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“Congrats, Romeo.”
“Oh god Charlie, don’t start,” Nick groaned. “Remind me why I even auditioned in the first place?” Nick tossed his school and rugby bags on the ground after rummaging through them to pull out the script for Romeo and Juliet he’d been provided during the first official cast meeting at lunch-hour that day.
“Because having more than one extracurricular on your uni applications is the smart and responsible thing to do.”
“Ugh, gross.”
Each year Truham Grammar and Higgs put on a few joint effort plays that kept their respective theatre departments funded for the year ahead. The most notorious of which was the year-end Spring play. The final show of the year was always the biggest production, and gave all the lead roles to sixth formers in their final year of grammar school. It was a pretty big deal if you were into that sort of thing.
Nick Nelson was not into that sort of thing. He didn’t think it was silly per say, moreso that he felt he was absent of a single bone of creativity. He strayed far away from anything artistic and personally felt that he had the memory of a goldfish, so acting had never felt like something that was on the table for him. As for being a supporter of the arts, Nick could appreciate a nice drawing, a cool sculpture, or a colourful painting for what they were, but his attention span kept him far away from most productions of any kind—unless it was a concert that his best friend Charlie was a part of.
Charlie . The sole assailant for how Nick had ended up with the role of Romeo Montague for the upcoming Spring play.
The two boys had been inseparable since they’d met two years earlier in their shared form group. Charlie was a quiet and anxious Year Ten who was dealing with the lingering fallout of having been outed as gay to the entire school the year before. Nick was who he’d always been; the captain of the school rugby team, the rugby king , as many referred to him as, and that was it for the most part. Nick was popular by association with his title, he was friends with all of the coolest kids in school, though most of them he found to be a little unbearable. He was kind to everyone, despite the overall better than thou aura of his mates.
Two years later, Nick was still Nick . He was the rugby king that he had always been, and he was still as nice as ever, if not nicer now that he’d distanced himself a small bit from some of the more callous members of his circle. Charlie though, Charlie had reformed and grown six ways from Sunday. He was confident, more outgoing, and happier than he’d ever been. He’d found himself and his place after a hellish Year Nine and Ten that had dragged him through the pits of hell and back again. He was nearly unrecognisable, from the significant growth of his hair, the nose ring that he’d gotten his sister to sign for and dealt with the consequences of his mother’s wrath later; through to the way he carried himself through the halls, shoulders back and head held high.
From Nick’s perspective, watching Charlie blossom into the person he was now gave him an indescribable feeling of pride. He’d always felt a little protective over the other boy. From the moment he’d seen Charlie’s shy smile on that faithful January day in their first form class together, Nick knew that he wanted to be Charlie’s friend. They’d gone from quiet hi’s in the hallway, to having inside jokes in their form group, to weekend Mario Kart tournaments (that Charlie always won), to weekend sleepovers, to really being connected at the hip unless Nick was at rugby practice or Charlie was at band practice.
“Look,” Charlie began, climbing onto Nick’s bed and sitting cross-legged next to his distressed friend. “It’s not my fault you waited until the last possible moment of sixth form to realise the only thing on your applications is that you’re a rugby lad .”
“When did you get so mean?” Nick pouted, crossing his arms over his chest as he was apt to do, and tugging the hem of his t-shirt sleeve anxiously between his fingers.
“I came this way,” Charlie deadpanned. “Take it or leave it.” He blew a kiss to Nick with a wink, patting the small empty space of Nick’s bed to encourage his dog Nellie to hop up and join them.
“I swear you used to be way nicer when we met in form.”
“Yes, well, when we met in form, I was so unwell that I had to go for a vacation at the psychiatric ward. I didn't really have the energy to be a cunt if you want to get technical about it.”
“I never know if I’m allowed to laugh when you joke about that.”
“You can, the probation period where you need to take those jokes seriously ended long ago.”
Nick still didn’t laugh, his face just contorted into an uncomfortable middle place between a forced smile and a worried mother.
