Chapter Text
Nick doesn't see him until he's assigned to work with him for the project.
He doesn't know how he feels about the project. Or about creative writing. Or working with another person on creative writing.
Reluctant, he supposes, if he was made to pick a word; he supposes that in Creative Writing 206, he'll have to pick lots of words, stringing them together like popcorn on strings at Christmas.
It's not that Nick Nelson, once deemed incredibly popular (not that he cared for such a label) in secondary school, is afraid to talk or work with people. He's good with people, usually. Good at blending in, but making himself noticed when it came to rugby or getting the attention of girls.
He's fine with people. He's mediocre at writing. He's entirely unsure about Charles Spring, who, until the professor paired him up moments before, Nick had skimmed over his entire existence for the month they'd been in class.
But, right. He had seen him. He was just always behind a laptop screen, just filling up another spot at a table.
"It's just Charlie, actually," he says in a small voice, and he looks over at Nick, offering a smile. Just Charlie has slightly curly black hair that sort of falls into his eyes and a large brown jumper with a white dress shirt collar popping out. Nick smiles back, and as he moves over to sit with him, his first impression is that Charlie looks like a child who tried to dress up by invading his dad's closet.
(Then, Nick supposes that's mean. But he didn't mean it to be mean, because he thinks this Charlie looks nice, probably pulls off the look better than he could.)
Charlie said something, and Nick missed it.
"Sorry, what?"
"I asked if it was just Nick for you, or if you go by Nicholas." Charlie repeated.
"Just Nick is fine," Nick replies, his face flushing ever so slightly at the thought of going by something as pretentious as Nicholas. "Thanks for asking, just Charlie."
Charlie laughs softly at that, opening his laptop. Immediately, Nick's eyes flicker down to the stickers on either side of the mousepad; one reads be gay, do crimes in shining rainbow letters, while the other is just a dog. It's cute and cartoonish and reminds Nick of his own old dog Nellie from back home, which makes him smile just looking at it.
"What?" Charlie asks, instinctually and subtly covering covering up his gay sticker with his wrist, fingers lingering over the keyboard before pulling up the assignment.
"Nothing," Nick replies. "I just like your stickers, is all. The dog one reminded me of my own, see?" he pulled out his phone, showing Charlie the lockscreen, on which a younger Nellie was being hugged by a younger Nick. He was probably sixteen years old when he took that picture, and now...at nineteen, he hadn't really realized how much time had passed.
"Aw, he's cute!" Charlie cooed, and Nick grinned, always happy to fawn over his dog. "What's his name?"
"Her name is Nellie," Nick said, putting his phone away and watching as Charlie pulled up their assignment. "I got her on my birthday when I was ten, she's been my best friend ever since...wow, a month's a long time for a writing assignment, is it really that long?"
"Well, it is forty thousand words," Charlie muttered, as if he did not just spout a number that made Nick's heart do a triple kick combo in his chest.
"Forty thousand?" Nick blinked at the text on the assignment's page. For the past month, they had just been doing small things; five hundred words here, two thousand words there. Forty thousand seemed like a world away, a distant planet for only the most esteemed of brilliant authors.
"I'm sure we can manage," Charlie replied, though even he seemed breathless at the sheer massive nature of the assignment. "I mean, honestly, I can do most of the work and you can, like...look it over when I'm done, if you want..."
"What?" Nick asked incredulously. "No, I'm not going to do that. We'll just have to meet up loads to work on it. What's the prompt, anyway?"
Charlie read it aloud: "Any genre, though it must take place in a school. Must have more than one scene, contain proper world-building and language. No graphic..." he blushed at the last bit of instruction, as though the hesitation were obligational. "Sexual content..."
"Ah, well," Nick sighed as he slumped back in his seat. "There goes my revenge plan."
Charlie snorted at that, and Nick beamed, always loving to make people laugh. He had a feeling he was at least going to enjoy Charlie's company this month.
"I mean, honestly, what would be better than to make that nutcase sorry he ever assigned us this other than to write forty thousand words of genuine pornography?" Nick asked.
Charlie laughed again, keeping his voice down so other students wouldn't stare. He leaned back, looking at Nick pointedly. "As appealing as it would be to write a novella's worth of sex scenes with essentially a stranger--"
Nick let out a faux offended sound. "Essentially an acquaintance,"
"Sure," Charlie continued. "I would honestly like to know what you favorite appropriate genre is."
"Er," Nick started. He wracked his brain, trying to find something to grasp onto, though there was nothing. It was as if every movie he'd ever watched or book he'd ever read was suddenly disappeared from existence. "I like pirates...?" he settled, feeling particularly dumb.
Charlie's brows furrowed in a way that Nick could only conclude meant that Charlie was actually ridiculously smart, and was only entertaining the idea of working with Nick in order to laugh at his shortcomings. Any second now, he'd probably ask the professor to work alone, promising sixty thousand words and leaving Nick in the dust to write about school-pirates.
"I don't think we can write about pirates, 'cause it's in a school." Charlie said instead, before looking actually interested in the idea. "Unless it's a school that teaches you how to be a pirate."
"Are you sure?" Nick asked. "That seems a little..." he didn't want to say childish, not when Charlie was trying to be nice--
Charlie pulled up a blank document and began to type.
Claire was on the plank, the single board wobbly, and she knew she was entirely unprotected despite the shing sword she clutched to her chest like a lifeline.
"Give it up already," The boy in front of her--
(Nick saw Charlie type and backspace several names, then, even Nicholas, though he decided to leave it blank after a moment.)
"Give it up already," The boy in front of her sneered. "You'll never make it in this Academy, you won't even make it off this plank!" He brought his own sword down, then, stabbing a great wound in the ship's already molding plank. The crackle started, like ice as it slid down the length of the single board, before it fell apart entirely, Claire--
"What happens to Claire?" Nick wondered, slightly embarrassed with the breathless wonder in his voice.
Charlie looked over to where Nick was leaning slightly closer to get a good look at his computer and grinned, seeming slightly proud of himself. "Are you free tonight?" he asked. "To work on the project."
Nick nodded. "I had other classwork, but it can be moved around, it's not urgent. Not as urgent as Claire's situation, anyway."
Charlie looked around, and Nick followed his gaze to where the other students were packing up. "We could meet in the library, if you want. Maybe seven? Then, you get to decide what happens to Claire."
"Sounds good," Nick agreed, taking out a torn scratch sheet of paper, writing down his Instagram username. "Text me, alright?"
"Alright," Charlie smiled, and Nick thought he had a rather friendly smile, and that it was a bit of a shame he was always hiding behind his computer screen.
Nick started towards the door, bag already packed, when he felt a hand on his shoulder for the briefest moment. "Oh, and Nick?"
"Hm?" Nick hummed, turning to acknowledge Charlie with a smile.
"No writing pirate porn, alright? No matter how much you hate the word count requirement." Charlie said matter-of-factly, though he seemed unable to hide a slight flush in his cheeks at the bravery of the words.
"Wouldn't dream of it," Nick replied, the flush in his own cheeks mirroring Charlie's own as he went out the door, still smiling as he went to his next lecture. And, if he was thinking up funny things to say to Charlie through half the class, well, who would know?
(Outside the window, multi-colored autumn leaves twirled through the air, a new perspective in the air as they fluttered to the ground.)