Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lizzy shut Nick’s car door and a blast of freezing air entered the car. She ran up to the door, her going-out clothes not offering much help in the late-February freezing air. Nick waited to shift the car back into gear until she gave a hurried wave and went inside.

"I’m now glad I wore my jumper, even though I got all sweaty in there," Charlie said, his hand idly drawing circles in Nick’s.

It was just past one in the morning, and Nick turned onto the main road toward his flat, the last of their little carpool deposited safely back home.

"That just gave me something to imagine you taking off all night, though," Nick whined dramatically. Charlie scoffed.

"Um, Nicholas, as I recall, you were halfway doing the job for me on the dance floor anyway!" Even stone-cold sober Nick’s hands made their way under Charlie’s shirt over and over again, fiddling with Charlie’s waistband, dancing and kissing in a crowded room that night.

"I can’t BELIEVE you would accuse me of such debauchery." He giggled, a dirty look dawning in his eyes. "Just wait until I get you home." Charlie’s body buzzed all over at the possibility.

Seemingly out of nowhere, a pair of headlights appear rapidly in the mirror behind Nick. The last thing Charlie remembers before the world turns sideways is Nick’s smirk framed by the two bright lights, approaching too fast for Charlie to comprehend what was happening until it happened.

The next bit, Charlie only remembers flashes of.

A ringing in his ears and a faint sensation of something warm trickling down his face.

Looking down and seeing broken glass littering his lap.

A deflated air bag limply splayed across the dashboard.

Nick, slumped against his seatbelt, eyes closed.

Charlie’s hand, ghostly and disembodied-looking in the moonlight, reaching out to shake Nick's shoulder, feeling the soft warmth of him.

Charlie’s own voice sounding distant as words he didn’t remember forming escaped his mouth first quietly, then in an increasingly desperate cry. "Nick. Nick. Wake up, Nick. Wake up. Sweetheart. Nick. Stay with me, love, stay with me, please, Nick, please wake up."

Strangers’ worried faces appearing at the broken windows, calling for help, reaching in to check Nick’s pulse and breathing, asking Charlie questions he didn’t know how to answer.

Sirens screaming, bright lights flashing.

Arms reaching in and putting a collar around Nick’s neck while soft but firm hands reached and pulled Charlie out, disconnecting Charlie’s hand from its vice grip on Nick’s.

"Sir, can you tell me your name?"

A clear voice cut through Charlie’s reverie as the paramedic shined a bright light in his eyes. He was sat on the edge of an ambulance, though he had no memory of getting there. He looked down and was surprised to find himself violently shaking all over. His face felt wet, but he couldn’t tell if it was blood, tears, or both.

"Ch- charlie." He stuttered out, though his mind whined, Nick. Nick. Where is Nick.

"Okay, Charlie, you’ve got a nasty cut on your forehead. Is there someone you’d like me to call to--"

Charlie didn’t hear the rest of the sentence as he watched Nick being wheeled quickly on a stretcher toward the other ambulance. Without a second thought, Charlie took off after him with characteristic speed, shrugging off a police officer as he grabbed onto Nick’s gurney. A deep gash was bleeding along Nick’s right temple, his face pale and slack and his arms and legs strapped into place under a heavy blanket. Nick didn’t stir at the sound of Charlie’s voice, at Charlie’s hold on his shin. "Nick, wake up, sweetheart. I’m here."

Charlie was vaguely aware of a hurried conversation happening just behind him, a firm hand on his shoulder, before a paramedic said, "we’ve got to go" and Charlie’s way was cleared to join Nick in the ambulance. Everything was brighter and faster than before, with Charlie edged to a seat beside Nick’s feet while the skilled paramedics congregated at Nick’s head. Monitors beeped, an oxygen mask was fitted over Nick’s mouth and nose, and people spoke and worked so fast that Charlie only caught odd words and phrases. Through the din he squeezed Nick’s feet, not sure if his pleas for Nick to wake up, stay with me, please just open those beautiful brown eyes so I know you’re okay was something he was saying in his head or out loud.

The ambulance came abruptly to a halt and people moved all around Charlie, rushing Nick’s gurney out of the ambulance and inside wide automatic doors. Charlie blindly followed, matching the paramedics' jogging pace until they took Nick through another door and a small, stout woman in scrubs blocked Charlie’s way.

"I’m sorry, honey. We can’t have you back there."

Charlie tried unsuccessfully to get past her, sobbing a string of unintelligible words while being blocked at each turn by her surprisingly powerful palm on his shoulders. Before he knew it, her arm was around him, guiding him through a different door into a quiet waiting area, sitting him down. A blanket appeared out of nowhere and found itself around Charlie’s shoulders; a paper cup of water was thrust in his hand.

"My name is Dina. What’s your name?"

Why did people keep asking him that? All he could think was Nick’s name. He heard his voice, ragged and stuffy. "Charlie."

"Okay, Charlie, and what’s your person’s name?"

His person. His thoughts came streaming out of him. "Nick. Nicholas Nelson. His birthday is September 4, he's 21. His mum, Sarah, she’s in Kent, she needs to know, we need to call her."

"Of course, Charlie, we can give her a call right now. Do you know if Nick has any allergies, or if he takes any medications?"

Charlie thinks wildly of the time he and Nick ate some of his flatmate’s weed cookies and watched Love is Blind. Nick cried at the series finale, and Charlie had never let him live it down.

"Charlie?"

"No, no, just allergy meds in the springtime, sometimes paracetamol after a tough match. No medication allergies that I know of."

"That’s great, Charlie, thank you. You’re doing so well. Do you think you can give me his mum’s number?"

Charlie reached into his pocket for his phone, his hands shaking so hard that Nurse Dina had to steady the phone while he typed in his passcode and scrolled for Sarah’s name. Nurse Dina wrote the number down and stood up to give it to another nurse at the front desk before sitting back down by his side.

"Charlie, honey, I think you might need stitches. She cocked her head to assess Charlie’s injury. Could you let us have a look?"

Charlie had hit his limit of figuring out logistics, his mind screaming Nick’s name at top volume now. "No, no, I just-- need-- Nick, I just-- need-- to know-- that he’s-- okay-- please--" he heard himself sob as if through a tunnel, his breaths coming in hiccups.

Dina came around to face him, kneeling down between Charlie’s lanky legs. "Breathe with me love, okay? In--"she placed Charlie’s hand on her shoulder and mirrored, holding his shoulder with her own hand--"and out," she said calmly, forming her mouth into an “o” as she exhaled. Charlie joined her on the next in-breath, shaking and hiccuping, trying his best to let his breath out slowly, too. By the time she took her warm hand away a few minutes later, his breath had slowed and his sobs with it.

"Now, while my friends take good care of Nick, how about you let us take care of you?" Charlie nodded, now more grounded, even as anxiety kept its tight hold on Charlie’s insides. He let Nurse Dina lead him by the waist back toward a triage room. She dabbed calmly at his forehead cut while they waited. After a few minutes (or was it longer? Charlie couldn’t tell) the young A&E doctor came and did a quick exam, checking Charlie for other injuries.

"I think he’s a bit shaken up, honey, but I didn’t see anything worrisome beyond the cut," Nurse Dina muttered gently to the doctor, who clearly valued what the older provider was saying. "Yeah, neuro check is clear, it’s just the head lac, she responded."

"Okay, Charlie," the doctor said loudly, meeting his eyes, "since you didn’t lose consciousness and you’re nice and alert, I’m going to let you off without a scan. But if you start feeling dizzy or faint, or have any pain, you let us know right away, yeah? And Nurse Dina’s going to print you out your follow-up care directions, so make sure you schedule an appointment with your GP for later this week."

Charlie nodded, comprehending little. "How is Nick?"

The doctor’s face looked impassive. "We’re doing some tests right now, and we’ll know more after that. He’s being well looked-after, I promise."

"And the person in the other car?" Charlie even surprised himself, saying the question out loud as soon as it popped into his head. The headlights belonged to somebody.

"They’re okay. Some minor injuries, but nothing too serious."

Charlie nodded, taking in the fact that she didn’t say that Nick’s was nothing serious, that she actually didn’t say whether he’d be okay or not. Anxiety gripped tighter at his chest and he looked idly at the wall to avoid making eye contact as he blinked rapidly.

Both women left, Nurse Dina promising to come back after checking on some other patients with a cup of well-sugared tea. A few minutes later, another person in scrubs appeared and sewed up Charlie’s head. He felt the smart of the analgesic going in, and the dull pressure, but his mind kept playing the scene he had just left over and over again.

Nick, his face illuminated by moonlight, a smirk dancing through his eyes.

Nick, slumped over in his seat.

Nick’s beautiful face, bloodied.

Nick, not moving, even when Charlie begged him to.

Chapter Text

Down a long hallway, further into the depths of the hospital, Nick woke to a pounding in his head and the feeling of white-hot pain radiating from his right shoulder and chest. He heard himself groan as he blinked his eyes open, and the lights were too bright. People were touching him and making sounds around him and there was something on his face and on his neck and on his legs and he was cold and shaking and when he tried to move everything hurt more, white spots dancing in his vision.

He squeezed his eyes shut and more sounds escaped him, sounds he didn’t know he was capable of making. He was vaguely aware of someone uttering reassurances over the noise, “It’s okay, sir, we’re going to take good care of you,” and then his mind finally clicked into place.

The car.

The lights.

Charlie.

“Charlie.” His eyes were wide open now. He reached up with his left hand to move whatever was on his face and someone intercepted it, placing his arm back down at his side. “Sir, we’re going to give you something for the pain, just hang on--“

“Charlie,” he groaned through the din and the pain, louder this time. “Where is Charlie?” He tried to sit up, breathing heavily, his vision tunneling, only to be met with more hurt searing through his chest and someone pushing him back down gently, their face closer to his now.

