Archive of Our Own

On a cold winter’s night many years ago, a shooting star, a sprinkle of solstice magic, and a wish from a lonely young man made something wondrous happen.

But before I tell you that part of the story, I must explain how we got here.

You see, Nicholas Nelson was fifteen years old when his mother and father announced that they were moving to a small village in southern England. His brother David was nearly twenty, and as such would be staying close to London where he only had a year left of his apprenticeship with a silversmith.

Nicholas was deeply unhappy about the move. He had not yet taken an apprenticeship of his own, choosing instead to assist his mother at home during the many months of the year that his father spent in France. While his friends were often busy learning their trades, they were still nearby, so he was not alone all of the time. Moving to a new village meant never seeing friends again.

He no longer had studies, and their small village already had a baker, so there was no need to assist his mother in the kitchen. In his ample time he tried to read, but his mind grew weary of the monotony. Many times he found himself staring out the window at brown dirt paths and brown leaves on the grass and brown trees with bare branches. The only break to the endless autumn browns was the deep green of the great yew tree several metres from his front door.

A few weeks passed in this manner until mid December, when frost greeted the earth each morning and the fire in the hearth grew larger each night in hopes that the heat would last through the night after the fire was out.

❄️

The first day of the great snow, Nicholas awoke shivering in his bed. He sat up and realised the room was much brighter than it had been in weeks.

A thick blanket of snow lay over the ground, the eaves, and the branches of trees, and more was falling from the sky.

Nicholas stared out the window forlornly as the snow fell, large flakes drifting down out of a white-grey sky. 

“Oh, Nicky.” His mother’s sad voice broke through his thoughts. “I do hate to see you like this. Why don’t you go play in the snow?”

“With who?” he asked with a pout, not bothering to even lift his head to look up at her.

She tutted. “When you were little, you could play out there for hours on your own, throwing snowballs at anything that moved and catching snowflakes on your tongue. Have a little imagination, Nicky, I think it will surprise you.”

He rolled his eyes but grunted his agreement, rolling off the couch and putting on his winter gear with sluggish, half-hearted movements.

Outside, the world felt so different. The way the thick blanket of snow muted the world created a hush that felt almost reverent. As Nick gazed around, the dull, pale grey was mottled with white and shades of blue, flecks of brown and green visible near the edge of the wood.

He pulled in a deep breath, and the cold air in his chest was invigorating.

He started with snowballs, making an arsenal of them and then throwing them at a massive yew tree.

When he tired of that, he looked round. The river was topped with sheets of ice but was far from frozen over yet, so skating would not be possible.

Nicholas sighed. The snow held something magical, but he longed for someone to share it with. And so he began to make a snowman.

He slowly formed the base, rolling a snowball in more and more snow until it was nearly a metre tall. He rolled it over beside the trunk of the yew and turned to start on the next portion.

When the snow was stacked, Nicholas stepped back. In his youth he had made many snowmen, rolling perfect spheres of snow and placing coal or stones on the top to create a cheery face. That day, though, he no longer had the childlike skill to suspend his disbelief. He ached to see a real person, to have a friend his own age.

Thus he stepped up close to the head, just a few centimetres shorter than himself, and began to brush snow away, forming the shape of a jaw and a nose, hollowing out the space under the brow where a boy’s eyes would be, and carefully shaping the rest of him.

He next looked at the snow-person’s bulbous torso. There was far less detail work to be done, and soon he had brushed aside lighter snow and packed in more where it was dense to create the rough form of a person, lines on the sides to delineate arms.

The legs were finished soon after that, and Nicholas ran inside to grab a hat and scarf. He placed them with care, then stood back once again to admire his snowman.

He was perfect.

“Oh, Nicky, he looks like a lovely boy!” his mother said when he came inside for tea, praising his efforts to create something out of snow.

Nicholas smiled and looked out the window at his creation. “Yeah, he does.”

“You seemed much more yourself out there today.”

He turned towards her in surprise. “Did I? Hmm.”

Their evening meal was a quiet affair. Nicholas was in better spirits, to be sure, but his many hours outside had worn him out. His mother permitted him to go to bed just after supper, saying she would take care of cleaning up.

Once dressed for bed, Nick looked out the window. His snow-person stood smiling, welcoming. He waved, feeling a little silly as he knew the figure wouldn’t see, but it felt wrong to ignore him — while leaving him out in the cold.

The second morning dawned bright and clear. As Nicholas sat up and stretched, a fluttering of colour caught his eye. A blue and yellow bird was hopping along the shoulder of the snow-person he’d made the previous day.

He smiled at the sight. Something about the pleasant face made him uniquely happy. Eager to go back outside, he dressed in warm clothing and ran to the front room, greeting his mother with a kiss before he shoved on his boots.

His mother watched, standing just inside their home with the door open. “You should give him a name,” she called cheerfully as he ran to greet the snow friend.

“Oh? Hmm. What would be a good name for you?” He looked at the blue eyes and small, sure smile in the face of his creation. He thought through the names of his friends and acquaintances, but none of them fit. “What do you think of Charles?”

“Charles is a good name,” his mum said, still looking on. “Charlie.”

Nicholas smiled. Charlie. It suited him.

He took a sledge up to the nearest hill, riding it down towards the yew tree a few times. Charlie was there to greet him every time, and eventually Nick tired of playing in that manner on his own. He couldn’t explain it, but there was something about the boy made of snow that pulled him back every time, so he took a small piece of bread and an apple outside and ate them by the tree with his company.

