Chapter Text
Charlie was nine when he first experienced the death of a loved one.
It was the first time that his parents fully explained death to him, the first time he had to let the impact of it sink in. It affected him profoundly — his father quietly explained that his abuelo has moved on from this life, and that it would happen when people get old enough, they have had enough experiences, filled their hearts with enough happy memories that they could rest peacefully.
Charlie cried.
His mother told him that it was natural. Crying was the start to the path to healing, depression was one of the stages of grief, and she insisted that he should just let himself feel it; let the sadness wash over him in waves until he doesn't even notice the sand moving beneath his feet.
He cried until his eyes were swollen shut and snot had clogged his airways. He cried so hard that his throat hurt the next day. He tried wrapping his head around the idea that he could never — would never be able to — speak to his abuelo again. He wished that he could remember all of their lasts together in perfect detail instead of the blurry moments that hold mere vestiges of the emotions that he felt.
He grappled with the idea of an afterlife. He grappled with the idea of there not being an afterlife. He didn't know which scared him more, which offered him more comfort in his time of grief.
He had questions. What would happen to him when he died? What moments would he leave behind in the minds of others? Would he be reunited with his loved ones in some glorious afterlife like what they tell him at church? Or would he be like the filament of a lightbulb, shining brightly for a while then dying with no hope of return?
His grandfather's death introduced Charlie to the concept of his own mortality. It was terrifying, horrific, and traumatising.
Suddenly, every breath, every second, every heartbeat, and every word mattered to Charlie in a way that it never had before. Living through the loss of his grandfather reshaped the way he viewed everything in life.
As death and dying consumed a significant portion of his thoughts, Charlie became withdrawn. No one wanted to hang out with the kid who wanted to talk about death and mortality all the time.
Charlie wondered what kind of person he might have been if his abuelo had died at a later point in his life. The more terrifying thought that lingered in his mind was if he would even be different at all.
For Charlie's fourteenth birthday, his parents give him a camcorder; a compact, white, little thing capable of documenting every moment that Charlie might want to preserve in perfect clarity. The device had a cable that could connect to a computer, so that Charlie could save every video file onto his laptop and use the footage however he might please.
At first, he didn't know what to do with it. He had a difficult time figuring out what would be worth filming. What part of his life should be documented and immortalised on digital tape?
He fiddled with the device, twisting the screen, snapping it closed only to pull it back open. His fingers ran over the buttons, exploring every possible option on the menu. He memorised the camcorder, inside and out, software and hardware. It fascinated him, even striking him as an odd gift from his parents. He had never spoken to them about his fixation on his relationship with death and the way it had spurred a need to remember everything with striking clarity, the way that it made him want to leave a footprint behind for everyone to see.
To live a life without wasting it on inconsequential things.
Charlie brought his camcorder to school. He told himself that he wanted to document the place where he had devoted so much time, a place where so much stuff happened that it was hard to keep up most times. During lunch, he found himself sitting in the music room, recording fellow students who were playing rugby outside.
Initially, he didn't know what compelled him to record something so tangential to his existence. When he looks back at this moment in the future, what would he decipher from it? The faces in the video were a blur of pixels, and the audio would only be of Charlie's quiet breathing, the range of microphone of the camcorder not powerful enough to pick up on the faint laughter through the glass of the windows.
Charlie looked at the screen of his camcorder and noticed that one of the figures outside had stopped moving. The boy stared in Charlie's direction with a hand on his hip and the ball held in the other. He lifted his eyes away from the screen to see that the boy was looking at him.
Charlie stared back, holding the camcorder steady and watching as one of the boy's friends pushed his back, laughing out a question. He wasn’t able to hear the boy's response, but he was able to tell that he looked back at Charlie before returning to the game.
Charlie recorded the rest of the game until the bell rang, indicating the end of lunch period.
He returned to his classroom, sliding his camcorder back into his bag, wondering who bothered to look back at him. The crowd from outside shuffled past his classroom, and Charlie got a look at the boy who noticed him.
At this distance, he recognized the boy as Nick Nelson.