“Sir, your friend is alright, just relax for us, okay?” a voice closer to his ear said calmly. It took a minute for Nick’s brain to interpret the sounds.

Alright. Charlie is alright.

Nick felt like he was sinking down into the mattress. His eyelids suddenly felt unbearably heavy and he fought the urge to sleep for just a few more seconds, enough to repeat it in his mind a few more times, the words soothing him and slowing his breath down.

Charlie is alright. Charlie is alright. Charlie is alright.

Chapter Text

Charlie’s tea had gone cold in his clammy palms by the time the doctor came out to the waiting room and sat across from him.

“How is he?” He asked quietly, his voice still shaky even though he’d stopped trembling so badly.

“Nick is okay,” Charlie, she said with a well-practiced, even tone. “We’ve had him sedated as we assessed the scope of his injuries. Right now it seems he’s broken at least two bones in his shoulder and arm, and he’s got several broken ribs on his right side as well. His breathing wasn’t great when he arrived, but it’s already improving. We’re also monitoring for internal injuries, particularly a spot of bruising on his liver, but so far so good. His head CT showed a concussion, no active bleeding or contusions. We’re going to be keeping a close eye on him, and he’ll likely need surgery for his shoulder in the next few days. We’ll know more in the morning when the rest of the doctors are in.”

“But he’ll be okay? Nick’s going to be okay?”

“Yes, Charlie, we’ll continue to monitor him, and he’ll have a long recovery process, but he should be just fine in time.”

Charlie let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, dizzying relief flooding his mind and tears stinging in his eyes.

“Can I see him?” He asked, his voice high and breathy.

“Usually it’s family-only until visiting hours in the morning, but seeing as though we haven’t been able to reach Nick’s mother,” the doctor looked up at Nurse Dina, who had materialized by their side a few seconds earlier. The older woman winked. “I don’t see why not,” the doctor whispered conspiratorially. Nurse Dina started walking toward the door and gestured for Charlie to follow. He felt grateful, even as he knew he would have fought tooth and nail to be by Nick’s side if he needed to.

On the elevator ride up, Charlie let his mind wander to sweet Sarah Nelson, asleep in her room with the padded carpet and the fluffy king bed, Nellie and Henry probably curled up in their usual posts at her feet (where they stay, unless Nick was home in Kent, when the two dogs vie for who gets to sleep closer to Nick in his comfy double bed).

She hadn’t answered his calls, either, her phone probably charging downstairs on the kitchen counter. (She’d lectured Charlie and Nick on blue light interrupting their sleep cycles more than once.)

The thought of her waking to find dozens of missed calls from Charlie and from an unknown Leeds number made fresh tears pool in his eyes. She’d only just gotten used to being an empty-nester, now she was going to wake to the news that her boy was lying hurt in a hospital four hours away, and she hadn’t known.

Nurse Dina wove Charlie through the maze of patient rooms before they reached Nick’s, the sliding door ajar. The overhead lights were off, with warmer, softer lighting coming from wall fixtures. Charlie’s eyes took a second to adjust from the intense fluorescents of the rest of the hospital before Nick came into focus.

Though he still looked pale against the white pillows, Charlie let out a sob of relief seeing Nick looking so normal in sleep, as if he was just having a nap in Charlie’s bed, no tension behind his eyes. His head injury was neatly covered by a bandage, his big oxygen mask swapped for a thin piece of tubing under his nose. Charlie pulled up the plastic chair and sat at Nick’s left side, his arm in a sling resting above the sheets on the right. A thin hospital gown stretched across his chest, and Nick was connected to monitors, wires and IV lines sticking out everywhere, and Charlie briefly hesitated, then reached down to take Nick’s limp but warm hand in his. Just like any day. He busied his other hand with gently stroking Nick’s face, running his fingers along his forehead.

“The meds will keep him pretty out of it for awhile, I’d bet, Nurse Dina said quietly, but if he wakes up and he’s hurting, he can press this button, and it’ll give him another dose of morphine.” She placed a device connected to a nearby pump next to Nick’s hand, held in Charlie’s. “And you can use this button,” she gestured to a red button with an image of a nurse on it, “to call us if you need anything, okay? We’ll be back in to check on him in a bit.”

Charlie nodded and tore his eyes away from Nick’s face for a moment to look at Nurse Dina, hoping she could see the thanks behind his eyes. She winked again as she pulled the door closed.

Charlie doesn’t know how long he stayed there like that, holding Nick’s hand up to his own face and muttering nonsense whispers in his ear, I’m here, I’m here, love, you’re okay, I’m here. Eventually Charlie laid his head next to Nick’s, finally giving into the exhaustion that had been building behind his swollen eyes. He was only slightly aware of the beeping and pumping noises around him, of the periodic presence of people coming and fiddling with Nick’s IV, or checking his vital signs.

Nick woke Charlie with a sharp inhale. Minutes? Hours later? He had his eyes screwed up against the already-dim lights, a grimace crossing his lips. Charlie blinked awake and instinctively placed a palm across Nick’s cheek, moving his face to look into Nick’s eyes.

“Hey, Nick, I’m here, love. I’m here.”

Nick opened his eyes with what seemed to be considerable effort, his pupils focusing on Charlie’s face after a few seconds.

“Charlie.” He said quietly, his voice strained. The corners of his lips turned up briefly. He squeezed Charlie’s other hand weakly and shut his eyes again. Pain was written on his face.

“It…hurts,” he muttered, sucking air through his bared teeth.

“Here, sweetheart,” Charlie hurried to replace his hand with the morphine pump, curling Nick’s thumb over the button. “You can press this for more medicine.”

After a second of fumbling, Nick pressed the button once, then over and over. Charlie’s heart ached.

“D’you want me to call a nurse, Nick?” Charlie asked as he brushed his palm along Nick’s face.

He shook his head, eyes still closed, and Charlie could see him relax slightly even as he kept pressing the button, futilely, a few more times.

“Your mum will be here soon, Nick, but everything’s okay, love, I promise. You’re okay.” Charlie could hear the tears in his voice but tried to swallow them, which almost never worked. He was struck, looking at the pain on Nick’s face, at how young Nick looked. At how young he felt. He wanted a grown-up to come and make everything make sense again.

The furrow in Nick’s brow was gradually loosening. Charlie leaned down and kissed him lightly on the place where his brow creased. He whispered “I love you, Nick” in his ear, almost certain that he had already fallen back asleep.

“I love you too,” Nick said faintly, his lips remaining parted and a small snore coming from his nose.

Charlie wiped his face and searched for his phone in his pocket. The time glowed, 5:47 am. He’d had it on airplane mode to try to preserve the battery life, and as soon as he switched it back on, missed calls and messages from Sarah came flooding in. He remembered her complaining about not being able to sleep late after menopause--a stark contrast to her son, who could blissfully stay sleeping past 11 am on Sunday mornings. Charlie briefly pictured he and Nick curled up in Nick’s bed, sound asleep, as if they’ve gotten home safely, like they were supposed to.

Sarah’s last text was considerably less panicked than the first few, which he assumed came after she heard his no doubt horrifying voicemail but before she’d gotten through to staff at the hospital. Her most recent message read, “Just spoke to the doctor and got an update. I’m about 3 hours away now. Call me when you can xx”

Charlie pulled himself up to standing. Whether from the crash itself, the adrenaline wearing off, or his sleeping position, he felt achy and sore all over. He stepped out into the bright hallway where staff were already bustling about, clearly beginning their work days even at this ungodly hour. Charlie dialed Sarah, who picked up immediately, her voice shaken but clear.

“Oh, Charlie, thank God you’re alright. How is he? How are you?”

Charlie suddenly felt the gravity of what had happened sink in, with Nick’s mum’s familiar voice reminding him that the world existed outside of Nick’s hospital room. Someone else was coming to do this with him.

He wasn’t alone. He never was.

“Hi Sarah, he’s okay,” Charlie said, breathless and shaky again, “um, he’s in a lot of pain,” his voice broke with the thought, “but they’ve given him medicine, and otherwise he’s just been sleeping.”

“That’s what the nurse said on the phone when I called,” Sarah said, sounding relieved and tense all at once. “Are you alright, love? Were you hurt?”

Charlie lowered himself into one of the chairs lining the hallway as fresh tears arrived, triggered by Sarah’s concern.

“I’m okay, I’m--” Charlie let out a sob. “I’m okay as long as he’s okay.”

“Me too, honey,” Sarah said, emotion rising in her voice, too. “Do you want me to stay on the phone with you for a little bit?”

“No, no,” Charlie sniffled. “I want to go back in there to be with him. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Okay,” she said, sniffling too. “Charlie?”

“Uh huh?”

“I’m so glad he has you there with him.”

Charlie’s voice cracked as he squeaked out, “Me, too.”

Chapter Text

The next time Nick woke, the ache radiating from his chest, his arm, and his head was still pounding but duller, less acute. He opened his eyes, blinking a few times and finding it easier to adjust to the light than it was before, noticing early morning sun coming through the blinds in the window. He was aware of a warm pressure on his leg and looked down, turning his head on the pillow. Charlie’s body was curved into a “c,” sitting in a chair with his head resting against Nick’s thigh, sound asleep.

Nick dropped the pump in his hand and reached up to brush Charlie’s curls, fluffy and completely unkempt. Charlie stirred awake from the movement. Momentarily disoriented, Charlie looked at Nick’s face and broke into a wide grin.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Charlie whispered, sounding like he had a bad head cold but smiling. Charlie’s eyes were ringed with dark circles and bloodshot, like he’d been crying for hours. Nick ran a finger over the bandage on Charlie’s forehead.

