way past his usual bedtime, and the glorious daze of watching Charlie alphabetize biographies of queer icons. Whether in the blink of an eye or several millennia later, Nick finds himself taking a break from positioning shelving units by carrying eight extra-large pizzas the four blocks from his favorite 24-hour slice shop that he insisted Charlie order from, at 4:00 on Saturday morning. 

By the time Nick returns with the pizzas, Elle and Tao have shown up and are unpacking art supplies for decorating the front windows. 

"Elle! Tao! I didn't know you two would be here!” 

"I wouldn't miss it! Besides, I've got to put that art degree to use some time!"

Tao dutifully wipes the windows with glass cleaner and a rag as Elle arranges the decals on the floor. ‘Small Spaces’ is spelled out, backwards for now, in a stately serif font that reminds Nick of an old-timey newsstand. This window sign will be the perfect first impression to anyone who happens upon the store, setting the scene for the cozy, intimate world they're about to step into.

---

“Where did the name ‘Small Spaces’ come from, anyway?” Nick wonders as he cuts open yet another box of books with the utility knife he always keeps hooked inside his back pocket. It's approximately 6:00 in the morning, judging from the trickle of joggers passing by the shop through the smoky grey light of daybreak. And, confirmed by the fact that Darcy had come bursting through the front door moments prior to energetically take everyone's caffeine orders before she opened LGBTea for the day.

“Isaac and I took this really wonderful children’s literature course at uni,” Charlie begins, as he lifts picture books from a pile on the floor and onto empty shelves. Nick reads the title of the blue and yellow book in his hand: Introducing Teddy. “This one particular lecture really stuck with us both. The professor explained that children, by nature, choose to escape with their books into small spaces. Kind of, like, seeking to be swaddled in comfort while they escape into the fantasy of the story they’re reading.”

Huh. That’s similar to how Nick has Nellie’s set up. Plenty of cozy retreats for people to feel cocooned by plants. He hadn’t intended for his own shop to follow the philosophy, so he admires that Charlie and Isaac are instituting it intentionally.

"It's also a neurodivergence thing. And a trauma thing. And, well, just a security thing in general," Charlie continues.

Nick listens with stars in his eyes, trying to focus on Charlie’s actual words, instead of just the fact that this man speaks with such zeal about things Nick has never even heard of. And when he's impassioned, Charlie grows a tantalizingly wild look in his eyes, all but daring his audience to hold his hand and follow him as he barrels down the train tracks of his thoughts. 

Charlie continues, “Personally, I never really lost that desire to be enclosed in that way. In school, I loved sleeping in my twin bed, surrounded by a thousand soft pillows. I actually still prefer it."

He flits his eyes to Nick, a slight blush spreading across his cheeks as he realizes that, to some, the confession of enjoying resting in such a childish bed might be embarrassing. The thought doesn’t cross Nick’s mind at all; he is preoccupied with the image of Charlie, encased in downy pillows and soft blankets, sweetly dreaming. 

“And I think most people don’t really grow out of the longing to feel wrapped in safety. So, we’re setting up the store to be more like a series of small nooks for patrons to get lost in their own fantasies and daydreams, instead of big airy aisles like a lot of other bookstores. To some it might feel claustrophobic, but we intend for it to hopefully feel more like a safe space for people to come and lose themselves,” Charlie’s gaze falls from brightly admiring his own handiwork around his new shop, to a self-deprecating look of apology. “Sorry…that was a lot. You can tell me to shut up."

“You apologize a lot. Why would I ever want you to shut up when you’re speaking so passionately? This clearly matters a lot to you. I think that’s so cool!” Nick assures him.

“Oh! Um…some people say I get carried away when I get on about things I care about.”

“Who says that? Ben?” Nick asks, suddenly serious.

“...Ben.” Charlie deflates as he confirms Nick’s assumption.

“Haven’t we already established that he’s a dicknozzle? You shouldn’t feel ashamed of spreading your joy to others. Besides, it’s infectious. I can’t believe someone would find you discussing your interests anything less than utterly captivating.”

Nicholas. Maybe YOU should take a clue from Ben and learn how to shut the fuck up.

Although Nick’s reassurance snowballed into him coming on too strong, he is rewarded nonetheless with a new look from the man. Quizzical, but subtly letting on that he is reacting positively, because there is the hint of a dimple emerging as he studies Nick’s face after his short monologue singing the praises of Charlie’s special interest.

Charlie pulls in his lips and shakes his head. "Anyway. Can you pass me those copies of I Am Jazz?" 

Nick obliges, somehow managing to unstick his gaze from the eloquent man and locate the books in question amongst the piles of storybooks at their feet. On the front cover, they feature a drawing of a young girl standing in front of picture frames showing her younger self, with many different long and short haircuts. 

"What's this story about?" Nick asks as he hands over the books one by one. He's never been much of a reader, save for the occasional Marvel comic. But he looks forward to hearing about any and every piece of literature Charlie cares to describe to him, even children's books. He could listen to Charlie talk ad nauseam about anything, really. He'd be enchanted by him reading the back of his formulated-for-curls shampoo bottle. 

Charlie holds a copy with both of his hands, studying the image of the picture frames. "It's about a young kid who comes out as trans. It's incredibly gentle and kind, and just kind of lays out for families how she knew she was not a boy from a young age. It was kind of revolutionary at the time it was published, even though it wasn't really even that long ago! This holds such a special place in my heart," the man brings it close to his chest as if giving it a hug.

Is it weird to be jealous of an inanimate object? 

"That's so cool! Does it have a happy ending?" Nick asks as he tries to shake the longing to be held like a storybook to this man's chest. 

"Of course it does! Isaac and I decided that we will keep a limited stock of your 'Bury Your Gays' tropes on a separate shelf in the far back of the store. We don't need more negativity intermingled out here in what's supposed to be a friendly space for queer people. Like, those stories are important to tell too, but if some parent of a young queer kid comes in here and finds tragic shit on the shelf and decides to read that instead of something uplifting like I Am Jazz, I feel like I wouldn't be doing my job."

Nick's heart feels like it's filled with helium and he is about to float up to the ceiling. "You've put a lot of thought into all this!"

"I mean, I'm trying to create the bookshop that I wish my parents had when I came out." 

Nick sighs in agreement, treasuring the fact that this magnificent man in tight jeans that don’t quite reach the tops of his shoes has considered all of these details. "Imagine if my mum could've found anything positive about bisexuality back when I came out. All she found was porn and warnings about STIs from promiscuity."

"Or literally any piece of media that didn't label trans people as evil sex offenders who were going to Hell," Charlie adds, a touch quieter than a moment ago.

"...what?" Nick quirks his head to the side, pulling his eyes away from the bottom hem of his jeans and moving to the loose fabric of a fuzzy yellow knitted sleeve. The stripes pool around his thin arms, and surely would feel absolutely divine grazing the back of Nick’s neck should Charlie ever invite him in for a slow dance.

"Oh come on, you’ve heard all that shit. My parents were generally accepting, in theory, but only when it was other people. Far away from their own lives. In their own house, though? A trans kid? They may as well have been those people who protest Pride Parades with those ridiculous signs,” Charlie shrugs as he places the final copy of I Am Jazz on the shelf. 

Nick can't stop himself from pausing for a moment longer on the way the thick fabric hangs off the man’s bony elbows. His eyes drift upward to see the hint of a collarbone peeking out from the stretched-out neckline of Charlie's lived-in jumper. 

Nick’s eyes meet Charlie’s as he finally wrangles his wandering brain back from the pipe dream of kissing the bony bumps adjacent to his smooth, soft throat. His brain is generously giving him a 60-second delay in understanding their conversation due to his preoccupation with the stunning visual beauty before him.

Charlie's body straightens as if under the scrutiny of a headmaster doing uniform checks. 

His face becomes suddenly serious. 

Deep oceans pour over him as Charlie stares back, filling every pore and wrinkle on Nick’s freckled face with Charlie’s projected emotion. 

What emotion is on Charlie’s face, anyway? Confusion? Disappointment? 

Anger?

“Charlie, what is it?” Nick quirks his head to the other side now, eyes still trained on Charlie as he attempts to decipher the man’s intense reaction to…something. 

Did Nick say something out of turn? Did his gaze linger a moment too long on the ribbed edging framing Charlie's lengthy neck? 

“Uhm. I think we’re done for the day. Thanks, Nick,” Charlie states coldly.

Nick furrows his brow, somehow having missed an entire nonverbal conversation. “What? There are still plenty of boxes to unpack-”

“Nick, I think you should go.” 

The other man directs his attention to arranging the books on the shelf, laser-focused on straightening the multitude of colorful spines. Feeling as if Charlie has just pushed him off the top of a building, Nick’s stomach drops to his knees as he takes his cue to leave Small Spaces. 

What the fuck just happened?

Chapter Text

What the actual fuck just happened.

Nick clearly said something wrong. Did something wrong. He’s been told that he can be thick, and this is the proof. It’s bad enough that he often misses subtleties when people interact with him. But to miss the subtleties of his own actions? That’s being proper thick, and he knows it.

He replays the conversation he had just had with Charlie as he lumbers up the stairs to his flat. They’d been discussing a storybook about a queer kid. Nick brought up the biphobic media that his mum was bombarded with when he came out to her in his teenage years. He expressed his gratitude that Isaac and Charlie are creating an intentionally positive space for learning about and connecting with and celebrating queerness. Right?

What did Charlie say? Something about his coming out, too. Why does Nick let himself get so distracted by Charlie’s cute arms and cute neck and cute elbows and cute torso and…

Charlie came out to Nick.  

He sets his key on the table.

Charlie came out to Nick as trans.  

He toes off his shoes as Nellie ambles over to greet him. 

Charlie came out to Nick as trans and he didn’t say anything in response.  

He bends down to pet her, unable to focus his eyes on her or anything else in the flat.

He just stared at the man’s body, and said nothing.  

“FUCK,” he stands up and runs both hands through his blonde hair, oily from an overnight of heavy lifting.

Nick turns to shut the door behind him when a stern voice calls up from the street, “NICK NELSON. I’M COMING UP THERE RIGHT NOW.” 

Nick can hear footsteps pounding up the steps, and moments later Elle pushes through the door into Nick’s entryway.

“What the fuck, Nick?”

He has never seen disappointment quite like that currently radiating off of Elle’s body. He can practically feel his skin melting under her crestfallen stare.

“Elle, I-”

“Stop. Listen to me. You care about this guy, right? Why would you react like that when he came out to you just now?”

“Elle. I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to react in any way. I didn’t even properly hear him until-”

“GOD, just when I think you can’t get any thicker! Nick. Coming out as gay is one thing, and I heard you fumbled that coming out too, at my birthday party. But coming out to someone as trans is a completely different story, mate. Many queer people are still incredibly transphobic! So the fact that you said nothing? You just stared at him? At his body? Don’t you think that came across as pretty fucked up?”

Elle’s disappointment feels heavier than even his own mum’s.

Nick absorbs what his friend is saying. Yep, he definitely came across as transphobic. No wonder Charlie kicked him out so abruptly.

“It was only for a second, wasn’t it? I…I get distracted…he’s just so adorable, Elle…I didn’t really hear what he was saying…he doesn’t really think I’m transphobic, does he? I mean, I’m friends with you?”

Elle’s eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. Her voice gets lower, and even more disheartened. “Just because you have a trans friend doesn’t mean you can’t still be transphobic. You can’t just use a person as a token of your beliefs. Like, you do realize that you embarrassed yourself in front of a room full of trans people, right? Charlie’s down there probably so ashamed, thinking that he brought a bigot into the shop.”

Nick feels the bile bubbling up from his stomach. Charlie’s book club is a trans book club. All the members are trans. Had he been told that? Either way, it shouldn’t matter whether or not they’re all trans. Nick made a complete arse of himself in front of all of them, cis or trans. Suddenly light-headed, he plants a hand on the wall to steady himself. With a shaky voice he asks, “What do I do?”

“Nick, we’ve been through this. It’s not my job to hold your hand through every misstep. You’re smart, you’re capable. I’ll vouch for you if needed. I know you’re not a transphobe and it is all a big misunderstanding, but it still came across as pretty transphobic. You need to sort this one out on your own.” Elle offers a half-smile, the intensity of her mood downshifting upon seeing Nick’s physical reaction to her words percolating into his brain. 

Offering a stroke of his bicep before departing, she says with the lightness of a deflated helium balloon the night after a child’s birthday party, “You’ll think of something.”

---

Nick spends the rest of the day in a smoggy haze of regret. Why can’t his brain work faster? Why couldn’t he have focused on the important conversation he was having with Charlie, instead of letting himself get distracted by the way Charlie’s ankles peeked out ever so slightly from the bottom of his jeans, revealing socks patterned with tiny flowers?

That’s it. That’s how Nick can apologize. That’s how he can prove himself.

The act of standing up from his perch behind the register settles his racing thoughts, and he notices that there are several patrons milling about Nellie’s. How long had they been there?

“Is there anything I can help you with today, sir?” he asks as he squeezes past a heavily tattooed middle-aged man who’s eyeing a selection of hedgehog cacti.

“Actually, yes! I’m in here looking for a perennial that can be taken inside in the winter. Something with bright flowers for my wife,” he smiles at Nick before his eyes drop to his cuffed t-shirt sleeve. 

Nick normally would be tickled by a customer’s gaze lingering a bit too long. It’s always flattering, even if this man is definitely not his type, and has a wife. But today Nick is consumed by the constant bass drum thumping Charlie Charlie Charlie Charlie inside his brain .

Besides, tattoos were never Nick’s thing. Unless a certain someone happens to have tattoos, in which case he could probably, definitely make an exception. It occurs to Nick that he hasn’t seen hardly an inch of Charlie’s bare skin.

A second later, the customer’s face indicates that he’s waiting for a response from Nick. Duh. “I was just on my way over to our potted flowers! Come with me.”

Nick leads the man to the area of the shop where he’s staged the gerber daisies, African violets, and mums. Although it’s off-season for most flowering plants, he always tries to keep a few in stock because they are so cheery to look at.

A lightbulb blinks on in Nick’s head. He doesn’t pay much attention to the much-too-inquisitive man asking for Nick’s ‘expert opinions’ on which flowers ‘the ladies’ like best. He’s too busy mentally drafting Charlie’s apology.

---

Isaac greets Nick with a small smile as he tiptoes into Small Spaces once he closes up Nellie’s for the night. The man looks to his business partner who’s seated behind the counter, back to Nick, and quietly gathers his clipboard and pen with which he was seemingly doing a final inventory count.

The blonde follows a few paces behind Isaac as he heads to a back room. Nick stops in front of the cash register and waits for an acknowledgement. After a few moments, he realizes that what he’s waiting for is not actually coming.

“Hi,” Nick chokes out.

Charlie momentarily flicks his eyes up from his computer screen, the valleys of his sunken cheeks flowing into permanent smile lines that Nick’s never noticed. He supposes that it’s because the smaller man is almost always smiling, or laughing, or speaking passionately, or displaying some sort of feeling. Unlike right now.

Without even a whisper of a reaction across his pallid face, he returns to his correspondence. Not even an eye roll, or a narrowing of frigid blue eyes. “Hi,” he responds to Nick flatly.

He isn’t telling Nick to leave. He’s certainly not inviting him to stay, but at least he’s not pushing him out the door with a cattle prod.

“Uhm. I just wanted to say…”

“What?” Charlie spits out as he once again glances up at him. 

Oof. Nick can’t decide which expression he’d rather be on the receiving end of from this beautiful man: no emotion at all, or the wealth of hurt and anger and confusion that seems to be ripping its way through him.

“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. For how we ended our conversation.”

He waits once again for a response.

Blue eyes leer, shooting bone-chilling lasers right back at him. He looks depleted.

“I’m sorry for how I reacted. Or, rather, how I didn’t react. I, uhm, it, uhm…” God, Nicholas, WORDS. USE THEM. “I should’ve said how I feel right away. Which is that it’s completely fine that you’re trans. Um, not fine, wonderful! I mean, it’s, like, neutral. On the scale of bad to good it’s completely nothing because being trans means nothing to you as a person. No! It means everything. It means nothing to ME. Or, it’s cool that you’re trans and doesn’t change what I think about you. But, like, you don’t need my input on your gender. Obviously . I just, uhm, I feel absolutely sick that my mind didn’t move fast enough to say anything. Like, I said nothing and that was so awful of me. And I’m sorry.”

Blue eyes blink once…twice…they relax from their glare ever so slightly. For that, Nick is grateful, and resumes crashing and burning his way through this miserable attempt at an apology.

“I feel nonchalant about you being trans. Is that the right word? I don't know. All I had to say was ‘cool’ and everything would’ve been fine, right? You don’t ever deserve to be left hanging like I left you. I really am sorry.”

Nick hesitates for a moment, takes a deep breath, then places the yellow pot with a gorgeous white flower on the counter between the two of them. 

“I brought you something. It’s a lily. Now, uhm, I chose this flower in particular because Lilium are kind of trans plants, in a way.”

When he meets Charlie’s gaze, he watches one thick eyebrow arch by half a millimeter. The wrinkles in the outer corners of his eyes relax slightly more than they had during Nick’s last pause in his disastrous monologue. 

“Uhm. Lilies have both gynoecium and androecium, meaning they can self-pollinate. Not all flowers can do that, it’s so cool! The androecium, it’s the stamen, that’s these brown bits covered in pollen,” Nick pokes one of the many anthers on a flower, and yellow dust falls onto the crisp white petals. “And then the gynoecium are the bits that accept the pollen to fertilize the seeds. That’s these sticky things. Here, feel.”

Nick presses the longer stigma that pokes out over the stamen with the pad of his index finger to demonstrate. Charlie wavers, but can’t resist the sensory input he’s been invited to try. He puffs a breath through his nostrils when he discovers that it really is sticky. The deep purple skin under his eyes tightens almost invisibly. Another tiny step towards a smile.

“Scientists call this flower ‘perfect’ because it can do every job by itself. So they are way cooler and more prolific, and are frankly way more interesting to me. They're not stuck to one gender role, if you will, from when they bloom, either. So, uh, there’s that.”

Charlie’s pink lips press together, then relax.

“Uhm, they call lilies lots of other different things besides ‘perfect’, too. Well, the old botanists like Linnaeus called plants like these a word that is now a slur, so that sucks. And, these days people who study phytology don’t tend to have a grasp on the difference between human sexuality and gender, you see, so they actually call lilies ‘bisexual’ now. Which also sucks, but it’s also kind of ironic, given that I’m bisexual and you’re, well…”

A corner of the other man’s mouth pulls inwards. And then it angles up as he narrows his eyes again. This time it doesn’t feel quite as antagonistic though.

Nick smiles towards the floor and shakes his head bashfully, amazed with himself that he got this far without breaking down.

“You’re perfect, just like this flower. Perfect flowers have everything they need to survive and thrive on their own already within themselves. And, uh…I am just now realizing that this is possibly the nerdiest mea culpa either of us has ever been involved in. So…”

Silence. 

A breath.

“That was really bad today,” he finally responds to Nick’s gesture of good will. “Like, what the fuck was that?”

Nick sighs and hums apologetically. There’s no way around it. He has to come clean to Charlie that he was too distracted by his exposed ankles and his cozy-looking jumper that he’d like to see on his floor-

Interrupting himself, he quickly spurts out, “I’m sorry. I was distracted! Uhm, it’s, uh, it’s really hard for my brain to focus on important conversations a lot of the time.”

Charlie’s face softens, as if he understands what Nick is trying to explain. Hopefully that means that he doesn’t have to state plainly why his mind was out to lunch when Charlie came out to him.

“What had you so distracted? I was kind of baring my soul to you.”

Of course Nick won’t get out of this conversation so easily.

He runs a hand through his blonde hair nervously. “Uhm. Well. My brain can kind of only process one thing at a time, and unfortunately that means sometimes I can’t pay attention to the things I logically know I need to be focusing on…”

The papery purple bags under the other man’s eyes pull upwards as Charlie squints back at the hedging, fumbling, bumbling, scrambled-eggs-for-brained, stammering-

“Uh! Sorry to…interrupt…” Isaac appears from thin air, eyes shifting between the two others. 

Charlie doesn’t seem surprised at all by his sudden materialization, but Nick just about pees himself from fright. 

“...Charlie, I wanted to give you these inventory sheets so you could submit that final order, so everything gets here in time for our grand opening. Um…ok.” With a cheeky smile, Isaac disappears into the ether as quickly as he emerged. Wonderful, angelic Isaac, swooping in to effectively save Nick’s behind. Did he do that on purpose?

Charlie picks up the forms from the counter, visibly calmer now, at least to Nick’s meticulously trained eye. He places them deliberately next to his keyboard, clearly choosing his next words carefully. 

“I accept your apology. That really was the worst this morning,” Charlie’s eyes remain fixed on the paperwork. Nick wishes with his whole heart that he could just beg him to look up at him, so he could see how truly sorry Nick feels. But he knows that he’s in no position to ask anything of this person that he accidentally hurt so deeply. “I’ve been spiraling. I thought I moved next-door to a transphobe. Then I thought that Darcy and Tara are transphobes as well. I thought I’d made a horrible mistake trying to get to know you, to get to know any of you.” 

Nick can’t seem to get any oxygen into his lungs while watching Charlie’s gears turn.

“You made me feel so small, in front of all my friends. You made me feel like an idiot.”

It feels like a punch to Nick’s gut. Charlie exhales a long, slow breath, mulling over his next words.

Finally, he finds the phrasing, and flashes the briefest half-smile when his eyes move from his paperwork to the lily. “But I think you’re actually the idiot, if that botany lecture just now is any indication of your interpersonal skills. But I’m not in any position to be critical of someone else’s understanding of social cues. So, I think I can give you a second chance to not make me feel like shit about myself, because we both know I don’t need more of that in my life right now.”

Then, finally, blue eyes float up from the flower to meet Nick’s, and the tired face peering at him finally, finally shows a new emotion. 

What that emotion is, Nick can’t parse. He’s thick. Everyone knows he’s thick. Charlie knows he’s thick. He wishes he wasn’t, he wishes he could intuit what thoughts are brewing behind the worn out face whose features seem to sink deeper by the minute from fatigue. He wishes he could just say and do the right things at the right moments, and make everyone happy and comfortable and validated at all times. 

He wishes he could go back in time and say that he’s completely ok with Charlie being trans. He wishes he could go back and at least meet eyes with him, maybe give him a kind, accepting smile. Really, he’d like to give him a big hug and thank him for coming out to him, then move on with their lives. If it had been literally any other person besides Charlie coming out to him, Nick would’ve done those things. 

But of course, it was Charlie. Annoyingly handsome, spectacularly interesting, terrifyingly sharp, bewitchingly distracting Charlie. The man who Nick is so head-over-heels for that he is completely messing up their budding friendship.

A dimple.

There’s a dimple!

Nick could pass out from the relief. A dimple forms on Charlie’s face as his icy blue eyes begin to thaw. With a tinge of the dry humor that Nick has been craving, Charlie verbalizes a warning that fills Nick with both delight and terror.

“But let me make something clear. You can’t solve everything just by bringing me a plant!!”

Charlie’s prod at Nick’s method of apology is like balm to his angst. He feels his shoulders drop significantly - had they been that painfully tense this whole time, raised to his ears as he braced for Charlie’s response? 

Just as his midsection recovers from the emotional impact of the figurative gut-punch, what Charlie says next hits Nick even harder, but this time in a fascinating new way. It’s like the first one had stopped his heart, and this one resuscitates it, and blood is once again coursing through his veins. 

“Is there any chance I can come up and take a quick nap on your couch?”