The cold clung to Nick’s bones as he sat, but the bright sun was enough to cause a little snowmelt. He worried, fearing Charlie would not last, and willed the night to come sooner and the temperatures to drop once more.

He was bitterly cold that night but thankful that it meant Charlie would be preserved.

The following day, he ran outside to check on his snow friend. His breath caught at his finding: the melting snow refroze overnight, and Charlie was now pale blue, encased in ice. The eyes in particular caught Nicholas off guard. They sparkled in the sun, and the way the light reflected and refracted made them seem… lifelike. A shiver ran down Nicholas’ neck that had little to do with the cold.

The snow was less inviting on the fourth morning. It was the day before the longest night of the year, and dark grey clouds had drifted in while they slept, and large snowflakes fell in sheets as the sky rumbled.

His father arrived shortly before supper in a coach they had never seen before. Two footmen aided him and brought his bags into the house. Nicholas brushed the snow off his mittens and hat and rushed inside to help his mother hastily prepare food for three more than she had expected.

“Who are they?” Nicholas whispered to her when the men took their leave to Stéphane’s study to discuss their matters privately.

His mother shrugged. “Employed by some dignitary your father has ingratiated himself with, no doubt. He assures me they will depart in the morning.”

On the fifth day, he returned to the snow, but not to play. His father insisted that Nicholas accompany him to cut down a tree, as every household in the village must contribute wood to the solstice bonfire that night. As they walked, his father spoke to Nicholas about the conversations he had had with important people in Paris. He spoke of politics and revolution and the colonies. Though Nicholas did not understand much of it, he knew that these conversations behind closed doors inside buildings with ornate walls were discussing war. He had no interest in politics or war, so instead he focussed on how cold his nose and cheeks felt and the sounds his boots made with every step as they crunched in the fresh snow.

When there was a moment of silence, Nicholas detailed all the things he had done that week: the snow balls, sledging, the snow-person he created. His father scowled.

“Pah, Nicolas, you must not waste your time with childish nonsense like that. You are nearly a man! I will speak to some of the men in Paris when I return; perhaps there is an assignment you can undertake.”

“No, Papa—“ Nick began with a whine, but Stéphane cut him off.

“No! You will not argue. It is time. You are old enough to contribute to the good of your country. And tomorrow you must get rid of that ridiculous snowman.”

The fire in the village roared that night, crackling and flickering as the people fed it endless wood. Nicholas looked around at the other boys his age as they played and fought. He was invited to join, but the alcohol was sour on their breath when they came over to him laughing, and he wrinkled his nose and shook his head.

As he rounded the top of the hill and could see home once again, Nicholas looked longingly at his snow-person — Charlie. He yearned for a friend, physically ached for someone to talk to, someone who would listen. He dreaded the thought that Charlie might be ruined tomorrow, hated his father for the mere suggestion.

When his parents were long gone to bed, Nick quietly emerged from the bedroom. He pulled on his boots and winter cloak and slipped out the door to greet the boy of snow.

“Hi,” he said in a sullen tone, staring into icy eyes. “I wanted to say farewell now, while you’re still here. I do not know if Papa was serious that you can’t stay. Thank you for listening.”

Nick wiped a tear from his cheek and flopped back in the snow. He stared at the sky, longing for a real friend and confidant, someone to speak words back to him, to reach out a hand in comfort.

As he gazed up, a star streaked across the eastern sky. Nick gasped. “Did you see that?!” he whispered excitedly.

No answer came, of course. He sighed and pushed himself up. He gave one last, long look at the snowy figure. “I wish you were real,” he whispered, and leaned in to kiss the boy’s cheek.

Nicholas dreamt that night, but his only recollection when he awoke was the sound of giggling.

He sat up in bed and peered out the window, and his heart squeezed.

The snow-person was gone.

Charlie was gone.

❄️

He looked up the steep slope. The thick snow obscured the terrain that lay underneath, but it would be a far shorter journey than taking the path around the wood.

Just as he neared the top of the ridge, he could not find secure footing on roots or rocks, and he slipped, falling into a snowbank. He huffed, thankful no one had witnessed that. Before he could wrestle his way up to standing, though, someone giggled. It was a soft, airy sound, and he knew immediately that he wanted to hear it again.

He looked around for the source of the laughter and what he saw took his breath away.

A boy close to his own age was bundled in snow boots and a coat with a familiar hat and scarf, watching him.

“Hi,” he said ever so hesitantly, afraid to break whatever spell was on them just then.

The boy grinned. “Hi!”

Nick knew that smile. He had spent the last several days staring at that twinkle in icy blue eyes. But… how could it be?

“Charlie?” he whispered.

The boy’s eyes grew wide. “That’s — is that my name?”

“Um. Y-yeah. That’s what I called you, I think?” Nicholas stammered. “Unless…”

“Yes!” Charlie beamed. “You called me Charlie when I was cold.”

“You remember? ” His jaw was open in bewilderment. “How? How are you here and talking to me?”

Charlie tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“Ice and snow don’t normally come alive.”

That smile again… Charlie had dimples! Nicholas briefly wondered where those came from, because he had not given Charlie dimples. “But you made a wish that I would.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

His stomach fluttered as Charlie blinked slowly, awaiting his answer. His eyelashes were so long! “Um. I wanted a friend. And you… something about you was special.”

“Yeah.” Charlie hummed. “I think there must be something special about you, as well.”

Nicholas smiled and felt his chest swell with warmth and pride that Charlie thought he was special.

