Archive of Our Own

Nick

God, what time is it even? I haven’t taken a nap in ages; I feel like a fucking toddler. I was just so completely knackered after moving all my shit back in here. No, I’m not technically old enough to feel the way I do, as if I’d spent yesterday moving baby grand pianos to the top floors of posh houses in Canterbury, but sod it all, that’s exactly what I feel like. 

I literally just graduated uni – I’m supposed to be rejoicing in my youth and new life! Instead I spent a hot, sweaty day moving back into my mum’s place like a person masquerading as a totally capable adult. Because it’s not at all embarrassing or disappointing that I have absolutely nothing going on, no plans to now strike out into the world and become my own person. No biggie. It’s fine. Normal.

And now I’ve gone and fallen prey to my exhaustion (emotional as well as physical? Yes I know Trevor says that can have just as big an effect on one’s bodily well-being, whenever we talk about it in our weekly sessions, but shhhhh we’re not thinking about that right now) and actually fell asleep in the middle of the day like grandpa Claude, and completely wasted all that time.

Well. Can I really consider it wasting time if I would have used that time to do….precisely nothing?

Ok, self, get a fucking grip. My life is not completely empty. So I’m back home. So I’m sort of starting over from scratch. So what? I still have good friends who are supporting me; doesn’t matter that they’re not in town, they can support me from a distance. I still have a degree and the ability to make a great first impression in interviews; I’ll find something soon enough. And I still have mum and Nellie and haven’t felt judged for one single second over this decision to move back home and see where we go from here. Mum and Nellie. That’ll put a smile on your face every morning!

“Mum! Nellie?” Pause…nothing. Ah, maybe they’re out for a walk.

I check my watch and see it’s just past six in the evening. I might as well head down and take a look at what we have in the fridge; it’d be nice to whip up a lovely dinner as a thank you to mum for taking me back in. Just have to hit the loo real quick first.

*****

Suddenly it seems like time has jumped and I’ve missed a few moments. I find myself washing my hands at the sink (guess I already used the loo) and staring out the window at the street while the warm water flows. There’s a dancing summer breeze and the leaves are waving around lazily; it just looks so peaceful. I shake my head to snap out of the reverie and turn off the tap, quickly drying my hands, and heading downstairs.

There are a decent amount of groceries in the fridge, which I attribute to Sarah Nelson literally being the most thoughtful person on the planet, and having prepared extensively for my return home. I’m considering (maybe) a veggie lasagne, when I reach over to the counter and grab my phone to turn on some music. 

This reminds me that I texted both Tara and Christian while I was in the loo – weird that they haven’t answered yet. Have they already turned into grownups with Sunday routines and errands and shit? Can’t be, we’re still in our early 20s; it’s not like they’re going to have kids’ birthday parties or soccer practice to deal with. Nah, I bet Tara is busily texting (sexting?) with Darcy, and Christian is probably still sleeping off whatever wild party he went to last night. That one is definitely nowhere near an adult quite yet.

I’ve just slid the dish into the oven, quite proud of myself for the perfect width I sliced those courgettes, mouth almost watering at the thought of eating it shortly, when it occurs to me that it’s weird that mum and Nellie haven’t returned. Actually, it’s really weird. They could have gone to the park for an extended play time but I feel like she would have left me a note. I look around downstairs briefly and don’t see anything, but also nothing else really looks out of place. I shrug and give her a quick call, no answer.

*****

Some time must have passed again without me noticing, because the next thing I know, my timer is going off and I’m sliding the lasagne out of the oven, piping hot and with an absolutely perfect golden crust on top. My stomach grumbles as I grab two plates to set on the table, but my brain responds with annoyance. It’s time to eat, where are those two? 

I am a good son, I swear. It only takes about three seconds for me to transition from moodily hungry to slightly worried. After another two calls to mum aren’t answered, I decide pretty quickly to go out and find them. I throw on my Vans and my favourite jumper hanging on the rack right next to the door, and head outside. 

Well, there’s mum’s car, parked right there, so obviously they’ve gone for a walk. I shove my phone into my pocket along with my keys and head down the street, my feet taking me automatically towards the dog park. Good thing I remembered to turn off the oven because I’m not sure how quickly I’ll make it back to the house.

Just a few minutes brings me to the park, which is completely deserted, but I yell for mum and Nellie anyway, just in case. It’s getting on towards 8:30 so it kind of makes sense that no one’s there. Dusk approaching, people at home getting ready for the work or school week. Still though. I start to feel a tiny bit of unease growing in the pit of my gut.

I don’t love how the next few hours end up feeling; I could have done with another gap in consciousness and waking up with my family safe and sound at home after a time jump – but no such luck. My awareness is heightened and growing ever more pessimistic after I circle the neighbourhood at a brisk jog, grab the car keys, and start to check a few logical places (Tesco, our favourite cafe, mum’s best friend Angie’s house). 

And the thing is… well. They’re all empty.

Not just of mum and Nellie. Of everyone.

Tesco and the diner are still open, all the lights are on, but no one appears to be around, and to be honest that freaks me the fuck out. It’s dark by the time I arrive in the Tesco car park and hell no I’m not going inside. A normal amount of cars in the car park, standard neon-lit interior, but no sign of any living soul? Nope, nuh-uh, not doing it. Visions of Stephen King movies I saw as an impressionable youth attack my brain, uninvited. I haven’t seen a horror flick in years, on purpose, and I sure as shit have no interest in living one.