How odd.
Nick Nelson was as close to school royalty as one could get. The boy had the right combination of looks, personality, and charm to make every knee in a ten metre radius go weak.
He was almost an alternative theory to what Charlie could have been. If Charlie spoke more, smiled more, and looked people in the eye, it's conceivable that he might be at Nick's level. However, he did none of those things. He's the kind of boy that scared or weirded people away.
Something about Charlie put the other boys at school off.
(Charlie had to remind himself to be kinder to himself. After all, this wasn’t all on him since his sister, Victoria, behaved almost the exact same. With that fact came the hypothesis that maybe their behaviour was more their parents’ fault than his and his sister’s.)
Charlie looked at his open notebook, examined the clean margins and neatly scrawled notes detailing some random historical facts he remembered well without revising. There weren't even smudges and erasure marks in his notes, an observation that made Charlie frown, reminding him of his robotic behaviour. He didn't really seem like a normal Year 9 student; not with his degree of precision and focus. Normal kids doodle or get distracted because a cute kid smiled at them the other day.
Without much thought, he scribbled five words in the margin of his notebook. He didn't quite understand his impulse to record it, but he wrote it anyway.
Nick Nelson saw me today.
Charlie frequently found himself pointing his camcorder at Nick Nelson.
That was probably what would be remembered of him when he died. His parents would rifle through his things with a heavy heart and lament about how much Charlie loved his camera, they'd watch his videos and all that they'd know was that Charlie devoted much of his camcorder's storage to immortalising Nick Nelson eating with his friends or playing all sorts of ball games.
Something about Nick Nelson was compelling. Maybe Charlie was just like every other sad sap at his school, swooning over Nick's smile.
How normal of him.
Charlie found it interesting that someone who he had never spoken to could hold his attention in such a way. Part of him also felt voyeuristic — peering into moments of this boy's life without asking, admiring him from afar simply because he could.
This had somehow become part of his life — recording Nick Nelson. He hesitated to use the word stalker, partly because it reflected poorly on his moral character, and partly because the definition didn't quite match whatever Charlie was doing.
Nick hadn't noticed Charlie since the first time (not that Charlie had seen), and Charlie's camcorder sought Nick out without much effort on Charlie's part; yet another thing Charlie didn't know how to feel about.
All that Charlie knew was that he's somehow less lonely just knowing that Nick existed. Nick seemed like the kind of person who made friends easily. And maybe, in some parallel universe, Charlie wasn't fixated on his future passing and was friends with Nick Nelson.
Charlie looked at the contents of his bag while the rest of his classmates gathered their things. Most of his classmates were engaged in various sorts of chatter, volume increasing by the second ever since the teacher left the room.
Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Charlie picked his camera up and made his way out of the school. His eyes stayed glued to the screen of his camcorder as he fast-forwarded through the footage that he recorded that day. He nimbly weaved through the people in the halls, stepping around groups and avoiding people who were walking at a slower pace.
He decided to begin filming again once he exited the gates, watching the images being filmed on the camcorder's small screen rather than looking up. It was a habit that Charlie found hard to break. Looking at the screen was the only way to guarantee the footage would be watchable in the future, which inadvertently prevented him from properly experiencing the world the first time around. That fact should bother Charlie, but his life lacked the kind of excitement that might entice him to live in the moment rather than record. Students from the nearby girls' school walk into frame, whispering something to each other as they pass Charlie.
Charlie rounded the corner and laid eyes on the lonely snack stand. He held his camcorder in one hand and filmed his approach to the stand. After panning across all of his potential food options, he settled on just buying a milkshake. Quietly, he gave a greeting and relayed his order.
"What's with the camera?" A foreign voice asked, directing the question in Charlie's direction.
He used his camcorder to locate the source of the sound and found Nick Nelson with a raised eyebrow and a drinking straw still connecting his mouth and the blue drink in his hand.
Charlie blinked, unsure of what he should say. The question could be limited to the moment, or it could be about the way that his camera was almost one of his appendages. Most baffling of all, the thing that interfered with his thought process the most was the fact that Nick Nelson was talking to him, looking at him with a curious glint in his eyes.
