Chapter Text

Chapter 1

Nick Nelson’s head hurts. His back hurts. His eyes hurt.

He’s been staring at the same page of eight-point-font legal jargon for the past hour, and it makes no more sense to him now than it did when he started. He glances at the clock - 19:57. Fuck. He’d promised Immy he’d be home earlier tonight.

Nick removes his glasses and rubs the bridge of his nose, his amber eyes burning with fatigue. His stomach growls, aggressively reminding him that he’s missed supper. Supper with Imogen. Again. His mobile is in his briefcase, ringer purposely switched off. Nick knows she’s probably texted half a dozen times at least, but he doesn’t know what to say. “Sorry, love, I know it’s the fourth night in a row that I’ve had to work late, but if I don’t get this sorted before court on Friday, I likely won’t have a job come Monday.” Despite it being true, the explanation is entirely played out with Imogen. God knows she’s been more patient with him than he deserves.

It wasn’t always like this. There was a time when Nick was actually excited about his legal career. He’s always been an idealist. He had believed that a career in law would give him the opportunity to right wrongs and make the world around him a little better. So he did his undergrad in Sustainable Development, hoping to one day work in environmental policy law creating sustainable communities where human needs could be balanced with environmental stewardship. 

Unfortunately for Nick, his father had other plans for him.

Nick and his elder brother, David, had spent most of their young lives being raised by their mother, Sarah, who was a nurse. Their father, Stéphane, had spent most of his sons' formative years living in Paris with his new wife, and Nick could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen his dad between primary school and his university graduation. But two years ago, Stéphane had divorced his second wife and returned to England to set up a legal practice. Where Nick’s legal interests were primarily altruistic in nature, his father was much less scrupulous. The vast majority of Fournier & Associates’ clients were developers who needed legal advice on how to navigate England’s many and varied environmental protection laws, and no one was better at finding the loopholes in those policies than Stéphane. And of course Nick’s brother David, never one to get his knickers in a twist over something like ethics when there was money to be made, had completed his own solicitor training and immediately joined their father’s firm. When Stéphane heard his younger son was also pursuing a career in law, he was insistent that Nick should join the family business. 

Nick had firmly rejected Stéphane’s first offer. Nothing could be less appealing to him than working with his estranged father and dickhead brother. But as the weeks and months ticked on, Nick found himself unable to secure the required two-year training contract with literally any other firm while he studied for his LPC. One night when Nick was feeling particularly desperate about his situation, Stéphane rang and made him another extremely generous offer. With his educational debts mounting, Nick found himself actually considering working with his dad. After a long conversation with Imogen and much soul searching, Nick bit the bullet and accepted the contract. It was only two years after all. How bad could it be?

Now, in the stark light of retrospect, Nick deeply wishes he had told Stéphane to go fly a kite. Newly-graduated Nick was so naïve. He was so hopeful that this job would be good: maybe it could be the opportunity to finally have a relationship with his father. He had called his mum right after accepting Stéphane’s offer. She’d been surprised, of course (to put it mildly - her response had bordered on flabbergasted). Sarah told Nick in no uncertain terms that she thought his joining Fournier & Associates was a mistake: the firm didn’t represent Nick’s ideals, and he wasn’t the cutthroat, morally flexible type of person that his father and brother were. But despite his initial reservations and his mother’s warnings, Nick went ahead with the plan anyway, convinced that he could use this opportunity to rebuild the bonds with his father that had been severed when Stéphane had left for France all those years ago.

Now, after nearly a year of working himself to the bone at the behest of his emotionally-distant father and his arsehole brother, Nick’s fantasy of the practice being the thing to finally bring his family together seems laughable. Some days Nick can hear his mother’s voice in his head, her warnings about how wrong this could go still ringing in his ears clear as day. They used to be close, he and his mum. Now, the worse work gets, the less he talks to her. Nick can’t bear to tell her she was right; that he’s absolutely miserable. He’d fought her so hard when he took the job, insisting he knew better than she did, and he’s too embarrassed to go running back to her now and admit he’d been wrong. He’ll just have to tough it out.

Speaking of. Nick runs a hand through his thoroughly-tousled auburn hair and sighs defeatedly. Nothing more is going to come of staring at this page: he’s exhausted. Just gonna have to face the old man’s wrath tomorrow. He closes the folio containing the papers and leaves it on his blotter, standing up and stretching his weary body before packing up his briefcase and heading down to the car park. His Jaguar is the last car in the parkade. The car was a gift from his father when Nick joined the firm (“Can’t have you showing up to work in your dented voiture de merde,” Stéphane had laughed when he handed Nick the keys). He unlocks the door and slides in, taking a second to squeeze the steering wheel and take some calming breaths before putting the car in gear and aiming towards home.

Despite his fancy car and his definitely-not-entry-level salary, the only thing nice about Nick and Imogen’s flat in Battersea is the address. After he’d started at Fournier & Associates, Imogen suggested they move somewhere a bit nicer than their university flat, and he had reluctantly agreed. It wasn't like they couldn't afford it. Imogen was the decorator of the couple, and she had immediately taken it upon herself to add some ‘personality’ to the rather bland flat in the form of throw pillows, framed photos, and pieces of accent furniture, and Nick had to admit she had an eye for decor. A regular topic of conversation between them is the need to renovate the flat to make it more “livable” (Immy’s words). The galley kitchen is too small, not that Nick’s ever home long enough to cook, and the bathrooms need updating, even though Nick’s pretty sure showering in an old shower isn’t that different from showering in a new one. Imogen’s always suggesting to Nick that they should hire a contractor and start making plans to turn their flat into a home, but between his hours at work and studying for his LPC, Nick hasn’t exactly got the time to discuss cabinet finishes and paint samples. He told Imogen she could go ahead and do what she liked with the space as long as she kept the expenses within reason. It’s just a flat, after all. He doesn't care what colour the walls are, but if it makes Imogen happy to play decorator, at least Stéphane’s money is there to finance her wishes.

Nick parks the Jag in front of the house and heads inside, dropping his briefcase the second he’s in the door. There’s some scrabbling from the far end of the corridor as his beloved border collie, Nellie, runs to greet him. She’s getting on in years, but she never fails to get up and meet Nick at the door every night, her plume of a chocolate-and-white tail wagging, a smile on her face. Nick kneels down to greet her, pressing their foreheads together and wrapping his arms around her neck.

“Hello, girl,” he whispers into her ear, ruffling her fur as she leans against him. “Good day?” Nellie lets out a soft boof, clearly replying in the affirmative.

“Nick?”

Nick squeezes his eyes shut, and he inhales the scent of Nellie’s fur once more before standing back up.

“Yep, hi.”

Imogen appears at the end of the corridor. She’s in her pajamas: silk trousers and a matching button-up shirt that hangs off her curvaceous frame in a way that makes Nick’s heart stutter in his chest. She’s absolutely stunning: piles of golden-blonde hair flowing in waves past her shoulders, full lips, and enormous blue eyes with a mischievous twinkle in them that Nick can’t say no to. But right now, she’s got her arms crossed over her chest, her manicured brows furrowed in a frown. Her plump lower lip is sticking out in a soft pout.

“Where’ve you been?” she asks him.

“Work,” Nick replies, his tone more curt than he’d intended. He hears Imogen huff softly, and he immediately feels guilty.

“I made dinner.”

“Thanks,” Nick replies. 

“At six,” Imogen continues, pausing heavily, her tone expectant.

Nick sighs and turns to her, his expression penitent. “I’m sorry, Im. My dad gave me this fucking brief to work on at like, half five, and said he needed it for the morning.”

Imogen nods, saying nothing, her lips pressed together in a line. Nick rubs the back of his neck, guilt turning somersaults in his stomach as the awkward silence stretches on.

“I am sorry,” he says again. “I know all these late nights are shit. I swear, I'm trying to get home earlier, work is just so busy.”

Imogen nods, exhaling a soft, resigned sigh. She finally moves toward him, and Nick opens his arms to embrace her. She leans her small frame against him and he holds her close, resting his chin on the top of her blonde head.

“I just miss you,” Imogen murmurs against his chest, and Nick sighs deeply.

“I miss you, too.” He pulls back and leans down to place a gentle kiss on her lips.

Imogen’s frown melts into a soft smile, and Nick sees that familiar twinkle return to her eyes as she grips Nick’s tie in her hands, giving it a playful tug. “I feel like I'm starting to forget what you look like.”

Nick grins wryly, gently rubbing the small of her back through her silk top. “Yeah, it’s definitely been a long week.”

Imogen stares up at him with her big blue eyes and bats her eyelashes, her lower lip tucked between her teeth. “Maybe you could have some supper, and then you could remind me?” She raises a perfectly groomed eyebrow suggestively.

A tightness forms between Nick’s shoulders at her suggestion, but he smiles and nods. “Yeah, sure. Sounds good.”

Imogen sits with him at the table while he eats reheated pasta and a slightly wilted salad. She chats away about her day at work and which of her colleagues is the worst and why, and how she just has so many ideas but feels like no one takes her seriously, and on, and on, and on. Nick half-listens, nodding and making interested noises, but his mind is elsewhere. He’s already imagining his father’s reaction when he sees the semi-completed brief in the morning: disdain colouring Stéphane’s dark features, the inevitable criticisms en français so only Nick understands. Imogen’s cooking tastes like ash in his mouth, and despite the smile he forces onto his lips to appease her, the hollowness that’s taken up residence in Nick’s chest just grows and grows.

They tidy up from dinner and head upstairs, where Imogen pulls Nick down onto the bed, kissing him deeply as she unbuttons his shirt. He runs his hands over her body, pulling off her silk pajamas and lacy underwear and exploring her skin with his hands and mouth, the same way he has a thousand times before. She’s beautiful and responsive under his touch, sighing and moaning and gasping and begging for more, and Nick obliges, touching and tasting her in all the ways he knows will make her melt. In moments he’s inside her, her nails digging into his back, her moans echoing in his ears as she climaxes beneath him. It’s hot and it’s sexy and Nick loves her, but he just can’t seem to get there. She assures him it’s okay, that she loves him, that he’s under a lot of stress, and he agrees, taking her suggestion to have a shower and come back to bed to get some rest. 

As soon as Nick’s in the bathroom, he locks the door and turns the water in their shower on to full blast. He’s snuck his phone into the loo with him in the palm of his large hand, and he quickly opens an incognito browser to a familiar website. He double-checks that the volume on his phone is low, and that the bluetooth connection to the bedroom speakers is off, then clicks on a video link. The screen fills with the image of two men - one large and muscular like him, the other smaller and more lithe - kissing, touching, gasping and writhing against each other. Nick reaches down and grasps his rapidly hardening cock, giving it a few swift tugs as he watches. He leans his body into the shower as the younger man bends over, pulling one leg up onto the bed as the larger man gets behind him. The camera pans to the smaller man’s face and Nick’s hand speeds up as the smaller man’s features contort in silent pleasure. Nick watches, mouth open, fist tight around his cock as the larger man grasps the smaller man’s shoulders and begins thrusting into him hard and fast, the younger man gasping and moaning in ecstasy. In seconds Nick is shuddering, shooting into the shower, his spend pooling on the shower floor and spiraling down the drain as he pants, biting his lip through a soundless orgasm. Immediately he closes the video and opens another browser window - a sports website - before locking his phone and laying it on the counter with a shaking hand. He steps into the shower and stands under the scalding water, shame pouring off his exhausted body as he leans against the wall on wobbly legs. The water soothes his aching muscles, but nothing touches his aching heart.

*************

"Nicolas, c'est quoi ça?” (“Nicholas, what is this?”)

Nick squeezes his eyes shut and feels his chest tighten. His father is standing in the doorway to his office, the semi-finished legal brief in his hand.

“C'est le mémoire juridique que tu as demandé,” (“It’s the brief you asked for,”) Nick replies. 

Stéphane shakes his head. “Il n'est pas terminé.” (“It’s not finished.”)

“C'est tout ce que j'ai pu faire. J'ai un des parajuristes qui termine la dernière partie,” (“It’s as close as I could get it. I’ve got one of the paralegals finishing up the last bit,”) Nick explains.

Stéphane frowns. “Mais c'est à toi que j'ai demandé de le faire.” (“But I asked you to do it.”)

Nick grits his teeth, trying to keep his tone even: his colleagues can hear them through the open door of his office, and Nick is sure that they're all aware by now that when Stéphane starts addressing Nick in French, it's not good. “Papa, j'ai fait tout ce que je pouvais. Je suis resté tard tous les soirs cette semaine, je suis épuisé.” (“Papa, I did as much as I could. I’ve been here late every night this week, I’m exhausted.”)

His father sets his lips in a tight line, his thick brows furrowed in an expression Nick recognizes as disappointment: this particular expression was very familiar to young Nick, who got quite used to seeing it during his father’s infrequent visits.

“Je t'ai donné ce travail parce que je voulais que ce soit toi qui le fasses, Nicolas,” (“I gave this to you because I wanted you to do it, Nicholas,”) Stéphane tells his son. “J'ai besoin de savoir que tu sais ce que tu fais, que tu es capable de gérer ces dossiers plus complexes, afin de te préparer à ta carrière.” (“I need to see that you know what you’re doing, that you can handle these more complicated briefs in order to prepare you for your career.”)

“Je fais de mon mieux, Papa,” (“I am doing my best, Papa,”) Nick assures him, running a hand through his hair.

Stéphane tsks. “Peut-être que ton mieux n’est pas suffisant.” (“Perhaps your best is not good enough.”)

Nick clenches his jaw. There it is: the bait. Stéphane waits for Nick to respond, to get angry, to argue with him, to promise to do better. But Nick is tired, and frankly, he’s over this conversation. He pulls himself to his feet and buttons his jacket, reaching for his overcoat.

“I’m going to get a coffee,” he tells Stéphane, switching to English as he brushes past him.

“We have coffee here!” Stéphane retorts, but Nick’s out the door already, leaving his baffled father behind. 

Nick takes the stairs down to the ground floor, needing to move to dispel some of the adrenaline that’s built up in his body from the conversation with his father. Jesus Christ, he’s such a fucking twat, Nick thinks to himself as his wingtips ring on the concrete stairs. He’s down the eighteen flights in a flash, forcefully shoving the door to the street open with his shoulder. He hears a noise as the door swings open and he stops dead, gasping in shock.

“Oh my god, are you alright?!”

A slender man in a long black wool coat is standing on the sidewalk, literal inches from where the heavy metal door swung open. Thank Christ the door missed him, but his eyes are wide with shock. He blinks rapidly and it takes a moment for him to register Nick’s voice.

“Yeah… yes, I’m fine.” The man’s head quickly snaps towards Nick, his eyes flashing with anger. “You ought to be more careful! Someone could get hurt! I nearly did!”

“I’m so sorry,” Nick stammers. His heart is racing, and not just from the shock of nearly flattening a stranger with a door. The man’s eyes are a striking shade of blue, somewhere between azure and cerulean, and they’re framed by thick, dark eyelashes. His perfectly-coiffed curls are dark as night and they blow gently in the cold breeze. He’s long and lean with sharp cheekbones and a strong jaw, and though he’s frowning, Nick can’t help but notice how pink and full his lips are. 

Nick realises that the man is still staring angrily at him but he’s unable to form words. He can feel his face growing hot with embarrassment, but he manages to wrench his gaze away from the stranger’s face to stare in mortification at his own shoes. Internally Nick’s cursing himself, not just for his clumsiness, but also for the way he just dissolves into a gobsmacked mess whenever a good looking man crosses his path.

Eventually the slim man huffs out a breath. “Well, no harm done,” he says flatly, straightening his coat. “Thank god.”

“Yeah,” Nick agrees, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, his blush burning his cheeks. “Um, again, I’m really sorry.” He dares a quick glance back up at the gorgeous stranger’s face, praying he doesn’t immediately burst into flames.

The man’s face softens incrementally, and Nick feels a flicker of warmth in his belly at the hint of what must be an absolutely stunning smile. “It’s okay,” the man says softly. “It was just an accident.”

“Yeah.” Nick nods.

For a moment they’re both silent. Nick knows he's staring, but he can't help it: his brain is literally unable to function. Eventually the man clears his throat. 

“Um, I’m just… gonna go.”

“Right, yes. Of course.” Nick steps back and the man proceeds to amble down the sidewalk at a quick clip, leaving a dumbstruck Nick in his wake. “Have a good day,” Nick manages to call awkwardly after the man’s retreating form, but the stranger either doesn’t hear him or takes no notice. 

Nick’s heart is beating in his chest like a jackhammer. He has to take a moment to lean against the side of the building to catch his breath. It’s been awhile since he’s been so struck by a person. That guy was… well, gorgeous. Nick squeezes his eyes shut and presses the heels of his hands against them until he sees stars, the feelings swirling inside his stomach making him nauseous.

It’s moments like these when Nick thinks how much simpler his life would be if he were straight.

Chapter Text

Chapter Two

Nick Nelson’s bisexual awakening wasn't a single, defining moment. It was less a seismic event and more decades of tiny tremors that added up to a complete shift of the geology he was accustomed to standing on. Little things like wanting to spend time with his brother’s older friends, desperate for them to notice him. Trying extra hard at rugby practice when a particular older lad was watching. Spending as much time staring at Orlando Bloom’s eyes as he did Keira Knightley’s when he watched Pirates of the Caribbean for the seven hundredth time. Nick was about sixteen when he realised that he liked boys as well as girls. With a little Googling and some exploratory research into ‘adult viewing’, Nick settled on the label bisexual for himself. But even though he was sometimes attracted to boys, the overwhelming number of girls who sought out his company meant Nick never felt any need to explore that side of himself beyond the odd wank fantasy. It was easier to just date girls and limit his interest in men to a private activity, so that’s what he did. 

Dating girls also kept him safe from the homophobic taunts and slurs his mates loved to hurl at each other in the locker room. The rugby lads at Truham Grammar weren’t exactly an inclusive bunch. The team moved in a cloud of toxic masculinity, and many of them made it their business to torment students who were less athletically inclined. While Nick didn’t participate in the bullying, he knew better than to speak out against it and risk becoming a target. Being ‘out’ wasn’t an option.

In university Nick was recruited to the rugby team, where he found himself surrounded by grown-up versions of the bullies he’d gone to school with. Homophobic jokes were high on the list of favourite ways for his teammates to rinse one another, and despite not actively participating, Nick did nothing to stop it. Once he made captain, Nick became extremely popular with the women on campus. Sure, there were lots of good-looking guys around, and more than once Nick actually felt a real attraction to a guy he’d seen in class, or on an opposing rugby team. But as ever, it was easier - safer - to let those fantasies remain fantasies and keep going with girls. There were certainly plenty of interested candidates. Nick always had a good-looking girl on his arm at every third half party, and by the end of his second year, he’d earned himself a bit of a reputation as a ladies’ man. 

It wasn’t until his third year at uni that Nick tested the waters of his bisexuality. He was on a pub crawl with some of his rugby buddies, but in the haze of drink and music Nick lost track of them. He stumbled along the high street, fuzzy-headed and alone, cursing himself for losing sight of his mates in the throng of people in the crowded pub. He couldn’t remember where the next stop on the crawl was, and it was a long walk back to his dorm, so Nick stopped for a moment to lean against a brick wall and check wait times for an Uber while he had a smoke (something he only did when he was really, really drunk). As his alcohol-soaked brain attempted to make sense of the information flashing across his phone screen, someone leaned up against the wall beside him.

“Got an extra smoke?”

Nick glanced up and found himself staring into a pair of shimmering green eyes, and his breath caught in his throat. The boy standing beside him was roughly his age, maybe a bit younger, and much slimmer, all long, lithe limbs wrapped in black denim. He gave Nick a soft smile through lush, plump lips, and Nick felt his heart hammer against his ribcage. He managed to knock a cigarette out of his pack without dropping it, despite his shaking hands. As the cigarette changed hands, the boy’s delicate fingers brushed his own. Nick felt something pass between them, a bolt of electricity so intense it was almost visible. Nick’s gaze flew up to the other boy’s face, and he found him staring back, his green eyes wide. 

He felt it, too.

“Thanks.” The boy pulled a lighter out of his pocket and lit the cigarette effortlessly, sucking a drag deep into his lungs before blowing a cloud of smoke out from between those perfect lips. Nick had never been so jealous of a cigarette before.

“You here by yourself?” the boy asked, turning his emerald gaze back to Nick.

“My mates… I was following them, but I guess they went on ahead? I was just about to head home…” Nick stammered as the slender lad tilted his head, offering a coy smile that rendered Nick unable to speak. His gaze dropped to Nick’s trainers, then his green eyes swept slowly up Nick’s body. Every inch of Nick’s skin flickered to life as those eyes traversed his body appraisingly. When the boy’s eyes met his again, he gave Nick a playful grin, his eyes sparkling. Then he extended his hand. 

“Thomas.”

Nick’s hand floated up of its own accord, wrapping itself around Thomas’s. Thomas’s fingers were slim and cool; his nails painted a glossy black. “Nick.”

“Nick,” Thomas repeated, putting extra emphasis on the ‘k’, letting it click against the roof of his mouth. His tongue sneaked quickly out of his mouth, wetting his lips, and Nick’s knees wobbled. “You don't really want to go home yet, do you, Nick?” Nick swallowed hard. Thomas was staring into Nick’s eyes, his gaze making Nick’s blood burn like molten rock in his veins. His fingers were still intertwined with Nick’s, the pad of his thumb brushing the inside of Nick’s wrist. Nick’s entire body felt like it was on fire. There was something about Thomas, something that filled Nick with an all-consuming hunger unlike any he had ever experienced. Somewhere in the back of his mind a voice screamed that this was a terrible idea, but the pull of Thomas’s eyes and the heat crackling in the air between them was irresistible.

“What did you have in mind?” Nick replied, willing his voice not to shake.

Thomas’s smile exploded across his face and Nick nearly gasped, stunned that Thomas could somehow get more beautiful. He pulled Nick by the hand and led him on a zigzagging path through back alleys and side streets. Thomas was always one step ahead, and Nick had to move quickly to keep up. Nick had no clue where they were headed, but he found he could care less. Thomas was clearly enjoying being chased, giggling as he jogged in and out of the pools of light cast by the streetlamps that trimmed the sidewalk, the sound of his laughter ringing off the pavement like bells. He never got too far ahead, casting a glance back over his shoulder every few paces and laughing with delight when he saw that Nick was still behind him. Which he was; never more than a few steps away, determined to keep up. That is, until Thomas rounded a corner. Nick lost sight of him for a moment, panic suddenly gripping his chest. He picked up speed as he rounded the bend, then his momentum suddenly halted as he collided firmly with Thomas’s chest. Nick slammed into the slender man with an audible ooof, rocketing him backward, his significant bulk pinning Thomas’ back against a wall. Thomas’s breath was ragged from the exertion, but he laughed and draped his arms around Nick’s neck, drawing Nick’s face close to his own.

“This okay?” he asked. Nick’s heart thundered in his ears and his breath came in rough gasps. He managed a nod and laid his hands gingerly on Thomas’s hip bones, his fingertips finding a thin strip of bare skin where Thomas’s jeans didn’t quite meet the hem of his t-shirt. And then Thomas’s lips were on his and Nick felt his feet lift off the ground.

Nick had never kissed a man before, but he had thought about it plenty. His wank bank was full of fantasies of being with men: his celebrity crushes, hot guys he’d seen on television, even a few of those attractive lads he’d met on campus. But this kiss was so much more than Nick ever could have imagined. Thomas’s face was bristly with a day’s worth of growth, his lips hot and slick against Nick’s. He smelled like aftershave and deodorant and smoke and so distinctly like a man that Nick’s head started to spin. Nick pressed himself against Thomas’s body, his hands gripping the other man’s hips as Thomas sighed deeply into his mouth. Nick could feel the sinew of Thomas’s abdominal muscles as they shifted under his fingers and he had to hold himself back from sliding his fingers further under Thomas’s shirt, aching to explore the rest of his body. They stood like that, pressed up against the wall of that building, snogging each other senseless until Nick could scarcely breathe.

Thomas took Nick to a gay club. The place was packed with men, all dancing and kissing and grinding against one another. Nick’s eyes couldn’t choose one single thing to focus on, his mind swimming as the lights swirled around him and the thump of the bass rattled his bones. He followed Thomas to the dance floor where Thomas wrapped himself around Nick, his hands and lips exploring as much of Nick’s skin as they could reach as they danced together. Nick’s head was buzzing, not from the alcohol he’d consumed earlier (he’d long since sobered up), but from the sensation of Thomas’s body against his: his hands on Nick’s chest and shoulders and back and arse, his lips dragging along Nick’s jawline. Thomas turned in his arms and pressed his back against Nick’s chest, grinding back against Nick until Nick was aching in his jeans. 

That was the first time. 

After they left the club, Thomas took Nick back to his, and they had spent the night exploring each other’s bodies, touching and tasting and kissing and gasping and pressing their bodies together in ways Nick had never done before. It was incredible, it was everything, and Nick wanted more. It was like he’d spent his entire life in the desert and Thomas was a spring, his hands and mouth and body filling a space inside of Nick that had always existed but had never been acknowledged, and now that it had, Nick couldn’t ever ignore it again. The sun was starting to rise in the sky before they finally collapsed into sleep, Nick more exhausted and satiated than he’d ever been in his life.

But in the bright light of morning, when Nick awoke in Thomas’s bed, the feeling of elation at the night’s activities vanished as the reality of his situation hit him. Thomas was sound asleep, his dark hair strewn across the pillow, his back to Nick. Nick’s heart hammered in his chest so loudly that he was sure it would wake Thomas. The idea of Thomas waking up; of Nick being here, naked, in another man’s bed – oh god, or someone seeing Nick leaving Thomas’s apartment – Nick’s stomach twisted, threatening to spill its contents.

Nick carefully got up and collected his clothes as quickly and quietly as he could, slipping out of the apartment like a ghost, leaving no trace of his presence behind. He took the bus back to campus, cursing himself the entire time for being so stupid. What if someone from the team had seen him leaving the pub with Thomas? He knew from experience how the other lads talked about gay men, the sort of language they used. His chest constricted as he thought about how they might react to finding out one of their own was… like that. 

When he arrived home, Nick silently unlocked the front door to his flat, slipping off his shoes so his feet wouldn’t make a sound on the stairs. Just as he made it to his bedroom door, the door next to it flew open and the smiling face of his housemate, Sai, appeared. 

Nick’s heart sank like a stone.

“Nicholas!” Sai cheered, clapping Nick hard on the shoulder. “Doing the walk of shame, are we? Did someone get some last night?”

Nick forced a thin-lipped grin onto his face, giving Sai a half-nod. Sai, taking this as assent, whooped loudly.

“Atta boy, Nicky!” he cried joyously. “Oi! Lads! Nick’s home!”

Nick cringed internally as the other two bedroom doors opened, revealing the rumpled faces of their housemates, Christian and Otis.

“God, here we were worried about what happened to you last night, meanwhile you’re having it off with some girl!” Christian said, grinning and shaking his head.

“So, you found somewhere warm to sleep last night, Nick?” Otis teased, waggling his eyebrows.

Nick just shrugged. “After you lot ditched me, what choice did I have?”

The three boys laughed and cheered.

“We didn’t ditch you; you fell behind!” Christian insisted. “Anyway, who was it? Was it that bartender who was giving you eyes? What was her name?”

“Lorelai,” Sai chimed in helpfully.

“Or that blonde that was at practice yesterday? She seemed keen on getting the Full Nelson Experience,” Otis laughed.

Cold sweat beaded across Nick’s shoulders. He schooled his face into practised nonchalance and gave his roommates a cool smile. “I’m not saying anything,” he replied.

“It’s gotta be the blonde,” Christian insisted. “You’d have to be a fucking fag not to tap that!”

Nick’s stomach flipped and he swallowed hard as he felt the remnants of last night’s alcohol trying to reappear in reverse.

“Dude, that girl was so fit, I bet she converts queers back to our team all the time!” Sai laughed. “I’d give my left nut for a go at her.”

“Too bad you don’t look like Nick,” Otis told Sai. “She wouldn’t go near your pansy arse.”

“Say what you will about my arse,” Sai retorted, wiggling his pyjama-clad bum in Otis’s direction. “The ladies love it.”

Nick forced himself to chuckle along as his mates rinsed each other, each one accusing the other of being queer, or a fag, or a fairy for not pulling women the way Nick did. Every syllable of the conversation made Nick feel more and more sick about what he had done with Thomas, all those glorious, technicolour moments in Thomas’s bed discolouring with the vile tones of shame. He finally excused himself from the conversation, claiming fatigue from his overnight misadventures. His mates sent him off to the shower with fanfare and Nick slipped into the shared washroom and locked the door, sinking to the floor as the shaking of his knees became more than he could bear. He buried his hands in his hair, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. 

Nick spent the following weeks doing everything he could to erase Thomas from his mind. The best solution he could come up with was to have as much sex with women as was humanly possible. He did enjoy being with women. Surely what he’d felt with Thomas was replicable with a woman, he just had to find the right one. So, every night, Nick went out on the pull, hooking up with different women as frequently as possible, trying to overwrite the memory of Thomas’s body on his with someone else’s. His reputation as a campus slag increased, as did his status among the rugby lads, every notch on his bedpost thrilling them more. But no matter how many girls he slept with, Nick couldn’t shake the memory of Thomas’s eyes, his slender fingers, the whisper of the stubble on his cheeks. Every time he snuck out of another woman’s bedroom in the dead of night, Nick had to fight the urge to cry. He was disgusted with himself, both for the way he was using these women, and for his inability to just get over Thomas.

Then one night, Nick saw him again.

It was the annual sports association Hallowe’en party. The men’s teams threw the party and the women’s teams attended. Nick, never one for subtlety, decided to go as Aquaman in tight green trousers and a form-fitting, single-sleeved top, his abs on full display. He was about five pints in, chatting with a group of first-year women from the rowing team, when he saw Thomas. He was on the other side of the room, leaning against the doorframe. He was wearing a black mesh shirt with long sleeves and tight leather trousers, his green eyes outlined in thick black liner that made them glitter like jewels. His eyes found Nick’s and time screeched to a halt as they stared at each other from across the room. The sounds of the party fell away as Thomas held his gaze, his face neutral.

“Nick? You okay?”

Nick snapped back to consciousness. He looked down: a petite redhead dressed as Harley Quinn had her hands on his pecs and was staring up at him flirtatiously. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Nick looked up again, casting his eyes to where Thomas had been standing, but he was gone. He scanned the room quickly, panic constricting his throat, but didn’t see him. Nick forced himself to breathe, running a hand through his hair. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good. Normal.” He gave the girl a casual smile, and she giggled brightly. “I’m just… I’m just gonna get another drink. Back in a sec.”

Nick made a beeline for the kitchen and got himself a glass of water, chugging it quickly. It must have been his imagination - how much beer had he had? He leaned against the counter, closing his eyes and breathing slowly to calm his racing heart.

“Hey.”

Nick whirled around and found himself face to face with Thomas. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Thomas looked incredible. Nick could actually feel drool pooling in his mouth as he stared at Thomas, his fingers tingling with the desperate desire to feel Thomas’s skin beneath them again.

“What are you doing here?” Nick asked, immediately cringing at the unintended harshness of his tone.

Thomas bristled and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I’m on the rowing team.” He gave Nick a quick up and down, frowning. “Haven’t seen you since–”

“Um, yeah.” Nick cut Thomas off, glancing nervously around to ensure they weren’t being observed. “I just… you know. Busy.”

Thomas nodded, his jaw tense. “I thought we had a good time,” he said softly, and Nick felt something twist inside him. He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, an obnoxious voice rang out across the kitchen.

“Oy! Nicky!”

A small, dense body slammed into Nick’s side: his teammate Harry, the loudest and most bigoted twat in all of Leeds. Nick’s heart sunk into his shoes: he was fucked.

“Where’ve you been? There’s some girls looking for you!” Harry crowed, slapping Nick on the back. He turned, noticing Thomas and furrowing his unkempt brows in derision. “Who’s this?”

Thomas stared expectantly at Nick, and Nick stared back. In his head, Nick frantically tried to come up with something, anything, to say that would satisfy Harry’s curiosity without incriminating himself. But he couldn't. He closed his eyes, blinking hard, and steadied his voice.

“We just met, actually,” Nick told Harry. Then he turned back to Thomas. “Sorry, um, what was your name?”

And Nick watched as the light behind Thomas’s eyes went out, the glimmering green turning murky.

“Don’t worry about it,” Thomas replied flatly. Then he turned on his heel and walked out of the kitchen. Nick blinked his eyes rapidly; his brain was urging him to call out to Thomas, but his mouth was full of cotton. Every muscle in Nick’s body started screaming at him - go after him, if you run you can catch him - but his feet stayed stubbornly rooted to the floor. He couldn’t. He couldn’t. So, he silently watched Thomas’s retreating form, a black hole forming in his chest.

Harry scoffed loudly. “Fucking fag. C’mon, let’s go find those girls.” He dragged Nick back into the living room where the ginger-haired Harley Quinn immediately latched onto Nick like a barnacle.

“I was thinking maybe we could head back to mine?” The redhead – fuck, Nick didn’t even remember her name – gave him a saucy smile, and Nick just nodded. She smiled and stood on her toes to pull him down into a kiss, and Nick closed his eyes and shoved his feelings down, down, down into that void in his chest, letting the music and the feeling of warm, soft skin beneath his fingertips smother the sound of his heart breaking in his chest.

*************

Still shaken from his near collision with the handsome stranger, Nick takes the long way to the cafe he likes. He’s in no hurry to get back to work, and the crisp fall air is bracing after so many late nights trapped in his office. With every step Nick curses his father’s name, hoping that in some alternate universe Stéphane is suffering horribly. As he walks, he hears his phone ringing in his pocket. The name on the screen sends Nick’s blood pressure skyrocketing.

(Incoming Call: MUM)

It’s not that Nick doesn’t want to talk to his mum; he absolutely does. He’s been avoiding her since starting work with Stéphane, and he misses her terribly. Growing up, Nick and his mum, Sarah, were extremely close, and he doesn’t like the distance that’s grown between them, but he just doesn’t know how to talk to her about his life right now. Sarah’s always been able to see right through Nick, and he’s not sure he’s ready to be seen. But the phone continues to ring insistently, so he pushes down his reservations and answers.

“Mum!”

“Nicky!” Sarah’s voice is so bright and loving that Nick nearly bursts into tears. “I wasn’t sure I’d be able to reach you, I know you’re at work.”

“Nah, just stepped out for a coffee,” Nick tells her, staring up at the sky and taking a few deep breaths to steady his voice. “Sorry I haven’t returned your calls, Dad’s got me pretty busy.”

“I imagine he does, love,” Sarah replies, the warmth of her smile audible. “Don’t worry about it. I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

“Great,” Nick lies, hoping that his tone is convincing. “Working on a few complicated cases, but I’m learning a lot.”

“And how’s Imogen?”

“Good,” Nick lies again. “She seems to be enjoying work, although she’s not too sure about some of her colleagues.”

Sarah chuckles. “She’s always thrived on gossip, hasn’t she?” 

Nick smiles. “She has.”

There’s a pause before Sarah speaks again. “You’re sure you’re doing alright, Nicky? I know how… intense your father can be. And David…” She trails off, the end of the sentence unnecessary. “I’m happy to help in any way I can if things are busy or stressful.”

Nick sucks in a breath, despair rising like bile in his throat. All he wants is to collapse on the sidewalk and burst into tears; to tell Sarah how miserable he is and how much he regrets going to work for his dad; to beg her to come to London so he can wrap himself in one of her comforting hugs. But he’s an adult now, and the last thing he wants to do is make his mum worry. He made his choices; he’s got to live with them.

“I’m doing fine mum, honestly,” Nick fibs, every cell in his body feeling sick at the thought of lying to his mother. “I’m just really busy.”

“Okay, then,” Sarah says. Her voice is still bright and cheery, but Nick can tell she’s not buying it. “Are you still able to come for Christmas?” she asks.

“Of course,” Nick tells her. “I wouldn’t miss it. Imogen, neither.”

“Good, good. Make sure you bring Nellie; Henry is dying to see her!”

Nick grins at the mental image of Sarah’s manic two-year-old pug and slow, gentle Nellie stirring it up in Sarah’s garden. “Nellie would kill me if she missed it, Mum.”

“Alright, love. You take care and tell Imogen I said hello.”

“Will do, Mum. Love you.”

“Love you too, Nicky.”

Nick ends the call, his fingers shaking as they grip his phone tightly. It hurts him to lie to his mum, especially when she clearly knows something’s wrong. Sarah’s the one person who’s always been there for Nick, and he feels like he’s pushing her away, but he doesn’t want her worrying about his problems. He resolves that he’ll tell her the truth soon. Once things have started to improve at work and he’s feeling a bit more confident in his future, he can tell her how bad this particular stretch was. Then, instead of worrying about him, Sarah will be proud that Nick was able to handle himself.

By the time he reaches the coffee shop, Nick is feeling a little better. There’s a longish queue, which gives him time to contemplate the pastry choices and absorb some of the calm atmosphere while he waits his turn. As he glances around the café, Nick’s eyes land on a familiar figure and his mouth drops open. Sitting at a table by the window is the man Nick nearly smacked with the door just moments ago. He’s reading something on his phone, his dark brows furrowed in thought as he sips his coffee. His long fingers are wrapped around the cup so delicately that Nick wonders how he’s managing to hold it without dropping it. The cool mid-morning light seeping through the window is casting a sort of ethereal glow on the man’s face, highlighting the sharp angles of his cheeks and jaw and making him look like a statue carved in marble. Once again, Nick is struck by the blue of his eyes, how they look like cool water, or the summer sky. Nick realises he’s staring and forcefully turns his focus to the pastry display. Luckily, it seems that the stranger hasn’t noticed him. Nick balls his hands into fists, letting the feeling of his fingernails digging into his palms ground him while he attempts to redirect his attention to the croissants and buns. Why does this man make him feel so…unsteady? So, he’s good looking, so what? Nick’s been around lots of good-looking men. There’s nothing special about this one.

Nick makes it up to the counter where he mumbles his order to the barista. He then shuffles over to the side counter to wait for his drink and his pastry, trying to shrink his six-foot bulk into the smallest space possible so the striking stranger doesn’t spot him. There’s a part of Nick that desperately wants to talk to him, but another (much larger) part that knows it would be safer to just get his coffee and head back to work. Nick’s heart sinks. Ugh, work. He’d really hoped he could hide out at the café for a bit. This is a no-win situation. Nick’s fingers drum out an uneven rhythm on the countertop as he waits; his order seems to be taking an inordinately long time. He risks a quick glance over his shoulder to where the man was sitting. This time, the man is looking right back at him.

“Oh!” Nick nearly jumps out of his skin as he finds himself trapped in the stranger’s stare. “Um, hi.”

“Hi, yourself.” The man is looking at him with mild surprise, but there’s no trace of rudeness or anger in his tone. 

“I didn’t…I was just… when I… before…I was coming to get coffee,” Nick stammers by way of explanation.

“Seems that way,” the man replies. He’s got a smug grin on his face. He’s clearly enjoying how unbelievably awkward Nick is, and Nick curses himself internally for being such a floundering git.

“Sorry. I’m just…” He gestures over his shoulder to the counter and sighs, resigned. “I’m just gonna get my coffee and go, sorry to have bothered you.”

“You’re not bothering me,” the man says quickly, surprising Nick with the sincerity in his voice. Then the stranger nods his chin toward the empty seat beside him at his table. “Did you want to sit?”

The shock that courses through Nick’s body at the offer nearly takes him out at the knees. He hesitates, unsure if perhaps he’s misheard. “Like… with you?”

“That was what I meant, yes,” the man says, chuckling softly. Nick gulps: the sound of that laughter is doing weird things to his stomach. “No pressure,” the stranger adds. “I just…It seems an odd coincidence running into you twice in the span of ten minutes. Plus, you did nearly kill me. The least you could do is offer me half your pastry.”

“Yes! Oh my god, of course.” Nick scoops his (fucking finally ready) order up off the counter behind him and sits down in the empty chair, thrusting his to-go bag towards his new tablemate. “Please.”

“I was kidding,” the man says, shaking his head, an amused expression on his face. “You are very easy to fluster.”

Nick coughs out a self-deprecating laugh. His palms are sweating. “Yes. I mean… not usually. But… you seem to have a knack for it.”

“It’s my uncanny ability to appear out of nowhere,” the man replies, flashing Nick a smile so dazzling it makes Nick’s head spin.

“A remarkable talent,” Nick tells him, and the man’s smile grows. Nick notices tiny divots appearing in his cheeks as it does - dimples - and immediately redirects his gaze to thoroughly inspect his takeaway coffee lid, trying desperately not to stare.

“Usually I find it quite useful,” the man tells him. “You know, the element of surprise.”

“As long as you’re not on the wrong side of a door,” Nick counters with a grin.

The man nods sagely. “Indeed.” He extends his hand. “Charlie.”

Nick wipes a sweaty palm on his coat in a way he hopes isn’t noticeable before gripping Charlie’s hand in his. It’s small and cool in his own massive, clammy grip. “Nick.”

Charlie shakes his hand. “Nice to meet you, Nick.”

“And you, Charlie.” 

For a moment Nick holds Charlie’s hand in his, revelling in the sensation of their palms touching. Then he comes to his senses and retracts his arm so quickly he almost smacks his elbow on the table. Charlie gives him a sort of funny look, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared.

“Do you work nearby?” Nick asks him, hoping to draw Charlie’s focus away from the awkward not-quite-handshake. Why am I acting like I’ve never humaned before?

Charlie nods. “Yes. Actually, I’m starting a new position today.”

“Really? Congratulations,” Nick tells him.

Charlie gives him a wry grin. “Hopefully. Today’s just a sort of introductory meeting. I’m going in to meet the partners and get a lay of the land. I’ve been looking for a position for a while, trying to find the right fit. Fingers crossed this is it.”

Nick tilts his head. “The right fit?”

A tiny wrinkle forms between Charlie’s eyebrows. “Um, so I work in law.”

Nick’s jaw drops. “Me, too!” he exclaims, maybe a bit too loudly.

Charlie’s smile appears again, those little dimples winking across the table at Nick, making his pulse speed up. “Small world. Well, then you know what it’s like.”

Nick shakes his head. “I don’t follow.”

“You know, like, an old boy’s club. Not always welcoming to…people like me.”

“People like you?” Nick asks. He can’t figure out what anyone wouldn’t like about Charlie; he seems nice enough.

Charlie looks down at his jacket lapel. Nick follows his gaze and for the first time notices a tiny Pride flag pinned there. 

“Ah,” Nick replies ruefully. “Got it.”

Charlie nods sadly. “My last firm wasn’t exactly kind about it. You’d think by now people would at least keep their homophobia to themselves but…” He just shrugs resignedly. “Hopefully this place is better.”

“I hope so,” Nick tells him. “You deserve to work somewhere supportive.” The words are out of his mouth before Nick realises what he’s said, and Charlie’s eyebrows fly up in surprise, but he smiles gratefully at Nick. 

“Well. Thank you,” Charlie replies with a shy smile.

Nick just shrugs, the tips of his ears burning. “It’s shitty to work somewhere where you feel unappreciated,” he mumbles. Jesus, why is he so fucking awkward?

“Sounds like you might have some experience with that?” Charlie raises one dark eyebrow in question. “You were certainly in a hurry to get out of your office earlier.”

Nick huffs out a sardonic laugh before taking a sip of his coffee. He extends his to-go pastry bag toward Charlie again, offering him a piece of his scone. Charlie shakes his head, so Nick rips off a piece for himself and chews it while he thinks. “So, I work for my dad,” he begins.

Charlie sucks in a breath. “That sounds… loaded.”

“Oh, it is,” Nick chuckles. “He can be an arse. He’s been pushing me really hard this week and nothing I do is ever good enough.” He swallows his bite and sighs. “Sometimes I get the feeling I’m being set up to fail.”

Charlie frowns. It’s the cutest frown Nick’s ever seen. There’s a tiny furrow between Charlie’s full brows, and his lips are turned down into a soft pout. Nick has to bite the inside of his cheek firmly to keep from melting into a puddle. 

“That’s shitty,” Charlie surmises.

Nick nods. “It is. But it’s my own fault. I took the job. My mum warned me not to. They’re separated,” he explains. “My dad basically fucked off to France for my entire childhood, then when I got into law, he decided we should work together.”

“Ah yes, the old ‘redemption for decades worth of garbage parenting’ bit,” Charlie says, and Nick chuckles.

“Precisely. He’s always tried to make up for his absence with money. And I needed money. I’m studying for my LPC, and I was flat fucking broke. So, I went to work for him, and now I have a flat, and a car…but…” He shrugs, taking another bite of scone. 

“But it’s shitty,” Charlie finishes.

“Very,” Nick confirms. “I guess I sort of always pictured myself doing something more impactful with my degree, you know? Now, all I do is write briefs for corporate developers on how to dodge environmental restrictions and get shit on by my dad.” He sighs sadly, popping the last of his scone into his mouth before glancing up. Charlie’s looking at him quite pitiably, and suddenly Nick feels that maybe he’s overshared. He hates being vulnerable in front of other people; he’s no idea how he let himself talk so much, but talking to Charlie just feels so natural. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be dumping all this on you. You’re a total stranger.”

Charlie shrugs, giving Nick a soft smile. “Sometimes a total stranger is exactly who you need to dump things on,” he tells Nick. “No history, no future. No worries about seeing each other again and feeling awkward.” 

“I suppose that’s true,” Nick replies, a sudden, unexpected wave of sadness flooding over him. Charlie’s beautiful, he’s funny, he’s clever, he’s gay… and Nick’s never going to see him again. Nick’s stomach twists at that thought. Though he’s only known Charlie a few minutes, Nick likes him immediately. There’s something about Charlie that sets Nick at ease, and Nick really likes talking to him. 

Charlie’s eyes grow wide, a crimson blush colouring his sharp cheekbones. “Um, I like talking to you, too.”

Suddenly Nick realises he’s said his inside thought out loud, and he feels the creases of his elbows start to sweat. He knocks back the rest of his coffee in one mouthful, scalding his tongue in the process, and stands.

“I should really be going,” he splutters, the twisting in his stomach intensifying as he registers the surprised and disappointed expression on Charlie’s face. “Good luck with your new job.”

“Thanks,” Charlie replies, the ease in his voice replaced with a tightness that makes Nick wince. “Um, it was really nice to meet you, Nick.” Charlie hesitates, as if he’s considering adding something more, but Nick doesn’t give him another chance to speak.

“Yeah. You too.” Nick gives Charlie an awkward sort of half-wave and heads for the door, stepping quickly out onto the street and gulping in a breath of fresh air. He strides purposefully down the sidewalk towards his office tower, trying not to give credence to the thoughts and emotions turning cartwheels in his mind. He forces his shoulders back and his head up, contorting his body into the rigid posture of unearned confidence he mastered years ago. There is no denying that Charlie is objectively attractive. He has classic model’s features: big eyes, a strong jawline, sharp cheekbones, and a long, lean body. Of course Nick finds him attractive, who wouldn’t? And he certainly has a way with people. Nick felt so comfortable in Charlie’s presence, the conversation flowing between them with authentic ease. Charlie must do a great job making his clients feel valued, Nick thinks, the way he listens so attentively. 

Nick gives his head a shake, allowing the cool breeze to ruffle his hair. He has to focus. He has to get his head back in the game. His dad will likely be waiting for him when he gets back to work, probably still pissed and ready to throw more work onto Nick’s already gargantuan ‘IN’ pile. Nick doesn’t have time to get distracted by interesting, attractive strangers, especially interesting, attractive strangers who happen to be men. He shoves his hands deep into his overcoat pockets as he walks, mentally reviewing the laundry list of work he has waiting for him on his desk as thoughts of blue eyes and dark curls drift into oblivion. 

Chapter Text

“Good morning, dear brother!”

Nick’s eyes squeeze shut, and his jaw tightens. He inhales slowly, willing himself to breathe calmly. He’s barely been back at his desk for fifteen minutes. When he opens his eyes again, he’s greeted by the leering, almost predatory smile of his shit-for-brains older brother, David, who is leaning casually against Nick’s door frame looking particularly pleased with himself.

“David,” Nick replies flatly.

Apparently taking that as an invitation, David saunters in and flops down in one of the overpriced leather chairs that face Nick’s desk. He crosses one leg over the other, his handmade Italian shoes bobbing in Nick’s face as he does.

“Heard you shat the bed on the DevCon file,” David remarks, a malevolent grin on his ratlike face.

“Fuck off, David,” Nick says, his eyes firmly fixed on his computer screen.

“Aw, come on, Nicky!” David leans forward, resting his elbows on Nick’s desk. Nick can smell the coffee on his breath. “Have a sense of humour! So, you fucked up, big deal. You’ll have plenty more opportunities to disappoint Dad in the future!”

Nick keeps his eyes on his screen, focusing on regulating his breathing as he seethes through clenched teeth. “Thanks for the pep talk.”

David shakes his blonde head as he inspects his fingernails. “It’s just too bad, is all.”

Nick’s had enough. He turns his face sharply to meet David’s eyes. “If I ask you what’s too bad, will you fuck off?”

David’s grin stretches from ear to ear, his eyes flashing with menace. “Dommage que tu sois trop une mauviette pour réussir dans ce métier,” (“It’s too bad you’re too much of a bitch to cut it in this business,”) David tells him coldly. “And Dad knows it just as well as I do.”

Nick’s face is a neutral mask, betraying no reaction to David’s words. “Goodbye, David.”

David holds Nick’s gaze for a moment, his hazel eyes challenging Nick to flinch first, but after a lifetime of growing up together, Nick is a master of this game. He stares right through his brother, unaffected, until David gets bored and stands with a dramatic sigh.

“Well, some of us have actual legal work to do,” he says with a condescending glance at the pages spread across Nick’s desk. “See you later.” Nick’s not sure if that’s a promise or a threat. Then David turns on his heel and strides out of Nick’s office, leaving a cloud of pretentious, overpriced cologne in his wake.

Nick waits a full thirty seconds before allowing himself to lean back in his chair. He lays his glasses on his desk and sighs deeply, rubbing his face with his hands. Why does he let David wind him up like that? Ever since they were boys, David’s had it out for Nick. David was born angry at the world, and Nick was the easiest target for that rage. David always had to be faster, smarter, and more popular than Nick. When it turned out that he wasn’t any of those things, David got mean. He would sneak up on Nick when he was playing and steal his toys or hit him. He’d call Nick every name in the book, anything David thought would get a rise out of him. When Nick finally got fed up enough to lash out, David would pummel him. Of course, David was sly enough to do these things when Sarah wasn’t around, and in her misguided attempt to try to compensate for Stéphane’s absence, she often let her teenage son’s behaviour slide more than she perhaps should have.

Eventually Nick grew bigger and stronger than David, so instead of picking on him physically, David would chip away at Nick’s self-confidence by harassing him at school. He’d spread vile rumours about Nick, trying to alienate Nick from his peers. And of course, being the classy guy that he was, David’s favourite rumour to try to start was that Nick was gay. No one believed it - how could Nick Nelson, Rugby King, be gay? When David’s attempts to destroy Nick’s social life failed, he found new ways to make Nick’s home life miserable instead, taking and ‘losing’ Nick’s belongings and verbally abusing him at every possible opportunity. Nick loathed David. And wouldn’t you know it, it turned out that David’s complete lack of moral compass and his ability to sleaze his way around a room had turned out to be an advantage in his legal career, rocketing him to early success in their father’s firm. Because of fucking course that absolute shitstain of a human being would turn out to be good at the one thing that their father gives a damn about.

Nick’s phone buzzes in his pocket, the sensation jarring him from his thoughts. He takes it out, groaning as he realises that he’s missed several messages from Imogen. Again.

Imogen: Hope your morning is going better than yesterday ❤️

Imogen: Had a lot of fun with you last night 😘

Imogen: Was hoping we could go to that new Italian place tonight if you finish on time? Jordan from work said it’s really good and we haven’t been out in a while.

Imogen: You must be busy, message me later when you get a sec ❤️

Imogen: Let me know what time to make a reservation

Nick drops his head forward onto his desk with a soft thud. He knows he owes Imogen a date, but with the way this day is shaping up so far, he’s almost certain that it’s going to end just like every other day this week: with him sitting at his desk long past supper time. He thumps his forehead repeatedly against his blotter, trying in vain to compose a reply to Imogen that isn’t going to break her heart or set her off.

“And this office belongs to my youngest son, Nicholas.”

Nick’s body snaps upright at the sound of his father’s heavily accented English. His face immediately takes on the practised mask of neutrality that he’s worn in his father’s presence since he was a child, and he casts his eyes to the door. Stéphane is stepping into Nick’s office, followed by another man: a tall, lean man in a dark suit with impeccable dark curls and startlingly blue eyes.

“Charlie!”

The exclamation is out of Nick’s mouth before he can stop it, and time freezes. Nick sees Charlie’s eyes widen slightly and his lips form a soft ‘o’, but he quickly regains his composure. Stéphane’s brows furrow, and he gives Nick a strange look.

“You two know each other?” Stéphane asks, glancing at Charlie. “You didn’t mention–”

“No!” Nick interrupts, his heart racing. “I mean… yes, we do know each other, but… not…”

“We met at a conference,” Charlie chimes in, smooth as silk. Nick’s eyes flick quickly to Charlie’s jacket; the tiny Pride flag pin is still there, winking cheekily at Nick from Charlie’s lapel. “I didn’t realise you worked here, Nick. Nice to see you again.”

“Right, yeah. Good to see you, too, Charlie.” Nick gives Charlie a small smile, hoping he looks as unruffled as Charlie does.

“Ah!” Stéphane claps his hands together. “Very good. Well, Nicholas is working on his LPC, and you will be supporting him with some of the cases he’s responsible for. We have been very short on paralegals this year, unfortunately. I am glad we found you, Charlie!” He slaps Charlie firmly on the back and Charlie grimaces slightly through his smile.

“Thank you,” Charlie replies. His eyes dart to Nick and his smile grows incrementally warmer. “I’m looking forward to working with you, sir.”

Sir. Nick’s skin bursts into flames.

“Just Nick is fine,” he manages to choke out.

Charlie nods. “Okay, Nick,” he repeats, and Nick nearly faints at the sound of his name in Charlie’s mouth.

“Right! Well, onward we go, there is much to see,” Stéphane tells Charlie before turning to Nick. “Nicholas, j'ai un autre projet pour toi que j'ai besoin que tu termines immédiatement, peux-tu passer à mon bureau et le récupérer auprès de ma secrétaire?” (“Nicholas, I have another project for you that I need done right away, can you stop by my office and pick it up from my secretary?”)

Nick feels a familiar tightness spreading across his shoulders. “Tout de suite, papa.” (“Right away, Papa.”) Nick looks at Charlie and gives him a cordial smile. “See you around, Charlie.”

Charlie gives Nick a curt nod, but his smile is sincere. “See you around, Nick.”

Stéphane leads Charlie out, closing Nick’s door behind them, and as soon as Nick’s sure they’re out of earshot, his head once again drops onto his desk.

“I’ve been looking for a position for a while, trying to find the right fit.”

“...an old boy’s club. Not always welcoming to…people like me.”