My heart is starting to beat pretty fast when I bang on Angie’s door and there’s no answer. I was expecting that, at this point, but it’s still not a great sign. The streetlamps are on but I’m still starting to feel the night pressing in on me and my breathing has sped up a bit. I turn my back to Angie’s front door, slide down and land with a thump on her front step. My phone still has plenty of battery as I hold it in a death grip in front of my face, willing someone, anyone, to call or respond to a text. It’s hilariously ironic that it probably won’t run out of juice for days now, since there doesn’t seem to be anyone left alive on the planet to use it up communicating with.

I’ve let 999 ring about 4 times (if it goes up to 10 rings with no answer I’m going to legitimately have a nervous breakdown) when I hear something. It’s not the sound of traffic — haven’t heard that since before my nap. It’s not a bird or other urban critter — have noticed they’re absent, too. It’s actually a human voice, which at this point surprises me so much that I drop my phone.

Of course it bounces down Angie’s steps and it takes me half a minute to fish it out of the shrubbery out front. When I finally straighten up, the owner of the voice has appeared (poof!) directly in front of me, on the other side of the hedge. He’s got a kind of wild face, crazy eyes, gaze darting around. Pretty much exactly how I feel after my search over the last few hours. 

He’s also got piercing blue eyes and the most alluring curls I’ve ever seen. Comparison to me ends there – no way I’m as gorgeous as that. It’s a testimony to the truly dire nature of the situation that I am able to ignore how much I’d like to throw myself directly into simp-flirting, and focus on the whole apocalypse thing instead.

“Hey!” I walk around the greenery to his side as he pants, seemingly getting his breath after running from down the road. I reach him and take a beat to stop myself grabbing his arm. I need human contact right now. He may not.

He seems to have got his breathing under control, but there is an intensity in his stare that I feel won’t resolve as easily. He takes a breath and speaks.

“Um. Have you seen anyone?” He clarifies even though I’m already shaking my head forcefully no: “Anyone at all, all afternoon?”

“Zero people,” I reply. “I was taking a nap and woke up to an empty house. I’ve been looking for my mum ever since but, you know…” I feel suddenly shy and look down for a moment. “I’ve been getting spooked. When I didn’t see another single soul this whole time.”

His face briefly relaxes from its abject horror into sympathy. “I understand. This whole day has literally been the weirdest thing I’ve ever experienced. I was watching a movie in my room, that “Look Both Ways” on Netflix?” 

I’ve actually heard of that one–and ok, that’s slightly freaky actually. It’s about a recent college graduate whose life splits into parallel realities. Uh-huh. That’s not weird or unsettling at all right now. I shake my head and try to refocus on what the beautiful man is saying.

“...when the power went out, and when I went to check the rest of the house – no one was there.” He looks at the ground and takes a shaky breath. “I went hunting for my sister first at her friend Becky’s house and, you know… there was no one there. Since then I’ve just kind of been… wandering.” 

Our eyes meet again and I have a sudden unexplainable sense of yearning towards him, seized by a bizarre hallucination, seeing him through a pink haze of love and swirling leaves, and I lean forward almost imperceptibly. It appears, though, he hasn’t noticed, because he’s still telling his story.

“I also didn’t really feel brave enough to actually venture into any of the places I passed,” he relates with a twisted, wry grin. “I’m a bit small and weak to take on any space invaders or lab creations gone awry on my own.”

I rush to reassure him. “Oh, it can’t be that, can it? I mean, we don’t live in a science fiction movie. Something fucked up is going on but there must be some rational explanation – I don’t think you have to worry about running into a Demogorgon or something.” I think I’m doing a decent job at the flirty banter, considering the circumstances, but he bests me with his next line.

“So you’re saying I am small and weak?”

My blustering in response is genuine but also seems to serve the purpose of endearing myself to my new friend. His shy smile grows and suddenly I don’t feel completely alone anymore.

*****

The time jumps seem to have stopped since I collected Charlie (as his name turns out to be). We spend another hour or two checking out a few more spots I’ve thought of for my mum, and we drive by his dad’s job, and the dentist’s where his mum had planned to take his little brother that afternoon. No luck anywhere, obviously. We find no people, just more emptiness and more things that feel off . (For example, what’s with the old toilet block in the car park of the dental practice? Charlie swears that was never there before.) 

We are both growing more agitated and concerned as time goes on – no shit, this is the most fucked up, bizarre, implausible situation I’ve ever been in and would guess the same for him – but we also feel a bit better than before.

Well. I suppose I can’t speak for him. I feel better, firmer, more anchored. I am living in a Christopher Pike novel but also have a weird sense of hope that this is going to be resolved. And I couldn’t possibly tell you why or how, exactly, but it’s there. 

Bodies don’t run only on hope, though, so we stop by my place to eat the lasagne as our energy reserves drain low. It’s still there on the counter, of course, though my heart aches with a wish to see a piece missing (or even the entire damn thing licked clean by Nellie). We eat in semi-silence, probably both feeling guilty that we can focus on anything at all other than our missing loved ones. There is an unspoken kinship growing.

