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Charlie set his bags down and looked around. The room was small, with one twin-size bed pushed up against the wall, a flimsy-looking wooden desk under the tiny window, and a small chest of drawers. The walls were painted a sickly kind of yellow, and the carpet stank of cleaning solution. But it was his, all his. He grinned to himself. He had been dreaming about what university would be like for so long, he could hardly believe he was finally here.
“Charlie, why don’t you unpack and we’ll meet you in an hour at the dining hall for dinner?”
“Yeah, mum, sounds good!” He said hurriedly. He wanted them to leave, wanted to absorb it all without an audience. As much as he loved his parents, he had to admit the prospect of having a space all his own away from them filled him with a kind of joy he hadn’t felt in a while.
He waved them off, then turned to face the room again. It felt so empty and cold, but he could change that. He hoisted his bag up onto the bed and began moving his clothing and toiletries over to the drawers.
As he unpacked, he eyed the wall above his bed, envisioning different ways he could arrange all of his photographs there. Photographs of him and Nick, Tao and Elle and Aled and the rest of the Paris gang. Maybe even new photos, with people he had yet to meet.
He had been dreaming about this for over a year, ever since Nick graduated and moved into the dorms. They still saw each other during Charlie’s last year of sixth form, of course, but it just wasn’t the same being at Truham without Nick. Charlie was always catching himself in P.E. scanning the rugby field for the familiar quaf of blond hair, only to remember all over again that he was alone.
He quit rugby that year, because he had never really been that passionate about the sport; not with Nick gone. He just threw himself into reading and drums, and hanging out with Tao (who was missing Elle as much as Charlie was missing Nick) and those members of the Paris gang that had been left behind. It was bearable, but this was what had kept him going, really: being at Uni. Being at Uni with Nick.
Plus, Charlie had a single room. He had begged his parents for it, promising to work at the student center to make up for the additional cost, and they had folded. He suspected it was mostly because he told them it would be easier for him to eat if he had a private place to go. It wasn’t a lie; often when he was struggling it was easier to be alone. Or rather, to be alone with Nick.
Nick had a roommate, of course. He was much more social than Charlie, and from what he had told him the guy (Stuart) was nice enough. Charlie had spent a lot of time being very, very jealous of Stuart, but when he met him he couldn’t help but like him.
Stuart was a bit of a jock, like Nick, and he was funny and smart in an accessible kind of way. Plus, he looked nothing like Charlie, and Nick had a type, so Charlie wasn’t worried. He trusted Nick, more than anyone else.
Still, he hoped there would be many a night with Nick curled up in Charlie’s twin bed with him; the real reason he had wanted a single room, though he would never tell his parents that.
His father had warned him again, half joking and half serious, that there was to be ‘no hanky panky until marriage’, even though Charlie and Nick had been having sex for like, a year and a half already, and there was a half empty box of condoms stuffed into the bottom of Charlie’s suitcase. What his parents didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.
The excitement was alive in Charlie’s chest, but he was sort of nervous, too. He supposed it was normal to be scared of starting fresh. He was in a new place, far away from his parents and siblings and friends, living and going to class with strangers. He was going to have to come out all over again, he realized.
Of course, he didn’t think it would be at all like last time. For one, he had much more control here. He could decide when and who and how he came out, and he suspected it wouldn’t be as big of a deal. There was a pride flag on prominent display in the student building, which made his heart glow every time he saw it. This was uni, after all; people were more mature, more accepting, more…proud. It was a nice change of pace.
He thought of Elle and Tara and Darcy, all away at separate universities across the country. He hoped they would be having similar revelations; after all, they deserved to feel good about who they were, to be open and proud. He made a mental note to sit down later and write them letters, as they had all promised to do regularly.
Charlie loved writing letters. It was so personal and romantic in a retro sort of way. Plus, he had really good handwriting. He used to write letters to Nick last year, and was touched to see when he visited that they had been taped up lovingly beside his bed (though Charlie was a bit embarrassed to think that Stuart might have read them. Ah well). Nick always wrote back, though he elected to type his letters up and print them off, which was probably a good move. His handwriting was dreadful.
Charlie had brought all of Nick’s letters with him to Uni, tucked at the bottom of Charlie’s suitcase. He sat on the bed and pulled them out to reread them, as he had done dozens of times. He knew Nick loved him, but having solid proof here in his hands, being able to read the words over and over again, helped him in times it was difficult to remember he was worthy of that love. Nick made him feel worthy. This was going to be a wonderful year.
