Work Text:
sleep tight, i’m on my way back
The school library naturally becomes a torturous hell-hole the minute exam season rolls around, silent study desks and laptops snatched by year elevens and thirteens trying to frantically cram modules between classes. Charlie commandeers a rare spot near an open window, papers rustling as a gentle April breeze sends them scattering like autumn leaves across the table. He reaches out, trying to snatch a runaway print-out for his Latin class, then --
Nick’s palm slams on the desk, catching his verbs before they sail like a paper aeroplane out into the courtyard. Charlie looks up, watches as his face softens into a grin at the sight of him. “What would you do without me?”
“Probably more of my coursework,” Charlie chides affectionately, shuffling so Nick can squeeze past and into the seat next to him. “It’s due next period.”
Nick empties what appears to be the entire contents of his satchel onto the table, earning annoyed glances from the students trying to study around him. There’s a maths textbook, at least five loose pencils and some terrifyingly disorganised exercise books, squared paper messy and torn and covered in splattered blue ink.
“I should have a maths past paper in here somewhere,” Nick mutters, resting an apple and a packet of strawberry laces between them. “Aha! Oh -- wait, that’s geography…”
Charlie rolls his eyes and begins to sort out the chaos in front of him, stacking Nick’s papers in a more orderly and chronological fashion. “You are so disorganised. You do realise your exams start in three weeks, right?”
“ Yes, I know, thanks mum,” Nick says, finally finding the famed past paper. It’s as crumpled as the rest of his belongings, NICHOLAS NELSON blurry and smeared across the top. “I’m getting my shit together, I promise.”
“Have you made a revision timetable? Because I noticed that English language is the first -- “
Nick places his hand over Charlie’s mouth, not looking up from the desk. Charlie doesn’t bother struggling, hands curling round Nick’s strong wrists until Nick eventually relaxes, fingers intertwining under the table.
“I have everything under control,” Nick says, his gaze gentle and adoring, like he’s flattered Charlie cares so much. “ Please don’t worry about me.”
“I always worry about you,” Nick’s grip is reassuring, the warmth of his hand bleeding through Charlie’s trousers. “I always worry about everything.”
“I know, ” Nick half-smiles. Charlie thinks they’d probably kiss, now, if they weren’t surrounded by desperately scribbling classmates and Nick’s exams weren’t hanging like a guillotine ominously on the horizon. “I just need to get this past paper done and then I’ll make a colour-coded schedule using your expensive fine-liners, timed breaks and everything.”
“Oh, so you’re just using me for my stationery now, is that it?”
“Yes. It’s one of the key advantages of being a couple. What’s mine is yours, yeah?” Nick reaches out, picking up a wad of Charlie’s colourful post-its. “That obviously includes expensive fine-liners.”
Charlie snatches the post-its back with a smirk. “ Fine. But please, for the love of God, just do your work. ”
Their reverie is rudely interrupted by the librarian, who haughtily reminds them to be quiet or work elsewhere. Charlie’s cheeks flush whilst Nick murmurs an apology -- he forgets frighteningly often that Nick isn’t the only person in every room, because, well. It’s only natural. He opens every door in the hope that Nick might be waiting behind them for him, soaked to the skin and silhouetted by grey and rain dripping from his fringe, droplets spelling i love you on the doormat.
They sit in amicable silence for a few moments, Charlie achingly aware of Nick’s presence, blue fountain pen sketching mindless doodles across question four.
“I just don’t understand this,” Nick whispers comically loudly, pushing the paper over to him. “Not to be that person, but -- when is this ever going to help me in real life?”
Nick’s only attempt at answering the question is by drawing a picture of a lizard, a butterfly, and a dog that could be Nellie.
“It’s a surd,” Charlie explains, circling the key parts of the question in pencil. “Just means you can’t simplify the number to remove a square or cube root, it’ll go on recurring forever. An irrational number.”
“It’s not just irrational. It’s ab -surd.”
Charlie shakes his head in disbelief whilst Nick smiles, clearly pleased with himself. “That was terrible. ”
“I don’t know,” Nick shrugs, drawing a smiley face on Charlie’s hand in fountain pen, “It’s nice to know if the GCSEs don’t work out I have a career as a comedian just waiting there for me.”
