Chapter Text
Nicholas Nelson was rough. Rough as a sandy flip-flop on the hottest day of the year in the Sahara desert. He was definitely dehydrated, and the thought of drinking another alcoholic drink made his stomach flip. Fuck Darcy for making him play Ring of Fire last night… It was unquestionably rigged and Nick was certain Darcy added in those last few shots of Baileys into the jug to make sure the entirety of the drink curdled. The memory flashed before his eyes and he almost launched himself into space as he ran for the bathroom to chuck up surely the last remains of any liquid he had left in his body.
“Fuck sake,” he says,as he looks down at his outfit for the first time that morning. Still in last night's clothes, Nick notices the stream of Baileys coloured vomit all over his brand new white shirt. He makes a mental note to check with his Mum on the best method to remove cream and stomach lining from white linen. Moving into his own apartment in Leeds the year after graduating was the best thing Nick had done since the time he told his brother David he was a homophobic arsehole with tiny dick syndrome and an inferiority complex. However, it's at times like this he wishes he still had his Mum just down the corridor to help with his stained clothes, make him a cuppa tea, and baby him whilst he was feeling more hungover than Charlie Sheen after a rough night.
He feels his dick vibrate. “What the fuck?” he exclaims. Nick jumps back and hits his head on the shelf in the bathroom. He stares at his trousers, gives himself two seconds to recover from his discombobulation, and reaches down into his boxers with great concern.
“Christ on a fucking bike,” he sighs. He pulls his phone out of the pocket in his boxers, chucks it into the sink and throws his hands over his face. He really needs to pull himself together and stop drinking with Darcy. His phone vibrates again. He takes a deep breath and flicks on the screen, where he is assaulted with a tirade of messages from the group chat.
Whatsapp: [Lettuce Garlic Bacon Tomato Quesadilla]
monster munch goblin (Darcy)
09:10 Niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiick
09:10 HOW ARE YOU THIS MORNING MY BISEXUAL PRINCE
09:11 I have a video of you chundering, I hope you’ve messaged mama bear sarah about her stain removing skills
09:11 *inserts a very unflattering video of Nick bent over the kitchen sink*
“Fuck off Darcy,” Nick mumbles. He shoots his mum a quick text, he really will need her help with that cream stain.
monster munch goblin (Darcy)
09:12 give me a call when you’re awake sugar tits, we’re going for bottomless brunch with the rest of the gays at 11
Nick checks the time, it’s 10:05.
bi-cycle (Nick)
10:05 Darcy how the fuck are you managing to get up and drink again after last night? I swear at one point you hot boxed the cupboard under the stairs
my lesbian queen (Tara)
10:05 They did, then came out 30 minutes later with a pair of wellies on each hand and a slice of pizza on top of their head. Although now I realise we didn’t even have pizza last night??????
10:06 *inserts gif of confused woman with maths equations floating round her head*
monster munch goblin (Darcy)
10:07 potato potahto, doesn’t matter. I’M FEELING WONDERFUL AND IT’S TIME FOR COCKYSSSSSSSS
10:07 not those kind of cockys nicholas before you get excited *winking emoji*
bi-cycle (Nick)
10:08 despite my gc name insinuating I throw myself at the entire population of Leeds, I haven’t slept with anybody since 2nd year of uni, you cretin
10:09 but anyway, bi the bi *inserts gif of spongebob smirking* i’m absolutely fucking not coming out for drinks. I feel rough as toast
monster munch goblin (Darcy)
10:10 THE BEST WAY TO AVOID A HANGOVER IS TO STAY DRUNK NICHOLAS. DOROTHY PARKER SAID SO HERSELF
bi-cycle (Nick)
10:11 well as Cameron Diaz once said, grease is the only cure for a hangover. So i’m going to mcdonalds and you can fuck off
monster munch goblin (Darcy)
10:12 that is the gayest thing you’ve ever said
10:12 *inserts gif of J-Lo standing up, clapping*
Nick puts his phone away. God bless Tara for putting up with that ball of chaos. Nick loves Darcy, but their veins are full of redbull and a crack-sugar rainbow. It’s far too much for Nick to handle whilst he is in this shameful state. He sheds his clothes from last night and jumps in the shower. He thinks back to earlier and the idea of having his mum around on mornings like this, but instead in his daydreams he replaces her with a cute, dark curly haired, dimple wearing, slender, visually stunning God of a man with a hypnotic-like voice, that he sees every Sunday in Tesco doing his weekly shop. Nick has never been able to pluck up the courage to approach said beautiful man. Instead the Devil/Angel sit on his shoulders arguing the idea whilst he’s staring at the man picking up the nicest bunch of bananas in the fruit aisle. His visual of said Devil/Angel being David on one shoulder telling him that bisexuality is a mere cover for being gay, and what man would possibly want to be with Nick anyway, vs the Angels in his life, Tara & Darcy, egging him on, waving their mini bi-flags in unison. God why must he be such a bi-disaster, Nick thinks.
Snapping himself back to reality, his stomach makes a sound that can only be compared to that of an angry growling dog. He throws on a pair of joggers and a hoodie and grabs his car keys on the way out the door. He would normally just Uber-Eats his hungover McDonalds order, but he feels like he needs the fresh air today. He gets to the Drive-Thru and sighs deeply, sinking into his seat. Nick knows that when he’s hungover his brain starts to wander, and not down the wonderful yellow brick road to Oz, either. He starts to think over his life, his not yet met goals, his lack of milestones, his greatest failures… and panic starts to set in.