“You’re hurt, Charlie.” Nick said slowly, his voice coming out deep and hoarse, his brow furrowing.

“I’d say I’m faring pretty well, comparatively.” Charlie gestured up and down Nick’s body and let out a chuckle that must have instantly lowered Nick’s heart rate. Nick found a laugh bubbling up from his own chest, his right side shooting in pain with the effort. At that moment, he didn’t care one bit. Just seeing Charlie there, bright and crinkly-eyed and right by his side, made Nick instantly feel better.

“Are you in pain, Nick?” Charlie’s voice wavered a bit, a look of worry crossing his face.

Nick nodded slowly. “Not as bad as before.” Charlie gave a sad smile before leaning down to kiss Nick, who gladly accepted Charlie’s warm lips on his even though he was sure his breath left something to be desired.

Just then the door slid open to reveal an older man in a white coat. He didn’t seem to notice Charlie’s and Nick’s kissing, looking down as he was entering at the tablet in his hands before looking at his patient.

“Mr. Nelson! I’m glad to see you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

“A bit like shit, sir,” Nick answered honestly, a ghost of a grin playing across his face. Charlie took Nick’s hand in his, giving it a squeeze.

“Ah, well, I’d be surprised if you didn’t feel that way, Mr. Nelson,” the doctor said, unlooping his stethoscope and bending down to have a listen to Nick’s chest. “You gave us quite a scare, there, son. Mind if we give you a few updates?”

“My mum--” Nick started to sit up as the realization dawned on him, “did someone call her?” His body screamed in protest at the movement.

“Oh, yes, I just got off the phone with her, actually,” the doctor answered nonchalantly. Nick lowered his head back down to the pillow, a momentary panic lifted and the hurt abating. Charlie looked at him, bemused. Nick could almost hear it in Charlie’s voice: “Of course we called your mum, you giant rugby idiot.”

“She’s stuck in some traffic but she’s nearly here. She called for an update just as I was about to come and talk to you and your--”

The doctor looked questioningly at Charlie, waiting for one of them to fill in the answer. “Charlie,” Charlie said, extending his hand for a shake. Nick looked languidly up at him.

“Right-o. Nice to meet you, Charlie. Mr. Nelson--”

“Nick is fine,” Nick said, thinking oddly of his dad every time the doctor called him by that name.

“Nick,” he continued. “We’re going to do some repeat imaging of your head to make sure, but it looks like you’ve got yourself a concussion. We’ll want you to rest and stay away from screens as much as possible over the next few days, and we’ll treat symptoms as they arise, but so far, so good.”

Nick nodded, feeling a bit overwhelmed already by the amount of information his sluggish brain was attempting to take in.

“You had minor bleeding around your liver, which we’ll take another look at today, but we anticipate it resolving on its own. Same goes for your broken ribs, although I’m sorry to say that it’s a pretty painful injury, so we’ll keep a close eye on your pain levels while your body heals. A respiratory therapist will be in to help you with some exercises, which will keep you from developing a lung infection.”

Nick remembered his friend, Christian, breaking a rib during a match in secondary. He was out for the rest of the season. A question slowly started forming its way into words as the doctor continued.

“Your body took quite a hit, Nick,” the doctor said, pulling up an x-ray on the computer monitor. “You’ve got a fracture in your clavicle and a comminuted humerus fracture, as well as some severe soft-tissue damage in the surrounding area.” Nick was no doctor, and he was apparently working on a concussion, but even he could tell that things weren’t looking right, his glowing white bones on the screen sticking out at odd angles. Charlie’s face looked pinched and pained in the light of the screen.

“We’ve decompressed the injury to allow you to recover overnight, but the orthopedic surgeon I’m consulting with would like to take you into surgery within the next few days. She’ll likely insert some hardware that’ll allow your bones to heal in the proper place, and then you’ll need extensive physiotherapy to return to normal motor function.”

“What about rugby?” The question finally made its way to his lips. Charlie gave his hand a squeeze, a look of understanding crossing his face. “I play on the team at Leeds, sir.”

The doctor turned off the monitor and took the seat opposite Charlie, taking an inhale. Thoughts flashed, slower than usual, through Nick’s mind. But people get broken bones all the time? Is he going to say I’m out for the next season? His gaze flashed over to Charlie, who suddenly looked very, very worried. But why?

“Nick,” he began slowly, looking directly into Nick’s eyes for the first time. “With the scope of your injuries, I think it’s very unlikely that you’ll be able to return safely to a high-impact sport.”

“Right, I’d have to heal first, so I’d be out for the season? Is that what you mean?” Nick could feel his palms start to sweat, Charlie’s warm hand holding his ever-more tightly.

“No, Nick,” he shook his head, “we can’t say for certain right now, but the intervention that you’re going to need to stabilize your arm and shoulder would make the possibility of re-injury extremely high. If you went back to the game and got a bad hit, you could risk losing function in your arm. I’m sorry, but it is unlikely that you will be able to play rugby again.”

Nick felt his body react to the words before his mind caught up to him. His breathing got shallower and quicker, sweat blooming all over despite the chill of the hospital room. A wave of nausea hit him and he briefly looked around for the bin. He heard the doctor ask if he had any questions, heard Charlie respond after a beat, “I think we might need a minute to take everything in, will you be back later?” He heard mention of some scans he’d have done this morning, making plans for surgery “as early as tomorrow morning if he’s doing well” before the door closed. His mind kept turning the words over, trying to make sense of it.

Not playing rugby. Never playing rugby again.

Charlie got up from his seat and sat at the edge of the bed, leaning down to place a steadying hand on Nick’s cheek.

“Nick? Sweetheart? Say something for me.”

Nick felt himself shake his head and shut his eyes, pressing a fist into them, the lights too bright again, the room spinning.

Never. Not ever.

He’d played his last rugby match.

“Nick? Can you hear me?”

Nick could hear Charlie’s words but couldn’t process what he was saying, couldn’t process anything. All Nick wanted was to stop being in the place where he was, to stop feeling the things he was feeling, stop understanding what he was understanding.

“Please, go,” Nick finally said quietly, tears he didn’t know were coming slipping out between his closed eyelids, covered with his own hand.

“What?” Nick couldn’t bring himself to look at Charlie but could hear the hurt in his voice.

“Charlie, please, just go. Please. I need to be alone. Just please leave me alone.” He could hear a whine in his own voice, panic and shock and desperation turning his request into a plea.

Charlie didn’t say anything for a minute. Then took a breath in. “Okay. Okay, um-- I’ll just-- I’ll just be outside.” Charlie’s hand left Nick’s body as he registered the sound of the chair scraping back and Charlie’s quick footsteps out the sliding door. He could faintly hear a sob before the door shut.

Nick opened his eyes, immediately wishing that he was looking at Charlie. Wanting it to be the moment before the doctor came in, where it was only Charlie’s smile and warmth and presence. Wanting it to be the moment before everything went dark, when it was just him and Charlie in his car, like normal. Wanting it to be literally any moment but right now.

Nick reached up and yanked one of the pillows out from under him, chucking it across the room. A left-handed, concussed, drugged, pained throw. It didn’t even hit the wall. Nick squeezed his eyes shut again and heard yet another inhuman sound escape his lips.

Chapter Text

Charlie didn’t realize he had dozed off through tears again until a familiar hand shook him awake.

“Charlie, dear, it’s me. Where’s Nicky?”

He opened his eyes to the pale face of Sarah Nelson. He rubbed his eyes, which felt like sandpaper.

“They’ve taken him up for more scans, but they should be back soon.”

He craned his neck to look over at Nick’s room’s door, standing ajar and empty. He barely registered the crick in his neck and dull throbbing in his head.

Sarah dropped the full duffel she was carrying and pulled him into a warm hug. The feeling was so familiar, even in such odd circumstances, that Charlie sank into it, burying his face in her shoulder as she rubbed his back. After a minute, she sat down in the unoccupied seat beside his, taking in his face as people bustled to and fro down the hallway.

“Does it hurt, love?” She touched the side of his forehead gently. She looked so much like her son in that moment that Charlie’s heart could have burst.

“No, I mean, not more than anything else.” He couldn’t believe that Sarah was concerned about him, nor that he was complaining about the hollow aching when Nick was-- when Nick couldn’t--

“Did you talk to the doctor?” Charlie asked, meeting Sarah’s eyes.

“Yeah, I did,” she said softly. “How did he take it?”

“He, um--” Charlie had no idea how it was possible that he could keep crying when he was this tired, when he had cried so much already in the last eight hours alone. “He, uh, asked me to leave. After he found out. About rugby.” He pulled his jumper sleeves over his palms and crossed his arms over his chest, tears leaking out of his eyes. He looked away.

“Oh, baby.” Sarah didn’t immediately reach out, taking in Charlie’s body language, but leaned in to listen.

“In the car, we were joking,” Charlie sobbed, “and he was looking at me when it-- when we got hit-- and if I hadn’t been there, if he wasn’t looking at me-- maybe-- he wouldn’t--”

“Baby, it is not your fault. These things happen,” she said soothingly but firmly, her face close to his. She tentatively reached to hold Charlie’s hand in between her own.

“If I know Nicky, he didn’t send you away because he was angry. I think he probably sent you away because he was scared.”

Charlie looked up at her, swiping a grimy sleeve under his eyes and nose for the upteenth time that morning. “Scared, like, of the surgery?”

“I think…scared of losing something that matters so much to him.” She leaned back in her chair, looked up.

