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Running away from your boyfriend on a camping holiday isn’t exactly the best idea that Charlie’s ever had, but it’s the one that makes the most sense at this precise moment.
It’s 9 pm, and Charlie is storming across a field like a man possessed. He’s wearing his pyjamas, jumper thrown on over the top to try and stave off the chill, and Ben’s wellies on his feet. His heart is thundering in his ears, and he’s got his sights set on a bright light in the distance.
It’s completely and utterly ridiculous.
Charlie is just grateful that he shoved his phone into his pocket before he stormed off, because wandering around in the dark in the middle of nowhere with no Wi-Fi is his idea of hell. It’s cold, and miserable, and Charlie can’t stop thinking of Ben’s smug little face.
This camping holiday was meant to rekindle the relationship. Charlie had tried to press for an actual holiday, with sunshine and cocktails, and a 4* hotel stay, but with no luck. Instead, he’s in a field in Kent, freezing to death, with bug bites up and down his skinny legs.
Charlie glances over his shoulder to see if Ben is following him. Perhaps with a bottle of wine, and an apology. Instead there’s only darkness, and the merest glimpse of their tent in the distance.
He’s not surprised. They’re definitely about to break up. It’s a horrible thought, but Charlie has been expecting this for years. Childhood sweethearts never work out in the long run. Who expects their soulmate to be some random kid in the same year as you?
The light that Charlie is focussing on in the distance is getting closer. Joy of joys.
Tori had warned him not to go on holiday with Ben. Of course, she’d warned him in an incredibly sarcastic way that had implied Charlie didn’t know what he was doing, which had just pissed him off further and made him double down on the plans.
It’s not that he’s jealous of Tori, with her boyfriend who does exciting things like “care about Tori’s wellbeing” and “enjoy Tori’s company”. It’s just that Tori isn’t the kind of person who welcomes human contact, or social situations. How has she managed to get a sweetheart boyfriend, when Charlie, known people-pleasure, is in the world’s most destructive relationship?
He feels himself growing smaller when he’s around Ben. Like he’s being picked at slowly by a crow with beautiful eyelashes, taking chunks out of his arms, his legs. Charlie, why don’t you do this? Charlie, why didn’t you do that? Charlie, why do you offer to help if you always get it wrong?
He pulls his phone out of his pocket. No messages from Ben, only a WhatsApp from his mother that he hasn’t bothered to open 5 hours ago.
Charlie – please remember to take your medication before bed. Ben doesn’t want to call 111 tonight. XXX
Charlie shoves his phone back into his pocket. It’s as if she thinks that if he misses a dosage, he’ll start organising the tent pegs or breaking into people’s tents to destroy their snacks.
(He took his medication before he stormed off. He’s not stupid.)
The light is now increasingly closer to the point that Charlie can make out what it is. Unfortunately it’s not a pot of gold, but is in fact, a campfire. Charlie hopes the people tending it aren’t homophobic axe murderers. Or even worse, ally axe murderers. Good news, the person trying to kill you with a scythe respects your gender identity!
This is a stupid thought. This is a stupid situation. This whole thing is completely stupid, and Charlie wishes that he was at home, in bed, with a book from The Times bestseller list. It would be a much better night, and he could even treat himself to a hot chocolate.
Charlie can barely see the field underneath him, the countryside is so dark. Ben’s wellies don’t help either, two sizes too big so his feet are slopping about in them.
It’s why he trips over an unidentified object lying on the ground and goes sprawling out in the dirt with a loud thump. He feels the smack as his head connects with the floor, pain exploding out behind his eyes.
“Fuck me!” Someone says. “Are you alright mate?”
Charlie makes a noise that might be “I just smashed my head open on a field in the dark and I think my teeth are all about to fall out”.
Hands are cradling his head, thumbs swiping across his cheeks. The hands are calloused, and big, and Charlie tries to focus his eyes on the human voice above him.
“Bleh?” Charlie says.
“That was a fucking fall,” The person says, and then laughs, but not unkindly. “Are you alright? If you’re concussed, say yes.”
“No.” Charlie manages to say.
“Are you sure?” The person, who Charlie has now figured out is a man. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
He exposes three fingers, a little out of focus but otherwise alright.
