Chapter Text
Charlie does not make a habit of approaching people he sees on nights out—he doesn’t even make a habit of having nights out. But given it’s Elle’s birthday and Charlie would do absolutely anything for her, he finds himself in a loosely packed club with a drink in hand and eyes carefully cataloguing the room. He’d lost sight of Elle and Tao a while ago, and while he thinks Tara and Darcy were supposed to be here, he has yet to catch sight of either of them.
So Charlie lingers, and watches, and doesn’t plan on doing anything more than that. Being at a queer bar, he’s more comfortable than he might have otherwise been, but not so much that he’s willing to mingle with strangers on his own.
Even when he catches sight of the most beautiful man he’s ever seen in his life. Maybe especially then.
Perched on a barstool, he’s tall, blond, and built in a way that makes his white shirt cling sinfully. Even from metres away, Charlie can see the shift of his half-bare biceps as he leans an elbow on the bar and turns his head to the man next to him, nodding and smiling amicably.
Charlie deflates as the other man leans in close and says something that makes the blond laugh, just slightly, as if he’s unsure or shy about it, and Charlie wants to touch the carefully curled corner of those lips. He forces himself to look at the other man instead—the one the blond is clearly here with, and not like how Charlie is here with Tao and Elle—and doesn’t feel quite as impressed. He’s a similar build to the blond, seems just as tall if a little more lean, with darker hair and a bigger smile that causes Charlie to sulkily swallow down the rest of his drink. Objectively, this man is plenty attractive, too, but there was something about the blond—something a little brighter, a little warmer—that was simply better, that made him the focal point of the room, or at least Charlie’s vision of it.
He feels inexplicably as if he’s lost his chance, although he’d never been planning on taking one in the first place. He’s self-aware enough to know what he can and can’t handle, and talking to a man who’s as impossible to look at as the sun due to the sheer brightness of his beauty is a little above Charlie’s capabilities.
At least, it seems that way, until he gets a better idea of the situation. When he follows the full line of the blond’s—truly immaculate—arm, he sees his fingers drumming against the bar top in a twitchy rhythm. When the slimmer man’s smile grows sharper and he sways a little closer, the blond’s smile falters and he tucks his head down with more discomfort than bashful interest, even as he doesn’t miss a beat responding. When a bartender approaches and the blond turns almost eagerly, Charlie watches as he presses his lips closed when the other man leans across and speaks in his place. When the dark-haired man places a hand on the blond’s knee and the blond almost immediately turns towards the bar, away from the touch, under the pretense of getting his basically-empty drink, Charlie pushes away from the wall and begins moving towards them, entirely without conscious permission.
Charlie doesn’t actively decide to march directly to the blond and toss up his arms with an excited “Oh my god!”, but he does it anyway. “What are the chances?” he adds, just for good measure.
Both men turn to look at him, the dark-haired one with a surprised, vaguely annoyed look, and the blond with a blank, bewildered expression, lips softly parted as he looks right at Charlie. Charlie very much wishes to melt into the floor, but luckily his brain still seems entirely separate from his body, which continues acting of its own accord and running its mouth.
Realising he doesn’t have a plan and will most likely freak the blond out even more than his clearly unwanted date if he simply continues to shout in his face, he decides to quickly clue him in as sufficiently but covertly as possible. He doesn’t want to grab hold of him—well, that’s very clearly a lie, but he knows better than to simply grab hold of an incredibly attractive and muscular stranger—so instead, he leans in under the pretense of setting his empty glass on the bar and gets his mouth to the man’s ear.
“I’m Charlie. Go with this if you want to,” he murmurs, as loudly as he dares over the noise of the bar without clueing the other man in. He only hopes he’s heard enough to be understood.
Then, out of nowhere, the dark-haired man is dubiously asking, “You know Nick?,” and making Charlie’s job even easier for him.
Then the blond—Nick, how fitting, how perfect, why is everything about him so fitting and perfect—smiles at Charlie and says, “Oh my god. Charlie?”
Charlie beams, nods enthusiastically, and can’t help but reach out and give Nick’s shoulder an acknowledging, encouraging squeeze. Nick’s shoulder, which is so strong and warm and big under Charlie’s hand, and which sinks slightly at his touch—not cringing away, but relaxing, as Nick continues looking up at him with parted, smiling lips and curious eyes.