Charlie swallowed, trying to ignore the bundle of nerves tangling themselves in his stomach. He couldn’t think of an answer, not one that would satisfactorily satiate Nick's brief curiosity about him. So, he opted to say nothing at all and turned back to the stall. He lulled himself into a sense of safety by deliberately thinking that Nick was only trying to fill silence and had no genuine interest in Charlie.
He patiently waited for his drink, the process of it being beautifully captured by his camera. Soon enough, he knew that he'll need to reach for a drinking straw on the other — Nick’s — side of the stall while he fished for money from his pocket, which required some skill on his part. It was difficult to accept his drink, reach for a straw, and pay for the milkshake almost all at the same time because he'll have to do everything with one hand — to make sure that he did not take up too much storage from his camera — and leave as soon as possible to avoid the person beside him.
Nick, shockingly enough, continued to stand in front of the stall and sip on his milkshake while Charlie waited for his. From afar, it might seem as though two mates decided to hang out and grab milkshakes after school.
Not a minute later, the person behind the till was handing Charlie the drink, prompting him to immediately hand his payment over. He shifted to reach for a straw, only to have one shoved into his hand by Nick, who offered a small quirk of his lips and a nod. Blush bloomed across Charlie’s face as he shyly accepted straw from the other boy.
Somehow, he never thought that Nick would actually be able to see him. Normally, there was so much space between them that words were too soft to be heard.
Part of the blush came from the fact that Charlie was embarrassed, ashamed even, because the moment felt like a confrontation. Nick might call him names and Charlie might deserve it, but it would sting, nonetheless. The other half of the heat in his cheeks came from the slight attraction he felt toward Nick. Crush was the colloquial term, but Charlie couldn’t bring himself to use it, to cement his feelings in one trivial word.
Charlie found his feet rooted to the ground, going against his initial plan of immediately fleeing the place.
"Charlie Spring?"
He almost choked on his first sip. Charlie’s first instinct was to ask how Nick knew his name, but the thought got thrown aside quickly because he probably heard Charlie’s name circulating around school, being the weird kid and all. But the fact that Nick cared enough to remember his name threw him off.
When Charlie faced Nick and pointed his camcorder in his direction, Nick repeated his original question. "What's with the camera?"
Charlie swallowed roughly and pressed his lips together. The brief moment of eye contact made his heart stutter, and once again, he failed to answer Nick Nelson's question.
Charlie thought; he thought long and hard about his options. He could either try to communicate with Nick, or he could leave and pretend like his name didn't slip past Nick's lips.
Charlie chose to keep up his illusion. He's a fly on the wall and Nick Nelson could not see him, did not see him. He couldn’t find his voice, so he raised his hand that was holding his milkshake, gave an awkward wave, and began his walk home.
His heart pounded in his ears and he had to control his breath. A million thoughts pulled him in different directions, but he obeyed his first instinct to ignore Nick and pray that Nick didn't care enough to press on.
Charlie heard rapid footsteps, indicative of running, and a moment later, a person was walking beside him. Nick Nelson peeked at the screen of the camcorder, hands stuffed in his pockets as if that made his leaning less conspicuous.
"Hello?" Nick asked, waving a hand in front of Charlie's face. Nick sang his name. "Charlie."
Curiosity got the best of Charlie. Why on earth was Nick devoting this much attention to him? To tell Charlie to back off and stop recording him?
He abruptly stopped and Nick accidentally walked into frame before realising that the person he was following had stopped moving. Nick whipped around and saw Charlie looking at him through the camera.
Nick offered a small wave to the camcorder and then looked at Charlie's face, raising an eyebrow. Charlie cleared his throat, weakly asking, "Why are you following me?"
"You didn't answer my question."
Charlie blinked, briefly looking away from the small screen to give Nick a confused look. "Why should I answer your question?"
"Why not?" Nick countered.
Charlie began walking again, and Nick continued to tag along.