“Of course,” Charlie replies, heart thumping. He likes it when Nick uses his skin as a makeshift canvas -- maybe he’ll ask him to design a real tattoo, one day, when he’s old enough to make all his own decisions and his mum won’t throw him out for being stupid and irresponsible . “It would be like that meme, where that guy says that joke and then the camera pans away and there’s one person hysterically laughing and clapping in this, like, empty hall.”
“I am appalled at your lack of faith in my ability to draw crowds,” Nick says, “But if the only member of my fan club is Charlie Spring, that wouldn’t be so bad.”
“Yeah?”
“ Yes, ” Nick smiles warmly, lifting Charlie’s hand to admire his handiwork. “I only really care about your opinion, anyway.”
Unfortunately the librarian is all too ready to share her opinions on their silent-study conversations, so they hastily pack their bags and head over to the art room. Mr Ajayi is nowhere near as judgemental, happily sitting and totally-not-listening to innocent declarations of teenage love.
-
Nick Nelson: This scheduling thing is way harder than I thought it would be
Did you know I have 26 exams coming up???
TWENTY SIX?????
Charlie Spring: yes. your exam timetable came out weeks ago
have you honestly just. not read it
Nick Nelson: Of course I read it smh
I just clearly didn’t take it in
HOW am I going to do this!!!!
Charlie Spring: do you want me to come over
ill bring my fineliners
and pringles
Nick Nelson: Ugh if you have to
(Please come over I’m dying and I need you)
Charlie Spring: [running man emojis]
-
“I’m a superhero with a very niche superpower,” Charlie says, smoothing down a bright yellow post-it on Nick’s wall. “I can plan everyone’s life except my own with absolute precision.”
Big sheets of A3 paper plan Nick’s life over the next eight weeks in perfect detail, green indicating study hours, blue indicating sleep and pink indicating other necessities: exercise, eating and making out with Charlie.
Nick stands back, eyes wide and jaw dropping like he’s in the corridor of the Louvre, stealing a first glimpse at the Mona Lisa over the top of gaggling gangs of tourists.
“Don’t worry,” Charlie clarifies, standing next to him, arms nudging together. “You can go to the toilet whenever you want. I didn’t bother scheduling that in.”
Nick laughs. “I’m not sure I’ll have time to go to the toilet, but okay.”
Nick wraps his arms round Charlie’s shoulders whilst he goes for Nick’s middle, pulling his side closer to him. “It’s only eight weeks. Eight weeks and it’s all over.”
“The longest eight weeks of my life.”
“Yeah, and then you get the longest summer ever, ” Charlie reasons, “Whilst I’ll be stuck sweating to death when Mr Loxley refuses to let us take our jumpers off.”
“Char. I’ll spend my days waiting for you to finish lessons so we can hang out.”
“You can bring Nellie at lunchtime and talk to me through the gates.”
“Yeah, and be put on some sort of register for loitering around schoolchildren?” Nick scoffs, before pressing a kiss to the top of Charlie’s head. “I think I’ll pass on that one.”
It’s going to be weird, Charlie thinks, not seeing Nick every single day. Something uncomfortable shifts in his chest, shards of glass pressing between his ribs, when he thinks about it happening forever -- the day Nick finishes his A Levels and goes to university, leaving him behind. The day when the only kisses they share are the ones hastily typed at the end of Instagram messages, miles and miles and miles apart and the distance never closing. Not being able to walk for ten minutes and end up at Nick’s door.
“Thank you,” Nick says suddenly. Charlie looks up, Nick’s expression sincere. “For looking after me.”
Cherry blossom petals float in the wind and settle on Nick’s window sill outside, frothy and pink like frosting on a birthday cake.
“It’s what I’m here for,” Charlie replies.
He’s really saying I’ll look after you forever, if you’ll let me.
-
nick_nzzzz posted a story: [photo] [sleeping emoji] [pencil emoji]
charlie_spr1 replied: i hope ur drinking lots of water!!!!
nick_nzzzz replied: [photo] Don’t worry, my mum has got that down
Although I could do with one of those Victorian pot things under my bed
For pissing in
charlie_spr1 replied: remember: toilet breaks are allowed under the spring regime
in fact i would go as far as to say theyre encouraged
nick_nzzzz replied: I’ll keep that in mind
Can u come over later?
