Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Prologue

End of May 2024

Charlie stares at the screen, reading the email again, for what feels like the millionth time, just to make sure he’s not dreaming.

“Dear Mr Spring,

In light of your outstanding achievements and excellent academic record, and following your admission to the University of Oxford, the Rowing Foundation is delighted to inform you that you have been selected to receive a scholarship in support of both your academic studies and your rowing pursuits.

This scholarship will cover the full cost of your tuition and college accommodation for a period of three years, in one of the colleges on the attached list, on the condition that you join the university rowing team and maintain a high level of excellence both athletically and academically. A review will be conducted at the end of each term to confirm the continuation of the funding.

Should you choose to accept this scholarship, please click on the link below to complete all the required forms and submit the necessary supporting documents by 30 June 2024 .”

He's going to Oxford. He's starting at Oxford next term. He's officially been accepted, and even better now, he can  actually go!

“Charlie, stop staring at the screen,” Isaac interrupts, leaning against the doorframe. “The message hasn’t changed since last week, and it’s not going to, dear.”

“Fuck, I know, Isaac,” Charlie replies, eyes still locked on the screen. “I just… I still can’t believe it. After everything that’s happened these past few years… This is just… unexpected.”

“Unexpected? Seriously?” Isaac walks in and drops onto the bed beside him, throwing an arm around Charlie’s shoulders. “Of course the fact that you poured yourself into your studies and  happen to be an insanely overachieving rower makes this scholarship totally unexpected .”

Charlie lets out a breath that’s half laugh, half sigh.

Isaac softens. “Listen. I know you’ve been through hell. But this isn’t unexpected, Charlie. This is you surviving. This is you fighting your way back and finally getting what you damn well deserve.”

Charlie leans into him, resting his head on Isaac’s shoulder, still staring at the glowing screen as if it might vanish.

“I know… but it still feels unreal. Like, I’ve wanted this for so long. And now that it’s here, it’s like… I’m finally free, you know?”

“Oh, I know,” Isaac murmurs, resting his cheek against Charlie’s hair, and for a while, they sit there in silence, grounded in stillness and each other.

Calling Charlie’s past few years “rough” is a euphemism. Isaac had been right to call it hell, because he knows. He’d walked every step of that road with Charlie.

Charlie couldn’t say exactly when it all began. There was no single moment, no clear breaking point, just a slow, creeping unraveling. His mother’s voice, sharp with control disguised as concern. Her constant scrutiny, her fixation on the tiniest details of his life. His father, silent in the background, always present but never truly there, never once standing up for him.

And then, school. The boys on the rugby team, always watching, always ready with a smirk or a whisper. Too skinny, too soft, too gay, the words clung to him like a second skin. Every day, he walked through a world that seemed to shrink him, bit by bit. He never fought back. He just... tried to vanish.

At first, it was small things. Skipping meals. Telling himself he wasn’t hungry. Then, needing to control it. Needing to earn every bite. The hunger made him feel powerful. Empty, but in control. It was the only part of his life he could hold onto.

Eventually, the emptiness spread.

He stopped feeling. Insensibility as a shield, a way to block out his mother’s relentless tirades, the looks in the hallway, the voice in his own head. He tried to chase sensation in other places, in fleeting hookups with boys who saw him as nothing more than a body. He told himself he wanted it. That maybe this was love, or something close, but it wasn’t. It was just another way to disappear.

And when even that stopped working, when he couldn’t feel joy, or connection, or anything but the ache of being alive, he turned to pain. The sharpness, it was something. Proof he still existed.

Without Isaac, and his siblings Tori and Olly, he probably wouldn’t be here. Isaac had been his constant; walking beside him at school, checking in every morning, making sure he ate something, anything. He was the one who rallied older students to step in, to silence the bullies. And it worked, eventually, gradually to fully stop at the start of the spring term in Year 11. But by the time the bullying stopped, Charlie had already sunk too deep.

Tori and Olly had done their best, too, threading a delicate line between loyalty and survival. They weren’t treated like Charlie was, but they never turned their backs on him. They spoke up when they could. Held space when words failed.

Recently, therapy helped Charlie name things he’d spent years trying to silence. He understood his mother struggled with severe obsessive-compulsive disorder. Her anxiety had found its target in him, her most sensitive child, the one in whom she saw too much of herself. And his father? He had simply retreated, emotionally numb, unable, or unwilling to challenge his wife’s suffocating control.

Everything fell apart in one night, half way through the Autumn term of Year 12… That night, Charlie cut too deep. He doesn’t remember much, just the cold of the bathroom tiles, the sound of Tori’s voice calling his name and Olly crying.

Tori had called the ambulance. She’d saved his life.

What followed was a blur: the hospital, the white walls, the questions he wasn’t ready to answer. Tori, Isaac, the doctors and Youssef, Charlie’s rowing coach, begged him to accept hospitalization and get a chance to recover and start fresh. And that’s what he did.

Slowly, carefully, he began to breathe again. To exist in the world without shrinking from it. He was diagnosed with OCD and anorexia. He met professionals, who didn’t look at him with fear or judgment, but with understanding. Four months passed, he was now strong enough to leave, but not to go back home.

That’s when Isaac and his mum stepped in.

They offered him something he hadn’t had in a long time: safety and stability. A chance to recover on his own terms.

He finished school from their house, studying remotely, far from his traumas in the classrooms. He saw Tori and Olly whenever he could. And he saw his parents once a month, under the watchful eye of his therapist, Geoff, and a social worker.

Sixth Form wasn’t just about recovery. It was about learning how to live again, slowly and deliberately. He had structure and care… And rowing.

Rowing had been part of Charlie’s life for years now, though it hadn’t started with passion. If he was being honest, he’d first joined the club mostly to earn extra points for his Oxford application. He needed something to tick the “extracurricular” box, and while he loved running, he had no desire to join a cross-country team. Running was his sanctuary, his own way to breathe, his way to ground himself. He didn’t want to turn it into something competitive, something with expectations.

His PE teacher had been the one to suggest rowing. With Charlie’s lithe but strong build, he thought he might be a natural. He connected him with a friend’s club, Truham Rowing Club, and that was how Charlie met Youssef.

From the beginning, Youssef saw something in him. Not just physical potential, but quiet determination, a kind of raw focus. He didn’t just teach Charlie how to row, he taught him how to trust his body. How to believe he had strength in him. Very quickly, their coach-athlete relationship became a lifeline. The club became a refuge.

Rowing offered Charlie something nothing else did. When he rowed, he didn’t think. He simply was . Movement took over, his muscles burning, his breath syncing with the rhythm of the oars, the boat slicing cleanly through the water. It was exhausting, yes, but also relaxing. The simplicity of effort and progression soothed something deep inside him.

Over the years, he improved steadily, quietly. He became one of the best solo rowers in the club. He liked the solitude and the control. Working in a team was harder, mainly the fact of having to trust the others, but Youssef insisted he learn every position, even the cox position.

At first, Charlie resisted. He couldn’t see himself giving orders, setting the pace. But Youssef explained it differently: a cox wasn’t a commander, but a guide. The voice that held the team together. The one who saw the whole picture. And Charlie, with his compact frame and keen awareness, turned out to be surprisingly good at it.

By his final year, he was rowing almost every day, mostly solo, but once or twice a week in a crew. He even began to enjoy being a cox now and then, discovering how grounding it could be to lead from within.

Even when things got rough, when he hit his lowest point and missed practice after practice because not even rowing could help him anymore, Youssef never gave up on him. He didn’t push, he just stayed close. He asked Charlie to come to the club, if only to show his face. He gave him small tasks, things he could manage. Quiet ways to stay connected, to remind him he still belonged.

After being discharged from the hospital, getting back rowing gave Charlie a healthy way to channel his need for control. It allowed him to push his body, not to punish it, but to honour it. It gave him some kind of direction, a purpose.

Rowing had been a part of his recovery.

Now, it was the key to something even bigger: his path to Oxford.

It was Youssef who first brought up the idea of applying for a scholarship from the Rowing Foundation.

When Charlie told him he’d been admitted to Oxford, but probably wouldn’t go, because his parents refused to support him financially, Youssef had gone quiet for a moment.

Then he simply said, “Don’t give up on your dream. That’s not what I taught you.”

But Charlie couldn’t see a way through. His parents offered nothing beyond the mandatory allowance they were required to send to Isaac’s mum for housing him. He wasn’t in capacity to work enough to meet the fees for Oxford either. No matter how much he longed for, Oxford felt like something he could see but never reach.

A few days later, Youssef came back with a printed application form, already half-completed. He handed it over and explained that the Rowing Foundation offered financial assistance to young athletes, usually to support their training. But in rare cases, when someone truly exceptional came along, they could offer something more.

Youssef had already written his recommendation. He had already spoken to the right people. Now, it was Charlie’s turn to finish the application.

And now here he was. Because of the people who had refused to let him give up, Isaac, Tori, Olly, Youssef. People who saw something in him, even when he couldn’t.

He was going to Oxford. He was going to row for them.

And the best part? Isaac had been admitted too.

Chapter Text

Year 1 - 2024/2025

By August, Charlie and Isaac had officially started their first year at Lady Margaret Hall (LMH). When it came time to choose a college during applications, Charlie had initially vetoed LMH outright, the name conjured up Margaret Thatcher in his mind, and he couldn’t imagine spending three years in a place that sounded like a stuffy, ancient matron. It felt like a curse of eternal cockblocking.

And Charlie, who was in a better place now, in his mind and his body, was genuinely hoping to enjoy the full university experience. And by full, he means full monty !

Isaac, ever the pragmatic ace, wasn’t afflicted by Charlie’s chaotic and horny brain spirals. With his usual calm logic, he’d made a solid case: LMH was not only affordable but also promoted progressive values, like diversity, openness, intellectual curiosity, and pioneering spirit. Being one of the older colleges, it had a reputation for academic excellence and forward thinking. Charlie had, of course, looked to the website multiple times, and, as usual, Isaac had been right. Name aside, LMH was clearly the best choice for both of them.

Now here they were, settling into their rooms. Julian, the student warden assigned to their hall, had just finished showing them around the facilities. He’d mentioned they’d be sharing with a third fresher. They were halfway through unpacking in their rooms when Tao arrived.

To help manage his OCD, Charlie had done a lot of research about student accommodations at LMH. He’d even found a few short YouTube videos introducing LMH’s housing options. Watching them made the idea of moving in a little less daunting, and he had to admit, his room layout looked almost identical to Laura’s, the girl featured in one of the videos.

With the support of Geoff and his social worker, Charlie had been able to make a few special requests to help him settle in: sharing the least space as possible, maintaining a bit of privacy, and staying close to Isaac. That’s how they ended up in one of the smallest corridors on site, just six en-suite rooms, divided into two clusters of three.

Charlie was relieved he only had to share a mini-corridor with Isaac and Tao. The shared kitchen, however, was still a big hurdle. Cooking and eating around others could be overwhelming. But six people were better than eight, and he knew he could rely on Isaac to help navigate that part.

Tao made his entrance by dropping one of the boxes he was carrying.

“Oh shit! Of course it had to be this  one,” muttered the tall Asian boy in a beanie, trying to hold the mini-corridor door open with one elbow, still balancing a box in his arms while nudging the fallen one with his foot.

The noise drew Charlie and Isaac out of their rooms.

“Oh, hi!” said Tao, slightly breathless. “The guy in charge of the hall said you’d already moved in, but I didn’t realise you were actually here , sorry about the crash landing.” He gave a vague wave, careful not to drop the second box. “I’m Tao, by the way.”

Isaac stepped forward to hold the door open properly. “Nice to meet you. I’m Isaac, and that’s Charlie over there.”

Charlie gave a small wave.

Tao raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you two already know each other?”

“Yeah,” said Charlie. “We’ve been friends since Year 5. We… we got in together, and, well… I’ve been through a rough patch recently, so I asked to be housed close to Isaac. So, yeah. Here we are.”

“Oh, nice!” Tao grinned. “Hope I won’t be a bother or anything.”

“Not at all,” Isaac replied, then pointed to a poster peeking out of one of Tao’s boxes on the floor. “Hey Charlie, look! Tao’s a Radiohead fan, just like you.”

“Oh, that?” Tao laughed. “That’s leftover from my Romeo + Juliet era. You know, the Baz Luhrmann movie from the 90s? One of his best, honestly. It makes me cry almost every time. Radiohead’s on the soundtrack, and I kind of fell for them. But I’m more of a movie nerd than a music geek, really. I’m studying film and humanities.”

Isaac smiled. “Charlie and I are doing Classics. I’m a full-on bookworm, and Charlie here is the music lover, and also a rower.”

Tao set his box down and raised an eyebrow again, this time with a flicker of theatrical distaste. “Rower, as in the poshest-most-exclusive-elitist  sport ever?”

Charlie let out a short laugh half amused, half offended. “More like the-sport-that-saved-my-life-keeps-my-head-clear-and-incidentally-got-me-into-Oxford, actually.”

Tao’s expression softened instantly. “Sorry, I don't have the best track record with sports guys.”

Charlie chuckled for real this time. “Oh, same here. Believe me.”

Tao’s eyes sparkled. “Well then. Looks like we’re officially a trio of borderline outcasts.”

Charlie smiled and picked up one of the fallen boxes. “Here, let us help.”

From that first conversation, the friendship between Charlie, Isaac, and Tao blossomed, and within a month, the three of them had become practically inseparable.

The three roommates made it through Fresher’s Week without much trouble, apart from the occasional hangover and some questionable late-night takeaway choices. It was a whirlwind of discovery, a chance to dip their toes into everything Oxford had to offer.

Tao quickly gravitated toward the Cine-Club. Sure, their movie taste left a lot to be desired: someone had seriously claimed Love Actually  was a “masterpiece of modern cinema”! What’s next? Marvel producing visionary movies?! But no worries, he had a plan to elevate the collective IQ , as he put it. Charlie couldn’t wait to see it in action!

Isaac, unsurprisingly, found a job shelving books at the LMH library and joined a Jane Austen book club where, to no one’s surprise, he was already low-key revered.

Charlie, ever the high achiever, got involved with the rowing club, picked up shifts at one of the campus cafés, and managed to book a few weekly slots in LMH’s music room to blow off steam on the drums. So far, so good.

The other three students on their corridor turned out to be friendly and respectful, and to Charlie’s relief, sharing a kitchen wasn’t nearly as hard as he’d feared. After he and Isaac gently explained a few things about Charlie’s OCD and what made communal living manageable for him, everyone seemed happy to help make the space work for everyone. That kindness, simple, quiet, unforced, meant more to Charlie than he could say.

Bit by bit, a routine began to form, one that worked for him. He joined both the Oxford University Men’s Boat Club (OUMBC) as a cox and the Oxford University Men’s Lightweight Rowing Club (OUMLRC) as a solo rower. It meant his free time was mostly filled with training sessions, early morning rows, and late-night cool-downs, not to mention the three runs a week he did to keep his head clear. He also made time for the occasional pub night with Tao and Isaac, because balance was part of the plan too.

Going back to class after his hiatus was… scary. The anonymity of lectures helped, but smaller workshops and seminars still felt like navigating a minefield. He often felt under the microscope, like people could see the cracks he worked so hard to seal. But he kept showing up. And every time he did, it got a little easier.

The pressure he put on himself was intense, too intense according to Isaac, but Charlie couldn’t help it. He knew his scholarship was the only reason he was there, and he was determined not to let it slip away. He worked hard, rowed harder, and tried to make space for joy when he could. He still had a weekly Zoom session with Geoff to help him to deal with all this.

Slowly, day by day, things got better. Oxford, or at least LMH, turned out to be warmer, gentler than he’d feared. The people were mostly kind. And for the first time in a long while, Charlie felt something that almost resembled peace. September was in full swing, and he was finally starting to feel like he belonged, not just at university, but maybe even in his own life.

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

Since early September, Charlie had fully integrated into the rowing world, or rather, had been thrown into it like a stone into a very cold, very choppy river. The pressure was intense. Between the year-round regattas and competitions, the Boat Race loomed like a final boss battle: legendary, merciless, and absolutely non-negotiable.

After two consecutive wins for Cambridge, Oxford was ravenously hungry for revenge. The 2025 race had become THE objective. Everyone was talking about restoring honour, reclaiming pride, and something about legacy, though Charlie suspected most of them just really wanted to post a victory pic on Instagram.

Selection for the teams was brutal across all categories, but especially for the sacred beast itself, the Men’s Eight. From day one, Coach Barker made that abundantly clear. He gave a rousing speech full of fire and tradition, which Charlie internally translated to: “Prepare to hate your body, your sleep schedule, and everyone else here.”

To make the Eight, you had to push harder than your body thought possible, train like your life depended on it, and somehow still function academically, oh, and also not die. That part seemed optional though.

And while this was supposed to be a team effort, it was also a gladiatorial death match. Everyone was rowing with each other and against each other, in a sort of friendship-through-mutual-suffering way.

Charlie had even more to prove. As a solo rower, he was fighting for a chance to race with the Lightweight Men’s Club all through the year. As a cox, he wanted to lock down the one seat in the Eight for The Boat Race. The dual ambition meant double the training, double the stress, and absolutely no room for slipping up, not if he wanted to keep that scholarship and, well, his whole life trajectory. No pressure.

From the very first sessions, though, Charlie stood out. His solo technique was sharp and efficient. But Coach Barker had other ideas: Charlie’s real power, apparently, was in his brain. His strategy, his awareness, and, most importantly, his voice. A cox in the making. “You’ve got a voice people listen to,” Barker had said. How ironic for someone who spent years trying to disappear.

Settling into the Lightweight crew was relatively easy. The vibe there was focused, intense, but less suffocating. The Men’s Boat Club team, on the other hand, was another universe entirely, testosterone-soaked, hyper-competitive, and occasionally so toxically masculine that Charlie started wondering if he’d accidentally joined the cast of Fight Club: River Edition.

He kept his head down. Trained hard. Listened more than he spoke. A few teammates seemed decent enough, human, even. But mostly, he stayed cautious and polite.

And then he met Ben.

First year. Talented. Charming. One of the rising stars of the team, of course. And from the moment they shook hands, Charlie had a very bad feeling that this boy was going to ruin his carefully curated emotional detachment.

At first, things with Ben were perfectly normal, just another teammate, tossed into the same rowing-obsessed inferno as Charlie. A bit of shared trauma bonding, nothing more.

But slowly, Charlie began to notice things. Glances held a beat too long over the rowing machines. Brief, throwaway comments before or after practice. A certain energy in the locker room that felt… not hostile, not exactly flirtatious either, just loaded.

Charlie had never made a grand declaration about being gay, and he wasn't entirely convinced that the testosterone soaked atmosphere of the men's team was the safest stage for a coming-out monologue. Still, he didn’t hide either, he wore his small Pride pin on his backpack and his involvement in queer societies was hardly a secret.

Ben, though, was a mystery. The kind of clean-cut, well-spoken boy who probably came from a long line of Conservative MPs and Labradors named after royals. Obviously straight. Well, had to be, there was no other script for someone like that, right?

And yet… sometimes, in the way Ben looked at him, or the way his tone shifted during small talk, Charlie felt something like a flicker of curiosity? Tension? Or maybe it was just wishful thinking and a dehydration-induced hallucination after too much time on the rowing machine. Who could say?

In any case, Charlie had bigger things on his plate. He was laser-focused on performing, academically, athletically, and emotionally surviving Oxford. He didn’t have time to decode the micro-expressions of a posh enigma with excellent cheekbones and perfect silky hair. Let’s just say… he appreciated the view.

But by the end of September, things shifted. Charlie started bumping into Ben more often, and not just at training. Oddly frequent, almost suspiciously frequent sightings, especially considering they weren’t even at the same college.

One day, Ben was casually in line at the café during Charlie’s shift. Another, he was browsing the literature aisle at the library, looking slightly lost and vaguely poetic. Then he started showing up at the same pubs, flashing that easy smile that made Charlie’s stomach do annoying little flips.

Last night had been one of those surprise pub encounters. Charlie had already downed two pints of cider, enough to feel warm and brave and marginally reckless. For once, the inner voice telling him to play it safe was shushed by the one whispering just say it.

And so, with the lights a little too dim and the music a little too loud, Charlie finally opened his mouth to say what he’d been thinking for weeks.

“I seem to be running into you more and more lately,” Charlie said, voice just blurry enough with cider to be brave. “Don’t you have some other posh place to haunt?”

Ben gave him a look, half amused, half unreadable, but fully confident. “And what if I’d rather be here instead? The music’s decent… and the view’s really something.”

He said it looking straight at Charlie, eyes fixed and utterly unapologetic.

Charlie took a sip, a gulp, of his third cider. “Oh yeah? And what sort of view are we talking about exactly?”

Ben leaned in and casually took hold of Charlie’s wrist. “Come on, Charlie. Don’t play dumb. You know why I’m here and what I’m enjoying.”

Charlie blinked, thrown off for a second. There was something in Ben’s gaze he couldn’t quite name, confidence, maybe, but also a strange edge, like irritation mixed with intention. And suddenly, it clicked.

“Oh,” Charlie said, mostly to himself.

Ben’s mouth twitched into a half-smile, then he leaned closer, his voice low against Charlie’s ear. “Wanna go somewhere quieter?”

Charlie drained the rest of his drink, mumbled a quick word to Isaac not to wait for him, and followed Ben out into the night, somewhere between excited and vaguely doomed.

Which is how he found himself, at the crack of dawn, lying in Ben’s bed, fully awake, staring at the ceiling and internally debating the ethics of ghosting someone while still in their room.

The night had been… weird. Not bad, not really, but definitely not what Charlie would’ve written for himself in a screenplay. Ben was not straight, that was clear now. But he also wasn’t exactly clear about anything else. There’d been an awkward urgency to the whole thing, a bit clumsy, a bit one-sided, a bit more about Ben than with Charlie.

Still, Charlie hadn’t had sex in a while. He was a human being with very human needs. And Ben… Well, have you seen him? Charlie mentally rolled his eyes at himself.

Sue me for needing to get laid.

But now, in the grey quiet of the morning, it all felt foggier. Ben was lying on his side, facing away, and that broad back was offering exactly zero information on what their next move would be.

Eventually, biology overruled overthinking, and Charlie tiptoed to the bathroom. When he returned, Ben was awake and watching him. His expression was unreadable. Of course.

“Hi,” Charlie said softly. “Sorry… I just needed to… anyway. I should probably head off, I’ve got a shift at the café this morning.”

He bent down to pick up his clothes, feeling half like an intruder, half like he’d been the one left out.

“Oh… yeah. Okay,” Ben said, sitting up slightly with visible discomfort. “Look, Charlie… I’m not… uh…”

“You’re not out. I get it,” Charlie finished for him, and saw the wave of relief wash over Ben’s face.

Then Charlie added, a little more carefully, “So… what is this, then? A one-night thing?”

Ben hesitated. “I mean… yeah, I’m not out. And not ready to be. My family’s… complicated.” He paused, as if he was searching for the right words. “But I do like you, Charlie. And I liked last night. Maybe we could see each other again? You know. Low key?”

Low key.

Charlie felt something drop in his stomach. He knew, in his bones, this wasn’t a great idea. He wanted to be loved loudly, not hidden behind pub corners and careful silences. But looking at Ben, beautiful and confused, he also saw someone caught in a world he hadn’t chosen, fighting rules he hadn’t made.

So he smiled. Or something close to it. “Sure… yeah. Call me, then?”

Ben gave him a satisfied smirk. “Will do.” Then promptly flopped back onto the bed. “Oh, and could you shut the door quietly on your way out? Cheers.”

Charlie dressed fast, left silently, and made his way back across town in the early chill. He showered, changed, and walked into his café shift pretending his smile was real.

As he stood behind the coffee machine, steam rising, hands moving automatically, he told himself, again and again: Ben’s a nice guy. He just needs time. I can do this.

And maybe, he believed it.

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

As October crept in, Charlie managed to keep his academic head above water. Classes were going surprisingly well, or at least, he hadn’t collapsed into a public panic attack in a seminar yet, so he was counting that as a win. He was even starting to enjoy some of the discussions and making an impression on some of his professors.

But rowing… rowing was another beast entirely.

As the British Rowing Championships loomed in November, everything became sharper, faster and heavier. The pressure mounted with every training session. The British Champs weren’t just another checkpoint on the calendar, they were one of the key moments in the selection process for the Boat Race, and more importantly, the first chance to size up the new Cambridge team. And as if that wasn’t enough, by late November both teams would face off again on the Thames for the Fours Head, same river, same stretch, just in reverse. Coaches would test every rower in every conceivable configuration, racing with and against each other like chess pieces on water.

Cambridge, of course, looked terrifying. Two consecutive wins had made them dangerously confident. Coach Barker was already on edge by early October, driving the Oxford team with all the gentleness of a drill sergeant with a caffeine addiction. Every muscle ached, every breath was a calculated effort.

In a rare moment of personal attention, Barker had pulled Charlie aside with the other coxes, handed them a stack of race videos and scouting notes, and said with no trace of irony: “Know your enemies better than you know yourselves.”

That’s how Charlie first got virtually acquainted with The Team McDreamy! As if all team members had been chosen only because they were gorgeous in their own kind of way.

There was Sai, tall, graceful, cool-headed, clearly the lieutenant to their captain John, who had led Cambridge to victory the year before. Together, they looked like they were forged in the same mythical boathouse. And then there was Jai, their cox for the past two years, with an annoyingly effective voice and razor-sharp tactical sense. Charlie spent hours watching and rewatching footage, muttering to himself as an obsessed crazy person. He was determined to figure out Jai’s playbook and find a way to beat him at his own game.

And then came the problem: Nick.

Technically, Nick was just another name on the list of Cambridge’s rising stars. Coach Barker had underlined his profile like it contained state secrets. Charlie had tried to treat him like any other opponent: break down his technique, track his decisions mid-race, find the cracks. And Nick did have patterns, very smart ones, Charlie had to admit. He rowed like he had a map of the race in his head, with the instincts of someone who could see ten seconds into the future.

But the problem was… well, Nick.

It was hard to concentrate on tactical analysis when your brain kept short-circuiting from sheer aesthetic overload. Because, frankly, Nick looked like he’d been carved by a pantheon of vengeful queer gods, who made him straight, as a cruel joke. The man had muscle definition that could be studied in anatomy classes, hair that moved like a shampoo commercial every time he rowed, and a face so outrageously handsome everybody should be offended by it.

It was the kind of good looks that felt personally targeted. Abs sculpted by Zeus, thighs made to ruin lives, and a jaw that highlighted his babyface but strangely in a devastating manly kind of way. And don’t get him started on the golden flecks in his eyes. Charlie had watched every race clip from every angle, purely in the name of strategy, of course. Tactical surveillance… For the team. Definitely not because he rewound one slow-motion clip of Nick powering through a finish line more times than was clinically healthy.

Sure, he was probably another massive selfish rich prick with a daddy-funded trust fund. He probably said things like “banter” without irony and had never taken public transport in his life. But that didn’t change the fact that Charlie’s “homework” sessions were turning into a masterclass in the horniest self-torture.

Still, he justified every extra hour of footage. “Know your enemy,” Barker had said. Well, Charlie was getting to know Nick the enemy, from every possible angle.

And if he was ever going to cox Oxford to victory, he needed every psychological advantage he could get, even if that advantage came with abs and cheekbones and the kind of smirk that haunted you all night long.

Outside of classes and rowing, Charlie was still… involved? vaguely in some kind of relationship? with Ben.

Things with Ben were… okay. Ish.

They saw each other, when Ben wanted to, always in corners, definitely far from curious eyes, and especially where no one from the rowing team might spot them.

Whenever Charlie tried to flip the dynamic by proposing to meet somewhere in the light of the day, Ben was suddenly busy. Revision, training, a phone call with his father. Nothing aggressive, nothing openly dismissive, just a steady wall of "not now." Charlie didn’t need a PhD in behavioural sciences to know something was off. This wasn’t balanced. This wasn’t even a relationship. It was… something fuzzy, undefined...

He hadn’t told Geoff. Not because he didn’t want to, but how do you explain something that barely exists on paper, let alone in words? He hadn’t told Tao or Isaac either. For Ben’s sake, mostly. Charlie didn’t out people. That was a line he’d never cross.

But they weren't stupid. Isaac, in particular, had definitely clocked that something was going on. Charlie could see it in the way he hovered a bit more than usual, made gentle jokes about “mystery men,” or left Charlie’s favourite mug always clean and waiting. Small gestures, daily, as quiet reminders to say: I see you. I’ve got you. Even if you don’t want to talk yet.

Charlie loved him for that.

Every now and then, Charlie tried to bring up the subject with Ben. What were they doing, where was this going, was this going anywhere?

But every time, Ben sidestepped with vague guilt and passive-aggressive deflection: “I just… can you not pressure me?” “You don’t get it, Charlie, it’s different for me.”

And maybe it was different. Charlie didn’t know what it was like to be closeted with a Conservative family and a rugby-playing older brother who probably thought “diversity” was a new gym class. But still, it hurt. Every time Ben brushed him off, every time Charlie’s very real needs were met with silence or subtle blame, a tiny part of him shrank.

Because no, he didn’t get it, not completely. Charlie had his own mess, his own wounds, but coming out to his parents hadn’t been one of them. That part had been… not easy, but simple. And maybe that’s why he felt like he was always the one doing the bending now, walking an emotional tightrope. Never knowing where he stood, what was allowed, and what could be said without triggering shame or silence.

And god, it was exhausting.

The sex wasn’t helping. It was fine, mostly. Sometimes satisfying, often not. Ben had a frustrating habit of refusing anything he deemed “too gay,” which was confusing, hypocritical, and, let’s be honest, a complete buzzkill. There was no intimacy in it, no trust. Just heat, then quiet. Nothing that burned, nothing that lingered.

Charlie tried not to let it get to him. He tried to focus on the good moments, the rare tenderness in Ben’s voice when he let the walls down for half a second. There was something there. He could feel it, buried under all the fear and shame and internalised homophobia. Or at least, he wanted to believe there was.

And each time Ben showed a flicker of that, Charlie got pulled back in, again. And again. And again.

The night before the Championships, after yet another prickly, unresolved conversation with Ben, Charlie felt the tension crawling under his skin. He needed quiet.

So, he opted for a movie night with Tao and Isaac. No drama, no rowing talk, just comfort and warmth, and hopefully fewer existential deep dives into the hidden meaning behind every directorial choice.

Tao, in his usual cinematic enthusiasm, handed Charlie the remote with a grin. “Your pick tonight. Promise I won’t judge.”

Charlie chose Moonlight. One of his favorite movies.

When the credits rolled, Tao stretched, muttered something about early classes, and padded off to bed. Isaac, however, lingered.

“Tea?” he offered.

Charlie hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah… please.”

They sat on the chairs in Isaac's room, two mugs steaming gently between them, almond milk swirling lazily at the top. The room was hushed, soft-edged by the weight of the film and something else, something unspoken.

“How are things, Charlie Bear?” Isaac asked, setting the mugs down gently. “Between classes, work, rowing… I feel like I haven’t really seen you lately.”

Charlie gave a tired smile. “Yeah… I kind of miss you, actually. But things are okay. Rowing’s intense right now, and I’m honestly kind of buzzing to prove myself tomorrow.”

Isaac nodded slowly, then gave him a look, soft and searching.

“Anything else going on, though? Outside of rowing and your constant academic overachievement?”

Charlie let out a short laugh. “Nothing you don’t already suspect.”

Isaac tilted his head and murmured. “ She had been forced into prudence in her youth, she learned romance as she grew older: the natural sequel of an unnatural beginning."

Charlie blinked. “Did you just quote Jane Austen to me?”

“I’m trying to find my way to your heart, babe,” Isaac said, raising his mug like a shield.

And that’s when Charlie felt it, the sting behind his eyes. Not a full sob, not a dramatic breakdown, just two quiet tears tracing down his cheeks like they were following old, familiar paths.

Because Isaac, of course, knew.

Charlie wasn’t happy, not really. He was functional and high-performing, but he wasn’t at peace. Above all he was tired, not just physically, but emotionally. Tired of hoping, of waiting, of suppressing his needs just to fit into someone else’s closet.

And maybe it was time to stop pretending.

“I… I’m seeing someone,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “From the rowing team.”

Isaac didn’t flinch. Just nodded like he’d been expecting this all along.

“He’s not out,” Charlie continued. “And he’s clearly not ready to be. So we’re… seeing each other casually, hidden.” He stared down into his tea like it might offer him a sign. It didn’t

“And… are you okay with that?” Isaac asked, gently with no judgement.

“I don’t know,” Charlie said. “I thought I was. In the beginning, it felt like enough. But it’s been over a month and nothing’s changing. I keep thinking maybe I’d be better off with someone who’s… I don’t know… easier? Someone who wants to be seen with me. But then sometimes, it’s really nice. Even great. And he’s so good looking y’know?”

Isaac laughed softly. “No, I don’t.” Then winked at Charlie.

He leaned forward, eyes warm and clear. “Charlie, I’m not an expert in love. But I’ve read enough romance novels to know this, the people who love you, really love you, they don’t make you smaller. They don’t dim your light or make you wonder if you’re asking for too much just by existing. Love should feel like oxygen. Not like drowning.”

Charlie swallowed hard.

Isaac reached out and took his hand. “I’m not here to tell you what to do. I just want you to know that you have people who care about you. Don’t let anyone make you disappear, Charlie.”

At that, Charlie crumpled forward, sliding off the chair and into Isaac’s arms. Not sobbing, just breathing heavily, holding on tightly, like Isaac was a lighthouse and Charlie had been lost at sea longer than he realised.

“Thank you,” he whispered against his shoulder, barely audible.

Isaac held him tighter. “You’re a good person, Charlie. You’re strong. You deserve the world.”

After that overdue talk with Isaac, both of them headed to bed, Charlie feeling lighter, somehow.

Back in his room, Charlie curled into his sheets, laptop propped against his knees, telling himself he’d just have a quick look at his race notes before sleep. But when he opened the screen, a tab was already waiting, paused mid-frame on… Nick.

Golden-boy Nick, in all his frustrating, maddening, Olympian glory. Charlie hovered over the tab for half a second, intending to close it.

But then the image caught him. Nick, mid-stroke on the erg, muscles taut and gleaming with sweat, his whole body humming with kinetic power. He was so beautiful in a way that made you ache, not soft or delicate, but carved and alive, like something almost holy.

Charlie hit play.

He watched as Nick moved in perfect rhythm, jaw clenched with effort, brows furrowed in determined concentration. Beads of sweat slid down his neck, catching in the dip of his collarbone before disappearing beneath his shirt, his shirt which clung to his chest like a second skin. His thighs, visible just beneath the hem of his shorts, flexed with each motion. It was impossible not to look.

Charlie’s hand drifted downward, fingertips grazing the waistband of his boxers. For once, he let himself just feel.

“Fuck it,” he muttered.

He clicked on another video, this one closer, tighter, every detail in focus. Nick’s face in exertion and his body like a sculpture in motion.

Charlie slid his boxers down, freeing his already raging erection with a quiet sigh of relief. He reached into his bedside drawer, found the lube, and poured a slow, familiar line onto his palm. With his eyes  locked on the screen he began to stroke, slow, steady, syncing himself to Nick’s rhythm.

Then he closed his eyes.

He imagines Nick’s hands moving over his skin, firm and hungry. Nick’s mouth, hot and open, tasting his collarbone, his chest, kissing like worship. His hand stroking faster, he pictures Nick on his knees, those golden eyes burning with mischief and need, taking him in his mouth with unashamed intensity. Licking, sucking, gagging…

It was overwhelming, this fantasy, the ache that had been building for weeks.

Charlie felt himself reaching his peak fast, the pleasure curling up his spine, until finally, he gasped aloud “Oh, fuck, Niiick…” as he came in a long moan, back arched, the world fading into white.

Still panting, he blinked at the ceiling, pulse racing, his mind somewhere between relief and embarrassment.

He cleaned up with quiet efficiency, thank you wet-wipes, shut down the laptop, and pulled the covers back over himself. For the first time in weeks, he sank into sleep without tension in his chest.

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

On the day of the British Champs, Charlie arrived with the Oxford team at the competition site, his mind already miles ahead on the course, tracking every possible outcome. Around him, the team buzzed with nervous energy checking oars, visualising their strokes, reviewing timing and rhythm.

Needing a final moment of focus, Charlie slipped away from the noise, his eyes on the floor, muttering tactics to himself. That’s when he walked straight into what felt like a wall but warm, soft, and smelling disturbingly divine. Something woodsy and sharp, with a hint of cinnamon that grounds Charlie almost immediately for a few seconds.

“Pay attention, Lightweight,” came a voice low, rich, and thoroughly annoying.

Charlie looked up. And of course, it was… Nick Nelson. Golden boy of Cambridge.

Charlie straightened his spine, fighting off the involuntary flutter in his stomach. “Who are you calling ‘Lightweight’?”

Nick raised an eyebrow, his mouth curving slightly. “Well, you’re clearly not a rower,” he said, gesturing vaguely at Charlie’s lean frame, though his eyes never left his face. Then he threw the punchline: “Ah you must be the cox.  The famous one. With the sharp little voice and the even sharper tongue…”

He dragged out the x like it was a private joke.

Charlie rolled his eyes, already annoyed. “And you are Nick Fucking Nelson. The golden retriever everyone fawns over. Tell me, do people naturally throw themselves at your feet, or do you charge for that privilege?”

Nick didn't move. Just stared, long and deliberate up-and-down that made Charlie’s skin prickle. Was he undressing him with his eyes? Was Charlie imagining that?

Definitely. He needed sleep or a cold shower, or both?

Nick finally stepped aside with a grin. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to delay royalty. Please, Your Majesty Lightweight, after you.”

As Charlie walked away, someone behind him called out, “Oi, Froggy! Behave! We’re waiting for you!” and he hears Nick’s voice “Coming!”

Charlie was boiling and maybe… blushing? How could someone be so punchable and so hot at the same time? He couldn’t decide whether he wanted to slap Nick or shove him against a wall and ruin his stupid smirk with a kiss.

Back at the boats, Ben was waiting, watching the whole thing unfold with a clenched jaw.

“You alright?” he asked, voice low and sharp. “I saw your little run-in with the Rowing King. What a twat, huh?”

Charlie tried to brush it off. “You know him?”

Ben gave a shrug that is way too calculated. “Our fathers sometimes do business together. He’s exactly what he looks like: boring, entitled, overrated.”

“Sure,” Charlie said, trying to sound casual, though his gaze involuntarily finds Nick and the whole Team McDreamy again across the team area.

That smile… fuck. Stay still, body, the guy is a complete arsehole.

The race itself went brilliantly. Charlie coxed his team to a first-place win, precision and fire flowing through every call he made. Later, in the solo competition, he placed second among the Lightweight rowers, not a win, but damn close. Freshly showered and proud, he’s finally breathing as he steps out of the locker room… and straight into Nick , again.

“Nice job, Lightweight,” Nick said with a wink. A wink, for God’s sake. He was leaning against the wall like a model in a sportswear ad.

Charlie stopped dead. “Oh, would you just shut up already?”

“No, really,” Nick said, voice softer now. “Honestly, you surprised me…”

Charlie folded his arms. “Because I’m small and weak? Strength isn’t just in the shoulders, you twat.”

“I didn’t mean…” Nick looked flustered for the first time. “It came out wrong. I meant… you were good. Impressive.”

Charlie stared at him, exasperated. “Right. Sure. And next, you’ll say ‘I’m not like other coxes.’ So nice of you, from someone who doesn’t even know my name”

“I know who you are,” Nick blurted. “You’re... You’re…” he hesitated.

Charlie didn’t let him finish. “Charlie. My name is Charlie Spring. And now, if you don’t mind, Nick Fucking Nelson, I’d like to rejoin my team.”

Nick bit his lower lip, annoyingly, and moved aside with a grin. “See you at the next race then.”

Charlie just raised his middle finger as an answer.

Ben was waiting around the corner, arms crossed, jaw clenched.

“What was that?” he snapped, grabbing Charlie’s arm.

“What do you mean?” Charlie asked, caught off-guard.

“Oh, come on. I know you, Charlie. I know that tone you use when you’re trying not to jump someone’s bones. Don’t act like that wasn’t flirting.”

Charlie blinked. “Flirting? That guy called me Lightweight like it was my full name!”

Ben’s eyes narrowed. “You want him. Don’t even deny it.”

Charlie felt something in him snap. “Oh, fuck off, Ben! First I deal with him, and now you come at me like you’ve got any claim on my feelings? You don’t get to be jealous when you’ve spent the last month hiding me like a dirty secret.”

Ben’s face twisted. “Because this is what you are, Charlie! You want people to treat you like shit!”

Charlie froze, then shoved him, hard. “Don’t you dare talk to me like that. You really don’t know me, Ben. And if this is who you are when someone challenges your control, then thank God I found out now.”

Ben reached for him again, but Charlie stepped back. “Don’t talk to me. Don’t text me. I’ll see you at practice, and that’s it.”

And with that, Charlie turned on his heel, heart pounding, throat tight, and headed straight for the bus.

All he wanted now was to go home. Back to LMH, to Tao and Isaac, the people who truly loved him.

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

Chapter Text

Charlie went straight home after the Champs. No detours, no pint at the pub, no pictures for shared posts on Insta, no fake-smiling with teammates. He didn’t want to celebrate anything in any way. He was upset, exhausted, and Ben had just managed to taint the last decent scraps of what could have been a good day.

He got back, after a string of texts, none of them explicit, but full of just enough ellipses and “yeah, I’m okay” lies to sound his friends’ alarm bells. So of course Tao and Isaac were there, waiting. They didn’t say much, just gave him one of those looks, the kind that meant “you talk, now” . And, for once, Charlie didn’t dodge.

He sat down, took a breath and he told them.

Not everything. God, no. They didn’t need the full Thirsting After Nick Fucking Nelson: A Queer Tragedy in Three Acts , just the condensed What an Absolute Cunt He Turned Out to Be chapter. That was more than enough.

But the Ben part? That one, he gave them.

All of it: the hidden relationship, the gaslighting, Ben’s last words after the Championships…

The more he spoke, the more the words spilled out. And when he finally stopped, chest hollowed out, Tao just said, “That guy’s a sociopath,” and Isaac passed him a cup of tea like it was some sort of emotional first aid kit.

And honestly? It helped.

Isaac stayed exactly who he’d always been: still and kind. Always the grounding presence in the emotional hurricane. Tao, on the other hand, turned into an actual hurricane.

“I mean, I get why you didn’t say anything,” he started, pacing, hands flailing. “I do. I’m not saying I would’ve handled it better. But we should’ve known, Charlie! We could’ve warned you! Been there for you!”

Charlie opened his mouth to reply, but Tao wasn’t done.

“Now I just want to run around campus screaming at him until he bursts into tears. Or his ears bleed.”

Charlie managed the smallest smile, tired and a little sad. He didn’t have the strength to stop Tao from rambling, and honestly, he didn’t want to. Watching someone being angry for him, that counted for something.

Eventually, Charlie gave a dry little laugh. “Trust me, he’s not worth the cardio. And may I remind you that you can’t run.”

Tao softens a bit with a quiet laugh “Yeah, I really can’t... but it would make me feel better. Just promise us, next time something like this happens, you’ll tell us?”

“What could happen?” Charlie said, voice already cracking. “He said his piece, I said mine. That’s it.”

Which was, obviously, not it, and his eyes were already burning with unshed tears.

Isaac slung an arm around him. “Don’t minimize it, Charlie. What he said was cruel. You know that, and that’s why you stood up for yourself. But you’re also allowed to feel shit right now. This wasn’t nothing.”

And just like that, Charlie folded into Isaac’s chest, breath hitching, and muttered into his shirt, “I just feel so fucking stupid and ashamed...”

And then came the wrecked sob.

“It’s okay, Charlie. We’ve got you,” Isaac whispered. “Maybe it’s time you talk to Geoff about all this?”

Charlie gave a shaky nod and let himself stay in Isaac’s arms a little longer before crashing straight into bed, still fully clothed, his sleep claiming him before his head hit the pillow.

He did end up talking to Geoff. It wasn’t dramatic, no sudden epiphanies. Just a quiet appointment, started with five full minutes of awkward silence while Charlie stared at his screen. But eventually, the words came out.

Geoff was the best, as always. No lectures or pity, he just asked careful questions, with the kind of calm that only someone who’s seen a lot of broken things can pull off. They talked about shame, and the frustrating cycle of falling into the same patterns. About how Charlie sometimes felt like he’d just swapped one toxic relationship for another, with a rotating cast of people ready to drag him down.

But Geoff helped him see the differences. That sometimes, being wrong about someone didn’t mean you were broken, that mistakes are just part of growing up and yeah, Charlie would probably make more. His past had messed with how he handled relationships, but that was okay. As long as he kept leaning on his safety net, his friends, Geoff himself, he could learn. Healing was a journey after all.

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

Life after the Champs became a whirlwind. With exams, assignments and the Fours Head looming over everything, Charlie barely had time to think, let alone feel.

The exams went fine. The assignments were turned in on time. But despite all their training, Oxford lost the Fours Head to Cambridge; not by much, but still, lost. And if Charlie was being honest, he knew he hadn’t been at his best and neither had the team. The coach picked up on it too, and they had a very direct conversation immediately after the race.

Charlie did a fantastic job avoiding the whole Team McDreamy, especially a certain Rowing King whose name would absolutely not be spoken. His body might have been confused, but Charlie’s mind was set: no more disturbances, no more confusion. He was done.

Not that stopped him from sneaking occasional glances. He might have known Nick was a posh twat but he wasn’t dead. And that tragically-100%-straight body was still a sight. And Charlie was just a man after all…

Still, things weren’t all terrible. By the end of November, Charlie knew he’d made one of the two Oxford crews for the Boat Race. That was locked in. Now came the hard part: fighting for a seat in the first boat. December would be brutal on that part. Two days of internal selection, both boats racing head-to-head. At the end of it, Coach would announce who made the top boat and who would be sparring partners. Charlie didn’t take that as an option. He threw himself into training like his life depended on it.

He also kept avoiding Ben like the plague, which, so far, was going surprisingly well. But Ben’s words still lingered. That cruel little voice playing on repeat in the back of Charlie’s mind.

And every damn day, Charlie had to remind himself that Ben was wrong. That he deserved better, even if he didn’t quite believe it yet.

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

On the very first day of December, Charlie was surprisingly in a better place. Not exactly thriving, but functional. Grounded enough to care more about boat placements than emotional landmines. The selection trials were coming fast, and his body was already humming with anticipation, nerves, and the constant ache of too much training.

On his way to his shift at the café, he let his thoughts drift. In less than three weeks, it  would be Christmas break, on the 18th... He’d already made plans to spend it at Isaac’s, a safe cocoon of board games, bad movies, and catching up with his siblings. Then, from December 27th to 30th, the four-day international training camp in London will gather all the best teams from around the world. The kind of event that left you full of adrenaline and with kind of an imposter syndrome.

And, of course, a certain glorious infuriating boy from Team McDreamy would be there too. Because fate had a twisted sense of humour.

Charlie was deep in his own head, mentally scheduling sleep and protein bars, when he nearly ran straight into someone standing in his path.

Someone familiar but yet unwelcome: Ben.

He was just there, right in front of him. Like a ghost who hadn’t been invited back.

“Hey…” Ben said softly, with a hopeful smile that made Charlie want to roll his eyes and throw a punch.

Charlie raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing here? Lost your way? I’m pretty sure your college is the other direction.”

Ben winced. “I… I need to talk to you.” 

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Charlie replied coldly, already moving to brush past.

“I just want to apologize!” Ben said quickly.

That made Charlie stop. He turned back with a guarded, almost amused look. Well, that’s a first!

“Properly…” Ben continued, nervous now “Please, just hear me out.” he begged and went on, “We’re not in the same college, so if you’ll really hate me, you’ll never see me again, outside the rowing club.”

Charlie studied him for a second. His expression softened, just a fraction. Then, with arms crossed and a defiant lift of the chin, he said, “Go on then.”

Ben took a deep breath. “I’m a messed-up person Charlie. I liked you. You know that, don't you?” He gave a shy, genuine smile, the same one that had charmed Charlie in the beginning. “I know I was a piece of shit, but I really liked you… Like you, still. If I’d just have more time. I want to be more like you, but my parents would never accept who I really am. I’m sorry Charlie, I just… wanted something good. We were something good.” He paused, his voice quieter now “ You were something good…” 

And for the first time in a very long time, Ben sounded... sincere? Honest, even?

Charlie stared at him, at the gloss of his eyes, focusing on the way his voice trembled ever so slightly. Is this the Ben he used to believe in, the one he thought he saw in glimpses, buried under layers of fear, shame, and arrogance? Or is this just another performance, a prideful attempt to take back control by rewriting the ending?

Before Charlie could decide, Ben reached out and took his hand, gently, like it was fragile.

“Charlie, I fucked-up, I felt insecure but could we try again? I’m still not ready for the full swing but I can be a good person to you and we can be something good again.” He pleaded.

Charlie felt his heart stutter. Damn it.

“I…” he hesitated, glancing at his phone, “I have to take my shift in ten minutes. Can we... talk later?”

Ben nodded quickly. “Yeah. Later. I’ll call you, okay?”

And just like that, Ben was back in Charlie’s life.

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

Things with Ben, generally speaking, got better, surprisingly better. They started seeing each other again, not loudly of course, but there were real dates this time. In daylight, in actual cafés, parks or libraries. Still low-key, still secret, but Ben seemed more invested. There were moments of affection that didn’t feel like negotiations. He was showing up very cautiously.

Sure, there were a few bumps. Sharp remarks that landed just a bit too hard, silences that stretched too long. But Charlie chalked that up to stress, between exams and selection for the Boat Race, not to mention other internalised crap. He understood the pressure. He was under pressure too, after all.

Things got trickier with Tao and Isaac, though. Charlie, to his credit, didn’t keep it a secret this time. Lesson learned. He sat them down and told them he was seeing Ben again. Calling the conversation “tough” was a sweet little euphemism.

“I’m sorry, Charlie,” Tao said, arms folded like a human barricade. “I just don’t understand. How can you even trust him after what he said to you?”

Isaac didn’t speak as much, but Charlie didn’t miss the quiet concern and a flicker of disappointment in his eyes. It stung.

There were raised voices. Charlie, at one point, snapped that none of this was Tao’s business, which, of course, only made things worse. But in the end, they finally all agreed: Tao and Isaac would meet Ben, at least once. A chance for him to make things the good way.

Ben came for a movie night hosted by Tao. Well, if “movie night” meant a series of passive-aggressive comments, icy stares, and the most disdainful behavior since Mean Girls . It was... tense.

Ben didn’t seem to care though. When Charlie talked with him afterwards, he just shrugged and said, “I’m here for you, not your friends.” 

And maybe Charlie could see his point. Tao had been anything but welcoming, and no one enjoyed being treated like a war criminal over pizza. Still, since then, Charlie noticed things. Ben always wanted to meet at his college, always steered clear of situations where he might bump into Tao or Isaac again. He wasn’t controlling, exactly. Just... quietly taking Charlie apart.

Charlie didn’t blame him. He understood why Ben wouldn’t want a repeat of that night. Besides, plenty of people had to balance boyfriends relationships and friendships. It wasn’t weird. Right?

Boyfriend. The word hadn’t been said aloud, but if things kept going like this, Charlie was hopeful. He was fine going at Ben’s pace. Whatever that meant.

Even their sex life was improving. Ben was still reluctant to do some things, but he was trying. Charlie could feel the effort and more tenderness. It mattered.

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

And in that semi-blissful haze, Charlie launched into the final round of Boat Race selection.

Two intensive days of racing, held on the exact course as the real thing. Each university fielded two teams, experimenting with different combinations to determine the strongest possible team. At the end of day two, each coaching staff would announce their decision for their teams: one primary boat would go to the Race. The other? Training squad. Let’s be clear, Charlie had no intention to stand with the back-up singers.

Tension within the Oxford camp climbed steadily until it reached a fever pitch the morning of the first race. This wasn’t just about teamwork anymore, it was about individual performance, proving your worth. 

Charlie, ever the overthinker, isolated himself before warm-up. A quiet moment to gather himself.

Then, he heard that voice again, like a sound coming from heaven.

“Nice cap, Lightweight.”

Charlie turned and there he was, Nick Fucking Nelson, in full golden-boy mode, grinning like he owned the damn river.

And that look in his eyes again, that maddening, unreadable glint. Was it amusement? Flirtation? Smug superiority? All of the above?

“Of course it’s you,” Charlie muttered. “Don’t you have someone else to grace with your presence? Someone who actually wants to stroke your ego?”

Nick smirked. “I could… But I know you’re the best for ‘stroke’.” Charlie rolled his eyes at his last word and Nick continued. “Feeling prickly today, aren’t we?”

“Piss off, will you,” Charlie sighed, deflating with a groan.

“I get it, man. I mean, last time we raced, we did destroy you. It's hard to be confident after that…”

Oh, so that’s the game. Provocation disguised as banter. Fine, two can play this game King Nelson.

“Right, but remind me again, who actually won the Brits?” Charlie said sweetly. “Oh yeah... not you. The one who gets it hard here, surely is not me.”

Nick’s grin sharpened. “Well, I’m definitely feeling something hard...” He bit his lower lip and gave Charlie a look that could’ve meant anything. 

Nope . Charlie refused to go there. The man might be a walking gay fantasy, but he had a certified “STRAIGHT” stamp across his forehead. It meant nothing, just another annoying mind game.

Nick’s voice cut through his spiralling. “Anyway, I hope you make it. I’m quite enjoying our little chats.”

“Oh, don’t you worry,” Charlie fired back. “I’ll make it. And I’ll be the one wiping that smirk off your face on April 13th, when we’ll cross the finish line ahead of you.”

With that, he turned and jogged back to his team for Coach Barker’s final pep talk. But as he threw a look over his shoulder, he caught Nick watching him.

...Was he looking at his arse?

No, nope, absolutely not! You wish Charlie!

The selections were brutal. And watching Nick in full rowing god mode didn’t help. But Charlie kept his focus on rowing, on the selection and on Ben. They weren’t public, yet, but they had their little smiles, their shared glances. It was enough.

If Nick could light fires in Charlie, Ben could certainly help to put them out.

Later that night, en route to the hotel, Ben caught up with him.

“The Rowing King still causing trouble?”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Charlie shrugged. “He’s like a giant spoiled toddler. Just needs a firm ‘no’ and a nap.”

He smiled at Ben before stating “You don’t seem to like him much.”

“Our fathers are business partners,” Ben said with a grimace. “Doesn’t mean I have to like him. He’s a selfish prick, full of himself, so French it’s painful. All looks, no substance.”

“French?” That triggered something, Charlie remembered someone calling him Froggy that first day they met. Wait... Nick is French?

“Oh, you didn’t know?” Ben chuckled. “Yeah. His dad’s Stéphane Fournier, heir to some big business empire over there. His mum’s British, some fancy doctor I don’t remember. The guy grew up in France but got shipped here for uni to follow in Daddy’s footsteps, Cambridge, Boat Race, the whole thing. Our dads met in uni. His dad rowed for Cambridge. Mine rowed for Oxford. They raced each other three years in a row.”

He rolled his eyes. “Anyway, not the same for us. He’s just a view-blocker with a decent body, if you’re into beefed-up muscle guys, that is.”

Charlie blinked. That... explained the hint of accent, the impossible charm. French. Great. Just what Charlie needed. As if acting chill in front of him wasn’t hard enough already.

The second day went even better than the first. Charlie coxed like he never did before. And when the coaches read out the final list, his name was right there. Primary team. Boat Race. He’d done it, he’ll be the one who’ll lead the boat to the finish line.

Ben too, he was officially part of the Eight. They’d made it.

Charlie was elated.

Of course, Nick Fucking Nelson made it as well, obviously.

Coach Barker encouraged everyone to rest over the Christmas break, the return was bound to be even more intense.

Charlie said goodbye to Ben before the break. Sweet goodbyes, even if Ben warned him it’d be hard to stay in touch: Christmas in Courchevel, in the Alps, with the family, zero privacy, near-impossible to call or text. Charlie understood. What were a few days in the grand scheme of things?

In just over a week, they’d be back together, training and chasing the win. And after that?

Well, maybe after all that... they’d finally be proud and out?

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

Charlie genuinely had the best time during his Christmas break. No drama, no deadlines, no testosterone-fuelled rowing boys, just peace, quiet, and the comforting buzz of a house full of cinnamon scent and Netflix Tu-Dum. 

He spent Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with Isaac and his mum, and it was exactly what he needed: silly board games, peppermint tea, Doctor Who and a movie marathon that would’ve made Tao disown them on the spot. No crowded parties, no fake laughter, no tension, just three people being kind to each other. Charlie couldn't be grateful enough for Isaac and his mother and their safe space.

He also made a point of spending as much time as he could with his siblings. Playing Mario Kart with them, goofing off with Olly, tickle fights that ended in fits of laughter and cuddles. Getting Maccies because sharing fries in the back seat of the car was a sacred ritual.  Without any expectations, nor pressure, Charlie was living the softest version of his life with the people who made it worth living.

He caught up with Youssef, too. They met for coffee on Boxing Day, and Charlie got The Talk™, the mentor-style monologue about what was coming next for the race. Youssef of course also congratulated him, sincerely, for what he’d already achieved. Charlie also had been told his scholarship had been renewed, and Charlie nearly cried into his oat flat white while reading the email. It was, hands down, the best gift of the season.

He also had a proper in-person appointment with Geoff. Zoom was fine for keeping in touch during term, but nothing beat being back in Geoff’s office. Charlie almost felt like home, sitting on that couch. Weird… But true . Charlie just felt he could breathe better each time he entered the office, like the air in there was custom-filtered to soothe his nervous system.

They talked about everything, Ben, university, stress, the future. Geoff didn’t judge, he never did. He just reminded Charlie that he was his own person. That he had the right to make his own choices, even the questionable ones, and deal with whatever came of them. He simply advised Charlie to be cautious, to remain open and let his friends in.

And because life was so calm and uneventful (for once), Charlie even agreed to meet his parents. Just two hours, not a minute more. It was... okay. Nothing warm or affectionate, but not a total disaster either. Charlie had let go of expecting anything from them a while ago, and that, ironically, made everything much easier to endure. Let’s just say there is far less disappointment when there are no hopes to crush.

The ten days slipped by in a blur of blankets, laughter, and long walks through quiet parks.

The day after Boxing Day, Charlie was already back on a train, heading to London for the four-day International Training Camp, leaving Isaac and his mother for some well-deserved alone time. The camp had been designed as a way to bond, sharpen team spirit, and exchange technical know-how with some of the best university rowing teams in the world. The UK teams would be joined by squads from New Zealand, Australia, Canada, the U.S., Switzerland, the Netherlands, France, China, and South Korea.

It wasn’t just about performance on the water, it was about mindset, leadership and also strategy. And being all gathered, bonded by the love of rowing, was also  an opportunity to make connections that could outlast the finish line.

Charlie, luggage in tow and coffee in hand, tried to stay cool and focused. He was so ready to make the river his runway.

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

Great, room sharing!

Not by team, of course. That would’ve been too convenient. No, the brilliant minds behind the International University Rowing Training Camp had decided to sort everyone by country, as if national identity somehow trumped university rivalry. The result? Charlie found himself in a six-person dorm with three boys from Team McDreamy: Sai, Otis, and Jai, alongside two of his Oxford teammates, Oscar and Will. Not Ben… It would have been far too convenient…

Six lads. One room. Four days. Three nights. One shared bathroom. Well, Charlie’s OCD would surely be challenged here.

But hey… it was temporary , he repeated to himself. He could survive this glorified sleepover for 72 hours… Probably.

