Work Text:
Charlie hates Saturday afternoons for two reasons.
- Saturday afternoons used to mean days lying around doing nothing with Nick. Saturday afternoons were for recovering from the school week with films, video games, dog cuddles, Nick cuddles, walks in the park, trips to the beach, lying around doing nothing together.
- Saturday afternoons are when the University of Leeds rugby team play their matches, and Charlie worries.
It was one thing when Nick was at Truham playing skinny teenage boys every weekend, where he was one of the strongest and biggest and best. Now? Now he’s playing actual grown adult men who spend all their free time in the gym. It isn’t as if Nick is small, his year 12 growth spurt did wonders for him (and for Charlie, but that’s another matter), but he isn’t the strongest on the pitch anymore. Charlie had made the mistake of visiting Leeds on a game day and watching in horror as his boyfriend was thrown about and pulled to the ground repeatedly for 80 minutes. Nick was fine, of course he was, bouncing back up every time and carrying on like nothing had happened, but Charlie had hated it.
Now, he spends every Saturday afternoon trying to persuade his brain to get on with his homework while he steals glances at his phone, waiting for Nick to text and tell him he’s survived another match.
“Char, I'm honestly fine,” Nick had told him after that first game Charlie had watched. “I promise, it’s not as bad as it looks when you’re on the pitch.”
“Nick,” Charlie had whined, holding on to Nick’s hand extra tight as they walked back to Nick’s flat. “You have no idea how it felt watching you. Maybe you know you’re fine, but I don’t. And what about when I'm not here? Just imagine what my brain is going to be doing to me.”
Nick had stopped walking and tugged at Charlie’s hand until he turned to face him. “What, do you not want me to play anymore?”
Charlie had deflated then, smiled sadly at Nick. “Of course not. Obviously you have to play, you love it. Just – ok, new rule. You have to send me a message to let me know you’re alive after every game. Like, the second you finish, just so I can relax a bit, ok?”
Nick had grinned at him then, pulled him close by his waist. “Of course. I'll even try and sneak my phone out at half time and message you then, too. Nothing bad is going to happen to me, Charlie, I promise.”
And it hadn’t. Charlie very routinely got his I'm alive, we won!! message at 3pm on a Saturday. That was until an afternoon in February when he was still staring at his phone at 15.33 and he hadn’t heard anything from Nick yet. Homework long forgotten, Charlie was up and pacing his room.
Charlie, it’s fine, he tells himself. The game went on late or he just forgot to message.
Except Nick hadn’t ever forgotten to message, not once. He always runs off the pitch and immediately finds his phone to let Charlie know he’s ok. Anything I can do to ease your anxiety a little bit, I'm obviously going to do it, Nick had said when Charlie had thanked him for the thousandth time. You don’t ever have to thank me for loving you, idiot.
Charlie is seconds away from full on spiralling when his phone buzzes on his desk and he practically falls over himself trying to reach for it. Except it isn’t Nick messaging. It’s his flatmate Aaron and he’s phoning and oh god oh god oh god.
“Aaron?” he answers breathlessly, already knowing something is wrong. “What’s happening?”
“Charlie, I’m going to need you not to panic, ok?”
And yeah, ok, too late. “Starting a conversation like that is not the way to get someone not to panic!” he squeaks out. “Where’s Nick?”
“Um, he’s alright. He's fine.”
His tone does absolutely nothing to calm Charlie down. “Where is he?”
“He’s on his way to the hospital,” Aaron says calmly, and what the actual fuck. “He’s fine!”
“Well he’s obviously not,” Charlie snaps, tears immediately filling his eyes. He’s already at his wardrobe, pulling out his overnight bag and throwing it on his bed.
“Charlie, breathe, ok? He really is. He just – the coach said he’s probably got a bit of a concussion so they’re just taking him to get checked over. I promise, he’s talking and joking and being all Nick, he really is ok. He might – he may have broken something in his arm because it was sitting a little funny, but – "
“Jesus Christ,” Charlie hisses, shoving a few items of clothing and various devices and chargers into his bag. “I’m going to the station now, I'm on my way.”
“That really isn’t necessary, honestly.”
“It really is,” Charlie says firmly. He stops for a second, takes a deep breath. “Sorry, Aaron, I – thanks for calling me. Are you with him?”
“I’m heading over to the hospital in a minute, just getting all his stuff together. I have his phone so don’t worry if he doesn’t get in touch, ok? One of the guys from the team is with him so he’s ok.”
“Ok. Thanks. Can you let me know when you get there, please?”
“Of course. Just – try not to panic, ok? He asked me to call you, something about him not being able to tell you he’s alive, but he was very insistent that I tell you that he is fine.”