I need help with my Spanish vocab
Also I miss your face
charlie_spr1 replied: cierto [spanish flag emoji]
also i miss ur face too!!!
[heart emojis]
nick_nzzzz replied: [heart emojis]
-
The form room is quiet when the year elevens go on study leave. Walking over to his and Nick’s table and finding only two empty seats opens a chasm in Charlie’s stomach, his feet teetering over the edge, perilously close to falling in.
Yeah. Codependency is a very real and very present problem, thank you very much.
“Charlie Spring,” Mr Lange announces his name loudly to the room, like he always does. Charlie blinks, throwing his bag under the table. “Now Nicholas Nelson has gone on study leave, would you like me to assign you a new partner on the seating plan?”
“No!” Charlie interjects, almost a little too hastily. Mr Lange only looks mildly taken aback. He feels his cheek redden, shifting position in his uncomfortable plastic chair. “No, I’m fine on my own, thank you.”
( Cold January sunlight filters through the window, reflecting off Nick’s auburn hair like bronze, a sculpture from classical Greece. The romantic in him wonders if this is their meet-cute, whether this perfect boy will ever mean more to him than his randomly assigned partner on a seating plan.
He feels flowers blooming beneath his feet, stems growing and tangling and pulling them together, slowly yet surely like nature is inclined to do.
He takes off his coat and tries to act casual, but he finds himself breathless, air snatched from his lungs. Nick looks at him. Nick notices him, sees him, lips parted in a bemused smile and cheeks pink.
“Hi,” Charlie says, inadvertently starting an inside joke.
“Hi,” Nick replies.
When they look away, there is a noticeable shift in the atmosphere, like the universe is sighing in relief. The carefully engineered years and hours and minutes that have led to this moment have finally paid off. Nicholas Nelson and Charlie Spring have met, and nothing will be the same again.)
“Okay,” Mr Lange says, raising an eyebrow sceptically. “Well, seeing as it's almost the end of term, it doesn’t really matter. Let me know if you change your mind.”
When he runs his thumb round the edge of the table, he finds the words N+C - 2022 carved into the wood, Nick’s mindless and lovelorn vandalism. In ten years, twenty even -- this will be their blue plaque. Nick Nelson and Charlie Spring met here, it’ll say. The greatest love story of all time.
For the moment, though, it’s just for him. It’s quite romantic, really. He wonders how many other school rules Nick will break for him.
-
Two days before Nick sits his first exam, his fountain pen breaks.
They’re sat on Sarah and Nick’s garden furniture in late May evening warmth, textbooks and past exam papers sprawled across the patio table between half-drunk glasses of diet coke. Charlie subtly watches Nick’s determined features as he tries to collate a coherent response to a comprehension question, the text highlighted in bright turquoise marker.
The pen just…slips, out of his grip, clattering to the floor. Blue ink flows in vein-like patterns across the stonework, blearing with mud and the white soles of Nick’s trainers. He quickly drops to the ground, picking up smashed shards of glass and a warped metallic nib.
“Shit,” he mutters, hissing as a fragment snags his thumb and red blurs in with the blue, “ Shit. ”
“It’s okay,” Charlie offers, handing him a piece that landed close to his foot. Nick wipes a frantic, fast tear away with his sleeve, blinking intensely. “We can go into town tomorrow, get another one.”
Nick refuses to look at him. “It’s just a pen. It doesn’t matter.”
“Nick,” Charlie reaches out, grabs his empty hand. “Nick, it’s clearly not just a pen.”
Nick is quiet for a few moments, his eyes red-rimmed and wet. It’s not the first time he’s seen Nick cry and it probably won’t be the last. He’s never been ashamed of showing his emotions, not once he understands them. It’s a trait Charlie wishes he’d could share.
“It’s stupid,” Nick’s brow furrows. Charlie squeezes his hand harder. “But -- my dad bought me it, ages ago. He forgets my birthday a lot so it’s really special to me, whenever he remembers. I thought it would bring me luck.”
“It’s not stupid.” Charlie reaches out and wipes away a stray tear with his thumb, Nick’s eyes fluttering closed. “I have a teddy bear my dad bought me when I was a kid. I’d be heartbroken if I lost it. Things don’t have to be extravagant or expensive to be special.”
Nick sniffs loudly. “How do you always know the right thing to say?”