“It’s been ages,” Charlie says, bolstered now by the understanding that he’s gotten the right idea, urged on by Nick’s engagement. “I’m so happy to see you, I was just wondering how you were doing the other day! You haven’t been here much before, have you? I’m sure we would’ve run into each other.”
“Oh, uh, no,” Nick says, smiling even more at Charlie before he flicks a glance to his date and admits, “First time.”
The man smiles and sets a hand on Nick’s free shoulder, because Charlie still hasn’t let go of his other one—oh god, why hasn’t he let go, is it even more awkward now if he suddenly lets go?—and squeezes. “I thought I’d introduce him. First date’s a perfect opportunity for a few other firsts, right?”
He winks at Nick, and Nick gives a hum that isn’t quite agreement.
“Oh, wow, sorry,” Charlie says—drop it now this is the perfect time let go of his shoulder now Charlie—and retracts his hand, looking between the two of them with his expression (hopefully) the picture of innocence. “I’ve absolutely just interrupted you, haven’t I? So sorry, I really just couldn’t pass up the opportunity to catch up. But I understand if you’d rather I go, I can always—”
“No, please don’t,” Nick cuts him off, and Charlie doesn’t think there’s any act to the pleading whine in his voice. “It’s been so long! We never get a chance to catch up, you at least have to let me buy you one drink.” Then he gets up off his stool so he’s stood right up against Charlie for a split second before he plops on the next stool over and pats the one he’d just vacated. “Come on, please. Evan doesn’t mind letting you join us for ten minutes, right?”
He gives his date the puppy eyes, which means, even though Evan definitely does mind, he simply smiles and nods and stares daggers at Charlie as Charlie settles between them.
“Alright, if you’re sure, I suppose I can’t turn down an offer like that,” Charlie says, still all aloofness and innocence, even as he sets his own hand on Nick’s knee next to him and feels his heart thrum as Nick turns into his touch. “Well, now that I’m here, go on then. I want you to tell me everything. You still playing sports?”
He reminds himself that this is a first date, and thus the chances are that Evan doesn’t know much more about Nick than Charlie does, and certainly won’t be able to pick up any blunders Nick or Charlie make over questions of their past. Plus, it’s been ages, and they could easily forget, and things could’ve changed, and really, who could hold a few blank spots against them?
But of course, Nick does play sports—plays rugby, specifically, because of course, which already answers a number of Charlie’s questions and conjures up a number of images he quickly tucks to the back corners of his mind.
Ten minutes turn to twenty, which turn to thirty-five, with Nick and Charlie falling easily into conversation after conversation, spurring each other on with new questions every time one of them gets stuck and clinking their glasses together when Nick actually buys him a drink and his and Evan’s previously-ordered ones arrived. Charlie offers to return the favour once he sees the face Nick pulls at the first sip, in the hopes of allowing Nick to get something he actually likes without giving anything away to Evan. Even though Charlie doesn’t particularly care if Evan realises how terribly his date is going—hopes he is realising as his expression grows increasingly sour the longer Nick and Charlie talk while he taps angrily at his phone.
And it isn’t as if they’re ignoring him—Charlie really has just joined them, because even as Evan only offers grimacing-smiles and grunts, Nick is, of course, a wonderful date, and never goes too long without posing a comment or a question Evan’s way. He’s a better man than Charlie could ever hope to be, and while it does nothing to prevent Evan’s grumpiness, it does an extra number on Charlie’s poor heart.
He realises, then, what an absolute mess he’s gotten himself into, because he instantly knew Nick was the most beautiful man in the universe, but discovering he’s the loveliest too? Charlie will never be able to forget and thus will never recover.
He pointedly ignores the part of his brain whispering maybe you won’t have to with every one of Nick’s quick glances and soft smiles.
After forty-five minutes, Evan finally appears to give up, as he downs the last of his drink in a few large swallows and sets it down with a clink as he rises from his stool.
Nick looks around at him with one of his kind smiles. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, this was great, Nick, but I’ve really got to go, my flat-mate’s locked themselves out and they’re waiting for me back.”
“Oh.” Nick nods seriously at the excuse, face a picture of understanding. “Okay.”