Chapter Text

Charlie crashes immediately upon impact with Nick’s sofa. 

Even if he’d been awake for a week straight, certainly Charlie must feel at least some level of trust to sleep in someone else’s space, right?

Nick is unable to fathom the fact that Charlie is here, in his flat. The small man’s body is curled up underneath Nick’s favorite fuzzy yellow blanket that his mum had given him for his 22nd birthday. His head rests on the pink, purple, and blue striped throw pillow that Nick has laid his own head on countless times. He is gracing Nick with the real-life vision that had been planted in his brain early that morning, when Charlie described his favorite way to sleep.

Nick wishes he had more soft items to offer the man, to make his nap as ideal as possible. The poor thing has been on the go since before dawn on Friday, and it’s now Saturday evening. Alas, Nick only owns two flattened bed pillows, and this one measly blanket and pillow duo for relaxing on the couch. 

Is it overkill for Nick to strip his bed and swaddle Charlie in his duvet?

He should probably invest in a few additional pillows. Just to make his home more...homey.

Between the stress of Charlie’s blowup with Ben, the all-nighter, their misunderstanding, the apology, and now this dreamy man dreaming in his very cramped flat, Nick is both incredibly wired and incredibly loopy. There’s no way in hell he’d be able to nap. Is it weird to leave Charlie alone in his flat to ready his own store for the probable influx of Charlie’s friends and relatives who will attend the soft opening tomorrow? Nick trusts the man completely; it’s not like he’s going to trash the place or steal all his jewels or something. It’s Charlie. Sweet, kind, sleepy, overworked, perfect Charlie.

Nick thinks through every implication of leaving Charlie here unattended. What if he wakes up, alarmed that he’s in an unfamiliar place? He was so delirious when he’d asked Nick to lend him a horizontal surface that he probably doesn’t even remember where he is. What if he calls the authorities to report being kidnapped? Would Nick get arrested, taken into custody, and then would miss out on tomorrow’s festivities?

Better stay, just to be sure that doesn't happen.

But he has to channel his over-caffeinated energy somehow. The logical option is to nervously scrub the shower, honing in on all the grime that’s built up over the years in the crevices around the tap. Nick tends to be a fairly clean person, he likes to think, but it’s not often his anxiety compels him to do a meticulous deep-clean of his flat. 

A buzzing breaks through the grating chatter inside his mind – it’s a phone rattling the ceramic coaster it’s sitting on. Nick peers out of the loo and sees that it’s Charlie’s phone. The phone’s placement means the other man had noticed the coasters that Nick had dug out from a box in the back of his wardrobe; they were another well-intentioned birthday gift from his mum, pink, purple, and blue marbled together for a cool artsy effect. He had stashed them away because Nick’s just not the kind of guy to use coasters. Until now. Because impressive, mature adults use coasters. Or at least have them out on the coffee table to impress houseguests. 

The phone buzzes again as if telling Nick to stop overthinking his home décor. 

Nick takes that as his cue to quit feverishly scrubbing at the grout along the corner of the tiles, and go make himself some tea.

Is caffeine a bad choice right now? Nick definitely needs a good night’s sleep, and it’s practically dinnertime, and he should probably go to bed soon after eating so he can summon himself back into his early-morning gym routine before the event tomorrow.

As he contemplates black versus herbal, the fancy coaster rattles against the coffee table for a third time. Three texts in a row warrants waking a slumbering person.

The thought crosses Nick’s mind that he could instead just check the texts, to determine how urgent they are. Then he might not have to rouse Charlie if he judges them to be unimportant.

Boundaries, Nick.  

So he places a feather-light hand on Charlie’s foot, which feels bony even through the plush blanket. Nick’s university flatmate had taught him that this is the most tender way to wake a person; since a person’s foot is the farthest point on their body from their brain, there’s a lag before the brain receives the signal to wake up, so they are awoken gently. Nick doesn’t have a clue whether there’s any scientific evidence behind the claim, but he would rather die than potentially jolt Charlie awake right now, so he does it anyway. How is one meant to rouse a fellow small business owner in a situation like this, anyway? 

The man reacts to Nick’s touch by flexing his foot. No other movement, though. So Nick gives it the faintest of squeezes. Again, a small extension of his foot, this time accompanied by a shallow breath in. 

This sleeping angel is going to end him. 

“Charlie?” Nick breathes out, surprising himself that the name hitches in his throat. 

Nothing. 

“Charlie,” he whispers louder, this time coupled with a slightly firmer squeeze of his big toe.

The curly-haired man inhales sharply and opens his eyes, blinking his heavy eyelids a few times. He focuses across the room on a sleeping Nellie, then slowly glances around the room as if he is lost.

Blue eyes soften when they land on Nick standing at the foot of the couch. A cozy smile spreads across Charlie’s face when the reality finally clicks of where he is. He’s safe in Nick’s flat.

Or, at least, Nick hopes that’s what that smile means.

“Are you touching my foot?” Charlie wonders with a gravelly voice.

“Oh! I, um…” Nick pulls his hand away quickly, having not realized that it was still resting there. 

Charlie’s smile widens, revealing white teeth behind his pink lips. “It’s ok! That’s how Isaac used to wake me up in uni. He called it the most thoughtful way to wake a person.”

Nick’s heart might burst from the elation of Charlie thinking he’s thoughtful . Well, thoughtful by extension of calling someone else thoughtful for doing this same gesture. That counts, right?

“Uhm. Sorry to wake you. Your phone was buzzing and I thought it might be important.”

Through a yawn and a stretch of his arms, Charlie reaches over to read the notifications that were so utterly pressing that his slumber was interrupted. He rolls his eyes and pushes himself into an upright position. 

Charlie turns his screen to Nick, inviting him to come closer and read. 

[Ben, 18:04]: ???????????

[Ben, 18:04]: don’t ignore me charlie

[Ben, 18:07]: hello????

“Hmm. Care for some tea? I was about to make some for myself,” Nick offers as a means of giving Charlie a bit of space to process whatever deeper conversation is unspoken behind the seemingly vague texts. He nods absent-mindedly in response. 

Nick opts for black for the two of them, restful sleep tonight be damned. He walks the two mugs (cream and sugar included) to the couch to join the man with the most adorable bedhead Nick has ever laid his eyes on. It would be way too weird to ask to take a picture of it. In fact, simply the idea of taking a picture of it is weird in and of itself. So Nick settles instead on hoping to someday get to see the unruly curls flatted in all the wrong places again.

Charlie accepts his cuppa and smiles softly but inquisitively over at Nick as he takes the vacant cushion. 

“So, are you going to be, like, totally weird around me now?” the smaller man asks cheekily. 

Nick huffs lightheartedly, hoping to cling onto whatever scrap of banter Charlie is offering him. “Oh, totally. Things are totally weird between us now.”

He looks up from his mug with that sneaky side-grin that pulls the tip of the man’s nose along for the ride. Just one of Nick’s hundreds of favorite smiles of Charlie’s. 

“But, seriously. I think you’re a nice person. I mean, obviously, considering you just let me drool all over your overtly bisexual pillow,” he gestures towards the object in his lap. “I just…I’m tired of having to explain my identity to people. I just want to live my life. Your reaction made me reconsider things about you.”

Nick’s heart shrivels up like a banana chip and then shatters upon impact of the ball-peen hammer of Charlie’s statement. 

Charlie continues, “I want to trust you. I just…I just need a little time. The emotional barricades around the castle of my heart are...how do I say this. They’re more fragile than they seem. I might need to repair the broken bricks before I can let the moat down, as it were.”

Spoken like a true English literature graduate, Nick thinks to himself. He doesn’t quite grasp the meaning of the metaphor, but he hears Charlie’s intent loud and clear. Nick needs to try harder. Do better. That 15-second lag in Nick’s thinking capacity this morning cut Charlie deeply. The damage is not irreversible, but the damage has been done nonetheless. 

Charlie shakes his head. “Anyway. Thank you for this. Ben will be downstairs any minute waiting for me, and I think I should try and conserve the sanity of the dogs in the neighborhood and not let Ben beep his horn repeatedly to get my attention.”

Nick tries to ignore the pang in his chest at the idea that anyone could ever be impatient with Charlie. The men stand, and Nick walks them both to the door, as if the other man needs a guide to find his way out of this tiny studio. He pulls on his shoes then stands by pushing down on his knobby knees. Due to their slight height difference, the pair’s eyes almost, but not quite meet. 

It’s like the whole world stops, just like that very first time Charlie came into Nellie’s. If he were a cartoon, Nick’s eyes would be bulging out of his skull in the shapes of hearts while an old timey horn blares embarrassingly for everyone to hear. It takes all the strength he has to keep his face neutral as this adorable man considers whatever thoughts are clearly racing through his head, never once breaking eye contact while a thousand emotions swirl behind those bottomless wells of blue. Charlie furrows his brow, sucks in a breath as if to say something.

The huff of air the other man then lets out, Nick infers, indicates he lost his nerve to say whatever was on the tip of his tongue.

“Ok. Bye,” are the only words Nick is offered as a consolation prize to what might have been about to happen.

Chapter Text

"So. I had an idea. What if I make coupons for your grand opening tomorrow? With the purchase of a book, people can come over and pick up a free plant start from Nellie’s?" Nick proposes over a quick tea break across the street.

The soft opening of Small Spaces on Sunday had been a huge success. Everyone from the book club was in attendance, milling about, flipping through books, admiring the yellow walls and countless reading nooks the shelves create. People local to the neighborhood filtered through via word of mouth, and customers from across the street started taking their coffees to-go to come and browse. Isaac’s family even took the train from Dover to congratulate him and Charlie.

Despite a few kinks in their point-of-sale system to be ironed out, the owners feel ready to open their doors for real later in the week.

As a side effect of the popularity even before Small Space’s official grand opening, the stream of people flowing into the neighborhood was already bringing more foot traffic into Nellie's than Nick had prepared for. Tara noted similarly that she'd had to place a double order from their coffee roaster due to the influx of customers.

Charlie takes a sip from his quad Americano - Nick should've known better than to offer a 'tea' break on a Friday morning after such a momentous, profound, exciting, overwhelming week - and his pupils dilate to nearly overtake his cerulean irises. 

"Nick! That's an amazing idea! But are you sure it's not too much to ask? Based on this week, we are anticipating way bigger crowds than we'd ever dreamed of…" Charlie quirks his smile to the side and raises his thick eyebrows in question, his eyes betraying the unnecessary guilt he carries around on his shoulders. 

“Charlie, I don’t make offers I don’t intend to follow through on. Please, let me do this for you! It’ll help both of our businesses!” 

Blue eyes study Nick’s freckled face. The face that he hopes is schooled to portray his intent to provide a business-focused favor to his colleague, and not the ulterior motive of bending over backwards to do anything to entwine his life more with this man’s. 

Through the lens of business, it’s ok to collaborate. 

Charlie has a boyfriend. 

A ‘situationship’ - whatever that means - with a dicknozzle who’s never had the pleasure of seeing the dimples that appear when he’s gifted a potted plant. Or who probably hasn’t ever witnessed him laying with arms outstretched, singing a Spanish children’s song. And who certainly hasn’t gone out of his way to help with Small Spaces in any way, shape or form.

But still, a boyfriend. 

---

Nick was able to place a rush order for printed coupons through his favorite independent print shop, The Little Prints, to be ready in time for the grand opening. Even if it means waking up at 6:00 on a Saturday morning to run across town to pick them up, it’s all worth it to see those grateful dimples form in response to his act of service. 

Rather, it’s worth the extra effort because of the business collaboration opportunity.

He pulls on his trusty blue jumper and whatever trousers he was wearing the day before, because 

holy fuck 

Charlie is sleeping on Nick’s couch.

In the string of late nights and hard work preparing Small Spaces, Charlie had worked himself to the point of complete exhaustion. It made zero sense to Nick that he’d travel all the way back to Ben’s flat just to turn right around again five hours later to arrive back at the store for the grand opening.

Because Charlie lives with Ben.

As he is so wont to do, Nick let an idea slip that was never meant to see the light of day. Or, rather, the streetlights of 2:00 in the morning. He offered up his couch for the night. Well, Nick initially had offered him the bed, but Charlie immediately declined, citing guilt over the thought of putting Nick out more than he already was.

Only, it was Nick’s idea to host Charlie in the first place. And the very last word Nick would ever use to describe anything having to do with Charlie is ‘burdensome’.

He didn’t dare let the thought of offering to share his bed with the man creep into his mind, because even bisexual disaster no-filter Nick Nelson knows better than to think about being the big spoon to a cute man with a boyfriend. Because it’s wrong to have a crush on a cute man with a boyfriend. Even if said boyfriend is a dicknozzle who doesn’t even buy his cute boyfriend plants.

Regardless, it took very little convincing that the commute upstairs was much more reasonable than the bus back to Ben’s. After all, it only made sense. And at that time of night, pretty much anything would’ve made sense. Or, at least, it was a hell of a lot more difficult for Nick to hold his tongue when the idea of Charlie snoozing in his flat again appeared in his mind’s eye. The pressure in his brain was too much, and it just spewed its way out. 

And Charlie accepted, and now he’s here. On Nick’s couch. Again. 

The up-and-coming local businessman is sleeping soundly wrapped up in that yellow blanket. The pretty man who has a pretty boyfriend.

The thought of perfectly swoopy-haired Ben pushes away any daydreams of domestic bliss, and his brain is backfilled with reality. Nick takes Nellie out for a quick jaunt before scribbling a note for Charlie.

Left to pick up the coupons. If I’m not back before you wake up, help yourself to instant coffee and anything you can find to eat! Sorry I don’t have more to offer - I don’t have many overnight guests. There’s a toothbrush for you next to the sink. Please lock up if you leave before I return :-)

Nick refuses to let himself obsess over whether Charlie will judge him for having instant coffee in his kitchen. It’s not like Nick drinks it! His excuse is that sometimes a date might want some caffeine before departing in the morning.

Not that he’s had many people stay over.

Or even visit at night.

As for the toothbrush? Well, oral hygiene is important. And he likes to keep backups on hand, just in case someone shares his values of clean teeth and fresh breath. Which he’s positive Charlie does, with such a dazzling smile. 

...Nick probably shouldn’t have mentioned the thing about not having overnight guests.

But there’s no time to obsess. He’s got to pick up the coupons to win over Charlie’s affections. No, to help out his fellow small business owner. Nick places a spare key on top of the note before departing and pulls the door shut softly behind him.

---

Head barely staying afloat in the sea of regret that is Nick Nelson admitting in writing that he does not get laid very often, Nick mistakenly begins walking home from The Little Prints in the wrong direction. He reaches an unfamiliar pedestrian crossing with the box of printed coupons in hand, and focuses his attention enough to reorient himself. He turns to the right, then to his left, then pinpoints that he’d gone a few storefronts too far in his angst-prompted stupor. 

Turning to the right again as he turns around to backtrack, he spots something peculiar through a café window. 

It’s some odd amalgamation of Doctor Octopus, Doctor Doom, and Thanos. Like, several Marvel supervillains morphed into one unassuming being, who happens to be at this random coffeeshop in Kent. 

Wait, no, it’s just a giant pile of burning tires seated at a two-top.

No, actually, it’s a handsome man sitting next to a petite woman with bedroom eyes. The man reaches over to tuck back a lock of her long chocolatey brown hair, then leans over to whisper something into her exposed ear.

In any other instance, the act of affection might warm Nick’s heart. He’s a sucker for romance.

Except when it’s Charlie’s boyfriend displaying it to someone who’s not Charlie. 

The white hot rage that rips through Nick’s veins is like nothing he’s ever felt. It feels as if the man has spontaneously combusted. And he just may have, considering the couple that caught his attention both turn their heads towards the spectacle.

Ben locks eyes with Nick, and furrows his brow. 

In a flash, Nick is inside, face close enough to feel the man’s breath on his face, index finger jabbing Ben’s sternum.

“Do…I know you?” 

“Do you know me? Maybe you’d remember me if you ever even slightly cared about your boyfriend’s feelings? The boyfriend you begged to get back together with, days ago? I’m the guy who’s been helping him set up his new business every day and every night for the past two weeks.”

The fog behind Ben’s eyes clears as he places where he’s met Nick before. He breathes as if to speak, but Nick cuts him off. 

“And the thing is, I was happy to help him! He didn’t even have to ask me! Because Charlie deserves it! That man deserves everything good in this world! How can you not see him for how amazing he is? How can you stand to live with yourself, two-timing the guy you moved here for, the guy who is the sweetest, loveliest man on the face of the earth? You must not care about him at all.” 

One of the baristas behind the counter clears their throat, snapping Nick’s attention back to the fact that he is speaking a little too loudly in the quiet café. A lot too loudly, actually, he notices as he darts his eyes around the room to see every single patron staring at him. One man even removes his earbuds so as to not miss any of the action.

“Oi, mate, there's no need to make a scene. Should we step outside to discuss this?” is all Ben has to say for himself. Not ‘sorry’, not ‘please forgive me’. He’s implying that Nick is the crazy one in this situation.

Usually Nick can muster a sheepish smile to apologize for drawing any attention to himself, like the time at the gym that he forgot to connect his headphones before turning on his pop princess workout playlist at full volume. But now, in this instance, the disgust is too overpowering for him to remember any of his manners. 

“ Mate, there’s nothing to discuss. You’re cheating, again, and now this whole café knows. God, I’m sure you ran out to spend the night with some girl - no offense, ma’am, I’m sure you’re a lovely person,” Nick graciously offers to the pretty brunette with Ben, who appears mortified, “as soon as Charlie let you know that he wouldn’t be coming home. Because he’s been pulling all-nighters to get ready for today. The grand opening. And you’re here, doing this.”

“...Please don’t tell Charlie,” Ben says quietly, as if the gravity of being found the morning after by Nick is settling onto his chest, making it so he can’t take in a full breath.

“Oh, so you’re scared of getting caught,” Nick spits back. With a half-hearted scoff, the anger has mostly been expelled from his chest, leaving behind only hurt. He continues more solemnly than angrily, “I won’t tell him today. Because I’m a good person. This is the best day of Charlie’s life. It’s everything he’s ever worked toward. I refuse to let it be tainted by the toxic sludge you spill into the lives of everyone around you with your bad behavior.”

The tsunami of rage that has just ripped through Nick leaves him feeling hollow. He finishes, “I’d suggest you start reconsidering your life choices, mate. Just fucking let him open up his bookshop and be happy. It’s not too much to ask.”

Nick turns to leave, but not before shooting the motherfucker one last glare, a final warning for him to stay far away from Charlie today, and ideally for the rest of eternity.

---

Charlie checks his phone as he emerges from the shower. The natural texture of his hair is flattened by the store-brand shampoo Nick buys, yet the blonde is still enthralled by the way the curls pop up one by one as they begin to air-dry. 

Nick had made sure to leave his fluffiest towel out for the man along with the unopened toothbrush, although of course sweet, courteous Charlie waited for Nick to return home so he could ask permission to freshen up for the big day. 

“I shouldn’t be surprised that I haven’t heard from Ben. No good luck, not even a heart emoji. He knows how important today is for me. But then again, he’s not really the sentimental type,” Charlie explains absentmindedly as he brushes his teeth with the bathroom door ajar.

Nick hums in response, stirring a steaming mug of noxious, bitter instant coffee for his guest, focusing all his willpower to not stare at the man as he stares at himself in the fogged mirror. 

Charlie wipes the condensation away with the hand towel, and makes eye contact with Nick through his reflection. A dimple appears on the wrong side of his face - not that there’s a wrong side to Charlie’s face, there’s nothing wrong with Charlie at all, but Nick is not used to seeing this flip-flopped view of him. But what is wrong is that the dimple arises without any feeling elsewhere - eyes, lips, or even hands. One lonely dimple lost in the expanse of apathy that is Charlie’s expression.

“I don’t know why I even care. He didn’t even respond to my text last night letting him know I wasn’t coming home. He clearly doesn’t care about me at all.”

Again, Nick can only hum in response. Charlie has no idea how heartbreakingly accurate his statement is. Although, on some level, he actually probably does know. 

Nick delivers the hot mug of disgusting acidic brown sludge to Charlie, who is rinsing his frothy toothpaste down the sink drain.

“See, why can’t he be considerate like you? Like, you don’t even drink coffee, yet you magically have some just sitting in your cupboard? Incredible,” Charlie’s eyes sparkle back at Nick as he accepts the beverage. 

Nick is unsure if it’s wishful thinking that the stars in Charlie’s eyes are for him. He lets the look fill up his internal basket of warm fuzzies, only to have a bucket of cold water dumped on it when Charlie then cracks a sarcastic smile. 

Oh. He was mentioning the coffee thing in comparison to Ben. He’s not impressed that Nick demonstrates the bare minimum of human decency, rather it’s that he’s unimpressed that his boyfriend doesn’t .

Chapter Text

“Charlie! Congratulations!” Elle shrieks as she slings an arm around the man.

There is music bouncing off of the yellow walls in Small Spaces. Everybody’s here for the grand opening afterparty: the book club, Tara and Darcy plus some of their lesbian cohort, pals from Isaac and Charlie’s uni days, folks from the neighborhood, regulars at LGBTea, Ms. Singh and her wife, and even Youssef and Nathan, the former candle shop owners. Everyone has come to celebrate the gays winning, yet again. 

“Thanks!” Charlie yells in response over the thumping bass. “SO many people came today for the grand opening! We eventually decided to just prop the door open because the draft from people coming and going was knocking zines off the shelves! And we sold so many books! I can’t believe it!”

Nick smiles. Nick can believe it. Nick’s believed in Small Spaces since Elle’s birthday when he first heard about it. The community came out in droves, so much so that by lunchtime, Nick ran out of the baby spider plants and tradescantia he was offering with the coupons.  

“Charlie, want another drink?” Nick asks, seizing the chance to lean in close to the man’s ear. He doesn’t want to be too greedy, so he only momentarily inhales the intoxicating leather and chypre of his cologne. 

“Yes, please.” Charlie’s usually sharply-annunciated words are a little softened around the edges as he takes the last sip of whatever’s in his red plastic cup. “I’ll have what you’re having.”

“A J20? Ok…” Nick answers in a joking tone.

“Ew. No. Red wine,” Charlie flashes that dazzling smile up at Nick, who mirrors his response.

Nick has to stay sharp tonight. He’s been known to spill secrets when drinking, like when he accidentally revealed to Tara during one of their ‘gin and gab’ nights that Darcy was planning to get them matching onesies for Christmas. Oops. But sitting on the weighty intel that Ben is a total scumbag and was caught red-handed this morning is too important to let slip. It has to simmer until tomorrow, at least. 

Or maybe Ben will call up Charlie and break up with him. 

Or maybe Nick’s dreaming. There’s no way that dicknozzle has the decency to formally end things with Charlie. Ben’s surely going to make Charlie do it. To make Charlie the bad guy. 

That is, if Charlie wants to break up with Ben at all. 

Oh for the love of geraniums, please let Charlie want to end things with Ben once Nick breaks the news to him.

Nick greets Isaac at the table, who’s also reaching for a J20. He offers the bookseller his sincerest congratulations, and learns that they’d nearly doubled their expected revenue for the day. They have already submitted another order for Small Spaces-branded stickers and t-shirts, both of which they’d sold out of in just six days. Nick can hardly contain his pride for his new neighbors surpassing their dreams. 

“Hey, Isaac? Can I ask you a question?” Nick begins as he pops the cap off the other man’s bottle for him. 

Isaac responds with only an eyebrow wiggle and a cheeky smile. 

“Uhm, ok. So. You know Ben? And how he’s, well-”

“Horrible?” Isaac cuts in.