Nick feels ill. Of all of the adjectives Nick would use to describe Stéphane Fournier - and there are a lot of them - ‘accepting’ is nowhere on that list. Nick can only assume Stéphane hasn’t noticed the Pride pin on Charlie’s jacket, or if he has, that he doesn't know what it is. At least Stéphane is more diplomatic about his feelings towards les homosexuels, claiming to just “not understand” them. David is…Nick groans aloud. David is a fucking twat. David’s probably the loudest, most obnoxious homophobe Nick’s ever met. He squeezes his eyes shut, imagining how David will react to Charlie’s pin. Nick’s going to have to keep an eye on Charlie: he’ll never stay at Fournier & Associates if Dickhead David finds out he’s queer.

And isn’t that the thing. Nick lifts his head from his desktop and leans back in his chair, pressing against his eyes with the heels of his hands and watching a shower of sparks bloom behind his eyelids. Despite his better judgement, Nick really, really wants Charlie to stay. When they sat together at the café, Nick was immediately comfortable in Charlie’s company. His sense of humour is similar to Nick’s, and they bantered back and forth amicably without any awkward pauses in the conversation. Had they actually met at that fictitious conference Charlie had concocted, Nick is sure that he and Charlie would be friends already. When Nick bolted from the café, he was simultaneously relieved and incredibly sad that he’d never see Charlie again, and now the universe has casually lobbed him back into Nick’s life. Maybe they're meant to be friends?

But in the logical part of his brain, Nick knows he needs to keep a safe distance from Charlie. Charlie seems like a lovely person, but he’s not worth Nick losing everything he’s built at Fournier & Associates. David has a sixth sense for sniffing out and exploiting people’s weaknesses, and if he gets it into his head that there’s something going on between Nick and Charlie – which there definitely won't be – well, it goes without saying that that would be very very bad for Nick.

Nick takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair. He’s managed to hide his bisexuality from his family for this long; he can’t let a friendship with Charlie, an out queer man, undo his years of hard work maintaining an unquestionably straight persona. Because that person - Nick Nelson, Straight, Athletic Lawyer Guy - has a girlfriend and a job and a promising legal career ahead of him. And that version of Nick could be someone his father might actually want as his son.

Not having his father around for most of his life had affected Nick deeply. He spent his childhood and teenage years wondering if there was something that he had done to contribute to his father leaving. David, for his part, did nothing to assuage Nick’s misplaced guilt, insisting that it was Stéphane’s disappointment in Nick that had led to him abandoning the family. As an adult, Nick understands that he isn't responsible for his father’s choices, but there are parts of him that still believe he can have the father/son relationship with his dad that he always yearned for if he can just be the right kind of son. He has seen flickers of that relationship developing during his time at Fournier & Associates. There have been moments with his dad over the past few months when Nick felt like Stéphane might actually love him, in his own way. It’s a new and tentative bond building between them, fragile as blown glass, and Nick knows that any little slip up on his part could destroy it. Nick being outed as queer would definitely qualify as a major slip up in Stéphane’s eyes.

So, there it is. Nick sighs again and squares his shoulders. He’ll work with Charlie, and he’ll keep a friendly, professional distance between them. He’ll do as much as he can to run interference between Charlie and David to keep Charlie safe, and to keep David from creating drama. Luckily, David very rarely deigns to come down to Nick’s end of the office, so that bit shouldn’t be too hard. The other part - the “friendly but professional” part - will definitely be more of a challenge, but Nick resolves to stick to his plan. It’s the safest way forward for both him and Charlie. Charlie’s got skin in the game too, Nick reminds himself. Charlie deserves to be successful in his work, and Nick doesn’t want to be the reason that he isn’t. Nick smiles softly to himself, his confidence in his idea growing. This is a good plan. This can work.

He just has to stay professional.

*************

Of course, the new project Stéphane has for Nick is a nightmare of regulatory specifics. And of course, Stéphane tells Nick about it on Friday. And of course, Nick is still sitting at his desk at half-six that evening, cursing under his breath as he checks and double-checks the zoning regulations for two-level flats bordering the London greenbelt. He’s exhausted and starving and Imogen is furious with him for once again leaving her high and dry for the evening. He’d called her around half-two to explain the situation, knowing that a text was just going to make things worse.

“I don’t understand why you have to work so late every single night!” Imogen exclaimed after he’d broken the news that they wouldn’t be having dinner together at the new restaurant she’d chosen after all.

“I told you, Im, I have to do whatever I’m asked to do until the two-year contract is up. I just need to get through the LPC process, then I can look for something else. But until then…” Nick just trailed off, the rest of the sentence redundant.

Imogen huffed with frustration. “If I’d known this was how it was going to be with you working for your father, I wouldn’t have encouraged you to take the job in the first place.”

Nick bit his tongue and swallowed down the words he felt rising in his throat. Imogen had been one of the most vocal advocates of Nick accepting this job, even when he had expressed his doubts. She had grown up in the wealthy suburbs of London and was used to nice flats, expensive clothes, and evenings on the town, and Nick’s status as a struggling law student wasn’t exactly keeping her in the lifestyle to which she was accustomed. Imogen had made lots of good arguments in favour of Nick accepting Stéphane’s job offer, not the least of which was that they would finally be able to move into a nicer flat closer to her friends. How convenient that she forgot all of that now that Nick’s hours were keeping him from her.

Nick took a deep breath and focused on keeping his emotions in check. This wasn’t Imogen’s fault, it was Stéphane’s. He wasn’t going to take his anger out on Imogen when she’s just lonely.

“I’m sorry, love,” Nick said, his voice level and calm. “I’ll make it up to you.”

He heard her huff again, and he could picture her rolling her big blue eyes skyward. Clearly his apologies weren’t cutting it tonight.

“What about breakfast tomorrow?” Nick offered. “We could go to the place on the river? Maybe walk Nellie down there and eat beside the water?”

Imogen paused as she mulled it over – Nick knew she loved to make him sweat – but she agreed. They hung up with quick “I love you”s, and Nick jumped immediately back into his work, relieved that he’d avoided a major blow up. The last thing he needed right now was trouble with Imogen.

As the blue afternoon sky darkens and bleeds into the indigo of night, Nick remains hunched over his desk, squinting at his computer screen. There’s a knock at the door, and he glances up from the paperwork in front of him, startled by the sudden sound in the silent office.

“Come in.”

The door opens a crack and through the gap Nick spies Charlie’s face. “Hi.”

Nick feels his pulse pick up. “Hi!” he says, surprised. “You’re here late!”

Charlie nods. “Can I come in?”

“Sure, of course.” Nick gestures to the chairs across from his desk and Charlie enters, taking a seat in the one closest to the door. He perches on the edge of his chair as though he’s ready to take off at any second.

“I just… I’m really sorry if I made things awkward earlier,” Charlie tells Nick. Nick notices that Charlie’s got his hands clasped in his lap, the nails of one hand picking at the cuticles of the other nervously.

“No, you didn’t, not at all,” Nick replies. “I was just surprised. To see you.”

“Tell me about it,” Charlie agrees. “I think you were the last person I expected to run into.” He tilts his head, considering. “Although, I guess things often happen in threes.”

Nick chuckles. “We probably should have seen this coming.”

Charlie laughs, a gentle, musical sound that sends a tingle down Nick’s spine. He looks up at Nick and his dark brows come together as he examines Nick’s face with an intensity that makes the hairs on Nick’s arms stand up.

“You’re wearing glasses,” Charlie remarks.

“Oh, yeah.” Nick reaches up and touches the arm of his round glasses self-consciously.

“I didn’t know you wore glasses,” Charlie says, still staring at Nick’s face. Nick can feel his cheeks warming, and he shrugs.

“They help me see,” he offers by way of explanation.

Charlie snickers. “Yeah, I bet they do.”

“Do they…do they look bad?” Nick stammers, and Charlie shakes his head.

“No, you look…they look great,” Charlie assures him.

Nick’s heart skips a beat. “Um, thanks.”

Charlie pauses, then appears to consider something before he speaks again, his tone careful. “So… I met your dad?”

“You did.” Nick gives him a wry smile. “And?”

Charlie shrugs. “He was polite with me. Welcoming. Although I did hear him assign you that as we were leaving.” Charlie gestures to the pile of papers on Nick’s desk.

Nick’s eyes widen. “You speak French?”

Charlie shakes his head. “No, but my dad speaks Spanish so I can parse little bits here and there. The words ‘projet’ and ‘immédiatement’ stuck out.”

Nick chuckles derisively. “Yes, immédiatement indeed. Which is why I’m still here. But why are you still here?” he asks.

“Linda from HR wanted me to go over the terms of my contract and the employee handbooks in great detail,” Charlie explains, rolling his big blue eyes. Nick nods knowingly: Linda can be a lot, especially with young, attractive new hires. “Then, I figured since we’re going to be working together, I’d get caught up on the files you’re responsible for. I pulled some of them and did some reading, and I made some notes about what regulatory information we might need to examine in more detail come Monday.”

“You did all that?” Nick asks, incredulous. “That’s…that’s very keen.”

Charlie just shrugs again but his cheekbones flush a soft, peony pink. “Well. Got to make a good impression,” he replies softly.

“I really appreciate that, Charlie,” Nick tells him, and he means it. There aren’t many people around the firm who give even half a shit about what Nick’s working on, and there are precisely zero who have jumped up to help him.

Charlie glances up, a shy smile on his lips, and their eyes meet. Nick is once again struck by how intensely blue Charlie’s eyes are, and for a moment Nick’s thoughts melt away as he floats on the surface of those sapphire pools.

But then Charlie’s blinking rapidly, his gaze dropping to his lap, and the moment is broken.

“I should get going,” Charlie says, rising from his chair. “I just wanted to… I guess thank you? For not making things weird.”

Nick shakes his head. “There’s nothing weird about you working here, Charlie. I’m just glad I didn’t concuss you on your first day.”

Charlie’s smile blooms on his face again, and Nick’s heart flutters in his chest. “Me too. Have a good night, Nick. Don’t work too late.”

“I’ll try,” Nick replies. “See you Monday.”

Charlie gives Nick a little half-wave as he goes. “See you Monday.”

As the door clicks shut behind Charlie, Nick releases a deep sigh. Maybe working with Charlie will be better than he thought.

*************

“So, Giselle was totally shocked by the entire thing, which I thought was ridiculous considering all of the hints Ted’s been dropping since Christmas, but honestly the department really does need a restructuring, and I think she’ll be much happier working in purchasing, even though I’ll miss sitting across from her. She always has the most interesting weekends. Did you know that she and her boyfriend spent the last bank holiday in Paris? Apparently, his father has a private plane that he can use whenever he wants, and they just packed a bag and jetted over for the weekend? Then she acts like it’s such a trial to have to move her desk like twelve feet to the purchasing department, as though she isn’t waited on hand and foot every other minute of her life.” Imogen pauses to take a breath, cocking an eyebrow at Nick. “Nick? Are you even listening?”

“What? Oh, yeah, of course,” Nick replies. Imogen’s been monologuing for at least a quarter of an hour about the latest staffing changes at her office. He must have drifted off for a second. “Sorry, love. Go on.”

Imogen just rolls her eyes affectionately and winks at him before continuing her story. As she speaks, Nick thinks back to when they first met. He remembers thinking how clever and funny she was, how she sparkled like a diamond in a room full of rocks. He’d been unable to draw himself away from her at the time, overwhelmed by her charm and beauty, and for some reason beyond his comprehension, she had seemed drawn to him as well. Even now, years later, he sometimes has trouble believing she’s his girlfriend. Imogen is much better looking than he is, and much smarter (two facts of which David has never hesitated to remind him). Wherever he and Imogen go, Nick catches people of all genders ogling Imogen and giving him envious glances. But besides being pretty and brilliant and funny and all of that, Imogen’s always been Nick’s best friend. She always listens to him when he’s upset or worried, usually managing to find some little ray of sunshine in every storm that brings a smile back to his face.

“And so now I’m going to have a new desk mate, and I just know it’s going to be awful.” Imogen leans back in her seat, her lower lip jutted out in a theatrical pout.

“Come on, Im, it can’t be all that bad to get a new colleague, can it?” Nick asks her teasingly.

Imogen sighs dramatically. “Yes, it can!” she insists, rolling her eyes as though it’s the challenge of the century. As she ticks off all of her objections on her perfectly manicured fingertips, Nick just smiles and shakes his head. Everything’s a drama when Imogen’s involved.

They’re sitting across from each other at a table facing the Thames with Nellie asleep on the concrete between his feet. The sun is shining down on them, a bit warmer than usual for this time of year but Nick isn’t complaining. Between the unseasonable weather and the heated terrace, he’s able to enjoy his brunch with Imogen in just a light jumper. Imogen’s dolled up in her favourite cashmere coat and a matching beret, picking at her eggs benedict between sentences. As she talks, Nick gazes at the river, watching it flow along, sparkling in the sun. The Thames isn’t exactly blue, but for some reason it still reminds Nick of Charlie’s eyes, the way they sparkle when he smiles.

“Anyway, I’m sure it will be fine,” Imogen says, jabbing her muffin aggressively with her fork.

“I know it will,” Nick replies, turning his focus back to Imogen. “You’re a terrific person, Im, I’m sure whoever it is will love you.”

Imogen glances up at Nick, a soft smile on her lips. “Really? You think so?”

“I know so,” Nick tells her. He reaches across the table and squeezes her hand and her face lights up. She really is a great person. Nick is so lucky to be with someone who cares about him so much. “So, what did you want to get up to today?” he asks, stroking her fingers with the pad of his thumb. “You mentioned a shop you wanted to check out?”

Imogen beams. “Yes! Giselle told me about a shop in Covent Garden…”

But that’s all Nick hears before his eyes are drawn to a flash of bright turquoise at the edge of the river, travelling at speed toward them. Nick squints at it, then his eyes widen in shock. His breath catches in his throat and Imogen’s voice is drowned out by the sound of his heart banging in his ears.

Charlie.

It’s Charlie. And he’s running.

Even at this distance, Charlie is unmistakable. He’s wearing a bright turquoise singlet, his dark curls pulled back from his face in a thin headband. On his face is a look of focused determination, his thick brows furrowed, his cheeks flushed with exertion. He’s moving at quite a pace, his trainer-clad feet banging against the cobblestones in a quick rhythm as his eyes focus on a point in the distance. His lean arms are swinging at his sides, and Nick can clearly see the sinew of Charlie’s biceps and shoulders as they pump in time with his strides. His running shorts allow Nick an uninterrupted view of the entire length of his lean, muscular legs as they carry him toward, and then past Nick and Imogen’s table. It takes all of Nick’s strength not to turn his head to catch a glimpse of Charlie’s rear end in those scandalously short shorts as he zips past, totally unaware of Nick’s presence. Nick blinks, forcing himself to breathe. Did that really happen? Did Nick, like, summon Charlie with his mind? Or was that some trick of his imagination? His stomach twists uncomfortably at the idea that his mind is so preoccupied with thoughts of Charlie that now he’s seeing him everywhere.

“Nick?”

At the sound of Imogen’s voice, Nick is yanked out of his spiral and back to the table where he quickly clocks Imogen frowning at him. His cheeks colour with embarrassment.

“Sorry, love, I… um, I thought I saw someone from work,” Nick tells her, which isn’t even a lie.

Imogen just rolls her eyes. “Honestly, Nick, sometimes I think you’re staring at other women.”

Nick shakes his head, bringing Imogen’s hand to his lips and kissing her fingers softly. “I would never,” he assures her, secretly wishing that it were only that simple.

*************

After brunch Nick and Imogen spend the day strolling from shop to shop, spending far too much money purchasing items to redecorate their flat so it’s more to Imogen’s taste. The rest of the weekend passes too quickly as usual in a blur of laundry, tidying, and watching a premiership match on the telly. But as he turns out the light around eleven on Sunday night, Nick realises that he isn’t feeling his usual Sunday Night Terror. In fact, he’s actually kind of (dare he say it?) looking forward to going to work tomorrow. As he lays in his bed in the dark staring at the ceiling, Imogen snoring softly beside him, his emotions vacillate between excited and guilt stricken. The image of Charlie running beside the Thames pops up unbidden in his brain, and he feels his heart rate pick up, but guilt quickly swallows up any joy Nick could derive from the memory. He’s lying in bed beside his girlfriend, for God’s sake, thinking about how beautiful his new coworker is. What the fuck is wrong with him? He rolls over onto his side and closes his eyes, trying to push the vision of long, lean legs in micro length running shorts out of his brain as he falls into a fitful sleep.
On Monday morning, Nick makes it to work just after nine despite feeling like he hasn’t slept at all. As he steps through the main office doors, he catches sight of a head of dark curls near the coffee machine, and his spirits lift immeasurably. Nick’s instincts encourage him to approach Charlie immediately, but the guilty feeling that's been churning in his guts all night bubbles up and sets his nerves on edge, so he elects to bypass the coffee machine and head for his office instead.

The massive pile of paperwork on his desk hasn’t shifted since Friday, despite Nick’s many wishes for it to vanish into the aether, and he frowns at it resentfully. He sits down at his desk and logs into his computer, taking a moment to scan his emails, his knee bouncing beneath his desk. Easy, champ, Nick reminds himself. Keep it professional. He reads one email, then another, then another, then checks the clock at the bottom of his screen - 09:22. Nick decides he’s done enough work to merit a coffee break.

Charlie, of course, is no longer at the coffee station, and Nick can’t tell if he’s disappointed or relieved. As Nick brews his latte, he catches sight of a slender silhouette heading towards him and something inside him brightens.

“Morning, Charlie!” Nick calls as Charlie approaches. Charlie stops short, giving Nick a surprised but genuine smile.

“Hi,” Charlie replies. Nick notices a single dimple appear in Charlie’s left cheek and then immediately tries not to notice it.

“Um, did you have a good weekend?” Charlie asks. Nick nearly spits out his mouthful of coffee as his brain helpfully supplies yet another high-resolution image of Charlie jogging riverside, his thigh muscles bulging out from beneath the hem of his running shorts.

“Yep, yep,” Nick manages to splutter. “You?”

Charlie shrugs. “It was alright. I didn’t get up to much.” Charlie doesn’t mention his Saturday morning run, and Nick is determined not to make things incredibly weird by bringing up the fact that he witnessed it. He glances around for something to change the subject to, noticing that Charlie’s carrying a binder under one arm.

“What’s that?”

“Oh! I, um, I got started on some research,” Charlie tells Nick. “For the Sandoval file?”

“You did?” Nick’s pulse flutters as he imagines Charlie poring over statutes and zoning policies. “Did you get here early?”

Charlie shrugs. “Around seven?” he replies.

Nick’s eyebrows fly up and he shakes his head, smiling. “God, you are keen,” he laughs. Nick catches a rosy hue warming Charlie’s sharp cheekbones and he has to force himself not to think about the flush that coloured Charlie’s face as he jogged along the Thames.

“That’s quite a lot of stuff,” Nick says, gesturing to the binders in Charlie’s arms. “Maybe we should set up in the conference room down the hall?”

“I actually already went ahead and put my stuff in there,” Charlie admits, looking sheepish. “I hope that’s alright? There wasn't anyone here to ask when I arrived.”

“It’s brilliant,” Nick assures him. “Let me grab the files from my office and I’ll join you in a sec.”

The conference room is a cavernous walnut-panelled monstrosity that Nick can only assume was designed to intimidate prospective clients. When Nick arrives, he finds Charlie seated at the far end of the long mahogany table closest to the windows, his gaze flicking back and forth between his laptop screen and the large, open book of legal statues on the table beside him. His dark eyebrows are gently furrowed as he frowns at the text, typing little notes every now and again. For a moment Nick just stands in the doorway and stares, mesmerised by the way the daylight throws highlights into Charlie’s curls as he works. But then Charlie glances up and Nick immediately panics, deciding to pretend he’s just arrived, so his new colleague doesn't immediately file a harassment complaint.

“Find anything good so far?” Nick asks, taking a seat across the table from Charlie and placing his laptop down next to his coffee.

Charlie shakes his head. “Nothing you haven’t already covered. The development is quite close to the greenbelt, but that’s covered in the planning application. They’re also bordering on a protected wetland, and it looks like you’ve already started the environmental impact assessment request?”

Nick nods. He slips his glasses on and thumbs through his pile of papers, handing a stack to Charlie. “Yep, got it here.”

Charlie leafs through the pages, scanning them quickly. Nick’s heart rate picks up as he watches Charlie’s blue irises dance back and forth, checking for mistakes or missed details with surgical precision. Eventually Charlie looks up at him and smiles.

“Looks good,” he says. Blood rushes into Nick’s cheeks at the praise, and he immediately looks down at his laptop screen.

“I, uh… that site is also going to need a Habitat Regulation Assessment to make sure that the build won’t impact any of the species that live there,” Nick stammers, hoping his face isn't as red as it feels.

Charlie nods and makes a note on his legal pad, seemingly unaware of Nick’s complete lack of chill. “Okay, so once we file the EIA, we can order the HRA. Did you want me to go ahead and do that?”

Nick cocks his head and stares at Charlie, confused. “Sorry, do what?”

“File the papers,” Charlie says. “That’s, um, that’s sort of what paralegals do?”

“Yeah, um, right. Of course.” Nick feels like a complete idiot. “I’ve never worked with a paralegal before,” he admits. “I’ve just been doing everything myself.”

Charlie grins, that dimple peeking out at Nick from across the table, and some of Nick’s embarrassment melts away. “Well, hopefully I can take some of this off your plate so you can go home at a reasonable hour from now on.”

“That sounds amazing,” Nick replies, trying to contain the size of the smile that's threatening to explode across his face.

The two of them spend the rest of the morning sitting across from one another trading documents, making notes, and discussing the details of the building plans to make sure they haven’t missed anything. Before Nick realises it, it’s gone noon, and his empty stomach begins to make its presence known.

“I think we should probably take a break,” Nick says, removing his glasses and looking up at Charlie from behind his computer. “Did you want to grab lunch?”

“Oh, I brought something with me,” Charlie tells him. Nick nods agreeably, but he can’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment.

“Okay, um, can I bring you back a coffee or something?”

“That’s okay,” Charlie replies. “I don’t want to trouble you.”

“It’s no trouble,” Nick assures him, almost too quickly. “I mean, I’m going.” He raises an eyebrow, waiting for Charlie to respond.

Charlie’s lips twist as he considers. “Okay then. Um, can I have a flat white with oat milk?”

Nick’s smile stretches across his face. “Yeah, sure!”

“Can I give you some money?”

“Absolutely not,” Nick insists. “You can get next, okay?”

Charlie’s smile brightens and Nick swears he sees a hint of a second dimple. “Yeah. Okay,” Charlie agrees.

“Okay.” Nick gives Charlie a little wave then heads out of the conference room to fetch lunch and coffee, his gait peppier than usual.

************

Nick’s back from the café in record time, a sandwich and two coffees in hand. He tosses his coat on his office chair and hustles back to the conference room, shouldering the heavy door open.

“There he is!”

Fuck.

Nick’s blood freezes at the sound of David’s voice. His brother is standing across from Charlie, next to Nick’s workstation, leaning casually on the conference table. Nick takes a deep breath and walks purposefully back to his seat, placing his food and the coffees down beside his laptop.

“Aw, nothing for me?” David asks, pouting dramatically at Nick.

“Don’t you usually have lunch out?” Nick asks, sitting down in his chair, being careful to move it as far away from David as he can while remaining in reach of his computer.

“Yeah, I’ve got a meeting at two at Sketch with a new client,” David drawls, examining Nick’s takeaway sandwich with disdain. “Nothing so glamorous as your lunch date.”

Nick notices Charlie’s shoulders tense and some of the colour drain from his face at the word ‘date’. Charlie’s jacket is hanging on the back of his chair, the little Pride flag waving cheerily at Nick from across the table. Luckily, it’s on the side of the chair, facing away from David. Nick swallows hard and turns his gaze to his brother. “We’re working on a project,” Nick tells him. “And last I checked, you weren’t involved, so…” He glances deliberately toward the door

David just laughs. “C’mon, Nicky, I was just getting acquainted with Charlie here. Right, Charlie?” David claps Charlie on the back and Charlie winces. Nick feels his body temperature rise.

“Well, now that you’ve done that, perhaps you could leave?” Nick suggests. “We’re quite busy.”

David gives Nick an icy glare but quickly plasters over it with a serpentine smile. “Well, I don’t want to interrupt anything. You two clearly need some alone time.” Nick clenches and unclenches his fists under the table, forcing himself to breathe slowly lest he slam one of them into David’s smug face. “Nice to meet you, Charlie,” David says, standing and straightening his jacket.

“You too,” Charlie replies softly, his eyes downcast.

“Nick.” David chucks Nick on the upper arm. “Don’t work too late, eh? Imogen must be missing you.”

Nick’s vision goes red. “Don’t talk about her,” he warns his brother.

“Why? Worried she might prefer the more mature Nelson?” David leers. Nick stands up from his chair so fast he sends it careening across the room behind him on its wheels. Charlie jumps and David starts, taking a step back. “Easy, mate, it’s just a joke.” David shakes his head and looks at Charlie, who has gone a bit pale. “Don’t mind Nick, he’s a bit sensitive. Probably on his period.”

“Get lost, David,” Nick says firmly.

David glances back at Nick and holds his gaze for a moment, but Nick stands firm. “Catch you around, Charlie,” David says without dropping Nick’s gaze. Then he shoulders past Nick and strides out of the room. When the conference room door closes behind David, Nick feels all the fire go out of him at once, replaced with a tired heaviness. He looks around, locating his chair and pulling it back up to the table, where he collapses into it. He leans forward and drops his head into his hands, raking them through his hair. He takes a few deep breaths, staring down the carpet in the heavy silence that has fallen over the previously amiable workspace.

After a few moments, Charlie speaks. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine.” Nick’s surprised by the sharpness of his own tone. Despite his fatigue, the rage boiling in his blood hasn't fully subsided, and he feels like tearing something apart. But he looks up and finds Charlie staring at him with wide, shocked eyes, and he immediately feels mortified. None of this is Charlie's fault, and Nick’s behaviour is completely unprofessional. He closes his eyes and focuses his breathing, counting slowly down from ten in his mind, willing his heart rate to slow. When he’s finally calm, he opens his eyes and speaks again.

“I’m so sorry, Charlie.”

Charlie's expression is neutral, his blue eyes flat where once they sparkled. “It’s fine,” he replies.

“It’s not,” Nick interjects. “I had no right to snap at you. David just…” Nick sighs deeply. “It's no excuse. I'm very sorry for my behaviour. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

Charlie’s still staring at him, clearly considering his next move. He blinks, then gives Nick a nod. “It’s alright, Nick. I mean it. I get it.”

Nick’s shoulders sag with relief. “Thank you.” He reaches for his coffee, wrapping his hands around the cup, warmth seeping into his fingers. “I try not to let him get to me but… he’s just such a dick.”

Charlie bites his lip, clearly hesitating.

“Charlie, it’s okay,” Nick tells him. “It’s not a state secret. You don’t have to pretend David’s a saint just because you work here.”

Charlie huffs out a small laugh, and Nick’s heart lifts as some of the colour returns to Charlie’s face. “He is a bit of a twat,” Charlie agrees. This time it’s Nick’s turn to laugh. There’s something about hearing that language coming from Charlie that just tickles him. “When he came in here, he made sure to tell me who he was, and that he’s on the partner track, and how much his watch cost,” Charlie continues. “All this before he even asked my name.”

Nick groans. “Of course he did.” He looks at Charlie across the table, embarrassment sitting heavy in his chest. “Honestly, Charlie, I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t have left you alone if I thought he’d–”

Charlie shakes his head and waves Nick’s apology away with one slender hand. “You have nothing to be sorry about. He’s a literal adult man; you aren’t responsible for him.”

But I wanted to protect you… Nick bites the inside of his cheek, forcing the words back down his throat.

“Well,” he says instead. “I’m still s–”

“Don’t say it,” Charlie warns, pointing a finger at Nick, his expression serious.

Nick bites his lip, grinning. “I kind of want to say it.”

“Don’t!” Charlie laughs. Nick feels the hair on his arms stand up at the sound. They smile at each other across the table, the tension David left in his wake dissipating and the previous warmth returning to the room. Charlie nods towards his coffee, picking it up. “This me?”

“Oh, yeah. Oat milk flat white,” Nick confirms.

“Thank you,” Charlie says gratefully, sipping carefully at the hot beverage.

“It’s the least I could do, after leaving you alone to be accosted by David,” Nick replies.

“That and the door thing,” Charlie says with a sly grin.

Nick scoffs, a surprised smile lighting up his face. “I thought we’d moved past that!”

Charlie just shrugs and gives him a mischievous smile.

They chat a little as Nick eats and Charlie sips his coffee, mostly about the case, but about other things, too. Nick tells Charlie a bit more about his fractious relationship with David, and Charlie tells Nick about his older sister and her almost supernatural ability to appear unannounced right behind him (an ability which Charlie has clearly inherited). It’s obvious from his tender expression as he speaks that Charlie and his sister are close, and Nick feels a twinge of jealousy, wondering how his life might have been different if he and David had been friends, or at least not fierce enemies.

“Was David always…like that?” Charlie asks, and Nick nods soberly.

“Unfortunately, yes. He’s always been a dick, ever since my dad left.”

Charlie frowns, his blue eyes soft. “Sounds like a tough situation to grow up in.”

Nick nods, crumpling up his sandwich wrapper and tossing it in the bin behind him. “It wasn’t great,” he admits. “And now I get the added bonus of having to see his ugly mug around here every day. At least he mostly keeps to his end of the office.”

“And it’s just the two of you?”

“Yep,” Nick confirms. “And my mum. And we always had a dog.”

Charlie’s expression brightens. “You had a dog? I’m so jealous, my parents would never let us have pets.”

Nick’s eyebrows jump up. “That’s got to be some kind of a crime,” he says, pulling out his phone. “I grew up with dogs; I still have one now, actually. My mum and I got her just before I went to uni and when I got my flat in London, she came to live with me.” He holds his phone out to Charlie who leans in, his blue eyes as wide as saucers.

“Oh my god, she’s adorable!” he coos, gazing at the photo. “What’s her name?”

“Nellie,” Nick tells him, flicking through his camera roll to show Charlie photo after photo of the collie. “She’s an old lady now, but she’s still sweet and has lots of energy, she just needs more naps.”

“Ooof, I feel that,” Charlie giggles. His finger hovers over a photo and he pauses, then glances up at Nick. “Um, is that…Imogen?”

Nick turns the phone around. It’s a photo from last summer of Immy walking Nellie by the river. She’s smiling brightly at the camera, her blonde hair glimmering in the sunlight.

“Yeah,” Nick says quietly. He doesn’t really want to talk about Imogen with Charlie but he’s staring at Nick, clearly waiting for an explanation. “She’s my girlfriend,” Nick tells him, then locks his phone, tucking it back into his pocket.

Charlie nods but doesn’t say anything else. Nick is grateful that Charlie doesn’t press him, and that Charlie seems to understand that he doesn’t want to be pressed. Nick isn’t used to having his boundaries…perceived like that. It feels nice. Unfamiliar, but nice.

Nick clears his throat and takes a sip of his coffee, glancing back towards his computer. “Well, um, we’d best get back to it.”

The afternoon flies by in a blur of phone calls, emails, and document writing. It’s busy and fiddly and Nick is so grateful for Charlie’s help. He seems to be able to anticipate what Nick needs long before Nick’s aware of it. By five o’clock, most of the important pieces of the case have slotted into place, leaving them at a good point to stop work for the day.

Nick shakes his head when he realises the time. “I can’t even believe it’s only five.”

“Sorry?” Charlie replies.

“Oh, I mean, it’s unusual for me to be leaving work when the sun is still up,” Nick clarifies.

“Hopefully you can go home and relax a little bit,” Charlie says. “It sounds like you’ve been working awfully hard.”

“Yeah.” Nick sighs, his chest full of a feeling he can’t quite identify - relief, maybe? “Thank you so much for your help, Charlie. You…you made this a lot easier.”

Charlie just shrugs, but Nick notices the tips of his ears turning pink. “It’s literally my job, Nick.”

“Well, thank you for doing your job so well,” Nick says.

Charlie just nods and closes his laptop, slipping it into his bag. He stands and puts his jacket and coat on, carefully stacking up a load of binders and files. “I’ll just run these back to your office and then I’ll head out,” he tells Nick.

“Nonsense,” Nick replies. The pile is enormous; it must be half Charlie’s height. He probably won’t even be able to see over the top. “I’ll take them back. I have to go to my office anyway.”

“You sure?” Charlie asks.

“A hundred percent,” Nick assures him. “You go on, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Charlie agrees, albeit with some reluctance in his voice. “Um, I’ll see you tomorrow.” And with a little wave and a soft smile, he’s gone, and Nick’s alone in the conference room. He takes a deep breath and sighs into the stillness. Today has probably been the best day he’s had at Fournier & Associates since he started (minus the unpleasantness of David’s little pop in, but Nick refuses to let that arsehole tarnish his good day). Charlie is really good at his job, and he’s nice, and he’s kind, and he’s… Nick bites the inside of his cheek as his stomach twists.

Pretty. He’s so pretty.

Nick’s phone buzzes in his pocket, startling him out of his thoughts. It’s Imogen.

Imogen: Any chance I’ll see you for dinner tonite? 🙏❤️

Tension creeps across Nick’s shoulders, but he shakes it off and types out a reply.

Nick: Actually I finished on time today! Heading home now! ❤️

Imogen’s reply flashes across the screen in an instant:

Imogen: ❤️❤️❤️😘❤️❤️❤️

Chapter Text

Chapter Four

It’s been a handful of weeks since Charlie started at Fournier & Associates, and the sense of dread that has heretofore coloured Nick’s weekday mornings has been entirely replaced with an optimistic sort of excitement. Charlie is an incredible paralegal, and he and Nick have been working together with the precision of a Swiss watch, able to predict and respond to each other’s needs as they wade through the minutiae of each project they’re assigned. Nick’s home most evenings now, which Imogen is thrilled about. Even Stéphane has noticed an improvement in Nick’s work.

On Friday, he’d called Nick into his office. Stéphane, of course, has the biggest office in the entire firm. It’s in the southwest corner, with floor-to-ceiling windows making up two of the walls. His desk is a vast slab of mahogany with a raw edge, and there’s a smaller, more intimate meeting table with seating for six near the west windows. In the corner nearest the desk is a small bar stocked with bottles of expensive wine and spirits; gifts from wealthy clients. Stéphane also has a large collection of art, including an original Marvin Lipofsky glass sculpture that sits in pride of place atop a low bookcase. The office is welcoming but formal, tasteful but not warm, much like the man himself.

“Nicolas !” As Nick walked into his office, Stéphane strode up to him and placed both hands on Nick’s shoulders, squeezing them tightly, his smile bright and affectionate. “Ton travail sur l'analyse environnementale du projet Sandoval a été très bon ! Je suis ravi de voir que ton travail acharné porte ses fruits ! Tu es en train de devenir un avocat très compétent !" (“Your work on the Sandoval environmental assessment review was very good! I am so pleased to see your hard work paying off! You are becoming quite a capable solicitor!”)

Nick had nearly collapsed with shock, first from the affectionate physical contact (this was as close to a hug as Nick had ever seen Stéphane give anyone, including his mother), and second from the praise. He paused for a moment before responding, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but Stéphane’s proud smile remained firmly in place.

“Euh, merci, Papa,” (“Um, thank you, Papa,”) Nick replied. “Charlie et moi avons travaillé ensemble sur ce projet ; je suis heureux que cela te convienne.” (“Charlie and I worked on it together; I’m glad you’re happy with it.”)

“Ah, oui, Charlie !” (“Ah, yes, Charlie!”) Stéphane let go of Nick’s shoulders and moved to the bar in the corner of his office to pour them each a congratulatory drink, despite it still being before noon. Social rules like that had never stopped Stéphane from having a good time. “Il va bien ?” (“He is doing well?”)

“Oui, Papa,” (“Yes, Papa,”) Nick told him. “Il est très intelligent et a un don pour comprendre le code réglementaire.” (“He’s very smart, and he has a knack for understanding regulatory code.”)

“C'est une excellente nouvelle ! On dirait qu'il a été bien recruté.” (“That’s wonderful to hear! Sounds like he was a good hire.”) “I wasn't sure about him, at first,” Stéphane’s tone dropped, almost conspiratorial. “David thinks he might be a bit…” Stéphane flicked his wrist in a manner so recognizable that Nick couldn't mistake his meaning, and Nick felt his chest constrict. He sucked a breath in through his nose and forced himself to remain composed, not allowing any emotion to show on his face. “But as long as his work is good, ça ne pose pas de problème !” (“It's not a problem.”) Stéphane handed Nick a tumbler with two fingers of whiskey in it. “Je suppose que tu feras en sorte qu'il reste dans l'équipe, alors ?” (“I trust you’ll do whatever is necessary to keep him on staff, then?”)

Nick nodded, tipping his glass towards his father’s. “Oui, c'est ce que je vais faire.” (“Yep, will do.”)

Stéphane gave Nick another proud smile, and Nick nearly pinched himself to confirm that he was, in fact, awake. “À toi, Nicolas, et à tes futurs succès !” (“To you, Nicholas, and to your future success!”) Stéphane clinked his glass against Nick’s and downed his whisky in one go. Nick knocked his back as well, hour be damned: after the unprecedented affection from his father, he needed it. It was a strange feeling, suddenly finding himself in Stéphane’s favour, and while Nick knew better than to trust it, the part of him that desperately craves his father’s attention glowed like an ember.

This week, Nick and Charlie are working on a particularly tricky file. The developer is planning to build a series of flats along the edge of the greenbelt, quite close to a protected wetland. Charlie filed the environmental assessment and habitat impact study requests weeks ago, and when they came back with unacceptable levels of risk to the indigenous wildlife, the developer submitted revised plans to the planning committee. So, here Nick and Charlie are again, resubmitting all of the applications to reflect the changed plans. It’s tedious, frustrating work that requires a great deal of concentration so no mistakes are made, and Nick finds it exhausting.

By about half-eleven, Nick’s head is pounding. “I think I need a break," he tells Charlie, putting his hands on his shoulders and squeezing in a poor attempt at a self-massage. “My eyes are crossing.”

“Mine, too,” Charlie agrees. “If I look at one more environmental statute subclause, I think I might go insane.”

Nick chuckles, removing his glasses and pushing himself to his feet. He reaches his arms overhead, stretching his back which is aching from hours spent in the same position hunched in front of his computer. He gives his face a rub with his hands, then turns to Charlie. “Coffee?”

“Please,” Charlie replies, his tone almost desperate. Between the dazzling smile he’s giving Nick and the desire (for coffee) in his voice, Nick’s palms grow clammy.

They exit the conference room and Nick heads to his office to get his coat, telling Charlie he’ll meet him at the lift. He opens his office door and stops short at the sight before him. David is sitting in his chair, his feet up on Nick’s desk.
Nick’s hackles rise immediately. “Get your fucking feet off my desk, David.”

David’s usually pale eyes are dark with storm clouds. “You think you’re pretty fucking special, don’t you?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Nick crosses to the chair in the corner of his office to pick up his overcoat, doing his best to ignore David, but David immediately stands up and comes around the desk, moving at astonishing speed to get directly in Nick’s face.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about! Apparently, you’re the new rising star of Fournier and Associates! Dad’s been singing your praises to the partners all week.” David jabs his knobby index finger into Nick’s chest. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but if you think you’re going to make partner before me, you’d better think again.”

Nick shoves David’s hand away from him. “Don’t touch me,” he warns. “I don’t know what you mean about me being a ‘rising star’ or whatever, but trust me when I say this, David: I have absolutely zero interest in being anywhere near you, or anything you’re working on.”

David’s face flushes red and his voice drops to a low growl. “I’ve been here for five years, working my arse off doing whatever Dad wants so I can make partner. I’m good at my job, and I don’t appreciate you sidling in here with your little bitch paralegal and trying to steal what’s rightfully mine.”

The fingers of Nick’s right hand twitch. “Don’t you ever talk about Charlie that way,” he warns David, his tone measured.

David just sneers at him. “Why not? Why do you give a shit what I say about that little twink?”

“Don’t call him that,” Nick seethes. His fingers have curled themselves into a fist and he digs his nails into his palm, fighting to stay calm.

“I’ll call him whatever the fuck I want,” David insists. “He’s a fucking paralegal; they’re a dime a dozen. I don’t know why you’re so attached to him.” Then David’s voice drops lower, and he leans in towards Nick, his volume barely above a whisper. “Unless… Peut être qu'il te plaît.” (“Maybe you like him.”)

Nick feels something inside him fracture. His hands are suddenly on David’s chest and he’s shoving David hard. David stumbles back, slamming into the wall behind him, rattling the framed prints that hang there. Nick is immediately in his face, grabbing him by the lapels of his overpriced suit.

“Listen to me,” Nick hisses, his voice tight with anger. “You stay the fuck away from Charlie, and you stay the fuck away from me. I don’t want anything to do with you, you pathetic coward. And if I see you in my office again, I’ll put you straight through that window.”

David’s eyes are wide, but his jaw is set, and though he betrays no fear, Nick knows he’s been heard. Threats and violence are the only language David understands. He releases David’s lapels and backs away, straightening his own jacket and grabbing his coat before turning and striding out of his office, leaving David behind. He heads for the lift, his dress shoes clicking against the floor tile in a quick staccato rhythm. Charlie’s waiting for him there, a warm smile on his face, but it transforms into an expression of concerned surprise when he sees Nick.

“Everything alright?” Charlie asks.

“It’s fine,” Nick snarls, hammering the button for the lift with his thumb so hard it hurts. Charlie bites his lower lip, his gaze dropping to the floor. Nick can see that Charlie is surprised and hurt, but he says nothing, so neither does Nick. The ride down in the lift is quiet and awkward. By the time they make it to the lobby, Nick’s anger at his brother has subsided, the space it took up in his chest now filled with guilt over snapping at Charlie. The two men head outside, but Nick stops in front of the building doors.

“Charlie…I’m sorry. I…I ran into David, and he just…” Nick emits a sort of combination sigh and growl, his head tipping back to look at the sky. He looks back at Charlie and his heart aches with remorse: what the fuck is wrong with me? “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

Charlie’s shoulders are up around his ears, but he nods and gives Nick a very small smile. “It’s okay, Nick. I get it.”

Nick’s heart sinks. It’s clear that his angry outburst has set Charlie on edge, and he knows that an apology isn’t going to fix things right away.

“Do you…Can we still go for coffee?” Nick asks. “My treat?”

Charlie’s shoulders drop an inch, and he nods. “Yeah, of course.” Then he gives Nick a cheeky grin. “Plus, if you’re buying, it gives me a chance to get something really expensive.”

Nick huffs out a relieved laugh. “Seems only fair.”

They walk side by side to the café, close enough that if Nick wanted to, he could reach out and brush Charlie’s fingers with his own. The memory of Charlie in his running gear wriggles into Nick’s consciousness as Charlie sets the pace for their walk, but Nick wrestles it back down. When they reach the café, Nick holds the door for Charlie, and they order and find a table in a sunny corner. Charlie’s ordered an extra-large flat white with oat milk - Nick tried to talk him into a pastry but Charlie insisted he wasn’t hungry - and Nick’s got a cappuccino and a scone that he picks at while they chat.

“He was just sitting there in my office when I went for my coat,” Nick explains through a mouthful of white chocolate and raspberry. “Like he was lying in wait or something.”

“Weird,” Charlie replies. “Any idea what he wanted?”

“Apparently my dad’s been telling the partners about the good job I - we - have been doing, and David’s worried it’s going to affect his easy ride to the top,” Nick tells Charlie. “Like I give a shit about David’s career.”

“Your dad’s been talking about your work?” Charlie asks, incredulous. “That’s great, Nick!”

“Yeah, I guess?” Nick replies. “I appreciate that he’s noticing, but honestly, it’s sort of weird. I mean, he’s never taken an interest in anything I’ve done my entire life, and now all of a sudden, he’s inviting me for drinks in his office and telling other people how great I am?” Nick shrugs. “It makes no sense.”

“Maybe he’s just responding to what he’s seeing,” Charlie suggests. “I mean, you are doing good work.”

“We are doing good work,” Nick corrects. “Honestly, Charlie, I’d be nowhere without your help. I’d probably still be sitting at my desk every night slowly going blind from reading regulatory nonsense.”

Charlie chuckles but shrugs the comment off. “I doubt that, Nick. You’re really good at your job.”

“Maybe, but it’s a hell of a lot easier since you came around. You’re good at everything,” Nick insists.

“No, I’m not,” Charlie replies, but Nick shakes his head.

“You are! You’re a proper little nerd,” he teases, nudging Charlie’s knee with his under the table.

“Shut up,” Charlie says, trying to suppress his smile and nudging Nick’s knee back.

“You know it’s true.” Nick shakes the last bite of his scone at Charlie in emphasis before popping it into his mouth, giving Charlie a satisfied smile.

Charlie’s cheeks are flushed bright red, and he’s got his lower lip between his teeth, his smile threatening to take over his whole face. He’s staring at Nick, his blue eyes sparkling with mirth. Nick feels butterflies beating their wings against his ribcage again. Charlie is so fucking adorable.

And then from somewhere deep and dark inside him, Nick hears David’s voice:

Maybe you like him.

Nick sits up ramrod straight, nearly knocking the table over with his knee. Charlie starts, jumping back from the table in surprise. The easy, comfortable energy flowing between them is broken and suddenly Nick’s having trouble catching his breath.

“Excuse me for a sec.” Nick’s up and striding toward the loo as fast as his feet will carry him, leaving a stunned Charlie behind. He slams the door to the washroom open and shuts himself in a stall, sitting on the toilet lid as his head falls forward into his hands. His breath is coming fast and shallow and his head is pounding, the ground beneath him spinning like a vortex. In his head two images flicker back and forth like a glitch in a film strip: Charlie’s perfect, beautiful smile, and David’s hideous sneer. Nick feels his stomach twist and he fights down the urge to be sick, focusing instead on trying to get his breathing under control.

After a few minutes of slow breathing, Nick is able to stand, and he heads to the sink and splashes cold water on his face. As he dries his face on a paper towel, Nick stares at himself in the mirror. He’s letting himself get too close to Charlie. Whatever it is that he thinks he might be feeling, it’s not a thing. It can’t be a thing. Yes, Charlie’s good looking, and yes, he’s kind and funny and smart and easy to talk to, but he’s…He’s just a work colleague. Things in Nick’s life are good the way they are. His dad is happy with his work, Imogen is happy that he’s home more, and Nick is…well, he’s fine. He’s just fine. He needs to keep Charlie at a safe distance, a professional distance. Because they’re colleagues, and nothing more. Nick sighs deeply and straightens his unkempt hair. No more little touches, no more teasing, no more slip ups. Nick needs to maintain his boundaries and keep Charlie from getting too close, or he risks everything coming apart.

Nick leaves the washroom and heads back to the table where a very confused-looking Charlie is staring out the window, his coffee in hand.

“Sorry about that,” Nick tells him as he sits back down, trying to appear casual and unaffected. “I suddenly felt a bit off.”

Charlie gives him a weak smile, but Nick can tell from his expression that he’s not buying one word of Nick’s story. “Sure,” Charlie replies. “Maybe too much caffeine?”

“Yeah, maybe shouldn’t’ve got the extra-large,” Nick jokes, but Charlie doesn’t laugh. Even though Nick’s chest tightens at the new awkwardness between them, he brushes it aside. He and Charlie aren’t friends: they are colleagues. And that’s how it needs to stay.

*************

And so it goes.

Nick and Charlie continue to work well together, their brains in sync in almost every situation, but with Nick consciously maintaining a professional distance. He can tell from Charlie’s demeanour that he isn’t enjoying their new, chillier relationship (frankly, neither is Nick), but it has to be done. Nick can’t risk letting his guard down and getting too close to Charlie. He can’t risk David’s suspicions about Nick’s sexuality turning into reality.

It’s mid-afternoon on a Tuesday when Stéphane shows up in the conference room, his face stormy.

“Nicolas ?”

Nick glances up from his laptop. “Oh. Hi, dad.”

“Come here for a moment, please.”

Nick glances at Charlie, noting his soft frown before he stands and walks to his father. They step outside the conference room into the hall, where Stéphane speaks in a low, quiet voice.

“Nick, I have a very important client who has a court date tomorrow morning to defend their development in front of the Minister of the Environment,” Stéphane tells him. “I need you and Charlie to look over their Environmental Impact Assessment and ensure that all of the advice we have previously given them is accurate, and that nothing has been missed. It is very important that this is done tonight.” Stéphane frowns and lays a hand on Nick’s upper arm in an almost tender gesture. “I know that I have been pushing you hard, but I would appreciate you taking care of this for me.”

Nick is a bit taken aback by his father’s request. “Wouldn’t you prefer David do it?” Nick asks him, but Stéphane shakes his head.

“I need yours and Charlie’s careful eyes on this one,” he tells Nick. He glances over his shoulder, then leans in closer to Nick. “David est formidable avec les clients, mais il n'a pas l'œil pour les détails. Charlie et toi êtes bien plus doués pour ce genre de choses. Qu'en dis-tu ?” (“David is wonderful with clients, but he has no eye for details. You and Charlie are much better at this sort of thing. What do you say?”)

Nick considers for a moment. He and Imogen have no standing plans for the evening, and he hasn’t worked late in a while, so he’s sure he can get away with it for one night without upsetting her. Plus, it sounds like Stéphane really wants Nick in particular to look at this. Like he trusts him. Maybe things between them really are improving.

“As long as Charlie’s free,” he tells his father, “I’m game to have a look.”

Stéphane smiles wide and claps Nick on the shoulder. “Fantastique!” He hands the massive file to Nick. “Thank you, my boy.”

Nick heads back into the conference room. Charlie looks up from his work immediately. “What was that about?” he asks.

“My dad’s got an important client giving an Environmental Impact Assessment presentation to the Minister in the morning. He wants you and me to look it over. Tonight.”

Charlie’s eyebrows fly up. “Really?”

“Apparently,” Nick says, sitting down and placing the file on the table in front of him.

“Why didn’t he ask David?” Charlie queries.

“Apparently David lacks the eye for detail that you and I possess,” Nick replies.

Charlie huffs out a surprised laugh. “Wow, that’s… quite flattering, actually.”

“Yeah…” Nick’s still staring at the file suspiciously like it’s a previously unencountered wild animal that might be venomous. He’s actually quite shocked his father gave this to him, and he’s not sure what it means. Stéphane is always playing angles, and this whole situation makes Nick vaguely uncomfortable. “Anyway,” he tells Charlie. “It means staying late tonight. Are you able to? I know it’s last minute.”

Charlie bites his lower lip. “Um…I think I can, I just have to make a quick call.”

“Sure.”

Charlie rises from his seat and goes out into the hallway with his phone, while Nick opens up the file folder. The project is an industrial chemical plant on a waterway, which is definitely a tough sell. The issue under investigation seems to be waste disposal, and it looks like the original paperwork for the project was completed by…Nick’s stomach sinks. David. Of course. Nick squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath. David’s already furious with Nick for taking up some of Stéphane’s limited attention. This is going to make things much worse.

 Nick’s about three pages into reading the report when Charlie reappears.

“All good,” Charlie tells him.

“That’s great!” Nick replies with a smile, forgetting himself for a moment. Charlie’s eyes light up, and Nick immediately looks back down at the file, putting his focus back to the task at hand before he gets sucked back into Charlie’s orbit. “So, um, the main issue is the effluent from the planned industrial development. Can you get us the regulations we need to review for that?”

“Can do.” The light that had ignited in Charlie’s eyes is gone as quickly as it appeared, and Nick’s heart sinks a little. As Charlie turns and heads for the door, Nick can’t stop himself from calling out. “Charlie?”

Charlie turns. “Yeah?”

“Um…Can I…We should order dinner, yeah?” Nick stammers. “I mean, if Dad’s gonna keep us here late, the least he can do is feed us, right?”

Charlie smiles slowly, and nods. “Yeah. Okay.”

Even that tiny little smile makes Nick’s pulse flutter. “What do you fancy?” he asks. “Pizza? Indian? Thai?”

Charlie thinks for a moment, then shyly says, “Thai, I think. If that’s alright.”

“Better than alright,” Nick assures him with a broad grin. “There’s a place not too far from here that does a spectacular mango curry, you’ll literally die.”

Charlie’s smile grows, and Nick nearly turns to liquid at the sight of Charlie’s dimple: he hasn’t seen it in far too long.

“Sounds great, Nick.”

*************

“You cannot be serious!” Charlie laughs through a mouthful of coconut rice. “You’re a grown man!”

“Charlie, listen.” Nick points at Charlie with his chopsticks, a pad thai noodle dangling precariously between them. “Anyone who denies themselves the pleasure of Harry Styles’ music is living half a life. ‘Sign of the Times’? ‘Fine Line’? C’mon, Charlie! These are classics!”

Charlie’s laughing so hard that Nick’s a bit afraid he’ll choke on his mango curry, but the sheer joy in the sound and the beauty of the smile on Charlie’s face are rapidly dissolving the carefully constructed barriers Nick has put up between them over the past week. Their Thai food was delivered around half-seven, and Nick swiped a bottle of wine from his father’s office to accompany dinner. They’ve been eating, drinking, and discussing arguing about music for close to half an hour. Charlie’s taste is clearly more sophisticated and stylish than Nick’s, which is 90% boy bands and 10% ABBA, but Nick doesn’t care one bit. If talking about his ridiculous obsession with One Direction can make Charlie this happy, Nick’s more than thrilled to do so.

“I can honestly say I’ve never really listened to his music,” Charlie admits. “I mostly just admired One Direction for… other reasons.” Charlie waggles his eyebrows and this time it’s Nick’s turn to laugh.

“Okay, fair enough. But please, let me educate you.” Nick pulls out his phone and cues up ‘Watermelon Sugar’, turning the volume up to full. He takes a slug of wine as the guitar and Harry’s gorgeous tenor start to fill the conference room. Nick sways back and forth in his chair, grooving to the beat, the alcohol and the extremely long day of reading tedious paperwork having lowered his inhibitions considerably. Charlie’s leaning back in his chair, shaking his head as he watches Nick, his shoulders quaking with giggles. Nick just grins and doubles down on the cheese, lip syncing along to the lyrics, his eyes closed as he waves his arms. He’s not quite sure what’s gotten into him, but Nick feels more relaxed and happier than he has in weeks. As the chorus approaches, Nick can’t help but sing along loudly, albeit extremely off-key.

“Watermelon sugar HIGH! Watermelon sugar HIGH!” Nick can hear Charlie laughing, and he opens his eyes to see Charlie’s cheeks flushed bright pink, tears streaming down his face as he guffaws at Nick’s ridiculous performance. Both of his dimples are calling to Nick from across the table, and Nick’s so glad that he’s as comfortable embarrassing himself as he is, because he gets to see that smile again. It’s been too fucking long. He finishes the chorus and decides to let Harry carry on by himself, taking another bite of his pad Thai as Charlie applauds. “See? I make good choices,” Nick says through a mouthful of noodles.

“I have seen the light,” Charlie assures him. “I will never again speak ill of Mr. Styles.”

“I should hope not,” Nick replies. “The man is a living legend.”

Charlie shakes his head again and takes another sip of wine. Nick notices Charlie’s giving him a bit of a curious look. “What? What’s up?”

Charlie sucks in a breath and gives Nick a half shrug. “You’re just…I wouldn’t have expected you to be a Harry Styles fan, is all,” he replies cautiously.

“Because…?” Nick prompts, and Charlie glances down, his cheeks colouring slightly.

“You know,” Charlie says. “You’re so…” He waves a hand at Nick, gesturing to pretty much all of him.