“If I can't joke with my best friend about my mental illness then what is the point?”
“The point of…being alive? ”
Charlie moaned, “God, take it easy, Romeo.“
“Please stop calling me Romeo,” Nick whined, lulling his head back dramatically.
“Moving on, I can’t believe I’m going to have to watch Imogen fawn all over you at rehearsals every day for the next two months.” Charlie faked a shiver, cringing at the sound of his own words. “That is the true tragedy of the story.”
“Don’t remind me, I’m still upset with Tara for not auditioning with me.” Nick sighed. He picked up his phone and opened his message thread with Tara, sending her three angry face emoji and three broken heart emoji as he’d been doing at least once every hour for the past week since she’d bowed out of auditioning.
“It wouldn’t have mattered, Imogen plays hopelessly in love with you far too well, and she’s blonde—or at least she tries to be.”
“She promised me that she doesn’t fancy me anymore!” Nick knew it was a lie, anyone with eyes or ears could see, and hear, that she’d been in love with Nick dating back to Year Five.
“Yes, and? I could promise you I’m not gay anymore, would you believe that as well?” Charlie rolled his eyes, rustling Nellie’s ears and waxing poetic to her about how adorable she was.
Nick groaned, falling backwards onto his bed with a thud . Charlie followed suit and turned his head to face Nick. It was a position familiar to them both, laying side by side with their faces just a few inches apart and their pinky fingers intertwined between their bodies.
“Penny for your thoughts, babe?”
“I want to quit.” Nick announced stoically.
“Oh, you can’t do that I’m afraid.”
“And why not?”
“Because you’re going to look so cute in your little Romeo costume, and I’m going to hire Tori to come and watch so that she can take so many pictures that I will plaster proudly on my walls.” Charlie squirmed excitedly, shaking both he and Nick on the mattress in the process.
“I hate you.”
“No, you love me.” Charlie drew out the ‘o’ in love and reached over to tossle his already messy hair.
“I was really hoping that you participating by doing the sound for the show meant I would avoid pictures.”
“You act like Sarah won’t be recording the whole thing anyway.”
“I want to die.” Nick groaned, rolled over theatrically and laid the back of his hand over his forehead. He poked his tongue out at the corner of his mouth in a vain attempt at playing dead.
“That’s my sense of humour, get your own.” Charlie squeezed Nick’s pinky before letting go and lifting up his arm. “Come on then, come have a cuddle.”
Nick didn’t have to be asked twice. He quickly slid into his favourite spot, cheek pressed against Charlie’s chest over his thick, wool jumper, letting out a contented sigh as Charlie’s hand buried itself in Nick’s thick, red hair.
Over their two years of friendship, Nick and Charlie had slowly but surely become more tactile in their friendship. It started with quick hugs turning into multi-minute embraces, which turned into cuddling when awake, which ended with cuddling throughout the night when they would stay at each other's houses. Nick had always been comfortable with Charlie’s touch, but when they’d first met, Charlie was overly cautious about not coming into contact with Nick in the slightest. When Nick had caught on to his avoidance being intentional , he’d kindly asked his friend the reason, to which Charlie explained that he hadn't wanted to make Nick feel uncomfortable or like he was trying to flirt with Nick.
“Charlie, I’m not afraid you’re going to give me gay cooties or something, you can touch me.”
Nick had laughed and Charlie had blushed, though he’d passed it off as being embarrassed about the conversation.
Fast forward two years and there was hardly a moment they were alone together where they weren’t making some sort of contact with one another. They had become each other’s life rafts, a constant checkpoint to recharge whenever they needed.
Nick loved Charlie. He was the best friend he’d ever had.
___
“Nicholas!” Imogen ran up to Nick, approaching him quickly with a frantic wave and her big, frenzied smile.
“Hi, Imogen.”