“Exactly. Horrible. Well, uhm. How do I, like,” Nick studies the face of Charlie’s best friend, trying to take as much time as his squirrel’s brain will allow him in selecting precise language. “How do I tell Charlie just how horrible he really is? Like, I’ve gotten, um, confirmation today that he’s a, well, a real piece of work.”

Isaac hums as he picks at the label of the bottle he’s holding. As he considers, Nick takes a swig of his own apple and mango juice and surveys the room. The crowd is probably split down the middle as far as the number of people staying sober, and the number getting plastered. Everyone seems to be enjoying the party equally, however. It’s a quintessential queer rager.

“Charlie does well with facts. Hard evidence. He’s fiercely loyal though, so he sometimes rejects the truth, even though deep down he knows he shouldn’t. Trust me, I’ve been prodding him for years to ditch that dicknozzle.”

Nick’s nerves must wash over his face, because Isaac intuits his apprehension and formulates a simple piece of advice: “Just tell him.”

The pair turn away from the refreshments table to check on Charlie. He is currently being spun around the makeshift dance floor by one of the taller women Nick’s met several times but for whom he has never been given a name. All the people in their clump appear wobbly at best.

“...Maybe don’t tell him tonight. And, don’t give a whole preamble to the conversation. That makes him anxious. Just sit him down and tell him, whatever it is. I’m sure he needs to hear it.”

Nick appreciates that Isaac doesn’t pry. He’s allowing Nick to keep this talk with Charlie private. Although, he can’t be sure Isaac isn’t actually just reading his mind, as he seems to be able to do. 

“Ok. I was already planning on telling him tomorrow. Thanks, Isaac. You’re a good friend.”

“You are, too,” Isaac says with another suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows. 

---

Before the night winds down, Isaac makes sure to play Charlie’s Spanish motivation song. Well, a sped-up, bumping remix of the childhood favorite. Nick watches fondly as the entire room erupts in song, serenading the store owner with lyrics of celebration. Friends take turns dancing with Charlie, twirling him, dipping him, matching a two-step with him, and doing cheesy moves like the shopping cart with him. 

Queer magic.

Guests eventually say their final well-wishes and goodbyes, leaving only Nick and his two neighbors. Charlie squints at his phone while Isaac and Nick pick up the empty cups scattered around the store. 

The curly-haired man sighs. He clicks off his screen and drops his phone dramatically on the front counter. He slumps into a chair. “Nothing.”

“Can he sleep at your place again?” Isaac quietly requests over a dividing bookshelf. “I know that’s asking a lot, since he has crashed on your sofa several times now, but I don’t trust him to get himself home. I don’t think going home would be a good idea for him tonight, anyway. And I’d take him back to mine, but I rode my bicycle…”

“Of course he can stay with me! He’s basically claimed my throw pillow as his own with his drool, anyway,” Nick grins at Isaac in a way that he hopes communicates that he’s lovingly making fun of their mutual friend, as opposed to desperately seeking any excuse to spend more time with his crush. 

Charlie points his thumb groggily over his shoulder in the direction of the back office. “‘S ok, Isaac brought a cot, I’ll just…”

“Nonsense. You’re coming with me, fella,” Nick insists.

He offers both of his hands to the drunken man, who smiles giddily up at Nick and grasps them lightly, not nearly hard enough for Nick to actually stand him up. The smaller man then has the audacity to giggle and the sound would rival a group of angels at a stand-up comedy night. The blonde turns to Isaac, who shrugs as he switches off the store’s lights.

“Welp, you asked for this, Charlie,” he warns before bending over, wrapping his muscled arms around the seated man’s waist, and tossing him over his shoulder so easily that Charlie may as well be a rag doll. Charlie laughs in surprise, or maybe disorientation, as Nick turns so he faces Isaac, and Charlie faces away. “Please let me know when you get home safe, and we will see you bright and early!”

As the men exit, Nick can feel Charlie’s body shake from side to side as he ardently waves goodnight to his business partner. 

---

Charlie gazes up at Nick with glassy eyes as he tucks him in snugly with the fuzzy yellow blanket. He’d fought Nick on getting his high tops off by himself, but once he’d been greeted by Nellie, he calmed down and accepted the help. 

“What? What is it?” Nick asks as he takes a gulp of his water, then tips it towards Charlie, who’s already finished his own full glass. 

“…Why do you like me?”

Nick does a spit-take, thankfully making it into his cup and not all over the coffee table and his fancy coffee table books of plant photography that he may or may not have staged earlier, just in case he’d have the chance to impress a certain visitor again. 

“What?”

“Why are you so nice to me? No one is this nice to me for no reason. Every single cis guy I’ve known has used me, or made fun of me, or made me some personal check mark…and every one of them either turned on me and joined in on the chorus of assholes, or turned me into some dirty little secret or something. So all the guys in my life are either trans like me, or, well, Isaac. And now, there’s you . I don’t get why you put up with me.”

“Char,” fuck fuck fuck why did that just slip out of Nick’s mouth that was a nickname meant to live only inside Nick’s mind , “I don’t put up with you. You shouldn’t settle for people putting up with you! It doesn’t matter if you’re trans, that doesn’t give anyone the right to treat you less-than. You’re a cool person. It’s sad that all those people couldn’t see that. And, well, I just…I like being with you.”

Glassy eyes become watery as they stare up at Nick. Oh, how he wants to stroke the sunken cheek of this beautiful, heartbroken man, whose heart is only going to be smashed further tomorrow when Nick tells him what he saw today. 

“Let’s go to bed,” Nick decides before he says or touches or pats or brushes or strokes anything that he shouldn’t. “I’ll do more convincing in the morning.”

Except, of course, Nick can’t sleep. He spirals all night about whether or not he should’ve told Charlie about Ben right away. He’s keeping a secret from him, after all, and it’s a secret he ought to know immediately. But he really would’ve told him sooner if it wasn’t such a monumental day for him! He didn’t want to take away any of the joy from the day! Will Charlie be mad that he didn’t rush to fill him in? Will he think Nick is a liar?

Charlie’s words from that first time he consoled him about a conflict with Ben haunts him: 

I just want to open up my store and be happy. Is that too much to ask?

Nope. It’s not too much to ask. Ben sucks. He couldn’t even give Charlie the bare minimum: the space to pursue his dreams. Ben’s the liar, as he’s proven to Charlie time and time again. Nick’s not a liar. He’s a good person for preserving the man’s happiness. He’s a good friend. Just like Isaac said. 

---

The moment he enters LGBTea, Nick is greeted by a too-enthusiastic-for-seven-in-the-morning duet singing out his name. Darcy takes one look at him and drops the portafilter she’s holding onto the counter with a clang, and rushes around to wrap the man in a hug.

“Why the long face?” she coos into his chest. 

Nick pulls his lips from side to side in an effort to loosen whatever tightness his stress is causing in his expression. He didn’t think he was revealing anything on his face, but either the people around him know him way too well, or he’s just that much of an open book. 

“Boy troubles?” Tara suggests with a knowing look from her spot behind the register.

Darcy pulls her head back from the embrace to take a closer look at Nick. Her firm grip on his biceps doesn’t go unnoticed by Nick. What is it with people and his arms?

“It’s boy troubles. I can tell. I’m thinking…Charlie spent the night at your flat? And you’re here to get him coffee? So you can confess your undying love for him? At the ass crack of dawn after that wild party?”

“What? No, it’s- how did you know that?”

“Nothing but my gay intuition, Nicholas,” she smirks with satisfaction.

Tara chimes in, “Uh, no, she just watched from our window as you lumbered down the sidewalk last night with him slung over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes.”

“Like I said, gay intuition,” Darcy remarks with a wink. She thumps him on the back and continues, “Anyway, I’ll get you all set up with caffeine. We gotta get you your man!”

Nick walks over to the register, head spinning slightly from being called out by his meddling neighbors. “I’ll take my usual, and a triple Americano, please.” 

As Tara rings him up, including the friends discount plus the Gay Discount - both of which Nick never expects but always appreciates - she eyes him again. 

“...What?” Nick asks with a half-hearted chuckle.

Tara leans over while Darcy is distracted with brewing the beverages. “Did something happen last night between you two? You look guilty today, Nick.”

Nick sighs. “No. Nothing happened. He just slept on my couch. Again . I, uhm, I am gearing up for a conversation that I need to have with him this morning. So I thought some coffee that isn’t from the back of my cupboard might smooth things over just a bit.”

“Nick, are you having the conversation you’ve been dying to have with him for, like, weeks? Are you revealing your feelings for him?”

“What! No! Tara, he’s got a boyfriend. Even if he’s a dicknozzle, he’s still a boyfriend. Even if he…well, that’s actually what I need to talk to Charlie about. And besides, I’ve already told him how I feel, a number of times. Just not the, you know, the forgetting to breathe when he walks into the room, lying awake at night fretting over which t-shirt I should wear to bring out the gold in my eyes, spending every spare moment plotting how I can make him smile so I can see those dimples again stuff. He can’t know any of that yet. But he knows that I value his friendship.”

Tara leans further into her stance, the whites of her eyes expanding as she underlines her thesis. “Just be careful, ok? I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Nick offers a half grin back to the woman before thanking her softly.

“Oh, and one more thing. I know you don’t drink coffee, but since I foresee you ordering a lot more espresso in the near future, you should know we pull doubles here. Which means, any time you order an odd number of shots, that happens with the leftover one,” Tara explains as she directs Nick’s attention to her girlfriend, just in time for them to witness Darcy remove one of the small glass cups from under the spouted portafilter and knock back the concentrated coffee, then slam the cup on the counter with an emphatic whoop. 

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Nick offers with a laugh.

“I should say the same to you,” Tara replies in kind as she hands Nick his beverages.

---

When Nick arrives back at his flat, he’s greeted by the most adorable sight yet: Charlie curled up around Nellie on her dog bed, singing softly in her ear something about sunshine. They both perk up when Nick walks in, and the way Charlie’s face lights up rivals the subject of his song. 

Nick has to do it. Right now. If he doesn’t, he will explode with the guilt he’s had bottled up. Or maybe implode from the gravitational pressure of the news. 

“Why the long face?” Charlie asks as he reaches for the paper cup Nick offers. 

Is Nick really that easy to read? 

He takes a steadying breath before jumping in. Following Isaac’s advice to just give the facts without any buildup, he takes a seat on the floor next to Nellie. “So, I ran into Ben yesterday.”

Charlie quirks one of his thick, gorgeous eyebrows up, and takes a long sip of his Americano. Nick wonders how it somehow doesn’t burn his tongue like the English breakfast with cream and sugar is burning his own. The man doesn’t meet Nick’s gaze. And that’s ok.

He continues quickly so as to not give time for the other man’s anxiety to build. 

“Yesterday morning, I saw him with some girl, in a café near The Little Prints. They were clearly, um, they clearly…it was clear that they had spent the night together. And not in a face masks and chick flicks sort of way.”

The curly-haired man’s eyes are still fixed on the wall behind Nick’s head, but nothing changes on his face. His body, however, slowly deflates as if he were a balloon that has just been lanced with a pin. 

“Char, I am so, so sorry. He’s such an awful person. You don’t deserve to be treated like this. At all,” Nick continues, watching carefully for any reaction. There is none, except for another slow pull of his coffee, which Nick is starting to think Charlie’s wishing is something a little stronger than a triple espresso.

“The poor girl he was with was absolutely mortified. I stormed in there and kinda got all up in his face, actually, and I kind of made a scene. I think a barista kicked me out? I can’t really remember, honestly, I was in such a blind rage,” Nick describes to the numb man. “Now that I think about it, I think there was some applause? And the woman, she looked so boring, Char, like, no personality whatsoever. But she had enough sense to grab all her things and run out of the café before I was even finished with Ben,” he all but spits out the dicknozzle’s name.

Charlie’s shoulders sink even lower, his body being compressed under the weight of Nick’s words.

There’s so much more Nick could say. He could describe the awful way Ben had reacted to the confrontation, in that he had no real reaction at all. No remorse. Nick could explain that Ben tried to turn the situation back on him and attempt to make Nick out to be the one out of line, although Nick’s sure Charlie is very familiar with being gaslit by that motherfucker. He doesn’t need to hear about Nick’s tiny taste of what Charlie’s been going through for years. 

So instead, Nick pauses. A storm rolls in over the crystal blue skies of Charlie’s eyes. Both men pet Nellie without much thought, minds preoccupied but hands needing something idle to do. 

After what feels like an eternity, but is really probably only a minute or two based on the six sips of coffee he drinks, Charlie steels himself. He rolls his shoulders back and inhales deeply. “That’s it. That’s the final straw. I’m moving out, for good this time...”

Chapter Text

A pause. A glorious, momentous pause in conversation. Charlie is moving out of Ben’s place. Charlie’s freeing himself from the grips of that complete dicknozzle who had the gall to cheat on him, again. 

“...except, that’ll leave Ben with all the bills. The rent, the electric, the car payment, groceries, everything . What sort of person would I be if I just dump all that responsibility on him?” Charlie pivots from his determined statement just moments prior.

Nick quirks his head to the side, taken aback by Charlie’s shift in logic. “Charlie, you’re kidding, right?”

“No, I’m not. We split the bills fifty-fifty,” the man tells Nick as if explaining something as rudimentary as the order of letters in the alphabet.

“You split the bills fifty-fifty? Doesn’t Ben have some sort of fancy job? And that’s why he can afford a flat in the nice part of town, and that shiny blue car? He’s been making you pay for half of all that?” Nick is beginning to feel the incredulity sneak its way into his tone of voice.

Nick isn’t quite sure whether the way Charlie furrows his brow is from the situation, or Nick’s brash reaction. “I benefit from those choices he makes. It’s only fair.”

“Charlie. You don’t even drive. Would you choose to live in that flat if you were given the choice, Ben notwithstanding? Do you even like those weird organic groceries he buys?” 

Nick’s brain has been stuck on the fact that Charlie brought organic seaweed to work one day (how can seaweed even be classified as organic, anyway? Don’t they just pluck it from the ocean?) and forced himself to eat it when a phone alarm dinged on his phone one afternoon while Nick was hanging around the bookshop. Charlie had claimed it was healthy, and he had finished all of his secret stash of crisps the day before, and he couldn’t waste the money on not consuming the salty green sheets. The memory of Charlie slowly folding one piece into his mouth and closing his eyes as if in pain as he macerated it with his teeth haunts Nick. 

The smaller man weaves his fingers together while staring back at Nick blankly. “...No.”

“I mean, is your name even on any of the bills? Are you on the lease? Or the car title?” Nick knows he’s coming down on Charlie a bit too hard, but he needs the man to understand that he is under no obligation to stay in this horrible relationship. 

“...No.”

“Well, then, your worries about leaving him with all that financial responsibility seems like a problem for him, and him only,” Nick states with a shrug. His jaw clenches and unclenches on its own, and Nick should probably be working harder to school his face, but the more he sits with the facts Charlie has laid out for him, the harder it is to not turn greener than dried seaweed and rip off his shirt like The Hulk.

Nick continues, “If Ben can’t even offer you the decency of not running off with someone else the moment he learns you’ll be out of his hair, I mean. He can’t even buy food you like. Why do you care so much about this dicknozzle?”

Charlie’s sunken cheeks puff up with air, and before responding, he pops open his lips to push the air out. 

“Because he’s the only person who’s wanted to stick around.”

The birds stop chirping. The traffic outside goes silent. The hum of the refrigerator clicks off. All that Nick can hear is a glass champagne flute shattering right in his eardrums. 

Wait, no, that sound is his heart breaking.

He gulps.

React, Nicholas. You have to react!

The first thing Nick can think of to do is to slide over to close the gap between the men. He clasps Charlie’s hand with both of his own, and drills his warm brown eyes into icy blue with what he hopes is a fraction of the intensity Charlie can deliver with his own piercing gaze.

“I know you feel like you deserve to be treated like that. People shouldn’t feel that they have a right to hurt you. I need you to know that…that you are the kindest, most thoughtful and caring and amazing person in the whole world. You’re worth sticking around for.”

“You don’t have to say that,” the man shakes his head in such a way that makes his curls bounce.

“I do! And I’ll keep saying it until you believe me. I just…my life is way better because I met you. And anyone who doesn’t feel that way is a dicknozzle. Not just Ben, but all those losers who didn’t know how good they had it, being with you.”

Charlie laughs as he wipes a tear from his eye with his sleeve. “Are you trying to hit on me right now, Nick Nelson?”

Yes.

“What? No! No. Oh my god, no, I’m not hitting on you. It just…it just breaks my heart that you see yourself so differently than I see you. Uh, than anyone sees you, I mean.” Nice save, Nick. 

One or two more tears spill over the edge of Charlie’s blue eyes like raindrops. It takes all the strength Nick has to not reach up and wipe them away. 

The two sit in heavy silence, Nick not daring to remove his hands until Charlie is ready for him to. It’s rueful, the fact that they’re not at the point where Nick can wrap the man in a comforting hug, he considers. But boundaries are important. Building - and rebuilding - trust is important. 

Nick really, really wants to hug Charlie. But he won’t. Not yet. Charlie’s got to make that first move. 

Patience.

Nick’s hyperfocus on the thought of Charlie’s head laid on his shoulder, warm breath on his neck, is broken by a sensation on Nick’s inner wrist. It feels like a butterfly has landed there, gently fluttering its wings against the soft skin.

It’s Charlie’s thumb on Nick’s pulse point, stroking it almost imperceptibly. The realization invites a million more butterflies to land all over Nick’s body, making every inch of skin tingle. 

Nick’s breath hitches. And Charlie hears it, clearly, because his hand seizes and the pad of his thumb presses into the pulse point. He pulls out of Nick’s hands with a downcast smile and an awkward giggle. 

Charlie reaches for his coffee, opens the lid, and pours the last dregs into his mouth. “Uhm, should we go get a refill?”

---

Downstairs, Charlie checks in briefly with Isaac, who from looks alone was factory-made to be a soft-spoken, beige jumper-wearing queer bookseller. The few glimpses Nick has caught of Isaac actually selling books proves the hunch. Isaac nods to Charlie, but flicks his eyes to Nick before cracking a cheeky grin.

Nick can feel his eyes sparkle as the curly-haired man approaches to rejoin him and Nellie, but honestly, he’s not sure how much more suppression of his adoration he can manage. They cross the street to LGBTea and get settled with their supplemental caffeine into the corner window seats that look out on their perfect little street. 

“How do you like living above your shop?” Charlie asks before blowing steam away from his mug.

Nick grins as he considers the question. “Honestly? It’s lovely. I’ve gotten to know the neighborhood so intimately by both living and owning a business here. I get to see my regulars out and about, and of course living so close to my friends is great,” he nods towards the owners of the coffeeshop, who are currently behind the bar adjusting one another’s aprons and serenading each other along to whatever Indigo Girls song they have playing softly on the stereo. “Plus, you can’t beat the commute to work!”

Charlie hums. “I think I might ask Ms. Singh about the flat upstairs from Small Spaces. She had told me when we signed the lease for the shop that the unit was ours should we want it, but that she just needs a few month’s notice so she can fix the place up a bit. Apparently the people who used to live there were quite something.”

Nick shoots an inquisitive look across the tiny table. “Who, Youssef and Nathan? They were as quiet as mice. I mean, you met them yesterday, some of the sweetest people I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. They couldn’t possibly have trashed the place.” 

Charlie shrugs. “Either way, I think I might request that I just move in as soon as possible? And she could work around me and my things, or maybe I could even do some of the repairs?” 

Nick chuffs as he takes a sip of the tea Tara had fixed exactly to his liking. He feels his grin widening over Charlie’s joke about fixing the place up. But he looks up and realizes…Charlie was being serious. 

The man scoffs in mock-defense. “What!? Didn’t you see how well I set up my store? What makes you think I can’t do the same for a studio flat?” 

He then joins in on Nick’s giggles. Nick is beginning to be able to anticipate the man’s thoughts based on his microexpressions that play across his face, so before Charlie can continue clamoring to defend himself, Nick butts in. “Yes, I will help you.”

Charlie sighs with a huge toothy smile plastered on his face, seemingly enjoying the unspoken banter between them. “I love those strong rugby arms.”

---

“Charlie! What a surprise! What can I do for you?” Ms. Singh exclaims as she sits up from her position under Tara and Darcy’s kitchen sink. 

“I wanted to ask you about the flat across the street, the one above my shop. Does your offer still stand that we can move in there?” Charlie asks with slight hesitance. 

“What, has that boy been giving you a hard time again? Do I need to talk to him?” the landlady dramatically raises her eyebrows and nods her head, implying that she’d do much more than have a stern chat with Ben given the chance. 

Internally, Nick’s heart does a little happy dance when he’s reminded that Ms. Singh actually cares about her tenants. She knows them as human beings, not just as walking, talking rent checks. 

“Oh, no! Well, I mean, yes, but a talking-to won’t be necessary. It’s time I break it off for good. So I know you said you’d need a while to get the place ready for a new renter, but, is there any chance I could move in sooner?” 

Ms. Singh considers the question for a moment, then responds, “Well, how about this: hand me that wrench, I’ll finish up this little project here, and we can all walk over there and survey the damage?”

Apparently Nick gets to be a part of this. Yes.

Charlie does as he’s instructed, fumbling only once by handing her the socket wrench instead of the pipe wrench. Nick will have to explain the difference to him another day. 

---

“Now, please remember. I intend to fix all of this up. If you’re really desperate for a new living situation, I’ll allow you to move in here, with the understanding that it’s not quite livable as it is at the moment,” Ms. Singh warns as she inserts a key into the doorknob. 

Nick wonders whether it’s the same key that unlocks Small Spaces, just like his house key also opens Nellie’s. Hell, knowing her approach to security, the same key might be used for all four doors. 

The wooden door creaks open, and the men’s jaws drop in unison as they get the first glimpse into the studio.

It’s like nothing Nick has ever seen.

It’s awe-inspiring.

The three enter, and drink it all in. Nick hears an exuberant gasp to his left, so he glances over to be rewarded with the hugest grin he’s seen yet on Charlie. The other man takes a few more steps inside, and begins spinning around with his head thrown back as if in a cheesy movie montage of a girl who has just moved to the Big City and is taking in the sights of her new surroundings. 

Every single surface in the flat is painted ornately in bursts of colorful details. Each wall is painted differently; deep jewel tones interspersed with pops of much brighter neons, in every imaginable style: geometric, art deco, abstract, pop art, art nouveau, and several more that Nick doesn’t know the name for. 

The walls and cabinets in the kitchen area are painted like a Matisse, spilling into a tessellated pattern of ruby red on one side, and a graffiti-like texture on the other, over where the former tenants’ bed must have been placed. The ceiling is decorated in a bold black and white pattern reminiscent of Keith Haring.

Peering into the loo, Nick takes in the purple flowered wallpaper covered in a geometric gold leaf checkerboard that must have taken Nathan and Youssef weeks to complete. He can’t believe he’d lived next-door to the couple all those years and never once visited. 

It really shouldn’t all go together, but the men had done a spectacular job of pulling off the eclectic chaos to look, well…

“It’s perfect,” Charlie raves as he approaches the wall in the main room with a Monet-like mural of a marshy landscape. 

Ms. Singh is so shocked that she physically takes a step back as she jerks her head toward him. “What?! Charlie, it’s madness in here. I should be able to get everything covered up in the next couple of weeks. In the meantime-”

Charlie cuts her off. “No! Please! Absolutely not! I mean, I…if it’s ok, I’d like to keep it this way!” 

The landlady huffs in surprise, but says nothing in response. She just grins and shakes her head as she crosses the room to the kitchen, where she begins to check whether the appliances are still functional.