“Has he ever told you about when he started playing rugby?”

“Only that he was little, and that his dad taught him.”

“He was little, yeah, about eight.” Sarah smiled. Charlie’s mind flashed to the pictures of Nick and his brother when they were younger that hung everywhere in the Nelson house. Nick’s ruddy cheeks and cheeky grin. Nick’s uninhibited joy.

“It was right when Stephane and I had begun talking about separating. The boys both knew something was wrong, of course, because children always know these things. Stephane would be gone for weeks and when he was home, we’d fight.”

“David…he wore his anger and hurt loudly, lashing out at me, at his dad, at Nick. All the time.” Sarah looked down, her eyes pooling. “But Nicky was always so much more sensitive and intuitive. He’d come downstairs late at night once his dad had left or gone to sleep and insist that we have a cup of tea and some biscuits together.”

Charlie thought that that sounded about right, his chest swelling at the idea of a smaller Nick coaxing yet another person to have some tea and a snack when they were feeling upset.

“I don’t think he wasn’t angry, I just think all his anger went inside. Like he was too afraid that he would hurt any of us while we were already hurting, so afraid that he couldn’t say the hard things out loud. He just took care of us instead. And all the hard things just stayed inside.”

That sounded about right to Charlie, too.

“When we separated, Stephane tried finding things that he could do with the boys, to be together one-on-one. When he was home, that is. He tried rugby out on David first,” Sarah laughed through tears, “but that was a disaster. And I didn’t even want him to let Nicky try; I was worried he’d get pummeled.”

“But what’s that they say, like a fish to water?” Charlie nodded along, thinking of the hours he spent watching Nick on the pitch. The ease and grace he had the second the game started, the sweaty joy in his eyes after a good match. And most of Nick’s matches were good.

“I knew it would change his life. He came alive out there, feeling all the things he never let himself feel, taking it all out on a ball or a tackle. And he was so good at something, and he got all the praise and affirmation he deserved. It brought him to university. And it brought him to you.” She nudged Charlie’s shoulder with her own, letting out a wet chuckle.

“It makes sense,” Charlie said quietly, “why he’d be so scared of losing that. Losing a place where he feels like he belongs.”

Sarah nodded. “But you know, I was thinking on the way over…I’ve seen him light up that way in other places too. Sometimes when he talks about his education modules, or about what he might want to do after school. Almost any time he’s with the dogs.” She smiled.

“And Charlie,” she turned to face him. Charlie looked up. “He lights up every time he thinks about you. When you’re in a room together, he is totally, completely himself, and totally at peace, in a way I only ever saw him feel fleetingly before. He knows he belongs when he is with you.”

A fresh wave of tears leaked out of Charlie’s eyes, and he accepted Sarah’s hug, leaning into her chest as he sobbed quietly.

After a few moments, she murmured, “I called your sister, Charlie.”

“Tori?” Charlie sat up, bewildered. As if he had another sister.

“She should be here in the next little bit. You need a meal and a proper lie-down. And, no offense, but a shower wouldn’t hurt.”

“But I don’t want to leave Nick.”

“I know, love, I know. But you can come back once you’ve both recovered a little more, yeah? I’ll be with him in the meantime.”

Charlie considered Tori’s soft comforter, the quiet of her flat. Her impossibly snuggly cat, Wednesday, who was literally the opposite of both his sister and the character for which he was named. He thought about how good it would feel to lay his head on a pillow.

“Yeah,” he said. “Okay.”

Chapter Text

Nick spaced out while they took more images of his broken body, grateful that the only thing he had to do was lie there for most of them. The MRI machine was loud and tight, and Nick closed his eyes against the noise, against the claustrophobic space, against the world he was living in now.

At some point, he fell asleep despite the clamor of the machine, his dreams drifting listlessly along.

He’s walking Nellie on a beach and lets her off-leash into the waves, where she tries to catch little mussels in her mouth.

He’s having fish and chips with Charlie at the pier and feeding little bits to the seagulls despite Charlie’s protestations.

He’s little again, splashing in the pool, going under with his goggles and peeking at the glinting water below.

He’s running now, on a blank expanse of grass, on a perfect, sunny winter morning. He had a ball in his hand and not a single person around him fast enough to catch him.

He jolted awake just before he scored, already back in the now-familiar room, as the orderly locked the brakes on his hospital bed and exited. In the doorway he saw a figure, her arms laden with the most Sarah Nelson of things--a duffel bag practically bursting with his favorite throw blanket and the pillow from his bed at home sticking out. She dropped it as soon as their eyes met.

“Mum,” he said, his voice breaking.

His face crumpled.

“Oh, my sweet boy.” Her warm arms are all the way around him in an instant, and her familiar smell engulfed him--lavender and detergent and Nellie and Henry and home. She cradled his head and rocked him back and forth like she would a small child, only he never cried like this when he was little--not when his parents fought or his dad moved out or when David screamed at him or when Nellie went missing. Those times he shook and held his own knees to his chest, listening for sounds downstairs to tell him that everything would be okay again.

No, he only remembers weeping so uncontrollably once, when he heard Charlie had hurt himself and was in hospital. His mother held him then, too.

He knew then what he knew now--the magnitude of the before and after. The life that he had thought he would live, irreparably changed.

“Charlie,” he said through sobs, seconds or minutes or hours later, his voice small and weak. “Where did he go?” He heard himself sound like a small child.

“Tori came and picked him up a bit ago. I sent him to her place for some rest, but he promised he’d be back later.”

“He’s not mad?” His wet eyes pleaded with his mother’s.

“No, my darling,” she said, placing his head back against her shoulder. “Just sad and scared. Like you.”

Nick nodded and let his mother keep holding him for a little longer.

Chapter Text

Late afternoon sun streamed through the gaps in the drawn curtains. Wednesday had apparently decided to take up residence directly in front of Charlie’s face, nudging Charlie’s nose with his wet snout, his whiskers tickling Charlie awake. Charlie reached up to pet him behind the ears and Wednesday let out a fishy yawn. He yawned, too, stretching and reaching for his phone, charging on Tori’s bedside table. 5:28 pm.

Texts from his mum and dad and even Ollie checking on him (“r u ok” from Ollie’s iPad). Just the usual nonsense from his uni and secondary friends. The Paris Squad group chat was debating whether the ocean was soup, and Charlie felt a pang of longing for his and Nick’s friends to be with him now.

He hadn’t called anyone but Sarah after the accident, his brain not able to comprehend that many steps ahead at the time. Besides, he would have wanted to wait to ask Nick whom he’d like to tell what.

Nick. His favorite person. Hurting.

Charlie had slept deeply after Tori was satisfied that he was both fed (beans on toast) and rehydrated (two cups of tea and an entire bottle of diet lemonade). She tucked him in wearing a pair of Michael’s gym shorts and an oversized t-shirt with a hot water bottle to boot.

Charlie’s mind felt clearer, like it could once again form full sentences and like he wasn’t quite as likely to cry at the drop of a hat anymore. He felt his whole body creaking as he rolled himself out of bed and to the bathroom, then plopped down next to Tori on the couch.

“He wakes!”

“Only thanks to this guy,” Charlie scooped up Wednesday who had been rubbing himself contentedly along his shins.

“Oh, damn, I meant to make sure he was out of the bedroom. He’s a menace at mealtimes.”

“Like somebody else we know,” Charlie said, smirking. Tori hit him gently on the arm and smiled.

“Speaking of,” she got up and headed to the tiny kitchen, “Chinese takeaway leftovers from Thursday or…canned soup?”

“Mhmmm, such tempting choices.” Charlie could not have been less interested in dinner, but he knew that eating at regular intervals kept his brain working. He needed all the help he could get to stay calm while Nick processed everything that had happened to him in only a matter of hours. He got up and fetched a can opener for the soup.

//

One can of soup, a shower, a pair of Micheal’s joggers and an hour and a half later, Tori dropped Charlie off at the hospital entrance. A dead-ringer for Julio Spring, she yelled out the window, “Just call me whenever you’re ready and I’ll be right over, yeah?”

“Okay,” Charlie said, grateful not just that Tori existed, but that she lived so close by. They had joked about Nick and Tori going clubbing up north before they moved to uni. Then Charlie had gotten a drunk selfie of the two of them dancing on a bar within the first week.

He got lost on the way to Nick’s room, only having accessed it through the A&E department, but found the familiar hallway after some wandering. He cracked the door open to peek inside, expecting Nick to be sleeping.

Instead, Nick was staring out the open window, his bed adjusted so that he was upright and covered in the fuzzy cotton blanket from his couch at home. The oxygen machine was gone. His expression was relaxed, if a bit pensive.

He looked so…like Nick. Charlie's momentary hesitation about coming in vanished. He could do this. It was just him and Nick, after all.

“Hi,” Charlie breathed from the doorway. Nick turned his head.

“Hi.”

They stared at each other for a second before Nick scooted over in bed, wincing, and held open his left arm. His expression hopeful, like he wasn't sure if Charlie would accept his peace offering. Charlie crawled in gently, careful not to throw an elbow or a shin in Nick’s direction. He settled into Nick’s embrace as he’d done so many times before, wrapping an arm across Nick’s head and resting his head on his other arm above them both. Nick pressed his face into Charlie’s (Michael’s) shirt and inhaled.

“I’m so sorry I sent you away, Charlie.” His voice was thick with emotion.

“You have nothing to be sorry about, Nick. It’s okay,” Charlie murmured.

“I was just so overwhelmed and shocked and--”

“I know, sweetheart, I know, it’s okay--”

“I wanted you here the moment you left.”

