Work Text:
Charlie liked to think he wasn’t the sort of boy to fall for the first straight boy that was nice to him.
Despite popular belief (read: Tao), he didn’t have a crush on Nick Nelson. Just because they talked in form, and sometimes in the hall, and Charlie enjoyed it, didn’t mean he had a crush. Hell, that didn’t even make them friends.
Case in point, he’d never thought about Tao or Aled that way. He’d known Tao since they were eleven, and not once had that thought ever crossed his mind. Not even when Tao had stubbornly stuck by his side all of last year, despite the taunts and rumours of the exact opposite spreading through the school.
Even better proof would be Ben.
Ben was a lot of things. Nice wasn’t one of them. Charlie hadn’t gotten with Ben because he thought he was nice.
He couldn’t really remember why he’d gotten with Ben at all, actually.
He remembered the shock when Ben had approached him, while he was practicing drums. Confusion mixed with wariness at Ben’s compliments. The easy way Ben sat next to him, bumping his knee against Charlie’s. And then they were kissing, and Charlie wasn’t thinking much at all.
Attraction had played a factor, for sure. He’d thought Ben was hot. Him and half the girls at Higgs. And it was the truth. The styled yet still somehow messy hair. Brooding dark eyes. Undeniable charisma. He had been a dream. He still was a dream.
And Charlie had thought that maybe, he had a chance at a boyfriend.
God. Even the idea of a boyfriend still felt so… coveted. Yet out of reach. Unattainable even. It’d been over a full term since the bullying had stopped and yet, he still didn’t feel like he could be himself. Even the mere concept of a boyfriend was something to be bundled up carefully and cradled close to his chest. Because he didn’t get nice things. And he had to be grateful for what he did have.
And maybe that starry-eyed Year 9 dream was fading, but that didn’t mean he didn’t like Ben.
Once, he’d hoped he could be a confidant for Ben. He’d seen how much Ben was struggling with his sexuality. He would’ve been happy to talk to him about it, but every time he attempted to bring it up, Ben was either kissing him or leaving.
But Ben needed more time. He didn’t want to come out yet. And that was okay. That would always be okay. Nobody should ever have to come out before they felt ready.
Charlie was grateful for what he had, truly.
What he had was one of the most attractive boys in the school kissing his brains out in empty classrooms and dark corners of the library. What he had was a Year 11 on his phone, asking him to meet up in the music room. What he had was mind-blowing make-out sessions, bruised lips and tousled hair.
(What he had was messages on his instagram demanding they meet up , telling him you’re so fucking useless when he accidentally missed them. What he had was complete public indifference and why are you talking to me? I don’t even know who you are.)
So Ben couldn’t be called nice, not really. There was nothing nice in the way he kissed Charlie, pushing, taking, Charlie liking it all the same. There was nothing kind in Ben when he pressed him against the wall, kissing the breathless smile off Charlie’s lips.
Ben was intense. He was all-encompassing. Charlie couldn’t deny the little jolt his heart did when Ben’s dark eyes dropped from his own, to his lips.
And yet, Ben wasn’t nice.
Point. Charlie didn’t fall for people just because they were nice to him.
Of course, none of these explanations could be made to Tao, so he’d have to make do with knowing to himself that he was right. That he didn’t have a crush on Nick Nelson of all people, because he was already crushing on Ben Hope. (Not that such an explanation would reassure Tao in the slightest.)
Nick Nelson was out of his league, anyway.
Though, if he really thought about it, he supposed he could see the appeal. Tao was right – he did sort of have the energy of a golden retriever. He was kind, in a pure way – like it was all he knew to offer. Like he didn’t believe in anything less. He didn’t seem to care that Charlie was a Year 10, or that he was gay (and god, the bar was on the fucking floor at Truham), and Nick wasn’t as mindless-rugby-lad as Tao would like to believe.
And they’d gotten into a… habit. Of talking. In form. That one time Charlie had been sent with him to the bathroom when Nick’s fountain pen had exploded. Or yesterday, even, when he’d bumped into Nick in the hall.
Maybe Charlie hadn’t been able to suppress the smile on his face when it’d happened. Nick had smiled back at him softly, and Charlie had absentmindedly dismissed the twinge in his heart as anxiety about his math test next period. He teased Nick about doing his math homework last minute, and Nick joked back.
He’d tried to wrestle Nick’s pen from him (a poor decision, really, given the track record Nick’s pens had), and then Nick had accidentally drawn on him. He was prepared to make a big deal of it – calling it assault, demanding compensation, but then Nick was grabbing his hand and turning the mark into a smiley face and all comebacks had left him at the skin-to-skin contact.
(It had burned, and he hadn’t wanted it to stop.)
And then they’d bumped into Ben. And Ben hadn’t been nice. Ben was never nice.
“You know I’m sorry about ignoring you yesterday,” Ben said, dark eyes boring intently into his.
Ben reached out, his hand grasping Charlie’s. Charlie looked down at it, studying the way Ben’s fingers slid through his. The stained pen on his freckled skin, contrasting Ben’s slightly darker, unblemished skin. Absentmindedly thought it unfair that even Ben’s hands were perfect.
“Yeah.”
Then Ben’s eyes lowered to his lips, and he was kissing Charlie. Kissing into him. Taking. Pressing. A hand on the back of his neck, drawing his closer. Ben had never been nice. Charlie had never minded.
Except-
The issue was-
The issue was that he still felt like his hand was sparking with electricity from yesterday.
The issue was that Nick's teasing smile was still fresh in his mind.
The issue was that he was kissing Ben, and all he could think about was the faded blue ink on his hand.
(Fuck. Tao was right.)