“This is so surreal,” Nick marvels as he steps forward to join Charlie in his admiration. 

“I mean, I’d call this one more impressionist than surrealist, but I suppose art is in the eye of the beholder,” Charlie quips brightly without taking his eyes off the brushstrokes of the spectrum of blues and greens. He reaches out to feel the texture of the art under his fingertips.

The taller man leans over. “Did you notice any of the fixtures they left, yet?”

This inspires Charlie to tear his attention away from the art to look at the gaudy antique candelabra hanging in the center of the room. His eyes glance to the gorgeous farmhouse sink in the kitchen, which is far superior to Nick’s rinky-dink one that is featured in every other low-budget flat in the city. The crystal knobs on the drawers and cabinets are a nice detail. 

Well, really, every detail is a nice detail. Those men obviously loved their home. It makes Nick consider his own intentionality, or lack thereof, in nesting in his own flat. He’s lived there three years, and barely has a framed photo hanging on a wall, let alone this.

“I didn’t know we were allowed to paint,” Nick prompts Ms. Singh as she plugs in the mini refrigerator. 

“You’re not. This is why,” she gestures broadly behind her to the flat. “I told Nathan and Youssef that they could decorate how they liked, paint, and so on. I expected them to maybe change the original tan color to white. So you can imagine my shock when, eight months later, I walked in for the first time to take a look at the dysfunctional hot water heater, and I saw this.”

Again, Nick never would have thought his neighbors, the quiet, respectful, plain-looking candle shop owners, would live in a place like this. 

Although the inkling of an idea of having Elle splatter-paint his own walls is squashed, he’s not too disappointed. Because Charlie will, hopefully, be living here. And hopefully, that means Nick will get to enjoy this incredible artwork again. 

“Well, it seems like you won’t have your work cut out for you, after all, to get it ready for a new tenant. I’m going to go ahead and ask the question Charlie’s too distracted to ask: can he move in today?”

Chapter Text

Queer magic is everywhere. It sparkles in the crowded gay bar where everyone knows all the words to the Cher song that’s playing. It’s baked into knowing glances between strangers on the bus. It swirls like leaves around friends testing out new names and pronouns with someone questioning their identity. It’s in every piece of art, every film, every story, every poem, every song created about the struggles and the joys and the triumphs of being queer. 

And it is certainly present in the network of support Charlie has created for himself, Nick thinks as he watches friends gather in the street below his new flat with the first boxes from Ben’s place. 

Nick had offered to help Charlie move, he really did. Well, pushed more than offered. Insisted. He argued that his strong rugby arms could carry twice what any of his friends could, to which Charlie reminded Nick of the several gym rats who’ve become somewhat addicted to lifting weights now that it’s so easy for them to build muscle mass on testosterone. 

The plant store owner is secretly a bit relieved though, being stonewalled from moving day, because he is, after all, a plant store owner. And a plant store owner needs to, you know, have predictable hours of operation to be able to, you know, sell plants and turn a profit.

And, he isn’t sure he would be able to keep his cool should he come face to face with Ben again. Let alone trust himself to not trash the dicknozzle’s home, should he have free access to all his fancy watches and expensive moisturizers and all the other Patrick Bateman accoutrement that the dicknozzle probably stores there.

Fuck. Was it totally weird to have offered to help the man move out of his hopefully-now-officially-ex’s house? Between Darcy and Charlie both reading Nick’s exact emotions earlier in the day, he’s no longer convinced he’s exactly as subtle as he’d thought he was all these years. Charlie might know he has a crush on him. And that’s weird- a person offering to help their crush move out of their boyfriend’s flat, and into the flat that shares a wall with their own. 

Fuck.  

Well, plants! Plants are calming. Plants keep Nick from spiraling. Or at least, they provide a semblance of a distraction from the mounting anxiety of Nick not quite excelling at social interactions, and not knowing how other people read him. 

The leafy plants arranged on the wall shelves to the right of the entrance should be turned. They’re beginning to stretch toward the bright front windows, bending and elongating due to phototropism. Turning each of the dozen or so silver pothos will allow the plants to readjust to a more neutral growth pattern. 

Rotating stock is just one of the thousands of scheduled menial tasks that Nick loves about owning a plant shop. The simple act gives him a chance to check up on each item for sale in Nellie’s, and today, he’s once again relieved to find no pests, no signs of root rot, and no signs of nutrient deficiency. The focus required for each individual gets Nick’s brain off of whatever is occupying it. Which, lately, has been nothing but the store owner next-door.

---

While Nick is gathering paperwork in his office to follow up, yet again, on those alocasia orders, he overhears an angry voice and loud footsteps through the wall. 

“Charlie, what the fuck?” the muffled voice demands.

“Ben, I moved out. I thought that made it pretty clear where we stand. Please leave.”

“Is it that knob who verbally assaulted me the other morning when I was just drinking my coffee?”

“Pffft, ok. Just drinking your coffee. You’re delusional. But no, Nick didn’t tell me to break up with you. All he did was show me what common decency looks like. He showed me what it actually feels like to have someone in my corner. He was in here every day helping me get Small Spaces up and running. And where were you?”

“So, what. Are you going out with him then?” 

Nick hears no response.

“But you are getting with him?”

Again, nothing. 

Nick hears a scoff, followed by, “Well, I believe that you’re not going out with him. As if anyone would ever want to go out with someone as disgusting as you.” 

Silence. Then an incomprehensible mumble.

“Are you joking? You actually thought I liked you? You were just there, like some tragic trans freak with barely any friends, too queer to get any guy to actually want to be with you. I never liked you. I’m not even gay. You’re not even a real guy. I just felt rea…”

Nick has heard enough.  

He grabs the closest blue column cactus on the way out the door, not even bothering to lock up behind him. Before he has any analytical thought at all, he’s already marched halfway through Small Spaces. He begins shouting in the friendliest tone he can muster.

“Charlie! Hey! I thought I’d bring you one of those cacti we were talking about the other day, you know, the ones that would be the perfect break-up gift-”

This is what supportive friends do, right? They loudly interrupt obviously worsening situations? 

The relief on Charlie’s face as Nick walks in on the scene in the office washes away any bit of doubt swelling in Nick’s chest as he was realizing that he maybe, probably, very likely is overstepping boundaries right now. He has no right to interfere with Charlie’s relationship. 

Except that the dicknozzle has cornered the smaller man, who cowers against the empty wall beside his desk, tears welling in his terrified blue eyes. Ben is obviously too close for Charlie’s comfort, and between the awful words Nick had overheard and the visual of the pretty man imposing his threatening body over Charlie’s, it’s abundantly clear that Nick subconsciously made the right choice in rushing over here. 

Ben scoffs in a way that nauseates Nick. Dead brown eyes dart between the blonde and the brunette. 

He backs off of Charlie to give Nick a once-over. 

The smaller man timidly wipes away the few tears that have spilled down his cheeks. 

Nick doesn’t move a muscle, waiting for Ben to say something. Of course, he maintains what he hopes is a menacing expression, although what he really wants to be doing is wrapping Charlie in the biggest, safest hug ever. Or throwing hands at the actual tragic freak in the room.

Without looking away from this dicknozzle, Nick holds out the spiky, 5-inch tall cactus to his right for Charlie to take.

After a shaky breath, Charlie responds, “Thanks. But I think you should actually give it to Ben. It’s the perfect size for him to sit on.”

---

Today was traumatic for Charlie, Nick imagines. He surely needs a friend. After sitting in companionable silence together after Nick not-so-kindly evicted Ben from the bookshop, Charlie asked to be alone for the afternoon, but accepted Nick’s offer for him to visit later in the evening to check on him.

Nick knocks on the door at the top of the staircase just after sunset. “Charlie?”

A crash. A gasp. A ‘fuck’ followed by a muted sob.

Nick should give him space. Right? Or does he need a friend? He doesn’t need to bring a housewarming gift over right now. 

Footsteps. The door opens.

“Nick?” Charlie looks taken aback. “Did…did you hear all of that?”

“Most of it,” he admits, as he peers inside and sees disembodied succulent leaves scattered across the gnarled hardwood floor amongst shards of terra cotta and bits of potting soil. “You ok?”

“I just…” Charlie seems to accidentally let a loud sob go, which even surprises himself. He steps aside as a means of inviting Nick in. “I put your apology cactus on my windowsill, and then it fell just now when I was trying to adjust the blinds, and-”

“Hey,” Nick rushes forward to place a hand on the man’s heaving shoulder. “There are more pencil cactuses in the world. I can get you another.”

“It was the first plant anyone’s ever given me. It was special,” a few tears roll over his sharp cheekbones and down to his square chin as he hiccups. 

“There will be more plants, Char. I promise you. In fact, I actually came over here to check up on you and give you this housewarming present,” Nick holds out a small black pot with a single heart-shaped succulent leaf sticking out of the dirt.

Nick should really have learned his lesson by now. Gifting this sweet man a plant never fails to drag unintended emotions to the surface, like Nick is a fisherman who bottom-trawls for prized catches, but instead pulls up a netful of unexpected, unwanted bycatch. If only he could extract the negative emotions that arise and toss them back into murky depths for them to sink and disappear forever at the bottom of the sea. Charlie does that heartbreaking hysterical laugh-sob thing that Nick has witnessed several times already, and holds out a hand to accept the plant.

“It’s called a Hoya kerrii. I don’t know, I thought it might cheer you up? Add a little happiness to your new kitchen windowsill?” 

Nick really needs to remember for next time to not explain his gifts. Because he somehow managed to push the man further into his breakdown. Maybe he should pivot his love language like Elle had suggested to him offhandedly the other day while Tao clung to her like a baby koala? Let’s see, scratch receiving gifts, that’s clearly not working. Physical touch is definitely a no-go right now; Nick has to let Charlie take the lead on that. They’re still in the trust-rebuilding stage, and Nick’s learned through lots of internet searches and a few questions of Elle when she offered to describe her experience with physicality, that trans people often have an especially difficult time with being reminded they have a physical body. Something called body dysmorphia, Google said. Or did Google call it dysphoria? He'll google what Google said later.

Quality time? Words of affirmation? Acts of service? He likes those. Nick would move mountains to show Charlie his affection in any of these ways, Charlie just has to say the word.

“Would you like some help cleaning this up?” Nick gestures to the mess on the floor. Act of service. Thanks to the two left feet that haven’t seemed to right themselves since he met Charlie, Nick has developed a systematic protocol for efficiently cleaning up spilled soil and broken ceramic. “Then maybe I can make you some tea, if you want to vent or gossip or make jokes at Ben’s expense, or-”

Charlie pulls the corners of his mouth into a small smile, and cuts Nick off from offering quality time. “This is a Ben-Free Zone. This is my happy place. So I’ll accept a tea, but instead of me processing all the shit I’ve processed a thousand times over with that dicknozzle, how about you tell me how, when, and why you started calling me Char?” 

Nick feels his face turn redder than the pop art design painted on the wall behind him. “Uh, it just…slipped out!”

Charlie’s lips break apart to reveal every single one of his bright white teeth. He could be a toothpaste model if he wanted to be. “It slipped out, like, six times? I mean, I like it. It’s cute.”

YOU’RE cute.

Words of affirmation, Nick.

“You’re cute,” he mutters at a volume loudly enough for the beaming man to hear, but quietly enough to pass off his comment as under-his-breath, not meant for Charlie’s ears. Nick nervously rubs the back of his neck, unsure of whether those were actually words of affirmation, or just him overstepping boundaries, again. 

But Nick is pretty sure Charlie’s response confirms that his statement of fact was appreciated.

Because the man. Fucking. Giggles. He giggles and turns his head to the side bashfully, cheeks becoming two rosy apples with the way he smiles and blushes.

Nick could watch this man for hours. Doing dishes, reading the Sunday newspaper, anything. Nick wants to watch the microexpressions play across his face while doing even the most mundane activities. But for right now, he settles on three more seconds, then drops to his knees to start picking up the bits of clay strewn across the floorboards. 

It’s quick work, of course, with it having been such a petite pot. The blonde moves on to sweeping up the soil when-

“Ugh! Why is it so wet?” 

Nick has a handful of muddy potting soil that’s gotten under his fingernails, and now that his attention has been drawn to the moisture, he can sense the knees of his jeans beginning to absorb dirty water. 

Charlie appears baffled. “I, uh, watered it? Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do with plants?”

Nick stands to survey his knees, and chuckles as he rubs his left cheek with his right hand, because it’s beginning to feel sore from smiling so hard at this ridiculous person before him. 

“How often were you watering it?”

“...Every day?”

“Char!” Nick laughs in disbelief. “You should water a cactus, like, once a month! I’m glad you accidentally put this thing out of its misery, because it was bound for certain death from you caring too hard for it.”

Charlie joins in on Nick’s laughter, and shakes his head in a self-deprecating, I-Can’t-Believe-What-I’ve-Done sort of way. “I told you the very first time we met that I have no clue what I’m doing with plants!”

Through a final few snickers, Nick admits, “Yeah, I suppose this one’s a bit my fault. I’ll just have to do a better job of teaching you in the future. This hoya?” he points to the nearby housewarming gift, “Water her once a week. Only once a week!” 

Blue eyes glance from the heart-shaped plant to Nick, and his face falls slightly. Oh no, was Nick too cutting just now, making a bit too much fun of Charlie’s brown thumb? 

“Um, you’ve got a little mud on your face,” the man says softly. “Here, let me help.” 

Charlie tears a paper towel off the roll next to the large kitchen sink, then steps towards Nick. Like, really close to Nick. Like, so close that the notes of moss in his cologne intermingle with the smell of wet soil to create the intoxicating marriage of earthiness filling Nick’s olfactory system. 

The smaller man folds the sheet in half, and brings it up to Nick’s freckled cheek. He fixes his eyes on Nick’s face, which is close enough to feel his breath. 

The towel makes contact with skin, and the gentle press of the dry material feels rough, but at the same time smooth like silk, because it’s Charlie doing it. 

Slender fingers slowly swipe once. Twice. Three times. Each time has slightly more pressure than the previous.

Then Charlie is motionless. Nick is, too, having stopped breathing the instant Charlie stepped into his personal space. 

Charlie remains holding the paper towel to Nick’s face, but his eyes drift to Nick’s. He scans them, looking at every little whorl of golden in his light brown irises; of course, Nick is doing the same thing to Charlie’s swirled azure and baby blue.

The air is thick.

Nick notices Charlie’s shoulders aren’t moving. Charlie isn’t breathing, either.

Suddenly, the dark-haired man breaks the silence and shakes his head hard enough to bounce his curls from side to side. “Uhm. I probably should’ve known, a dry tissue is no way to clean mud off of someone’s face...”

He inches backward, out of Nick’s bubble. As Charlie moves to the sink to wet the sheet to try again, the piano falling from a 25-story building of realization hits Nick. He is irrevocably absolutely fucking ruined over this man.

Chapter Text

“Care for some help?” a beautiful voice rings out from behind the prized variegated monstera that Nick mostly keeps around for the purpose of encouraging customers to take selfies in his store. The price tag is enough to prevent anyone from actually purchasing the rare specimen, but it’s a fun thing to keep around Nellie’s anyway.

The white and green speckled leaves of the plant dwarf the person's head, and he playfully peeks through one of the fenestrations like he is hiding from the store owner. 

As if Nick wouldn’t recognize who that glorious voice belongs to in any setting, in any universe, in any game of hide-and-seek.

“Hey! I was just unpacking the shipment of alocasias that finally arrived this morning,” Nick beams at Charlie as he steps out from behind the towering plant.

Charlie carefully tiptoes around the piles of crumpled brown packing paper littering the floor to join Nick at the workbench. “Oh my god, these are so cool! They look like hearts painted by aliens!” 

“I suppose they do, don’t they? I always thought they look like wacky little masks,” Nick responds as he considers the shiny black leaves with bold white veins. “See why I’ve been having so much trouble keeping these in stock? They’re bizarre! Actually, that first day you came in here for a birthday gift for Elle, I was chatting with suppliers to get another shipment of these.”

It’s hard to believe Nick’s only known Charlie - known of him, really - for a couple of weeks. This crush has had such a gravitational pull on all of Nick’s thoughts that it has completely distorted his sense of time and space, much like a black hole warps reality. But Charlie is the opposite of a scary, bottomless black hole. He’s a ball of warmth and light and wonderfulness that beckons Nick ever-closer.

Charlie smiles up and bumps Nick’s shoulder with his own. “You were frantic that day! I could tell something really stressful was happening, but you were so nice, helping a complete lowlife like me figure out which way was up.”

Yes, mhm, the alocasias on backorder were definitely what was so panic-inducing. Not at all the fact that a jaw-droppingly attractive man had the gall to step inside Nellie’s and make eye contact with and speak to and brush fingers with Nick. Yep. Ordering tropicals was the only thing preoccupying Nick’s mind that day.

Nick smiles to himself and shakes his head. “Would you help me carry them over to the table by the window? I want customers to see that I’ve got them back in stock!” 

The men make quick work of carrying the pots across the store. They work around each other, as if performing a dance they’ve rehearsed for ages, wordlessly arranging the zig-zagged, shiny black-leaved plants amongst the softer silvery varieties in a checkerboard pattern. Nick is impressed with the other’s eye for marketing.

“Um, Nick?” the other man breaks the comfortable silence they’d fallen into. 

Nick hums, turning a few pots this way and that, so that the undulate leaves are visually spaced perfectly within the display. 

“What are these little spider webs on this one?” Charlie holds a plant up to his face to get a closer look. 

Nick turns his gaze to examine what the other refers to, and as soon as he clocks it, he’s sure his eyes widen to the size of the drip trays he sells with terra cotta pots.

“Fuck!” Nick rips the pot out of Charlie’s hand and tosses it on an empty shelf behind them. He leans forward to inspect the other plants from the shipment. “Fuck! Fuck!”

Every single alocasia has tiny white threads stretched across the cleaves of their leaves. 

Spider mites: the scourge of tropical houseplants, and the bane of every plant shop owner’s existence. 

How had Nick not noticed them immediately upon receipt of the shipment? 

Nick instructs Charlie on moving all the surrounding plants away from the table, so the infested specimens are isolated from the rest of the plants in Nellie’s. The store owner runs to the back office to grab any rag he can find, and his emergency neem oil spray. 

They treat the widespread infestation with such haste that it takes until the men are tossing the final soapy paper towels in the bin and storing the natural pesticide treatment for Nick to realize, for the second time today, how seamlessly the duo seem to fit together. Charlie had intuited every detail of the instructions that the store owner had haphazardly explained. He brought a calming energy to the cataclysmic situation; he seemed to understand the gravity of inadvertently introducing spider mites to Nellie’s, but instead of heightening Nick’s freakout, it felt like the other man laid a weighted blanket over his racing heart and speeding mind. 

---

Charlie offers to treat the pair to tea to celebrate their victory over the pests. But as they settle in with their chamomile at LGBTea, the curly-haired man looks lost in thought as he slowly rotates his oversized mug on its saucer. When he gets like this, Nick knows that something big is weighing on his mind. 

“What? What’s up?” 

Charlie sighs deeply, and musters the courage to raise his eyes to meet Nick’s. Uh-oh, he looks wracked with guilt. Or apprehension. Or worry. 

“I, um- there’s, uh, something I wanted to ask you? Um, you can feel free to say no. It won’t change anything. It’s really ok if you don’t want to-”

Nick interrupts the nervous man’s hedging, “Yes! Whatever it is, I’m in.”

Nick doesn’t dare mentally rattle off a list of the possible questions he might be asked. And he absolutely doesn’t succumb to immediately brainstorming plans for their first date. Because Charlie is not about to ask Nick out on a date. There’s no possible way that’s what’s happening. The dust has barely settled on the implosion of his former relationship. Charlie has enough going on in his life at the moment. But, what else could he possibly be so on edge about?

The man takes a deep breath, and Nick feels like that air is stolen directly from his own constricting chest.

“There’s been a, um. How do I say this without…” Charlie braces himself by squeezing his mug. “...There’s a spider.”

…What?

Nick can’t help but heave a laugh, partly because that is the sweetest, most sincere statement of a fact that communicates big feelings that Nick’s ever heard, and partially to release the tension that had tightened around his chest like a boa constrictor while Charlie found his words. Is that why Isaac told Nick that Charlie doesn’t appreciate preambles? Makes sense…

“Charlie, would you like help trapping the spider?” offers Nick with a giant grin. This man.

The blonde watches the strained expression on Charlie’s face morph into a pained one. “Nevermind, it’s stupid. You don’t have to-”

Nick dips his head and leans towards Charlie’s face to show the genuine care and concern he feels for this poor frightened person. “Where is it?” 

“Last time I saw it was this morning in the corner above my bed.”

Minutes later, Charlie bravely unlocks his door and ushers Nick inside his flat ahead of him. 

“Oh my god, Char! Why is it so hot in here?” Nick wonders, aghast, as he rips his jumper off. 

“I was, um, trying to smoke him out…” Charlie blushes and chuckles to himself, which Nick promptly joins in on.

He tugs the final knitted sleeve off his arm and turns, still giggling, and needles, “You tried to smoke out a spider by turning up the heat? Char, you know I live right next-door, right? I’ll come over any time to help wit-” 

Charlie’s eyes are wide and…taken aback? Oh no, did Nick actually go too far with his teasing this time?

A blush rises from under the collar of the other man’s buttoned flannel. Nick is sure his own face is similarly crimson, with it being approximately as hot as the surface of the sun in Charlie’s flat, but this is something different.

He follows Charlie’s gaze, to realize he’s staring at his… very tight white vest. Specifically, the way the low-cut neckline reveals what can only be described as his muscled cleavage. 

It dawns on the blonde that this is probably the most revealing thing he could possibly be wearing. And in such close proximity to Charlie? What is he thinking?  

He flicks his eyes back in time to watch blue eyes travel from chest to arm, down his arm, across his abs, lower to his stomach, lower…and by the time Charlie’s gaze reaches Nick’s belt, the man has gone full-on cherry tomato. 

“Feeling a bit warm there, Char?” Nick prompts in a tone that he hopes communicates that he’s half-joking, half-grasping to pierce this strained, oxygenless bubble they suddenly find themselves in, inviting air to rush back into both men’s lungs.

Charlie’s face is tense when he once again meets Nick’s watchful eyes. “Um, yeah, if you’ll excuse me…”

The man rushes to the loo and closes the door a little too loudly. The sound of rushing water from the tap indicates that he is indeed cooling off by splashing his face. 

Because it’s so bloody hot in this flat. That’s the reason for Charlie’s mood shift. Just to be safe and not get his hopes up, Nick will proceed with telling himself this.

Nick busies himself by turning down the heat and cracking a window to let in some crisp air, taking care to not bump the heart-shaped Hoya on the sill. The tap shuts off, and Charlie emerges.

The blonde turns, and-

Fuck.

He is wearing the skimpiest shirt Nick has ever seen on any person, of any gender. It makes his own vest look like a nun’s habit by comparison. 

It was clearly once an oversized sunny-yellow t-shirt. The neckline is plunging, to say the least, revealing a few faint hairs on the man’s flat chest. It is deliciously cropped to bare his stomach, which is understatedly toned in that way that one gains abs when they only occasionally feel inclined to do crunches. His belly button is- his belly button is here, out in the open, for Nick to witness. It’s magnificent. 

Nick tries to ignore the line of fuzz extending above and below the sweetest navel that Nick wants to take his tongue and-

To say that the sleeves of Charlie’s top have been cut off would be an understatement. Angling deeply toward the neckline, Nick sees the protruding spot where Charlie’s collarbone meets the ball-in-socket joints of his shoulders, then give way to softly-rounded arm muscles. The remaining bit of fabric has rolled into barely-there straps over what Nick assumes has been years of washes, thus exposing every single muscle and bone of his upper body. Similarly, the underarms are cut so severely that the top reveals each entire side of Charlie’s ribs. They’re smooth, barely visible under his supple skin as Charlie breathes.