“Three.” Charlie says.
“Great!” The person says. “Who’s the Prime Minister?”
“Fuck.” Charlie says, and that makes the person laugh.
“Yeah, you’re good. Let me help you sit up.”
Lovely strong hands pull Charlie upright, and he gets to stare into the face of his saviour for the first time. It’s a man, with blonde floppy hair, and eye crinkles when he smiles at Charlie. He’s got the body of a rugby player, and Charlie can’t believe that this is his knight in shining armour.
“Hi,” Handsome Rugby Lad says. “Why are you marching about in the dark?”
“I wasn’t marching,” Charlie corrects. “I was walking with purpose.”
Handsome Rugby Lad laughs again. It’s a good laugh.
“You were striding towards me,” He says. “Like a fucking man on a mission. I thought you were going to walk straight into the campfire and one of the team would have to put you out.”
Charlie looks around and takes in his surroundings. There’s a few tents situated around the campfire, which is burning a cosy orange. A few other people gather around it, and Charlie realises they all have the same athletic-I-tackle-people-for-a-living physique.
“Ah.” Charlie says. He’s stumbled straight into a Rugby Team social. His worst nightmare.
Handsome Rugby Lad mistakes Charlie’s words for something else. “I would have caught you though,” He promises. “Despite the fact you clearly wanted to go full Wickerman.”
“You’ve seen the Wickerman?” Charlie asks.
“Flesh to touch, flesh to burn.” Handsome Rugby Lad says and grins. “Horror fan?”
“Fan of folk horror,” Charlie corrects. “Can’t stand horny teenagers in the woods getting murdered.”
“I love horny teenagers in the woods getting murdered,” Handsome Rugby Lad leans back on his hands. He’s still smiling, and it’s making a shiver run down Charlie’s spine. “It’s my fave kind of movie. Apart from Marvel.”
“Of course you’re a comic book fan,” Charlie says.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Handsome Rugby Lad says, grinning.
“Nothing!” Charlie says. “Just easy capitalist movies for the masses.”
“You’re a dick,” Handsome Rugby Lad says, and Charlie thinks, is this flirting? Are we flirting right now?
They’re interrupted by someone shouting from one of the tents.
“Oi! Nelson! You got any beer leftover?”
“In my tent!” Handsome Rugby Lad – Nelson? shouts back. “Just shove stuff about and you’ll find it.”
“I’ll ignore the wank mags!”
Handsome Rugby Lad rolls his eyes. “Yeah, of your fucking mum modelling.”
Charlie tucks his knees up underneath his chest. He suddenly feels very out of his depth. He’s been avoiding rugby boys his entire life, and now he’s trapped in a whole pack of them.
“Fucking idiot,” Handsome Rugby Lad says offhandedly to Charlie, as if he’s known this group of lads all his life. “You want a drink?”
“Isn’t this how people get murdered?” Charlie asks.
“I won’t poison you,” Handsome Rugby Lad promises. “You drink beer?”
“Not really.”
“Fuck,” Handsome Rugby Lad scratches the back of his head. “Wait, hang on.”
He stands upright and bellows across the campfire. “Otis! You got any cans?”
A can of something comes flying across the field like a cylindrical UFO. Handsome Rugby Lad catches it one handed, and Charlie’s stomach does something very interesting at that. Handsome Rugby Lad inspects it, and then offers it to Charlie.
“Vodka and Cranberry in a tin. Want it?”
“Acceptable.” Charlie says, and takes it from him. It fizzes when he pops the can, but tastes sweet and alcoholic when he licks the top. A little voice in his brain tells him to check the calories, but he ignores it.
Handsome Rugby Lad pops a beer can and offers it to him. “Cheers.”
“Cheers.” Charlie says, clinking.
Handsome Rugby Lad takes a long swig, then wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. “I’m Nick by the way.”
Nick. Strong name. Dependable. Charlie wonders where the Nelson comes from. Surname?
“I’m Charlie.” Charlie says.
“Nice,” Nick says. “Like Charlie Pritchard.”
“I have no clue who that is.” Charlie says honestly.
“Old rugby player,” Nick says. “Welsh. Beat the All-Blacks in 1905.”