The mess hall was crowded and aroar with voices when Charlie got there. There were new students like him talking excitedly with each other, parents standing around reading pamphlets, and older students looking annoyed at all the chaos. Charlie himself wasn’t a fan of crowds generally, but this was particularly intimidating. He didn’t want to draw any attention to himself, already feeling like an exposed nerve. He looked around anxiously and spotted his parents across the room talking to an older boy he recognized as his RA.
Charlie really didn’t want to join in the conversation, so he settled on a bench near the door and waited for the boy to leave. A lot of the kids he saw looked as uncomfortable and nervous as he felt, which made him relax a little. It was normal, his therapist told him, to experience anxiety during life transitions, and this was one of the biggest life transitions he would ever take. He took some deep breaths, trying to ride the wave of his emotions, but only succeeded in making himself a little dizzy.
He hadn’t eaten much. What with the stress of moving and the chaos of orientation, his parents had been distracted enough not to notice. Charlie felt a little bad taking advantage of this, but it was so much easier to deal with everything when his stomach was empty and his head was foggy with hunger. It was an old coping skill that he turned to now only in times of great stress. The only person who ever noticed was Nick, and he wouldn’t get here until Sunday. This gave Charlie three whole days to adjust, and he could eat normally again when Nick was there. No harm in it, he told himself. No harm, no foul.
Just then his dad spotted him, and excused himself politely from the conversation. He made his way over to Charlie and sat beside him, letting out a long sigh.
“Well, this is a lot for me, so I can only imagine what’s going through your head, Charlie.”
Charlie grinned. His dad always understood him in a way his mum never had.
“Yeah, well, you get to leave tomorrow, and I have to like, talk to people.”
His dad laughed. “That’s what it’s all about Charlie! Awkward and uncomfortable, but necessary.” He put his arm around Charlie and squeezed his shoulder. “But you’re gonna do just fine, Charlie. I know it.”
“How do you know it?”
“Well, because I know you, Charlie. You’re smart, and you’re funny, and strong. Everyone’s gonna love you.”
They brought their food outside to eat in the quad, which was nice, but a little too public for Charlie's liking. His parents didn’t watch him like they used to, back when his eating was really bad. He had been better for so long. They didn’t notice when half his sandwich disappeared under a nearby rock.
The dorm was different at night. The overhead light cast a weak glow across the room, and he could hear laughing and shouting outside the window from students on the street below. Parents had left, and his peers were taking full advantage of the situation.
Charlie didn’t feel like partaking; not tonight. He had been waiting all day for some time to himself, but now that he was here, alone, the worry and sadness was creeping back in. He was totally, utterly, shudderingly alone. No Tori popping up out of thin air, no Olly yelling and running around. No dad laughing at the television, no mum calling him down for dinner. And no Nick.
But Nick would come soon, and then everything would be alright again. He would get used to the cement floors and the sounds of campus. Classes and events would distract him from his darker thoughts. Everything would be fine; wouldn’t it?
He settled down on his bed, pulling his laptop onto his lap and opening tumblr. No new notifications. He sighed and closed it again. He might as well go to sleep, though it was only 9:30. He was tired from walking around campus all day, and his cheeks hurt from forcing himself to smile every time he met someone new. Looking around his room, his eyes caught the small wooden box on his desk. He shouldn’t have brought it; he wouldn’t need it. But he liked having it, somehow, like a safety blanket.
As if in a trance, he crossed over to the desk. He would just look, just once, to remind himself it was still there. He wouldn’t use it, not tonight. The lid creeked slightly as he lifted it, revealing the treasure inside. Three sharp blades, and a folded sheet of paper. His fingers brushed the blades softly, then he picked up the paper and unfolded it.
It was a letter from Nick, an old one. It was no different than the others, except for one line at the bottom, scribbled as though it was an afterthought, though Charlie knew it wasn’t.
‘P.S: I hope you’ll never forget how much I love you, Char. I love your dimples and your curly hair and your scars and everything about you. Even when you don’t love yourself, I love you. Always.’
It was cheesy, and silly, and everything he loved about Nick. It was totally selfless and thoughtful and each time he read it he felt like crying. Countless times it had stopped him reaching for those blades. Countless times he had clutched it to his chest as he fell asleep, so that it was crumpled and a little torn, and stained here and there with his tears.
He closed the lid carefully, keeping the paper clutched in his hand, and crawled into bed without changing his clothes. He cried, holding it to his heart, and dreamed of Nick.
When he woke, he felt a little better, and the sun peaking through his window seemed to speak those words to him once more, and he would whisper them back.
‘Always.’’