“Cultured? Brilliant? Ahead of my time?” Nick suggests, and Charlie laughs.

“No! I mean, yes, but…” Charlie sighs frustratedly. “Look, don’t take this the wrong way, Nick, but…you come off as sort of…laddish.”

Nick draws a hand to his chest, gasping dramatically as he clutches at his non-existent pearls. “Charles Spring, are you judging a book by its cover?”

“Maybe!” Charlie laughs. “But the cover is so…so…you know?”

Nick just shakes his head, wagging a chopstick at Charlie. “Now, Charlie, it’s not nice to make assumptions about people.”

“I know, I know,” Charlie says apologetically. “And I fully admit my assumptions were entirely incorrect. You are…” Charlie pauses, and Nick sees something flickering behind his blue eyes, something that makes Nick’s body temperature climb. “You’re just full of surprises.”

Nick feels his face heat up and he has to look away, focusing his attention on his nearly finished dinner for a moment. “Well, I try,” he says without looking up. The two men eat in silence for a moment as Harry continues to croon away. Nick finishes his last bite and wipes his mouth with his napkin. “Well, I guess we’d best get back to the EIA,” he says, standing to take his containers to the trash. He glances at Charlie’s plate, noticing there’s quite a bit of food left uneaten. Nick suddenly feels self-conscious: did he eat really fast? “Oh, sorry, Charlie, um, I didn’t realise you were still eating.”

“It’s fine,” Charlie tells him. “I’m just going to take this home.”

“You sure? We don’t have to–”

“It’s fine.” Charlie’s tone is biting, and Nick freezes, momentarily stunned by the ice coating Charlie’s words. Charlie just stares down at his plate, angrily stabbing a piece of chicken with a chopstick. There’s a long, heavy pause. Nick doesn’t know what he’s done to set Charlie off, but he’s clearly upset.

“Sure, um, sorry, that’s–” Nick stammers, but Charlie interrupts him.

“It’s fine, Nick,” Charlie replies. All the tension is gone from his voice, and he almost sounds tired. Charlie expels a long, frustrated sigh and leans back in his chair. “I’ve always…struggled. With food,” Charlie explains haltingly, raising his eyes to Nick. “When I was younger, it was something I used to cope with my anxiety. And it’s like anything else: it never really goes away.”

Nick’s heart clenches in his chest. “Wow, Charlie, I…Thank you for telling me,” he says gently. “I really appreciate you telling me that. It can’t be easy having to deal with that.”

Charlie huffs out a soft breath and nods. “It’s not,” he confirms. “But some days are easier than others.”

“Well.” Nick digs through the takeaway bag and produces a container. “This is the perfect size for you to take home whatever you don’t want to finish now. Or you can keep picking away at it while we work, I don’t mind.”

Charlie’s looking at Nick with a sort of wonder that makes Nick feel a bit flustered. “Thanks, Nick,” Charlie says softly. The sincerity in Charlie’s voice does nothing to unfluster him.

“No worries,” Nick tells him as casually as he can manage, praying that his cheeks aren’t as red as they feel. “I’m, uh, just gonna run this trash to the kitchen.” He collects up the rest of the containers and takes them to the staff kitchen to drop them in the bin, leaning on the counter for a moment to collect himself. He curses himself internally for letting this evening get too comfortable. What harm could ordering dinner do? What’s the harm in a few drinks? Ugh, he’d promised himself he was going to stay professional. But there’s just something about Charlie, something Nick can’t seem to stop chasing. Being with him doesn’t feel like being with any of his other colleagues, or friends, or…anyone Nick’s ever known before, Nick realises. Nick closes his eyes, the truth of it all hitting him like a brick: Charlie makes Nick feel…like himself.

But his father has handed him this huge case, apparently trusting him more than David to get it done right. And instead of working on the case, he’s spent half the night flirting with Charlie. Nick sighs angrily, slamming one hand down on the countertop as he squeezes his eyes shut, forcing down the sadness that’s welling up in his chest. He can’t let this happen. He can’t give in to this feeling that’s starting to grow roots in his heart because if he does, it will destroy verything. This is the life he’s chosen – a life with Imogen, a life where he has a chance to have a halfway normal relationship with his father – and he’s given up too much to let it all fall apart now because of…

Nick takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders, pouring himself a glass of water and downing it quickly in an attempt to sober up. He’s got to refocus.

When Nick steps back into the conference room, Charlie’s frowning, glancing back and forth between a handful of report pages. The energy in the room has shifted considerably, and Nick hurriedly approaches Charlie to see what’s up.

“Everything alright?” Nick asks him.

“Um…I don’t think so, no,” Charlie says, concern colouring his voice. “So, I was reading the regulatory compliance section again and it looks like the test results from the water runoff tests have been…altered?”

“Altered?” Nick says slowly, not fully understanding.

Charlie nods, his eyes still flicking back and forth over the two documents. “Look here,” he says, pointing to a section about two-thirds of the way down the page. “The discharge limit for cadmium in industrial wastewater is 0.1 mg/L. On the initial report,” - Charlie gestures at the paper on the right - “the amount found in the sample was listed at 0.13 mg/L. But, if you look at this more recent report, the one David finalized last week,” - Charlie points to the page on the left - “This time the amount is listed as 0.03 mg/L.”

Nick grabs his glasses from the tabletop and slips them on. He leans in and reads each section carefully, then reads it again, then a third time. With each pass, his eyebrows move higher as his stomach sinks lower.

“Well, which number is correct?” Nick asks.

“There’s no way to know,” Charlie replies.

Nick rubs the back of his neck as he thinks. “What do you think happened?”

Charlie shrugs, his face perplexed. “I don’t know. Unless they’ve significantly changed their waste disposal process–”

“—Which we have no evidence that they have,” Nick interjects.

Charlie nods, his frown deepening. “Then someone changed the data on the second report to reflect numbers that are consistent with the legal limit.”

The two men stand side by side, staring at the documents. Nick feels a cold sweat crop up on the back of his neck. The only reason someone would make these changes would be so the development passes scrutiny by the environmental protection agencies. But there’s no way to prove with these documents alone which of these figures is correct: the higher, or the lower. Nick rakes a hand through his hair. “Well…Shit.”

Charlie nods slowly. “Yeah.”

“What do we do?” Nick asks, turning to Charlie, whose face clearly says he has no idea what to do either.

Then suddenly all the pieces fall into place. Nick’s mouth falls open, and he slowly lowers himself into a chair. He looks up at Charlie. “Why do I get the feeling my father knew this was in this file?” he asks Charlie. One of Charlie’s dark eyebrows rises in confusion. “He specifically asked me to review it, and not David,” Nick explains. “Why do you think that might be?”

Charlie’s face falls, and he sits down in the chair next to Nick’s. “Because he knew David messed with the reports.”

“Yeah.” Nick removes his glasses and digs the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. “I should have fucking known!” he growls angrily. “Dad knows David’s a fucking disaster, but instead of dealing with it, he’s gonna turn me on him! Goddammit!” Nick slams his fist down on the table, making Charlie jump. “He’s been doing shit like this to us ever since we were kids. Everything was a goddamn competition for his attention. When one of us did better at rugby, the other would get the cold shoulder, or a lecture on how to be ‘more like your brother.’” Nick chuckles darkly, shaking his head. “And even after Dad was gone, David still had to be the best at everything, like him being even one iota better than me would somehow make Dad love him. And any time I excelled at anything, David made sure to make my life miserable, as if my existence was the reason that Dad didn’t love him.”

Nick blinks rapidly. He brings a hand to his eyes and finds his cheek wet, and he realises he’s crying. He swipes angrily at the tears, turning his face away from Charlie so he doesn’t see, although he’s pretty sure it’s too late for that. Fuck his fucking father! Nick was so sure things were better between them. He was so sure that his dad finally trusted him, finally believed in him. But of course, he didn’t. Why would he? He’s never going to be good enough for Stéphane.

Nick hears the wheels of Charlie’s chair scrape across the floor, then feels a hand on his shoulder. Nick closes his eyes, the warmth from Charlie’s hand seeping into his skin through the fabric of his shirt. Charlie’s touch is sure and firm, and it pulls Nick out of his head. He turns to face Charlie, who has brought his chair up close beside Nick’s. He’s looking at Nick with an expression of utter empathy. There’s not a trace of pity in his blue eyes, just understanding and compassion, and Nick shudders out a breath.

“Sorry,” he whispers, and Charlie shakes his head.

“Nope, none of that,” he tells Nick, squeezing his shoulder. His fingers are light but grounding, his grip gentle but firm. It feels so nice, and Nick realises he’s been aching for this kind of touch. He gives Charlie a weak smile. “Thanks.”

“Sure.” Charlie gives Nick’s shoulder a quick squeeze before releasing it, and Nick’s skin immediately objects to the loss of Charlie’s warmth. Charlie sits back and wrinkles his nose, frowning angrily at the pile of papers on the table. “So…It would seem your father is a bit of a prick.”

A massive laugh bubbles up out of Nick’s throat, catching him by surprise and slicing through his frustration and sadness. Charlie’s lips turn up into a smile, and Nick feels some of his anger melt away.

“Yes,” Nick says through his laughter. “It would seem so.”

“Should we call him?” Charlie asks. “Tell him what we’ve found?”

Nick sighs with resignation. “Probably. I imagine he’s expecting it.”

And then Charlie touches him again. This time, he lays his hand on Nick’s forearm, and Nick can feel every hair on his arm standing up beneath his shirt sleeve as they reach toward Charlie’s hand. “You’ve got this, Nick,” Charlie assures him, and honestly, with Charlie beside him, Nick feels like he might be right.

“Yeah. Okay.” Nick reaches into his pocket and pulls up his dad’s contact on his phone. Charlie stands and starts gathering up some of the papers they’ve finished with as Nick waits for his father to answer. He appreciates that Charlie’s staying close by during the call, he’s not sure he could do it alone.

“Allo, Nicolas?”

“Hi, dad. Um, so Charlie and I found something when we were reviewing the EIA.”

Nick goes on to explain what they’ve found, and his father curses.

“I knew something wasn’t right about that report,” he tells Nick. “Thank you for finding it. And Charlie as well; thank him for me.”

“Yeah, will do,” Nick says. “What do you want us to do?”

Stéphane thinks for a moment. “I think we will have to postpone the hearing tomorrow. I will call my friend at the Minister’s office and see if we can get another week or so to investigate what’s happened with the environmental assessment. The wastewater test will likely need to be repeated under supervision. Hopefully the client will still want to work with us.”

“Hopefully. Charlie and I will just finish up and I’ll leave the file on your desk,” Nick tells him. “Sorry for the bad news.”

“It’s alright. I’d rather find out now than tomorrow, or next week,” his father says. He pauses for a moment. “Nicholas, thank you for working so hard. I’m proud of you.”

Nick’s jaw drops so fast he thinks for a moment it might have dislocated. “I… um… thank you?”

“À demain, Nick.”

And the line goes dead.

Nick sits motionless for another moment, his mouth hanging open, before he’s finally able to move his hand away from his ear and lock his phone. He blinks a few times, trying to reconcile what he’s just heard with the decades of history he has with his father, but he can’t. In his heart of hearts, he knows the words are meaningless; they’re just words his father uses in an attempt to earn Nick’s loyalty. But there’s still a part of Nick, a remnant left over from his childhood, that really, really wants them to be true.

“Nick?”

Nick’s head whips around to find Charlie staring at him, looking extremely worried. “What happened?”

“Oh, um, he told me he’s going to see if they can delay the presentation a week or so to investigate what’s up with the environmental assessment data.”

“Oh! That’s good!”

“Yeah. Um, and then… then he said he was…proud of me?”

Charlie’s eyes widen, his mouth falling open in a near-mirror image of Nick’s own expression. “Oh! Um…Wow.”

“Yeah,” Nick agrees. “Wow, indeed.”

Charlie frowns slightly. “Are you alright?”

“Honestly? Not really,” Nick tells him, rubbing the back of his neck. “Plus, David’s going to murder me.”

“I hope not,” Charlie replies. “I was just getting used to working with you. If you get murdered, I’ll have to get used to a whole new lawyer, and I just don’t have that kind of energy right now.”

Nick chuckles. “Well, I would hate for that to happen to you.”

“Me too,” Charlie says with a grin. For a moment, they just look at each other, and Nick feels his heart swell. Charlie’s so great. In another life, in another universe, maybe, things could have been…different between them. But they’re here.

Nick sighs deeply and stands. “I told my dad we’d pack up and leave this on his desk,” he says, beginning to collect up some of the loose papers. “I can finish up if you want to go.”

“Oh, um…” Charlie thinks for a moment, then checks the time on his phone. “Actually, I…I might, if that’s alright. I was going to meet up with someone, and I cancelled earlier, but I think I actually might still be able to make it.”

“Oh? Plans with a friend?” Nick asks as he closes the file, wrapping a sturdy rubber band around it.

“Oh, no, um…a date, actually,” Charlie says hesitantly.

Nick’s heart twists hard in his chest and he nearly doubles over from the sensation. He grips the file tightly, his fingertips threatening to leave impressions in the manilla. “Ah,” he says, willing his voice to be level and calm.

“Yeah,” Charlie continues as he slips his laptop into his side bag. “Just a guy I met at a party a few weeks ago. I wasn’t really looking for anything, but…” He shrugs and gives Nick a hopeful smile. “You never know.”

“Right, sure.” Nick nods and stares down at the conference table, not daring to look up. Of course, Charlie has a date. Of course he does. He’s clever, he’s gorgeous, he’s probably got loads of guys lined up to date him. What kind of guy wouldn’t want to go out with Charlie? Nick’s eyes trace the lines in the wood grain of the conference table, his mind whirring with questions about who this guy is, where he’s taking Charlie, what he looks like; whether he’ll notice that Charlie’s second dimple only appears when he’s really, genuinely happy; if he’s taller than Charlie, or broader; if his arms will encircle Charlie’s waist the way that Nick’s often envisioned his own doing.

Nick swallows hard, shoving all of his questions down into the blackness where such thoughts belong. Charlie’s still looking at him, obviously expecting a response, so Nick forces himself to speak.

“Well, have fun.”

He can tell Charlie’s waiting for him to look up, to say goodbye, but he can’t. If he pulls his eyes away from the mahogany, Nick’s sure he’ll do something stupid, and he can’t. He can’t risk it. An awkward silence hangs heavy in the air between them until Charlie clears his throat.

“Um, okay, well, bye then, Nick,” Charlie says quietly.

“See you tomorrow,” Nick replies, not looking up.

He hears Charlie’s footsteps receding, and the conference room door opens and swings shut.

*************

Chapter Text

Chapter Five

Nick wakes up on Wednesday morning with a thick head and a sour taste in his mouth. He didn’t think he’d had that much to drink last night, but from the way his body is reacting, he clearly overdid it. He drags himself out of bed and into a hot shower, lamenting the fact that his thirty-something body can't bounce back after a night of (very mild) debauchery the way his younger self could. He’s getting soft in his old age. He can hear Imogen downstairs puttering away already. She likes to get up early to exercise and meditate before work; she says it helps ‘center’ her. Nick doesn’t know much about that, but he admires her dedication. Luckily, the shower helps to clear some of the fog in his brain, and it gives Nick enough energy to get dressed and stumble downstairs.

 “Morning, babe!” Imogen chirps, handing him a mug of coffee, the cream and sugar already mixed in perfect proportion.

 “Morning. And thank you,” he says, leaning across the counter to give her a kiss on the cheek. “Do we have any paracetamol?” 

“In the medicine cupboard in the downstairs loo,” Imogen tells him. She takes in his face, her expression aghast. “God, Nick, you look awful.”

 “Thanks,” he says, giving Imogen a sarcastic smile before trudging to the loo to procure his drugs. He pops two in his mouth and washes them down with a mouthful of coffee, then heads back to the kitchen to make some dry toast.

 “What time did you get in last night?” Imogen inquires. 

“About half-ten,” he replies as he pushes the lever down on the toaster. “Remember that file that Dad thought was fucked? It was. Rather severely, actually. And the best part is, the person who did the file-fucking was David.”

 “Oooo,” Imogen sucks in breath through closed teeth. “That’s not good.” 

“No, it is not.” Nick’s toast pops up and he spreads an extremely thin layer of butter on it, then sits at the breakfast bar to tuck in. “He’s gonna be furious when he finds out that I was the one who caught the mistake.”

Imogen comes up behind him and rubs his shoulders. “You can’t help that, love,” she says gently. “Your dad asked you to check it, so you checked it.”

Nellie ambles over from where she’s been sleeping in a sunbeam and plunks herself down at Nick’s feet. He leans over and gives her ears a gentle rub and she groans happily, bringing a little smile to Nick’s face.

 “Yeah, but I’m like, ninety-nine percent sure that Dad knew it was David who fucked up, and he wanted me to be the one to catch it,” Nick tells her, leaning his head to one side as her fingers work the knots in his upper back. He groans, the sound vaguely reminiscent of the one Nellie just made. “Oh my god, that feels amazing.”

 Imogen smiles and presses a kiss to the back of his neck. “You’re so tense, babe. You need to take some time for yourself.”

 Nick just laughs into his coffee. “Yeah, right. Stéphane would love that. ‘Sorry Dad, won’t be in today, I need some ‘me’ time.’”

 Imogen huffs out a breath, and Nick realises he’s offended her. He grasps her hand where it’s resting on his shoulder, squeezing her fingers gently. “I’m sorry, Im, you’re right. I’m just exhausted. I do need a break. But I can’t take one. Not right now.”

 “I know,” Imogen tells him, leaning her weight against his back. “I’m just worried about you, is all. Even when you’re home, you’re not really here, your head’s always at work.”

 Nick nods sadly and sinks his teeth into the inside of his cheek, the pain distracting him from the guilt bubbling in his belly. Because it’s so much more than that. Lately when he’s at home, all Nick can think about is when he can get back to work.

 When he can get back to Charlie.

 He’s tried to keep his distance, to stay professional, but it doesn’t matter what he does: he can’t get Charlie out of his head. Lately, he finds he can’t even be intimate with Imogen because images of Charlie’s face keep appearing unbidden in his mind. Charlie, his blue eyes dark with lust. Charlie, his lush lips open as he gasps under Nick’s touch. Charlie, his eyelashes fluttering as his eyes roll back in his head from the sensations burning between his body and Nick’s. And Nick may be an arsehole, but he’s not the kind of man who fucks his girlfriend while he fantasizes about his colleague.

 “I’m sorry, Im,” Nick tells her. And he is. She deserves better than this. “It will be over soon, I promise.”

 Imogen nods against his back, then stands. “Well, I’m going to be away this weekend at Giselle’s hen do, so you’ll have a bit of time to yourself.”

 “I’d forgotten about that,” Nick admits, and Imogen just shakes her head.

 “Well, I’ve been looking forward to it for ages,” Imogen tells him emphatically as she gathers up her smoothie cup and her travel flask of coffee, packing them into her work bag. “Three days in Mallorca! Just what I need to shake off this bloody fall weather. Nothing but sand and sun and booze. And it’s all free because her fiance is fucking loaded.”

 Nick chuckles. “Sounds incredible.”

 Imogen gives him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Drink some Lucozade, love. You need to rehydrate. I’ll see you later.” She leans down and gives the dog a quick pat. “Bye, Nels.”

 “Bye, Im,” Nick calls after her as she skips out the front door.

With a deep sigh, Nick looks at the toast crust in his hand with disdain, then extends it to Nellie who gobbles it up hungrily. He does take Imogen’s suggestion and grabs a bottle of Lucozade out of the fridge, settling down on the sofa in the lounge with Nellie as he sips it slowly and waits for the paracetamol to kick in. Nellie lays her head in his lap, and he strokes her soft fur absently as he wallows in his self-inflicted misery.

All night, he’d been tortured with dreams of Charlie’s date. His brain had forced him to watch as Charlie sat across from a gorgeous stranger with a shadowy face, laughing over drinks. He’d watched them walk together along the Thames hand in hand. He’d watched them kiss. He’d watched the shadowy figure run his hands through Charlie’s hair; watched as they’d gripped each other tightly; watched as the other man removed Charlie’s clothes. Nick’s stomach still churns violently at the recollection. He wishes he could bleach his brain, but it just keeps helpfully replaying those images that make Nick ache with jealousy. How is he going to survive working with Charlie if he can't get this stupid…whatever it is under control?

 A half hour or so later, Nick arrives at work to find Charlie in a much better state than himself. He’s looking happy and well rested and is already hard at work in the conference room. He looks up and smiles at Nick as he comes into the room.

 “Morning,” Charlie says.

 “Morning,” Nick grumbles, collapsing into his chair and laying his head on the table.

 “Not feeling so good?” Charlie asks, and Nick just grunts in response. “Well, you’ll be pleased to know that David isn’t in this morning, so at the very least you don’t have to deal with him.”

 Nick glances up. “He’s not here?”

 Charlie shakes his head. “Apparently he’s called in sick.”

 Nick nods slowly. “Sick,” he repeats. “Right. Well, that’s good for me.”

 “Indeed,” Charlie grins. “A brief reprieve while you recover from… whatever is afflicting you.”

 “Too much wine on a work night,” Nick tells him, laying his head back on the table.

 “Ah.” Nick can actually hear Charlie smirking at him, but he ignores it, choosing instead to allow his eyes to fall closed as his head rests on the conference table. He listens to the rhythmic tapping of Charlie’s fingers on his keyboard as he curses Yesterday Nick for drinking. He's mentally debating faking ill to go home early when there’s a sharp rap on the conference room door. Nick sits bolt upright as Stéphane enters the room.

 “Nicholas, Charlie. Good morning.”

 “Good morning, sir,” Charlie replies, rising from his chair.

 “Sit, sit,” Stéphane says, waving his hand at Charlie, who does. Nick’s still sitting in his chair, self-consciously aware that his hair is undoubtedly sticking up on the side that was pressed against the tabletop.

 “I wanted to thank you both again for your work last night,” Stéphane begins. “You saved the firm from significant embarrassment.” Nick glances over at Charlie, whose eyes are wide. “I want to give you more responsibility,” Stéphane continues. “I can see that you are both very skilled, and the client has asked that you two please take over this case so that further mistakes can be avoided.”

 Nick and Charlie’s jaws drop simultaneously. “Oh, um, I really don’t think–” Nick starts, but Stéphane raises a hand, cutting him off.

 “Nicholas, this is not so much a request as an assignment,” Stéphane clarifies. “The client has asked for you two, and therefore you will work the case. This is understood?”

 Nick nods dumbly, his mouth still hanging open. He can see Charlie’s shocked expression out of the corner of his eye, his thick eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hairline.

 “Sure. Okay,” Nick replies.

 “I will ensure you have all of the necessary documents as soon as possible,” Stéphane tells them. “David’s secretary will bring them over right away. Also, this room will be your office for as long as you need it, and you can make use of any of David’s assistants and paralegals as you see fit.”

 “Okay,” Nick says again, not quite believing what’s happening.

 Stéphane nods and claps Nick on the shoulder. “Good. Thank you both.” He turns and heads for the door, then turns back. “Ton frère a pris quelques jours de congé, Nicholas, tu n'as donc pas besoin de t'inquiéter. Il ne te posera pas de soucis.” (“Your brother has taken a short leave of absence, Nicholas, so you don’t need to worry about him giving you any trouble.”) Stéphane then gives a quick nod in salutation, then he’s gone.

 Nick and Charlie turn to face each other. Charlie’s mouth is hanging open in befuddlement, and he shakes his head.

 “So…that happened,” he says slowly, as if still processing the events of the past few moments.

 “It did,” Nick replies, unable to find any more words than that. His father has literally just handed them David’s client. “Um…I think I need a coffee?”

 “Good idea,” Charlie replies, standing. “This time, it’s my treat.”

 *************

 By the time Nick and Charlie return to the conference room with their take-away coffees, the table is buried under a mountain of documents. Apparently, the case David and his team were handling is incredibly complex. There are plans, and revised plans, and revised revised plans, construction schedules, background studies and assessments from the developer, dozens of reports on environmental baselines, and on the potential effects of this build on the watershed and on the local flora and fauna, wastewater testing data, proposed mitigation plans, and reports from over ten different conservation agencies on the dangers of building this particular development on this particular waterway. Just the sight of the stacks of paper sends Nick’s heart into palpitations, but when he looks at Charlie, he’s practically salivating.

 “Alright,” Charlie says confidently, rubbing his palms together. “Let’s get organised.”

 It turns out that Charlie is exceptionally proficient at producing order from chaos. Within a few hours, he’s sorted the thousands upon thousands of pages into orderly piles. He’s identified what he and Nick need immediately from what they’ll need later and noted some of the gaps they’ll have to address before the rescheduled presentation to the Minister in a week’s time. Nick watches Charlie work, incredulous. The man is a literal machine, and it’s extremely impressive to watch, not to mention sort of…sexy.

 Nick immediately tamps that thought down.

 As the day marches on, Nick catches Charlie staring at his phone every now and again and smiling. He’s never seen Charlie on his phone at work before, and while it's not against any formal rule, it's a bit unusual. At first Nick says nothing, instead focusing his energy on the gargantuan project in front of him, but it keeps happening. First, Charlie will glance away from his computer, presumably because his phone has vibrated in his pocket. Then, he’ll look down at his lap surreptitiously, one hand dropping to his side. Then he’ll smile, and his hands will move under the table to type out a quick message before he slips his phone back into his pocket and resumes working. As much as Nick tries not to notice, he can’t help himself. His brain starts spinning with questions: Who is texting Charlie? Why is Charlie so intent on answering the messages immediately? Thousands of scenarios are running uninvited through Nick’s mind – Charlie’s date last night went well; he’s met someone he really likes, someone who is messaging him funny memes and flirty texts. He’s messaging back as fast as he can because he can’t wait to get out of here – away from Nick – to see him again. With each text Charlie receives, Nick’s blood pressure rises higher, the ghastly visions from the previous evening’s dreams flooding his senses. He starts feeling a bit nauseous and finds he can’t focus on his screen at all, the words he’s writing blurring together into a mess of nonsense. Finally, as yet another ping! rings out from Charlie’s direction and ricochets off the insides of Nick’s ears, he looks up.

 “The date went well, then?”

 Charlie freezes in his seat, all the colour draining out of his face. His blue eyes are wide, and Nick can see his grip on his phone tighten.

 “Um…sorry?” Charlie’s voice is unsteady, but Nick just barges onward.

 “Your phone.” Nick gestures at the phone clasped tightly in Charlie’s grip. “You’ve been on it all morning.”

 “Oh.” Charlie’s gaze drops to his phone screen. He immediately locks the phone and slides it into his pocket, his small frame looking even smaller than usual. “Sorry.”

 “Was it the guy? From the date?” Nick inquires.

 Charlie just gapes at him. By now, Nick’s jealousy has overtaken his good sense. If he was of sound mind, Nick would notice that Charlie’s stopped breathing. He’d notice that Charlie’s shoulders are tense and high around his ears. He’d notice that Charlie’s eyes are becoming glassy, that his fingers are shaking. But Nick doesn’t notice any of that. He just continues to stare at Charlie, his shoulders squared, and his jaw clenched.

 “Well?” he demands.

 “Um…I don’t…” Charlie stammers, but then he sucks a breath in through his nose and straightens in his chair. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business, Nick.”

 Nick feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “Well, if it’s interrupting your work, it’s absolutely my business,” he retorts, his words sharp as nails.

 This time, it’s Charlie who bristles. “I’m sorry, Nick. I didn’t realise that you weren’t alright with me checking my phone during work hours. I’ll be sure to keep it on ‘do not disturb’ until my contractual lunch break.”

 Nick seethes, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. “It’s fine,” he tells Charlie tersely. “I’m sure whoever it is will be wanting to hear back from you immediately. Wouldn’t want you to miss out.”

 Charlie recoils in his seat. He stares at Nick in shock, his usually calm and sparkling blue eyes stormy. His lips draw together in a tight line, and he nods slowly. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Thanks.”

 Nick just nods and turns his focus back to his computer. He stares at his screen, unable to make out what's on it through his blinding rage but unwilling to look back at Charlie. Ghoulish images of Charlie on a date with another man dance through his brain, someone handsomer, and funnier, and…out…and they make Nick see red. He stands up abruptly, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair. “I need some air,” he tells Charlie, then strides out of the conference room towards the lifts, his heart pounding in his chest.

 When he reaches the ground floor, Nick marches out of the building and down the street to a small parkette he knows. He tries to sit on a bench and catch his breath, but he can’t, so he paces back and forth along the path, clenching and unclenching his hands as he tries to get control of his breathing. Charlie has no right to make him feel this way! Nick had a good thing going before Charlie showed up. He had a girlfriend he loved, a job that wasn’t terrible all the time, and he was well on his way towards having a decent career, but now…now…

Nick collapses onto the bench, a sob heaving its way out of his chest. He lowers his head, praying no one he knows passes by and sees him like this. He wipes his eyes on his sleeve and sucks in a deep breath, forcing himself to regulate his breathing. He is not going to cry in a public park. In for four, out for four– that was what Imogen always told him about meditation. Just focus on the breath…In for four, out for four. Nick counts and breathes and counts and breathes until he feels his heartbeat slow, but his mind continues to churn mercilessly.

 It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair how much Charlie affects him, how easy it is for Charlie to just come and go and live his life while Nick has to work so fucking hard just to keep things normal; to keep everything together.

Nick sniffles, swiping at his eyes again before glancing up. The parkette is mostly empty with only the birds to witness his breakdown. Across the street he can see people walking to and from work, eyes on their phones, no one paying him any attention. Sometimes, Nick feels like he’s invisible. Like no one can see him. Not his dad, not Imogen…no one. And then Charlie came along and…for the first time, Nick felt…Nick felt like someone saw him. Charlie gets him. He understands Nick in a way no one else ever has.

 And it’s not fair. It’s not fair because Nick can’t be with him the way Charlie would want someone to be with him. He can’t go on dates, or live together, or get married or any of that stuff. He can’t because…because then he’d lose everything. His reputation, his friends, Imogen, his job, his father…And who is Nick without those things? Who is he if he throws all of that away? Nick sighs deeply, running a hand through his hair. He’s no one, that’s who. He’s a nobody who Charlie probably wouldn’t even want anyway, so why bother wasting time and energy thinking about it? Charlie can clearly do a lot better than Nick, and Nick needs to just accept that and get over his stupid, pointless feelings.

 With another deep breath, Nick pulls himself to his feet, shaking off his frustration and despair as he buttons his jacket. He’s tried keeping things professional, he’s tried putting up walls around himself to protect what he’s built, but that hasn’t worked. So maybe it’s time to take a page from David’s playbook: Maybe it’s time to just be a dick.

 *************

 “So, where are we on the wastewater data?”

 Nick storms back into the conference room in full ‘business’ mode, stripping off his jacket and rolling up his shirtsleeves.

 Charlie looks up from his computer, surprised. “Um, well, we’ve got the data from the first two reports, but it’s contradictory–”

 “So, you ordered a third test, I assume?” Nick asks him.

 Charlie stiffens. “I did,” he confirms.

 “Do we have a date for that?” Nick sits down in his chair, sliding his glasses on as he glances at his laptop screen. “Was I cc’ed on that email chain?”

 “Uh, yes, you were,” Charlie says, his voice tight. “I haven’t heard back from them yet.”

 “Well can you send a follow up, please, and request a test date?”

 Charlie frowns at Nick. “Nick, I only sent the request two hours ago.”

 “Well, just make sure you follow up,” Nick replies, his eyes still locked on his computer screen. “I don’t want anything else getting missed because we forgot to remind people.”

 “Yes, sir.”

 Nick looks up, the words and the chill that come with them hanging in the air between him and Charlie. He feels frost prickle along his skin as Charlie stares at him, his blue eyes icy. Somewhere inside of Nick something withers, but he ignores it and gives Charlie a perfunctory nod.

 “Great.”

 And so it goes.

 The rest of the day is a blur of work punctuated by frosty interactions, both men intently focused on their own projects, rarely speaking to one another. The temperature in the conference room seems to have dropped considerably. When Charlie offers to get coffee for them both mid-afternoon, Nick declines, avoiding looking at Charlie because he knows he’ll see hurt and confusion on the other man’s face, and he can’t deal with Charlie’s feelings right now. Right now, he needs to focus on his work and on pushing Charlie as far away from his heart as possible. Right now, what’s most important is Nick.

 Five o’clock comes and Charlie closes his laptop and starts packing up his belongings. Nick looks up from his laptop, perplexed.

 “Where are you going?”

 Charlie just stares at him. “It’s five. I’m leaving.”

 “But…I mean, isn’t there more we need to finish tonight?” Nick asks.

 Charlie shrugs. “All of the requests are sent, I’ve collated the data from all of the tests, I’ve reached out to all of our contacts at the various environmental agencies to set up a conference call. Everything I can do today is done. So, I’m gonna go home.”

 Nick nods, turning back to his computer screen. “Okay. Good. Well, thank you for doing all of that.”

 But Charlie doesn't move. He’s staring at Nick expectantly; a frown etched on his face. Nick bites the inside of his cheek, focusing on the sensation as he turns back to Charlie.

 “Is there something else?” Nick asks him.

 Charlie expels a deep breath, his frown deepening. “I just…What’s going on, Nick?”

 Nick bites down harder, tasting blood. “I don’t know what you mean.”

 “You’re just…Things are different today. You’re different.”

 “Am I?” Nick asks, playing dumb. “I was just trying to focus on the project.”

 Charlie narrows his eyes at Nick before he speaks again. “I guess I thought…last night…” He pauses, and Nick feels sweat forming along his hairline as he fights to remain composed under Charlie’s focused stare. “Do you have a problem? With me?”

 Nick’s skin suddenly feels too tight. “I’m not sure what you mean,” he lies.

 “Last night. My date. Do you…do we have a problem?” Charlie asks. He’s holding his head high, one eyebrow raised, looking down at Nick with a contempt Nick’s not seen on his face before, and Nick feels like he might be sick. Charlie’s meaning is unmistakable.

 Nick shakes his head. “No. We don’t,” he says firmly.

 Charlie nods slowly, and Nick feels his palms growing sweaty against the conference tabletop. He knows Charlie’s watching him, weighing his words against his actions. Nick knows Charlie’s worked for people who have treated him like shit before. Maybe he’s looking for a sign, some tiny indication that Nick still cares about him, that Nick still wants to be his friend. Nick can’t give him that. Not today. Not ever. But he absolutely isn't a homophobe, and he needs Charlie to know it.

 Eventually, Charlie’s face softens into a look of resignation.

 “Right,” Charlie says softly. “Good. Well, goodnight, then.”

 “Goodnight, Charlie.” Nick immediately turns his focus back to his computer as Charlie walks out of the conference room. It's good, he thinks, that Charlie is starting to dislike him. It's easier this way. For everyone.

 *************

 The rest of the week is much the same. Nick and Charlie work hard, only speaking to each other when they need something. They take their lunches separately and neither brings coffee back for the other. The project is coming together but Nick is miserable, and he knows Charlie is, too. Charlie never checks his phone when Nick is around, which makes Nick feel terrible, but he says nothing about it. He goes to work, works, and comes home. Exactly as he did before Charlie was a part of his world.

 On Friday, Imogen heads off for her girl’s weekend, and Nick orders pizza and collapses on the sofa with Nellie for an evening of television. But he can’t relax. Every day since their late night on Tuesday, working with Charlie has gotten tenser and tenser. The deeper they dig into this godforsaken project, the more problems they find. Needless to say, building an industrial chemical manufacturing plant near a protected wetland isn’t exactly simple. Nick’s days are chock full from start to finish with emails, conference calls, and scouring reports and proposals for any detail that might cause next Tuesday’s presentation to go sideways. The barrister has to be able to prove that the plant won’t pose undue risk to any of the species in the area, or to the watershed itself, and it’s turning out to be a lot more difficult than Nick could ever have imagined. Stéphane has also been asking for regular updates, so Nick is even more anxious than usual, finding himself barking orders at a frazzled and exhausted Charlie in a tone he usually reserves for yelling at refs in Premiership matches on telly. It’s a horrible way to work. Nick’s basically surviving on takeaway coffees, sandwiches, and Maalox, and he’d be hard pressed to provide evidence that Charlie is eating at all, which sort of terrifies Nick. But how can he ask Charlie about his eating after pushing him away all week? So, Nick just adds that to his list of shit he’s freaking out about that he can’t do anything to solve.

 By the end of Friday, it finally feels like they’re making progress. The emergency wastewater quality test is scheduled for Monday morning, the results of which will determine whether the project meets the legal requirements to be built on this land. There is literally nothing Nick can do to change the outcome of the test, so he just prays that the sample passes muster. If it doesn't, the future of the entire project will be thrown into question, and Nick is pretty sure Stéphane will murder him.

 Imogen returns home on Sunday evening, sunburnt and cheery from her hen weekend. Nick’s flopped on the sofa with Nellie watching rugby when she walks through the door.

 “I’m hooooome!” Imogen singsongs as she comes in, dropping her bags in the foyer and heading directly into the lounge to give Nick a kiss. “Miss me?”

 “Always,” he tells her, giving her the warmest smile he can conjure up. “How was it?”

 “Glorious,” she tells him, her smile bright. “I actually shared a room with my new desk mate, Sahar? She’s so funny, Nick! She just, like, totally gets me, you know? It’s so nice to have someone like that at work, who can, like, make me laugh and make everything seem less blah, you know?”

 Nick nods, actively compartmentalising his own ‘colleague who gets me’ experience and giving Imogen a smile. “Tea?” he asks her, and she sighs dramatically, nodding.

 “Yes, oh my god, I am dying!” she replies.

 Nick stands and Imogen hooks her arm in his to stroll to the kitchen. Nick puts the kettle on while Imogen prepares their mugs - matching and emblazoned with their initials, something she’d picked up on one of her shopping trips - all the while telling Nick every detail of her weekend away.

 “The hotel was ridiculous, I can’t even begin to explain how posh it was, you’ll have to look at my photos later. I mean, I know Giselle’s fiancé is in finance, but my god, he must be like, an international arms dealer or something to be able to afford this.” Nick pours water over their tea bags and Imogen stirs in the milk and sugar, and they sit across from each other at the kitchen table, Nellie at their feet. “The food was insane, I swear I must have gained five pounds in two days, and the champagne was non-stop. Sahar and I had an entire bottle between the two of us at breakfast this morning; it’s a wonder I’m not in worse shape.”

 “You probably hydrated,” Nick says with a grin, and Imogen slaps his forearm playfully.

 “Maybe!” she replies, giggling. “Anyway, Sahar and I have plans to go to lunch tomorrow and then dress shopping with Giselle after work, if that’s alright with you?”

 “Yep, sounds good,” Nick says. “Tomorrow’s our last day to prep for Tuesday’s presentation, so I imagine I’ll be late.”

 Imogen frowns, her full lips curving downward in an adorable pout that once upon a time turned Nick to liquid. “How’s all that going?”

 Nick just shrugs. “Shit, actually, but it's almost over. Hopefully my dad won’t assign me anything this ridiculous again for a while.”

 “Did he at least give you some help?” Imogen asks.

 “Yeah, he gave me David’s secretary, and some of his assistants.” Nick takes a sip of his tea. “And I’ve got Charlie.”

 “The new paralegal?”

 “Mhm, yeah,” Nick replies. He’s told Imogen about Charlie before, but just in passing. He doesn’t really want to talk about Charlie with her: it feels wrong somehow. “He’s good, he does good work.”

 “Is he nice?” Imogen inquires. “Fun to work with?”

 Nick gives her a sort of noncommittal shrug. “Sure, I guess. Why?”

 “I don’t know,” Imogen replies, sipping her tea and fiddling with one of her blonde ringlets that dangles in an act of deliberate dishevelment beside her ear. “It’s just…Since Sahar started, and she’s so nice and, like, fun to work with, work’s just been…you know, better. More pleasant. I was hoping maybe Charlie was fun, too, and that maybe that made things at work a bit less shit for you.”

 That hot, sick feeling that's been making its home in Nick’s guts since Wednesday ratchets up a notch, and Nick finds he’s unable to finish his tea. He just swirls the dregs around the bottom of his mug and tries to swallow it down.

 “Well, anyway, I doubt I’ll be out late,” Imogen continues when Nick gives her no reply. “Giselle has an appointment at four at this super posh bridal salon, then we'll probably grab dinner. Did I tell you they're getting married in Nice next summer?” she adds.

 “Sounds nice,” Nick jokes, and Imogen rolls her eyes affectionately. Her blue eyes dip down to her mug, and she pokes at her teabag with the tip of her spoon, frowning softly. Nick recognizes her expression immediately.

 “Something wrong?” he asks. He knows there is, but also that she won't just come out and say it. She wants him to ask.

 “No, not wrong,” Imogen replies carefully. “It’s just…Well, did you know Giselle and Richard haven't even been together that long? Only six months.”

 Nick’s pulse picks up slightly. “Okay.”

 “And…Well, some of the girls were asking how long you and I have been together.”

 Nick’s pulse speeds up further until he can feel it in his throat. “Okay.”

 Imogen bites her lip and looks up at him with wide blue eyes. “I guess…I guess I’m just sort of wondering… you know… if you see… us… getting married.”

 Oh fuck.

 Imogen’s words hit Nick in the chest like a cannonball, and his ribs and shoulders reflexively curve inward, as though trying to protect him. His mouth dries up immediately as he desperately searches for words to appease the hopeful, expectant expression on Imogen’s face.

 “Um…I mean, I haven’t…Not that I haven’t, it’s just…I mean…” Nick’s stammering, and with each filler word his brain unhelpfully provides, he watches Imogen’s expression move from hopeful to surprise to disappointment. It’s not that he hasn’t thought about marriage; of course he has. Marriage is the next inevitable step. He and Imogen have been together awhile, they live together; of course they’re going to get married. That’s what people do, right? They find a partner they love, and they move in and get married and have a family and like…do that. Nick just thought he had a few more…months? Years? He certainly wasn’t expecting this conversation to happen today of all days.

 Nick takes a deep breath and reaches for Imogen’s hand across the table. “Sorry, Im, you caught me a bit off guard there,” he says gently. “I just wasn’t expecting that question right now.”

 “I know, I’m sorry,” Imogen says, and he can tell she means it. She squeezes his hand in hers and lets out a sad little self-deprecating laugh. “I guess I just felt, like, a bit pressured by the other girls. You know, we’ve been together for ages, and they’re all getting married - well, not all of them, Sahar’s not married - and I guess I just wondered whether you ever thought about…you know. All of that.”

 “Yeah, fair enough,” Nick tells her, relieved that her question is coming from a place of peer pressure and not from her own expectations. “I guess I haven’t really thought that much about it, to be honest. I mean, we live together, and things are pretty good right now. I don’t really see the need to like, have a wedding and all that when we could put our money toward other stuff. Like renovations, or whatever,” he explains.

 “Like renovations,” Imogen echoes, her voice sounding oddly mechanical. Nick examines her face: something has changed in the past five seconds, since he started sharing his thoughts. She’s gone a bit paler, and her expression looks far away.

 “Im? You alright?” he asks.

 “Oh, yeah,” Imogen says, giving her head a little shake, her blonde curls bouncing. “I guess I was just sort of…surprised? When you said we don’t need to get married, that we could renovate instead?”

 Nick feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up in warning. He’s clearly put his foot in it. “Um, well, that’s not exactly what I meant,” he clarifies. “I just meant that weddings are expensive, and things between us are good right now the way they are, right? We don’t need to rush into getting married right away just because your friends are. We can use our money for other stuff, stuff that we want to do right away.”

 “Right.” Imogen nods slowly, a slight furrow appearing between her brows as she stares at Nick. “But you do want to? Get married? Like, in the future?”

 By now Nick’s heart rate has increased to jack rabbit speed. What had started as a conversation about Imogen’s weekend now feels a bit like an interrogation about where their relationship is headed, and Nick is not prepared for this. Not right now. Not today. Not with tomorrow’s fucking tests looming, and his dad breathing down his neck.

 “Look, Im,” he says, trying to keep his voice calm even as his chest begins to feel too tight. “I’m under a lot of stress at work right now, and I definitely want to talk more about this, about marriage and everything, but I really can’t handle this conversation today.”

 Imogen’s eyebrows fly up and she pulls her hand back across the table. “Um, what?” she says, incredulous.

 “I just…I need to focus on work right now, okay? I have this crucial presentation on Tuesday, and a major set of test results coming in tomorrow that could totally fuck this entire project.” He runs his hands through his hair in frustration. “I can’t take on any more stress today just because you’re jealous that your friends are getting married before we are.”

 Fuck.

Nick hears the words come out of his mouth before he can stop them. They leave his mouth and the reverberations they make in the air of the kitchen are so profound that the entire house seems to shake at the foundation. Imogen’s mouth falls open in utter shock, and Nick immediately regrets every syllable of this whole conversation. He reaches across the table in a desperate attempt to reconnect with Imogen, but she slides her chair backward and stands, pulling herself away from him.

 “Wow. Okay, um, I’m sorry, Nicholas, that you seem to think that this is about me being jealous of my friends. I don’t give a shit who my friends marry, or when they marry them. I was asking you if you wanted to marry me.” Imogen’s voice cracks on the last word, and Nick can feel her heart is shattering right along with it. “Which, by the way, you clearly don’t.” She sucks in a shuddery breath, her eyes filling with tears. “And honestly, I probably should have realised this a lot sooner. You’re never here, and even when you are here, you’re not, like, here, with me, your head is always somewhere else.” She laughs softly, a cruel sound that makes Nick feel sick to his stomach, and she shakes her head. “We haven’t had sex in weeks. And even before that, it wasn’t like you really enjoyed it, did you?”

 Tears have started to run down Imogen’s pale cheeks. She shakes her head again sadly, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. “I guess I was just sort of hoping that it was just stress from work, that maybe once you started feeling more capable at work, you’d remember that I was here. But it’s not work, is it?” Imogen asks, holding Nick’s gaze, her face stained with tears. “It’s me, isn’t it? You don’t want me anymore.”

 Nick desperately wants to go to Imogen, to hold her against him, to apologise over and over and beg her to forgive him, but he can’t. She’s staring at him, her blue eyes pleading, begging him to say something, anything, that will prove all of her observations and feelings incorrect. As if there’s some magic string of words Nick can say that will set everything right, that will send them back to several months ago when things were fine.

 But things weren’t fine several months ago.

 And if Nick’s honest with himself, they haven’t been fine for a long time.

 But he’s never been honest with himself. And he certainly hasn’t been honest with Imogen. He loves her, he always will, but she's right: he doesn't want to marry her. He lets his head fall forward, utterly ashamed. Imogen deserves so much better than he can give her.

 “I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I’m so sorry, Imogen.”

 Nick hears Imogen’s shuddery sob, but he can’t even look up at her face. He’s suspected it for a long time, but today, it’s official: Nick Nelson is a complete arsehole. He hears Imogen run from the kitchen and up the stairs to their shared bedroom, Nellie following quickly behind her, then the sound of the bedroom door slamming shut. His eyes fill with tears, and he lets them fall, the saltwater soaking into the fabric of his joggers. He’s fucked up everything. He’s fucked up his relationship with Imogen, he’s fucked up his friendship with Charlie, and he’s probably fucked up this fucking case at work because lord knows he’s never managed to live up to anything his father’s asked of him before.

 He’s a fuck up, through and through.

 *************

 Nick spends Sunday night sleeping on the sofa in the lounge. Nellie, his best friend for over a decade, has chosen to sleep upstairs with Imogen, the final nail in the coffin that marks the death of the good - or at least not totally prickish - Nick Nelson. He waits until Imogen has showered and left for work on Monday morning before leaving the lounge and getting himself sorted. Fuck being late. Maybe Stéphane will yell at him; at least then he’ll feel something other than the vast emptiness he feels right now.

 Nick ends up arriving to work only a quarter of an hour late, and the place is so frantic that no one even notices. All of David’s assistants, paralegals, and his secretary are running hither and thither, collecting paperwork into folios and stacking them in front of Charlie as he instructs them on what goes where. He glances up as Nick opens the conference room door and gives him a nod in greeting, which Nick returns. Nick sets up in his usual chair and opens his laptop, scanning his inbox quickly before turning to Charlie for an update.

 “Alright?” he asks, and Charlie gives him a nod.

 “Yep, everything seems to be in order,” Charlie replies, checking his phone for the time. “The results from the tests should be in just before noon, so until then it’s just proofreading, photocopying, and packaging documents to send to the barrister. Courier should be here at about four to take it all over.”

 “That’s great,” Nick tells him. “Fuck, I’m terrified about these test results. I’ve not slept properly in days.”

 Charlie nods, and Nick’s almost certain he spies a touch of sympathy in Charlie’s eyes. “Hopefully everything will come back clear,” Charlie says. “Um, sorry, Nick, I really need to focus on all of this.” He gestures to the massive piles of paper accumulating in front of him.

 “Sure, sure, sorry.” Nick turns his focus back to his emails, leaving Charlie to his work. He spends about an hour returning messages, making calls and proofreading the documents they have yet to print before getting up to get himself a coffee. As he stands, he raises his eyebrows to Charlie.

 “Um, I can’t leave, but I’m gonna go make a coffee. Would you like one?”

 Charlie looks absolutely gobsmacked by the offer, and Nick immediately backpedals.

 “Sorry, I know you’re busy, I’ll just–”

 “No, no, um, yes,” Charlie says haltingly. “I…I would like one very much, thank you.”

 Nick’s heart lifts, those few little words making him feel better than he has in a week. “Okay, great! Oat milk, right?”

 Charlie nods, a small smile on his lips. “Yeah.”

 “Okay.” Nick returns Charlie’s cautious smile with one of his own and makes haste to the kitchen. He pulls out two of the larger mugs and starts up the espresso machine, then starts rummaging in the fridge for the oat milk he’s 100% sure is in there because he may have bought it himself last week before he decided that he needed to push Charlie away.

 “Not gonna welcome me back?”

 The voice makes Nick almost double over with the urge to vomit. He pulls his head out of the fridge, oat milk in one hand, and closes the door firmly before turning around.

 “David.”

 David’s standing in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed over his chest. He frowns at the carton in Nick’s hand.

 “Oat milk? Gay.”

 “Very mature, David.” Nick rolls his eyes and crosses to the espresso machine, setting up both mugs for a long shot.

 “So, I see you’ve totally taken over the Sandoval Chemical case,” David hisses.

 “I didn’t take it over, Dad assigned it to me.” Nick pours the oat milk into the steamer thingy and turns it on, focusing on the happy little bubbles it makes as it works.

 “Oh, he did, did he?” David’s tone is as condescending as it gets. “He just gave you all of the hard work I’ve been doing for literal months to get that absolute dumpster fire of a project off the ground?”

 The oat milk reaches temperature, and Nick switches off the steamer, then pours it into Charlie’s mug, watching it swirl into the espresso in contrasting dark and light spirals before adding it to his own. “Yes, David. He assigned me the project after you completely fucked it up.”

 Nick can actually hear David’s blood boiling in his veins. “I did not fuck it up!” David insists angrily. “The client sent me new test results, and I added them to the file. What the fuck else was I supposed to do?”

 Nick whirls around, astonished. “Maybe check them against the first results and identify the fact that they’re not even fucking close? Maybe investigate why and how the cadmium level changed so drastically? Maybe ask some fucking legal questions, David?”

 “Don’t fucking talk to me that way,” David snarls. “I am very good at my job. I make one goddamn mistake and Dad just hands everything I’ve done to you, like you’re some superstar? You haven’t even finished your LPC!”

 “Well apparently even a barely qualified solicitor is doing your job better than you,” Nick shoots back. “I don’t want to be the one cleaning up your messes, David, but clearly somebody has to. Now kindly get out of my way, I need to get back to work.” Nick picks up the two freshly made lattes and moves to shove past David, but David steps directly into his path.

 “You better watch your back,” David hisses. “You and your little faggot assistant.”

 Nick’s skin burns with rage, but he gives David a confident grin. “Is that a threat or a promise?” he asks.

 “It’s a fucking promise,” David growls. “I don’t know why Dad thinks you two are so fucking special, but I can guarantee that the second that little fairy fucks up, he’ll be out the door, and if I get my way, you will be, too.”

 Nick’s eyes narrow. “Sure, David. You know, maybe instead of threatening me and Charlie, you should try doing some actual work, so you don’t get shitcanned.” He slams his shoulder into David and shoves past him through the kitchen door, then stalks back to the conference room, forcing himself to take deep breaths so he doesn’t spill coffee all over the rug as he walks.

 Charlie glances up as Nick comes through the conference room door. When Nick hands him his latte, Charlie receives it with a grateful smile.

 “Thanks,” Charlie says. “You alright? You look a bit rattled.”

 Nick laughs darkly. “Guess who’s back to work today?”

 Charlie rolls his eyes and sighs. “And how is darling David?”

 “Oh, thrilled that we’ve been assigned this project, as I’m sure you can imagine,” Nick replies, sipping his latte carefully. His eyebrows hop up and he smiles, pleasantly surprised. “This oat milk stuff isn’t half bad,” he remarks.

 Charlie gives Nick a coy smile. “I make good choices,” he says, and Nick’s cheeks flush slightly at the familiar words.

 “You do,” Nick replies, unable to control the smile growing on his face. “Question for you, though: how does one milk an oat?”

 Charlie stares at Nick in surprise, then starts to laugh, shaking his head. Nick’s smile spreads wider as he catches sight of Charlie’s dimple. Fuck, he’s missed it so much.

 The results of the wastewater tests come in mid-day. They’re excellent, well below the legal threshold, and because the test was supervised by all of the relevant environmental agencies, the results are considered valid. Nick nearly hugs Charlie when the call comes through, but he manages to resist, instead offering him an awkward high-five. Charlie even high-fives him back, laughing at Nick’s ridiculousness as he does. They quickly finish up the remaining paperwork and Charlie sends David’s secretary off to make copies and package them up for the couriers. Nick orders them lunch, and he and Charlie pick at sandwiches and crisps as they stuff boxes alongside half a dozen other paralegals. Nick smiles as he watches Charlie slowly chew and swallow a bite of sandwich. Never before has something so mundane filled him with so much joy.

 Charlie, careful as always, double and triple-checks the contents of each box before they are handed off to reception to await the courier. By the time everything is finished, and the last box is on the trolley, it’s gone six, and Nick and Charlie are exhausted. They’re both down to their shirtsleeves, ties long since cast aside. As one of the paralegals wheels the last trolley out of the conference room, Nick collapses back into a chair with a massive sigh of relief. He and Charlie are once again alone in the cavernous space that is suddenly silent after being a flurry of activity all day. It’s so quiet, Nick can hear his ears ringing.

 "Fuck me,” Nick sighs, rubbing his face with both hands. “I cannot believe that we got that finished.”

 Charlie takes a seat in the chair next to Nick’s and leans back, smiling with satisfaction. “Honestly? Me neither,” he chuckles. “There were definitely a few hours there where I wasn’t sure this was going to come together.”

 “Can you imagine if the tests had come back out of range?” Nick asks Charlie with a horrified expression.

 Charlie just laughs. “Oh my god, Nick, please don’t even suggest that. I think your father would have burst into flame.”

 “Speaking of,” Nick says. “Haven’t seen much of the old man today. Thought he’d be hanging around driving us crazy.”

 “Me too,” Charlie agrees. “Maybe he just trusted us to get it done?”