“I love those words you say,” Charlie says, nodding his head. “Understand them all 100%”
“Fuck off,” Nick says, laughing. “You know what Welsh means.”
Charlie taps his finger against the corner of his mouth. “Hmm... I think it’s a country?”
Nick laughs, and takes another swig of his beer. A little bit dribbles down his chin which he licks away. Charlie stares unashamed.
“So why are you here?” Nick asks.
Charlie pulls a face. “Sitting with you? Or in this field?”
“In this field.” Nick says.
Charlie considers outing himself and decides against it. “I’m with a friend. Had a fight. Walked off.”
“Shit,” Nick says. “What was the fight about?”
“What wasn’t it about?” Charlie says. He takes another glug from his vodka can.
Charlie, why didn’t you pack this thing I wanted? Charlie, why are you arguing with me? Charlie, why are you putting on my wellies?
“My friend was just being a dick,” Charlie says. “I had to get out of there.”
“And now you’re hanging out with me,” Nick says. “Aren’t you lucky?”
“Can barely believe it.” Charlie says, deadpan.
Nick grins. The campfire illuminates his face, and Charlie can see that he’s broken his nose recently, and it’s just been reset. There’s a slight bruise across his face, a sour green colour, but it just adds to make Nick look more handsome.
Fuck. Charlie shouldn’t be into hot straight rugby lads.
One of the straight rugby lads in question is staggering over to them. He’s a lot less hot than Nick, scrawny and pinch faced, with stupid hair. He points a questioning finger at Charlie, like Charlie dragged himself up out of a swamp.
“Who the fuck are you?” Pinch Face asks, accusingly.
“Get fucked Harry.” Nick says, by way of introduction.
Harry leans forward, swaying as he does so. Charlie is worried he’s about to tip forward into Charlie’s lap.
“Are you a girl?” Harry asks, screwing up his face. “Are you a d-“
“Oi, did you hear me?” Nick snaps. “Fuck off.”
Charlie doesn’t know what he’s got into here, but he doesn’t want to be a part of it. He drains his can instead, and then sets about picking off the silver tab.
“You’re so fucking uptight,” Harry says. “Just because Tara broke up with you-“
“Weren’t even fucking dating in the first place.” Nick interrupts, which is neither confirming nor denying Charlie’s fantasies.
Charlie starts picking at a loose thread on his jumper. The argument goes on over his head, and he tones it out, from years of blocking out his parents’ arguments. It’s vaguely comforting, focusing on the unravelling of the sleeve as noise rumbles overhead.
“You’re just pissed because Singh didn’t make you Captain,” Nick says. “Go sulk over in the corner and leave me and my friend alone. You’re ruining the fucking vibe.”
“You’re such a bellend Nelson.” Harry says.
Charlie wonders if he can unravel the whole of his jumper by the time they’ve finished arguing.
“Piss off.” Nick says and makes a rude hand gesture that Charlie’s never seen before. It’s very imaginative.
Harry seems to finally get the picture, and slopes off to go drink more beer, or send Bella Delphine Instagram DMS, or whatever else straight men do in their spare time. Nick runs a hand through his hair, before finishing off his can of beer.
“Sorry,” He says. “Harry’s a dick.”
“Why do you hang out with him then?” Charlie says before he can stop himself.
“Part of the team, innit?” Nick crushes the can and throws it in the vague direction of a black bin bag, already full to the brim. “Not that he’s on the front wing. He’s just an interchange.”
“Again,” Charlie says. “I love the words and phrases you say.”
“Have you never watched a rugby game?”
Charlie shakes his head. “My family are not into sport.”
“What are they into then?”
“Generational trauma,” Charlie says. “Books.”
“What about books about generational trauma?”
“Oh they love them,” Charlie waves a hand. “My mum could probably write her book about it.”
Nick laughs. Charlie smiles back at him. He’s never hit it off with someone so quickly before, especially someone like Nick. He would have barely given him a second glance at school, let alone willingly hung out with Charlie.
“I can’t believe you’ve never watched a rugby game,” Nick says, getting back to their original topic. “What about a Formula 1 race?”