“Are you ready for rehearsals? I’m nearly off-book already, I’m so glad they’ve kept the original script instead of modernising it, it’s just so much more romantic this way don’t you think?” Imogen bat her eyelashes, smiling up at Nick adoringly.
“Oh, um yeah, the script is cool. I definitely don’t know all of my lines yet.”
“That’s okay! We should run lines together sometime! I can give you some memorisation tips so that we can have as much time rehearsing off-book as possible and we can really focus on the emotional connection between our characters.”
Nick’s mind went into overdrive in an attempt to keep up with the pace of Imogen’s speech, making an honest to God effort not to just tune it all out.
“Right, well…I’ll let you know if I ever need some help.” Nick offered as close to a genuine smile as he could muster.
“Perfect, amazing.” Imogen nodded her head faster than Nick thought was safe for a human neck, staring up at Nick with wide, adoring eyes.
“Right, I suppose we should head to rehearsals then.”
“Together?”
“I mean it’s right down the hall there.” Nick pointed at the double doors just a dozen metres from where Imogen had ambushed him.
If Imogen took any notice of the dread in Nick’s voice, she paid it no mind, forcing her arm in between Nick’s and his side to loop their arms together as they walked.
The thirty or so paces with Imogen glued to Nick’s side felt like a marathon; every moment in her presence stretched out painfully slow and uneasily. Imogen was a nice girl at the end of the day, and if she weren’t so suffocatingly enamoured with Nick, he would likely even fancy being her friend—that’s what made it so difficult to let her down gently. Not that he hadn’t tried, or really just flat out denied her advances on a number of occasions. She had been asking him on a date at least once per semester for the last six years, and truthfully, Nick sort of admired her dedication, even if he wished that it was directed at someone else.
The first few times, Nick had danced around the subject, saying he was too busy with rugby, or homework. When it carried on, he tried telling her that he liked someone else—a poor idea with someone who asks a painful amount of detailed questions that he’d not been prepared to answer following the initial rejection. After that, Nick tried setting Imogen up with someone else. She’d quickly shut this down, reporting back flat out that she preferred tall red-heads with freckles. Nick had wanted to disappear into the molten centre of the earth following that encounter.
Now, Nick had reached the point of flat out rejection, asserting that he didn’t return her feelings. Alas, with the resilience of a cockroach, Imogen always found her way back to him—a perpetual loop of unreciprocated interest that numbed Nick’s mind. It had once been no hard task to just be civil and jovial with Imogen, but now his body betrayed him, instantly going stiff and going into its protective stance with his arms locked across his chest anytime she was near.
If only he really did have another person to use as his scapegoat from Imogen biting grasp.
___
“If I… profane with my unworthiest hand
This holy shrine, the…gentle sin is this:
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready to st- ready stand
To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.” Nick fumbled with his script as Imogen took his hand forcefully into her own.
“Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,
Which mannerly devotion shows in this;
For saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch,
And palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.” Imogen sang off her lines smoothly to perfection, stroking her thumb over Nick’s hand repeatedly throughout her response.
Nick tugged at his hand, needing it to turn the page on his script that was held up awkwardly in his one free hand. “Sorry I just um…kind of need my hand.”
Imogen let his hand slip free begrudgingly, before reaching out to cup his hands underneath his script instead.
“Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?”
“Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.”
“O then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do.
They pray: grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.”
“Saints do not move, though grant for prayers’ sake.”
“Then move not while my prayer’s effect I take.” Nick finished the line, looking up expectantly for Imogen to continue the scene. Instead, he found her leaned closer, eyes fluttering closed in apparent anticipation.
“Imogen, no need for any kissing right now, we’re hardly acting, this is only line practice,” The Higgs drama teacher, Miss. June, and the director of the play, shouted from her seat a few rows back in the auditorium.
“But, Miss, don’t you think it will help build chemistry between Nick and I?”
“Miss Heely, we are so distant from the point of working on chemistry, just say your lines please, we have got a lot to get through in the next hour.”