 Nick laughs and gives Charlie a sly grin, wagging a finger at him. “Good one, Charlie! That sounds like Stéphane: just sitting back and chilling because he totally trusts us.”

 Charlie just shrugs. “It could happen! Maybe he was visited by the Spirits of Christmas? Now he’s changing his ways and becoming a benevolent humanitarian?”

 Nick just laughs harder. “I doubt even a visit from three ghosts could get him to unclench his arsehole, Charlie.”

 Charlie giggles and gives Nick an exhausted smile, and Nick’s heart skips a beat. Fuck, he has missed this. He has missed Charlie so much. This connection they have, it's like the last good thing in Nick’s life, and right now, in this quiet moment, Nick regrets everything he's done to try to sever it.

 “Charlie, I’m…I’m really sorry that I’ve been such a dick,” Nick says remorsefully. “I just…Things have been so fucked, you know? And I just…I took my shit out on you. And I'm really, truly sorry. You don't deserve that.”

 Charlie sighs. He glances down, his blue eyes focused on his hands which are folded in his lap, one hand picking at the cuticles of the other.

 “I appreciate the apology, Nick,” Charlie says softly.

 He doesn’t say anything more, and Nick doesn’t push it. He’s been a prick, and he knows it, and Charlie doesn’t owe him forgiveness. But he does feel better that at least he said something. At least he tried to mend things.

 Nick’s phone starts pinging from inside his pocket, a series of incoming text messages. He pulls it out to see what’s up, and his stomach sinks.

 Imogen: Hey Nick. I’m going to spend tonight at Sahar’s place. I might stay there for a few days.

Imogen: I don’t want to make things worse, I know you’ve got a crazy week at work, but I think I need some space.

Imogen: I asked Janice next door to feed Nellie and take her out in case you were late coming home, so she’s taken care of. And I’ll message you tomorrow, or in a few days once I’m ready to talk more.

Imogen: Take care Nick.

A massive pressure suddenly wraps itself around Nick’s chest, squeezing him like a boa constrictor. Suddenly he finds he can’t seem to breathe in anymore, and his eyes grow wide with terror. He drops his phone which clatters to the floor as he grips the edge of the conference table in both hands, his vision growing blurry. He’s hot, too hot, like his chest is on fire. He’s gasping for breath, the edges of his vision growing dark, when he hears Charlie’s voice somewhere far away.

 “Nick? Nick, oh my god, Nick! Are you okay? Nick? Can you hear me?”

 But Charlie’s voice is drowned out by the sound of Nick’s heartbeat in his ears, a thundering roar like a tsunami washing away everything, every sound, every inch of ground beneath Nick’s feet until he’s floating somewhere between awake and asleep, unable to breathe.

 Then he feels hands on his knees. In the middle of his rapidly narrowing field of vision, Nick sees two bright blue pools, two perfect sapphire circles with dark centres, so familiar, but so far away. He hears Charlie’s voice again, a little closer this time. He sounds frantic.

 “Nick? Nick, I need you to breathe, okay? You’re going to breathe with me. I’m going to count to four and you’re going to breathe in, okay? Ready? One, two, three, four…”

 Nick feels like he’s sucking in air through a straw, but he feels his lungs start to expand.

 “Good! That’s great.” Charlie sounds happier now, and that sends a little wave of calm through the chaos in Nick’s body. “Now breathe out, okay? Blow it away, like you’re blowing out a candle. One, two, three, four…”

 Nick forces the air out of his lungs and through his lips, and he watches those two sapphire-blue pools move up and down.

 “Yes, good, Nick, that’s great. Let’s do it again, okay? One, two, three, four…”

 Charlie keeps counting, and Nick keeps breathing slowly, in and out, forcing his lungs to expand and collapse until his vision starts to become clearer. Beneath those two blue pools emerges an elfin nose, and then a pair of perfect, pink lips. Above them, a curtain of obsidian curls, and thick, dark brows, drawn together in a worried frown. And then he’s back in the room, all its wood panelling and shitty corporate carpet and task lighting suddenly visible. Nick can feel the ground beneath his feet again, and Charlie’s hands heavy on his knees, holding on to him as he returns to his body.

 “Nick?” Charlie’s staring at him, his usually olive complexion ashen. “Are you back with me? Can you talk to me?”

 Nick nods slowly. “Yeah,” he says, his voice weak. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

 Charlie sighs deeply, and Nick watches his entire body crumple forward in relief. His head drops between Nick’s knees, his curls cascading forward. Nick wants to reach out and lay a hand on Charlie’s shoulder to comfort him, to assure him that he’s okay, but he’s so tired. Charlie lifts his head and looks up at Nick, his worried expression replaced with a relieved smile. “Oh, god, Nick, I’m so glad you’re alright. You, um…you had a panic attack? I think?”

 Nick just stares at Charlie. “I did?”

 Charlie barks out a surprised, wet laugh and nods, and Nick realises Charlie has tears in the corners of his eyes. “Yeah, yeah I think so,” Charlie says, smiling warmly at Nick. “Are you okay if I go get you some water? You aren’t going to pass out?”

 Nick takes a breath and takes stock of his faculties. He feels a bit lightheaded, but not so much so that he thinks he might faint. He wiggles his fingers and toes and feels the blood start to move around his body, waking up his limbs. He moves his head side to side and his vision stays steady and clear. Then he looks down at Charlie and nods. “No. I’m okay.”

 “Do not stand up,” Charlie tells him firmly before rising to his feet. “I’ll be right back. Stay there.” Nick nods, not at all interested in doing anything other than remaining perfectly still until Charlie’s back with him. His limbs feel like they're made of lead: he doubts he could stand even if he wanted to.

 Charlie’s back in a flash with a bottle of water from the staff kitchen fridge. Nick drinks it slowly, the cold liquid a refreshing sensory contrast to the intense heat that moments ago threatened to consume him. Charlie sits in the chair next to Nick, far enough away to give Nick some breathing room but close enough to catch him if he swoons, which Nick notices and appreciates. When he’s drunk about half the water, Nick turns to Charlie.

 “Sorry,” he says, but Charlie just shakes his head.

 “No s-word,” he tells Nick sincerely. “That was really scary, but it wasn’t your fault. Panic attacks just happen; you can’t control them.”

 It suddenly hits Nick that Charlie knew exactly what to do. “Did you…do you get them?” he asks.

 Charlie huffs out a soft laugh and nods. “Oh yeah. Since I was a teenager. Just part and parcel with being the only out gay kid in an all-boys school.”

 “Shit,” Nick says. “That sounds intense.”

 “It was,” Charlie confirms.

 “Did you…get picked on?” Nick asks carefully.

 “I did,” Charlie says, staring down at his hands. “Quite a lot. And usually by guys who looked a lot like you and David,” he adds with a soft chuckle. He looks over at Nick and gives him an apologetic smile. “Probably why I was so surprised by your Harry Styles obsession.”

 That makes Nick snicker, despite the weightiness of Charlie’s confession. “Well, I can see why you’d be a bit wary of laddish types, if that was your experience,” he admits. “But as I’m sure you’re starting to understand, I’m not your typical lad.”

 “You most certainly are not,” Charlie agrees. He glances over at Nick, concern colouring his sharp features once again. “Nick, what happened? What triggered that? Do you know?”

 Nick sighs deeply. He leans his head back against the headrest of the fancy leather office chair, looking up at the ceiling and trying to dispel the tears collecting in the corners of his eyes.

 “Um, it was a text from Imogen,” he says, his voice wobbly. “We’re through.”

 “Oh, god, I’m sorry, Nick,” Charlie says. “That’s awful.”

 Nick nods, blinking back tears. “Yeah. But, um, it’s my fault, actually.” He brushes at his eyes with the back of his hand. “I’ve been pretty shitty to her.”

 Charlie tilts his head to one side. “It can’t be all your fault, Nick.”

 Nick huffs out a laugh and gives Charlie a sad smile. “Oh, but it is. Trust me, Charlie, I am a walking disaster. Everything I touch turns to shit.”

 Charlie frowns, his blue eyes soft and tender. But Nick doesn’t deserve that kind of tenderness, least of all from Charlie.

 He shakes his head, refuting Charlie’s gentle approach.

 “I don’t want you to have any mistaken ideas about who I am, Charlie. You’ve been so nice to me, but I don’t deserve it. Imogen–”

 Nick’s voice catches on her name, and he has to take a breath to steady himself before continuing.

 “Imogen came home from a girls’ weekend and asked me if I wanted to marry her. Like, not right now, but, you know. Eventually. At all.” He stares at his knees and runs his fingertips along the fabric of his trousers, the texture familiar and grounding. “We’ve been together nearly two years, and we have a flat together, and like…I knew this was coming. Like, it’s the next step, right? Getting engaged, getting married. But…”

 Nick blinks back another wave of tears, sinking his teeth into the inside of his cheek in an attempt to keep himself from crying. He’s already melted down in front of Charlie, he can’t fall apart again.

 “I just…I can’t. I don’t…love her. Like that. And I don’t know if I ever did.”

 The tears Nick’s been trying to suppress come trickling out and he swipes them away angrily, laughing cruelly at himself as he does.

 “And I just led her on. I let her stay with me for two fucking years, when she could have been with someone else; someone who loved her, someone who fucking deserved her. And now…now…” Nick chokes on a sob, dropping his head into his hands.

 Nick feels a hand on his shoulder, and he turns his head and meets Charlie’s eyes. The way Charlie is looking at him makes Nick’s breath stop. His shockingly blue eyes are full of care and understanding, and he’s smiling softly at Nick, his pink lips curved upward. He’s gently rubbing Nick’s back, and his touch is so soothing that Nick wants to dissolve into it. Nick knows he must look a mess, all red-eyed and snotty, tears making his face flush that awful red it always does when he cries. Fuck, he doesn't want Charlie to see him like this. He bites the inside of his cheek again and tries to steady his breath.

 “I’m so sorry, Nick,” Charlie says gently. “That sounds like a lot to carry.”

 And Nick falls apart. His head drops forward as his shoulders shake with sobs. Charlie’s hand remains firmly on his back, rubbing gentle circles into his shoulder as he cries, all his stress and anger and frustration ebbing out of him in waves. At some point Charlie thrusts a box of tissues into Nick’s hand, seemingly pulled from thin air, and Nick’s able to dry his cheeks and wipe his nose.

 “Thanks,” Nick manages to whisper. “I’m–”

 “If you say sorry, I’m going to punch you in the throat,” Charlie says, making Nick chuckle.

 “Alright, I’m not sorry,” Nick says, holding up his hands. “I’m just…embarrassed?”

 “Don’t be,” Charlie tells him, leaning back in his chair, his hand falling from Nick’s shoulder and leaving a cold draft in its place. “It sounds like you’ve been under a lot of stress for a long time, Nick. Not just here, but at home, too.”

 “Yeah,” Nick confirms. “I just…I thought I could handle it.”

 “Well, if I’ve learned anything from years of bullying and eating disorders,” Charlie tells him, “You can handle everything, until you can’t.”

 Nick huffs out a breath. “That’s true,” he says. “And like, surprisingly wise.”

 “A decade of therapy has provided me with many gold nuggets of wisdom,” Charlie chuckles.

 They sit side by side in silence for a moment, both staring out the windows at the sun setting over the street below, and Nick thinks to himself how easy it is to just be with Charlie. To just sit in quiet, not speaking, knowing that he doesn’t have to say anything or do anything, that Charlie’s comfortable just sharing space with him.

 Nick’s heart twinges a bit thinking of all he said and did to push Charlie away when all he really wanted was to be close to him, to have this feeling of just existing with someone so easily, not having to pretend to be someone or something he isn’t. And even after everything he’s said and done to Charlie, Charlie’s still here comforting him.

 “Charlie?” Nick’s voice is soft and unsure at first.

 “Yes, Nick?”

 “Why are you so nice to me?”

 The calm, peaceful quiet that has been simmering between them suddenly becomes charged with tension. At first Charlie says nothing, and Nick fumbles to explain himself.

 “I just…I’ve been so shitty to you. I was rude, and cruel, and…fuck, Charlie, I don’t understand why you’re still being so kind to me, even now. I mean, I appreciate it, but…why?”

 Charlie still doesn't answer right away, and Nick has to remind himself to breathe and let Charlie process. He doesn't owe Nick anything, least of all an explanation.

 “Um, well…” Charlie’s soft voice breaks the silence, and from where he sits Nick can almost hear the gears in Charlie’s brain turning. “I guess…I guess I just think you deserve kindness. You’re not a bad person, Nick. I mean, you’ve got some bad qualities, like your taste in music…” Nick coughs out a surprised laugh, and he hears Charlie’s telltale exhale that means he’s grinning. “But overall, you seem pretty decent to me. And just because someone is mean to you doesn’t mean they don’t deserve to be shown kindness.”

 Nick’s chest tightens as he listens to Charlie speak, but this tightness is different from the one that threatened to strangle him with panic just a few moments ago. This is a tightness that comes from years of holding his breath, of holding in all of the things that he wants to say, things he wants to scream into the universe. And as he listens to Charlie, Nick feels that tightness even more acutely because Charlie seems to breathe so freely.

 “Nick?”

 “Yeah, Charlie?”

 “Why have you been so…up and down with me? One day we’re friends, and the next, I’m convinced you hate my guts. Why do you do that?”

 Nick’s eyes widen and he bites down hard on his lower lip. The tightness around his chest increases, pushing hard on all of those feelings he’s holding in, the sharp corners of words unspoken digging into his insides.

 “I don’t know,” he admits. “Sometimes I can like, hear myself talking? Like, from outside my head? And when I do, I fucking hate myself. I hate the person I am. He’s not…he’s not me, you know?”

 Nick sucks in a breath. He’s so tired of holding everything in. If he starts speaking the truth now, he’s not sure he'll be able to stop, but he isn't sure he can hold it in much longer without destroying what's left of himself.

 So, Nick continues, his voice low and trepidatious.

 “Do you ever feel like you're only doing things because everyone else is? And you're scared to change? Or do something that might confuse or surprise people? Like your real personality has been, like...buried inside you for a really long time.”

 Charlie is quiet, but Nick knows he’s listening. A wave of vulnerability sweeps over Nick, and he crosses his arms protectively across his chest. “I guess, um, that's how I've been feeling recently. Sorry, that probably makes no sense.”

 “No. I…I think I get it.” Charlie pauses for a moment, then continues in a quiet, reflective voice. “I was maybe eight when I realised I liked boys,” Charlie tells Nick. “I didn’t tell anyone, not my parents, not my sister, not my friends. I just carried on behaving how I thought a straight person might behave. It was easier when I was younger. When I got to be thirteen or so, it started getting more complicated. My friends expected me to, like, be interested in girls. To join their conversations about which female celebrities were hot, or which girls at the girls’ school were cute. And I tried, god did I try. But I was just fooling myself.”

 Nick hears Charlie shift in his chair, presumably crossing or uncrossing his long legs.

 “Anyway. I came out to a friend in year nine, and I guess someone overheard, and before long everyone was calling me ‘that gay kid’. And…other, much less kind things. Especially the sporty lads. They seemed to take particular pleasure in making my life miserable.”

 Nick’s heart aches as he listens to Charlie’s words. He can see Charlie’s hand out of the corner of his eye where it rests on the armrest of his chair.

 He wants to reach over, to take Charlie’s hand in his, to apologise on behalf of every arsehole bully Charlie ever encountered, to tell him he’s wonderful and perfect and deserves the world.

 But he doesn’t. He just sits very still and listens.

 “Anyway,” Charlie sighs. “All that was a lifetime ago. And it was awful. There was a long time where I was…not in a good place, mentally. But I got help from my family, and my friends, and from professionals. And I learned eventually that the things those boys said to me all those years ago? They don’t matter. Because I like who I am. I like my life. And not everyone is going to like me, but that doesn’t mean I have to pretend to be someone else. Because the people that don’t like me?” Nick hears Charlie huff out a soft breath, and he knows Charlie is smiling. “They’re the ones missing out. And pretending all the time is exhausting. You can't live like that.”

 Nick blinks, his eyes damp with tears. Charlie is so strong. Every time Nick thinks he likes Charlie as much as he possibly could, Charlie says something else, and Nick likes him even more. And he feels so safe with Charlie. Like Charlie understands who Nick is underneath everything, like he understands how much Nick has been pretending, and how much he wants to stop.

 Pretending all the time is exhausting.

You can't live like that.

 Nick’s eyes widen as a puzzle piece falls into place in his heart.

 He wants to stop. He wants to stop pretending so fucking badly.

And maybe…maybe he could stop pretending.

 He could stop pretending with Charlie.

 He could tell Charlie the truth. Charlie would understand. He wouldn’t tell anyone. He would support Nick and help Nick find a way to be the person he wants to be, to live the life he wants to live, to not be afraid anymore.

 Charlie could be that person for Nick.

 Nick swallows thickly and wipes his clammy palms on his trousers. Everything he’s been suppressing, everything he’s been running from for so long. He could tell Charlie. He could be who he really is with Charlie.

 He takes a breath, then another, trying to calm his racing heart, then opens his mouth to speak.

 There’s a sharp ping and Charlie sits up, reaching into his pocket. Nick immediately shrinks back in his chair, his heart pounding against the walls of his chest.

 “Shit.” Charlie sighs with frustration. “It’s, um…I was supposed to call someone like, an hour ago and I forgot.” Charlie turns his chair and faces Nick. “Is it…will you be okay if I just step out and return his call?”

 His call. Right.

Nick slips his ‘everything’s fine’ mask back in place, and nods, smiling at Charlie. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good. Actually, I’m feeling a lot better. Thanks for, like, taking care of me.”

 “I was happy to, Nick. I’m glad I was here,” Charlie tells him. “Honestly, this will just take a second, I’ll be right back.”

 “No, no, it’s fine,” Nick assures Charlie, standing up. “See? I’m fine. And like, everything’s all sorted, so, I think we can just go home.”

 Charlie looking at Nick uncertainly, so Nick doubles down on his confident smile.

 “Honestly, Charlie, I’m good. I’m just gonna go home, I have to walk Nellie anyway,” he lies. “I’ll…I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 Charlie frowns, clearly still unconvinced. “Okay, but let me give you my number in case you start feeling bad again? I don’t want you to be alone.”

 Nick agrees, handing his phone over to Charlie who adds his name to Nick’s contacts, then sends himself a text so he has Nick’s number, too. It’s not how Nick had hoped to slide into Charlie’s DMs, but it’s better than nothing. Plus, Charlie’s already got someone. Nick’s stomach turns a bit at that thought, but it's not like he's wrong. He's a pathetic, closeted mess. There's not a universe out there in which Charlie would want him. He needs to stop pretending that he’s anything more to Charlie than a mercurial and difficult colleague.

 “Text me when you get home, okay?” Charlie requests, and Nick nods.

 “Yeah, absolutely.”

 “Okay.” The blue seas of Charlie’s eyes are still churning with worry, and he gives Nick’s shoulder a soft squeeze before picking up his shoulder bag. “Take care, Nick. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 “Yep. Tomorrow,” Nick agrees. “Go on, then.”

 As Charlie leaves the conference room Nick gives him a cheery little half-wave.

 He’s pretended this long, he’ll just keep on pretending.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6

Nick doesn’t text Charlie that night.

He actually locks his phone in his car so he can’t. He doesn’t want to even think about what Charlie might be doing or be tempted to send him a message or (gods forbid) call him. This plan also has the added benefit of keeping Nick from texting or calling Imogen, which is the other really bad idea that keeps circling in his head.

On his way home from work, Nick stops at the off license. He buys two bottles of extremely cheap wine and drinks the better part of one of them in bed while he watches Pirates of the Caribbean with Nellie and feels sorry for himself. He should be celebrating finishing his big case, but instead, he’s drowning his loneliness in shitty cab sauv. He falls into a fitful sleep around midnight, his dreams once again haunted by visions of Charlie and him, whoever he is.

The man who's brave enough to be what Charlie deserves.

On Wednesday morning, Nick drags himself through his morning routine. His eyes feel like they’ve been sandblasted, and the circles beneath them are a bruised purple. On the way to work he downs two bottles of Imogen’s Lucozade in an attempt to repair some of the previous evening’s damage.

He saunters into the office fully prepared for a hero’s welcome from his father, but as soon as he steps off the lift, Nick senses that something’s off.

“Nicolas.”

At the sound of Stéphane’s voice Nick whirls around and is shocked to find Stéphane looking at him with a grave expression.

“Can you come to my office, please?”

“Sure, Dad, just let me drop my coat.”

“Now, s’il te plait.”

Nick knows better than to argue. He changes direction and follows his father. With every step towards Stéphane’s office, Nick’s heart rate increases. His mind is racing – What does his father want? Why does he look so put out? And where is Charlie?

Nick steps into Stéphane’s office and his stomach sinks when he sees that David is already there. He’s lounging in one of the chairs by the window like a panther in the sun, a smile on his face that can only be described as sadistic.

“What are you doing here?” Nick demands.

Stéphane answers for David. “Your brother is here because there is an issue with the Sandoval presentation.”

“An issue?” Nick tilts his head in confusion. “What issue?”

“The reports never made it to the barrister,” David tells him.

“What are you talking about?” Nick exclaims, glaring at David.

“The boxes you were supposed to send to the barrister never arrived,” Stéphane repeats, his tone clipped. “I got a call early this morning that they did not receive the documents required for the presentation to the Minister.”

“That’s bullshit,” Nick says firmly. “I packed them myself, and Charlie sent them over yesterday afternoon. The last ones left around six. Something must have gotten mixed up with the courier,” Nick suggests, struggling to make sense of this through his hangover.

Stéphane shakes his head. “I have already followed up with the courier. The address they delivered the reports to was not the correct one. Now we have potentially sensitive documents being delivered to the wrong people, and the barristers don’t have what they need.”

“Why didn’t you call me when you found out?” Nick demands. “I would have come in and gotten what we needed. I could have taken it over!”

“Your brother was already here when I got the call,” Stéphane explains, and suddenly the penny drops.

Nick turns to David. “Oh, were you?” he asks, his tone incredulous. “You just happened to be at work early? And you just happened to be able to round up all the necessary documents and get them over there in the nick of time?”

“Talk about luck,” David says with a smile.

“Nicholas!” Stéphane rubs the bridge of his nose. “We are simply trying to establish what happened. You are the solicitor, so you are responsible. Do you have any idea how this happened?”

“No!” Nick insists, his mind racing. “I mean…I don’t think so. We were running around all afternoon trying to get everything organized. Charlie was directing everyone where to put everything–”

“Charlie!” David exclaims with a harsh laugh. “You let him be in charge of everything?”

“He’s a paralegal, David, it’s literally his job.”

David just rolls his eyes.

“Who was packing the materials?” Stéphane asks.

Nick searches his booze-addled brain, trying to remember who, other than him and Charlie, could have made this mistake. “Um, Annette and Joseph from David’s office–”

“They’re literally experts at this sort of thing, Dad,” David pipes up. “I’ll vouch for them.”

“Anyone else?” Stéphane inquires.

Nick’s stomach sinks. “Well, me.” He pauses, swallowing hard. “And Charlie.”

“Charlie again!” David crows. “He just has his fingers in everything, doesn’t he?”

“What is your problem with Charlie?” Nick seethes.

“I don’t have a problem with him,” David says. “I just don’t understand how you can let someone like him have so much responsibility on such an important case.”

“He’s a qualified paralegal and he did his job right.” Nick turns to his father. “Dad, you hired him. You know he’s good. There’s no way Charlie made a mistake like that.”

“Well, the mistake was made,” Stéphane tells Nick flatly. “Did you make it?”

Nick’s shoulders tighten defensively. “No,” he replies, his voice low.

“Then I guess your little secretary fucked up,” David surmises.

Nick’s blood boils, and he whirls to face is his brother. “Will you shut the fuck up, David?” His voice is tight with anger, but Stéphane just raises his hand to silence him.

“Nick, it seems as though Charlie has made a grievous error that could have cost us this project. Your job as the solicitor is to ensure that the people working for you do their job properly, therefore this is your mistake. You are lucky David was able to get the paperwork to the barrister in time, or else this could have been much worse.” Stéphane’s lips are set in a thin line, his dark eyes full of disappointment. “Je pensais que tu pouvais gérer ce dossier, mais manifestement j’ai surestimé tes compétences. Tu es toujours en phase d’apprentissage, et je n’aurais pas dû te confier un dossier aussi important.” (“I thought you could handle this case, but clearly, I overestimated your skills. You are still learning, and I should not have trusted you with such an important case.”)

Nick’s jaw drops. Shame swirls through his body, making his skin clammy beneath his dress shirt. He glances back at David, who gives him a victorious smirk.

“ Papa, s’il te plait,” (“Dad, please,”) Nick entreats. “Je n’ai pas merdé. Charlie n’a pas merdé. Clairement une erreur a été commise, mais nous avons travaillé si dur sur cette affaire que je sais que nous avons fait tout ce qu'il fallait.” (“I did not fuck this up. Charlie did not fuck this up. Obviously, a mistake was made, but we worked so hard on this case, I know we did everything right.”)

“Except address a fucking box,” David snickers, and glances at his father. “Les pédés ne savent pas lire ?” (“What, can’t queers read?”)

Nick’s eyes flash as he glares at his brother. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” David asks, scoffing. “You don’t want me to talk about your little boyfriend?”

Nick feels bile rise in his throat, David’s words triggering a visceral reaction. The familiar grip of panic is a vise around his throat.

David throws Stéphane a look and shakes his head .“Nick a un faible pour les tapettes.” (“Nick’s got a soft spot for fairies, Dad.”)

“Shut the fuck up, David!” Nick takes a step towards his brother, and David jumps to his feet as Nick advances.

“Arrêtez, tous les deux !”(“Stop it, the both of you!”)

Stéphane’s voice is firm and thunderous. Both David and Nick stop to look at him.

“Vous vous comportez comme des enfants ! Nicolas, Charlie et toi êtes retirés de ce dossier. David la reprendra. Je regrette de t'avoir poussé à faire quelque chose de si difficile, si vite, car il est clair que tu n'es pas prêt. Peut-être que Charlie et toi devriez vous en tenir à des dossiers de moindre importance.” (“You are behaving like children! Nicholas, you and Charlie are removed from this case. David will be taking it over again. I regret pushing you into something so challenging so fast, clearly you are not ready. Perhaps you and Charlie should stick to cases of lesser importance.”)

Stéphane’s words are like a knife to the gut, and Nick has to consciously force himself not to double over. Suddenly he’s eight years old, standing in front of his father, being told he’s not good enough; that he needs to work harder, be faster, be more like David. His eyes sting with tears but he sinks his teeth into his lower lip, fighting them back. He knows showing weakness will just make things worse.

Stéphane sniffs, squaring his shoulders, once again the unquestioned and commanding master who Nick has failed to impress. He turns and looks Nick straight in the eye. (“J'espère que tu t’en souviendras la prochaine fois et que tu ne seras plus aussi imprudent à l'avenir.” (“I hope that you will remember this next time and not be so reckless in future.”)

Nick clenches his jaw. His hands in fists, nails digging into his palms. He’s fucked up. He’s no longer in favour, and he’s been dismissed from this conversation.

And David, the fucking vulture that he is, has swept in and reclaimed his place in the sun.

Nick looks back at his brother who gives him a condescending little wave, then turns and stalks out of his father’s office. He can feel that his face and neck are red with humiliation, the cold sweat of failure dripping down between his shoulder blades. He’s fucking furious. He knows he didn’t screw up.

So, what the fuck happened?

Did Charlie really address the boxes wrong? He couldn’t have; he was so careful. But things got so crazy at the end – is it possible that Charlie made a mistake?

Nick’s thoughts swirl through his mind like a tornado. He’s so stuck in his own head as he comes around the corner to his office that he nearly collides with Charlie.

“Oh! Nick! Hi!” Charlie smiles up at him, radiating warmth, which immediately sets Nick on edge.

“We have a problem,” Nick says flatly.

Charlie’s face falls immediately. “A problem?” he repeats.

Nick nods, striding into his office, with Charlie following close behind. Nick tosses his coat down on his chair and drops his briefcase. “Apparently the boxes never made it to the barrister’s office last night.”

Charlie’s eyes go wide. “What?”

“Apparently they got sent somewhere else by mistake.” Nick stares hard at Charlie. “Would you know anything about that?”

Charlie blanches. “What? You mean did I address them correctly? Yes, yes I did. I checked three times, Nick. I had the address from the barrister. I filled out the labels myself.”

“Well, apparently you filled them out wrong.” Nick crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Lucky for us, David was in early this morning when the barrister called and he was able to drive the documents over.”

Now Charlie just looks stunned. “David? Sorry, David drove them over?”

“That’s what I said,” Nick snaps. “So not only do we look like total idiots, but now we’ve had to be rescued by David.”

Charlie shakes his head in disbelief. “No, Nick, this can’t be right. When has David ever been early for work? Something about this doesn't make sense.”

Nick’s jaw tenses. Charlie’s right: nothing about David riding in like a white knight makes any sense at all. In fact, nothing about this entire scenario makes any sense at all. He and Charlie had been so careful, checking every document over multiple times before packing them up for transport. Nick trusts Charlie implicitly to do his job…was that trust misplaced? Has he been so blinded by his feelings for that he didn’t even notice that Charlie was making mistakes? But Nick isn’t blind, and he has seen evidence of Charlie’s diligence and attention to detail. Him misaddressing the boxes would be really out of character.

Not to mention that David is clearly enjoying all of this chaos. And of course, Nick’s perceived fuck up has reinstated David as the preferred son. Nick absolutely wouldn’t put sabotage past his brother.

Nick digs his fingers into his collar and loosens his tie. His heart rate is too high, making him feel like he’s on fast-forward. He needs to calm down, to cool off, to think this through with a level head.

But then Charlie speaks again.

“Do you think David might have been…involved?” Charlie’s voice is quiet, almost unsure, and Nick squeezes his eyes shut.

“Charlie–” Nick starts, but Charlie interrupts, insistent.

“Nick, I wasn’t the only person doing the work! Annette was there, and what’s his name…Joseph! They work for David!”

“Charlie, they’ve worked here for years,” Nick pinches the bridge of his nose, feeling a migraine creeping up behind his eyes. “Dad’s already dismissed their involvement. And while I agree that David being there just in the nick of time to save the day doesn't make sense, it doesn’t prove anything.” His stomach is roiling, heartburn climbing up his throat and constricting his chest. “And it certainly doesn’t explain how the boxes got sent to the wrong address in the first place.”

Charlie’s thick eyebrows are furrowed in thought, his eyes flicking back and forth. “I don’t know, Nick. I can’t explain it, but I know that I checked the address myself. I didn’t send them to the wrong place.”

Nick huffs in frustration. His head is pounding, and he’s so sick of talking about this. He turns and glares at Charlie.

“Well, it’s not like I sent the boxes to the wrong address, is it, Charlie?” Nick says tersely, and Charlie shrinks a little, dropping his gaze to the floor.

“I didn’t say you did,” he replies softly.

“Well, like I said, something got fucked up, and now we’re off the project.” Nick walks around behind his desk and drops heavily into his chair. “Dad’s given it back to David, and he’s decided to put us on something simpler that we can’t screw up.”

Charlie stands frozen on the opposite side of Nick’s desk. His face is pale, his eyes wide. “Nick, I…I didn’t mess this up, I swear.”

Nick sighs deeply and looks up at the ceiling. He doesn’t want to believe that Charlie made this mistake. He desperately wants to believe that David somehow sabotaged their case to set himself up as the hero, but he’s got absolutely no proof outside his intuition.

And Charlie was the last one to touch those boxes.

White-hot fury floods Nick’s senses. He's fucked up again. He's once again allowed himself to be blinded by Charlie and now he’s paying the price. His dad’s furious with him, David’s laughing at him, and he's back at the bottom of the ladder where he'll probably spend the rest of his career.

Nick drops his head and locks eyes with Charlie again.

“Charlie, I don’t know what to say. I trusted you to do your job. I guess that was my mistake.”

The words fly from Nick’s mouth and strike Charlie like an arrow. Charlie’s slender shoulders crumple. He blinks rapidly, his mouth hanging open in surprise, as if trying to find something, anything, to say in reply.

But nothing comes.

Charlie just closes his mouth, straightens his shoulders, and nods.

“Okay. I…um, I’m actually not feeling too well. I think I’m going to go.”

And he turns and heads for the door. Nick leaps to his feet, half angry and half confused.

“Charlie! Charlie, where are you going?”

But Charlie’s gone – out of Nick’s office, down the corridor, and out the doorway to the stairwell before Nick can even make it around his desk.

*************

Nick has never felt worse in his entire life, he’s sure of it. Not when his dad left. Not when he let Thomas walk away. Not when he told Imogen he couldn’t marry her.

Right now. This is rock bottom.

Charlie doesn’t come back that day. According to Linda in HR, he’s called out sick.

Nick spends the rest of the day locked in his office. His dad sends over some files for him to review, but he can't muster the strength to even open them. Instead, he stares out the window and scrolls Instagram on his phone until he can justify going home for the day.

The second he walks in the door of his flat, he downs the rest of the bottle of wine he’d opened yesterday and uncorks the second. Nellie stares up at him in dismay, and he laughs at the thought of being judged by a dog.

But he deserves it. He deserves her judgement.

“I’m sorry, girl,” Nick slurs, bending to pat her soft ears. “Your daddy is a horrible monster.”

Nellie nuzzles his hand and wags her tail gently, and Nick chokes back tears. Nellie will always love him. But even that little show of affection is too much for his aching heart.

God, he has fucked up. He has fucked up so badly there’s probably no coming back from it. Imogen is gone. His dad has given up on him. And now he’s pushed Charlie away so forcefully that he’s probably lost him, too.

What the fuck is wrong with him? Why is he such a fucking arsehole to everyone?

Nick pours himself another glass of wine and plunks down on the sofa, opening his phone. Charlie’s contact is right there, staring up at him from the screen. He sighs deeply, taking a long drink. He should apologise. It’s worth a try. Maybe if he says the right thing, Charlie will forgive him?

Nick puts his glass down and starts typing, but he’s unable to stop at just a single message.

Nick: Charlie I am so sorry for what I said. I am such a fucking prick and I am so sorry. I know you didn’t make a mistake.

A moment later:

Nick: You are such a good person and a really good paralegal and I am
such a fucking mess

And then:

Nick: Please Charlie please talk to me

Hours go by, but no reply comes. Nick keeps drinking, flicking through the channels on his television but finding no solace. He checks his phone every five minutes, desperately hoping Charlie will send him a response, but each time he checks it, the screen looks the same: just his outgoing messages and nothing incoming.

By ten o’clock, Nick gets restless. He can’t sit still anymore, so he starts pacing his living room. He’s skipped dinner, and the bottle of wine from the corner shop is long empty. He’s moved on to some whisky he got as a graduation gift from his mates.

With each step across his narrow sitting room, Nick’s thoughts spin circles around him. Why hasn’t Charlie messaged him back? Nick knows he fucked up, but Charlie can’t be that mad, can he? Is he going to ignore Nick forever?

Then a thought occurs that opens a pit in Nick’s stomach, and he stops dead.

What if Charlie doesn’t come back to work tomorrow?

What if he quits? What if Nick never sees him again?

The prospect of losing Charlie forever terrifies Nick. He has to talk to Charlie. He has to.

Nick grabs his phone and opens up his work email. After a minute or two of searching he finds what he’s looking for: Charlie’s CV that was emailed to him when he was assigned to Nick. Lucky for Nick, it lists Charlie’s address.

Nick’s eyes go wide – it’s less than a ten-minute walk from his flat.

He whistles for Nellie.

“Nels, c’mon, we’re going for a walk!”

*************

The street that Charlie lives on is quiet and tree lined. Nick stumbles in a meandering zigzag pattern along the footpath, Nellie in tow. As he draws closer and closer to Charlie’s flat, he rehearses what he wants to say.

Charlie, I’m sorry, I was a total prick. You’re so great and I like you so much and… No, no, that won’t do.

You’re so great to work with and I really really really don’t want you to quit just because I’m a temperamental fucker… Maybe.

Charlie you’re so fucking pretty…No, definitely not.

Before he realises what’s happened, Nick is standing on Charlie’s doorstep.

He stares at the doorbell. As he presses it, Nick thanks the stars for the liquid courage still flowing through his veins – otherwise he’d never have the nerve to do this.

Nick waits five, maybe six seconds, then presses the bell again, holding it longer this time. Nellie whines softly.

“It’s fine, Nels, he’s coming.”

Nick presses the bell a third time. This time he hears footsteps. A light flicks on in the foyer, followed by the click of a lock tumbler.

When the door opens, Charlie is standing there in his pyjama trousers and an oversized black t-shirt. His curls are tousled, and his eyes are wide with shock.

“Nick?”

“Charlie! Hi!” Nick’s smile stretches ear to ear. Charlie looks beautiful . His face is a bit rumpled from sleep, but–

“Oh, shit, did I wake you?” Nick asks.

“Um, yeah, you did,” Charlie’s voice is clipped, and he crosses his arms over his chest. “It’s like, midnight. What the hell are you doing here?”

Charlie looks angry, and Nick immediately starts to panic. He didn’t come here to make things worse; he came to apologise.

“Charlie, I’m sorry,” Nick tells him. “I…I just, I needed to say I was sorry.”

“Yeah, you texted me,” Charlie says curtly.

Nick swallows and he feels his face growing warm with embarrassment. “I know, and when I didn’t hear back, I thought…I thought maybe you’d quit.”

Charlie stares at Nick like he’s grown a second head. “That I’d quit?”

Nick nods. “I…I needed to see you. I don’t want you to quit, Charlie.”

Nellie whines again, shifting her weight on her feet, and Nick glances down. “Just a sec, girl, it’s alright.” He looks back up at Charlie, who is now staring, starry-eyed, at the dog.

“Oh, um, this is Nellie.”

Nellie starts wagging her tail, and Charlie’s eyes soften.

“Hi, Nellie!” Charlie’s voice is saccharine sweet, and Nellie boofs softly, lifting a paw to him.

“You can pat her, if you want,” Nick says.

Charlie doesn’t miss a beat, dropping to one knee to run his fingers through Nellie’s soft fur.

“She likes you,” Nick assures him. “She has good taste in people.”

Charlie looks up at Nick, and Nick’s heart melts at the sight of him and Nellie together. He knew they’d be friends; he just knew it.

Charlie rises back to his feet and sighs deeply, rubbing one eye drowsily. “Nick, how did you find my flat?”

Nick’s cheeks burn brighter, the flood of embarrassment he’d felt upon his arrival returning in spades.

“Um…I had a copy of your CV,” Nick admits sheepishly. “Your address was on it.” Charlie nods, his lips in a thin line, and Nick realises he’s upset. “Should I…should I not have come?”

Charlie huffs out a breath and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know, Nick. I don’t know what to say.”

Nick tilts his head. “What do you mean?”

“Nick, you’re…you’re impossible!” Charlie shouts, clearly exasperated. “One minute you’re being so incredibly kind and sweet, and like, telling me about your life and buying me coffee, and singing Harry Styles at me, and the next, you’re snapping at me about my phone, and blaming me for shit I didn’t do, and…” Charlie pauses, and Nick sees his lower lip is trembling. “And telling me you don’t trust me to do my job.”

Nick looks down at his shoes. This isn’t going the way he thought it would.

“I’m…I’m really sorry, Charlie,” he says again.

“Yes, you said that,” Charlie snaps, his annoyance with Nick clear as day. “You say that a lot. And I always believe you, because when things are going well with you, it’s so great. But then something goes wrong, and you turn around and tear into me. I thought maybe you had a problem with me being gay–”

“I don’t!” Nick interjects.

“–but I don’t even think that’s it! It’s like the minute I start to feel comfortable with you, and we’re talking about stuff that’s more…personal than work, you just…shove me away!”

Charlie’s shoulders are tense, and his voice is tight with anger. “One day you’re friendly and funny, and we’re having a great time, and I feel like we’re friends, and the next you’re yelling at me! I don’t know how much more of this I can take, Nick. I’m getting whiplash!”

Nick’s hands grip Nellie’s leash tightly as shame and guilt surge through him.

“I know I’ve been a complete dick,” he says finally, his tone remorseful. “Everything you’ve said is true. I’ve not been kind to you, and I have pushed you away.”

Charlie’s posture relaxes slightly at this, and Nick takes that as incentive to continue.

“But I do want to be friends, I swear I do. I’m just…I’m such a fucking mess, Charlie. I’m sorry for snapping at you, and for accusing you of fucking up the delivery. I know it wasn’t your mistake. I knew it then, and I know it now.”

“Then why were you so fucking awful to me?” Charlie demands.

“I don’t know!” Nick exclaims, throwing up his hands in frustration. “My dad just…He came at me like…like I’d let him down. Like I’d been trusted with this huge thing, and I’d completely fucked it up. And all those nice things he’d said less than twenty-four hours ago?” Nick laughs cruelly and shakes his head. “They were all bullshit, just like I thought they were. And of course, fucking David is sitting there, sneering at me the whole time, accusing me of being too into you to notice that you were making mistakes, and I just…I just lost it!”

Nick feels hot tears in the corners of his eyes. “And I didn’t mean to, Charlie! I didn’t mean to shout at you or tell you I don’t trust you. I do trust you. I love working with you. I don’t want you to quit just because I’m a fucking arsehole who can’t manage his feelings. I swear I can do better. Just, please, don’t quit.”

Nick stops to catch his breath, then examines Charlie’s face to see if anything he’s said has made an impact.

Charlie is staring slack-jawed at Nick, his blue eyes so wide with surprise that Nick glances around to make sure there isn’t a parade or something behind him that he hasn’t noticed. He looks back at Charlie, flummoxed.

“Um, Charlie? Are…are you alright?”

“What did you say?” Charlie says slowly, his voice barely a whisper.

“What did I say about what?” Nick asks. He’d been rambling for some time; he’s not even a hundred percent sure what he said, and the way Charlie’s gaping at him is making his palms sweat. He glances down at Nellie, but she just gives him a helpless expression.

“You said…You said David thinks you’re…too into me to notice me making mistakes,” Charlie breathes.

Nick’s heart stops in his chest. For a very long moment he just stands there, his feet rooted to the cement in front of Charlie’s door, absolutely fucking terrified.

Because it’s true.

He is too into Charlie to notice his mistakes, not that he makes any. Nick is too into Charlie to notice anything but Charlie. David’s right, and that’s what scares Nick more than anything. That the way he feels about Charlie is so fucking obvious.

Nick swallows thickly. He’s come this far.

“Um…well…” he starts, twisting Nellie’s leash in his hands. “I…um…”

Then slowly, very slowly, Charlie reaches out his hand.

It stretches towards Nick’s, the one that’s not wrapped in a red dog leash, and he brushes the tips of Nick’s fingers with his own.

As their skin connects, there’s a pop and a spark and a fizzling sound in Nick’s ears like fireworks bursting. Heat tears through his skin from where his finger touches Charlie’s all the way up his arm, setting off a chain reaction of tiny explosions throughout his body.

This tiny touch, this miniscule sensation is so much that Nick feels his feet lifting off the ground.

Nick looks up from where he’s been staring at their hands and finds Charlie’s eyes, and he literally gasps; Charlie’s staring at him so hopefully, like maybe…maybe he wants Nick, too.

And all of the feelings Nick’s been jamming down into that black void in his chest, into that tightly-locked box that he only opens when he’s alone – they all come flying out at once, flooding his body with heat and excitement and hope.

Hope.

It’s light and it’s oxygen and it fills Nick with a sensation he hasn’t felt in many, many years.

And he’s so, so tired of pretending.

So, Nick leans in and presses his lips to Charlie’s, and all of the doubts
in his mind and heart fall silent.

*************

Charlie’s lips are so soft, but the softness is contrasted with the sharp scratch of a day’s worth of growth on his upper lip and chin. Nick can taste his toothpaste and the faint flavour of sleep on his breath, and it makes his heart flutter.

He feels Charlie’s body tense and adrenaline floods him as he wonders if he has grossly miscalculated, but then Charlie’s fingers squeeze his, and his lips press forward against Nick’s, and Nick almost faints.

Charlie pulls Nick closer to him, dropping his hand in favour of winding his long, slender fingers through Nick’s hair, and Nick gasps into Charlie’s mouth. He feels Charlie smile against his lips before he lunges forward and kisses Nick harder, deeper. Nick’s heart rate skyrockets and he wraps his arm around Charlie’s waist, drawing their chests flush together.

Charlie’s body is so firm, so solid. Nick wants to run his hands all over every inch of Charlie, to feel Charlie’s muscles moving and stretching beneath his fingers.

Then Nick feels a wet nose press against his free hand, and he gasps, drawing back, as Nellie makes her presence known.

“Shit, Nellie!” Nick pants. The dog just wags her tail, smiling up at Nick.

Charlie’s breathing hard and staring at Nick, his lips flushed a dark crimson.

“Um…what…what just happened?”

Nick blinks rapidly, his own heart thundering in his chest. “I…I just…um…”

“Did you…are you…” Nick can see Charlie’s mind working as he tries to decode what just transpired between them.

“Charlie?”

A man’s voice coming from inside the house.

“Charlie? Are you out there? Is everything alright?”

Oh fuck.

Of course.

Charlie’s not alone.

The dozens of text message pings from Charlie’s phone ring in Nick’s ears like hateful laughter, and nightmarish visions of the soft smile on Charlie’s face as he typed out his replies flood Nick’s consciousness.

Charlie’s not alone.

Suddenly the liquid confidence that had brought Nick to Charlie’s door in the middle of the night and propelled him to kiss Charlie like he’d wanted to for so long…Suddenly, it evaporates.

Nick is thrust back to consciousness in the middle of the public street, standing inches from Charlie, the flavour of his mouth still on Nick’s lips. A car glides down the street behind him and Nick whirls around with panic, caught momentarily in the glare of its headlamps. His heart thunders in his chest as the lights blind him and he staggers backward.

He turns back to Charlie, his vision growing blurry at the edges. Charlie’s standing on the threshold of his flat, looking utterly mystified. Nick’s stomach lurches.

“I have to go.” Nick steps backward, nearly tripping as he retreats from Charlie’s door, Nellie following behind.

“What? Wait, Nick, where are you going?”

“I have to…I’m sorry, I need to go.”

Nick turns and takes off down the street, practically running away from Charlie’s house.

He hears Charlie call his name, but he can’t turn back, he can’t.

Fuck, this was so stupid. Why did he come? Why did he fucking kiss Charlie? This is so, so bad. He can’t believe he was so stupid.

Nellie is trotting alongside him, a bewildered expression on her face as they jog through the darkness, but Nick just keeps running – away from Charlie, away from this stupid fucking mistake as fast as he possibly can. His brain is shouting at him with every step about what an unbelievable idiot he is.

He sees David’s sneering face, hears the voices of his rugby teammates at uni, and the voice of his father.

His father.

Nick stops and doubles over, forcing down the urge to vomit.

Fuck, he can’t even show his face at work, not anymore. Charlie will surely tell his father what he’s done, and…well, that will be it. Everything he’s worked toward, every secret he’s kept tightly locked away, every desire he suppressed for so fucking long…

What was the point? He’s blown it all. And worst of all, Charlie will never, ever speak to him again.

Who the fuck gets someone’s address off their fucking CV and shows up drunk at their house and kisses them without even asking?!

Nick feels hot tears streaming down his cheeks as he starts to jog toward home again, the humiliation and rage burning his skin.

He’s home in no time, a panting Nellie beside him. She collapses the minute she’s inside the door. Nick at least has the presence of mind to fill her water dish before he gets into the shower, cranking the water as hot as it will go. He sits on the floor under the spray – on the hideous tiles Imogen had wanted to replace – and he cries.

Because what else is left to do?

*************

Nick calls in sick the next day. Linda in HR makes a sad little sympathetic noise and tells him she hopes he feels better soon. He just hangs up.

He lies on the couch all day under a pile of blankets, unable to focus on the television, or make himself food, or do much of anything at all. Nellie comes to check on him a few times, wagging her tail and whining softly, but he doesn’t get up. He just strokes her ears apologetically and closes his eyes.

On Friday, he calls in sick again. He can’t be arsed to shower or get dressed - what’s the point? - so he remains in the same stained white t-shirt and grey joggers he’s had on since Wednesday night. Imogen still hasn’t messaged or called. Neither has his father, not that Nick’s surprised by that. He doubts Stéphane’s even noticed he’s absent.

He manages to make some toast, which he shares with Nellie, then he takes her on a short walk around the block, so she doesn’t go completely insane from being locked up with his sorry arse all day.

Nick takes up residence in his blanket nest on the sofa again as soon as they return from their walk, staring blankly at the switched off television. Eventually Nellie joins him, curling herself into the space behind his knees with her head resting on his hip.

They stay that way for a long time as Nick’s brain plays a high-definition edit of all of his mistakes on a non-stop loop: Not telling his mum how frustrated and sad he is at work. Not being enough for Imogen. Accepting the job working for his dad. Still believing he could make his dad love him. Pretending to be straight. Treating Charlie like shit. Accusing Charlie of fucking up the case. Getting drunk and showing up at Charlie’s house.

Kissing Charlie.

And round and round and round it goes, a carousel of shitty decisions and regrettable actions that he can’t escape.

When Nick does manage to sleep, his dreams are filled with images of Charlie with that other man, the one whose voice called out for him as Nick stood on the doorstep. He sees Charlie walking back into his bedroom, explaining that it was “just some drunk weirdo, nothing to worry about” before falling back into bed, into his arms.

Mid-afternoon, Nick’s woken from slumber by a knock at the door. Nellie hops up, borking loudly in case it’s a predator she needs to scare off, but Nick remains motionless on the sofa.

He hears more knocking, more borking. The knocking gets quite insistent, and Nick throws his blanket over his head in an attempt to drown it out.

“GO AWAY!” he shouts in the general direction of the front door.

“Nick Nelson, come and answer this goddamn door or I will break it down!”

Nick sits bolt upright. He’d know that voice anywhere.

He stands very slowly, wrapping his blanket around his shoulders, and walks to the front door on silent feet. Nellie is borking madly and scratching at the wood of the door, and she looks up at Nick with a desperate expression. He leans forward and peers through the peephole, gasping despite what he was pretty sure he already knew.

“Charlie?!”

Nick unlocks the door and opens it a tiny crack, just enough to stick his face out. Nellie is having a conniption behind him, but he needs to see Charlie’s face before he decides whether to open the door fully or lock it again.

Charlie’s smiling a soft, sort of smug smile. He’s got a shopping bag over his shoulder, and his arms crossed over his chest.

“Hi.”

Nick is nearly speechless with the shock of seeing Charlie standing on his porch.

“Hi,” he mumbles.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Charlie asks, raising one expressive eyebrow.

Nick’s processors aren’t firing at full speed, so he just sort of gapes at Charlie.

“Um, sorry, you…you want to come in?”

“Yes, please, that would be lovely.”

Charlie shoulders past him and pushes through the door into the entryway where he’s nearly bowled over by a frantic Nellie.

“Nellie, my darling!”

Charlie drops to his knees and ruffles her ears affectionately as Nellie slobbers all over his face. Even through his embarrassment and awkwardness, Nick feels a twinge of jealousy.

“It’s so nice to see you in the daylight, you lovely girl. What a beauty you are!”

Nellie boofs and nuzzles Charlie’s hand with the top of her head, her signal for “don’t stop patting me”, and of course, Charlie obliges. Nick stands there in his blanket shawl, his unwashed hair sticking up six ways from Sunday, unable to speak.

Eventually Charlie stands and brushes the dog hair from his trousers before turning to Nick. His eyes widen as he gets a good look. “Christ, you look awful.”

“Thank you,” Nick replies grumpily, tightening his blanket around himself. “What are you doing here?”

Charlie shrugs. “You haven’t been at work. I thought maybe someone should check on you, make sure you weren’t dead under a pile of old newspapers or something.”

He wanted to check on me? Nick feels a tiny butterfly stir in his belly.

“How did you know where I lived?”

Charlie’s lips stretch into a conniving grin. “I got your address from Linda in HR. She still thinks I’m straight, the poor dear.”

Nick scoffs but can’t help smiling. “You flirted with Linda from HR?”

Charlie nods. “I know, I know. I’m sure I’ll go to gay hell or whatever for betraying my ancestors. But sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do, am I right?” Nellie borks her approval loudly and Charlie bends to pat her again. “Nellie gets it.”

“But why are you here?” Nick asks him.

Charlie sighs softly and gives Nick a reproachful look. “I think we need to talk, don’t you?”

Nick bites his lower lip and looks at the floor, guilt and humiliation washing over him in waves. The last time he saw Charlie, he was running away from him. After kissing him. Without permission. After showing up to his house uninvited. After getting his address from his CV.

“Yeah,” he finally murmurs. “I suppose so.”

Charlie claps his hands together. “Right. Well. I brought food.”

“You…you brought me food?”

Charlie just shrugs again. “I figured with Imogen gone, and you not coming to work, you probably weren't eating terribly well.”

Nick nods soberly. “You’d be right.”

“So, I’m going to go to the kitchen and make us food, and you’re going to shower and put on some clean clothes. And then we’ll talk.” Charlie's eyes peruse Nick’s face for his consent. “Okay?”

Nick nods obediently. This is so much more than he deserves from Charlie. “Okay.”

He shows Charlie to the kitchen, apologising as he does that there’s literally nothing in the fridge. Charlie, however, has come prepared with lots of little pre-sliced nibbles for them both, as well as some lemonade. He shoos Nick off to the shower, promising that he can handle himself in Nick’s kitchen. Nellie stays with Charlie, clearly assuming that he’s a soft touch and will drop something tasty her way. Nick presumes she’s right.

He showers as quickly and as thoroughly as possible, hoping that Charlie will forget the image of him in a dirty shirt when presented with its exact opposite. He can't quite believe what's happening. Charlie is here, at his house, and he brought him food? Nick can't get his mind around it. He's treated Charlie so poorly; why is he showing Nick such kindness, yet again?

The shower feels amazing after several days of wallowing, and it perks Nick up a bit. He dresses in a clean t-shirt and hoodie, and a pair of clean joggers. He combs his hair neatly before tousling it gently with his fingers so it’s just the right amount of Oh, this? It just does this by itself, then heads downstairs.

Charlie is sitting at the kitchen table, Nellie at his feet, scrolling his phone. Nick stops for a moment and stares at the scene before him.

Charlie’s focused on his phone screen, his thick brows furrowed slightly as he reads. His legs are crossed beneath the table, one socked foot bobbing gently, keeping time to a song Nick can’t hear. The golden afternoon sun is glinting off his dark curls and casting long shadows beneath his cheekbones that make them seem even more pronounced than usual. His free hand is buried in Nellie’s fur, her head resting in his lap.

It’s a beautifully serene moment and Nick breathes it in, savouring it as deeply as he can in case it’s the last time Charlie’s ever in this room. God, he hopes it’s not the last time Charlie’s ever in this room.

On the table in front of Charlie is a massive plate of cheese, crackers, cut-up fruit and vegetables, and two glasses of lemonade. It’s a feast, and after several days of subsisting on toast and self-pity, Nick feels his mouth water just looking at it.

And probably for other reasons.

He takes a deep breath and walks into the kitchen. Charlie glances up from his phone, and Nick is pretty sure he sees the man’s eyes widen as he catches sight of freshly showered Nick. He smiles softly and sits across from Charlie at the table, noting the way his olive cheeks have flushed ever so slightly.

“This is amazing, Charlie,” Nick effuses as he contemplates the banquet before him. “I haven’t eaten much since…” He counts backward, grimacing as he realises. “Shit, Wednesday afternoon, actually.”