"Just tell what's with the camera."
Charlie ignored him so that he could panic internally without Nick noticing. Every moment that Nick focused on him was a moment that Charlie felt himself thawing out. He might never want the attention to go away if Nick gave it to him for too long.
"Tell me."
Charlie picked up speed, hoping to outpace Nick.
"I know you film me."
Charlie froze, unable to turn around and face Nick.
Nick took advantage of Charlie's fear and shame, and he walked around to face Charlie again. He smiled and touched his nose while pointing at Charlie. "Found your buzz word. Just tell me; what is up with the camera?"
He swallowed thickly, looking at Nick on the camcorder rather than the real live person. "Why do you want to know?"
Nick cocked his head to the side, looking Charlie up and down. "Maybe I'm curious about you."
Charlie started walking again, and Nick took backward steps to maintain the distance between them. After a long moment thinking about how to answer, Charlie replied with a quiet, "Does it matter why?"
Nick clicked his tongue and offered a cheeky grin. "I suppose the why isn't all that important, but I'd like to know why me?"
"If I tell you, are you going to leave me alone?" Charlie asked, unsure if that's what he really wanted. The object of his affection was looking at him, really looking at him, and it was overwhelming. And he had a nagging fear that Nick would just deck him for being a creep.
Nick took a deep breath and shook his head as he said, "No." Nick mimicked holding a camera, squeezing one eye shut as he added, "I've got you in my sights now."
"Then ask me again some time."
A wide smile spread across Nick's face. "I will."
For once, Charlie ate lunch in the canteen.
He went unnoticed by most of his fellow students and snagged a spot at an empty table in the corner; his camcorder sat heavy in his coat pocket.
(It felt odd to have a free moment where his camera wasn't in his hands.)
He took his time eating his food and contemplated his Nick Nelson problem.
Nick knew that Charlie had a habit of recording him, but he didn't seem too bothered by it. He was much more of an enigma than Charlie could have ever anticipated. Maybe he should have asked more questions of his own.
He wondered if he should just quit looking at Nick, if that's even possible anymore. Ultimately, a little corner of his heart protested. Nick was a small ray of light in his bleak world. He could look at Nick without a camera if push came to shove.
Charlie finished what little amount of food he got before the bell rang. Without much thought, he took his camera out of his pocket.
The world felt right again. Something about looking at the world through a lens comforted him; as if an added layer of protection. There's a backup of every moment if he had his camcorder, he'll be able to return to any important moment that he wanted to look back on in the future.
He looked at the screen, and his hand instantly pointed it toward Nick Nelson.
The moment that he caught was Nick laughing with his mouth full, moving his hands to cover the partially masticated food. Maybe it's less infatuation and more jealousy that he felt about Nick, now that he thought of it (or the more he wanted to deny that he had feelings for the boy). Nick was normal, well-adjusted, and popular — everything that a wallflower wanted to be.
However, jealousy didn't explain the pleasant warmth that bloomed in his chest whenever Nick Nelson smiled.
Charlie leaned back, raking his teeth over his lower lip absentmindedly. He got the feeling that there's a lot about Nick that he might have to unpack — that was if Nick decided to maintain an interest in Charlie and his camcorder.
Nick leaned over and briefly made eye contact with the camera, and Charlie's eyes flicked up to confirm that Nick intentionally looked at him. They held eye contact for a moment too long for it to be considered a coincidence before Nick turned his attention back to his mates with some apology about spacing out for a moment.
It was at that moment that Charlie knew.
He would never be Nick Nelson's friend. They'd be acquaintances, maybe, but Charlie would never be inducted into Nick's group of friends, and Nick would never tell anyone that he had spoken with Charlie. Charlie held his temporary interest for some unknown reason, and he knew that Nick would get bored once he'd solved that puzzle that he perceived to be Charlie.
Nick was unattainable — as a friend, as someone more.
Nick won't be those for Charlie; no matter how much he wanted Nick to be.
The next time Nick followed Charlie after he left school, they ended up sitting across each other, sipping on bubble tea.
