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Charlie Spring has never really known how to say no. When he was a child, he was scolded by teachers when he didn't want to share his things, so he stopped protesting. Take the pencil. Take the crayon. Take this paper. My expensive coloured ones. You want my bag of crisps? Take it. Such a caritative kid. When his parents asked for something, he didn't complain. He's a great child, they said. He never throws tantrums. When the sweets disappeared and his sister put the blame on him, he just cried without defending himself. It wasn't me, but it could have. On secondary, when the teens started being mean he just believed them. Yes I'm weak. Yes, I'm useless. When they took his lunch money, he didn't even complain. Take the homework. Take the book. I won't ask for it. Yes, I'll explain polynomials to you. Yes, you don't know me. In those last few years, when a boy came up to him, he couldn't complain. Yes I'm pretty. Yes, you can kiss me. When he treated him like a filthy secret, he knew he couldn't complain. Yes, we can meet after class. Your house or mine? The lot behind the building? What time? Yes, no-one else will love me. Yes, Ben. I won't tell anybody. I understand. It's ok. It doesn't hurt. Yes, I'm weak. Yes, I'm useless. Yes, you don't know me.
He could never say no, but at some point in life, he stopped doing it because he cared, but because it was easy.
When his classmates at uni left him doing the whole group project, he didn't bother to ask them to work, he just did his own by himself and let them be. He didn't say no, he didn't say yes. He ignored it. Whatever happens when you don't intervene, that is exactly how things are naturally falling. When one time his classmate fell off the stairs, they didn't ask him for help, so he just let other people do it. He only responds when he's addressed.
He discovered the wonders of being an extra. Being invisible. An spectator. Being convenient, at best. An NPC, people would say. They don't talk to you unless they are on a quest and need something. People always want something. Like an Umbrella under a storm. You use it, shake it, put it in a bag and only take it out when you need it again. That's him. And it's ok, he's used to it. With people on the streets. People asking for directions. The time. What's your name? What do you enjoy? Where's the tube? Are you not single? A shame. You seem pale, are you ok? What's your sign? Do you wanna meet up sometime? Why are you such an asshole? Why were you talking to him? Why are you so clingy? So annoying. So frustrating. So boring. I could have left you a long time ago. But don't leave. I want you here. Ok.
The power of not doing anything.
He has never been the protagonist of his own story. He goes with the flow, like the wind, like a ragdoll in a tornado, dancing around his problems.
If you ignore it, it's not there.
If you don't see it, it doesn't exist.
If you don't feel it anymore, it's not infidelity, you were never loyal in heart.
Did it even matter anymore?
"Do you know where the library is?" A man asked once. Charlie was too tired to joke about how it was literally the biggest building on campus and just told the stranger to follow, if he wanted to. He did.
The man was everything Charlie wished he could be. He was confident. He talked to the receptionist when they arrived. He did small talk in the lift. He asked to sit with him. He talked about student loans, about moving, transferring, the economy, the colour of the wall. They saw each other at the train station a week later. They talked again. Then they met at a bar Charlie had gone to alone, without telling his boyfriend. Because he didn't care about him anymore. Nick approached him. Charlie didn't get it. What did he want?
He thought he figured it out when they slept together one night, until Nick didn't leave in the morning and stayed for breakfast. Nick, pardon the rude comparative, was like a stray dog. One that follows you home after a few pats on the head. Bare minimums, Charlie could relate. It didn't really happen again for a while, Charlie suspected Nick felt the remorse he lacked. Ben was doing the same, he knew. He didn't care anymore.
Charlie has never been able to say no to people. And he couldn't say no to Nicolas Nelson, either. How could he? He's so bloody charming, it hurts.
The thing is, he seems to not want anything, either. But in a different way. It's very weird. He doesn't demand anything, but he's not uninterested. It's like he trusts Charlie will, for once, make a good decision. Or that he cares to let him do it on his own. But Charlie's never been the protagonist of his story.
"What do you want?"
"What?" he looked at Charlie from where he was, laying on the sofa with sparks in his eyes. He didn’t get it.
"What do you want?"
He seemed to want nothing. He didn't ask Charlie to leave Ben, even if he had expressed before he wished Charlie did (Nick said to like dick doesn't mean to date one. Charlie laughed as he hadn't for a long time). He liked to be in the same room Charlie was in when he drummed. When he studied and didn't talk for hours. When he broke down crying from stress. When he took hours to finish dinner. He liked to hear him talk about movies. To walk in the park. To complain. To gossip. When he told him he didn't leave Ben because he didn't know how to bring it up, he listened, asked if he wanted advice, and then said to do what his heart and gut felt was better. It is really, very weird. Like he cares, but doesn't want anything.
"I don't get you"
"I don't get what you don't get"
What goes in that mind? He wonders. Charlie's never been the protagonist of his own story, and people always want something. He just complies at best, most of the time. So, he doesn't get it. Why doesn't he leave? There's lots of better people than him out there, surely. Fun people. People that don't use other people to get a distraction. People that care. People that keep promises.
Is Ben gonna regret meeting him? Is Nick gonna? Probably. Most people do.
But if he is honest, Charlie just doesn't want anything anymore.