“I don’t know your name, though.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m Nicholas. Or Nick.”

“Hi, Nick.”

“Hi.”

He began to register the cold and wet beneath him and realised he was still resting in the snow bank. He twisted and wrenched himself up to standing and brushed the snow off his trousers. Only then did he recall his task.

“Um. I must keep going if I’m to be home by nightfall. W-would you like to join me?”

“Yes!” Charlie beamed once again. “Where are we going?”

“Mum needs spices that our village does not carry. I am sent to buy some from the market in town.”

“I see.”

“It is a long journey. I’ll understand if you can’t join me the whole way.”

Charlie shrugged and giggled a little. “What else have I to do?”

They talked the entire walk, about everything and nothing. Nicholas told Charlie everything about his family: his horrible brother David and how fickle his father had always been, and he spoke of his mother and how much he loved the love and warmth and strength that she exuded. He talked about how much he hated moving here and about his friends he feared he would not see again (and the friends he rejoiced to never see again).

Charlie had many questions for him about the world around them, about people and their customs. He was sharp, Nick soon realised, understood quickly, and asked meaningful questions. A day before, he would have considered Charlie thoughtful and compassionate, simply because he listened (what more could he do?). Now he knew it to be true. He had never felt so cared for by a friend.

By the time they neared home, the boys had spent hours talking and laughing and racing one another up hills. Nicholas had yet to give any thought to how life might otherwise change with Charlie living and breathing beside him.

His house came into view, and suddenly he had questions.

“Where will you sleep?”

“Where I always do,” Charlie said with a shrug, pointing to the great yew.

“What?!” Nick gaped at him. “Charlie, you can’t sleep outside in the cold, you’ll freeze!”

Charlie giggled. “I really do think I’ll be fine, Nick. I still came from ice, didn’t I?”

“Okay, okay.” He turned then to properly look at his friend in the moonlight. His eyes were incredibly blue even at night. “Can I see you tomorrow?”

Charlie smiled. “I hope so.”

“Great! There’s a clearing not too far into the wood,” Nicholas pointed in the direction he meant. “Meet me there?”

“Okay.”

As Nick kept going towards the house, he looked back. Charlie was watching him, still smiling, and raised a hand to wave goodbye.

He slipped out the door early the next morning with bread and cheese wrapped up, eager to meet Charlie at the place they’d agreed upon the night before.

When he reached the clearing, Charlie was balancing on a large fallen tree trunk, breathing out slowly so he could see his breath.

Nick grinned. Charlie had not noticed him yet, so he quietly crouched and scooped up some snow in his hand, packing it tightly before letting it fly.

“Oof!” Charlie never saw the snowball. It landed squarely on the side of his head and he looked startled. By the time he looked around for a better understanding of what had just happened, Nicholas already had another snowball at the ready.

“Did you do that?!” Charlie demanded.

Nick shrugged. “I may have.”

Charlie looked annoyed. He jumped down from the trunk and began walking over. “What was it?”

He grinned. Charlie was a perfect target now, hardly two metres from him. He threw the second snowball and cheered victoriously as it hit his friend’s shoulder.

“Nick! Why would you do that?!” When he looked closely, Charlie was bewildered and perhaps even upset with him.

“Because it’s fun?” Nick smiled and made a third snowball, but handed it to Charlie. “Here. Your turn.”

It took Charlie a bit of practice to hit his targets, but soon they were in a full-on snowball fight, each laughing and shrieking as their hits landed and the freezing cold projectiles shocked the other.

Some time later, the boys were a pile of limbs and scarves as they collapsed against the tree trunk, still giggling as best they could, though they were out of breath from their fight.

Nicholas looked over to see Charlie looking adorably dishevelled. His cheeks were red and his cap was slipping off. And oh—

“Your hair!” he exclaimed as he reached out and ran his fingers through sable curls.

Charlie looked up, surprised, and Nick withdrew his hand from the boy’s hair. “Is it — is it bad?” Charlie asked shyly.

“No!” He hastened to assure his friend. “No, you look — it looks great! I just… I didn’t know what to do for hair, so I stuck the cap over your head. I did not notice that it was curly yesterday.”

His eyes flicked across Charlie’s face and back up to the curls sticking out of his cap. He smiled and tugged on one of the boy’s locks, watching it spring back into place.

Charlie simply stared at him as the moment passed, his mouth open in a small smile. He huffed out a laugh as the curl fell back onto his forehead, and there it was — the twinkle in his eyes that pulled at something in Nick’s chest.

Nicholas pushed up on the tree and scrambled to his feet. He staggered over to the middle of the clearing and sat once more, this time lying down in the snow.

Charlie laughed. “What are you doing?”

From his vantage point Nick could only see the sky, so he called out, “Making snow angels!” He fanned his arms up and down at his sides and kicked his legs out a couple of times.

A moment later Charlie had joined him. “You’re going to look even worse than yesterday when you finally sit up, you know,” he teased, but he lay back and made a snow angel of his own.

When they had stilled, Nicholas looked over. Charlie smiled sweetly, and they lay there beside one another watching the snow that was falling once again.

❄️

Nicholas hated every moment his father was home. It itched at him, as if he could not be at home in his very skin around the man. He could not remember a time when a visit from Stéphane did not put both him and his mother on edge. Though it was Yuletide and they were meant to be merry, the man was often dour, barking orders, or making jokes Nicholas did not understand (though he secretly suspected he did understand them and they just were not humorous). Every time Stéphane tried to recall a detail of their lives, they had to correct him, and eventually his frustration got the better of him and he snapped at Sarah or Nick.