The surprising twist? The Cambridge rowers turned out to be... not awful. Not even mildly insufferable. In fact, they were kind of nice actually.

Sai was the first to introduce himself. Confident, warm, apparently completely oblivious to the decades-old Oxford vs Cambridge tension that Charlie has been asked to carry like a backpack.

“You must be Charlie Spring?”

“That’s me,” Charlie replied, polite but cautious. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to finally meet you too, mate! I’m Sai Verma. I think we’ve got a mutual friend.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow. “If you’re about to say Nick Nelson, I’m going to have to stop you right there.”

Sai laughed. “God, no, not Nick. Isaac Henderson! My mum’s been friends with his mum since forever, we used to play together when we were kids, before my family moved out of Rochester. We still keep in touch now and then. He mentioned you in our Christmas messages.”

Charlie blinked. Isaac, of course . Always one move ahead, that one. He made a mental note to text him something passive-aggressively grateful later.

“Oh, right, yes, that makes more sense. Isaac’s one of my closest friends. Hope he said nice things?”

Sai grinned. “Not really, actually. We haven’t talked much lately… Life’s been life-ing, you know how it is. But I’m looking forward to getting to know you by myself.”

Charlie let out a dry little laugh. “Well… can’t promise you’re ready for that.”

“And how do you know our Nick?” Sai asked casually. “You mentioned him earlier?”

Charlie shifted awkwardly. “I wouldn’t say I know him, exactly. We’ve had… brief chats at races.”

Sai lit up like someone had mentioned the cutest golden retriever in the world. “Ah, Nick’s a gem. Proper heart of gold, that one.”

Charlie blinked. Heart of gold. Right. If by 'heart of gold' you mean gold-plated arrogance and smugness. He kept the thought to himself.

“Well, if you say so, I trust you. You’re his teammate,” he replied, diplomatically.

Otis walked in a moment later, a soft-spoken guy with kinky hair, muscular in all the right places. “Hey, you’re Charlie, right? Man, you’re insane as a cox. I saw you during the Fours Head, and Jai’s still worried about facing you on the water.”

Charlie blushed. “Oh, thanks. I must say I’m equally impressed by Jai, he’s got an incredible read of the race. It’s like he can predict every stroke before it happens.”

Jai grinned from across the room. “Thanks, mate. Want to compare notes sometime this week?”

“Yeah, I’d love that.”

Charlie’s preconceptions started to undo. How could these guys, athletic, funny, even hot, be so... nice? And worse: friends with Nick Fucking Nelson?

And then, as if he's been summoned, a knock at the door, cue the arrival of the Glorious Golden Boy himself.

“Oi, Sai! Got any toothpaste? I forgot mine,” Nick said, already stepping into the room like he owned it. Then he stopped dead at the sight of Charlie, frozen mid-shuffle.

“Oh. Hi… You’re… here?”

Charlie gave a flat look. “That’s generally how camps work, y’know… People show up.”

Nick scratched the back of his neck. “Right. Yeah. I just, uh, I was just asking Sai for toothpaste.”

“God, lad, you’re a disaster,” Sai said, already rummaging in his bag. “I’m not your dad. Here, take this, I’ll share with Otis.”

“Thanks, Dad ,” Nick grinned, sticking out his tongue before turning back to Charlie.

There was a weird pause. Not tense or hostile, just... thick with something, Charlie couldn’t define.

“Well… see you then?” Nick said, voice softer, almost uncertain.

Charlie looked up and met his eyes. Warm eyes that somehow always looked like a hug you didn’t ask for. Stupid.

“Yeah,” Charlie said, quieter than he meant to. “I guess so.”

And in an instant, Nick and the toothpaste were gone.

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

Charlie hadn’t seen Ben yet, but he knew they’d bump into each other eventually, at the kick-off meeting at the latest. And honestly? He was just as excited to see Ben again as he was to be at the camp itself.

Except, of course, the universe had a good sense of humour. They did see each other at the kick-off meeting… technically. But with a hundred rowers crammed into one conference hall, it wasn’t exactly the reunion Charlie had imagined. No warm smile across the room, no flirty glances and no need to say no kissing either, let alone passionate.  Not even a “hey, you.” Just a fleeting look, lost in the crowd.

By the end of the day, they’d exchanged maybe three words total. Charlie was tired, disappointed, and slightly cranky, which was saying something, even if he had much fun with his roommates. Especially Jai, who turned out to be not just a brilliant cox but an incredibly thoughtful, surprisingly funny person with a talent for balancing intense training talk and deeply philosophical debates about the best roads in Mario Kart.

When Ben brushed him off after he’d texted, suggesting they meet up before lights-out, it was just like salt in the wound.

Ben: Too risky. I know too many people here. Let’s be careful, yeah?

Apparently, rowing was the official sport of the rich, privileged and internationally overconnected. All these boys seemed to  spend all their free time skiing together in Gstaad - oh no sorry, Courchevel! or doing VIP parties in Ibiza. Charlie understood that Ben’s worst nightmare was being recognised while holding hands with a boy, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Day two came fast and hard.

The schedule was packed: seminars on performance strategy, workshops on race-day nutrition, team-building exercises and breakout sessions just for coxes. It was overwhelming, exhilarating, and slightly absurd. There was a Power Point presentation titled Synchrony and Synergy: Finding Flow With Your Stroke Seat . 

Charlie thought he might die of too much information to process. By the time the afternoon break came around, he desperately needed air.

He found a quiet courtyard tucked behind the lecture rooms, sat on a hidden bench, and let the winter sun hit his face. For a rare moment, he wasn’t anyone’s cox, or anyone’s secret. Just Charlie, breathing.

Then a hand landed softly on his shoulder.

Ben.

Charlie looked up, and the tightness in his chest returned.

“What are you doing out here?” Ben asked, smiling like nothing was strange at all.

“Just… taking a breath,” Charlie said, shrugging. “Lot of people and a bit too much energy for my introverted self. And sometimes, I don’t really feel like I belong in this... country-club version of rowing.”

Ben sat down next to him. “Oh…”

There was a pause, awkward in that way Charlie hated.

“So, uh, how were your holidays?” Ben asked, opting for safer ground.

“Good,” Charlie said. “Spent time with my siblings, saw some friends and watched countless hours of animated movies with Isaac and his mum. You?”

“You know, family stuff,” Ben said vaguely. “Skiing was great, though. We should go sometime.”

Charlie’s heart leapt in his chest. We should go sometime. As in together . As in as a couple . He tried not to smile like a twelve-year-old discovering he was going to see his favorite boy band.

“Yeah,” he said, pretending to be casual. “We should.” Even if he’d never skied a day in his life.

And then, before he could overthink it, he added, “I… I missed you.”

It came out small and uncertain, but true. He watched Ben’s face carefully for a reaction.

Ben blinked, then leaned in and kissed him quickly, eyes darting around both before and after.

“Oh! Thanks, Charlie,” he said, smiling. “I’ve gotta go, though. Promised I’d catch up with Richie from New Zealand. Haven’t seen him in years.”

Not exactly the reaction he'd expected, but... Yeah… Ben had probably been under a lot of stress lately.

“Right… Sure… I guess I’ll… see you later?” Charlie said shyly, trying not to sound too desperate.

“Yeah. Later.”

And he was gone again.

Charlie barely had time to process the half-kiss when a voice behind him made his blood freeze.

That voice.

“You and Ben, then?”

Charlie turned, instantly on high alert.

Nick. Fucking . Nelson. Leaning casually against a doorframe like he was the star of some romcom no one had asked for.

Charlie’s brain panicked. Of course he’d seen them, out of a hundred people at this camp, it had to be him .

“I don’t know what you mean,” Charlie said quickly, way too defensive to be convincing.

Nick raised an eyebrow. “Please, don’t play dumb. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about you, it’s that you’re anything but dumb.” His tone wasn’t teasing this time. It was sharp, almost cold. “How long then?”

Charlie crossed his arms. “Not sure that’s any of your business. You’re not even friends with Ben.”

“True. But I’ve known him a long time. We were in Courchevel together just last week with our families. I just… wasn’t expecting this.”

Charlie’s stomach dropped. Courchevel. Ben had conveniently forgotten to mention that part where he spent holidays with Nick.

“Well,” Charlie snapped, “maybe you don’t know him as well as you think.”

Nick’s expression didn’t change much, but there was something in his eyes, something darker than the usual smug sparkle.

“You’re right,” he said after a moment. “It’s not my business. And I’m not going to say anything to anyone. But… you should be careful… I’m not sure you know where you’re stepping here.”

Charlie bristled. “Wow. Thank you so much, Your Noble Highness, for your unsolicited wisdom. But I think I can survive without your precious little warnings. Whatever’s happening between Ben and me, it’s our business. And we don’t need your approval.”

Nick didn’t flinch. He just looked at him, steady. “Listen, I don’t know who you think I am. But when it all goes wrong, and trust me, it will , just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

And then, he walked away.

Charlie stood frozen, hands clenched in his pockets. The audacity of that man, acting like he knew anything about Ben or about them.

As if he had a right to judge. Charlie didn't need to be saved, let alone by Nick Fucking Nelson. He wasn’t letting anyone ruin what little he had. If the man can’t stand to see Ben and Charlie together, no need to be such a twat.

Maybe he should tell Ben. Maybe he would, but later, when they will be back at Oxford, things will be easier there.

For now, Charlie just shook his head and walked away. That guy didn’t understand a thing.

Day three blurred past much like day two, endless drills and meetings, intense focus, and a very few stolen kisses with Ben in dim hallways, always in the darkest corners. By the end of the day, Charlie was that strange mix of content and exhausted, heart light but body heavy. The camp was grueling, but it was also... good. Or at least, it had been.

That last evening, a group of them had collapsed into the common room, sprawled across beanbags and plastic chairs, half-drunk on fizzy water and adrenaline. They were laughing, playing a game that involved way too many inside jokes from schools Charlie had never attended, when it happened.

A loud voice cut through the room like a knife.

“Oi, Ben! I heard we owe you a massive congrats! Engagement, mate, huge news! And to none other than Cressida Sheffield, the it-girl. You lot should see her guys, absolute fit.”

It was Harry, from Cambridge. The only exception to the Dreamy of Team McDreamy…

Charlie froze, completely still in his chair, his glass halfway to his mouth. He didn’t blink or breathe.

Engagement. Ben. It-girl?

There had to be another Ben. A mistake? A joke?

But then Harry, delightfully unaware of the emotional car crash he was causing, went on:

“And get this, the bloke did it in Courchevel. In France, in the snow, on Christmas Eve. Proper romantic, innit?”

Charlie’s heart dropped so violently it might’ve cracked a rib on the way down.

He turned slowly and looked at Ben.

He was standing there, smiling, not flustered at all, not even trying to deny a thing. Just… playing along.

“Well, what can I say?” Ben answered with a breezy chuckle. “The best for the best.”

And that was it. That one line. That smug, polished, fucking line was the final straw.

Charlie stood still, barely breathing, swallowing down the urge to be sick right then and there. He murmured a polite excuse to the people around him, like his entire world hadn’t just shattered in public. And then he left the room.

He walked quickly, feeling the taste of the betrayal on his tongue. His chest was burning, his jaw tight. He wanted to cry, scream or throw something through a window. Instead, he searched blindly for the nearest exit.

And then, in the corridor leading to said exit, he ran right into a body. 

A firm, warm, broad chest, already too familiar. His brain registered it a split second before his eyes did. This scent...

Nick.

“Oh? What are you running from, Lightweight?” came the signature smirk. That infuriating fucking smirk.

“Not. The. Time,” Charlie muttered through gritted teeth, eyes fixed on the floor.

Nick blinked. “Well, excuse me, Your Royal Highness. You’re the one who bulldozed into me like a drunken zombie here.”

“Just… go away ,” Charlie hissed, voice breaking slightly.

“I’ll go if I want to go. What if you go instead? I have every right to stand here, same as you…”

Charlie snapped.

“Nick, fuck off! I can’t do this right now. Go play your little golden-boy games with someone else.”

Nick faltered. “What the hell’s gotten into you?”

“You were there! You heard it!” Charlie shouted, voice rising, cracking. His eyes finally met Nick’s, furious, raw, brimming with unshed tears. And then it clicks, Courchevel. “You knew! Didn’t you? That’s why you’re here… ‘I warned you, Charlie.’ Fucking parading around like some self-righteous prophet.”

He pushed at Nick’s chest and stepped back. His back hit the wall, and he leaned against it, eyes fixed on the floor. Looking at Nick was impossible. He couldn’t endure that infuriatingly smug expression shouting “Told you so.”

Nick stepped closer, frowning, sharp-eyed but clearly lost. “Wait... what are you talking about? I just got back from the loo. What did I miss there?” He said, gesturing in the direction of the common room.

“Oh, nothing much…” Charlie laughed bitterly. “Just your mate Harry announcing that Ben is engaged . Apparently it was all very romantic. Snow. Fireworks. Love in the Alps. But you probably already know that.”

Nick’s face dropped.

“Shit. Fuck.” He looked at Charlie. “Look, I’m sorry… But I did warn you though.”

“Oh, you tried to warn me, right?” Charlie sneered. “Well, mission accomplished. You can pat yourself on the back now. Happy?”

“No. Not really,” Nick said, his voice quieter now. “I didn’t want this for you… but seriously, how could you even trust someone like… him ?”

And that. That question hit Charlie like a slap.

Because he’d already heard it, not from Nick, but from Tao. That same question, different voice: “How could you even trust him?” And here it was again, echoing in his brain like a cruel loop. How could he have been so blind? So desperate? So stupid?

It felt like the universe was holding up a mirror to every single of his failures. Only this time, it wasn’t Tao, his well-meaning, sometimes overbearing friend, it was Nick. Nick Fucking Nelson, who always managed to stand there with that irritating mix of amusement and judgement, like he’d seen straight through Charlie from day one.

How did he do it? Was it a skill? A gift? Still, it felt just like the final kick while he was already down.

Charlie couldn’t take it, not tonight, not after Ben .

He let out a bitter little laugh.

“And you’re such a great judge of character, aren’t you?” he snapped.

Nick’s jaw tensed. The amusement faded from his face. “Better than you think,” he said quite seriously. And for once, there was no smugness behind it.

No longer able to stand it, Charlie just lashed out.

“As if you’re better!” Charlie exploded. “You think you’re above this? Above me? You rich kids, all of you, you play your little games with people’s hearts like it’s nothing. Is this fun for you? I’m what? Another chapter in the Queer Cox Confessions you all swap over G&T?”

Nick stepped in, his expression darkening, hands up, half in defense, half in defiance.

“What the fuck do you even know about me?” he growled, “We’ve barely spoken and when we do, you bite my head off. You don’t know me, at all.”

He didn’t back away, he moved closer to Charlie, his hands came up again to land on Charlie’s chest. Charlie didn’t know if he was gonna hit him or hold him.

“I know enough!” Charlie spat. “You’re just another spoiled little brat who’s never had to fight for anything in his life. Everything’s been handed to you on a fucking silver platter. Perfect face. Perfect body. Perfect family. Perfect fucking boat seat. So yeah, fuck you, Nick.”

They were inches apart now. Chest to chest. Breaths crashing against each other like waves. Nick’s hands hadn’t moved. Charlie could feel the tension vibrating through them both. Nick looked like he wanted to scream. If his eyes had been weapons, Charlie would already be bleeding.

But he didn’t flinch. Neither of them did.

“And you,” Nick said, voice low and full of heat, “think you’re some righteous martyr. Mister ‘I-carry-the-weight-of-the-world.’ Always so sure you’re right. Always so sure you’re smarter and better than the rest of us.”

“I never said…”

“You didn’t have to.” Nick stepped closer, if possible. He braced one hand against the wall beside Charlie’s jaw, his voice sharper now, louder. “You act like you’re above it all, but you’re not. You’re just like us, Charlie. You’re here. Studying at Oxford. Rowing. Fighting tooth and nail for your spot in that boat. JUST. LIKE. US.”

Charlie was speechless, furious and… Fuck…. Full of want?

He hated him. He hated how he was always in control, even in the middle of a fight. Hated the way he never seemed to flinch, even a bit. Hated the way he looked at him.

Charlie’s breath caught in his throat. He just wanted him to shut-up, make him shut his fucking beautiful mouth! He wanted to kiss him, he wanted to hit him.

He wanted to end whatever this was.

So, trembling, Charlie reached up and grabbed a fistful of Nick’s collar.

With his hand on Charlie's chest, Nick grabbed Charlie’s in return.

They crashed together, not kissing, not quite. Just staring, foreheads touching, breathing against each other’s lips. Hip to hip. It was there… White-hot and undeniable, Charlie could feel it: Nick was hard against him and he was hard too. It wasn’t just tension now, it was hunger, desire wrapped in fury.

Charlie’s fingers tightened in the fabric of Nick’s shirt. He leaned in… And barely let his lips brush against Nick’s, just enough to feel the shape of him, to feel how badly he wanted more.

Then he pulled back, eyes wide, with a shaky breath. 

“I… am not… like you,” he whispered, voice trembling, shaking his head.

He let go, pushed Nick and walked away.

The gayest, most dramatic walk of his life.

That night, Charlie didn’t sleep. He lay in his bunk, heart still racing and mind spinning. The evening played on repeat, Ben’s fake smile, Harry’s smug voice, Ben’s engagement, Nick’s hands, his breath, that almost-kiss.

He held back the tears, just a little longer, until he was home, where he could fall apart safely, in Isaac’s and Tao’s arms, his safe place.

The day after, by noon, the final meeting wrapped. Charlie offered a weak excuse, some family emergency, how ironic , and skipped the farewell party entirely. He packed, fast and messy, and made for the door.

Just before he left, he ran into Sai.

“Charlie. Hey, are you alright? I heard you’re leaving early.”

“Yeah, just… family stuff. They need me,” Charlie said with a plastic smile.

“Funny, Nick had to go too. Said he wasn’t feeling well.”

Charlie stiffened.

“Oh,” he said. “Hope he recovers.”

Sai smiled kindly. “Well, I was really glad to get to know you. Tell Isaac to call more often, yeah? I’d like to stay in touch.”

“Yeah. Will do. Bye, Sai.”

Nick wasn’t feeling well? As if he felt anything at all.

Charlie shoved the thought away. He was done.

Done with secrets, with lies, with perfect boys with their perfect lives who played with people like toys. Ben had broken him. Nick had... what? Mocked him? Tempted him? Almost kissed him? None of it mattered now. Nick meant nothing, Nick is nothing… And Charlie was too wounded and exhausted to give him any further attention.

Everything that happened that night was a final reminder that he didn’t belong in this world and he never would.

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

The morning after was rough. Charlie had woken up, eyes swollen, throat raw from crying and barely sleeping. He'd fallen apart the moment he arrived home the night before, collapsing into the comfort of his friends’ arms. He cried, apologized and begged for forgiveness. Even if both of his friends reminded him there was no need to and asked him to stop the self-punishment.

Tao had made him tea and called Ben every name in the book. Isaac had wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and held him like he could. No one blamed him. No one said, “I told you so.” They just loved him, fiercely and unconditionally.

By late morning, Charlie had managed a shower and booked an emergency session with Geoff for early afternoon. He wasn’t sure what he needed exactly: some sense to what doesn't make any? A permission to punch Ben in the face? Maybe a prescription to stop falling for any bastard within a mile radius? Whatever it was, Geoff remained, as always, the safest space to expose his wounds.

He was preparing himself for the draining therapy session to come when there was a knock at the door.

He opened it.

And there stood Ben.

Not looking sad, nor apologetic. Just… annoyed.

“You blocked me, Charlie?! Seriously? What are we, fourteen?”

Charlie blinked. The sheer smugness hit like a slap. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he said flatly. “Don’t you have a fiancée to go spoil?”

Ben rolled his eyes, stepping forward. “Oh come on, Charlie. Can you not be dramatic and act as an adult for once?”

Charlie flinched as Ben reached out to touch his arm. He stepped back immediately, eyes narrowing. “Dramatic?” he snapped. “You want me to be an adult? You, who was casually shagging me while planning your engagement like it was the most natural thing in the world? Being an adult would’ve meant being honest! You’re such a selfish prick.”

He reached for the door to slam it shut, but Ben blocked it with his hand.

“Oh for God’s sake, Charlie,” Ben groaned. “You know what my family’s like. I have obligations. That doesn’t mean we couldn’t keep... what we had. It was fun, wasn’t it?”

He said it softly, with that false gentleness Charlie could finally see through.

Charlie saw red. Fun .

“Fun?!” His voice cracked with fury. “Yeah I had so much fun being hidden like a dirty secret? Fun being cheated, lied to and manipulated! I can’t even tell which part was my favourite! And no, Ben, I don’t know your family. How could I? I was never meant to. I was never anything more than some convenient distraction, your little toy to play with when no one was watching.”

Ben’s face hardened. “So that’s it? You’re just going to sit there, wrapped in your own pride, playing the victim?”

“YOU HURT ME!” Charlie shouted, his voice echoing down the corridor. “You used me, lied to me, controlled me. And I let you. I let you because I wanted to believe you could be more. But that’s over . Now get out.”

He meant every word. He didn’t even realise he was shaking. But God it feels good to finally have said this.

At that moment, two doors along the hall creaked open.

Tao stepped into the hallway, arms crossed, eyes narrowed like a blade.

“He told you to leave,” Tao said, voice low, lethal.

“You’re not part of LMH,” Isaac added from behind him, calm but firm. “And if you don’t walk away right now, we’ll call security.”

Ben scoffed, wounded ego twisting his face. “I knew I shouldn’t have wasted my time pitying you.”

And he left, as the coward he’s always been.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, Tao exhaled sharply. “What a fucking cunt. I swear, if I wasn’t built like a broomstick, I’d have thrown him out myself.”

Charlie let out something between a laugh and a sob.

“You okay?” Isaac asked, stepping forward.

Charlie nodded slowly. “I think I am. I mean… When he came back with his apologies at the beginning of the month, I already had doubts. I kept telling myself to give him a chance. I don’t know why I wanted to believe him, I wanted to believe I could be loved… But now I know exactly who he is.”

He slumped against the wall, exhausted.

“I have a session with Geoff in a couple hours,” he added dryly. “I’m guessing today’s theme will be choices, consequences, and how not to fall for men who treat you like a warm-up lap.”

Isaac opened his arms without a word and pulled Charlie into a hug. Tao followed without hesitation, arms wrapping around them both. They stood there, in the hallway of their little college dorms, three misfits in mismatched pyjamas and messy hair, and in that small, imperfect pile of limbs, Charlie could finally breathe.

He was still heartbroken. But he was loved.

Maybe not in the dreamy, firework-in-the-sky way. (Not yet.)

But in the way that mattered most. He had a family here. And for now, that was enough to start the new year.

Chapter Text

The weeks following the bootcamp were brutally intense. Charlie was now deep in what he called his “race tunnel”, a relentless routine dictated by preparation for the Boat Race. Wake-up time between 5 and 5:30 a.m., straight to the boathouse, then four to five hours of training every day: two hours in the morning, another two to three in the afternoon, seven days a week, with no breaks. Once a week, there was the weigh-in, not exactly Charlie’s favourite moment, but with Geoff’s help, he’d learned to handle it pragmatically. It remained a non-negotiable requirement to secure his place in the boat.

As if that wasn’t enough, Coach Barker had added a new twist to the programme: Sprint Weeks. Every 2 weeks, in addition to the usual training load, came a spike in intensity. Every single session, on the water or on the rowing machine, became a sprint. The primary team had to beat the reserve crew. If they didn’t? They did it again. And not just win, they had to improve their time, week after week. It was sheer torture for the rowers, and for Charlie, who had to spot every tiny opportunity to shave off seconds. The level of focus it required from him was insane.

Thankfully, as the weeks rolled on and spring settled in, shirts and vests started coming off more frequently during training. And while Charlie was no longer exactly eyeing up his teammates, that chapter was closed, he was still a human with eyes. And if those eyes got to enjoy the view while he coxed, well, he called that making the best of both worlds.

The past two and a half months had been exhausting. But Charlie knew it was probably the only reason he hadn’t spiralled again after the Ben fiasco. Being that rooted in his body, locked into a rigid routine, taking the lead in the boat, it had been a lifesaving distraction. That, and the combination of his weekly sessions with Geoff and his daily life with his friends.

Geoff never failed to remind him: the whole Ben chapter had been rough, sure, but Charlie could be proud because he hadn’t fallen apart. He’d held on and leaned on his safety net, allowed himself to feel the pain and face it. He hadn’t found all the answers, and he accepted that he probably never would. In a way, that was healthy.

Had he talked to Geoff about Nick? Not.at.all. Ben had already been a lot to unpack. And as the weeks went by, Charlie became more and more convinced that what had almost happened with Nick was nothing more than collateral damage. He needed to express his anger and feel something, now chapter closed.

And he had to admit that not only did he feel better, but he was also quite proud of having avoided the spiral. 

So yay for Charlie!

Between coursework and race preparation, Charlie had suddenly realised yesterday that they were already halfway through March, which meant only one month to go until the Boat Race. And for the first time in a long while, he felt ready. There was no way he was going to let Ben take this from him too. So he kept his head down, stayed focused, gave everything he had in every session, every debrief, every stroke. He tried his best to ignore the fourth seat in the boat, to reduce Ben to just another cog in the machine, a force of physics to account for, anything but a person. 

Overall, Charlie had earned the team’s trust and respect. And, more than that, he’d built real friendships with a few of the rowers, something he hadn’t expected, but genuinely appreciated. 

Leo, a first-year with a fierce love for indie films, had hit it off instantly with Tao. The two of them could spend hours dissecting a single scene like it was a thesis defence. Charlie sometimes watched them with a mix of fondness and mild-exasperation.

Oscar, another fresher, was a bassist and full-on music nerd, just like Charlie. They’d bonded over a shared obsession with building the perfect training playlist, and now they occasionally played together and spent far too much time sending each other Spotify links. Noah and Pierce, second-years and flatmates of Leo and Oscar, often joined for pub nights, no more than once a week, strictly, and pizza or game nights had become almost as regular as the team’s weigh-ins. The unsaid rule was to keep movie nights to a minimum to avoid being dragged into another impromptu lecture on late 20th-century German cinema...

Charlie liked this new rhythm. It grounded him. He had worried, at first, that it might be too much for Isaac, too loud or too busy, but it turned out his friend truly enjoyed having people over now and then. A few hours of gentle socialising before returning to his books, Isaac knew how to find balance. And Charlie, slowly but surely, was learning to find it again too.

One Tuesday morning, Charlie arrived at the club a little before 6 a.m. He had gotten up at 5 to take advantage of the first signs of spring and treat himself to a short 30-minute run. Since he was closer to the club than to LMH, he decided to shower there, as he had spare clothes on hand. Alone in the locker room, Charlie enjoyed the calm before the team arrived. He mentally went over the morning’s race route, recalling each crew member’s small difficulties so he could give the right calls at the right moment, helping the team function better and gain those precious seconds that would make all the difference on race day.

💔💔💔

Lost in thought, he finished getting dressed, his back to the locker room door, when he suddenly felt a hand grab his elbow. He jumped and turned around, thinking it was a teammate trying to get his attention because he hadn’t heard them come in, only to find it was Ben.

Charlie tried to pull his arm free, but Ben tightened his grip.

“What are you doing, Ben? Let go of my arm.”

“I got here early and heard something, so I came to check it out. And look who I found…” His eyes settled on Charlie’s jacket. “You’re wearing a jacket, it’s not even cold.”

“It’s only mid-March,” Charlie replied, flatly.

Ben gave him a lopsided smirk, half amused. “Lame.”

Charlie’s pulse had picked up. He wanted to stay calm, keep this brief, but his voice came out a little less steady than he’d hoped. “What do you want, Ben?”

Ben’s eyes darkened. He still hadn’t let go, and Charlie’s discomfort was growing by the second. He just wanted whatever this was to be over.

Then Ben lifted his free hand, moving it toward Charlie’s face, a gesture that made Charlie’s stomach turn.

Charlie slapped it away. “Don’t touch me.”

Ben took a step back, theatrically wounded. “God, what’s your problem? I’m trying to be nice. We’re teammates, Charlie.” The smirk was back, slick and insincere.

“I told you,” Charlie said, voice firmer now, “I don’t want to deal with you outside of the boat or the training room.”

Ben’s expression changed, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. “Yeah, well. I don’t believe you.” His voice dropped lower. “I see the way you look at me during practice, Charlie.”

Charlie blinked, caught off-guard. “What?”

“You’re clearly just scared of being caught” Ben leaned in slightly, more confident now, predatory. 

Charlie scoffed, and something inside him snapped into place. “Why would I be scared of getting caught?” His voice began to rise, heat gathering in his chest. “Everybody in the team already knows I’m gay, it’s not as if I was the one hiding who I am. You're the one who’s scared of getting caught. You can’t even look at me when other people are around. Not to mention the fact that you're engaged. The fiancée you told me about… oh wait, no, you didn't.”

All Charlie wanted was to end this, to leave, to catch up with the others. But Ben wasn’t done. His tone sharpened. “Don’t be angry at me for not wanting to come out yet.”

Charlie’s voice trembled, but he spoke with a hard-earned clarity. “I’m not angry about that. If you're figuring stuff out, fine. Take your time. I would have been there for you. Don't you think that I, of all people, would understand you’re figuring out your sexuality?”

Ben didn’t let up. His hand twitched again, reaching for Charlie’s arm. “Then why are you angry at me?”

Charlie took a step back, heart pounding. But this time, he didn’t back down.

“Do you remember the first time you kissed me and then had sex with me?” he asked, forcing his voice to stay calm, even as panic coiled in his chest.

Ben’s expression shifted, softening slightly, almost something tender.

Charlie pushed on, grasping the moment. “You didn’t even ask…”

Ben blinked. 

”You didn't pause to wonder whether it was what I wanted and I went along with it cause I had a crush and I didn't know any better. I didn't realise you had all the control.” He exhaled shakily. “When I eventually did realise, I thought ‘this must be what I deserve’, someone taking whatever he wants from me, whenever he wants. Treating me like I’m nothing the rest of the time.” 

Charlie’s voice cracked now. His fingers drummed the back of his head.

“And now whenever anything good happens in my life, there’s a little voice in the back of my mind telling me I’m worthless and I don't deserve this” He looked up at Ben, eyes blurred with emotion but gaze unwavering. ”I’m angry because you never even slightly cared about my feelings. We only ever met up when you wanted to, where you wanted to, when you felt like shagging a boy. You don’t care about me at all. Sorry doesn't make up for everything you did to me…” He pauses before saying bitterly, “Oh silly me… You didn't even say sorry at all.”

Ben’s face hardened. His own expression faltered, anger simmering just below the surface. Careful now, Charlie, just hold on a little longer.

Ben’s voice came sharp, contemptuous. “It’s not like anyone else is going to want to shag you, is it? You really think Rowing King Nick Nelson wants you?”

Charlie froze. Nick?

His heart slammed in his chest.

“What the fuck does Nick Nelson have to do with this?” he snapped, the name hitting like an open wound.

“I don’t give a shit about your doppelgänger. I don’t want you anymore, Ben. Not now, not ever. You.”

Ben froze for a few seconds, his expression confused, then suddenly, his eyes filled with rage, his mouth twisted, and in a burst of violence, he grabbed Charlie and shoved him against the wall, kissing him.

Startled, Charlie found himself pinned against the wall under Ben’s weight, despite being lean, Ben was heavier than Charlie and was pressing down on him in his fury.

Charlie struggled, but Ben held him by the collar and forced his mouth against his. It was messy, violent, full of spit. Charlie kept fighting back.

“Don’t”

“Charlie… I know you like me. I know you want this”

As Ben pinned Charlie against the wall, one hand pressing hard against his chest, the other began to move lower to reach Charlie's shorts. Charlie tensed, trying to twist away, but Ben was stronger, driven by something dark and furious. Ben pushed his hand inside the shorts and began to palm there.

Tears began to stream down Charlie’s cheeks. He felt trapped, powerless, something he hadn’t felt in a long time. For once, he had no control, not even over his own body.

His muscles slowly began to go slack, not in surrender, but as if his mind were trying to detach, to pull him away, to protect him from the reality of what was happening.

Through a strangled breath, he begged Ben to stop, one last time.

“Stop it”

But he held him firmly, pausing his movements for a moment to grab Charlie’s chin with his other hand and force him to look at him. Ben’s eyes were unrecognizable, filled with a certain uncontrollable madness.

“Charlie look, I like you but I’m figuring stuff out. What more do you want from me?”

Charlie turned his head away as Ben leaned in and licked his neck.

“No… Stop, please Ben, please stop it.” Charlie pleaded with him, his voice breaking. But Ben, unfazed, continued, his movements rough and filled with rage.

“Come on that's how you want it babe”

And suddenly, Charlie felt Ben’s weight vanish. His eyes were shut tight, and he didn’t dare open them, thinking his mind had finally pulled him away completely until he heard one firm voice.

“He told you to stop.”

Then a second one.

“Now go on. Piss off.”

💔💔💔

When he opened his eyes, he saw Oscar, Leo, and Noah letting go of Ben. They were standing between him and Ben, their backs to Charlie, all he could see was Ben’s frightened expression before he rushed out of the locker room. The boys didn’t turn around right away.

Oscar said, “Charlie, are you okay? Can we turn around?”

It didn’t seem like much, a simple question, just a few words of humanity, but the contrast with what Ben had just done to him was overwhelming. Where Ben had stripped him of his agency and his soul, his three friends were giving him both back, restoring a bit of who he was.

Charlie quickly arranged his clothes, then collapsed against the wall, whispering a barely audible “yes.”

“It’s okay, Charlie,” Oscar said softly. “It’s over. He’s gone.”

Their voices were low, soothing, careful not to overwhelm him. Charlie could barely hear them over the roaring in his ears, but he felt the warmth in their words, a genuine caring. That mattered.

Minutes passed. Slowly, his sobs began to ease off, each one replaced by a heavy, suffocating silence. The fog in his brain started to lift, just enough to let in a brutal kind of clarity. He was on the floor of the locker room and Ben had assaulted him. That was real, that had actually happened.

And with that lucidity came a hard feeling, a wave of nausea rising in his chest, cold and immediate.

“I…” he choked out, then pushed himself to his feet with sudden urgency. He stumbled toward the bathroom. He barely made it to the stall before he dropped to his knees and vomited.

The boys followed without hesitation, never crowding him, but never letting him be alone either, like quiet, persistent guardians. Oscar moved closer, crouching just beside him, not touching, not speaking at first.

Then, gently, “Charlie, can I touch you? Just your arm. Can I do that?”

Charlie gave a shaky nod.

Oscar reached out slowly, grounding him with a warm hand on his arm. Then, when Charlie didn’t pull away, he slipped his hand into his.

“You need to get out of here,” Oscar said gently. “Do you think you can stand, if we help you?”

Charlie didn’t answer the question. He just whispered, “Home…”

“Yes,” Oscar said at once. “We’ll take you home. Will you let us help you, Charlie?”

Charlie nodded again. It was all he could manage. But he trusted them, more than that, he felt the care in everything they did, only kindness. And he let himself need them.

“Isaac…” he murmured.

“You want me to call him?” Leo asked, already pulling out his phone.

Oscar crouched lower, keeping his voice even. “Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. Noah’s going to talk to the coach, tell him something came up. Leo’s going to call Isaac and ask him to meet us at your dorm. You and I will get your stuff together. We’ll all go home. Okay?”

Charlie looked up, dazed. “What about training?” The words came out automatic, distant. His brain, still trying to cling to some kind of normal.

Oscar gave a half-smile. “We’ll make it up this afternoon. All three of us. Don’t worry about it, mate. Just focus on getting out of here.”

And then, things happened exactly the way Oscar said they would.

Noah went straight to the coach, his tone calm but firm. He explained that something serious had happened, that the four of them wouldn’t be attending the morning session. He promised they’d all train twice as hard that afternoon, and that Charlie would likely be out for a few days, but would contact the coach directly.

The coach, unsurprisingly, wasn’t thrilled, four key members of the squad missing from morning training was not ideal. But he knew Noah, he had coached him the previous year. Noah never missed a session, never made excuses. If he said it was serious, then it must be.

“Fine,” the coach said, reluctantly. “But I want you three back here on time this afternoon. And Charlie… he needs to see me first thing tomorrow morning.”

When they reached the front entrance, the coach watched as Charlie, pale and silent, exited between Oscar and Leo. His posture was stiff, his gaze fixed on the ground. Oscar kept a hand gently on his back, guiding but not pushing. Leo was already on the phone with Isaac.

“I don’t know the details yet,” Leo said, walking a few paces ahead, “but something bad has happened. We’re taking him to LMH. Can you meet us there?”

Isaac’s answer was immediate. “On my way.”

The four of them walked together toward Charlie’s dorm. No one said much, there was no need. Every step away from the club felt like an exhale. Every second closer to Isaac and the familiar walls felt like something loosening in Charlie’s chest.

He wasn’t okay, not yet, but he wasn’t alone.

By the time they reached the dorm, Isaac was already waiting by the door, opening it without a word. His face tensed in concern, but his movements were calm and assured. Charlie stepped inside, flanked by his 3 quiet angels.

The boys helped him into his room, moving with the same deliberate care as before. They offered him a shower, gently suggesting it might help, but all Charlie wanted was to be left alone.

“That’s not gonna happen, Charlie,” Oscar said softly. “Listen… I know you’ve got a mountain of shit to deal with right now, but you can’t do it on your own. We’re not leaving you.”

And somehow, in the kindness of those words, Charlie surrendered. He nodded faintly, and when Isaac reached out, he let him guide him to the bathroom.

While Charlie showered, with Isaac nearby, just in case, the others stayed busy. Leo, Oscar, and Noah brewed tea, brought snacks from the kitchen, and quietly turned Charlie’s room into a cocoon: soft lights, a pile of pillows and blankets, everything that might bring a shred of comfort.

When Charlie emerged, still wrapped in steam and silence, he found a warm mug of his favourite tea waiting on the desk, along with a few of the snacks, listed as comfort food. His bed had become a fortress of softness.

Leo smiled, carefully casual. “We know you probably don’t want to talk. That’s okay, we’re not gonna push. But we’re staying with you until training this afternoon. So… what about a movie?”

It was more than Charlie could process, but he nodded again, almost automatically. Since he’d collapsed on the floor in the locker room, Charlie had felt like a robot. Even breathing had become something he had to remember to do.

Minutes later, the five of them were piled up in his room, watching Legally Blonde . They quoted every Elle Woods line with such exaggerated drama that Charlie might have smiled, if he hadn’t felt so hollow. He didn’t even know when he drifted off. 

He woke maybe three hours later to soft murmurs and the scent of tea. The presence remained, this boys, his unexpected angels, were still there. And now, a sixth figure had joined the room.

Tao.

Charlie blinked as his eyes adjusted. Tao sat close to Noah, not watching the movie like the others, but staring at Charlie with a frown: concern radiated off him. When Charlie’s eyes met his, Tao gave a small nod, and Charlie found the strength to smile, just a little.

He sat up against the wall, and one by one, five pairs of eyes turned toward him.

Isaac was the first to speak, soft and calm. “How are you, Babycakes?”

Charlie shrugged. He didn’t know.

Tao, never one for subtlety, leaned forward. “Can you tell us what happened? I mean… the guys told me what they walked in on, but can you tell us more?”

Charlie froze. The images came back instantly. The locker room. Ben’s voice. The wall. The kiss. The hand. His chest tightened, and the tears came again unbidden.

“Give him a minute,” Oscar said quietly.

And in that pause, surrounded by people who hadn’t let go of him once, Charlie realized something: he was safe. So he started to speak.

His voice was flat. He recounted it all: the break-up with Ben (for the rowers), the early morning run, deciding to go straight to the club for a shower, being alone in the changing room, the sudden hand on his arm. Then the confrontation, Ben’s rage, the kiss he didn’t ask for, the hand on his body, the sickening panic and finally, the indescribable relief when the boys arrived.

By the time he finished, he wasn’t crying anymore. But he wasn’t feeling anything either, he was empty.

Tao didn’t speak. For once, he didn’t rush to fill the silence.

Noah, however, couldn’t hold it in. “That fucker ,” he spat, voice like ice. “I’ve never liked him. But now? I swear to God, I want to kill him.”

Tao finally found his voice. “Charlie, you have to report him.”

Leo chimed in, gently. “Even just talking to the coach. That would be a start.”

Charlie shook his head, almost imperceptibly. “I… I can’t.”

Charlie already knew how this story would play out. Ben had money, a whole future carefully paved for him. And Charlie? Charlie had nothing but conditions: a scholarship that could vanish with one bad mark on his record and no safety net.

“It would be my word against his,” he said. “And he’ll win. He always does. I just… I can’t risk it. Not with the race this close. I need to make it through this month. That’s all.”

Oscar wasn’t ready to give up. “But Charlie, we saw him. We can back you up.”

Charlie gave a tired smile. “That’s kind. But you know how it works. He’d twist it and find a way to make it your word against me. I can’t risk Noah’s place on the team either, you’ve got your own scholarship. I’m not pulling anyone down with me.”

Tao stared at him. “Charlie, I think you’re making a huge mistake. People like Ben keep getting away with it because no one ever fights back. But you… you could. This is your duty to report him.”

“And to whom do I owe this?! You don’t understand, Tao. Please… stop pushing.”

Isaac’s voice rang out suddenly.

“Okay. That’s enough.”

His eyes swept across the room. “Guys, I think that's enough for now, and I mean that in the best way. It’s time to give Charlie some space. So if you don’t mind…”

There was a beat of quiet understanding. The rowers nodded, slowly getting up. They each gave Charlie a look of reassurance, small affirmations that they were still there and nothing had changed.

And Tao, for once, simply walked over, wrapped his arms around Charlie in a silent, firm hug, and left without a word.

“Well…” Charlie murmured, his eyes still red-rimmed. “Now you’re going to give me the talk?”

He turned toward Isaac, who was sitting beside him on the edge of the bed. Hushed, as always.

But Isaac didn’t answer right away. He just looked at Charlie with that expression that had always made Charlie feel a little safer, as if always knew what Charlie needed.

“No, Charlie,” he said at last. “I’m not going to give you a big speech.”

He shifted slightly, folding one leg underneath him, more present than ever.

“You and I have known each other since middle school. I know what you’ve been through. So, I think I’ve got a pretty good idea of what’s going through your head right now. Do I think you should report him? Of course I do. Because it’s the only way for you to start to heal and because Ben deserves to face consequences.”

Charlie looked away, jaw tight. But Isaac didn’t press.

“That said,” he continued gently, “I also know that trying to force you into something you’re not ready for is useless. Maybe you should take your time, Charlie. Process this in your own way. But don’t stop yourself from doing it for the wrong reasons…” Isaac’s voice stayed soft, but firm.

“No scholarship, and let alone no race, is worth what staying silent is going to do to you in the long run. There will always be another path, but there won’t be another chance to reclaim this moment. He took something from you, reporting him means reclaiming your story and your body.”

Charlie blinked, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes again. Fucking Isaac.

“All I ask,” Isaac said, quieter now, “is that you don’t stop your sessions with Geoff. If you do… I’ll be the one reporting Ben. Deal?”

Charlie swallowed hard, then nodded. “Okay.”

“Good,” Isaac said with a faint smile. “You’ve got an emergency session with him tonight.”

Charlie didn’t answer, he quietly chuckled.

He leaned back against the headboard, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Isaac didn’t move away. He stayed right there beside him, close, a quiet presence in the stillness of the room.

They spent the afternoon like that, not speaking much, just letting the silence stretch. When evening came, and Charlie called Geoff for the session, Isaac didn’t leave. He sat nearby, headphones in. Always there, as he always has been.

Geoff’s words echoed Isaac’s. He never pushed but he made one thing clear: Charlie didn’t have to make a decision yet but he did have to start acknowledging the fact that he was a victim.

And being a victim didn’t mean being weak or passive. It didn’t mean resigning himself to what had happened. It meant acknowledging that something had been taken from him. And in the face of that, he had the power to act. Even if it didn’t lead to the outcome he wanted or if the system failed him, the very act of choosing a path, his own path, was a step toward healing. A step toward reclaiming what Ben had tried to take.

By the end of the session, Charlie didn’t make any promises. He just said, quietly, that he’d think about it. But Geoff knew that in Charlie’s words, that meant something.

They ended the call with a tighter schedule of appointments. And when Charlie left the call, the weight on his shoulders hadn’t vanished, but it had shifted. It was no longer pressing him into the ground. It was something he could try to carry.

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

After a very short night, Charlie made his way to the boat club early the next morning, just as the light began to break over the river. Practice wouldn’t start for another hour, but his meeting with Coach Barker had been scheduled first thing. No room for excuses.

Coach Barker was already waiting in his office, arms crossed, coffee steaming in one hand. He gestured for Charlie to sit, then closed the door behind him. The room was quiet, except for the distant creak of riggers being checked outside and the occasional muffled clink of oars.

“Listen, Charlie,” Barker began, his tone firm but not unkind. “I hear you’ve been having a tough time. I’m not here to pretend that I didn't notice that something happened.”

He paused, studying him.

“But the race is in a month, five weeks from now, and I need to know if you’re going to hold up. I don’t usually tolerate unplanned absences during final prep. But you’re one of our strongest assets. You’re holding the boat together. I’m willing to overlook it, once, but only if I understand what I’m dealing with. I need to know what’s going on so I can decide how we move forward. And I don’t need to remind you that your scholarship depends on your performance.”

Charlie nodded quickly, eyes down, trying to compose himself. “I know, Coach. I… I had a bit of an issue yesterday. It won’t happen again.”

The coach raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Charlie, when four of my top rowers miss a session, that’s not a minor issue. That’s a red flag and I need to know: is this going to affect the race?”

Charlie hesitated, fear in his eyes. His throat tightened. “No. I promise. It won’t interfere. It was…” He faltered. “It was my fault. I misunderstood a situation and… And I panicked, that’s all.”

There was a tremor in his voice that betrayed him. Barker caught it. His eyes narrowed slightly, not in suspicion, but in concern. Then, his posture shifted, as he put down the coffee.

Charlie didn’t realise until then how tense he’d been.

To Charlie’s surprise, Barker didn’t snap. Instead, he exhaled slowly and leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. There was something in his eyes now, like a knowing, like a quiet understanding of something that hadn’t been said aloud.

“All right,” he said, his voice lower now. “We’ve got a slot on the race course this Saturday. It’s the last one before the timed mile one week before the race. I had to fight for it, we’re going out after Cambridge on Saturday morning, so it’ll be tough. I need my boat sharp.”

He paused, then asked, gently, “Can we agree you’ll be ready for that? That you’ll be in that boat with us, Saturday morning?”

Charlie looked up and met his gaze. “Yes.”

Coach Barker nodded once, then added, “Good. Then I want you to come back here Sunday morning, just you and me. I don't want to pressure you but I do want to talk properly, if you’re willing to.”

Charlie blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected generosity in his tone. Coach Barker hadn’t said much but something in him seemed to know. Maybe not the whole truth, but enough to know Charlie was carrying something heavy.

“In the meantime,” Coach added, sitting back in his chair, “you’ve got three days till Saturday. Do what you need to do to be ready. I trust you, it's up to you whether you show up to practice or not. Lucas is there to take your place if needed anyway.”

That word trust hit Charlie like a wave. This man, one of the men Charlie fears the most, was offering him room to breathe. He trusted him… That’s how Charlie knew that maybe if he told the truth, it wouldn’t be the end of the world after all.

But not yet. He wasn’t ready, yet.

So instead, Charlie nodded. “Thank you, Coach.”

Coach Barker didn’t smile, but there was a flicker of warmth in his eyes. “Saturday morning. Bus leaves at 7. Don’t be late.”

Charlie made it through the rest of the week the only way he knew how, one breath at a time. One training session at a time. Some hours harder than the last. But he kept moving forward, holding onto Saturday like a buoy.

He just had to hold on until then.

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

Saturday morning, the air was mild as Charlie arrived at the site with the team. He was constantly surrounded by his angels: Leo, Oscar, Noah, and now Pierce, who had been let in on the secret. For the past three days, Charlie had never been alone at practice. Unable to go back into the locker room, he would change in his room and walk to the club accompanied by at least one of the boys. All that care moved him deeply, he knew he needed it now, but at the same time, he felt overwhelmingly guilty for being a burden to everyone.

He was barely sleeping, dark circles under his eyes; he ate just enough to maintain his weight for the upcoming weigh-in, but overall, he felt like a zombie.

Oddly enough, being in the boat brought him peace. 

Maybe not the Eight. Sharing a boat with Ben felt like reliving a nightmare on loop. Even with Ben tucked away in seat four and three solid rowers forming a human buffer zone between them, Charlie still felt his stomach twist. He made a point never to look down the line, he clung to his role, kept his eyes fixed ahead and his voice steady. He fought the waves of nausea by anchoring himself to his role, the steady rhythm and every call he shouted, as if giving control and structure helped to feel safe in this boat.

Solo training on the other hand really helped. He’d gone back to training the day before, and the 90 minutes alone in his boat had helped. No one around… just him. Focusing on the act of rowing strangely silenced all the negative voices and emotions in his head, just as much as drumming.

Just rhythm. Breath. Stroke. Repeat. On the water, his mind cleared. 

The more time passed, the more he knew he’d have to tell his story if he wanted to move forward. But he wanted to do it on his own terms, when he was ready. This morning was important. It was a key training session, and he’d promised Coach Barker he’d be there. So once again, Charlie pushed it all aside and held his head high.

As they reached the edge of the Thames to launch, Cambridge was just coming off the water, and Charlie’s eyes immediately landed on a bare torso. With… were those freckles? Oh fuck…

The chest was firm and perfectly defined, tapering into a set of sculpted abs. Charlie’s eyes followed the faint line of silky, strawberry-blond hair down to the waistband of the half-god’s shorts in all his glory… Nick Fucking Nelson.

Charlie was traumatised, yes, but he still had eyes, and he couldn’t help but appreciate the view. And God, freckles? Like scattered constellations lighting up pale skin? Was there no limit to this boy’s physical beauty? Had the gods decided to give him everything and leave the rest of humanity in the dust?

He looked up and met Nick’s gaze. The smile on Nick’s face faded instantly the moment he saw Charlie’s expression.

Charlie kept walking toward his team and, inevitably, crossed paths with Nick and the rest of the Team McDreamy. After a quick exchange with Sai, Otis, and Jai, he continued forward, but Nick stopped right in front of him.

“Well,” Nick said, eyes flicking over Charlie’s pale face and tired posture. “You look like shit. You okay?”

His words were blunt, but the concern in his eyes was unmistakable.

Charlie didn’t even blink. “Hello to you too, Nick.”

His tone was sharp, laced with bitterness. Nick seemed to deflate slightly. He raised a hand and rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly awkward, like a kid caught doing something wrong.

“Look, Charlie, I…”

But Charlie couldn’t do this, not today and not after everything he endured lately.

“Oh, now I’m Charlie ?” he cut in, voice rising. “Glad to know you finally learned my name after five fucking months.”

Nick winced, visibly. “Ouch… yeah. I think I deserve that.”

He took a small step forward, tentative. “Can we… Can we talk?”

Charlie laughed bitterly. “No, Nick fucking Nelson , we can’t talk. I have a practice to get to, and I want nothing to do with you. So, will you please kindly fuck off?”

The words rang out louder than intended. Nick flinched, just a second, but Charlie saw it, and hated that a tiny part of him registered it and felt bad.

And then, he saw them: Oscar, Leo, Noah, and Pierce, walking with purpose, sensing the tension even from a distance. These boys apparently had a gift for arriving exactly when he needed them, even if he didn’t ask.

“Ready, Charlie?” Pierce asked, tone gentle but clear.

Charlie didn’t take his eyes off Nick. “Coming.”

His voice was tight. His gaze still locked on the boy standing in front of him with that goddamn soft look like Charlie had just kicked his favourite puppy.

“So I guess… this is how we’re doing things?” Nick said, quietly. There was something raw in his voice, something… hurt?

Charlie’s jaw clenched. “Is there another way?”

He didn’t wait for a response. He turned and walked toward his team. He felt Nick’s eyes on his back the entire time.

Fuck Nick Nelson. And fuck that stupid, absurdly perfect body. Fuck those soft, stupid eyes that made you think he actually cared. Charlie had been there before. He knew the game, the sweet smiles, the gentle looks, the charming talks, all just preludes to being torn down the moment someone saw an opening to take control.

He had a practice to get through, and tomorrow, a conversation with Coach Barker. A real one. This time, Charlie wasn’t just trying to survive. He was done letting people like Ben think they were untouchable, done letting privileged boys skate through life without consequences because they had the right name, the right body, the right protection. He didn’t know what the outcome would be, but he was finally ready to try.

Back in his room after what had been, all things considered, a decent practice, Charlie dropped his bag by the door and exhaled. The session hadn’t been perfect, he’d been distracted, his calls a little delayed, his rhythm slightly off. The team had struggled to find cohesion, the absence of mutual trust was palpable, but still they had ended it on a high note. The Coach had seemed genuinely pleased, that was something.

He sat cross-legged on his bed, booted up his laptop, and logged into Zoom for his evening session with Geoff. They dove straight in.

Charlie told him that he was feeling ready to talk to Coach Barker tomorrow. That became the heart of their session: planning. Geoff advised to stay factual, to rely on the boys and ground himself in what they had seen. Geoff also gently suggested that, if needed, he could reach out to the Coach directly, but Charlie wasn’t sure about that move.

So they agreed: Charlie would feel it out. Let the meeting unfold and act accordingly.

After the call, Charlie sent a quick message to the group chat.

You: Pizza night? My place?

The replies came in faster than he could blink.

Ten minutes later, Isaac, Tao, Oscar, Leo, Noah, and Pierce were all piled onto the floor of Charlie’s room, arguing over toppings. Once an agreement was settled, they collapsed into a familiar rhythm of laughter, teasing, and easy silence.

And then, in the lull while waiting for the delivery, Charlie spoke.

“I’m going to tell Coach tomorrow.”

The words came steady and the room shifted. 

Tao exhaled and murmured, “Finally…”

Isaac didn’t say anything. He just reached out and rested an arm around Charlie’s shoulders, a simple, anchoring touch.

Charlie swallowed and looked at his teammates. “I… I’m going to need you guys. If you’re okay with it. I mean, would you be willing to tell him what you saw?”

He hesitated, the vulnerability raw in his voice. Then he looked up and met four pairs of eyes, wide with emotion, soft with affection.

Noah was the first to speak. “Charlie, of course we’ll stand with you. You don’t even have to ask.”

Leo nodded quickly. “How do you want to do it? Do you want us to write something for you to take in, or come with you in person?”

Oscar leaned forward. “Either way. Both, even. We’re behind you, whatever you need.”

And then Pierce, who hadn’t even been there that morning but hadn’t missed a beat since, added, “I might not have seen it, but I want to be there for you too. I’ll come, if that’s okay.”

Charlie’s throat closed up.

Since that awful morning, every word, every gesture from these boys had felt like a balm over wounds he hadn’t been sure would ever stop stinging. They’d patched him up with pizza and kindness, with quiet loyalty and presence. And somehow, little by little, they were helping him breathe again.

“I think… we could start with written statements,” Charlie said after a moment, voice trembling. “That way I can have something solid with me during the meeting, to back up what I say. I feel like going in all together might be like an ambush. But if you want to be at the club, I’d like that, just… Just in case.”

His voice cracked.

And then, for the first time in days, Charlie felt something real... Gratitude.

Tears welled up in his eyes, not because he was breaking this time, but because he was starting to feel. He wiped at them with the sleeve of his hoodie, laughing shakily.

“I’m okay,” he said. 

“Okay,” Tao replied, already crawling across the floor toward him. “We need a group hug now, non-negotiable.”

And just like that, they collapsed around him, arms thrown over shoulders, heads resting on knees, someone’s leg awkwardly bent between pillows, a ridiculous, tangled pile of warmth and love.

Right in the centre of it, Charlie felt something anchor in his chest.

Isaac had said it to him before: Whatever happens, it’ll be okay in the end.

And now, Charlie believed him. Because no matter what came next, no matter how hard the conversation would be tomorrow, he wasn’t facing it alone. And for the first time, that felt like enough.

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

On Sunday morning, Charlie made his way to the club with three folded letters in his pocket that felt far heavier than paper should. The boys had offered to wait for him in the club’s common room. He hadn’t asked them explicitly, already knowing they were there anyway. And that gave him enough strength to walk through the doors and up the stairs to Coach Barker’s office.

He hesitated outside the door. Took a deep breath and knocked once.

“Come in, Charlie,” came the reply, warm.

Charlie pushed the door open and stepped inside. Coach Barker was seated behind his desk, a steaming mug of coffee in one hand, his other gesturing to the chair opposite.

“Morning, Coach…” Charlie said quietly, his voice catching slightly.

“Morning,” Barker nodded. “Have a seat. Coffee?”

Charlie shook his head. “No, thank you. I… uh… I just wanted to say I’m sorry. About this past week.”

Coach Barker held up a hand, stopping him.

“First of all, well done yesterday. You kept it together on the course, not perfect, but solid. And second, look, I may not have graduated in psychology, but I do know my rowers. I’ve watched you all closely for months. I see the way you lead, the way you think. And I can tell when something’s wrong. Charlie, I know something happened last Tuesday. I know it involved someone on the team. And I know it was serious.”

Charlie looked down, his fingers were tight around the edge of the folded letters.

“My job,” the Coach continued, voice quieter now, “is to get this team to the finish line, but that’s not all it is. I’m here to protect you, as athletes, yes, but more importantly, as people. If something’s threatening you, I need to know. Otherwise I can’t do anything.”

There was no anger, just sincerity. For the first time, he didn’t see Coach as a relentless machine or a voice barking split times. He saw someone who cared.

So he opened his mouth and took a breath.

“I’m gay,” he said.

He wasn’t sure why that was the first thing that came out.

Coach Barker didn’t flinch and smiled gently. “That’s not exactly a surprise, Charlie.” He added cautiously, “Or a secret.” Then his expression changed, sharpening with concern. “Is that what this is about? Did someone bully you? Did something happen because of that?”

Charlie shook his head. “No. Not because of that. But… it’s kind of related.”

Coach Barker waited.

“I was seeing someone… Uh… On the team. I don’t feel great outing him, but…” He sighed, “I don’t have much choice anymore. It was Ben… Ben Hope.”

Coach Barker didn’t react, just a slow, understanding nod.

“We’ve sort of been together, on and off since September. I broke things after Christmas break when I found out he got engaged during the break.”

Charlie paused. The coach didn’t say a word, just listened. And then, all at once, Charlie let it all out.

“Tuesday morning, I came here early. I’d gone for a run and decided to change at the club. Ben found me in the locker room. We argued. He wanted to talk, I didn’t. I asked him to leave. He didn’t. Then he… he touched me. I told him to stop. Repeatedly. He didn’t. He only stopped when three of my teammates walked in.”

Charlie reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the letters, placing them on the desk with a shaking hand. Tears had appeared on his cheeks before he even realised he was crying.

“They wrote statements.”

Coach Barker looked down at the letters. He didn’t open them yet. He simply said quietly. “Oscar. Leo. Noah.”

Charlie nodded.

Coach Barker leaned back and exhaled. “My God, Charlie. I’m so sorry this happened to you… But I’m even more sorry to say I’m not surprised.”

Charlie looked up, startled.

“There are too many boys like Ben in this sport, privileged and untouchable. They come from power and money and assume the rules don’t apply to them. They use people, and when they’re done, they walk away. And the damage they leave behind is treated like collateral.”

He looked Charlie straight in the eye.