“If I wanted to watch cars drive around in a circle, I’d go sit by a roundabout,” Charlie says. “I don’t enjoy sports Nick.”
“You’re so weird,” Nick says, like Charlie is an interesting specimen he found at the zoo. “What do you do for fun then?”
Charlie shrugs. “I read. Hang out with my friends. I’m at uni studying English Lit.”
“Same,” Nick says. “Uni that is. I’m on a Sports scholarship.”
“Putting those muscles to good use?”
“Exactly,” Nick says. “I was blessed with this gorgeous body, I might as well use it.”
Charlie laughs at that. “Not humble then?”
“Nah,” Nick says. “Although it’s not doing me any favours in the dating department.”
Charlie blinks. “You’re single?”
“Yup,” Nick runs a hand through his hair. “One of the only boys on the team without a partner. I’m practically a social pariah.”
Charlie doubts that.
“Why don’t you go out and get a girlfriend?” Charlie asks. “It wouldn’t be hard for a rugby boy like you.”
Nick shrugs. “Haven’t found anyone I like yet. I dated in the past, but it never worked out.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t apologise, it’s not your fault,” Nick says. “Unless you were turning girls against me?”
“It’s my hidden talent,” Charlie says. “I steal people’s girlfriends.”
Nick laughs. “I can see it though. You’ve got Timothee Chalamet vibes.”
“Come off it.”
“No, I’m serious!” Nick says. “You’re all curly hair, and skinny, with big sad eyes. Girls are into that.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever met a girl who was into that.” Charlie says.
“Do you want me to hook you up with a girl?” Nick asks bluntly, and Charlie chokes on the remains of his drink.
“Definitely not,” He says swiftly. “I’m all good on that front.”
Nick is studying him with an unreadable expression. Charlie meets his gaze, and the two stare at each other for several seconds before looking away. Charlie can feel his cheeks heat up, and he wishes that he could understand Nick’s thought processes.
Nick pushes himself to his feet. “Let me get you another drink. Vodka, or spirits, yeah?”
“Please,” Charlie says. “If there’s any spare.”
“Your wish is my command.” Nick mock bows, and then lurches off towards the others.
Charlie rests his cheek against his palm. He feels lighter for being here, away from the dark depression of Ben’s tent. He can’t believe that he thought a camping holiday would fix the destruction of their relationship.
Have they ever been happy? Charlie tries to cast his mind back to when they were teenagers in love, gangly and spotty. Ben had made them keep the relationship secret, acting like Charlie was something dirty, something to hide. Charlie had clung to each make out session in locked classrooms like it was something romantic.
It was just fucking sad.
It’s so dark now that Charlie can barely make out the other members of the rugby team. It should worry him, being surrounded by men who are a) athletic, b) strangers. Instead he’s just happy to be invisible.
“Your mixed drink in a can, my lord,” Nick appears from nowhere, shoving a green can into Charlie’s face. “Couldn’t find anymore vodka, so I got you a mojito.”
“Cheers,” Charlie says. “And for you, squire?”
Nick screws up his face, trying to read the label. “Beer from the dodgy corner shop that fell off the back of a lorry?”
“Mm, tasty.”
Nick collapses down next to him, almost into Charlie’s lap. He’s big and warm, like a newfoundland dog.
“I’ll be honest,” Nick says, and Charlie inhales. “I’d much rather be drinking in a pub right now than a field.”
“Same,” Charlie admits. “Although I think our definition of pubs are slightly different.”
“Pub near me,” Nick says. “Has a bulldog that roams around the lower floor. If anyone new comes in, he tries to sit on their lap and eat their pork scratchings.”
“That’s sweet,” Charlie says. “I think the nearest pub to me will only allow pets in if they have their own Instagram account.”
Nick laughs. “My aunt has an Instagram account for her dog. He’s called Henry. Hang on.”
He fishes a phone out of his pocket and turns it on. Charlie gets a brief glimpse of a lock screen of a border collie before Nick is opening Instagram. There’s a lot of fit female models on his For You page, but Nick ignores them, typing in an account name.
“Here.” Nick shows him a photo of a small pug puppy the colour of caramel.
“Oh my god,” Charlie takes the phone from him, cradling it in his hands. “Is that a bow tie? That is so adorable.”