When we’ve both eaten our fill and tried 999 a few more times to no avail, we have a short conversation for convention’s sake where I insist he stay over so neither of us has to sleep in an empty house that night, and promise that tomorrow we’ll start fresh trying to figure this all out. I get him settled on the comfy couch in the lounge, with an extra pillow and blanket from the linen closet. I’m backing out of the room waving goodnight when I hear his voice, almost too soft-spoken to be audible.

“I wish this wasn’t happening.”

“I wish it wasn’t either.” We both just won awards for understatement of the century. Hope the academy doesn’t mind us splitting the statuette.

Still, the literal dread filling my heart is nudged slightly to the side when I look directly at Charlie, snuggled up in that one most comfy blanket that mum got as a Christmas present from grandpa years ago, just a soft olive green that is big enough to drape over your entire body and help you feel contained and safe.

“You look so cuddly like that.” The words are out of my mouth before I can think twice. I feel myself blushing a bit and am grateful the room is already dim and it’s unlikely Charlie can see my red cheeks from across the room. I do some kind of weird almost non-existent goodnight nod (is that a thing?) and dash from the room, barely hearing Charlie’s words trail behind me:

“Do I?”

*****

The next few days really test my concept of time. It flies past as the hours tick by without either of us finding our families, anyone in authority to help us, or any answers. It also seems to drag as every second is the same – making fruitless phone calls, checking all the usual places in case someone has returned, having conversations about strategies to scavenge food and power sources “just in case.” It’s a life I would never have believed I’d be living if you’d asked me last week, and it’s also my new normal and a routine Charlie and I have settled into with barely a wobble.

Charlie Spring. He’s probably… yeah, he probably is my best friend right now. 

We know this strange end-times sitch we’re living in isn’t real life, and we’ve even discovered a thing or two that we definitely disagree on. Let’s face it, we’re probably not soulmates. But at the same time, we fit together pretty well, and I am definitely starting to feel like I have a partner in this macabre dance. Maybe good roommates, if not soulmates?

We also have moments where time seems to stretch and settle peacefully around us, the cocoon of nothing that we’re wallowing in almost feeling benign in those moments (almost), tricking me into forgetting that everything is wrong. That this isn’t real life anymore. That this isn’t an alternate universe where Charlie and I have met at uni and are delicately picking our way towards each other through friendship to something more. 

There is nothing delicate about the situation that has thrown us together now. But also…is there something more?

Tonight we’ve cracked open mum’s liquor cabinet; reality may have been getting a bit too much for us. It’s a week or two after we found each other and life still makes no sense, but everything about Charlie does. I have a lot of time to think and reflect these days, and I may have spent more brain power than is strictly necessary trying to figure out the shifting percentages of the portion of my thoughts devoted to Understand Apocalypse versus Soak In Charlie. The balance has been tipping pro-Charles recently.

We’re sitting in our usual spots on the couch (we set up permanent camp at my place after the night Charlie shared some bad memories from his parents’ house, a place he was just visiting that week and hoped not to be stuck in for The End of All Things) when I feel a shift in the air, and I briefly see a rainbow painted in a stripe around the room behind his head. It flickers in and out momentarily and I don’t have a chance to ask Charlie if he saw it before he leans forward to say something to me. Charlie, I’ve learned, is brave – and something in either the alcohol or the metaphysics of it all has called his bravery forward tonight. 

“So, were you being serious the other day? Do you really think you’re so bad at relationships that you caused armageddon?”

I also feel a bit more free thanks to the booze, and I giggle a bit at that.

“What? No, no definitely not.”

“So, you might be willing to entertain the notion again?... In the future… a future where the earth is once again populated?”

I can’t help but smile at the ridiculousness of our entire situation, but that changes nothing about the fact that I’m falling for this guy, head over heels-type situation.

“Well… I didn’t say that.”

“Oh.” I am fucking giddy inside at how dejected he sounds at that. What kind of insane people can fully immerse themselves into getting the hots for someone when reality is crumbling around them? Well, apart from the main protagonist and their partner of every end-times movie ever, apparently Charlie and me, as well.

“You’re just going to assume I meant I’d never entertain that notion ever again? I just meant, no, I don’t need to wait for the future.” I’m a bit clumsy due to the drink but I still have it in me to toss myself closer to Charlie on the couch. 

“Do you… do you mean, now, then?” His voice is soft, because, of course it is – because his lips are soft. And I force myself to speak up again before he comments on how long I’ve been staring at them.

“I don’t know.” I clearly know. “Maybe.” Definitely.

“Would you kiss someone now?”

I could have said ‘I don’t know,’ but what the fuck for? We both know. Charlie however can’t resist one more question.

“Would you kiss me now?”

The “yeah” slips out and dances across the (minimal) space between us. Then, we are kissing. 

*****

It’s nice. Is that insane to say? The world has literally ended, time has stopped (well…), we have been left Home Alone on planet Earth and no one seems to be frantically trying to get back from vacation to take care of us. However; it’s nice to be with Charlie.

We do the nice things mixed with the hard things. We start to stockpile non-perishables from the closest Tesco (only going in during the daytime hours, thank you very much). We drive the car around the block once a week to keep the battery alive but not use up too much petrol. We keep detailed records of useful things we’ve found in our hunting (a generator at the Carlson’s, two streets over; a basement full of canned goods at a shelter on High Street). And in between those activities that fill our days and make us feel like we’ve not given up on humanity altogether, we are intimate.