Charlie snorts, of course he was. “Thanks. I’ll see you soon,” and he hangs up before Aaron can protest again.
Charlie all but runs to the station and gets on the first train to London that he can find, booking his ticket to Leeds once he’s seated before shooting off some messages.
To Tao: sorry, can’t make film night tonight, omw to Leeds, fill you in later
To Aaron: let me know the second you get to the hospital. My train gets in at 8.30 so will be with you about 9
To Nick: I love you I love you I love you
To mum & dad: I’m on my way to Leeds, Nick got hurt at rugby. Be back when I can.
He almost calls Sarah, probably should, but he decides to wait until he’s actually seen Nick so he has something to tell her rather than just sobbing stupidly down the phone like he wants to.
It's the longest four and a half hours of Charlie’s life. His mum tries to call him and he ignores it, Tao asks him what’s going on, Aaron sends him intermittent updates.
Aaron: At the hospital, Nick’s being a proper smartass. Will update you when he’s seen a doctor.
Aaron: Definite concussion. He's tired but he’s fine. His phone is dead but he keeps telling me to tell you that HE’S OK in capital letters
Aaron: Oh he’s sprained his wrist but it’s nothing serious. He keeps insisting that I tell you that he can still use it and then winking at me – pretty sure they gave him too many painkillers.........
Charlie snorts – that one does help a little. If Nick is being an idiot then he can’t be too broken. He gets one final update just as he’s about to get off the train.
Aaron: Freedom! We’re just waiting for a taxi back to the flat. You might beat us but some of the guys should be in so just make yourself at home.
He feels some of the tension leave his body at that. If they’re letting him go home, then Nick really is ok. He's ok.
Charlie does beat them home. Callum lets him into the flat and he fills the rest of Nick’s flatmates in before he excuses himself to wait in Nick’s room. He likes them enough and has spent a lot of time with them over the last six months, but the last thing Charlie wants right now is to make small talk when all his brain can think is nick hurt nick hospital nick nick nick
It’s 21.39, nearly six painful hours since Aaron’s first phone call, when Charlie hears keys in the door and he runs out into the hallway. He sags against Nick’s bedroom door when he sees him – he looks exhausted and he’s still covered in mud and his hand is bandaged but he’s right there, living and breathing and walking and Nick. He pushes himself off the door and strides over to Nick, throwing his arms around his shoulders and burying his face in his neck, breathing him in.
“Charlie, what are you doing here?” Nick whines, but his arms wrap around Charlie’s waist and he holds him close. “Idiot, I'm fine.”
“You’re the idiot,” Charlie tells him weakly.
“I’ll just leave your stuff in your room,” Aaron says and Charlie blinks, remembering that he’s not alone with Nick.
“Thank you,” Charlie says, pulling away from Nick but not letting him go. “For calling me and for staying with him.”
“Of course,” Aaron smiles and dumps Nick’s rugby bag and coat just inside his bedroom door. “I’ll just go fill everyone else in.”
Nick reaches out and grabs Aaron’s arm as he walks by. “Thanks, mate,” he says. “I really – "
“Like I said, of course,” Aaron grins. “Besides, you on too many painkillers? Blackmail ammunition for life, mate.”
Nick groans and drops his head onto Charlie’s shoulder. “What did I say?”
Charlie snorts and loops his arm around Nick’s waist, leading him into his room and shutting the door behind them. “Something about telling me your wrist is still working.”
“Oh, god,” Nick cringes. “That’s - oh, dear.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“Be nice to me, I'm injured,” Nick pouts.
Charlie tenses again and sits Nick down in his desk chair before kneeling in front of him and looking at him properly. “You’re really ok?”
“Look at me, I'm fine,” Nick says cheerfully.
“You’re a mess,” Charlie shoots back. “Do you think you can shower? I can help you.”
“Yeah, ok. Standing up is hard, but if you can help?”
Charlie smiles softly and takes Nick’s face in his hands. He leans forward and kisses him, soft and quick. “Of course.”
Charlie stars off by propping Nick up against the wall in the shower, but Nick is doing absolutely nothing to help himself get clean. Charlie gives up and, with a dramatic roll of his eyes, kicks off his shoes and socks and jeans and climbs in with him.
“Charlie,” Nick protests, but he sags against his body when Charlie wraps one arm around his waist to get him to stand up properly.
“You were being useless,” Charlie tells him, but he presses a kiss to the side of Nick’s head to take the edge off it.
It's weird. They’ve showered together before, naked and giggling and unable to keep their hands off each other. This is different. This is Nick; vulnerable and hurt and naked and Charlie; in his soaking wet t shirt and boxers, trying to get all the mud off his boyfriends bruised body. He's gentle with him, brushing all the dirt off Nick with careful hands, fingertips lingering on the stupid, awful bruises that are springing up everywhere. There's a particularly big one across his ribs, and Charlie splays his whole hand over it and sucks in a shaky breath.
