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The fourth time Charlie saw him, he was a mess. His golden locks, usually so perfectly styled, were dishevelled, several strands hanging over his eyes and forehead as he ran. Sweat dripped from his temples and stained the pits of his shirt. His eyes were dark, and it looked like he’d been skipping out on sleep.
He had no idea Nick was on the university’s rugby team, but, boy, was he glad to discover it.
Pausing his early morning run to admire his silent and elusive beauty dodging and weaving across the field was not on his card for the morning, however, it was a detour to his daily plan that he was more than willing to make.
He watched as the boy, that seemed to be petrified of Charlie, exuded confidence ten times greater than he ever thought existed. To any innocent observer, Nick was the epitome of control and grace. It wasn’t that he was a bumbling mess of a man, it was that he was a bumbling mess of a man around Charlie. Interesting.
He stretched as he watched, not wanting his loosened muscles to grow cold, propping his foot onto the bench in front of him and leaning forward, acutely aware of the butterflies beginning to form in his belly at the new sight of this magical man.
He debated whether he should say something, or if he should continue on his way. He had provided Nick with a message to contact him, and he had not yet done so. Granted, the message was cryptic, not a simple Here’s my number – call me, but a showy jumble of words he would have to work at if he was actually interested.
And perhaps he wasn’t interested. It had been nearly a week and Nick hadn’t found him, hadn’t contacted him. Nothing had changed. There really was every chance that Nick was not interested and Charlie had misread all the signs. Perhaps he’d thrown the napkin in the bin because it was too difficult. Charlie had made it too much work. He was too much work.
He swapped his feet to stretch out the other leg, resigning himself to the idea that he’d played too hard too fast and there was no way Nick would’ve known what to do with the foreign message. He’d taken the napkin to be polite, and he probably hadn’t spoken to him because he was becoming annoyed that Charlie continued to show up in random places trying to talk to him. It was all an illusion in Charlie’s mind. Better he realised now rather than later.
He shook out his arms and legs, ready to continue his morning run, lamenting it would mean cutting his perve session short. But this was the fourth time he had come across this otherwise unknown man in as many weeks and Charlie couldn’t shake the feeling the universe was trying to tell him something.
In a final moment of courage, or stupidity, he called from his position on the other side of the tiny fence, “Looking good, Nick!”
For a split second, deep, sugar coated, honey glazed eyes met his own, and Charlie wondered if Nick felt the same zap of electricity he did, or if it was all lost to the bone crushing tumble as another player slammed into him at full speed.
🍂🍂🍂
The fourth time Nick saw him, it was milliseconds before he went arse over tit, nearly dislocating his shoulder, because he wasn’t watching where he was going, crashing into his teammate, stopping him from falling properly. If his rugby season was over for the year, he could handle the disappointment.
He wasn’t entirely sure where the voice had come from, but once he spotted those dark curls, looser than usual, some stuck to a semi-sweaty forehead, and those dimples he’d dreamt about, hugging the most cheeky of grins, he lost full navigation and control of his body, forgetting he was supposed to be avoiding his teammate running directly at him.
He groaned audibly at the instant pain radiating through his shoulder, and internally for once again being a complete disaster around the one person he was hoping to be able to change his first impressions. There was just something about Charlie that destroyed him, rendering him a complete imbecile. Hopefully this wouldn’t be the last straw and Charlie would give up on him.
He dragged himself off the ground, ignoring the concerned questions from his teammates, and started hobble running towards the sidelines, looking for Charlie, hoping he was still there.
Upon seeing the object of his continual undoing, he held out his hand in a ‘stop’ signal as he half ran, half limped to his drink bottle. He ignored the worried expression Charlie held as he knocked over said bottle and snatched up the piece of paper below it.
This was it, the moment he’d been waiting for all week. Finally, their paths had crossed again, and he was desperate to let Charlie know he had a voice. He walked purposefully towards him, knowing he’d need to explain later to his team, but focusing more on what he could possibly say to Charlie that would make him seem like any less of a loser now that he’d just witnessed a completely avoidable and embarrassing wipeout.