Don’t be so narrow-minded. Charlie is fucking hot in every way, and I’m talking sexual intimacy, emotional, intellectual, experiential. We have the time and we cover every angle. We cover every inch and every centimetre – soul, heart, mind and body. I might have revised my opinion on us being soulmates, if I believed in that sort of thing, or if I thought the universe had any goodwill towards us at all. But it makes no difference how you want to label it – we’re happy.

And sometimes, on a particularly daring day, we combine the nice things and the hard things – the intimacy and the scrabbling for survival. That’s how we find ourselves one Tuesday (just kidding – I have no idea of the days anymore) searching the halls of a grammar school nearby.

We’ve mostly given up on finding actual people, which causes a gnawing ache deep inside that we don’t really talk about, and now carry out our explorations focused on food, power sources or other things that might defeat boredom. 

It’s raining when we come out of the school, and since literally nothing matters anymore, we stand there on the rugby pitch for a bit, faces to the heavens, letting the water soak into our hair, our clothes, our bones. When I look towards the trees surrounding the property I can see it coming down in sheets. I hear soft thuds and realise it’s the drops hitting the bottom of a large wooden tub sitting by the side of the building. Weird.

It boggles my mind that weather even still exists. How do daylight and moonlight still exist, if my mum and brother don’t? How do clouds know to form and plants know to create oxygen if Nellie doesn’t bark or race anymore?

I might have drifted even further down into my unhelpful spiral if Charlie hadn’t broken my reverie by shifting his balance slightly, and somehow, from that, managing to fall spectacularly. Right into the mud forming in the middle of the pitch. The rain is still pouring down, and his face looks soaked and forlorn, which for some reason only makes me howl with laughter and feel my heart pound for him. 

He is sitting on his arse, making no move to rise but still scowling at me, when I can’t take it anymore, and kind of throw myself down right on top of him. We’re a bit slippery and our kisses are sloppy, but also hot and life-giving. I’m vaguely considering shagging him in the rain and muck because we can when he pulls back just to smile at me. Just to smile. Just at me. Fuck reality, such as it is. This man has stolen my heart and if we have to rebuild the entire goddamn civilisation, we will, because I feel like I can do anything by his side.

“You’ve got some mud on your face, though,” I say aloud, as though he’ll follow the continuation of my thoughts to words. And I reach out as though to brush it off but then I feel his lips on mine again, and his hands on my hips again, and my fucking heart in my goddamn throat. Again.

*****

Charlie is better than me at tracking time, and it’s one day in mid-spring when he shyly comes to tell me that his birthday is coming up. He insists he doesn’t want any kind of anything special at all, and it’s the first time I’ve ever heard anyone say that that I find utterly completely genuine, but I can’t help but want to celebrate him somehow. What can I do, though? What can I give him?

I can’t gather his loved ones, and any reference to them would just be depressing. I can’t really get him an amazing gift since we kind of have access to anything we want anyway (yes I guess we’re looters now, but I would hardly call us the destructive force in this scenario). I can’t even make him some of my excellent baked goods since the utilities began failing one by one over the past few months. Thank fuck he got to taste a variety of my creations back in the early months, when the electricity and gas still ran fine. 

Am I making our existence sound rather bleak? Again, I probably sound like someone who has lost his mind when I say – it’s not, really. We are taking our time to psychologically process the massive trauma that both the earth and the two of us are going through, but in the meantime we’re together, and learning about each other, and delighting in one another. 

You’ve probably read fiction or seen movies where the starring couple must save the universe by fucking (ok, yes, or falling in love ), right? Well. Just think of the two of us as coming at it from a different angle. The universe may be unsaveable in its bizarre death spiral (we certainly haven’t found any way to right it) so instead of fucking for it, we’re fucking during it. In every imaginable way. Now try to remain 100% depressed during days and weeks and months of that? Yeah, exactly. You can’t.

In any case, the only birthday-type present that I can think of that might actually still exist is a nice trip somewhere. Now I can’t take Charlie to France, or Spain, or Australia, or Times Square (what a fucking chaos that must be right now!), obviously, but I can plan a day or two outing to see some lovely local sights. I even know somewhere he’d like to go, but Herne Bay Beach is probably a couple of days walk away (I don’t know; how in the hell would I know that?!) and that’s a bit much to ask someone to do on their birthday. 

So April 27 finds us taking a much shorter trip but charming nonetheless. I remember having visited Leeds Castle years before and I manage to find a book of walking maps in a local bookshop. We head out bright and early; it’s just a few hours’ walk. 

We take some time to wander through the ruins, when we get there, and find a couple of things that feel a bit out of place, but are so interesting. A huge room on the ground floor with enough ornate decoration left over to tell it was clearly a ballroom at one time (yes, I take the opportunity to spin him around a few times while he laughingly protests); in the basement a back room that appears to have an old printing press, pamphlets from some named Lady Whistledown hung to dry about the room, and a sign tacked to the wall with old faded writing: “Wm. Davis and Sons.” I could have sworn I didn’t see those things when I was a kid? Fascinating, though.

We eventually make it back outside. The gardens are truly lovely, though obviously overgrown by this point. It’s really a perfect day with the weather and we have a picnic basket of a few of our favourite things. We’ve brought a few blankets in case we decide to spend the night instead of walking back, and we’re snuggled down comfortably in one of them when I hear Charlie sigh.