Imogen huffed, turning back to a relieved Nick who had never been so thankful towards a teacher in his entire grammar school education.
They carried on through half a dozen more scenes before rehearsal came to a close for the day. Nick had managed to sneak out while Imogen was busy explaining to Ms. Simpson her list of reasons as to why kissing should be allowed in rehearsals.
___
“Char, it was terrible ,” Nick groaned, falling face first onto Charlie’s bed, taking up nearly the whole thing.
“Budge up, rugby lad, make some room.” Charlie climbed in next to Nick, using his entire body weight to shove Nick over when he made no motion to move. “Now tell me what was so terrible.”
“I couldn’t remember any of my lines, and even if I could, it’s impossible to focus with Imogen staring into my soul the entire time like she’s waiting for a proposal.”
“Well, I can’t change Immy, you’re just too irresistible so there’s nothing I can do to sway her, but I can help with your lines. We could practise together after your rehearsals to try and catch you up?”
“You’d read as Juliet for me?”
“Anything for thee, my dear sweet Romeo.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“But Romeo! I loveth thee!” Charlie fawned, throwing himself on top of Nick and gripping on for dear life.
Nick fell into a fit of laughter, unable to maintain his air of displeasure with Charlie clung to him like a koala to a tree branch.
“Now, carry me to mine own father’s office to make a photocopy of thy script.”
Nick groaned but gave no protest. Shifting to stand and helping Charlie shift around to his backside to make the journey easier on them both. Nick walked them both out of Charlie’s room, stumbling and bumping off the walls in jest. They had just been about to round the corner when Nick came face to face with Charlie’s older sister, Tori. Well, she came face to chest with him as a result of their stark height difference.
“Charles, Nicholas.”
“Victoria.” Charlie and Nick reported back in unison, with Charlie adding a sarcastic salute to the greeting.
“Have you broken a bone, little brother?”
“No, I am but a wee, frail princess named Juliet Capulet and this is my valiant steed Romeo.”
“Right, good luck with that then.” Tori stalked off, no desire for an explanation to the oddity that was her sibling and his best friend.
They returned to Charlie’s room a short while later and sat crossed legged facing one another on Charlie’s small, single bed.
Despite Charlie’s insistent dedication to perform the role of Juliet from the deepest, most dramatic chamber of his heart—an ode to Imogen, as he’d called it—Nick found himself astounded by how much easier it was to get through the lines with Charlie opposite his Romeo.
“I shall forget, to have thee still stand there,
Rememb’ring how I love thy company.”
Charlie had an ability to lose himself in the poetry of the script that Nick craved for himself. He marvelled at the way Juliet’s lines floated off his tongue with a practised ease as if he had written them himself.
“And I’ll still stay, to have thee still forget,
Forgetting any other home but this.” Nick glanced up from his script, meeting Charlie’s eyes. His presence was a steady anchor, and he felt free to lose himself in the emotion of the script without needing to worry about how he was being perceived.
As the scene progressed, they moved through the ebb and flow of Shakespeare’s language together, Nick finding his confidence and Charlie protruding his own in a dramatised manner that kept an ever present twinge of a smile on Nick’s lips, even when he stumbled over a word that was a grammatical nightmare to modern day English.
“’Tis almost morning. I would have thee gone,
And yet no farther than a wanton’s bird,
That lets it hop a little from his hand,
Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,
And with a silken thread plucks it back again,
So loving-jealous of his liberty.”
“I would I were thy bird.” Nick pronounced seriously, breaking face with a giggle when Charlie mumbled “ If you’re a bird then I’m a bird” under his breath.
“Sweet, so would I.
Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing.
Good night, good night. Parting is such sweet sorrow,
That I shall say ‘Good night’ till it be morrow.” Charlie covered his face with his script, alluding to Juliet’s exit from the scene. He peeked around the corner of his thick booklet of papers to watch Nick speak his final line of the scene.
“Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast.