“It’s a Spring thing,” Charlie says, Nick choking on a half-laugh half-sob. “We’re remarkably good therapists for other people.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed that.” Nick stands up, his blood still dripping onto the patio, mirroring the ink stains. “I wish you’d be just as kind to yourself, sometimes.”
“The world would implode,” Charlie jokes. Or tries to joke. Nick isn’t wrong. He’d much rather that the people he loves are happy than himself. He reaches across to his pencil case and pulls out a black biro from a WH Smith ten pack, placing it into Nick’s free hand and curling his fingers around it. “Take this. It’s not exactly a fountain pen, but I think it could get you through this exam.”
“Things don’t have to be extravagant or expensive to be special,” Nick echoes. He toys with the pen between his fingers before placing it behind his ear in a way that Charlie finds, like, remarkably hot. “I think I should probably throw this glass in the bin before I die from blood loss.”
Charlie nods. “Good idea. I don’t want to have to explain to your mum why you’re passed out on the patio.”
“You think a night in A&E might get me out of my GCSEs?”
“No,” Charlie replies, opening the door into the kitchen. “You’ll just have an invigilator by your bed side, prodding you awake with time updates.”
Nick laughs, properly, and Charlie realises he’s done his job. He’ll be okay.
-
“That pen wasn’t just special because of my dad,” Nick admits whilst Charlie is on his way out, handing him his jacket off the bannister. “Do you remember that morning when it exploded all over me? You were there, helping me clean up.”
Of course he remembers. If anything, it’s a core memory, a reel of film he replays whenever he feels sad or lonely or insecure. He knew then that Nick was different, that this was different.
“You were making a fashion statement,” Charlie teases, “Probably one that Truham wasn’t quite ready for, yet.”
“It was one that I wasn’t ready for.” Nick tugs at the collar of Charlie’s coat, running his fingers down the lapels. “I had no idea how much you were going to change my life, back then.”
Charlie tilts his head, trying to read Nick’s eyes. “In a good way?”
Nick’s gaze flickers up and there is such intensity in his irises, a golden supernova bursting round the black holes in his pupils. “ Always. ”
-
He lingers round the corridor next to Nick’s exam hall a few minutes before they’re due to be released, eyes scanning the quiet, exam in progress signs plastered across the walls. His stomach had been in just as many knots as Nick’s had -- he just wants it to go well, for him to get the grades he so obviously deserves.
Eventually, he hears the sound of chairs scraping and the double doors whooshing open. The expressions on the faces of the year elevens mix from indifference to full on despair, interspersed with excited discussions regarding their shared trauma. Charlie’s eyes scan the heads for a glimpse of russet-coloured hair and a spattering of freckles, mouth spreading into an anxious grin as he spots him.
“How did it go?” Charlie wraps his hand round Nick’s elbow. “Everything okay?”
Nick’s shoulders visibly relax, like he’s spent the last hour and a half completely rigid. He exhales a long breath. “I think it went okay, yeah.”
Charlie longs to hold him but he won’t, yet, not with everyone watching. “Should we get milkshakes?”
Nick’s smile is tired and gentle. “Can we share?”
“As long as you don’t choose bubblegum.”
Nick shakes his head. The corridor is empty now, his classmates trudging across the field towards the schoolgate. Charlie notices him look from side to side before ducking into kiss him, hands cupping his neck.
“I’m still not letting you choose bubblegum,” Charlie says, a little dazed. Nick laughs.
“Ah. You saw through my ploy, then.” He takes Charlie’s hand, tugging him towards the fire door. They don’t notice Mr Ajayi standing in the entrance of the exam hall, arms folded, thinking of the soft, teenage romance that he never got to have.
-
“You’ll never guess what,” Nick says in between deep breaths, the world rushing past them as they jog through the park. Charlie has found that exercise keeps Nick focused. He feels more relaxed and prepared for another day of sitting in exam halls if he’s done a couple of kilometres, especially as the school rugby games have finished for the year.
Charlie finds it easy to keep level with Nick’s stride. Nick’s stronger, but Charlie is faster, more agile. He might not be a rugby lad anymore but he could thrash him in the eight hundred metres. “What?”
“My dad,” he pants, “He sent me a new pen, in the post. Like. Totally out of the blue. A proper nice one, as well.”
Charlie pretends to look surprised. “He did?”