Nick catches a glimpse of the man’s top surgery scars peeking out over his ribs, more pearly pink than the faint white lines that score the man’s arms. The lines from surgery are thinner than the few pictures Nick has seen during his internet searches; although, admittedly, he felt a bit voyeuristic after reading two or three trans men’s blogs, so he probably doesn’t have comprehensive knowledge of all the different ways surgery scars might look.

“Sorry, I’m usually so cold, I don’t really have any proper warm-temperature clothes, this is all I could find to wear…” Charlie needlessly explains, as if any excuse is required for this breathtaking outfit Nick is being blessed with. The man turns his gaze downwards, like he is ashamed of his appearance. Nick, meanwhile, wishes that he could be treated to this visual every day for the rest of eternity. 

He crosses one arm across his chest to rub his upper arm, an action which Nick would otherwise interpret as a nervous habit, but Charlie’s face seems calm. Unwavering, albeit slightly verecund.

A car beeps from the street below, audible through the open window. It jars Nick back from his crop top-induced trance. He’s totally been caught eyeing this man’s outfit change. 

“Let’s go find the spider,” Charlie suggests with a coy avoidance of eye contact once he realizes that Nick realizes that he realized Nick was staring.

Nick offers a pulled-in grin and a singular, barely-there nod as a response. 

Silently, Charlie points to where the spider had last been spotted: the corner where the upper kitchen cabinets meet the ceiling above the refrigerator. Nick follows the line of the arris across the wall until…

He swallows a shudder as he sees it. 

“Char, get me a- a glass and a- a-”

“On it,” the smaller man replies, as Nick stares up at the small black knot of eight legs and disgusting, hairy, bulbous body.

Nick represses another frisson as he bites back the sudden, sickening reminder he really hates bugs. Like, when anyone asks his top three likes and dislikes, he lists horror movies, bullies, and…bugs. 

Technically speaking, spiders aren’t bugs. Logically, he knows this. Eight legs versus six. Well, six legs is for insects. ‘True bugs’ have a proboscis, which not all insects have. Regardless, no matter what textbook definition, Nick loathes them all, no matter their mouth parts or leg count. Every single one of them is more revolting and creepy than the last.  

But Nick is here for Charlie. 

Time jumps forward, somehow, because the next moment, Nick is screaming and bolting down the stairs with a spider trapped under a plastic cup by an Indian takeaway menu. If he were by himself, he’d trap the spider under a glass, and wait until the next time Elle came round to free the creature outdoors for him. But Nick is the brave one here, or at least the one assumed to be brave, and he thinks back to what Elle would do.

Tree. The tree outside of Small Spaces. 

Before he knows it, he’s dramatically thrown the cup-and-paper open to launch the poor arachnid into the air in the general direction of the tree, and made a hasty retreat, glad to soon have a series of locked doors separating him from the monster.

“...Where is my cup?” Charlie wonders with a giddy smile, as he watches Nick take the stairs three at a time back up to the flat. 

Nick looks down at his empty hands, flexing his fingers as he realizes that in his hysteria, he threw the items…somewhere. He pulls his lips in with an embarrassed laugh. “I, uhm, panicked?”

Charlie’s eyes are bright as he giggles at the bumbling man, who definitely just blacked out for a minute or two. “Nick, are you also afraid of spiders?”

Chapter Text

Nick pours his instant ramen into the awaiting bowl, then dumps in the flavor packet. To finish, he adds a scoop of the chili crisp that the owner of the international market had talked him into buying a few weeks prior. It was like a revelation when the blonde had first tried it on his fried rice, and just like the owner had warned him, he is now putting it on everything. It’s slightly spicy, being based in chili oil, but mostly adds a crunchy, umami flavor to whatever trash Nick cooks for himself. Such as this meal.

As he stirs the artificial chicken flavoring into the soup, he hears a series of frustrated groans through the wall. 

Not his business.

He checks to make sure his phone’s ringer is on, just in case. But, frustrated groans are not Nick’s business. He shouldn’t feel the need to run to anyone’s rescue just because they’re not one hundred percent happy at every given moment. 

Nellie bumps her nose into Nick’s thigh, snapping him out of his deep focus on the conscious prevention of overstepping neighborly boundaries. How long had he been stirring the ramen for? He looks down and realizes that Nellie wasn’t actually reading Nick’s thoughts and redirecting his anxiety - although she does have a real knack for doing so in general - but rather, she just wants dinner. So Nick pads over to her bowl and gives her a scoop, when he hears several fuck fuck fucks in a row.

It’s none of Nick’s business.  

Nick’s phone dings. 

He scrambles over to where it rests on the coffee table.

It’s Charlie, asking if he’s busy. 

At a speed that rivals an Olympic track star, Nick is down his own stairs, around their two storefronts, and up Charlie’s stairs, rapping on his door. 

“What’s up?” he asks as he enters. He notices that Charlie’s face is a little more sunken than usual. Maybe he hasn’t been sleeping well in his new flat? 

“Um, I’m sorry to ask you this. But Elle’s on a date with Tao, and Isaac is visiting his folks for the weekend. Um, this is really embarrassing. Um-”

“Char? What is it?”

The smaller man sluggishly holds up a small glass vial with clear liquid inside. It’s medicine of some sort. Is Charlie sick?

Nick’s face must betray the fact that he’s not following what Charlie is trying to communicate, because he takes a deep breath and begins again.

“Ben used to do it for me. He called me a wimp every time, but I always tried to think of needing his help as more of a bonding thing. You know, how couples might wash each other’s hair, or cook dinner together, or something.”

Nick quirks his head to the side, this time consciously trying to be a bit obvious that he’s still not understanding. What’s the medicine for? And what was it that Ben would do? God, if Nick could be given five minutes with that dicknozzle to go over whatever it was that he did to Charlie with this medicine…

“Nick, it’s my T. Could you, um, could you help me with it?” Charlie asks with a pained look in his eyes. As if he’s asking the world of Nick to help with whatever is happening here. Doesn’t Charlie know by now that Charlie could literally ask Nick for the world, and he’d give it to him along with every single star in the sky?

“Of course I’ll help! What do you need me to do?”

Charlie breathes out a small smile. “Um, I’ll draw it up and everything. But I need you to actually, um, do it. God, I feel like such a baby that I can’t do it myself. Every week for the last six fucking years, I’ve amped myself up to do it, and every fucking week I freak out and let myself down.” 

Every week for the last six years? Maybe it’s some sort of long-term illness?

“Hey, hey, you’re not a baby! There’s absolutely nothing wrong with needing help! Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it. I’m happy to,” Nick assures him, although still not quite sure what he’s agreeing to. Something about a shot of medicine?

The man’s pained look morphs into one of guilty gratitude. He turns to lead Nick further into the flat. And that’s when Nick notices.

Charlie is wearing shorts. 

Nick has never seen so much of the man’s bare legs before.

Nick has seen glimpses of those knobby knees before through the rips in his skinny jeans, but to have a full-frontal view of them? It’s divine. Nick can see faint blue veins in the bend of each knee. His pale legs are covered with soft dark brown fuzz, and they stick out from a pair of blue shorts that remind Nick of his own old rugby shorts: a bit too tight and a lot too short, yet he keeps them around to this day because they are damn comfortable to throw on when he’s laying around his flat by himself. When he’s not expecting visitors.

Oh god, Charlie must not have been expecting visitors, if he’s wearing these raggedy shorts. He must really be panicking. 

In the calmest tone he can muster, Nick asks, “Should we sit on the edge of the bed, maybe?” The single is piled high with a menagerie of plush animals and a mountain of covers. It finally gives Charlie a place he can’t wait to crawl into each night. The thought makes Nick's insides feel like they're bathed in sparkly sunlight.

Charlie nods in agreement, and joins Nick after retrieving an alcohol pad and a syringe. 

The man hums timidly as he wipes clean the top of the vial of medicine. He uncaps the syringe to reveal the largest needle Nick has ever seen. It looks more like a haunted house prop rather than a medical tool. 

Charlie glances to Nick, whose eyes must reveal his spooky-season level of horror, because the man asks if moving closer to see what he’s doing might calm him down.

Is Nick not calm?

But Nick accepts. He scoots so he’s thigh to thigh with the smaller man, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his bare leg. The man slowly draws a small amount of viscous, syrupy liquid into the syringe, removes the needle from the vial, and taps the syringe a few times before squirting a bit out the top like a geyser. Nick has seen doctors do that in the movies, but didn’t realize it’s a real thing people do for reasons beyond dramatic effect.

“Ready?” 

Nick takes the prepared syringe, and is surprised to see his own hand shaking. 

“Nick, it’s ok, you have nothing to be afraid of! You’re not going to hurt me,” he reassures him rather unsuccessfully.

“I am literally about to stab you with a giant needle,” Nick deadpans.

Charlie places frigid fingers on Nick’s empty hand, which lays firmly on the yellow duvet. “I’ve had worse. Now, please, I’m a day late because I’ve been putting this off. Just jab me already,” he smiles in a joking manner, which only serves to terrify Nick even more. 

He puffs a couple of shallow but steadying breaths, and watches as Charlie shows where to squeeze his thigh. 

And then Nick is invited to squeeze Charlie’s thigh.

And then Nick squeezes Charlie’s thigh.

And it’s glorious.

The skin feels just as supple as he’d anticipated. Nick is surprised at the coarseness of the hairs growing so high up - they’re much thicker than Nick’s own. Maybe the men in Charlie’s family are blessed with ample body hair? He’s been shown pictures of the Spring family, and Olly and his dad are both very gifted in the hair department. 

“Now, just remember, the needle needs to go all the way in. It has to get into my muscle. You can insert it as slowly as you’re comfortable with, it all hurts the same. Um, not…that…it…I mean, it all feels the same,” Charlie pulls his smile to the side, realizing that his explanation is NOT AT ALL HELPING NICK’S PANIC.

Nick reminds himself that Charlie needs his help. 

He focuses on the sensation of pinching Charlie’s quad muscle so a pillow of flesh raises between Nick’s fingers. Nick takes one final look at Charlie, as if asking if he’s sure he really wants Nick to do this. Nick is not a medical expert. Hell, he barely knows the difference between a hypericum and hypertension. The only thing he’s certified in is being a bisexual disaster. 

And he’d really rather be certified in giving injections, because his current certification is not helping with the whole focus-while-pinching-his-crush’s-leg thing.

But crystal blue eyes peer back, steadfast and assured. The look that usually would send Nick to pieces is somehow grounding in this moment.

Nick pinches Charlie’s thigh, takes a deep breath, and goes for it. 

Slowly, he pushes in the gleaming needle that’s as long as his thumb and nearly as big around. Nick finds it more difficult than he’d imagined to pierce the taut skin, but is proud that he didn’t have a false start, or insert it at a wonky angle. Slowly, slowly, he bears down until he’s pretty sure the needle is inserted completely, an assumption Charlie confirms with a pained but affirmative whimper.

He pulls the plunger back as instructed, to check for blood and make sure Nick hadn’t hit a blood vessel. The medicine inside the syringe remains clear, so Charlie instructs him to continue. 

As Nick then pushes the plunger down, he is met with more resistance than he had expected due to the thick medicine passing through the hole of the needle. Charlie winces, and it makes Nick wince. 

The plunger eventually meets the top of the syringe, indicating that all the medicine has been delivered.

Nick removes the needle much more quickly than he’d inserted it, and carefully replaces the plastic cap that Charlie had been gripping. A small dot of blood starts to bead from the injection site. A bandage magically appears in Charlie’s hand.

Nick tears open the packaging to reveal a bright yellow plaster; Charlie’s favorite color is quickly becoming Nick’s favorite, too. The blonde peels the backing off of the adhesive, and with exacting movements he places the soft pad over the wound with precision. Using each index finger, Nick takes his time to diligently smooth over every millimeter of yellow, caressing the smooth, squeaky texture onto warm skin.

He follows up with his thumbs and a feather-light graze of the bandage for good measure. The faintest hum of pleasure can be heard from above Nick’s head, so he pulls his eyes away from the badge of honor he’s just affixed to the man’s thigh, to see Charlie smiling tenderly down at him.

A weaker man would gulp in reaction to the feeling that Charlie’s upward-turned lips shoot down Nick’s spine. Luckily, Nick is strong-willed and stoic, so he reacts by breathing out an awkward laugh and standing up from the bed quickly to put some space between the pads of his fingers and the soft, arresting skin of Charlie’s exposed upper leg.

---

“So, you do that every week? If you don’t mind me asking, you really don’t have to answer, but…why?” Nick gently probes as he stirs milk into their tea as Charlie crawls into bed.

The other man is quiet for a bit too long, so Nick turns around out of curiosity to see what’s distracting him. But instead of distraction, he’s met with a dubious stare. Luckily, a few seconds of stunned silence is broken by a giggle that’s not quite mean-spirited, but certainly isn’t his normal fairy-like musical laugh.

“...you really are thick, aren’t you?”

“What?” Nick responds with a half smile as he walks the steaming mug to the nightstand. He’s learned it’s better to play along when he’s called out like this, as if he’s in on the joke.

“Nick. Oh my god,” the man starts to laugh in earnest from under his pile of blankets. “That was my weekly testosterone shot. Did you forget that I’m trans?”

Ohhh. T. T stands for testosterone . Hormone replacement therapy. Nick had read all about that online. He’d even watched a video of a trans person giving himself an HRT injection. But that person used his stomach, not his leg like Nick had just done for Charlie. Another question to clarify with Google, at a later time. 

Charlie beams up at Nick as he is surely blushing uncontrollably over his lapse in understanding. But thank holy hoya that Charlie is finding this hilarious, as opposed to being offended by Nick’s ineptitude like that time they were stocking the shelves of Small Spaces. 

Nick trains his embarrassed smile into the cheekiest one he can manage. Accepting the accusation by means of sidestepping the question, he says, “That must be my cue. Sleep tight, Char.”

“Wait…”

Nick turns around to find Charlie staring up at him, cocooned in bedding, a peculiar glimmer in his already-sparkling eyes. 

Charlie frees a hand and reaches it out to him.

It’s like Nick’s entire life has led up to this moment.

Does Nick dare to take Charlie’s hand?

He is offering. The initiation of physical touch is coming from Charlie, not Nick.

So he takes the offering. The long, bony fingers are cool to the touch, but the way they wrap around his palm makes Nick’s hand feel like it’s on fire. What he wouldn’t give to stay in this moment forever.

“Thank you,” Charlie says simply. 

He squeezes Nick’s hand once in time with a contraction of the muscles around his eyes, indicating a heartfelt smile. As quickly as the hand-hold started, it’s over, and Charlie’s hand has retreated back into the warmth of the blankets. 

Nick smiles, forgetting to use actual words and not just his telepathy to say goodnight before departing. He floats on a cloud all the way back to his own flat. As he lays in his own bed, he tries to think of anything besides the fact that Charlie is only a few meters away, a thin wall being the only thing separating his hand from Nick’s.

Chapter Text

With the local paper coming by for a last-minute feature on the queer hub of the block, Nick is trying something new today. He’s got to get his bisexual panic under control if he’s ever going to appear normal to Charlie. Well, and to the rest of Kent, of course. Last night had only sent him deeper into the mushy mess of this nearly-unbearable crush.

After helping with Charlie's testosterone shot, Nick stayed up far too late reading about different forms of hormone delivery, and researching all the options that someone who pursues medical transition might be offered. The further he read, the more reverence he gained for the other man. The entire process seems riddled with hoops to jump through and gatekeepers to elbow out of the way, as if being trans in and of itself isn’t grueling enough in society.

Of course, Nick been there during Elle's transition. He'd met her in grammar school, right before she switched to the all-girl’s school. He’d supported her while she started on hormone pills, and eventually estrogen injections, although that was really the extent of Nick’s understanding. He’s grateful to have multiple friends now to provide insight into the trans experience, and how varied it can be.

So this morning while preparing for the day ahead, he is trying out a new calming strategy that Tara had told him about. Desperate for anything she could do to help Darcy through a particularly rough weekend visiting her family, an internet search brought Tara to guided meditation apps. She learned they’re an easy way to lower one’s heart rate and slow one’s thoughts, so in the midst of a typical Olsson feud echoing throughout the house, Tara offered to try one with her. While Darcy is a master at compartmentalizing stressful family trauma, listening to the soothing voice counting her breaths got her heart rate below the tempo of those nightcore songs to which she usually listens to calm down. 

It worked so well for Darcy on the first night - she didn’t punch a wall or anything! - that the couple decided to keep on using the app, even after their free trial of the app was over. Tara had explained to Nick that they actually both now listen to one of these guided meditations each night before bed.

So, this morning, Nick pops in his earbuds to give it a go while opening up his shop and preparing for the photographer to come by later on. He focuses on the smooth voice whispering in his ears as he dusts and prunes, although with his nervous energy that won’t seem to settle, he speeds through the mindless tasks and is completely finished only halfway through the audio program.

He paces around the shop, clearly not following the instructions to breathe methodically and move at a deliberate pace. Then he remembers: succulents arrived the day prior that need to be repotted!

The shop owner loves this supplier’s honest pricing and great quality plants, but he almost wishes that they would send him smaller pots, to fill out his tiny plant shelf. The inventory he receives is usually overgrown, so he has to repot them and stock his not-so-tiny plant shelves. 

Repotting always puts Nick’s mind at ease; there is just enough attention required that his mind can’t wander to curls and dimples, but not so much attention that his thoughts can’t go a bit hazy and dopey around the edges. Today he’s grateful for the abundant growth, since it provides him the perfect opportunity for distraction. Nick finds that the combination of getting his hands dirty plus the instructions for slowly counting his breaths in and out puts him nearly in a trance. 

Finding his groove easily at the workbench, Nick loosens the compacted soil by squeezing the plastic nursery containers, then gently pulls the plant out by its base. He wiggles his fingers into the packed roots to allow more space for new roots to grow. Filling larger nursery pots halfway with a mix of organic potting soil and coconut coir, he lovingly packs the plants into their new homes by surrounding the exposed roots with more of his specialty dirt. 

A tap on his shoulder nearly sends him to outer space along with the soil that goes flying in every direction.

“For the love of holy basil, Charlie! Warn a guy!” Nick cries out as he removes an earbud and attempts to bring his heart rate back below 300. Not an easy task when Charlie is near.

“Sorry! I called your name a couple of times?”

Leave it to Nick to blast a meditation program as if it’s his favorite Fergie song on his pop princess playlist. 

Charlie continues, “I thought I’d swing by and see if you need any help setting up for today? Isaac and I are all ready to go. I mean, the dust literally hasn’t had time to settle yet since we opened,” he eyes the nearby tool shelf that Nick apparently forgot to clean, with a gleam in his eye. Nick pretends to ignore the mess, and instead invites Charlie to help him repot. 

Charlie stares blankly.

“...you do know you need to repot plants when they get too big for their vessels, right?”

Another vacant expression from Charlie.

“Here. Help me with a few. You’ll see why.”

The man stands beside Nick and watches as he carefully extracts a jade from its pot, and shows Charlie how it has become rootbound.

“So, here, dig your fingers in here - carefully! - to loosen up all these roots. Like this,” Nick gingerly pushes both of his thumbs into the middle of the knots within the soil that’s retained the shape of its pot. 

Charlie looks terrified as he’s offered another jade to try out. “What if I hurt it?” he asks with genuine concern in his voice.

“You won’t! I won’t let you! Come on, turn it upside-down and take it out by the base- there you go!” the store owner congratulates him. “Now, with your thumbs-”

The man rips into the root ball, sending soil into the air even farther than Nick had when Charlie spooked him. He freezes with clumps of dirt and tiny broken roots in one hand, and the remaining plant in the other. 

“It’s ok! It’s ok to break off those tiny roots, it’ll encourage new growth,” Nick half-lies to reassure the petrified man. “Here, dump the extra stuff and let me show you how to do it.”

Charlie follows orders, then Nick reaches over and places a hand on each of Charlie’s as he holds the jade, so that each of his fingers lay directly on top of the leaner, but just as long digits below. Nick uses barely any pressure to coerce Charlie’s thumbs gently into the root ball. Now feeling the appropriate amount of force necessary, Charlie digs his fingers between the roots. 

The men work the soil together, as one. 

“There! You’re a pro now!” encourages Nick, before he suddenly realizes that he’s been holding Charlie’s hands this whole time what the FUCK Nicholas? “Uhm,” he drops his hands and takes a step away from the man with an embarrassed giggle. “Well, that’s probably cheating, though.” 

If Charlie’s face was blank before, it is now bewildered. 

“Uhm, ok, let’s, uh, get some new dirt and put some in a new pot,” Nick recovers from his electrifying and totally overt flirting yikes that was not thought through, except also, Charlie didn’t pull his hands away, and if his face reveals anything, it’s that he probably actually liked it, what the fuck… 

Casually and calmly and not at all freaking out over the poinsettia-red shade he can feel pricking his cheeks, Nick continues instructing Charlie, who really is a natural. Nick wonders if the man’s supposed brown thumbs are just due to the fact that nobody has ever before bothered to teach him how to care for plants.

They work diligently side-by-side, cracking cheesy jokes about nothing, bumping hips and sharing occasional smiles. Nick doesn’t dare attempt a second hand-hold like his vacuous overstep earlier. After repotting the two flats of succulents, Charlie holds the trays of plants as Nick finds nooks to arrange them in his ever-expanding ‘medium-sized plants’ section already filled to the brim with leaves and stalks and branches. 

Perhaps he should order a shipment of those miniscule plants that come in pots the size of thimbles, Nick considers, so then he can finally fill out his ‘tiny plant’ section. Nick thinks this, of course, to distract himself from the fact that Charlie might be looking at his arms as he reaches to the highest shelves on the antique librarian’s card catalog.

The shop owner walks the empty trays back to the work bench and begins sweeping up the bits of coir and soil from the back-to-back dirt explosions. Charlie joins in, kneeling at Nick’s feet, picking up pieces of debris from the floor. 

“Oh, you don’t have to help with that! It’s my mess,” Nick gushes as he drops to his knees. 

“No, no, this is at least half my fault-” Charlie insists before stopping abruptly. Both men had been so tenacious in their politeness that they went for the same clump of dirt, causing them to brush pinkies.

Which clues Nick into just how close their faces are. 

Which Charlie also probably notices.

Nick possesses enough self-awareness to know that he does what he does next, but does not possess nearly enough self-control to put a stop to it before he starts. 

He licks his lips. While making eye contact with Charlie. Who is mere centimeters away from Nick’s lips. Without a thought, Nick then drops his gaze to Charlie’s lips. His pink, plump, luscious, soft-looking lips that probably taste like lemonade and rainbows and crisp autumn mornings and sparklers on Bonfire Night. The swirls of cerulean and navy beckon his gaze once again, and it causes a matching swirl in Nick’s belly.

Nick’s mouth hangs open just far enough to suck in a shallow breath.

Charlie’s bright eyes, moments earlier having been apologetic and caring, tighten in the corners. Kind blue eyes turn steely. The tiniest change in the man’s microexpression feels to Nick like a…

Dare.  

Nick licks his lips again.

Through the tension they miss the jangle of the doorbells.

“Uh, sorry…for, um…interrupting…” Isaac mumbles sheepishly. “But, the reporters from the Gazette are on their way. They…want to do photos first, then our interview…” He flicks his eyes between the two men, and with a waggish grin, he finishes, “Uhm, ok.” 