By the time he reached Charlie, the vast oceans of blue were staring at him with a mixture of concern, disbelief and intrigue. He could tell Charlie didn’t quite know what to say either, which made him feel slightly better.
He opened his mouth to speak, but he still hadn’t worked out exactly what he was supposed to say, so his mouth hung open and closed as if he were a fish gasping for air. He was suddenly very grateful for the prewritten note he’d carried with him everywhere, hoping that he’d have been able to say something to Charlie when their paths crossed once more, but predicting his nerves would get in the way.
As the sides of Charlie’s mouth turned up in a smirk, Nick shoved the piece of paper in his face before he could say anything, staring for a few seconds longer, before running back to his team where their coach started with the barrage of questions, finally registering the level of pain radiating throughout his arm.
If Charlie was able to break the code, which he was sure he would, hopefully Nick would see him that night, and would feel much more comfortable starting with a ‘hi’.
🍂🍂🍂
Charlie waited until he was back in his dorm before opening the note. He’d thought about it the entire run home, only swapping thoughts about it with thoughts about the one who had handed it to him.
When he finally sat on his bed and unfolded the paper, he laughed as he discovered no English words were present, in fact, no English letters were present at all.
His delight at the cryptic message manifested into shrill squeals as he kicked his legs and pumped his fists. Nick was playing the game.
He fell backwards to the mattress, holding the message above him, seeking out the patterns and looking for a place to start. Nick had not given him a starting point, the same way he hadn’t, and he loved the rebuttal that would force him to think.
Counting less than twenty-six characters, he eliminated the least likely letters and focused on the single characters, assigning them A and I, before focusing on the doubles, discovering them to be E and L. Pretty quickly, the message unfolded, and Charlie hugged the paper as if it were Nick himself.
He wondered how long it had taken Nick to crack his code, how long it had taken him to create this one, and marvelled that someone would invest so much time into speaking with him, in a way that required actual effort.
The rest of his day was filled with classes and study groups, but he would be finished by five. How the hell was he supposed to concentrate all day, when the promise of milkshakes at six, and finally, properly, talking to Nick, floated in front of him?
He would have less than an hour to get ready, and though they’d seen each other at their sweaty worst that morning, he still wanted to make an impression. His mind would be completely preoccupied with Nick and outfit choices all day, and if his classmates noticed that he was off his game, no one said anything. Not that he heard, anyway.
🍂🍂🍂
The glow of the campus café sign shone bright in the darkening sky. Charlie stood on the opposite side of the road, taking a breath, before following the glow down to the table sitting by the window. Illuminated in the pink hues sat Nick, hands clasped tightly together as he fiddled with his thumbs.
He walked across the street, pushing the door open, immediately locking eyes with Nick as his head lifted at the tinkle of the bell. He slowly walked over and slid into the booth opposite Nick, both sitting in the exact same spots as two weeks before, except this time, in front of Nick, sat a chocolate milkshake, a blue straw sticking out one side, a yellow straw poking out the other.
Charlie’s heart somersaulted in his chest. He was grateful for his olive complexion, knowing his blush was hidden, unlike the one creeping across Nick’s face that even the bright pink lighting couldn’t disguise.
He grimaced at the bandage strapping Nick’s injured shoulder, feeling terrible that he was responsible, but Nick didn’t seem to notice, or even care.
Nick smiled at him, a bashful half smile, attempting to mask overwhelming excitement, and Charlie wondered if Nick might run again. He begged everything in the universe to give Nick strength and to not run. Charlie would continue to chase him, but he would rather finally have a conversation with him.
Before Charlie could think too much more, Nick shoved his hands under his legs and inhaled deeply, pursing his lips and shutting his eyes for four seconds, before opening them again and producing the most incredible sound Charlie had ever heard.
“Hi.”