“Well, tuck in then.” Charlie gestures to the food and Nick obliges, helping himself to some crackers and cheese and a handful of grapes.

As soon as the food hits his tongue, Nick realises how incredibly hungry he is. He has to force himself to slow down lest he inhale the entire platter of food before Charlie even gets a bite. Charlie, for his part, is picking away at the strawberries and the cheese, taking small bites and eating slowly.

It lifts Nick’s spirits to no end to see Charlie eating. He’s pretty sure that means that Charlie is okay.

They both eat their fill in companionable silence. After consuming a few hundred calories, Nick starts to feel a little more like himself. That, of course, means that his memory starts working a little better, and his embarrassment at his treatment of Charlie starts to move back to the forefront of his mind. He takes a long drink of lemonade and steels his nerves, then looks Charlie in the eye.

“Charlie, I want to apologise.”

Charlie’s left eyebrow rises slowly, but he says nothing.

“I am really, really sorry for showing up at your house the other night,” Nick continues. “I had no right to do that. I had no right to look up your address, or to show up there, especially uninvited.”

Charlie nods but remains quiet. Nick can’t tell if the nod means Charlie agrees with Nick’s assessment of his behaviour, or that he accepts Nick’s apology, or both, or neither. Nick’s palms start to sweat, but he presses on. Charlie has been so kind to him, he needs to apologise properly, and that means apologising for everything.

“And…” Nick’s gaze drops to the tabletop for a moment. He’s having trouble finding the words he wants to say. No, that isn’t it. He knows exactly what he wants to say. He’s just having trouble finding the courage to give the words breath, to let them escape the safety of his body and exist in the world outside him.

But this is Charlie. Anything less than the truth is pointless.

Nick glances back up, forcing himself to meet those cerulean eyes.

“I…I am very sorry…for…kissing you.”

The words make it out; barely above a whisper, but they’re out. Nick looks back down at the tabletop and notices his hands are shaking, and he quickly pulls them into his lap.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you. I was drunk, and upset, and I didn’t think properly about what I was doing, and I did a stupid thing.” He sighs deeply, the guilt sitting like a rock in his stomach. “I’m honestly shocked you even wanted to speak to me again,” he says with a soft, self-deprecating laugh. “I…Charlie, you’re…you’re so great, and I don’t want to lose our friendship because I did something stupid.”

There’s a long pause. Nick’s words hang in the air between him and Charlie as he waits for Charlie to respond. After a moment of silence, Nick glances up at Charlie’s face and Charlie’s expression knocks him for a loop.

Where he’d expected to find anger, or at least resentment, there’s something else. Charlie’s bright eyes have dulled slightly, and his lips are pressed together in a line. He’s got his hands in his lap, and Nick can see from here the subtle movements of his forearms that indicate Charlie’s picking at his cuticles.

Nick struggles to decode the cues Charlie’s body is sending. Is Charlie upset? Sad?

Nick’s eyes widen, his heart leaping into his throat.

Is Charlie disappointed?

And then Nick's brain nearly short circuits.

Is there any possibility at all that Charlie maybe wanted Nick to kiss him?

Nick pulls up the memory of Wednesday night, wading through the murky haze of alcohol and adrenaline that clouds it to find any clue that Charlie might have, even for one second, wanted Nick.

He remembers the look on Charlie’s face when he opened the door: surprised, unsure, adorably sleep-creased. He remembers the shock and surprise on Charlie’s face when Nick accidentally blurted out that he was into Charlie.

Nick’s breath stops – he remembers the touch. Charlie reached for his hand, they touched, and Charlie’s eyes…

Hope.

There was hope there, wasn’t there?

Nick’s heart is hammering against the inside of his chest. He has to know. He has to know if there’s a chance, even a fraction of a chance, that Charlie might want him.

He straightens in his chair, then tentatively reaches his hand across the table, resting it mere inches from Charlie’s plate. Charlie’s blue eyes are tracking the path of Nick’s hand as it slides across the burnished wood, his body still, a statue of a man. Nick swallows hard.

Now or never, Nelson.

“Charlie.”

Charlie looks up at the sound of his name, and Nick’s heart stutters again at the beauty of the man across from him. It’s time to lay his cards on the table. He needs to know.

“It’s not that I didn’t want to, you know…kiss you.”

Charlie’s eyes widen and he draws in a breath, so Nick keeps going. He slides his hand a little closer to the table edge nearest Charlie.

“I’m so sorry I ran away last night. I was just freaking out, because, uh…” Nick shrugs, unsure of how to explain the maelstrom of thoughts and feelings that have engulfed him over the past few weeks. “I’ve just been so confused.”

Charlie’s eyes are fixed on Nick’s, his expression searching. Slowly, Charlie lifts one hand from beneath the table and lays it on the tabletop, the tips of his fingers just touching Nick’s. A spark flashes as their fingers touch and Nick shivers, every nerve firing at once, electric sensations surging across his skin.

“Nick,” Charlie says gently, brushing Nick’s little finger with his own. “Do you…Do you think that you might be gay?”

Nick can’t help it – he huffs out a soft laugh. Charlie tenses, but Nick shakes his head, smiling across the table at his friend.

“Um, I’m bi, actually.”

The air in the kitchen starts to shimmer as the words leave Nick’s lips. As he releases them, an invisible weight floats up off his shoulders and he draws in a deep breath. He realises that he has never, ever said those words out loud before. Not to his mum, not to Imogen, not even to himself. And now, he has. And it feels…

God, it feels so good.

Charlie is just staring at him, open-mouthed and wide eyed. Nick feels his cheeks flushing under the intense gaze.

“Um, say something, please.”

“Sorry,” Charlie says, blinking rapidly as though waking from a dream. “I’m just…surprised?” He shakes his head. “No, not surprised…just…” His lips break into a wide smile. “Wow.”

Nick’s blush deepens as embarrassment replaces the confidence he’d felt moments ago. He starts to draw his hand back, but Charlie immediately lunges for it, gripping it tightly in his own.

“Hey,” Charlie says, squeezing Nick’s hand. “It’s okay, Nick. It’s good. Thank you for telling me. I…I’m honoured that you shared that with me.”

Nick’s hand is on fire where it’s clasped in Charlie’s, the sensation of their skin pressed together even in this platonic touch incendiary. Charlie’s grip is firm but gentle, and as Nick watches, Charlie weaves their fingers together.

“I, uh…I sort of suspected?” Charlie admits, giving Nick a crooked smile.

“Was it the Harry Styles impression?” Nick asks, and Charlie lets out a soft giggle.

“That might have had something to do with it,” Charlie concedes. He lifts his other hand to clasp Nick’s in both of his, and Nick’s heart flutters.

Charlie Spring is holding my hand.

“So…you’re not mad?” Nick asks carefully.

Charlie sighs, tilting his head as he considers. “I mean…Am I thrilled you showed up drunk at my house and kissed me and ran away? No, I’m not.” He looks at Nick. “You could have just, you know. Told me you liked me.”

Shame blankets Nick’s skin, making him sink slightly under Charlie’s gaze. “I know. And I should have. And honestly, I am so, so sorry.”

“Why didn’t you, though?” Charlie asks him, his voice laced with a sort of sadness that makes Nick’s heart ache. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“I couldn’t,” Nick replies. “Charlie, I’ve…I’ve never told anyone about any of this. About how I feel, about being…bisexual.” The word still feels foreign in his mouth, but Nick forces himself to say it out loud to prove to himself that he can.

“Is that what you meant the other night?” Charlie asks. “When you said you were scared to do something people might not expect? Like your real self was trapped inside you and you didn’t know how to… be something else?”

Nick nods, not trusting himself to speak as his eyes fill with tears. He realises he’s holding his breath, still pushing back on all the emotions and desires that are filling his chest and heart, threatening to overflow. He’s opened the door a tiny, tiny crack, just enough to let some light in. To let Charlie in. But there’s so much more inside him that’s screaming to get out, and Nick knows if he lets go, it will all come rushing out at once and he’ll drown.

But Charlie’s here, and he’s holding Nick’s hand. And for the first time in his life, Nick’s sharing this part of himself with someone. Someone he cares about. Someone he wants to care about him.

“You don’t have to be scared of me, Nick,” Charlie says gently.

“I’m not,” Nick assures him. “You’re actually the only person I feel totally safe with.” There’s a soft huff from beneath the table and Nick peeks beneath it, catching a side-eyed glance from Nellie. “Well, you and Nellie,” he corrects.

Charlie giggles again, and Nick swears that sound has the power to turn his insides to custard.

“Of course,” Charlie acknowledges. “Nellie’s clearly a quality individual.”

“The best.” Nick lifts his other hand from his lap and wraps it around Charlie’s hands. Charlie looks up at Nick, stars in his eyes, and Nick’s heart skips a beat.

“I really like you,” Nick blurts out, and Charlie’s eyes widen.

“You like me?” Charlie asks incredulously, and Nick huffs out a laugh.

“Wasn’t it obvious?” he asks. “I mean, I showed up at your house and kissed you.”

“You’re right, you showing up in the middle of the night and kissing me out of the blue and then running away should have tipped me off,” Charlie says teasingly.

The energy flowing between the two men is light, playful, and warm, and Nick feels so intensely happy he doesn’t want to move; doesn’t want to fracture the fragile bubble that holds them both. But…

“Do you…like me?” Nick asks. He holds his breath, pretty sure he knows the answer, but terrified all the same.

“Yes!” Charlie laughs, his grip on Nick’s hands tightening. “Obviously!”

Nick can’t contain the smile that blooms on his lips. He likes me! Nick has no idea why Charlie likes him, or what he’s done to deserve Charlie’s attention, but Charlie likes him. Nick feels like he’s swallowed a box of fireworks.

He stands, pulling Charlie to his feet by their joined hands. He steps close to Charlie, so close Nick can feel the warmth radiating off Charlie’s body.

“Can I…Can I kiss you properly?” Nick asks. “Is that alright?”

Charlie looks at Nick like he’s just offered him a million dollars. “Yeah,” he replies, his voice breathy. Nick swoons a bit. Suddenly it’s all so real: Charlie’s here in his kitchen, holding his hand, and he likes Nick, and he wants Nick to kiss him.

So before panic or doubt have a chance to sink their claws into this perfect moment, Nick leans forward and captures Charlie’s lips in a kiss.

Charlie drops Nick’s hand and wraps his arms around Nick’s neck, pulling him closer. Nick’s left arm immediately encircles Charlie’s slim waist. His right hand moves to Charlie’s face, cupping it gently as they kiss, his fingers tracing the sharp lines of Charlie’s jaw and fingering the curls behind his ear.

Fuck, they’re so soft.

Charlie sighs softly and Nick’s knees nearly give out. He pulls Charlie closer still, pressing his lips to Charlie’s again and again, drinking in the sweetness of Charlie that he’s been desperate for so fucking long. Exploring fingers find the short hairs at the back of Nick’s neck and he trembles at the sensation, goosebumps jumping up along his spine. Every touch of Charlie’s fingers and lips threatens to burn him alive.

They finally break apart to catch their breaths and Nick finds he’s a bit lightheaded.

“Is it alright if we maybe sit down?” he asks Charlie. “The sitting room’s through there.”

“Yeah, of course,” Charlie replies. His cheeks are flushed a deep pink, and both of his dimples are on full display.

He’s just so goddamn beautiful.

Nick pulls Charlie by the hand into the sitting room, and they sit side by side on the sofa, thighs pressed together. Nick immediately pivots his body to face Charlie and scoots as close as he possibly can to the other man.

“So…” he starts.

“So…” Charlie replies, and they both giggle. Nick had forgotten how good it feels to be ‘in like’ with someone at the beginning. The nervous glances, the sweaty palms and first kisses, the way your head spins just hearing their voice.

“Did you want to kiss more?” Charlie asks, raising one perfect eyebrow and giving Nick a playful grin that is just this side of drop dead sexy.

“Yes, please!” Nick is sure he’s grinning like a moron, and Charlie can probably sense his desperation, but he doesn’t care. He is desperate for Charlie, for as much of Charlie as Charlie will let Nick have.

He leans in and presses his lips to Charlie’s again, and sparks fly. This time the kiss is much deeper, and Nick feels his skin heating up. Charlie’s hands are on his shoulders then running up and down his biceps.

“Fuck,” Charlie sighs into his mouth as his fingers caress Nick’s arms, and Nick laughs.

“See something you like?” he teases.

“Maybe.” Charlie kisses him again, harder this time, his tongue flicking across Nick’s lips until Nick opens his mouth to let Charlie in. Nick can feel his body reacting to Charlie’s touch and his kisses, and against his better judgement he swings a leg across Charlie’s lap. Charlie pulls back, his eyes wide.

Nick freezes, suddenly worried he’s come on too strong. “Is this okay?” he asks cautiously.

Charlie beams at him, his eyes darkening. “Um, yes.”

His hands drop onto Nick’s thighs and it’s all Nick can do not to moan obscenely at the contact. He carefully settles his weight onto Charlie’s legs then leans in and presses his lips to Charlie’s again, holding Charlie’s face in his hands. Charlie’s fingers dig into Nick’s quads and Nick sighs deeply, his mouth opening to let Charlie’s probing tongue inside.

As their kisses increase in intensity, Nick twines his fingers in the short curls at the back of Charlie’s neck. They’re even softer than he imagined, like silk sliding over his skin. Charlie moans softly and Nick's head spins as his blood rushes around his body, pooling below his waist.

He’s markedly aware that a situation is occurring, and that continuing on this path is only going to make the situation…not worse, exactly, but more intense. A part of his brain is worried that his obvious arousal is going to make Charlie uncomfortable, but another, much larger part of his brain is urging him forward, swept away on the tide of joy that is Charlie’s kisses.

Charlie’s hands slide higher up Nick’s thighs and Nick has to consciously resist the urge to grind his hips forward. He pulls back and gasps in a breath, his heart racing as he looks down at Charlie.

Charlie’s dark eyes are nearly black, his lips and cheeks flushed scarlet. He’s breathing hard, too, and his eyebrows come together in an expression of concern.

“Alright?” Charlie asks him.

Nick can feel Charlie lifting his hands slightly, reducing the pressure they’re putting on Nick’s skin without fully removing them. Nick appreciates Charlie checking in, but wishes it wasn’t necessary. He wants nothing more than to let Charlie take him apart.

“Yeah,” Nick assures Charlie, nodding vehemently. “It’s…I’m great, actually.”

He chuckles, and a relieved smile stretches across Charlie’s face, both of his dimples coming out again. They’re so cute, and Nick can’t help himself: he reaches out and gives one of them a gentle poke. Charlie starts at the little boop, but then he giggles, his blush deepening as he blinks shyly.

“You’re adorable,” Nick tells him, and Charlie bites his lower lip as though trying to contain his smile. “And I am really enjoying this. But, um…” Nick’s eyes flick away from Charlie’s as embarrassment consumes him. “It feels really good?”

“I think that’s sort of the point?” Charlie teases.

Nick sighs and rolls his eyes. “Yes, I am aware,” he laughs. “But, um…” He glances down at their laps, then back into Charlie’s eyes. “It feels really good. And…I don’t…We haven’t discussed…boundaries?”

Charlie’s eyes light up with understanding, and he gives Nick a comforting smile. “Got it.” His fingers are gently stroking the tops of Nick’s thighs, and Nick lays his own hands on top of Charlie’s, linking their fingers. “Um, well, what…What are you comfortable with?”

Nick throws his head back and laughs. “Oh my god, um, everything!”

Charlie’s eyes widen, and Nick backpedals slightly. “I mean, um, not everything, like…right now? I just meant…Fuck, I’m messing this up.”

“You’re not,” Charlie tells him, squeezing his hands. “I’m just…I didn’t expect that reply.”

The penny drops and Nick smiles. “Because you thought this was my first time with a guy.”

“It’s not?” Charlie’s dark brows arch upward, and Nick shakes his head.

“Um…no. There…I mean, I’ve never been in a relationship with a guy…But, um…” He chews his lower lip sheepishly, feeling his cheeks flame. “I’m not totally inexperienced.”

Charlie giggles, his eyes are sparkling and his smile wide as he shakes his head. “You are just full of surprises,” he says, intertwining his fingers with Nick’s.

Nick shrugs. “More like hidden secrets,” he replies sardonically.

Charlie’s smile falters and he lets go of Nick’s hands to rest his palms back on Nick’s legs. “Hey, it’s alright,” he reassures him, one thumb rubbing gentle circles into the fabric of Nick’s joggers. “You told me, right? So, it’s not a secret anymore.”

Nick sighs deeply, and nods. He does feel lighter having told Charlie that he’s bisexual, and that he’s been with other men before. And it wasn’t as hard as he thought to say those words to Charlie. It’s like some part of Nick knew that it was safe to share his secrets with Charlie.

Charlie’s gazing up at Nick with soft eyes, his hands still firmly planted on Nick’s lap.

He’s so beautiful.

“So, just to be clear,” Charlie says carefully. “You are open to…having sex? With me?”

Nick’s head feels like a helium balloon on a string as every blood cell in his body rockets south. He manages to nod, and Charlie’s smile grows in response.

“Okay,” Charlie replies. “And, um, I also am open to that. But I do have a condition.”

Nick blinks rapidly and gives his head a small shake to force his brain to come back online. “Go on,” he says.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, Nick,” Charlie begins, and Nick feels his stomach clench. Charlie immediately senses the change in Nick’s energy and grabs his hands again, looking directly into Nick’s eyes. “I would very much like to do…everything…with you,” he says. “But I don’t want to do anything here, in your house. Until you and Imogen are totally done.”

Imogen. Right.

Her name is like a bucket of cold water tossed on Nick’s desire. And as much as Nick wants Charlie to rip his clothes off and fuck the living daylights out of him, Nick knows that doing that for the first time in his and Imogen’s bed is both a huge mistake and wholly disrespectful to Imogen.

He nods in disappointed agreement. “Yeah. Yes. You’re absolutely right.” He moves to climb off Charlie’s lap, but Charlie stops him.

“Um, I didn’t say you should move,” Charlie murmurs, once again sliding his hands up and down Nick’s thighs, making Nick’s skin tingle.

“Okay,” Nick whispers, settling his weight back down onto Charlie’s knees.

“If you’re okay with it,” Charlie continues. “Maybe you’d like to come over to mine tomorrow? We could watch a film or something, maybe have dinner?”

Nick’s jaw drops open and he has to remind himself to breathe. “Um, yeah. Yes. Yes, I would…I would like that a lot.”

Charlie’s gorgeous face lights up and Nick’s heart flutters at the pure excitement he sees there. He knows his own face must look much the same: somewhere between stupefied and elated. But then a memory creeps up from the depths of Nick’s brain, and his body tenses.

“Charlie, when I was at your house on Wednesday…” Nick bites his lip. “Who was that? That called out for you?”

A bewildered expression crosses Charlie’s face, then he smiles. “Oh! That was my friend Isaac, he was staying with me for a few nights, he had a conference in town.” Then the penny drops. “Oh my god, you thought–”

“It doesn’t matter,” Nick shakes his head, but Charlie links their hands together and squeezes.

“Nick.” His voice is tender, and Nick meets his eyes where he finds nothing but sincerity. “I promise you, it wasn’t anything. Isaac’s just a friend.”

Nick’s jaw unclenches and he sighs in relief. “Okay. I just thought–”

“–because of the texts.”

“Yeah.”

Charlie just shakes his head. “That guy was a total chav. He wore a Brexit t-shirt to a date; can you believe it?”

Nick laughs, feeling his body relax completely. “I cannot.”

“So, dinner, then?” Charlie asks again, reaching his face towards Nick’s. Nick tilts his chin down and their lips meet in a soft and tender kiss, a promise of something more.

When the kiss breaks, Nick nods enthusiastically. “Dinner. Yes."

“Okay,” Charlie breathes.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7

"If you’re okay with it, maybe you’d like to come over to mine tomorrow? We could watch a film or something, maybe have dinner?”

Charlie had said the words so casually that for a moment Nick thought he had misheard. Charlie inviting Nick to dinner was something that happened in Nick’s fantasies, not in reality. 

But Charlie is looking up at him expectantly, his hands warm on Nick’s thighs, and Nick’s brain suddenly understands that this is actually happening.

Charlie wants to have dinner with him.

Charlie wants him.

Take that, Brexit guy.

Now that Nick is allowed to touch Charlie the way he wants to, he finds he can't keep his hands to himself. As they kiss, Nick lays his hands on Charlie’s lean shoulders, his thumbs ghosting over the fabric of Charlie’s shirt where it rests on his prominent collar bones. His hands drift down Charlie’s arms, the muscles of Charlie’s biceps stretching and contracting beneath his fingertips. Nick grins against Charlie’s lips, thrilled by the way that Charlie’s grip on his quads tightens as Nick’s fingers stroke up and down Charlie’s arms. The thin fabric of Nick’s joggers is just enough of a barrier to allow Charlie’s touch to drive Nick crazy – at the same time too much, and not enough. 

Charlie moves his hands to Nick’s waist and his fingers begin teasing the hem of Nick’s t-shirt where it hangs across Nick’s lower back. Nick gasps, arching into the sensation.

“Too much?” Charlie murmurs against Nick’s lips, and Nick shakes his head.

“God, no.” 

Charlie grins and slides one hand under the hem of Nick’s shirt, the warm skin of his palm connecting with Nick’s bare flesh for the first time. It’s all Nick can do not to cry out. He sinks his teeth into his lower lip, muting his moan as Charlie’s lips dip to his throat. Nick can’t think of another time in his life when he felt so utterly undone by nothing more than kisses and a gentle brush of fingers on his skin. He feels like a horny teenager, his body entirely at the mercy of Charlie’s ministrations, chaste though they are. 

They stay that way on the sofa for quite a while, exchanging heated kisses and gripping the fabric of each other’s shirts in sweaty palms. Nick feels like a starving man who’s been presented with a sensory buffet. All he wants is more, more, more of Charlie’s hands, his lips, his skin. He drags his own fingers up and down Charlie’s back, the whispers and soft moans Charlie’s emitting engraving themselves on Nick’s memory.

Then Charlie lays his hands on Nick’s chest and gently pushes Nick away. Nick tries to chase his lips but Charlie’s force against him is firm.

“Nick,” Charlie pants. His voice is husky and the sound of it makes Nick’s skin smoulder. “We should stop.”

“But whyyyyyyyy?” Nick whines dramatically.

Charlie laughs and leans forward, pressing a kiss to the tip of Nick’s nose. “I’ve got to go home. It’s getting late.”

Nick groans and drops his head forward, pressing his forehead to Charlie’s shoulder. “Fine,” he mumbles angrily, sounding for all the world like a sulky teenager.

Charlie giggles. “Aw, I’m sorry.” He pulls Nick in close, and Nick nuzzles his neck, inhaling the warm, woodsy scent of his skin. 

God, Charlie’s amazing.

“It’s alright, I guess,” Nick sighs dramatically. He gives Charlie’s jaw a quick kiss then dismounts his thighs and sits beside him. Charlie leans his head against Nick’s shoulder as they each work to calm their racing hearts. When Nick reaches over to grasp Charlie’s hand in his, Charlie looks up at him with a smile that makes Nick’s tummy do somersaults. 

How is this real? How does Nick deserve this? Deep down, Nick knows he doesn’t deserve someone as wonderful as Charlie Spring, but until the universe realises its mistake, he is going to enjoy every second.

Nick and Nellie both escort Charlie to the door. Nellie’s tail is wagging energetically, and if Nick had a tail, his would be doing the same. 

“I’ll talk to you later?” Charlie's blue eyes are hopeful, expectant. Nick’s invisible tail wags harder.

“Yeah. Absolutely.”

He leans down to give Charlie one last, lingering kiss before he leaves. Charlie’s lips are so soft, and the kiss feels like a hopeful promise of more.

Nick sends a quick prayer up to whoever is listening that he doesn't fuck this up.

As Charlie drives away, Nick waves. He watches Charlie’s little blue Peugeot cruise down the street until it's nothing more than a speck. He manages to close the front door and lock it before a whoop of joy escapes him, and he starts jumping up and down, laughing giddily as Nellie borks and dances circles around him.

*************

After Charlie left, Nick had…taken care of some business before falling into the most restful sleep he’s had in months. When he wakes up on Saturday, Nick practically leaps out of bed, floating on a cloud of excitement and anticipation. The morning is bright and warm, so he takes Nellie for a long walk by the river, half-hoping to get a glimpse of Charlie on his morning run. He’s not that lucky today, but the fresh air and sunshine are lovely and Nellie’s trotting along beside him and he’s going to Charlie’s for dinner and honestly, Nick’s happier than he’s been in–

Nick has to pause as he considers this. 

Years. Honestly, it’s been years. 

The realisation feels like a lead weight in Nick’s belly. How has he allowed himself to go on for so long feeling so miserable? The contrast between his emotions today and his emotions… fuck, even less than a week ago, is so remarkable that for a terrifying moment Nick wonders if maybe he imagined everything that’s happened since Wednesday night. 

But then a sharp ping! erupts from his pocket, and the stream of texts coming into his phone assures him that it’s all very real.

Charlie: Good morning ❤️

Charlie: We still on for dinner?

Charlie: I was thinking of making lasagna or something simple? Does that suit you? Any food issues I need to worry about? 

Charlie: Nellie’s welcome to come if she likes 🐶😍❤️

Nick grins at that last one, typing out a quick response.

Nick: No food issues, I’m easy. And Nellie would love to come but unfortunately she’s got awful FOMO and I’d rather have your attention all to myself.

Three dots appear beside Charlie’s name, and Nick waits, his heart thumping as he chews his lower lip. Was that too much?

Charlie: I would be happy to give you all of my undivided attention x

Nick feels his blood pressure rise and he swallows thickly. Fuck, I hope that means what I think it does.

Nellie’s starting to lag, so Nick directs them back towards home. There’s a bounce in his step and a stupid smile on his face as he walks, and he even waves hello to some people he passes on the street. His cheerful greetings are met with everything from curiosity to surprise to intentional crossings of the street.

As Nick and Nellie turn onto their street, Nick’s blood freezes in his veins. Even at this distance, he can identify the car in his driveway. 

Imogen’s car. 

The good feelings that have buoyed him all morning evaporate, and he hits the firm concrete of reality with a nearly audible smack. He wraps Nellie’s leash tighter around his hand and squares his shoulders, willing his feet forward. 

As they draw closer to home, Nellie spots Imogen’s car and her tail starts wagging furiously. She tugs on her lead and all but drags Nick to the porch, shoving her snout into the one-inch gap provided by Nick opening the door and flinging it open wide. It slams against the wall and Nick jumps at the crash of wood on drywall.

“Nick?”

Imogen’s voice comes ringing down the stairwell and Nellie starts borking madly. Nick can hardly keep her still long enough to get her leash unclipped before she goes tearing up the stairs, presumably tackling Imogen to the ground (or at least that’s what the loud thud followed by a cascade of Imogen’s giggles would suggest). Nick just stands in the foyer wringing his hands, unsure of what to do with himself. 

Should he go upstairs? Should he leave? Should he slink into the kitchen and go about his business and give Imogen some space? His mind spins even as his body freezes, his feet glued to the hardwood of the entryway. 

He stands there suspended in indecision for so long that Imogen comes downstairs to find him still in the doorway with his shoes on. She stops at the foot of the stairs, her blue eyes meeting Nick’s. 

She looks…good, honestly. Her blonde curls are piled atop her head in a messy bun, and even in tights and an oversized sweatshirt, she looks chic and put together.

“Hi,” she says softly.

“Hey.” Nick replies, twisting his hands in Nellie’s leash again. Though the thick nylon is threatening to cut off blood supply to his fingertips, it’s helping to stave off his panic at seeing Imogen again.

“I..I just came by to get some of my stuff,” Imogen says haltingly.

Nick nods. “Yeah. Sure. Okay.” 

They stare at each other for a long moment, silence filling the space between them.

“How…um, how have you been?” Nick finally asks.

“Oh, um, fine, I guess,” Imogen replies. She wraps a loose curl around her finger and Nick’s heart clenches at this subtle sign of Imogen’s discomfort. Just last week they’d been best friends, laughing easily together. And now…Well, now they’re this. 

Nick sighs and rolls his shoulders back. This is silly. This is Imogen. Even though they aren’t together anymore, he still cares about her. She doesn’t deserve to feel this uncomfortable in her own home.

Nick juts his chin toward the kitchen. “Do you want a cuppa?” he asks, and Imogen nods, smiling softly. Relief washes over Nick. This is good. His mum always said everything’s easier with a cup of tea, and Nick prays that she’s right, although he sort of doubts that a simple hot beverage can repair the damage he’s wrought.

“Right. Go sit down, I’ll be right in.” 

Nick kicks off his trainers and hangs Nellie’s lead on a hook, then heads to the kitchen. He fills the kettle and sets it to boil, opening the cupboard to grab some mugs. His heart twinges when his hands land on their matching mugs, the “I” and “N” sneering at him like spectres of a future that won’t ever come to pass. He pauses for a moment, then grabs the mugs and places them on the counter. One more time can’t hurt.

Once he’s fixed their tea, Nick joins Imogen where she’s sitting in the lounge with Nellie happily splayed across her lap. 

“Thanks,” Imogen says as he hands her the cup.

“Sure,” Nick replies. He catches her expression as he hands her the mug and wonders if she feels the same way he does. 

He remembers a word from a book he’d read during his time in uni about a woman who spent her life travelling searching for some feeling of home she could never find. The word was fernweh - “an ache for experiences never had, and feelings never felt” - and of course, it was German. The Germans have a word for everything. 

And while Nick had sort of understood the meaning at the time, today he actually feels that ache deep in his cells.

He hesitates for a moment before sitting beside Imogen on the sofa, unsure of his footing on this new ground. “Is it okay if I sit here?”

Imogen gives him a funny look, then grins. “Of course,” she replies. “We’re not like, enemies, or whatever.”

“Okay.” Frankly, Nick wasn’t sure if they were enemies or not - he certainly doesn’t want to be - so it’s nice to have clarification.  He settles himself on the far end of the sofa, tucking one leg under him.

“I don’t hate you, Nick,” Imogen says quickly, and Nick nearly spills his tea with surprise.

“Oh. Okay,” Nick replies. “That’s…that’s good.” Imogen is staring at him. “I don’t hate you, either,” he adds. 

Imogen huffs out a small, relieved laugh. “Well, that’s good, too.”

There’s a painful silence and Nick blows on his much-too-hot tea, taking a sip despite knowing it’s going to scald his tongue. Usually, Imogen is all idle chatter and bubbly cheer. Nick’s not used to feeling so unsettled in her presence. He supposes he deserves it after the way he’s treated her.

“Did your hearing go well? At work?” Imogen asks him. 

Nick huffs out a soft, sad laugh. “It did not.”

Imogen’s blue eyes widen. “But you were working so hard! What happened?”

“There was a mistake with the files. They got sent to the wrong location and it nearly fucked up the whole thing,” Nick sips his tea and shakes his head ruefully. “Dad said Charlie made the mistake, but I’m sure he didn’t. Not that it stopped me from blaming him first, though.”

Imogen sucks a breath in through her teeth. “Ooooh, that’s…awkward.”

Nick nods in agreement. “It was. We, uh, we’ve sorted it, though.” Nick feels his cheeks heat up at the thought of how he and Charlie had reconciled their differences, and he swallows hard. 

“Dad’s got me working on some low-level bullshit now. Apparently, I’m a huge disappointment. Surprise, right?” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I actually begged off sick these last two days. Didn’t have the stomach to watch David gloat.”

“What would that prick have to gloat about?” Imogen asks, and Nick can’t help but smile. David had always told Nick that Imogen was much too good for him, even going so far as to actually remark to Imogen herself at a family party that she’d be better off upgrading to the “superior Nelson brother.” Imogen had given David a withering look, and in front of Nick’s entire family, had told David that if her standards ever slipped so far as to find him attractive, she’d insist someone shoot her.

“He was the one who caught the mistake.”

Imogen stares at Nick, one eyebrow raised in disbelief. “That idiot couldn’t catch a cold in a primary school,” she protests. “There’s no way he caught anyone’s mistake.”

“Apparently he just happened to be early to work when the call came in that the boxes had been misdirected, and he also just happened to be able to take them over to the correct location,” Nick explains, leaning back against the sofa.

Imogen’s perfect eyebrows crinkle in deep thought. “I dunno, Nick. I wouldn’t put it past that prick to have fucked things up for you on purpose.”

Nick tilts his head. “You think he misdirected the boxes?”

“Um, yes. Yes, I do,” Imogen tells him firmly. “And I’d bet he did such a sloppy job of it that you can probably find proof.”

Nick frowns. “I wouldn’t put it past him to actively try to sabotage me,” he tells Imogen plainly. “But that would be low, even for David.”

“Nick, there is nothing beneath that man,” Imogen insists, then grins slyly. “Especially any self-respecting woman.”

Nick snorts out a laugh, nearly spilling his tea on himself. Imogen is smiling brightly, and Nick’s heart lifts. This feels…normal, nearly. Good. 

But before Nick can relax and enjoy this moment of relative normalcy, guilt twists its dagger in his guts. He doesn’t deserve kindness from Imogen. He’s ruined her life. 

He sighs deeply and sets his mug on the table, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, and turns his face to Imogen.

“Imogen, I’m…I’m so sorry.”

The smile slips from Imogen’s face and her shoulders creep up toward her ears. Nick’s throat tightens, but he presses on. “You deserve a lot better than what I gave you. I should have been honest with you sooner.”

Imogen nods, turning away from him so all he can see is her profile. “Yeah,” she murmurs. “You should have.”

“I just…I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what I wanted, and I thought…I thought I was happy. You know?” Nick sighs and shakes his head. “That’s not an excuse. It’s just…I honestly thought everything was fine until–”

“–Until I asked you about marriage,” Imogen finishes. She turns back to face Nick, her blue eyes doleful, and Nick sees tears gathering along her lower lashes. 

He nods miserably. “Yeah. I guess. I always assumed we’d get married. But that was it, you know? It was a far off, future thing. It wasn’t real, not really. And when you asked me, it suddenly felt very real and…I just knew I couldn’t give you that. I’d been fooling myself, fooling both of us, really, for so long and…” 

His voice trails off. There’s really nothing more to say. He’d strung Imogen along for years until he couldn’t do it anymore because he’s a fucking coward, too afraid to tell her the truth because he couldn’t face being alone.

Imogen nods. Her tears stay contained as she looks at Nick, her gaze soft but achingly heartbroken. 

“Yeah. I’m…I’m sorry I put you on the spot like that.”

Nick sits up abruptly, shaking his head. “No, no, you shouldn’t be,” he tells her firmly. “You had every right to ask me that. Honestly, I’m kind of surprised you didn’t bring it up sooner.”

Imogen shrugs. “I mean, I guess I just sort of thought that you would be the one who brought it up.”

An ice-cold wave of fresh shame sweeps over Nick. “Fuck,” he breathes. “Yeah. I’m…Fuck, Immy, I’m so sorry.”

Imogen leans back against the sofa cushions, turning her gaze to the window. Her hand drifts over Nellie’s fur, and Nick watches as the soft strands slip through her delicate fingers. Nellie’s eyes are closed in blissful slumber, and Nick’s shame deepens. He knows how much Nellie misses Imogen. Him and Imogen breaking up is one thing, but Nellie’s losing half her family, too. 

His eyes follow Imogen’s gaze to the view outside the flat. The leaves on the trees are blowing gently in the breeze, the bright warmth of the morning outside a sharp contrast to the chill in the sitting room.

“I really miss you.” Imogen looks at him again, her eyes now wet with tears. “You're my best friend, Nick,” she says, her voice quaking. “I just…I can't believe we're not gonna be together forever.”

A lump forms in Nick’s throat and he opens his arms. Imogen shuffles over, being careful not to disturb Nellie too much, and falls into his arms. He hugs her tightly. 

“I'm so sorry,” he murmurs, and she nods against his chest. “I miss you, too, Immy. But I can't give you what you want.”

“I know.” Imogen sniffles, and Nick squeezes her again before she sits up and wipes her eyes. “Sorry.”

Nick shakes his head. “I'm the one who should be sorry. And I am.”

Imogen gives him a weak smile. “I know.” She wipes her eyes delicately with the edge of her sleeve, her mascara still holding firm and flawless. “I should…” She gestures towards the hallway, and Nick nods, rising. Nellie leaps to her feet, her fur askew from her nap, and she looks up at Imogen, who rubs her ears lovingly.

“I miss you, too, Nel,” Imogen tells the dog, planting a kiss on the top of her head. She turns her face up to Nick. “Is it…Would it be alright if I come by to visit Nellie?” she asks.

Nick nods. “Yeah, of course. You’re always welcome here, Imogen. It’s your house, too.”

Imogen nods, but Nick knows it isn’t really, not anymore. It’s his name on the paperwork. Imogen will take her things and find a flat of her own, and he’ll stay here and live with the ghosts of all the things he couldn’t give her. Which is exactly what he deserves.

“Why don’t…” Nick pauses, and Imogen tilts her head. “Why don’t you take Nellie tonight? If Sahar would be cool with that?”

Imogen’s eyes light up. “Really?” she asks, and Nick nods.

“Yeah. She misses you, too.”

“You’ll be alright without her?” 

Nick swallows, feeling a touch guilty that sending Nellie off with Imogen actually solves his problem of what to do with her if (gods willing) Charlie wants him to stay over.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” he replies. “Let me get her stuff.”

Nick gathers up Nellie’s food bowl and leash and a few of her toys, adding them to the boxes and suitcase in Imogen’s boot. Nellie, for her part, clambers happily into Imogen’s back seat. Nick leans in to give her a cuddle, whispering, “Traitor” in her ear softly. Nellie just licks his face in reply. 

And then Imogen’s backing out of the driveway, a smile on her face that fills Nick with relief. Of course he doesn’t want Nellie to go with Imogen, and she will certainly stay with Nick in the long run: she’s his dog. But it feels good to give Imogen this little bit of happiness, and it assuages some of his guilt for being such an absolute shit to her.

His pocket buzzes, and he pulls out his phone, his guilt dissolving into bubbles of excitement as he reads the message on the screen.

Charlie: What time can I expect you?

*************

Nick stands in front of Charlie’s door, staring at the doorbell. A sense of déjà vu washes over him, reminding him of the last time he stood in front of this door only a few days earlier, and what an utter arse he’d made of himself. Tonight, he’s sober as a judge, dressed in his nicest chinos and a neatly pressed button-up shirt that is just ever so slightly too tight across his biceps. He’s showered and shaved, and in his left hand is a bottle of extremely expensive wine. 

Despite knowing that Charlie wants him here, has in fact invited him here, and that tonight is pretty well the exact opposite of last time, Nick is having trouble shaking the tendrils of shame at his past self’s behaviour. 

He sucks in a breath and presses the buzzer firmly. He’s done being afraid.

He hears footsteps approaching the door, and then it’s flung open and Charlie’s standing there in front of him. Nick almost gasps aloud at how fucking beautiful he looks. 

Charlie’s curls are immaculate - freshly washed and styled with care - and he’s got on a blue jumper that makes his eyes shine like polished gems. The black jeans he’s wearing have little rips in the knees that make them look both well loved and extremely expensive, and they cling to Charlie’s runner’s legs in a way that makes Nick’s mouth water. 

Charlie smiles up at Nick with a warmth that makes Nick’s knees weak.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” Nick replies. His heart is beating so hard in his chest that he’s convinced Charlie must be able to hear it. “You look amazing.”

Charlie’s cheeks flush as his smile grows and Nick catches sight of his dimples.

“Thanks,” Charlie says shyly. “Um, come on in.”

Nick follows Charlie inside, removing his shoes and trailing him into the kitchen. The house is older, but it’s clearly well cared for. There’s dark wood trim around all the doors and windows, giving the place a cottagey feel. There’s even a transom above the kitchen doorway with a stained-glass window.

“I brought you this,” Nick says as they walk into the kitchen, extending the bottle of wine toward Charlie. Charlie grabs a couple of glasses as Nick glances around the kitchen, taking note of the mixture of high-end appliances and kitschy farmhouse-style accessories.

“This looks fancy,” Charlie remarks as he examines the label on the wine.

Nick shrugs. “My dad’s a collector. Every now and then he gives me a bottle. I never really know what to do with them. They’re a bit fancy for an after-work drink.”

“Well, I will do my best to appreciate it,” Charlie says playfully, filling a glass and passing it to Nick. “Cheers.” 

Charlie extends his glass towards Nick, and they clink them together gently. Nick takes a sip of the wine and swishes it around in his mouth, trying to determine what makes this better than the fifteen quid bottle he got at the off-licence, but he can’t figure it out. 

Charlie, however, looks impressed. “That’s alright, isn’t it?”

Nick just shrugs and grins. “It’ll get the job done, I suppose.”

Charlie laughs. “I take it you don’t know much about wine?”

“Well, I know it comes in red or white. Oooh, or pink!” Nick exclaims proudly. “And some of them have bubbles.”

Charlie giggles and Nick beams at the sight of the perfect dimples piercing his cheeks. 

“Well, there’s not much more to it than that, I’m sure.” Charlie gives Nick a teasing wink, and Nick feels his cheeks grow warm. 

“Um, dinner’s in the oven but it’s gonna be a few minutes.” Charlie nods towards the corridor. “Do you want to sit down?”

“Sure.”

They bimble down a short hallway to a cosy little sitting room. One wall of the tiny room is floor to ceiling built-in bookcases, each shelf jammed to capacity with novels of various shapes and sizes. An overstuffed sofa sits against another wall, facing a small television on an antique console table, with windows beyond that overlook the street. The entire room is maybe sixty square feet, but it feels incredibly warm and welcoming. 

Nick notices little knick knacks scattered about: photos of Charlie and his friends and family in mismatched frames, a small brass clock, plants in pots of various colours and sizes. It’s an eclectic mix of styles and periods, but it’s meticulously curated to create a sort of polished Bohemian vibe that Nick really likes. 

He meanders over to the bookcase and tilts his head to examine some of the spines: Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, a fancy set of the Lord of the Rings novels. His eyes land on a thick hardback book with a tattered jacket - The Song of Achilles - and Nick fingers the little tears in the paper, imagining Charlie’s fingers stroking the cover as he reads.

“Have you read it?”

Charlie’s leaning against the doorframe, watching Nick with a soft smile on his face.

“No, I haven’t,” Nick replies. “Clearly it’s a favourite of yours, though, from the looks of the jacket.”

Charlie nods. “It’s wonderful.” He moves to the sofa and sits and nods at Nick to join him, which Nick does eagerly. 

Nick realises as soon as he sits how very small the sofa is. His thigh is pressed up against Charlie’s, and he has to angle his torso slightly towards Charlie in order to make room for his massive shoulders. Charlie’s got a playful smile on his face as Nick struggles to find a comfortable position that doesn’t infringe on Charlie’s personal space.

“You can just sit, Nick,” Charlie tells him. “It’s okay if we’re…you know. Close.”

Nick’s eyes widen and his heart skips a beat in his chest. 

“Oh. Yeah, um. Okay.” 

He allows his shoulders to relax, the entire left side of his body pressed against Charlie’s right. The contact is intoxicating, and Nick’s head spins a little. Charlie switches his wine glass from his right hand to his left and rests his right hand on Nick’s thigh, which immediately warms beneath his touch.

“This okay?” Charlie asks, and Nick just nods.

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s…um, it’s good.”

“Cool.” Charlie smiles and sips his drink, then gestures broadly to the room with his glass. “It’s a super small house, but I’ve tried to make it comfortable.”

“It’s really lovely,” Nick assures him. “I love how everything sort of matches but like, doesn’t match? You know?”

Charlie’s cheeks glow a soft pink. “I get a lot of things at charity shops.” He points to the brass clock Nick had admired moments ago. “I got that for two quid. It’s got to be a hundred years old. You have to wind it.”

“That’s so cool!” Nick scans the room, and his eyes land on a curious little figurine of a cat. “What about that little fellow? What’s his story?”

“Oh, him!” Charlie laughs. “He was a gift from my sister’s husband, actually. Apparently, he has my ‘energy.’”

Nick tilts his head and squints, examining the little tsotchke more closely. “Yes, yes, I see it now. Definite menace energy. You can see it in the way he looks at you.”

“And how does he look at you?” Charlie asks, leaning his face closer to Nick’s. 

Nick stares into Charlie’s eyes, feeling the ground slip away from beneath his feet as he sinks into Charlie’s gaze.

“Oh, you know,” he murmurs. “Like…like he wants something.”

“Oh, he does.” Charlie leans in and gently presses his lips against Nick’s, the hand on Nick’s thigh gripping it more tightly, and Nick closes his eyes and melts. 

Charlie’s lips are warm and soft and taste of expensive wine, and the combination overwhelms Nick’s senses. He reaches up to cup Charlie’s jaw with his free hand and Charlie sighs softly into his mouth. Nick’s fingers find the short curls at the back of Charlie’s head and tease them gently, pulling Charlie’s face closer as the kiss deepens.

Charlie’s kisses are headier than the wine: they’re practically transcendent. Nick just wants to sink deeper and deeper into his lips until he disappears completely.

There’s a shrill buzz from the kitchen and they both jump, the beautiful moment broken. Nick’s heart hammers as he gasps for breath, and Charlie drops his chin to his chest with a soft chuckle.

“Um, that would be the lasagne,” he tells Nick, a sheepish grin on his face.

“Right. Food, yes.” Nick says a bit too loudly. “It’s…um…necessary. For existence,” he adds awkwardly.

“Indeed,” Charlie giggles. “I should…” He nods towards the kitchen, but neither of them moves. For a moment they just stare at each other and Nick can’t help smiling like a lovesick schoolboy. Charlie’s staring at him through thick lashes, his lips kiss-bitten and flushed a deep cherry red, his blue eyes dark like the sea before a storm, soaking Nick with a wave of desire. He sinks his teeth into his lower lip as Charlie’s fingers trace soft circles on his thigh, heat creeping into his cheeks.

But the oven demands their attention again with a second loud buzz, determined not to be ignored.

Charlie rolls his eyes. “Homophobic,” he states, and Nick can’t help but laugh.

Nick follows Charlie into the kitchen where the table is set for two. He refills both of their wine glasses while Charlie pulls the lasagna from the oven. The air is thick with the scent of garlic and tomatoes, and Nick’s mouth begins to water.

“Sit.” Charlie gestures at the table with his free hand while he plates the pasta. 

Nick chooses the chair nearest to him, placing Charlie’s glass at his plate. There’s a wooden bowl in the centre of the table that appears to be hand-carved and it’s overflowing with greens, cucumbers, radishes and tiny tomatoes. 

“I love your salad bowl,” Nick remarks, running his fingers along the bowl’s smooth curves.

“Oh, thanks.” Charlie makes his way over to the table, a plate in each hand. “I actually got it at a sort of artisan market from a woodcarver, if you can believe it.”

“Like, an actual woodcarver?” Nick marvels. “That's really cool!”

Charlie places Nick’s plate in front of him and sits down. The lasagne is gorgeous, and Nick’s eyes widen in delight.

“Did you make this?” he asks Charlie, who scoffs and shakes his head. 

“I mean, I heated it up? I’m not much in the kitchen. But I am a whiz with a takeaway menu. And the Italian place around the corner is spectacular.”

Nick takes a bite and closes his eyes, savouring the rich sauce and decadent cheese. “I’ll say. God, this is heavenly.”

The two men chat as they eat, the conversation between them flowing easily. They remain at the table even when their plates are empty, gazing at each other as the sun sinks in the sky, the pale light of dusk casting a warm glow over Charlie’s tiny kitchen.

“So, I have to ask.” Charlie leans back in his chair, crossing one long leg over the other. His voice is husky from the wine, and he smiles coyly at Nick. “When we first met, just after you nearly killed me with the door–”

“Oy!” Nick interjects, and Charlie giggles. The sound resonates through Nick’s head and makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

“Fine, fine, when you nearly accidentally killed me with the door,” Charlie amends, grinning. “You told me you used to picture yourself doing something impactful with your degree.”

Nick’s mind flashes back to their conversation in the café, and he feels the tips of his ears reddening. Had he really been so open with Charlie right from moment one?

“Anyway,” Charlie continues. “It just struck me as an interesting remark. I wondered what you meant.”

Nick shrugs casually, as though the question hasn’t totally unseated him. 

“That’s…um…Okay, first of all, I cannot believe you remember that.”

Charlie shrugs nonchalantly, and Nick’s cheeks heat up. It feels strangely intimate to know that Charlie really listens to him, and apparently always has. 

“And second, I am sort of shocked that I, like, told you that. Before I even knew you.”

Charlie’s grin widens. “I have a rather disarming effect on handsome men,” he replies, arching one perfect eyebrow as he sips his wine.

The flush in Nick’s cheeks intensifies at Charlie’s use of the word handsome. 

“That you do.” 

He inhales deeply and frowns, mulling Charlie’s question over as he refills his glass. 

“Well, I did my undergrad in sustainable development. I’ve always been really interested in how people impact their environment, and how development changes the landscape. I thought maybe with some knowledge of how homes and businesses can be more sustainably built and maintained, I could help create legal policies to protect the few parts of the country that haven’t been totally fucked up yet.” 

Nick pauses to take a sip of wine and notices Charlie is leaning toward him, fully focused on his words. He feels his cheeks heat up again under Charlie’s keen gaze - he’s not used to being looked at so attentively - but he swallows and continues. “So, when I finished my bachelor’s, the next logical step was environmental law. But I had trouble finding a placement, as you know.”

Charlie nods. “Right. Hence going to work for your dad.”

“Bingo,” Nick says, smiling wryly. “And wouldn’t you know it; I ended up doing the exact opposite of what I had intended to do with my law degree. All I do now is help rich developers break what few regulations are in place to protect the land.” He sighs deeply, placing his glass on the table. “But that’s part of adulting, isn’t it? Realising that your youthful ideals are actually fantasies.”

A frown creases Charlie’s brow. “Are you being serious?” he asks, incredulous.

“Yeah. Sort of. I mean, like, everything seems possible when you’re young and you have no debt and nothing but time. But then you get older, and you realise that life is expensive and that chasing your dreams will cost you money and time, and…I dunno. You just kind of…settle.”

Charlie’s eyes are wide with shock, and Nick shifts uncomfortably in his chair. 

“Nick,” Charlie says softly. “That’s…that’s just not true.”

Nick feels his shoulders tighten defensively. “It is, though, Charlie,” he says firmly. “I mean, look at me. I went to work for my dad because I needed the money, and now I’m stuck there doing work I hate.”

“Yeah, but that’s not forever,” Charlie insists. “It’s until you finish your contract and write the LPC. Then you can do whatever you want!”

“And what is that, Charlie?” Nick asks, his voice rising. “I’ve got a mortgage, I’ve got school debt. It’s not like I can just go out and start my own firm.”

“Why not?” Charlie retorts, his tone rising to match Nick’s. “Why can’t you? Sure, you’ve got debt. Lots of people do! But you’re smart, Nick. You’re smart, and you’re capable, and you have a vision.” He expels a soft sigh, and stares determinedly into Nick’s eyes. “I don’t know who told you that you aren’t capable of doing literally anything you set your mind to, but I’d like to give them a swift kick in the arse.” 

Charlie slides one hand across the tabletop and captures Nick’s fingers in his. “I can tell you don’t believe in yourself, Nick.” His voice drops, and his fingers squeeze Nick’s tightly. “But you can’t resign yourself to doing whatever your dad wants you to do just because you’re afraid.”

Nick’s heart stops for a moment, and he has to force himself to take a breath. Charlie’s words are a sharp chisel, chipping away at a part of him that’s been frozen for a long time. There’s truth in what Charlie’s saying: Nick is afraid. He’s afraid of everything. He’s afraid of being alone, he’s afraid of being broke, he’s afraid of people seeing who he really is instead of this persona he’s created in a feeble attempt to get them to love him. 

But Charlie…Charlie sees him. He looks at Nick and he sees the idealism, the gentle heart, the capability that Nick has never seen in himself. 

And that makes Nick want to be all of those things, to be the Nick that Charlie sees. The Nick that has always existed, but who’s been hidden away, afraid of being rejected.

Nick inhales sharply, nearly coughing as his chest expands and a sob threatens to burst from his mouth. He feels his eyes prick with tears and he blinks rapidly, desperately trying to force them back, but Charlie spots them and stands, coming around the table and kneeling down beside Nick, their hands still tightly clasped together.

“Hey,” Charlie says softly, laying one hand on Nick’s back and rubbing it in gentle circles as Nick fights to breathe. “Hey, Nick, it’s okay. It’s okay. You can let it out. You’re safe.”

And with that gentle assurance, the dam in Nick’s chest breaks. 

Tears fall onto his lap, and he gasps for breath as he doubles over, his head falling onto Charlie’s shoulder. Charlie just wraps his arms around him, continuing to trace soft circles on Nick’s back with his fingertips as Nick cries. The voice in Nick’s head insists that he’s ruining everything, that he can’t cry on a first date for fuck’s sake, but Nick ignores it and instead focuses on the soft whispers of Charlie’s assurances that he’s safe; that Charlie has him.

After a few moments Nick’s body relaxes, and he knows the worst of this emotional flood is over. He sits back and wipes his eyes on his shirtsleeve, cringing when he sees the wet spots on Charlie’s shoulder. Charlie glances at them then back at Nick, giving him a stern look.

“Don’t you dare apologise,” he says, and Nick coughs out a laugh.

“I just fucking sobbed all over your jumper,” Nick groans, but Charlie just shakes his head.

“I have more jumpers,” he assures Nick. “I don’t mind at all. And honestly, Nick, it’s good to see you letting yourself feel something. You can’t shove things down forever. It’ll make you sick.”

Nick nods morosely. He knows it’s true – these feelings have given him countless sleepless nights and stomach pains. They’ve forced him to push his mum away, to push Imogen away. They nearly forced him to push Charlie away. He squeezes Charlie’s hand hard, the sensation of Charlie’s fingers in his, reminding him that it’s okay to be vulnerable in front of Charlie. 

He’s safe here.

Charlie stands and grabs Nick’s napkin, handing it to him with a soft smile. Nick takes it and wipes his cheeks, biting his tongue as he does to keep himself from apologising. He leans back in his chair as Charlie clears the table, placing the dirty dishes in the sink.

“I can wash up,” Nick says, but Charlie waves the offer away.

“They won’t go anywhere,” he tells Nick. “Do you want some tea?”

Nick nods, a grateful smile on his lips. “Yeah, please.”

“Why don’t you go through to the lounge, and I’ll join you in a minute?”

“Sure.”

Nick stops in the powder room on his way to the lounge and splashes some water on his face. He looks in the mirror and sighs dejectedly. His cheeks are blotchy, and his eyes are red from crying. So much for appearing sexy and nonchalant, he thinks sadly. 

But then a thought occurs to him. 

He places his hands on the rim of the sink and leans forward, making eye contact with his reflection. He summons up all of his courage, and for a moment, he tries to see what it is in him that Charlie sees. 

He stares at his honey-coloured eyes, his freckled cheekbones, his nose that somehow has remained straight despite years of rugby tackles. His golden-brown hair that insists on falling over one eye no matter how hard he tries to prevent it. His full lips. His broad shoulders. His hands; strong, with long, powerful fingers. 

And for a moment, Nick Nelson doesn’t hate himself.

For a moment, Nick Nelson thinks he might be someone worthy of affection.