He has his head nestled in the crook of my shoulder, but I can still just reach close enough to kiss the crown of his head if I twist my neck a bit, so I do.

“Wot? Wassup?”

The sigh comes again, and I see he’s unconsciously tapping his left back pocket. That’s where he keeps his wallet and that’s where he keeps the last few pictures of his family he has left. I get it. Now I sigh.

“I was thinking about it, too,” I offer before he has a chance to answer. “I wondered. Since this is kind of the farthest afield we’ve gone so far… if maybe.” I surprise myself by getting a bit choked up and can’t finish. Charlie takes over.

“If maybe we would find someone? Not something, some one . Maybe there are people out there that we don’t know about? Just like they always used to say, statistically, there must be other inhabited planets out there, because the numbers just don’t make sense otherwise.” I chuckle tearfully at the comparison because right now, it seems a lot more likely that there are little green people on Mars than that I’ll ever find my family again. Charlie hears the tears in my throat and turns around, lifting his head to rest on my chest and look directly into my eyes.

“Hey,” he says in such a confident, softly caring voice that I wonder how he ever got to be so smooth, “no being sad on my birthday!” 

And I know he knows the depth of my grief, and I know he knows what heights we’ve soared to together, and I know he shares my broken confusion about how we’re existing between the two. And I know him , as he places a hand on my chest and leans in to distract my soul with desire.

*****

Spring is slowly turning into summer, once again completely surprising me that some processes continue as normal. Some seasons flow as they’re meant to and some planets keep turning on their axes and travelling around some stars. I think about that some nights, staring up at the constellations; the same ones I learned as a kid in science class. So what gives, huh, universe? What the fuck gives.

(We’ve had some more weird things happen at home, too. For a while there was a giant pod sitting in the backyard, but even after all our investigating of it for clues, we found nothing really helpful. It was cool when we discovered we could go into the opposite sides and hear each other speak completely clearly, even though we couldn’t see each other, so we played with that for a while. But one day it just disappeared.)

I’m doing some weeding around the edges of the house one day (because why not? We have the rest of the literal planet going back to nature, so we can always find a forest or an overgrown field to tromp through; might as well have something nice and pleasant closer to home) when Charlie comes out to give me a snack. I hear the front door open and straighten up to find him approaching me. 

Except, he stops a few feet out and kinda just… looks at me. He’s got a sandwich plate in his right hand and a glass of water in the other, but makes no move to hand them to me. There’s a soft sweetness in his gaze, and I cross my arms over my chest, smirk, and smile wide and bright.

“What?” I say in a slightly challenging voice.

“What?” Charlie answers back, a bit startled.

“You’re staring.

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Yeah, you were.”

“Do your yardwork.” Charlie scowls playfully and kicks a rock over towards me. I grin and take the snacks out of his hands, walking over to the step to sit and rest while I chew. Charlie follows me with a sheepish glance and lowers himself to lounge beside me. He no-thank-yous my offer of a bite of sandwich, saying he ate earlier. We exist in peaceful silence for a bit as the afternoon sun lengthens and dusk draws closer.

The sandwich bread comes from our dwindling supply that we stockpiled in the neighbour’s freezer, and which we in no way ration because that feels far too much like making plans for an End to it All. Besides, it’s emotional enough without trying to prepare for the inevitable. I would say that the eating of the sandwich reminds me of baking bread, which reminds me of the Before, which reminds me of my mum, which drags my mind around in circles that don’t seem to end. But in fact, I don’t really need to trace a train of thought to figure out where and when a normal everyday idea dovetails into contemplation of the bigger ideas. It all swirls together now. The eternal is in the everyday.

I think I read that on a fucking motivational poster once in some annoying HR person’s office, but turns out…kinda? And not only does the concept of time weave back and forth throughout my new existence, my missing loved ones feel closer these days, too. Sometimes I write a letter to Sai or type out a text to Immy (god, I missed being able to yell at her about Charlie in the early days of Us). Sometimes I imagine visiting my grandparents again. Mostly though, I have chats with mum. 

I haven’t entirely gone daft. I know she’s not there and I don’t hear her answer me. But it’s never made more sense to me that a part of her lives in me, and I feel like I can keep learning and being supported by her even in this weird, severed way. And I feel like Charlie will understand me without even needing to explain it. My thoughts turn into words spoken aloud and I pull him with me.

“You know, I was talking to mum today…”

“Yeah?”

“I told you I came out to her, right?”

“Yeah,” Charlie smiles and puts his hand on my arm. “You showed me the picture you would have used on insta if it was still up and running.”

I can’t help smiling back. “I told her we’re together.”

“What?”

“I told my mum we’re going out.”

“Oh my god, that’s amazing!” Charlie’s pulled me sideways so that we face each other now, and his eyes are shining, and I can’t not laugh with joy at him. I put down my sandwich plate cause it kinda looks like he’s going to jump me.

“You’re amazing,” he continues, and his love and pride for me is so strong that it almost overwhelms me. I drop my head briefly and mumble my next words.

“How are you so good at that.”

Charlie can barely hear me, but he can hear me. “At what, babe?” We haven’t said the word love yet, but we will soon. Timelines are not scary anymore, commitment isn’t scary, the future isn’t scary. Well. The future so far has been just Charlie, every morning, and knowing that whatever we’re going to face, we’ll do it together. Love bubbles out of us. It’ll come up soon.