Would I were sleep and peace so sweet to rest.
Hence will I to my ghostly friar’s close cell,
His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell.” Nick looked up from the page with a smile and met Charlie’s proud eyes. They’d only walked through a handful of scenes so far and Nick was already speaking more confidently and clearly than when they’d started. It was a true testament to the connection that had forged between them as best friends. It was an unexpected connection for them both, but one which only ever bloomed and blossomed bigger and brighter since its inception.
“See, you have absolutely nothing to worry about, you’re a natural Romeo, Nicky.”
Nick sighed opposingly. “It’s easier with you, though. Imogen is just so…intense. She’s not even a bad actress, it’s just that she kind of scares me which is distracting for obvious reasons.”
“You’ll just have to picture me then, but in a wig and stunning Shakespearean dressing gown.” Charlie wrapped the thin blanket over his shoulders around his head, stroking through it as though the cotton was a lengthy wig of hair.
“So you want me to laugh the whole time?” Nick prodded, tugging at the blanket and rustling up Charlie’s hair in the process.
Charlie flipped Nick the bird, followed by a swift smack over the head with his script. “Fuck you, I’d look gorgeous in that dress.”
“You’ll have to rip it from Im’s cold, dead hands, I think.”
“I’ll just have my big, strong Romeo steal it for me.” Charlie batted his eyelashes, fawning and falling dramatically into Nick’s lap.
Nick flushed, pushing weakly at Charlie’s limp body but making no true effort to lift him up and away. “Shape up, Juliet, we’ve got a billion more scenes to read through.”
___
The thing was, if Nick had known the effect it would have on him to have Charlie lean in close, with nothing but his script separating his face from Nick’s as he acted out Juliet kissing the poison from Romeo’s lips, he may have opted for kissing Imogen. Not because he had an ounce of romantic attraction for her, but because it would have been less painful than the disorienting surge of feelings that tore through his heart at a sudden, erratic pace when the paper in Charlie’s hand brushed over Nick’s lips. Charlie had kept the script under his eyes, so he could look into Nick’s as he unintentionally shifted the very Earth that Nick sat upon.
He could feel the heat from the outline of Charlie’s lips through the thick sheets of paper, and in an instant, Nick’s entire body seized.
Charlie was quick to notice the disconnect and panic behind Nick’s caramel eyes, pulling back and bringing his script down to his lap.
“Are you alright?” He asked tenderly, worry etched all over his face.
“Yeah, um, sorry…must have just been a little panic at the thought of Imogen kissing me,” Nick lied through his teeth, though he wasn’t really confident what the truth was at the moment. This had never happened with Charlie before; not when it had become habit for them to kiss one another on the cheek, not when they’d begun cuddling during film nights. Contact had never been an issue for Nick, so why would this be any different?
Anxiety about the performance with Imogen was the only logical option.
It had been the only logical option. Until it happened the next time, and Nick was forced to face the uncomfortable realisation that as much as he’d rather not kiss Imogen, he really didn’t care about doing so in the context of a theatrical performance. Ever since he’d begun rehearsing with Charlie, his anxiety surrounding the performance itself had been minimal and had coincidentally began only rearing its ugly teeth when the two of them were running lines together.
They were at Nick’s house the second time it happened, Charlie was downstairs getting their tea because he’d lost rock, paper, scissors, and Nick could hear his friend laughing boisterously with his mum in the kitchen. He smiled ear to ear, grateful for the connection that Charlie had forged with Sarah over their two years of friendship. She had always been the most important person in Nick’s life, and seeing them get on so well never failed to swell up his heart a few sizes. He could never really place his finger on why it meant so much to him that Charlie in particular got on so well with Sarah; she was a very agreeable person that could connect with nearly anyone sent her way, so in the grand scheme of things there had never been a universe where she and Charlie wouldn’t be as chummy as they were considering how often he frequented the Nelson home.