“But you are not collateral, Charlie. Thank you for having the courage to tell me all this today.” Then, in a quieter voice, almost to himself, he added, “That hasn’t always been the case, unfortunately.”

Charlie swallowed hard. “What… Uh what happens now?”

“Well, that depends on a lot of things, but mainly on you. Do you want to report this to the police? Do you want to bring it to the university administration? Or would you prefer to keep it between us? Unfortunately, if you choose the latter, not much will come of it. I don’t have much authority, and if I take any action on my own, especially against someone like Ben, I’d have to justify it to the Sports Board. You can, however, start by bringing it to the administration without necessarily involving the police yet. One doesn’t require the other. But I can’t act without you or your consent.”

“I… I don’t know if I can keep going if he’s still around without having to face any consequences. But the police, it feels overwhelming right now… And my scholarship? I can’t lose my scholarship…” 

Coach Barker raised his hands in a calming gesture.

“Charlie, Charlie… it’s okay. Breathe. Here’s what I suggest for now: I’ll take this to the Sports Board and recommend Ben’s removal from the team. With your statement and those from Leo, Oscar, and Noah, it’s a solid case. I’ll support your account with my own observations. As for your scholarship, I can’t speak for the Foundation, but I can’t imagine this working against you. Charlie, you haven’t broken any rules. You’re not the one at fault. Ben is the aggressor, he’s responsible for his actions, and he’ll have to face the consequences. The Foundation stands for values, and they won’t back down from them. Are you getting support?” 

Charlie nodded.

“I have my therapist and my friends. My therapist, Geoff, said he’s willing to testify if needed.” 

“I’ll get in touch with him, if that’s okay with you, not to ask about your sessions, but just to confirm that he saw you after the incident. You’re welcome to join that conversation if you’d like.” 

Charlie blinked and nodded. 

“Thank you… What are we doing now?” 

Coach Barker leaned forward again, hands clasped.

“I’ll start putting the case together and request a meeting with the Board. You’ll likely be called in, along with Ben and the other witnesses. The administration will probably get involved as well. I won’t lie to you, it may be tough. Families like the Hopes are sharks. They’ll do whatever it takes to protect their reputation. But I’ll do everything in my power to protect you, Charlie and to make sure we reach a fair outcome.” 

Then, softer: “I remember when Youssef called me to tell me about you. You've lived up to every word he said. You’re a good person, Charlie, and you’re strong.” 

Charlie’s eyes widened. “You know Youssef?”

The coach smiled. “The rowing world’s not that big. He’s an old friend and he told me he was proud to recommend you. Said you were a fighter.”

Charlie sat back in his chair. Suddenly something clicked. He remembered what Youssef had said, when he came back that day with the form for the scholarship. “I pulled a few strings.”

Now he knew what those strings were.

He smiled.

After that meeting, Charlie felt a brief, unfamiliar wave of calm, the kind that comes when you’ve done something terrifying and figure out you survived. For a few precious hours, he allowed himself to breathe. 

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

But the spiral came quickly. The formal statements. The accusations from Ben’s side. It began to unfold with a clinical precision that made everything feel surreal.

The Sports Department took the matter seriously. To their credit, they handled it with discretion and care. Out of respect for both parties, Charlie was never forced to face Ben directly. There were no confrontations, no cross-examinations nor demands that he defend himself. They simply asked for his account, officially on record and they simply listened.

His friends never wavered, not once. They were at his side through every moment. Geoff was a lifeline, helping him navigate the emotional minefield. And Coach Barker, in his own gruff way, made sure Charlie never felt alone in the process. Together, they helped him stay afloat.

When Ben finally broke the silence, or was just one message:

Ben Hope: WTF Charlie? Who do you think you are?

Charlie didn’t hesitate. He blocked the number immediately.

Ben never tried any other kind of approach. Deep down, Charlie suspected Ben understood that getting close to him again would only make things worse. 

Two weeks later, Coach Barker called Charlie back into his office.

Charlie knew before the door even closed behind him. The coach's expression was grave. Okay, time to rip the plaster.

“Take a seat,” he said, quietly.

Charlie did.

Coach Barker folded his hands on the desk in front of him. “I had a meeting with the administration yesterday,” he began. “And before I say anything else, I need you to hear this Charlie: no one is questioning your accusation. Your story and the testimonies of the rowers are consistent and credible. No one doubts Ben’s character or the seriousness of what he did. That includes the university”

Charlie didn’t move, barely breathed.

“But that said…” The pause was long. “As we expected, the Hope family responded aggressively with a legal offensive and few veiled threats. The administration” he sighed “decided to handle things quietly. They say it’s to protect you, though we both know it’s just as much to protect themselves.”

Charlie stared at the edge of the desk.

“They’re proposing a resolution,” Coach continued. “In agreement with the administration and the foundation, both of you remain on the team until the end of term. Then, they’re proposing you transfer to Cambridge for the rest of your degree. That would give you distance from Ben. You’d continue rowing there, and your scholarship would carry over. Both sports departments and administrations are in touch, and everything’s approved, you have a place.”

Charlie didn’t speak, he just felt his stomach drop.

“There’s just one more condition,” Coach Barker added, his voice tightening. “I’m so sorry, Charlie… The entire situation must remain confidential. The official reason for your transfer will be listed as an academic exchange opportunity. Nothing else.”

Charlie let out a bitter, disbelieving laugh. “Of course...”

“Charlie, I don’t agree with the decision,” Coach Barker said firmly. “But I do know families like the Hopes, and I honestly believe this is the University’s way of trying to protect you.”

He leaned forward slightly. “But I did manage to get them to agree to one more thing: while the situation stays officially sealed outside of the club, I’m allowed to speak to the team in general terms. No names, no full details allowed, just a statement of what happened, enough that anyone with half a brain can figure it out.”

He gave Charlie a pointed look. “And then each person can act as they see fit… If we can’t bring him down officially, Charlie, maybe the team will hold him accountable in their own way, even if it means tanking the race. A little ‘fuck you’ to the whole situation.”

Charlie’s voice was small. “What if they don’t do anything? What if they turn on me instead?”

“They won’t,” the coach said firmly. “But even if they did, you’re protected. Remember, I won’t name names. And if no one reacts… then I’ll know where I stand too.”

Charlie didn’t ask what that meant. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Coach Barker sat back, “Charlie, there’s not a lot of room to maneuver here, but you do have a voice in this. Tell me if there are any conditions you want to add to this agreement.”

Charlie thought for a long moment. Then: “I think… I want to step down from the race.”

Coach Barker blinked. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sorry. I know the scholarship is tied to my rowing. But I can’t get in a boat with him, not after all of this. I wouldn’t be a good cox but I can still do solo rowing till the end of term.”

The coach didn’t push. He just nodded. “That’s fair. Let me handle that.”

He paused. “And for the record, the scholarship’s based on contribution and participation, not perfection, Charlie.”

Charlie looked up, surprised, a flicker of relief passed through him.

Coach Barker added, “Are you okay to stay involved through the end of the season? Help me get Lucas ready for the race? He’s been shadowing you for months, but he doesn’t have your race sense.”

Charlie nodded. “Yeah. I think I can do that.”

Coach Barker smiled just for a second. “Thank you.”

He stood then, walked to the window, and looked out over the river.

“Legal action is still an option, you know,” he said over his shoulder. “If you ever want to take it.”

Charlie sighed. “Honestly? After how this turned out, I’m not sure I could survive it. It would just be another reminder that people like him are above everything.”

Coach Barker turned back to face him. “I understand. But know this, Charlie, it’s never too late.”

Charlie stood, his throat was tight again.

“Thank you, Coach.”

“I wish it had turned out differently.”

“Yeah,” Charlie said. “Me too.”

After the meeting, Charlie went home… and immediately scheduled a session with Geoff, who was available that evening. He didn’t call his friends right away, even though he knew they were dying to hear what had happened. He needed to process everything first. And maybe Geoff could help.

During their session, Charlie laid out what had happened in the meeting and the proposal he’d been given.

“I know it’s disappointing, Charlie,” Geoff said gently. “But can we try to reframe some of it?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore,” Charlie admitted, voice low.

“That’s normal. But I’d say the first thing to recognize is that they acknowledged you as a victim.”

“But Ben gets away with it.”

“You’re right. The outcome is unfair. It shouldn’t be like this, but Charlie, we knew from the start there was a chance he’d walk away untouched. That doesn’t make it okay, and I’m not asking you to accept it, but maybe it’s time to start shifting the focus back to you. Back to your path.”

Charlie’s voice caught. “But it’s all tied to him.”

“Is it, though?” Geoff asked, gently.

Charlie looked away from the screen. “I can’t walk into the club, into that locker room, without going right back to what happened. I’m tired of reliving it.”

“Charlie, you’ve experienced trauma. And running from it doesn’t make it go away. Erasing Ben from the world wouldn’t erase the trauma. Even getting justice doesn’t heal trauma, it just acknowledges it and allows the victim to move forward.”

Charlie didn’t respond at first, but he listened.

“You’ve started to receive that recognition, even if it didn’t come in the form you hoped,” Geoff added. “And I think you know that.”

“Maybe… They didn’t doubt me, no one did. That matters… I guess? But how do I move forward from here?”

“With time. And with the understanding that trauma doesn’t disappear. It becomes part of you, just like the rest of your story. The goal isn’t to erase it, Charlie. It’s to live with it without letting it define you.”

Charlie’s voice was barely a whisper. “Will it ever stop?”

“I wish I could say yes. But life is a series of experiences, good and bad. They shape us. Over time, we just become a bit more alert, and we handle the chaos better.” He paused. “Another thing I see as a positive change: you let people help you this time. You trusted new people here. And I think you’ve strengthened your support network, haven’t you?”

Charlie nodded slowly. “It’s true… I used to rely so much on Isaac for so long, but now I’ve got others I can lean on, even Coach Barker. That’s comforting.”

“It is indeed. That’s the beginning of healing. And now, about Cambridge…”

Charlie sighed. “That wasn’t the plan.”

“No, it wasn’t. Sometimes life detours. But maybe it’s for the best? Just remember that you have every right to say no, Charlie. To follow your own path. The choice is yours here. They’re offering you a solution, maybe not ideal, but you can choose to take it, and that wouldn't be a failure. Or you can choose another route, and that won’t be a failure either. It’s just a choice. And that choice is entirely yours for once.”

“This scholarship…” Charlie hesitated. “It always felt like my big chance… But now… Sometimes it feels more like a burden.”

Geoff tilted his head. “Maybe because you’ve attached too much of your worth to it. What are the actual conditions?”

Charlie smiled faintly. “Funny you say that. Coach said something this morning that stuck. When I told him I was stepping down from the race, he said performance isn’t the same as success.”

Geoff smiled. “Exactly. Performance means giving yourself the means to succeed, it’s not about always winning. Maybe if you saw the scholarship that way, it might ease your mind a little.”

Charlie exhaled. “You’re right. Again. And now I have a decision to make.”

“And now you have a decision to make… But you’ve already started making choices on your own. Saying no to the race, that was you reclaiming control over a non-ideal situation. Life is about choices, Charlie. And this next one? It’s just another way for you to take back control of what was taken from you. It’s your story to write. You’re strong. You’re resilient. And whatever you choose, it’ll be the right choice because it’ll be yours. And even if you’d eventually figure out you were wrong, you’ll have gained another experience!”

Charlie let out a quiet laugh. “Fuck, you’re good at this!”

Geoff grinned. “Hey! What can I say?! It’s a gift!”

He leaned forward slightly, tone softening.

“Take your time, Charlie. And don’t shut people out. You’re already on the right path, because it’s your path. And you’re not walking this path alone anymore.”

Chapter Text

Charlie was in the locker room, finishing the last button on his shirt, about to head out and join Coach for the pre-race briefing. The Boat Race, finally… But without him.

He tried not to be bitter, but the burn was there. Still, it was his first time at the Race and he had two more years to get back in. That’s what he kept telling himself, anyway.

Then he heard someone clear their throat behind him. He turned and froze.

Nick stood in the doorway, shirtless, his chest rising and falling slowly as he leaned casually against the frame. He looked at him and Charlie's breath caught in his throat.

“What are you doing here?” Charlie asked, his voice sharper than intended.

“I could ask you the same.”

“Don’t you have a race to win?”

“Charlie… I wanted to see you.”

“Well, you’ve seen me. Now go.”

But Nick stepped closer. He wasn’t smiling and his eyes were dark and hungry. “And I wanted to touch you.”

Charlie swallowed hard. “Nick…”

“I’ve wanted this, wanted you, for months. I was afraid to admit it, because you were on the other team, because I didn’t want to mess things up. But you’re here now and I can’t hold it in anymore.”

He reached out and cupped Charlie’s face, his palm warm and steady. His thumb brushed along Charlie’s cheekbone. Then he leaned in, slowly, eyes never leaving his.

Their lips met. It’s soft at first then deeper and hungrier. Nick's tongue parted Charlie’s lips, helping them open. The kiss turned languid, hot and so intense. Nick's hand slid into Charlie’s hair while Charlie clutched at his neck, his back, pulling him closer. They moaned into each other’s mouths, the room spinning slightly with the force of it.

“Oh Nick… I’ve wanted you too. So much… Please…”

“What, Charlie? What do you want?”

“Please take me, Nick.”

Nick groaned into his neck, kissing along the curve, then biting down hard enough to leave a mark.

“Not here, baby,” he murmured against his skin.

“Fuck… then take me in your mouth. Please, Nick.”

Nick pushed him gently down onto the bench. His fingers found the waistband of Charlie’s joggers.

“Is this what you want?” he asked, looking up from between Charlie’s legs, voice low and rough.

Charlie nodded, his eyes wide, his voice barely a whisper. “Yes… yes, Nick. Please take me in your pretty mouth.”

Nick slid down the joggers and boxers in one motion, releasing Charlie’s straining cock. He paused, staring with reverence.

“Fuck… you’re so pretty like this, just for me.”

And then he took him into his mouth deep, greedy and relentless. His tongue swirled, licked, teased. He sucked hard, then soft, then hard again, his mouth wet and perfect. He moaned around him, the vibrations sending shocks up Charlie’s spine. Charlie’s fingers threaded through Nick’s hair, tugging gently. It was too much… Too good, too wet...

And just like that… “Oh Niiick!”

Charlie gasped, his body shuddering.

Wet… And alone in his bed.

“Fuuuuuck,” he groaned, dragging both hands down his face. A fucking dream, once again…

It wasn’t the first wet dream he’d had about Nick, but they were getting more frequent recently.

No matter how hard Charlie tried to forget about that arrogant bastard during the day, his body and subconscious clearly hadn’t gotten the memo. Perfect .

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

One week before the race, it’s the final stretch.

The Oxford Eight is gathered one last time by the Thames for the traditional one-mile test run along the Boat Race course. Tension crackles in the air. 

As planned, Charlie isn’t coxing for Oxford. That ship has sailed. Instead, he stands just behind Coach, clipboard in hand, scribbling down notes to help Lucas smooth out the last rough edges before the big day. He keeps his expression neutral and professional like he hasn’t been imagining sucking off the Cambridge stroke seat in a sweaty locker room every other night.

Then he feels it. That look.

From across the river, Nick is staring at him. Eyes narrowed, jaw set, not angry, just... questioning.

Charlie doesn’t flinch. He simply turns his back and leans in toward Coach with the air of someone about to say something deeply strategic. He murmurs something vaguely technical that even he knows is nonsense, but it does the job: it gives him an excuse not to look back.

When he finally risks a glance over his shoulder, Nick is gone with his team.

Charlie sighs. He scribbles something meaningless on his notes, just to keep his hands busy. Something about blade timing or catch angles, anything that isn’t Nick’s mouth or Charlie’s moaning or, God help him, how much he’d begged for his cock in his dream.

Well, next year’s going to be so much fun.

Next year… After the conversation with Coach about the “offer” in the wake of Ben’s assault, he’d taken a few days to let it settle. 

Did he want to leave LMH? Of course not.
Did he want to live two hours away from his friends, from his safe little bubble, especially from Isaac? Definitely, absolutely not.

But what were the alternatives here? Staying and fighting wasn’t an option, not when the system was more interested in protecting reputations than protecting people. The only other alternative was quitting entirely and abandoning the degree he’d worked so hard for, to somehow find a brand-new life goal from scratch. Charlie knew he wasn’t ready for that.

However, accepting the offer still felt like selling a slice of his soul.

So he did what any self-aware twenty-year-old with a questionable mental health would do in his situation: he called his sister.

She didn’t tell him what to do, she never did. But she said something that stuck:
"You fought harder than anyone to get to live on your terms once already. Now, life’s offering you another way in, even if it’s not what you pictured. Well, you still get to study and that’s what you love.”

And she may or may not have added, “Try using your brain and not your dick there, though. You, allos, are hopeless…”

Well, yes… Fair point.

Isaac had a similar take, as kind as always. He offered to put Charlie in touch with Sai, and said he could help him settle in. Charlie had thanked him, genuinely, but he wasn’t ready for that yet. He’d rather go through the official route and pretend it was just a normal academic transfer. That alone would be enough of a juggling act for the year ahead, honouring the unspoken terms of the deal and keeping the real reason behind his transfer confidential. 

So yes, cheers to next year! New city, new team, new start but same brain and same dick surrounded by Team McDreamy.

Wish me luck!

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

On the rowing side, let just say that things have been… challenging. Or that’s a polite way to put it!

Coach Barker, always reliable, called a full team meeting the day after their talk about the decision. He informed the team, with as much dignity as he could muster, that Charlie was stepping back from the Boat Race due to health reasons. Which, technically, wasn’t a lie, trauma is a health issue after all…

Then he added, in deliberately vague terms, that he had become aware of a “concerning situation” within the team, without giving any names, but he made it very clear that he did not approve of what had gone down. But he was staying on, for the boat and the bloody honour of Oxford. Then, he also said that every rower was their own man, and anyone who wasn’t comfortable with the “situation” had the right to step back, no judgement, implicitly granting them the freedom to act in good conscience.

Cue the world's most awkward silence. Every single person in the room knew something had happened to Charlie. And that it had something everything to do with Ben. Especially given the contrast: Charlie, ghost-pale and withdrawn, versus Ben, looking like he’d just been named team captain.

But speaking up and picking a side? That was something else entirely.

Leo, Oscar, Noah, and Pierce were the first to act. They stood up and said they were out. Coach accepted their decisions with a tight nod.

Only later did it come out that Noah risked losing his scholarship if he refused to row. So, reluctantly, heart in shreds, he came back to the boat. And every day Charlie could see in his eyes nothing but cold, a quiet fury.

Ben, meanwhile, was thriving, thrilled to have the spotlight and no apparent consequences. Will, of course, his best mate, stayed loyally at his side, no surprise there. Lucas hesitated. He didn’t like what had happened, but this wasn’t his story and it was his only real shot at making the line up. So he took it, he’ll probably deal with his conscience later…

Kim? He barely clocked what was happening. He just looked confused, shrugged, and decided to stay.

And Kiaan… Well, Kiaan looked at Ben, then at Will, then at Charlie, then at Coach, with an expression carrying guilt or discomfort, something unspoken. And then he mumbled that he’d stay on the team too, barely audible.

The coach nodded through it all, grim as ever, and ended the meeting with a dry, “Well. God help us.”

The team had been rearranged with sparing rowers slotted in. The Race organisers, well aware of the mess behind the scenes, gave reluctant approval.

And they were ready, or at least pretending to be.

The last few days of training were, in a word, hell : no cohesion, no rhythm, no trust. The rowers were out of sync, not used to each other’s timing, not even pretending to be united.

Ben and Will acted like they were above it all, Lucas struggled to be heard, let alone respected, Noah stayed icy and monosyllabic. The rest floated somewhere between hopeful delusion and full-blown imposter syndrome. Even Coach seemed to lose whatever fire he had left. 

At some point, Kiaan approached Charlie. Head low, voice lower, he stammered out something resembling an apology saying he knew something had happened and Ben was guilty but also that his dad was involved with Ben’s somehow…

Charlie just gave him a tired smile. “You don’t need to say it,” he said. “But thanks.”

And that was the moment Charlie got the confirmation he had to get out. Here, he was never going to win.

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

The Boat Race. 

Half a million people lining the Thames. Five million more glued to their screens. Four miles and 374 yards, 6,779 meters, from Putney to Mortlake.

For any rower at Oxford or Cambridge it was the dream , an honour reserved for the best of the best.

And Charlie? Charlie was in a poorly lit PC room, watching the race unfold through a monitor, headset on, seated next to Coach Barker.

Yep… living the dream.

Because of everything and thanks to this whole mess, the atmosphere on both sides of the river was, to put it politely, off.

Oxford, predictably, was a mess. Aside from Ben and Will, still smug and so insufferable, the rest of the team had mostly resigned themselves to an impending loss. The boat never found its rhythm in time. The team was split down the middle, some angry at Ben, some at Charlie, a few at both. Most were simply adrift as the countdown to the race ticked down and the pressure mounted.

Over on the Cambridge side, things weren’t much better, but just quieter. The massive shake-up across the river hadn’t gone unnoticed, and the general consensus was something like ‘ What the hell happened at Oxford?’ Even Sai tried reaching out to Isaac to fish for some information. Cambridge knew they had the upper hand. But what was the point in winning if you weren’t going head-to-head with the best?

It was as if the spirit of the competition had cracked somewhere midstream.

Oxford didn’t start off too badly, managing to stay in Cambridge’s wake for a stretch. But the gap grew steadily, widened by Lucas’s minor but costly errors and the complete lack of anticipation from the Oxford Eight. There was no sync at all.

Charlie sat beside his Coach, speaking into the mic now and then, offering Lucas gentle corrections. But with every passing minute, as Cambridge pulled further ahead, a knot tightened in his chest. This was slipping away and he was responsible for this.

At the end, Cambridge crossed the finish in 16:56, a strong time, one of their best in years (they’d clocked 18:56 the year before), though still far from the record-breaking 14:15 of 2021.

They’d won. And yet, their joy was subdued. Because they’d beaten Oxford’s B-Team and it was hard to feel victorious about that.

After Coach Barker signed the final paperwork, Charlie quietly asked if he could step outside. He needed air, a minute to breathe without the noise in his head shouting this is your fault . 

Outside, Charlie leaned against the boathouse wall, exhaled sharply, and tried to pull himself back together.

No. He wasn’t responsible. He had every right to be angry that this race had been taken from him, but he wasn’t to blame for being assaulted. He wasn’t to blame for refusing to row alongside his attacker.

That’s when he heard it. That voice.

“Charlie?...”

Charlie looked up. And there he was, Nick Fucking Nelson, all post-victory glow and windblown hair, standing in front of him like some walking cliché.

“What are you doing here?” Charlie asked flatly. “Shouldn’t you be off celebrating with your teammates?”

Nick blinked. “What happened? Why weren’t you in the boat? Where was the cox who was supposed to wipe that smug grin off my face today?”

Charlie snorted. “Apparently I was too scared of your brilliant performances .”

Nick stepped closer. “Come on, Charlie. Did you give up because of… Of what happened between us at training camp?”

Slightly taken aback, Charlie laughed bitterly.

“Oh my fuck , Nick. You really are a selfish cunt sometimes, you know that?”

Nick reeled slightly, but Charlie was already on a roll.

“What, do you think you’re the sun now? And we’re all just tiny satellites, orbiting around, waiting to be blessed with your glorious attention?” He stepped forward. “Newsflash, golden boy: this had nothing to do with you . So don’t flatter yourself. You can sleep just fine tonight.”

Nick’s expression twisted hurt, but Charlie had already turned away.

He’d given him the win, he wasn’t ready to give him anything else.

Charlie headed back to join Coach Barker and the remnants of the team for the wrap-up. It was quick, strained, the air thick with disappointment and exhaustion. Afterward, as the others filtered out, Charlie stayed behind to help Coach gather notes and clear out the last of the gear.

Coach Barker closed the last folder, sighing through his nose. “Well… not quite the ending I’d hoped for. But I wanted to say thank you, Charlie. I’m proud I got to coach athletes like you.”

Charlie looked up. “‘Ending’? What do you mean by ending?”

“I gave my notice after the team meeting.” The coach's voice was firm and resolute. “Things have changed. I used to coach athletes, shape them, help them grow, not just in strength but in character. My role was to give them values, discipline, purpose. Now I’m babysitting. Half of them are here for the name, not the sport and I’m tired of watching good kids get steamrolled while the bastards get away with it.”

He looked at Charlie. “You weren’t the first victim, Charlie. But you’ll be my last.”

Charlie’s throat tightened. “But… What are you going to do? I’m so sorry I caused such a mess…”

“Did you hear me?” Coach Barker interrupted. “When did I say I was leaving because of you?” He smiled. “I’m moving forward thanks to you.”

Charlie frowned.

“You remember our mutual acquaintance?”

“…Youssef?”

Coach Barker grinned. “Youssef indeed. I’ll be joining the Truham rowing club this summer. And I’ve been offered a position to coach the national team for LA 2028, not bad for an old coach!”

Charlie’s eyes widened. “Are you serious?! That’s amazing! And, that means I’ll see you when I’m back home?”

The coach nodded. “Don’t give up, Charlie. Keep training as hard as you do. And who knows? Maybe I won’t just see you at home… maybe I’ll take you with me to LA.”

Charlie laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“We’ll see what Nathan thinks.”

“Nathan…?”

“Nathan Ajayi. Cambridge’s coach. I think you two will get along just fine.” There was a glint in his eye, half-mischief, half-certainty.

He slung his bag over his shoulder. “Now come on. We’ve got a sponsors’ dinner to survive. Let’s go get dressed and celebrate whatever scraps of positivity this day left to us.”

And just like that, Coach Barker and Charlie left the race site together.

They hadn’t won the race, but somehow, it felt like they’d come away with something worth holding on to.

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

The sponsor’s dinner was one of those unavoidable and deeply joyless obligations both teams had to endure.

The Boat Race, being one of the most high-profile sporting events in the UK, attracted sponsors like bees. And those sponsors expected access to the athletes and to the backstage shimmer of glory.

According to Charlie, it was just another posh event full of self-congratulatory rich people networking with other rich people, swapping war stories about hedge funds and private school rowing regattas while sipping mediocre wine and pretending to understand the youth.

Apparently, it was also “very important for sealing their professional future" if, of course, your idea of a future involved working in sports marketing, high-end banking, digital empires, or the kind of vaguely defined “consulting” that sounds like a cult.

Unsurprisingly, Charlie wasn’t exactly expecting to bump into a Classics PhD or an aspiring novelist like his personal hero, Jack Maddox. But he was still technically a member of the team, a cox, a rower and still an Oxford student. That meant showing up, smiling politely and not actively insulting anyone with a Rolex.

At least he wasn’t alone. Leo, Oscar, Pierce, and Noah were dead set on having a good night. After everything they’d been through, they deserved to toast the end with something strong.

The sponsor’s dinner meant dressing up properly.

Charlie knew he had to attend this kind of event. He’d saved up every pound from his soul-sucking summer job and poured it into the suit. A suit that would carry him through formal dinners, interviews, and hopefully right up to graduation day.

It was modern, tailored, and just a little bit architectural. Charcoal grey with a sharp, double-breasted cut and a slightly asymmetric closure: two horizontal strap-style fastenings secured with polished buttons, the detail he really loved. The jacket had a notched lapel, a crisp welt pocket at the chest, and a flap pocket low on the left. Smooth to the touch, sleek to the eye. He paired it with a white dress shirt and a striped tie, just traditional enough to say respectable , without veering into banker cosplay .

And honestly? He must admit he looked good in it. His arse looked excellent in the fitted trousers. The jacket hugged his waist just right and gave him structure where it mattered. For the first time in a while Charlie felt like himself again.

What he wasn’t prepared for, however, was Team McDreamy in suits too.

Cambridge had clearly coordinated, all black suits. Charlie felt like he finally reached the gay pantheon. Each in their own way had found a way to elevate the all-black look, and Charlie felt like he was standing in the middle of a group of actors on a red carpet. 

And in the middle of it all was Nick Fucking Nelson. the Rowing King shone in all his royal glory, his perfectly tailored suit hugging his thighs and the curve of his ass and let’s not even talk about the arms, which looked like they were about to burst through the fabric. His smile looked stupidly genuine. And of course, he was way too cool to wear a tie!

Charlie had to summon every ounce of queer dignity not to openly drool. He kept his expression neutral. Ish . Tried to look somewhere between mildly impressed and professionally indifferent. 

He did not miss the look Nick shot him as he passed. A glance that hovered, just a second too long. Charlie blinked, then looked away.

Smooth, Charlie. Very casual. No big deal. Just try not to pass out from how good his thighs look in this suit.

This was going to be a long night.

As planned, Charlie spent most of the evening clinging to the safety of his friends Leo, Oscar, Noah, Pierce, carefully orbiting the sponsor tables, expertly dodging Ben, Will, and anyone else remotely tainted by association.

He laughed at the right moments, kept up just enough conversation to seem functional, and pretended to be utterly fascinated by this career path or those revolutionary technologies that were apparently going to change the world.

At one point, Leo and Oscar exchanged a glance and sidled up to him with matching grins that immediately made Charlie suspicious.

“So…” Leo started, far too casually. “What’s the deal with you and Nick Nelson?”

Charlie blinked. “What deal?”

Oscar gave him a knowing look. “Don’t play dumb. He’s been eyeing you all night. It’s not even subtle, the boy is practically drooling. You’d have to be blind and concussed not to see it.”

Charlie sighed and took a long sip of wine. “There’s no deal.”

“Right,” Oscar said, unconvinced. “Because it really seems like next year’s going to be interesting.”

Charlie shook his head. “I’m not signing up for another Ben situation, thanks. One trauma per degree, that’s my limit.”

Oscar raised a brow. “Yeah, but… I don’t get Ben vibes from Nick. He seems more like a golden retriever who’s been locked in a golden cage and doesn’t know how to get out.”

Charlie tried not to laugh. “I’m not doing this.”

“Oh you’re already doing it, don’t you think we didn’t catch your looks, you’re not that subtle either Springy,” Leo said, grinning.

Charlie threw up his hands. “It’s not happening, alright? The guy’s straight. It's basically stamped across his forehead in varsity font.”

Leo raised his glass. “Still, I’m holding out for formal confirmation. Preferably visual.”

“Tao's definitely not ready for this,” Oscar chimed in, grinning wickedly “but we’re already taking bets with Isaac!” 

“Just… shut up.” Charlie said softly.

And that’s when salvation arrived. Sai, Jai, Otis, and Chris from Cambridge strolled over, all glowing with post-victory adrenaline and looking annoyingly like the cast of a very exclusive GQ rowing special. Charlie’s never been so thankful for a massive Cambridge boys’ arrival.

“Charlie!” Sai greeted him warmly. “How you doin’?”

“Hey Sai. Good to see you. Congrats, by the way, you guys crushed it.”

“Thanks,” Jai said, smiling. “Though I wish you’d been on the boat. Would’ve loved to race against you for my last go before handing over my seat.”

“Last race?” Charlie asked.

“Yeah. Got accepted to Yale for my PhD. This was my final race with Cambridge.”

“Oh, wow. That’s impressive,” Charlie said, genuinely impressed. “And… your seat…?”

“Yours now,” Jai said simply, with a wink.

Charlie turned a vivid shade of crimson. “Right. Yeah. The academic transfer. I mean, I’ll definitely try out for the team, but we’ll see if I actually make it as cox…”

From behind him, Leo, Oscar, Noah, and Pierce had subtly formed a little wall of moral support. Leo gave him a firm nod. Oscar mouthed shut up, you will .

“Oh, come on,” Chris chimed in, impossibly chill as always. “You were solid all season. You’ll fit right in.”

Charlie gave a sheepish smile. “Well… thanks. That means a lot.”

“Yes,” Leo said dramatically. “We shall miss him terribly, but we will pretend to be proud of him instead.”

“If you’d like,” Jai offered, “I could stay in touch and pass along some tips.”

“That’d be awesome,” Charlie said, genuinely touched. “Especially if it helps me beat these guys next year.” He shot his friends a playful glare.

“Ohhh, steady on,” Pierce laughed. “This year was cursed enough, but we’re regrouping. You wish you could beat us.”

They all cracked up. For a moment, the whole Oxford vs. Cambridge dynamic dissolved into something lighter. They were just students trying to enjoy what was left of a very strange year.

“Do you need anything to settle in?” Sai asked kindly. “What college are you joining?”

“Emmanuel,” Charlie replied. “And thanks, but I’ve already sorted the admin side. It’s all being handled through the office.”

“Emmanuel? Nice. I know a few people there,” Sai said. “We’re all at Trinity - Nick, Otis, Chris and me - but I’m sure we’ll run into you at the boat club or any other uni event.”

“Yeah,” Charlie said quickly, the heat creeping up his neck. “Hopefully…”
He winced at his own voice and forced a laugh. “Excuse me, I just need a bit of fresh air.”

“You alright?” Oscar asked quietly.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. My social battery’s just… running low. I’ll be back.”

He slipped away before they could ask more.

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

It wasn’t that the Cambridge boys weren’t nice but they were almost too nice, which somehow made it worse. So smiling, supportive and… unknowing. And Charlie had to pretend to be excited, that this transfer was a dream come true instead of a trauma-induced exile wrapped in bureaucratic ribbon. Not to mention that leaving his Oxford friends was heartbreaking and it was just hard to pretend all night long that everything was just… Fine…

He also made a mental note that if he was going to keep up the “academic transfer” story, he had homeworks to do over the summer to seriously tighten his backstory. 

God, everything’s such a mess.

Charlie reached the back of the venue, stepping into the cool night air. He leaned against the boathouse wall and let himself breathe.

Lost in thought, caught somewhere between guilt and exhaustion, Charlie heard the crunch of footsteps on gravel beside him.

He looked up, and of course… There he was.

His Royal Highness, the Rowing King himself, in all his tailored black-suited glory.

Charlie sighed dramatically. “Are you following me now, or do you just have some supernatural ability to find me every time I want to be alone and make sure I’m properly annoyed?”

Nick didn’t rise to the bait. “I saw you head out. Charlie… I think we need to talk.”

“Oh wow,” Charlie said, deadpan. “No ‘Lightweight’ tonight?”

“Charlie, why didn’t you race today?” asked Nick, clearly trying to contain his annoyment.

“Laryngitis?...”

Nick exhaled through his nose. “Right. Sarcasm it is, then.”

He paused, trying to keep his voice even. “Look, I get it. You don’t owe me anything. But Coach told us tonight you’ll probably be joining the team next year. So… I guess my question is: can we count on you? And why now?”

Charlie narrowed his eyes. “Why do you even care? What does any of this have to do with you?”

“Because I’m part of the team. Because I need to know if you’re going to throw the whole boat off its rhythm. And because I…” Nick faltered. He rubbed the back of his neck in that way Charlie had already clocked meant mild embarrassment meets mild frustration. “You know what? Never mind.”

Charlie rolled his eyes. “Oh, so you’re coaching now? Watching over our little performance metrics?” His tone was barbed, bitter. The earlier conversation with his friends is still echoing somewhere in the back of his mind, but he refused to let those ideas take root.

Nick’s jaw tightened. “I’m not that stupid, Charlie. I don’t know what happened, but I know Ben’s not just some footnote in all this. And I don’t think this is about a bad break-up. So why not tell me? Why weren’t you on the boat today?”

Charlie snapped. “Not everything is about you or Ben, you poor, privileged, golden-boy clichés!”

God, he was so tired of lying... He wanted to scream because your friend is a fucking assaulter, and no one dared risk his future, so I had to disappear instead .

But instead, he said, through clenched teeth: “Do you think it’s that easy to get a transfer approved mid-degree?”

“No,” Nick said, quietly. “That’s why I’m asking.”

Charlie inhaled sharply, met his gaze and lied smoothly. “Academic transfer. Ring any bells? Cambridge has a stronger programme in Classics. One of my professors and mentor recommended it. Said it would increase my chances at a PhD, so I applied with her support. And I got in. As for the race, just a health issue, nothing more.”

Well done, Charlie, getting better and better . Excellent performance. 

Nick blinked. “Huh. I didn’t even know that was a thing.”

Charlie smirked. “Yeah, well. You have to be top of your class for that.”

Nick’s lips twitched despite himself and he looked at Nick with a hint of embarrassment. “Listen, Charlie… if we’re going to be in the same boat, maybe we should talk about… us.”

Charlie looked at Nick startled. “ Us? What about us?” he barked. “Please enlighten me here, Nick. Cause, to me, there is no us . You’re just another rich, self-satisfied pretty boy I have to share a boat with.”

Nick’s mouth tightened. “Here we go again, the ‘spoiled kid’ monologue...” He stepped closer, fire in his eyes now. “It’s pretty simple, we both know you’re more qualified than any cox we’ve got lined up. Jai’s leaving. That seat is yours, and you know it. And guess who will be sitting in the stroke seat, facing you?”

Charlie clenched his fists. “You’re so full of yourself. How could you know we’ll even both make it?”

“I know you’ll make it, Charlie. Because you’re a stubborn, brilliant, pain-in-the-ass perfectionist who doesn’t know how to do anything halfway. And I’ll give everything to make it too.” Nick’s voice cracked with frustration. “So my question stands: can we survive sharing that boat every day?”

Nick sounds so irritated, Charlie felt almost bad being so pushy but as Nick so smartly pointed out he's a stubborn piece of shit so he just jumped on this and laughed once, harsh and mean. “What, are you scared the creepy little gay cox might not be able to keep his hands off you?”

Nick flinched. “Don’t twist this, Charlie. That’s not… That’s not what I meant.” He paused, looking like he was searching for the right words and Charlie didn’t give him a chance.

“Then what did you mean, Nick?” he shot back, voice shaking. “Because from where I’m standing, this is simple: I’m a cox” he hesitated for half a second, too late, “you’re the sexy rower.” Shit, that one slipped. But he burst through. “Everything comes easy to you. And I’m the one paddling through the shit to keep up. So no, there’s no ‘us’ here. I cox, you stroke. The end.”

If he weren’t this furious right now, Charlie might have stopped to wonder whether that last sentence was some kind of innuendo, but he’s in no mood to deal with his fucked-up, horny brain.

Nick’s mouth opened, then snapped shut. His cheeks flushed. And then: “Oh putain, mais merde Charlie! Tu vas fermer ta gueule?!”

Charlie blinked. Oh... Angry French Nick. Well… That certainly level-up this argument and might do things to Charlie…

“I swear to God,” Nick muttered, switching back to English, “you are the most infuriating person I’ve ever met. I can’t… I can’t even think straight around you!”

That one landed a little too hard and Charlie bit the inside of his cheek, trying not to smile.

Nick stepped forward. Suddenly, they were standing there face to face, a few inches from each other. And this time, no hesitation, their lips just crashed in a hot messy kiss. A silent surrender… Like a furious acknowledgement that there was no escaping this anymore.

It wasn’t sweet or soft, it was heat, fury and desperation tangled together. Their mouths clashed, their hands grasped at nothing, breath stolen and replaced by something raw and deeper. And yet, it felt alive. So vividly alive… As if Charlie’s lungs were finally filled with the oxygen they’d been starved of since Ben’s assault, maybe even long before that.

Then they parted, panting and looking at each other with a mix of fury and a passionate fire.

"I hate you," Charlie spat. "You and everything you stand for. I hate that stupid, muscle-bound body of yours, I hate those freckles that make you look way too adorable for someone so insufferable, I hate that smug look in your eyes, I hate your stupid perfect hair (he grabbed Nick’s hair and yanked it back). I hate that cocky smile, and those lips that never stop teasing me."

Nick’s breath hitched, but his voice stayed low. "Good. I hate you too. I hate that arrogant little attitude of yours, I hate your annoyingly sexy tight body and that perfect ass, I hate those sharp, superior gorgeous eyes, I hate your fucking silky hair that I can't stop thinking about, I hate that throat that practically drips with disdain, and that mouth… those lips… fuck..."

And then they kissed again, and this time, it was scorching. Their tongues collided with no hesitation, greedy and reckless, moans spilling from both of them, far too filthy for just a kiss. Charlie had never felt anything like this, like they'd been wandering through some goddamn desert and had finally stumbled into an oasis they were never leaving. Neither of them could stop. They didn’t want to. It was ravenous and wild, heat pouring off their bodies like they were about to consume each other.

They kept kissing. It was urgent, lost in a haze of heat and months of unspoken hunger. Time dissolved. Their hands were everywhere: tangled in hair, slipping under jackets, skimming over backs, gripping hips. Touching, squeezing, claiming every single part of bodies they could reach. Charlie didn’t know where Nick ended and he began, and he didn’t care.

Then, suddenly, Nick pulled back, just far enough to meet Charlie’s eyes.

He reached for his hand, their fingers tangling instinctively, then said quietly but firmly “Come with me.”

Charlie arched an eyebrow. “If I want to?”

Nick gave him a look, a kind of look that made Charlie’s knees feel unreliable.

“Oh, trust me,” Nick murmured, already turning, “you want to.”

Charlie followed.

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

The boathouse was quiet, dim, smelling of wood, sweat, and river water. And as soon as the door clicked shut behind them, they were back on each other like their lives depended on it.

Nick lifted Charlie effortlessly, hands gripping under his arse and pressed him against the stack of boats.

“Putain, Charlie… tu me rends dingue.”

Charlie grinned, breathless, eyes bright with mischief. “Oh please, Nick. Don’t use your filthy French on me.”

Nick leaned in shamelessly. “Oh, I think you like it, Charlie.”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

And Charlie crashed his lips into Nick’s again, mouth parting instantly, tongue demanding.

Nick didn’t bother pulling away to reply. “Always so demanding,” he mumbled against Charlie’s mouth.

“Shut. Up. Or I stop,” Charlie warned, voice low, but his grip around Nick’s neck said he had no intention of stopping.

They kissed harder and deeper, their tongues sliding, ravaging and tasting. Every kiss felt like a mix of a cry, a confession and a dare, all at the same time.

Charlie moaned into Nick’s mouth, and Nick swallowed it like oxygen.

And then, gasping for breath, Charlie muttered, “Okay... You can use your dirty French.”

“I knew you’d like it,” Nick smirked. “You’re so down bad for me.”

Charlie rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the smirk curling on his lips.

“Let’s see who’s down first,” he murmured, voice full of challenge and need. 

They crashed together again, like waves breaking over each other, desperate and unstoppable. It wasn’t just kissing anymore, it was almost survival. The taste of Nick’s mouth was intoxicating, his tongue addictive, his body a furnace. If Charlie hadn’t craved this before, he definitely would now, because once you’ve had a taste, it’s impossible not to want more.

Each movement, every grind of hips and gasp for air, was soaked in heat and restraint on the verge of collapse. Charlie hated him and he didn’t want another Ben drama. And yet… beneath the fevered friction, the rough urgency, he felt that things were different, there was something else.

Nick’s touch wasn’t tender, exactly, but there was a reverence in the way his hands explored, like every inch of Charlie was something he’d dreamed about touching and couldn’t believe he was allowed to. Charlie felt it in his bones. Nick wasn’t just taking from him, he was wordlessly worshipping him. And it felt… Good.

Charlie let his hands roam lower, grabbing at Nick’s belt, as he pushed his hips forward and started grinding gently against him. They both groaned, louder this time, guttural and crude. Charlie was hard and judging by the heat pressed against him, Nick was too.

Charlie didn’t want it to stop.

“Oh Nick… fuck…” Charlie moaned, breathless.

“What do you want, Charlie?” Nick growled, lost somewhere in the curve of his neck, licking and biting every inch of skin like it was owed to him. His mouth found Charlie’s ear, breath hot, voice husky and low. “Tell me. What do you want ?”

Suddenly, all restraint snapped.

“You. Your mouth,” Charlie whined, then steadied his voice with delicious confidence. “Take me in your mouth. I want to fill that fucking, sexy, taunting mouth, I’ve wanted it for so long.”

Nick’s eyes darkened. He lifted Charlie and sat him on the edge of a boat stacked on a pile in the corner of the boathouse, gently but firmly pushing his legs apart and resting them over his shoulders. Charlie braced himself, hands clutching the edge of the hull.

Nick unzipped him with a kind of urgency  mixed with care that nearly undid Charlie on the spot. He tugged down his trousers and boxers in one fluid motion, revealing Charlie’s aching erection.

“Perfect,” Nick murmured, admiring.

Warm, wet and… Real, so real.

So much better than any of my dreams.

Charlie’s head fell back with a gasp. “Oh my God ! Fuck, Nick… I knew that mouth could finally be useful.”

Charlie had to admit that Real Nick seemed to know what he was doing, not as flawless as Dream Nick but he surely was a giver. He licked slowly around the head before sinking deeper, sucking with a hunger that made Charlie’s toes curl.

His hands moved with care and purpose, one tracing a slow path from Charlie’s balls to his perineum, then back up to wrap around the base of his shaft, stroking in rhythm with his mouth. The other hand was planted against the boat, but still brushed against Charlie’s thigh, always touching, as if he couldn’t bear not to have any contact.

It was clumsy at moments and frantic, but every time Nick moaned around him, the vibrations made Charlie’s brain melt a little further.

He gently grabbed a fistful of Nick’s hair and began to move, slowly, pushing into Nick’s mouth with steady, shallow thrusts.

“Oh Nick… you like this, huh? Fuck, you’re taking me so well…”

Nick moaned in reply, louder this time, his mouth vibrating around Charlie’s cock with perfect pressure. Charlie was close, so close.

“I’m gonna come… Nick, just pull out if… oh…”

But Nick didn’t pull away. He doubled down.

Tongue working, throat open, hand stroking with just the right tension. Charlie came hard, shaking, gasping and moaning so loudly he wouldn’t be surprised if the entire river heard.

Nick swallowed every single drop. Only when Charlie twitched from overstimulation did he finally pull back, lips slick and shining.

They were both breathless.

“Well,” Charlie panted. “ Fuck me. ” he added eloquently.

“Oh, just you wait,” Nick replied with a cocky wink. An actual fucking wink . The guy was so arrogant, but in the sexiest way.

Charlie rolled his eyes. “Always so sure of yourself, Rowing King. ”

Still catching his breath but feeling numbed, Charlie slid down from the edge of the boat, Nick steadying him in his arms. As his body brushed along Nick’s, Charlie felt it, Nick’s arousal, still rock hard and throbbing beneath his clothes.

Charlie dropped to his knees without a word, unzipped him and looked up, eyes full of lust.

“My turn to taste Nick Fucking Nelson.”

Nick raised an eyebrow. “Excuse you, it’s Nick Fuck-Me Nelson, thanks.”

Charlie laughed, low and wicked. “Shut up.”

He reached into Nick’s pants, freeing him.

Long and thick… “Of course it’s perfect,” Charlie muttered, almost annoyed by how hot it made him.

He didn’t waste time. He licked a slow line up the shaft, wrapped the tip with his tongue, kissed it for a bit, slow and sultry but like it was sacred. Then he took him in deep, far deeper than Nick seemed ready for, deepthroating him without flinching.

Nick let out a guttural feral sound.

Charlie worked him slowly at first, savouring the weight and heat of him. Then faster, mouth and tongue working in tandem, sucking with growing intensity. Nick’s hand found Charlie’s head, fingers threading through his hair, not pushing, just grounding himself like if he let go, he might lose Charlie.

Charlie moaned around him, it was as if Nick was made for his mouth. And Nick just lost it.

“Putain Charlie… fuck… I’m not gonna… Je vais pas tenir… Good, so fucking good… C’est tellement bon, t’es fait pour sucer ma queue…”

The filthy French went straight to his spine, and Charlie added his little trick, his secret tongue movement that turned any guy into a puddle.

It did, once again.

Nick swore, switching between languages incoherently.

“Charlie… Je vais jouir… I’m coming, if you…”

Charlie gripped Nick’s ass and pulled him deeper.

Nick came with a strangled cry, wrecked.

“ Oh Charlie… OUIIIII …”

He immediately dropped down, cupping Charlie’s face, eyes wild, and kissed him deep and dirty, tasting himself on Charlie’s tongue without hesitation and collecting every remnant of his semen in Charlie’s mouth.

It was gross, filthy and so intimate... Perfect.

Charlie moaned into his mouth again.

“You filthy fucker,” Charlie said, catching his breath and dragging his thumb on Nick’s lower lip. “Didn’t know Nick Nelson had it in him to be such a slut.”

Hearing Charlie’s teasing, Nick’s pupils grew wide, the fire in his eyes reigniting instantly.

“Oh yeah?” he murmured, voice low and dangerous. “Sounds like you didn’t get nearly enough to shut that smart mouth of yours.”

He stood, tucked himself back in, zipped up and reached down to pull Charlie up beside him.

Without a word, he took Charlie’s hand and started leading him toward the exit, but Charlie pulled back, planting his feet.

“What are you doing?” he asked, brow raised.

Nick turned, gaze burning, but his tone was level. “I’m not done with you, I want to fuck you, Charlie. I want to be inside you. Take you on all fours until you’re begging me to let you come, crying my name like a prayer. And I know you want that too. But we’re not doing it here. We need supplies I don’t have, and I figure you’d prefer a mattress over fiberglass and splinters.” He paused. “Unless the boat thing’s a kink of yours?”

Charlie blinked. The direct, unfiltered words hit him like lightning. His stomach flipped, the fire Nick had lit earlier now threatening to consume him entirely.

Still, he managed to smirk.

Mask on, keep calm, who’s got the upper hand, here?

“Well,” he said, collecting himself, “if we’re doing this properly… we’re heading to my room. I’ve got a single. And I’d like to avoid any kind of walk of shame. Thank you very much.”

Nick laughed, soft and devilish. “You drive a hard bargain.”

Charlie grabbed his hand this time and pulled him along. “You’ve got no idea.”

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

The walk to Charlie’s room couldn’t have lasted more than ten minutes, maybe less, but neither of them spoke. Not because they had nothing to say, but because it seemed that anything might crack the spell, like neither of them wanted to introduce doubt or think about the possible consequences.

Charlie’s mind, despite his silence, was far from still. He’d just had Nick Nelson’s mouth on him, then his cock in his own mouth, and now Nick wanted to be inside him. To fuck him, like properly. 

And somehow, Charlie still wanted that too. He wanted him so badly.

He had a taste of Nelson (humble!) baguette, and now he wanted to taste every delicacy he had in store and have the baguette inside him, sooner than later, please!

Charlie couldn’t tell if he was walking toward redemption or disaster. But right now? He didn’t care. He wanted to finally let go, as if this Nick, walking beside him, might somehow have the power to mend what Ben had broken… Not to fix it, but just to feel again. And for the first time, here, with Nick Nelson’s hand and mouth on him, Charlie finally felt like he could. 

They hadn’t even shut the door behind them before they were on each other again. Nick grabbed Charlie by the waist and pressed him against the wall, mouths colliding in a kiss that was starving. His hands roamed with purpose, one sliding up Charlie’s shirt, the other gripping his hip like it was the only thing anchoring him to earth.

“Eager, are we?” Charlie murmured against his lips, smirking with satisfaction.

Nick didn’t answer right away. He just looked at him with an infuriatingly honest, heart-on-sleeve expression that made Charlie want to kiss him and slap him at the same time.

“Oh, Charlie,” Nick said, breathless, sincere, “you have no idea of what I’ve wanted to do to you. For months … ”

The words hung in the air, so earnest, they scared Charlie, so he did what he always did: put the brat mask back on.

“ Months ? Christ, that’s pathetic,” he said with a mock-pitying grin.

Nick raised a brow, somewhere between amused and wounded, then leaned in closer, lips grazing Charlie’s ear.

“I may be pathetic,” he whispered, “but I’m pretty sure Ben never made you come like I just did.”

Charlie’s face dropped. The playfulness faltered, a flicker of something colder passed through his eyes. He stepped back just half an inch enough to be noticed.

“Mention him again,” Charlie said quietly, his voice cutting like a blade, “and if you ever hoped to get inside me, you can kiss that goodbye.”

Nick blinked, a bit taken aback, but he nodded. “Got it.”

Charlie held his gaze a moment longer, then relaxed slightly.

“Good,” he said. “Now, since I don’t trust you not to be a complete disaster, I’ll prep myself. I just want your perfect dick inside me.”

The truth was, Charlie didn’t trust Nick. Not yet, not for that.

He was having a great time, he couldn’t deny that. Every second of this had been electric. Every brush of Nick’s lips, every cocky little smirk made Charlie want to shove him onto the bed and ride him until he forgot his own name. But he certainly wasn’t ready for this level of intimacy. Nick kissed like a storm, touched like a wildfire, and moved like someone trying to make up for years of missed chances in one night. Every time he laid his hands on Charlie, it was like his body lit up from the inside. But he was also… messy, like an overexcited puppy who didn’t know where to focus. 

Charlie could feel that Nick didn’t have much experience with men . He doesn’t even know what he was or if even was out? They hadn’t exactly stopped whatever this was to unpack identity labels… And it was okay because right now Charlie didn't care, he didn’t want heart-to-hearts. For once he wanted to be the one to take. A release. A beautifully reckless hate-fuck to get it out of their systems, to clear the air with Nick, finally get rid of this lingering sexual tension, exorcise the ghost of Ben and maybe start fresh after this.

But still, Charlie wasn’t about to let some golden boy with warm but calloused hands and an overexcited libido try to figure out how to finger someone properly while winging it on vibes.

His body deserved kindness, no matter how stupidly hot Nick could look between his thighs.

Nick exhaled, apparently relieved.

“So be it,” he said, eyes dark again. “Can we continue, then?”

Their kisses grew hotter and more urgent. Their hands fumbled and roamed, desperate for skin. Charlie felt himself hardening with every pass of Nick’s mouth, every tug of his hands, every graze of fingertips beneath layers of clothing. He could feel Nick’s arousal pressed against his thigh, thick, insistent and undeniable.

Nick’s mouth found his neck again, and Charlie nearly melted against the wall. Nick pinned both of Charlie’s wrists above his head with one strong hand, the other sliding down to Charlie’s waist as he licked, sucked, and kissed along his throat like he was starving for it.

He found the spot, just below Charlie’s jaw, and stayed there, eliciting moans from Charlie so obscenely, he would have been so embarrassed if he weren’t too far gone to care. He was definitely going to end up with marks that definitely won’t go unnoticed, but that was a Tomorrow Charlie problem.

Because right now Nick's lips were brushing against Tonight Charlie’s ear, and he whispered, voice low:

"Je vais tellement te ravager que tu seras une flaque à mes pieds quand j’en aurai fini avec toi."

Charlie let out a sound that barely resembled a human noise. His entire body jolted, breath caught somewhere in his chest.

“Fuck… Nick…”

He grabbed Nick’s chin, forcing him to meet his eyes, pupils blown wide. “Stop teasing,” he growled, voice thick with need. “Just take me.”

Nick didn’t waste a second.

He scooped Charlie up like he weighed nothing and carried him to the bed. Jackets and Charlie’s tie were already on the floor near the door, but Nick made a point to tear Charlie’s shirt open with one hand, sending buttons scattering across the room.

Charlie gasped at the sudden exposure, but then Nick’s mouth was on his chest, and he stopped thinking altogether.

Nick laid him down with surprising gentleness that made Charlie’s throat tighten. Even without asking aloud, every movement carried the weight of unspoken and careful consent. And Charlie knew, instinctively, that if he said stop, Nick would listen without any question.

Then Nick hovered over him, eyes dark, lips parted, and pressed Charlie’s arms above his head again, pinning them there with one hand. Apparently this was his signature move, and God that was so good to feel this quiet force, without ever feeling unsafe.

The other hand returned to his chest, fingers finding one hard nipple and pinching it just as his mouth closed over the other, sucking, lapping, teeth grazing.

Every nerve in Charlie’s body was lit, overstimulated, but so alive.

He arched his back with a deep moan and used the momentum to twist and flip them, pushing Nick onto his back and straddling him with a wild grin.

“My turn to play,” he purred, voice low and wicked.

Nick blinked up at him, half-wrecked already.

Charlie leaned down and tore open Nick’s shirt, not even pretending to be careful. Too bad for the walk of shame. Well, he’s still got the jacket.

Finally, his hands were on Nick’s bare torso. He traced every line of muscle, every plane of skin. Grasped his pecs, thumbed over his nipples, then dipped down to the soft trail of hair along the defined abs that led lower, teasing the path like it was sacred.

He kissed his way across Nick’s torso with a kind of hunger that surprised even him, biting, licking, claiming. Nick tried to reach for him, but Charlie caught his wrists and pinned them above his head again. This time, Nick laced their fingers together.

Charlie froze. It was tender, too tender?

He should’ve pulled away, but instead… he stayed. Because the way Nick looked at him, so achingly earnest, cut straight through his defenses.. And the truth was, he craved it, he craved the softness as much as the heat.

So, he let go. He let their fingers stay tangled. Let Nick’s touch mean something.

He leaned in again and kissed him, slow this time. A lingering, open-mouthed and honest kiss. It was different from before, a kind of silent surrender passed between them, a lowering of guards.

When Charlie pulled back, his chest was rising fast, eyes slightly dazed. Nick was staring up at him like he was the answer to a question he hadn’t dared ask aloud. Charlie reached up, brushing a hand down Nick’s face, thumb grazing his cheekbone, then trailing across his lips. Nick closed his eyes at the touch, like it was something sacred.

And then, Charlie moved. He rolled his hips forward, slowly, grinding against Nick’s hard cock, both of them fully clothed from the waist down but soaked in sensation. The pressure was perfect. The friction was maddening.

Nick let out a ragged breath, head falling back.

“Charlie…”

Charlie didn’t stop. He kept grinding, eyes locked on Nick’s face, watching every flicker of pleasure ripple through him.

“Please,” Nick gasped. “Let me be inside you.”

Charlie stood up, took off his trousers, and grabbed what he needed, and threw a bottle of lube and condoms on the bed, while Nick was undressing on his side. Nick glanced at him and said, "Came prepared, huh?"

"I'm almost 20 and screw you. Pretty sure you're glad someone thought ahead."

Nick grinned. “Touché.”

Charlie disappeared into the shower.

When he stepped back into the room, towel slung low on his hips, Nick was already sprawled on the bed in nothing but his boxers, lazily stroking himself with a kind of quiet anticipation that made Charlie’s mouth go dry.

Fuck, I might regret this, but that’s a problem for Future Charlie.

He walked over, slowly, letting the towel drop on the floor, and Nick sat up to pull him closer. With a single fluid motion, he guided Charlie onto all fours in front of him.

“Look at you,” Nick murmured, almost reverent. “All ready for me… You’re so fucking sexy, Charlie. Even like this.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the small of Charlie’s back. Then another. Then… “Oh mon dieu… t’as des fossettes au creux des reins,” he whispered, voice thick. “C’est tellement sexy… on dirait que ton cul me sourit.”

Nick’s hand slid between Charlie’s cheeks, parting them gently, fingers slick with lube. He pressed one finger against Charlie’s pliant entrance, teasing, testing, and Charlie instinctively pushed back into the touch.

“Fuck Nick, it’s ready,” Charlie gasped. “What the hell are you waiting for?”

“So bossy,” Nick murmured, and gave him a playful smack on the ass that made Charlie yelp, more from delightful surprise than pain.

Nick reached for the condom, unrolled it with practiced hands, and slicked himself up. Then he hesitated for just a moment.

“Anytime, your majesty,” Charlie said with an edge. “But go slow. Or you’re never touching me again.”

Nick chuckled. “Who’s the slut now?”

Charlie opened his mouth to reply, then promptly lost the ability to speak. He had to admit, it was fair. But it felt so fucking good he didn’t even care if he was begging for more.

Nick pressed forward, carefully, slowly, easing inch by inch, watching for every flicker of tension, every breath caught in Charlie’s throat.

Charlie gritted his teeth, exhaled through his nose, and finally whispered, “Okay.”

