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Nick felt like he might throw up.
He watched Charlie Spring sit in front of him, across a table that felt both too wide and too narrow, and tried to pretend he wasn’t being broken up with.
It didn’t work for long. Each word Charlie spoke tore Nick in two, and he just wanted it all to end.
“I won’t be the one keeping you in this relationship if it’s not what you want,” he forced himself to say. The words tasted much more bitter than they sounded. They had no bite, and were spoken in something near a whisper.
Charlie shook his head, and Nick wondered if it was a response or a way to hide the tears that were forming. Nick felt so deeply sick.
“I promise I understand. It’s okay. Don’t feel bad.” He left the cafeteria then, before he shattered before everyone’s eyes and had to force himself to pick up the jagged pieces.
_______
Nick stayed home for the next two days. His mum coddled him, lining his bedside table with tea and soup and painkillers. The meaningless items glared at him, reminding him of the lies he had easily let slip out, one after the other. He hadn’t told his mum what had happened with Charlie, and had lied instead, saying he felt feverish. He’d even said things were going well with Charlie when she’d asked, while biting the inside of his cheek through a fake smile. The words tasted like blood and betrayal.
But after three days his time was up, and he knew he couldn’t hide any longer. He wished he could.
He avoided his friends that morning and instead headed straight to form, urging himself not to shake from the anxiousness coursing through him. Everything felt wrong. His world was on full tilt; the polar opposite of the first day in this room. Things had felt bright and new that day, like a blooming flower welcomed by rays of sunshine.
Now, when Charlie walked through the door, Nick didn’t even say hi. The word echoed through his mind, a mental chant that was supposed to materialize into something verbal. But it never did.
Nick felt rigid in his seat, overwhelmed by the familiar scent of Charlie. Fabric softener and some sort of heavenly body wash that he couldn’t quite describe.
He didn’t like how well he knew the smell. Didn’t like how he knew how Charlie smelled even more amazing when Nick’s face was buried in his neck.
But the two were still fairly close, and so it consumed Nick. He wished he could move his chair farther away without it most definitely seeming rude or hostile. But there was no way to explain the situation.
Hey, Charlie, sorry, just gonna scooch a little farther away from you because you smell really good and I already miss you so much it’s suffocating and this is making it about ten times worse. Hope that’s okay!
He clenched his jaw. Yeah, definitely no way to explain.
He redirected his focus on his notebook in front of him, grasping at anything that could serve as a distraction. He went to grab his pencil, and a heat he knew all too well radiated through his hand as it brushed Charlie’s. His face and heart burned simultaneously, and his lips murmured a soft “sorry” greatly without his permission.
He didn’t dare look Charlie in the eyes, but through his peripheral vision he could tell Charlie was flustered.
God. As if Nick didn’t need another reminder of his indelible attraction and longing for the boy sitting right next to him.
He looked adorable when he was flustered.
Nick couldn’t tell if he was dying for form to end or was dying for it to last until the end of the day, just so maybe he’d have a chance to do something - anything - to make things less horribly awkward and tense.
He allowed himself one glance at the curly haired boy, and his heart devoured the split second, clearly deprived of the sight of his boyfriend ex-boyfriend.
Charlie was right next to him, but he’d never felt so far away.
_______
The next few days swallowed Nick whole, and he felt utterly helpless in the cycle of each morning. Sitting next to Charlie in form, a million words on the tip of his tongue, begging to be released. Trying as hard as physically possible not to accidentally brush his hand or shoulder again, but still trying not to be rude by putting too much distance between them. And most of all, miserably failing at keeping his eyes off the boy beside him. He stole as many split seconds as he could. When Charlie was particularly focused on something he was working on, or when he would turn to look out the window, Nick’s eyes lingered far longer than they should have. He ached for Charlie to look at him too.
And then, on a particularly rainy Friday morning, the worst happened. Well, the worst for a heartbroken teenage boy desperately trying to get over his ex-boyfriend.
Charlie rushed through the door, adorably obviously soaked from the rushing downpour, and slipped. In front of everyone. The loose papers and other small school supplies in his hands went flying, and before Nick could even process what he was doing, he was there, gathering Charlie’s papers and pencils, and feeling like even more of a mess than Charlie seemed.
Charlie’s blue eyes were wide, tearing apart Nick’s heart within seconds. And god, Charlie looked at him.
Nick’s brain short circuited. All he could do was hand him the collection of papers and try not to fall apart.
Nick realized he was close enough to hear Charlie’s soft and ragged breaths. And when he did, he couldn’t tell if he loved the inconsequential fact or if he hated that it was suddenly such a novelty.
He felt ripped apart, hilariously transparent before the eyes of Charlie and his classmates. His previous insouciant demeanour was demolished, and although he knew likely no one was paying them any attention any longer, he could still feel laughing eyes burning into the back of his skull.
“Are you okay?” he asked. There he was, laying himself utterly bare the moment Charlie needed help, and still barely audible when he went to further make a fool of himself.
“Oh, um, yeah. Thank you.” Charlie looked like a deer in headlights, clearly shaken up, but unable to move.
Nick helped him up, and nothing had ever burned his heart more than the feeling of letting go of Charlie’s hand, knowing very well he was the only one mourning the loss.
The next day, he asked to change seats.