“Isn’t he great?” Nick enthuses. “I fucking love dogs.”
“I love animals with old people names.” Charlie says. “My neighbours got a terrier called Agnes.”
“That’s cute .” Nick takes his phone back and shoves it back into his pocket. “Have you got pets?”
Charlie shakes his head. “My parents don’t like noisy messy things. It’s a miracle they had three children.”
“My mum loves kids,” Nick says. “She fucked up on her first kid, so I was the second to even it out.”
“She fucked up her first kid?”
“My brother David,” Nick says. “He’s a twat. I think he must have been dropped on his head at birth.”
“Is he older or younger?” Charlie asks.
“Older.” Nick says. “By four years.”
“I have an older sister,” Charlie says. “She’s kind of a bitch sometimes, but I do love her. And I have a younger brother.”
“Your parents got the whole set.” Nick says. “My mum always wanted a girl. Instead she got me.”
Nick flexes his muscles. “100% British boy beef.”
Charlie can’t help but laugh. Mojito almost comes out of his nose.
It’s at that opportune moment that Charlie’s phone begins to ring in his pocket. He sighs, pulling it out and checking the caller ID.
It’s Ben.
Charlie considers not answering the phone and throwing it into the campfire to sizzle. He stares at the vibrating phone in his hand, watching the call ring and ring before going to voicemail. Then it begins to ring again. Ben is clearly desperate.
“Ugh.” Charlie says and stands upright. “I’m going to have to take this. Sorry.”
“No prob.” Nick says. “Who is it?”
“My... Camping friend.” Charlie says. “I won’t be long.
“Have fun.” Nick says, laying back on the ground. “Tell him you’re getting drunk in a field with me.”
“I will.” Charlie promises.
He walks out of ear shot of the group before answering the call. Ben’s voice is muffled, but he sounds angry.
“Where the fuck are you?”
“In a field.” Charlie replies honestly.
“Don’t play smart with me.” Ben snaps. “You can’t just walk off. You can’t be trusted on your own Charlie.”
Charlie tugs at the thread on his sleeve. “I’m not a child.”
“You are a child. You walked off in the middle of an argument – in the dark! All because I said something you didn’t agree with.”
Charlie doesn’t know how to reply. He doesn’t know how to say ‘you were mean to me’ without sounding like the child he’s being accused of.
“Why do you always pick at me?” Charlie asks instead. “Why do you always have to comment on every single thing I do?”
“Because you forget things.” Ben says. “If I didn’t remind you that your shoes need tying, you wouldn’t do it and trip over your own feet.”
“I know how to tie my own shoes.”
“You literally fell over in the flat last week!”
“Because you were making me rush to get ready!” Charlie raises his voice to match Ben’s.
“Now you’re shouting at me,” Ben says coolly. “See? You’re getting worked up.”
“You started it.” Charlie says.
“Very mature,” Ben says. “Great work Spring.”
“Oh leave me alone,” Charlie snaps. “If I wanted to be insulted, I would have dated my secondary school bully – Oh wait!”
“Don’t bring up the past.”
“You literally just did!” Charlie spins on the spot in frustration. “This is so stupid.”
“God, I don’t want to talk to you when you’re in one of your moods,” Ben says. “Just tell me where you are, I’ll come pick you up, and then we can go to bed. I’m tired Charlie.”
“You don’t think I’m tired too?” Charlie asks. “Being with you is exhausting.”
“Let’s not get into this on the phone.”
“Fine,” Charlie says. “But I’m not telling you where I am.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want to be found,” Charlie replies honestly. “I’m not doing anything stupid, I’m not a risk, I’m just hanging out with people.”
“You? Talking to people?”
“I’m not Tori,” Charlie says spitefully. “I can make friends.”
“Who are these friends then? Have you found an LGBTQ camping trip? Queers in caravans?”
“You’re so funny,” Charlie says. “Honestly Ben, go on Live at the Apollo. You’d bring the house down.”
“Stop acting like this,” Ben says. “Tell me where you are.”
“No.” Charlie says.