Charlie pulled back to look into Nick’s eyes, wet yet again with tears. “I’m here, love.” He brushed away Nick’s tears with his thumb. He dropped his voice to a whisper, pressing their foreheads together gently.

“I’m so, so sorry this is happening, Nick.”

Nick took a shaky breath. “Me, too.” He let out a sob and looked back up at Charlie. “But still no s-word allowed out of you,” he muttered wetly. They leaned together, letting their lips brush each other’s gently.

“Hm,” Charlie smiled, pulling away, “Sarah found you some toothpaste, too, huh?”

Nick nodded, looking suddenly very sleepy. “I’m human again,” he said quietly, smiling with his clean teeth. “She went to check into the hotel after she heard you were on the way. And after making sure I finished my jello.” Charlie watched as Nick’s blinks got longer, his words slower.

“You can rest now, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.”

Nick’s eyes drifted closed and he muttered, “The window is a shit tv, anyway.” Charlie laughed and stroked his face some more, laying his own head against the bed, just above Nick’s.

Charlie thought Nick had fallen asleep when Nick asked in a near-whisper, eyes still closed, “Is this the first time you’ve been at the hospital since--”

“Since then?” Charlie finished the sentence for him. They both knew what they were talking about. “Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

Charlie remembered waking to see Nick’s pained face through his groggy haze, several years ago, the love and sorrow in Nick’s eyes watching Charlie suffer.

“I’m sorry,” Nick murmured.

“For what, love?”

“For putting you through this.” Nick’s breath hitched. “All of this.”

“Nick,” Charlie sat himself up so that he could look directly into Nick’s watery brown eyes. “It is an honor to get to be here for you, just like you’ve been here for me.”

Charlie gently laid his head on Nick’s chest, careful to keep to the left side and on the lookout for signs that it was hurting Nick. Instead Nick wrapped Charlie up just like he always did, engulfing him even with just one arm around Charlie’s frame.

“I love you, Charlie,” he whispered.

“I love you, too.” And despite sleeping all day, Charlie’s eyes drifted closed, too.

Chapter Text

Nick was only vaguely aware of the changes around him that night, of Charlie’s weight shifting and leaving, of his mum’s hand squeezing his. He registered people coming and going around him in a place between sleeping and waking, pressing his button a few times when a wave of hurt would stir him from a cloudy dream.

He opened his eyes at one point when his blood pressure cuff squeezed his arm and took in the sight of his mum sleeping awkwardly in a chair clearly not built for a good night’s rest. He closed his eyes again, knowing there was no way she would have listened to his earlier insistence to sleep at the hotel.

Monday morning dawned and brought with it some very gentle people taking Nick’s blood, telling him things that he barely registered while still half-sleeping. He only woke up fully when a freshly-showered Charlie appeared, his forehead bandage replaced with just a small band-aid. He was holding a cup of coffee that smelled delicious, even though Nick usually stuck to tea.

He blearily thought about asking for some before remembering with a jolt of anxiety that he had surgery this morning. He shut his eyes and tried to take a deep breath only to be met with protestations from his broken bones, a whimper rising in his throat.

“Tell me where it hurts, sweetheart,” Charlie said, gently. Nick gestured toward his side. He heard his mum say, “I’ll go fetch the nurse” and leave the room, clearly preferring to mama-bear directly rather than use the call button.

Nick’s breathing only quickened, feeling shallow, panic rising. A primordial fear that he didn’t know he had came crashing down on him, the impact knocking his breath out of his lungs.

His thoughts ran on a loop. I don’t want to do it I don’t want to do it I don’t want to do it I don’t want to do it--

“I don’t-- want-- to do it,” he choked out quietly, his brown eyes meeting Charlie’s blue.

“I know, love. Just breathe for me, okay? Just breathe. In and out.”

Nick tried and failed to slow his breathing down, to catch a whole breath, a lump rising in his throat and blood rushing to his cheeks. He could hear faint beeping getting quicker and quicker somewhere behind him.

“What if-- I-- What if-- I don’t-- wake up--”

“Nick, look at me.” Charlie’s face was in front of his now, his hand gripped tightly in Charlie’s between their chests. Nick obeyed, looking into Charlie’s eyes as tears ran down his cheeks. “You are going to be okay. Okay? You are going to wake up. You are not going to die. Do you hear me?”

Nick nodded, swallowing.

“Okay, then repeat it back to me. You are going to be okay.”

“I am going to be okay.”

“Good,” Charlie wiped at his tears, “Now just breathe with me.”

They sat together, Nick matching Charlie’s breathing and staring only in Charlie’s eyes, focusing in on their ocean-blue depths and trying not to think about a single other thing. He was vaguely aware of the beeping slowing back down, little by little, the longer he stayed like that. Sarah arrived back with a nurse a few beats later.

“Nick, I’m going to go ahead and give you something to calm you down before we take you up to surgery. Is that okay?”

Nick nodded, not looking away from Charlie as she switched something in his IV. Before long, a wave of something unfamiliar hit him. Nick felt a little light-headed and woozy, but the panic kept evaporating, bit by bit.

“Woah,” he murmured. “Where was this an hour ago?” Charlie chuckled as the nurse bustled around, and all Nick could take in was Charlie’s beautiful face, his damp curls, his sweet, familiar smell.

Before long (but really, what even is time) someone said, “It’s time to go,” and Nick saw a flash of worry dart across Charlie’s features for the first time all morning. Nick reached up and pulled Charlie close while someone unlocked the brakes on his bed.

“I am going to be okay, Char,” he said, his words slurring at the edges. Charlie kissed his forehead and the feeling made Nick smile. “I know you are,” Charlie murmured in his ear. “I love you so.”

“Love you too,” Nick patted Charlie’s cheek before his mum appeared, hugging his neck tightly. “Love you, mum.”

“See you soon, my darling.” Nick detected a little sniffle as she pulled away.

Nick shut his eyes as he floated along down the hallway, missing the closeness of his people but knowing they’d be there when he woke up.

Chapter Text

Tori skived off her morning lecture to wait with Charlie and Sarah while Nick was in surgery. Long gone were the days where his phone blared an alarm every time he needed to eat according to his meal plan, but she not-so-subtly kept her eye on the clock, offering to fetch drinks and food every hour or so. Charlie tried sitting still but kept finding his knees bobbing up and down, so he paced around and around the little waiting area. Sarah had a book in her hand but each time Charlie looked over, her eyes weren’t focused on the page.

They got periodic updates from the team. “Nick’s under anesthesia and they’re getting started;” “They’ve moved on from the collarbone to the arm;” “They’ve started putting in the hardware.” Only at the very end, nearly two in the afternoon, did the orthopedic surgeon herself come out, sweaty in her scrubs. Sarah stood next to Charlie.

“He did brilliantly,” the surgeon smiled. Sarah let out a loud exhale. Relief flooded Charlie’s system, a knot somewhere around his sternum loosening. “He’s just in recovery now, but they’ll be bringing him back up to his room shortly. All his vital signs are good--we were particularly keeping an eye on his oxygen saturation levels, but he did great. I’m very confident that he will be able to reach full function again with the proper therapies.”

“Full function?” He couldn’t help himself but ask. “So, he’ll be able to play again?”

The surgeon gave a sad, knowing smile. “Nick will be able to live a long, happy, and normal life.” She breathed in. “But, no, dear. I don’t think he’ll be able to play rugby again.”

Charlie nodded. He’d known this, had been processing the news ever since he and Nick heard it yesterday, but he didn’t realize that a little part of him was hoping that everything could be fixed in the surgery. That it would somehow allow Nick to time-travel back to before any of this happened.

“Can we see him?” Sarah breathed hopefully.

“Sure, you can. I’ll fetch someone to bring you up.”

Charlie hugged Sarah, then hugged Tori, who reminded him to call her whenever he wanted to be picked up. He gave her an extra squeeze, grateful to have her steadying him through this.

Nick was sound asleep when they arrived, a hard plaster cast replacing the soft, temporary one in the sling on his right. Sarah kissed the top of his head and settled down in a seat at his feet. Charlie sat beside her in his now-familiar position, taking Nick’s hand in his again.

It was gone five when Nick stirred awake, dragging Charlie and Sarah out of their reverie. He smiled woozily when his eyes landed on Charlie.

“Bonjour, mon bonheur.”

Charlie and Sarah both laughed, grateful to hear Nick’s voice again and surprised that he slipped into his second language.

“Comment te sens-tu, mon chérie?” She came around to his right and brushed a hand across his forehead. Nick looked confused.

“Pourquoi parles-tu français, maman?”

Sarah laughed again.

“No reason, baby.” She kissed his cheek.

“J'ai sommeil,” he whispered, his eyes drifting closed again.

“Take a couple of sips of water for me before you go back to sleep.” Sarah brought the glass around, sticking the straw to Nick’s lips for him. He swallowed a couple of times, then turned his head.

“Merci,” he exhaled, eyes closing again.

“Je t’aime,” Charlie whispered in Nick’s ear. One of the only French phrases he knew.

“Je t'aime aussi,” Nick whispered back. Charlie knew that one, too.

Chapter Text

Nick slept deeply that night for the first time since the accident, probably thanks to some lingering anesthesia. Charlie left and came back again before he fully woke up, his mom resuming her nighttime post by the bed despite paying for a literal hotel room. She left to shower and probably nap once Charlie arrived, this time with a coffee for Nick, too.

“I saw you eyeing mine yesterday,” Charlie grinned, setting it down. “I made them put a bunch of sweet shit in it for you, though.”

“You know me too well.” Nick took a sip and picked at the eggs and toast that someone had delivered a few minutes earlier. He didn’t have much of an appetite, but the nurse had told him they could start PT if he was feeling strong enough today.