Before Nick could put too much thought behind the matter, Charlie returned with two mugs of tea in his hands and a biscuit wedged between his teeth.
“Is there one for me?” Nick probed with the excitement of a dog waiting for a treat.
“Sorry, that wasn’t part of the rock, paper, scissors clause.”
Nick pouted, jutting out his bottom lip until Charlie groaned and broke the biscuit in half, shoving half of it towards Nick’s mouth.
“Alright, you’ve got your beverage and your snack, knock my socks off, loverboy.”
“Anything for you, Juliet .” Nick cleared his throat, realising after a quick scan of his script that he didn’t need to follow along with the words any longer. He set down the papers and met Charlie’s eyes before picking up where they’d left off.
“Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged.”
Charlie’s lips look so soft.
“Then have my lips the sin that they have took.”
I wonder if they are as soft as they look?
“Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urged!
Give me my sin again.”
I’ve never thought someone’s lips looked pretty before.
Charlie blew Nick a kiss before dramatically delivering his final line of the scene. “ You kiss by th’ book.”
Nick ducked his head, overwhelmed by the sudden panic that ravaged him once again, the same way it had the week before. It was more intense this time, with the mixture of Charlie’s airborne kiss and Nick’s own preoccupied thoughts. His entire body felt hot, and he could feel his heart pulsing all the way up in his ears. Nick had felt performance anxiety before with rugby, it wasn’t something unfamiliar to him, but this was an entirely new beast that he wasn’t sure he’d ever really experienced before.
“Nick? Are you alright? You look a little pale,” Charlie inquired, setting down his script and reaching out to cover Nick’s trembling hand with his own.
“I don’t know what’s happening…I just…I don’t feel very well,” Nick mumbled, explaining the situation the best he could, but it was difficult when the mere touch of Charlie’s hand had set fire to his skin.
“Let’s stop for today, yeah? I’ll go warm your tea and grab you something more to eat. Maybe you’re a little famished from your long practice today.”
“Yeah…okay.” Nick leaned down, laying his head on his pillow and curling in on himself as Charlie made a swift exit.
When Charlie returned a few minutes later, Nick’s pink cheeks were coated in salty tears. He couldn’t be bothered to wipe them away and hide the evidence of whatever was happening to him—of why he was being like this.
“Oh Nick , do you want a cuddle?” Charlie proffered sweetly, laying the back of his hand on Nick’s sweat slicked forehead to check for a fever.
Nick just nodded, scooting back to make more space for Charlie to settle into the double bed. He set up a pillow behind his neck and opened up his arm for Nick to climb into and settle against his body as he pleased. Nick moved closer, resting his cheek on Charlie’s chest and wrapping himself as tightly around Charlie’s frame as he could muster.
The action, typically a safe space of relaxation, set off a blaring alarm in Nick’s mind the instant his cheek pressed against the warm surface of Charlie’s body. The fire that had blazed through his hand earlier had now spread from his head to his feet. Every point of contact with Charlie’s felt like Nick was laying on a giant frying pan set to high heat.
When the fire in Nick’s gut dissipated, it only made way for a thunderous boom of fireworks erupting with a force that made Nick feel sick to his stomach. The fireworks—along with the realisation—struck Nick like a thunderclap, it was sharp, sudden, and electrifying. He was laying in his favourite spot, the warmth of Charlie's slim frame holding onto him with a secure and comforting pressure that had always felt like home to Nick. They’d spent countless hours like this sharing secrets and dreams, laughing and crying, it should feel familiar like it always had, but instead, in a terrifyingly confusing instant, everything changed for Nick.
He glanced up at his best friend nervously, finding Charlie’s eyes shut as he ran his fingers soothingly through Nick’s tousled auburn hair. His heart pounded in his chest at this new, sudden awareness, this mortifying clarity that everything Nick thought he knew about his love for Charlie was far more complicated than he’d ever imagined.