The straw was never more than a few centimetres away from Nick's mouth, and most of the time, his lips brushed against the straw as he spoke.
Charlie filmed him; there was no point in hiding it. Nick had called him out for it, but he still hadn't asked Charlie to stop.
"Is it because I'm fit?" Nick asked after a long amount of time sitting in silence and staring at Charlie and his camera.
"Is what because you're fit?" Charlie volleyed back, wrapping his lips around the wide straw and gulping down the drink.
Nick gulped down some tea as well and chewed the tapioca pearls, smacking his lips before he spoke. "The reason you point the camera at me."
Charlie looked up briefly from the camcorder screen with a smirk. "Isn't that a little presumptive?"
"Then why?"
Charlie bit his lip, zooming in on Nick's face and catching every blown up pixel on each square inch. He zoomed back out to catch all of Nick's expectant expression. "Maybe I'm filming a student documentary on the in-crowd, and you're the case study integral to the story arc," Charlie suggested despite the fact that it's a blatant lie.
Nick pursed his lips in thought. Once his thoughts had rendered, a small smile played on his lips. "I don't believe you."
"Why's that?"
"Documentaries have testimonial footage," Nick supplied, "and I don't remember sitting for an interview."
Charlie snorted. "Maybe I haven't had the time to get the subject to sit down for an interview."
"I'm here right now," Nick offered, leaning back in his chair and raising his arms openly to invite questions.
"Okay, what is your name?"
"Nicholas Nelson."
Charlie zoomed in on Nick's face again, this time not too close. He caught Nick's beauty as a whole, not inch by inch. He took a deep breath before speaking. "How old are you?"
"Sixteen."
"Where do you live?"
“Rochester, Kent, England.”
He thought for a moment before asking the next question. "What do you want to be when you grow up?"
Nick leaned forward, offering a broad smile and a sparkle in his eyes. "Famous."
"Just famous? No specific profession? You just aspire to be known?" He inquired in an attempt to peel back the layers of mystery surrounding Nick. How could someone so open inspire so many questions?
"Follow me, cameraman," Nick murmured, getting out of his seat and motioning his hand to encourage Charlie to follow.
Charlie did as he was asked and swiped his drink off the table to tag along to wherever Nick Nelson was going. Nick began heading in the direction of Charlie's house, coincidentally. He turned around abruptly, forcing Charlie to stop.
He took another gulp of his bubble tea before beginning a monologue of sorts as he walked backward. "I want to be famous when I grow up. I want to be passionate enough about something that everyone associates it with me. If I become an actor or singer or athlete or an entertainer of any sort, I'll sit down at interviews and say things like: Producer This is brilliant or it's an honour to work with Director That, the staff treats me great, my fellow actors and entertainers have become like family through this project." Nick closed his eyes with a serene smile on his face.
Charlie got caught up in how beautiful he was, a bright pop of colour against a grey sky.
Nick opened his eyes and shattered the illusion.
He snatched the camera out of Charlie's hand with a chuckle. "Your turn to be interviewed." Nick walked backward and adjusted the viewing screen to his liking. "What is your name, sir?"
Charlie gulped. This was uncomfortable.
It had been forever since his image was recorded in his camcorder. His protection from the world around him had been stripped off him.
He averted his eyes and quietly answered, "Charlie Spring."
"How old are you, Charlie?" Nick asked, eyes glued to Charlie rather than making sure that the image of Charlie was properly being captured. Charlie dully thinks that Nick doesn't have it in him to be a cameraman.
"Fifteen."
Nick glanced behind him to make sure the path was clear before proceeding with his next question. "Where does the fifteen year old named Charlie Spring live?"
Charlie looked at the camera rather than Nick, as if focusing on the space inches away from Nick's face would make it easier to think clearly. "Rochester, Kent, England."
"And what do you want to be when you're all grown up?"
"Alive."
Nick stopped, dropping the camera to his side with a look of disbelief on his face.
He almost got whatever comment sat on his tongue out, but the sky opened up and began pouring rain. Nick looked up in shock, raising his hands to ask the sky why.