“Wait, what day is it? Monday?”

“Tuesday,” Charlie replied. Nick could hardly be surprised, given that he’d been under the influence, and without screens, since the accident.

“But you’re missing class?”

“Well, yeah,” Charlie said. “So are you.”

“You don’t have to stay. I mean, if you need to go…” Nick hoped Charlie knew that he didn’t expect Charlie to give up everything for him, even though Nick wanted Charlie by his side every minute.

“Nick!” Charlie kissed Nick gently, smiling. “I made your mum call my dean at Manchester after she called yours. Said it was a family emergency. Her Jane Spring impression was spot-on, not that they would’ve known the difference.” Charlie grabbed Nick’s hand and squeezed it. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Nick felt a powerful sense of relief, which almost certainly showed in his face.

“Now,” Charlie said, “about this breakfast.”

Nick tried his best with the hospital food with much encouragement from Charlie, both surprised to find themselves on the opposite end of their usual dynamic. He then slept on and off for the rest of the morning.

His mum returned just as the tech arrived to remove his catheter. “Nothing I haven’t seen before!” Sarah called from behind the curtain he’d insisted they draw, Nick’s cheeks flaring. Nick heard Charlie giggle and reckoned the same went for him, but still. He could at least reclaim a little dignity, even as he needed Charlie and his mum to help maneuver sweatpants and a t-shirt on to replace the hospital gown.

Now that he was only attached to a machine for his IV fluids, he felt like he could get more comfortable in bed. His arm wasn’t hurting nearly as much as before surgery, and his head and chest felt fine as long as he kept still.

He and Charlie snuggled together around midday, crafting text to send to their uni and secondary friends (Charlie dramatically kept a hand between the screen and Nick’s face, eliciting groans from the latter.) They agreed to send the longer update to a group chats without Nick in them, so Charlie could field the reactions so that only the good stuff got to Nick. They took a selfie (“Shut your eyes!”) to send to the chats with Nick in them, hoping that it would reassure folks.

A cheerful physiotherapist arrived after lunch (bean soup, bland and half-eaten) and announced, “Let’s start off with a bit of a stroll, shall we?”

Nick liked the idea better in theory than in practice, the effort of getting to the edge of the bed alone exhausting. He had to put all his focus into his feet to get them to walk, one in front of the other in the stupid grippy hospital socks, the pain of it more than he could have expected. Not just in his arm, but everywhere, his muscles felt like they were made of lead. Charlie braced him on one side, the therapist behind, his mum trailing nervously.

Nick made it past the neighboring patient’s door before his stomach suddenly lurched. The surprise and sensation made his knees buckle, and he thought briefly that he was going to hit the ground. Charlie, the therapist, and his mum’s arms all encircled him, keeping him aloft as he tried and failed to regain his footing.

“We need a wheelchair over here!” The PT yelled, and one materialized under him. He collapsed into it, leaning over the edge and barfing up the entire contents of his stomach onto the PT’s shoes.

“Oh, God,” he said, running a hand over his watering eyes. “I am so sorry.” He leaned back into the chair, looking deliberately away from the pile of vomit that looked nauseatingly like the soup he’d just tried to eat.

“Happens all the time,” the young man said, surprising jovial for having been yakked on. He called someone else to help Nick back to his room, though, as Sarah fretted first over Nick, then over the man’s shoes.

Nick felt dizzy and nauseous again, wave after wave of pain coming and only abating when he was still in bed again. Charlie’s face looked down at Nick with concern.

“I could run a six-minute mile last week,” Nick said ruefully, wanting again to be able to go back in time. Wanting again to be anywhere but here.

Charlie only nodded.

“I hate this,” Nick said under his breath.

“I hate it for you,” Charlie whispered back. Neither of them said another word while tears fell from Nick’s eyes. Sarah peeked her head back in and, seeing Nick’s distress and Charlie’s response, excused herself quietly.

Eventually, as Nick’s tears slowed and Charlie laid his head down beside his boyfriend’s, Nick muttered, “Is it okay if I bring up something from when you were in hospital?”

Charlie met his eyes, still stroking Nick’s cheek. They had a policy of asking first, before they talked about the hardest things. “Sure.”

“I remember being so surprised, that day, when you asked why I hadn’t broken up with you yet,” Nick murmured hoarsely. “But I think I get it now. Why you said that.”

“I think that was mostly the depression and exhaustion talking, love.”

“Yeah, I know, but it’s more than that.” Nick reached a hand up over Charlie’s. “I thought the hardest thing in the world was seeing you like that. And maybe, it still is. But it’s really hard to know that you’re hurting other people, the people watching you hurt.”

Nick could see a protest forming at the tip of Charlie’s tongue. “I know, I know. It’s not my fault. I’m just saying. We’re taught that it’s always better to be the strong one, to not need things. And then when we do, it feels like we’ve done something wrong. Like our suffering makes other people suffer.”

Charlie paused before responding. “What do you remember feeling most, when I was in hospital?”

Nick didn’t even have to think twice. “I was just so glad you were alive. Before all the other things, the sadness and worry. I was just glad you were still here.” A lump formed in his throat, like it always did, thinking about that feeling. He could see Charlie’s eyes fill with tears, too.

“Me too, Nick. It’s so hard watching you hurt so much, knowing you lost rugby, but--” a sob broke through Charlie’s chest.

“I’m still here,” Nick said, voice breaking.

“Yeah,” Charlie nodded, smiling through tears. “You’re still here.”

Chapter Text

“Tennis?”

“Oof, too much shoulder movement.”

“Golf?”

“Gross,” Nick pulled a dramatically disgusted face. “David golfs.”

“Right, well, better steer clear of that one, then.”

Charlie was reading a list off his phone, leaned back in a chair with his feet up on the bed beside Nick’s. Nick seemed in pretty good spirits today, Friday, having heard he’d be headed home tomorrow and anticipating a visit from some uni friends that afternoon.

Since the bean soup incident, he’d only barfed one more time, and he was concussion-cleared, eating better, needing fewer pain meds, and sleeping more soundly. All of which meant he was slowly seeming more and more like himself.

Sarah had gone off with the social worker to finalize some discharge paperwork, made more complicated since Nick was headed home to Kent to recover for another week or two before returning back to Leeds. Charlie planned to ride home with them tomorrow and be back in class on Monday, though he tried not to think about that yet.

“Ok, ok, I’ve got it! Two words: Synchronized. Swimming.”

“Oi, bugger off. You just want to see me in a speedo.”

“Well, now, what would be so bad about that?” Charlie wagged his eyebrows.

“Judging by my above-ground dancing skills, I’d say coordinated underwater dancing should probably be off the cards.”

Charlie and Nick giggled, Charlie tossing his phone on the bed. He walked over to get Nick’s dopp kit from his overnight bag, pulling out shaving cream and Nick’s razor.

“Shall we get on with it, then?”

Nick had finally had a proper shower that morning, though supervised by a very respectful male nurse to make sure he didn’t fall and re-break all the bones in his body. After the nurse had changed the bandage on his temple, subbing it for a much smaller one to cover the stitches, he’d made an attempt at left-handed shaving before deciding that it was too dangerous an endeavor to do on his own.

“I don’t know why you’re bothering anyway,” Charlie said as he filled a basin with warm water, bringing a towel over. “Your hair is so light, you can hardly tell the difference.”

“But it’s itchy,” Nick whined dramatically, “and I don’t like feeling like a 13-year-old. Or my dad.”

Charlie had overheard Sarah on the phone with Nick’s dad, pacing down the hall and speaking in rapid French, while Nick napped the other day. Sarah looked tired after she got off the phone.

It struck Charlie that it must be lonely, taking care of a sick kid without a partner. But it also struck him how much more stressed Nick and Sarah would be if Nick’s dad decided to make a rare appearance now.

Charlie giggled as he spread the shaving cream across Nick’s face. “This feels really weird.”

“What feels weird, the shaving cream?”

“No, just, like, doing this in reverse. It’s really different from doing it on myself.”

“That’s what she said,” Nick grinned with his foamy beard. “Or, I guess, he?”

“I swear to God, Nicholas, if this is your way of suggesting we do another Office re-watch when I’m home with you this weekend, I will straight up exit the building.” Nick only smiled cheekily as Charlie brought the safety razor to Nick’s face, pulling it down slowly.

“Does that hurt?” Charlie was put off by the dragging sensation.

“No, it’s fine.” Nick looked puzzled. “Have you never shaved without your electric razor?”

“It’s so much simpler!” Charlie giggled. “This feels so…tactile.”

“Well, this one, you don’t have to charge. Plus, I feel like it’s a closer shave. And I know you like that.” Nick honest-to-God winked, sending Charlie into another fit of giggling.

“Ok now, hold still.” Charlie concentrated on slow, even strokes, rinsing the razor in the basin after each. Nick’s expression softened from a smirk into a contented gaze, watching Charlie’s eyes follow his hands with concentration.

He wet the towel to wipe away the remaining cream, lingering his palm on the side of Nick’s damp, smooth cheek. Charlie met Nick’s eyes and saw an unexpected spark of longing in them. Nick reached up to mirror Charlie’s movement, the two of them holding each other’s gaze. Charlie could feel a swooping deep in his belly, an old familiar desire to hold Nick close, to caress every inch of him, to make him gasp and moan and writhe.

Charlie was no mind reader, but he was pretty close to it when it came to Nick Nelson. He could tell Nick was thinking the same thing.

Charlie suddenly became aware of the hardness between Nick’s legs, clear as day through his sweatpants. Nick’s cheeks flushed bright red when Charlie met his gaze again, smiling.