“Charlie-“
“So we can argue in person? No, I’m done,” Charlie tugs at his hair. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”
“Charlie-“
“Bye.” Charlie hangs up the phone and stares at it. Immediately, Ben tries to ring him back, and Charlie watches it ring and ring, before eventually going to voicemail. Ben leaves a message, but Charlie doesn’t listen to it.
He feels strange. A small part of him is scared of Ben, still a closeted teenager being pushed around in the locker rooms, but another part of him is pleased. This is one of the first times that he’s ever got the last word, ever stood up for himself.
Charlie turns his phone off and heads back over to where Nick is sitting.
“You good?” Nick asks. He’s still prone on the ground, which is how he must have been lying when Charlie tripped over him.
Charlie shrugs in response and sits down beside him. Nick presses his thigh against Charlie in a show of solidarity.
“I’m in trouble,” Charlie says. “My friend is pissed at me.”
“For running away?”
Charlie nods, tucking his knees underneath his chin. The wind had picked up, causing embers from the campfire to dance across the grass. One of the rugby lads stamps them out with a big boot.
“That sucks,” Nick says. “I’m always running off on a night out. Love an escape.”
“Mm.” Charlie says. He can hear Ben’s voice in the back of his mind saying horrible things.
“Oi,” Nick nudges Charlie. “Want a distraction?”
Charlie looks at him, raises an eyebrow. “How?”
Nick surprises him by pointing upwards. “Want to star gaze?”
“Are you serious?”
“C’mere.” Nick pats the ground beside him. “You look cold anyway.”
“I’m not lying in the dirt,” Charlie says. “There are bugs. And worms. And other horrible things.”
“Worms are bugs,” Nick says, but then pats his chest. “Come lie on me.”
“You are so stupid.” Charlie says, but lays down beside Nick, his head resting on Nick’s broad chest.
Nick smells of beer and sweat and something earthy. His t-shirt is a soft worn cotton, and Charlie can feel Nick’s heartbeat echoing in his brain, a gentle thumping. He’s warm, and when he wraps an arm around Charlie, Charlie feels safe.
“You smell minty.” Nick says.
“Mojito.” Charlie replies.
“It’s nice.” Nick says, and yawns.
Charlie rubs his cheek against Nick’s shirt. He can’t remember the last time he cuddled someone like this – Ben doesn’t do PDA in public, and very rarely in private. Nick’s hand is running up and down his back, tracing the ridges of Charlie’s spine.
“Are you cold?” Nick asks.
“I’m okay.” Charlie says. His chest feels warm, but his toes are fucking freezing.
They lie in silence for a while. Charlie can feel his eyes closing, and thinks he is acting like the first girl to die in a horror movie. He’s definitely going to be eaten by rabid badgers and Brian May will write a song about him.
“Oh my god, did you see that?” Nick interrupts Charlie’s visions of a kick-ass badger-themed guitar solo.
“See what?”
“Look,” Nick nudges Charlie’s head until he’s looking up at the sky. “A shooting star!”
Charlie holds his breath as the star explodes overhead, faster than he imagined. It doesn’t seem real, the twinkling light dancing across the sky as he cuddles with a boy in a field.
“Make a wish.” Nick says.
Charlie shuts his eyes and thinks Please Be Gay, Please Be Gay, Please Be Gay.
When he opens them, the sky is still illuminated. Charlie hadn’t realised how much he’d been missing out on by moving to the city, the night taken over by far-off dead planets.
“What did you wish for?” Nick asks. His hand is still on Charlie’s back.
“I can’t tell you, or it won’t come true.” Charlie says.
“No fun,” Nick says, and then points. “See that one there? That’s Sirius.”
“Is it a special star?”
“It’s the brightest star in the sky,” Nick says. “It’s 8.6 light years away from us.”
“You know a lot about space.”
“My dad lives in the countryside in France,” Nick says casually, as if that isn’t the dream of most people. “He taught me a lot about stars, and how to find my way home.”
“Ever needed that knowledge?”
“Nah,” Nick says. “But you never know.”
Charlie settles back against Nick’s chest and stares up at the deep dark sky overhead. He can faintly hear the sounds of the other boys sitting around the campfire, their voices hushed apart from the clink of cans.
“Are you tired?” Nick asks.
“No.” Charlie lies.