Charlie calmly set his half empty cup of bubble tea on the pavement and grabbed Nick's wrist. He proceeded to pull Nick along, using his free arm to shield his eyes from the rain. He ran home with little resistance from his companion. At some point along the way, Nick's tea slipped out of his hand, and Charlie knew this because when they arrived at his front door, sopping wet, the plastic cup was nowhere in sight.
He fished his keys out of his pocket and let Nick into his home. He lingered in the foyer and watched Nick run his fingers through his wet hair, slicking it back.
For a moment, Charlie forgot what he should do. He had never had a guest over, and functioning with Nick so close to him was difficult. He made several awkward false-starts before he finally mumbled, "I'll get towels."
Nick followed him like a shadow after shedding the coat of his uniform with a moist thud. Charlie walked into his room and opened his well organised closet, grabbing clean towels off of the upper shelf.
He turned around to find Nick right behind him, their chests standing inches apart. Charlie had never actually been this close to Nick, not even with his camcorder between them.
Nick's brow furrowed with a worried guilt. "I don't know if your camera is okay."
Charlie silently traded a towel for his camcorder. He draped a towel over his head and took a seat at his desk with an awkward squeak as his wet clothes rubbed against the chair. He held down the power button for several seconds, and the screen on the camcorder blinked back to life. Nick's worry was for naught.
Charlie swivelled around in his chair, hitting record to make sure that the camcorder was entirely functional. He began to assure Nick. "It's—"
His words sank back onto his tongue because nothing could have prepared him for the sight of Nick Nelson without a shirt on.
(He hadn't even heard the ruffling of fabric that would indicate the shedding of clothes.)
His eyes drank in the softly defined muscles and limbs that are definitely chubbier than Charlie’s own; and his brain forgot to command his lungs to take in oxygen.
Nick looked at him and tilted his head to the side. He softly chided, "You shouldn't stay in your wet clothes. You'll catch a cold."
Nick moved forward and began unbuttoning Charlie's shirt for him. Charlie's eyes stay fixed on the camcorder viewer, frozen in fear of doing something wrong. He didn't even know what qualified as a wrong movement in this situation. Did he want Nick to give him space or get even closer?
Nick glanced up, and an unfamiliar expression of sadness washed over Nick's face. "You never look at me," he pointed out quietly.
"Yes, I do," Charlie tried to protest with a weak, quivering voice.
Nick shook his head, "No, you look at your camera, which has me on it."
"So?"
"If you look at me — actually look at me — what are you afraid is going to happen?" he asked.
Charlie's guilty silence was easy to figure out.
Nick licked his lips. "Are you going to fall for me?"
He remained silent, staring at the image of Nick on his screen. Nick gently pried Charlie's camcorder out of his hands and placed it on Charlie's desk, aiming it at the window.
Charlie felt naked and vulnerable without the barrier.
"What are you going to do now?" Nick whispered, leaning down and looking straight into Charlie's eyes.
Charlie couldn't look away if he tried. He was simply caught up in how beautiful Nick's eyes were. He could barely pull a coherent thought together; Nick was too close and too far at the same time. Words wouldn't come, so he just shook his head and tried not to look at Nick's mouth.
Nick bit his lips. "Do you think I'm beautiful?"
The truth slipped past Charlie's lips before he could even think about the possible repercussions of saying it. "Yes."
Nick grabbed Charlie's wrists and pulled him out of his chair. "Do you like me?" he asked, taking a step forward and leaving no space between them.
Charlie blinked. He could hear his heart in his ears, and Nick probably could too. He swallowed thickly before squeaking out the quietest, "Yes."
Lips pressed against his own, and his eyes fluttered to a close without his permission.
Nick was warm and soft. Charlie's hands moved to grip something to keep him grounded in reality. His fingers dug into Nick's exposed hips, and he briefly thought that this might be his cause of death.