“At affirming me, even when I say crazy shit? I know we’ve gotten somewhat metaphysical here, living on the edge of reality, but even I know that I’m not actually talking to my mum.”

I feel his hands grip both of my forearms strongly, then release a bit and caress. He shrugs. “Maybe you didn’t really talk to her, because – how could you?” He gestures around us at the general state of things. “But you wanted to. And you practised doing it. And you probably imagined how she would react. You lived it as best as you can now.” 

He is so proud of me it hurts. I know I am going to get some sweet lovin’ later too, which doesn’t hurt my mental and emotional state. Still, though, when Charlie says the next thing–

“And someday you’ll tell her for real”-

And I don’t know if I believe that it’s really even a possibility anymore that our families and friends will ever return – it still stings.

*****

It’s been over a year now, by Charlie’s count. We even had a little anniversary dinner by candlelight one night. And then did some other things. Also involving candles. And a few other items scavenged from a… specialty store… some months back. I am also not complaining whatsoever about all the free time in the boudoir. If real life ever bounces back I dare say I might even miss it.

We’re into July and the summer nights are lovely and long. We still have decent amounts of electrical power, thanks to the Carlson’s generator and others we found later on. There are lots of things we can’t control, though, so even though we can charge our computers and use them fairly frequently, we can’t exactly stream Netflix anymore. I never knew the true meaning of the word embarrassing until we had to reveal to each other what Netflix items we already had downloaded. Charlie’s computer (which we rescued from his place a few days after he moved into mine) was partially full of historical documentaries about ancient Greece and Rome; mine had a long list of Brooklyn Nine-Nine episodes and various cheerleading reality shows. Why bother naming them, I watched ‘em all. (The trailer that showed up in my downloads for some bizarre game-show looking thing, with a whole lot of people in green jumpsuits looking extremely worried facing some improbable-looking pastel stairs, was not originally mine and I have no idea how it got there.)

I also had a favourite movie or two on the hard drive, and while we’ve cycled through everything (and yes, attempted to do a few cheer moves on particularly boring afternoons), we always come back to the classics. We’re watching Pirates of the Caribbean tonight, and just like every time, it makes me fucking grateful to be who I am. Can you imagine a straight guy waking up on a planet with only one other dude on it? Poor hetero people. They miss out at every turn, honestly.

Speaking of missing out, what the fuck, Charlie! He’s reading a book while Captain Jack Sparrow is… Captain Jack Sparrowing! Maybe he’s trying to channel his old friend Isaac who he’s told me so much about, and I feel a little tug at my heartstrings. Instead of wrestling the book away from him playfully as I was going to, I decide to take it a little easy on him in case he’s having a moment. I press pause on the movie and gently push the book down so I can see his breathtaking face.

“Babe? Everything ok?” He does look ok, actually, and he answers me with a steady voice.

“All good. I’m just over here acting like a gay nerd.”

“Well, you kind of are a gay nerd.”

His laugh has this thing… god, I don’t even know how to explain it. It has this thing ? That I need an audio of so I can listen over and over? Like if this was real life and I had to go to an office all day and I missed him until I came home at night, but I could always listen to that one voicemail he left about a grocery list he made but he forgot to write down rocket and then went on a tangent about how they call it arugula in North America before he started saying it in funny voices - kind of similar to how you would say awooga - and then he just lost it giggling, saying it over and over because “it sounds so silly” so I saved it in my inbox forever. Yeah. That kind of laugh.

He giggles now. “Shut up, rugby lad.”

I haul myself up from the couch and lean over him on my forearms - I was actually about to go to the kitchen to get some snacks, but first I hover my body over his and pepper his neck with little butterfly kisses. Dozens. There – that got me several additional giggles.

Finally I stand up with a grunt. I’m headed into the kitchen and I yell back over my shoulder, “I’m going to make popcorn. Do you prefer sweet or salted? Or we could have a mix of both?” I don’t hear anything back and wonder if he got engrossed in the book again. “Char?”

I’m opening the cabinet when he slams into me, grabbing me around the waist and squeaking directly into my left ear. 

“Char?!”

Oops. I feel the blush starting already and reach up to worry at the little neck hairs. “Uh…wow, that just slipped out.”

“Oh my god, say it again!”

How is his voice so giddy but also so sultry at the same time? I turn around, letting his arms slip around me so they’re still encircling me, but now our eyes and our hearts and our everythings face each other. 

“I’ll keep saying it until the end of time,” I say, without a hint of irony.

*****

CHARLIE

Life is strange. 

LIfe was always strange, and difficult, and disappointing, and a struggle. It was good things, too. Things like beloved friends, and family on a good day, and interesting books to read, and drums to bang. But no matter how high the highs and how low the lows, and no matter how bizarre my weirdest day in my Before life was, it never got this strange.

Today I wake up in a stranger’s bed.

Not the good kind of stranger’s bed, either. Not the kind after a night at the club and a few too many drinks and a stumbling snog back to his. The other kind. You know, the kind where humanity has vanished and you break into random homes when you need a place to sleep.

Of course we don’t do this too much, Nick and I. We usually stay at our place, but we decided to make this trek to the shore, and it’s way too long to do in one day, so we stayed overnight on the way. Actually we stayed in two different places, because we arrived late in the afternoon yesterday and wanted to get a good night’s rest before enjoying the beach all day today. On the way, we passed that gigantic new American Embassy building, inexplicably in completely the wrong part of the country. Just another thing showing our reality is coming apart at the seams, but my mind is used to ignoring stuff like that by now.