This visit was no different. In his home, Nicholas stood up straight, plastered on an expression of a good listener, and gave his father the appearance of his full attention. Inwardly, he cringed, grew bored, daydreamed of snow and Charlie and —

“Nicholas!”

Nick shook his head, clearing his thoughts. “What? Oh…”

His father looked perturbed, but said nothing. He simply nodded towards the house. “Your mother is calling you. Go.” He turned his back to Nick and began to walk off in the direction of the village centre.

“Are you… not coming inside?”

Stephane looked back. “I have… there is someone I must meet with.”

Nicholas ran inside to the house and shut the door, watching by the window until his father disappeared from view.

His shoulders relaxed as he turned to face his mother.

“I doubt he’ll be home before morning,” she said in a clipped voice, but her countenance brightened when she met Nicholas’ eyes. “We’ll have a lovely Christmas Eve, then, won’t we?”

He laughed and nodded.

“Go clean up, supper will be on the table in a moment!”

When Nicholas returned to the table, he joined his mum, giving her hand a squeeze as he thanked her.

“So,” she said with a sly smile after they had eaten in silence for a few minutes. “You’ve been disappearing quite often.”

“Have I?” Nicholas asked. Of course he knew she was correct. “Oh, well… with Papa being around…”

He gestured vaguely out the window where they’d watched Stephane go earlier. When he met his mother’s eyes again, he shrugged. “It is easier than being near.”

He watched as a look of amusement flashed across her features. “I know that well. That doesn’t explain why you have such a wide smile on your face every day when you return. Hm?”

Nicholas felt his face grow warm and ducked his head to hide. He dipped his bread in his stew and tore off a large bite. He let a semi-comfortable silence fall as he chewed his food, looking around the room and taking in the holly and extra candles that were hung for the season.

His mother eventually chuckled and shook her head. “Well, I’m glad you are having fun. I would love to meet whoever has you so happy.

❄️

Christmas was fraught with tension with Stéphane home, and Nicholas was glad when it ended. The new year brought more cold to the dreary village, but January began much sunnier than December had. Stéphane had left for Paris again a mere two days after Christmas, and the atmosphere at home was much warmer. Additionally, Nick no longer felt that bone-deep loneliness. He had Charlie now, and Charlie was enough. He was the dearest friend Nicholas had ever had, and often he longed to express that in ways he never had for a friend before. No hug or squeeze of Charlie’s hand felt like enough, though, and so he kept his confusing feelings to himself.

As January drifted into February, the boys continued to tire themselves out. Sledging, skating on the river that had frozen over, fencing with icicles snapped from thick branches.

On a night in early March, Nick took a stub of a candle his mother had not used in some time and went to find Charlie.

The boy was sitting against a tree near the river and slightly hidden from view, nestled in a blanket Nicholas had brought him a few weeks prior.

“What are you doing?” Nick asked as he sat down beside his friend.

Charlie hardly glanced towards him, just pointed a ways down the river. There, just off the riverside path, were a man and woman kissing.

Nick felt his neck grow warm. “Oh. Er… we probably shouldn’t watch,” he said in a low voice.

Charlie looked at him with surprise. “Why not?”

“I… A kiss is usually a private moment between a man and a woman. They don’t know we’re here watching. If they did, they would likely move along to find someplace where they could be properly alone.”

Charlie hummed, but turned back to look at the couple once more. By now they were walking away, the woman’s arm wrapped around the man’s.

When they had gone from view, Nicholas began making snowballs as they sat in a pleasant silence. He placed a few in a circle, then began stacking another circle on top.

He stole glances at Charlie as he worked, but the boy was somewhere else, staring at nothing, a thoughtful look on his face.

He didn’t look over as Nick made the lantern. He didn’t look over when Nick pulled the stub of a candle from his coat. It was only as the flame lit when Nicholas struck the match that Charlie looked up with a gasp.

“What are you doing?” the boy asked, gazing down at the snowballs.

Nick smiled secretively but did not answer. He placed the flickering candle in the centre of the circle and finished stacking the snowballs in a cone-like shape. 

The light shone through the gaps between snow and the snowballs themselves took on a slight blue glow.

“Oh!” Charlie stared down at the lantern enchanted. “It’s beautiful.”

As Charlie watched the light streaming through the lantern, Nick watched Charlie. The boy’s face was a similar shape to the one he had formed from snow, but the soft curls, the curve in each dimple, the pink of his cheeks in the cold… these were irrefutable evidence that Charlie was real and here and fairer than Nicholas could have dreamt up.

“Nick?” Charlie’s voice drew him back from his thoughts. “Why do people kiss?”

His heart thudded in his chest. “Erm… I suppose they kiss because- because they care for one another.”

“Like we do?”

He hesitated to answer. There was something he dared not name in his chest, something staring back at him from Charlie’s icy blue eyes.

“Well… no. We’re both boys.” It pained him to say it.

“What does that matter, if we care for each other?”

“It just — I don’t know. It just does. It matters to… people.” He could barely get the words out.

Charlie’s eyes fell. “Oh.”

Nicholas had not realised that Charlie was leaning in until he saw the boy pull himself back. Thoughts and emotions swirled in his mind. Why was Charlie asking this? Why now? Why did it matter if they were boys? What would happen if they kissed? Did he himself even want that? —

He could only answer one question for himself.

“Charlie?” he asked in a tremulous whisper. “Did you want to kiss me?”

“Yes.”