And though the feeling is gone in a blink, it has permanently shifted something within him. A crack in his heart has been repaired. Sure, there are thousands more, some so deep Nick wonders if they’ll ever fully heal, but today, this little fissure has been patched over and made smooth.

He heads back to the lounge feeling changed somehow, more at peace than when he left the kitchen. Before he sits on Charlie’s sofa, he grabs The Song of Achilles from its place on the shelf. He sits and lets the book fall open to a random page, a smile blooming on his lips. The page is annotated with little scribbles in pencil, all in Charlie’s distinct script, and many passages are underlined. His eyes fall on one section, and he reads:

“I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world.”

The words seem to shimmer on the page and Nick feels his heart clench in his chest. He feels the cushion beneath him shift and his eyes snap up to find a smiling Charlie beside him.

“You’re welcome to borrow it,” Charlie offers. “But I must warn you, it’s a favourite, so if anything happens to it, I’ll be forced to kill you.”

Nick grins. “Yeah, I can see you’ve read it a few times.” His fingers dance lightly across the page, hovering over Charlie’s pencil marks, his skin sparking from the traces of Charlie’s energy left behind within each letter. 

He points to the underlined passage.

“This is beautiful,” he murmurs, and Charlie nods. They’re quiet for a moment, and Nick thinks about how he would recognize Charlie by the sound of his steps in the office corridor, by the light reflecting off his curls. 

How much he wants to know Charlie like that. 

He closes the book and turns to face Charlie. There are two steaming mugs of tea on the end table, but Nick doesn’t give a fig about them. He takes Charlie’s hands in his and brings them to his lips, placing gentle kisses on his knuckles. He hears Charlie draw in a sharp, surprised breath, and he looks up, their eyes meeting.

“Thank you,” Nick whispers, gently grazing his cheek against Charlie’s fingers.

“What for?” Charlie asks.

Nick kisses his hands again then lowers them, not letting go. “For seeing me. For wanting to see me. For letting me fuck up again and again and still wanting to know me.”

Charlie’s cheeks flush crimson and he gives Nick a sheepish smile. “I really like you, Nick,” he says quietly.

“I really like you,” Nick replies, his smile growing. He leans forward, his face inches from Charlie’s. Charlie leans in the rest of the way to bring their lips together. The kiss is soft and chaste, but it wraps like a blanket around Nick’s heart.

When the kiss breaks, Nick leans back against the back of the sofa and lifts his arm, raising an eyebrow to Charlie. Charlie beams back at him, but then his eyes light up.

“Do you want to see the garden?”

Nick blinks. “You have a garden?”

“Yeah, just a little one. But it’s such a beautiful night. Might be nice to get some air?” 

“I’d love to!” Nick exclaims. His enthusiasm shocks him a bit, but Charlie’s expression brightens and suddenly Nick’s glad he just blurted out his response. This whole being vulnerable thing is new to him, but he likes the results so far. 

He stands and scoops up the two mugs, nodding toward the door. “Lead the way."

Chapter Text

Chapter Eight

Nick follows Charlie through the kitchen and down a narrow corridor to the back door. It opens onto a very small but extremely private garden in full bloom. Charlie flicks a switch on the inside of the doorframe and strings of fairy lights illuminate the small space, casting a warm glow over the flowers and plants that fill every square inch. There are garden beds bursting with bright pink phlox and bunches of lavender that fill the air with a heady fragrance. Hollyhocks in several bright hues line the fences, and moss crops up between the flagstones. 

Charlie gestures to an outdoor settee with faded green cushions, and Nick follows him over. He passes Charlie his mug then sits, lifting one arm and laying it along the back of the couch and smiling up at Charlie. Charlie grins right back, his blue eyes twinkling. He settles himself close beside Nick, and Nick lowers his arm, wrapping it around Charlie’s slender shoulders. 

Despite the apparent ease of the gesture, Nick’s heart is hammering inside his ribcage. Charlie, however, seems utterly relaxed. He leans his head on Nick’s shoulder and Nick catches the scent of his curls, fragrant with some sort of subtle woodsy perfume that’s absolutely heavenly. 

The sky above them is a dark indigo-purple, streaked with lavender and magenta clouds as the sun bids the day farewell and the stars begin to peek out. The setting is perfect and the warmth of Charlie against his side is making Nick’s heart soar. He sighs deeply. He’s pretty sure he’s never been this happy in his entire life.

Charlie turns his head and glances up at Nick. “Penny for your thoughts?”

Nick smiles. “I was just thinking how lovely this is.”

Charlie nods in agreement. “It’s a beautiful spot. I’m lucky to have found it. Like a little oasis in the city.”

“Not the garden!” Nick squeezes Charlie closer against his side. “This. You. With me. Here. This is lovely.”

Charlie’s eyes widen with surprise, then his lips curl up into a shy smile. Nick watches eagerly as Charlie’s dimples appear, marvelling at the way this perfect man reacts to his words and gestures. 

What did I do to deserve this? 

Charlie stretches his neck up and Nick lowers his head, pressing their lips together again. Charlie’s mouth is warm and soft, and Nick realises that the more he kisses Charlie, the more he wants to kiss him. For a few moments Nick gives in to that desire, chasing Charlie’s lips over and over, exploring his mouth gently with his tongue. The languid, gentle nature of these kisses makes Nick warm all over. When they finally break apart, the smile on Charlie’s face assures Nick that he feels the same. 

They cuddle together and sip their tea, listening to the crickets as twilight seeps into darkness and the air begins to cool. Charlie cuddles closer to Nick’s side and Nick holds him tighter, willing his own body heat to transfer into the smaller man. Despite Nick’s best efforts, eventually Charlie starts to shiver, and they decide to move inside. 

In the kitchen, Nick places the mugs beside the dirty plates in the sink.

“Can I wash up for you?” he asks.

Charlie shakes his head. “It’s fine, just leave it.”

“Honestly, Char, I really don’t mind. I don’t want you left with a mess in the morning.” Nick turns on the faucet, letting the water warm up while he peeks in the cupboard below the sink to find the washing up liquid. 

When he stands back up, Charlie’s staring at him. Nick freezes, and his fingers tighten around the plastic bottle of green soap. Charlie’s got a funny sort of stunned expression on his face. There's a bit of an awkward silence, and Nick’s brain searches for an explanation for the way Charlie’s looking at him – maybe none of Charlie's previous dates have ever washed his dishes?

“What?”

“ Char ?” Charlie’s voice is soft and incredulous, his blue eyes wide.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuck.

“Um…wow,” Nick stammers, his mouth dry as the Sahara. “That just slipped out.”

Charlie’s smile is incandescent. “Oh my god, say it again!”

“No.” Nick’s cheeks are flaming. He turns to the sink and squirts in some dish liquid, his eyes staring at the foaming water as though it contains some kind of age-old secret he must decipher immediately. Why am I such a fucking moron?

Then he hears the padding of soft footsteps and feels the warmth of Charlie’s body beside him. 

He glances down when Charlie’s hand finds his. Nick’s heart is thundering in his ears, but Charlie’s touch is like cool water on a burn. 

He looks up slowly from their linked fingers and meets Charlie's eyes. Charlie is gazing at him with something akin to adoration.

“I like it,” Charlie murmurs softly, his thumb gently stroking the back of Nick’s hand. “It’s cute.”

Nick huffs out a surprised laugh. His cheeks are still flaming, but he gives Charlie a casual shrug. 

“Well. Now I’m never calling you it again.”

Charlie’s mouth drops open, and he bumps Nick’s hip hard with his own. “Cheeky!”

Nick giggles, surprised by Charlie’s sudden aggression, and hip-checks him back, making Charlie squeal. 

“Says the menace,” he retorts with a sly grin.

Charlie giggles and picks up a dish towel. “You have no idea.”

Nick washes and Charlie dries, giggling and bumping each other’s hips the entire time. Nick starts flicking bubbles at Charlie, who responds by whipping Nick’s bum with the towel, making him yelp with surprise.

“Oh, it is on!” Nick immediately scoops up a handful of bubbles and holds them over Charlie’s head, a challenge on his face.

“No!” Charlie shrieks and ducks, covering his head with the towel. “Do you know how long it takes to get my hair like this? If you ruin it, so help me…”

“So help you what ?” 

Nick tugs on the end of the towel as Charlie squirms and screams with laughter. He drops the bubbles back into the sink and wraps his arms around Charlie’s waist, lifting him easily as the smaller man kicks and flails. Nick plunks him down on the countertop, his arms firmly around Charlie’s waist, Nick standing between his knees. 

“I’m not afraid of you, Charlie Spring,” Nick gloats, flexing his biceps against Charlie’s sides to prove his point.

“No?” Charlie coos, raising one eyebrow and smirking at Nick. He drapes his arms around Nick’s shoulders, then wraps his legs tightly around Nick’s waist. 

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Nick stifles a gasp as his hips bump against the edge of the countertop, inches from the warmth between Charlie’s legs.

“Nope.” Nick manages to get the word out without his voice shaking, but it’s definitely in a higher register than usual.

Charlie chuckles deep in his chest. 

“Prove it.” 

He digs his heels into Nick’s backside and slides forward until his crotch meets Nick’s. This time Nick can’t hold in his gasp, but Charlie silences it quickly by pulling Nick down into a deep kiss. 

This kiss is different from the ones they’ve already shared tonight: it’s open-mouthed, full of longing and desire. Charlie grinds his hips against Nick’s, and Nick’s legs wobble slightly beneath him. 

“Shit, Charlie,” he groans, feeling Charlie’s lips curl into a smile against his.

“This okay?” Charlie asks, and Nick nods vigorously.

“So okay,” he replies. “But, um, it’s kind of hard to stand when you’re…doing that .” Charlie grinds himself against Nick again, and Nick sucks in a sharp breath. “Could we move somewhere else?”

Charlie tilts his head, chewing on his lower lip. 

“Um…do you want to see my room?” 

His voice is almost timid and Nick’s sure he sees nervousness in those big blue eyes. He weaves his fingers into the curls at the back of Charlie’s neck and strokes them gently.

“Charlie, I would be absolutely thrilled if you’d show me your room.”

Charlie’s eyes darken as his pupils grow wide, and Nick immediately scoops him up off the counter, his legs still wrapped around Nick’s midsection.

“Oh my god!” Charlie exclaims with a laugh. “What are you doing?!”

“Just point me in the right direction,” Nick says.

Charlie shakes his head but gestures with his right hand toward the corridor. “You better not drop me!”

“I won’t drop you!” 

Nick carries Charlie out of the kitchen and down the hall, following Charlie’s directions toward the bedroom. It takes longer than it should because every few feet Nick presses Charlie up against a wall to snog him senseless. 

By the time they actually cross the threshold into his room, Charlie’s moaning and gasping against Nick. The bedroom is decorated in a similar curated bohemian aesthetic as the rest of the house and it’s neat as a pin. Nick can tell Charlie likes things just so , and he’s got massive respect for that. 

Nick is also pleased to see that the bed is massive .

He backs toward the bed and sits, never letting go of Charlie, who begins to grind down on Nick’s lap the second gravity is in his favour. Nick slides his hands down to Charlie’s lower back and Charlie surges forward, pressing their chests together. Nick is desperate to drop his hands lower, to squeeze Charlie’s perfect arse, but he hesitates, unsure of what Charlie wants. 

The question is answered almost immediately when Charlie lowers his lips to Nick’s throat, kissing and sucking gently in a way that makes Nick gasp for air.

“Is this alright?” Charlie asks between kisses. All Nick can do is nod his consent. 

Charlie immediately resumes his exploration of Nick’s exposed throat, his tongue and teeth grazing the flesh there and making Nick squirm with desire. 

“Can I…?” Nick breathes, sliding one hand slightly lower and hovering over Charlie’s arse.

“Oh my god, yes please!” Charlie purrs. Nick eagerly grabs both of those fucking perfect globes in his hands and Charlie releases a moan that Nick knows will live in his fantasies forever. Charlie’s bum fits perfectly in Nick’s hands and he squeezes. Charlie growls at the sensation and for the first time grinds his full weight down on Nick’s thighs.

“ Fuck !”

Nick barely has a chance to process the sensation: as quickly as Charlie’s weight had settled on Nick’s legs, it’s gone again. Charlie lifts himself up, putting distance between their bodies as he leans back, a look of uncertainty on his face. 

“S–”

Nick cuts him off. “If you apologise for that I will never speak to you again.” 

He grasps Charlie’s arse in both hands and enthusiastically pulls his body down to rub against Nick’s aching erection. Charlie throws his head back and gasps and Nick nearly comes undone right there and then, it’s so fucking sexy. He can feel how hard Charlie is through his jeans and his mouth starts to water.

“Jesus Christ, Charlie Spring, you’re going to kill me.” 

Nick plants his lips firmly on Charlie’s throat, finding the space between his neck and collarbone and suckling softly as he kneads Charlie’s arsecheeks with his strong fingers.

“Not if you kill me first,” Charlie hisses. His hands give a soft tug in Nick’s hair, and Nick gasps out a groan that seems to come from some primal place deep inside him that he didn’t know existed. Clearly encouraged by what he’s heard, Charlie tugs a little harder, and Nick has to press his forehead against Charlie’s chest to fight the urge to devour Charlie whole. 

When he looks up and meets Charlie’s eyes again he finds them dark with lust. There’s a menacing smile on Charlie’s lips, and Nick grins before surging forward to kiss it right off his face. He pulls Charlie down again, pushing his own hips up to bring the smaller man’s lithe body as close to his own as is physically possible. His own aching hardness meets Charlie’s, drawing a powerful moan from them both.

“This.” Charlie has his hands on Nick’s chest, his fingers fumbling with the fabric of Nick’s shirt. “Does this come off?”

Nick’s eyes widen and he feels himself grow impossibly harder. “It does, yeah.”

Charlie’s fingers fall to the buttons, and he glances up at Nick, one eyebrow raised in request. Nick nods and Charlie carefully undoes one button at a time, his pace so slow that Nick could scream from the anticipation. When he reaches the last one, Charlie opens Nick’s shirt and his jaw drops, his blue eyes widening.

“Fuck, you are so fucking gorgeous,” he whispers as his hands roam the planes of Nick’s chest, fingering the dusting of ginger hair that grows there. 

Nick shudders with pleasure as Charlie’s hands explore his chest and the soft ripples of his belly. Nick’s usually a bit self-conscious when he undresses in front of someone else – age has definitely changed the shape of his once athletic body – but the warmth of Charlie’s palms on his tummy push all of his concerns out of his mind. Everywhere Charlie touches his skin, he leaves behind a trail of flames that threaten to consume Nick, body and soul.

Nick slips his fingers beneath Charlie’s jumper, finding a strip of warm skin just above Charlie’s jeans and caressing it. Charlie raises his head and gives Nick a nod, leaning back and extending his arms overhead. Nick can barely contain his excitement as he lifts the jumper, revealing Charlie’s lean torso and taut stomach for the first time. 

Nick has been imagining this sight for weeks, but he could never have envisioned something so perfect. Charlie is all svelte and toned muscle, and Nick’s hands run from his tapered waist up over his chest which is sprinkled with neatly groomed dark hair. His eyes and hands can’t settle on one area, so he spreads his fingers wide and attempts to touch all of Charlie at once as the younger man throws his head back and moans toward the ceiling.

“My god, Charlie,” Nick gasps. “You’re…you’re beautiful.”

Charlie straightens and gapes at Nick. “I’m…did you say I’m beautiful?”

“Um, yes ,” Nick tells him with a sincere nod. “I can’t believe I get to see you like this.”

Charlie blushes, a soft pink spreading across his cheeks and down his neck, dusting his collarbones. “That’s…no one’s ever called me that before.”

Now it’s Nick’s turn to be shocked. 

“Well, then they must have been fucking blind because you are! You’re like a statue or something. Like someone carved you out of marble. You’re fucking perfect .”

Charlie’s eyes go soft, his lips curling into a shy smile that makes Nick’s heart flutter. Nick draws him close and kisses him; a slow, sensuous dance of lips as their chests press together, skin meeting for the first time. Nick’s skin flushes at the contact, the warmth of Charlie’s body incendiary. 

Nick can barely believe the reality of this moment. This entire evening has been like a dream. And now this beautiful man is in his arms, kissing him, wanting him. 

It’s everything. 

It’s everything .

They stay like that for a time, exchanging long, lingering kisses and caressing each other’s skin. There’s no rush. They have all the time in the world, and Nick plans on taking advantage of every second. 

His fingertips draw gentle curving paths along Charlie’s skin, and goosebumps rise up behind them as they go. Nick tries to memorize every change in the topography of Charlie’s body, every flat expanse of muscle and every sharp angle of bone. 

The more Nick’s hands travel Charlie’s flesh, the more heated Charlie’s kisses become. Eventually Charlie pushes back from him, face flushed.

“Nick?”

“Yeah?” Nick’s surprised at the hoarseness of his own voice.

“Do you…Could we lie down?”

Nick’s cock twitches in his pants at the suggestion and he nods enthusiastically.

“Okay.”

Nick leans back and puts all of his faith in whatever remains of his core strength as he pulls Charlie with him. Charlie squeaks as his shins come to rest on either side of Nick’s hips, the expression on his face a mix of surprise and lust.

“Very impressive,” Charlie says approvingly, running his hands over Nick’s tummy and chest. Charlie’s touch brings all of the ginger hairs that cover Nick’s flesh to attention and they reach for Charlie’s touch.

“I’m just glad it worked,” Nick says with a grin.

Charlie leans forward, his hands coming to rest beside Nick’s ears as he leans down and kisses him, long and slow. Nick opens his mouth and Charlie’s tongue slips inside just as he grinds down on Nick’s hips, making Nick gasp. He grips Charlie’s arse firmly in both hands as his own hips surge upward. Charlie moans, the tiny vibrations shivering across Nick’s lips.

Yep, this is better.

Nick’s head is swimming and his pulse is racing. He’s been dreaming about this moment for so long, and now it’s actually happening, and it’s so much hotter than anything he’d pictured, even in his horniest dreams. All they’re doing is grinding on each other but Nick can already feel pressure building in his belly, a tight, coiled heat desperate to be released. He gives his head a shake, trying not to get swept away by the sensations swirling through his body.

But then Charlie’s lips move to the underside of his jaw, and Nick’s hips buck up off the mattress, seemingly of their own accord.

“Charlie,” he pants, but he can’t get out another word. Eager lips are singeing his skin, and Nick can feel the firm shape of Charlie’s erection alongside his own. He can feel how fucking warm Charlie’s dick is, even through his jeans. 

“Yeah?” Charlie responds, nibbling gently at Nick’s throat. Nick’s cock throbs in his pants, and he can feel a damp spot spreading across the fabric that expands with every movement of Charlie’s body against his.

“Charlie!”

Charlie drags his teeth along Nick’s collarbone, and Nick’s eyes roll back in his head. His heart is thundering against his ribcage and his body feels like a tightly-wound spring. The contrast of the sharp nips of Charlie’s teeth and the silken warmth of his lips is driving Nick mad, and he sucks in a breath, trying desperately to hold himself together.

Charlie shimmies his way down Nick’s body, his fingertips gliding along the sides of Nick’s ribcage as his lips drag along Nick’s collarbone. The heat in Nick’s belly flares, and he sinks his teeth into his lower lip. He tries desperately to think of something unsexy – rugby, taxes, Nigel Farage in a bikini – but nothing is working. He can feel himself speeding towards the edge, but it’s too soon, it’s much too–

Charlie’s lips latch onto Nick’s nipple just as he grinds down, and Nick feels Charlie’s rock hard cock throb against his own–

“ CHARLIE !”

And it’s over; it’s over even though it’s barely begun. 

Nick throws his head back and cries out, his fingers gripping Charlie’s arse for dear life as he cums in his pants like a fucking teenager. 

Before Nick can even fully process what just happened, Charlie raises his head and starts gently kissing the side of Nick’s neck, whispering softly in his ear, “ you’re safe, it’s good, it’s okay, it’s wonderful, it’s so fucking hot.”  

And even though Nick’s mortified, somehow, he still believes it.

When Nick returns to earth, Charlie is lying beside him running one hand gently over Nick’s chest as he continues to whisper soothing words in his ear. Nick’s breath is still coming fast, so he focuses on the breathing Charlie had done with him when he’d had that panic attack – in for four, out for four – until he’s able to speak again.

“Charlie, I am so–”

“I swear to god, Nick, if you say you’re sorry for that , I will be forced to liquidate my meagre assets and use the money to hire a hitman to slap you daily for the rest of your life.”

Even in his post-orgasmic fog, Nick’s blown away by Charlie’s creativity. He coughs out a surprised laugh. “You wouldn’t!”

“I absolutely would . Besides,” Charlie presses his hips to the side of Nick’s thigh and Nick can feel how hard Charlie still is. “That was so unbelievably hot.”

“Fuck, you’re still–”

Charlie just waves Nick’s concerns away. “Don’t worry about that. There are lots of remedies to this situation, including just waiting for it to pass.”

“But…” Nick bites his lower lip as something inside of him twists. “I wanted to make you feel good, too.”

“Oh you did,” Charlie assures him, lifting himself on one elbow to press a kiss to Nick’s lips.

But Nick is not happy. This isn’t how this was supposed to go. He was supposed to undress Charlie, to touch every inch of his skin, to make him feel better than he ever has. 

He was not supposed to go off during the fucking foreplay.

Charlie moves to lie next to him, but Nick pulls him closer instead. He rolls onto his side, pointedly ignoring the sticky mess in his pants, and locks eyes with Charlie. His dark curls are mussed and his sharp cheekbones are still painted with a deep blush that extends down his throat, ending in soft red blotches across his collarbones.

Fuck, he is so hot.

Nick sucks a breath in through his nose, and summons up all of his courage.

“Charlie?”

“Mmm?”

“Can I…can I touch you?”

Nick swears he can actually hear Charlie’s brain explode. The blue of his eyes is instantly swallowed by his rapidly dilating pupils, and his lips fall open in a surprised intake of breath.

“I…Nick, it’s okay, really–”

Nick puts a finger to Charlie’s lips, stopping his words. He’d always thought that was a corny gesture reserved for romantic comedy films featuring Hugh Grant, but in this moment it’s all he’s got. 

“Charlie.”

Charlie’s eyebrows lift.

“I really, really want to.”

Nick holds his breath nervously while Charlie processes. Finally, Charlie gives him a small nod.

“I mean…Yeah, I’d…um…I’d really like that. If that’s something you–”

Nick lunges forward to capture Charlie’s lips in a kiss so smouldering that he feels Charlie’s cock throb hard against his leg. Despite having just gotten off mere moments ago, Nick feels his own dick stirring to life again. 

Charlie is so fucking hot.

Nick’s hand slides down the smooth curve of Charlie’s back to rest on his hip bone, his thumb dipping experimentally beneath the waist of Charlie’s trousers. Charlie gasps and grinds against Nick’s thigh and Nick smiles against his mouth.

“May I?” Nick’s hand has moved to Charlie’s fly, and Charlie nods hard.

“Oh my god, please .”

Nick’s confidence in that moment is higher than it’s ever been in his life. This beautiful man, this fucking marble statue of a man, is writhing and moaning beside him, begging Nick to undo his trousers and touch him. Nick’s hand shakes ever so slightly as he flicks open the button and slides down the zipper. Immediately Charlie’s cock springs free of his jeans and Charlie breathes a relieved sigh.

“Better?” Nick murmurs against Charlie’s lips, and Charlie nods.

“Much.”

Nick glances down, his eyes widening at the tent in Charlie’s pants and the wet spot marking the head of his cock. It’s been quite a while since Nick held someone else’s dick in his hand, but the rush of blood to his own rapidly reinflating erection reassures him that he knows what he's doing. With a deep breath Nick wraps his hand around Charlie’s length and Charlie gasps, his back arching. 

“ Shit , Nick.”

“That okay?” Nick gives Charlie’s dick a gentle squeeze and Charlie growls deep in his throat.

“Oh my god, yes, shit, yes , that’s so good.”

Nick strokes Charlie lazily through the fabric of his black briefs, reveling in the increasing volume and ferocity of the noises he pulls from him. Their foreheads are pressed together and Nick continues to pepper Charlie’s lips and cheeks with kisses as his hand works him. 

Once again, Nick finds himself awestruck by what's happening. This is the fucking hottest thing Nick has ever done. This is hotter than any porn he’s watched, or any sex he’s had before. Watching Charlie’s face contort as Nick touches him is driving Nick absolutely wild .

“Can I–” Nick slides a finger below the elastic waist of Charlie’s pants, gently stroking the soft skin beneath and fingering the trail of dark hair he finds there.

“Oh my god, yes , please, please !” Charlie’s begging is short circuiting Nick’s brain. He didn’t think he had a dominant bone in his body, but listening to Charlie plead for him to touch his cock is… doing things for him .

So, Nick slides his entire hand inside Charlie’s pants and takes a firm hold of his erection. As his fingers wrap around the smooth skin, Charlie’s breathing speeds up. Nick can feel that he’s dripping, and he swipes his thumb across the velvet head of Charlie’s cock.

“ Fuck !” Charlie cries out, so Nick does it again.

“ Fuck , Nick, oh my god!”

Charlie’s eyes are screwed tightly shut and Nick kisses his lips as Charlie pants into his mouth. 

“Faster, please , Nick! More !”

“Of course.” 

Nick increases his speed, swiping the head of Charlie’s cock with the pad of his thumb on every downward stroke. In seconds, Charlie is keening in Nick’s ear, digging his nails into Nick’s back.

“Oh my god, please , Nick, yes !”

“Let go, Charlie,” Nick whispers, and Charlie thrusts up into his hand with a cry that promises to play itself on repeat in Nick’s dreams for the rest of his life. 

Charlie’s spilling over his hand and it takes all of Nick’s strength not to slide down his body and wrap his lips around Charlie’s cock. His mouth waters with the overwhelming desire to taste Charlie spilling over his tongue, but they haven’t talked about that yet, and consent is important, dammit. So, Nick focuses instead on enjoying the feeling of Charlie clinging to him, his supple body shuddering its way through his climax. 

And damn , does he ever enjoy it.

Charlie’s breathing hard when he opens his eyes again and gives Nick a surprised smile.

“Well, I feel really stupid now for assuming you’d never been with a guy before,” he giggles, and Nick laughs.

“So, that was alright?”

Charlie gives Nick a nonplussed shrug. “Yeah, that was alright.” He smiles up at Nick with twinkling eyes, and Nick’s chuckles.

“Cheeky.” Charlie giggles again, and Nick’s heart flutters. “I guess we should get cleaned up.”

“Loo’s through there.” 

Charlie nods to a door Nick hadn't even noticed; clearly his lust-addled brain couldn't see anything but Charlie. He carefully extracts his hand from Charlie’s pants, then, in a moment of brash self-confidence, runs his tongue over his palm. His eyes fall closed and his head begins to spin. The combination of both the incredible scent of Charlie that coats his fingers, and the salty bitterness of Charlie’s spend on his tongue makes him feel weak.

When he opens his eyes, Charlie is staring at him, his kiss-bitten mouth hanging open.

Nick feels his face turning bright red with embarrassment, but he rolls his shoulders back and gives Charlie a confident grin. “What? Can’t a guy enjoy the fruits of his labours?”

Charlie flops back on the bed with a roar of giddy laughter. “My god, you are something , Nick Nelson!”

Nick’s smile grows. He’s extremely glad he took the gambit. 

He leans down over the mattress to plant a quick kiss on Charlie’s lips, then shuffles to the loo, all the while cursing himself internally for the sticky mess in his trousers he now has to deal with.

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“There's a robe on the back of the door if you need out of your clothes,” Charlie calls after him.

Nick spies the black robe hanging neatly on a hook and smiles gratefully. “Yeah, um, I think my pants are probably done for.” 

He quickly shucks them off, stuffing his sodden drawers into the pocket of his trousers. He shrugs on the robe, then laughs at his reflection in the mirror. It's far too small, the lapels barely meeting as they stretch across his chest. At least it's long enough to cover his arse.

He hears the creak of feet on floorboards and when he turns, Charlie is standing there. He's got on pyjama trousers, and his eyes trail up and down Nick’s body.

“Well, that doesn't leave much to the imagination,” he giggles.

“Cheeky.” Nick wags a finger at Charlie.

“I don't think I have anything that will fit you,” Charlie tells him, his brows crinkling in concern.

Nick bites his lower lip. “I may have thrown an overnight bag in my boot just in case?”

Charlie gasps and brings his hand to his throat in a gesture of mock offense. “Mr. Nelson, how presumptuous of you! What kind of a fellow do you think I am?”

Nick just chuckles and wraps an arm around Charlie's narrow waist, drawing him close.

“Hopefully the kind who likes sleepovers.”

Charlie presses up on his toes and gives Nick a long, gentle kiss that turns Nick’s insides to mush.

“Lucky for you,” Charlie murmurs against his lips. “I do happen to like sleepovers.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Nine

Sunlight is streaming through the window of Charlie’s bedroom when Nick opens his eyes. At first he doesn’t recognise his surroundings, but the warm body lying next to him brings everything flooding back. 

He glances down at the mess of dark curls strewn across his chest. Charlie’s arm is flung haphazardly across Nick’s waist and Nick can feel Charlie’s soft exhales gently ruffling his chest hair. He smiles and slowly lifts one arm, laying it gently across Charlie’s shoulders. 

Charlie murmurs something against his chest but doesn’t move, so Nick settles the weight of his arm and weaves his fingers into Charlie’s curls. The hair slips between them like threads of silk and Nick closes his eyes, allowing himself to revel in the sensation of Charlie’s weight on his chest. 

Charlie. In his arms.

A week ago, Nick’s entire world fell apart. Today, he’s waking up in Charlie’s bed. 

It feels like he’s won the lottery.

There’s a grumble from the smaller man and Nick grins, squeezing Charlie a little tighter.

“Morning,” he says softly.

“Mornings are homophobic,” Charlie grumbles, turning his head to face away from the window. He opens one blue eye just enough to look up at Nick judgmentally. “You’re probably a morning person, aren’t you?” His voice is gravely from sleep. It’s adorable.

“Not quite,” Nick replies. “But I’m clearly more of a morning person than you are.”

Charlie rolls himself off Nick and onto his back, stretching his long arms over his head. Nick watches Charlie’s chest curve upwards, and his mouth waters. The patch of hair between Charlie’s nipples is calling to him, and Nick lets his eyes follow it down past Charlie’s navel to where it joins another, thicker patch between his legs. 

He feels himself stir, and he blushes, embarrassed by how little Charlie has to do to turn him on. He gives his head a shake, forcing his eyes back upward, where he finds Charlie staring at him, a smirk on his face.

“See something you like?” Charlie purrs, and Nick’s cheeks flame.

“Fuck, Charlie,” he mutters, one hand finding Charlie’s soft belly and rubbing tiny circles around his navel. 

“Yes, fuck Charlie, indeed,” Charlie replies with a wink. He grabs Nick’s hand in his and slides it lower, where Nick finds him already at half-mast. 

Nick’s eyes widen in pleased surprise. “Good morning, Mr. Spring,” he teases, stroking Charlie lazily while Charlie stretches again, his blue eyes falling closed.

“Can you blame me?” Charlie asks, his head rolling against the pillow, eyelids fluttering with pleasure. “Look at who I just woke up beside.”

Nick just grins and leans over, meeting Charlie’s lips with his own. Charlie’s mouth opens immediately, welcoming Nick’s kisses before Nick has a chance to remember he hasn’t brushed his teeth. He tries to pull away, but Charlie’s hands are in his hair before he can.

“Nick.” Charlie gives him a soft smile. “Just kiss me, please.”

“Can do,” Nick replies. He pushes away his worries about morning breath and their lips meet again. His hand instinctively tightens around Charlie’s cock, and Charlie moans.

“God, you feel so good ,” Charlie murmurs against his lips. 

“So do you,” Nick tells him. 

He rolls himself onto his belly so he can grind his own dick against the mattress as he basks in the glow of Charlie’s arousal. Charlie’s lips are warm and slick against his own, and he’s making soft little sounds of pleasure that seep into Nick’s mouth. Nick opens his eyes, pulling back for a moment to watch Charlie’s face as he writhes against the sheets. 

His eyes are shut tightly, and he sucks his full lower lip between his teeth as his chest heaves. It's entirely different from their tryst last night. Where last night was passionate and frantic, this morning is soft and languid. Pale dawn light falls over the bed as they trade kisses and whimpers of pleasure, Nick’s half-awake brain liquefying as Charlie’s gasps fill the room.

A thought occurs to him then, and he slows his strokes. “Char?”

A blissed-out smile stretches across Charlie’s lips. “Mm?”

“Last night, when I was touching you…”

Charlie opens his eyes and looks at Nick. Desire is written all over his face, and his voice comes out huskier than Nick’s heard it before.

“Yeah?”

“Well,” Nick continues. “I…I really wanted to…”

Charlie’s hips jerk quickly upward as Nick squeezes around his cock and he gasps, his voice heavy with anticipation. “Really wanted to what ?”

“I really wanted to…have you in my mouth.”

Charlie’s eyes widen, and he grabs Nick’s head and pulls him close, pressing a searing kiss to his lips. Nick’s grip on Charlie’s dick tightens and Charlie thrusts hard into his fist.

“Oh my god, yes please, ” Charlie moans. “I would love for you to suck me off, Nick.”

That's all the encouragement Nick needs. He dips his head and immediately takes Charlie into his mouth, causing the smaller man to lift his shoulders off the bed with a shout.

“Jesus, Nick!” Charlie splutters.

Nick lifts his mouth off of Charlie’s cock and grins up at him. 

“Sorry, not sorry,” he says before diving back down, letting the tip graze the back of his throat as Charlie moans. 

Nick has sincerely missed sucking dick. It’s been ages . The weight and warmth of Charlie on his tongue and the salt of his precum is driving him absolutely fucking wild. Charlie’s got his hands twisted in Nick’s hair, and he gives it a little tug as he thrusts his hips up, forcing his cock deeper into Nick’s throat. 

Despite having not used his throat like this in years, Nick finds it surprisingly easy to remember how to open up and let Charlie really fuck his mouth. His eyes water, but it feels so good to be so full; to let Charlie use him for his pleasure however he wants.

Charlie’s babbling a stream of words and noises that Nick can barely understand over the sound of his blood rushing in his ears. He hears the word “ close ” and doubles down his efforts, pressing his own hips against the mattress, the friction not quite doing enough to relieve the pressure building inside him. 

But then Charlie gasps out a loud curse and his mouth is flooded with Charlie’s spend, and damned if that doesn’t push him over the edge, too. He swallows as much as he can while spurting all over Charlie’s bedsheets as he comes virtually untouched.

Charlie falls back against the pillow, his breathing ragged. Nick continues to lap gently at his softening cock until Charlie reaches down and stops him. 

“Nick,” Charlie breathes. “Come here.”

“Um, I will in just one second.”

Charlie lifts his head and his eyes grow wide as Nick rolls over and the mess he’s made of the sheets becomes apparent. Nick feels his cheeks flame with embarrassment.

“Sorry,” Nick says sheepishly. “That was just…you are so hot , Charlie.”

Charlie has a massive smile on his face. “Did you just…from that ?”

Nick nods. “Sorry ‘bout the sheets.”

“I have more sheets,” Charlie tells him, still smiling. “Fuck, that’s really hot, Nick.”

Nick shrugs, still blushing furiously. “Let me get a towel, I’ll be right back.”

He sprints to the loo and rinses his mouth quickly, returning to Charlie with a towel in hand, which he lays over the wet spot. Charlie extends an arm and Nick resumes his place on the bed, cuddling tightly against Charlie’s side, his head on Charlie’s shoulder. Sex is great (well, sex with Charlie is amazing ), but this is Nick’s favourite part.

Charlie sighs deeply. “Well, I think I need to go back to sleep,” he teases. “That was… wow .”

Nick nods, nuzzling Charlie’s chest as he wraps his arm tightly around Charlie’s narrow waist. He inhales deeply, Charlie's delicious scent filling his nose, forever embedding itself in Nick’s memory. 

Charlie’s chest rises and falls beneath Nick’s cheek and his long fingers draw circles on Nick’s back. The combined sensations lull Nick into a cosy sort of half-sleep, and before long he finds himself yawning. Luckily the duvet has been spared, so Nick reaches down and drapes it over their naked bodies before curling himself back around Charlie. They’re both able to catch a few more hours of sleep like that, nestled in each others’ arms. As Nick drifts off, all he can think is that he can't remember another time when he felt so relaxed.

It’s much brighter outside when they finally emerge from the bedroom. After a quick shower (together, of course, for the planet ) they’re both dressed and sitting in the kitchen sipping tea. Charlie’s making toast and eggs and Nick’s looking on, a giddy smile on his face. As Charlie salts the eggs in the pan, he glances up at Nick.

“What?” he says shyly, and Nick just grins wider.

“Just watching you,” Nick tells him, and the tips of Charlie’s ears go red. “You’re just so…cute.”

Charlie chuffs and shakes his head. “You’re a sap.”

“True,” Nick nods in agreement as he drains the last of his tea. He stands and circles the kitchen island, wrapping his arms around Charlie’s waist from behind. “Your fault, though.” Nick can feel Charlie’s smile as he presses a kiss to Charlie’s cheek.

They chat comfortably while they eat, comparing plans for the day: Charlie has pushed his run off until the afternoon, and Nick’s got a full day of laundry and grocery shopping ahead, plus he’s got to pick up Nellie from Imogen’s. At the mention of her, Charlie raises his eyebrows slightly.

“You saw Imogen?”

Nick nods. “Yeah, she came by to get some stuff.”

“And…how was that?”

Nick shrugs. “I mean, it was a bit tough. I…um…I definitely hurt her.” He jabs halfheartedly at the last bite of egg on his plate with his fork. “She’s staying with a friend from work. I thought maybe having Nellie for a night might cheer her up.”

“Sure,” Charlie says gently. Nick can tell he wants to say more, but this is difficult territory. 

Nick’s relationship is over, but the wound is still raw. He’s more than thrilled to be with Charlie in whatever capacity he’ll have him, but Nick knows that it’s important that he takes the space he needs to properly end things with Imogen and to close that chapter of his life. He senses that Charlie knows that too, and respects it, but it puts Charlie in an awkward position.

Nick looks up, catching Charlie’s eye. “Char, I want you to know that I’m serious about…this.” He gestures back and forth between the two of them with his fork. “I…I really like you.”

Charlie smiles softly. “I really like you, too.”

Nick feels a warmth burning in his chest at those words, which makes what he has to say next feel even worse.

“I…I really want to make a go of it with you, Charlie,” he says, looking Charlie straight in the eye. “But…” Charlie’s face falls slightly, but Nick pushes on. “I have to get clear of things with Imogen, and that might take some time. And…” His hand gravitates to the back of his neck. “I’m not exactly…out.”

Charlie leans back in his chair, but says nothing. Nick swallows hard. He can feel a sort of unsettled energy in the air between them, and he hates it. He hates that he's met this wonderful man at this moment in his life when things could not possibly be more fucked up. All he wants is to make Charlie happy. But it isn't that simple.

“At work.” Nick can feel his hands shaking, so he places them in his lap. “Do you think we could maybe–”

“Keep this a secret?” Charlie finishes. 

The sparkle in his blue eyes has dimmed, and Nick can see that Charlie's shoulders have crept up towards his ears. His stomach clenches with regret for forcing Charlie into this position, but he nods.

“Yeah. I just…I don’t really know if I can…you know.” Nick glances down at his lap, shame flooding his body. “Come out as anything. Yet.”

He hears Charlie’s chair move, and then he’s by Nick’s side, one hand on Nick’s shoulder, his expression sympathetic. 

“Yeah,” he says softly, squeezing Nick’s shoulder. “It's fine.”

Nick reaches up with one hand, laying it on top of Charlie’s and holding it tight. He can feel tears pricking the corners of his eyes and curses internally. Why does this have to be so fucking hard ? Why is it so difficult for him to just be who he is? To give Charlie all of himself? To just exist with Charlie by his side and not be afraid of what that might mean for the rest of his life? 

Nick can see in Charlie’s eyes that he completely understands, but that does nothing to assuage his guilt. It gnaws at his stomach like a ravenous parasite, threatening to steal the joy he’s found in Charlie’s arms.

But Charlie’s grip on his shoulder is firm, and the promise in his eyes is sincere. 

“It’s fine, Nick. I understand.”

Nick leans his head against Charlie’s stomach, wrapping his arms around his slender waist. Charlie holds him close and strokes his hair gently and Nick lets a few silent tears fall onto Charlie’s shirt. 

How can Charlie be so kind, so understanding, when Nick is asking him to hide the best parts of himself? 

Nick sighs deeply, and makes a vow to himself that the happiness he’s found with Charlie won’t be a secret for long. 

He will come out, for Charlie. 

Charlie’s worth it.

*************

Monday at the office is the same as every Monday before it, except for one thing: now Nick has to work doubly hard to repress his growing feelings for Charlie. Every glance, every touch, every word from Charlie’s lips makes him want to slam Charlie against the nearest wall and snog him until his lips are raw.

Charlie, on the other hand, seems totally at ease. He glides in and out of Nick’s office with papers and files all morning, just as he always has, looking completely unperturbed by Nick’s proximity.

It's infuriating.

When Nick had arrived that morning, he’d glanced down the hall toward his father’s office. Stéphane’s door was open and Nick could see him at his desk with his coffee, frowning at something on his blotter. He’d looked up, and his eyes met Nick’s for a fraction of a second, then dropped back down to his work. 

The feeling of shame that swept over Nick in that moment was very familiar. 

So Stéphane’s giving him the cold shoulder. Fine. It's not like Nick wants the old man’s eyes on him. He's happy for some privacy, especially after last week’s bullshit. And apparently David’s been whisked away to some fancy conference for overpaid, over-educated douchebags, so Nick doesn't have to worry about him either.

Which gives Nick an idea.

“Charlie?”

Charlie looks up from where he's been reading over a pile of paperwork at the small table on the other side of Nick’s office. 

“Hm?”

“Have you ever seen the library?”

*************

To call the glorified storage room where historical statutes are kept a library is a bit of a misnomer. It's dimly lit and a bit musty, and no one really goes there unless there's a need for a historical legal precedent that might bear on a current case.

But the door locks from the inside.

Nick’s on his knees in front of Charlie the second the lock tumbler clicks into place. Charlie has to stifle a laugh as Nick practically rips Charlie’s trousers in his frantic race to get them open.

“What happened to being discreet at work?” Charlie hisses, and Nick just shrugs, grasping Charlie’s arse in both hands and deeply inhaling his scent.

“You’ll just have to be quiet,” Nick whispers back, then gets to work.

Thirty minutes later they're back in Nick’s office, slightly more rumpled and grinning like idiots.

*************

Nick heads home alone after work - Charlie has plans with some friends, and Imogen is coming by with Nellie. It almost killed Nick not to kiss Charlie good-bye when they parted ways outside the office building, but Charlie gave Nick a smile that let him know that it was okay. Charlie understands. 

Nick just wishes he didn't have to.

Imogen and Nellie arrive just as Nick’s tidying up from a cheese toastie and tomato soup supper. He hears Nellie bursting through the front door with a series of loud bork s before he sees her.

“Nellie!” 

As Nellie rounds the corner into the kitchen, Nick drops to the floor and allows the big brown border collie to ravish him with kisses. She's wagging her tail so hard that it's whapping out a loud rhythm on the hardwood, and she's rolling this way and that in an effort to press every cell of her body against Nick’s.

“I know, I know, I missed you too,” he tells her as he rubs her belly. She may be old, but Nick hopes she’ll never lose her puppy-like enthusiasm for life.

“Hey.” 

Imogen’s standing at the entrance to the kitchen with Nellie’s things.

Nick drags himself to his feet. 

“Hey, yourself.” 

He crosses to her, moving in for a hug before it occurs to him that it might not be welcome. He freezes, arms suspended in mid air.

“Idiot.” Imogen just smiles and wraps her arms around him. The hug is gentle, nothing like the way they used to squeeze each other. But it's not awkward. Nick's thankful for that, at least.

“Was Nellie alright? She behaved herself?”

“She was a perfect lady,” Imogen assures him. “It was actually really nice having her there. I’ve missed her.”

Nick’s stomach twists in a guilty knot. “Yeah, she misses you, too.”

Imogen ruffles Nellie’s ears as the dog saunters out of the room. “I think she even made Sahar consider getting her own dog.”

“Really? Is she a dog person?”

“Well, I hadn't thought so,” Imogen replies. “She wasn't totally thrilled when I brought Nellie home, but they got on really well. Might have changed her mind.”

“Nellie has that effect on people,” Nick says proudly.

“She does,” Imogen agrees, with a note of wistfulness to her voice that breaks Nick’s heart. 

“Do you want some tea?” he offers. “I was just going to make myself some.”

“Sure.”

Imogen takes a seat at the table while Nick makes the tea in their usual mugs. He takes the chair across from her and raises his drink.

“To dogs?” Nick suggests, and Imogen giggles.

“To dogs!” she agrees, and they clink their mugs together.

Nick blows on his tea, watching the tiny waves created by his breath ripple across its surface. When he looks up, Imogen's staring at him quizzically.

“What?” Nick can feel the tips of his ears turning red under her scrutiny.

“Something's different,” Imogen’s ice blue eyes are studying Nick’s features intently.

Suddenly Nick’s armpits are sweating. He swallows hard, trying to keep his face neutral.

“Don't think so,” he says in the calmest voice he can muster.

Imogen's full on squinting at him now. “Did you change your hair?”

“What? No!” Nick splutters.

“You have!” Imogen insists, leaning forward to inspect Nick’s locks more closely. “I’ve known you for years, I can tell when something's different!” She extends her hand and runs her fingers through his fringe.

Nick lurches backward, nearly spilling his tea. “It's different now , you're messing with it!”

Imogen just rolls her eyes and sits back, nonplussed. “Oh, don't worry so much. I’m a highly qualified hair stylist.”

Nick raises a sarcastic eyebrow. “Really?”

“Really.” Imogen's grinning at him. She's just as good at taking the piss as he is, maybe better.

“Qualified from where?” he demands but Imogen is ready.

“The University of Hair Stylists” she counters, the smug smile on her lips challenging him to question her story.

Nick laughs, and shakes his head. “Well, seems legit.”

“I have references,” Imogen tells him.

Nick chokes on a mouthful of tea as he coughs out a laugh. The tea dribbles down his front and pools on the table as he coughs violently, his cheeks flushing red.

“Oh, shit!” Imogen's immediately on her feet grabbing a paper towel and sprinting to his side. She dabs the wet spots on his shirt while thumping him on the back until he recovers his breath.

“I’m alright, I’m alright,” Nick splutters, waving her away.

“It's all over your shirt!”

“It's just tea.” Nick takes the paper towel from her and blots at the damp spots on his shirt, but Imogen’s already gotten most of it.

“Well, no harm done then, I suppose.” Imogen sits back down, then she points a finger at Nick accusingly. “But don't think this conversation is over, mister. Something is different about you and I’ll figure it out, eventually.”

“If you say so.” 

Nick prays he sounds casual. Inside he's shaking. There's no way Imogen could guess about Charlie - is there ?

“So.” Imogen takes a sip of her tea. “Have things at work gotten any better since the unpleasantness? ”

“Not really,” Nick replies, grateful for the change of subject. “Well, with the notable exception of David being out of town at a conference.”

“At least you get a reprieve from him.”

“Yeah,” Nick agrees. “How about you? How’s work?”

“I’m getting a promotion, actually,” Imogen says, and Nick thinks she might be blushing. Imogen Heaney blushing - now there's a first. 

“That's great, Im! Congrats!”

Imogen just shrugs, but Nick can tell she's chuffed. “Apparently I’m management material,” she chuckles. “It all feels a bit grown up, but the job came open and Sahar said I should apply. So I did. It's nothing much, just managing purchasing. And I get a bit more money, and my own office.”

“Posh!” Nick gives Imogen a cheeky smile. “Honestly, Im, that's really great. It's about time they recognized your talent. I’m super proud of you.”

“Thanks.” Imogen’s glowing. “I think I’m excited? It does mean I don't get to sit with Sahar anymore, which is a bit of a bummer.”

“She’s the colleague you're staying with?”

Imogen nods. “Yeah.”

“Well, then I reckon you’ll be seeing lots of her regardless.”

“I suppose I will,” Imogen agrees. 

She knocks back the last sip of her tea and sets her mug on the table, rising. “I should be going, it's late.”

“Sure.” Nick stands to walk Imogen to the door, but she pauses and glances back.

“Could I…?” She nods towards her “I” mug which sits on the tabletop a few inches from Nick’s own.

Nick’s chest tightens, and he swallows hard.

“Yeah,” he manages to reply. “I mean, it's yours.”

“Yeah.” 

Imogen hesitates before reaching for the mug, cradling it gently in her hands as though it were a baby bird, precious and fragile. Nick can tell she’s thinking the same thing he is. He knew they were over, and he knows it's the right decision for them both, but there's something about this simple gesture that feels incredibly permanent. Irreversible. He chides himself internally: he never would have guessed he'd feel so sentimental about a mug.

“Im,” Nick says softly, placing a hand on her shoulder. “It's okay.”

“I know,” she whispers, her eyes glassy. “It's just…”

“I know.” Nick opens his arms and Imogen falls into them. He holds her for a moment, breathing together until they're both a little calmer.

“Thanks,” Imogen says, wiping her eyes as she steps away from Nick.

“Sure.”

He walks her to the door, where they hug again before parting ways. When Nick returns to the kitchen, he collects up his solitary “N” mug, washes it carefully in the sink, and places it back in the darkness of the cupboard.

*************

The week passes in a blur of paperwork, emails, and cheeky visits to the library. Nick knows they should be more careful, but honestly, no one ever comes to this end of the floor. All the action happens on the other side of the office where his father and David work. At first, Nick had been a bit miffed when he'd been assigned the office furthest from Stéphane’s. Now, he's absolutely thrilled.

Charlie comes round Nick’s on Friday night for supper, and Nick pulls out all the stops. He’s got two expensive bottles of wine that he found recommended in an article in one of his dad’s magazines with a name like Rich Constipated Executive Twat Monthly. He’s also broken out one of his “A” recipes: Chicken Cordon Bleu with roasted potatoes and a green salad with homemade dressing. It's been ages since Nick has had a chance to cook - lawyer hours are unrelenting - but he's always enjoyed working in the kitchen and he's quite good at it. Nellie, as usual, keeps him company while he works, always keeping a sharp eye for any dropped morsels.

When Charlie arrives, Nick's still in the midst of preparing dinner. The doorbell doesn't have a chance to chime before Nellie is charging down the hallway, bork ing loudly. Nick quickly wipes his hands on a towel and jogs to the foyer where he has to maneuver around an increasingly hysterical Nellie to get the door open.

Charlie’s standing there in jeans and a black jacket, a knit beanie pulled down over his curls.

God, he's adorable.

Nick starts to say “Hi”, but is interrupted when Nellie squirms between his knees to get to Charlie. Charlie's eyes light up and he drops to one knee to greet her, ruffling her fluffy ears while she boof s in delight.

“And here I thought you were here to see me,” Nick teases.

“It was all a ruse to see this beautiful girl!” Charlie gives Nick a wink, then turns his attention back to the border collie. “Yes you are, you're just lovely, aren't you?” 

Nellie bork s and wags her tail, clearly pleased with all the attention.

Nick extends a hand and pulls Charlie to his feet. They're standing inches apart and all Nick wants is to wrap Charlie in an embrace and kiss his beautiful lips, but…they're literally standing on the porch. 

So, he drops Charlie’s hand and nods towards the house.

“Come on in, dinner’s nearly ready.”

While Nick returns to the hob to check on supper, he points Charlie toward the kitchen table where a bottle of wine is open and two glasses are waiting.

Charlie eyes the pots and pans with suspicion. “Are you trying to upstage my purchased lasagne?”

Nick just laughs. “Are you kidding? That was delicious. It's just been awhile since I’ve had a chance to cook a decent meal, and I have a gorgeous guest to share it with, so why not?”

Charlie’s cheeks flush and he flashes Nick an adorable, dimpled smile.

“Well, I don't know about all that, but it smells amazing.”

“Fingers crossed it tastes amazing, too.”

And it does. When he takes his first bite of chicken, Charlie’s eyes grow wide.

“Holy shit, Nick. Where did you learn to cook like this?”

Nick’s chest puffs up with pride. “My mum, actually. She's a fantastic cook. After my dad left, and David started acting like a grade A twat, I spent a lot of time with my mom. She taught me how to cook, how to bake, how to sew.” He pops a potato in his mouth and chews thoughtfully. “I have a lot of good memories of my mom and me making food together.”

“Sounds lovely,” Charlie replies. “My mum and I do not get on at all. Especially in the kitchen.”

“That must have been rough with your…um…”

“My eating disorder,” Charlie finishes for him. “It's okay, you can say it.”

Nick feels his cheeks heat up. Why am I such an awkward git? 

“Sorry.”

Charlie shakes his head. “Don't be. And yes, it was rough. She's a control freak and I have OCD, and it all sort of came to a head in the kitchen.” He shrugs and takes a sip of wine. “To be honest, though, we never really got along. The eating disorder just sort of highlighted all of the dysfunction that was already there.” He glances up at Nick. “I’m really envious of your relationship with your mum.”

Nick gives Charlie a soft smile, but he doesn't respond. Frankly, the thought of all the times he’d cooked and baked with his mum over the years has only reminded him of the wedge he’s driven between them. 

Nick can feel Charlie’s eyes on him - God, how does he notice every little thing? - so he takes another bite of chicken and forces himself to perk up. 

He's having dinner with the most beautiful man he's ever seen, he's not going to waste time sulking over his bad decisions. Charlie's seen enough of Sad Sack Nick.

But Charlie’s clocked him.

“You alright?” he asks, concern in his blue eyes.

Nick sighs resignedly. “I mean…I haven't really been as close with my mum since I started working for my dad.” He takes a drink and lets the wine sit in his mouth for a moment, warming his palette before he swallows and continues. “She warned me off working for him, and I didn't listen, and of course she was right.”

“So, why aren't you close anymore?” Charlie inquires, looking genuinely confused.

Nick gives him a blank stare. “Well, I mean, because I can't exactly tell her how badly things are going, can I?”

Charlie frowns. “Why not?”

“Because…” Nick fumbles for the words to express himself properly. “Because this job needed to be a success. This was supposed to go well. I was supposed to show her that I can do this. I don’t want her worrying that I’m not okay. It’s better just to let her think everything is fine until it's all done and dusted.”

Charlie's frown has deepened. “Nick that's…I thought you said you and your mum were close?”

“We were , yeah.”

“Then wouldn’t she want to hear how you’re actually doing so she can be there for you?”

Nick notices a familiar tightness creeping into his shoulders, and he forces them down away from his ears. 

“But she was right, wasn't she?” Frustration has crept unbidden into his voice. He doesn't like the way he sounds, but he doesn't seem to have much control over it. “I shouldn’t have taken this job, but I did, and now I’ve got to deal with it.”

“I dunno, Nick,” Charlie counters. “I don't think you're giving your mum a fair chance to be supportive.”

“Supportive?” Nick’s voice is too loud, and he cringes at the sound of it ricocheting off the kitchen cabinets. “She literally told me not to do this. I should've listened, but I was just so damn smart , I thought I knew better.” Nick’s voice has become shaky, and he has to fight to keep it level. “No. If I told her the truth, she’d just worry. It makes more sense to get things finished with my LPC, then I can explain it all to her after.”