Charlie and Nick turn to each other shyly as Isaac departs. They weren’t doing anything incriminating! They were repotting plants. Repotting plants is a thing plant store owners do. Sometimes their friends and colleagues help with the task. It's normal. 

---

The camera clicks loudly. Nick blinks dramatically. 

“Sorry, just, uh, give me a moment,” he apologizes to the incredibly patient staff photographer.

Nick has never been great with his picture being taken. He was notorious in the Nelson household for blinking or being mid-sentence in every single childhood photo. 

“That’s ok! How about we try a different backdrop, and maybe you’ll feel a bit more at ease?” 

That’s true, Nick does feel a bit stiff just standing in front of the front window of Nellie’s. The problem is that he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Or his face, really. Or his body. Plus, the sun is shining directly in his eyes and the girls across the street are watching and whooping at him. 

Nick and the photographer find a calmer spot inside, amongst the towering elephant ears. The photographer has him place his hands on his hips instead of stuffed in his front pockets, and take three deep breaths with her. “I can tell you feel much calmer in here. Ready?”

He smiles at her with his affirmative, quirked grin - and she snaps a photo. “Oh! I wasn’t-”

She smiles as she brings the viewfinder away from her face to look at the screen. “I think that’s the one. Great job!” She replaces the lens cap and extracts a small notebook and a biro from her camera case. She continues, “Now, with print media being a dying industry and all, we’re short-staffed. The main reporter wanted me to get a quote from you for the article. Before we head over to take some group shots, can you tell me about what Small Spaces opening up here means for the community, and for you?”

What is Nick supposed to say? That his heart has been macerated and twisted around like frozen fruit dumped into a blender and made into a lovesick tropical smoothie by the bookshop owner? That he spends every waking second - and most of his sleeping moments - thinking about him? That he’s practically going bankrupt over all the broken pots and spilled dirt caused by Nick daring to catch a glimpse of him?

“Well, Small Spaces is exactly what our community - the queer community - needs. A cozy, welcoming gathering place to share knowledge and offer support for one another. Isaac and Charlie have created a home for so many of us with their thoughtful set-up and the inventory they choose to carry. It's a place families can come, parents with small queerdo kids to find picture books about gender or bodily autonomy or nontraditional family structures. Elders searching for community can come and read about queer history. Everybody gets to see themselves represented, learn more about themselves - ourselves. Plus, these men are at the forefront of the movement for creating more all-ages queer gathering spaces that aren’t just bars and clubs. We have enough of those, and with so many of our community in recovery or choosing to abstain for one reason or another, having a place like Small Spaces is inherently supporting all the people who don’t care to go drinking.”

Nick knows he’s rambling, but he can’t seem to stop. He attempts to veer back toward the point of this interview.

“With the bookshop moving in next-door to Nellie's, they’ve turned our block into a destination for queer people all throughout the city. Small Spaces has already brought more business here than I ever could have hoped for. And besides, Isaac and Charlie are both just really special people. The kind of people who would drop everything to come and help a friend. They live and breathe collectivism and community and mutual support. Amplifying queer voices. Amplifying queer joy.” 

He wonders if he’s even answered the question yet.

Nick notices during the pause in his monologue that the photographer is now on her third full page of notes in her spiral-bound pad. He rubs the nape of his neck and squints apologetically at her. “Uhm, sorry, I can get carried away sometimes. You don’t need to include any of that.”

She smiles. “It’s ok, I can tell you’re really passionate about the needs of our community. I’ll make sure that comes through in the article.”

The photographer flips her notebook closed, then gestures toward the door, ushering Nick across the street to LGBTea to meet up with the other featured business owners.

Chapter Text

Slam!

“How are you two not an item yet? This is infuriatingly cute!” 

“Darcy!” Nick gasps from his perch behind the plant shop counter, as he attempts to return to his body after his soul was sent to the ceiling by his friend being very emphatic for the first thing in the morning.

“You two are looking suspiciously couple-y, and I won’t hear another word about it.”

Nick takes a closer look at the Arts and Leisure section of the Gazette with which he's been loudly presented. The featured photo is a beautiful shot of Small Spaces: a panoramic view of the shelves, with Isaac and Charlie restocking books while candidly smiling. Absolutely adorable. 

Below that is an action shot of Darcy pulling an espresso and Tara ringing up a customer, and another of Nick among his veritable jungle of oversized elephant ears. Compared to Charlie’s, Nick’s looks stiff and forced, but at least the photographer had requested he pose with his hands on his hips, showing off his arm muscles. 

But Nick can’t seem to unstick his gaze from the next and final photo. It is captioned simply:

Small business owners are more than colleagues, or even friends. They’re chosen family. 

Pictured are all five members of their neighborhood crew, gathered round the tiny café table outside of LGBTea. Sure, Nick remembers it being a little posed; the photographer scolded him for trying to take a sip of his prop tea after Charlie ended up with an accidental latte foam mustache. But it doesn’t matter, because the image is pure queer joy. Tara sits on Darcy’s lap, their arms tangled in a hug. Isaac sits next to them, holding a large mug in one hand and a copy of Gender Euphoria in the other. All three of them have their heads thrown back in laughter. Charlie and Nick are seated opposite Isaac, squished next to each other by means of Nick’s arm slung around the back of Charlie’s folding patio chair. 

Nick is doing that embarrassing squinty-laugh thing he does when Darcy makes raunchy jokes. He is not thrilled to see his reaction immortalized, and he really hopes the journalists hadn’t heard whatever it was that Darcy had said. 

The most striking part of the photograph, however, is Charlie. With the way his body is almost pressed along Nick’s, someone not aware of the men’s close friendship might assume that he was cuddling into his…boyfriend. 

Due to the way the group was staged, it was necessary for Charlie to be aligned with every curve along Nick’s side, leaning into his open arm. 

Charlie’s doe-like eyes gaze up at Nick. Amusement plays on Charlie’s face, but his attention is clearly on Nick and his reaction, as opposed to the off-color joke that all the other store owners were all reacting to. It’s nearly a silhouette of his face, causing one of his dimples to be hidden away, but Nick is glad the world gets to see at least one of them in print.

Nick questions why the editors of the newspaper wouldn’t have chosen a more straight-on picture of everyone. But as he takes another moment to absorb the full composition, not just each giddy face. The sum of the individual parts add up to something much more meaningful.

It shows queer community. It shows queer love - and many different kinds of queer love, at that. It shows diversity and representation. It shows how important it is for queer people to carve out places like these friends have done, because familiarity breeds friendship, and friendship is life-changing and life-saving. They really do look like a family. Because they are one.

As he stares at the image, Nick wonders how he missed that moment with Charlie. Then, he wonders if there have ever been any other similar moments that he’s missed. 

“That’s longing right there, Nicholas. Pining.”

“We’re friends!” Nick tries to defend himself against his friend’s allegation.

“‘Friends’ as in ‘friends’? Or ‘friends’ as in ‘ friends’?” It’s hard for Nick to be mad at a person with such emotive eyebrows.

“‘Friends’ as in, fuck off, Darcy ,” Nick responds jokingly.

“Suspiciously couple-y. That’s all I’m saying,” she insists as she runs a hand through her unkempt yet somehow still stylish hair. “Anyway, haircuts at ours this weekend?”

---

Ok, Nick's maybe gone too far this time. Despite his best intentions of cooling it with his fixation on Charlie, the picture from the newspaper is too endearing to not commemorate. Luckily, You’ve Been Framed is just around the corner, so Nick brings three copies of the Gazette to have mounted, one for each shop. The publicity is worth celebrating, as is their oddball little queer family. 

While he’s at it, Nick might as well drop off the vintage shopkeeper’s bell he’d found at an op-shop, so Small Spaces can finally have a charming ring to greet customers. 

“Do you ever leave the block?” Charlie jests as he reaches inside the paper bag from You’ve Been Framed. 

Nick chuckles as he watches the man extract the gift. “I mean, I go to the gym most days? Otherwise, honestly, I lead a pretty boring little life. But that’s how I like it.”

Charlie takes in the framed photograph. His eyes light up brighter than the exam lamp at the dentist, and a toothy open-mouthed smile spreads across his face. Nick catches a momentary glimpse of furrowed brows, which quickly relax as he meets Nick’s eyeline. Charlie pulls the gift to his chest and hugs it like a teddy bear. 

Swallowing his visible glee, Charlie continues the conversation. “That sounds so peaceful. For the last couple of years I’ve been made to be social all the time. Parties, dinners out, traveling all over England to be somebody’s plus-one…it’s exhausting. All I want is to sit. Give me a book and some tea, and I’m happy.”

It’s like Charlie ripped Nick’s daydreams right out of his imagination. 

“That sounds like my ideal evening, honestly. Though sometimes, I do throw on Avengers to switch it up.” Nicholas, this is a dangerous game you’re playing.

Charlie scrunches his brow briefly again, and his shoulders rise and fall ever so slightly with the barely-visible breath he takes. “Would you want to come round mine? Tonight? We can watch a film together? And I can make you dinner as a thank-you for this!” He holds out the photograph to examine it again. Studying Charlie’s reaction, Nick can feel a smile bloom on his face, but he’s sure it’s like a wilted rose compared to the garden bursting with color of Charlie’s smile. 

Nick is quick to accept the invitation, obviously, before he can let nerves talk him out of it. 

“No Avengers, though; that shit will rot your brain,” Charlie adds cheekily. “I’ll find something good for us to watch. And bring Nellie, I have a feeling she’s got strong opinions on pacing and dialogue.”

Nick is thrilled. Time with Charlie! At night! In his flat! With dinner. And, a film. In his…studio flat. With no sofa. So they’ll lounge on Charlie’s bed, probably, unless they will sit awkwardly at the man’s hilariously tiny folding table. What if Nick misinterprets what Charlie assumed their night would be, and sits on Charlie’s bed when he was meant to sit at the table? And then Charlie gets the impression that Nick is pressuring him to sit beside him on the bed? Or, is that what he’s expected to do? Is Nick supposed to make the first move, since Charlie invited him over for dinner and a film? If that’s the case, what is he supposed to wear? Pajamas? Or crisp trousers? 

Good thing he’s got another six hours to mull over every single detail of the evening ahead. 

---

Nick goes with clean, fitted grey joggers and a blue jumper. Simple and casual. For a film night at Charlie’s. With dinner. Super casual.

It has been a long time since he's done a film night with the lads, let alone a singular lad. Or really even spent much time with just one other guy, especially as friends. Nick has never really subscribed to the whole toxic masculinity ethos of the rugby team, or the 'no homo' of grabbing-dinner-with-his-flatmate-in-uni thing. Although he wasn't always secure in his bisexuality, he was always unperturbed to spend time one on one with another man. 

Possibly because he's never really had a crush quite like this one.

He's gone on plenty of first dates with people of all genders, and in fact, most of his second dates have actually been with men. 

But being here, in Charlie's studio, seated next to him, on his bed, his single bed, piled high with pillows and blankets, makes Nick feel like he might just keel over like a mushy, overwatered African milk tree. 

Charlie had pre-selected a recent adaptation of a classic Shakespeare story, with the twist of it featuring two male leads. Nick jokes as Charlie pulls up the film on his laptop that he usually would put up a fight when it comes to chick flicks, but since this one stars one of the men’s mutual celebrity crushes, he'd let this one slide, this time. 

Charlie, of course, knows Nick all too well to believe for one second that Nick doesn't eat up every single romantic comedy he's ever presented with.

Regardless, the men barter that this time Charlie picks, and next time, Nick will. Nick does his best to not roll the phrase 'next time' around his brain like a soothing lozenge on a sore throat after a day spent screaming at a professional sporting event.

They settle in with their plates of frozen pizza and carrot sticks, which Nick is tickled to learn is Charlie’s favorite meal; he admires the inclusion of a fresh vegetable, which is more than can be said of Nick’s comfort meal. The blonde can't quite get comfortable, despite the ample cozy amenities available. Even after being offered Charlie’s favorite fluffy dinosaur, and the stuffed broccoli that supposedly makes the best neck support out of all the plush vegetables, he wriggles.

As the intro credits roll into character introductions, it becomes clear that both men still haven't relaxed all the way. Charlie folds his legs, then stretches them out in front of him, then folds them back underneath his body. Meanwhile, Nick crosses and uncrosses his arms similarly, unable to decide between hugging a stuffed cat or resting his palms on his knees between bites. 

Both men's backs are laid against the wall covered in graffiti, bodies separated by enough distance to fit a trio of pink teddy bears to whom Charlie has been kind enough to introduce Nick. Betsy, Tacy, and Tib now serve as the platform on which their makeshift movie screen rests. 

But even a forcefield of a thousand animals named after children’s book characters couldn't cushion Nick's crushing desire to move closer to the other man. 

He doesn't even want to kiss him. He just wants to be closer.

…Well, that's a fucking lie, obviously. Of course he wants to kiss him.

But this man's presence is magnetic. Nick feels the constant pull to touch hands, to bump knees. To put his arm around Charlie's shoulder. 

Charlie shifts in his seat with a huff that seems almost indignant. Or is that Nick projecting again? Because he certainly is feeling a little short that he's not making physical contact with this man. 

Nick's singular thought's current replay is interrupted. "Um, can we just, like…" 

Nick glances to his right hesitantly, not sure what's going to come out of Charlie's mouth next. Is he going to change his mind, that this film night was a mistake? Will he walk back on his previous statement that he enjoys Nick’s company? Is he going to get kicked out of the flat? Kicked out of Charlie’s life?

But instead of indignation, Nick is greeted with questioning blue eyes. They seem to have lost a bit of their deep sheen, instead blanketed by a film of doubt. His brow is quirked upwards in the middle, introducing three vertical creases between the dramatic, the expressive eyebrows Nick's learned betray the man's otherwise unreadable emotions. 

Charlie is worried about something. 

Oh no.

Nick feels his own brows begin to contort, mirroring Charlie's. 

"Sorry, can we just-"

And then, by the grace of Carolus Linnaeus, a miracle. 

The curly-haired man forces out a sharp breath, as if steeling himself, and holds out his left arm towards Nick. 

He's unsure of what to do at first. 

"I just- I feel like, um, I feel like we are both feeling a little bit uncomfortable? Would you want to-" Charlie doesn't finish his sentence, instead gesturing once with his outstretched arm to draw attention to it.

As if Nick isn't acutely aware of Charlie's arm and its proximity to his body. 

As if he's not absolutely losing whatever he has left of his mind.

The larger man scoots over, joggers dragging the blanket he's sitting on along with his body. As he does so, Charlie snakes his hand behind Nick's neck, creating a concave landing spot for Nick's shoulder. 

Nick lowers his body gingerly into the crook of Charlie’s arm, more carefully than he treats the incredibly fragile burro’s tails at Nellie’s. It’s not that he’s afraid of breaking Charlie, of course, but there’s something about this moment that calls for veneration. Nick wants to remember every detail about this moment. Move too abruptly, and the reverie might be shattered. 

That’s how they sit for the entire movie. When Charlie’s chest heaves with laughter, Nick’s torso is brought along for the ride. When Charlie adjusts his positioning to prevent his leg from going all tingly, Nick is offered a cavity between their bodies, which he is more than happy to fill. 

By the climax of the film, when the main characters finally, finally confess their love for one another, Nick feels brave enough to fully relax his head into Charlie’s neck. The act is rewarded with the other man resting his curls on top of the blonde mop. 

Both men breathe in deeply.

Minutes later, the beautiful men onscreen lean in for a kiss. Nick’s chest feels tight, and thanks to his proximity to the other man’s, he can feel Charlie’s breath hitch. Then, he feels two fingers walk across his leg. Inch by inch, they softly make their way towards Nick’s hands, which are folded neatly in his lap. And then they slide across his knuckles. And then they slide over his fingers. And then they attempt to push between his fingers, but aren’t quite able to. 

So Nick releases his grip, and turns his hand over to accept fingertips trailing across the wrinkles on his palm. He especially likes the back-and-forth motion Charlie lightly presses into Nick’s heart line.

The touch of Charlie’s hand is more electric than any steamy Hollywood kiss could ever be.

Movie night turns into a double-feature. Charlie had heard about a similar queer film from Elle; Tao had made her watch an afternoon of art haus lesbian cinema, which she’d initially been dreading, but actually really ended up enjoying, because, lesbians. 

Even without the pretense of queer media, Nick gets the feeling that neither one of the pair would want this evening to end, even if it meant just staring in silence at the wildly-painted wall. 

Before he knows it, the credits of the lesbian film are rolling, and he feels Charlie stir. At some point, the soft tracing of the creases on Nick’s palm had subsided, and while he missed their absence, it did allow him to wrap his larger hand around Charlie’s. 

It feels like Nick has finally found what he’s been missing his whole life.

It feels like the satisfaction of slotting in the final piece of a jigsaw puzzle that had fallen to the floor, and had been assumed forever lost.

It feels like the excitement of waking up to a new leaf on a houseplant that had been dormant all winter.

It feels like the comfort of home. 

The credits have reached the boom mic operators and set decorators, which Nick takes as a signal that it’s probably time for him to head back to his flat. He whispers the man’s name. 

He turns his head to see a barely-awake Charlie 

“I should probably let you get some rest,” he whispers.

Charlie pulses his fingers around Nick’s hand, and whispers dryly, “Will you stay?”

---

Nick gets it now. Sleeping in a single bed is cozy. Granted, anywhere with Charlie is cozy, but particularly when the man’s body is pressed into Nick’s so that they’re nestled into each other like two tiny leaves on a watch chain plant.

Maybe a little too cozy, for two men as tall as they both are, with every spare centimeter of mattress covered in plush animals. But Charlie had expressed that he likes to be swaddled, after all, and Nick is happy to oblige. 

It means that Nick gets to inhale Charlie’s curls all night long.

He must’ve slept soundly with the heady perfume of shampoo and bookshop and leather and moss and wonder, because Nick rouses for the first time since his arm first draped across Charlie’s midsection to a whistling kettle and empty bed. Well, as empty as Charlie’s bed could ever be. 

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Charlie coos from the kitchen.

It’s a dangerous thought, but Nick thinks it anyway: he could get used to hearing that every day. 

“Good morning!” he replies through a yawn. Charlie peers fondly at him, then returns to fixing two cups of tea once the man in his bed snuggles back into the blankets. “I hope it’s ok that I took Nellie out already. I didn’t want to wake you.”

Nick looks over to see his dog curled up on an army of plush creatures she’s apparently claimed as her own. Then, he looks over to see sweet Charlie adding a splash of cream to only one mug. Just how Nick likes it. 

Is this what domestic bliss feels like?

Nick shakes the treacherous sentiment from his head as he quickly combs through his bedhead with his fingers before Charlie can see it.

Chapter Text

Nick hates when he’s taken off guard by Darcy’s social prowess. Her usual over-the-top chaotic bumbling distracts from her keen skill in meddling subtly. So, when she had invited Nick over for haircuts earlier in the week, Nick had thought nothing of it. 

As it turns out, this was all part of a master plan, and Nick fell right into her trap. She knows he can’t resist a night of gossip with the girlfriends. 

In the bathroom of the girlfriends' flat, Tara wields hair clippers, moving them back and forth through the air while they buzz to the beat of the latest sapphic dance pop Darcy's obsession has landed on this week. 

Darcy sings along happily, seated on the lip of the shower stall, nape of her neck freshly shaved into a peak.

"Darce, that looks incredible!" Nick pipes up as he reenters the cramped room barely big enough for one adult, let alone four. "Here, we ran out of Strongbow so I replenished everyone's drinks with gin and tonics, I hope that's ok?"

Darcy reaches out both hands, making childlike grabbing motions. "A handsome man bringing me a mixed drink? Every lady's dream!" She takes a big gulp from the thrifted mini beer stein offered to her and continues, "Want Nick to go first, Chuck?" 

Nick's heart jumps each time he hears his best friend call the man by any nickname, but especially this one. It reminds Nick of a golden-aged American man who used to raise goats. 

The blonde smiles at Charlie in what he hopes is a reassuring way, and a moment later adds a shrug, then clinks his gaudy diamond-cut highball glass to Charlie's stemless wine glass etched with the words ' Ladies Night '. 

Darcy takes one more gulp of her drink as she stands, then accepts the still-buzzing clippers from Tara. 

"Darcy, just my neckline and sideburns," Nick warns. Turning to Charlie, he elaborates, "I find that this reminder is vital every haircut, after last year's peach schnapps incident."

"Oi! It was fruit bowl night! Peach and apple shooters and matching bowl cuts!"

Tara cuts in with a laugh to explain to Charlie, "They rocked matching haircuts for weeks until Nick could finally get an appointment with an actually-qualified hair stylist.” 

“Excuse me, am I not an actually-qualified hair stylist?” Darcy scoffs dramatically. “Chuck, I’ve been cutting Nicholas’ hair for years. Some might even call me highly- qualified.” 

“I don’t know, seems legit to me…” Charlie prods playfully, eyeing Nick and Tara’s staunch disapproval.

“And from where, exactly, are you qualified?” Nick scoffs as he smooths his blonde locks defensively. 

“The University of Bathroom Dye Jobs, specializing in Queer Cuts for Gender Euphoria,” proclaims Darcy. 

“Mhm. Very legit,” Nick raises his eyebrows emphatically at Charlie. 

However, despite the banter, and the suspected several additional drinks Darcy had before the men's arrival, his brave face pays off. The big reveal with the bedazzled handheld mirror shows a clean shave on his neck and sharp lines around his ears.

Nick thanks her, to which she gasps and clasps the clippers to her heart like she's never been more scandalized by someone complimenting her handiwork.

She quickly moves on, though, and turns her attention to Charlie, who's been watching Nick's haircut from the doorway. She does a dramatic sort of circular motion in the direction of Charlie's magnificent curls. With a cheeky eyebrow raise, she says, "I dare you to get some racing stripes."

This statement produces a comedically loud 'HAH' straight from the man's belly. It makes Nick's heart leap into his throat. "I don't think so! Actually, um, I really like the feeling of playing with buzzed hair? Do you think I could get what you have in the back?" 

" Charlie!! Really? Are we doing this? Are we going to have matching haircuts? Did we just become best friends? " Darcy squeals and thrusts her empty glass toward Nick, reaching out her freed hand to clasp Charlie's forearm, with a second sound on par with the ending verse of Beyonce's Love On Top. 

---

"You know what we should play? Truth Or Dare!" Darcy excitedly suggests, as the friends later settle into the lounge furniture, pointing her index finger at each person as she says each word of the game's title.

"Pffft, what are we, teenagers?" Tara replies as she reclines on the old pink velvet loveseat.

“It’s good to stay young at heart. Besides, isn’t that how you two, ya know…” Darcy waggles her finger suggestively between Nick and Tara, “ ya know… ”

“Know what?” Charlie asks, clearly confused.

“Darcy! We kissed once! When we were thirteen! Will you ever let us live that down?!” Tara exclaims.

“Not a chance in hell,” Darcy smirks to her girlfriend before planting a loving peck on her forehead.

Perched on an armrest, Charlie seems puzzled, but moves on quickly. “So, are we really going to play a slumber party game? Because if so, we probably should be doing face masks as well. You know, really lean into it.”

Darcy claps Charlie on the back. “My guy! I knew you’d be a good influence on these ones!” She eyes Nick and Tara, and continues, “Babe, I think we have some avocado left in the fridge, right? Charlie, let’s go mix up some magic.”

Nick watches the new besties leave, and turns to Tara with a panicked look in his eyes. He can’t decide which he dreads more: the inevitable mess on his face and in his hair from the concoction they’re whipping up, or the inevitable meddling of Darcy.