Nick started to move. The rhythm built gradually, slow at first, and then deeper, primal. Their bodies responded instinctively, as if they’d always known how to fit together. It was an unspoken language, made only in breath and touch, each motion drawing them closer to a perfect, aching harmony.

Charlie couldn’t believe how good it felt. Nick filled him perfectly, hit just right, moved with an eagerness that bordered on adoration.

“Oh putain Charlie,” Nick groaned. “T’es tellement bon… Tu prends tellement bien ma queue… Ce cul si étroit, si chaud… Continue comme ça.” And he gently pulled his hair…

And the more Nick thrust into Charlie and pulled his hair, the more Charlie moaned, arching his back to meet every movement. They were nothing but the sounds of skin, slickness, and gasping breaths.

“Nick, oh fuck, it feels so good… your cock, so perfect… perfect inside me…”

But suddenly Charlie stopped him. Nick pulled out, confused, and Charlie crawled toward him on all fours, grabbed his hands, and pushed him gently onto his back before straddling him.

“I want to watch you come.” Charlie said avidly.

Nick rolled his eyes back in pleasure as Charlie sank down on him in one smooth motion.

“Oh putain Charlie, ma queue est tellement dure avec toi, elle n’a jamais été aussi dure. Vas-y bébé, empale-toi sur ma queue, mon petit cul” he moaned in French, voice rough and desperate.

Filthy French was definitely doing things to Charlie. It lit a fire under his skin, made him feel reckless in the best possible way. It wasn’t about the words, Charlie didn’t understand a thing Nick was saying. The guy could’ve been reciting his cleaning products in reverse alphabetical order, Charlie wouldn’t have a clue and would’ve moaned just the same. It was the way Nick said them, low and dripping with hunger. Like every syllable was a promise and a prayer. And that accent…

It was addictive. Almost as intoxicating as Nick’s mouth.

Charlie rose slowly, languid and controlled, then slid back down with a slow, deliberate roll of his hips.

Nick groaned beneath him, hands gripping Charlie’s thighs, head tipped back in awe.

Charlie set the rhythm. This was his ride, and if this was the only time he ever let himself have this, he was going to make damn sure it was worth it. And fuck, it was worth it.

Every time he sank down, Nick met him with a thrust that hit deep and perfect, matching Charlie’s rhythm like their bodies had rehearsed it in dreams.

He moved with purpose, control, letting the burn build until it was almost unbearable. Until he could barely breathe through the pleasure. Until the control he’d clung to so tightly was starting to fray at the edges.

After no more than seven or eight of those long, devastating thrusts, Charlie broke.

He was literally mewling and couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Oh Nick… fuck… Nick, yes, yes… I’m gonna…”

And just like that, without a single touch to his cock, his body clenched, and he came so hard that his orgasm shot up across Nick’s chest, splattering his abs, his collarbone. A drop even hit Nick’s lip. Nick groaned low in his throat and licked it off in a sultry way.

Charlie shuddered through the aftershocks, his thighs trembling, breath ragged. He barely had time to register what was happening before Nick’s fingers dug into his hips, pulling him down into one final thrust.

And then Nick followed, groaning Charlie’s name like it was being pulled out of his soul.

“Chaaaarlieee!”

It was half-word, half-moan, wild.

Charlie collapsed forward, catching himself on Nick’s chest, both of them panting, slick with sweat, trembling under the weight of what just happened.

For a long second, neither of them moved, unsure of what to say now that the storm had passed… The moment of grace had officially dissolved into some kind of awkwardness. Definitely Charlie’s least favourite part of any hookup. Always had been. That quiet, post-orgasm limbo where everything was too quiet and too real.

But to his surprise, Nick… handled it.

He just leaned in, pressed a kiss to Charlie’s damp hair and then quietly disappeared into the bathroom. Charlie lay there, staring at the ceiling, not quite sure what he was supposed to feel. And then Nick returned, holding a damp cloth and a towel, moving with a kind of unassuming gentleness that caught Charlie completely off guard.

Nick knelt beside the bed and helped clean him up, not saying a word.

So apparently, he can take care of someone.

Afterwards, Nick slipped on his boxers, and flopped down beside Charlie with a breathy sigh.

“You wanna put something on?” he asked, reaching for the remote like this was the most natural thing in the world.

Charlie sat up slowly, still unsure of what to say or how to act.

What was the etiquette after having the best sex of your life with the person you were supposed to hate?

“TV?” he echoed.

Nick shrugged. “Unless you want to stare at the ceiling in perfect silence...”

Charlie huffed a tired laugh, pulled the sheets up to his chest and tried not to sound like a complete disaster. “Right. Sure. TV.”

But Charlie had absolutely no idea what the hell to do with that.

Half-dazed and exhausted, they finally settled on some random episode of Gogglebox. Some background noise that justified not talking but you could also sleep on.

As a couple commented on Britain's Got Talent, Nick reached out and pulled Charlie into his arms, with no hesitation. He just held him.

Charlie immediately stiffened, instinctively recoiling from the sheer tenderness of it. What the hell was this? 

But Nick’s body was so warm. His chest was so soft. His arms were steady. Charlie relaxed just slightly, letting his head rest against Nick’s bare torso, he felt something he hadn’t let himself feel in a very long time, or even never felt. He felt safe, like he belonged there.

Maybe it was normal. Maybe after a hate-fuck, there was a contractual period of... comfort? A buffer of physical closeness to rebalance the emotional scales? A way to politely say thank you?

So he let it happen. Let his body fit against Nick’s like it wasn’t weird or temporary.

Nick’s fingers absentmindedly traced small circles on Charlie’s back. Not trying to get anywhere. Just... touching. And under Nick's gentle touch, Charlie’s breathing slowed and his eyes fluttered shut.

Nick would leave soon and they’d go back to normal, both pretend nothing happened. 

And yet… Here, with his cheek resting on Nick’s chest, heart syncing to the heartbeat beneath him, he found himself thinking dangerous things about more hot and tender nights like this in the future…

And as his breath steadied, and the world softened around the edges, Charlie smiled to himself. Maybe Cambridge wouldn't be so bad after all.

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

When Charlie woke up, the bed was empty. The light slipping through the curtains was pale, hesitant. Of course Nick was gone, he probably had to catch his team’s bus back to Cambridge, same as Charlie would soon with his own.

He’d known it would be different in the light of day. He’d prepared himself for that. So, this wasn’t a shock or a disappointment.

It was just… Empty, like the bed. He wasn’t ready to face the consequences of last night, not yet. Good news: he didn’t have to. He had a little time left to process and pretend.

He reached for his phone, half-dreading the time. 6:30. 

Two and a half hours to get from post-orgasm mess to socially acceptable human.

There were two Instagram notifications waiting. Sent an hour ago.

nick_nzzzz requested to follow you.

nick_nzzzz sent you a message.

Charlie opened the request and nearly dropped his phone. He saw the cutest profile pic ever: Nick with a border collie puppy! 

How does the man always go against every one of Charlie's carefully maintained conceptions?

He accepted the request, followed back and opened the message.

"We should probably talk. Preferably before round two (three?) gets in the way. Soon? ♥️"

A heart. He sent a fucking heart.

Charlie stared at it like it might morph into an explanation, or an answer.

Was it possible he’d been this wrong about Nick?

Charlie thought back to what Leo and Oscar had said the night before… Could Nick be different? Could he actually feel something for him?

Last night hadn’t been about romance, that much was obvious. And yet, Nick had shown care. So much care. The way he’d held Charlie afterward, like it was the most natural thing in the world. The quiet, instinctive affection. The whisper-soft nothings pressed into his hair when he thought Charlie was asleep. Ben never did any of that. And they were supposed to be in some kind of relationship.

Ben never brought him even a towel. Never held him close. Never sent a heart on a message, not even once. And Nick had done all of that in a single night, of hate-fuck.

Charlie smiled despite himself. Then tapped the little heart beneath Nick’s message.

Maybe Nick could be different. Charlie didn’t know what that meant. He didn’t trust it. He didn’t trust himself.

Everything about last night felt surreal, in the best way and the worst. It had been, hands down, the best sex of Charlie’s life. 

Not just because Nick had been good, though he was, infuriatingly so, but because it had felt like something more. Nick had been responsive, eager, rough when Charlie needed it, and somehow still gentle exactly where it mattered.

And beneath all that heat, all that bravado, Charlie had glimpsed something real, something soft. Something he hadn’t expected Nick Nelson to be capable of. Even in their most hateful moments, Charlie had felt safe with Nick. With Ben, even in the calmest moments, he’d always been bracing for the blow.

But Nick was still Nick Nelson. His Nemesis. Another spoiled kid, the very embodiment of everything Charlie had sworn to avoid.

And after Ben, Charlie didn’t even trust his own instincts, let alone his own feelings.

Still… what he felt last night had been different. And that terrified him more than he was ready to admit.

Desperate to stop the spiral, Charlie started doomscrolling, when a new story popped up. Varsity, Cambridge student news.

He almost skipped it, until he saw the photo. 

Nick, post-race, grinning like the world belonged to him. The sunlight caught his beautiful cheekbones and freckles like they were airbrushed on. His kind eyes were alight. 

The headline read:

Nick Nelson Crowned the New King of the Thames: Cambridge’s Freshman Phenomenon

Charlie rolled his eyes. Of course. He clicked on the link anyway.

The article was everything he expected, glowing praise, over-the-top adjectives, a softcore love letter to Nick Nelson’s physical and lineage. But it was the last paragraph that caught Charlie’s attention:

Sorry ladies, this heartthrob is officially off the market! The one and only Imogen Heaney has claimed the prize. Since last summer, the two have been making headlines as an unstoppable power couple, practically glued at the hip and hotter than ever. She’s the picture of effortless elegance; he’s the golden boy with a legacy surname and Olympic abs, it’s society-page perfection.

Whispers around town say they’re rarely seen apart, always arriving arm-in-arm at every gala, regatta, and curated brunch. And according to a very reliable source, an engagement announcement is only days away. Stay tuned, this dynasty romance might just be going full royal.

Charlie’s heart dropped. Fuck.

He threw his phone to the floor. Stupid, stupid Charlie.

For believing and thinking even for a second that he could be different. That Nick Nelson, golden boy of the Thames, wasn't just another Ben in better packaging.

Of course he had a girlfriend-soon-to-be-fiancée and Charlie'd been another gay experiment.

At least, Ben never pretended to care. Somehow it was even crueler from Nick for pretending to.

Charlie told himself, he got something out of it, a chance to figure things out before it went too far and a great fuck, before picked up his phone from the floor. He swallowed the bile rising in his throat, and without flinching, went to Nick’s profile.

You blocked @nick_nzzzz. You will no longer see any content from this account.

Done.

He packed, met the team, and boarded the bus, decided to end his Freshman year surrounded by his friends and positive things. Because next year…

Well… next year promised to be interesting.

But Charlie was used to that by now.

END OF YEAR 1

Chapter Text

Charlie arrived indecently early, middle of the morning, which, in student time, was practically the crack of dawn, to settle into Emmanuel College. Emma , for the insiders. The nickname alone had already delighted Isaac, who declared it a good omen. “It’s a sign,” he’d said. “My favourite Austen novel and your new college? Clearly the universe is trying to tell us something.”

He still couldn’t quite believe he had to start from scratch. New college, new room, new faces. And this time, no Isaac across the hallway to silently hand him a cup of tea when things got too much. Well, not today, today, of course, Isaac was here. He and Tao had decided, in true authoritarian fashion, that they were coming to help him move in, no discussion allowed. 

Not that he’d complain. They’d come to check on the room and to make sure he had “everything he’d need,” which apparently included a mini kettle, a box of condoms+lube (“ just in case ” Tao had shrugged), and three packets of his favourite tea.

Worse than mothers, those two, but Charlie didn’t want to imagine what he’d be without them. Tao’s love language was criticism layered with loyalty, Isaac’s was a quiet soothing presence, both now were equally essential to Charlie’s balance.

Meanwhile, his four rower teammates and friends from Oxford had been spamming the group chat since 7:04 am. Their WhatsApp thread had become a relentless scroll of memes, dramatic “farewell, brother” messages, half-serious threats about him defecting to the enemy, and one blurry photo of the 5 of them, circling Charlie, annotated with “ never forget .” Charlie had laughed out loud more than once. He already missed them, those gloriously sweaty idiots. They were bonded for life now, trauma is such a charming little glue.

Coach Barker, Geoff and Nathan Ajayi, his new coach at Cambridge, had apparently formed a sacred alliance to coordinate Charlie’s arrival under “optimal conditions.” He half-expected  to find them lined up at the gate, but thank God they weren’t.

Not that Charlie particularly enjoyed being treated like a fragile little thing with PTSD stamped on his forehead. But still, they helped… As if feeling heard, protected, even, did make the change softer.

So here he was: a familiar setup, oddly comforting. A small corridor with five other students, shared kitchen and all. His own room had an ensuite and was part of a private little nook, sharing a cosy mini-lounge with just two other people. Strategic, for when bad days hit and Charlie couldn’t face the world. He could choose the smaller shared space, or opt out entirely. It felt… manageable. As manageable as moving to your rival university with your soul held together by duct tape could possibly be.

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

Charlie worked all summer, both properly and metaphorically. For once, he’d got a job that didn’t make him question the entire future of humanity: behind the counter at the local record shop. It was just perfect. He spent his days recommending obscure indie bands to lost dads, arguing with teenage goths, and falling in love with new sounds while alphabetising vinyls. It was almost therapeutic.

But beneath the surface, he’d been working on something else too: himself.

He didn’t want to arrive at Cambridge and be treated as a fragile broken mess. But he couldn’t pretend everything was fine either. The whole Ben situation had left marks, some visible, some buried. He knew he had to prepare for the change ahead and, oh yes, the charming added bonus of sharing a boat with none other than Nick Nelson.

After that night, Charlie had returned to Oxford in a daze. Oscar, Leo, Pierce and Noah didn’t say a word during the bus ride, which was a blessing. Leo had shot him a knowing look though, but never said anything. Angels, this lot. Always attuned to Charlie’s silences, always patient. 

Back at LMH, Charlie slipped into his routine like muscle memory: rowing, lectures, shifts at the café, exams. He didn’t mention that night to anyone. He decided to file it away under “hot memory, perfect to fuel his wank bank but never to be repeated.”  It had been intense, yes. Unexpected, even more so. He couldn’t deny the desire, he wanted this to happen. That night had exorcised that, and the morning after had shown him exactly how right he was about everything.

So he compartmentalised. 

That night? Locked in a drawer in his brain, labeled and filed.

Nick Nelson? Just a rower, filed in a different drawer: a future teammate, a colleague at the best.

He stuck to the plan and said nothing. Until, of course, one evening, to Isaac, a week before the move.

They’d been in Charlie’s room at Isaac’s, supposedly watching Emma for the sixteenth time, Isaac’s subtle little tribute to Charlie’s impending move. At some point, either pushed by the approaching deadline or the cheap rosé they were sipping, Charlie had paused the film, stared at the screen for an entire minute, then blurted out, “I slept with Nick Nelson. I know by telling you this, I kind of out him to you, even though I don’t actually know what he’s, but I need to talk to someone and I know I can trust you, even if you’re close to Sai.”

Isaac didn’t even blink, of course he didn’t. He just took a slow sip, then looked at Charlie like he used to, full with concern and compassion before he calmly said.

“Well, that was bound to happen. The guy is literally your type and you’ve been vibrating with unresolved sexual tension for months. And of course I won’t say anything, this is about you, and between you and me.” Minimalist but full of care, how Isaac…

Charlie told him everything. The night, the aftercare, the morning, the message, the article, the girl, the block. All of it.

Isaac listened without judgement, occasionally tilting his head like the very wise owl he was. Then he asked a few careful questions, not out of curiosity, but out of care. 

“You’re sure you don’t want to talk to him about it?” he asked. “I mean, I believe you, obviously, but… I just don’t see him as a Ben-type guy. I don’t know him, but I know Sai. And more importantly, I know you. From what I’ve heard, the guy sounds more like…” He paused, searching. “A confused golden retriever with way too much pressure on his shoulders. Clumsy, probably a bit of a dick sometimes, clearly lost regarding his identity, but not cruel. Just… the kind of guy who’d row until his hands bled rather than say how he actually feels. Pun very much intended.”

Charlie didn’t smile. Instead, he pulled out his phone and showed Isaac the article and these hurtful closing paragraphs. Isaac didn’t push after that. Just nodded slowly, mouth tight, and said, in his usual wise-grandma way: “Sometimes appearances deceive. But I get it… You’re right to be cautious… Especially if you’re going to be in the same boat as him, literally.”

And that’s how Charlie explained his strategy : compartmentalisation. The night was one box and Nick-the-rower was another in his brain. Separate drawers, locked, with labels.

Isaac still didn’t look fully convinced. But he didn’t argue. Instead, he gave Charlie a long look, one of those soft, knowing ones, and said, simply: “I trust you. Just… don’t lock yourself in those drawers too and maybe keep your mind open?”

This summer had also been a chance for Charlie to spend real time with his siblings. Tori had once casually mentioned, over her lemonade, of course, that she and Michael were thinking of moving back to Kent after graduation. Not just that: she was seriously considering filing for custody of Olly. She sounded ready to fight and to burn everything down if that’s what it took. Charlie, who had always been the human proof of their parents’ failures, didn’t hesitate. If Tori needed ammunition, she could have all of it. He gave her full permission to use his story to support her case. Protecting Olly from any more damage wasn’t even a question. 

The rest of his time was split, unsurprisingly, between the rowing club and therapy. A classic Charlie Spring summer.

At the boat club, he rowed until his muscles ached in all the right ways. He helped with repairs, coached beginners, scrubbed boats, and rebuilt his body with a quiet kind of discipline. Youssef was there, grounding and steady, and so was Coach Barker, who’d unofficially adopted Charlie as some kind of new project. Between the two of them, they designed a training schedule so intense that Charlie sometimes wondered if they were secretly prepping him for the Olympics. They never said it aloud, but Charlie could feel a message behind every stroke on water or every rowing machine session: you’re not broken, you’re rebuilding. You’re not a burden, you’re an athlete.

And then there was Geoff, of course.

They met weekly, unpacking Charlie’s mixed feelings about Cambridge. About the choice to leave Oxford and the idea of starting over. Charlie never mentioned Nick, that particular drawer remained locked, even in therapy. They worked on reframing and reclaiming. Little reminders Charlie could repeat to himself when the self-doubt came invading his mind.

“This is my own choice. I’m building my future.”

“I’m a victim, but I’m recovering. I can do big things.”

“Trauma is part of me, but it doesn’t define me.”

It helped. Not in a miraculous, everything-is-fixed way, but enough for Charlie to feel confident on this first morning at Cambridge.

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

Charlie had never thought of Cambridge as home, but there was something about Emmanuel College. It was a contrast to Lady Margaret Hall in Oxford. 

LMH had always been kind, in its own way, green, airy, and gently removed from the chaos of central Oxford. He remembered the long walks through University Parks. It had felt safe there, like a bubble in which his pain could quietly fester beneath the surface.

Emma felt more open, more central, not just in geography but in spirit. There was noise, sure, but also life. Where LMH had offered refuge, Emma offered reinvention. A chance not to be the broken cox anymore, but someone new. Or at least, he felt he could try.

So here he was. Standing in front of his new room, trying to stay focused while Christopher, the student in charge of the floor, gave his final round of cheerful, well-meaning instructions. Isaac and Tao stood on either side of him like overbearing parents with varying levels of patience.

“If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to reach out,” Christopher said with a genuinely friendly smile. “My room’s at the end of the left corridor, you’ll find a card with my number on your desk. I know there’ve been some special arrangements for you, so really, anything you need, just let me know. Your roommates are great people. I hope you’ll settle in well.”

“Thanks,” Charlie replied, sincerely but softly. “I guess I’ll start by… unpacking and having a look around.”

Christopher nodded, offered one last encouraging grin, and disappeared down the hall, probably off to rescue another overwhelmed fresher.

Tao walked into the room first, arms crossed, already scanning the place like a disapproving estate agent. “Well,” he announced, “it’s not exactly LMH, but it’s close enough. At least you won’t feel totally disoriented. Also, I heard there's a cine-club here with a surprisingly decent selection. Foreign films, some obscure queer stuff, thank god, nothing too mainstream. I mean, very much your vibe.”

Charlie allowed himself a faint smirk. “Yeah, we’ll see about that,” he said, careful not to sound too dismissive. He didn’t have the heart to tell Tao the cine-club’s programming were probably way more Tao-coded than Charlie-coded.

Isaac’s phone buzzed. He glanced down, frowned slightly, then looked up at Charlie.

“It’s Sai. He wants to know when you’re arriving in Cambridge. Should I tell him we’re here? Maybe suggest meeting up tonight?”

Charlie hesitated. His stomach tightened a little. “No,” he said after a pause. “Not tonight. I’m not ready for that.”

Isaac nodded once, no questions asked.

“I’ll catch up soon,” Charlie added, feeling he needed to justify. “But a quiet night would be good and helpful right now.”

He knew Sai meant well, but the last thing Charlie needed right now was to walk into a pub and lock eyes with Nick across the room while holding a pint and trying not to visibly unravel, because Sai would probably invite all his suitemates with the best intentions. So no, especially if Nick was with someone or worse acting like nothing had ever happened.

“Done,” Isaac said, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “He did ask for your number, though. I think it’d be good for you to have him nearby. I’ve known him for a long time, he’s a good egg.”

Charlie nodded. “Yeah, agreed. Go ahead, give it to him.”

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

By mid-afternoon, they’d nearly finished unpacking, or at least reached the ‘good enough for now’ stage, and were just about to head out for a walk when voices drifted in from the shared living room.

They opened the door and found two people already standing in the shared lounge, a tall, beautiful girl with warm light brown skin and kind, sparkling eyes, and a blond guy about her age, he looked nerdy but relaxed, with the kind of quiet smile that suggested he was already silently judging them, but in a nice way.

“Hi!” the girl said brightly. “You must be Charlie. Christopher told us you were moving in today. I’m Elle, and this is Aled. Looks like we’re roomies this year. Welcome to Emma.”

“Oh hi! Yeah, I’m Charlie,” he replied, slightly taken aback by how warm they both seemed. “And these two are Isaac and Tao, my best friends from Oxford, here to inspect my living conditions and provide unsolicited commentary.”

“Obviously,” Tao muttered.

Elle laughed. “Ah, I see what this is.” She grinned. “Well, Aled and I don’t have much to unpack, we were already here last year. We were just talking about ordering some takeaway and having a quiet night in the common room. You’re all welcome to join us if you feel like it.”

Tao made a sound that might’ve been an agreement but came out somewhere between a cough and a gasp. “Oh, uh, yeah! I’m Toa, I mean Tao! Do you need help with your stuff? I could help.”

Charlie turned his head slowly toward Tao, who was clearly short-circuiting. Oh no. Is it actually happening?

Elle chuckled, eyes twinkling. “Well, thank you, but this box is pretty heavy,” she said, gesturing to one beside her. “Are you sure your twig arms can handle it?”

Tao puffed up, falsely offended. “Oh rude! I’ll have you know I’m a very muscular individual, thank you very much.” And then, with tremendous effort and a look of deep concentration, he hoisted the box without so much as a blink, though Charlie could see his knees wobble slightly.

Elle winked. “He’s cute.”

Charlie sighed. “I’d say tragic, but if you say so.”

She pointed to a door nearby, taped with a bold poster that read TRANS RIGHTS ARE HUMAN RIGHTS in pink and blue.

“That one’s mine,” she said.

Charlie couldn’t help the smile tugging at his mouth. Apparently, I’ve landed in the gay dream suite.

He turned to Aled. “Need a hand with anything?”

Aled shook his head. “Nah, I’m good. Just books and podcast gear.”

“Podcast?” Charlie tilted his head. “That sounds cool.”

Aled shrugged, casual. “It’s a bit of a niche, but fun.”

There was something calm and self-contained about him, thoughtful, like he took everything in before speaking. Charlie instantly liked him. He gave off quiet-librarian energy, very Isaac-coded.

Charlie glanced back at Tao, who was still lingering suspiciously close to Elle, offering more help than necessary, and muttered to Isaac, “Looks like it’s just the two of us for that walk. ‘Toa’ appears to be in some mid-courtship ritual.”

Isaac didn’t even look up. “You allos are a mystery to me,” he said dryly. “Let’s go. We can grab some drinks for tonight on the way.”

“Perfect,” Charlie said, grateful for the excuse to step outside.

That evening turned out better than Charlie had expected. They all stayed in, flopped onto beanbags and worn-out cushions in the common space, takeaway boxes scattered across the coffee table.

Elle was radiant. She was funny, fiercely intelligent, and already maternal in a way that didn’t feel suffocating. She checked on everyone’s drinks, offered spare forks, and launched into stories that made them all laugh. Charlie could tell within an hour: they were going to be best friends. Tao, meanwhile, was practically glowing. He hung on each of her words like she was reciting poetry.

They talked about films and queer art, Tao promising to send her a complete watchlist by the end of the week. Elle, as a fine arts student, showed them a few pictures of her work on her phone and promised to drag Tao to her favourite queer exhibitions next time he visited.

Aled and Isaac, naturally, bonded over books within five minutes. They compared favourite authors, argued over narrative structure, and segued effortlessly into music and podcasting. Aled was studying linguistics and spoke about languages with quiet intensity, not performative, just genuinely passionate. Charlie found himself drawn into the conversation with a peaceful joy.

And for the first time in what felt like months, Charlie didn’t feel like the fragile one, or the complicated one, or the boy with a thousand locked drawers in his head.

There was something so effortlessly easy about that night, the laughter, the shared stories, the gentle rhythm of it all, that Charlie felt himself relax in a way he hadn’t expected. Being around them just felt so good that he felt quietly hopeful about the year ahead.

The day after Tao and Isaac left, a new WhatsApp group had already materialised, courtesy of Tao, titled OxBridge Coalition.

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

Charlie eased into his new life at Cambridge with cautious optimism. He’d found a part-time job at a cosy café just around the corner from Emmanuel, and although he hadn’t yet found a new way to drum he wasn’t in full withdrawal.

The first week of September, two days before rowing training, Elle cornered him in the kitchen, eyes bright with purpose.

“It’s time,” she said, dramatic as ever. “You’re coming with me to the LGBT+ Students’ Union tonight.”

Charlie looked up from his tea, instantly suspicious. “Why?”

“Because, darling,” she said, as if explaining gravity, “you need to meet people. People other than me, Aled, and the rowing team.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“I’m not saying you should ditch the rowers,” she replied with a wink. “Some rowers are actually very sweet, in addition to being a very appreciated view. But you also need to be around your own people. And I don’t just mean emotional support like me and Aled. I mean queers you might actually want to flirt with.”

Charlie groaned. “Elle… First of all, I barely know the Cambridge rowing team for now… And second, you do remember I’m very much not ready for any flirting now, right?”

“Obviously. But on Thursday you’ll be back in the boat, and trust me you’ll get along just fine there. And don’t worry, I’m not throwing you in some queer lion’s den,” she said reassuringly. “But just because you’re not eating now doesn’t mean you can’t read the menu.”

He laughed despite himself, Elle had a real talent for pulling out the perfect analogy. “How do you even know the rowers are sweet?”

“Friends of friends,” she said vaguely, and shrugged before adding, “Anyway, not the point. The point is: you deserve to be seen. You deserve to be reminded of how attractive you are, and how much people would happily and openly fall at your feet, given the chance. And maybe that’ll help you get a little of your confidence back.”

Charlie was genuinely stunned by how beautiful she looked when she said that, not just physically, though she absolutely was, but the kind of beauty that comes from unwavering kindness.

He’d bonded quickly and deeply with Elle and Aled. Within days, it already felt like a second kind of home. Their little trio fell into an unspoken rhythm: shared meals, long chats over tea, stolen moments of silence that didn’t need to be filled.

One night, at the end of the second week, over Chinese takeaway, Charlie finally told them the truth about him.

He’d already talked to Isaac and Geoff about it. He was torn between the agreement he’d signed, and the fact that not telling Elle and Aled the real reason for his transfer felt like lying to the people who were becoming his chosen family. In the end, they all agreed: Elle and Aled weren’t on the team, didn’t know Ben, and didn’t need the full details. Just enough context to understand why certain shadows still lingered.

So, that night, Charlie told them. He told them about his past in school and his bad mental health condition and recovery journey, he told them about this first year at Oxford, the scholarship and that his transfer to Cambridge wasn’t entirely academic. That it had been diligently arranged to give him distance from someone he used to be involved with. Someone who’d hurt him and tried to silence him.

Elle and Aled had responded exactly how Charlie had hoped, no overreaction, no pity, just quiet and grounded care. Aled had reached for his hand without a word. Elle had pulled him into a hug that somehow felt like armor.

Now, walking beside her through the early evening streets, Charlie felt that warmth again.

“I know it worked for me,” Elle said suddenly.

Charlie blinked, pulled from his thoughts. “Sorry, what?”

She smiled. “I said, being seen, feeling attractive and safe, in a space where people get you? That really helped me reconnect with my body and my confidence.”

Charlie knew Elle’s story now. He knew how hard she’d fought through her transition, the cruelty she’d faced in school, the fear, the isolation and how she’d risen anyway. She’d been through hell, and now she was radiant. If she said the Union had helped her become that, Charlie was willing to try.

Charlie nodded slowly. “Yeah. I think I get that now. So… what are we waiting for? Let’s go.”

He took her arm and they made their way toward the Students’ Union.

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

"Elle! Here!"

The voice rose above the hum of conversation, and a girl waved from across the room. She was stunning, dark brown skin, toned without looking like she was living in a gym, the kindest eyes, and a radiant energy that instantly made Charlie feel warm and safe..

“Tara!” Elle beamed and practically launched herself into her arms for a hug.

When they pulled apart, Elle turned back to Charlie with enthusiasm.

“Charlie, this is Tara, a friend from last year. She’s the smartest, studying marketing at Trinity. And just wait until you meet her girlfriend Darcy, they’re such lovely chaos. And Tara, this is Charlie, our new suitemate at Emma. Freshly imported from Oxford, studying Classics… and a rower,” she added with a pointed look.

Tara offered him a bright, sincere smile. “Hi Charlie! So nice to meet you, welcome! Is this your first time at the Union?”

Charlie nodded, already feeling the edges of a blush creeping in. “Yeah, thanks, nice to meet you too. First time, yep. First times are kind of my theme lately,” he said with a crooked smile. “I was loosely involved in a few queer societies back in Oxford last year, but I never really had the time to commit properly. I’m not sure I’ll have loads of time this year either, with training and all, but I’m pretty sure I could at least try to come once a week.”

“Well, we’re lucky to have you. And honestly, even when life’s going fine, it’s still nice to have a place where you don’t have to explain anything and just be. Safe spaces matter, you know?”

Charlie nodded, a little surprised by how much that resonated in him.

The meeting began not long after and it was… really good, thoughtful, funny and somehow comforting. Charlie was suddenly surrounded by a lot of people like him, figuring things out, making space for each other. By the time they wrapped up and people started mingling, Charlie found himself actually enjoying being there.

He was mid-conversation with Elle, Tara, and one of their friends when a soft voice interrupted him from behind.

“Hi, sorry, Charlie, right?”

He turned around and found himself facing a cute guy with tousled brown hair, soft green eyes, and a gentle, genuinely kind expression.

“Uh, yeah, hi. I’m Charlie. He/Him. Second year. Just transferred. And… uh, gay.”

Oh God. Did I just say that out loud?

The guy laughed, warm and not at all mocking. “Wow, that’s a lot of info in one go. Efficient, I like it.”

Charlie flushed. “Right, yeah. Sorry. I’m not exactly sure what the etiquette is here.”

“No worries,” he said with a grin. “I’m James. He/Him. Third year. Major in History, minor in French. Also gay, in case it could work in my favor.”

Charlie laughed, still awkward but relaxing a little. “Nice to meet you. Sorry, I’m usually better at words, except when I’m not.”

“You’re doing fine,” James said kindly. “Are you settling in okay? Cambridge can be a lot at first.”

“Honestly, yeah… better than I expected. Not that I had low expectations or anything. Just… it’s all new and intense.”

James nodded. “Totally get it. If you ever want a tour or someone to show you the best coffee spots, I’m your guy. Third year privilege, I know all the best spots now.”

Charlie hesitated. He wasn’t sure what he wanted with James, but he seemed genuinely nice, and Charlie didn’t have a ton of friends here yet. It didn’t have to mean anything, right?

“That’d be great, actually,” he said. “My schedule’s a bit of a mess with rowing and classes, but I’d love some pointers.”

“Rowing?” James raised his brows, impressed. “Wow, an athlete, I’m impressed.”

“Don’t be. It’s mostly therapy disguised as sport,” Charlie joked. “Though that probably sounds a bit unhinged.”

“Not at all,” James said gently. “Makes perfect sense to me. Sports can be helpful in many ways.”

Before Charlie could reply, someone called James from across the room. “James, we’re heading out!”

He turned back to Charlie. “I should go, but is it cool if I DM you through the Union group?”

Charlie hesitated a second, then smiled. “Yeah… Sure… That’s cool.”

Just as James left, Elle turned to him. “Tara’s heading out to meet Darcy and some friends, nothing too wild, just drinks and chill vibes. Want to come?”

Charlie exhaled. A drink sounded exactly like what he needed right now.

“Yeah, okay,” he said. “Count me in.”

“Yay!” Tara said with a grin. “You’re officially adopted.”

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

The drink actually helped. Because what Charlie didn’t see coming - like, at all - was that Tara’s mysterious group of “friends” turned out to be… Sai, Otis, Chris, and… Nick Fucking Nelson.

Fuck. My. Life.

Everything had been going so well, too well, obviously. Something had to happen.

After a series of awkward greetings, some warmer than others, Charlie stood there, smiling stiffly as everyone exclaimed how “ hilarious ” it was that they all knew each other.

“Wow, such a small world!”

Yeah. Hilarious. The irony of life never ceased to astonish Charlie.

Still, Charlie couldn’t help but wonder: how did someone like Nick, this cunt, manage to surround himself with people as kind and genuine as Tara, Sai, or Otis? They clearly liked him. Not polite-acquaintance-liked, but like real friendship and genuine affection that wasn’t forced. He wasn’t some awkward third-wheel tagging along, he was part of the group. Was he really that good at pretending?

Charlie forced himself to feign curiosity. “So… how do you all know each other?”

“Oh,” said Tara brightly, “Nick and I take the same courses. We got paired for a project early on and just… clicked. We’ve been inseparable ever since. He’s basically my brother now.”

“Aww, love you, you know,” Nick murmured, giving her a look full of real affection.

He still wasn’t looking at Charlie and Charlie wasn’t looking at him either. Mutual avoidance was probably the best option for both of them now…

“And then,” Tara continued, “through Nick, I met the rest of the suitemates, as a package deal, and we just became this little chosen family.”

“Yeah,” Otis chimed in, high-fiving Nick. “Tara and Sai are basically our parents now.”

Sai rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it.

Charlie leaned over to Elle, murmuring, “So… friends of friends, huh?”

She gave him a sheepish shrug. What?! It’s true!

Before he could say more, the door burst open.

“Well hellooo gays, trans, pan and allies!” came a loud voice, followed by a blur of energy that launched itself into Tara’s arms.

“Darcy! Behave! We have guests,” Tara said, laughing as she hugged the whirlwind.

“Charlie,” she said, recovering, “this is Darcy, pronouns they/them, my girlfriend. Darcy, meet Charlie, new at Emma, Elle and Aled’s suitemate, and our latest Union recruit.”

Darcy grinned with the brightest look in their eyes. “Oh my god, tell me you’re not just an ally?”

Charlie hesitated for a second, his eyes flicking instinctively toward the rowers. But Tara had vouched for all of them. She was a lesbian, and she trusted them. So Charlie took a breath.

“I’m gay, actually.”

“Yesss!” Darcy grinned. “Not a new letter, but definitely on the right side of the force. Welcome to the Alphabet Mafia! I need a drink. I’ve survived a ten-hour shift behind a counter, and I need liquid redemption.”

“Happy to serve, I guess?” Charlie muttered with a smile.

Elle leaned in, laughing. “Sorry about the hurricane. But Darcy’s great. They’re just on a quest to meet one person per letter of the Queer Alphabet. And since they’re working full-time at a restaurant while taking a break from uni, they fully expect Tara to help them complete their collection.”

Charlie chuckled, genuinely amused until a realisation hit him.

“Wait… when they came in, they said ‘hi gays, trans, pan’…” He turned slowly toward the rowers, blinking. “Was that… literal?”

“Oh, that,” said Chris, raising a hand casually. “Hi. I’m Chris, and I’m pan.”

Charlie blinked again. “Oh! Sorry, I didn’t mean to, like, fish or anything. It’s just… in Oxford, I was the only openly queer rower. And by openly, I mean I didn’t hide my Pride pin in the locker room.”

“Well, my dearest Charlie,” Otis declared dramatically, draping an arm around Charlie’s shoulder, “welcome to a brand new world, and club, where you’ll be fully accepted, no matter what.”

Nick remained resolutely, almost loudly silent. And just like that, it clicked. If Nick was something else than straight, he probably would have already come out. He had one of the safest, queerest spaces Charlie had ever stood in… But apparently, Nick had never said a word.

So that was it, then. The truth Charlie had tried so hard not to confirm. He had been just a moment, a fling, an experiment in Nick’s straight journey, nothing more.

His chest tightened, but he fought to keep his smile intact.

“So…” he said, his voice carefully light, “how much am I going to suffer on Thursday?”

“Not too much,” Sai replied with a grin. “We need our new cox in top form. And I heard you’re a beast on the rowing machine. Can’t wait to see you in action on a little 2K test.”

“I’m your guy,” Charlie said, ignoring the ache in his throat and the pair of brown eyes that hadn’t stopped glancing his way. Nick looked… subdued. Not the brat he used to be. There was something unreadable about him. The few glances he threw at Charlie were heavy, full of questions, regret and something else Charlie couldn’t quite name. 

But Charlie had no energy for a confrontation. So he smiled, chatted and avoided eye contact or any other potential contact. He didn’t even go to the loo!

And when his glass was empty, he turned to Elle. “Ready to head back? I don’t want to be up too late, I need rest before Thursday,” he said, throwing a wink toward the rowers, who cheered him goodnight. At least three of them, anyway.

He hugged Tara and Darcy, offered an awkward wave to the rest, and walked out with Elle.

If she noticed anything, she didn’t say a word.

That night, Charlie laid in bed with a mess of thoughts tangling in his chest. His mind was navigating between frustration, confusion, guilt and a hint of sadness.

He had no fucking idea how he was going to handle rowing beside Nick.

But as Geoff always said: It’s okay not to know everything.

So be it.

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

The first day back at rowing was, thankfully, light. Mostly introductions, timetable overviews, a few warm-up drills, nothing too intense. Just enough to stretch muscles and test the mood.

Charlie had to admit: the atmosphere here at Cambridge felt… different. Still ambitious, still demanding and high-stakes, this was, after all, the reigning team going for their fourth consecutive Boat Race win, but something about the vibe was looser. Less rigid than Oxford. 

The team had been welcoming, even warm. There was a kind of easy camaraderie that made him feel cautiously optimistic. He’d officially confirmed his roles: coxing for the Eight at the CUBC (Cambridge University Boat Club) and competing solo in the CULRC (Cambridge University Lightweight Rowing Club). 

Coach Ajayi was exactly what people had described: tall, sharp and focused. He radiated high-performance energy, but without the intimidation. His eyes were kind, his tone calm, some quiet authority Charlie appreciated. There was something of a cool dad about him, but the kind who'd still destroy you in a 2K test without blinking.

After the session, Nathan asked Charlie and Nick to come to his office.

Charlie blinked. What now?

He and Nick exchanged a quick, surprised glance but didn’t say anything. They both went to change and ended up arriving at the office door at the same time, because of course they did.

Nick knocked.

“Yeah, come in!” came Nathan’s voice.

Nick gestured for Charlie to go first. Charlie rolled his eyes and walked in, not bothering to thank him.

“Ah, perfect! Thanks, lads,” Nathan said, genuinely pleased. “I wanted to speak to you both quickly.”

Charlie stood a little straighter, already bracing himself.

“Nick, I’ve worked with you since last year. You’ve proven yourself over and over, strong technique and solid leadership. And Charlie, I’ve been following you since Oxford. I’ve spoken to Barker and reviewed your footage, what makes you exceptional isn’t just your weight or your voice, it’s your race instinct. The way you read a course, your timing, your drive. That’s what we need.”

Charlie blinked, waiting for what would come next.

“You’re both up for the selections but I want you to start working closely now,” Nathan said, his tone firm but encouraging. “If you make the cut, Nick, you’ll be in the stroke seat. Charlie, you’ll be facing him. That connection between stroke and cox is absolutely crucial, and I’ve got a feeling the two of you could build something pretty special.” He glanced between them. “The better your synergy, the better the boat moves. You need to find a symbiosis, a combination of your skills and make the alchemy work. So I’m setting up a few extra sessions: drills, comms work, mental prep. I want you two to find your rhythm together.”

Then he smiled, a little too knowingly. “Get to know each other. Properly.”

What. The. Hell.

Charlie swallowed hard. “Get to know each other.” If only Coach Ajayi knew just how intimately acquainted they already were, biblically, inconveniently, and with far too much skin and moans involved.

This was Charlie’s personal nightmare but what could he say? His scholarship still hinged on rowing. Walking away wasn’t an option.

So he did what he always did: smiled like he meant it.

“Yeah. Of course,” he said, eyes fixed on a random plaque behind Nathan’s desk.

Nick’s voice was quiet. “Yeah, okay.”

“Great,” said Nathan. “We’ll start tomorrow. Thanks, both of you. You’re free to go.”

Charlie mumbled a “thank you” and turned to leave, only to hear a voice behind him as he reached the corridor.

“Charlie, wait…”

No. No no no. He kept walking.

But Nick caught up and gently touched his elbow. “Please. Just for a second.”

Charlie turned, jaw tight. “Oh, now you want to talk?”

Nick looked thrown, but not surprised. “I’ve been trying since that night. You blocked me, after hearting my message.”

Charlie laughed low and bitter. “You mean the message where you said ‘we need to talk before we fuck again’ , but somehow forgot to mention your girlfriend-soon-to-be-fiancée?”

Nick winced. “Can we not do this here…”

“No, I’d love to hear your version now,” Charlie snapped. “Was I a mistake? A phase? A fun experiment before you settle down with The Future Queen Consort of the Thames?”

Nick paled. “Charlie, no…”

“Oh, yes. Let’s fast-forward now, shall we? You’ll say you didn’t mean to hurt me, blah blah, but we could be friends.”

Nick stepped closer. “It’s not like that. I swear, Charlie… I’m figuring out a lot of things now, and I didn’t handle everything right, but I meant what happened between us. It meant something.”

Charlie stared at him, blinking hard. “And you don’t have a girlfriend?”

Nick’s voice broke slightly. “I do. But it’s complicated.”

Charlie’s throat closed.

“And what we had?” Nick added with a pleading look. “It wasn’t fake. I didn’t use you. I wanted to talk, I still do, but I didn’t know how after you blocked me.”

Just then, Nick’s phone buzzed. He instinctively pulled it out.

Her name lit up the screen. Along with a perfect smiling couple photo.

“Shit.” Nick said.

Charlie’s heart twisted.

“You know what?” he said, stepping back. “Forget it. Live your best life. We’ll row, we’ll win, we’ll pretend. And this?” He gestured between them, “never happened.”

And before Nick could respond, Charlie walked away. He felt the familiar pressure building behind his eyes, but no tears came.

This wasn’t rage. This was disappointment.

He’d wanted more than just that night, he’d hoped for more. Maybe he hadn’t let himself admit it before, but seeing Nick now, really seeing him, made it impossible to deny. He felt it, real and aching.

But he couldn’t want it. That part was now painfully clear.

What confused him the most was how Nick still insisted it mattered, like it had actually meant something to him. And maybe that’s what hurt the most: the possibility that it had meant something to both of them… and yet, every move Nick had made since had only proved the opposite.

Charlie couldn't risk being burnt once again. He had to let go, and move forward.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out.

Unknown Number: Hi, it’s James… from the Union! Fancy a coffee sometime?

Charlie exhaled. Maybe that’s what he needed after all… A nice gay guy with a coffee.

He typed back quickly:

You: Hey, nice to hear from you! Saturday morning? Free at 10?

Chapter Text

Stéphane : “Et tu vas me faire le plaisir de te ressaisir Nicholas! Je n’ai pas autant donné pour faire face à un autre ingrat comme ton frère! Tu dois faire honneur à la famille, c’est ton devoir, tu es le seul héritier maintenant.”

("And you are going to pull yourself together, Nicholas! I didn’t give everything I had just to deal with another ungrateful son like your brother. You have a duty to honour the family. You’re the only heir now.”)

Nick : “Oui papa…”

(“Yes dad…”)

Stéphane : “Je ne veux pas savoir pourquoi tu as passé cet été à ne rien faire et à te lamenter sur ton sort de la sorte, mais ça c’est fini mon garçon. J’ai été suffisamment patient. C’est encore ta mère qui vous a trop couvé avec ses principes de psy à la con! Il est temps que tu réussisses sur tous les plans, pas seulement tes études. Je veux que tu sois le meilleur en aviron, que ton nom circule dans les bons cercles, qu’on parle de toi avec respect. Tu es un Fournier. Et à vrai dire, je n’aurais jamais dû vous laisser porter le nom de votre mère. Une erreur de jeunesse, encore une… Est-ce que je me fais bien comprendre, Nicholas ?”

("I don’t want to know why you spent the summer doing nothing and wallowing in self-pity. That’s over, son. I’ve been patient enough. It’s your mother again, coddling you with her pathetic psychologist nonsense. It’s time for you to succeed in every area. Not just academically. I want you to be the best in rowing. I want your name to be talked about in the right circles, spoken with respect. You are a Fournier. And frankly, I should never have let you carry your mother’s name. Another youthful mistake on my part… Am I making myself clear, Nicholas?”)

Nick : “Oh oui, papa… L’honneur, le nom des Fournier… Je sais…”

(“Oh yes, Dad. All clear… The honour, the Fournier name… I know…”)

Stéphane : “Très bien… Je compte sur toi… Retrouve Imogen, sors-la un peu, c’est toujours bien de prendre un peu de bon temps pour se remettre en selle… Et pense sérieusement à ton avenir avec elle, c’est un bon parti. La nouvelle d’un engagement, comme des fiançailles, rassurerait beaucoup notre entourage…”

("Good. I’m counting on you. Get back in touch with Imogen. Take her out a bit. It’s always good to have some fun to get back on track. And seriously think about your future with her, she’s a good match. News of an engagement would put a lot of people at ease.”)

Nick : “Et par entourage, tu penses investisseurs, bien sûr?”

("And by ‘people,’ you mean investors, of course?”)

Stéphane : “Il n’y a rien de mal à faire en sorte qu’une alliance stable soit bénéfique à tous les niveaux…”

("There’s nothing wrong with making sure a stable alliance benefits everyone involved.”)

Nick : “Certes… Et mon bien-être et mes envies… On s’en fout…”

("Right... and my own well-being, my wants and needs… none of that matters, huh?”)

Stéphane : “Oh, ne recommence pas avec ça. Je t’ai laissé tout l’été pour pleurnicher. Que veux-tu de plus ? Nous avons une situation que beaucoup envient. Elle exige quelques sacrifices. Il est temps de te comporter en homme. Quand ta position sera assurée, tu feras ce que tu veux, avec qui tu veux. Si ce sont d'autres types de femmes qui t’excitent, libre à toi, tant que tes activités restent sous le radar… On en est tous là, tu sais! Mais pour le moment concentre-toi. Tu as un nom à porter et un avenir à construire. Je compte sur toi, Nick.”

("Oh, don’t start with that again. I gave you the whole summer to sulk. What more do you want? We have a life most people envy. It comes with a few sacrifices. It’s time to man up. Once your position is secure, you can do what you like, with whomever you like. If it’s a different kind of woman who excites you, so be it, as long as you keep it discreet. That’s the way it works. For all of us. But for now, stay focused. You have a name to uphold and a future to build. I’m counting on you, Nick.”)

And he hung up…

“Oui ok papa, je t’aime aussi, salut …”

(“Yes ok dad. I love you too, bye…”) 

Nick let out a dry chuckle, speaking to the dial tone. His father was already gone, speech delivered, duty fulfilled.

Un autre genre de femmes… A different kind of woman…

When the object of his constant obsession came in the form of a lean, sculpted frame, all taut, slender muscle and devastating grace. A perfectly shaped ass that haunted his dreams. Eyes, the colour of a glacial ocean, that saw straight through him. A mouth, full and soft, that he ached for. A face finely sculpted, with high cheekbones and sharp lines, the kind of beauty that didn’t beg for attention but demanded it all the same. Hands that were both strong and impossibly gentle, still lingering as ghostly imprints on his skin.

And, yes, a cock… Flawless and unforgettable.

Well then.

According to his father, that would indeed make him obsessed with a different kind of woman.

Fuck.

He threw his phone onto the bed. Barely back at Trinity, and already the pressure was clawing at his chest, seeping into his bones like a cold. The knot in his throat tightened, the familiar weight settling in, heavy and relentless.

And yet he had been so happy to come back. To see his friends again. His suitemates and Tara and Darcy, his little chosen family.

With them, he could almost glimpse the version of himself he longed to become. Someone good. Someone lovable. 

He loved the little things they had, the quiet rituals that gave colour to his days: a coffee shared on the way to lectures, a pint after a rough day, Sunday brunches, their sacred Wednesday dinners where no excuses were tolerated.

Moments that meant nothing to others and everything to him. Because without those small moments, his life felt like it had no meaning. It would have been just a long list of expectations and a name to carry.

He had been raised on one single, unchanging truth: He was a Fournier and he had to live up to the name. Honour the family… Like a relentless song stuck in his head.

When his father left, abandoning his mother, his brother, and him, Nick believed that it was his fault. That he hadn’t been enough. That somehow, he had failed to be worthy of staying for. So he tried harder, he overachieved. He gave everything just to earn a glance, a word, anything that resembled approval. His brother had done the same. Each in their own way, they had spent years fighting a silent war, each seeking the elusive attention of Stéphane Fournier.

Until the day David, fresh out of Cambridge, finally said no. On graduation day, David looked their father in the eyes and told him he was done, that he would live his own life, by his own choices. That was it, their father cut him off. No money, no contact, no support. A total erasure.

And from that moment on, all the pressure shifted to Nick, all the scrutiny and all the hopes.

Since then, Nick felt like he had been walking a tightrope, pulled between the icy expectations of his father and the warm, fragile voice of his mother telling him he was free to choose. That he could be his own person.

But the truth was… he had never felt free. Not once.

As his second year at Cambridge was about to begin, Nick had never felt so utterly lost and so trapped. Trapped in a life that didn’t quite feel like his. A life he didn’t choose, and didn’t know how to escape.

All summer, he had spiraled.

Imogen had been away almost the entire break, sailing the Aegean on a yacht with her friends, apparently the unmissable event of the season. She said something about it being the place to be. His presence hadn’t been required.

So, Nick divided his time between his parents. A few quiet weeks in London with his mother, then their usual three weeks in Corsica, a ritual dating back to his childhood, before ending the summer in Paris with his father.

He hadn’t really been angry with Imogen for not spending time with him, not truly. Especially not when, deep down, he’d already been thinking about ending things since the Boat Race, maybe even before that.

He knew he should have broken up with her. But between her frequent absences- “ I have a life to live, Nick, I can’t just be someone’s girlfriend ” - and his father’s thinly veiled expectations, it had felt nearly impossible. Sometimes, he caught himself wondering if she might be seeing someone else. Not that it would excuse anything he’d done. They’d never explicitly talked about exclusivity, but to him, that was the default in any relationship, unless something else had been clearly agreed on. So he’d always assumed they were exclusive. Still, her unwavering focus on herself and her friends often left him uncertain. He’d never really felt her fully present in the relationship. So yeah, he couldn’t say he’d be surprised.

But now none of this actually mattered to Nick, because of that night… It had changed everything… Nick had tried, genuinely, to stop thinking about it. The memory was still raw. Still playing on an endless loop in the back of his mind, with his load of tangled feelings and chaotic fragments of desire, confusion and guilt. 

Charlie Spring. The boy who had hijacked approximately 99.8% of Nick’s functioning brain since the moment they locked eyes in a hallway at the British Championships.

Charlie, the most infuriatingly self-assured guy to ever walk the earth. So arrogant, sarcastic, always judging. And yet, the boy was so damn adorable, so sexy it was almost cruel, desirable to the point of devastation, but he was also brilliant and funny, not with Nick but he saw him with Sai and Otis during the December Bootcamp and on a few other occasions.

And then there were his eyes, sharp, yes, but holding something else beneath the surface, something broken, unspoken. Nick never asked but that was also etched on Charlie’s skin: pale lines, faded but visible, testaments to wounds that had never fully healed. He’d seen them. And somehow, instead of weakening him, they made Charlie even more beautiful and powerful, in a quiet, devastating way.

It tore Nick apart, made him want to protect him from everything and kiss him until the world stopped spinning.

If he’d been honest, he never stood a chance. From the very first second he met Charlie Fucking Spring, he was utterly and irreversibly screwed.

Nick had known for a long time that he wasn’t straight. Deep down, since ‘lycée’, Year Eleven. Since the moment he’d met Hugo, the boy who quickly became his best friend… and something more. He never found a label. At that time, he was mostly ‘Hugo-sexual’. He’d been so caught up in it that one day, in Year Twelve, with the naïve boldness of a lovesick teenager, he decided to tell his parents.

Wrong move. Stéphane exploded in a cold rage with insults and threats. 

“Un pédé dans la famille ? Jamais.” (A fag in the family? Never.)

And just like that, Nick changed schools for his final year. He never saw Hugo again.

After that came Imogen. He met her in the middle of Year Thirteen, during a Cambridge visit arranged through his father’s connections. She was charming, well-spoken, pretty in a polished, magazine-cover kind of way.

He genuinely fancied her at first, not in the gut-punch, can’t-breathe way, but enough.

She was easy to like. She was nice and funny, a good match. She had the right background, the right name, and they projected this perfect expected image. Let’s just say she ticked all of Stéphane Fournier’s boxes and earned the royal seal of approval.

Becoming a couple felt… logical. And then, one day, it simply was, like some kind of unspoken agreement that they fit. 

But the more time passed, the more Nick was figuring out they obviously wanted different lives. Imogen lived for the spotlight, for shopping, luxury parties with the same shallow elites, the curation of her Instagram profile, and anything else that sparkled. Whereas Nick longed for quiet, for late-night talks with his true friends, movies, brunches, impromptu dinners that turned into laughter-filled evenings, for peaceful vacations where he could finally breathe. For all those small, precious things that made life feel real, things Imogen had never seemed to notice.

The deeper he got in his relationship with Imogen, the more Nick felt like he was suffocating, stuck in a life he hadn't really chosen.

And that night happened... The night when all the frustration, all the quiet longing bottled up since September finally exploded into something real. It was like a shock to the system, as if he’d woken from a coma into blinding light. Undeniable .

He cheated, he knew it was bad and he wasn’t proud of that part but still nothing else compared to that night. No moment before or since had made him feel so alive.

For the first time, he didn’t feel lost. He didn’t feel trapped in someone else’s expectations or drowning in the weight of who he was supposed to be. He felt present. And he’d found a goal in that chaos, as simple as terrifying: please Charlie.

If that should become his only mission in life from now, he would gladly take it.

For a few precious hours, the weight on his chest lifted. He could breathe, like his lungs had never known oxygen before, and Charlie’s mouth was the only source of air that had ever made sense.

But it didn't last.

Charlie was still asleep when Nick left his room, he looked so peaceful, almost angelic. Nick would have hugged him, he wanted to tell him everything he carries, but it wasn't a good time. Charlie had this something in him, Nick couldn't quite approach, some kind of a deep wound, something broken. And his defection for the race just confirmed it. Nick chose to give him time and let him take the lead. But he wanted to show that it meant something, so he found him on Insta, the only way he found to reach out, and leave a message. One hour later, Charlie hearted the message and Nick saw a this as a sign…

He wanted to talk, to know if Charlie felt the same inevitability. Because with this courage, Nick could leave everything behind. Imogen, the expectations, the lies. For Charlie, he could throw everything away. 

But when  he couldn't wait and sent a new message he figured out something had changed… Charlie blocked him. No more access, no more Charlie…

Since then Nick hadn’t stopped spiraling: what happened? Why didn’t Charlie feel the same? Nick was better than Ben, wasn't he? Or was it because of Ben?...

And Charlie will now join Cambridge and the team… with him. All day, every day.

How could he handle this?

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

All summer long he reviewed every second of his interaction with Charlie, every single look, every single gesture. He dissected every detail, turning their interactions inside out in search of a sign, a clue, anything he could hold on to. Pointless.

His thoughts are suddenly cut by his phone buzzing: IMOGEN.

“Hey, Immy? How are you?”

“ Nicholas! My love! I’m back, I so need to see you! Where are you?”

“Just arrived at Trinity, just settled back with the lads.”

“Oh no! I’m in Paris for the week, hoping to see you… Why are you back so early? It’s only early September, classes don’t start until Monday the 15th, do they?”

“They are. But I wanted to see my friends and rowing is starting again on the 4th, that is Thursday. Time to be back to practice, y’know how it is...” And on a sidenote, it will be my birthday and I wanted to be surrounded by the people who love me… Nick wanted to add, but he didn't.

“Oh I see … So sad babe… I’m arriving on Friday 12th, you block the night for me, okay?”

“Yeah, okay …” maybe she had some delayed birthday plans?

“ Bisouuuus !”

And she hung up without giving him time to answer … Nick kept speaking to the empty phone  "yeah… okay see you Friday. Bye.”

He stood there, silently in his room. Then a voice called: “Oi Nick, ready? Time to go, man!”

He glanced at his phone. 6 pm. Pub time.

Tonight was the night they were finally all getting together: the lads, Tara and Darcy, their friend Sahar and her roommate Jay, and Elle.

The plan was to meet at their usual spot, right after Tara and Elle’s meeting at the LGBTQ+ Students’ Union.

Nick had been looking forward to it, something warm and familiar. The kind of evening that reminded him who he was… or at least who he wanted to be.

What he hadn’t expected, however, was to find Charlie Spring already there, sitting casually with Tara and Elle, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Well… here we are.

So this was how they’d reunite.

Charlie had been… Charlie. Perfectly polite, radiant even, with everyone except him.

He laughed, charmed and smiled, just not in Nick’s direction.

Not a word passed between them, but Nick couldn’t blame him. He hadn’t tried either.

Still… he felt it: that lingering tension, like a muted anger. It vibrated from every single gesture, stood in every furtive glance he threw to Nick, always a bit too harsh. Obviously Charlie was mad at him.

Was it because Nick left that morning without a word? Because he hadn’t stayed? Because of what he did or didn't say?

Fuck, who would want to be with someone as messy as me, anyway?

Nick kept repeating to himself that they should talk. But right now? It was impossible.

When Darcy arrived, loud and full of spark as usual, Nick caught the moment Charlie registered that Chris was openly pan. The flicker of surprise and then the brief look toward Nick almost questioning.

Nick had never said anything to his friends about his situation, because he had nothing to say. Not because he didn’t trust his friends. But how could he say anything when even he didn't know who or what he actually was? How do you share the truth when you’re not sure what the truth is?

When Charlie finally left with Elle, Tara came to him, as always, like a compass. Probably after having exchanged a knowing look with Sai…

“My God, Nick,” she said with a bright smile, wrapping him in the kind of warmth only she could give, “feels like it’s been a year since I saw you.”