We. Nick and I. Our place. I smile to myself as I roll those words around in my mind, not unlike the way Nick rolled me around in his mouth last night. This may have been the strangest year of my life, but I still found some things that I had been seeking. Or even, things I had been missing without realising I needed to seek.

I found Nick, of course. I found this big oaf of a man who writes poetry when he looks into my eyes (not even fucking joking), and then twelve seconds later can turn on a dime and hoist me up over his shoulder and the thousand butterflies in my stomach explode at the thought of what is to come when he tosses me down on the bed upstairs and has his way with me. 

Oops, I’m getting excited now and Nick isn’t even awake, I don’t think. I look slightly to my left and there he is, snoring only very lightly, looking exceedingly at home in this stranger’s bed. Whoever the stranger is had damn good taste in sheets, though. We found these Egyptian cotton covers in a linen cupboard and made good use.

Nick isn’t the only thing I found, though. I found new ideas and knowledge of things past and present (and maybe future?). I’ve made my way through so many amazing libraries in the past year, including private ones. Found an interesting flat a few blocks away, a beautiful three story place, with an amazing queer literature collection. Spent many a lazy afternoon reading about cyborgs and goddesses and feeling my brain expand and stretch in the best way.

Also (and again, this is about me, not about Nick), I learned more about what I want in a sexual relationship. Some of those books in those libraries? Yeah, they had pictures. And we have free time and access to multiple Tescos’ lube sections and good communication. Because that is key.

If you had asked me a year or so ago, I would have said the things I most wanted to work on in my life were my career plans and my relationship with my mum. Both disappeared in a poof one day, early last summer, but I’ve also spent a lot of time thinking about both. Daydreams of ideal situations, imagined conversations where I finally say what I feel, and polishing of the ol’ CV like has never been done before. 

Do I think I will ever get a chance to put any of this into practice? Do I think that somehow reality is going to snap back to the way it was, not a hair out of place, return to the routine? 

Huh. Now that I put it that way… no.

Okay, I don’t actually know if humanity will ever reappear. I don’t know where the fuck they’ve gone or why. I can’t think about that too much or my brain starts hurting. However. Let’s say they do come back at some point. Even if everything was as it was – I’m not as I was. I won’t be able to return to the routine of masking and repressing that I had with my mum. I won’t be satisfied with her not seeing me for who I am. (And the whole job thing – well, that’ll just depend on what sectors of the economy un-blip.)

So yeah. When you think about it, even if everything were the same, nothing would be the same. I am changed. I am made new. And I think I’m going to be loud about it now.

This fucker can apparently read minds. I didn’t even realise he was awake, and he’s just grabbed me with sneak attack tickling hands and I am yelling at the top of my lungs. Definitely gonna miss not needing to modulate personal noises if it ever comes to that.

After a bit of light morning bedroom exercise and a breakfast of some prepared foods from our packs, we get ready and head out. I give the doorframe an awkward, “thank you” pat as we exit. 

It felt a little weird to sleep away from home (to sleep in someone else’s space without permission? A reminder that there isn’t anyone to give permission?) but my thoughts this morning were affirming, and my activities energising, and my spirits are now lifting as we approach the beach. I even break into a run as we get close enough to hear the surf, pulling Nick by his hand.

Some deserted places are creepy just by their mere existence. An empty convenience store or airport feels wrong somehow. An empty beach, though? You can pretend it’s just early morning at your resort and no one else is up yet. Or my favourite, it’s an uncharted desert isle that you’ve just discovered and you’re going to stake your claim on the beachfront (or Nick’s favourite, that you’ve stumbled onto the local nude beach and you might as well give it a try before it gets too crowded later on?).

Herne Bay Beach is desolate, just like everywhere else my feet and gaze have touched in the last 14 months, but Nick seems like he’s determined to fill it. He’s pulled me around everywhere, grabbing my face to smooch as we’re walking on the boardwalk; poking his head into shop windows; studying faded menus painted on the sides of old beach shack restaurants. We finally end up relaxing on two colourful beach towels on the pebbles, listening to the surf with one ear and sharing headphones with the other. 

I’m living in the tension here, just like every other day. Life is strange and there are deep, lacerating unanswered questions – but I’m also happy, and growing, and want for no material thing. 

That tension – it’s always kind of a low hum? But lying on the beach here, I am… hearing something more? Some kind of jumbled noises, at just a low volume for now. Almost sounds like chit-chat at a cocktail party. I take out my headphones and sit up straight to attempt to hear better. This causes the headphone to pull out of Nick’s ear, at which he comments: “Woah. What was that for?”

When I don’t answer he rises slowly as well, and lays his hand on my arm. “Everything ok?”

I almost open my mouth to reassure him, but the low buzz has picked up a bit more and I feel distracted. I – oh jesus. I am actually hearing discernible words now, picking out a few voices here and there as they seem to move through the atmosphere. This does not bode well. 

Nick looks a little worried watching my face, and I wish I could tell him everything was fine, but I’m actually getting a little concerned. Is my fragile mental health disintegrating before our very eyes? 