Having been friends for such a long time, Tara knows exactly what Nick is thinking. She reaches out across the lived-in sofa and squeezes Nick’s hand. “It’ll be ok. Just roll with it.”

The pair chat idly about their haircuts until the amateur aestheticians return from the kitchen. Darcy holds a huge bowl full of crisps and Charlie carries two smaller ceramic pots with the chunky, mushy-looking substance that they’re about to spread all over their skin.  

“Who’s first? Tara?” Darcy enthusiastically takes one of the bowls from Charlie, and plops down onto her girlfriend’s lap.

As she begins spreading the green slop onto her forehead, Nick looks on, horrified. 

“You don’t have to do this if you really don’t want to,” Charlie whispers.

Nick hadn’t realized that he was being so obvious with his apprehension - usually he was so subtle! - but apparently, even Charlie could sense his nerves.

The blonde gulps, and despite his brain yelling at him to avoid the sensory input, he pats the small empty space beside him where the two couch cushions meet. 

Charlie looks curiously down at Nick, then accepts the invitation.

"What if you put it on me first?" The clearly-more-comfortable man suggests in perhaps the softest, kindest tone Nick's ever been addressed with. "That way, you can get a feel for what the texture is like, and whether you want it on your face?" 

"How did you…" Nick reels, not quite able to put words to his hesitancy. 

The man places a chilly hand on top of his clammy one that's suddenly gripping his faded trouser leg tightly. Had Nick been clutching his own leg since Charlie first suggested the face masks? 

"Nick, it's ok, I have sensory issues, too. I can spot someone about to have a meltdown from missions away. But I kind of really like the gloopy stuff on my face? I like how it tightens on my skin as it dries," Charlie explains as he reaches for a pale green chunk that's already beginning to oxidize in the cozy air of Tara and Darcy's flat. He picks up the piece from the bowl and squishes it between his thumb and finger, entranced by the trails of the soft fatty substance that emerge around his fingertips. 

Nick is utterly rapt as he watches the sensory-seeker bring the mush to his face and spread it across the hollow of his cheek. Charlie maintains full-on eye contact as his three fingertips wipe the mess across milky skin. A smile cracks across his cute face, and Nick is positive his own is mirroring Charlie's in the dorkiest, most embarrassing way. 

Wordlessly, Charlie extends the bowl to Nick, who surprises himself with his lack of caution when he spoons some of the face mask onto his fingers. It feels slimy, and a bit cold still from the refrigerator. He spreads a small handful between his fingers, and raises both hands to the other man’s face. 

This feels…ok. Manageable.

Miraculously, Nick compartmentalizes the fact that he’s literally rubbing his crush’s face, he’s close enough to feel his warm G&T breath and close enough to see the microscopic movements the blue eyes are making between Nick’s, as if he’s counting the number of gold flecks between his two irises. 

The blonde’s hand lingers a moment too long under Charlie’s chin as he searches his eyes, searching Nick’s. It’s tense. “Ok!” he says suddenly and probably a little too loudly. “My turn!”

Charlie dips his slender fingers into the half-full bowl of rapidly browning face mask. He flexes his thick, pronounced eyebrows, seeking nonverbal permission to begin. Nick nods tentatively.

And it’s awful .

The feeling of nearly-room temperature mashed avocado feels exactly as expected. Worse, actually. In his hesitation, Nick hadn’t considered that the viscous gel of the egg wouldn’t be fully incorporated into the mushy chunks of avocado, and that Nick would be able to sense the globs of unsaturated fat slowly sliding toward his brow bone, threatening to fall into his eyes. 

He also didn’t think through the fact that Charlie rubbing circles into Nick’s forehead would mean that he wouldn’t be able to abort the act by dramatically flailing like a baby duckling, like whenever Tara tries to give Nick hand massages. With Charlie so near, level-headedness is a must.

“Nick?”

Oh no. Oh no no no. Had Nick not schooled his reaction adequately?

He hums, forcing the tiny muscles around his eyes into some approximation of a positive reaction. 

“You stopped breathing. Like, your face looks ready for Christmas right now, between the green mask and how red your cheeks are turning.” Charlie pulls in one side of his mouth, forming one shallow dimple of deep understanding, and maybe just a hint of amusement.

Nick takes a deep breath in, unable to peel his eyes away from his favorite sight. 

Charlie dips his head so that Nick’s unmoving eyes meet Charlie’s gaze. He whispers, “Want to go wash it off?”

Taking the momentarily unmasked flash of agony in Nick’s eyes as an affirmative, in one swift motion the smaller man jumps up from his seated position on the floor and pulls Nick up by the hands with him. They head to the loo, where Nick is instructed to sit on the closed lid of the toilet seat while the most caring, thoughtful man in all of Kent retrieves a fresh rag. 

Nick is transported to a higher plane when Charlie applies just-right pressure with the towel wetted with water that’s just-right in temperature, idly humming a song that Nick vaguely recognizes.

Is it Charlie’s Spanish children’s song?

The headrush from the bewitching scent of Charlie’s cologne is second only to that of the feeling of being taken care of by him. Nick has never had someone anticipate his needs quite like Charlie had just done. And to treat him with such care and respect, even though it should have been so simple and nonchalant to do a face mask with friends? It’s as though he has access to the instruction manual for Nick's needs, and had earmarked for quick reference the directions for expertly downshifting Nick’s physical reaction to the horror show of avocado face masks. 

---

“So, how about that game of Truth Or Dare?” Darcy asks immediately upon the men’s return to the living room. The question evokes groans from the other three friends, but they still all settle onto the floor for whatever’s to come. “Charlie, why don’t you go first? Truth,” she leans in dramatically into his personal bubble while wiggling her fingers, “or dare ?”

Charlie smiles and rolls his eyes. “Um, truth?”

Without missing a beat, Darcy asks, “What is the knobbiest thing your knob of an ex-boyfriend ever did?”

“Pffft, that’s easy. Forget about all the lying and the cheating and using me for my income. It was this one time we were out at this trendy gastropub in London. The kind of hipster place with only a tasting menu and pre-selected wine pairings. He hated this one red they brought out with one of the courses, saying it was much too stone fruit-forward, or not spicy enough or something. Called the sommelier an idiot. So the poor server took our glasses, and  - mind you, I could see the entire serving area from where I was seated. Ben’s back was to everyone, because he said he didn’t like watching strangers enjoy their food without fully understanding the flavor notes.” 

As Charlie regales the room with this memory from his former life, his eyes look like they might just roll right out of their sockets. The man is absolutely dripping with contempt.

He continues, “Anyway. So I watch our poor waitress, having just been berated by that grade-A prick, dump our two glasses of merlot into two fresh glasses, then hang back to scroll on her phone for however long it probably takes to select a different bottle of wine. I watched her browse their wine list and pick a red at random. On her way back, I think she caught me watching her and stopped in her tracks, but I shot her a quick wink, and oh my god the face she made just about made me fall out of my chair! So she brings us the ‘fresh’ glasses, and I bet you all can’t guess what happened next?”

Charlie pauses to take in the rapt faces of the others, but when no one answers, he finishes his story. “ Nothing. Nothing happened at all! Ben suddenly loved the wine, explained the notes of oak and berries and whatever-the-fuck else loudly enough for the other waitstaff to hear, sent his compliments to the sommelier for finally doing his job, and then called the server ‘sweetheart’. ” 

It takes several minutes for the foursome to catch their breath after their fits of laughter over the absolute pomposity of Ben Hope. 

“Ok,” Charlie starts after wiping a final tear from his waterline. “Tara: truth or dare?”

She selects dare, and before Charlie can formulate an idea, Darcy interjects that she has a great one. 

“I dare you to relive your first kiss!” she declares with an impish grin. 

“ Darcy !” Tara and Nick both groan. Charlie looks quizzically at Nick, and then at Tara. 

“Kissing Nick was actually one of the things that made me realize I don’t like kissing guys,” she explains to him. “But Darcy will never, ever let us live down that fateful moment from when we were kids.”

“Honey, a dare is a dare. Come on,” Darcy urges.

Tara rolls her eyes, skin still covered by hardening avocado, and moves to crawl toward Nick. The blonde looks at Charlie in what he hopes is a nonchalant way, and not apologetic like he’s actually feeling. He then glares at Darcy, who grins even wider in response. 

Nick, too, gets on all fours and puckers up for the briefest, most chaste kiss in the history of kissing. His and Tara’s lips barely touch at all before they’re both rocked back into their positions on the floor, a homosexual distance between them once again. 

Darcy cheers so loudly that she knocks over what’s left of the bowl of crisps. 

Tara clears her throat, unamused. “Well. That just happened,” she states. “Umm…Darcy. You’re next. Truth or d-”

“Dare! Obviously!” she exclaims. 

“Very well then. Let’s see, I dare you to…put your entire fist in your mouth.”

“Hah! You think I’ll have trouble fitting my hand in my mouth? Are you forgetting how big our giant purple-”

“ Darcy! Just do it, please! It’ll have the added benefit of shutting you up!” 

As easily as popping a grape into her mouth, Darcy indeed fits her entire fist, going as far as past her wrist. After modeling the feat proudly, she removes it and wipes the saliva from her lips before articulating with a wink to the boys, “See what happens when lesbians don’t have a gag reflex?” 

Nick’s face immediately flushes a truly horrifying shade of red. He focuses every molecule in his brain to telepathically yell at Darcy to BE QUIET. Unfortunately, she doesn’t receive the message, or maybe chooses to ignore it. 

“Ok Nicholas, your turn. Truth or dare?”

He knew the choice was unavoidable. He always hated this game. If he chooses truth, he could be asked about his most embarrassing moment, or his worst fear, or the worst fib he’s told. Or, he could be asked his true feelings toward Charlie. If he chooses dare, there’s the possibility he’ll be made to drink a sickening concoction of Darcy’s making, or do something perplexing like fold his leg behind his head. Of course, Darcy has already demonstrated her utter lack of social modesty with that forced kiss, so, there’s a very real chance he will be told to kiss Charlie. Would Charlie even want that? Surely Darcy would have a friendly enough understanding to incorporate consent into this silly game, right?

“Truth,” Nick chooses definitively, not willing to risk his friend’s inevitable meddling with the kissing. 

Darcy pretends to ponder the possible questions, even though Nick knows exactly what she’s about to say. 

“Nick. Do you have a crush on anyone at the moment?”

Frantically, he mutters, “Well…” 

“Come on! What’s she like then?” Darcy presses, not even trying to be subtle.

“You’re just going to assume they’re a ‘she’?” Nick answers earnestly, before rolling his eyes playfully toward Charlie in an act of performative insouciance. “Typical heteronormative Darcy, right?” 

Charlie hums, then flicks his eyes between Nick and the framed Brandi Carlile poster hanging on the wall. 

“So they’re not a girl! Aha! Out with it then, tell us all about this bloke!” Darcy is all but bursting with glee by now.

Nick shoots a look of dismay to no one in particular. There is no way out of this one. He looks at the floor, then to the velvet upholstery, then to a mirthful Darcy, then a concerned Tara. After examining both the window and the door as possible escape routes, Nick glances to Charlie, who may as well have no facial features at all with how little insight into Charlie’s thoughts they’re revealing.

“Uhm-”

A phone rings. Nick’s. He scrambles to reach it. Sarah Nelson. 

“Hi, mum! Everything alright?”

The phone’s volume is quiet enough that only Nick can hear her response. Yes, everything’s fine, she’s just calling for a catch-up.

“Oh, no! Well I’m at Tara and Darcy’s right now, but do you need my help?”

Sarah responds that, no, he must have misheard her. She’s doing fine, they just haven’t had a chance to chat all week. 

“Stay right there. I’m on my way. I’ll see you in a bit.” Nick hangs up the phone and probably looks too exaggerated in his disappointment as he makes eye contact with a distrusting Darcy, but he doesn’t care. He has an out!  “Sorry, gotta run. Thanks for having me!”

Chapter Text

Nick jogs in place at the stoplight, waiting for it to turn red so it’s safe to cross. It’s barely dawn, and he’s doing his best to not get hit by a car during his cool-down. After last night, Nick needed to do something to clear his head. A run seemed logical, although he got about four kilometers in the early-morning darkness before realizing the workout clothes he’d thrown on are all black, and that he forgot those silver reflector thingies his mum still reminds him to wear when exercising. 

Ke$ha isn’t helping slow his thoughts. If anything, she’s simply reminding Nick that he is almost out of glitter eyeshadow. He is who he is, after all. Looking sick and sexy-fied, and all that.

The light changes, and Nick continues onward, slowing his pace to match Kylie Minogue’s ‘Can’t Get You Out Of My Head’. Fitting. But he’s only a few blocks away from home, and it’s not worth digging out his phone to skip to the next song so he can continue trying to get a certain somebody out of his thoughts. 

But, of course that somebody happens to be sweeping the sidewalk out front of Small Spaces, because why wouldn’t he be doing that at the exact moment Nick is hot and bothered, literally?

“Hi,” Charlie greets Nick awfully brightly for so early in the morning. 

“Hi,” Nick responds breathlessly, removing his earbuds. “You’re up early!”

Charlie pulls his lips into a secretive grin. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Nick smiles intently at Charlie, unable to look away from decoding whatever mysteries the curly-haired man’s lips aren’t quite revealing. After a beat or two too many, Nick realizes that he’s been staring, and shakes his head while shifting his gaze to the leaf-free cement underfoot. “Would you want to grab some coffee? I’m sure the girls will be open by the time I get changed,” he motions to his sweaty workout gear. 

The gesture clearly alerts Charlie to Nick’s very pale legs exposed by his running shorts. Even in the dim grey light of daybreak, Nick can see the blood drain from the other man’s face. 

“Hey!” Nick laughs at Charlie’s eyebrows that shoot up to his hairline. “I’m just channeling my inner Ke$ha! I gotta have my hot pants on and up!”

The other man erupts in a fit of giggles so violently he has to steady himself by placing his forehead on the top of the broom handle. “You’re listening to Ke$ha right now? I would’ve pegged you as more of a Britney fan, honestly.”

“Oh, she’s on my playlist, too. All the princesses are. There’s just something about the way these powerful women ooze confidence and self-assuredness, even when the world tries to keep them down. All of the songs on here have body-positive, feminist undertones. Knowing I don’t face even half the challenges these women do on a daily basis, and yet they’re still absolutely killing it, really motivates me.”

Charlie quirks his head questioningly. “Don’t you think that’s a little reductive? I mean, yes, we should be prioritizing women’s voices in conversations about feminism, but by excluding other genders from your playlist, aren’t you kind of pigeonholing all the artists that are on there?”

Nick’s heart skips several beats as the smartest man alive manages to turn Nick’s silly workout mix into a socio-political debate. 

“I…guess? I don’t know, isn’t all the pop music made by men just about getting money and bagging b-words? I’m not, uh, interested in those things,” Nick’s semi-confident retort falters as he hears himself accidentally implying that he’s only interested in men right now. One man, in particular.

“That is not true at all! Plenty of men sing about body positivity and self-confidence in ways that aren’t misogynistic! Or, at least, not overtly,” Charlie shrugs and winks at Nick. “I like the sentiment of your pop princess playlist, but it seems a little second-wave feminist to me. Plus, like, boy bands? Hello? You’re missing out!”

Nick squints at the other man. He is too undercaffeinated to meaningfully engage in a call-out over the nuances of what ‘empowerment’ really means.

Charlie offers a deal. “How about this: you go cover up those forbidden thighs,” he makes a point of dramatically giving Nick a once-over, “and I’ll make you a pop prince playlist to prove my point. You’re going to love it.”

“Deal. I’ll meet you back down here in a few.”

---

Monday mornings tend to be the slowest days on the block. Nick used to dread them, knowing that it’s the easiest crossword day of the week so he’d be twiddling his thumbs by half-ten. But now, Monday mornings mean he has the ability to head next-door and help the boys out with their weekly inventory, while Isaac makes their local deliveries and runs to the office supply store. Nick loves feeling like an integral part of the success of Small Spaces.

“You two are blowing through inventory!” Nick exclaims as he takes stock of all the half-empty shelves. He also notes the framed Gazette prominently displayed on the wall behind the register. 

Lugging a box full of independent publications out from the back room, Charlie plops it on the floor beside Nick’s feet. He stands up straight to meet Nick’s eyes once again. “I kind of can’t believe it? Like, it’s this thing that I’ve wanted for so long, and it felt so out of reach. And as Isaac and I were putting together our business plans and getting loans, in the back of my mind I couldn’t help but prepare myself for failure. That’s kind of how I’ve always operated though? Expecting the worst, because that’s usually what ends up happening to me?” 

The pained expression on Charlie’s face burns the back of Nick’s throat. The thought of the world putting down Charlie so severely and so often that he’s grown into such a pessimistic outlook makes Nick want to dump apple juice on every single unsupportive person Charlie has ever encountered. 

He continues, “Anyway. My ex-” ah, the smell of a moldy floor mattress incarnate , “was great at dragging me down and reinforcing all that negativity. He didn’t want me to open this bookstore, you know. He wanted me to become a temp at some weird pointless fintech company. He said that apps are the ultimate job security, and that nobody reads books anymore.”

Without meaning to, Nick’s eyes roll into the back of his head at the thought of the dicknozzle mansplaining reading of all things to Charlie.

“I’m glad you ignored him. And that you continue to ignore him…right?” Nick feels suddenly nervous that Charlie hasn’t actually cut his ex out of his life completely.

Charlie scoffs with a disbelieving smile. “Nick! Obviously! He was terrible! I’ve been working on following my heart. My heart tells me to stay far away from that dicknozzle , as you would say. My heart told me to move to Kent and to open Small Spaces. My heart told me that moving in upstairs would be the right choice.” 

He studies Nick’s face. In return, Nick studies Charlie’s. He looks serene, and a bit like there’s something humorous that only Charlie is in on. Like there’s something he’s holding back. Suddenly, Charlie drops to his knees to unfold the flaps of the cardboard box and extracts a book with a pink cover and a scribble of a person. “My heart told me to pre-order additional copies of the Scam anthology; my intuition is never wrong about queers’ desires to fuck around with The System. This book has been in hot demand since the author came out as trans a few years ago, and people have had trouble finding copies.”

Charlie is so fucking smart. He is so forward-thinking. He has such a mind for business, and his finger on the pulse of what the queer community wants. What the queer community needs . 

Distracted by the man’s brains and beauty and presence and allure, Nick bends down to grab the small stack of witchy-looking zines about herbal remedies right as Charlie stands up to place the book on the shelf. 

Thunk.

Ow.

“Are you ok?!” 

Strangely, both men remain bent at the waist, heads both frozen, hovering over the box separating their bodies.

It is weird. And charged. And Nick is going to finally let himself consciously admit that this forehead collision was somehow…romantic.

For some reason their foreheads drift back together. Charlie’s ringlets cushion the already feather-light meeting.

The room melts away. Hell, the whole world melts away. It is just Nick and Charlie. That point of contact is the only thing Nick can sense, other than Charlie’s earthy, citrusy scent, and the entrancing spirals of cerulean mere centimeters from his face. Any tension Nick was carrying moments ago has been relaxed, as if Charlie’s forehead pressed a release valve that immediately slackened every muscle in Nick’s body.

Including his hands, which hold several photocopied issues of Magical Herbalism. Well, held.

The half-size booklets clatter to the floor with the sound of pages warping midair. It startles both men enough that they pull away, both immediately looking anywhere except at one another.

A deep breath helps Nick gain a semblance of equilibrium, or at least enough to kneel down to pick up the scattered zines. He smooths them back together and places them on the shelf, still not daring to look at the other man, who is busying himself straightening the books already on display.

"Uhm, you know how I like things to be out in the open. I value really, really clear communication. I hate trying to guess what people are thinking or feeling. Uhm," the flustered man states as he idly neatens the spines of the zine anthologies. The other flustered man, that is. Even Nick is able to pick up on Charlie’s discomposure. 

Nick turns. He stares, heart in his throat, eyes surely terrified, as Charlie continues speaking in the direction of the shelf. 

"Did we almost kiss just now?" 

With his larynx fully obstructed by his left ventricle, it's impossible for Nick to gulp. Simple, honest communication is valuable, but holy fuck is it terrifying. But, like Isaac had advised Nick long ago: Charlie does best without a preamble. Nick needs to just be direct and say what he means. 

His response comes out as a whisper. "Yeah." 

Blue eyes dart toward brown, though Charlie hasn’t yet turned his body to mirror Nick’s.

"Can we….would you like to kiss?" 

Nick wants to shout his answer from the rooftops. He wants to shout it into the microphone at a glam rock concert with 50,000 attendees. He wants to shout it so every fish in the ocean can hear. But he finds it surprisingly paralyzing to be struck with such a straightforward question, when every other first kiss he's ever had has been a giant guessing game of what the other person wanted. This feels at the same time horrifying and reassuring. 

Charlie wants this. 

Nick wants this. 

Another barely-audible affirmative is all he can croak out.

"...Can I kiss you?" asks the most gorgeously brilliantly angelically adorable man Nick has ever laid eyes on.

A breath. A nod. A yes.

Charlie’s eyes search Nick’s as he turns to face him. Nick hopes that he appears any hint of calm. It’s happening. It’s finally happening.

Nimble fingers reach around the back of the taller man’s neck, fanning upwards through the whorling growth of blonde hair at the base of Nick’s skull. He pulls, ever so gently, to close the gap between their two bodies. Inviting Nick to dip his face lower to reach his own. 

Nick licks his lips. He knows it’s his nervous habit, but if there were ever an instance for him to be nervous, it’s right now. 

He sucks in a shallow breath.

The cutest man Nick has ever laid his eyes on is pulling him in for a kiss. His curls flop to one side of his face, and Nick hopes that the usual care the man spends on his hair is instead channeled into what is happening right now. He hopes, because Nick has lost all potential thought except Charlie Charlie Charlie Charlie Charlie Charlie Charlie.

Nick allows his head to be guided towards Charlie’s, minimizing the distance between their faces, until there is no distance at all. 

Contact. 

Their lips are touching. Nick’s nose is to the right of Charlie’s head tilted in such a way that he can almost feel the man’s dimple with his own freckled cheek. 

Charlie’s lip feels supple between Nick’s. The other man had aimed for Nick’s bottom lip, and frankly, Nick was out of decision-making power. He had decided, long ago, weeks ago, to kiss Charlie, and now that it is happening, he is letting the other man make all further decisions. 

His mouth is warm. It tastes of the peppermint one consumes after a strongly brewed tea, which Nick is pretty sure is exactly what he’s tasting. Nick feels the beginnings of hairs poking their way through the epidermis of the man’s upper lip, several hours removed from its morning shave. 

It’s wet, in that way that one’s hands feel perfectly cared for after washing them with gentle hand soap patting them dry on an embroidered dishcloth. 

It’s nice.

It’s really nice. 

Both sets of lips pull away, allowing a moment of pause before Nick realizes that, no, he needs more. Now. 

Calloused fingertips splay into dark curls, softer than he’d imagined. His thumb hitches under the helix of Charlie’s ear. The cartilage is cold from the faulty heating that has yet to hit its reliability due to the changing of the seasons. Nick’s palm fits into place on the bare skin below Charlie’s ear, and fingers continue to weave their way through the curly locks.

Brown eyes finally meet blue. Nick can’t make out any discernible emotion: distrust? Apprehension? Regret? Apathy?

Then Charlie reaches his free hand up and takes a fistful of the fabric of Nick’s t-shirt where the sleeve meets the chest area. With his other hand still behind Nick’s skull, he’s able to control Nick with any whim.

Nick relishes the additional contact, the extra attention Charlie affords him. He’s sure the ecstasy plays across his face. 