“Charlie, I--”

Charlie leaned in and kissed Nick deeply, like they hadn’t since that night before their world turned upside down. Charlie slipped his tongue between Nick’s teeth and was met with a grunt of pleasure, Nick reciprocating enthusiastically. Charlie cupped Nick’s face and sank into the kiss, delighted and surprised and more than anything, extremely horny.

Which, of course, meant that the sliding door was flung open at that exact moment, Sarah and the social worker sauntering in mid-conversation. Charlie and Nick jumped apart, Nick scrambling to cover himself with the blanket while Charlie, in his momentary panic, blurted out, “Right, just getting the aftershave!” in a tone that could only be described as strangled.

He reappeared out of the bathroom with the bottle, matching Nick’s beet-red blush as the social worker and Sarah kept talking, apparently unaware of their mortification.

Nick and Charlie’s eyes met and both of them stifled cackles. Charlie handed Nick the aftershave and returned to his regularly-scheduled position in the chair beside Nick’s bed, a chaste distance between the two.

“Right, so, two things.” Nick’s pink face grinned at Charlie’s, their conversation quiet.

“What?” Charlie grinned back.

“Two things I’m going to need your help with while my right hand is out of commission. Shaving, and--”

Charlie slapped at Nick’s good arm playfully. “Good lord, Nelson. What the hell am I going to do with you?”

Chapter Text

Apparently, even though he’d been walking more and more easily, hospital policy meant that Nick had to be taken down to the car park in a wheelchair.

Hospital policy did not, however, dictate who had to push the wheelchair, and how slowly, so Charlie and Nick did do a quick and probably ill-advised stretch with Charlie propelling Nick at top-speed down one of the long, mostly-empty corridors, both boys giddy and excited to finally be through with the place and its white fluorescence and bad memories.

Nick’s head felt clearer than it had all week when he finally found himself out in the late-February air again. He’d chosen not to try to process very much about rugby yet, focusing instead on the incremental progress it would take to get him home. As soon as he was concussion-cleared, he opened TikTok, got immediately overstimulated, and insisted that he and Charlie watch daytime tv on the shitty hospital monitor above his bed instead.

He was also grateful to finally be rid of the opioid painkillers. He had heard horror stories about addiction and dependence from other rugby players, but moreover, they made his brain foggy and gave him the absolute worst constipation of his life. Seriously, it hurt more than his broken ribs. He gladly took the mild discomfort on his side now over the horror that he was sure would await him when he was finally (finally!) able to shit again, whenever that would be.

Nick was so relieved to be going home, not just because Nellie and Henry would be waiting to greet him. As university had gone on, he’d spent less and less time at his mum’s house in Kent, more time seeing or hosting Charlie, or traveling with friends. He probably hadn’t spent a full week doing nothing but laying around on his mum’s couch since summer holidays during year 9 or 10. As odd as it was, he was a tiny bit grateful for this forced break to reset in his life, which had felt like it was going at top-speed since he even started thinking about uni.

Sarah pulled the car around to the entrance, and Charlie held Nick around the waist as they walked to the car. Nick felt like a bit of Charlie’s giddiness had dissipated as soon as they’d reached the hospital doors, but maybe he was just focused on the task ahead.

As soon as they were all three buckled, Nick gave his best queen-like wave and said to the hospital in the rearview mirror “Au revoir, land of zero shits!”

“Nicky, honestly,” Sarah tutted, though Nick could tell she was smiling, happy to finally be taking her boy home.

They’d just pulled on to the main road when Sarah suggested they go through a drive-thru for lunch. The two Nelsons debated options for a minute, with Nick throwing to the back seat, “Char, I know McDonald’s isn’t your favorite, fancy a milkshake?”

No response. Nick tried and failed to look over his shoulder, which was very much immobilized.

“Charlie?”

“Um--” a gasp, a sharp inhale of air. “S-sorry, I--”

“Charlie, dear, what’s wrong?” Sarah glanced behind, her eyes were forced back to the traffic in front of her.

Then Charlie’s breathing came fast, heavy, and panicked. “I can’t-- um--”

Nick knew what it sounded like when Charlie had a panic attack, knew he’d be immediately mortified and apologize a million times for something his brain was doing that was outside of his control. Nick only now knew a little of what that felt like.

“Pull the car over, please, mum,” he murmured quietly. Sarah started to try to weave her way toward an exit.

“Charlie, hey, look at me.” Nick craned his way to the rearview mirror, his eyes finally landing on Charlie, who had his head in his hands in the backseat. Charlie met Nick’s brown eyes with his watery blues, seemingly reluctantly.

“Five things you can see, Charlie, love.” It was not Charlie’s favorite grounding technique now, but it was the first one Geoff taught him, so the one Nick could remember best off the top of his head.

Charlie didn’t respond at first. “Can you name something you see, Charlie? Just start with one.”

A beat. Then a watery, “Bridge.”

“That’s great, Charlie. Brilliant. Keep going.” Nick watched Charlie’s eyes look out the window, his breath still coming in great gasps.

“Sky. Tree. Billboard.” Charlie met his eyes in the mirror again. “Nick.”

Nick nodded, his voice gentle. “That’s so good, you’re doing so good, Charlie. Four things you can touch?” Sarah took an exit, looking around for a car park.

“Jumper. Seat. Seatbelt--” Charlie sobbed, his face back in his hands, as Sarah parked.

“Careful, Nicky,” she murmured as he opened the car door, climbing clumsily, one-armed, into the back seat from the driver’s side. He knew Charlie didn’t always want to be touched during panic attacks, but Charlie reached out his hand and grasped Nick’s knee, not looking up yet.

“Nick,” he said quietly.

“That’s right. I’m here, love.” Charlie leaned his body into Nick’s, and Nick gathered him up as best he could with one arm. “I’m right here, Charlie.” Charlie wept against his shoulder, his panicked breathing down-shifting into crying. Though the sound tore at Nick, he knew that this meant the worst part for Charlie was over. Sarah kept a concerned eye on the two of them from the front seat.

Minute by minute, with Nick stroking the back of Charlie’s head, murmuring in his ear and placing kiss after kiss on his forehead, Charlie started to return back to himself. He sat up, running his jumper sleeves across his face, and Nick knew what he was going to say before he even said it.

“I’m sorry,” Charlie said shakily.

“Now, Charlie, dear,” Sarah gently scolded, “that word is simply not allowed in my Prius.”

Charlie let out a brief, wet giggle. “I don’t know what’s got into me. I mean, I was fine in Tori’s car all this week. And you’re the one hurting, you’re the one going through all of this, I don’t know why I’m reacting this way. I didn’t even think about it until we got in…and I saw you in the seat…and I…”

Nick knew Charlie was gearing up to apologize again for the new round of tears, but he scooped him up before he could. “It’s okay, Charlie. I’m safe. You’re safe. We’re okay. Everything is okay--”

“But it’s not!” Charlie broke away from Nick to look in his eyes. “Everything was fine and a car came out of nowhere, Nick. And I saw you almost die, right in front of me, and I couldn’t do anything, and now your life won’t ever be the same, and there’s no reason why it couldn’t happen again, why this drive is any safer--”

“You’re right.” Sarah said from the front. Nick was glad she’d spoken, because he was at a loss. Yes, they probably weren’t ever going to get in a wreck like they did this week, but Charlie was right. It was all random and more precarious than Nick had ever thought.

“You’re right, Charlie. It’s brutal and horrible and terrifying out there. Something terrible could happen literally anytime. There’s climate change and nuclear war and assault weapons and salmonella and sharks--”

Nick wasn’t sure where she was going with this. Charlie’s eyes were on her, though, and his tears had stopped.

“This world is a terrible, horrible, scary place. You’re right. But you and Nick are probably going to be mostly okay, most of the time.”

Nick was startled. “Mum! That’s not very reassuring!”

“No, no, this is helping, actually.” Nick would have been offended if he wasn’t so glad that Charlie seemed to have calmed almost all the way down.

Sarah twisted herself more fully around, facing the boys with her back to the steering wheel. “After David was born, I had terrible postnatal anxiety for nearly a year. We’d had a miscarriage before him and once he was here, I was having panic attacks all the time. About so many things. I had already felt like I’d lost a child, and now here one was, screaming and delicate and all mine to take care of. Babies are so fragile! They could drown in the bathtub. A brick could fall on them from the sky. They could choke on their own vomit. They can die for literally no reason. It’s a thing, called Sudden Infant Death Syndrome! Can you imagine? I couldn’t understand how any parent anywhere could go through the act of creating a life, how Stephane could act so normal and calm, because it felt like something you loved more than life itself could leave you at literally any moment, and you would have no control over that whatsoever.”

Nick hadn’t known this, any of it. Not the miscarriage, not the anxiety, not the panic attacks. His heart hurt for his mum. He could see the same love in Charlie’s eyes, his arm absently stroking Charlie’s back.

“I got help. I got medication, and therapy, and the support I needed from my mum and dad and some very good friends who were living through the same thing. And what allowed me to parent you boys was reminding myself that kids are fragile, and life is fragile, but everything is mostly okay most of the time. And that my job wasn’t to wrap you in bubble wrap and keep you safe from everything. The only job I ever needed to have was to be here for you when it wasn’t okay, and to love you no matter what.”

Charlie’s head was on his shoulder now.

“Thank you, Sarah,” he whispered. “I’m sorry you had to go through all of that.”

“I’m sorry you two had to go through this.” For the first time, he could see tears in his mother’s eyes.

“I love you, mum.” Nick leaned forward and took his mum’s hand in his.