Nick gave her a small, crooked smile.

“Two months,” he murmured. “Yeah… long enough.”

She sat beside him, eyes kind but searching.

“How are you, babe? You’ve been a bit… quiet tonight. Everything okay? Or did dear old Stéphane give you one of his signature heart-to-hearts?”

She added the last bit with just enough sarcasm to make it land, and Nick let out a short, bitter laugh.

“Just the usual pep talk, honour the family name, y’know.” He shrugged. “It’s probably just… the start of the year. Rowing starts again on Thursday. Classes in 12 days from now. I guess I just need to… re-adjust.”

Nice little white lie, Nelson…

“Speaking of Thursday,” Tara said, perking up, “it’s not just ‘back-to-rowing day’, it’s your birthday, mister!”

Nick blinked, startled that she remembered.

“I know we’ve got the party on Saturday,” she continued, “but Darcy and I were thinking… Maybe dinner on Thursday night? Just us three. To really mark the day.”

For a second, Nick didn’t speak. His throat tightened. How did they always do this? Show up, exactly when he needed them.

“Yeah… I’d love that. Thanks.”

“Always, babe,” Tara said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder.

It was a small touch, but it felt like home.

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

On Thursday evening, Nick made his way to Tara and Darcy’s straight from their first rowing training of the term.

He was wrecked: physically drained and emotionally raw.

Every cell in his body begged for his bed, for escape. He wanted to bury himself under his duvet, disappear for a while.

But cancelling tonight wasn’t an option. He knew that too well. If he dared try, Tara and Darcy would have crossed the entire city to track him down.

His mind kept spiralling through the day’s events, the same few moments playing on loop.

Meeting with Coach Ajayi and Charlie, The insistence of the coach on synergy. No ‘symbiosis’, that was the word he’d used. Like this was some sacred bond Nick and Charlie had to build together for the sake of the boat. They were to have additional sessions, just the two of them. Nick didn’t know whether to be thrilled or terrified.

And then, there had been that moment. Charlie’s voice, low and razor-sharp.

“You mean the message where you said ‘we need to talk before we fuck again’, but somehow forgot to mention your girlfriend-soon-to-be-fiancée?”

The words echoed in his skull like a curse.

Fuck. What an idiot. It had never even crossed Nick’s mind that Charlie didn’t know about Imogen. It just felt so obvious, so embedded in his public image. She was everywhere, on Insta, in the whisperings of Cambridge gossip. But Charlie hadn’t been there. He was at Oxford.

And Nick, fucking fool that he was, hadn’t stopped for even a second to explain. After what Charlie had endured at camp with Ben… Nick understood now, how it must have felt. Like history repeating itself.

He should have given Charlie the choice. The space to say yes or no, with all the facts. He hadn't.

Fucking idiot.

That night… Nick hadn’t gone looking for sex, he really hadn’t. He’d gone out there to talk. But Charlie had that maddening skill for getting under his skin, for lighting a fire he couldn’t put out.

If only he’d found the courage to say what he should have said. Maybe Charlie would have listened. Maybe nothing would have happened. But maybe they could have started something real.

Now Charlie was furious. And Nick had no clue how to fix this.

As if that wasn't enough, Imogen’s call had come at the worst possible moment. Not to say happy birthday, just to remind him she was coming Friday and that he was expected to be available.

Apparently the small line reminding her about his birthday had slipped off her calendar.

By the time Nick reached Tara and Darcy’s door, rang the bell and heard footsteps on the other side, tears were stinging his eyes. And this time, he didn’t have the strength to swallow them down.

“Hey, Birthday Boy! Come in! Happy Birthday!”

Nick barely made it through the door before collapsing into Tara’s arms.

“Oh my God, Nick? What’s going on? Come on, let’s sit down on the sofa, okay?”

He hadn’t even realized he was crying until his cheek touched her shoulder and the tears started falling. By the time he sat down, he was sobbing, completely overwhelmed, two pairs of eyes fixed on him with quiet concern and endless compassion.

He felt like he was staring into a mirror, one that wouldn’t let him lie.

“I feel so lost, I can’t even breathe… I hurt everyone, myself included… and Charlie… he hates me now. And honestly, I think I hate myself too. And Immy… I just… I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“Okay, okay. Hold on, babe,” Tara said gently, taking his hands in hers. “Breathe with me. Can you do that? Breathe in slowly. One, two, three, four. Hold. And breathe out. One, two, three, four… Good. Again.”

Her voice was calm and steady, a lifeline. After three slow breaths, Nick managed to return to himself, not fixed, but at least able to form words.

“Welcome back,” Tara smiled softly. “Now, can we start from the beginning? You’re worrying us, Nick. And I couldn’t help but notice you mentioned both Imogen and… Charlie?”

Nick took a deep breath.

“Yeah. Okay. So… you both know my father’s grand plans for me and the family, right?”

“Oh yeah. Stéphane Fournier’s empire of dreams,” Darcy replied, dramatically pretending to gag.

Nick sighed.

“Exactly. And you know how perfectly Immy fits into that vision.”

“The ideal girl for the perfect life,” Tara rolled her eyes. “We know.”

“Well… I’m not sure I want that life anymore. I’m not even sure I ever really liked her, not in the way that matters.”

Silence. Nick looked at his friends, bracing for disappointment.

“Fucking finally!” Darcy blurted out.

“Darcy!” Tara scolded.

“What?! The guy’s finally being honest about what we’ve all known for months. That’s a huge step!”

“What are you talking about?” Nick asked, bewildered.

Tara answered gently, “Nick… the more we got to know you, the more we wondered how you could ever really belong in that world. You love the quiet stuff. Movie nights, walks in the park, tossing a ball around. You value real connection, not appearances. Immy and your dad… they’re all about image.”

“Yeah,” Nick nodded, swallowing hard. “I know. I’ve known for a while. I just… I don’t know how to meet their expectations. I don’t think I can.”

“And,” Darcy added, raising an eyebrow, “did something in particular trigger this little epiphany? Maybe someone with blue eyes and sarcastic charm?”

For the first time that night, Nick’s expression softened into a shy smile.

“Charlie… I met him at the Brits last November. He was infuriating. I wasn’t really nice either, I thought it was some kind of Oxbridge rivalry, you know? But fuck, he was so smug, so full of himself. Always acting like he’s smarter than the rest of us. But also… God, he’s beautiful. Those eyes, that mouth, the way he gets under my skin. From the start, I didn’t know whether I wanted to punch him or kiss him.”

“But,” Tara interrupted carefully, “I mean… we all thought you were straight?”

“Not me!” Darcy chirped. “I’ve always said NickNack gives off major queer vibes.”

Nick laughed softly. “Yeah… Well, I’m not straight. I’ve known that for a while now. Back in ‘lycée’, Year Eleven, I met this guy, Hugo. He was my best friend. And slowly I realized I wanted to be around him all the time. I wanted to touch him. He was just… beautiful.”

He paused, smiling faintly at the memory.

“And eventually I realized it wasn’t admiration. It was more. That summer without him was torture. I started researching, questioning everything. By autumn in Year Twelve, I knew. I didn’t know what label fit, but I knew I wasn’t straight. Definitely ‘Hugo-sexual’. We kissed one afternoon in November. It was perfect and right.”

He looked down, his voice dropping. “We kept it secret for months. Because, you know, ‘nothing like that in the Fournier family.’ But Hugo got tired of hiding. I told my parents. My mum… was my mum. But my father…”

He trailed off.

“We can guess,” Tara said gently.

“Yeah. Angry doesn’t cover it. By September, I was in a new school for Year Thirteen. Never saw Hugo again. I’ve had a few flings after. Always hidden and never like that again.”

“Oh, Nick…”

“Sorry I lied to you. But I just… I just don't know who I really am, so I didn't know what to say or how to say it… I think I might be bi? Or pan? I’m not sure. But I know this much, I like both men and women. At least that’s clear.”

“You don’t need to have a label,” Tara said. “Not now, not ever. Just feel what you feel. That’s enough.”

Nick nodded slowly. “I want to… but I know I can’t be myself and still make my father proud. When I met her, Immy made sense, she was the ‘easy’ choice. I kind of liked her at the start, but now…”

“Now?” Tara prompted.

“ISleptWithCharlieAfterTheBoatRace.” Nick blurted it out in one breath, like the words might catch fire if he said them any slower.

Tara gasped. “Nick!”

“I know, I know.” He rubbed the back of his neck with embarrassment. “One moment we were arguing like always, and the next… our mouths were on each other. And then… more. So much more.”

“Hate sex,” Darcy nodded. “A classic one, but that could be sometimes healthy though…”

“No, but… it wasn’t just that. It was intense. It meant something, at least to me. It was the best night of my life. I felt alive. Like myself, for once.”

He paused. “But I didn’t stay. I didn’t say anything. He was sleeping. I thought he needed space. I found him on Insta, sent a message. He hearted it. I was thrilled. I started thinking about how to break up with Immy. And then… when I messaged again an hour later, he’d blocked me.”

“Shit…”

“Exactly. Tuesday was the first time I saw him since, and today, at training, Coach paired us together. Said we needed to find ‘perfect synergy’. Great idea, right?”

“You think he hates you?” Tara asked gently.

“I know he does. And yeah, maybe I deserve it. He probably thinks I used him. That I’m just like Ben…”

“Ben?” Darcy frowned.

“Yeah… apparently they were together last year. I found out too late. Ben Hope, that guy assaulted my cousin. But Stéphane rather saves business that care for his family. This Ben Hope got engaged at Christmas, I was there.  Then I saw him with Charlie at training camp. Tried to warn Charlie, but he didn’t listen. Later, he found out from Harry and… yeah.”

“Nick…” Tara whispered.

“I think Charlie thinks I’m like him. And maybe… maybe I am. Right now. But I don’t want to be.”

“And Imogen?” Tara asked.

“She called today, with perfect sense of timing, while I was talking to Charlie. Trying to tell him it meant something. And she didn’t even say happy birthday. Just… asked about next Friday night.”

“Oh, Nick…”

“I’m a mess.”

“You are a mess, babe,” Tara smiled warmly. “Do you want a drink? Ice cream?” she offered, ever the mother.

“Ice cream sounds good, actually.”

Darcy handed him a cup. “Here. Full chocolate disaster. Like your life.”

Nick laughed weakly. “Thanks…”

“So,” Tara began cautiously, “I won’t lie. You’ve made a mess. You should have talked to Charlie, not… you know. But now’s not the time for shame. It’s time for choices.”

Nick nodded. “I know…”

“What do you want, Nick? Because it’s okay to need time. But there are people involved. And even if I’m not Imogen’s biggest fan, she doesn’t deserve to be strung along. And Charlie… I spoke with Elle. Didn’t get much, but he’s clearly been through a lot. If he’s really been hurt, he deserves someone who knows who they are. Not someone still hiding.”

“I know,” Nick whispered. “I’m such a coward.”

“You’re not. You’re just… lost. And it’s ok… But you also need to decide: live the life your dad planned, with Imogen and all the lies, or start carving out your own life. It might not be easy. You might not get Charlie back. But you’ll be you. Fully. And that’s priceless.”

Nick’s eyes filled again. “But what if I choose this… and lose everything else?”

“Then at least,” Darcy said softly, “you’ll be your true self. And we’ll still be here.”

Nick looked at them, truly looked. “Thank you. This is… not the birthday I imagined.”

“It’s okay. We’ll party on Saturday. Tonight? We’re here. You’re safe.”

And so they spent the rest of the night together sharing ice cream, a few shots of vodka, and the kind of quiet that only true friendship allows. Nick didn’t have the answers yet. His mind was still a storm. But something inside him felt lighter.

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

On Friday 12th, Nick found himself back in Imogen’s room at Clare’s College.

She opened the door with her usual radiant smile, all glittering eyes and bubbling enthusiasm, a performance of affection that once comforted him, but now only echoed hollow in his chest.

She wrapped her arms around him and kissed his cheek. “I think we should spend more time together, Nick,” she said, her bright blue eyes locked onto his with expectation, not warmth.

Nick froze for a second. “Yeah? I mean… we already do a lot together, don’t we?” he replied, forcing a lightness he didn’t feel. A lump was forming in his throat, tightening with each word.

“Yes, but I mean really showing up more: going out, being seen. Parties, the right clubs, you know? If we ever want to… go further… it would be good that people are used to seeing us as a strong couple, something established.”

“Oh…”

He blinked.

There it was. The same message, just in a different voice: a solid commitment . The right image .

He could hear his father’s voice echoing beneath hers, like a ghost inhabiting the room: " The family’s honour ." "A respectable match." "A Fournier makes alliances, Nicholas, not flings."

It was everything Nick didn’t want to hear right now.

He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to breathe through the weight settling in his chest.

“You know, with rowing ramping up again for the Boat Race and classes starting, I’m already running after time,” he muttered, avoiding her gaze. “But… if it fits my schedule, yeah. Why not.”

He hated himself the second the words left his mouth.

Such a coward.

“Great!” she chirped, clearly satisfied. “Oh! And I still owe you a birthday present…”

She didn’t give him time to respond. She leaned in and kissed him. Her lips were soft and practiced. Her hands reached for his neck with mechanical affection.

Nick felt… nothing. No spark, no warmth. 

It wasn’t her fault, not really. Imogen was exactly who she always was. She hadn’t changed, but apparently he had.

As she pressed her body closer, he fled in the only way he could, inside his own mind. His only way to get into this was to pretend… Pretend it was that night. In his arms, with his mouth on him. A single night, etched into his very bones, carved into the quiet of his soul.

He should have ended things with Imogen instead of accepting this. He knew it. He should have spoken, should have stood up. But his father's voice in his head was too loud.

"You’re a Fournier. Be a man. Make the right choice. I expect you to succeed, Nicholas, on all fronts."

It was the only way his father knew how to love, through conditions. Pride, but only if earned. Approval, but only if deserved. And Nick had craved that attention for as long as he could remember. Like any good son, he always chased that rare flicker of approval, because the idea of losing that love was somehow terrifying.

And that was heavier and louder in his mind than Tara and Darcy’s voices:

"Be yourself, Nick. That’s all that matters. Be proud of who you are."

He needed time. Time to figure out what kind of man he wanted to be, and whether he was ready to become him.

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

But time was slipping through his fingers like sand. Between lectures and rowing, Nick barely had time to breathe, let alone think. He was floating through his days.

Rowing, above all, was the hardest part.

Not just the sheer physical intensity, but the emotional toll. Because every day, three times a day, he had to row with Charlie, in every sense of the word.

And it was… torture.

Charlie barely acknowledged him. And when he did, it was only to point out a mistake or snap something cold. He was civil and professional in the most excruciating way. Coach Ajayi had already intervened more than once, reminding them of the importance of synergy: the fucking ‘symbiosis’. 

“If the two of you can’t find a way to connect, we won’t win. It’s that simple.” he said to Nick last time.

Nick couldn’t take it anymore. After a month of this cold war on the water, he was running out of patience, and running out of hope.

And then there was Charlie’s body.

That, too, was part of the torment. Having to watch him row during some training, to be that close when he coxed, the concentration in his adorable face. The sharp line of his jaw. The way his thighs clenched with each stroke, the ripple of abs under his damp shirt, sweat glistening on his neck. Nick couldn’t help it. He couldn’t not look. 

He’d tried to talk to him, of course, several times. He tried to break the ice, offer some peace, for the sake of this fucking symbiosis , but Charlie had shut him down each time.

By the end of September, the lads decided to host a suitemate night, one last night of chaotic fun before the relentless cycle of term and training swallowed them whole. Just what he needed, forget everything just for one night only. They hit every bar in the city, got messily drunk, and eventually collapsed in their shared living room with a bottle of rum and two litres of Coke.

They were strewn across sofas, chairs, the floor, half-laughing, half-mumbling nonsense. And then Otis asked, with an easy grin and a teasing edge:

“So, Nick… how’s it going with Imogen?”

Nick froze.

“Why are you asking?” His voice came out sharper than intended.

Otis raised his hands, still smiling. “I dunno, man. Just… haven’t seen her much lately. You seem to be spending more time with us. Or even with Charlie.”

That last part hit like a punch in the stomach. Otis didn’t know. He meant nothing by it. But  the name was enough to make Nick’s head spin.

“What does Charlie have to do with anything?” he snapped, waving his hands clumsily. Alcohol was buzzing in his blood.

“Whoa, calm down,” Otis said quickly. “It’s just… you two are always training together, right? So, you spend a lot of time together, that's it. Are things going better between you two by the way?”

Nick swallowed, hard. He wasn’t sure if it was the booze or the truth crawling out of him, but suddenly he felt like he was choking on it.

“Charlie…” he said slowly, slurring a little. “Charlie hates me.”

The room quieted.

“I don’t know why… I mean. I do know why. But I don’t know how to fix it.”

His voice cracked. He was blinking too fast. His face was flushing, but not from the alcohol. His hands were trembling.

Chris stood up gently. “Okay, buddy… I think it’s bedtime.”

But Nick wasn’t done.

“I like him,” he whispered. “I do. I like Charlie. But he doesn’t… he doesn’t like me.”

“Alright, big boy. Come on.” Chris’s voice was soft, steady, as he took Nick’s arm and guided him out. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Nick didn’t remember falling asleep.

He remembered the silence and the dim sounds of the boys talking softly as Chris closed the door behind them.

The next morning, he woke up with a massive hangover.

Dragging himself to the kitchen, he found Sai and Chris already there, sipping coffee and chatting quietly. Their conversation died as soon as they saw him.

“Hey,” Sai said with a small smile. “Rough night?”

Nick grunted. “Bit too much, I guess…”

Chris looked at him carefully. “Do you remember anything from the end of the night?”

Nick hesitated. His heart was beating too fast.

“Did I… say anything stupid?”

Chris glanced at Sai, who gave a subtle nod. Then, gently:

“Don’t think it was anything stupid...”

Nick blinked, confused.

“If you ever want to talk,” Sai added, “about anything, not just rowing, we’re here. Okay? You matter, Nick. You’re one of us.”

Nick looked down. His throat was tight again. He nodded, almost imperceptibly.

“Thanks,” he whispered. “Really…”

He glanced at the clock. “I need to go. Extra prep session. See you at the club in an hour?”

“Yeah. Of course,” Chris said.

He left, the door clicking shut behind him.

And then it hit him, like a slap to the face.

“I like Charlie. But Charlie… he doesn’t like me.”

He’d said that out loud, in front of his friends.

Fuck . No more drinking. Ever again.

He wanted to talk to them, he truly did. But he didn’t know how or where to start…

The only thing he did know now was that the situation was crushing him, slowly. And he didn’t know how much longer he could take it.

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

Two weeks later, as mid-October rolled in, the boys decided to support their friend Sahar, whose band was playing at a local bar. It was supposed to be a simple night, something easy and comforting, exactly what Nick needed. The championship prep was eating him alive, and Imogen was off to one of her regular girls’ nights. The timing was perfect.

That's how he found himself seated at a big table with the lads, Tara, Darcy, Elle… and Isaac, a friend of Sai’s visiting from Oxford. And of course, Oxford meant one thing. Or rather, one person: Charlie.

Of course. How did I not see it coming?

Another Oxford friend was there too, Tao, whose stare could be terrifying if his attention wasn't laser-focused on Elle. That, at least, helped ease the tension. Isaac, in contrast, had something calm and almost kind about him. Nick didn’t know what to do with that softness, not when he felt so jagged inside. Charlie wasn’t at the table yet. Probably at the bar.

Nick sipped his beer in silence, trying to keep his nerves at bay.

“So, how’s rowing, Nick?” Isaac eventually asked. “I heard you’re paired up with our Charlie. Hope he’s not making it too hard for you?”

There was a knowing glint in his eyes. Nick wasn’t sure if Isaac knew something in the way he said it, like the question carried more weight than it should. So Nick defaulted to neutral professionalism.

“Uh… yeah… I mean, no, it’s fine. We’re still working on our rhythm. Bit of an adjustment, normal when you haven’t rowed together before.”

“Right. Connection’s everything,” Isaac said. “I’ve known Charlie since Year Seven. He can be...”

“Such a fucking arrogant bastard?” Nick shot back, bitterness creeping into his voice before he could stop it. The past month had worn him thin.

Isaac didn’t flinch. He just smiled.

“I’d say challenging. But sure, if you prefer. Just… don’t give up on him. There’s a heart of gold, under all the sharp edges. He’s just… been through a lot. Takes a bit of time, but I get the feeling you two aren’t so different.”

Nick scoffed.

“Highly doubt that.”

Isaac raised his glass. “Yeah, right. Nothing alike, except for how you'd rather die on a fucking erg machine or talking rowing than talk about your true feelings.”

Nick looked down, smiling faintly despite himself.

“Touché.”

They clinked glasses. And when Nick looked up, he spotted Sai watching from across the room, lifting his chin and his glass in a silent toast.

Before they could speak again, the lights dimmed.

“And now, Cambridge youth, please welcome on stage a very local band: Queer Intentions!”

Nick turned instinctively toward the stage.

And there he was. Charlie Fucking Spring… Behind the drums.

Sweet holy baby Jesus… Christ on a fucking bike… Et merde…

Charlie was wearing a cropped black top, eyeliner smudged just enough to be sinful, arms flexed, brow furrowed in concentration. His abs caught the light, his smile flashed like something sacred. He looked like a fucking Greek god in a queer rock fantasy. Confident, radiant… and happy.

“Oh, I didn’t know he was a drummer,” said Sai, clearly impressed.

“Yeah, since childhood,” Isaac added casually.

“Jesus Christ, he’s stunning,” Chris muttered.

Otis shot him a look. Chris shrugged. “What? I’m not blind.”

Nick couldn’t breathe. He was spellbound, eyes locked on the stage like the rest of the bar didn’t exist, silently praying no one could catch his look full of adoration. The more he tried to look away, the more gravity pulled him back. His jaw slackened, and it took every ounce of self-control not to let out an audible sigh or, God forbid, drool on the table. He gripped his pint glass like a lifeline, willing himself not to melt right there on the sticky pub floor.

Drummer Charlie in his black crop top and eyeliner was simply... illegal. 

By the end of the set, heart hammering with liquid courage, Nick caught Charlie just before he rejoined the others.

“Charlie… Fuck, that was… You were amazing. I didn’t know you played. I have like… no musical ability… I mean wow…”

Perfect now I’m a rambling mess…

Charlie raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“Well, surprise. Thanks, Nick. But I need to go.”

“Charlie, wait. Can we talk?”

Charlie exhaled sharply, clearly irritated.

“I don’t really see the point. I think we both know where we stand.”

“Do we? Because I think we need to. Talk, I mean. We have to row together, every day, and right now it’s not working. Coach wants us to find symbiosis and we’re nowhere near that.”

Charlie crossed his arms.

“The fucking symbiosis? We both know what happened the last time we got close. And it wasn’t exactly conclusive. So here’s how it’s going to work: we row, we keep it professional, and we keep it surface-level. That’s it.”

Nick swallowed hard. His voice cracked when he spoke again.

“But don’t you think… you and me… we could…”

“You and me nothing, Nick. We’re teammates. That’s all. I’ll be civil for our friends’ sake, but that’s as far as it goes. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

And he was gone.

Nick didn’t move. The ache in his chest felt like a crater. Then, less than an hour later, as if to seal the verdict, he saw Charlie, on the dance floor, in another guy’s arms looking as tame as his hair… Then they kissed, not rushed or lustful. The kind of kiss that didn’t scream one-night-stand but the opposite.

Nick’s heart just broke here. He felt Isaac’s eyes on him, pitying.

He reached for his phone and sent a message.

You : “Miss you. You’re right, we should spend more time together. See you tomorrow? x”

He didn’t know what he would say to her. But he knew what this meant.

That life, the one he almost touched for one only perfect night, was not his. It never had been and never would.

He gave Tara and Darcy a small wave as he passed them. They looked at him with something like sympathy, but said nothing. He stepped out into the night, put in his AirPods, and hit play on that song he’d played all summer long.

One last time.

Chapter Text

Oxford Eight minus 4 plus 1 cox 

Sept 25, 2025

Oscar: CHAAAARRRLIIIEEE SPRING! Where are you? Oxford is cold and empty without our favourite cox 😭

You: Hello to you too. My last message was literally last week, bit dramatic, aren’t we?

Oscar: Not dramatic, just concerned 🙃 First it's a week, then it's a month, and next thing we know you’re marrying a Cantab and forgetting our names...

You: 🙄

Leo: Sooo… how’s the most famous cox of his generation? Back in the boat? Did they finally row in sync thanks to your voice?

You: Most famous, wow, you finally read the good blogs. All good here, the team’s solid, coach is actually great, and... well, Oxford better start worrying about the Boat Race 😝

Noah: Excuse me?! Have they brainwashed you? Forgot who raised you? We’ll have to remind you of a few things when you’re back here in October!

You: Please. You lost your best asset. You should be worried.

Leo: Just you wait for the Brits.

Pierce: You wound us, Charles Spring. But seriously, are you okay? If anything’s off, you know we’ll hop on a train and kick some arses.

You: Appreciate it. But no arse-kicking required (yet). Save your rage for the finish line 💪

Oscar: And speaking of finish lines… how’s the Rowing King doing? 👀 Are you two picking out crowns yet or what?

You: …aaaaand I have a lecture. TTYL x

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

To be fair rowing was actually going well.

At least, on the solo rowing side. He’d found his rhythm from the first session, slotting into the Lightweight team like he’d been there all along. Maybe it was the obsessive summer training paying off, or maybe it was just the fact that the vibes here felt… lighter. Whatever it was, it worked.

The Eight, on the other hand, still looked like the cast of some rowing drama, Team McDreamy in all their golden-lit glory, not only did they look like they’d stepped right out of some gay teenage dream cover magazine (most of them at least) but they were also oddly welcoming, like really friendly. They shared routines, team lore, playlists, even some recipes! They teased him, but also listened to him, it was weird. Apart from Noah, Leo, Pierce and Oscar, Charlie wasn’t used to being invited in without suspicion in the Oxford club.

Even though he was officially there to cox, he also was a rower and the others knew, so the erg duels quickly became tradition. Charlie had a point to prove, namely, that he wasn’t just a “skinny loudmouth with good instincts.” He was also an athlete. He could hold his own. Sometimes he even won. That shut a few mouths and earned him more than a few nods of grudging respect. He kind of liked it. That, and ogling that bunch of sweaty muscles moving in sync, hey he was just a poor lonely gay nerd at the moment…

So yeah. He was settling in. He was working hard. He was getting somewhere. And Coach Ajayi had even hinted he was “on track for the Boat Race.” If Charlie let himself think about that too long, it made something flicker in his chest  which was dangerously close to hope.

And then, of course, there was still Nick Nelson. That was… different.

Coach Ajayi had decided that Charlie and Nick were some kind of mythical duo waiting to be unlocked. “If you find that rhythm together, that symbiosis, you’ll be unstoppable,” he’d said. “You’ve got the physical power and the mental clarity. Combine them. Build the connection.”

I swear, if I hear symbiosis one more time, I might actually commit murder.

That so easy to preach connection, like it’s a switch you just flip, except when the guy you’re supposed to sync with is the same one who once kissed you like he meant it…

Touched you like he meant it… 

Held you like he meant it… 

And fucked you… Yeah… Like he really meant it. 

Then just casually forgot to mention he had a girlfriend.

Charlie avoided him as much as humanly possible. He kept everything strictly professional: functional and efficient. Limited eye contact and strictly rowing oriented conversation.

But the additional sessions, when it was just the two of them, were torture.

Nick was good. His body moved like water obeyed him. He knew how to time his energy, how to flow, how to give just enough and then more, how to make it look effortless,and Charlie saw it. The same part of him that knew how to command a boat, how to break down a race second by second, recognised Nick’s genius instantly. It was infuriating.

Each time they had to work closely, he also remembered exactly what it felt like to have that body pressed against his, to taste Nick’s mouth, to hear that soft, low French that had turned his brain to static or to feel full and grounded by Nick’s divine woodsy scent with this hint of cinnamon. But he couldn’t feel those things. He couldn’t let himself. So he buried it, he shoved it down and focused on correcting every single one of Nick's little failures instead.

However Ajayi wasn’t buying the act anymore.

“Charlie,” he said after a long erg-paired session, “I don’t think I was clear enough about the work I expect between you and Nick.”

Charlie glanced up, heart tight.

“I already spoke to him, but I want you to hear it from me too. Something’s not clicking. And it’s not just mechanics. There’s a block here.”

“It’s just about time, right?” Charlie replied, trying for casual. “We’re adjusting, getting to know each other…”

“That’s what these extra sessions are for. But I get the sense that something’s holding both of you back. And that can’t happen. If we want to win, this partnership is crucial.”

Ajayi’s tone softened.

“I know last year wasn’t easy for you. I know you’ve been hurt. But you’re safe here, Charlie. Nick is too. You can let him in. Maybe you should try to get to know each other outside of the club.”

Charlie swallowed hard. 

Well, been there, done that, not conclusive.

“I do trust you. And yeah. I get it. I’ll… I’ll work on it.”

“Thank you. You’ve had a strong start. I knew you were good, but you’ve outperformed my expectations. Keep this up, and you’ll earn your seat in the Boat Race. That’s why I’m pushing you. Together you and Nick have the power to make astonishing things happen. Unless there’s something you're not telling me? You're ok with Nick?"

Charlie couldn't let one night of mad sex destroy everything he’d built before.

“No everything’s fine… Nick is… He’s fine… Thanks, Coach.”

Charlie had nodded, kept his expression in check.

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

Outside of rowing, (which sometimes felt an ongoing emotionally charged torture chamber), Charlie was actually settling into Cambridge life. 

Things were… oddly good.

Elle and Aled were his pillars, obviously. But beyond that, new roots were starting to grow. A few rowers (Team McDreamy cult aside) were slowly turning into more than just teammates and it really felt promising.

Then there was Sahar. Somewhere between their second coffee and a weird debate about The 1975, she invited him to sit in with her band. He’d hesitated, because the idea of drumming in front of other people made his stomach twist, but she’d insisted. And the thing was, once he was behind the kit, it clicked. It let him release a kind of breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding since he left Oxford.

He was even building something with Tara too. Which meant, by extension, building something with the beautiful chaos that was Darcy. But Charlie caught on quickly that they loved as loudly as they lived and Tara glowed when Darcy was around. Charlie loved watching that. Their little catch ups became a pocket of comfort in his otherwise draining schedule.

And then… Well, there was James.

They’d started texting and dating in early September. It began with a few follow-up messages after the Union event, a handful of shared memes and even a playlist James had made (Charlie diplomatically chose not to point out some of his questionable choices, well… most of them!). Then they quickly agreed on weekly dates that were very daylight-approved: coffee in college gardens, lunches by the river… Nice and chaste.

Because James was… nice. The kind of person who asked questions and actually waited for the answers, who laughed at Charlie’s sarcasm without trying to match it. Conversation with him was easy, even when it was about nothing. His music taste was tragic but that aside, Charlie found himself looking forward to their little rituals. The way James always ordered the same sandwich. The way he waved before speaking, like a cartoon character. The way he didn’t seem to want anything from Charlie except his time.

For almost a month, James had quietly folded himself into Charlie’s routine. Amid the noise of lectures and erg drills and the constant background static of Not Thinking About Nick, James brought a quiet kind of calm. Their weekly meetups became something soft and contained, like an emotional buffer. Honestly, it was starting to feel a bit like a second, unofficial therapy session, with added oat lattes.

Of course, Elle noticed.

“So,” she said casually, as they sat surrounded by open takeaway boxes at the usual Thursday suitemate dinner, “how are things going with James?”

Charlie didn’t look up from his noodles. “What do you mean? We’re friends. He’s a nice guy."

Elle gave him a look. One of those slow, piercing blinks she’d perfected.

“Yes, nice. Charlie, the guy’s been dating you for a month. Don’t you think it’s time to end his painful pining?”

Charlie choked on a bit of bean sprout. “It’s not pining,” he said, clearing his throat. “We hang out. He’s… he’s friendly and easy to talk to. He hasn’t tried anything. So I think you’re reading too much into it.”

“Of course he hasn’t tried anything,” Elle said sweetly. “Because he’s a nice boy. And you’ve given him absolutely zero encouragement. But the poor guy’s still out here buying you coffee and smiling like some hopeless teenage drama kid, just hoping for his first kiss.” 

Charlie winced. “I don’t think he likes me like that...”

“Come on,” Elle sighed, eyes wide with exasperation.

“Even I can see that,” Aled added from across the room, deadpan as ever.

Charlie set his chopsticks down, suddenly a little too aware of the silence.

“I don’t even know if I like him like that,” he admitted. “I mean, he’s lovely. Really. But… is that enough?”

Elle softened then, just a little. “Charlie. You’re twenty. You’re at uni. This is the time to experiment. It doesn’t have to be forever. Maybe you just need to let yourself feel good for once, without trauma or drama. Just enjoying someone nice who actually respects you.”

“And who’s literally been giving you heart-eyes since you met him,” Aled added.

Charlie gave a small, helpless shrug. “I’ll… think about it.”

“Good.” Elle smiled. “Promise me one thing?”

“What?”

“Just consider letting something new and good happen. You know what they say, sometimes the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”

Charlie blinked.

She wasn’t wrong. Maybe letting someone else in, even a little, might help him bury the other thing. The thing that still pulsed just under his skin every time he saw Nick’s stupid perfect face mid-training session.

But could he actually give anything real to someone else?

One half of his brain was still screaming ‘don’t trust anyone’ while the other half was whispering ‘you’re gonna be hurt again’. 

And James… He was genuinely kind, he didn’t deserve to be used as a distraction or a rebound.

Still, Elle was closer to the truth than she realised. In fact, James had been pretty clear during their last lunch when he said:

“I really like hanging out with you, Charlie. But I also really like you. And I was wondering if maybe we could…have a real date sometime? Like, dinner? Or drinks? Just… see where it goes?”

Charlie had frozen and then smiled, trying to deal with his panic.

“Thanks,” he’d said. “That’s really kind of you. I’ll… think about it.”

Nice Charlie… Five ways to make a guy lose interest: the Charlie Spring Method™.

James had been nothing but clear, in the gentle and respectful way that only James could be. He liked Charlie. He wanted something real. And Charlie… wasn’t sure if he was ready for that. Not because he didn’t appreciate James, because he did, he really did but he wasn't sure he was ready.

If Charlie was being brutally honest with himself, he didn’t know if he was ready to open that door because letting James in also meant… letting Nick go.

Some traitorous little tiny part of him was waiting, worse, hoping, against every ounce of logic, that Nick might finally make a move. That he’d stop hiding behind erg splits and Ajayi quotes and actually say something real, not about “boat synergy”, but about them. About what that night had meant.

But it never happened. Truth is Charlie hadn’t exactly given him the space to do it. He’d shut the door and locked it from the inside. Because he couldn't let Nick in and be disappointed again. It was some kind of self-preservation.

Being part of the Cambridge Team meant he now watched Nick train, joke, and laugh with  his teammates; and he saw how kind he was to almost everybody. The part of Charlie that had been hurt before, that still flinched at the memory of Ben, couldn’t help but notice that Nick didn’t feel dangerous. He felt… different… Safe, even.

Which, somehow, made it worse.

Because if Nick had been an arsehole, Charlie could’ve walked away clean. But Charlie could see he wasn’t. He was careful, he was smart and thoughtful in ways which made Charlie ache. And even if he never said the words Charlie wanted, there was something in the way he looked at him sometimes, in the unguarded seconds between drills, that made it all that much harder to forget.

So yeah, sometimes Charlie dreamed, foolishly, that they’d get the talk that could change everything. But that wouldn’t happen. Because Nick was still Nick Nelson, the Rowing King, King of the Thames, painfully stuck in his straightness and in a relationship with Imogen Heaney.

And Charlie? Charlie was just the skinny single wounded cox with too many thoughts and not enough weight to matter.

He shook the thought off and checked his phone. James had texted again, something lovely and harmless... A meme about oat milk.

Charlie smiled despite himself.

James was here and he actually wanted him. And maybe Charlie owed it to himself, to both of them, to try. Not as a distraction, not as a way to forget Nick, but as a step toward something new, honest and simple.

Even if his heart wasn’t quite ready, maybe his brain was and his heart could learn its way into it?

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

The James topic came up during one of his sessions with Geoff. Just before Tao and Isaac were due to visit the second week of October, Charlie found himself staring at the screen, near the end of their session, arms crossed, foot tapping in rhythm with absolutely nothing.

“Is it true,” he asked suddenly, “that the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else?”

He wasn’t ready to say Nick, but the question had been clanging around in his skull since Elle dropped her little wisdom bomb over dinner.

“Not sure I follow the context, Charlie,” Geoff said slowly. “Want to talk through what’s behind that question?”

Ugh. Of course he’d ask for context. Charlie sighed. Maybe some names would help.

“There’s this guy,” he said, finally turning back. “James.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah, uh… we’ve been sort of hanging out for a few weeks now. Like, weekly. Nothing’s happened, really. No physical stuff. Just… coffee, lunch. He’s nice. Like, really nice. Elle says I should give it a chance. And sometimes I think maybe I should. I don’t know if I like him like that, but he’s safe. And maybe that’s… something.”

His voice dropped at the end. He rubbed his face before adding.

“And I keep thinking… Maybe if I try, if I just let myself be with someone like James, then maybe I can finally get over Ni-Ben.”

Smooth, Charlie. Real smooth.

Geoff didn’t blink.

“Let me try to rephrase that,” he said gently. “You’re seeing someone regularly, and while you’re not sure about your feelings yet, you’re wondering if giving it a real shot could help. And maybe part of you hopes that being with someone new might ease some of the pain left by what happened in the past.”

Charlie nodded, sheepish. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

“And to be clear, you’re not looking to erase what happened.”

“No. I know I can’t. But maybe I can… shift it. Make it smaller, just… move on.”

Geoff nodded slowly.

“Well first, and this is important: you never have to do something with someone just because you think it’ll fix something else. That includes relationships, sex, even dating. You’ve been through a trauma, Charlie. Of course you’re cautious. Of course you’re unsure. But if James feels safe, and if the idea of exploring something with him feels okay, not forced, then sure. Sometimes new connections can help us move forward. But they shouldn’t be a way to bypass what’s unresolved.”

Charlie was quiet for a moment. That settled uncomfortably somewhere in his chest.

“So… you’re saying I shouldn’t be with James unless I actually want James,” he said finally. “Not just because I want to stop feeling… everything else.”

“Exactly."

Charlie sighed, pressing a thumb into his temple.

“Yeah. I mean… he doesn’t deserve to be some consolation prize. Or an emotional support boyfriend for my shattered psyche.”

Geoff gave him the “I won’t say it, but yes” smile.

“Right. But also, you don’t need to be 100% sure to try something. Feelings are not fixed. Sometimes they grow, sometimes they don’t. The key is honesty. If you’re open about where you’re at, and you let him decide whether he’s okay with that, there’s very little harm done. Assuming it’s a safe, respectful space for both of you.”

“So something like, ‘Hey, I like you, I think, maybe, but I’m also still kind of emotionally crushed so please could we take time to see where that goes’?”

Geoff laughed. “Close enough. Maybe with slightly more tact. But yes, being honest about your uncertainty is better than pretending you feel more than you do.”

Charlie nodded. “Right. Honesty.”

And there it was again. That word, like it was mocking him. 

Hey, at least this time, it's not symbiosis! 

Because honesty was exactly what was missing in his life lately. Or rather, what he was too scared to reach for. Honesty with James, with Geoff and with himself.

He exhaled and muttered to himself.

“Maybe I should’ve tried that with Nick.”

“Sorry,” Geoff said, raising an eyebrow on the screen in front of him. “I thought his name was James?”

Brilliant. Well done, Spring.

“Oh… yeah. Slip of the tongue. Rowing-related… minor confusion,” Charlie stuttered, heart slamming.

Minor . Yeah, if you called falling for your emotionally-unavailable rival minor. He was playing with fire. And he knew it, but the words had escaped before he could stop them.

He didn’t want to talk about Nick. That chapter had closed, or at least, he was trying to slam it shut.

Geoff, to his credit, didn’t press.

“Just… be open,” he said gently. “Let yourself feel whatever comes up. And remember, it’s okay to not be sure. You just need to give yourself the space to find out.”

Maybe not whatever . 

After he closed the Zoom session, he picked up his phone. His thumb hovering and his heart weirdly loud in his ears, he started typing, paused, retyped... And then, without letting himself overthink it too hard:

You : Hey! I forgot to tell you I’m playing with Sahar’s band this Saturday. My best friends from Oxford will be there too. I’d be really happy if you came. Maybe we could see where the night leads us… What do you think?

He stared at the message, bit his lip, frowned, then he hit send.

Immediately, he dropped his phone face-down on the bed like it had personally offended him. He lay back, arm flung over his face, groaning softly into the void of his ceiling. 

Why did everything have to feel so… forced?

A minute later, he sat up, grabbed one of the books from his desk “ Philology: The Forgotten Origins of the Modern Humanities”, 576 pages to avoid any more raw vulnerability for tonight.

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

Tao and Isaac had arrived Friday evening, no way were they going to miss Charlie’s first time playing on stage with an actual band. And yeah, they’d missed him like hell. Noah, Leo, Oscar, and Pierce were collectively sulking in the Oxford group chat, furious to be stuck in training all weekend under the watchful eye of their new coach, who didn’t believe in the concept of joy or “weekends off for emotional support.” But the fact that Charlie had chosen to spend his rare weekend off with them, in Oxford, soon, made things a bit easier to swallow. That, and Tao and Isaac’s solemn promise to send pictures and videos of every single second of the concert.

Later that night, Charlie sat cross-legged on his bed, peppermint tea cooling beside him, Isaac curled up on his side like he’d always belonged in this new room.

Tao had apparently set up a date with Elle, something Charlie wasn’t ready to ask too many questions about. Whatever was happening there, he was happy for them. Honestly, if anyone could handle Tao’s intensity and somehow get him to walk straight, it was Elle.

With Tao out, Charlie had jumped at the opportunity to reconnect with Isaac. And God, he’d missed him. He loved it here, Aled and Elle had already become essentials in his life, but Isaac… Isaac was his constant. Just having him here, grounding him with one raised eyebrow and a cup of tea, it made Charlie feel happier than ever.

“So,” Isaac said, breaking the silence, “how are you, Charlie Bear? Already gone full Cambridge elite and forgotten your old folks from Oxford?”

Charlie rolled his eyes. “Shut up. We text every day. You know I haven’t.”

“Mmm. You sound good, though.”

Charlie shrugged. “Yeah. I think… I am?”

Isaac waited, as the listener he had always been. 

“Elle and Aled are amazing. I’ve met a few people through the Union, Tara and her girlfriend Darcy, you’d love them. And then there’s the band… which, yeah. I’m still not sure how Sahar convinced me, but it feels good. Loud and alive and freeing in a weird kind of way.”

“And what about your only purpose in life?” Isaac said with mock gravity. “Rowing?”

Charlie groaned. “Still consuming my soul, thanks. Same hours, even more sessions. Three a day, apparently Cambridge believes in character development through exhaustion. But, it’s different here… Less toxic. Still intense, I’ve pushed my body so far past its limits it’s started sending passive-aggressive notes, but the team is good. Like, genuinely good. Friendly, supportive, and… very distracting.”

Isaac smirked. “Oh! You mean hot.”

Charlie glared, then laughed. “Yes, Isaac. The view is painfully attractive. Pray for my poor gay soul.”

They both grinned.

“Seriously though,” Charlie continued, softer now, “I think I’m getting close to real friendships with Sai, Chris, Otis… The others too. They respect me. They listen to me. I feel like I actually have a voice here.”

“You do,” Isaac said gently. “I’m glad you’re starting to feel that. And Sai said good things. I may have… nudged him to keep an eye on you.”

Charlie gasped. “You spied on me?”

“I cared, thank you very much. And I wanted someone to be there if things got hard. Sue me.”

Charlie smiled. Then, he said more quietly:

“Well, some things are hard.”

Isaac sat up slightly. “Oh I bet! But what do you mean?”

“It’s… complicated… With Nick.”

Isaac’s eyes sharpened. “Did he do something?”

“No. Not like that. Nothing bad. Just… Coach Ajayi is obsessed with us finding ‘connection’. He says we’re meant to work in ‘symbiosis’, whatever that’s supposed to mean. We have all these extra sessions, just the two of us. It’s like this quiet, slow torture. And I can’t make it work. I’ve tried. But it’s like... the more I try, the less it works.”

“Sounds like your coach is a smart guy.”

Charlie shot him a look.

Isaac raised a hand. “Just saying. If there’s that much tension, maybe it means something’s there. I think your bodies figured it out first, but maybe it’s time for your brains and your hearts to catch-up?”

“There’s nothing there. There was something, maybe. But that’s done. That night was a mistake, and Nick’s happy with Imogen.”

“Did he tell you that?” Isaac asked, too casually.

Charlie hesitated. “No. He didn’t have to. He hasn’t talked to me about anything personal, just rowing, Coach Ajayi’s words, regurgitated back at me. That’s all.”

Isaac tilted his head. “And you’ve been totally open and available for him to talk to you about anything else?”

Charlie bristled. “That’s not fair…”

“I’m not judging, Charlie, but I do know you. I’m just asking, because I know Sai’s worried for Nick, and you, and I’m worried too. He sees the cracks,and I think, if you’re honest, you do too.”

Charlie swallowed hard, blinking against the sudden sting in his eyes.

“I’m trying, Isaac. But I’m scared. I don’t think I could trust him, I don’t want to hope again and end up broken.”

“I know. And I get it. But I also think you and Nick, both of you, deserve a chance to be honest with each other. Maybe it’ll change something, maybe it won’t. But at least you’d stop holding your breath every time you're in the same room.”

Charlie let the silence settle. Then, quietly:

“He’s not like Ben.”

“I know."

“Not just physically. I’ve watched him, Isaac, since September... He’s good. Like, good good. He’s smart, he’s kind and thoughtful. Clumsy in this ridiculous disaster way sometimes, but funny. And he tries. He cares about people, about everything. He just radiates this positive energy. And I…” Charlie sighed, dismissive.

“Have you ever considered that he could be just as lost as you are,” Isaac said gently.

Charlie buried his face in his hands. “What do I even do?”

“Maybe… talk to him? Like actually talk to him? No coach, no rowing, no performance. Just the two of you.”

Charlie leaned sideways and let his head rest against Isaac’s shoulder.

“Why are you so invested in this?”

Isaac smiled softly. “Because I’m your friend. And because I want to believe in romance.”

Charlie snorted. “You’re such a sap.”

“I may be aro-ace but that doesn’t mean I can’t have a soft spot for romance, especially my friends’ romance, so sue me.”

There was a pause.

“I invited James tomorrow.”

Isaac arched a brow. “Oh? That’ll be... interesting. You know the lads are coming too. Nick might show up.”

Charlie winced. “I didn’t think about that.”

“Elle said you should give James a chance, right?”

Charlie nodded slowly. “Yeah. She did.”

“She might be right. But promise me something?” Isaac turned to look at him. “Don’t run from your real feelings. Don’t live half a life just because you locked part of yourself away. You deserve a whole life. A whole love… Whatever shape that takes.”

Charlie looked at him, throat tight.

“Thank you. I don’t know how I’d survive without you.”

Isaac grinned. “Oh, you’d manage. Just with 50% less flair and 100% more bad decisions.”

Charlie laughed.

“I love you, y’know.”

“I love you too. No matter what.”

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

On Saturday night, Charlie was backstage at the bar, getting ready with Sahar and the band.

“Oh. My. God. Charlie Spring, you look absolutely criminal. Who are you trying to impress?” Sahar grinned, eyes wide as she took him in.

Charlie smirked. “Maybe just… everyone?”

Elle had helped him pick the outfit, black crop top, low-waist jeans, just enough eyeliner to make his eyes pop. Tao and Isaac had approved. 

He felt confident. For once, he wasn’t hiding in oversized jumpers as an apology for just being. He wanted to be seen. Apparently, being behind the drums, tucked between his bandmates and drowned in noise, gave him that strange feeling of safety that helped to finally take some space.

“And now, Cambridge youth, please welcome on stage a very local band: Queer Intentions!”

The crowd roared, and Charlie stepped out into the light.

He slid behind his drum kit, counted them in, and let the rhythm take over. His heart pounding with the beat, his limbs moving without thought. Sahar’s voice filled the space, electric and fearless. The guys behind her poured joy into every note. It was messy and perfect.

When Charlie opened his eyes mid-song, he scanned the crowd, and saw a pair of eyes locked onto his, those kind golden eyes, bright and burning. There was this want in them, familiar and dangerous. Charlie felt that look, like a fire in his chest. He knew those eyes. He craved those eyes.

But just as fast, he looked away.

And found another gaze. One less intense, but steady and gentle. James was here and he was watching him like he mattered. There was no fire, no ache, but some kind of peace. Charlie focused on that.

After the set, flushed and dripping with sweat, Charlie stumbled backstage to grab a towel and inhale a litre of water. His whole body was buzzing, adrenaline and pride and something like joy.

He helped clear the stage, still glowing from the energy of it all, and made his way back toward his friends.

Of course, the first person to intercept him was Nick.

Nick, in all his golden retriever energy, glowing with excitement, like the sight of Charlie on stage had physically lit something in him. There was that grin again, stupidly endearing, almost enough to make Charlie forget.

For a second, just a flicker, Charlie felt the pull. The memory of Isaac’s words still lingered in the back of his mind, quiet and insistent. Maybe you should actually talk to him. Maybe you owe each other that.

And maybe he did. But not here, not now. Not with half their friends watching. Not with James somewhere in the crowd, patiently waiting, someone who’d shown up for Charlie without making it complicated.

Nick, though, didn’t seem to get the vibes. Or maybe he did and just bulldozed through them  anyway. He was talking, too fast, too bright, and it only took two sentences before he was right back to rowing.

Back to the symbiosis. Back to Ajayi’s endless obsession with making them the perfect machine.

Charlie stared at him.

Was that all he cared about? Was that all he ever wanted to talk about? 

Charlie had spent weeks folding himself into professionalism, pretending he didn’t feel, and when all he wanted was a night of joy, Nick had shown up talking about fucking symbiosis on a fucking boat, as if Charlie’s heart didn’t exist outside of rowing.

So he snapped and then he turned away, walked off before he could see his face.

He pushed through the crowd and made his way back to the table, jaw clenched, chest buzzing.

Fuck Nick. Fuck the symbiosis. Fuck being someone else’s potential.

Tonight, Charlie didn’t want to be in the cox seat, didn’t want to be half of a rowing strategy or a silent casualty of someone else's indecision. Tonight, he just wanted to be seen for who he truly was.

Charlie made his way back to the table, only to catch Isaac’s concerned expression before being intercepted by Tao, who grabbed his arm and pulled him firmly toward the bar.

“What’s happening with the Rowing King?” Tao asked, raising an eyebrow.

Charlie hesitated. The heat from the stage still clung to his skin, but the sudden confrontation cooled him fast.

“Nothing… Just rowing things…” he said, not very convincingly.

Tao wasn’t buying it.

“I’m not an idiot, Charlie. I can tell something’s going on. And I’m saying this as your friend, you need to stop this thing with him. He’s with that girl, Imogen.”

Charlie exhaled through his nose, already tired of defending something that didn’t even exist anymore.

“Don’t you think I know that? There’s nothing going on between us.” His voice came out sharper than intended.

“Fine… I just get the sense he’s an attention seeker. He’s getting very close to… Ben territory.” Tao’s voice softened slightly, but the concern was still there, unmistakable.

Charlie’s shoulders tensed. He wasn’t ready for that comparison, not from Tao.

“Nick doesn’t even like Ben. He’s actually friends with loads of people completely different from him.”

“Wow. I feel so impressed by the rich golden boy daring to hang out with people below his popularity status.” Tao threw up his hands in exaggerated mock respect.

“You know that’s not what I meant.” Charlie’s tone was defensive, worn.

“And what, you’re gonna say I’m just jealous because you’ve made new cool rowing friends?” Tao shot back, his pride pricked.

Charlie paused, heart sinking. He loved Tao. Loved how fiercely he cared. But this sharpness, it hurt a little.

“Well… aren’t you?” he asked gently.

Tao looked away for a second, breathing in.

“No. I just don’t like seeing him messing with you.”

That landed, something in Charlie unclenched.

“You really think he’s messing me around?” he asked, voice quieter.

“I mean, that’s what it looks like.” Tao’s tone was softer now, almost protective.

Charlie glanced back toward Nick, who was still standing a few feet away, looking visibly dejected, like all the air had left him. Was he messing with him? Or was he just as lost?

“But he… is friends with everybody. Even with Elle…” Charlie said quietly, because it was true. Because that version of Nick existed too.

“Fine. But if he’s slightly mean to you…” Tao said, suddenly dramatic again, his concern flaring into indignation.

“Yeah. You’ll murder him, I know…” Charlie replied with a knowing look.

“Well, I was going to say I’d send him a strongly worded DM, but murder’s fine too.” Tao nodded solemnly, as if this had been officially agreed upon.

They shared a smile. Then Tao tilted his head.

“So,” he said, gentler now, “how are things with James?”

Charlie shifted on his feet. That sudden change of subject caught him slightly off guard.

“Oh… I don’t know. He’s here tonight. I should probably go talk to him.” He looked down for a second, almost shy.

Tao beamed at him, hopeful.

“He seems really nice. And Elle told me he’s super into you. Maybe it’s time to give love a chance, Charlie. I mean… you deserve someone who’s kind, someone who really cares about you. And James seems like he does.”

Charlie looked over at James, maybe it was time to open the door to kindness.

And maybe that was exactly what Charlie needed.

He turned to Tao.

“I have to go. See you later?”

Tao gave him a small nod, and Charlie slipped into the crowd, heart just a little steadier.

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

As soon as he reached James, Charlie saw the smile waiting for him open and genuine. 

“Hey,” James said.

“Hey Charlie. You were amazing. That was a great performance. I’m impressed: rower, drummer, academic overachiever… is there anything you’re not good at?”

He said it with no edge, no wide-eyed golden retriever awe, just a quiet admiration.

Charlie almost laughed.

He wanted to say: Oh, I’m an absolute disaster when it comes to feelings. A world-class failure at love. My track record includes one manipulative liar who assaulted me, one dangerously hot night with a closeted cheater that ended in a heartbreak I still pretend didn’t happen, and an impressive backlog of things I never say out loud.

But instead, he just smiled and murmured,

“Oh, trust me, I failed… More than you think.”

He paused and looked at him.

James didn’t make his heart stutter or his hands tremble. He didn’t set off sirens in Charlie’s head or make thousands of butterflies suddenly appear in his stomach, but maybe that was a good thing.

Charlie breathed in. “Do you… want to dance with me?”

James’s eyes lit up, softly. He reached out without hesitation.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

They made their way to the dance floor. The music was pulsing with just enough tempo to lose yourself in. Charlie let James pull him into a slow sway. And in that moment, he didn’t feel pulled in two directions. He just felt at peace.

They moved together for a while, unhurried. And then, when the rhythm dipped, Charlie let the stillness hold them.

Geoff’s voice drifted through his mind: Honesty, Charlie. Just try being honest.

So he tried.

“You know,” he started, his voice barely above the music, “I really like you. But I… I’ve had a rough time before. And I’m not sure what I’m ready for yet. I want to see where this goes, but I can’t make promises. I might need time. I might be slow.”

There was a beat. A silence that felt kind, not heavy.

James nodded, steady as ever.

“Charlie, that’s okay. I just want to be here, with you. We don’t have to figure anything out tonight. We can just keep dancing and see what feels right.”

Charlie felt something unclench inside him.

He smiled. “I’d love that.”

It was simple. It was warm. It was safe.

They started moving again, and this time, Charlie didn’t think about what he was supposed to feel. When James took his hand and leaned in, Charlie let him. And when their lips met, soft, unhurried, he leaned in too. Slipped his arms around James’s neck, grounding himself in the gentleness of it.

James's body wasn’t like Nick’s. There was no coiled strength beneath his shirt, no heat like a live wire under Charlie’s hands. James didn’t make Charlie dizzy just by standing too close. But he was steady. Warm in a way that didn’t burn. He smelled faintly of peppermint and laundry detergent. And maybe, right now, that was enough.

It didn’t feel like kissing Nick either. It didn’t crack something open in his chest or leave him gasping like he’d lost and found himself in the same breath. It didn't fill his lungs with oxygen, like he was breathing for the first time, desperate for more. But it felt nice. And Charlie clung to that, let himself rest in it.

He was here, with someone who saw him, and didn’t ask for anything more than the version of himself he had to give.

So, not fire, but maybe, finally, light. And maybe, tonight, that was exactly what he needed.

James and Charlie went their separate ways that night. The kiss had been enough. James hadn’t pushed for more or hadn’t asked questions. He just smiled, murmured a quiet “Goodnight,” pressed a chaste kiss to Charlie’s lips, and walked away.

On the way home, Elle and Tao walked ahead, hands entwined, giggling and stopping now and then to kiss under the streetlights like they had all the time in the world. Behind them, Isaac and Charlie walked in silence, their footsteps falling in rhythm on the damp pavement. Charlie was grateful that Isaac didn’t say anything. He’d already seen Nick’s eyes after the kiss with James, those sad puppy-dog eyes, and he didn’t need another reminder.

Because maybe he wasn’t sure of everything, but he was sure of this: he’d made the right choice. 

The next morning, Tao and Isaac left with warm hugs and soft smiles, promising to see Charlie again soon. He was heading to Oxford in two weeks, and for now, they all pretended that was enough.

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

After that night at the bar, Charlie kept seeing James. Their little dates for coffee or lunch became more frequent and more intimate with soft kisses and hands finding each other easily. Their conversations grew deeper too, James, studying French and History, had opinions on everything from imperialism to modern elections, and Charlie, with his head full of Classics, found a strange comfort in debating the echoes of ancient systems in today’s messes. It was nice and lovely.

Coach Ajayi granted the team a rare weekend off before the Brits to clear their heads. But of course there was a price to pay to earn that: a brutal week of back-to-back erg sessions, speed tests, and exhausting drills. Charlie threw himself into it, focused on both his solo race and coxing the Eight. And then there were the pairs sessions with Nick.

But those sessions had gone… flat.

Since that night at the bar, Nick hadn’t said a word beyond what was strictly necessary. His presence during training had dissolved into silent compliance, his movements efficient but hollow. He still hit every mark, still moved like the athlete he was born to be, but he was no longer in it , more like a high-functioning ghost. A cardboard cutout of the boy Charlie once kissed with fire in his chest.

Even Coach Ajayi seemed to have given up, his usual “symbiosis” sermons replaced with weary sighs and worried glances. And strangely, Charlie felt disappointed by Nick’s quiet defection. He'd chosen to be exactly what Charlie had demanded, some version of himself that Charlie thought he could manage. And yet… it still stung.

Meanwhile, Charlie kept seeing Nick pop up on Varsity and many other Cambridge gossip Insta accounts, always with Imogen, always at some party, always smiling that too-perfect smile, like a wax figure grin. Charlie looked at each picture, because of course he had to look. Behind the smile, Nick looked empty and tired, just posing. He could see it in his eyes. This spark, the infuriating and magnetic energy that usually radiated from him was nowhere to be seen. There was no trace of his usual annoying golden retriever energy. 

Maybe Nick was just exhausted. They all were. The season was brutal after all and all those fancy parties probably didn’t help. But Nick chose this, and Charlie had to deal with it. 

So he clung to James. He asked him to be patient, he promised him to be more involved after the Brits. Charlie didn’t tell him that there would always be another race, another regatta, that right after the Brits would come the Fours Head , then Boat Race selection… because he wanted to try. 