Nick reaches down for his hand and brings it up to his mouth, kissing his knuckles. “I’m fine.”
Charlie huffs and gently pushes Nick’s head under the shower so he can wash his hair. “You need to stop saying that when you look like you’ve been hit by a bus.”
Nick snorts and tips his head back so Charlie can reach him better. “Not a bus, just a very large man.”
“I’ll kill him,” Charlie deadpans.
“You’re cute.”
“I know. Now shut up and let me get this over with.”
By the time Charlie has towelled Nick off and helped him into clean boxers and a t shirt, Nick looks like he’s about three seconds away from slumping to the ground. Charlie guides him into bed and gets in after him, pulling the covers over them both. He automatically slots into Nick’s side, head resting on his shoulder.
“You ok?” he asks quietly.
“Mm. Sleepy.”
“You’re ok to sleep?”
“Yeah, it’ll help. I had a concussion before once when I was younger and sleep was the only thing that made me feel better. Mum checked in on me enough so I was fine. You’re here, so I'll be fine now, too.”
“Oh shit, your mum. We need to phone her.”
“Mhmm,” Nick says, but his breathing is already slowing and his eyes are shut and Charlie doesn’t have the heart to stop him from drifting off.
Charlie loves napping with Nick. It's one of his favourite things, actually. Back when his mental health was at its worst, all Charlie wanted to do was sleep. He couldn’t at night, he would just stare at the ceiling or his wall blankly until he gave up and scrolled through his phone or thumbed through a book. It got to a point where he could only ever sleep when he was with Nick; lying on his floor doing homework or watching a film in Nick’s bed or lounging around on the sofa. Whatever they were doing, Charlie would start to feel his eyelids get heavy and he’d shift until his arm or his hand or his leg was touching Nick, and he’d be gone to the world. “Am I that boring?” Nick had asked him after the dozenth time it happened. “No,” Charlie had said, hooking his leg over Nick’s. “Just comfortable with you.”
And they hadn’t talked about it again.
Charlie knows that there’s no way he’s falling asleep now. He watches Nick’s chest rise and fall, rise and fall, listens to his soft snores and clings on to him just a little too tightly.
Nick's fine. He knows that, he can see that. Still. It doesn’t stop him feeling absolutely terrified. God, the way he’d felt when he’d seen Aaron’s name on his phone. It felt like days ago now, that sheer panic. Charlie honestly doesn’t know what he’d do if anything worse had happened to Nick, doesn’t even want to think about it.
He watches Nick for a good half an hour before he slides out of his arms and out of the bed. He grabs Nick’s phone from his bag and puts it on charge on the bedside table, digs around in his bag for the paracetamol and bottle of water he’d got on his way over. He goes to the wardrobe and digs around for one of the hoodies that Nick’s had for the last few months and pulls it on over his t shirt. He throws the one he’d brought with him into Nick’s washing basket. Nick will give him shit for that when he’s feeling better, and Charlie looks forward to it more than ever.
Nick stirs when Charlie gets back into bed, groaning as he blinks his eyes open.
“Ow,” he mumbles sadly.
Charlie is on him in a heartbeat, hands hovering over Nick’s body. “What hurts?”
“My head,” Nick says, pouting dramatically.
Charlie rolls his eyes. “Well, yes, I would expect so, idiot. Can you sit up and take some painkillers?”
Nick hums and pushes himself up with his good hand, letting Charlie pop the tablets into his mouth and hand him the water. “I’m not a baby,” he says, but he doesn’t sound at all like he’s complaining.
“I plugged your phone in, its been buzzing like mad.”
“Urgh, yeah, the team will be asking if I'm alright. Not meant to look at screens for too long, will you read me them?”
“You sure?” Charlie asks. He knows Nick hasn’t got anything to hide, but neither does Charlie and he still wouldn’t be handing his phone over to anyone to look through freely. The thought alone is enough to make him cringe.
Nick nods, rolls over onto his side so he can wrap an arm across Charlie’s waist and bury his face in his chest. Charlie smiles and slides a hand into Nick’s hair, massaging his scalp. He reaches for Nick’s phone with his free hand and types in the password – Nellie's birthday, obviously – and starts to read the messages out loud. The ones from the team are full of words like mate and dickhead and hero and Charlie rolls his eyes as he reads them – he will truly never understand straight men. He gets to his next and huffs a laugh as he tells Nick what he’d sent from the train.
“Aw, you love me. That’s embarrassing for you,” Nick says.