Silence falls over the table. Nick’s throat feels tight. Charlie’s got no right to tell him how to deal with his mum. She's his mum, after all, and Nick knows how disappointed she’d be in him if she knew what was really going on. If she knew how miserable he was at work, and how he'd fucked Imogen over… He was supposed to be the good son, the opposite of everything his prick of an elder brother is. He was supposed to be the son Sarah didn’t have to worry about. His stomach sinks when he thinks of the way Sarah might look at him if he told her the reality of his situation. He doesn’t think he could bear it.

But then a tiny voice pipes up in the back of Nick's head. He's heard it before, but not in a long time.

What are you doing? the voice asks. Your mum loves you. She would never make you feel bad. And Charlie…

Nick looks at the man sat across from him. Charlie’s fingers are gripping the table edge a little too tightly, causing his knuckles to go pale, and Nick feels a sharp pang in his gut. What the fuck is he doing?

He inhales a deep, slow breath.

“You’re right.”

Charlie gives Nick a quizzical look. “Sorry?”

“About my mum. You're right.” 

Nick inhales slowly, allowing his shoulders to unclench as the breath flows back out. “She wouldn't make me feel bad. I don't even know why I thought that. Or how I convinced myself it was true.”

Charlie's still eyeing him warily, so Nick slides a hand across the tabletop and grazes Charlie’s pinky with his own.

“I’m sorry. I got defensive, and I shouldn't have. You're right. I should tell her the truth and give her a chance to be there for me.”

Charlie’s lips quirk up in the corners into a small smile. He pokes the tip of Nick’s pinky with his.

“It’s ok,” he says gently. “I don't mean to like, tell you how to manage your own life. I just thought–”

“–and you thought right,” Nick interjects. “I, uh, I’ve got a lot of walls up, I think.”

“You think?” Charlie says with a smirk.

“Oy!” Nick grabs Charlie’s hand in his and gives it a squeeze, and Charlie giggles. His slim fingers weave themselves between Nick’s larger ones, his cool palm fitting neatly into Nick’s like puzzle pieces clicking into place.

“I’m trying to be better,” Nick tells Charlie. “It's…it's just gonna take some time.”

Charlie nods and squeezes Nick’s hand back. “There's nothing wrong with you, Nick. You don't owe me any explanation. You're an adult. You make your own choices. And you don't owe an explanation to anyone else, either.”

“Yeah.” Nick musters up a small smile, which seems to satisfy Charlie. He lets go of Nick’s hand after one more quick squeeze, turning his attention back to his plate. 

But there's still a heavy stone in Nick’s stomach, and he finds he’s no longer interested in eating. 

Sure, his mum probably would be there for him. But that doesn't mean she won't be disappointed. He's strayed so far from where he started when he first decided to go into law. He’s definitely not the man she imagined her sweet little boy would become, and in some ways he feels worse about that than about anything else.

Charlie reaches across the table and jabs Nick’s forearm with a finger.

“Hey!” He’s smiling warmly at Nick. “No more feeling bad about yourself tonight, okay?”

Nick nods in agreement. He’s had enough self-loathing for one night. He makes a mental note to call his mum tomorrow, then claps his hands together.

“Right. What shall we do, then?”

*************

“ How are you so good at this?!”

Nick throws down his controller in a rage as Charlie whoops with delight. Nick’s been soundly trounced for the fourth consecutive time on this track. It’s starting to get embarrassing.

Charlie just preens and gives Nick a nonchalant shrug. “You get to be good at real sports, I get to be good at fake ones.”

Nick rolls his eyes. “I’m regretting telling you about my rugby trophies now.”

“I’ll bet you are.” Charlie leans over and kisses the tip of Nick’s nose playfully. “I guess I should have told you about all my Mario Kart trophies.”

“What?!” Nick wraps his arms around Charlie and squeezes, and Charlie lets out a squeak. Nick hauls the smaller man into his lap as Charlie kicks and wriggles in protest. “I think I’ve been the victim of a Mario Kart conman!”

Charlie shakes his head emphatically as he giggles. “I’m not, I swear! A lifetime of playing against my siblings has honed my skills.”

“Right.” Nick cuddles Charlie close to him and kisses him long and deep. His mouth tastes of the wine they’ve been sharing all night, and warmth spreads through Nick’s body.

When the kiss breaks, Charlie pokes a finger into Nick’s chest.

“You can’t distract me with romance, Mr. Nelson,” he says gravely. “This competition isn’t over.”

“What competition?” Nick exclaims. “You’ve kicked my arse six ways from Sunday!”

Charlie is aghast. “But there’s still Rainbow Road!”

Nick huffs in resignation and releases his hold on Charlie who gleefully scrambles to pick up his controller. “Honestly, if I’d known you were this competitive, I’d have never suggested playing in the first place.”

Charlie gives him a patronising smile. “Loser says what ?”

Nick’s jaw falls open in shock and he grabs his controller, rolling his shoulders back, his eyes locked on the television screen.

“Oh it is on , Spring!”

*************

After Charlie has won his sixth race on Rainbow Road, Nick decides that it’s high time they take Nellie for a walk.

“You’re just tired of losing,” Charlie says resolutely, flashing Nick a victorious grin.

“Not at all!” Nick insists. “She needs her exercise. Don’t you Nels?”

Nellie lifts her head, glancing up from where she’s been sleeping by the front door. Her tail wags sleepily.

Charlie rolls his eyes. “Sure.” He hauls himself to his feet, then extends his hands to pull Nick up. “Come on, loser. ”

“Oh my god!” 

Nick reaches out to grab Charlie but the smaller man evades his grasp and hightails it to the front door. Nellie leaps to her feet, bork ing madly at the excitement as Nick rounds the corner and stretches out his arms, catching Charlie firmly by the waist. Charlie squeals as Nick tugs him backward. Charlie’s back slams into Nick’s chest and Nick wraps his arms tightly around the smaller man, pinning his narrow frame against his chest.

“Alright, alright!” Charlie exclaims. “I’ll stop teasing you!”

“See that you do,” Nick laughs, nuzzling the back of Charlie’s neck. “Or I’ll have to teach you a lesson.”

Charlie turns his head to gaze up at Nick over his shoulder, one eyebrow lifted. “And what would that look like, I wonder?”

Nick’s cheeks heat up, and he nuzzles Charlie’s neck again, this time dragging his lips along the soft skin below his hairline. 

“I think I could come up with something we’d both enjoy.”

A thunderous bork! resonates through the foyer, and Nick sighs, glaring down at Nellie.

“Spoilsport.”

He lets Charlie go and clips Nellie’s leash to her collar and the threesome steps out into the evening air.

The fall has been unseasonably warm thus far, but as October has drawn on, the temperatures have begun to drop. Nick always runs warm, so he’s perfectly comfortable in his hoodie, and Charlie seems cosy enough in his fur-lined black denim jacket. The beanie he’s pushed down over his curls is adorable: errant ringlets peek out from beneath the rolled cuff, framing Charlie’s face like a dark halo. Nick can’t help staring, a crooked smile on his lips.

They walk along the footpath side by side with Nellie leading the way. Their arms are close enough that they could hold hands, but Nick can’t seem to work up the courage to reach for Charlie’s fingers; every time he does, a car rolls by, or someone appears in their doorway across the road, and Nick’s blood freezes in his veins. 

The pull of Charlie is incredibly strong, nearly irresistible, but Nick’s fear of being caught out is still stronger. He shoves his free hand deep into his pocket instead, cursing himself for being such a fucking coward.

In a short while, the trio arrive at the park and Nick lets Nellie off her lead so she can sprint around for a bit. The border collie takes off across the field, churning up the browning grass in her wake.

There’s a huge fallen tree a few feet away, and Charlie ambles toward it. He gives it a gentle poke with the toe of his sneaker, presumably checking its sturdiness before hopping up and taking a seat on the trunk. Nick follows suit, taking a seat beside him. He gives Charlie a warm smile, and Charlie returns it, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Nick bites his lower lip, glancing down at the respectful distance he’s left between his body and Charlie’s.

“Charlie,” Nick begins, but Charlie shakes his head.

“Nick, it’s okay. I get it.”

Nick huffs out a frustrated sigh. “But I don’t want you to have to get it, Charlie. I don’t want to have to be…like this.” He gestures to the tiny gap between them which right now feels like a chasm.

Nick wraps his hands in the thick nylon of Nellie’s lead, the tightness standing in for the touch he’s actually craving. 

“I just…I don’t…” He sighs again, this time with resignation, casting his eyes down to avoid Charlie’s gaze. “I can’t.”

Charlie sighs softly, and looks up at Nick with a gentle softness in his eyes.

“Nick. If anyone understands not being ready to come out, it’s me. I’ve met David. I’ve met your dad. It’s not a safe environment for you to…be yourself.”

Nick closes his eyes as a heavy sadness builds in his chest. Fuck, he is so tired of feeling sad.

“I think there’s this idea that when you’re not straight, you have to tell all your friends and family immediately, like you owe it to them,” Charlie continues thoughtfully. He lays his hand on the stretch of tree trunk between them and gently prods Nick’s pinky finger with his. “But you don’t.”

Nick turns to look at him and is once again struck dumb by Charlie’s beauty. The lamps in the park have come on and the hazy light bounces off Charlie’s curls, giving them an otherworldly glow. He’s looking at Nick with such care, like Nick’s something important. Someone Charlie really cares about. 

And even though it fills Nick with absolute, unending joy to know that Charlie cares for him, it makes him feel even worse about forcing Charlie to hide.

“But I want to…come out,” Nick stammers, his tongue tripping over the words. “I just…I think I need more time.”

Charlie nods understandingly. He hooks his pinky around Nick’s, the miniscule touch warming Nick’s entire body. Their eyes meet, and Charlie scooches closer, traversing the inches between their bodies and bringing their thighs flush together. Nick smiles, the touch sending warmth all over his body.

Charlie glances over his shoulder, then leans toward Nick slightly, one eyebrow raised in a question. 

Nick’s just about to close his eyes, to lean in and give over to his desire, when a jogger bursts into view and trots by close enough that Nick can hear his breathing. Nick startles, instinctively drawing back, yanking his hand away from Charlie’s. Suddenly his heart is hammering in his ears and his throat is tight with fear. 

That could have been a neighbour, or a colleague. Someone from the cafe. A friend of his dad’s from the gym. That could have been anyone , and they could have seen me and Charlie together, and then told dad and–

Nick feels a hand on his knee and he looks up, wild-eyed, to find Charlie standing in front of him.

“Nick. Nick, you have to breathe.”

Nick hadn’t even realised he wasn’t breathing. He sucks in a sharp breath, the cool evening air burning his lungs. 

“Okay, good,” Charlie tells him, his voice calm and low. “Now out for four, okay? One, two, three…”

By this time, Nellie has appeared at Charlie’s side, whimpering and hopping from one foot to the other as she watches Nick. Nick reaches out a hand and sinks it into the soft white ruff of fur around her neck. The sensation grounds him as he breathes to Charlie’s counts – in for four, out for four – until he’s able to breathe freely.

“I’m okay,” he finally manages to tell Charlie. “I’m okay.”

Charlie expels a sigh of relief and leans against the fallen tree. 

There’s a long silence as both men take a moment to recalibrate. Nick remains seated on the tree trunk stroking Nellie’s fur in a repetitive pattern that slowly calms his nervous system. Charlie leans against the trunk a foot or so away, staring up at the sky. Nick is desperate to ask what Charlie’s thinking, but he’s afraid to know the answer.

Eventually, Nick hauls himself to his feet and clips Nellie’s lead back on.

“We should…” he nods towards the footpath, and Charlie returns his nod. 

“Yeah.”

The tension between the two men as they walk back to Nick’s is so thick it feels like they’re miles apart instead of side by side. The lighthearted, drunken hilarity of their Mario Kart competition seems miles away.

A block or so from home, Nick stops dead midstride and turns to Charlie.

“Charlie, I’m so sorry,” he says, the words rushing from his mouth. “I was just…I didn’t know who that guy was, and if he was someone I knew or–”

Charlie raises a hand to stop Nick’s spiraling. “Nick, it’s okay.”

“It isn’t !” Nick insists. He huffs out a breath through his clenched teeth, his hands balling and unballing into fists. “It isn’t okay. You deserve to be with someone who is proud to be with you. Someone who is out.”

Charlie sighs deeply.

“Look, Nick…It’s not like I don’t want that, okay? Obviously I want you to come out. But that should happen how and when you want it to.” Charlie emphasises that last bit as he looks directly into Nick’s eyes. “And if that takes a long time, that’s completely okay.” 

Nick feels like he’s going to cry. He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve for this incredibly sweet man to care about him. He doesn’t deserve to be shown this kind of grace. 

“But…” he splutters, his voice shaking. “I don’t want you to have to hide.”

Charlie huffs out a soft laugh. “Oh, Nick. You're not asking me to do anything I’m not already doing. It’s not like I can parade around the office like a Pride float.”

Nick’s mouth falls open slightly: the thought that Charlie has already been hiding at work hadn’t even occurred to him.

“Your dad hasn’t exactly created a queer-friendly environment,” Charlie reminds Nick. “I’m gonna have to hide that part of myself no matter what you do.”

Nick groans, shaking his head. “Ugh, but it fucking sucks! This is exactly what you didn’t want your job to be.”

Charlie shrugs. “Well. There are some perks worth hanging around for.” He gently bumps Nick’s hip with his, and Nick can't help smiling. He glances around, ensuring there’s no one watching, then gently bumps Charlie’s hip back.

They make their way back to Nick’s, the silence between them now amicable instead of strained. 

When they reach the porch, Nick opens the door to let Nellie inside, but Charlie hesitates, his gaze focused on the sky.

“What is it, Char?”

Charlie turns to him, blue eyes sparkling, a massive, dimpled smile on his face.

“Nick! It’s snowing! ”

And it is. All around them tiny flakes are beginning to fall, and in moments the flurries have increased into a full blown snowfall. Charlie runs out onto the lawn, laughing, his hands over his head as snowflakes coat his palms. Nellie’s bork ing her fool head off so Nick drops her leash and she bolts to join Charlie, dancing and jumping around him and snapping at the snowflakes in the air.

Nick stays on the porch for a moment, an adoring smile on his face as he watches Charlie twirling in the flurry of snowflakes, lit by the long, cool beams of the streetlamps. He’s laughing loudly, throwing his head back and catching flakes on his tongue, his cheeks rosy from the cool air. 

He looks so happy. So free. 

Nick dives off the porch and runs to Charlie’s side, leaning his head back to let the snowflakes land on his cheeks, eyebrows and lips. He finds he’s laughing, too. He feels like a little kid as he extends his tongue to catch the little flakes as they fall.

Charlie grabs his hand and yanks him down onto the lawn where he collapses with a thud. Charlie’s lying on his back, sweeping his arms and legs, making a snow angel in the half-inch of snow that’s accumulated on the grass. 

Nick chuckles and falls back, mirroring Charlie’s motions. Nellie is absolutely flummoxed by the entire display and forces her way between them, snuffling at their faces and covering them with kisses. At one point Nick pulls out his phone and snaps a few quick photos of the three of them, their faces wet with snow, their noses red from the cold, their smiles a mile wide.

The snowfall doesn’t last long, and when it begins to taper off, Nick stands and extends a hand to help Charlie up. Nellie trots inside to warm up, but Nick and Charlie linger for a moment on the porch. They’re standing side by side again, an inch of space between them which, to Nick, feels like a gulf a hundred miles across. All he wants is to lean in and press his lips to Charlie’s, to wrap him in his arms and feel his body pressed against Nick’s own. 

But he can’t. Not yet.

Once again, Charlie reads Nick’s thoughts.

“It’s okay,” he says.

“Is it, though?” Nick asks, searching Charlie’s face. “Really?”

Charlie shrugs, a little grin on his lips. “I mean, I guess part of me wants everyone to know you’re my boyfriend. But there’s no rush.”

Nick gapes at Charlie, his brain screeching to a halt. “Um, what did you just say?”

“I said I want everyone to know you’re my–” Charlie stops, his eyes growing wide, the colour draining from his face. “I mean, not that you’re…because we’ve only…it isn’t…” He sighs deeply and squeezes his eyes shut. “Fuck.”

Nick pushes the front door open and steps across the threshold. He beckons for Charlie, who is still frozen in embarrassment, to follow him inside. Charlie reluctantly does, and Nick closes the door behind them.

Then he shoves Charlie up against the door and kisses him so hard he feels Charlie swoon a little.

Nick wraps his arms around Charlie’s waist, and feels Charlie’s slide around his neck. He presses kiss after kiss to Charlie’s chilled lips, feeling the warmth pour back into both of them as he does.

“Charlie Spring,” Nick murmurs between kisses. “Do you want to be my boyfriend?”

Charlie throws his head back and laughs, his chest shaking against Nick’s.

“ Yes !” he replies, leaning in to kiss Nick again and again.

Nick’s heart soars.  

Charlie Spring is my boyfriend.

And even though his life is a mess, and there’s a million things he needs to figure out, right now, at this moment, with Charlie in his arms, Nick feels like everything is perfect.

Chapter Text

Chapter Ten

Boyfriends.

Boyfriends.

Boyfriends!

No matter how many times Nick says the word, it never fails to trigger butterflies in his tummy.

Charlie is my boyfriend!

Every day since their dinner at Nick’s when Charlie accidentally dropped the b-word, their text chat has been absolutely littered with it.

Nick: good morning boyfriend ☀️❤️

Charlie: hello boyfriend 🫶🫶🫶 but i will never acknowledge a GOOD morning ☕️☕️☕️

Nick: awwww my sleepy boyfriend! It really is a shame we have to be at work so early.

Nick: altho your sleepy morning face is literally adorable 

Charlie: 🫣i don't know to what you are referring. Your boyfriend always looks perfectly awake and alert.

Nick: 😘😘😘

And on and on and on. Heart emojis, kisses, and boyfriend, boyfriend, boyfriend.

To say Nick is smitten doesn't touch it with a thirty-foot pole.

Work continues to be drudgery, but spending all day with Charlie by his side makes it worthwhile, especially when they often leave work separately, only to meet up an hour or two later at one of their flats. Nellie has become comfortable spending the night at Charlie’s, having claimed the soft chair nearest the fireplace in Charlie's lounge as her domain. Charlie is delighted.

Nick has also become more comfortable in Charlie's space. He’s got a toothbrush in a little cup by the sink, and a razor in the vanity drawer. He's got his 2-in-1 in the shower next to Charlie’s bougie curl shampoo (“It’s not bougie, it's fucking necessary!” Charlie scolded when Nick teased him for the expensive products. Not that he meant any of it: the scent of Charlie’s hair is heavenly). He’s even got a drawer in the bureau with some spare boxers, a pair of joggers, and a few t-shirts.

His jumpers, however, have become part of Charlie’s permanent collection.

Charlie runs cold and Nick runs hot, so it didn't take long before Nick began loaning Charlie his hoodies on long walks, or trips to the park, or cooler evenings in the garden. Charlie has never returned a single one, citing “possession being nine-tenths of the law”, which Nick is pretty sure isn't the actual letter of the statute. He would have argued his case, except Charlie looked so damn cute all bundled up inside Nick’s XXL hoodies, the sleeves folded over his fingers, his curls peeking out from beneath the hood. And when Charlie started sleeping in them, what was Nick to do? He can always buy more jumpers. Maybe more blue ones. Charlie looks nice in blue.

They’ve fallen into a routine of domestic bliss so easy and natural that sometimes Nick has to shake himself to believe it's all real. 

Life with Imogen was never like this. She was always a flurry of activity. Nick could actually track her movements through their flat with the trail of discarded clothes and accessories she left in her wake. Every weekend was jammed full of plans with friends, or “dates” to restaurants she’d read about, or sights she wanted to see. Imogen liked to be busy, and she liked to be seen being busy, and Nick had just gone along with it all, just happy to be included. Sometimes he wished they could slow down and enjoy some quiet time at home, but he knew who Imogen was, and he did his best to give her the life she wanted.

Charlie is the polar opposite of Imogen. He keeps a fairly tidy house, and despite the small square footage, he’s got a place for everything. At first Nick was worried that there wasn't room for him, but Charlie graciously – maybe even excitedly – made room. Charlie moves at his own pace, slow and steady, and Nick finds the rhythm of their life together soothing.

Their life together.

The words cause shivers of delight to scamper across Nick’s skin, but he shoves them where they hopefully won't leap out of his mouth without warning. It's far too soon for that.

But they do have a life together, of sorts. They work together, they eat dinner together, and most nights they sleep together (although how much sleeping they do is up for debate). On weekends, they make each other breakfast, and take Nellie for walks, and get coffee, and do laundry, and watch telly, and honestly, Charlie is so woven into the fabric of Nick’s days that Nick can't imagine going back to a life without him.

It does dawn on Nick, however, that their relationship kind of jumped from “first kiss” to “practically cohabiting”, skipping right over the “wooing” phase. And though he loves what they're doing, he wants Charlie to know how serious he is about this.

So, over dinner one Monday evening, he makes a proposition:

“I was thinking I’d like to take you on a date.”

Charlie nearly chokes on the broccoli he’s chewing, bursting into a fit of coughing. Alarmed, Nick stands to clap him on the back, but Charlie waves him away, shaking his head. He swallows and gasps in a breath, wiping his watering eyes on his sleeve.

“Christ, Nick,” he rasps, clearing his throat again. “Warn a guy.”

“Sorry.”

Charlie takes a sip of water, then picks up his napkin and wipes his lips.

“Did you say you want to go on a date ?” 

His tone is incredulous, and Nick frowns.

“Yes.”

“Like, with me?”

“Yes !” Nick laughs. “Of course with you! Who else would I go on a date with?”

Charlie shrugs. “I mean…I just thought that because you're not out…” He trails off, biting his lower lip.

Nick’s heart sinks, and he finishes Charlie’s thought for him. “You thought we can't go on dates.”

“Well.” Charlie’s tone is almost apologetic. “It stands to reason.”

Nick sighs, twisting his napkin in his lap. Charlie's not wrong, but hearing out loud that he just assumed Nick would never take him on a date hurts more than Nick thought it would. He knows how much Charlie is sacrificing to be with him. It just feels shitty when he’s reminded.

“Well, despite the obvious obstacle of me not being publicly out,” Nick replies, “I think it's high time I took you out on a proper date.”

Charlie gives Nick a gentle, somewhat placating smile. “Nick, you don't have to–”

“I want to.” Nick emphasizes that word heavily as he holds Charlie's gaze. “I want to, you know…woo you.”

“Woo me?!” The smile on Charlie's face becomes incandescent, his sapphire eyes twinkling with mirth.

Nick rolls his eyes, flushing red with embarrassment.

“You know what I mean!”

But Charlie’s having far too much fun to let Nick off the hook just yet.

“Oh, Mr. Nelson!” he effuses, suddenly sporting a Scarlett O’Hara-style accent. He brings one hand to his throat and pretends to fan himself with the other. “I would be most delaahhhhted to accompany you on a date!”

Nick chuckles and shakes his head, smiling warmly at his boyfriend across the table. “I feel like I’m being mocked.”

But Charlie’s smile is sincere, and there's a soft blush colouring his cheeks.

“Honestly, Nick, we don't have to–”

“Charlie–”

“– but ,” Charlie continues. “I would love to.”

Something in Nick’s chest unclenches, and he smiles, relieved. It's only once Charlie’s accepted that Nick realises that he wasn't sure how Charlie would answer. 

“Okay! Great!” 

But his relief is short-lived when he notices the reservation on his boyfriend’s face.

“Is…is something wrong?” Nick asks, taking in the small furrow between Charlie’s brow and his less-than-sparkling smile. “Because if you really don't want to–”

“No, I do!” Charlie insists. “Really. I just…I mean, where could we go?”

Right. That . 

Nick hadn't gotten that far in his planning. Mostly he'd been working up the courage to ask Charlie on a date – where and when weren't relevant until Charlie accepted. But now the elephant in the room is making itself known. 

Where could they go where they wouldn't have to worry about running into someone they know?

“Well…” Nick begins, hoping an idea will just pop into his head and save him from the long, awkward silence that threatens to stretch itself over the table. 

Unfortunately, his brain offers up zero suggestions.

“Honestly, I’m not sure,” he admits. “I haven't been on a date in aeons.”

“I have,” Charlie says resignedly. “But I definitely don't recommend any of the places I went.”

Nick chuckles softly and reaches a hand across the table to braid his fingers with Charlie’s.

“Mr. Brexit didn’t show you a good time?”

Charlie’s eyes widen in charmed astonishment. “I can't believe you remember that!”

“Charlie. I was absolutely obsessed with you,” Nick admits. “I was insanely jealous of anyone who got to spend any time with you.”

“Well, suffice to say his taste in dining establishments matched his taste in clothing. It was some pub named after two animals, the Pheasant and Weasel or something…”

“Pheasant and Weasel ?” Nick asks with disbelief.

“I don't remember which animals!” Charlie shoots back with an embarrassed grin that makes Nick’s insides melt. “That's not the important bit. What is important is that it was quiz night, and this guy knew none of the answers, and every time a literature question came up he’d have some opinion about the book that he felt compelled to share with me, despite having read exactly zero of them.” 

Charlie’s shaking his head, his animated recollection of the disastrous date putting a smile on Nick’s face that’s so big it's nearly painful. 

“Oh !” Suddenly Charlie slams his hand on the table. His eyes grow wide, and he points a finger at Nick to emphasize what is clearly the worst part. “ And the pub didn't even serve wine!”

Nick shakes his head along with Charlie. “That sounds awful.”

“It was,” Charlie agrees emphatically.

“Well, I may have been out of the game awhile,” Nick muses, “but I am pretty sure I can plan something a little more romantic than that .”

“I don't know,” Charlie teases. “What's more romantic than warm beer and a review of Pride and Prejudice that includes the word ‘broads’?”

Nick can't hold back his laughter at that. “Oh, god, Charlie, that's awful.”

“That's what passes for ‘woo’ these days, Mr. Nelson,” Charlie tells him matter-of-factly, emphasizing his point by downing the last of his wine in one mouthful.

“Disgraceful,” Nick replies. He lifts Charlie’s fingers to his lips and presses a soft kiss to his knuckles. “How about this? I promise that our date will be at least…twice as good as that one.”

Charlie’s smiling wide. “I’m gonna hold you to it.”

*************

With the gauntlet dropped, Nick spends the rest of the week Googling cool places to go on a first date whenever he's got a spare second. Charlie’s constantly hovering around him, peeking over his shoulder, trying to get a glimpse of his phone screen, but Nick just bats him away, refusing to divulge anything other than, “dress comfortably and bring an overnight bag.”

He’s arranged for Nellie to spend the weekend with Imogen. Thirty minutes before he's due to pick up Charlie, Nick pulls up to a smart block of flats in Hackney. He double checks the address, marveling at the cool vibe the entire street gives off. Whoever this Sahar person is, she's definitely a whole lot hipper than he is.

He lets Nellie lead the way to the front door, where she begins bork ing before Nick can even ring the buzzer. In seconds the door is thrown open and Nick is face to face with a petite woman with long, dark hair and massive brown eyes.

“Hi,” she says warmly, meeting Nick’s eyes with a bright smile as Nellie bork s and whines with excitement. “You must be Nick.”

“Yeah,” Nick replies, a bit flustered by the woman’s appearance. If he thought the neighborhood was cool, it’s nothing compared to Sahar herself. Her ears are full of tiny silver and gold rings, and her nails are painted a spectacular acid green that Nick is pretty sure only like, three people on earth can pull off. She’s wearing a dress that appears to be a take on an oversized men's Oxford shirt, and the embellished belt at the waist emphasizes her curvy figure. 

In short, she's one of the coolest people Nick’s ever seen.

“Sahar,” the woman prompts when Nick doesn't say anything else, extending her hand.

Nick gives his head a shake and clasps her hand in his.

“Sorry, yes, of course. It's really nice to meet you.”

“Same,” she replies, and Nick’s astonished to find he believes her. He was fully prepared for Sahar to hate his guts after what he'd put Imogen through, but that doesn't seem to be the case, thank god.

“And hello, young lady,” Sahar coos, ruffling Nellie’s fur as the dog whimpers with delight. Sahar takes the lead from Nick and brings Nellie inside, nodding to Nick to follow. He deposits Nellie’s box of sundries on the floor inside the vestibule, which is painted a deep crimson. Straight ahead is a staircase with thick, plush carpeting, down which Imogen comes bounding, curls bouncing.

“Nick! Hi!”

She's dressed in loose yoga-type pants and a long-sleeved tshirt, both a violent shade of pink, with her hair loose and cascading over her shoulders. She looks terrific, but different somehow, and it takes a beat before Nick can identify what it is.

“Im! You're not wearing makeup!”

Imogen blushes a deep red. “Um, no. Sahar, she, uh–”

“She said 'you're fucking gorgeous with or without makeup’,” Sahar interjects, wrapping an arm around Imogen’s waist and giving her a side hug. “And it takes up time we could be spending doing other, better things.”

Imogen gives Sahar a brilliant smile, and Nick marvels at the change in her. She looks so…relaxed.

“Well, you look terrific,” Nick says, and Imogen beams.

“As usual,” Imogen corrects him, smacking him playfully on the forearm. He chuckles, nodding in agreement.

“As usual,” he agrees.

“D’you want a cuppa, Nick?” Sahar asks, but Nick shakes his head.

“No, thank you. I’ve actually got to hit the road.”

“Where are you off to in such a rush?” Imogen asks him. 

It’s an innocent question, and there’s absolutely no way that Imogen suspects anything, but it still throws Nick for a loop. “Um, just to see my mum,” he stammers.

Imogen’s left eyebrow lifts. “Without Nellie?”

Oh. Right.

“Henry’s sick,” Nick blurts out.

“Oh my god, is he going to be alright?” The look of concern on Imogen’s face makes Nick feel queasy. He hates lying, but lying to Imogen? And about a dog? It feels so unnatural and cruel, and Nick curses himself internally for being such a fucking areshole.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s nothing serious. Mum just didn’t want Nellie to catch it.” Nick makes an attempt at a reassuring smile, but Imogen still looks worried.

“Okay, well, I hope he’s feeling better soon,” she says. “And, um…I guess tell your mum I said hello?”

Fucking fuck. Why did he say his mum, of all people? Imogen and his mum had always gotten on so well, and now that they weren’t together anymore, he supposed Imogen was losing that relationship too.

There’s probably a special ring of hell for people like Nick.

“Yeah, will do,” he says, then says his goodbyes and heads back to his car as fast as he can.

Well, he fucked that up royally. All he wanted to do was drop Nellie off, and now he’s got a whole web of lies to keep straight when he picks her up. 

He grips the steering wheel tightly and takes a few calming breaths. It’s gonna be okay . When he finally does tell Imogen about Charlie, he can explain all of this. She’ll understand. She seems to be doing well, and Sahar seems nice. He’s glad that Imogen’s found somewhere soft to land since their breakup. He wants her to be happy.

Before shifting into gear, he taps out a quick text to Charlie.

Nick: Be there in 10 x

Charlie replies almost immediately.

Charlie: can't wait xx

*************

“You really aren't gonna tell me anything?”

“Nope!” Nick pops the ‘p ’ and draws his fingers across his closed lips, pretending to lock them shut.

Charlie throws his head back against the headrest of the passenger seat and groans angrily.

“Come on, Nick! We've been driving for thirty minutes and you still won't tell me where we're going!”

“It's a surprise,” Nick insists.

Charlie just rolls his eyes. “It will still be a surprise if you tell me right now!”

Nick can't help but chuckle. His boyfriend’s eyes are a bit wild with frustration, and his knee is bouncing so rapidly that it’s basically just a blur of motion. Nick almost feels sorry for him.

Almost.

He manages to keep the secret for another mile or so, at which point Charlie rolls down his window and threatens to leap out if Nick doesn't tell him where they're going.

“We're nearly there!” Nick exclaims, but Charlie’s head is out the window, the wind whipping his curls into a frenzy

“I’m gonna jump in three…two…”

“Alright, alright!” Nick concedes. He grabs at the hem of Charlie’s jacket, pulling him back into the car. “Bloody drama queen.”

Charlie just smiles innocently, as though he hadn't just threatened to jump out of a moving car. “So?”

Nick sighs. “So, a year or so ago I went to this bachelor party?”

“Okay…” Charlie’s left eyebrow has risen in a question. Nick’s heartbeat picks up and suddenly he's doubting his idea. Is this stupid? Is Charlie going to think he’s some immature loser? He swallows hard. Too late to change course now.

“Just stay with me,” Nick requests. Charlie nods, so Nick continues. 

“So it was at this sort of fancy arcade? You know the ones you went to as a kid with like, bowling and arcade games and stuff?”

Charlie nods, the corners of his mouth ticking up slightly.

“It's like that, but posh.” Nick glances over and is relieved to see that Charlie’s smile is growing. “I just thought, because you're so competitive–”

“Wow .”

“–that it would be fun to play some games,” Nick finishes. He takes his eyes off the road again to gauge Charlie’s response. “So, what do you think?”

A smile spreads across Charlie’s face and his eyes twinkle with delight. “Oh my god, Nick, that's so cool!”

Nick lets out a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding, relieved that the first first date idea he's come up with in years might actually be a good one.

“It really is too bad though.”

Nick raises an eyebrow. “What's too bad?”

Charlie gives him a wicked grin.

“That I’m going to absolutely slaughter you.”

*************

“Oh my god, how are you so good at this?!”

Charlie’s frustrated exclamation is drowned out by Nick’s whoop of victory as the scoreboard once again proclaims him the winner. He's actually quite chuffed: he hasn't bowled in ages, and he wasn't sure how he'd fare.

“You definitely cheated!” Charlie insists. It comes out as lighthearted teasing but Nick knows that Charlie's competitive ego has taken a beating.

“Oh yeah?” Nick says, grinning. “How?”

Charlie splutters, throwing his hands up as he searches for an answer. Finally, his eyes land on Nick’s biceps. He points at the right one accusingly.

“You have strong rugby arms!”

Nick laughs heartily at Charlie’s desperate accusation, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Strong rugby arms?!”

“Yes!” Charlie jabs Nick’s bicep with a finger. “You’ve got an unfair advantage!”

Before Charlie can retract his hand, Nick snatches it and links his fingers with Charlie’s, pulling him close.

“I thought you liked my arms,” he murmurs softly.

Charlie swallows hard, colour rising in his cheeks.

“Shut up,” he replies, but he reaches out with his other hand and wraps his fingers around Nick’s left bicep, giving it a gentle squeeze. Nick flexes the muscle under Charlie's fingers and he swears he hears Charlie purr. 

There’s a clatter of pins and a loud cheer from the next lane, and Nick jumps. He instantly drops Charlie’s hand and takes a step backward. Charlie blinks rapidly, his hand still hanging in the air where Nick’s arm had been, but it falls quickly to his side. There's a look of comprehension and a weak smile on his face and suddenly Nick feels a bit ill.

He knows Charlie understands. Charlie knows Stéphane, and he knows David. He knows it's not safe for Nick’s to be fully out in the world yet. He gets it, and he’s already told Nick he’ll wait until Nick is ready to go public.

But still .

Nick wants so badly to envelop Charlie in his arms and kiss his plush lips. He wants to hold his hand as they walk, wrap an arm around his shoulders as they sit side by side, and smack his adorable arse when he's being sassy. 

But he can't . 

Fuck, what is wrong with him?! He’s driven an hour from home with the specific purpose of being able to enjoy time with his boyfriend, but he’s spent most of the evening with his hands deep in his pockets, forcing himself not to touch Charlie. He’s kept a respectable (one might even say larger than necessary) distance as he watches his boyfriend's long legs gracefully stride across the polished floor of the bowling alley. As Charlie’s slender fingers fit into the holes of the ball with such precision. As his arms reach and stretch before releasing the ball for its journey towards the pins. Nick’s brain has catalogued every minute gesture, every tiny change in Charlie’s expression. He can’t take his eyes off Charlie. He feels like a caged animal, pacing back and forth in an endless Sisyphean loop, unable to overcome the monumental fear of being seen touching his own boyfriend.

He hates it.

Charlie’s giving him a look that Nick has come to recognize as Charlie’s “everything alright?”  face, and he gives him a quick nod.

“Sorry.”

Charlie shakes his head. “Don’t. It’s fine.”

Nick just nods again, his lips pressed together in a tight line. 

It’s not fine. It’s not fine at all.

Charlie claps his hands together and gives Nick a warm smile. “Well, now that you’ve proven yourself to be a bowling prodigy, what say you buy this sad loser a drink?”

The smile on Nick’s face becomes genuine, and he accepts the redirect.

“Well, really, it's the least I can do,” he replies cheekily, and they head off in the direction of the exit, the two inches of space between their shoulders feeling a little less insurmountable.

*************

There’s a pub on the ground floor of the small hotel where Nick’s booked them a room for the evening. It’s still early so the pub is quiet, and Nick and Charlie manage to finagle a quiet booth near the back. They each order a drink - a pint for Nick and a gin and tonic for Charlie - as well as some nibbles. Nick’s fucking ravenous so he orders a sandwich in addition, even as Charlie gives him a look of surprise.

“What? I’m a growing boy,” he tells him with a wink.

The food is decent and the atmosphere of the pub is warm and quaint, so they order another round of drinks as they sit and chat. The booth is semi circular, and they’re seated side by side. With each drink they consume, Nick’s confidence grows and the space between their bodies shrinks smaller and smaller until finally Nick feels Charlie’s thigh pressing up against his. The contact makes Charlie’s eyes light up, and he looks at Nick from beneath his thick lashes, his cheeks rosy from the gin.

“This is nice,” Charlie tells Nick, taking a chip from the rapidly dwindling pile in front of them and popping it in his mouth. “I like this place.”

“Yeah, it’s cute,” Nick agrees. “Although I remember it being a lot louder the last time I was here.”

“Well, you were at a stag do,” Charlie reminds him.

“I was.”

“Whose was it?”

“A friend of mine, Otis. We grew up together. Went to the same school, played rugby together, went to uni together.” Nick takes a sip of his beer, the bubbles dancing on his tongue.

“Sounds like a good friend,” Charlie says, and Nick nods.

“Otis? Yeah, he’s a great guy. And his wife’s quite nice as well. Alice.” He scrunches his nose and thinks. “Fuck, I think they’re actually expecting a baby quite soon. I should give him a call.”

Charlie just nods, his eyes soft and his smile a lopsided crescent moon. Nick stares into those azure pools, drifting on their surface, basking in the glorious feeling of being the sole object of Charlie’s attention.

“I don’t want to talk about Otis,” he finally says firmly, nudging Charlie's knee with his own.

Charlie lets out a soft giggle that sounds like music to Nick. “Okay,” he replies. “What do you want to talk about?”

The alcohol flowing through Nick’s veins has emboldened him, and the familiar fear of being discovered seems to have faded to a dull whisper in the back of his mind. Beneath the table, his hand finds Charlie’s knee. 

Charlie’s eyes widen slightly in surprise at the contact, but he betrays no emotion that anyone farther away than Nick could see. His cheeks do grow slightly pinker, and Nick smiles.

“I’m really glad we’re here,” he says quietly.

Charlie’s long fingers are suddenly wrapping around Nick’s under the tabletop, and giving Nick’s hand a firm squeeze.

“Me, too.” Charlie’s smile is moving towards full-blown and he’s clearly trying to contain it. His teeth are digging into his lower lip as the corners of his lips turn up, his dimples winking at Nick. 

Nick’s heart skips a beat, and he swallows hard. “At the bowling alley, I’m sorry I wasn’t–”

“Nope,” Charlie interrupts, his face suddenly stern. It quickly softens and his fingers caress the skin of Nick’s hand. “Don’t. Just be here. With me.”

Nick’s fingers cling tightly to Charlie’s in the darkness beneath the table. He sucks in a slow, deep breath, attempting to calm his racing heart. Charlie’s right. Why waste time worrying about what happened before, or what will happen later on, when what’s happening right now is so… perfect.

Nick braids their fingers together, his larger hand wrapped tightly around Charlie’s smaller, and he nods.

“I can do that.”

*************

The room Nick has booked for them is up a short flight of stairs, and Nick insists on carrying Charlie’s bag as well as his own, something he almost instantly regrets as he trudges up the stairs behind his spry boyfriend. He is definitely out of shape.

“Come on, old man!” Charlie calls, already up the stairs and down the corridor.

“Oy! I’m only like a year older than you!”

Nick hears the jingle and click of a key in a lock, and he takes the last few stairs at a jog to come around the corner just as Charlie’s opening the door to the room.

As Nick huffs his way to the door, Charlie raises a brow and shakes his head in mock disdain. 

“I’m just not sure you can keep up with me,” he says, blue eyes flashing. 

Nick nearly drops the bags as his knees go weak.

The room is small, but well appointed and clean. There’s no view to speak of, but it’s quaint and comfortable enough for one night. Plus, there's really only one view Nick’s interested in this evening. 

He leaves their bags by the door and follows his boyfriend to the king-sized bed, where Charlie immediately kicks off his shoes and flops down on his back with a satisfied sigh. Nick joins him, immediately climbing on top of him and pressing a long, lingering kiss to his lips.

“Mmmm what was that for?” Charlie asks, one hand reaching up and fiddling with a button on Nick’s shirt.

“I have been dying to kiss you all day,” Nick groans. He leans down and presses his nose into the curve of Charlie’s neck, inhaling deeply as he drags his lips from collarbone to earlobe. Charlie gasps beneath him and Nick chuckles against his skin.

“Well, you’ve got me all to yourself now,” Charlie murmurs, his hands winding in Nick’s hair. “What do you want to do to me?”

🍃🍂🍃🍂🍃🍂🍃🍂🍃🍂🍃🍂🍃

The speed with which the blood leaves Nick’s brain must set a new record, because he finds he’s suddenly dizzy with want. His hands, which have been trapped in his pockets all day, immediately begin exploring Charlie’s chest, slipping under the fabric of his jumper to feel his skin beneath them.

“Oh, god, Charlie,” he growls, his teeth lightly dragging across Charlie's collarbone.

Charlie arches his back and Nick nudges his jumper up, revealing Charlie’s soft belly and the trail of dark hair beneath his navel. Nick’s hands wander up Charlie’s body, pushing the jumper higher and higher until all of his chest is exposed. He leans down and latches his lips onto one nipple as his hands roam Charlie’s olive skin.

“Shit!” Charlie gasps, pulling his arms out of his jumper and shoving it over his head. His hands are back on Nick immediately, fingers winding through his hair and pulling his face towards his where their lips meet, tongues immediately seeking each other out. 

The cage Nick has felt trapped in all day suddenly bursts open and he kisses Charlie with a heat he hadn’t known he was capable of. Charlie starts unbuttoning Nick’s shirt as fast as he can, but Nick’s frantic. He sits up and rips the shirt open, buttons popping and flying off, skittering across the floor.

Charlie’s eyes widen, his mouth dropping open. “ Fuck , that’s really fucking hot, Nick.”

“Never liked that shirt,” Nick says with a shrug before diving down and applying the flat of his tongue to that perfect trail of dark curls that rises out of Charlie’s trousers. Charlie squeaks, the sound turning into a full-throated moan as Nick presses his face against Charlie’s rapidly inflating erection through his trousers.

“These. Off. Now.”

Charlie nods and his hands fly to the button of his jeans, making quick work of shucking them off as fast as he can. There’s really no sexy way to remove socks, so Nick just yanks Charlie’s off and dispenses with them, then leans back to take in the sight below him. Charlie is stretched out, naked and flushed, his lips kiss-bitten and his eyes dark with want.

“Fuck, I can’t believe I get to have you like this,” Nick sighs, his voice husky and low. 

He doffs his own trousers and pants, then climbs back onto the bed, hovering above Charlie.

“Want you so bad,” Charlie murmurs, dragging his fingers up Nick’s bare back and wrapping his legs around Nick’s waist so their cocks brush together. Nick sucks in a sharp breath at the sensation.

“Can I touch you?” he asks, and Charlie nods enthusiastically. Nick leans down and locks their lips together again, one hand wrapping around Charlie’s erection and stroking gently. Charlie moans into his mouth and Nick grips him harder, relishing the sound.

“I brought some…supplies,” Charlie tells him, lifting his head to acknowledge the overnight bag Nick carelessly left several feet away.

“I might have as well,” Nick admits. Charlie giggles but the sound rapidly changes to a gasping moan as Nick strokes his cock. “What? Gotta be prepared.”

With great reluctance Nick leaves the bed and grabs Charlie’s bag, handing it to his boyfriend who quickly rifles through it and procures a handful of condoms and a small bottle of lube. Nick’s eyebrows leap up as he eyes the quantity of condoms, and Charlie just shrugs, a cheeky smile on his lips.

“What? Gotta be prepared!”

With a laugh Nick leaps back onto the bed, fitting his body between Charlie's thighs and grinding against him. He rocks slowly back and forth, their erections brushing past one another and becoming sticky with precum. Charlie’s breath is coming in soft puffs against Nick’s cheek as his nails dig into Nick’s back.

“Oh fuck, Nick, yes… ”

Nick reaches between their bodies and wraps his hand around Charlie's dick again, dragging the pad of his thumb over the head to collect drops of liquid which he massages into the velvet skin. Charlie’s heels dig into his arse and Nick delights in the sensation of Charlie desperately bringing him closer.

“Come here, baby.” Nick lets go of Charlie’s cock and rolls onto his left side, pulling Charlie with him. He leans in to kiss him as he raises Charlie’s left leg on top of his so their hips are flush together. Nick presses his own hips forward and their cocks meet again, the heat and hardness making them both gasp. 

As they grind against one another, Nick’s right hand comes to rest on Charlie’s arse cheek and he strokes the sensitive skin on the underside of Charlie’s bum and thigh. “Grab that lube for me, baby,” he purrs into Charlie’s ear. 

Charlie, his eyes dark and dreamy, nods like a man under a spell and leans back, reaching until he’s able to grasp the little bottle in his fingers and bring it back to Nick. Nick pops the cap open and slowly drips a little onto the fingers of his right hand as Charlie watches, mesmerized. Nick’s cock throbs; there's something about knowing that Charlie wants him that makes Nick so horny he could die.

As he rubs the lube on his fingers, he leans in close, brushing a soft kiss to Charlie’s lips. 

“Can I touch you?”  

Charlie nods. His eyelids are heavy with lust and Nick feels him dig his heel into Nick’s backside, drawing their hips still closer.

Nick lowers his hand to Charlie’s arse cheek once again, his fingers quickly moving to the underside. With Charlie’s leg raised and propped on Nick’s hip, his hole is exposed and Nick gently brings his slick fingers to it, rubbing gentle circles around Charlie’s opening.

“Fuck , Nick…” Charlie’s voice is breathy, the air punctuated with soft huffs of breath as Nick’s fingers circle his hole over and over, gently massaging the muscle until it’s soft and pliant under his touch.

“More?” Nick asks.

“Yes !” Charlie moans, his voice laden with want. His arms are wrapped around Nick’s neck, fingers digging into the back of his shoulders, marking him with half-moon impressions between his freckles. 

Nick presses the tip of his middle finger against Charlie’s hole and feels it yield as Charlie pushes back against it. Charlie gasps and his heel digs into Nick’s arse, their cocks gliding together. Charlie’s leg is like a vice around Nick’s hips, drawing their erections together over and over. Showers of sparks cascade over Nick’s skin each time they meet. 

Charlie is growing increasingly frantic, and Nick meets the movements of his lover’s body with strong pumps of his thick finger, thrusting it in and out as Charlie moans his name.

“Nick…Nick…Nick..”

“Yeah, baby?” Nick nuzzles the side of Charlie’s face, drawing his finger out of his boyfriend so slowly that Charlie keens.

“More…I want…more… please .”

“Of course.” 

Nick immediately slips a second finger in next to the first, and Charlie cries out in pleasure.

“Fuck , Nick, fuck, yes !”

Nick follows the rhythm of Charlie’s thrusting against him. Every time their cocks meet, Nick slides his fingers partway out of his boyfriend, then as Charlie presses back, he pushes inside again. When he crooks his fingers and presses against Charlie’s inner walls, his boyfriend howls with pleasure.

“Ahh…ahh…ahh… ” Charlie’s a gasping, incoherent mess of staccato noises as Nick fucks him with his fingers, building his speed in tandem with Charlie’s movements. His breath is ragged and his leg is shaking where it’s wrapped around Nick. Nick’s breathing hard too, the sights and sounds of Charlie's pleasure nearly driving him to madness.

Charlie’s eyes suddenly fly open and he's staring at Nick, pupils blown. 

“Close,” he manages to whimper. 

Nick nods. “I’ve got you, love.”

He reaches down between their bodies again and wraps his hand around both his and Charlie’s weeping erections. He strokes them in earnest, the slick sound of precum and of his fingers fucking in and out of his boyfriend’s hole drowned out by their collective moans of pleasure. 

Charlie's still staring at him, and in his eyes Nick sees not just wanton desire, but connection. Feeling. Something as strong and as powerful as what he feels when Charlie smiles at him, or holds his hand, or snuggles up in one of his hoodies. Charlie is here with him, completely in this moment, giving himself completely to Nick.

It's everything.

Suddenly Nick’s senses are overwhelmed and he feels heat building in his belly, a maëlstrom that he's powerless to stop. He starts talking to Charlie, every word in his brain spilling out of his mouth as he approaches ecstasy.

“God, Charlie, you're so fucking gorgeous, you're so hot, I can't believe I get to have you like this, you're so fucking sexy, you feel so good, I want you to come for me, look at me, baby, don't stop looking at me–”

“Fuck !” 

Nick’s hand is suddenly hot and wet, and Charlie’s hole is clenching down tight around his finger. His blue eyes widen and roll back before they lock their gaze on Nick, and Nick watches as Charlie’s orgasm washes over him. 

“Nick…Nick… ” Charlie's moaning his name and staring into his eyes as he fucks Nick’s hand and finger and then Nick’s going over the edge as well, his orgasm hitting him like a freight train, his spend mixing with Charlie’s in a cascade that flows over his hand, soaking the bedspread. 

Charlie clings to him tightly, his hips still rocking as he rides out the waves of his orgasm. Eventually his eyes fall closed and the leg hooked around Nick goes slack.

Nick carefully removes his fingers and helps Charlie reposition himself on the bed so he's more comfortable. He hops up to wash his hands and grab a towel, which he lays over the mess they've made on the bedspread. 

Charlie crinkles his nose. “We should have put the towel down first.”

“Bit late now,” Nick replies. “I imagine we're not the first to–”

“Do not finish that sentence,” Charlie demands with a small shudder. “I won’t be able to sleep if you do.”

“Fair.”

Nick manages to remove the bedspread without disturbing Charlie too much, and he tosses it in a heap in one corner where it can be Tomorrow Nick’s problem. 

“Shower?” he suggests.

Charlie perks up almost immediately, and it's all Nick can do not to giggle at his keenness. He reaches out a hand, which Charlie takes, and pulls him to his feet, wrapping him in a tight embrace.

Charlie smiles up at him. “Lead the way.”

🍃🍂🍃🍂🍃🍂🍃🍂🍃🍂🍃🍂🍃

*************

The next morning arrives in a grey cloud overcoat. The light coming in through the obligatory gap in the room's curtains is weak and pale, which only encourages Nick to snuggle deeper under the blankets and closer to his boyfriend’s sleeping form. They’d stayed up late testing the tensile strength of the springs in the mattress and the water pressure in the shower, and Nick is in no hurry to get up and face another day.

Unfortunately room service has other plans.

There's a sharp rap at the door, and Nick leaps to his feet and throws on a robe, making it to the door before the porter can knock again and wake Charlie. He's brought a tray of tea, coffee, and pastries, and Nick thanks him in a whisper, producing a crumpled five-pound note from the pocket of his trousers which are puddled in a heap by the door. The porter pinches it between his fingers with a look of uncertainty, but Nick just shuts the door in his face without another word. 

The loud knocking hasn't roused Charlie from his slumber, but he’s clearly unable to resist the smell of the fresh coffee. He sits straight up in bed like a vampire rising from his coffin, eyes still closed, hair pointing every which way.

“Is that coffee?” Charlie's voice is gravelly from sleep, and Nick chuckles at his zombie-like response to the scent.

“Yep, one sec.”

Nick pours the coffee into one of the china mugs on the tray and hands it to Charlie, who wraps his fingers around it like it's a lifeline. He pries his eyes open, blinking slowly, gaze fixed on the dark liquid, then he downs the entire cup in a single go, sighing with contentment as he swallows. 

He holds the cup out to Nick again. 

“More, please.” His voice is already stronger and the sleepy fog in his blue eyes is clearing.

“Jesus, Char,” Nick replies, somewhat flabbergasted by how quickly Charlie inhaled his coffee. But he acquiesces, refilling the cup once more.

“Hotels always have such stupidly small cups,” Charlie laments as he takes the coffee from Nick and shuffles back down under the covers, his head and shoulders propped up on a pile of fluffy pillows.

Nick’s got himself a cup of tea heavily seasoned with milk and sugar, and he removes his robe and slips back into bed alongside Charlie. 

“Probably something to do with always wanting your coffee to be hot?” he suggests.

The look Charlie gives him is a mix of surprise and fury.

“Well, yes, when you put it that way, it makes sense,” Charlie says begrudgingly. “I still wish they were bigger.”

“Luckily you have me to refill it for you on command.” Nick leans over, giving Charlie a peck on the cheek. Or at least he would have if Charlie hadn't turned his head and met Nick’s lips with his own.

Charlie grins against Nick’s lips. “Lucky me, indeed.”

They spend a leisurely hour curled up in bed sipping their drinks and munching on pastries, talking about everything and nothing. It's bliss. Honestly it's so nice Nick keeps wondering if he should pinch himself, but he resists because if this is a dream, he has no interest in waking up. Also, his subconscious has never come up with anything as wonderful as waking up beside Charlie Spring.

Eventually Charlie excuses himself to the loo, and Nick takes the opportunity to fully stretch out across the expansive bed. He gazes up at the ceiling and sucks a deep breath into his lungs, sinking further into the pillows as he lets it out. He feels…light. Calm. Content in a way that he hasn’t felt in such a long time that it almost feels foreign. But his heart remembers what it feels like to feel safe in someone’s company. There haven’t been many people in his life who have made Nick feel safe: his mum, Imogen, his friend Tara in primary school…and now, Charlie. With Charlie, Nick can fully be himself, and Nick finds that he really likes the self he is when he’s with Charlie.

The door to the washroom opens and Charlie hops back into bed with Nick, his face freshly washed and his breath smelling of toothpaste. Nick wraps his arms around him immediately, nuzzling his face into the dip of Charlie’s collarbone.

“Missed you,” he murmurs.

Charlie laughs. “I was only gone for like, three minutes.”

“Three minutes too many,” Nick insists, and he begins kissing a trail from Charlie’s jawline to his collarbone and back again, revelling in the salty flavour of Charlie’s flesh and the little growly sounds Charlie makes.

“Don’t wanna leave,” Nick sighs against Charlie’s throat.

Charlie runs his hand through Nick’s hair, leaning his head back and exposing more of his throat to Nick’s ministrations.

“Me neither,” he moans softly, tightening his grip on Nick’s strands. “But the checkout says eleven and it’s already ten-thirty.”

Nick’s head shoots up. “Is it really?”

Charlie nods sadly, and Nick huffs out a disappointed sigh, his head dropping to Charlie’s chest.