“Me neither,” Nick says. “Don’t move though. You’re like a weighted blanket.”
“I won’t.” Charlie promise.
Nick’s breathing is slow and steady, and Charlie allows his head to rise up and down on Nick’s chest, counting each inhale. The tiredness washes over him like a wave, and he can barely remember his nightmare of death by badger, before he’s shutting his eyes, and falling into a deep sleep.
***
Charlie wakes up to the smell of bacon frying, and the distant sound of someone being sick. He snuggles up against the large warm lump that he’s near, and tries to tune out the person emptying their guts.
There’s a blanket wrapped around him, and his back aches. Almost like he’s spent the night sleeping on the bare earth of a field, and not in a nice comfy tent.
The large warm lump says: “You drool in your sleep.”
Charlie cracks one gummy eyelid open. He takes in the smiling face of Nick, all ruffled hair and sleepy, and has a small heart attack.
He sits upright abruptly, wiping his chin on the back of his hand. Nick rubs his eyes with his knuckles, and then pushes himself into a sitting position.
“Morning,” Nick says. “You’ve got great bedhead.”
Charlie runs a hand through his curls, feeling them stick up in imaginable ways. “Oh my god.”
“No, it’s cute!” Nick insists. “Very Sonic the Hedgehog.”
“Nobody has ever wanted to be described as Sonic the Hedgehog.” Charlie moans, still trying to flatten his hair. “I can’t believe I fell asleep!”
“It’s fine,” Nick says. “You’ve never fallen asleep drunk in a field before?”
Charlie gives him a look. Nick grins.
In the daylight, Nick is slightly younger than Charlie first thought. They must be around the same age bracket, perhaps Nick being one or two years older. He’s still got some puppy fat around his cheeks, in a way that makes you want to pinch them.
“Sorry,” Charlie says. “I made you sleep outside when you’ve got a perfectly good tent.”
“Tents are boring,” Nick says. “I liked being outside with you.”
Charlie looks down at his hands. There’s dirt underneath his fingernails from where he tripped, the palms of his hands slightly itchy with pain. There’s even a slight cut that he didn’t see last night in the dark, only the dried rust of blood.
“Oh, you hurt yourself!” Nick takes Charlie’s hands in his own, rubbing his thumb over the injury. “Sorry. I should have noticed.”
“I’m the one that should have noticed,” Charlie says, heart rate increasing at their close proximity, even without alcohol as a buffer. “I’m the idiot that fell over.”
“I’ll take you to the bathroom and get you cleaned up,” Nick says. “I think Lofty has a First Aid kit on him that his mum made him pack.”
“I’m just an example of why you shouldn’t go camping,” Charlie says. “You get horribly maimed.”
Nick laughs. “Oh yeah. We’ll have to amputate.”
“I’ll never hold my phone again,” Charlie says mournfully.
Speaking of. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and reads through the stream of messages from Ben. They’re mainly about breaking up, and how Charlie is a slut.
“Your boyfriend’s a dickhead.” Nick says.
“I know.” Charlie says, and then his head shoots upright.
Boyfriend? Nick’s clocked him – Of course Nick has clocked him, Charlie’s hardly the straightest boy in the village. But Nick’s still holding his hand, and he’s looking at Charlie carefully, and oh, maybe Charlie’s got this a little bit wrong?
Nick opens his mouth to say something.
“Oi lovebirds!” Nonspecific Rugby Lad 3 shouts. “Hungry?”
Nick’s eyes light up at that and he bellows back, “Starving!”
He squeezes Charlie’s hands tightly, mindful of the injury. Charlie feels his stomach do several backflips.
“Breakfast?” Nick asks. “We have bacon. And eggs. If you’re vegan, then you’re shit out of luck.”
“I like bacon and eggs.” Charlie says.
“Brill.” Nick says, letting go of Charlie’s hands to push himself upright. “I’ll introduce you to everyone.”
Nick stretches, shirt rising to expose a soft stomach. Charlie looks up at him, the way the sun is shining on him, like he’s a golden idol.
“C’mon,” Nick says, and offers Charlie his hand. “Let’s go annoy the others.”
Charlie takes Nick’s hand, and holds on tight.