I’ve noticed something about the growing cacophony (which apparently is only in my ears and not his) - there are voices that I recognise?? I swear once in a while I hear Tao’s deadpan monotone, or Elle’s reassuring pitch. Other background voices sound familiar, too, as though they already had bit parts in my life and they used to be a part of my soundtrack.

There are also, though, voices I don’t feel or hear any connection to. They feel farther away, but also are so noisy. 

I clutch at Nick’s arm now, as the realisation that the crazy voices in my head are loud and distinct enough to analyse. There’s a “but miss, I can’t run” and a “I wasn’t born in the 18th century” over here, and a “did you try unplugging the router?” over there. It makes no sense. I feel a little dizzy and I can tell Nick is getting concerned.

Before I know it, I’ve been swept up in Nick’s arms, and as he’s already stood up, we tower over the sand. “Wha…wha…what are you doing?”

“There we go, come on.” I’m literally in his arms as he strides about the beach and that fact quiets the voices for a half second. “You were looking like you were about to faint. Plus this gives me an excuse to dangle you over the water. A nice bracing ocean breeze is good for your health, you know?” He smiles mischievously as he wades around.

I shriek briefly “don’t you dare drop me!” but I trust his strong hold on me. I know he won’t drop me. But the chaos, it seems, is coming up to meet me.

“Are you doing landscapes this year?”

“See if you can refresh the page.”

“If you’re going to ask if he can come on our Menorca holiday this year, the answer’s no cos I’ve already booked the tickets.”

“It was supposed to drop like 3 minutes ago already.”

I’m hanging desperately off Nick’s neck now in a terrified way, rather than romantic. Something is awfully wrong, new and worse from the regular-everyday-awfully-wrong. Nick can see I’m starting to freak out and lowers me to the ground carefully. His arms are still around me and that’s good, I can feel him anchoring me. But the noises in my head haven’t calmed. 

I seem to hear a crowd of young people cheering on some kind of sports match, and at the same time on the other side of my brain there are increasingly annoying people complaining about some technological thing that isn’t working. I raise my hands to cover my ears as though the noises aren’t all coming from within. I hear myself coming full circle from that day in the hedgerow when I asked Nick if he’s seen anyone – except now I want to know if he’s hearing anyone.

Before I can say a word, though, he’s placed his hands over mine on my ears, and it somehow calms me. “Nick,” I say, the emotion in my voice loud and clear. I can hear his voice only somewhat muffled, but I know what he’s saying. 

“Hi,” he intones, and absolutely everything is in that word. All the crashing banging discord in the background rises to a fever pitch and then suddenly ceases, replaced by a hush hanging over the universe, and then an answering ‘hi.’ 

I realise it’s me saying the word back to Nick.

I’m saying it as I walk into the house one evening after work and am greeted by that same golden smile and crushing hug my love gives me every day. Traffic is rushing by outside, and Nick’s phone, clutched in his right hand, is lighting up with a text from Tara, and there is a golden retriever boof-ing and dancing at my feet, excited for our evening walk.

We haven’t gone back in time, I don’t think, because I’m the same person I built up through all those months of struggle. We’ve jumped, somehow, through time and space and hope, and landed, running, together.

Oh. OH. 

Wait. Something is coming back to me. And as the memories crash back into my brain, causing just the very slightest headache; I notice Nick is grinning at me mischievously.

“What?” I say, touching the pads of my right pointer and middle fingers to my temple gently. I feel something very familiar about all of this, and start to probe around inside my newly returned memories.

Nick’s mum walks out of the kitchen and greets me like she hasn’t seen me in a year.

“Charlie love! Welcome back.” Back. Right.

I’m back. From the war? From the office? From the brink? Where did I go exactly?

I am sensing Sarah understands my confusion all too well. Without my even noticing it, she has gripped me by the elbow and guided me to sit at the kitchen table. Nick, who apparently re-adjusted to this normal faster than me, is making tea.

“Charlie,” Sarah is sitting at my side, projecting warmth, security and reassurance. “Let me explain. You are beloved.”

This already makes no sense. She lays her hand on my forearm and I can tell she’s hoping to wipe the confusion off my face.

“You and Nick. You are beloved by so many, for giving hope. You share your lives with people all over the world, who find hope and answers and strength in what you show about your journeys.”

This is starting to sound correct to me. I am starting to remember the fire in my gut when I agreed to share my struggles and my comforts with the whole world, with the hope that they too could find joy. 

Yes, I remember that now. And each of our stories, and also our story together, were told, and the reaction was difficult sometimes, but it led to extraordinary healing and fierce promise in so many, many lives. I look up at Sarah and know she can see the realisation dawning on my face.

“Oh, Sarah, I remember now. I just… I still just don’t understand where I blipped away to for a bit, though?”

“Oh that!” Her smile is clearly hiding some greater mirth. “Yeah, um… you two got stuck in the ether somehow, mixed up with a bunch of other Netflix shows in some kind of limbo. Sometimes that happens… wifi is a funny thing…”

*****

AUGUST 3, AROUND ABOUT MIDNIGHT PST

“Okay, it’s fine now, it’s starting!”

“What the fuck, Netflix; you scared me. There are people on every continent trying to stream Season 2, like now, and that black screen of death? For that long? Get it together, global streaming behemoth, you can’t buffer for that long and expect us to survive!”

“Alright, jesus, shush – just watch already??”