He became hyper aware of all the millions of moments that had led to right now. There were so many. So many touches and looks and comments that had all contributed to this final realisation that his love for Charlie didn’t cease at the bound of friendship. It had all started so innocently before rolling into a slow, gradual deepening of emotions that bloomed from the rich soil of their unwavering, long-standing friendship. Their connection had always been deeper than any friendship Nick had ever known, it was special, and felt like more of a commitment than with anyone else he’d met in Truham. Nick had always assumed though, that those feelings were that of a best friend—perhaps that was still true though. Charlie was still that person to Nick, he was still the best friend he’d ever known, but with an air of romantic intimacy weaving through those lines of friendship.
Nick was in love with Charlie.
That would have been confusing enough on its own accord, realising he was in love with his best friend, but to add to the blow, Nick was in love with his best male friend, which added a whole other level of confusion to this awareness.
What the hell was he supposed to do now?
___
It was a week before opening night now. Nick and Charlie were having breakfast at a diner on the outskirts of Kent to celebrate Nick being fully off-script. Charlie had offered the date as a reward when Nick started getting cold feet and pulling back slightly from the effort he’d been putting into rehearsals.
The date , of course, didn’t mean to Charlie what Nick wanted it to, but he’d have to have been out of his right mind to turn it down regardless.
They’d been out like this dozens of times, it had never felt like something that Nick had to prepare for, or feel ready to do. This morning though, he’d put just a little more effort into looking his best for Charlie before he’d driven the short distance to his house to pick him up.
Everything had been going perfectly smoothly until it was time for them to collect the bill for their meal. The server had brought them separate checks, though Charlie was quick to snatch them both and asked for them to be rung in together. The man had agreed and asked what the occasion was for their outing , to which Charlie had cheerfully announced Nick’s upcoming performance in their school’s play.
“How sweet,” the server - Justin - had cooed, before tearing off the receipt from the debit machine and pulling a pen from his pocket to scribble something on the back of the slip of paper. “Hopefully I’ll see you around here again.” Justin tucked the paper into the palm of Charlie’s hand and left with a wink and an overconfident smirk that nearly had steam blowing from Nick’s ears.
To make matters worse, Charlie was blushing at the interaction and wasn’t crumpling up the receipt fast enough to calm Nick’s annoyance.
“I love not being in Kent,” Charlie mumbled, slipping the paper into the pocket of his black, ripped jeans before standing from his side of the booth and waiting for Nick to do the same.
“You’re not actually going to text that guy, are you?”
“God no, he looks like he’s at least twenty-five and he still gave me his number after I said you were in our school’s play . It’s just nice to feel like my sexuality is being perceived as something more than the butt of a joke for the neanderthals at school. It’s flattering , even if he is a creep.”
Nick just hummed, not realising he’d crossed his arms tightly over his chest until Charlie poked at his tense bicep.
“Awe Nicky, are you jealous ? Don’t worry, when I do finally get a boyfriend sometime in the next thirty years, you’ll still always be my favourite boy,” Charlie uttered, reaching up to pinch Nick’s cheek teasingly before looping an arm through Nick’s and leading the two of them back to Nick’s car.
___
Two days before the play opened, Nick’s feelings had reached a peak. He couldn’t ignore the way he was seeing Charlie in a new light, the way his features carried with them a new allure that sparked something warm inside Nick’s chest that he’d never been acquainted with before. Nick had spent the night before lying awake, replaying conversations and interactions over in his mind on a loop and feeling a warmth spread through his body as he remembered the way Charlie looked at him, spoke to him, touched him . Physical attraction was never something Nick found to come easily, he didn’t experience as many crushes as the rest of his friends, but had always just assumed that he wasn’t quite there yet and that the desire and the need for romantic love would strike him when it was ready.
All along though, it seemed that he’d been capable of what he’d thought to have been missing. It had been festering and burgeoning inside of him - towards Charlie - for nearly two years without his conscious knowledge.