Sarah let a couple of tears spill, squeezing Nick’s hand for the thousandth time that week, before righting herself in the driver’s seat. “Now, Charlie, think we can try again?”

Charlie hummed in assent, nuzzling into Nick’s shoulder. Nick knew that Charlie was always tired out after a panic attack. His mum’s words were working like a weird, emotional bedtime story.

Nick leaned down to kiss Charlie’s forehead. “I’ve got you. We’re okay. We’re going to be okay.”

Charlie hummed again, moving in ever-closer. “Mostly.”

Chapter Text

Charlie would say that he and Nick watched a lot of movies that weekend, but a more accurate description would be that Nick picked out a lot of movies, then Charlie watched them while Nick slept.

He used the I-just-had-a-panic-attack excuse to weasel his way out of a Marvel marathon (although Nick countered with an I-just-had-a-traumatic-car-accident excuse). Friday afternoon, they landed on Disney instead.

They (Charlie) worked their way through all the non-problematic favs in their little cocoon of pillows and blankets on the couch: Up, Wall-E, Bug’s Life, Tangled, Coco, Encanto. And Sunday brought a Toy Story quadruple-feature, because obviously.

Charlie found himself not just reliving his childhood that weekend, accepting Sarah’s drinks and snacks and gentle pats on the shoulder, but also spending a frankly inordinate amount of time staring at Nick’s face while he slept. A lot of the time, Nick was so conked out (mouth open, drooling) that even loud noises on the screen or his doggos’ cold noses on his body wouldn’t wake him.

Charlie would look down and feel like saying thank you thank you thank you to the universe for Nick being safe, and healing, and here.

He could sometimes detect when Nick was sleeping uncomfortably, a furrow in his brow or a tension around his mouth. Charlie would run his fingers through Nick’s hair, or stroke his back, or press gentle kisses into his forehead, until the tension settled.

It was hard enough leaving for his parents’ house each night--Sarah insisted that Charlie needed to rest well to show up for Nick all day, and she was probably right--but leaving Monday morning felt gut-wrenching.

Nick wasn’t up yet when Charlie stopped by on his way to the train station. He knelt by Nick’s side, gently running his hand up and down Nick’s un-casted arm to wake him. Nick hummed, squinting against the morning light. “Hey, Char.”

“Hey, love. I’ve got to go now.”

Nick slung his arm around Charlie’s neck and pulled him close. “I love you so much, Charlie.”

“I love you, too. You’re precious to me, Nick.” Charlie could feel the emotion rising in his throat as he leaned in for a kiss. He pulled back and saw Nick’s blinks slowing again.

“Get some rest, sweetheart.” Charlie took another look at Nick, eyes closed and no tension in his face, before he tore himself away.

//

“Nick, love, can we talk for a second? Before everything gets busy again?”

Nick was in Charlie’s bedroom in Manchester, the two of them taking a break between Charlie’s birthday brunch and their plans to go to the park with friends later. Nick’s cast was gone, but he was still seeing his physical therapist back in Leeds twice a week. The April weather was finally starting to warm up, and Charlie’s birthday had dawned partly sunny and warm enough to spend the day outdoors.

“Sure, Char.” Nick took a seat next to Charlie in bed, his eyes with their characteristic hint of distance that Charlie had gotten used to over the past few months.

Nick had spent another week at home in Kent before heading back to school, and Charlie started noticing a change that first week apart.

Charlie got a facetime call from Nick during class that Thursday afternoon, stepping out of his lecture to take it. His face met Nick’s red, tear-streaked one on the screen.

“Oh, love, what’s the matter?”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Nick sobbed. “I just yelled at mum, and I feel like such a arsehole, but I was just so frustrated, and-- it hurts, and--”

“It’s okay, Nick, you don’t have to explain. It’s okay. I’m right here.”

“I cried in the fucking shower, Charlie.” Nick laughed a little, bitterly, through his tears.

“Oh. I mean, that’s a pretty okay place to cry, I think.”

“No, it’s…my mum has to sit in the bathroom with me, to make sure I don’t pass out and die or whatever. I’m twenty-one fucking years old, and it’s so demoralizing.”

“Oh, love, of course it is.”

“And you’re having to take care of me and feeling sorry for me and I can’t play rugby and I can’t even take a shower by myself” more sobs ripped through Nick’s chest and Charlie physically ached at the sound. “And it didn’t used to be like this, two weeks ago it wasn’t like this.”

“Hey, it’s okay that you need more right now than you did before. But I know it sucks, Nick. I’m so sorry.”

Nick didn’t even tell him not to say sorry. He just cried and cried.

But most of the last few weeks hadn’t been that way. Mostly, Nick had been quiet, slightly less communicative than usual. He was still going through the motions, but not seeming to do, or feel, much else. Charlie had been gathering the courage to say something for weeks.

“So, um, this is kind of awkward to talk about, and I don’t want to make a big deal of anything or make you feel uncomfortable--” Nick’s brow furrowed. Charlie felt heat rising in his cheeks and marveled at how relaxed Nick seemed in his memory from the moment their roles were reverse, years ago, on another birthday, in another bedroom.

“But I’ve noticed that you seem, um kind of down, over the past little while? Since the accident, it seems like the things you usually get excited about, you don’t really pay as much attention to. And I know part of that is figuring out how you want to engage with rugby going forward and all that, but…it’s not just that. I’ve noticed that you have been sleeping more than usual, but you still seem really tired. And, it seems like you’re not eating as much, especially when we’re not together.”

Charlie paused, knowing that he was rambling and waiting to gauge Nick’s reaction. He mostly looked confused, like the gears in his head were turning.

“And, um…this isn’t like, blaming you or anything, because you’ve been through so much, but I’ve noticed that you seem more irritable. With me, or your mum, or your flatmates. And that’s really unlike you, and, um…” Charlie was not surprised, but more than a little annoyed, that a lump was forming in his throat. “I’m just worried about you, Nick. And I wish I could make it all better or make it go away just from being with you, but I feel like--”

Nick looked up at Charlie, his chin wobbling so minutely that someone who hadn’t held Nick when he cried would never have seen.

“I feel like it might be time to ask for help.”

Nick’s head fell into his hands, then his body fell into Charlie’s arms. “I’m so sorry, love,” he wept.

“Shhh, no, sweetheart, it’s okay.”

“No, no it’s not,” Nick sat up. “It just feels…heavy. Like it’s physically hard to get myself to do regular, normal things, like I’m trying to walk through concrete and I keep thinking it’ll go away and I don’t have, like the energy to do something about it? But it won’t and now it’s hurting you, and--”

“Hey, hey,” Charlie held Nick’s face in his hands. “That’s why we’re a team, love. It hurts me to know you’re hurting, but it also means that we can figure it out together, Nick. You’re not alone. I’m here with you.”

Nick leaned in to kiss Charlie, and Charlie felt his and Nick’s tears intertwine as they held each other.

Later that night, they’d send emails together to different therapists and psychiatrists in the area. And then they’d watch something ridiculous on Youtube and hold each other as they fell asleep. Because things would be mostly okay, as long as they had each other.

Chapter Text

When Nick thinks about his accident, 14 years later, he doesn’t usually think about rugby. Or about the pain, or the hard part that followed.

Mostly, he remembers waking up, again and again, and being reminded that he wasn’t alone.

At his first appointment with his therapist, Jean, she called what he was experiencing grief. Nick hadn’t thought about it like that, only associating grief with the death of someone close. But she said that we can grieve all kinds of things, and that Nick had experienced a loss. More than one, actually.

A loss of a sport that he loved. A loss of a way he’d related to his body. A loss of a future he had imagined for himself.

She also remarked that it sounded like Nick had very healthy relationships with his mum, with his friends, and with Charlie.

Nick was pretty proud of that.

Over time, and with the help of some medication, and weekly sessions, and very frequent snuggles with his dogs and trips out for milkshakes with his person, Nick was able to accept the sad or mad feelings when they came up for him. He practiced ways of moving through the hard feelings, of naming what was going on for him and reaching out for help from all the different people in his life who loved him.

And he started to learn how to think about his body differently--that it wasn’t a machine or a vessel, but just a human person, one that was good the way it was. He tried out a lot of sports (regular swimming, not synchronized) and even dragged his flatmates along to a Zumba class or two. He cheered on his friends as they kept playing rugby, except when he decided to stay home and play MarioKart instead.

And when he forgot about his body’s goodness, when he was angry or frustrated that his body couldn’t do what it used to do, he had a lot of people in his life who could remind him.

He cried a lot. And had a lot of shitty days. But he was, mostly, okay.

He now spent weekdays in a classroom with two dozen rambunctious kindergarteners with special needs, teaching and learning by example all the ways that bodies can be good. On Saturday mornings he coached a bunch of eight-year-olds playing local league football. It turns out, he was always pretty damn good at coaching. (Charlie routinely reminded him of that.)

Plus, in local league football, there was way less tackling and way more orange slices.

Sometimes, when he picked up his daughter and swung her around in his arms, he felt a ghost of the familiar pain in his shoulder.

And sometimes, when he watched her take off running down the football field, he felt a little pang of longing to be in her shoes again.

He knew that those hard things would ever truly leave him, but neither would the man in the sweater holding a thermos in one hand and their dog on a leash in the other. Charlie chatted with the other parents on the sidelines, but feeling Nick’s eyes on him, he smiled back at Nick with slightly-crinklier blue eyes.

Nick had a home, and a family, and everything that ever hurt him happened alongside more love than he could have ever imagined.

His daughter was running toward him. They’d have sandwiches at Grandmum’s house later and then, maybe, a nap.

Nick loved naps.

All was well.