“Yeah,” Nick’s smile is effervescent, overjoyed. “He said he’d meant to send me something for ages and that a new pen would help me with my exams. I just couldn’t believe it. What are the chances?”
“A million to one,” Charlie replies. They pause for a break next to a bench, chests heaving. The weather is warm today, sun beaming despite it barely being seven am. “I’m so happy for you.”
(He doesn’t mention the messages he sent to Stephane Nelson over Facebook the night Nick had cried, his prized possession crushed and his heart even more so. It’s not his place).
“I’m still going to use the one you gave me, though.” Nick takes a long drink of water. “I’d rather think about you than my dad, anyway.”
Oh. So that’s how it is.
-
The next couple of weeks trawl by as they always do in the summer term, coursework deadlines stacking up like paper-bound tower blocks, an impenetrable barricade between Charlie and the holidays. Nick has taken to surviving almost entirely on black coffee and five hours of sleep per night, desperately trying to power through.
“Well,” Tara says, accepting an iced mocha from the waitress with a smile, “At least you didn’t do what Darcy did and skip the whole back page of the exam paper.”
Darcy flings a chip unceremoniously in Tara’s direction. “Look, how was I supposed to know that exams were supposed to have a back page?”
“That question was worth thirty marks, ” Elle stresses, eyes wide. “You need thirty marks to pass .”
Darcy shrugs, taking a bite of her burger. Tomato sauce runs down her chin and Tara rolls her eyes affectionately, rubbing it off with her napkin. “It was only history. Who cares about history?”
“Historians,” Tao interjects, chin in hand. “And probably anyone who doesn’t want world war two to repeat itself.”
“To be fair, that’ll probably happen regardless of my GCSE results.” Darcy looks pointedly at Nick. “So I wouldn’t worry too much. What happens happens. That’s what I always say.”
Nick groans, rubbing his hand across his tired eyes. Charlie squeezes his knee under the table. “I need to pass maths to get into sixth form. And that just went so badly .”
This whole thing is an intervention. Nick had mostly been fine until the maths papers came up, anxiety lingering round his bones like a jittery ghost. Charlie had thought maybe a few hours away from his desk would help, reassured by Tara and Darcy’s very different versions of realism. He almost wishes he was taking his exams too, so he could empathise, but he isn’t and this is the closest thing that he’s going to get.
“Look, no-one thinks maths goes well,” Elle says, placing a sympathetic hand on Nick’s arm. “Unless you’re Charlie, of course.”
“Hey!” Charlie replies, “That’s so not true.”
“Okay, Mr-I-Got-A-Nine-In-Maths-When-I-Was-Thirteen,” Elle mocks, picking a chip off Tao's plate. Tao jokingly slaps her hand away. “Point is, you’ve probably done better than you think you have.”
Nick leans so his head rests on Charlie’s shoulder, his plate of food mostly untouched. He won’t admit it, but he’s worried. He’s never seen him like this, nervy and sleep-deprived and exhausted, his skeleton cracking and fracturing like porcelain.
“Besides, you'll definitely have done better than me.” Darcy leans across the table, trying to be covert. “I have French in the morning and have done no revision whatsoever.”
“You told me you had!” Tara’s jaw hangs open, aghast.
“Yeah. I lied.” Darcy throws her arm round Tara’s shoulder, pulling her close. “ Bonjour, mon petite croissant.”
The whole table erupts into laughter, including Nick, Charlie feeling his grin against his shoulder. Just two weeks more and his GCSEs will be a distant dream, one of those that just…goes, the minute you wake up.
-
Charlie Spring: how did geography go? [world emoji] [heart emoji]
Nick Nelson: Good I think! Those flashcards you made me definitely helped
And oxbow lakes came up!!
So I had that down
Charlie Spring: that’s so great!! i’m so proud of you
Nick Nelson: [heart emojis]
Sorry I’ve been so difficult to be around lately
Exams are just hard
I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have you
Charlie Spring: you havent been difficult
its understandable that things have been hard
and im always here for you
like you are for me
Nick Nelson: I love you so much
Charlie Spring: i love you
-
He stands on Nick and Sarah’s doorstep with a gift-wrapped cardboard box in his grip. Sarah opens the door and he immediately notices where Nick gets his smile from, all sunshine and Bonfire night sparklers and glowing paper lanterns.