“Mhm, so embarrassing. Obviously you don’t feel the same, I should just give up now,” Charlie says flatly. He feels Nick’s smile press into his neck and he rolls his eyes. “Last ones from your mum. She’s asking how the match was and hopes you’re having a good night and she loves you. We should really phone her, Nick.”
“Mm, too tired. Can you reply, just for now?”
Charlie makes a noise of protest, but he does as he’s asked. Lots to tell, he types, call you tomorrow! Love you x
“We can phone her tomorrow when I feel less... blurry.”
“Blurry?” Charlie asks, concerned.
“It’s normal, don’t worry.”
“I wish people would stop telling me not to worry. Obviously I'm going to be worrying. Have you met me, Nicholas?”
Nick huffs a laugh. “If it helps, I'm not allowed to play for six weeks.”
“Oh no, I am devastated, what a terrible shame,” Charlie says, heavy on the sarcasm.
Nick pushes himself off Charlie’s chest and catches his eye. “I know you’re scared, Char. I know today was probably actually worse for you that it was for me. But it’s just a mild concussion, it happens literally all the time in rugby.”
“That doesn’t make it ok,” Charlie whines.
“No, I know, but they know what they’re doing, is what I mean. The team doctors and the hospital, they know what to do and how to treat it. I know this isn’t going to help your anxiety around the whole rugby thing, but it hasn’t, like... put me off, or anything. It's kind of just part of playing sports.”
“I know,” Charlie grumbles. “Why couldn’t you have just been into gaming or reading or something like a normal person.”
“You think you’re normal?” Nick snorts. “Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night.”
Charlie digs his fingers into Nick’s ribs. “You’re an asshole.”
“Yeah, but you love me. Three times over, according to your text,” Nick grins smugly. “You really didn’t have to come all the way here, you know.”
“Well, if I hadn't then you would either still be covered in mud or you would’ve been in the shower with Aaron, and I'm not sure I like either of those scenarios.”
Nick snorts. “Yeah, ok, me neither.”
“Seriously though, Nick, of course I was going to come. I was packing before Aaron had even got around to telling me what had happened. You – you have to know that I'm always going to be here when you need me. Always, Nick, no matter what.”
Nick sighs happily, arms tightening around Charlie’s waist. He presses a lingering kiss against Charlie’s collarbone. “I love you so much. I don’t know what I did to deserve having you to look after me, but I'm very glad I did it.”
“I love you,” Charlie tilts his head to press a kiss into Nick’s hair. “I love you, I love you.”
“Three times over,” Nick smiles. He tips his head and Charlie leans down to kiss him properly, trying to put everything he feels into it. “How long can you stay?” Nick murmurs against his mouth.
“I have some pretty angry texts from my mum about how I can’t just run off without asking them and reminding me that I have school on Monday. Which, yeah, but – we'll just see how you are first.”
Nick frowns at him. “You can’t miss school, Charlie.”
“Oh, says the boy who got the first train home and skipped two days of lectures in his first term just because I was having a bad food day.”
“That’s different.”
“It’s literally not,” Charlie tells him.
“First year lectures don’t matter, there are too many people in them for the professors to even notice who is and isn’t there. You have A-Levels to pass so you can get here to me full time. Finally.”
“Ok, I get your point. I’ll book a train for tomorrow night if, and only if, I deem you well enough to leave you.”
“Ok, Dr Spring,” Nick drawls. “Would it help you if I asked Tara to come round? She’s close enough that she’d still get to her classes, and you’d have someone you trust looking after me.”
"Actually, it really would. It's not that I don’t trust your flatmates, but...”
“Straight boys, I get it,” Nick huffs. “As much as I want to keep you here and, trust me, I really do want you here, I also need you to get through school. Besides, I don’t want to give your mum any more reason to hate me.”
“She doesn’t hate you.”
Nick gives him a flat look. “She hates me a bit.”
“She hates everyone,” Charlie concedes. “You’re not special.”
“Hey,” Nick pouts. He looks like he’s about to be brat, but he cuts himself off with the biggest yawn. “Urgh, can’t keep my eyes open.”
Charlie shifts so he’s lying down fully and pulls Nick closer so he’s half sprawled across Charlie’s body. He slides his hand back into Nick’s hair and smiles when he feels Nick presses a kiss to his chest through his shirt. “Sleep, love. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
One day, Charlie thinks, Saturday afternoons will be his favourite again. He'll get to watch every rugby match, albeit mostly from behind his hands, and he’ll get to walk home with Nick afterwards with their joined hands swinging between them, and he’ll get to shower with him and tag along with him for team drinks in the evening or curl up in their bed while they have virtual film nights with their friends back home. One day, Charlie won’t have to worry about not being there when Nick needs him, won’t have to worry about trains and distance and not being able to get to his boyfriend in a matter of minutes.
Charlie can’t wait until one day.