“I really wanted to have a little more fun,” he grumbles, sliding a hand across Charlie’s belly and down to the crease where it meets his thigh. He strokes the soft skin and the patch of hair that grows there, his fingers close but never touching Charlie’s rapidly hardening cock, and Charlie groans and wriggles beneath his hand.

“Me too.” Charlie’s voice is a low moan, and he lifts his hips and shifts them towards Nick’s touch in a clear gesture of consent. Nick wraps his hand around Charlie’s erection and Charlie bites down on his lip to suppress a groan of pleasure. Nick continues to stroke him lazily, drawing drops of precum out of his tip and spreading it over his length as Charlie pulls his blonde locks and huffs out soft breaths of delight.

“Nick…” Charlie’s voice is tight, and Nick lifts his head to look him in the eye.

“Hm?”

“We should probably stop.”

It’s fucking heartbreaking for Nick to even consider stopping at this point when Charlie’s so hard and wet in his hand. He could probably suck him off in a matter of seconds, but the expression on Charlie’s face is a clear signal, so he pulls his hand back, laying it on Charlie’s soft tummy instead. He rests his head on Charlie's chest, listening to the rapid beat of his heart as it slows and focusing on taking deep breaths to help defuse his own situation .

“Sorry,” Charlie says softly a moment later. “I just…we don't really have time to do all the things I want to do to you.”

All of Nick’s deep breathing goes out the window as his dick springs to attention once more.

But Charlie just plants a kiss on the top of Nick’s head and wriggles out of bed. He reaches into his overnight bag and retrieves a pair of black jeans and grey pants, and starts to dress.

“Charlie! Come on!” Nick wails from the bed, laughing at his predicament. “You can't just say stuff like that!”

Charlie turns his head to Nick and winks, giving him a devilish grin.

“I think I just did.”

Nick groans and throws himself back on the pillows, palming his erection to at least get a tiny bit of relief. He wags a finger at Charlie.

“You just wait ‘til we get home,” he says, but Charlie just laughs as he pulls Nick’s jumper over his head.

“Don't threaten me with a good time.”

They giggle and banter their way through packing up, and as they leave the room Nick heaps the soiled duvet on the bed along with £20 and a note that says “SORRY!” He figures it's the least they can do. 

They're only ten minutes late checking out once all is said and done, and as they leave the inn Nick hoists his own bag over one shoulder and picks Charlie's up in his free hand.

“My big strong man,” Charlie says quietly, eyeing Nick’s arms and licking his lips. “Can't wait to give those arms a workout later.”

It’s so hot that Nick nearly trips over the curb.

They're standing side by side loading the bags into the boot of Nick’s car when Nick hears a familiar voice, and his entire body stiffens.

“Nick? Nick Nelson?”

Suddenly all the warmth the past twenty-four hours has sparked in Nick’s body is snuffed out, and his blood turns to ice. Charlie's staring at him, blue eyes wide in panic. Nick squeezes his eyes shut and presses his lips together hard.

He knows that voice. And there's no use pretending not to hear it.

He opens his eyes and gives Charlie what he hopes is a reassuring smile, but his heart is hammering inside his chest so hard he thinks it must be visible through his shirt. He turns around slowly, a huge, fake smile plastered on his face.

“Sai Verma! How are you mate?”

A tall South Asian man has approached them, waving cheerily at Nick. He's dressed in a teal polo shirt and khakis, and he's got more grey around the temples than Nick remembers, but he's still wearing the same horn-rimmed glasses he's had since year ten. 

He throws his arms around Nick and they give each other the customary “bro hug” back pat.

“It's so good to see you, man!” Sai effuses. “It's been ages! Where have you been keeping yourself?”

“Oh, you know,” Nick shrugs, his hand gravitating to the hair at the back of his neck. “Still doing my LPC, working too much.”

“Still at your dad’s firm?” Sai asks, and Nick nods.

“For now.”

“Well, if the money's good, right?” Sai elbows Nick’s ribs gently and Nick grimaces, but nods in agreement for simplicity's sake.

“And how’s Imogen?”

Nick’s throat tightens.

“Uh, she's good, yeah. We’re…uh, not together anymore.”

Sai’s face falls. “Oh, shit, sorry mate. I just assumed–”

“S’alright,” Nick cuts him off. “She's doing better now.”

Sai’s got an uncomfortable look on his face and Nick cringes internally for making Sai feel embarrassed when he's the actual fuck-up.

“Well, I guess you have more time to go out with the lads then, eh?” Sai suggests with a knowing grin that sets Nick’s teeth on edge. “Nothing like getting over one girl by getting under another! You’ve never had any trouble on that front!”

Nick smiles and laughs. Maybe if he just nods along with everything Sai says, this interaction will be over faster and he can get back to–

It's right then that he remembers Charlie.

Fuck.

Nick turns to his boyfriend, his mouth opening to introduce him to Sai, but the expression on Charlie's face stops his words before they start. It's only there for a moment before it disappears under a mask of polite British manners, but Nick saw it clear as day.

Charlie had looked at Nick like he was a complete stranger.

Sai has also suddenly noticed Charlie, and he extends his hand.

“Sorry, mate, I was so surprised to see ol’ Nicky here, I forgot my manners. Sai Verma.”

Charlie shakes his hand with a courteous but restrained smile.

“Charlie Spring.”

“Sai and I were roommates in uni,” Nick barks out, his voice too loud. “Um, and we sort of grew up together.”

“Yep, we were rowdy and troublesome youths together,” Sai chuckles, throwing an arm around Nick’s shoulders. Nick forces a smile but Sai’s arm feels like a noose tightening around his throat.

There's a pause, and Nick realises that Sai is waiting for Nick to explain how he knows Charlie. Nick’s heart is racing. Everything feels like it's going in fast-forward while his brain’s stuck in molasses. He can't tell Sai the truth, but he can't lie either.

“Charlie’s…um…we work together,” Nick manages to tell Sai. It's not a lie, not really. But it's not the truth either, and even as the words leave his lips, Nick knows he’s fucked up.

“Oh, right on,” Sai gives Charlie a knowing smile. “So you’re well acquainted with this slag, then!”

Charlie’s polite expression never falters. “We only just started working together recently,” he says coolly.

“Well, I can tell you from experience that you're in for loads of fun with this guy on your team!” Sai gives Nick a firm pat on the chest. “I wing-manned for him all through uni and I never went home alone, if you catch my drift.” He gives Charlie a wink, and Nick prays for the ground to open up and swallow him. “I’ve got loads of stories whenever you wanna hear them.”

Charlie just nods. “I’m sure you do.”

Nick can taste bile in his mouth. He can't take his eyes off whoever this version of Charlie is, because the Charlie that's standing before him bears no resemblance to his boyfriend. This man’s blue eyes are flat, his smile tight, and his attention trained on Sai.

And he doesn't glance over at Nick once.

Sai finally lets go of Nick and Nick takes a small step away, trying to get closer to Charlie, but Charlie just takes a step back towards the passenger door of Nick’s car, out of Nick’s reach.

“I should be going,” Sai tells them. “Got a tee time up the road in an hour, just stopped in for a pint.” Suddenly it seems to occur to Sai that Nick and Charlie are leaving the inn with bags in hand, and he gives Nick a quizzical look. “What brought you two up here, anyway?”

Fucking fuck.

Nick glances at Charlie again, but Charlie is just staring at him expectantly. He's not going to help Nick untangle himself from this trap of his own design.

“Uh, a colleague is getting married,” Nick replies. “Stag do. Just giving Charlie a ride home.”

Charlie doesn't even blink.

“Right on!” Sai claps Nick on the back. “Remember when Otis had his here? Bet you had a headache the next day, I’ve never seen someone do so many shots!”

“Well, good seeing you, Sai.” Nick’s exhausted and humiliated and he needs this moment to end before he actually passes out.

“Yeah, same, mate!” Sai says with a warm smile. “Don’t be a stranger, eh? I’m not attached at the mo’, maybe we can hit a club sometime, see who we meet.” He looks back at Charlie. “Feel free to tag along, Charlie.”

Nick had thought this fucking conversation couldn't possibly get worse, but Sai’s managed to say the absolute number one wrong thing to Charlie. Nick can see Charlie’s shoulders stiffen, and he feels sick.

But he says nothing.

“Thanks,” Charlie says to Sai. The chill in his voice makes Nick want to cry.

With a quick wave, Sai ambles off in the direction of the pub, and Nick and Charlie get into the car. 

For a long moment, they sit in silence. Nick can feel the tension radiating off his boyfriend. Charlie’s spine is straight and rigid, his gaze on some point outside the windscreen. He's got his hands in his lap, the right picking absently at the cuticles of his left. 

Nick is wracking his brain for something, anything, that he can say to make things better after that colossal fucking nightmare of an encounter.

“Charlie…I…”

Charlie shakes his head but doesn't look at him. “It's fine.”

“It isn't fine,” Nick insists, and then Charlie whirls on him, fire in his eyes.

“No, Nick, it bloody well isn't fine!” Nick jumps at the anger in Charlie’s voice. It's trembling with fury but his words are clear. “I get not wanting to come out. I get not wanting to make a big public thing of our… relationship .” Charlie says the word haltingly as though he doesn't want to say it at all. Then he sighs deeply, his voice dropping. “I guess I just wasn't prepared to hear you actually deny it.”

Nick’s skin flames as shame licks up his spine and wraps itself around him. 

“Charlie, I’m so sorry.”

Charlie shakes his head again, his narrow shoulders curling inward. 

“I know you are,” he says. “And I know I have no right to be upset. I knew what this was. I didn't expect you to introduce me to him as your…boyfriend…or whatever.” He sighs again, his blue eyes glassy. “But when the people in your life think I’m just some work buddy…” He shrugs. “I just didn't realise that it would feel like this .” He barks out a harsh laugh and a single tear slides down his cheek. “And then to be invited out on the pull with you and your mates?” He laughs sadly and swipes at his eyes with the cuff of his jumper.

Nick’s jumper.

Nick wants to put his fist through the window. He wants to smash the windscreen and tear out the car’s upholstery. He’s fucking furious with himself for his behaviour, and he’s furious with Sai for putting him in the position of having to deny who Charlie is. 

Who he is. 

“I didn't know what to say,” Nick tells Charlie. “I didn't want to lie. Sai just…I couldn't tell him. Not like this. He’d tell Otis and our other friends, and word would definitely get back to David…”

Charlie’s nodding along, his blue eyes clouded with pain.

“Sure. I understand.”

Nick throws his head back against the headrest and stares angrily at the roof of the car, his hands clenched in tight fists. They just had the best fucking night and this is how it's going to end?

“I don't know what to say, Charlie. I’m trying. I want to be with you. I don't want to hide like this.” He turns to his boyfriend, his eyes pleading. “I had the best time with you, Charlie. The bowling, the dinner, spending the night…” He reaches for Charlie's hand and wraps his around it. “I like you so much, Charlie. Please, don't let this ruin everything.”

But Charlie's hand is limp in his. He gives Nick a weak smile, and honestly it's worse than if he'd slapped him. Nick’s heart sinks.

Once again, he's completely fucked everything up.

“We should go home.” Charlie pulls his hand free of Nick’s and leans up against the passenger door, his curls crushed up against the glass. 

And there's nothing more to say.

So, Nick starts the car, shifts into gear, and heads for the highway. 

The drive passes in near silence. As they approach London, Nick turns his face to Charlie.

“Do you want to come back to mine? We could order pizza and watch a movie?”

Charlie just shakes his head, continuing to stare out the window.

“I think I should probably just go home,” he says. “I’ve got a lot of stuff to get done this weekend.”

“Sure.”

Nick pulls up to Charlie's flat and gets out of the car to retrieve his bag from the boot. Charlie takes it from him, and they stand on the kerb staring at each other. The space between their bodies feels cavernous. Nick desperately wants to reach for Charlie, to pull him into an embrace, to bury his face in Charlie’s curls and beg his forgiveness.

But he can't.

He can’t.

“Can I call you later?” is the best Nick can muster. Charlie smiles a thin smile.

“Sure.”

And then he's gone, through the door into his flat, and Nick’s left standing on the sidewalk alone.

Chapter Text

Chapter 11

NICK: Hey Charlie ❤️

NICK: I want to give you space but I also really want to talk to you and apologize again for everything with Sai

NICK: Can you let me know if you want to talk? Just send me a message when you’re ready. I’ll be here.

NICK: And maybe just send me an emoji when you get this so I know you’re okay.

CHARLIE: 👍🏼

Nick’s flat feels completely empty. 

Nellie’s still with Imogen - Nick had anticipated Charlie staying the night, so he isn’t picking her up until tomorrow - and the only sounds in the house are his soft footfalls as he paces and the ticking of the clock above the hob. The weather outside is grey and drizzly, as if nature is punishing him for being such an absolute wanker.

Nick honestly wouldn’t blame Charlie if he never texts back; if he never calls Nick again; if he quits his job at Fournier & Associates and changes his name and skips town and disappears from the face of the earth just to avoid running into Nick again. He’d be well within his rights after what had transpired this morning.

Nick never could have predicted Sai showing up, or the absolute deluge of information about Nick’s slag years that Sai vomited all over Charlie, but god, he could have said something. Told Sai to stop, explained he wasn’t like that anymore, explained that Charlie was…that he was…

It hits Nick like a rock to the head and he closes his eyes, wincing against the pain of the realisation.

He could have said Charlie was a friend.

A colleague! 

What the absolute fuck, Nelson?!

Nick glumly unpacks his overnight bag, including the box of condoms and travel lube he’d bought special, jamming them into his nightstand with a grumble. He showers and puts on clean joggers, then heads downstairs to the kitchen. He’s immediately confronted by the three bottles of wine he had purchased in anticipation of his and Charlie’s weekend together: they’re standing side by side on his countertop, their seals still unbroken, like some sort of pathetic monument to Nick’s failure. He shoves them in a dark cupboard, then makes himself some toast and tea before moving to the lounge and burying himself in blankets on the sofa. The rain isn’t getting worse, but it isn’t letting up either, just carrying on the way grey, rainy London days do, and it’s making his mood even worse than it already is. He tries watching telly, but even Prue’s accidental donut innuendos can’t seem to lift his spirits.

Just before dinnertime, Nick’s phone rings. He snatches it up off the table and nearly drops it when he sees Charlie’s photo flash across the screen.

“Charlie?”

“Hi.”

Charlie’s voice is soft and tentative, but the relief of hearing it at all unclenches something in Nick’s chest.

“I wasn’t sure you’d call.”

He hears Charlie huff down the line. “Of course I’m calling, Nick. Did you really think I wouldn’t?”

Nick doesn’t know what to say. “I mean…”

He can actually hear Charlie rolling his eyes. “I’m just getting in an Uber and heading to yours. Can we order pizza or something and talk about this morning?”

Nick’s chest lifts and air floods into his lungs, allowing him to breathe for the first time in hours.

“Yeah, yeah of course. See you soon.”

Charlie’s on his doorstep in minutes, and he doesn’t even have time to knock properly before Nick’s got the door flung wide. When he locks eyes with Charlie, all Nick wants to do is wrap his arms around him, hold him close, and whisper apologies into his curls. 

But Charlie still looks a bit leery, so Nick forces his arms to stay at his sides.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Charlie gives Nick a small smile. Even that little crumb of affection makes Nick feel miles better.

“Come on in, you’re getting soaked.”

Charlie pulls off his trainers and Nick hangs up his damp coat, an uncertain energy vibrating between their bodies.

“Can I hug you?” Nick blurts out, unable to stop the words before they escape. “Sorry, I mean…if you want. I really would like to hug you, but only if you–”

Charlie’s smile grows a little. “Yeah. Please.”

And then Nick’s got Charlie in his arms, pressed tightly against his chest, his damp curls tickling Nick’s nose as he lays his head on Charlie’s shoulder. Charlie wraps his arms around Nick’s middle and sighs against his chest, and all is right with the world.

Whatever has fractured, Nick feels sure they can fix it.

Nick inhales the scent of Charlie’s freshly washed skin at the curve of his neck. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be this close to Charlie again, and he sinks deeply in the moment, tears of gratitude collecting in the corners of his eyes. He can feel Charlie’s fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt at his lower back, and as Nick inhales deeply again, Charlie’s fingers tighten and he releases a shaky breath. The realisation that Charlie missed Nick just as much as Nick missed him nearly shatters his brain. 

“Are you okay?” Nick asks, lifting his head to examine Charlie’s face. Charlie’s eyes are red and watery, and he huffs softly, shrugging his shoulders.

“I mean, no. Not really. But, yes. I’m okay.”

“Are…are we okay?”

Charlie is chewing on his lower lip, and he glances down at the floor. Nick waits, his heart in his mouth, until Charlie looks back up at him.

“Yeah,” Charlie breathes. “I think so.”

Nick nearly faints from relief.

“But,” Charlie adds, “I think we have some things to…work out.”

“Sure,” Nick agrees. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

Charlie leans into him, his tight embrace telling Nick all he needs to know.

While Charlie orders a pizza, Nick retrieves one of the bottles of wine he’d banished to the cupboard and opens it, a feeling of relief sweeping over him as he pops the cork and pours two glasses. Charlie sits down at Nick’s kitchen table and, after a moment's hesitation, Nick takes the chair beside him. He passes a glass to Charlie, who takes it with a grateful smile.

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” Nick replies. There's an awkward pause; Nick’s unsure how to proceed. He holds his glass out tentatively to Charlie. Charlie’s left eyebrow lifts for a moment before a look of understanding crosses his face. He gives Nick a crooked grin, clinking their glasses together before they each take a drink.

“Is this okay?” Nick asks nervously. He’s not precisely sure which ‘this’ he means: the wine, his proximity to Charlie, the fact that Charlie’s in Nick’s house.

Charlie’s smile is tentative but warm. “Of course it is.” 

Charlie’s words undo some of the knots Nick’s twisted himself into since running into Sai. It's clear that Charlie still wants to be here; wants to be with Nick. But that doesn't mean Nick can just forget about the way he acted this morning. He owes Charlie a proper apology. He takes a gulp of his wine to steel his nerves, then sets his glass down, one hand lingering around the stem like a mooring line.

“Charlie, I’m so sorry for this morning.”

“I know,” Charlie replies.

“I should have been honest with Sai about you. Or at least told him you were a friend. Not a fucking colleague.” The word is coloured with disdain, and Charlie chuckles morosely. 

“Yeah, that was…not great.”

“Not my best moment,” Nick agrees. He turns fully to Charlie, locking eyes with him. “Thank you. For coming over. For talking about this with me.”

Charlie frowns. “You don't have to thank me, Nick.”

“I do, though,” Nick insists. “No one could have blamed you for telling me to fuck off and never calling me again.”

Charlie looks aghast. “I wouldn’t do that, Nick.”

“I would have understood,” Nick says softly. 

And he would have, too. It would have broken Nick’s heart in a way he’d never recover from, but he would have understood. It wouldn't have been the first time he’d fucked up badly enough that he’d been abandoned.

Charlie lays his hand over Nick’s, guiding it away from the wine glass stem and weaving their fingers together.

“Nick.”

Nick looks up and meets Charlie’s eyes, warm blue seas that show no trace of the darkness he saw there this morning; that even now are welcoming him in.

“When we got together, I knew you weren't ready to come out. And you still aren't. And I know that. I didn't expect you to say, ‘Oh, Sai! This is my boyfriend, Charlie! By the way, I’m bisexual!’ in the middle of a car park.”

Nick can't help but huff out a small laugh.

“I mean…fair enough. But still…”

“Yeah, you could have said ‘friend’,” Charlie agrees. “But you panicked.” Charlie pauses, his lips curving downward. “And it's not like I did anything to help. I just stood there.”

“Don't do that,” Nick argues. “It isn’t your job to rescue me.”

“Maybe not,” Charlie concedes. “But I was so startled, and I felt so…” His brow crinkles as he searches for the word. “I felt like just by being there, I was putting you in a really precarious, maybe even dangerous, position. And I saw you freaking out and trying to find a way to explain me without outing yourself and…” He sighs heavily. “I just wanted to disappear.”

Nick’s heart aches for Charlie. The entire interaction with Sai had been a disaster of epic proportions, but even when Nick was literally denying Charlie’s importance in his life, Charlie was worried about Nick. He leans over and wraps Charlie in an embrace. Charlie quickly scoots closer and Nick hauls him into his lap, burying his face in Charlie’s curls.

“I’m sorry,” Charlie whispers, but Nick shakes his head.

“Nope. No s-word. You are literally the best thing that's ever happened to me.” Charlie's arms tighten around him, and Nick’s throat constricts, tears once again brewing behind his eyelids.

As they hold each other tightly in the peaceful quiet of Nick’s kitchen, the rift between them begins to knit itself back together. 

*************

After pizza and some more wine, Nick and Charlie retire to the lounge. Charlie’s sitting between Nick’s thighs, leaning back against Nick’s chest, their feet tangled together. Nick’s got his arms wrapped loosely around Charlie’s middle, his clasped hands resting on Charlie’s tummy, rising and falling on the tide of Charlie’s breath. The rain continues to softly pelt the windowpanes, making Nick’s sitting room feel like an entirely private sanctum for just the two of them. Somewhere the outside world can't penetrate. A place where Nick’s past and future choices don't seem so loaded. 

After the frigid drive back from the hotel and the long afternoon alone, Nick savours this quiet, cosy moment where he and Charlie can just exist together, safe and sound. 

He brings a hand up to Charlie’s hair, twisting a curl around one finger.

“I really like your hair.”

“Really? I hadn't noticed!” Charlie snarks, tilting his head back and peering up at Nick.

Nick tightens his arm around Charlie, sinking his other hand into Charlie’s hair as his boyfriend squeals and thrashes.

“You are so cheeky!” Nick teases.

Charlie’s laughing and trying to wrench his head out of Nick’s reach, but he can't quite do it.

“Stop it, you're going to mess it up!” 

“Aww, I’m sorry.” Nick removes his hand and cups Charlie’s chin instead, searching his blue eyes for consent. Charlie’s cheekbones flush and he nods, so Nick dips his head down and presses a soft kiss to his lips. 

It's the first time they've kissed since the whole Sai debacle, and it's magic. Charlie twists his torso to bring his face closer to Nick’s, laying a hand up to Nick’s cheek, and the last of the lingering tension in Nick’s shoulders ebbs away. He sends a silent thank you out into the universe, to whoever is listening, that despite his bumbling, Charlie’s still here. Still his.

When the kiss breaks, Charlie once again lies back against Nick’s chest, and Nick sighs contentedly.

“I am so fucking happy that you're still here, Charlie,” he whispers, his lips brushing Charlie’s ear.

Charlie glances up and gives him a saucy grin.

“You’re my boyfriend, Nick. I’m not going to throw you over just because you used to be the world’s biggest slag.”

Boyfriend.

The word still triggers the same effervescence in Nick’s chest as it did the very first time Charlie said it, and he finds he’s a bit overwhelmed. 

Charlie still wants to be his boyfriend. Even after he fucked up. 

He swallows hard, pressing down the urge to break into relieved sobs.

“I wasn't sure you’d still want to be my boyfriend,” he says, his voice tight with emotion. “After everything.”

Charlie sits up and shifts his position, tucking one leg under himself so he can face Nick more directly.

“Have I told you about my ex?”

The sudden transition is a bit of a surprise, and Nick blinks. “No, I don't think so.”

“But I’ve told you about being outed in secondary, and the bullying and all?”

“Yeah, you did.” 

That conversation has a permanent place of honour in Nick’s memory: he and Charlie were sitting in the conference room, looking out the windows at the city below. He was post-panic attack, and Charlie had told him the story of how he came to accept himself. The story that almost made Nick blurt out his feelings for Charlie right then and there. 

Charlie leans forward and picks up his glass of wine from the coffee table. 

“So, you know secondary was pretty awful for me,” Charlie says, and Nick nods. “But when I got to university, it was like I had a chance to reinvent myself. To start again, fresh, as myself, with people who didn't know me. I joined the on-campus queer society, and went to a bunch of their events. And at one of those events, I met Ben.”

As he speaks, Charlie's eyes remain focused on the glass in his hands. He swirls the remaining wine around the bowl, staring contemplatively at the dark liquid as it drips down the sides and pools again.

“Ben was a commerce and economics major, a year ahead of me. He was handsome, and funny, and charming, and at first, I couldn't believe he was interested in me. He bought me a few drinks and we exchanged numbers. I honestly didn't think he was ever going to call me. But he did.” The corner of Charlie's mouth ticks up in a sad sort of semi-smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes. “And we started hanging out, spending a lot of time at each other's flats. Eventually we were together more often than not, usually just the two of us watching movies or playing video games or studying, or…” he trails off.

Nick swallows hard, his cheeks going a bit pink. Probably the wine. “Right.”

“Anyway,” Charlie continues. “About six months into all of this, my friends, who had been up my arse for ages trying to figure out who I’d been spending all my time with, demanded to meet him. So, I decided I’d plan a dinner thing for my birthday at this queer pub we all liked, and they could meet him there.” 

A crease forms between Charlie’s brows, and his fingers tighten around the stem of his glass, knuckles going pale.

“But when I told Ben about it, he was furious. He told me it wasn't that he didn't want to meet my friends, but couldn't I see things were really good the way they were, just us two? And wouldn't it be more romantic to have a private birthday celebration on our own at home?”

The word ‘romantic’ comes out a bit like 'disgusting’. Charlie’s voice has taken on a disheartened colour that makes Nick’s heart clench in his chest.

“And what could I do? I loved him.” Charlie huffs out a disgruntled breath, his normally sweet smile rueful. “Or I thought I did, anyway. So, I canceled my birthday plans with my friends, and stayed in with Ben instead.”

Tension coils in Nick’s belly like a serpent as Charlie pauses to take a sip of his wine. What kind of arsehole would make someone miss his own birthday?

Charlie swallows and releases a deep breath. “And that was how it went,” he explains. “For three years. For three years, we never went out with my friends, or with his.” He laughs mirthlessly at this. “I actually never even met any of his friends. He would go out with them on his own, but I was never invited.” Charlie huffs out another sardonic laugh. “He told me it would be boring for me because they were all into business and financial stuff, and I wouldn't have anything in common with them. And for three years, I just went along with it. Because I loved him, and I thought he loved me.”

Charlie shakes his head, his curls swaying gently. He’s staring at his hands, the fingers of one picking at the cuticles of the other. Nick fingers itch to reach out and slot between Charlie’s. He wants so badly to draw Charlie close and wipe away this awful memory from his mind with tender kisses. But this is a part of who Charlie is, and as painful as it may be for Nick to hear it, it's important, so he digs his fingers into his palms and waits.

“But one night when we were together at my place, we ran out of wine, and decided to pop round the shops to get some. And that was where we ran into a friend of Ben’s. This guy, Wes. I guess they were former roommates and rowed together.”

Charlie lets out a heavy sigh. His voice is soft and low when he speaks again. 

“And then Ben introduced me to Wes as his ‘mate’.”

A hard, heavy knot forms in Nick’s stomach.

“And then, Wes said something about Ben’s girlfriend.”

The knot tightens, and Nick’s jaw drops. “Oh my god.”

Charlie nods, his lower lip pinched between his teeth. 

“Turns out Ben had an on-again-off-again relationship with a girl back in his home town. And no one knew that he was gay. Or bi or pan or however he self-identified.” Another dry laugh. “He certainly didn't identify as someone in a three-year relationship with a man.”

Charlie takes another slug of his wine. 

“When we got home, I confronted Ben and demanded to know where I fit into his life. He basically told me he couldn't come out because his dad would disinherit him, but he loved me and couldn't things just stay as they were? And suddenly, every time he'd refused to come out with my friends, the fact that I’d never been invited out with his friends, every holiday when he wouldn’t come home with me, or meet my family when they visited…suddenly it all came into focus. I was his dirty little secret.”

It's at this moment that Charlie finally looks up at Nick. It's been a long time since either Nick or Charlie was in uni, but the heartbreak in his blue eyes still seems fresh.

“And this morning? When you told Sai I was your colleague? I felt exactly like I did that day all over again.”

The chasm of shame that lives in Nick’s chest cracks open wider and he can feel it threatening to swallow him. He can barely hold Charlie’s gaze. His mouth has gone dry, and he has to fight to get the words out without breaking down.

“Charlie…I’m so sorry.”

“I know you are.” Charlie releases his stranglehold on his glass and slips a  hand into Nick’s. Nick grasps it tightly, immensely grateful for the connection. “And I know you aren't Ben, and you aren't messing me around. I know that what we have is different. But I don't ever want to be anyone's secret again, Nick.”

Nick nods furiously, and he swipes at his eyes, the tears he’s been holding back all evening breaking free.

Charlie will wait for Nick to come out.

But he will not be hidden.

And Nick understands completely.

Nick leans in and rests his head on Charlie’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around Charlie’s slender waist.

“I don't want you to be a secret, Charlie.”

“I believe you.” Charlie's hand is in Nick’s hair, gently stroking the back of his head. “I know that this isn't the same at all. I trust you, Nick.”

Nick squeezes Charlie tight against him. Charlie’s forgiven him. Beautiful, wonderful Charlie is going to give him another chance.

But Nick knows forgiveness isn't a blank cheque to go right back to the same behaviour that caused the problem in the first place. Sarah Nelson has always told her son that forgiveness is a contract, and it requires changed behaviour. 

Nick will never understand why the universe has given him the gift of Charlie, because he certainly doesn't deserve him. Not by a country mile. He needs to do better. If he wants Charlie in his life - if he wants Charlie to be his boyfriend - Nick has to start taking steps toward being a couple in public.

The thought absolutely terrifies him. But what terrifies him more is a life without Charlie.

*************

It turns out that open, honest, vulnerable discussions are a major aphrodisiac.

Their cuddle slowly turns into soft, tender kisses, and within moments Charlie has climbed into Nick’s lap. His legs are wrapped tightly around Nick’s waist and he’s riding Nick’s thighs as Nick sinks his fingers into Charlie’s backside.

Eventually they have to come up for air.

“Um, do you want to…?” Nick cocks his head towards the stairs, but Charlie tenses.

“Nick, I do, I just…like I said before...”

A knowing smile forms on Nick’s lips.

“I remember,” he says, letting go of Charlie’s bum and encircling his waist with his arms. “And I have a surprise for you.”

Charlie looks perplexed. “A surprise?”

Nick nods. “We agreed that doing anything in my old bed was a non-starter.”

“We did.”

“So I bought a new one.”

Charlie’s mouth drops open. “You…what?”

Nick repeats himself, this time emphasising each word. “I. Bought. A. New. Bed.”

Charlie is incredulous. “You didn't need to do that!”

“Charlie.” Nick draws Charlie closer. “Imogen and I are done. We're both moving on. There's no sense in me hanging on to anything that–” He pauses, searching for the right words. “–holds me back, I guess.” He gives Charlie a soft shrug, and his cheeks go pink as he smiles. “That bed was a piece of my past. You're my future.”

“Oh my god you absolute sap!” Charlie smacks Nick’s chest gently, but the dimples piercing his cheeks give his joy away. Nick takes Charlie’s hands in his, lifting them to his lips to press a kiss to his knuckles.

“Charlie, I want to be with you. It’s gonna take some time to like, go public, but I don't want you to doubt how I feel about you.”

Charlie’s blue eyes are misty, and there's a soft flush high on his cheekbones. Nick can’t get over how every time he looks at Charlie, he's even more beautiful than Nick remembered.

“Anyway,” Nick continues. “There's no pressure to do anything tonight. Or ever, if you really don't feel comfortable here. I just needed to…shift the energy in the house, I guess.”

Charlie considers this for a moment, toying with Nick’s fingers as he does.

“Do you…want to maybe bring some new energy… into your bedroom?” he asks slowly. He looks up at Nick through his dark lashes, and Nick’s head spins as all of the blood in his brain travels…somewhere else.

His voice comes out a bit squeakier than usual. “Um, yeah. Yes. Yes, I would.”

Charlie’s lips curl up in a mischievous grin.

*************

Nick chases Charlie up the stairs and down the hall, giddy as a(n incredibly horny) schoolboy. When they cross the threshold into the bedroom, Charlie’s blue eyes fix on the brand new king-sized bed and he nods approvingly.

“Nice.”

“Thank you!” Nick replies. “I haven't had much of a chance to get used to it yet, but I think it will do nicely.”

Charlie casually strolls into the room, glancing around him as he moves toward the bed. The room’s a bit empty at the moment, the walls all but bare save for a painting of a pastoral landscape – a field of lavender under a cloudless sky – that Nick has always felt drawn to. There's a photo of Nick’s mum on the bureau, Nellie and Henry at her side. Charlie spots it immediately and picks up the frame.

“My mum,” Nick tells him. “And her dog, Henry. He's insane. And you know Nellie.”

Charlie nods, smiling at the photo. “You look like her.”

Guilt claws at Nick’s insides, because it's true. He and his mum are so much alike. He misses her terribly.

“But as lovely as your mum and those gorgeous dogs are…” Charlie opens the top bureau drawer and deposits the framed photo inside, then slides the drawer shut. “I don't think she wants to be around for what’s about to happen.”

Nick’s eyes widen, and he’s suddenly warm all over.

“Yeah? What’s about to happen?” he asks, his voice breathy.

Charlie takes a seat on the edge of Nick’s bed, his eyes hooded.

“Why don't you come over here and find out?”

It’s all Nick can do not to launch himself onto the bed with the full force of his six-foot-one frame. Charlie lays back and settles himself on the pillows, his long limbs stretched out like a cat in the sun. Nick’s on top of him immediately, hands and lips roving Charlie’s body with enthusiasm.

“It's very comfy,” Charlie murmurs as Nick trails kisses down his throat.

“Good.” Nick’s already sliding his hand under Charlie’s shirt and shoving it upwards, making patterns on Charlie’s belly with his lips. “I want you to be comfortable while I take you apart.”

🍃🍂🍃🍂🍃🍂🍃🍂🍃🍂🍃🍂🍃

The sound Charlie makes at that is unholy, and it sends ripples down Nick’s body directly to his cock.

“Shirt. Off,” he demands. 

Charlie sits up and whips his jumper off, exposing the expanse of olive skin and dusting of hair that Nick’s been craving. He immediately lunges forward, taking one of Charlie’s dark nipples into his mouth and the other between his fingers; Charlie gasps, then groans so loudly Nick’s shocked the walls don’t shake.

“Oh, fuck, Nick, yes!”

Their erections brush together through their clothes as Nick devours Charlie’s nipple, his fingers giving the other light twists and teases. Between the friction and Charlie’s sounds, Nick’s afraid he’s going to come right then and there. He removes his lips from Charlie’s chest, pushing him down on the bed as his tongue follows the trail of hair that descends from Charlie’s navel. He has to stop and redirect his focus momentarily to wrestle with the fly of Charlie’s jeans. He’s getting good at getting Charlie’s trousers off, a feat he’s rather proud of as they're incredibly tight. Not that he’s complaining.

Nick flings the black jeans across the room, then yanks Charlie’s pants down and sinks his mouth onto Charlie’s cock until it hits the back of his throat.

“FUCK!” Charlie’s back arches off the bed, his abs contracting as he shudders with pleasure, and Nick catches his eye, giving him a wink.

“You’re a fucking menace, Nelson,” Charlie gasps as he collapses backward, his cock still buried in Nick’s mouth.

Nick just shrugs and continues to bob up and down, his tongue swirling around Charlie’s head, his hands gripping the insides of Charlie’s thighs. Charlie is writhing and panting, gasping Nick’s name as he thrusts into his mouth. Nick’s in heaven.

“Fuck, Nick, I can’t–” Charlie cries out, and Nick doubles down, bringing one finger to gently stroke the soft bud of Charlie’s hole.

“SHIT, OH MY GOD, NICK!” 

Instantly, Charlie is coming hard, spilling into Nick’s waiting mouth. Nick continues to gently stroke Charlie’s cock with his tongue as Charlie spasms and moans, his hands buried in Nick’s hair, swallowing everything Charlie gives him with abandon.

As Charlie comes back to earth, Nick reluctantly lifts his mouth from his softening dick and smiles up at him.

“That okay?” he says teasingly, and Charlie laughs so hard the bed shakes.

“Yeah, that was okay,” he replies, his breathing still ragged.

Nick crawls up to lie beside Charlie, dropping his head on the pillow with a satisfied smile.

“I really, really like sucking you off,” he murmurs, running a hand over Charlie’s abdomen.

“And I really, really like when you suck me off,” Charlie giggles. He turns his head to face Nick. His cheeks are flushed a deep scarlet, and his pupils are large and dark, black holes framed by a ring of blue. His lips are full and plump and Nick can’t resist pressing up on one elbow to kiss him long and deep. Charlie threads a hand through Nick’s hair as their tongues meet, and Nick shudders with the sensation. He’s so hard it’s nearly painful, and he ruts up against Charlie’s thigh, seeking any friction he can get.

Charlie’s lips curl up in a smile.

“Someone’s eager,” he teases. Nick grabs Charlie’s hip and uses it for leverage to grind his erection firmly against the outside of Charlie’s thigh, releasing a guttural groan as he does.

“I would really like to fuck you,” Nick growls, pressing is lips to Charlie’s jaw where it meets his throat.

“Oh my god, yes please,” Charlie moans. “Just give me two minutes, okay?”

“Of course.”

After another long, languid kiss, Charlie excuses himself to the loo. Nick flops back on the bed, smiling up at the ceiling with a mixture of gratitude and relief. He feels like someone has lifted a cement block off of his chest. He can hear Charlie whistling to himself in the bathroom over the sound of the sink, and his smile stretches wider still. That’s his boyfriend in there. And he’s happy. The hellscape of this morning feels light years away, and he sends yet another silent message of gratitude out into the universe for giving him another chance to be better.

Nick hears the water in the bathroom stop running and quickly strips off his clothes. He dives for the nightstand, retrieving the condoms and lube he’d bought for their weekend together, a little thrill coursing through him as he does. His dick throbs with excitement as he leans back on the bed, and he has to palm himself a little to take some of the pressure off. It feels so good…Nick leans back, closes his eyes, and lets himself sink into the sensation of his hand wrapped around his cock, imagining that it’s Charlie’s instead…

When Charlie re-enters the bedroom, his eyes widen and a smirk stretches his lips.

“All set, are we?” he teases.

Nick’s eyes pop open and he feels his cheeks and ears turning red. 

“Well, you can hardly blame a guy,” he argues. “Look at you!”

Charlie climbs back onto the bed and sits astride Nick’s thighs.

“Look at you,” he purrs, his eyes roving Nick’s body like a lion examining a particularly choice piece of meat. Nick could swear his mouth is watering. He flexes his chest and arm muscles, and Charlie’s eyes grow wider.

“Cheeky,” Charlie laughs, grabbing Nick’s erection in one hand and giving it a hard squeeze.

“Ohhhhhh fuck,” Nick gasps, sucking air in through his teeth. “I need you, Char.”

Charlie leans down, teasing the head of Nick’s dripping cock with his fingers as he does, and their mouths connect in a heated kiss. They’re forced to keep breaking apart and reconnecting as Charlie swipes his thumb over Nick’s glans. Each pass makes Nick gasp and arch his back, but Charlie just keeps pushing him back down on the bed with his free hand. The sensation is too much but not enough for Nick, who’s basically ready to burst at this point, and Charlie holding him still while he teases Nick’s cock is making his head spin.

After a few moments of this delicious torture, Charlie lets Nick’s cock go with one last squeeze. His lips descend to Nick’s throat as his hands run across the planes of Nick’s chest, pinching his nipples as he goes. Somehow through the thick fog of his arousal, Nick manages to reach out a hand and locate the bottle of lube. As he does, Charlie lifts his head and grins.

“Finger me?” The breath from Charlie’s lips is  a warm caress that shrouds Nick’s brain in a thick, intoxicating fog. All Nick can manage to do is make an unintelligible noise of consent. 

Charlie climbs off his thighs and lays down on the bed beside him. Nick immediately resettles himself between Charlie’s legs – his favourite place to be – and starts kissing up the insides of his thighs. The skin there is soft and pale, untouched by the sun, and Nick’s lips climb upward inch by inch, each kiss bringing him closer to his desired destination. He presses Charlie’s thighs open and down onto the bed as far as they will allow, and gets a glimpse of the puckered muscle that marks Charlie’s entrance. Now it’s Nick’s turn to drool. He pauses, squirting some lube on his fingers and warming it for a moment. Charlie’s wriggling on the bed making desperate, keening noises, but Nick pushes his hips down.

“It’s coming, babe. Don’t worry.”

Nick lowers his head and sucks a soft bruise into Charlie’s inner thigh, ready to give Charlie what he so desperately wants. As soon as he makes contact with Charlie’s hole, Charlie’s body nearly leaps off the bed, an animalistic moan pouring from his throat. Nick’s cock throbs at the sound, and he shakes his head, making soft, gentle circles around Charlie’s hole.

“Fuck, Charlie, you are so hot.”

He massages Charlie’s hole gently, feeling the muscles tense and relax as Charlie spreads his thighs open further, gasping at Nick for more. Nick’s fingers echo Charlie’s movements, gently prodding and massaging, working Charlie open slowly.

“Oh, god Nick, I need more,” Charlie hisses. Nick presses into Charlie with one finger and preens internally as Charlie’s head rolls back on the pillows.

“Ohhhhh, fuuuuuck.”

The vocalisations and the way Charlie’s face twists in pleasure are driving Nick crazy. He’s only got one finger in Charlie but he’s not sure how long he can hold off. He shuffles onto his knees and, without removing his finger, raises Charlie’s hips off the bed by draping Charlie’s leg over his shoulder. The new angle not only allows Nick to really enjoy every detail of Charlie's expressions, it also allows him better access to fuck Charlie open with his fingers. Nick presses in a second finger as he hoists Charlie’s leg up and Charlie keens, his hole opening wider to accept Nick.

“More,” Charlie gasps, his blue eyes wild. Nick scissors his fingers and Charlie throws his head back, gasping. In moments Nick’s got three fingers inside him, and Charlie is sweating and huffing out soft noises of pleasure with each thrust. When Nick curls his fingers and searches out Charlie’s prostate, rubbing it gently, Charlie’s eyes fly open and his cock jumps.

“Fuck, yes, yes, oh fuck please…”

“Please what, darling?” Nick asks, his voice husky. He grazes Charlie’s prostate again and Charlie cries out.

“Oh my god, I need you inside me, fuck me, please, Nick!”

Nick gives Charlie a warm, confident smile, but internally he’s rejoicing that Charlie is ready, because he’s not sure how much more of this he can stand. His body feels like a high-tension spring, and he’s desperate to get inside Charlie before he goes off. He’s been working on his stamina, but when faced with the sight of Charlie writhing beneath him, there’s only so much he can do to hold off.

Nick withdraws his fingers, placing several tender kisses along Charlie’s calf as he does, then lowers Charlie’s leg and excuses himself to the loo to wash his hands. In moments he’s resumed his place on the bed, bringing Charlie’s leg over his shoulder again as he guides his condom-sheathed cock towards Charlie’s waiting entrance. He eases into Charlie slowly, giving him time to adjust to the stretch, even though Nick’s entire body is screaming with the urge to just drive him into the mattress. Nick breathes deeply, mentally rhyming off every rugby stat he can recall as he focuses on slowing his heart rate. 

He follows Charlie’s lead, responding to his cues, pressing forward and easing off as needed. All the while he watches Charlie’s face, mesmerised by the flush that extends down his long neck, the flutter of his eyelashes as his eyes roll back, the soft “o” of his mouth falling open in a silent gasp. His eyes memorise every detail of his boyfriend’s face while his ears record every whimper of pleasure, every gasp, every shuddery exhale. All of it for Nick. All of it because of Nick.

In hardly any time at all, Charlie’s encouraging Nick to move. With Charlie’s leg raised, Nick’s able to get so close, to fuck him so deep. Every time he withdraws, Charlie gasps, and when he pushes back in, Charlie moans. The symphony of Charlie’s sounds and the sight of his boyfriend’s curls bouncing, his fingers clawing the bedsheets for purchase as Nick fucks him are dizzying and they're combining with the tight, hot sensation of Charlie all around him to propel Nick towards the edge. He leans down to kiss Charlie, but the new angle presses his cock even deeper and their lips barely brush together as they both groan in ecstasy.

Charlie’s breath is ragged and hot against Nick’s cheek. His mouth hangs open, soft ah-ah-ahs pouring from it in a staccato rhythm that matches the pace of Nick’s thrusts. His eyes fly open, the blue almost erased by the blackness of his pupils, and Nick’s heart jumps.

“Touch me,” Charlie begs, and Nick is only too happy to oblige. He wraps a hand around Charlie’s cock, the head dripping precome all over his fingers, and he strokes Charlie to the rhythm of their hips colliding. It’s so fucking hot, and Nick can tell he’s not going to be able to hang on much longer.

“Charlie…Charlie, I–”

“Fuck!” Before Nick can even get the words out, Charlie’s clamping down all around him, coming hard in Nick’s hand. That's more than enough to send Nick careening over the edge into his own orgasm. 

“Oh, fuck, oh Charlie!”

Charlie’s got a hand in Nick’s hair, whispering in his ear as Nick shudders against him, breathing hard. Nick can barely make out the words as his brain goes offline…“yes…baby…so good…love when you fuck me…”

When he's able to open his eyes again, the first thing he sees is Charlie’s face. He’s wearing a positively fucked-out smile, and his blue eyes are fixed on Nick with such fondness it makes Nick’s heart skip a beat.

Sex with Charlie is without a doubt the best sex Nick has ever had, but it's more than that.

It’s the most loved Nick has ever felt.

🍃🍂🍃🍂🍃🍂🍃🍂🍃🍂🍃🍂🍃

*************

As Charlie snores softly in the darkness of Nick’s bedroom, Nick stares up at the ceiling. He can't get their earlier conversation out of his mind. Hearing about Charlie’s experience with his ex was really upsetting, and it’s clear that the damage Ben (the wanker) inflicted still affects Charlie today. Charlie’s already suffered at the hands of one partner who wouldn't come out for him. He deserves to be with a man who is comfortable in his own identity, and who's proud to be seen with Charlie on his arm.

Nick glances over at Charlie’s sleeping form, his eyes following the gentle curve of Charlie’s spine. His dark curls are spread across the pillow in a way that Nick knows will give him ridiculously adorable bedhead in the morning. He’s so beautiful, so peaceful, and Nick…

He hesitates, because the word is so loaded, but he knows it's there, simmering beneath the surface. “Like” doesn't touch how he feels about Charlie. The feelings Nick has are so powerful that they scare him sometimes. His mind conjures up the way Charlie looked at him after their lovemaking: that incredibly fond, caring expression that made Nick feel so safe.

So loved.

He wants to be worthy of Charlie’s love. He wants to make Charlie happy.

But Nick isn't a confident, out, queer man. He isn't even a confident, in, queer man. While Charlie was finding community with other queer people at uni, Nick was desperately struggling to maintain a mask of heterosexuality that no one would question. Charlie owned his identity, while Nick ran from his.

He never went to gay club nights with his friends. Sure, he's been to gay bars, but usually just as a means to an end. Almost all of Nick’s gay bar experiences have been limited to anonymous hands and mouths fumbling in the darkness of toilet stalls or back alleys. He's never stuck around long enough to dance, or to risk being identified.

Nick’s never danced with another man. He's never been on a date with another man, except for last night with Charlie, and that barely counts. He's never been part of an LGBTQ club or society, he’s never been to a Pride parade. He doesn’t even own a rainbow pin.

Nick lets out a frustrated sigh and rolls onto his side, snuggling up close behind Charlie. Charlie stirs, letting out a tiny little huff of indignation at being disturbed before settling back into sleep. Nick grins and gently lays his arm across Charlie’s waist.

He really is perfect.

There’s no point torturing himself in the middle of the night, not when Charlie is here warming his bed. So Nick closes his eyes and does his best to enjoy the moment.

Be here. With me.

Even if it’s just for tonight, even if it doesn’t last, Nick’s going to soak up every moment with Charlie.

*************

It’s late on Sunday morning when Nick wakes up. Sun is streaming through the window and casting warm rays on the duvet. He and Charlie are still tucked cosily into bed, and the added warmth of the sunshine certainly doesn’t inspire Nick to leave.

But, nature is calling.

He slips quietly out of bed to the loo and takes care of business, washing his face and brushing his teeth quickly. When he looks back into the bedroom, Charlie is still asleep, so he goes downstairs and makes himself a cup of tea. 

While it’s steeping, he takes out the brand new French press and a bag of expensive coffee grinds he’d purchased in the hope that Charlie might stay over. He reads the instructions carefully, boils the water and lets the coffee soak for the indicated amount of time (yes, he uses a timer. This is for Charlie.). When the timer dings, he pushes the plunger down and watches as the coffee grinds swirl in the swell of the water. It’s a pretty cool little device. Nick wonders whether it would work for tea.

Coffee and tea in hand, Nick carefully ascends the stairs back to the bedroom. The second he crosses the threshold, Charlie rolls over, eyes still closed, and extends a hand.

“I smell coffee.”

Nick chuckles. “You’re like a drug addict.” He passes Charlie the mug, and Charlie heaves himself onto one elbow so he can drink it without spilling it all over the bed. Nick watches as the colour rises in Charlie’s cheek with every sip, like he’s been plugged in and he’s coming back to life.

After he’s had a good few mouthfuls, Charlie looks up at Nick. Nick was right: his bedhead is epic.

“This is fabulous,” Charlie tells him, a note of surprise in his voice.

“Only the best for you,” Nick says teasingly, sliding back into bed next to him. Charlie scoots to sit up properly, leaning against the headboard so their shoulders are touching.

“Well, it’s much appreciated.” 

He gives Nick a dazzling smile and Nick swoons a little. He’s had dreams about this moment: about waking up with Charlie in his bed; about lazy Sunday mornings sipping coffee and reading the paper and chatting about nothing in particular. He glances over, surreptitiously watching Charlie savour his beverage. Charlie’s eyes are half-closed and he has a soft smile on his plush lips, and Nick thinks he’s never been this happy in his life.

“Char?”

“Mmm?”

“I was thinking about…about what you said last night. About how you reinvented yourself at uni.”

Charlie lowers his mug from his lips and turns to Nick. “Oh?”

Nick sets his nearly empty mug down on the nightstand and leans his head back against the headboard. “I was just thinking about all the things I missed out on because I was pretending so hard to be straight. Sometimes…” he trails off, the words stuck in his throat. 

Charlie reaches out and weaves his fingers in with Nick’s, anchoring him in the room. Nick looks down at their intertwined hands, the way Charlie’s fingers fit so neatly between his, like they were made to lock together.

“Sometimes,” he continues, his voice a little stronger. “Sometimes I think I don’t actually know who I am.”

Charlie squeezes his hand tightly, but says nothing, instead giving Nick time and space to process his own thoughts.

“You said when you went away to uni, you sort of…changed yourself?”

“I don’t know if I’d say ‘changed’,” Charlie replies. “More like I leaned into who I really was. The person I wanted to be.”

Nick’s eyes light up. “Right. Yes. How…how did you do that?”

“Well, I joined the LGBTQ society. They had social events and stuff. Movie nights, club nights. That sort of thing. I met a few friends there and they sort of took me around Leeds and introduced me to the scene.”

“The scene?”

Charlie gives him a look. “Gay bars.”

“Oh.” Nick feels his cheeks flame.

Charlie boops the tip of Nick’s nose with his index finger. “My sweet little baby bi.”

Nick opens his mouth to nip Charlie’s finger, but Charlie yanks his hand back and bursts into giggles.

“Cheeky,” Nick chastises him, but there’s no heat to it. He slides down the headboard until he’s resting back on the pillows and gestures for Charlie to join him. Charlie places his now drained mug on the floor beside the bed and snuggles into his side, laying his head on Nick’s chest with a satisfied sigh. They lie together in silence for a few moments, Nick’s hand absently twirling Charlie’s curls as Charlie’s exhalations ruffle his chest hair.

“What was it like?” Nick’s voice is soft in the silence of the room, and Charlie lifts his head.

“What was what like?”

“Going out. To gay bars. With friends.”

“It was good," Charlie replies. "Fun. I love dancing, always have. Elle is a year older than me, so she knew all the good clubs. We’d get dressed up, usually in something slutty–”

“Yum,” Nick interjects, the arm around Charlie tightening.

Charlie giggles softly. “I’m not going to say I didn’t look fantastic in my early 20s, all done up for a night out.”

“I can only imagine.”

Charlie’s scanning Nick’s face, and something flickers in his eyes - pity? Sadness? - but it’s gone before Nick can name it.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” Charlie asks, and Nick shrugs and releases a resigned sigh. 

“I don’t know. Sometimes I just feel sad for all the things I missed out on by pretending to be straight.” He pauses, correcting himself. “That I’m still missing out on.”

Charlie frowns. “You know there's no age limit on those experiences, right?”

“I dunno,” Nick sighs. “I think it’s probably a bit late for me.”

Charlie grasps Nick’s chin between his thumb and forefinger and turns his head so Nick is looking him in the eyes.

“Nick. It is never too late to discover who you really are.”

Nick leans down and kisses Charlie softly. As the kiss breaks, Charlie examines Nick’s face. Nick does his best to look serene and untroubled, but he can tell Charlie’s not totally buying it. He doesn’t press it, however, instead laying his head back on Nick’s chest, one hand resting on Nick’s tummy. It’s funny, Nick was always embarrassed about his little paunch until Charlie came along. Somehow he’s made it into one of Nick’s favourite parts of himself.

There’s a beat of silence, then Charlie’s head snaps up, his eyes sparkling.

“Nick! Let’s go out!”

Nick frowns, confused. “Where? Like, for breakfast?”

“No! To a club!”

Nick’s throat constricts as the room wobbles for a moment.

“Like…like a gay club?”

“Yes!” Charlie’s sitting up, an eager smile on his face. “Let me take you out! We can dress up and go dancing and make out on the dance floor – it'll be like we’re kids again! Oh my god, it will be so fun!”

Nick’s stomach lurches as his body goes into full panic mode. Going out to a club? A gay club? With Charlie? In public?!

“I mean…it sounds…” 

Charlie immediately clocks his reaction and backpedals. “Oh! Oh, not here, Nick! Not in London!” He reaches for Nick’s hand again and Nick grabs it like a lifeline. “I meant like, out of town. Somewhere you don’t know anyone. So you can just relax and enjoy yourself. Be yourself.”

With Charlie’s hand in his Nick finds he’s able to breathe again, and he contemplates the idea. The thought of going to a gay club and actually spending an evening drinking and dancing with his boyfriend without fear seems like an unreachable fantasy; something Nick would be better off filing away with his other unfulfilled dreams. 

But Charlie’s looking at him with such hope and excitement, and Nick starts to wonder if maybe, maybe, it’s possible. Maybe he could do it. Spend time in community with other queer people. Let loose. Figure out who he really is underneath the mask he’s worn for thirty years.

“Okay.”

Nick’s voice is unsteady, but he nods, and he can’t suppress the excited smile forming on his lips.

“Okay. Let’s do it.”

Charlie whoops with delight and launches himself into Nick’s arms. They fall into the pillows in a tangle of arms and legs and Charlie kisses Nick long and deep.

Nick’s heart beats fast in his chest with a mixture of terror and excitement. This is a step towards being himself. A step toward being the kind of man Charlie deserves. And with Charlie beside him, he thinks can do it. 

He knows he can.

Charlie holds Nick’s face in his hands, grinning maniacally.

“You are going to look so fucking hot when I’m done with you.”