“Charlie! How lovely to see you!” Sarah says, standing back to let him in. “I didn’t know you were coming round, sweetheart.”
“Yeah,” he steps into the corridor, wiping his mud-streaked converse on the doormat. He leans down to give Nellie an affectionate pat on the head. “I just thought I’d pop by.”
Sarah notices the box he’s holding and her eyes are knowing, thankful. “Nick is revising in his room, I think. Feel free to go up. I’ll bring you some tea in a minute.”
Charlie nods and pads upstairs in his socks, eyes skimming the photos of Nick lining the wall. He peers round the door into Nick’s room and sees him hunched over his desk, pen between his teeth, books scattered around him.
“Hey,” Charlie murmurs quietly, careful not to scare him. Nick looks up, surprised at first, before relaxing into a gentle and relieved smile. “Your mum let me in.”
He’s too tired to make a sassy joke and instead just opens his arms, desperate to be held. Charlie doesn’t need to be asked twice -- he rests the box on the bed and wraps his arms round him, feeling Nick sigh into his shoulder, like for a moment he’s okay, he’s okay, he’s okay.
“You have two exams left,” Charlie murmurs in his ear. “ Two. You can do this.”
Nick leans out of the embrace and Charlie studies the deep, purple bags under his dull eyes, like he needs to sleep for the next five years. He kisses his forehead and his hair smells like oranges and hibiscus, fresh and sweet and Nick.
“What’s this?” Nick asks as his eyes catch the box, wrapped in blue and yellow paper. “Is this for me?”
“Yeah.” Charlie picks it up, places it on Nick’s knee. “I just -- I made you something, to help you get through your last exams. It’s silly, really, if you don’t like it I can -- “
Nick starts pulling out a box of herbal tea, a packet of chocolate buttons, a teddy bear wearing a little woollen jumper. A strip of photos from a photobooth, kisses pressed to cheeks, a potted plant and a beaded bracelet and a bottle of blue ink. Seashells from Brighton beach in a tiny drawstring bag. A bisexual pride pin. A stupid, poorly drawn sketch of Nellie with a speech bubble screaming you can do this, Nick!
Nick sits in silence for a second before covering his eyes. And then he starts sobbing.
“Oh my God, it’s too much,” Charlie panics, heart racing. What the fuck are you supposed to do when your boyfriend starts crying after you give him a present? “I’ll take it away -- “
“You made me a care package,” Nick whispers hoarsely. He stands, directly in front of Charlie, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Come here, you idiot .”
They squeeze the bones of each other, like if they hold on long enough they’ll become one person, completely and totally imperceptible from one another.
“It’s perfect, Charlie,” Nick murmurs into his neck, “You’re perfect.”
“I thought you hated it. You’re crying .”
“They’re happy tears.” When they pull back, Nick is laughing. “Plus, I’ve slept about six hours in the past two days, so. I’m feeling everything pretty intensely at the minute.”
Now you know how I feel all the time, Charlie thinks. He hands Nick a tissue and he dabs at his red face, drying away his tears. They both move away to the bed -- Nick lies down first and Charlie jumps down next to him, pressing his head to his chest.
“You are one of a kind, Charlie Spring,” Nick says, his hands running through Charlie’s curls. “I’m so glad you chose me.”
He wonders if choice was even a factor in this, because people live whole lives without meeting their person yet here they are, fifteen and sixteen and in love to the point where there can’t possibly be anyone else, not now, not ever. How can that be choice? He feels time shift around them, like they’re a fixed point, a definite centre.
But that sounds suspiciously like fate, doesn’t it? Stars aligning. He doesn’t believe in that. Does he?
Maybe not. He finds Nick’s heartbeat, splaying his palm across it. If this is the soundtrack to the rest of his life, so be it.
-
“Thank you,” Sarah says on his way out. “About the pen.”
Charlie blinks innocently. “What?”
“Stephane is…complex, and not always there when he should be.” Sarah’s smile is wistful, like she’s remembering something long gone. “But I think we’ve got more than enough love between the two of us, right? For Nick. He’s a lucky boy.”
Charlie doesn’t know what to say. He stands in the orange glow of the porch light, toes pointing inwards. He’s taken aback when Sarah wraps her arms round him, holding him like he’s about to vanish, the exact same way that Nick does.