Evan looks at him for a moment, then juts a thumb over his shoulder. “Did you want to come with?”
Wow, Charlie thinks, blinking slightly in surprise at the sheer nerve. He could never.
Nick winces convincingly and sets a hand in the crook of Charlie’s elbow, shaking his head. “Sorry, I promised a friend they could come home with me and I don’t want to leave Charlie on his own. Uhm, I’ll text you?”
Evan gives a smile that is very much not a smile and nods, knowing as well as they do that Nick is most likely never going to text him. “Sure. Bye, Nick. You too, Charlie. Hope you have a lovely night.”
They smile and nod and wave back, and watch him until he’s completely out of sight. Then Charlie claps a hand over his mouth to muffle the sudden bout of laughter that wants to escape as Nick drops his head onto the bar top with a groan.
“Oh, finally,” Nick says, voice nothing but breath and gravel, and Charlie almost chokes on his building laugh as his breath catches. The effect is only worse when Nick looks back up at Charlie, sheepish and grateful and gorgeous. “I have no idea how you knew I needed that, but thank you. That was just…really not for me, the way it was going.”
Charlie nods, smiling in what he hopes is a comforting manner. “I lost my friends a while ago and was hanging about on my own. I spotted you looking a bit uncomfortable. I hope I didn’t make it worse.”
“No,” Nick rushes to assure. “No, absolutely not. There wasn’t anything wrong with Evan, but…yeah. You were really lovely and cool about it, honestly. Thank you.”
Charlie feels himself blush, and he turns back to the bar, plays with the straw in his drink. “No worries. Are you okay now?”
“Yes,” Nick sighs, smiling ruefully. “He knows I’m not going to text him—I literally don’t even have his number. My friend set it up. I’m…really not sure what made her think it was a good idea.”
“Ah.” Charlie laughs slightly, and after a moment to consider this, he raises a brow. “Wait. Did he even actually decide to bring you here, then?”
Nick blinks. “You know what, I have no idea. Maybe he helped Tara, but she told me she had a friend’s birthday here tonight so she’d be around, so I had assumed it was her idea.”
Charlie pauses as Nick shrugs and takes a sip of the pint Charlie bought him, almost empty compared to his remaining vodka-filled concoction Evan had ordered. “Tara. You mean…you don’t mean Jones?”
Nick turns quickly to look at him, eyes wide in surprise. “Oh, hang on. Do you know her?”
“Yes. Tara and Darcy, right?”
“Oh my god.”
“They’re here for Elle’s birthday! Her friend’s Elle. I’m here for Elle’s birthday.”
“Oh my god,” Nick repeats, with a pleased and breathy little laugh that settles right down in Charlie’s stomach.
Charlie laughs with him. “What are the chances?”
Nick shakes his head, pursing his lips, and then, inexplicably, says, “I could’ve been here with you the whole time,” in a wondrous tone not entirely free from heartfelt disappointment.
Charlie has no idea what to do with that, but he thinks a part of him melts.
“Did you want to go find them?” Nick asks, hesitantly. “I’ve kept you a long time, they were probably looking for you.”
“I have no idea where they are. And I mean, right at the bar is probably the easiest place for someone to find you. Plus, they would have just text, which…nope, they haven’t.” Charlie taps his phone against the bar and purses his lips, suddenly unable to look at Nick.
Nick turns his gaze from Charlie to look through the crowd around them, then to the bar to take another sip of his drink, then back to Charlie. “Maybe I could buy you another drink, then?” He nods at the glass in Charlie’s hands. “Since that one’s nearly finished?”
Charlie whips his head around to look at him, and finds Nick’s soft smile topped by rosy cheeks. Blushing, beautifully, because of Charlie. As if he’s shy or embarrassed because of Charlie—as if Charlie might say no.
“I’d like that,” he says, with his own tone a little too soft and his own cheeks a little too warm, and this time, he can’t look away when Nick beams at him. “You’re saving on the drink you might’ve bought Tara if her planning had worked out.”
It’s an attempt at a joke, but Nick colours slightly pink again and shakes his head. “I don’t know. I think I’ll still have to thank her.”
Charlie beams then—how can he be expected to do anything else?—and lets Nick buy him that other drink.