Nicholas looked down. Their mittened hands lay so close to each other.

“Would you?” The hope and vulnerability in Charlie’s eyes gave Nick no other choice. He didn’t really want another choice.

“Yes,” he said as he covered Charlie’s hand with his own.

They both began to lean in ever so slowly, gazes flickering between eyes and lips. Their breath, visible in the cold night air, mingled between them until they met.

It was a brief kiss, but tender. Charlie’s lips were full and soft and warm as they pressed against his own once, twice, three times. Too soon he pulled away, and Nick’s lips were left colder than they were before. The phantom feeling remained, though, and he tried his best to capture the memory so he could relive it over and over again. He shivered.

“Are you well?” Charlie asked, a gentleness in his expression.

“I— Yes, I’m… that was…”

Charlie chuckled softly in understanding. “Yes, it was.”

They grinned at each other, until Nick’s yawn broke the giddy spell between them. He laughed. “I suppose I ought to go home and sleep.”

The boys both stood, and Charlie draped his blanket over his shoulders as he faced Nicholas. He looked cosy, and Nick leaned forward and pulled him into an embrace.

❄️

The change of seasons was especially magical that year. Nicholas delighted in watching someone discover the beauty for the first time. Charlie was enraptured by the pale green buds on the trees and marvelled at how many new leaves were emerging each day. He knelt on the loamy ground the first time he saw a crocus, peering closely at the violet petals and running his fingers along its waxy leaves.

Their walks were twice as long as usual for the first several weeks of the new season, for Charlie would stop many times throughout to rejoice over another flower or leaf or a bird trilling from a branch.

He tried (too often) to apologise, but Nicholas wouldn’t hear it.

“No, don’t, Char,” he insisted on a sunny day in late April. “We will stop as many times as you desire. I love it.”

A pretty blush rushed up to the boy’s cheeks. “Oh. Okay.”

Nick looked around cautiously, but they were always alone in these woods. He leaned forward and placed the briefest kiss on Charlie’s lips, grinning at the dazed look on his face as he pulled away.

They stopped where the creek was at its narrowest to listen to the water as it flowed downstream. As Charlie watched the sunlight play along the trickle of water, Nicholas found a nearby cluster of miniscule blue flowers. He picked the bluest one from the bunch and tucked it behind the boy’s ear.

❄️

“What is wrong?,” Nicholas asked his mother one afternoon. He had been in the clearing with Charlie, reading aloud from one of his books with the boy’s head in his lap, as they were wont to do. When the story was finished Charlie was eager to hear another, so Nick had bolted home and burst in the door to find Sarah at the table with her head in her hands, two letters open in front of her.

She lifted her head and tried to wave him off. “Oh, nothing, nothing.”

He sat beside her, holding out a hand for a letter. She sighed and looked between the papers before handing him one.

Nick skimmed the contents and realised quickly that it was from his aunt. There was much she had to say, and he caught his own name. He looked up in confusion.

“Mum?”

Sarah’s eyes were misty. She reached out a hand and stroked his cheek tenderly. “A wonderful baker in the next town over from my sister has decided to take an apprentice. It would be best for you to take it.”

He shook his head and took in a deep breath to quell the confusion and hurt and anger eddying within him. “No, but… but Leedes is so far! I won’t leave you. I can’t leave…”

Her lower lip trembled. “Please, Nicholas? Your father…” She gripped the other paper more tightly. “He has found a place for you in Paris and means to take you with him on his next visit. I fear you would be sent into battle. It is only a matter of time, your father says.”

“I won’t go with him.” Nicholas stubbornly crossed his arms.

“The baker’s apprentice is a good opportunity for you,” she said, pleading. “And your aunt will be only an hours’ journey away if you need anything.”

“But Mum.” Nick drew in a shuddering breath as he finally began to cry the tears he’d held back. “I can’t leave Charlie. I cannot!”

“Oh, Nicky. Charlie’s a very special friend, isn’t he?”

Nicholas held his breath as he turned to look his mother in the eye. Her brows were raised and her expression was open as she waited expectantly for his reply, but something in her eyes told him she knew more than she was letting on.

“Erm…” His mouth turned down and he pressed his lips together as he nodded, fearing how she would react.

“Nicky?” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “You needn’t fear me.”

He huffed his relief and fell against her as she embraced him. “Oh, I love you.”

The tears he wept were as much a release of the fear he could now let go as they were for the grief he felt at the prospect of going many hours’ journey away.

“I don’t want to leave him,” he sobbed in his mother’s arms.

“I know, darling, I know.”

In the end, it was Charlie who convinced him to go.

“If I cannot see you, I would be far happier knowing you were safe up north. And I will look after Sarah, I promise. I will help however I can. But you must write to me!”

“I will.” Nick wrapped the boy in his arms tightly. “I will find a way to see you again. If I don’t—”

“You will,” Charlie whispered, squeezing him round his middle. “I believe you will.”

❄️✨❄️✨❄️

If Nicholas was thankful for anything in Leedes, it was that his employer was a kind man who respected him, and that the summer felt ever so slightly cooler than it had in the south.

Not that it made much difference when the ovens were lit.

He also had little time to think about Charlie. They were up with the first light each day, mixing, kneading, scoring, and baking for many hours.

Sundays were the only days they did not work, and the master baker encouraged him to go out and explore Leedes and to meet other young men and women. He joined a group of boys his age who were kicking a ball around a wide grassy field. Some of them reminded him of his brother, but he became friendly with a few and promised to return.