“No,” he says firmly, as he smacks one hand down on his wheel, making himself jump in the process. Nick has been down this road many times before, the powerful overwhelming feelings of complete and utter failure. His old therapist, Erin, had given him many techniques for when he has ‘wandering brain’ as he likes to call it, but the carefully rebuilt walls start to crack in the mornings after a heavy night of drinking. Before he has time to panic any further, he hears the noise of a strangled cat coming from somewhere in his close vicinity. He cocks his head to one side at the noise (Mental note: must stop accidentally mimicking the actions of dogs in order to fight the Golden Retriever accusations,) and tries to find the source of the ear-piercing sound. Seconds later, the noise stops, and Nick is back in silence, spiralling once again over his failed relationships, his let-down family, and his career choices.
“Finally,” Nick says, as he rolls up to the speaker in the Drive-Thru. His stomach has basically now been barking at him for the past 10-minutes, the joy of being a tall stocky male who needs feeding every 3-5 hours. He is met with complete silence for 30 seconds, and just as he is about to open his mouth to say something when he hears…
“Hell-o *sniff sniff* welcome *cry* to Mc-Mc-Donaldssssssssss, can I take your ord-*sob*-er?”
Almost immediately, Nick is on high-alert, eyes wide as an owl, staring into the black mesh speaker. He thinks he recognises the beautiful, albeit distressed voice, but sidebars the thought for now.
“Oh my god, are you OKAY?!” Nick says, concern flooding through the sentence.
“Mmm fine, sorry *cry sniff*, what can i-i get you-UUuu” says the magical speaker voice, male sounding, Nick notes.
He isn’t sure what exactly comes over him, but Nick instantly goes into protector mode, and feels the need to shield the man from whatever pain he is clearly experiencing. He puts his car back into first gear, and says, “Are you at the first window? I’m coming round.”
Before he receives a response from the speaker, he quickly drives round to the first window, almost popping his tyre on a curb in the process. Without thinking (not much of that going on today is there Nick), he jumps out of his car and approaches the window. He opens his mouth to speak, but suddenly falls short, when he finally lays eyes on the magical speaker man. It’s him. Tesco banana man. The gorgeous olive-toned, dimple wearing, curly haired God from 11.00am every Sunday morning in the fruit aisle. Smooth Nelson, he thinks, please don’t say any of that out loud, Jesus Christ.
All of 10 seconds have gone past and the man is staring back at Nick, seemingly lost in his own thoughts too.
“Hi,” says Nick in a low, calm tone.
“Hi,” replies the man, sniffing at the end of the word.
Nick notices the name badge on the man's polo-shirt.
“Charlie,” he states.
“Um, yes?” The man now known as Charlie responds.
Nick falters at the voice, almost angelic like. Charlie has a red nose, puffy eyes and he’s tucked some of his hair behind his ears, but there are a few stray curls falling out. Nick wants to cup Charlie’s chin, wipe away the tears, and tuck the curls back behind his ear. Again, another 10 seconds have gone past and Nick realises he’s not responded to the question.
“Nick,” he scrambles out loud whilst patting his hand to his chest, then quickly inhales and closes his eyes. Bi-disaster, he thinks to himself. Complete and utter disaster. One look at the pretty person in front of him and he turns to a puddle of melted ice-cream (Mental note: I wonder if Charlie likes ice-cream… STOP).
“Celery man, from Tesco,” Charlie says through a quivering lip. Charlie looks Nick up and down right from his hair to his toes, and lets out a giggle followed by a small smile that reaches his eyes. Celery man… interesting, Nick thinks.
Nick laughs back, “banana man,” and the two of them stare into each other's eyes for longer than they’d like to admit, before they’re interrupted by a honking car and a pair of arms flailing behind the windscreen.
“Erm, I best get out of this queue… I'm going to come in, do you think you can come round to the front?” Nick asks.
“Oh, um,” Charlie’s eyes widen, and Nick realises Charlie is unsure of how to respond, or is perhaps unsure if other people might respond unkindly to him asking for a break.
In an attempt to retain any shred of dignity he may have left, Nick is just about to retract his question when he hears, “Go on Charlie, I'll cover for you, I don’t start on the tills for another 30 minutes.” Behind Charlie is a tall, flicky haired man, hovering over Charlie like a cape of protection. All Nick wants to do is drape himself over Charlie. Not now Nelson, NOT NOW.
Charlie gives the other man a worried look, but is instantly met with a stern but comforting look in return, and finally nods at Nick in response. Nick jumps back in his car and drives round to the car park, dives out of the driver's seat and charges towards the front doors of his local McDonalds. Nick isn’t sure what he’s getting himself into as he darts his eyes around the fast-food restaurant to find his gorgeous banana man, Charlie, but for the first time in a long time, his insides are on fire, and he feels like he’s shitting sparkles as he walks.
He spots Charlie sitting down at a corner table, away from prying eyes, Nick notes. As he approaches the table, he is met with a shy smile.
“Hi”
“Hi”