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

That last weekend of October, he stepped off the train in Oxford and felt it immediately, that strange pull of nostalgia without the weight of guilt or trauma. He had found a new rhythm in Cambridge, built something that resembled a life, and now he could return to Oxford as someone whole again. Or at least… whole enough to face it.

At the end of the platform, four large idiots stood holding a banner that read “Welcome home, Springy” . They flipped it. “Not sure we’ll let you go back.”

Charlie laughed, hard. God, he’d missed them.

The Cambridge rowers were fine, some of them were even becoming real friends. But this? This was something else entirely. It went beyond shared trauma or rowing. He trusted these boys with his life. They weren’t just teammates, they were brothers. The kind who showed up for the chaos and the quiet. 

After the hugs, they headed to LMH for a movie night with Isaac and Tao. On Saturday, Charlie caught up with Isaac and Tao as the guys were on training sessions. They talked about James, the prep for the Brits, and Cambridge gossip (Chris’s hilarious chaotic new partner and Sai’s quiet coming out as demi being the top stories). He made time to walk and visit his favourite corners of Oxford. Everything felt a bit different now.

On Saturday night, they all opted for a Trivia night at a pub nearby. It was chaos, arguments over Titanic facts, music questions nailed by Charlie and Oscar, Pierce carrying the sports round, thank God for that. They came second, four points off, and Charlie found himself laughing like the best times of last year, before the assault.

Next morning it was rowers brunch, just the five of them. They talked about rowing, without revealing secrets, and about the state of the Oxford team. Ben was still around, still shielded by the Board, but the new coach knew. The guys were back on the team, not for him, but despite him. After long, heavy talks over the summer, they had made a choice: they wouldn't let him win by stepping aside and Oscar, Pierce and Leo wouldn't leave Noah alone in the team, because of his scholarship. Their presence on the team was a reminder that they were there and Ben couldn’t erase what happened. And so far, it was working. The new coach kept Ben on a short leash, and the boys didn’t give him an inch, no camaraderie, no mercy day after day.

It didn’t fix anything, but it helped. 

Eventually, Leo asked the question that turned the air heavier.

“And how are things with the team? I mean genuinely?”

Charlie raised an eyebrow. “You mean the team, or one specific teammate?”

The four friends shared a look before looking at Charlie.

“We know something happened with Nick that night, at the Boat Race” Leo said gently. “And it clearly didn’t end the way we’d hoped… If we pushed you into anything, if we made things harder, we’re sorry.”

Charlie blinked. That wasn’t what he expected. Four pairs of eyes looking at him with so much care.

Oscar chimed in, “We shouldn’t have joked about it. The innuendos… the pressure.”

Charlie shook his head.

“Listen. A lady never kisses and tells, especially if the kiss in question may or may not have involved someone who may not be out. But if, and I mean if, something would have happened, none of you would be responsible. If anyone would, it’d be him and me. And surely I could regret the fallout, but probably not what happened. Because sometimes, when you’ve been through what I have, it helps just to feel wanted. To feel like someone sees you, chooses you, even for a second. But from what we all know for certain now, he’s the straightest guy, he has a girlfriend, a very public one. And now we’re paired for training, cause our coach is looking for a fucking sacred symbiosis. So yeah, I’m probably now being punished for my sins. But I have James now. I’m… okay.”

Noah was the first to challenge that. “Are you? Is James what you want, or just something safer to hold onto? I'm sorry to ask… We don't know him and obviously we do trust you, and your judgement and the guy sounds nice. But we saw you last year with Nick, and it wasn’t just about rowing.” He hesitated, searching for the words. “There was something there, Charlie. Something I’ve never seen before. Like you two could just feel each other.”

Charlie looked down. Of course Noah would be the one to cut straight to it. 

Oscar jumped in. “Yeah, we do know you. And it’s true, whatever that thing was between you and Nick, it felt like gravity. Like you two were orbiting each other whether you liked it or not.”

Pierce rolled his eyes, but nodded. “Your coach is definitely on to something by wanting to develop some kind of weird psychic rowing bond between you. You have the potential to complement each other in this painfully perfect way. His brute force, your precision, your instincts, all of it could just click. And selfishly, I really hope it doesn’t click in time for the Brits because if it does, we’re dead.”

Leo leaned forward, his voice softer. “We just don’t want you to settle for easy when you deserve something big, Springy. Something huge.”

Charlie looked at them, really looked. Four pairs of eyes filled with nothing but care. And for once, he didn’t deflect. He didn’t joke.

“I wanted him,” he said quietly. “So much. And I’m sure that I may… Have challenged his straightness at some point.”

He swallowed hard.

“But he’s straight and with her. And we can’t even talk without burning down the room.”

“Do you still like him?” Oscar asked cautiously.

Charlie nodded, the burn in his throat tightening, and one silent tear traced the line of his jaw.

“I do… And probably always will. But I’m so scared. Because all of this is too close to… Ben. That fear of trusting someone rich and closeted again and ending up shattered.”

He paused, voice tightening.

“I can’t go through that again, I can’t. Even if he’d come out tomorrow, I don’t know if I could survive it if he let me down for any of his familial obligations."

Another pause and Charlie said “But we are talking about probabilities here. The reality is James now, and I need to give him a real chance. Because he’s real, open and proud. He chooses me. I need someone who chooses me without shame, in daylight, without flinching. And I choose him, because he makes me feel good.”

The boys were quiet for a moment. A silence full of respect.

Then Noah, always the realist, simply said: “That’s fair.”

He looked at Charlie.

“But maybe… don’t lock the door on some other… possibilities completely. Just leave it a bit open, you’re still young and you deserve the best.”

Charlie nodded and gave a weak smile. “That’s what Isaac said too.”

“Smart guy, that one, love him” Pierce added.

“We just want you to be fully happy,” Leo said.

“I know.” Charlie looked around. “And I love you for it. But can we please switch topics before I spiral? So, how many seconds behind do you think you’ll be next week?”

Noah groaned. “You little shit.”

And just like that, the air shifted. They were back to bantering and loving each other in the loud, ridiculous way they always did.

On the train back to Cambridge, Charlie watched the landscape blur past. He thought about what they’d said. About James. About Nick. About doors and second chances and all the possible ways this could still break him.

Maybe there was a path forward, maybe it wasn’t just love or hate. Maybe it could be… something in between. Maybe he could open up a bit.

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

Charlie didn’t even notice the week slipping by. One blink and it was the first day of November, he was back with his Oxford friends, but this time, it was war. Well, almost. The British Championships, the first real race of the year. The first time they’d be opponents, not allies and above all, the first major step in the Boat Race selection process.

The tension was here.

Cambridge had lost the Brits last year and they were still bitter about it. They’d won the Boat Race, sure, but it wasn’t enough. This year, they wanted both. And Charlie wanted it too. He needed to win against Oxford, against Ben .

Everyone had something to prove, Charlie could feel it pressing down on his shoulders.

He was finishing his mental prep when he looked-up and saw him… Ben.

Ben’s eyes found him across the chaos of the athletes tent. That same smug, cold glint. Like he was waiting. Charlie’s whole body stiffened, his mouth dried up. His palms went clammy, heartbeat sharp and shallow in his throat. He hadn’t seen him since the end of last spring, and fuck, he thought he was okay. 

But one look and everything cracked. One smirk and he was spiraling.

Until a voice.

“Charlie?”

That voice. Familiar and soft, yet firm.

“Charlie. Look at me.”

He blinked. A blur moved in front of him. Breath caught.

“Hey Charlie. Focus on my voice. Just breathe with me, okay?”

Of course it was Nick.

His words settled like balm over his raw skin. Charlie inhaled, exhaled, blinked the fog away. The noise around them dimmed. There were only those ridiculous, worried, gentle brown eyes looking at him like he mattered more than anything else in the world.

“You with me?”

Charlie nodded and swallowed. “I… sorry. I saw him and…”

Nick didn’t ask who, he just kept going.

“Well, don’t look at him, look at me. It’s us, remember? You, me, the team. We’re gonna go out there and crush it. You with me?”

Charlie stared at him, something pulling tight in his chest. “Yeah. I’m… okay now.”

Nick smiled, just a little. “Water?”

Charlie took the bottle with a shaky laugh and a muttered thanks. Then Nick reached out, not with that usual clumsy golden retriever eagerness, but with intention. He took Charlie’s hand and led him to the boat, steady and sure.

And when Charlie sat down, their eyes locked again but Charlie had to look away. He closed his eyes and focused, visualizing the race path.

The start was rough. Cambridge lagged a few strokes behind. Recoverable, but not ideal. Charlie started calling.

"Stroke!" 

But his voice wasn’t quite there. Something inside was still fraying.

Then, he felt it… Like a whisper under his skin.

Look at me. Please, Charlie, look at me.

He didn’t know how, but he felt it. And when he opened his eyes, Nick’s were waiting and in that instant, everything clicked.

Without taking his eyes off Nick’s, Charlie’s voice sharpened.

"Change sides!"

And then it happened again. A question in Nick’s eyes. Push? Now?

Charlie looked at Oxford’s boat. Saw them falter, just a beat.

He met Nick’s eyes again. Wait.

“Easy!”

Nick nodded, held steady. Charlie waited that one perfect second, and then called for the surge.

"Power Ten!"

“Stroke!”

Nick exploded forward, power and precision, and the boat flew with him. The others followed. And as they crossed the line, bowing just ahead of Oxford, Charlie let out a breath like a scream.

They’d done it.

Coach Ajayi was fist-pumping on the dock like a madman. “Fucking finally!”

Charlie leaned back, heart hammering, soaked in sweat and adrenaline.

The symbiosis… The fucking symbiosis.

Turns out, it wasn’t just some coaching fantasy. It was real.

He glanced over at Oxford’s boat. Pierce caught his eye, brows raised and smirking.

Aw… Sorry, mate.

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

After the Eight, Charlie capped it off by winning the solo race too, first place, gold medal. He felt good. His legs hurt in places he didn’t know existed, and his brain was still catching up with his body, but good.

They all celebrated that evening, a glowy post-race dinner where no one talked about the "Symbiosis” or “Synergy”. Not even Nick, who stayed quiet, not pushing for any kind of debrief. Charlie was glad, he wasn’t ready to talk about whatever had been on the water. He just wanted to float in this weird grace period for a little while longer. So when they said goodbye, Charlie kept it simple.

“Thank you,” he said.

Nick nodded, soft-eyed, and let him go.

Coach Ajayi gave them the following Monday and Tuesday off to rest, which sounded generous until you realized it meant three-a-days for the rest of the week. But Nick didn’t show up. “Called in sick,” the coach said, and Charlie didn’t ask Sai for details. He saw the shift in Chris’s jaw, the concerned look that passed between them. Charlie didn’t know, and for now, he wasn’t going to dig.

The weekend following the Champs, he had his first official date night with James, like people who made plans that included table reservations and clean shirts.

They met at a cozy pub. Charlie talked about the Brits, beaming with pride but carefully omitting anything to do with “symbiosis”. He simply said, “we found our rhythm,” and let it sit there.

It was nice and easy. James listened and Charlie listened back. At some point, James took his hand and asked gently, “Do you want to come back to mine? Maybe watch a movie?”

Movie . We all know what ‘movie’ means.

Charlie hesitated. He wasn’t stupid. But James, being James, immediately added, “Only if you want to. We can go for a walk instead. Or I can walk you home. I just really like spending time with you.”

Charlie looked at him, so kind and sincere. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Let’s go to yours. I’m not ready for… everything. But I’d like to spend more time with you.”

The kiss that followed was gentle. It was simple, sweet, and Charlie let it happen.

The next morning, Charlie woke up in James’ bed, curled on his side, James’ arm slung loosely over his waist. 

James was still asleep, looking peaceful. Their night had been good. Sweet, even. Clumsy in a forgivable way. Hesitant and careful, full of those quiet little negotiations “i s this okay? like this? should I stop?”. There’d been blowjobs and soft touches, and a shared desire to get it right, even if the choreography wasn’t quite there yet. It was the first time, their bodies were still learning from each other. All first times were somehow awkward and misaligned in places, that was normal. 

Well, not every first time had to be cinematic and not every kiss had to burn.

James had been considerate. Almost too considerate, like he was handling something breakable but Charlie didn’t want to feel fragile. 

It was a nice night, Charlie just felt a bit like he’d shown up to a firework display and gotten a single sparkler. It wasn’t that anything was wrong, just that nothing felt right, yet. It would probably take time, they’d get there, it would be okay. 

When James started to stir and gently kissed his shoulder, hinting at round two, Charlie politely pulled away, murmuring something about still recovering from the race. Mentally, he was wiped, he had a lot to process. He wanted to go home, drink tea, and maybe text Isaac until he felt ready to face the world again.

James, to his credit, nodded and didn’t push. They agreed to see each other again next Friday.

Back at his dorm, Charlie found Elle and Aled in the common lounge. Elle grinned like she’d been waiting for this all night.

“So… how was your night, Charlie?”

“Oh, you know. Nice,” he said and smiled shyly, setting his bag down.

“Nice?” Elle’s eyebrows shot up. “Nice doesn’t usually follow a first night with your hot academic boyfriend. Was he bad?”

“No! No, he was… sweet. Gentle. It was good. Just… yeah, good.”

Aled gave him a look. Elle tilted her head. “But are you happy?”

“Yes. I mean... It’s been a while. And the last few… experiences weren’t exactly romance-novel material.”

Charlie wasn’t going to go there. If he started comparing, it was game over. Nick was a whole different chapter, or maybe an entire genre. James was something new, something actually good. And he wanted to want that.

“I’m seeing him again Friday,” Charlie said. “It’s good. We’re… building.”

The next day, after training, Charlie came back to his room to find a letter slipped under his door.

He frowned, picking it up. No name. No return address.

He opened it.

Charlie, 

Tu es ce rêve brûlant qui me revient sans cesse hanter mes nuits, ce désir qui m'habite à chaque instant.  

Il y a des sentiments qu’il est difficile de dire tout haut, alors j’ai choisi de te les confier par écrit, te dévoiler, mot après mot, te confier ce désir ardent et cet amour, qui logent au creux de mes reins. Cette fièvre lancinante qui m'empêche parfois simplement d’exister...  

Dans chaque silence, à chaque souffle, c’est toi que j’appelle. 

Laisse-moi t’écrire ce manque, cette attente, au fil de ces notes que tu recevras, jusqu’au jour où, peut-être, je pourrai enfin te toucher comme je le souhaiterais, sans avoir à rêver. 

A toi corps et âme, pour toujours

Anonymous… In French?!

What the fuck.

Chapter Text

Oct 11, 2025

You : Miss you. You’re right, we should spend more time together. See you tomorrow? x

Immy : What’s going on, Nicholas?

I can’t tomorrow. You know Sundays are my off-nights. No plans, no people, just me.

But Monday’s the influencer event at 7:30, the one we got invited to. You coming?

You : If you want me there, I’ll come.

Immy : Of course I do. I told you.

Are you okay?

Nick : Yeah.

Nick : Actually… any chance we could meet tonight?

Immy : Sorry babe, tonight’s girls’ night and it’s already wild, I won’t be up for much after.

But Monday? Meet me at Clare’s at 6, okay?

Oct 30, 2025

Papa : Je t’ai vu en photos dans plusieurs articles. C'est bien mon garçon, exactement ce qu’on attend de toi. Toi et Imogen, vous formez un couple parfait. Je compte sur toi pour les Championnats. Gagne cette course, mon fils: Champion de Grande-Bretagne!

You : Merci papa.

[Dad: I saw you in photos in several articles. That’s my boy, exactly what we expect from you. You and Imogen make the perfect couple. I’m counting on you for the Championships. Win that race, my son: Champion of Great Britain!
You: Thanks, Dad.]

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

Since that night in the bar, Nick had been moving through life on autopilot. He showed up where he was supposed to show up. Performed in class, trained hard, smiled for the right people. He was the good boyfriend, present when Imogen needed him, planning the occasional romantic date, offering little gestures like flowers or notes at her door. He didn’t mind. It was what was expected.

He even kept showing up to the paired rowing sessions with Charlie, doing exactly what he was told, nothing more, nothing less. No words unless strictly necessary. Charlie had been crystal clear: professionalism only. He’d drawn the line, and Nick had learned to respect it. After all, Charlie had James now. Smiling, perfect James, with his soft eyes and the perfect charm.

So Nick played his part. Played them all, in fact.

He went to whatever event Immy wanted, dressed as she wanted. He held her hand in photos and kissed her cheek for the stories. But when the parties were over, she was rarely around. Busy with college, or friends, or some new networking thing. He couldn’t blame her, she needed to have her own life, but he missed her. Or at least, he missed feeling… something. He missed being seen, heard and touched, he craved a real connection, not some quick act of affection with no real desire or feelings. Sometimes he thought about telling her what happened that night with Charlie, not saying who it was with, just admitting he’d crossed a line. The guilt of it sat like a stone in his chest. Maybe having the hard conversation would give them a chance to start over, honestly this time. But for that to happen, they’d have to be together, outside of public appearances, and they barely were. All the mixed feelings churned in him, pulling at the edges of everything he tried to hold together.

Maybe things would get easier after the British Championships. Right now, the focus had to be on winning, even if the famous synergy between him and Charlie wasn't here. Even the coach had stopped mentioning it. Still scheduling paired sessions like clockwork, but with a kind of resigned silence.

Outside of rowing, Nick avoided Charlie like a bad current. But since Charlie had become so intertwined with his friend group, it meant he was also avoiding a lot of the moments with his friends that used to bring him joy and people started to notice.

On Tuesday of the week of the Brits, he had a lecture with Tara. As the hall emptied out, she caught up with him and touched his arm lightly.

“Want to grab a coffee?”

He hesitated. Then nodded. “Yeah. Training’s not till two. I could use one.”

They went to their usual spot. Ordered. Sat.

She didn’t waste time.

“How are you, Nick?”

He forced a smile. “Good. Busy. Training’s full-on with the Brits coming up, but… yeah. All fine.”

Tara tilted her head. “Really? Because last I checked, you were crying on my sofa for your birthday and spiraling over someone who clearly mattered a lot to you. So forgive me if I don’t quite buy the ‘all fine’ bit.”

“I… I tried, okay?” He looked down at his cup. “I’m trying to move on. Charlie’s happy with James. He doesn’t want anything to do with me beyond rowing. So I’m doing what I can, focusing on Immy, trying to build something solid with her.”

“Ah, so that explains the staged romance on every feed. Is that really what you want, though? To bury everything you are just to look perfect in pictures?”

“You don’t understand…”

“No. I don’t,” she cut in, not unkindly, but firmly. “Nick, I love you. But this… this version of you? I don’t recognise him. And no, this isn’t about Charlie. Yeah, he made his choice, it sucks, and I’m sorry, but you’re still you. Or you’re supposed to be. The Nick I know wouldn’t hide himself behind a press-perfect relationship and fake smiles. When we talked on your birthday, I thought you wanted help. I thought you wanted to be free. But now?”

He couldn’t answer. His mouth opened, then closed again.

“I think you need help, Nick,” she continued softly. “Real help. Because if you keep going like this, living to please your dad, the media, everyone but you, you’ll wake up one day and realise you became him. And that scares the hell out of me. I’m your friend. And I care. That’s why I’m saying this.”

Nick stared at her. His throat felt tight. “I don’t know what to do…”

“When you’re ready… start by asking for help. There are people who love you. Who’d do anything for you. But we can’t do it for you.”

She stood, gathering her bag. “I have to go, Union meeting. I’m skipping the dinner tomorrow, I’ll let the boys know. I love you, I really do, but right now… I can’t sit front row for this mess and pretend it’s okay. I’m sorry.”

“…Okay,” he said, small, useless.

And then she was gone. And Nick was left alone, staring at his untouched coffee, feeling like something in him had just… cracked.

After Charlie’s rejection, Tara’s words had hit like a second blow, not cruel, but clean and precise, they aimed straight at what hurt.

Was she right?

He’d been trying to do the “right” thing. Be the good son. The good boyfriend. Keep it together. Prove he could be strong, respectable, proud, even if it meant hiding.

He’d thought he was protecting himself, maybe even protecting Charlie. Or at least giving him the space he asked for.

But now?

Now he just felt hollow.

Was this what it meant to be safe? Was this the version of life he was supposed to want? A life of compromises and smiles that didn’t reach his eyes?

Maybe he was turning into his father. But he wasn’t even sure how to stop it.

The Wednesday dinner the next day felt… off.

No one mentioned Tara or Darcy’s absence, but it hung over the table like a crack in the foundation. They all tried to carry on, chatting about the upcoming Champs, Nick’s next media thing with Imogen, Chris’s new partner who apparently showed up at the pub last night and was, according to Otis, “a walking thirst trap and so funny.” They laughed, a little, talked, sort of, but nothing landed the way it used to. The rhythm was broken, and everyone knew it.

Later, while Nick was helping clear the dishes in the kitchen, Chris turned to him with that calm, steady tone he used when he was trying not to scare someone off.

“You feeling good about the Brits?”

Nick shrugged, rinsing a plate. “Yeah. I mean, we’re working hard. We’ve got a solid team. Just need to peak at the right moment.”

Chris nodded. Then after a pause: “And… how are things with Charlie? You’ve been doing all those extra paired sessions. You think it’s helping?”

Nick didn’t look up. “We’re doing what we’re supposed to.”

“Right. Just… it’s hard not to notice you haven’t been around much when he’s in the room. Ever since he started seeing…”

“Please don’t say it.”

Chris exhaled. “Nick… you know I’m here, right? Sai too. Otis. We’d all be there for you if you needed us. Even just to listen. But we can’t help if you keep shutting us out.”

Nick froze, gripping the edge of the counter.

“I’m not trying to assume anything,” Chris continued gently, “but I think I get what this might be. And I promise, you’re not alone. Not even close.”

Nick’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I… I can’t. Not right now.”

Chris didn’t push. “Okay. Just… think about it, yeah?”

Nick nodded faintly, his throat tight.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust them. It was that he didn’t know where to start. He still didn’t know what he wanted, or even who he was right now. Everything was blurry and loud and full of pressure. All he knew was that the Brits were coming, and he had to get it right, as he had to prove something, to the team, to his father, to himself.

And then, maybe… maybe he could try to figure the rest out. How to talk to Immy honestly. How to be a friend again. How to feel like himself without falling apart.

But first: the Championships.

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

The tension was sharp that Saturday morning on the first day of November, like a wire pulled tight.

The British Championships, finally. The first official race of the season, the one that set the tone. A chance to size up the competition, especially Oxford. It was the first real glimpse of the enemy, the first opportunity to make a statement and shape the Boat Race selection early.

Last year, Cambridge had lost, just barely, a handful of seconds but enough to sting.

This year, they wanted this victory.

Nick wanted it more than anyone. The little Frenchy, the frog, as some of the older rowers had called him last year, half-joking, half-condescending, wanted to be champion of Great Britain. 

He lingered in the locker room longer than usual. He needed the quiet to focus.

When he finally stepped outside, heading toward the starting tent, he nearly collided with someone in Oxford blue.

“Oh, sorry,” he said instinctively. “If you’re looking for Charlie, I think he’s already in the tent.”

“Actually,” the guy said, smiling slightly, “I was looking for you.”

Nick blinked. “Me?”

“Yeah. We haven’t properly met. I’m Noah, Charlie’s friend.”

There was a beat.

“Look, I’ll be quick,” Noah added. “And I know this is probably none of my business. But I’ve seen you two. Last year, and I still  see you now. There’s something between you, obvious to pretty much everyone except you two, apparently.”

Nick opened his mouth, but Noah held up a hand.

“I know Charlie can be… guarded. But he went through hell last year. And no matter how much he pretends otherwise, you were the only light in that darkness. He might not say it, but you mattered. And you still do.”

“I don’t know if…” Nick started, but his voice caught.

“I’m not asking you to fix him,” Noah said. “He doesn’t need saving. But don’t give up on him, Nick, even if he’s scared, even if you’re scared. Maybe you’re not ready. Maybe he’s not. Maybe this is messy as hell. But from where I stand? You’re what makes each other better. You make him feel, and no one else gets close to that.”

Nick frowned. “But… he’s with James.”

“Yeah. And you’re with Imogen, right?” Noah tilted his head knowingly. “How’s that working out?”

Nick didn’t answer.

Noah softened. “You don’t have to fix it all today or tomorrow. But at some point, you're going to have to try. Clean your side of the mess, be honest and stop hiding. Because if you don’t, you’ll lose something that doesn’t come around twice.”

Nick exhaled, but the air caught in his throat. “Why are you even saying this?”

“Because I’m tired of watching two idiots orbit each other like lovesick satellites,” Noah said simply. “You don’t realise how rare that kind of connection is, how the rest of us, mere mortals, will probably never experience something like that. But I see it. You make each other shine, even if you can’t see it yet.”

Then, without waiting for a reply, he clapped Nick lightly on the shoulder.

“I’m just giving the universe a little push. Get your shit together, Nelson. And fight for our boy.”

Noah walked away, leaving Nick standing in the morning chill, stunned.

What the hell was that?

He looked down at his hands calloused, still trembling slightly. His heart was pounding, not from nerves, but from something far more dangerous, hope.  First Isaac, now, someone else was  saying to not give up on Charlie, that must mean something…

But he shoved it down, there was a race to win, a title to claim and he had to do it with Charlie.

He had to find a way back to him, not as lovers, maybe not even as friends, but as a pair. A kind of pair that moved in sync, that rowed as one. Fucking symbiosis. If it really exists, it’s now or never to prove it. He needed this proof…

Maybe this could be the first crack in the armour. He still wasn’t sure which direction to take  but he knew he had to try to find some kind of connection  with Charlie to give him the strength to act further.

As he entered the athletes’ tent, the buzz of last-minute warm-ups and adrenaline felt muffled. His eyes locked on Charlie immediately. He was sitting on a bench, eyes glassy, staring into some invisible distance. His face was pale. He didn't look as focused as usual, he looked… empty.

Nick’s heart skipped, something was wrong. He crossed the tent in a straight line, oblivious to the other athletes, coaches, and noise.

“Charlie?” he said softly.

Charlie didn’t respond, his breath was shallow, his fingers twitching slightly and his jaw locked.

Nick knelt in front of him.

“Hey,” he murmured. “Charlie. Listen to me. Just me.”

Still no answer, so Nick kept talking to him, asking him to focus on his voice, to breathe in sync with him. Bit by bit, Charlie’s breathing started to sync. Then his gaze flickered.

And finally, he looked at Nick.

His eyes were wide, frightened, but present.

“I saw him…” Charlie whispered.

Nick didn’t need to ask who. He didn’t look, he didn’t need to confirm. Somewhere nearby, Ben Hope was standing, probably looking at Charlie and Nick felt his stomach twist in cold rage.

Not now, not here. One day, he would make Ben pay. But today, he had a job to do. They had a race to win.

He reached out and took Charlie’s hand, not as an indulgence, not as a lover’s touch, but as a reminder, they were a pair, within the team. Charlie wasn’t alone.

“Well, don’t look at him, look at me. It’s us, remember? You, me, the team. We’re gonna go out there and crush it. You with me?”

They stood, stepped into position, and walked out together. 

The starting line was loud, with cameras all around. Nick felt Charlie tense again beside him.

After they  settled into the erg, Charlie inhaled deeply and pulled his hand away, not coldly, but with intention. He closed his eyes, centered himself.

The start was rough.

They were slightly behind. Charlie’s calls were too soft, not commanding. The others were starting to lose rhythm.

Nick glanced up.

Look at me.

He didn’t say it, just thought it.

Please, Charlie. Look at me. We can do this, you and me.

Finally Charlie met his eyes and something locked into place.

“Stroke!” Charlie shouted, louder now, surer.

Nick drove harder, stronger, and felt the shift ripple through the crew like electricity. Their pace sharpened, the cadence evened out. The boat moved like a blade cutting clean through water.

With a few meters to go, Nick started bracing for a final push, waiting for the cue. Then he caught Charlie’s eye again. And in one brief glance, he knew.

Not yet.

“Easy!”

Nick held steady. Trusted him.

Then: “Power ten!” Charlie roared.

Ten strokes, full force. Nick gave it everything, the whole team did, in perfect sync. And in that final heartbeat, Cambridge’s boat edged just ahead of Oxford’s across the line.

There was a wave of cheers, whistles, chaos.

And amongst the cheers, “Fucking finally!” Coach Ajayi yelled from somewhere on the sidelines.

Nick looked-up, sweat-drenched, heart still hammering, and saw Charlie, beaming, shining. Alive. He looked so proud, so relieved. Nick could’ve stared forever.

They’d done it. They’d done it together.

Whatever it was, synergy, symbiosis, soul-deep connection, it existed. Now, Nick knew.

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

Charlie also won the lightweight solo race that day. Because of course he did. He was a champion, always had been.

The night that followed was full of celebration. There were laughter, drinks, sweaty hugs, shouts of victory echoing off pub walls. Nick didn’t want to ruin any of it. There’d be time to talk later, about what happened during the race and more. But not now, not tonight.

Coach Ajayi gave them two days off and Nick decided maybe that was his sign to take his first step.

He would go to Imogen, no media, no pretending, just the two of them. Something quiet, honest, grounded to see where they’d go as a couple, see if they could reconnect or not, but get a clear vision of them.

He knew Sunday was her “off night”, some sacred time for herself. But maybe, just this once, she’d make an exception for him.

So he went. He had barely raised his hand to knock before something in him tensed. Something was… off. Too much time passed before she answered, muffled noises behind the door, A hint of languid music, not Imogen’s usual pop songs.

When she finally opened, she looked… surprised, startled, even. She was wearing just an oversized t-shirt. Her cheeks flushed, eyes slightly glassy, lips too red.

“Nick? What are you doing here?” she asked, hurriedly pulling the door in closer behind her.

“I wanted to surprise you,” he said, still smiling faintly. “I thought maybe we could have a quiet night. Just the two of us. After the Champs… I needed something real.”

Her expression didn’t soften. If anything, it tightened.

“But you know Sunday’s my night,” she said quickly. “No plans, remember?”

“Yeah… but I thought maybe, just once, you could break the rule… For us?”

And then he looked down. Just for a second. Just enough to see something on the floor behind her, barely visible through the crack of the door.

A pair of blue boxer briefs… Not his.

He went still.

“Immy…” he said, quietly. “Are you… not alone?”

Her face didn’t change. Her eyes blinked too slowly.

“What are you talking about?” she said too fast.

“I’m asking if there’s someone else here. Because unless you’re wearing blue boxers now, I think I already know the answer.”

He pushed the door, not hard, but just enough to see him... Jason , Captain of the rugby team, shirtless, half-covered by Immy’s sheets. 

“Uh… hey, Nick…” Jason mumbled, awkward.

Nick felt his stomach drop. His skin flushed hot, then cold.

“How long?” he asked, his voice dead calm.

“What?”

“This obviously isn’t the first time. So I’m asking you, how long have you been cheating on me?”

Imogen crossed her arms. “Oh come on, Nick. Is it really cheating when we’re barely a couple outside of staged photos and some public events?”

His jaw clenched. “Fuck, Immy. I was trying. I was trying to make it real. To give us a real chance. And you were just…”

“Oh please. Don’t act like you’re some kind of saint,” she snapped. “As if it never happened for you, the Rowing King?”

Nick froze. “Once,” he said. “It happened once . And I came here tonight because I wanted to talk about it, because I thought maybe there was still something worth fighting for. If you wanted an open relationship, Immy, the least you could’ve done was be honest with me.”

Imogen’s face softened just a little, but not with regret, with condescension.

“Oh, Nick… who cares about whether it’s officially open? Come on. You know how things work in our world. It’s not about rules, it’s about what works. And we never worked like that. I met Jason last year, and we just… clicked. The chemistry, the ease, it’s real. But you and me, we’re what people want to see. Not what either of us actually want.”

“Last year?” Nick repeated, stunned. “Fucking hell.”

She shrugged. “It’s not that deep, Nick. You and I look great on paper. We always will. Maybe we can find a way to keep that part, for the cameras, for the press…”

Nick laughed, bitter and dry. He stepped back. 

“You know what?” he said, voice low and sharp. “Fuck you, Immy.”

And he turned and walked away.

He didn’t remember much of the way back. Just the cold on his skin, and the slow crush of every lie he’d bought into.

When he got to his flat, he remembered the guys were out, he didn’t bother turning on the lights. He found an old bottle of vodka under the kitchen’s sink. He poured himself a glass. Sat on the floor.

It was quiet. Everything felt empty but clear. He had nothing now.

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

The next morning, Nick woke up on the living room sofa, his body aching, mouth dry like sandpaper. The light was too bright. His head pounded with brutal intensity, and the nausea rolled in like a tide.

“Fuck…” he groaned.

“Morning to you too,” came Sai’s voice, calm but edged.

Nick blinked. Sai was sitting in the armchair across from him, reading quietly, legs crossed, a mug of tea in one hand.

“Do you remember anything?” Sai asked without looking up.

Nick winced. “I… I went to Imogen’s. Found her with Jason, the rugby captain. We broke up. I came back here. Found the vodka…”

He rubbed his temples. “Nothing after that.”

“Well,” Sai said, closing the book with a snap. “That explains a lot.”

Nick looked up slowly.

“When we got back,” Sai continued, “you were on the floor, crying into a half-empty bottle. Could barely string two words together. Then you started throwing up, I carried you to the loo and held your head like a doting mother. Took your shirt off ‘cause you were sweating buckets. You’re welcome for the floor cleaning, by the way. Then you refused to go to bed, kept muttering something about ‘being fine’ and ‘needing to fix it’… so I left you on the couch. The others went to bed. Eventually, you passed out.”

Nick closed his eyes, mortified. “What time is it?”

“5:30.”

“In the morning?”

“In the morning.”

“Shit… I’m sorry, Sai. I…”

“Nope.” Sai cut him off. “I think you’ve been sorry enough.”

Nick looked up, startled. “What?”

“You heard me.” Sai stood, the mug still in hand. “We’ve tried, Nick. We’ve really tried. We’ve been patient, we’ve given you space, we’ve covered for you, but this? This is too much.”

“I…”

“No. Let me talk. You’re clearly going through something, an identity crisis, a meltdown, I don’t know. But if you don’t stop spiraling and accept help, you’re going to lose everything. Us. Rowing. Your shot at being someone better than your father. And yeah, I said it.”

Nick flinched.

Sai didn’t stop.

“Imogen cheated on you? Good. You weren’t really together, Nick. You had nothing in common. You were clinging to her like a lifeline because she was safe, because it was what your father expected, and because you were terrified of being seen for who you really are.”

“I’m not afraid of who I am,” Nick muttered, weakly.

“Aren’t you?” Sai shot back. “You’re chasing your dad’s approval like it’s a goddamn Olympic medal, and in doing so, you’re becoming him: cold and absent. You’ve locked us out, Nick. You missed when I finally came out as demi. You didn’t ask about Chris’s new partner. You haven’t talked to Otis properly in weeks. Even Tara is giving up.”

Nick looked away, jaw clenched.

Sai took a breath, quieter now, but no less firm. “Wake up, Nick. You’re not okay. And pretending you are is just pushing us all further away.”

“I’m not running away from you… I just… it’s complicated. With Charlie. I don’t want to pressure him. I thought he needed space.”

“Oh, that’s your excuse? Charlie?” Sai raised a brow. “Nick, if you weren’t such a coward, and I’m not afraid to say this. If you were half the man I know you could be, you’d be able to face him. You wouldn’t be hiding behind vague gestures and avoidance.”

Nick’s hands curled into fists.

“I don’t know what happened between you,” Sai said, voice softening just slightly. “But I know there’s something real there. You don’t just erase that kind of connection. You either face it or you drown in denial. And you, right now, you’re fucking drowning.”

Nick’s voice cracked. “I don’t know what to do, Sai… I’m so lost.”

“Then at least try to do something. Take time, ask for help, talk to us, talk to him. But if you don’t start trying to change, you’re going to lose everything that matters.”

Sai put his mug down gently, then walked out of the room, not slamming the door, just… leaving. 

Nick sat in silence. The hangover pounding in his skull had nothing on the ache in his chest.

He’d fucked up. But maybe… maybe it wasn’t too late to fix it.

He stood slowly, cleaned the vodka glass and tidied up the living-room, took a long shower, then he packed a small bag. Sent a few emails.

He scribbled a note for the guys, a simple "Gone for a few days. I’ll be okay. Thanks for everything."

And then he picked up his phone.

You: Hi Tar. Sorry for everything. I’m going to be out of Cambridge for the rest of the week, need some time to clear my head. Can we talk when I’m back? Love you. x

He stared at the screen, heartbeat drumming, unsure what he even hoped she’d say.

One minute later:

Tara: Take care, Nick. I’m here, whenever you’re ready. Always. x

Nick sat still for a moment, phone in hand, the soft glow of the screen warming his face.

Maybe it wasn’t too late.

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

The first thing that hit him was her scent, lavender and tea leaves… And then, the warmth of her arms around him.

Nobody hugged like his mum. Her embrace was a shield, soft and firm all at once. For the first time in what felt like months, Nick could breathe.

“Oh, Nicky…” Her voice, calm but threaded with worry, was like balm on his soul.

“I’m sorry for showing up like this,” he murmured against her shoulder, his voice already cracking. “I didn’t know what else to do…”

She didn’t flinch. “Don’t be silly. This is your home. You can always come when you need to.”

She pulled back slightly, looking him over with that sharp, motherly gaze that saw everything. “But I’m worried, Nick. You left Cambridge at the beginning of the week. What’s going on?”

Nick opened his mouth, then shut it again. He looked at her eyes, all softness and care, and that unlatched something inside him.

“I think I’m not doing well,” he confessed at last, voice breaking. “I broke up with Imogen… she was cheating on me for a year.”

“Oh, Nicky…” Her face tightened, but not in judgment, just empathy. “I won’t say I’m glad, but if she was cheating, then she certainly didn’t deserve you. Even if you loved her… you deserve someone who actually cares for you.”

Nick shook his head. “I’m not broken because of her.”

“Oh?”

“I mean… yeah, it hurts. But it’s probably my ego more than my heart, I think. And if I’m being honest…” He paused, eyes wet. “I don’t think I even liked her. We weren’t good together. I even cheated on her, once… I think I was with her because it made papa happy.”

Sarah’s jaw tightened at the mention of Stéphane, but she didn’t speak right away.

Then, softly: “Oh, Nick. I’m sorry. I know your father can be… demanding, controlling, even. But you’re nearly a man now. You have the right to set your own boundaries. You don’t have to shape yourself to fit his life.”

“I know. I think I’m starting to get that. I just… I feel so lost, Mum. I keep trying to be good for papa, for you, for my friends, for Ch…”

He stopped. His throat closed around the word.

Sarah didn’t press. But she reached out, took his hand.

“Is there something else?” she asked gently. “Something more than just Imogen?”

Nick looked down. Took a deep breath.

“Mum… I think I’m bi.” It spilled out, like a tide. “I… still like girls, but I like boys too. And there was this guy last year, Charlie. He’s frustrating and arrogant and brilliant and sexy and… I wanted him. We had this one night together, and I messed it up. Yeah, the cheating… I was still with Imogen. I got so confused. I thought papa would never accept it. And now I’ve lost Immy. And I lost Charlie. And my friends are mad at me. And I just… I didn’t know how to say any of it to anyone.”

Sarah didn’t move for a moment. Then she squeezed his hand tighter.

“Oh baby… First of all,” she said softly, “thank you for telling me. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like you couldn’t tell me that. ”

“You already knew, didn’t you?” Nick said, managing a shaky laugh. “I told you about Hugo.”

“You told me about Hugo but today, you took another step by defining you. That’s a big step, Nick. After Hugo, after how your father reacted… you shut down. You buried everything. And I worried you might never let it surface again. But you did. And I’m proud of you.”

“I’ve ruined everything…”

“No. You’re just… beginning.” She brushed a strand of hair from his forehead like she used to when he was a boy.

“Nicky, self-discovery isn’t a neat process. It’s messy. You make mistakes, you double back, you lose people. But you grow. You’ve been living under impossible expectations, and that’s not your fault. But now? If you’re ready, you can choose how to live. It will be long, hard and definitely not a straight forward journey, well for you definitely not!”

He laughed for the first time in days.

“Mum! Queer joke, really?”

She winked.

“What? Not everything has to be dead serious Nick! You’re young, it’s normal to take some detours, but here today, you’re at the right place and on the good way…”

“What should I do?” he whispered.

“What do you want to do?” Sarah asked genuinely.

“I want to get better,” he whispered. “But I can’t do this alone. I think… I need help. Maybe a therapist? Someone who can guide me.”

Sarah smiled gently. “Now that is a grown-up thing to say. I think it’s a great idea. And no, I won’t be your therapist, I’m your mother. I’m here for hugs and tea. But I can put you in touch with someone I trust. She works with queer young adults. I think you’d like her.”

“That would be… great. Really. Thank you, Mum.”

“Always, my love.”

She paused. Then added, with a mischievous glint in her eye: “Now, how about a walk with Nellie? That poor dog’s been sulking all morning. The day you graduate, she’s ready to move in with you.”

Nick let out a little laugh. “Sounds good.”

He grabbed the leash. Nellie was already waiting by the door, tail wagging frantically. The border collie pup had come into their lives in Corsica the summer before he started at Cambridge. He’d fallen head over heels for her, but couldn’t bring her with him. So Sarah had taken care of her during term time, and he visited whenever he could.

She barked once and nudged his leg with her nose.

“Alright, alright,” Nick smiled. “Let’s go.”

And as he stepped outside with his mother and his dog, the cold morning air hit his lungs like a wake-up call.

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

After the walk, Nick had followed through.

He called the therapist his mother had recommended, Dr. Stephanie Bird. By some stroke of luck, she had a last-minute opening for Friday afternoon. Nick took it. No hesitation.

They agreed he would stay until Saturday, giving himself a few days to rest.

That night and the days after, he and his mother stayed up late. Nick talked, petting Nellie on his knees. He told her about Charlie, not everything, not the way he’d cried out his name when he came, or the crazy thing Charlie did with his tongue when he was… Yeah no, but the important parts. The true parts.

He told her how Charlie made him feel seen and challenged. How he’d screwed it all up. He told her about his friends. About Tara’s disappointment, Sai’s frustration, Chris’s concern. About how he’d felt like he was performing all the time, and how exhausting it was to never say what he really felt.

Sarah never interrupted, she didn’t judge, she didn’t fix.

She just listened, and, every now and then, gently offered a reflection. Something about his father. About his childhood. About the weight of love when it’s measured by obedience.

Each night, by the time he slipped into bed, he felt a little more exhausted, but also a little lighter. Lighter than he had in months, probably ever.

On Friday morning, Nick shuffled into the kitchen, Nellie following him, hair a mess, barefoot and warm from sleep. His mother was already there, flipping pancakes like a pro.

In the background, a familiar French song played on the speakers. He recognised the voice before the words.

Une nuit je m’endors avec lui / Mais je sais qu’on nous l’interdit…

(One night I fall asleep with him / But I know we’re not allowed)

He blinked, then grinned. “Oh, that’s subtle.”

Sarah didn’t even look up. “Am I not allowed to enjoy one of the few French singers I can still bear?”

“She made a ton of songs. Why this one?”

“I like this one. And if it speaks to you, darling, well… that’s your problem.” She smirked. “Do you even know her story?”

“Véronique Sanson? Not really. I mean, I know the name. You made me listen to Amoureuse when I was, like, ten.”

“That was an education,” she said proudly, setting a stack of pancakes on the table. “Well… she was in a long-term relationship with a famous songwriter, Michel Berger. Big French music couple. They started everything together: career, love, dreams. And then… one day, she met this American singer. And she cracked. She tried to hold on, but eventually she just… vanished. She was in studio, said she was buying some cigarettes but never came back. Took a plane, left Michel with barely a word. She said she felt like she was suffocating.”

Nick raised an eyebrow. “Should I be reading between the lines here?”

“No subtext, Nicky,” she said, handing him a plate. “Just… sometimes people spend years trying to meet expectations. If they don’t protect themselves early, they end up running. Not choosing but fleeing.”

“So what, your point is I shouldn’t wait until I explode to actually do something?”

“There you go. No subtext needed.” She winked 

Nick smiled faintly. “Well. Good thing I start therapy today, then.”

Sarah leaned over and kissed the top of his head. “Couldn’t agree more, baby.”

As the song played on, Nick sat at the table, watching the steam rise from his mug of tea.

Quand je prends sa tête entre mes mains / Je vous jure que j’ai du chagrin…

(When I hold his face between my hands, I swear to you, sorrow takes its stand)

He closed his eyes.

Et je me demande / Si cet amour aura un lendemain…

(And I wonder / If this love will see another day)

He did wonder. Charlie had James now. He looked happy. Maybe there really was no tomorrow for the thing they’d once almost had.

But Nick had finally understood something. He couldn’t ask anything from Charlie, if he wasn’t ready to be fully himself first. He’d spent too long being the version everyone else wanted.

Now, maybe for the first time, he was choosing himself. And maybe that meant accepting that he’d missed his chance with Charlie. But there was still a place for Charlie in his life, not as a lover, maybe not even as a friend, but present. Because imagining a life without Charlie in it, in some way, still felt unthinkable.

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

“Thank you for telling me all this, Nick,” Stephanie Bird said gently. “I imagine that’s a lot to carry, and we won’t be able to untangle everything in one session. But I believe we can start putting a few pieces down together and sort through the layers so you can begin to understand what you want to stand for.”

Nick nodded, slowly. She had a kind voice, not soft in a patronising way, just calm. Her smile didn’t feel rehearsed, and her eyes didn’t carry the usual weight of pity. She saw him as someone worth listening to.

“I’d suggest we meet once a week,” she continued, “via video sessions, at least for now. Would that work for you?”

“Yeah. That sounds good.” He hesitated, then added, “Uh, thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” she said, smiling. “It’s literally my job.”

There was a small pause. Nick thought maybe that was it, session over. But then she leaned forward slightly, her tone still light, but deliberate.

“Now… we’ve got a few minutes left, and I’d like to ask you one more thing, based on what you’ve told me so far. Do you know what consent means?”

Nick blinked, caught off guard. “…Wait, are you saying I didn’t have Charlie’s consent that night?” Panic started to rise in his chest. “Oh my God, did I hurt him? I knew I fucked it up, but I never meant to, I swear I didn’t want to force him, is that why he hates me?!”

“Nick. Breathe. Stop, just a moment.” Her tone remained calm but firm. “I wasn’t talking about Charlie. And for what it’s worth, based on what you did share, I don’t think that’s what happened. But if it’s something you’re unsure or anxious about, that’s something you can eventually bring up with him.”

Nick exhaled shakily, shoulders sagging.

“For now,” she said, her voice softening again, “I want to put Charlie aside, just a little. Not because it’s not important, but because I don’t think he’s the cause. I think he’s more of a… mirror. A trigger. What I was really asking is: do you know what it means to give your consent?”

“Like… saying yes when something’s offered to you?”

“Exactly. Agreeing freely, without pressure or fear. Now let me ask you this, have you ever felt like you were doing things without really consenting to them?”

Nick was quiet for a long moment. Then, almost in a whisper: “I think that’s been my whole life.”

Stephanie tilted her head gently. “Can you tell me more?”

“I think…” He hesitated. “I think I’ve always done things to please people. My dad especially. I never stopped to ask if I wanted what they wanted. I just… wanted to be good for him, for everyone.”

“And where do you think that started?”

He laughed once, short and bitter. “My father. Definitely. I just wanted him to love me.” And then the tears came, fast and hot.

Stephanie didn’t move. She simply let the silence hold him.

“Oh, Nick… I hear you,” she said, after a pause. “It sounds like you’ve spent a long time learning that love is conditional or transactional. That it’s something you earn by pleasing, by performing, by disappearing a little.”

He nodded, wiping his face. “That’s exactly it. And the first time I think I ever wanted something and took it, it was Charlie. And I know I didn’t do it right. It was messy and selfish and I didn’t think it through… but I wanted him. For me. No matter what my father or the others would think.”

“And that,” she said, “might be why that night crystallised so many things. But right now, I want us to focus on you, not him. We’ll get to him, but today is about you.”

Nick nodded again, calmer this time.

“Can I give you a small assignment for next week?” she asked.

“Sure.”

“I’d like you to write down three things that you want. Not what someone expects from you. Not what would make others proud. Just what Nick Nelson wants. It can be anything, even something as small as ‘eat ice cream in bed’ or ‘take a nap in the sun’. But it has to be something that comes from you.”

Nick hesitated, then smiled a little. “I think I can do that.”

“Good. We’ll start from there next week.” She paused. “Is everything clear so far? Did anything feel off, or uncomfortable?”

That question hit him harder than he expected. No teacher, no coach, no adult, except maybe his mum had ever asked him that.

He swallowed. “No. I mean, yeah. I’m okay. Thank you, really.”

“See you next week, Nick.”

“Yeah. See you.”

When Nick got on the train back to Cambridge the next morning, he wasn’t fixed. But for the first time in a long while, he felt like he was in the right place. He’d finally stopped trying to perform someone else’s life. Now, maybe, he could start living his own.

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

Being back in Cambridge after his week off felt… different. Nick took time with his friends, not just showing up, but showing up, as himself.

He spent a few quiet evenings with Sai, wrapped in blankets, sipping tea in mismatched mugs, talking about identity and queerness and the strange freedom of realising you're not broken, just unlabelled for a while. And one night, without fanfare, Nick came out to him.

“I think I’m bi,” he said, almost surprised by how easy it was to say out loud. “Actually… no. I am bi.”

Sai just smiled, slow and warm. “Took you long enough, Nelson.”

They laughed. And it felt good.

Later that week, he met Chris’s new partner, a tall, gentle guy named Luca with a great laugh and a love for bad puns. Nick found himself admitting, without hesitation, “I’m bi too, by the way.” Luca just raised his glass and said, “To hot people and their excellent taste.”

It became easier after that. On a Wednesday night over curry and card games, Nick said “well, as a bisexual man…” in the middle of a chaotic discussion about Love Island, and Otis nearly choked on his water before pulling him into a one-armed hug, beaming like a proud big brother.

He had endless coffees with Tara, and Darcy when they could join, unpacking sessions with Stephanie, talking about what he wanted from his life, not just from his past. They talked about rowing, his father, and maybe someday moving to London. They talked about the future like it belonged to him again.

Of course, it wasn’t perfect. Every phone call from his father still felt like a weight clamped to his chest. He still hesitated sometimes, still faltered when old instincts kicked in to please, to perform, to disappear. But now, he talked. He had Stephanie and he had his friends.

He’d even started showing up to the Tuesday night pub hangouts again, and whether Charlie was there or not… well. It still affected him, but it didn’t ruin him. He was learning how to coexist with the ache.

Speaking of Charlie, the rowing sessions had shifted, too.

Mid-November, they made their connection work again and led their boat to the victory at the Fours Head.

They still hadn’t had the conversation, the one they probably owed each other. But they’d found a way to work together. Nick had started letting Charlie in, little by little, while also setting clearer boundaries. The first time he’d said no to Charlie, calmly but firmly, he’d seen something flicker in the cox’s eyes. Surprise, maybe. But also… respect, something warmer.

By December, they were even joking again. Light teasing, a few sly grins mid-training. It felt… normal. Not like before, exactly, but something new, something honest.

One day, after a chaotic practice, Nick, soaked and grumpy, muttered, “Oh, surely you know about stroking,” and Charlie burst out laughing, eyes sparkling.

That laugh stayed with him all night.

And now, today, on December 13th, it was selection day for the Boat Race. And they’d made it. After a full day of tests, racing (the 5k on erg nearly killed him), reviews, Nick had secured the stroke seat. Charlie, unsurprisingly, had claimed cox. They’d face each other in the boat and lead the team together.

And Nick… was ready. He trusted them and trusted himself.

Well. Mostly.

The only thing he hadn’t quite figured out yet was… his body.

Because now that his mind was clearer, his heart a little steadier, his body was wide awake, and very much on fire, thank you.

Charlie was everywhere, not in the obsessive, unmanageable way it had been last year, but in an undeniable, magnetically carnal way. Every time Charlie leaned forward during warm-ups. Every time he barked out a command with that voice. Every time he smirked. Every time he took part in drills on an erg machine.

Nick was trying to be respectful. He really was. But at least three times a day during practice, he had to physically stop himself from throwing Charlie over his shoulder and pinning him against a wall, any wall: the locker room, the erg shed, the goddamn boathouse stairs. He could take Charlie anywhere.

His body ached for him. For the way Charlie smelled, his citrus shampoo and something deeper, like worn books and vanilla. For the spot on his neck where Nick knew he could make him whimper. For the soft skin under that hard tone. For all the little things his hands still remembered in the dark.

He didn’t have Real Charlie. But he had Dream Charlie. And that was… dangerous enough.

At night, when the world quieted, his hand met his cock and his mind surrendered to memory. Charlie, flushed, demanding. Charlie, moaning into his throat. Charlie, stretched out, whispering his name like it meant something.

Every time, he muffled his cries into the pillow, biting down the name that kept coming with him.

Charlie. Always Charlie.

Amoureuse - Véronique Sanson

Chapter Text

“Tes yeux... Tes yeux sont un océan dans lequel je rêve de me noyer sans retour. Mais quand le désir les embrase, ils prennent cette teinte profonde qui est gravée au plus profond de mon âme. Ils m'appellent sans relâche, réveillant en moi cet instinct sauvage de te posséder.”

10 days after the first one, another letter came.

Charlie was slouched on the battered IKEA sofa in their cramped lounge, half-buried in a blanket. Aled was cross-legged on the floor with his laptop, Elle perched beside him like a very glamorous translator’s assistant, and all three were peering at the latest anonymous love note as if it might suddenly burst into flames or start speaking in tongues.

Google Translate was open. Aled’s A-level French and linguistic brain was doing its best.

“So, the first one,” Aled began,  pretending to adjust fake glasses like a man about to read a sacred scroll. “It said, and I quote:

‘Charlie,

You are that burning dream that returns to me again and again, that desire that lives within me every single moment.

There are feelings too deep, too raw to be spoken aloud, so I’ve chosen to lay them bare in writing, to reveal to you, word by word, this longing and this love that lives deep in my bones. This relentless fever that keeps me from sleeping, from breathing, from simply being…

In every silence, with every breath, it’s you I call for.

Let me show you this longing, this waiting, a trace of this ache, through the notes you’ll receive until the day when, perhaps, I’ll finally be able to touch you without having to close my eyes. ’”

There was a pause. Even Aled’s laptop seemed to be catching its breath.

Charlie blinked slowly. “Okay. That’s… intense.”

“Très intense,” Aled said gravely.

“And now we have this one,” Aled continued, tapping at his keyboard. “Okay: ‘ yeux’ means eyes… ‘ océan’ , ocean… then… oh wow. Right. Here’s my rough translation:

‘Your eyes are an ocean I dream of drowning in, with no return.

But when desire ignites them, they take on that deep, haunting shade etched into the core of my soul.

They call to me endlessly, awakening that wild instinct within me, the urge to possess you.’ ”

Elle let out a squeal so high-pitched Charlie was concerned for the local wildlife. “Oh my GOD, Charlie, that’s so romantic. It’s hot. Who knew James had this in him?!”

Charlie raised an eyebrow. “I swear, you’re more excited about this than I am.”

“Don’t be Grumpy Charlie™ ! I see it in your face. You’re buzzing.”

“I’m… mildly electrified,” he admitted, lips twitching. “Fine. It’s kind of thrilling, and very flattering. But also slightly concerning? I mean, James already had me. He doesn’t need to write like he’s starring in a French art film about repressed longing and candlelight lit orgasms.”

Aled snorted. “Maybe he’s shy. Or he’s got a whole alter ego. Like… James McEwan by day, Jean Désir by night.”

“God, that makes it sound like he’s going to murder me with a rose between his teeth.”

Elle giggled. “Or… Or maybe it’s just his way of expressing something deeper. James is always so sweet and put-together, maybe this is his fantasy self? His Rimbaud core? Think of it as… romantic roleplay.”

Charlie narrowed his eyes. “So what do I do? Write back? Leave a scented handkerchief on his pillow? I mean, it’s anonymous. Technically. It could be someone else.”

Elle crossed her arms. “Charlie. James studies French. The first letter came the day after you guys had sex. He’s had literal cartoon heart eyes for you since September. Who else could it be?”

She had a point, an annoyingly logical one.

“I just don’t get why he’s doing this,” Charlie muttered. “In the first letter he’s longing for the day he’ll touch me, but like, spoiler alert, he did that literally the day before, in a successful way.”

“That’s not the point,” Elle said, eyes gleaming. “It’s romanticism! It’s poetic tension! He’s not just touching your body, he’s worshipping it.”

Charlie snorted. “ I don’t even like my body half the time.”

“Well,” Aled said, “apparently someone likes it enough to turn it into literal French pornography.”

There was a moment of silence. Then Charlie muttered, “I don’t know whether to blush or run.”

“Or both!” Elle chirped. “Anyway, just… wait. See if more letters come. And maybe, I don’t know, drop a little comment next time you’re making out. Like, ‘ooh, this reminds me of that mysterious French poet who wants to drown in my eyes’…”

Charlie gave her a deeply unimpressed look.

She smiled sweetly. “I’m just saying. Encourage the hot literary persona to come out. Maybe you’ll get a third letter, with footnotes this time.”

Later, in the quiet of his room, Charlie placed the letters carefully in his desk drawer like they were some kind of sacred texts. Love letters, in French, actually addressed to him. He sat back in his chair, stared at the ceiling, and let the weird, heady warmth wash over him.

No one had ever done this for him before. No one had paid attention to him like this, much less praised his body as something desirable and precious. It was strange and overwhelming, and also, kind of wonderful.

This wasn’t ”the” James who was having coffee dates or ordering the same thing every time they got in the Italian deli. But maybe there was another version of him, one who was bolder and hungrier? Charlie smiled… Well, he liked James already but he could fall for that version too.

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

After the Champs, things started to tentatively get better in rowing. Well, mostly with Nick. Everything else had already settled into the comfortable rhythm of a quiet rowing race. 

Nick had taken a week off after the Champs and when he came back, he wasn’t exactly transformed, but… different. It was subtle, the kind of change you only noticed if you were already a little obsessed, which Charlie wasn’t of course...

It wasn’t anything dramatic. There hadn’t been grand apologies or teary confessions on the boat club steps (not that Charlie wanted that… necessarily… okay, maybe a little). But there were… things. The crinkle around Nick’s eyes when he smiled, the way he actually smiled, the slight cockiness returning to his voice, not the full-blown arrogance, but just enough to make Charlie roll his eyes and bite back a grin.

Somehow, without actually talking about what happened at the Brits, they slipped back into rhythm. The week after Nick’s return had bled straight into The Fours Head, and by some divine intervention, they made it again. That impossible connection, that near-mystical symbiosis, was just… there. As if their eyes were having the conversation their mouths didn’t dare to start.

So Charlie matched the effort. He showed up, physically, mentally, even emotionally. He poured himself into every session like it might be the one that fixed everything. And Nick? Nick met him there, not just in technique, but in presence… In a thousand unsaid things.

By December, they were even joking sometimes, nothing too wild or reckless, but just enough to feel like them, whatever they had ever been.. They could tease each other now without the constant fear that one wrong word might send them spiraling back into emotional inner war.

Charlie figured it was probably a combination of things. Maybe being closer with James helped. Maybe the time in the boat, that wordless trust, slowly glued back some of what had cracked. Maybe it was that juicy news about Nick and Imogen breaking up.