Days bled into weeks, which became months. Summer cooled, and its greens faded into browns as Autumn returned. None of it held much interest for Nicholas, save for the letters he received from his mother.

The first letter from his mother had come after his father’s visit. He was predictably angry at Nicholas’ absence but unwilling to travel so far north to fetch him. Nick could practically hear the argument between his parents over it, voices loud as they no longer needed to mask their emotions for their son’s sake.

Evidently his mother had ordered Stéphane not to return, and he had haughtily agreed.

The next thing he learned in her letters was that she had insisted Charlie take his old bed rather than sleeping outside. Nicholas grew misty-eyed as he read how well they were getting on.

He clung to every tiny detail about Charlie in every subsequent letter. He didn’t know how they would be reunited, but he had to have faith.

❄️

The cold arrived dreadfully early that year.

In late October, Nicholas heard the baker speaking with an unseen visitor. He stopped outside the door to the study as his employer murmured in a worried tone about the frost and whether the harvest would be enough.

So he was not surprised when he woke to snow on the first of November. His heart beat painfully in his chest as emotions warred within him. He had lovely happy memories in the snow, but every last one was with Charlie, and so they were all tinged now with melancholy and loss.

The baker saw him staring longingly outside and misinterpreted his sorrow. “Go. Take the sledge to Wetherby. You are young still, you should enjoy the snow! I will handle the baking today.”

Nick walked through the streets of Leedes until he came to the green. There, many children and young men and women were playing. He stood still, watching snowball fights and angels, ice skating, snowmen, and sledging. Shouts among friends and shrieks of joyful terror pealed across the park, the snow muting all other sounds.

Nicholas felt tears sting his eyes. This — this is everything he had longed for nearly a year ago in the small village with his mother. Instead he had found joy in his own company until the miraculous happened. Now he looked upon the scene in front of him and felt no desire to join; the only comfort that could come to him now was his dear Charlie appearing once again.

He joined a small circle around a fire as the light dimmed. A few parents of young children roasted chestnuts and passed them about.

The velvety dark of a winter night wrapped around them, and before long Nick farewelled the last of the sledgers and merry-makers. He wrapped his coat tighter around him and leaned back against a large yew tree. He gazed up at the sky. The clouds puffed with snow were beginning to clear, and he could see a swath of starry sky between them.

He gasped as one star shot past, then a second and a third. Nicholas watched, enraptured, as the stars fell.

Finally, in the dark, the cold, the solitude, he allowed himself to cry for his lost friend. He recalled the star from the year before — the night before Charlie arrived — and he could not keep his plea from falling from his lips. “Charlie… please bring me Charlie again.”

When his tears subsided, Nicholas pushed himself up and returned to his master’s. He slipped in quietly, knowing it was late, and took himself to bed.

❄️

When Sunday arrived two days later, Nicholas’ spirits were a little higher. He walked the streets of Leedes, this time smiling to himself as the noises of crowds washed over him. Once or twice he thought he heard a familiar giggle, but it was just a stranger laughing with their loved one.

When he arrived at the green, he wandered to the edge of the trees and found a little path among them. No one else was there, and the woody area muffled the sounds of the people.

And then he heard it: a crystal shining icicle clear voice, cold water but made of sound . “Nick!”

He spun around to see Charlie, his Charlie, running towards him with a brilliant grin on his face.

Nicholas opened his arms wide to welcome Charlie in, and they spun in their embrace, clinging to one another and laughing.

“Oh my God, I can’t believe you’re here!” Nick exclaimed as he pulled away to look at Charlie properly. His hands rose to cup the boy’s cheeks. He spoke again in a low, reverent whisper. “You’re here.”

“You wished for me,” Charlie said with a tender smile. “I heard you, clear as church bells on a snowy day.”

Nicholas threw his arms around Charlie’s shoulders, pulling him in for another embrace. His eyes watered and stung in the cold air, so he squeezed them shut and buried his face in the crook of Charlie’s neck.

“It’s not winter without you,” he said after they broke apart a second time.

Charlie bit his bottom lip and looked down shyly. He reached for Nick’s hand and pulled him along the path. “Come on. Tell me all about Leedes and your baking.”

❄️

Nicholas was jealous of his past self.

When he lived in the south with his mother, he had finished his schooling and did not yet have an apprenticeship, and so he had endless amounts of time to spend with Charlie and few eyes watching.

He was enormously grateful to have Charlie in his life once again, but he struggled with how little he could see the boy. He did not spend a Sunday indoors that month, preferring to find quiet streets where they could explore and talk without being overheard. On rare occasions, one of them would look round to be sure they were not seen, and then steal the briefest kiss. Afterwards, they would giggle and exchange shy, secretive smiles and continue onward.

It was the other days of the week that proved most difficult. The baker’s street was a quiet one after dark, and the man often departed for a few hours in the evenings, so as the weeks went on, Nick became more daring. He would wait until his employer had left and then slip out on his own to meet Charlie around the corner or a few streets down. As long as he returned to the house while it was still empty, there would be no questions.

One night, however, the boys were walking back towards the bakery, knowing the hour was growing late. The moon was bright and snow was falling, and Nicholas felt that enchanting spell that winter — and Charlie — had long had on him.

He reached for Charlie’s hand and pulled him against the buildings into the shadows. The dimples he loved deepened and Charlie’s blue eyes sparkled. Nick’s hands came up to the boy’s waist as he stepped closer and leaned down.

“Boys!” A severe voice rang through the air. “It is late. You should be in your homes.”