Kissing Nick made it even more difficult to function — physically and mentally — and the emotions that he had barely been keeping at bay exploded into a colourful and confusing kaleidoscope. It was a moment that would burn into his brain, stay there forever, and be there as the golden standard to which he would compare every other experience.
It would leave him in a cold, monochrome world when it ended.
Everything around Charlie overwhelmed him, so much so that he barely noticed when Nick pushed his shirt off.
"Why do you record everything?" Nick asked the moment that the camcorder returned to Charlie's hands.
Nick sat cross-legged on Charlie's bed in a pair of Charlie's pyjamas. Their uniforms were in the dryer on the setting that was friendly to dry-clean only clothes. Charlie aimed his camcorder at Nick's sloppy appearance, and still found him exquisitely beautiful. Thoughts came so easily now, and all of them praised every inch of Nick; every hair, and every freckle.
He knew that he didn't need to tell Nick. He could keep this part of him a secret, but considering how much he's already shared with Nick, he might as well admit it.
"I'm coping with my eventual death. I want to leave something behind when I die; a compilation of all the things that I like and find important, in the hopes that it will offer insight into my life when I'm six feet under."
Nick sat in concerned silence for several moments. Finally, his lips quirked into a smile. "I'm something you like and find important?"
Charlie grinned, looking at Nick rather than his image on the camera.
Nick blushed, looking at the floor. "That's some information to know."
"Didn't you already know?"
Nick looked back up at Charlie, "Verbal confirmation is always appreciated." He glanced at the clock and frowned. "I need to go home."
The next day, Nick passed Charlie in the hallway and offered a secret smile.
That was the last time that Charlie saw Nick Nelson.
Talk around the school said that Nick's father got an opportunity and took his youngest son to France with him after getting Ms. Nelson to agree.
It left Charlie feeling empty and lost.
He didn't actually know how to contact Nick. That was the problem with secrets — in an effort to keep them hidden, no one tries to keep a point of contact. His hope that he could move past being a secret and sliding into that light of Nick's arms disappeared.
But he couldn’t put the blame on either of them; it seemed unfair. It wasn’t Nick’s fault that he had to leave on such short notice that he was unable to inform Charlie, and it wasn’t Charlie's fault that he was too scared to define what they were from the start.
Charlie was lonely again. There's nothing interesting to film anymore.
He edited his recordings. He edited and edited and created a little homage to his brief time being with Nick Nelson.
It did nothing, mulching over every moment that Nick Nelson was in frame. Nick didn't come back to see what he's doing. Charlie was just sad all by himself.
Charlie stopped thinking about death so much. Regret became his temporary fixation.
If only, if only, he had done this instead of that, he might have a real piece of Nick to hold onto.
Nick became the new defining event of Charlie's life. Love and loss went hand in hand when impacting Charlie, so it seemed.
He also realised it too late that he's in love with Nick.
The feelings were there, like they always were, but Charlie could name them now. He just couldn't say them.
There's no one to say them to.
Charlie checks his watch, and a small frown forms on his lips. He continues his attempt to flag down a cab; one foot on the street and a hand in the air. He's already going to be late, but if he's not too late, then he won't get chewed out. Besides, Tao always ends up being the latest, so he usually bears the brunt of the scolding.
A cab finally slows in front of him, and Charlie boards it in a hurry, spitting out the address and double checking to make sure that the coffee is unscathed.
Honestly, it's a bit ridiculous to ask an editor to grab coffee — that's what production and editing assistants are for — but a few big shot actors are meeting with the principal editor, and for some reason, the task gets relegated to Charlie.
The cab stops at a light, and Charlie gets a look out of the window.
A giant advertisement hangs off of the face of a building. The product is some cologne that is relatively popular; not that Charlie has ever used it. Charlie recognizes the smiling face holding up the product.
Nick Nelson.
Like he does every time that he runs into Nick's image in the city, Charlie takes out his phone and snaps a photo before the traffic light turns green.
Nick grew up and became what he wanted to be: famous.
And Charlie… Well, Charlie is alive. He supposes he got what he wanted too.
But not really.
Because, for many years now, he just wanted to be with Nick.