Both men crack a smile. Nick can’t be certain who started it and who is mirroring. 

Nick flicks his eyes to Charlie’s moistened lips, so soft and subtly plumped from the kiss, then back up to Charlie. In turn, almost imperceptibly, the tiniest form of a dimple appears, and he juts his chin out as if nodding ‘yes’. 

In tandem, hands pull bodies back together, and lips crash with more urgency than before. Nick still finds Charlie’s upper lip between his own, but he revels in the sensation of his bottom lip being sucked by the lips he’s been fantasizing about doing this with every single day since that first time they’d crossed paths in Nellie’s. 

And it’s so much better than he’d been dreaming about.

The subtle citrus top note of his cologne muddles with the cedar of his shampoo, plus that unmistakable Charlie smell that is amplified by him hauling boxes of bestsellers all morning…it would pull his focus away from the embrace, were it not for the slender fingers pulsing up and down along Nick’s scalp in tempo with the tongue sweeping across Nick’s lower lip. 

Fuck.

Nick tightens his grip around the nape of Charlie’s neck, hoping to provide the man with an even greater sense of security in this vulnerable moment. He wants to communicate nothing except security.

Nick isn’t going anywhere. 

He has been in this since the moment they locked eyes on the morning of Elle’s birthday. 

He’s been in this for every misstep, every espresso, every late night confessional. Nick’s been there.

Every fallen curl. Every missing dimple. Nick has righted them. 

Charlie’s tongue presses its way into Nick’s mouth, and he’s all too eager to accept. As the tip makes contact with the back of Nick’s front teeth, Charlie yanks the fistful of Nick’s top, causing him to take a bracing step forward. Nick kicks the box of books to the side, so he can place one foot adjacent to Charlie’s high tops. Each of their thighs make contact. 

Charlie wants this. He asked for consent. 

Nick wants this. He gave consent. 

Lips break apart so Nick can readjust his nose to the other side of Charlie’s. He takes the shorter man’s lower lip in his, this time, wasting not a single moment before creating suction. As he does so, the most delightful whimper escapes from Charlie’s throat. 

Fuck.

Nick smiles, and he can feel the other man smile, too, seemingly just as surprised by the vocalization.

Tongues slide together, lips move together, soft exhalations of enjoyment dance together in the air between the stacks of feminist punk literature. 

The doorbell jangles in time with the men’s embrace.

Both hands at the napes of necks tug forward simultaneously, causing both men’s front teeth to clack together. Discontented moans lend just enough pause in the symphony of elation to allow the men to press their foreheads together, on purpose this time, both letting sly smiles spread across their faces.

“...Charlie?” a voice breaks through the melody swirling around their entwined bodies.

They break apart and look over to see who has broken through their enchanted bubble.

You’ve got to be shitting me, Nick thinks.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Charlie sighs.

Chapter Text

“Wow, you were cheating on me with this prick this whole time?” Ben jeers as he turns his angular face rapidly between the two men.

Charlie drops his hands from around Nick’s neck. The once shy, adorable smile plastered on the bookshop owner’s face dissipates into a look of disdain. Nick’s heart aches immediately at the loss of those dimples.

“What are you doing here, Ben,” Charlie states rather than asks.

“Came to drop off this book you left at the apartment,” Ben spits as he holds up a worn paperback with a pair of rabbits on the creased cover. “And, thought you might want to know that I’m moving back to Birmingham tonight. You left me with all the bills, which was such a careless, pathetic thing to do. You know I can’t afford to stay here on my own. I had to give up my car.”

“Careless? Pathetic? Me ?! You’re here, calling me careless and pathetic, and accusing me of cheating?! Ben, were you ever not cheating on me, at any point in our entire relationship? Did you ever care about me, or anyone, or anything at all?”

Ben scoffs, his modelesque pout falling open into the ugliest look of surprise Nick’s ever seen. 

Charlie continues after momentarily pinching the bridge of his nose, “And besides, it’s not cheating when you’re already single. We’ve been broken up for weeks. Excuse me for enjoying the company of someone who actually cares about my feelings?” 

Nick cares about more than just Charlie’s feelings, though. He cares about his thoughts, his opinions, his ideas, his hopes and dreams, his curls, his knobby knees, his sanity, his self-esteem, his lips, his stuffed animals, his caffeine preferences, his successes, his happiness, his safety, his soft hands, his-

The wind gets knocked out of him by Charlie’s next statement. “Besides. Nick and I are not even together. We’re-”

Ouch.  

The look on Nick’s face must be pained, as if having been punched in the gut, because a smug smirk widens across Ben’s. Glancing over to Charlie, Nick is further disheartened by the total lack of confidence displayed by the man. Dejected. As if he believes Nick couldn’t actually like him like that.

The sinister leer that plays across the dicknozzle’s face as he looks at the blonde is enough to make Nick nearly lose his lunch.

“...we’re taking things slow,” Nick interjects with newfound sharpness inspired by Ben’s contempt and Charlie’s crestfallenness. “I would never want Charlie to feel forced or rushed into doing anything.”

Maybe it’s the way Ben quirks an eyebrow at Nick, staring daggers priggishly into each and every one of Nick’s freckles, but Nick has no idea what the fuck comes over him. He grabs Charlie’s hand and laces their fingers together. 

“I feel sorry for you, you know? You’re mourning the loss of your ostentatious flat and your pretentious sports car. But any sane person would be mourning the loss of this amazing person from their life.”

Nick feels another pair of eyes drill into his cheeks, which are reddening not with embarrassment - he could literally never be embarrassed by declaring his admiration for Charlie - but with pure anger and disgust for this fucknugget. 

It’s like the dam of polite reservation in Nick’s brain breaks. This whole time, he’s felt it’s not been his place to apply labels beyond his beloved ‘dicknozzle’ to this rubbish heap of a human, but now? Being at the center of his derision? A fleeting moment of self-restraint is pushed away by the single pulse Charlie gives Nick’s hand.

“You’re a loser. You’re a knob. You’re a dweeb. You’re a bellend, wanker, fuckbucket dicknozzle who doesn’t know dog whizz from lemonade. You’re an absolute airline barf bag who overflows with acrid stomach bile. You’re like a fungus gnat who refuses to die no matter how many sticky traps are laid out for you. But most of all, you’re a fucking moron for not realizing that Charlie is the best thing that will ever happen to you. He’s the best thing that could ever happen to anyone. I pity you, really, for fucking up the one good thing that will ever happen in your life.”

He could continue, but his unabashed monologue of disgust is disrupted by a forceful eruption of laughter from his left. And then, cheering from his right. And a cacophony of hooting and hollering from behind him. 

Nick turns to see a delighted Charlie studying Nick’s face, probably wondering where this ire has been hiding all along. He clues back into his surroundings to notice Isaac and the girls all standing nearby, watching. Elle and Tao remain in the doorway, stunned. Darcy’s mouth hangs open like a pitcher plant, and Tara’s eyes are wider than a sunflower’s capitulum. 

Ben seems to clue in, too, because the volume of the torrent of Nick’s thesaurus of insults had covered up the sound of the Small Spaces doorbell, signifying that the three men were no longer alone in the shop. He looks around at all of Charlie’s friends, rolls his eyes, and departs without a word, dropping Charlie’s well-loved novel on top of a shelf on his way out.

No one quite knows what to say or do, so Nick turns his body to face all the others, and after a beat lets out a laugh. Everyone else joins in, even evoking a few delighted tears. 

“What did we just walk in on?”

“That was Ben walking out of Charlie’s life for good, I think,” Nick responds, flashing a quick questioning look to Charlie, who nods subtly but assuredly. Nick squeezes Charlie’s hand, which makes him realize that he’s still holding it.

Everyone else then clues in on the men’s interlocked hands.

“So….” Darcy prolongs the single-syllable word suggestively. “Are you two, like, together now?”

The question hits Nick over the head like a cast iron frying pan. He’s stunned, and is sure there are cartoon stars circling in the air a few centimeters above his blonde hair. He’d made some bold claims for show moments prior, but now that it’s just their friends in the audience, Nick is suddenly fearful that maybe Charlie doesn't want to be together?

“Uhm, yeah?” Charlie glances at Nick with a look of…nervousness? Apprehension? Fear? Why would Charlie be afraid to find out whether Nick is interested in being with Charlie? Was his affection not obvious? He guesses they hadn’t, like, confirmed it , but…

“Yeah!” Nick says with an almost triumphant air, projecting confidence despite his total lack of it. Charlie pulses Nick’s hand again. He’s in this, just like Nick. Holy fuck.  

“Finally,” Isaac says flatly, with a small but cheeky grin.

Several gasps can be heard from around the bookshop, and Elle shrieks, “Charlie! I’m so happy for you!” 

She rushes to hug her friend, quickly followed by the rest of the crew. Tao even joins in on the group embrace that swallows up Nick too.

“I mean, I’m happy for you, too, Nick. But you didn’t have to witness the weeks of intense pining from this one,” Elle says from her spot in the middle of a dozen arms. 

“Hey!” Charlie protests, a blush splatter-painted across his cheeks. 

“Ever since Elle’s birthday,” Isaac adds affectionately.

“Yeah, Nicholas, it’s true. We didn’t show you all of the texts from that night. Charlie might’ve even had it worse than you, our resident bisexual disaster!” Darcy prods. 

“Hey!” Nick now protests, sparing a glance at Charlie to see him shyly beaming back at him. Nick can’t help but mirror the expression. 

Pulling away from the tangle of friends, the Queen Meddler extracts her phone from her back pocket. She taps the screen a few times, then flips the device around to reveal a second screenshot to Nick that he was not shown that morning weeks ago, during his first of countless self-pity parties at LGBTea. “Parte deux, mon frère."

[Charlie, 00:03]: can you have elle text tara or darcy to ask nick for the landlord’s #

[Isaac, 00:07]: Why not text Elle yourself?

[Charlie, 00:07]: bc im being polite and asking for your input, business partner

[Isaac, 00:07]: Uh huh. Or you’re trying to get Handsome Nick’s number.

[Charlie, 00:07]: ISAAC I SWEAR TO GOD

[Charlie, 00:09]: forget i said anything

[Charlie, 00:15]: fine. i was. shut up.

Nick stares agog at the phone. Had he been missing signals this whole time? He turns his gaze to Charlie, whose eyes are alight like those electricity energy plasma ball things David had given Nick for his ninth birthday. Nick is sure that his eyes burst forth with joy like a house that has just been strung with too many Christmas lights. 

Nick shoots his shot. “We should go on a date, just us. I mean, if you want to.”

“We should,” Charlie smiles brightly as he nods his head in disbelief. “I’d like that!” 

His heart soars. “Ok, you loafs, get off me! Get off!” he playfully pleads as he wriggles free of the group hug still encompassing the both of them.

---

Nick has everything planned out perfectly. He had snagged a last-minute, same-day reservation at the fancy Italian place two neighborhoods over. They’d get to the bus at 6:04, four minutes before the bus’s scheduled arrival. They’d both have their bus cards ready. They’d ride for six stops, then Nick would press the bell to request the seventh. They’d step off and walk the block and a half to the restaurant just in time for their reservation at 6:30. He’d already texted Charlie a link to the menu, and already selected what he would order. They’d then be just in time for the 8:15 showing of the latest Stephen King novel-turned-film at the small cinema down the street from the restaurant. 

Even if the film won’t be quite to Nick’s taste - he prefers action to horror - he anticipates that he can tolerate literally anything as long as he’s with Charlie. He might even be able to hold Charlie’s hand during the scary parts. And, even though Nick prefers takeaway due to the mouthfeel of many restaurant’s utensils distracting Nick from his meals, he thinks that nothing will bother him, since all spare thoughts will already be consumed by Charlie’s eyes and smile and stories and dimples. 

But then when it comes time to actually go on the date, of course, nothing goes to plan. 

Nick is the perfect gentleman and picks Charlie up at his apartment at the agreed-upon time, 5:50. Well, he actually arrives two minutes early, because it’s impossible for him not to. Nellie all but pushed Nick out the door because she was growing so tired of his nervous pacing. He’s dismayed to feel a couple of raindrops spitting down on him, but not enough that he needs to turn around and retrieve his umbrella. 

When Charlie opens the door, the butterflies that had been fluttering around Nick’s stomach all day burst into flight. Charlie looks dashing. He has on an understated black cashmere sweater over a crisp polka-dotted shirt with the collar peeking over the sweater’s neckband. The high tops he wears are the brightest, purest white Nick has ever laid his eyes on. How does one manage to find shoes that white, let alone keep them so clean? If it were Nick, he’d surely somehow spill potting soil all over them immediately upon stepping out of the shoe store. 

“Ready?” Nick asks once his brain comes back online. He holds out an elbow, which his handsome date readily accepts. 

“You look…” Nick licks his lips nervously, in awe of the man beside him as they descend the narrow staircase in step. Ravishing. Drop-dead gorgeous. Unreal. Magnificent. Stunning. Unbelievable.

“Thanks,” Charlie replies with a slight blush and a shy smile that quirks his nose to the side, saving Nick from having to find an appropriately all-encompassing but still respectful word. “You do, too.”

The blonde breathes out a thank you as he focuses all his mental energy on not tripping down the creaky stairs, which would thereby cause them both to tumble and effectively end their first date before it even begins. 

Obviously Nick had stressed about his outfit since he’d confirmed that Charlie was free this evening. That is, after their group of friends dissipated post-celebration of him and Charlie finally getting their act together, and Nick making a mental note to send some strongly-worded DMs about no one urging him to make a move sooner. With the help of a video call with Elle (and some wisecracks from Tao in the background), a visit from the meddling neighbors, and multiple Google searches of how to tie the bowtie Nick hadn’t worn since grammar school, he’d settled on the perfect first-date appropriate outfit: pressed chinos, a long-sleeved pale green button-down under an “informal blazer” as Elle called it, and the newer pair of his iconic black Vans.

Elle had urged him to go with dress shoes, but Darcy and Tara both insisted that when it comes to footwear, practicality and comfort override fashion. A statement that only hurt his feelings slightly, when he considered that they were essentially calling his daily sneakers unfashionable.

Nick pushes the door to the street open for Charlie, and the men are immediately greeted with a spray of cold water. 

“Yikes, it’s like the water main in the sky burst!” Charlie yells over the downpour as he squints out to the street. “Let me go get my umbrella! Wait here?”

Charlie is so thoughtful. Nick nods and eases the door shut as Charlie hightails it back up the steps three at a time. 

Then, it’s just one unfortunate incident after the next. The bus stop is unlit, so the bus driver doesn’t see the two men waiting there, and it speeds past. As Nick steps out to try and wave the bus down, its back tires spray what feels like an entire lake’s worth of muddy puddle water on him. When Charlie comes to check on Nick, they both then get splashed by a taxicab. They decide to hoof it the seven stops on foot through the torrential downpour, and make it only three or four minutes past their reservation time. The restaurant has only one empty table left, since they hadn’t thought to phone the incredibly popular establishment and tell them that they were still on their way. As the host checks the guest log at the podium, Nick watches Charlie’s face go pale as a ghost.

It’s loud inside. It’s really, really loud. And it’s so dimly lit that Nick can barely see his own hand holding Charlie’s. And the restaurant’s specialty must be some kind of fish, as evidenced by the pervasive smells wafting through the air. 

After a beat of overstimulation, Charlie huffs out a sharp breath. “Nick. Can we just, not do this?”

This request stops Nick dead in his tracks. Charlie isn’t having a good time. Well, obviously Nick isn’t having a good time, either, but he’s doing his very best to accommodate all of Charlie’s wants and needs into the perfect first date. Unable to process the other man’s words due to the wind being knocked out of him, Nick turns. “...What?”

“I just…this feels like a lot. For both of us. And I really, really enjoy spending time with you. But do we have to do…” he gestures between their two bodies, then in a grand circle up ahead toward the noisy restaurant, “...this?” 

Nick falters. Sure, they’d literally run here, missed the bus, and were completely soaked. The romantic table by the front window that Nick had requested was given away, so they’d be stuck fighting over the last remaining table right by the loud, bustling kitchen with another couple whose reservation had also been given away. But, it was so nice to be out with Charlie. 

On second thought though, Charlie was right. Nick was having a terrible time. And by the looks of his dripping curls that he’s obviously trying hard to not shake out like a dog, Charlie is having an awful time, too. 

“Course not,” Nick coos, scooping up both of Charlie’s hands. “Should we just go home, call it a night?”

“What! Nick, no! That’s, that’s not what I meant!” Charlie shakes his head adamantly, a look of sadness behind his blue eyes that shimmer in the moody candlelight. “Unless…you’ve probably got way more interesting things to do tonight. Yeah, we should just go home. Sorry. I’m making this so awkward.”

“Charlie.” 

Nick squeezes Charlie’s hands before nodding to the waitress that the other couple can take the last remaining table. Gently pulling Charlie aside into the foyer, the blonde drops his grasp and moves his hands to Charlie’s face. He looks back at him, forlorn and unsure of himself, for some reason that Nick will never understand but hopes to someday help him unlearn. But he nods consent.

So Nick kisses Charlie. 

Charlie hesitates for a moment, but Nick can feel the nervousness in his jaw unclench underneath his fingers. Then Charlie kisses Nick back.

Hoping his actions speak louder than any words he could possibly say to Charlie to reassure him, Nick breaks away to smile softly down at his date. “I’ve got a better idea than this madness. Let’s go catch the bus back to the block.”

---

“Ok, here we have every single one of the curry place’s best offerings. Lamb tikka, vegetable korma, cashew curry, and potato samosas. And of course, extra-extra naan,” Nick announces as he plops down on the sofa in his flat and hands Charlie a plate.

On the perfectly-timed bus ride home from the false start to their date, Nick pulled up the menu of the curry shop around the corner from their building. Nick was chuffed to learn that Charlie still hadn’t tried it, despite Nick having eaten there several times himself since Charlie moved in next-door. Charlie selected curry and samosas, and Nick filled out the order with some other spicy favorites of his that he thought Charlie might enjoy. By the time Charlie had changed out of his soaking-wet fancy clothes and into pajamas, Nick was back with the takeaway and ready to settle in with a film.

“How did you pivot your plans so quickly? I feel terrible, I feel like I’ve ruined our first date,” Charlie says as he gazes down at his empty plate.

“Charlie,” Nick breathes out as he lifts his adjacent leg up beneath him, thus turning his upper body to face the other man. “I am so fucking happy to be on a date with you at all. It doesn’t matter to me if we’re at some fancy, incredibly overwhelming restaurant, or at the movies, or attempting salsa dancing, or bowling, or spending the day at the boardwalk taking goofy photo booth selfies, or right here. It’s all worth it to be with you.”

Charlie blushes, a reaction which he tries to hide by leaning forward to dig into the takeaway that’s piled on the coffee table. Nick is grateful for that, because he can feel a flush warming his own freckled cheeks. 

Nick continues, “I’ve been wanting to take you to this curry spot since that night I came upon you and Isaac singing your Spanish song.” He beams over at his date, who sits back on the couch with a full plate and a shy smile. Nicholas, just go for it . “But I liked you way before that. Like, since that first time you came into Nellie’s, all rushed and flustered. I thought I was going to get a third-degree burn from accidentally brushing my fingers along yours when I passed you your purchases. But, like, in a good way. A nervous way. A holy fuck, why am I such a bisexual disaster sort of way.” 

The blonde can’t help but laugh at his own ridiculousness, and is surprised that Charlie doesn’t join in. His heart swoops - why isn’t Charlie laughing ? He finds those piercing blue eyes that he can’t wait to be allowed to memorize, now that he doesn’t have to act like he’s not head over heels for this man; cerulean mingles with azure and Nick tumbles into the deep pools of Charlie’s thoughtfulness.

“...you liked me all the way back then?” the man almost whispers.

Nick chortles. “Was that not obvious? Like, all of our friends knew, apparently! I just couldn’t get my act together. I wanted to respect your needs, your space, your-”

“ Nick. ” Charlie sets his untouched food back down on the coffee table to give Nick his undivided attention. The man’s mouth starts and stops forming words several times before he eventually gives up on speech altogether. He clasps Nick’s cheeks between his hands, and pulls him in for a kiss.

The men never do get around to watching a film. They spend the rest of the evening with their lips locked, punctuated by breaks for samosas and poking fun at one another over their mutual obtuseness in disbelieving the other’s cues over the prior weeks. Nick is stunned when he learns that for as much of a bisexual disaster he is, Charlie’s gay panic may have been somehow even more profound. Except for taking Nellie out for one final walk before her bedtime, they each find the other too enrapturing to bother pulling their attention away from one another.

“Would you want to move over to the bed?” Nick suggests when he comes up for air, his body pressed against Charlie’s as they lay horizontally on the sofa.

The curly-haired man peers at Nick through his lush lashes, blue eyes sparkling and lips swollen. He glances to the bed, then to Nick, and then as if on cue Charlie dramatically yawns. Nick laughs as Charlie moves to cover his mouth to stifle the involuntary act, but is unsuccessful in hiding his sleepiness.

“I…think I should probably head home. I wish I didn’t have to go, but, my brain is kind of spinning from the day we’ve had. I need to….decompress.” Charlie looks downcast, or at least as much as he can from centimeters away from Nick’s face. “I’m sorry my brain is like this sometimes. Maybe tomorrow?”

Nick finally lets the realistic constraints of existing in their neurodivergent bodies come into focus. He searches his body for any pangs of anxiety or mistrust over what Charlie is asking for, and he finds none. The other man’s simple honesty in always reliably asking for what he needs, stating his boundaries, and saying what he is feeling, means that Nick trusts Charlie’s words inherently. There is no fear that Charlie might not like Nick; there is no worry that the two of them are moving too fast for his comfort level. He is simply needing to be by himself tonight.

“Char. No s-word. Honestly, I can’t say I’m not bummed we’re not going to spend even more time together, but you’re right. I think we both can use a bit of time to let our heads settle.” The blonde plants another kiss on Charlie’s lips, and strokes small circles on his back with the hand that somehow made its way under the man’s t-shirt. “I like you. I am really, really happy.”

Eyes bluer than butterfly pea flowers examine Nick’s face thoughtfully. As he does so, the dimples that have hardly disappeared all night deepen even more than Nick thought possible. “I like you, too. I am really, really, really happy.”

Nick kisses each dimple, shocked with himself that he hadn’t yet realized that he can kiss Charlie’s dimples now .

---

As he brushes his teeth, Nick gazes into the mirror as he reflects on how the tumult of his life as of late has quieted into easy, beautiful, glorious comfort. Everything with Charlie has felt so natural, yet the way Nick’s heart thumps in his chest as he considers how radically his life has changed in just a few weeks’ time feels almost unnatural. 

He hears a faint knocking on the shared wall. Rap rap rap.

His phone buzzes on the kitchen counter as he wanders over to the wall to listen. Maybe Charlie needs something? 

[Charlie, 23:41]: That’s me saying goodnight :)

Nick begins to type a response, but realizes that there’s no point in texting back. Instead, he knocks three times on the wall, right where he heard the sound coming from. Right over one of the Monet-inspired water lilies, if memory serves him. 

Not that Nick has already memorized every last bit of Youssef and Nathan’s art that drenches Charlie’s brain in chaotic visual comfort daily. 

He hears a second rap rap rap immediately in response. Nick squeezes his eyes shut as a pleasant warmth washes over his body. He places his palm flat against the wall and is confident enough in the man’s divulged feelings that Nick can imagine Charlie doing the same.

A few contented moments later, Nick smiles to himself as he climbs into bed, gazing over at his propagation shelf where a leaf from Charlie’s jade-repotting fiasco sits in a small jar of water, growing roots. He can’t wait to teach Charlie all about it.