Nick froze in fear and kept his face turned toward Charlie, though he stepped back to avoid the appearance of impropriety. “Yes, sir!”

“Ah… Nicholas, is that you?”

Charlie looked at him sharply, concern in his eyes, and then Nick turned to see the baker walking towards them with another man.

“Sir,” he said, holding his employer’s gaze though he feared what may happen.

The baker glanced behind him at Charlie, then at his companion, and then looked back at Nick. He spoke softly. “We will go inside. You have two minutes to say goodnight to… your friend, and then you must come inside for the night as well. We will be waiting to speak with you there.”

The other man frowned at him. “Nathan!” he said in a sharp whisper, but the baker shook his head and waited for Nick’s reply.

“Yes, sir,” he said uncertainly. “Thank you.”

When the men had walked another block and disappeared indoors, Nicholas turned back to Charlie, who quickly stepped forward and embraced him.

“I’ll wait for you. In the woods, at the green. Please let me know you’re alright as soon as you can.”

He nodded his agreement, his face buried in the crook of Charlie’s neck. “I will.”

When he entered his home, the two men were talking animatedly, but they were silent when they saw him, their conversation changing to glances he could not decipher.

He sat before them and looked down at his lap where his hands were shaking.

“Nicholas, this is Youssef Farouk,” the baker said, formally introducing them. “He is a publisher and sells the books printed in his shop. Youssef, Nicholas is my apprentice.”

“Hello,” he said, nodding meekly at Youssef.

“Who was the other young man?” Youssef inquired, looking at Nathan.

“I do not know. I was hoping Nicholas could tell us about him.”

He frowned, looking between the two of them. He had expected a rather more severe reaction. “H-his name is Charlie. I knew him before I came here. About a month ago, he found me in the green.”

“Where is your friend apprenticed?”

“Nowhere. He has neither an apprenticeship nor a bed, sir.”

“No bed?” Youssef frowned.

Nick shook his head, thinking quickly. “He has no… no living parents, sir, and has been trying to find his way in the world.”

“He is a good young man? Upstanding?” Nathan asked.

Nick nodded. “He is wonderful. Intelligent and kind and thoughtful and a very good listener.” He felt his cheeks grow warm.

“Is he sixteen, as you are? Or fifteen?”

Nicholas hesitated, not knowing how to answer. “... Perhaps a bit younger.”

“Fourteen then.” Youssef said matter-of-factly. Nick did not want to disagree with him, so he said nothing. “And has he learned to read?”

“He has had no proper schooling, sir, but he has a desire to learn. I was beginning to teach him his letters before I came here.”

The men exchanged another look, and Youssef nodded. “Right. Do you know where he was going when you parted tonight?”

“Erm… I believe he was going to the green. The wooded area is generally private.”

The expression on Youssef’s face was both sad and severe. “Outside?! No, that will not do. I will go to him. He will stay with me. In the morning I will decide whether to take him on as an apprentice, but most important is to bring him inside where it is warm.”

Nicholas felt his eyes fill with tears. “You… oh. Thank you, sir. I do not…”

The look in the man’s eyes softened. “Would you like to come with me? Perhaps he would be more likely to trust me if you were there?”

He looked over at Nathan. “May I?”

“You may.” The baker had a small smile as he spoke. “And Nicholas? From what we observed of the two of you tonight, I take you and Charlie are… close?”

Nick stared at him. He did not dare to confirm.

“You need not fear. You should take more care on the streets, but in my home you are safe. I too fell in love with a boy when I was your age.”

“You did? And what about now?”

Nathan’s smile grew wider, and he reached out to grasp the hand of the man beside him. “And now I have Youssef.”

It was not until he said this that Nicholas’ eyes saw what was truly in front of him. The men were indeed sitting very close beside one another on the sofa. Their thighs were nearly touching, and Nathan had been leaning into youssef’s shoulder for the entire conversation. There was, in fact, more affection in their positions than he had seen between his own parents since he was young.

“Oh,” he breathed out, seeing before him that a future like it was possible. “That’s- that is good. Thank you for telling me.”

For the first time, he saw Youssef smile. “Yes. Now let us go and find your Charlie.”

❄️

Charlie was bewildered and nervous on the foggy night when Nicholas found him in the woods, but he agreed to go. When he learned that the man was a publisher and a bookseller, he was eager to know more. How were books made? How did they acquire them from the men who wrote them?

“—and women,” Youssef interjected.

“What?” Nicholas asked, surprised.

“Most publish under a nom de plume, often a man’s name,” the publisher explained, “But there are certainly many women who author books.”

He adjusted well at the bookshop. His curiosity and cleverness were just what Youssef was looking for, and the man praised Charlie’s strength of character as well. He taught the boy first how to ink the type on the printing press, and as Charlie improved in his reading he would learn how to set the type.

Soon all four men had become a part of each other’s lives. Nicholas spent as much of his Sundays at the printer’s as he did at Nathan’s where he boarded, though he and Charlie still spent much of their time together outside in the snow where they began.

The two households regularly enjoyed meals together, and Nick thought Nathan seemed lighter and more like himself. He wondered if having company who shared something so personal in common meant as much to the two older men as it did to him and Charlie.

One evening in mid-December, the four were dining at Youssef’s table when the baker began talking of holiday business.

“We will be working many hours in the days before Christmas, fulfilling orders for many families for their holiday supper. But do not worry; Youssef will have a wonderful meal for us on Christmas Day. You and I will not have to cook or bake a thing!” Nathan laughed gleefully.