He hadn’t asked about it, even though he was dying to know. The when, the why, the how. Whether it had anything to do with a certain incredible disastrous night in April. Which, yes, was incredibly presumptuous, and Charlie knew it. But his brain couldn’t help it. He craved to know, embarrassingly so, but he hadn’t asked, because it wasn’t his place and never really had been. Not that knowing anything would have changed anything between them anyway.

Mid-December finally rolled around with the final selection for the Boat Race. 

And they made it.

Charlie was officially the cox for Cambridge. Nick would sit in the stroke seat, right in front of him. Together, they would try to end the rivalry and turn it into something else. Not friendship, but something that could work for them, stable enough to hold a boat afloat. 

Charlie was beginning to believe they could actually do it. 

The day before the end of term, on his way to the library, he bumped into Tara and Darcy outside the café near the porters’ lodge. They ambushed him and dragged him inside for “one last coffee before Christmas.”

“So, Charlie,” Darcy said, stirring their oat latte with a manic intensity. “How’s the gay life of Cambridge?”

Charlie blinked. “Are you talking generally or specifically? Because in general , I have no idea, I’ve spent most of my term shouting at tall, sweaty men to stroke harder. But personally , thanks for asking, my gay life is doing just fine.”

“Oooh, so little James is still doing great, then?” Darcy asked, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“He is,” Charlie said with a smirk. “And not so little, thank you very much.” He raised his cup.

“Charlie!” Darcy shrieked. “Stop! I’m so proud of you my little gay nerd and happy for you, both of you!”

“We both are,” Tara cut in, giving Darcy a pointed look. “Now that Darcy’s had their serotonin for the day, maybe they can stop interrogating you like a horny talk show host.”

“Oh I don’t know what’s worse,” Charlie said dryly, “Darcy’s direct questions or your relentless innuendos for weeks.”

They laughed.

“No but really,” Tara continued, softening, “James seems lovely. It’s nice to see you looking… settled. Like you actually fit here now.”

Charlie tilted his head, pretending to sip while buying himself a moment. “I didn’t think I’d settle in this well, to be honest… but yeah. I actually feel good here.”

Tara smiled. “Well, this year’s definitely ending on a better note than it started. You’re in a good place. And Nick’s finally getting there too…”

She stopped mid-sentence.

Darcy, oblivious to nuance as usual, jumped in like a cannonball. “Now that that cheating posh bitch is out of the picture, he’s finally cutting ties with his arsehole of a father. Honestly, good for him.”

Charlie blinked. “That cheating bitch?” he asked, feigning casual interest. “You mean… Imogen?”

Darcy gave a dramatic eye-roll. “Obviously.”

Right, so break-up was confirmed. But cheating?

And also… his arsehole of a father ?

Charlie sat very still. His mind went back to that fight at last year's bootcamp when Nick told Charlie he didn’t know anything about him… Well maybe he was right… He knew nothing about Nick’s dad. In fact, he barely knew anything about Nick, if he was being honest. He only knew the versions Nick let him see or the ones he wanted to see… He felt bad for having jumped to some conclusions, blinded by his anger against Ben.

He cleared his throat. “Oh. Uh… I didn’t know things were… not great with his dad.”

Smooth, Charlie. Not fishing at all.

Tara picked up on the vibe immediately and gently redirected the conversation. “Yeah, it’s not really our story to tell. Just… he’s had a rough time. And it’s been hard seeing him carry all that. But lately, it feels like he’s finally breathing again. I know you’re not exactly close, but… he’s a good guy. He deserves something better.”

Charlie looked down at the foam heart in his cup. 

Not close.

No, not close. I didn't literally have Nick inside me. I definitely don't know how good Nick could be. Never felt it, not once…

But Tara was right, they weren't friends. Not yet. But… something better than they were for sure.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “We’re not really friends. But he’s my teammate. And maybe, one day, we’ll get there.”

“Oh we hope so,” Darcy said, winking dramatically over their cup.

Charlie gave a polite smile but let the moment pass without feeding it. He carefully shifted the conversation toward safer ground, holiday plans, family chaos, all the usual December small talk.

Not that he had much chaos to report. He’d be spending the break with Isaac and his mum again and would definitely spend time with his siblings, the same as every year.

Darcy, having cut ties with their own family years ago, would be heading first to Tara’s warm and chaotic household, then spending a few peaceful days with their grandmother, still the only adult who’d ever truly stood up for them.

By the time he hugged Tara and Darcy goodbye, Charlie was already checking the time. He was supposed to meet James before they each disappeared into the comforting chaos of Christmas break. There had been four more letters since the first, one every Thursday, like clockwork. Charlie had stopped pretending it was a coincidence.

He could recite them all by heart. 

Ton sourire timide est la chose la plus attendrissante que j'ai jamais vue. Et quand soudain tu ris vraiment et que tu nous fais grâce de tes adorables fossettes, mon cœur fond... 

Comme j'aimerais être le seul à mériter ce sourire, le seul à faire apparaître ces fossettes. Le garder pour moi seul, jalousement, et pouvoir me vanter d'être enfin tout pour toi.

Your shy smile is the most endearing thing I’ve ever seen. And when you suddenly laugh, truly laugh, and gift us with those adorable dimples, my heart melts… How I wish I were the only one who deserves that smile, the only one who can make those dimples appear. To keep it all to myself, jealously, and proudly claim that I am finally everything to you.

Tes douces lèvres roses sont une ode à l'amour. Comme je voudrais les embrasser nuit et jour, encore et encore. Doucement, tendrement puis délicatement les entrouvrir avec ma langue pour plonger dans ta bouche passionnément. 

Explorer avec ma langue chaque recoin, goûter chaque soupir, entremêler nos langues, dans une lutte fiévreuse dont l’objet serait de gagner le droit de te prendre entièrement. 

Et dans un râle me soumettre à ces lèvres qui m'obsèdent, me consument et me gouvernent. 

Your soft pink lips are an ode to love. 

How I long to kiss them night and day, again and again, gently, tenderly, until my tongue parts them ever so slowly to dive into your mouth with burning passion. To explore every corner with my tongue, to taste every sigh, to entangle our tongues in a fevered battle where the prize is the right to take you completely. 

And in a moan, surrender to those lips that haunt me, consume me, and rule over me.

Comme j'aimerais à nouveau me perdre dans ton cou... Faire remonter lentement ma langue depuis ton épaule jusqu'au creux de ton oreille et frôler ta peau si douce dans un souffle chaud... Te murmurer toutes les choses que je rêve de te faire encore et encore. 

Puis continuer à explorer ta peau si délicate et sensible, la goûter et en marquer chaque recoin de ma bouche avide. Sentir ton pouls battre sous ma langue et te respirer profondément pour te garder en moi pour longtemps.

How I long to lose myself in your neck again… To slowly trail my tongue from your shoulder to the hollow of your ear, grazing your soft skin with warm breath…To whisper all the things I dream of doing to you, again and again. Then to keep exploring that delicate, sensitive skin, tasting it, marking every inch with my hungry mouth. To feel your pulse beating beneath my tongue, and breathe you in deeply, so I can keep you inside me for a long time.

Comme j'aurais aimé garder l'empreinte de tes mains sur ma peau. Ces mains à la fois si puissantes et pleines de tendresse. Des mains marquées par l'effort, tannées par les rames et pourtant capables de tant de douceur. 

Elles savent si bien caresser, effleurer et éveiller en moi tant de frissons, comme des milliers sensations que j'aimerais ne jamais voir s'achever. 

Chaque jour je rêve de prendre ces mains dans les miennes, de les embrasser, de ne plus jamais les lâcher, et t'offrir enfin l'attention et la tendresse que tu mérites.

How I wish I could have kept the imprint of your hands on my skin. Hands both powerful and full of tenderness, marked by effort, toughened by the oars, and yet capable of the gentlest touch. They know how to caress, to graze, to awaken in me waves of shivers, sensations so intense I never want them to end. Each day, I dream of holding those hands in mine, of kissing them, of never letting them go and of finally giving you the care and tenderness you truly deserve.

Well. Thanks to Aled, he could recite them in English.

And maybe sometimes, on particularly lonely evenings, he did recite some of them while wanking. And if he whispered phrases like “To slowly trail my tongue from your shoulder to the hollow of your ear, grazing your soft skin with warm breath…” into his own pillow, well… that was a him-problem. The letters were clearly written to celebrate him, weren’t they? Charlie was simply… celebrating himself. Thoroughly and repeatedly.

Things with James were… genuinely good. They’d grown more confident, more relaxed. The sex wasn’t exactly mind-blowing, but it was tender and genuinely good. For the first time, Charlie could take his time, communicate, ask for what he liked. He was being heard, and that felt… great.

Just sometimes, all that communication was exhausting. James wanted to talk about everything. However, even with all the over-sharing, Charlie still couldn’t bring himself to be fully honest, not about everything, not about wanting it rougher sometimes, or wanting to be pinned down. There was no space yet for chaos or surrender. Just… polite, well-mannered pleasure.

And that was fine, but the more letters arrived, the more curious Charlie became. Curious about that version of James, the one full of burning desire, who wanted to devour him. The version who wrote things like:

And finally mark the skin on your neck and everywhere, leaving marks on you that only I can read.

It was so unapologetically hot. And completely different from the James he knew, who asked for consent mid-kiss and said “oops, sorry” for knocking over Charlie’s water glass during foreplay.

So that night, after another round of very nice, very respectful missionary, complete with prolonged eye contact and soft murmurs, Charlie decided to follow Elle’s advice and drop a subtle hint.

When James asked, “You okay? Was that good for you?”

Charlie stretched, smiled, and said, “Yes, very. I like when you look at me like you’re… drowning in my eyes.”

James blinked. “Oh. Uh… yeah. I like looking at you too, Charlie.”

Right. So… probably not explicit enough for the poet behind the letters.

Still, Charlie pushed a little further.

“You know… if you ever wanted to, like, explore my neck more, with your mouth and uh leave marks, I’d be okay with that.”

James tilted his head, thoughtful. “Oh. Yeah, sure… If that’s what you want next time. But marks, really? I mean, you’re in a locker room almost every day, right? You probably don’t want people talking. And I’m not… really into that either.”

Charlie forced a laugh. “Yeah. Of course. Thanks for the… consideration.”

He didn’t mention that Chris currently looked like a walking erotic roadmap, courtesy of his new boyfriend Luca. No one on the team seemed to care. And even if they did, it was hardly the scandal James imagined.

Still, Charlie tried to salvage the moment. He leaned in and said, low and teasing, “I really like when you… explore me .”

He added just the right amount of sultriness, letting the last word linger in the air like a promise.

James flushed. “Oh. I… I quite like that too.”

Maybe that version of James was in there somewhere, buried under layers of politeness, maybe he just needed time? And for now he was just able to express himself through these letters?

They talked a little after that and then they fell asleep tangled together, in the liveliest way, as usual… The next morning, they said goodbye at the station with a long hug and a promise to see each other on New Year’s Eve, after the dreaded Rowing Bootcamp. They planned a quiet night, just the two of them, hopefully with fireworks…

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

Christmas break had been blissfully uneventful. Just the soft rhythm of quiet days and light training, morning runs in the biting cold, some core work, the usual erg session at the boat club, followed by lazy coffees with Youssef which always stretched longer than planned. It was exactly what Charlie needed.

There were daily texts with James, a few FaceTime calls, like soft check-ins. It was nice, comforting, even. But Charlie had to admit: he missed more than just the conversation. He missed the coffees, the casual touches, the lazy jokes. But, god, he also missed the sex, a lot.

He tried, subtly at first, then more explicitly, to steer their late-night conversations into something a little spicier: a suggestive text here, a flirty voice note there. Once, he even half-joked about switching to FaceTime with less clothing involved.

James… didn’t exactly bite. He wasn’t cold, just hesitant, polite and slightly awkward. He’d change the subject, or laugh it off gently arguing he was with his family, and Charlie, not wanting to push, let it go.

Which left him, inevitably, with himself, or more precisely his hands and his imagination.

But lately, his imagination had developed a rather inconvenient habit. Nick Fucking Nelson kept showing up, in full HD, in the private cinema of Charlie’s mind. Uninvited, but vividly present, as his brain refused to finally accept that that ship had very much sailed, sunk even.

Nick’s fingers fisting in his hair, pulling just enough to make him gasp. Nick’s mouth dragging over his throat, biting, sucking, marking. His voice, feral, growling ‘mine’ as Charlie bucked beneath him, desperate and undone. Then came the filthy words whispered in what might’ve been French, against his ear. Charlie didn’t speak a single word of it, had no clue what his dream-flooded brain was putting in Nick’s mouth, but it sounded French, and Jesus, it just made him  harder.

Dream Nick moved with that same quiet devastating confidence the real Nick only showed on the water these days, focused and fluid. But Charlie remembered that night. He remembered the glint in Nick’s eye when he said he wanted to ravage Charlie, and… yeah. That confidence was real.

And the worst part? The worst part was that his brain, the absolute traitor, had started bringing the words from James’ letters onto Nick’s lips.

Then to keep exploring that delicate, sensitive skin, tasting it, marking every inch with my hungry mouth…

And God it fit Nick’s voice too well. Charlie could hear it, breathless, murmuring against his skin with intent. And it was so intoxicating that it wrecked him. The kind of fantasy that lingered long after the orgasms.

But that was fine. It’s a well-known psychological fact: the object of desire in your fantasy isn’t necessarily the thing you actually want. Sometimes, the brain just grabs the nearest emotionally loaded figure and turns them into a symbol. That was all Nick was: a symbol, a projection. Definitely, absolutely not a real desire.

Totally normal, totally manageable.

And yet.

Even if Dream-Nick was hot enough to short-circuit his nervous system… Charlie didn’t want just fantasy. He wanted contact. This intensity, the urgency. 

He wanted someone kissing him like they were starving. 

Hands that gripped a little tighter. A voice that still asked, “Is this okay?” but made it obvious, in every touch, that he was wanted. Charlie was happy with James, he liked this sweet boy. So he couldn’t get why his horny brain was such a mess. And the letters weren’t exactly helping… 

How was he supposed to react to weekly erotic mail from his boyfriend who practically apologized anytime things got even remotely heated?

It could have been something to bring up with Geoff, if Charlie were ready to bring up Nick in therapy, which he absolutely was not. Especially not now, not while he was in a real relationship with James. Nick was just a teammate, who happened to guest-star in his filthiest dreams with alarming regularity, which was totally fine. What he should be focusing on was James, and figuring out how to coax the erotic novelist side of his boyfriend into, say, actual physical contact.

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

Apart from the failed attempts at sexting and shame-tinged solo sessions, Charlie spent most of his time doing something that actually did make him feel better: catching up with Isaac, which felt like coming home. He’d missed him so much. He, Tao and the 4 rowers had been his little makeshift family last year, but Isaac was something more. Sometimes Charlie felt he owed him his life, though Isaac would probably roll his eyes at that and insist Charlie had saved himself. Maybe he had but that was because he had Isaac by his side.

They talked about everything. Isaac updated him on Tao’s latest existential crisis, currently torn between pursuing film production (financially reliable) or film-making (creative integrity). And of course, there was his ongoing obsession with Elle, apparently Tao still talked about her like she was the actual sun and the rest of them were just humble satellites orbiting her brilliance.

Charlie had smiled through it all. 

Isaac also told him he'd been spending more time with Noah, Pierce, Leo, and Oscar, an unexpected friendship that made Charlie happy. Isaac deserved soft people, and laughter, and inside jokes, in his life. He knew how he relied a lot on him, Isaac deserved more people to surround him with love and care to balance that.

Isaac also told him about Sai, how he’d been there, while Sai tried to figure himself out. Of course Isaac had done that. That was just who he was. Charlie couldn’t help but feel lucky and so grateful that  Isaac simply existed. 

Christmas itself had been quiet. Tori and Olly came for Christmas Eve and Boxing Day, and their parents, well, they didn’t dare to say a word. Tori was steadily building her case for  full custody of Olly with the help of their social worker, and Charlie could see how resolute she’d become, no more trying to make peace with people who thrived on control. She was done.

They talked about it a lot, making sure Olly felt heard in all of it.

Charlie could see the changes in his little brother who was  a teenager now. The therapy he started a few months ago was helping; the 16 year old boy walked differently and spoke with more confidence. There was still anxiety there, still the tendency to flinch at raised voices or avoid conflict, but he was in a better place. Charlie was fiercely proud of him. Olly was bright and loud and unfiltered, and Charlie hoped with everything in him that the world wouldn’t dull that. If everything went smoothly  he’d be living with Tori and Micheal by the spring and that was such a relief for Charlie.

By the time the break ended, Charlie felt good. He’d eaten well, slept well, and smiled, genuinely, more than once a day.

That’s how Charlie boarded the train to London for the International University Rowing Bootcamp, with the good news that his scholarship was renewed for the next term. Now time for four days of drills, strategy, and tactical breakdowns with the best university teams in the world.

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

This year, there were no surprises. Charlie knew the drill: five other British athletes in one shared room, overcooked pasta in the canteen, and four days of borderline-military training disguised as “international exchange.”

He also knew, thankfully, that Coach Ajayi and the prep staff had taken certain things into account. Specifically: The Ben Situation . It was never officially mentioned, of course, but it was understood. Charlie had agreed to keep things quiet, and in return, they let him have some kind of… special treatment. Some kind of unspoken deal, ie, if he keeps the secret,  they’ll honour his boundaries.

Except apparently, someone missed the brief about Nick Fucking Nelson.

Because there he was, suitcase already half-unpacked, chatting with Leo like this wasn’t the single most surreal sleeping arrangement of Charlie’s adult life.

To be fair, it could’ve been worse. The rest of the room was solid (Sai, Noah and Leo); and Nick and he were… fine, now, since the Champs. They joked, occasionally. Trained without glaring. Had actual conversations that didn’t end in one of them storming off. Still, they weren’t exactly friends . Just… not strangers. Somewhere in between.

No need to think about the fact that Nick was haunting his wettest filthiest dreams, that part was absolutely not relevant to define their relationship…

It was only four days. Three nights. Nothing he couldn’t handle.

After unpacking, the camp jumped straight into hard reality. Endless drills and cross-training, in addition to technical strategy sessions that made Charlie want to erase the concept of erg data from existence. He kept his distance from Ben and any Oxford rowers not named Noah, Pierce, Oscar or Leo, who, God bless them, stuck to his side like loyal bodyguards. Always there, always watching. 

On day two, between sessions, Charlie had a rare break. He headed back to the room, mostly to grab his charger and maybe collapse on his bunk for five minutes of blessed stillness.

He pushed the door open and stopped.

Nick was inside. On the phone. He hadn’t noticed Charlie yet.

Charlie froze. The conversation was in French, fluid, fast, too sharp to be casual. He didn’t understand everything, but the tone was unmistakable: someone was angry.

And then the words came clear, slicing through the air:

“Je sais pas ce que tu fabriques en ce moment, mais va falloir que tu mettes un terme à ta petite crise existentielle. Bisexuel ? Non mais tu te fous de moi ? C’est encore pire que pédé. Au moins, un pédé assume un choix clair. Et qu’est-ce que t’as foutu avec Imogen, hein ? C’est quoi ce bordel ? T’as la chance d’être avec une fille bien, et tu sabotes tout ? Inacceptable, Nicolas.”

Charlie didn’t need to be fluent to get the gist and he caught the word bisexuel/bisexual. That voice cold, superior, brimming with disgust had to be Nick’s father and Charlie knew it wasn’t a smooth father and son pep talk.

He heard Nick answer, calm but lifeless.

“On en a déjà parlé, papa. Je t’ai dit la dernière fois : je suis comme je suis. Désolé que ça ne te convienne pas, mais c’est ça ou rien. Tu m’acceptes comme je suis, ou tant pis. Et je te rappelle juste qu’Immy me trompait…”

"Tant pis?”

That last one came like a slap.

Charlie backed away quietly without hearing what followed, heart pounding. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, hadn’t wanted to hear that. But now that he had, he couldn’t un-hear it. Nick’s voice had been flat and so sad with some kind of silent resignation.

The golden retriever energy was nowhere to be heard.

Charlie could picture him inside the room, head bowed, clutching his phone, face drawn. He felt it in his chest, tight and aching. He wanted to burst in, grab the phone, hang up, wrap Nick in his arms and say ‘ You’re amazing. You’re strong. You’re enough. You deserve so much better than this.’

Maybe they weren’t actual friends but he knew Nick deserved to be cared for. However that wasn’t his place, he knew that too.

So instead, Charlie walked back down the corridor, fists clenched, trying to steady his breath. When he reached the common room, he found Sai and Chris in the corner, chatting quietly. He pulled them aside.

“Hey… sorry to interrupt. Just… heads up, I passed by the room and heard Nick on the phone. He sounded kind of… off. Like, really off. Maybe check on him?”

Sai didn’t ask questions. He just nodded, eyes already serious. Chris gave Charlie a quiet “thanks, mate,” and they both got up without hesitation.

Charlie watched them go, then sat down alone. He didn’t know exactly what Nick needed right then, and he knew he couldn’t be the one to give it. Somehow that made him ache because despite everything, he still cared.

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

On day three, after the afternoon coxes’ meeting, Charlie needed air. He slipped outside, hoping the December cold would clear his head, or at least numb it a bit.

That’s when he saw him.

Nick was sitting on a bench in the small courtyard, elbows on his knees, staring into the middle distance like he wasn’t really there. He was so pale and hollow. His whole body trembling, his breath ragged, sharp like broken glass.

“Nick?” Charlie said, voice low but alarmed. “Are you okay?”

No answer. Just a slight jerk in his shoulder, like the sound barely reached him. His chest rose and fell too quickly.

“Nick. Can you hear me?”

Still nothing. Charlie dropped to a crouch in front of him, gently, trying to catch his eyes.

Those usually soft, golden eyes were vacant now, faded, like the light had gone out behind them.

“Hey,” Charlie said softly, steadying his voice. “Listen to me, I’m going to take your hand now, okay? If that’s alright, just nod. That’s all I need.”

A barely-there nod, that’s all he got, but it was enough.

Charlie reached out slowly, carefully, and laced their fingers together.

“Okay. Good. You’re okay, Nick. I think you’re having a panic attack, but I’ve got you. I’m staying right here. You’re not alone. Just breathe with me, yeah?”

He locked eyes with him, unwavering and led the breath count. 

“In… one, two, three, four. Hold… one, two, three, four. And out… one, two, three, four. You’re doing so well, love. Keep going. Just you and me. Again… in…”

Fuck did I just say love? Not the moment Charlie, focus, Nick, breath…

He pushed the thought aside and focused, breath, grounding. Then came the questions.

“Good now, could you name 3 things you can see?…” Charlie went on with a soft voice, he knew Nick’s brain needed to take back the control by grounding in his senses.

Nick’s voice was raw, barely audible. “I… I see the tree… The bottle of water… Charlie…” 

Right. Him. That landed somewhere deep in Charlie’s chest.

“Good” Charlie said softly. “Now, 2 things you can hear?”

“The traffic… You…”

Well, of course… There were only the 2 of them, in a closed courtyard… At least it meant Nick was anchoring again.

“You’re doing great… And now, one thing you can smell?” Charlie asked.

Nick inhaled, eyes locking with his. Clearer now, and steady: “You.”

Oh okay… Well yes, that’s… Something…

Finally, Nick blinked. A tear slipped down his cheek. His body sagged slightly, the tremors less violent now.

“Here,” Charlie said, handing him the bottle sitting on the bench. “Here. Sip. Slowly.”

Nick took it with shaking fingers. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I’m… sorry. I was talking with Richie, and I started feeling weird. Came out here for air, and then everything just… spun.”

Charlie shook his head “Nick,” he said gently, “you don’t need to apologise. Or spiral about spiralling. Trust me, I know that panic attacks don’t come with a Save The Date. Just… be kind to yourself, okay?”

Nick let out a weak laugh. “Easier said than done.”

They sat together in silence for a moment. For a minute, they just breathed.

“I should probably go,” Nick said eventually. “You probably want space after all that.”

“Actually…” Charlie felt it was time to open the door. “If you want to talk about what happened, I’m here. I mean, if you want to.” 

Nick hesitated. Then nodded. “Okay. So… Richie, a friend from Team New-Zealand, we know each other a bit, our dads kinda do business together.”

Charlie couldn’t help the dry remark: “Let me guess,” he said, “family dynasties merging over champagne and casual capitalism?”

Nick snorted. “Something like that.” Then his voice softened, the tremor returning.  “He was telling me about the pressure of following in his family’s footsteps. Even though he doesn’t really want to, he feels like… he has to. And I just… it hit me… Harder than I expected.”

Charlie saw the way it landed on Nick then remembered when he ran into Nick in their shared room the day before, he hesitated, then gently asked, “Was it your dad you were talking to yesterday? In our room?”

Nick nodded.

“I didn’t mean to overhear, I was looking for my charger and I didn't understand what he said, obviously,” Charlie added softly, “but… that tone, Nick. Does he always speak to you like that?”

Nick nodded again, then sounding almost ashamed “Thank you for that by the way… Sending Sai and Chris…” Charlie just nodded “ And uh… Yeah… Meet Stéphane Fournier. World-class businessman. Shit father.”

“Harsh,” Charlie said. “That’s what you call it? I’d call him a fucking arsehole.”

Nick gave a surprised laugh. “Yeah… he’s that too.”

He looked over at Charlie. “Do you really want to hear all this? I mean, it’s not a great story.”

Charlie nodded. He did want to hear, because whatever this fragile thing was between them, it deserved honesty. It was time.. “I do,” Charlie eventually said. “And I think maybe… we owe it to each other to stop pretending we don’t care. Last year you said I didn’t know you. Maybe this year we could actually try to talk… For real?”

Nick raised an eyebrow. “You mean, like talk talk? Without yelling about rowing or synchronisation?”

Charlie smiled, soft and crooked. “Shocking, I know.”

Nick breathed in. “Okay. But if I tell you stuff… will you tell me too? About you?”

“Deal.” Not that Charlie dreamed of sharing his traumas with Nick, but that was only fair and he knew it was the right thing to do. Right now that’s what they both needed.

Nick sat back. “Right. Hi, I’m Nick Nelson. Son of Stéphane Fournier, heir to one of France’s biggest fortunes, and Sarah Nelson, British paediatric psychiatrist. I have a brother, David, six years older. Cambridge graduate. 

“Perfect, brilliant, and out of the picture. My father thinks love is conditional, affection is a currency, and control is everything. When my parents divorced, he left, because apparently raising children was ‘a mother’s role’. My mum stayed in France to keep some connection for us, but mostly so we’d get into the right schools and talk to the right people and Stéphane was satisfied and gave her peace.”

Charlie didn’t say a word. He simply watched, his breath shallow, as Nick sat beside him, shoulders slumped and gaze unfocused. His body was folded in on itself, as if speaking physically hurt, like the words were lodged somewhere deep and dragging them out cost him something. His hands gripped the edge of the bench, fingers curled so tight around the wood that his knuckles had turned pale, trembling faintly under the strain.

Charlie’s instinct was to reach out but he stopped himself. It wasn’t the moment. Then Nick went on.

“I spent years fighting for my dad’s approval. David gave up and walked away, so guess who all the pressure landed on? I became the perfect son. Or tried to. I fell for a boy in Year 11.”

Charlie’s eyes flicked up.

“I was young and hopeful, he was my first love, so I thought I should tell my parents. My mum was perfect but my dad made it very clear that any ‘deviation’ from the script would cost me everything. So I dated Imogen. She looked right on paper. She ticked the boxes. She made things easier. Until she didn’t. She cheated, but I mostly realised I was done pretending.”

Nick exhaled. “I broke up with her. Started therapy. Started… trying.”

Charlie swallowed, his chest tight. “Nick… that’s a lot. And it’s brave. It really is.”

“I’m on session seven,” Nick said with a shaky smile. “And I can now say: Hi, I’m Nick. I’m bi. Without hyperventilating.”

His voice shook, but he said it, out loud, to Charlie. Charlie blinked, then smiled. “Thank you. For telling me. That’s huge.”

OMG! Nick is Bi? Like in actual Bi-sexual, like a boy who likes girls… And boys? Like he doesn't experiment with boys?

Nick looked down. “I’m sorry, Charlie. I don’t regret what happened between us that night, I never could. But I’m sorry for being such a dick. For lying. For pushing you when you didn’t owe me anything. You’re more than I ever let myself see. And I’m sorry if I ever made you feel small.”

Charlie’s chest tightened and he felt a lump in his throat, his voice caught. “Nick, if anyone needs to apologise, it’s me. I made so many assumptions about you. Grouped you with people you never deserved to be compared to. And for the record, I don’t regret what happened either. Should we have done things differently? Probably, but I could never regret that.”

Nick’s reply came quiet but firm. “I’m not like Ben.”

“No. You’re not.” Charlie whispered.

Nick hesitated, then quietly asked, “What happened? I mean, I know the engagement thing. But there’s more, isn’t there?”

Charlie stared ahead, eyes fixed on some unremarkable point in the distance. His pulse was still thudding dully in his ears, but the silence between them felt different now, not awkward or heavy, just... open.

Charlie didn’t flinch, but it felt like standing on a cliff edge. He eventually answered. He told him about his mother and his family. About the way love had always felt like control in disguise. 

About school, and the bullying. He told him about the hospital, about the cutting, about the way everything broke, then cracked open again in recovery. He told him about Isaac. About Oxford. About the scholarship. The whole true Charlie Spring’s resume with the complete ugly details.

And then… Ben.

He didn’t go into the details of his transfer to Cambridge, but he told him the most important thing. The truth of that morning in March. 

He told Nick because Nick deserved to know. Because whatever had existed between them, the rivalry, the tension, the night they couldn’t forget, the connection, it had all grown out of something unsaid. And Charlie couldn’t carry that anymore. 

And Nick, of course, reacted like Nick Fucking Nelson.

He clenched his jaw, eyes flashing with a rage so cold it almost burned, looking like The Hulk.

“I’m going to fucking kill him.”

Charlie turned to him sharply. “No. You’re not.”

And he meant it. He didn’t need Nick Nelson going full superhero. He didn’t need rescuing. He had a therapist, mentors, a coach, and a found family. 

He hadn’t told Nick to make him do anything. He’d told him because he wanted to build something new, on truth, on whatever was still salvageable between them. He didn’t need him to fight his battles. He just needed Nick as a friend right now.

That’s when Nick said it: “Then let me be part of your life…As your friend?”

Of course Charlie said yes.

They stood there for a bit, appreciating the soft weight of this new friendship.

Nick asked then, hesitant but sincere, if James knew. If the boy Charlie was dating, knew what he had just shared.

Charlie said he didn’t know everything, just enough. And when Nick asked why he was the one Charlie told, he’d offered one of his typically poetic, half-truthful metaphors: about honesty, about being emotionally naked.

Of course, Nick had latched onto the word “naked.”

And then went into full bi-disaster mode. 

Nick tripped over his own words, backpedaled, tried to explain what he meant emotionally, existentially; it was absurd and perfect. Charlie lost it. Full, uncontrolled laughter. The kind that shook his shoulders and left his stomach aching. Charlie had genuinely considered commissioning a medal engraved: For Services to Bisexual Disasters.

It was ridiculous, and funny, and, somehow, very real.

There was something about Nick in that moment, completely flustered and vulnerable, that made Charlie feel like he was finally seeing him. Real Nick, the actual person, a little bit of a disaster, but trying.

And fucking so adorable…

But under all of it, something had shifted between them. A kind of mutual understanding. It was fragile, but it was there, he felt it.

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

After that, they moved through the day like people who’d finally said the unsayable.

And for the first time in forever, Charlie felt like the weight on his chest had lifted. He could finally breathe.

That night was unexpectedly wonderful. Charlie found himself caught in the chaotic delight of mixing his Oxford friends with his Cambridge mates, a fusion of personalities that somehow just clicked. Otis and Sai were deep in a conversation about queer representation in Olympic marketing campaigns, Chris was teaching Leo how to cha-cha ironically to a Dua Lipa remix, and Nick, somehow, was holding court with Noah and Pierce like they’d been friends for  a long time.

There were silly banters, loud laughter, and gentle teasing about the race, some real, some playfully exaggerated. Just 9 young athletes enjoying a rare moment of togetherness without the crushing weight of proving themselves.

The next morning, while everyone packed through varying levels of sleep deprivation and mild regret over cheap wine and questionable dancing, Charlie caught Nick watching him from across the room.

This look was… different, a little dazed, like Nick was remembering something he hadn’t meant to. Charlie met his gaze, raised an eyebrow in quiet question. Nick blinked, looked away, too quickly. Charlie didn’t push. He just smiled, tucked another jumper into his duffel, and let the moment pass.

A moment later, he thought he was alone in the room, and was still trying to make his duffel bag look somewhat orderly. He heard footsteps behind him, but he didn't turn around.

“I know, I know, the OCD guy takes his time,” he called out with a grin, zipping up a pouch. “But I can’t leave my luggage a mess, I’m almost…”

He turned and froze.

It wasn’t Oscar or Leo. It was Ben .

Charlie's mouth went dry. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Ben smirked, like this was funny.

“Hello to you too. We barely saw each other. Can’t a guy say hi?”

“You lost that right a long time ago. Get out.”

Ben stepped forward.

Charlie’s heart hammered. He raised his voice, sharp and firm: “If you come any closer, I swear I’ll scream. Now piss off.”

Ben didn’t stop. “No, you won’t. You know you can’t say anything. You say one word about us, and it’s bye-bye Cambridge and your little boyfriend.” 

Charlie looked at him surprised.

How the fuck does he know about James?  

But Ben continued.

“Don’t think I didn’t see you making heart-eyes at Nelson. If this goes public, it all goes down with you.”

He was in the room now.

Charlie straightened. He didn’t flinch.

“I know the terms of the agreement. And what you’re doing, right now, It’s not in them. So if you lay one finger on me, I’ll report you. And for the record, there’s nothing going on with Nick. So kindly, get the fuck out.”

He didn't know why he added that clarification. He didn’t owe Ben anything. But at least his voice didn’t shake.

Ben looked like he might say something more, some smug retort, some veiled threat, but the door opened again, and in came Oscar with Leo, right behind him.

Oscar’s tone was cold, even, deceptively calm. “Everything okay in here?”

Charlie didn’t take his eyes off Ben. “Yeah. Ben was just leaving.”

Oscar nodded. “Good. We’re waiting for you for the farewell brunch.” Then, more pointedly to Ben, “And you can go fuck yourself.”

Ben gave a humorless laugh. Shook his head like they were the ridiculous ones.

“You’re not worth the trouble, Charlie,” Ben said on his way out. “But don’t forget the deal.”

Charlie stared at the closed door for a long second.

Then he sat on the edge of the bed, hands trembling, but not with fear, with fury. 

Oscar was already next to him. “You okay?”

Leo said “Fucking wanker. You should report him.”

“We’ll back you up.” Oscar added

Charlie exhaled slowly. “Even if I wanted to, he didn’t actually do anything this time. And I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he still gets to me.”

“You sure?”

Charlie looked up. “Yeah. He showed up. I handled it. I’m a little shaken, yeah, but I’m not panicking. I’m okay. I just… I want to spend the rest of today with the people who actually matter. Can we do that instead?”

Oscar smiled. “Springy, you’re a fucking prince.”

Charlie smirked before asking “Just one question, though, how the hell did you know Ben was in here?”

Oscar shrugged. “Apparently, you’ve got some kind of angel watching over you.”

Charlie blinked. “What does that even mean?”

They didn’t answer. Just exchanged a glance.

But Charlie didn’t need to press. Whoever it was, it didn’t matter. Because the truth was, he did have angels with those boys around him.

Chapter Text

Stéphane : Nicholas ! Maintenant que t’es plus fourré chez ta mère, on peut peut-être enfin avoir une vraie discussion, d’homme à homme ?

[Nicholas! Now that you're not hiding out at your mother’s place anymore, maybe we can finally have a proper conversation. Man to man.]

Nick : Bonjour, papa. Ça va ?

[Hi dad, how are you doing?]

Stéphane : Écoute-moi bien. Je sais pas ce que tu fabriques en ce moment, mais va falloir que tu mettes un terme à ta petite crise existentielle. Bisexuel ? Non mais tu te fous de moi ? C’est encore pire que pédé. Au moins, un pédé assume un choix clair. Et qu’est-ce que t’as foutu avec Imogen, hein ? C’est quoi ce bordel ? T’as la chance d’être avec une fille bien, et tu sabotes tout ? Inacceptable, Nicolas.

[Listen to me, and listen well. I don’t know what kind of nonsense you’re caught up in right now, but it’s time to put an end to this little identity crisis of yours. Bisexual? Are you actually serious? That’s even worse than being a faggot. At least a faggot picks a side. And what the hell did you do with Imogen, huh? What kind of mess is this? You had the chance to be with a decent girl, and you sabotaged everything? Absolutely unacceptable, Nicholas.]

Nick : On en a déjà parlé, papa. Je t’ai dit la dernière fois : je suis comme je suis. Désolé que ça ne te convienne pas, mais c’est ça ou rien. Tu m’acceptes comme je suis, ou tant pis. Et je te rappelle juste qu’Immy me trompait…

[We’ve already talked about this, Dad. I told you last time, I am who I am. Sorry if that doesn’t work for you, but it’s that or nothing. You either accept me as I am, or you don’t. And just a reminder, Immy was cheating on me…]

Stéphane : "Tant pis" ? Non mais tu t’écoutes parler? Si elle t’a trompé, c’est qu’il y avait une raison. Tu ne peux pas tenir ta femme Nicholas? Je t’ai pas élevé pour que tu deviennes… ça. Je t’ai élevé pour être un homme. Un Fournier. Quelqu’un qui fait honneur à son nom, à sa famille, à ses responsabilités. Alors tu vas te reprendre, et vite. Parce que si tu continues à déconner, tu finiras comme ton frère, cet ingrat. Mais si tu reviens dans le droit chemin, tout ça, l’entreprise, l’avenir, c’est à toi. C’est ton héritage, Nicholas. Mais tu dois en être digne. Est-ce que c'est bien clair?

[“Nothing”? Do you even hear yourself? If she cheated on you, there must have been a reason. Can’t even keep your woman, Nicholas? I didn’t raise you to become… this. I raised you to be a man. A Fournier. Someone who brings honour to his name, to his family, to his responsibilities. So you’re going to pull yourself together, and fast. Because if you keep messing around like this, you’ll end up like your brother. That ungrateful brat. But if you get back on track, all of this, the business, the future, it’s yours. It’s your legacy, Nicholas. But you have to be worthy of it. Am I making myself clear?]

Nick : Limpide, papa.

[Crystal clear, Dad.]

Stéphane : Et ne me parle plus jamais de tes états d’âme de petite tapette. Ressaisis-toi. Sois un homme et fais-moi honneur.

[And don’t ever come to me again with your little fairy drama. Get a grip. Be a man and make me proud.]

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

Nick hung up. His throat was tight, breath shallow. His hands were shaking. He blinked hard, but the tears came anyway, slipping down his cheeks.

A soft knock at the door made him flinch. He quickly wiped the tears on his cheeks, his voice barely a whisper.

“Yeah?”

Sai and Chris stood in the doorway, concern written all over their faces, but there was affection too, a steady kind of love.

“Oh shit, Nick…” Chris said gently.

They stepped in and sat down on either side of him without asking. And Nick finally broke. The weight of it all cracked open, and he collapsed into Sai’s arms, sobbing.

“Hey… hey, it’s okay,” Sai whispered, holding him close. “We’re here. You’re not alone, Nick. You’re strong, and you matter to this world. You matter so much.”

Chris gently asked “Your dad?”

Nick sniffled and just nodded.

“Fucking Stéphane,” Chris muttered. “What happened?”

Nick tried to breathe, tried to speak through the tears.

“I spent Christmas break at Mum’s. Didn’t want to see him or the whole Fournier circus. It was actually… good. I even had a proper talk with my brother. But Stéphane wasn’t thrilled I skipped the family holiday performance. He called, I came out to him, we fought. And then today, he called again to threaten me. Said if I didn’t get back on the ‘straight path,’ I’d lose everything.”

“What a complete arsehole,” Chris muttered. “I’m so sorry, Nick. But you know you don’t owe him anything, right? He doesn’t get to decide your worth. You are what matters.”

“I know,” Nick said softly. “I just… fuck , it’s hard. Every time it’s just a reminder that he doesn’t… that he doesn’t actually love me.”

He broke again, quieter now, the kind of crying that lives deep in the bones.

“But we do,” Chris said, firm and gentle. “We love you. Tara and Darcy do. Your mum. And apparently even your brother,” he added with a small laugh. “You are loved, Nick. And you’re amazing, just as you are.”

Nick scrubbed at his face with the heel of his hand. “God. I’m sorry I’m such a mess.”

“Don’t be,” Sai said immediately. “We’re literally here for this. For you. Always.”

He hesitated, then added, “Did you… have you talked to Stephanie?”

Nick nodded. “Yeah, I already reached out. I’ve got a session lined up as soon as we’re back in Cambridge. Want to hear the ironic part? David, my brother, came out to me as pan over Christmas. Stéphane Fournier, world-class homophobe, somehow raised two queer sons. Karma’s a bitch.”

Chris raised an eyebrow.

“Wait… Are we liking Douchebag David now? I mean, being pan doesn’t exactly cancel out years of dickhead behavior.”

Nick chuckled, tired but real. “I think, yeah, we like him. We had a long talk. He apologised for how things were when we were younger. Told me he was under just as much pressure as I was, still am. He said he spent years fighting for our dad’s love, just like I did, only he expressed it differently. 

“I told him I was angry he left me to deal with Stéphane alone, and he owned that, apologised, even. He said Stéphane might always be toxic in a lot of ways, but no matter what I decide, whether I keep our father in my life or not, he’ll be there if I need him. He’s got this solid life now, he’s a sports agent with a bunch of clients, lives in London. I finally feel like I can count on him. It felt… good.”

“I’m really happy for you, man,” Sai said softly. “You deserve all the love in the world.”

He paused, looking at Nick seriously. “But you’re not going to follow your father’s ultimatum, right?”

Nick sighed, long and deep. “No. I think I’ve passed the point of pretending to be someone I’m not. For the first time, I feel like myself and lighter. Going back isn’t an option. Either he learns to accept me, or we’re done. I do still hope, deep down, that one day he’ll realise I deserve his love. That he’ll… choose me, as I am.”

Chris nodded. “Whatever happens, we’re here for you. Always.”

Nick gave them a grateful, tear-streaked smile. “I know. I’m lucky. How did you even know I needed you right now?”

Sai and Chris exchanged a quick glance, like they were having an entire conversation with just a look.

Then Sai cleared his throat. “Don’t be mad… but Charlie was looking for his charger, and he kind of… overheard you. He thought you might need someone. So… he came and got us.”

Charlie .

Nick’s chest tightened. A part of him was disappointed Charlie hadn’t come himself. Hadn’t opened the door and wrapped him in his arms the way Nick secretly dreamed about. But still, he’d cared enough to send his closest friends. That had to mean something.

Maybe Charlie actually cared, at least a little?

Chris’s voice brought him back. “We’ve gotta get going. You ready?”

Nick nodded slowly, wiping the last of the tears from his face. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

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

Nick was glad, genuinely glad, to finally be at the bootcamp.

December had been a tsunami. An emotionally charged haze of endless discussions, apologies, and therapy sessions that left him raw. Christmas with his mum and David had been better than he expected. Full of open-hearted but necessary conversations, years of unspoken words finally said out loud, but it had been healing, too.

Now, the bootcamp marked the official beginning of Boat Race season.  

Nick needed that. After spending so long tangled up in his own head, he was desperate to reconnect with his body. The rhythm of the oar, the breath in sync with the catch, the burn in his legs, in his abs, all of his muscles, meant he was still fighting. 

There was something honest in that effort, in the physicality of rowing. On the boat he couldn’t lie. Every stroke demanded presence and commitment. It stripped everything else away, nothing mattered when you were in the shell and the cox called power tens. 

This sweat, this purpose, reminded him that he was more than just a son who had disappointed his father. More than just a boy trying to forget someone who meant too much. He was an athlete. 

He was Nick Nelson.

The bootcamp was mostly a way to measure yourself against your opponents with weird vibes of a secret society reunion of the poshest universities. It was also a rare occasion for Nick to catch-up with some actual friends. Buried among the polished assholes his father’s network had inflicted on him over the years, there were a few rare people he genuinely liked. 

Richie was one of them. They’d known each other forever, or close enough. Their fathers had done business together. Unlike Ben, Richie had never tried to control him, compete with him, or push him into some performance of masculinity that fit their fathers’ mold. He’d just been there, a kind and solid guy.

Life had pulled them apart. Richie had gone back to New Zealand for uni and trained with the national team, and Nick had buried himself in Cambridge and damage control. Their lives had taken separate orbits, but they’d stayed in touch, enough that it still felt warm when Richie waved him over on this afternoon during a break on the third day.

“Mate,” Richie said, grinning as he clapped a hand on Nick’s shoulder. “Took you long enough.”

Nick smiled. “Blame jet lag from all the emotional turbulence.”

Richie raised an eyebrow. “That bad?”

Nick hesitated, then shrugged. “Let’s just say it’s been a long month.”

They had found a quiet spot in the lounge area of the old lodge, the light was low making everything feel a little softer than it really was.

Richie leaned back in his chair, mug in hand, legs stretched out with the ease of someone who didn’t need to perform. Nick envied that.

“You look older,” Richie said eventually, glancing at him. “Not in a bad way. Just... like you’ve weathered a few storms.”

Nick let out a quiet laugh. “Yeah, well. They’ve been coming in waves lately.”

Richie nodded slowly, like he understood more than he let on. “Still the same situation with your dad?”

Nick took a long sip of his drink before answering. “Worse. I came out to him, over the phone and he didn’t exactly take it well.”

Richie winced. “Ah shit. That’s heavy. But also congratulations man, for standing up for who you are.”

Nick shrugged. He didn’t want to dive into the details, the threats, the guilt, the way his father could still make him feel twelve years old and completely invisible. So instead he said, “It’s like… he only knows how to love a version of me that doesn’t exist. And every time I try to remind him who I actually am, he makes it clear I’m not what he wanted.”

There was a short silence. Then Richie said, more quietly, “Yeah. I get that. My dad’s not quite as vocal, but the pressure’s there: success, and image are everything. I’ve made peace with pretending, mostly. If I play the role well enough, I get to be left alone.”

Nick turned to look at him, studying the tightness around Richie’s eyes. “Doesn’t that feel like... slowly disappearing?”

Richie exhaled through his nose. “Yeah nah. Sometimes. But it’s easier than fighting every day.”

Nick looked down at his hands, fingers tight around the mug. He didn’t say it out loud, but easier wasn’t the life he wanted.

They sat like that for a while. Until Richie shifted in his seat and said, too casually, “By the way, I saw Ben around yesterday.”

Nick’s stomach twisted, an involuntary, instinctive reaction.

Richie seemed to catch it but went on, his voice lower now. “He was doing what Ben does. Being loud, being smug and skiting. He told a group of guys that Oxford was basically his kingdom. Said and I quote ‘I could take whoever I wanted there, and no one would say a word.’”

Nick froze.

The room felt warmer all of a sudden, like the air had thickened. His ears were ringing faintly, his chest tight.

Sensing that something was more off than usual between Ben and Nick, Richie glanced over, clearly regretting bringing it up.

Nick excused himself “Hey Richie, sorry, just remembered I needed to see Sai before the next drill. Catch you later?”

“Yeah sweet as, ka kite”

The second Nick turned toward the courtyard, he knew he wasn’t okay. Sweat dripped from his forehead, a knot formed in his throat. The December air hit like a slap. It should have helped. It didn’t. His chest felt tight, like something was coiled inside and pulling tighter by the second.

He sat on a bench, elbows on his knees, trying to breathe.

It didn’t work.

His father’s voice was still echoing in his head: “Where is your pride, Nick? I won’t tolerate a fucking fag in the family. You are our future.”

Imogen, that final fight: “What, you think you’re better than me? We’re both just pretty pictures in a glossy spread.”

And Richie. “Yeah. Sometimes. But it’s easier than fighting every day,” and “'Said and I quote ‘I could take whoever I wanted there, and no one would say a word.’”

Everything spiraled. 

Noise, pressure, guilt, fear of what Ben could have done. If he was himself, he failed his father. If he followed the script, he failed himself. And there were also Richie’s words about Ben. 

Nick had  failed to protect his cousin once three years ago and he had failed Charlie too. Like he always did. God that was too much. 

His vision blurred. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

Breathe, Nick, come on, just breathe …

Then, he heard his name. A soft voice, careful and familiar.

“Nick?”

Then something warm wrapped around his hand. Gentle fingers lacing with his. Anchoring him.

Nick tried to look up, but the world tilted. The voice grounded him, low and steady, like a lifeline. Then he heard the voice asking him to breathe with him and follow his lead and he knew he could trust him, he knew he could trust… 

After a few breaths, his mind cleared a bit and his vision focused on the man speaking, his eyes were just a mix of kindness, care and concern.

Charlie .

Of course it was Charlie.

Nick latched onto the rhythm like it was oxygen. In, hold, out. Again. And again.

And then, “You’re doing so well, love.”

And now I have hallucinations, there’s no way Charlie would call me love. Fuck I have to focus. Breathe…

Then came the questions.

“Can you name three things you can see?”

Oh easy, he was seeing the tree in the courtyard, the bottle of water and… Charlie… Always Charlie.

“Two things you can hear?”

The traffic outside and… Charlie’s voice… His voice. The only one that cut through the fog.

“One thing you can smell?”

He inhaled, deeply this time. Citrus. Books. Warm skin and vanilla. Charlie… He could smell Charlie’s scent–this divine scent he could never rid of–hat grounded him almost immediately.

“You,” Nick said without thinking.

And then, without noticing or at least saying anything about this, Charlie handed him water. It was cold and sharp against his tongue but it helped. He could feel the ground again.

He was mortified. Tears clung to his lashes. His chest still ached. Fuck he was such a mess and a burden for Charlie, as if he needed this right now. He muttered thanks, then, “I’m sorry.” Trying to piece together what just happened.

“I was talking to Richie,” he said, "and I started feeling weird. Came out here for air, and then everything just… spun.”

Charlie didn’t flinch. “You don’t need to apologise. Or spiral about spiralling. Trust me I know that panic attacks don’t come with a save-the-date.”

That made Nick huff out a small laugh. He didn’t deserve Charlie’s kindness. Not after everything.

They sat there a while. Not talking. Just breathing.

Eventually, Nick stood. “I should probably go. You probably want space after all that.” He’d annoyed Charlie enough, the guy could barely stand him and he’d had to take care of him, Nick had taken  enough of his time.

But Charlie didn’t let him go, offering to talk about what just happened.

Nick just blinked and nodded. Charlie seemed to genuinely care and not just make an effort.

So, he sat again, and tried to explain. Told him about Richie, and the conversation that cracked something open. The expectations. This feeling of being trapped between who he was supposed to be and who he actually was.

Charlie made a sarcastic comment about family dynasties and champagne. It made Nick smile. Because he wasn’t wrong.

Then Charlie asked about yesterday. About the voice he’d heard. “Was it your dad you were talking to yesterday? In our room?” he asked softly. “I didn't understand what he said, obviously, but… that tone, Nick.”

Nick nodded. Shame twisting in his gut. Somehow it hurt so much. That people could just feel the lack of care from his father only in the tone of his voice.

Yes, that's how my father talks to me all the time.

“Meet Stéphane Fournier. World-class businessman. Shit father.”

Charlie didn’t flinch. “I’d call him a fucking arsehole.”

Nick blinked, then laughed. Somehow, that helped too.

“Do you really want to hear all this?” Nick asked. He didn’t want Charlie to feel obliged to hear the sad little story of the spoiled rich kid with a mean father or see him as a fragile thing, not able to deal with his shit.

Charlie’s answer was quiet but certain, he referred to Nick saying to him last year that Charlie didn’t know him, Jesus he’d been such a cunt to Charlie. But Charlie offered some kind of reboot “Maybe this year we could actually try. To talk… For real?”

Nick took a breath. “Okay. But if I tell you stuff… will you tell me too?” It was only fair.

Charlie nodded. “Deal.”

So Nick talked. About his family. His brother, his mum, the way love in his father’s house came with conditions and invoices. About the boy he once loved. About Imogen. About therapy.

And then: “I’m bi.”

His voice cracked, but he said it to Charlie.

And Charlie didn’t mock him or reject him, he smiled like it was the easiest thing in the world. “Thank you.”

It felt right and it felt good to finally be himself, his full self in front of Charlie. No more pretending now,  no more hiding.

Here I am Charlie, take it or leave it.

When he looked up, he didn’t see any trace of mocking or disgust in Charlie's eyes. He saw care, so much care, attention and a hint of… Tenderness?

And Nick felt this urge to apologise. His  throat tightened. He looked away. “I’m sorry, Charlie. Not for that night, I’ll never be sorry for that, but for everything else. 

“For being a dick. For keeping things from you. For not telling you about Imogen, for not being honest about who I was, and for not giving you the chance to choose. I pushed you when you didn’t owe me anything. I was selfish. You’re… you’re more than I ever let myself see. And if I ever made you feel small, I’m so fucking sorry for that.”

He’d fucked up so badly, he’d hurt Charlie with his words with his actions. He didn’t take care of him because he was such a coward, but that was no excuse.

Once again Charlie responded perfectly, apologising too for making assumptions. Well that was harsh, but Nick probably deserved it at the time. But now he wanted to be sure that Charlie knew he wasn’t like Ben, because he suspected  there was more on that side than he knew.

“I’m not like Ben.”

Charlie’s voice was a whisper. “No. You’re not.”

And then Nick asked what he hadn’t dared before. “What happened? I mean, I know the engagement thing. But there’s more, isn’t there?”

Charlie was quiet for a while. Then he started talking.

“Hi. I’m Charlie. Gay, out since eleven. Had a toxic, obsessive mother who turned me into her personal project. A dad who watched it all in silence but thank God for supportive siblings otherwise I probably won’t be there to tell you this. Got bullied to hell and back at school. Eventually, I tried to disappear. I developed OCD, anorexia, and started cutting. It landed me in hospital, then a mental health unit. That’s where I started surviving again. Thanks to my therapist, my siblings, my coach, and Isaac.”

Nick’s breath hitched, it was devastating. He just wanted to hug Charlie. He couldn’t understand how people could hurt this beautiful man. And the scars finally made sense, he wanted to touch them, worship them, Charlie was  a warrior… and Nick felt like such a fucking coward, feeling  panicked because he had to let his father down, a father who never shared an ounce of real affection with him. He truly hoped that, with Stephanie’s help and his friends by his side, he’d find the courage to grow braver, the way Charlie had.

Charlie fought for everything in his life. 

“I lived with Isaac and his mum while I recovered,” Charlie continued. “Finished school remotely. Got into Oxford on a rowing scholarship. I thought it was the start of something new. Then I met Ben. And, well… you know that part.”

Nick was silent.

“But what you don’t know is that in March last year, after I’d made it clear I didn’t want anything with him… he cornered me in the locker room. I was alone. He–” Charlie stopped. “My teammates stopped him. Then, I got the opportunity to transfer and here I am.”

The weight of it landed heavy in Nick’s chest.

Ben had tried to…

Nick’s blood ran hot.

Fuck, I knew it. I’m gonna kill him.

It was too much. “I’m going to fucking kill him.”

“No, Nick,” Charlie said firmly. “You’re not. This isn’t your war. I’ve got a therapist, a support system. What I need isn’t a white knight. I just need someone who’ll stay. Someone who doesn’t try to fix me, but just sees me.”

There was no room for debate. Nick looked at him, eyes glassy, not sure he really understood Charlie’s position but if he knew one thing it was that Charlie Spring was a stubborn piece of shit. Yet, he couldn’t not be involved in Charlie’s life now…

He swallowed, his fists unclenched.

“Then let me be part of your life, as your friend.” he simply said.

Charlie hesitated, then nodded. “I’d like that. I really would.”

Nick felt something inside settle. Not everything, but something.

He gave a small, real smile. “Yeah. Me too.”

There was a silence, not uncomfortable, but charged. Like the air just after a storm, when everything was too still. Nick stared down at his hands, still faintly shaking. He wasn’t sure what exactly had cracked open between them, but he knew he didn’t want it to close again.

So he asked. Because he had to, because he craved to know. “Does James know? About… all of that?”

Charlie let out a long breath. “Not everything. But enough. He knows who I am. That some… things happened.”

Nick nodded, though a small knot twisted in his stomach. Not jealousy, exactly, just something sour and quiet, like regret in disguise.

So he asked the second question.  “Why tell me, then?”

Charlie tilted his head. “Because somehow we needed to be naked in front of each other.”

Nick blinked, struggling to push away the flood of images of Charlie naked and the way his mouth quite literally watered at the memory. And then, God help him, he said, “I think that ship may have already sailed.”

Charlie smirked, deadpan. “Yes, thank you, I remember. Not literally naked, obviously, but metaphorically. I just… I just feel like the only way we ever get past all this is by telling the truth. The naked truth, if you want to keep the metaphor.”

Nick should’ve said something sensible and mature and neutral. SHOULD HAVE.

Instead, his mouth said, “I like you naked.”

The following silence was so heavy, his soul left his body.

Charlie turned his head slowly and raised one eyebrow. “Is that what you usually say to your friends?”

How smart Nelson! The last thing Charlie needs now is to know how much you want him naked again!

Nick rubbed the back of his neck furiously, heat flooding his face. “I didn’t mean–o I mean I do like you like that but here, I didn’t mean… Not naked naked,  I meant, like, emotionally. Metaphorically? Oh God.”

Charlie burst out laughing. Actual, honest laughter. It was beautiful. And it made something twist and ache in Nick’s chest.

He covered his face with both hands. “I am such a disaster.”

“I think we can go for bi-disaster, to be specific,” Charlie said, still laughing. “Textbook case.”

Nick peeked between his fingers, grinning despite himself. “Glad to be living up to expectations.”

Charlie nudged his shoulder gently. “For what it’s worth… I like you naked too.” Charlie looked Nick in the eyes and articulated. “Metaphorically.”

Nick melted.

“Thanks,” he muttered. “That definitely makes it better.”

Fuck he’s gonna be the death of me.

But he smiled. Because somehow, in that awful, embarrassing moment, something had cracked open between them, finally. And that felt oddly good.

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

That night, their final one at bootcamp, the finest rowers from Oxford and Cambridge gathered for a closing evening of their own: Otis, Sai, Chris, Nick, Charlie, Noah, Pierce, Leo, and Oscar. What unfolded was equal parts chaotic and unexpectedly tender, the kind of night stitched together with laughter, inside jokes, and that sense of camaraderie born from shared exhaustion and quiet respect.

Nick felt good and lighter that night.

He caught glimpses of Charlie laughing with Sai, Otis, and Chris, the kind of laughter that crinkled his eyes and made his fucking cute dimples appear. Nick watched from across the room, trying not to stare too long, but soaking it in anyway. There was something about seeing Charlie so relaxed that made Nick’s chest ache, in the best way.

At one point, he found himself cornered by Noah and Pierce, each holding half-empty bottles and wearing matching expressions of mischief.

“Nelson,” Noah said in that lazy, knowing tone of his. “Good times this week?”

Nick smirked, brushing a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Actually... yeah, it was nice.”

His eyes drifted, almost involuntarily, toward Charlie again. And then back to Noah, who had clearly noticed.

Noah raised an eyebrow. “You know, you look a hell of a lot better than the last time I saw you. What changed?”

Nick gave him a half-smile. “Maybe I just needed some irritating little bastard to shake me up a bit.”

Noah laughed. “Oh, well. Whoever that was, be sure to send him my regards.”