“Take care of yourself, Charlie,” Sarah murmurs. “You’ll have to come over for dinner soon.”
“Yeah,” Charlie replies, his eyes closing. “Yeah, I will.”
-
They celebrate the long-awaited end of the dreaded GCSEs in a field a short walk from Nick’s house, Tao begrudgingly carrying a disposable barbecue whilst Nick, Charlie, Elle, Tara, Darcy and Isaac drag carrier bags of Quorn sausages, paper plates, bread rolls and picnic blankets. There’s a party going on at the house of one of the rugby boys, the whole of both Truham and Higgs seems to be going, but neither Charlie or Nick are Harry Greene’s biggest fans.
Besides, he’d much rather be here, Tao trying and failing to light the barbecue, refusing to let Nick help whilst Elle laughs unhelpfully in the background.
Nick is lighter, now. His laugh is effortless, butterflies swarming in the summer air. A weight has been lifted.
“Fine, go on,” Tao huffs, shoving a pack of matches into Nick’s grip. “Show us how it’s done.”
“This must be a very humbling moment for you,” Elle teases. “The great Tao Xu, defeated by a disposable barbecue.”
“I don’t want to steal anyone’s thunder,” Nick raises his hands. Isaac offers him a Sprite and he takes it, opening it with a satisfying hiss.
“No, please do,” Darcy insists, throwing a packet of crisps down onto the rug. “I’d ideally like to eat before it gets dark, thanks. I’m bloody starving.”
God, if there was ever a moment that Charlie would want to freeze forever, it would be this -- Tao and Elle bickering, Isaac shaking his head in bemusement, Tara and Darcy taking every second just to touch each other. And Nick. Nick. Nick’s eyes settling on him from a few metres away, the smile that has always said you’re home, now.
“Charlie is the one that’s good at everything,” Nick says, offering him the matches. “Maybe he should give it a go.”
He rolls his eyes but accepts, hands touching. A stuttering of electricity.
He’d walk to the ends of the Earth for Nick Nelson, if he asked. He supposes lighting a barbecue is quite a minor thing in comparison.
-
The sun sets, casting the grass in red and orange and purple. The seven of them hurriedly grab the blankets and wrap them round their shoulders, Tara and Darcy, Elle and Tao, Isaac perfectly happy with his copy of Paper Towns. Nick opens his arm like a cape and Charlie shuffles in, warmed by his body heat.
Nick skewers a marshmallow and chars it on the remnants of the barbecue. Charlie studies him, watches as his teeth pull at the elastic pink foam, sticky and stringy and messy.
“What?” Nick laughs, marshmallow stuck to his chin. “Charlie, you’re staring at me.”
When he kisses him, his lips taste like sugar. Next to them, Darcy is trying to feed Tara a marshmallow directly from her mouth, whilst Tara giggles and pushes her away.
He notices that Nick is wearing the beaded bracelet he’d put in his care package. Nick’s fingers naturally play with it, like they’re drawn to it.
“You know, maybe I didn’t need a lucky pen, after all,” Nick suddenly says, looking at him. “Maybe I just needed a Charlie.”
Yeah, well. It would be too obvious to say maybe I needed a Nick, too. He’s known from the day they met that something had always been missing, something that he’d looked for in Ben and didn’t get back. But he looks at Nick, now, and knows.
-
Nick lets Charlie open his little brown envelope on results day, hands too shaky to do it himself. He peels open the top, revealing the sheet of paper that will foretell his future.
“Go on?” Nick urges, face pale and anxious. “What does it say?”
Charlie grins, chest swelling with pride. “You passed them all. Every single one.”
“What?” Nick gasps in surprise. “Even maths?”
“Even maths.” Nick laughs loudly in response, head tilting backwards. He might float off into the sky at any second, black clouds lifting and dissipating. “Oh my god, I’m so proud of you!”
“I PASSED MATHS!” Nick yells, throwing his arms round Charlie and spinning him round. Charlie shrieks, and he knows people are staring, but he doesn’t fucking care. “Looks like you’re going to have to put up with me in the sixth form, after all.”
Charlie lets his feet dangle in the air for a moment or two before kissing him. Oh, there are worse things in the world than having to deal with Nick Nelson for another two years. He’ll probably cope.