Nick’s eyes widened as he realised what Nathan’s message meant for him. A lump began to form in his throat, and he did not speak for fear of revealing his distress.

Youssef noticed nonetheless. “You will spend Christmas with us, will you not?”

“Oh.” Nick looked down at his plate.

“What is it, Nicholas?” Nathan asked.

“My mother. With Charlie here now, she has no one left with her. I do not wish her to be alone on Christmas. I would like… that is, I had hoped that I would have leave to travel home, to be with her on Christmas Day.”

“I’m afraid I will need your help more than ever at that time,” Nathan said. “But your mother would be welcome to join us if she is well enough to travel.”

Nicholas nodded soberly. “I will write to her tonight! I do not know if there is time enough to get a letter to her if she is to arrive by Christmas Day, but I will try.”

Before Nick departed for home, Charlie took him aside. “I can help,” he whispered.

“How?”

The boy shook his head, and his wintry eyes gleamed with mirth. “Trust me. Write to your mother. Tell her to expect me after dark, the day before Christmas. Let me do the rest.”

❄️

The work at the bakery in the final week before Christmas was indeed constant due to last minute orders. Nicholas hardly knew what day it was in any given moment until the door was shut one evening and Nathan collapsed against it.

“That was the last of them!”

“Sir?”

“You did well, Nick. Let us have a simple meal tonight. We have earned our rest. Tomorrow we will walk to Youssef’s and celebrate the day with the people we love.”

Nicholas nodded, bone-weary from the labour, and turned to hang up his apron when a knock sounded on the door.

Nathan groaned. “We are closed! Go be with your loved ones!” he shouted through the wood.

The knock sounded again, more urgent than the last. “Nathan!”

The baker opened the door to find Youssef there with large flakes of snow falling silently but swiftly around him. He looked worriedly at Nick as he stepped inside. “Is Charlie with you? I gave him leave early this morning. He has not returned.”

Nicholas shook his head. “We have only just finished our day. Charlie has not been here…” A realisation dawned on him. “Is today the 24th already?! Has my mother arrived?”

“Tomorrow is the holiday,” Nathan confirmed. “When did you expect your mother? Were you to meet her somewhere?”

Nick thought back to Charlie’s secret plan. “I know how to find Charlie.”

Twenty minutes later, Nick had walked the streets of Leedes and arrived at the edge of the green out of breath. His hair was damp from the snowstorm, but he did not register the cold. All he could think of was the two people he loved most in the world.

He reached the wooded area and called out. “Charlie? Mum?”

There was no reply.

He closed his eyes and focused on how much he missed his mother, how much he had missed Charlie in their months apart and how enormously grateful he was to have the boy so close now. His heart was full as he whispered, “Please, Charlie. Come back. Come home.”

It was a silent night. The people of Leedes were in their homes laughing with family in front of the hearth, there was no wind, and the snowflakes fell silently as they blanketed the already frozen earth.

And then Nicholas heard a small gasp.

“Oh!” a familiar voice spoke in awe. “Oh, Nicky!”

He opened his eyes and looked up to see his mother clinging to Charlie’s arm as they both beamed at him. She let go, and Nick ran forward to embrace her.

“Mum,” he cried, holding her tightly. “I love you.”

“Oh, I missed you,” she cooed. “Your Charlie has some very interesting talents, you know.”

He pulled back and turned to embrace Charlie. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Charlie giggled softly in his ear. “I had to make sure you got your Christmas wish.”

❄️

Christmas was a joyous day.

The Nelsons and Nathan were welcomed into Youssef’s home midmorning, and delicious aromas were already wafting from the oven. Holly and ivy were hung all around, the fire was roaring. Charlie poured them each a cup of wine with mulling spices and they played parlour games while they waited to eat.

Nicholas laughed as his mother drank her way through two cups before their meal was served. The five sat at the table and enjoyed a roast, mince pies, and a great plum cake, and when they retired to the sitting room once more, a very merry Sarah delighted them with a song sung very off-key.

Several hours passed in this fashion, until the older three were silly from the wine. Nicholas was reclining and laughing as they talked over one another, telling stories with exaggerated gestures. When he looked round and realised Charlie was not beside him, he got up and wandered off.

“What is this?” Charlie asked, looking up at hanging evergreen branches twisted into a large round shape.

Nicholas stifled a giggle as he recognised it. “Mistletoe,” he said simply, stepping closer.

Charlie raised one eyebrow sceptically. “It’s a bit garish, don’t you think?”

“It has another name.”

“What is that?”

“A Kissing Bough.”

“Oh?” Charlie’s eyes flicked down to his lips. Nick watched with delight as the boy blushed.

"Yes. If you see someone standing underneath it, you must kiss them."

He leaned in and brushed his lips against Charlie's. The boy sighed happily, clasping his hands behind Nick's neck and clung to him. Nicholas wrapped his arms around Charlie and pulled him in close, tilting his head for a better angle. His lips tasted of wine and plums, and Nick was intoxicated by it, by the way his entire body tingled and familiar shivers travelled down his spine as they kissed.

When they had pulled apart, Charlie looked up again. “I suppose it’s alright.”

“Oh, you suppose?” Nick laughed.

Charlie kissed him on the cheek with a grin and leaned forward, resting his head on Nick’s shoulder.

In the other room, a fire was crackling and warming the house as people very dear to him laughed and joked and sang loudly. There by the kitchen, Nicholas stood with his miraculous love in his arms and felt overjoyed with the warmth and tenderness that had brought colour to his life.

He had everything he had wished for.