Nick chuckled, but didn’t reply. He wasn’t going to say it, not here, but Noah’s words during the championships had stayed with him and maybe even helped lead him to this moment.

Pierce, quiet until now, looked between the two of them with an expression that screamed ‘What did I miss?’ “Okay, what’s happening? Who do we have to threaten?”

Noah’s tone suddenly shifted, laced with calm but unmistakable weight. “If you break his heart, Nelson… we’ll end you.”

Pierce suddenly tilted and nodded solemnly. “Yeah, that. Definitely that. Consider yourself dead-eyed.”

Nick raised both hands, amused but also oddly moved. “I won’t. And for what it’s worth, he gave his heart to James, not me. I’m not trying to steal anything. I just… I want to build a true relationship, be his friend. That’s all I want right now.”

Noah gave him a long look, then smirked. “Sure, Jan.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Rowing King,” Pierce added with mock gravity. “Just know we’re watching.”

Nick grinned, warmth blooming low in his chest. “Yeah. I know. He’s lucky to have people like you around.”

Noah raised an eyebrow with a teasing smile. “You know there are even more terrifying people in his life, right? Tao would literally eviscerate you if he thought you hurt him.”

Pierce chimed in, mock-serious. “And Isaac… well, Isaac’s a saint. But he’s connected to Sai, so... indirect threat still stands.”

Nick laughed softly, lifting his hands in surrender. “Oh, don’t worry. I live with a permanent, low-level fear of disappointing people. Very motivating.”

That earned a real smile from Noah, and a playful shoulder bump from Pierce, and soon the conversation melted into laughter and sarcastic banter, the kind that carried them well past midnight.

When they finally called it a night, Nick felt like he was ready to face the year to come whatever it would  bring.

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

Nick was kissing Charlie.

Deep, slow and intense, like he was pouring everything straight into that kiss. It wasn’t as wild or frantic as that night, but it burned just as hot. There was hunger in it, a kind of desperation.

He couldn’t get enough of Charlie’s mouth, so soft and responsive it was addictive, and he mapped it like it was sacred territory. When Charlie let out a soft moan, breath hitching, Nick’s control shattered.

He moved to his jawline, kissing downward, slow and deliberate, dragging his lips along the warm skin of Charlie’s neck. He found the pulse point and sucked gently enough to make Charlie gasp, to make his hands clench in the sheets.

“What do you want, Charlie?” he whispered against his skin, voice low and rough.

“I… Oh Nick, yes… I want you. Just you.”

Nick’s breath caught. He needed this. He needed him so badly. “Charlie, j’ai besoin de ton cul… Est-ce que je peux ravir ton cul ?”

Charlie let out a helpless little laugh, breathless. “English, Nick… But whatever it was, yes. Yes.”

Nick groaned softly. “I want to taste your arse, Charlie… Let me ravish you. Let me worship you.”

“God, yes, please,” Charlie moaned, body already arching toward him.

Nick grinned against his throat after leaving a mark there. “Fuck… You’re mine now,” he growled.

Moments later, Charlie was lying on his stomach, presenting himself, shameless and ready, arse up and flushed pink. It was the most beautiful thing Nick had ever seen. “Oh ce cul… Charlie, tu es magnifique,” he breathed. [Oh this arse... Charlie, you're beautiful]

He kissed along the insides of Charlie’s thighs, slow and reverent, teasing him, letting the anticipation build. He licked up to the perineum, smiling when Charlie let out a broken sound. Then he moved up, kissing, licking, gently biting on each cheek, spreading them apart with careful hands. He sucked here gently, leaving a mark.

“Now you’re really mine,” he murmured, voice thick with want.

Before Charlie could reply with anything more than a desperate moan, Nick buried his face between his cheeks and licked slow, teasing strokes, circling the rim with the tip of his tongue before flattening it against him and pressing forward. The taste, the heat, the way Charlie melted under him, it was overwhelming.

Nick moaned into him. Charlie was squirming, panting, shameless.

Nick tongued deeper, rhythmically, deliberately. When Charlie relaxed, opened up, Nick fucked him with his tongue, over and over, and reached up blindly to stroke his cock.

“Nick… oh fuck, Nick, that’s so good… please don’t stop, I can’t, I’m gonna…”

He kept going. Tongue plunging, hand stroking, holding Charlie right there on the edge until he came with a cry, his whole body seizing, trembling, calling Nick’s name again and again like a prayer.

Nick didn’t stop until Charlie was spent and shaking beneath him.

Then Charlie rolled over, chest still heaving, looking up with flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. “Oh my God, Nick… that was insane. Please, finish on me. Paint me. Come for me.”

Nick couldn’t think straight, or bi, he just couldn't think anymore.

He climbed over Charlie’s body, straddled his chest, and started stroking himself fast, desperate. Charlie reached up, took hold of his cock, and whispered,

“That’s it, baby… Come for me. You make me feel so good, love…”

That was it, the praising, the hands, the look in Charlie’s eyes. Nick came with a choked groan, hard and helpless, spilling over Charlie’s chest, vision going white, bones turning to liquid.

And then… He blinked. His eyes opened.

He was panting and sweating in the dark, in his narrow bootcamp bed, sheets tangled around his legs, harder than ever. Charlie, Real Charlie, was sleeping across the room, silent and unaware.

Nick covered his face with both hands.

Oh God. I’m so fucked .

The next morning was torture, packing in silence, brushing shoulders by accident, pretending everything was normal while shame burned under his skin. He could keep himself in check during the day, just about. But the nights? The nights stripped him bare. And apparently his subconscious had become some monomaniac sex-obsessed worshipper at the altar of Charlie Spring.

Well, this friendship is going to be interesting.. .

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

The farewell brunch marked the official end of bootcamp. Most of the boys were already making their way down to the dining hall, laughing and teasing one another as they went. Charlie had stayed behind a few more minutes to finish packing.

Nick was halfway there himself when he suddenly remembered, toothbrush.

Classic. He muttered a curse, turned around, and headed back toward the dorms.

The corridor was mostly empty now, echoing with distant voices and footsteps. But as he approached the open doorway of their room, he froze.

He heard Charlie’s voice, sharp, angry, edged with something else. Fear.

“If you come any closer, I swear I’ll scream. Now piss off.”

Then another voice. Cold, too familiar. Ben. “ No, you won’t. You know you can’t say anything. You say one word about us, and it’s bye-bye Cambridge and your little boyfriend.”  

 Nick’s blood went cold.

What the fuck? Was that a threat? What did he mean, ‘bye-bye Cambridge’? And how the hell did Ben know about James?

Nick’s fists clenched. Rage spiked through his chest so fast it nearly blinded him. Every instinct screamed at him to storm the room, rip Ben away from Charlie, pin him to the wall and make sure he never spoke to him like that again.

But then he remembered. The promise.

Charlie had asked him not to step in. And right now, Charlie sounded like he had control. Shaken, maybe, but standing his ground. So Nick did the hardest thing imaginable. He turned and ran.

He tore through the corridor, heart pounding, scanning for the first familiar face he could find.

“Noah!” he called out, breathless. “It’s Charlie…”

Noah turned instantly, all joking gone from his face.

“What about him?”

“Ben. I went back for my toothbrush. He’s in our room. With Charlie. I didn’t step in, Charlie wouldn’t want that, but you and the boys, you know. You have to go. Now.”

Noah didn’t wait. He grabbed Leo by the wrist, his expression flat and deadly.

They ran.

Nick stood frozen in the hallway, muscles coiled like springs, throat tight with the effort not to follow. Every part of him wanted to charge in, to wrap Charlie in his arms, to protect him, to kiss him, to make it all stop. But this, this was Charlie’s story. Nick had already stolen too much from him once.

A few minutes later, though it felt like a lifetime, they returned.

Noah, Leo… and Charlie.

Charlie looked pale, eyes wide and glassy, but he was upright. Shocked, yes, but okay. His gaze flicked to Nick, something unreadable in it, and Nick didn’t move. He didn’t speak.

Noah gave Nick a small nod and the ghost of a smile.

And for the first time in a long while, Nick let out a shaky breath. Even if every cell in his body still burned with the need to hold Charlie and never let him go, he knew he’d made the right choice. 

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

Back in Cambridge, Nick couldn’t shake that last morning at bootcamp. Ben’s voice kept echoing in his mind, like a warning on loop.

“ Bye-bye Cambridge… ”

How the hell could Ben possibly have any influence over Charlie being at Cambridge?

Nick knew what Charlie had told him or at least, what he was willing to say. But there was a piece missing, Nick could feel it.

He had promised not to interfere.

But Ben Hope was out there, breathing the same air as Charlie, threatening him. Nick couldn’t let it go. He couldn’t live with himself if he stood by again.

And then, a memory surfaced.

Ibiza. Three years ago. They were there with the entire Fournier family, plus the Hopes, a grotesque little vacation built around business deals and fake smiles. That night, Nick remembered hearing his cousin Héloïse come back to her room, sobbing. He’d followed her in, concerned, and found her shaking on the bed, makeup smeared, dress askew.

Eventually, through trembling lips, she told him. She’d been seeing Ben since the start of the trip, casually. But she hadn’t been ready for more than kissing. That night, she’d had a few drinks, and Ben had gotten insistent. He begged and guilt-tripped her. He said she owed him something if she actually liked him. Said he’d go find someone else if she didn’t.

She ended up going down on him, and afterward, he left her alone on the beach, saying she wasn’t even good at that. Nick had seen red. He’d wanted to destroy Ben with his bare hands.

Héloïse begged him not to do anything, but he went to his father anyway. He thought Stéphane would do something. Instead, the next morning, Stéphane had pulled him aside explaining that it was a misunderstanding and that his cousin had been far too emotional while discovering “les choses de la vie.” [how life's going]

“N’est-ce pas, Héloïse?” he’d asked with a wink. [Isn't it Héloïse?]

She had nodded silently, eyes down, and disappeared back into her room. Ben stood there, smug and untouched, like he always did. And that was over, they never talked about it again.

Nick had never forgiven himself for letting it go, for letting it happen and for not burning it all to the ground.

And now… now it was Charlie.

He had to stop Ben Hope, for Héloïse, and for Charlie.

He was so lost in the weight of it that he didn’t hear Darcy at first.

“What are you thinking about, Nick-Nack?”

Darcy handed him a wet plate, Nick was so deep in his thoughts he hadn’t even realized they were speaking. Sai was humming faintly while scrubbing a saucepan, but now both of them were looking at him, not judging, just watching. 

Nick blinked, forced a smile.

“Just… ‘les choses de la vie’ ,” he murmured, but his voice cracked slightly.

Darcy tilted their head.

“I don’t speak existential French, baby-bi. Try again?”

Nick looked down at the plate in his hands. He knew this wasn’t his story to tell, but it was heavy. And maybe if he didn’t share it, he’d do something reckless.

He swallowed. “Do you… Do you two know what happened to Charlie? With Ben?”

Darcy’s expression turned instantly sharp. “I mean, I know he was a shitty toxic ex. But beyond that…?”

Nick looked at Sai, who had stopped humming.

“You know, don’t you?” Nick asked.

Sai sighed. “Not directly. But… Isaac’s said enough. Add to that Charlie and his friends' behavior, it’s not hard to put the pieces together. I know what an assault victim looks like.”

Nick shut his eyes.

Darcy let out a low breath. “Wait, are you saying that Ben Hope, King of arseholes, assaulted Charlie?”

“I know it’s not my story to tell,” Nick said quickly. “But I can't deal with this on my own. Yes, he did. Charlie told me, at bootcamp. He didn’t give me every detail, but… enough. And I think there’s more. Something he’s not saying.”

He hesitated, then went on. “I heard them. That morning. Charlie was alone in the room and Ben showed up. Charlie told him to back off  and Ben just laughed. Said something like ‘bye-bye Cambridge’... like he could make Charlie disappear.”

Darcy’s eyes were wide. Sai’s face had gone pale. Nick swallowed again, and this time his voice shook.

“Three years ago… Ben did something similar to my cousin. Héloïse. We were in Ibiza with the whole Fournier and Hope mafia. She and Ben were together. She wasn’t ready for more than kissing, but he pushed and manipulated her. When he finally got what he wanted, he left her on the beach like trash. She was sixteen.”

He took a breath. “Stéphane dealt with all of this in his Stéphane way, telling her she was ‘too emotional .’ That it was ‘les choses de la vie’ , how life’s going.”

Darcy’s voice was barely a whisper. “Oh my fucking gay God. Our Charlie? The gayest gem of them all? That piece of shit laid a hand on him?”

Their whole body was vibrating with fury. “Give me his address. I will end him. Literally.”

Nick almost smiled, but it was bitter. “Trust me, I’ve dreamed of nothing else but smashing his face in. But I promised Charlie I wouldn’t interfere. And I won’t, not directly.”

He exhaled. “But there has to be a way to make him fall. I’m sure Charlie isn’t his only victim in Oxford. I know there are others. And I know he’s protected. But if we find the truth, Oxford won’t be able to hide him anymore.”

Sai exchanged a look with Darcy, then pulled out his phone. “Okay. If we’re doing this, I’m in. But let me talk to Isaac.” He walked out, phone already ringing.

Nick stood there, drying the same plate over and over, heart pounding. 

Thirty minutes later, Sai returned, phone still in his hand, expression grim. “Alright. First, Isaac says, and I quote: ‘don’t you dare fuck this up again.’ I didn’t ask what he meant exactly, this is your message”

Nick let out a dry laugh. “Yeah. Fair.”

Darcy was practically bouncing now, their eyes burning with purpose. “Okay but tell us everything.”

Sai nodded. “After the assault, Charlie reported Ben to the coach. It made it up to the Sports Board. They acknowledged it happened. The Hopes applied pressure. So they pushed for a low-key resolution. Charlie was offered a transfer. On condition he would never speak about what happened.”

Nick felt like the floor had been pulled from under him. He had to grab the counter to stay upright. “That fucking bastard... protected. Again. Like nothing happened.”

Sai’s voice was quiet. “I know.”

They stood in silence. Then Darcy, always the wild card, broke it. “Wait. What if there are more victims? If we can find them, convince them to speak, Oxford won’t have a choice. We could destroy him without Charlie having to relive all of it.”

Nick turned toward them. “That would be the dream. But how would we even start?”

Darcy grinned, sharp and wicked. “Let me be magic, would you?”

Nick hesitated. His voice dropped. “Darcy… this isn’t a game. These are people’s lives we’re talking about.”

He stopped himself just before saying Charlie’s life. But the truth was written all over his face. Darcy, for once, didn’t smile. They just said, gently, “Nick, trust me.”

And it was the first time they’d ever called him by his real name. Sai stepped forward. “I trust them. And I’m in too.”

Nick looked at them both and nodded. “Alright. But we do this together. No going rogue, you keep me informed.”

Darcy saluted with a wink. “Scout’s honour.”

Sai rolled his eyes. “Let’s activate our queer power.”

And just like that, Darcy was back and apparently ready to burn the world down if it meant protecting someone they loved. Nick might have freed the beast, but Charlie was worth it. He would have burned the whole world himself if it meant keeping Charlie safe, but he knew he had to tread carefully for Charlie.

That night, lying in bed in the dark hush of his room, Nick let his phone play softly beside him. A song by Hoshi filled the space, aching and true. And here, with no voice to silence his own, he couldn’t lie to himself anymore.

Je t'aime

I love you

Comment on fait? Je t'aime

How do we do this? I love you

Plus que tu m'aimes, je t'aime

More than you love me, I love you

Comment revêtir le ciel

How can we paint the sky

De la couleur de nos veines

In the color running through our lives?

Est-ce que tu m'aimeras

Will you ever love me back?

Est-ce que tu comprendras

Will you ever understand

Nick lay on his back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, hands folded tightly over his chest as his heart pounded loud and relentless. God, he loved Charlie. That was the undeniable truth. He loved him more than he probably should, more than was safe or fair. Especially with Charlie in James’s arms, not his.

So if he couldn’t have Charlie the way his whole being ached for, then he’d settle for the next best thing. He would be the best friend Charlie had ever known.

Hoshi - Et après je t’aimerai / And even after I’ll love you

Chapter Text

After the bootcamp, January barely left Charlie a moment to breathe, as was also the case last year. Lectures were intense, café shifts never-ending, drumming felt like a necessity, but rowing was on a whole other level. The Boat Race prep was in full swing, and it devoured most of his time like a very demanding, very wet-but-not-in-the-horny-kind-of-way deity.

There was also solo training for other comps, and, of course, the increasingly frequent sessions with Nick. Coach Ajayi had clearly decided that the duo was his new golden ticket. Three times a week, just the two of them, not complicated at all. Everything was fine, cool even, Charlie wasn’t staring at Nick’s stupidly perfect arms like a lovesick idiot. He wasn’t cataloguing the exact moment each of his shirts clung to his back in ways that should be illegal. He definitely wasn’t daydreaming during cool-downs about how Nick might look if he ever lost the shirt altogether.

Nope. He was chill, emotionally detached, even. He wasn’t  falling for that stupid golden-retriever of a man while trying to convince himself that sweet and solid James hadn’t somehow turned into a polite, well-meaning basset hound in comparison. Totally not happening. 

Things were definitely good between them since the bootcamp. The teasing between Nick and Charlie came easier now that they’d declared themselves friends. Nick was still his smug golden retriever self, and Charlie was still a sarcastic menace. It was, annoyingly, fun.

They even started hanging out more outside practice. Tuesday pub nights were back in full swing, and Nick now showed up more than he did.

Two weeks into term, Charlie found himself walking out of an LGBTQ+ Union meeting with Elle, Tara, and James. Charlie was tired but buzzing from the discussion, and the idea of a pint and a bit of nonsense sounded exactly like the right kind of medicine.

“You’re coming to the pub, right?” Elle asked, linking her arm through Charlie’s. “Everyone’s going, Darcy, Sahar, the lads, even Aled. It’s going to be chaos.”

Charlie smiled. “Sounds perfect.”

But James hesitated. “I was actually kind of hoping for a quiet night. I feel like I haven’t really seen you.”

Charlie blinked, caught off guard. “Oh. I just thought it’d be fun. With all the Boat Race stress and everything, blowing off some steam sounded good... But if you want to stay in, I can skip it.”

James shook his head quickly. “No, no. You’re right. Let’s go. I just… might not stay too late.”

“I’ve got training with Nick at 6:30 anyway.”

That earned him a faint wince from James. “Right… yeah.”

They arrived at the pub, already buzzing with voices and glasses clinking, and were greeted by a chorus of cheers.

“Charlieeeee!” Otis bellowed from across the room. “Just the man! Nick here says he hit 6:00 on the 2K with you yesterday. That true?!”

Charlie, mid-handhold with James, instinctively let go to respond. He shot Nick a theatrical look. “Oh, you’re boasting now, Nelson?”

Nick, eyes bright with barely-contained glee, smirked. “Come on, even you were impressed. You literally stopped rowing to stare at me.”

“I stopped rowing,” Charlie replied with exaggerated patience, “because we were supposed to work in sync and you were off doing your own Olympic tryout.”

“I was just showing you what I’m capable of. You know, so you can make good use of these muscles,” Nick said, flexing his right bicep with a cheeky grin.

As five pairs of eyes snapped toward him, including Charlie’s, wide with disbelief, Nick’s face turned bright red. “I mean, for the race,” he stammered. “Obviously, for the team.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow. Such a fucking disaster, but damn, an annoyingly adorable one. “You do realise muscles don’t win the race on their own, right?” he said, arms crossed.

Nick shrugged. “Still, helps to have them.”

“Just admit it,” Nick added, voice lower now. “Tell them I blew it out.”

He looked at Charlie with that look, that soft, open look that made Charlie’s stomach do something it had no business doing. And just like that, the air changed. 

Not the puppy dog eyes… Fucking Golden Retriever!

Because of course he was talking about the 2K. The 2K. “Yeah,” Charlie mumbled. “He did hit 6’00.”

“YES!” Nick beamed, as though Charlie had just launched a favorite toy to the puppy he was.

“Fuck, you’re a machine,” Otis muttered in awe.

James, quiet until then, asked shyly, “Uh… what’s a 2K?”

Nick turned politely. “Oh, sorry mate. It’s a 2000-metre speed test on the erg. Seven minutes is a really good time, under 6 makes you part of the elite. We all aim to get under.”

“Oh. Cool,” James replied, nice and polite. But Charlie could feel a hint of embarrassment.

“You should try rowing with Charlie,” Nick said casually. “It’s a great way to release negative emotions, and he’s the best at pushing you to stroke.”

Charlie nearly choked on his drink. His entire face went nuclear as he shot Nick a look so sharp it could’ve sliced through an oar. He coughed, discreetly but pointedly.

Nick backpedaled immediately. “I mean, as a cox. He’s great at helping the team row efficiently.”

Fucking Nelson.

Charlie blinked slowly, trying not to scream. He knew Nick could be a walking disaster, but this? This was pushing it into dangerous waters. 

James gave a tight-lipped smile. “I’m not really into sports, but thank you. Charlie and I already share… a fair number of activities.”

He slid an arm around Charlie’s shoulders with just enough pressure to make a point. And just like that, Charlie felt like a toy two toddlers were fighting over. It might’ve been flattering if it weren’t so wildly uncomfortable, and slightly humiliating.

Chris swooped in to change the subject. “Charlie, is it true you’re a Mario Kart menace?”

“King of Rainbow Road,” Charlie said without hesitation.

“I am the king of Rainbow Road,” Nick interjected, clearly offended.

“You’re always so competitive, it’s exhausting,” Charlie groaned.

“Damn right I am,” Nick shot back. “So? Next week. Our place. Mario Kart tournament. You in?”

Charlie locked eyes with him, grinning. “Is that so? I’ll take you anytime Nick.”

“You wish.”

“Fuck. You.” Charlie said it slowly, deliberately. Fully aware of the way Nick’s ears turned pink again.

“Why is everything a competition with you two?” Sai asked, shaking his head.

“Are they always like this?” James asked quietly, somewhere between amused and unsettled.

“Oh, it’s worse during training,” Otis muttered.

Then Nick held out his phone. “Here, put your number in, for the tournament.”

“Also… James, feel free to join us to play or anything else. Your boyfriend could need moral support after I crush him.”

James smiled thinly. “Thanks, but I’m not really into video games. Charlie can go without me.”

Nick blinked. “It’s not video games. It’s Mario Kart.”

Charlie put a hand on James’s back. “Right. Time to order drinks?”

“Yeah,” James said quickly. “You mentioned an early night…”

Charlie nodded. “Of course. Lead the way.”

Later that evening, after a final pint and a few half-hearted attempts at conversation, Charlie turned to James and said he might actually head back to his room alone, using the excuse that Elle was also ready to leave and he had early training and all that. 

James just nodded.

And Charlie tried not to think about how wide Nick had smiled when he said goodbye. Or how much he’d enjoyed the challenge in his voice.

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

Jan, 23 2026

Nick Fucking Nelson: Still can’t believe you beat me

Nick Fucking Nelson: six times in a row 

Nick Fucking Nelson: 6!

Charlie: it’s been 2 days, nick. let it go.

Nick Fucking Nelson: I’m just saying no one’s that good 

Nick Fucking Nelson: You cheated 

Nick Fucking Nelson: Admit it.

Charlie: you are such a sore loser. a delusional one.

Charlie: face it. you may be the king of thames but i’m the undisputed King of Rainbow Road. you should bow and swear fealty, you peasant.

Charlie: 5th place, Nelson. humiliating. my little brother could destroy you.

Nick Fucking Nelson: \[gif]: beard man raising his middle finger and the caption from the heart\

Nick Fucking Nelson: Never. 

Nick Fucking Nelson: Gonna. 

Nick Fucking Nelson: Happen.

Charlie: wow. such grace in defeat. very mature.

Nick Fucking Nelson: Excuse you. Who’s the one demanding allegiance like some video games tyrant?

Nick Fucking Nelson: …Unless that is your thing? 👀

Charlie: ??? what are you on about?

Nick Fucking Nelson: Just asking… Does pledging allegiance involve, like… 

Nick Fucking Nelson: Licking your feet or something?

Charlie: ...

Charlie: and that is my cue to leave.

Charlie: ‘actual fucking foot fetishist.’

Nick Fucking Nelson: 👣❤️

Charlie: i hope you lose at Mario Kart forever.

Nick Fucking Nelson: I already did. 

Nick Fucking Nelson: To you.

Charlie: …

Charlie: STOP BEING NICE I’M TRYING TO BE MAD AT YOU

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

The week after Nick’s devastating Rainbow Road humiliation had been as demanding as the previous ones. Charlie barely kept up his daily texts with Isaac and Tao.

In addition to the usual intensity of lectures and rowing, James felt increasingly distant, less present. Charlie tried not to panic about it. James had said he was just overwhelmed, with final-year stress, looming graduation, and everything that came with it. And Charlie understood. But still, something was off.

Worse, Charlie had this gnawing feeling that he was spending more time with Nick than with his actual boyfriend. Between rowing sessions and group hangs, Nick was suddenly everywhere. Smirking, teasing, pushing his buttons like it was second nature. And Charlie couldn’t deny he liked it. 

But James was the one sending him love letters. Beautiful, lyrical, impossibly flattering letters. The kind that made him blush in the dark, that made his chest ache with desire.

Even if sometimes… something didn’t quite fit. One letter described the dimples on Charlie’s lower back in vivid detail, but James had rarely taken him from behind, and only in low light, on the rare occasion he was willing  to try another position. Another letter glorified the shape of his arse, how much he missed it… but they’d had sex less than a week ago and it hadn’t felt like yearning.

Comme je souffre chaque fois que mes yeux se posent sur ton fessier en sachant que je ne peux le toucher. 

Délicatement bombé, ferme et souple, à la peau si douce, il est la définition même du mot désir. 

Chaque fesse tenant dans ma main... 

Comme j'aimerais ne serait-ce qu'une seule fois encore pouvoir les caresser, les embrasser et délicatement les écarter pour m'y enfouir et ne jamais en sortir. 

Je les venererais de mes mains, de ma langue, de mon sexe, encore et encore, juste pour t'entendre jouir, emporté dans cette volupté dont je ne peux plus me passer.  

How it aches, every time my eyes fall on your ass, knowing I cannot touch it. 

Perfectly rounded, firm yet supple, with that impossibly soft skin, it is the very definition of desire. Each cheek fitting perfectly in my hand… How I long for just one more time, to caress them, to kiss them, to gently part them and bury myself there, never wanting to leave. 

I would worship them with my hands, my tongue, my sex, again and again, just to hear you moan, lost in that bliss I can no longer live without.

Il y a tes fossettes que tu offres au monde lorsque ton cœur rayonne dans ce sourire si doux et si tendre. Mais il y a aussi ces fossettes, plus secrètes, que tu n'offres qu'à celui qui a le privilège de pouvoir t'approcher dans l'intimité. 

Blotties au creux de tes reins, elles se dessinent quand ton dos s'arque sous le désir et que ton corps s'abandonne au plaisir. Elles n'existent que pour celui qui a l'honneur de pouvoir se loger en toi. Comme j'aimerais être le seul à les veiller, à les chérir et les garder jalousement à l'abri de tous ceux qui ne sauront jamais les mériter.

There are the dimples you offer to the world, when your heart shines through that sweet, tender smile. But then there are others, more secret,  dimples you reveal only to the one privileged enough to come close in intimacy.  

Nestled in the small of your back, they appear when your spine arches with desire, when your body surrenders to pleasure. They exist only for the one who has the honor of being inside you. 

How I long to be the only one to watch over them, to cherish them, to keep them jealously hidden from all those who will never deserve them.

“Charlie, it’s poetry,” Elle had said, rolling her eyes. “Not a literal autobiography. Don’t overthink it.”

But Charlie did overthink it. That’s why he decided to do something about it. He needed to remind both of them what they had. Proof that what they had was alive.

So that Friday night, he made it special. Tidy room, soft light, tight black t-shirt and nothing else but his boxers. He even asked Elle for some eyeliner, just enough to make him look a bit unreal.

When James knocked, Charlie didn’t let him speak. He just grabbed him by the collar and kissed him hard, messy and eager, hoping to wake up Jean Désir, or whoever was behind those hot letters.

“Wow,” James said, dazed. “What… what was that for?”

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks,” Charlie murmured against his jaw. “I want you tonight, all of you.”

James smiled, but there was hesitation in his eyes. “Charlie, we saw each other yesterday and had sex like 5 days ago?…”

“I know. But still, I miss you.” Charlie purred against the skin of James' neck.

Charlie let his hands wander, deliberately, down James’ waist. “Don’t you want to… worship me tonight?” He said this last part with a lower voice, hopefully with enough sultriness in it to wake-up the beast.

James blinked. “Oh. I mean… of course I want you. I just thought maybe we’d take our time. Ease into things.”

And just like that, the moment dimmed.

Charlie nodded, retreating into softness. He let James kiss him gently, let him set the pace. They made love slowly, carefully, the way James liked. Thoughtful missionary, tender touches and whispered “is this good?” It was sweet.

But when they kissed goodnight, Charlie felt unsatisfied. Not unloved, just… unsatiated.

He drifted off with James breathing softly beside him.

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

“Charlie… oh Charlie, fuck, you taste so good… Like heaven…”

Nick’s voice was low, reverent. His mouth on his hole was relentless, devouring him like he was starving. Charlie could barely breathe, fists twisted in sheets that weren’t there, his entire body arching toward that heat, that touch, that fucking voice.

“Oh my god, Nick, yes… please, need your fingers, please…”

Nick laughed softly, that same hungry, teasing edge in it. 

“Anything for you, baby. Gonna stretch you open, fuck you until you forget your name…”

Charlie was begging for it, shameless and desperate.

And Nick gave him everything. Tonguing, rimming, adding one finger. Then two. Then three. 

Charlie was falling apart, trembling, breathless, held together only by the sound of Nick groaning against his most intimate skin. “I’m ready, Nick, please, I need you now…”

And Nick came back into view with a fresh mouth, condom already in hand, eyes wild with desire. He rolled it on, then manhandled Charlie gently but firmly into position, pushing his back down until he was arched just right.

Then he slid in.

Charlie gasped, choked on it. It was so much and so right. Nick filled him to the brim, slow at first, then harder, deeper, his rhythm hitting all the right places with devastating accuracy.

“You’re so fucking tight,” Nick groaned, panting. “So sexy like this… all stretched out on my cock. Fuck, Charlie, you’re perfect.”

Charlie could barely speak. Could barely think. Just one phrase falling from his lips over and over.

“Nick, I’m gonna come…Nick…Nick!”

“Charlie? You okay?” James’ voice pulled him  back to reality.

Charlie’s eyes flew open. He was panting, sweating, on his stomach, heart racing. The room was dark, but James was sitting up beside him, concern etched into every line of his face.

“You were… moving. Like, whimpering. I thought you were having a nightmare.”

Charlie blinked. James, his boyfriend.

Yes. A nightmare. “Uh… yeah. Just a weird dream, I guess.”

“You want a cuddle?”

Charlie almost flinched. “I’m kind of gross, all sweaty. I’ll just go grab some water.”

He slipped out of bed, bare feet padding across the floor. Inside the bathroom, he shut the door and leaned over the sink, gripping the porcelain like it could keep him from falling apart.

He was still hard and sticky. And ashamed.

Why Nick ?

He had a boyfriend, a nice one, who kissed him sweetly and sent him poetic letters and made him feel safe.

So why was his subconscious still haunted by Nick Fucking Nelson? Why did his dreams feel like half confessions and full betrayals?

Even if it was just his subconscious doing weird subconscious things, it was still excruciating. Because how was he supposed to deal with that kind of dream at night, and then Real Nick during the day? And James?

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

It was one of those deceptively bright winter Saturdays, the last day of January, the kind where the sun tricks you into thinking it’s warm, but still bitter cold. Coach Ajayi had decided it was the perfect day to put them through hell on the river. The infamous midwinter trial run: high-stakes, full-pressure, utterly exhausting. But also exhilarating .

Charlie had pushed the team hard, barking just the right mix of motivation and veiled threats. But what actually left him buzzing wasn’t the team’s performance, it was the way Nick had listened to him. They’d spent the whole session working out how to shift the balance of the start: more power, less speed, tighter focus. And it clicked, at the end they were almost reading each other’s minds.

They were giddy afterwards. Like two kids who’d just built the perfect snow fort. While the rest of the team ran toward the lockers, Charlie and Nick stayed near the river, basking in the adrenaline high and sunlight that made their damp kit look almost bearable.

“Not bad, King of the Thames,” Charlie said, deadpan. “Your subjects will be mildly impressed.”

Nick smirked. “Oh, fuck off. You jealous, Imperator of Cox?”

“You always need the last word,” Charlie rolled his eyes.

“Just admit you found your master,” Nick teased, eyes gleaming with mischief. “I could teach you a thing or two. I mean, I already am.”

Charlie dropped his voice half an octave. “That will never happen.”

Nick stepped closer. “Admit it, Charlie,” he said, low and smug. “I. Found. My. Master.”

“Nope,” Charlie replied, eyes locked on Nick’s, the P landing sharp and deliberate between them..

It was so absurd Charlie couldn’t help but laugh, but then Nick, golden retriever menace that he was, grabbed him around the waist and slung him over his shoulder like a fireman. The bastard spun.

Charlie screamed. “Oh my God, Nick! PUT ME DOWN YOU DICK!”

Nick grinned and spun faster, stopping just near the river’s edge. “Admit it or take a swim.”

“Fuck you, Nick! Don’t you dare drop me!”

He didn’t, of course not. He just gently lowered Charlie, hands staying a beat too long on his waist, fingers digging in just slightly, firmly. The moment was charged, quiet, and way too real. Nick’s eyes met his, steady and unreadable. He bit his lower lip, then he murmured, “I won’t. Never.”

Fuck… What’s happening now?

Charlie forgot how to breathe. He was about to say something, he had no idea what, when a throat cleared behind them.

“Do I interrupt something?” It was James.

Shit .

They both jumped apart like guilty teenagers. Nick looked like a puppy dog caught mid-bin raid.

“Oh, hey James,” Nick stammered. “I was just… showing Charlie something.”

James raised an eyebrow. “By carrying him?”

“We were joking around,” Charlie said quickly. “Just decompressing after the practice. What are you doing here? I thought you said you were busy all day?”

“I was,” James said, his smile tight. “But I wanted to surprise you. You mentioned we hadn’t seen each other much lately. Thought maybe I was the one who needed to make the effort.”

Charlie winced, then recovered with a small smile. “That’s… actually really sweet. Thank you.” He kissed James’ cheek.

Nick mumbled a goodbye and vanished before Charlie could say anything else.

James proposed a quiet night at Charlie’s, who agreed, needing to smooth things. Charlie showered, changed, and tried to shake off the lingering heat from the riverside moment and headed to his dorm with James.

But back at his place, the exhaustion hit hard. When James started to kiss him, Charlie gently pulled away.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “It’s been a brutal week. I’m just… not in the right headspace.”

James paused, face darkening ever so slightly. “Oh. Not enough muscles, is that it? Can’t make good use of me?”

Charlie blinked. “What?”

“I just thought maybe you preferred your daily muscles show. The one you get at rowing every day.”

Charlie sat back. Cold suddenly crept into his chest. “You know what? I’m not doing this. I’m tired. I’m doing three sessions a day, I work in the café so I can eat and I’m keeping my grades up. Can’t you just understand that I’m fucking tired?”

James didn’t back down. He took a step closer, still not touching, but the shift in his tone stung more than Charlie expected. “Or maybe it’s just that you want to be manhandled, huh? Tossed over someone’s shoulder? That’s how you want it, right, Charlie?”

And just like that, Charlie froze.

His brain shut off. His stomach dropped. That tone, that phrasing “that’s how you want it,” the blood in his veins turned to ice.

James must’ve seen something in his face. His expression crumbled immediately. “Charlie…shit, I didn’t mean…I’m sorry…”

“Just go,” Charlie said quietly, voice stripped bare. “Get out, James.”

He didn’t yell, didn’t break. He just turned away so James couldn’t see his face, and waited until the door clicked shut behind him.

Then he stood there in the silence, hands shaking.

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

Feb 3, 2026

James : Charlie, please. Can we talk?

“It’s been three days, Charlie.” Elle’s voice was soft, but her gaze held steady. “I know he fucked up. And you have every right to be upset. But I don’t think he meant to hurt you. And whatever you decide to do, you both deserve an actual conversation.”

Charlie sighed and pushed his fried rice around like it had personally offended him. “You’re right. I know you’re right. I just… I still don’t know what I want to do.”

She tilted her head. “Did you open the letter from yesterday?”

“No.” His fork dropped with a clatter. “No more letters. I’m done living in this illusion of what he could be. And look, I know what happened that night isn’t all he is. But whatever we had triggered something in him, and I can’t ignore that. I can’t ignore what it triggered in me, either.”

He rubbed his face, words starting to spill. “We aren’t toxic. But we aren’t good, either. And beyond the weird mix of affection and sexual poetry, I don’t think we bring out the best in each other.”

Elle leaned over and hugged him tightly, chin tucked into his shoulder. “Then tell him. You both deserve a clean break.”

“You’re not mad at me? Or going to tell me how ‘good’ he is?”

She pulled back with a small smile. “Charlie. The only thing that matters to me is you. James is a nice guy, sure. I thought you might have a good time with him, and you did. But maybe that time’s up. And that’s okay. You deserve someone who actually fits into your life. Who makes you happy, not just compliant.”

Charlie swallowed hard. “Thank you.” He stood, kissed her temple, and headed for his room.

“You done eating?” Elle called after him.

“Oh, yeah. I grabbed something earlier at the café. Wasn’t hungry.”

“…right.”

Feb 3, 2026

Charlie : meet me at our café tomorrow at 1 p.m.?

James : I’ll be there. ♥️

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

James was already at their usual café spot the next day, sitting small in his chair with a coffee in front of him, Charlie's regular order. Sweet.

He looked pale. He stood when Charlie arrived, hesitated, then pulled him into a hug that was just a bit too unsure.

“I’m really sorry,” James began, voice low. “For what happened. I think I just… I feel a bit insecure around your rower friends. But I trust you, I do. That’s my problem. Not yours.”

“Is it?”

James blinked. “What do you mean?”

Charlie took a breath. “I think it isn’t just your problem. I think it’s… us. The way we are together. Or the way we try so hard to be something we’re not.”

James deflated just slightly. “I thought if we just kept trying…”

“That’s the thing. It shouldn’t feel like trying.” Charlie reached for his coffee, more for something to hold than to drink. “You’re kind. You’re thoughtful. And what we had was real. But it was also… effortful.”

James gave a small, sad smile. “We don’t like each other like that.”

“Not sure it’s about liking,” Charlie said gently. “It’s more about fitting. We’re not… aligned. And that’s okay.”

“So this is it then.”

“I think so.” Charlie’s throat tightened. “It’s maybe too early to be friends. But with time…”

“I’d like that,” James said. “Eventually.”

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

That afternoon, after the break-up, he fired off an email.

Date: 04 February 2026, 04.30

Subject: Our sessions

To: Geoff

Hi Geoff,

I need to cancel our next two sessions. My schedule's overflowing with rowing, lectures, and café shifts. I’ll reach out again when things settle.

Best,

Charlie .

Two weeks. That’s what he gave himself. Two weeks of not unpacking.

He didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to feel. He just wanted to get through.

A week after he sent the email, Charlie found a new letter on his doorstep. Maybe James had regrets, but Charlie didn’t, so he didn’t open it. He placed it gently in the drawer, alongside the others. 

He didn’t need poetry, he wanted clarity and control.

Chapter Text

Jan 16, 2026

Charlie Hot Spring: nicholas f. nelson ?!

Nick: F.?!

Nick: And what, pray tell, does the F. stand for?

Charlie Hot Spring: not the point here, nicholas. focus, please.

Nick: Sorry, Charles Q. Spring… 

Nick: What is it now?

Charlie Hot Spring: actually, it’s charles f. spring, thank you very much. also, Q.?! what does that even stand for?

Nick: You tell me what F. stands for first.

Nick: For me? And for you… 😌

Charlie Hot Spring: 🙄

Nick: Why can I literally see you doing this right now?

Charlie Hot Spring:🖕🏼

Nick: Yep, that too.

Nick: So… F.? Yours? Mine? 

Nick: Spill.

Charlie Hot Spring: francis. charlie francis spring. now your turn, mystery boy. Q.?

Nick: A pleasure to meet you, Francis. 

Nick: Hope you're nicer than your sassier alter ego.

Charlie Hot Spring: 🖕🏼🖕🏼

Nick: So eloquent, Francis. 

Nick: Now my F.?

Charlie Hot Spring: you never let go, do you? fine. fucking. nick fucking nelson.

Nick: So typical of you.

Charlie Hot Spring: it’s affectionate… in a chaotic, insulting kind of way.

Charlie Hot Spring: now... Q.?

Nick: Honestly, I didn’t think about it. It just felt dramatic.

Charlie Hot Spring: you are SUCH a golden retriever, i swear. speaking of, you totally derailed me but that’s not why i messaged!

Charlie Hot Spring: NICK F. NELSON explain how your Instagram profile pic is that adorable?!

Nick: Nicholas L. Nelson, actually. Thank you.

Nick: Also… awww, are you saying I’m adorable? 🥹

Charlie Hot Spring: not you, idiot. the dog. the actual adorable creature in the photo. L?!

Nick: Luc. Nicholas Luc Nelson.

Nick: And... meet Nellie. 🐾

Nick: // 📸 Nellie looking cute at Christmas //

Nick: // 📸 Nellie at the beach, ears flying //

Nick: // 📸 Nellie playing in the snow like a lunatic //

Nick: // 📸 Nellie licking Nick's cheek //

Charlie Hot Spring: ajfskhhjffsk

Charlie Hot Spring: \[gif: Zootopia cartoon leopard “so cute”]\

Charlie Hot Spring: OMG. She’s the cutest.

Nick: She’s my dog. 

Nick: Found her in Corsica right before Cambridge. 

Nick: She’s living with my mum until I graduate. 

Nick: She’s basically my furry emotional support now.

Nick: Maybe… you’ll meet her someday?

Charlie Hot Spring: i’d love to… 🐶

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

Since they’d been back in Cambridge, things had been… better. Not exactly simple, but definitely better. Nick wasn’t sure if Charlie considered him a real friend, but Nick definitely thought about Charlie that way.

Well. Maybe not just that way. Okay, not at all just that way.

The truth was, Charlie had become a constant. From rowing practice to chaotic drinks with the gang, to quiet dinners that somehow turned into hours of bickering over playlists or pasta techniques and now, Mario Kart tournaments that had quickly spiraled into a full-blown weekly ritual, Charlie was everywhere. Part of his days. And part of his nights, although that was only with Dream-Charlie.

Life with Charlie was… challenging. 

The guy had an opinion about everything and he never missed an opportunity to call out Nick’s little defaults, like the way he chewed pens when thinking, his slightly dramatic mid-race yelling, or the fact he still said “mince" when he dropped something. But somehow, it never felt mean. It felt like Charlie saw him, teased him with genuine affection. Sarcastic, yes, but kind, in his own dry, infuriatingly clever way.

Charlie was so smart, and sharp and so damn cute funny, with the kind of humor that cuts and kisses at the same time. Nick could sit and listen to him for hours, the rambling, the analysis of song lyrics, the random theories about human behavior or why Wario is definitely in love with Toad.

And texting? That had started innocently. Just logistics for training and gaming. But now? Now it was daily. Charlie sending memes and unhinged voice notes. Nick replying with chaotic energy, trying to match the pace, usually failing. But it didn’t matter. What mattered was that every day, Charlie was in his WhatsApp. A tiny piece of Charlie, just for him, just them.

But Charlie was still with James. James who was nice and reliable. He had that monotone hair and a monotone voice that made every sentence sound like a tax report. He didn’t play Mario Kart, didn’t stay late at the pub, but Nick had to admit he looked at Charlie like he mattered. Nick couldn’t hate that, even if sometimes he wanted to scream into a pillow.

So, Nick tried to behave. He really did. But sometimes… things slipped. Like that time he picked Charlie up after practice as a joke, just spun him around without thinking, only to turn and see James standing right there. That had been awkward, to say the least. 

Or the time he’d made that crack about Charlie’s uncanny talent for getting guys to stroke, delivered far too loudly, and with far too much innuendo. It was like being around Charlie short-circuited whatever filter Nick might have had. Being around Charlie just reduced Nick's ability to think straight… Well, yeah, he was definitely not straight thinking around Charlie.

He was such a disaster around Charlie. Luckily Charlie didn’t seem to mind, or maybe he was just nice enough to let it slide. He never pulled away, he teased, so much, he rolled his eyes with a half-smile. And sometimes, Nick thought he saw something more in Charlie’s eyes or in his smile, but maybe that was just wishful thinking.

Charlie was with James and Nick was just his friend. And that, probably, was for the best.

That’s why Nick hadn’t been surprised when he got a text from Charlie on that Friday night. 

Feb 6, 2026

Charlie Hot Spring: want to eat dust tomorrow after practice? MK?

He didn’t even hesitate. Cancelled his vague afternoon plans, rearranged a study group, and texted back.

Nick: Dust’s never tasted better than with you.

Charlie Hot Spring: such a dork istg 🙄

Which was how, the next day, Nick found himself, sitting cross-legged on the floor of his room, controller in hand, getting absolutely demolished for the third time in a row. His roommates, conveniently, had all found ‘very important errands’ to do that afternoon, which left him alone with Charlie, in his room, on the floor, trying not to die by constantly losing at Mario Kart, or from being a breath apart.

“I’m in the lead” Nick said, focused on the screen.

“You’re not gonna win.” Charlie simply stated

“Can you let me win one time? You’ve won 3 games.” Nick pleaded, eyes locked on the screen.

“I’m going easy on you.” 

“No.” Nick squeaked.

“Yes!” “Noo!” Charlie and Nick exclaimed at the same time.

Charlie let out a wicked laugh. “That’s four, Nelson. Should I call someone? You’re not legally allowed to drive like this.”

Nick groaned. “Okay, first of all, rude. Second of all, I have been distracted!”

Charlie raised an eyebrow without looking away from the screen. “Distracted by what? The overwhelming scent of your own ego burning down in flames?”

Nick turned his head slightly, watching Charlie’s face in profile, the way his brow furrowed when he focused, the curve of his smirk. “Maybe,” he said softly. “Or maybe just by you.”

Charlie looked at Nick with something in his eyes between surprise and flustering.

Shit… Very smooth Nelson.

“Anyway” Nick said hastily “How are you so good at this?”

Charlie smiled almost shyly before saying “Let’s just say you get to be good at real sports, I get to be good at fake ones.”

“No, you’re just good at everything,” Nick said with enthusiasm and admiration.

“No I’m not.” 

“You are. You’re a proper little nerd.” 

“I’m not!” Charlie insisted.

“Let’s see.” Nick counted on his fingers. “You’re good at video games. You smashed literally all your courses and lectures. Playing the drums. And you are good at sports, world class rower and cox.”

“Shut up” Charlie said dismissively.

“Like you stroke so–” Nick added.

“Shhh!” Charlie tackled Nick, pressing his hand over Nick’s mouth.

Nick was fighting back, turning his head on a fake protestation, because it was just too good to have Charlie so close to him. “You know it’s true. Get off me. Get off.”

Charlie pulled back and Nick tossed the controller aside with a dramatic sigh and sat back. “You’re a menace.” 

“You’re just bad,” Charlie shot back, still smug and annoyingly attractive.

Nick turned his head lazily to look at him, heart still doing that little annoying flutter thing it always did when Charlie was around. 

But before he could speak, Charlie’s voice shifted.  “James and I broke up,” he shared with a sigh.

And just like that, the world snapped into sharp focus. 

Nick blinked. His brain froze. His whole body went still, like it needed a second to catch up.

He was doing his best to look neutral but inside he was joy dancing.

You broke up! You and James! You're single! Nope, Nick, Charlie needs a friend right now. A friend who listens, not some creepy guy who jumps his bones at the first opportunity. BUT STILL CHARLIE’S SINGLE NOW AND I’M SINGLE AND I’M BI AND HE’S GAY AND!!!

Nick forced himself to straighten. “Oh, when?” He genuinely cared and hoped James didn’t hurt Charlie.

“Earlier this week.” Charlie didn’t look at him. He was still holding the controller, thumbs idle now, gaze focused somewhere far off.

Nick nodded slowly, trying to keep his breathing normal.

He didn’t know what to do or say. Could he ask why? Could he ask if Charlie would go out with him? Noooo, that wasn’t the moment for that, not his moment, it was too soon. Charlie surely needed space, not to be crushed by Nick’s feelings.

So he swallowed all his questions back and waited for Charlie to be ready to share whatever he would share.

But then Charlie turned toward the window, and smiled softly. “Look.” He nodded towards the window. “It’s snowing.”

Nick followed his gaze. Outside, the first flakes were drifting past the glass, light and slow, like the whole world had taken a deep breath. He looked at Charlie again, his profile bathed in the grey-blue light. His cheeks had a little pink from the warmth of the room. He looked like an angel.

And Nick didn’t say what he really wanted to say, something reckless and too much like “Fuck James. Just be with me. Now.” Instead, what came out was just “Wanna go outside?”

Charlie smiled, soft and amused. “I’m not really equipped. I get cold in like five seconds.”

Nick stood up without a word and rummaged through his closet. He turned around holding his thickest hoodie, along with a scarf and a slightly ridiculous hat with a pompom. “Here. Problem solved.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow but took the clothes anyway. And when he pulled the hoodie on, sleeves falling way past his wrists, the hem almost halfway to his knees, Nick forgot how to breathe for a second.

He looked so cute in it, so… his. Nick had to stop his inner caveman from wrapping his aching arms around him. And maybe he stared just a little too long, because Charlie glanced up and asked, “Ready?”

Nick cleared his throat. “Yeah. Totally. Let’s go.”

The afternoon turned into magic.

They wandered through the snowy streets like kids. Threw snowballs until their fingers were numb and their faces hurt from laughing, made snow angels, talked about nothing. Just silly things like who would survive longest in a zombie apocalypse, whether dogs understood sarcasm, and the stupidest Tik-Tok trend they secretly liked.

At some point, Nick took a selfie of them, cheeks red, hair damp, eyes bright. Then another. And another. Charlie didn’t protest, just leaned in, sometimes stuck his tongue out, sometimes looked at Nick instead of the camera.

Later, Nick would scroll through those photos like they were proof of something he didn’t know how to name.

But in that moment, all he knew was this: he was happy. Stupidly, unapologetically happy.

Everything felt easy, safe and somehow right.

When the sun started to disappear behind the rooftops and their coats were soaked through, they headed back to Nick’s room. Nick handed Charlie a dry jumper before he left, one of those soft, oversized ones that still smelled faintly like his cologne and fabric softener. And he may have imagined it, but he thought he caught Charlie sniffing the collar and that gave him butterflies in his belly.

They stood awkwardly at the door. 

Nick looked at Charlie, hair tousled, nose pink, wrapped in his jumper, and before he could stop himself, it softly slipped out unfiltered.“You look so… cuddly like that.”

Charlie looked up, surprised. Then smiled. “Do I?”

And Nick for once didn’t think. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him close.

Charlie didn’t pull away. He melted into the hug, tucked his face into Nick’s neck, arms slipping around his waist. They stayed like that, quiet, still, breathing each other in.

Nick closed his eyes. Charlie smelled like he always did, books and vanilla with that faint note of citrus. But tonight, there was something layered on top, crisp winter air. Nick knew he’d never get this scent out of his memory.

Eventually, they slowly pulled apart.

Charlie smiled again, softer this time. “See you at practice tomorrow?”

Nick nodded. His voice barely a whisper. “Yeah.”

Charlie waved, jumper sleeves flopping over his hands, and disappeared into the dark corridor.

Nick stood there for a long moment, staring at the empty doorway, heart thudding like a drum in a quiet room.

He was so, so screwed.

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

Feb 11, 2026

Nick: What about a Saturday movie night?

Charlie Hot Spring: saturday is the 14th.

Nick: And?

Charlie Hot Spring: as in valentine’s day, mr. oblivious. don’t you have a hot date lined up or some fancy party full of rich people and champagne flutes?

Nick: Nope. 

Nick: What if I want to spend Valentine’s Day with you, a blanket, and a massive bowl of popcorn watching Iron Man?

Charlie Hot Spring: that is definitely not happening.

Nick: Oh you don’t want to spend that night with me?

Nick: Shit. Silly me. 

Nick: Of course, you probably have a date. Never mind, forget I asked.

Charlie Hot Spring: NICK.

Charlie Hot Spring: STOP. i just meant we’re not watching iron man. or any bloody marvel movie. 

Nick: What?! Come on! They’re fun, relaxing and full of hot people in tight costumes. 

Nick: What’s not to love?

Charlie Hot Spring: i’ll give you thor. he’s… tolerable. but still, hard pass, no amount of spandex can save the plot. tao will never forgive me.

Nick: Wow. Harsh. 

Nick: Also Thor?! Loki or Wiccan are far sexier!

Nick: So what do you want to watch then Mr Jacques Audiard ?

Charlie Hot Spring: have you ever seen call me by your name?

Nick: Is that the one where Timothée Chalamet fucks a peach?

Charlie Hot Spring: yes, nick. but that’s not the point of the movie. so I’m guessing that’s a no?

Nick: Nope. 

Nick: Never seen it.

Charlie Hot Spring: then it’s time for your queer education, little bi-dawan.

Nick: Oh fuck, now I’m picturing you as Master Gay-Yoda 🫣

Charlie Hot Spring: your fantasies continue to deeply concern me, nelson. you should talk to your therapist about that. 🤨

Nick: Trust me. I do.

Charlie Hot Spring: well. in your room to watch peach movie on saturday i will be.

Nick: Yes! 

Nick: 7PM?

Nick: \[gif]: Yoda dancing \

Charlie Hot Spring: oh yes, nick f. nelson… be my valentine.

Charlie Hot Spring: \[gif]: Friends Rachel as cheerleader \ 

Nick: You wish. 

Nick: I need verbal confirmation, Spring.

Charlie Hot Spring: \[voice note]: “I’ll be at your door at seven. With snacks. And gay cinema. Happy now? ”\

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

Valentine’s Day. Not that Nick thought about that when he asked Charlie over for a film night. Okay. Maybe he did. Maybe he knew exactly what day it would be, and maybe he liked the idea that Charlie would spend that evening with no one but him. Sue him!

Ever since that snow day, and the awkward, aching confession that Charlie had broken up with James, Nick’s feelings had become increasingly hard to contain. He felt like a pressure cooker about to blow. (Not just emotionally. Some very physical parts of him were also nearing critical levels whenever Charlie was close, which was often.)

But he kept telling himself to chill. Charlie had ended things with James less than two weeks ago. He needed time. And if Nick was honest with himself, really honest, he could sense something still felt off in Charlie. He just couldn’t quite put his finger on it. (Or he wanted to put his finger on it, but not in the metaphorical sense, which, yeah, not helping.)

So here he was. Hosting a film night on Valentine’s Day, with the gayest movie they could choose. Cupcakes were baked. No ulterior motives. NONE.

Oh come on, Nelson. Who do you think you’re fooling? You so fucking want something to happen.

His suitemates were all already out, Chris was spending the night at Luca’s, and Sai and Otis had opted for the VD party at the Rowing Club.  So when Charlie knocked on his door… Nick took a deep breath and opened it.

“Hi,” Charlie breathed, looking so fucking cute all bundled up in his scarf and beanie. Cheeks tinged pink from the cold, lips slightly chapped, eyes bright, he looked so kissable Nick was already dead.

“Hey, come in!”

“I brought snacks.”

“Cool, I made cupcakes!”

“Cupcakes? Fuck, who are you, Nelson? Didn’t peg you for a real housewife.” He laughed and winked, the cheeky bastard.

Nick rolled his eyes. “Ha ha. Yes, thank you, my mum taught me to bake, and I actually quite enjoy it. Especially when I’m stressed…”

“Oh? Were you stressed to watch a gay movie with me?”

“No. No! Absolutely no stress. About that. Or… anything gay. Or you. I mean, I’m very okay with gay and you and you gay…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Fuck. I’m rambling now.”

Charlie burst into gleeful giggles. Then, merciless “You are. Full Disaster Mode, Nick.”

Nick took a deep breath, doing his best to salvage some dignity. “Anyway, snacks, cupcakes, movie’s ready on my laptop, in my room. Shall we?”

“Lead the way, Bi Guy.”

When they picked the movie, Nick hadn’t really known much about Call Me By Your Name. What he hadn’t anticipated was how uncomfortably close the characters would feel. Charlie was basically a Timothée Chalamet doppelgänger, same curls, same eyes, same intensity. And Nick? Well, tall, blond, broad chest. No need to paint a picture. The resemblance made it very hard not to project.

And then that fucking peach scene happened. 

God. Now Nick couldn’t think of anything else but Charlie holding a peach, biting into it, licking juice off his fingers, the whole fucking thing. The image was permanently engraved into the back of his mind like a cursed screensaver.

He didn’t dare look at Charlie for most of the film, terrified it would be too obvious how not okay he was. But as the movie went on, Charlie gradually shifted closer, no big move, just tiny increments. By the third act, they were shoulder to shoulder on Nick’s bed, arms brushing, hands barely touching. 

Everything in Nick’s body felt electric.

And those scenes, the hot ones. Nick’s brain stopped functioning like a normal brain and started recasting. Suddenly it wasn’t the actors anymore it was him and Charlie, in vivid, sweaty details. And, yeah. He was dangerously close to a very real, very visible situation happening down there. 

He tried to think of anything else:  rowing sessions on the erg, nope, just led him straight to images of Charlie on the erg, sweaty and flushed and fuck. Okay. 

Emergency tactic: his dad, Stéphane’s smug, condescending face. Perfect. That man could kill a boner in no time.

By the time the credits rolled, Nick was absolutely not crying. There were no unshed tears brimming in the corners of his eyes, definitely not. When Charlie turned to look at him, and the warmth of their arms against each other disappeared, Nick felt an immediate, hollow coldness in his chest. 

He heard Charlie’s voice: “Oh, come on. You’re such a fucking giant sap.”

“What?” Nick said, feigning offence.

“You’re crying over a movie,” Charlie teased, eyes twinkling.

“Come on, Charlie, it was sad! They were in love, they deserved to live that love out loud. Forever.”

Charlie shrugged, a little too quietly. “Yeah, but that’s not how life goes, Nick. You know that.”

“Well, life sucks,” Nick pouted, crossing his arms like a sulky kid.

They ended up spending two more hours together playing video games, tossing insults back and forth, almost flirting but never quite crossing the line. They bickered over the dumbest things and laughed too much, and somewhere in between, they talked, really talked.

When Charlie finally left the suite, Nick flopped onto his bed and stared at the pillow where Charlie’s head had rested earlier. It still smelled faintly like him. He buried his face in it, just to hold on to that little bit of Charlie he was allowed to have.

Because he knew he couldn’t ask for more, at least for now. Charlie needed a friend. And Nick, no matter how much he wanted more, had to respect that.

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

Baby-Bi Help Trust  

Feb 15, 2025

Darcy The Egg: Nicky! How was Baby-Bi VD? ❤️

Nick: Nice.

Nick: Yours?

Darcy The Egg: Oh, sweet Nickynook, let’s just say my Taramuffin and I had a very fulfilling evening. In every sense… 😏

Nick: Urgh, why did I ask? 😳

Nick: That sounded like my parents talking about sex.

Tara Bella: It’s called love, Nick. ❤️

Darcy The Egg: Don’t think you can sneak away, Nick-Nak! I know you didn’t go out last night. Soooo... anything you wanna share with the class? 👀

Nick: No date.

Nick: Just a movie night with Charlie at mine.