What if Charlie didn’t feel the same, though? That was Nick’s biggest fear, one that he was nearly one hundred percent confident would come true because wouldn’t he know if his best friend was in love with him? Or was it possible that he hadn’t noticed Charlie’s feelings the same way he’d been unaware of his own?
There were so many unknowns that left Nick floating in a frightening space of uncertainty. He felt all of this boil to a head as he hugged Charlie goodbye on his porch step after their last rehearsal together. Their hugs weren’t often short by any means, tonight though, as Charlie’s body melted into Nick’s in a way that only he knew how to do, Nick couldn’t find it in him to let go. The hug lingered and Nick knew that it was only a matter of seconds before Charlie noticed that there was something more to this embrace. The magnetic force was so strong keeping Nick’s arms secured around Charlie’s frame that it felt like he’d fall limp to the floor if he let go of his grounding source.
When Nick was finally able to garner the strength to pull back, only slightly, he caught a glimpse of curiosity in Charlie’s blue eyes. A nonverbal question that pried for an answer Nick didn’t have. Nick swallowed hard, the desire to lean in and taste the most perfect lips he’d ever seen was almost too much to bear and every instinct within him screamed to close the gap. He hadn’t intended to act on the pull, but when Charlie’s tongue poked out and wet his plump bottom lip, Nick’s head dropped closer without permission from his frantic mind, bringing his lips within a breath of Charlie’s. They’d have touched together in less than a second’s time if the light, airy breath that sucked through Charlie’s parted lips hadn’t snapped Nick back to consciousness. He jumped away, eyes wide and body tense like he’d been shocked.
And then he was gone. He was down the front steps of Charlie’s home and into the driver’s seat of his car before he could even really comprehend what had just almost happened.
___
Nick avoided Charlie for the next forty-eight hours leading up to the play. In truth, he would have preferred the ability to avoid himself - to escape the hellscape of his mind that was torturing him for ruining the best friendship he’d ever known. It was a constant barrage of self-deprecation and why’s. Why did I do that? Why didn’t I notice sooner? Why am I like this?
When it came to the night of the show, Nick was grateful that Charlie was controlling the sound from backstage so that he couldn’t physically see him during the performance. Even so, he thought of Charlie throughout the entire play. He pictured the way Charlie’s voice had spoken the lines so beautiful and intently even when they weren’t taking the process entirely seriously. He thought of the way Charlie’s eyes had sparkled and shimmered when he’d make kissy faces at Nick after all of the cheesy, romantic lines. When he kissed Imogen, he thought of Charlie. He thought about how Charlie’s lips wouldn’t taste of sickeningly sweet strawberry lip-gloss, how they’d be softer and probably a lot less insistent. He thought of running his fingers through Charlie’s thick, black curls and how they’d feel like silk under his touch. He thought about how he’d give anything to have Charlie in Imogen’s place right now.
When it was all said and done, Nick mindlessly gave his bows and listened to round after round of applause. He engaged languidly in the post show meeting and spoke with his mum briefly before heading backstage to change. He managed to slink past Imogen backstage and get into the boys changing room unseen by her watchful eye.
“Nick! You’ve got some flowers here man, from Imogen I presume.” Sai, who had been cast as Benvolio’s understudy, clapped Nick on the shoulder before handing him a large bouquet of multi-coloured tulips.
“Colour me shocked,” Nick groaned before setting down the bouquet on a bench and pulling out the notecard tucked within the blooming flowers.
Break a leg, Romeo.
PS. That’s a nice thing to say in theatre, try not to actually fall off the stage ;)
-C xxx
Nick considered that he had two options at that moment. He could text Charlie, thank him for the flowers, and let everything go back to normal as if nothing had ever happened. Or, he could do what he really wanted—the scarier, braver, and likely more stupid option.
He’d never considered himself the smartest person in the world anyhow.
That’s how Nick found himself standing outside Charlie’s door, soaking wet and freezing half to death under the chilled, spring rainfall that evening. The sun had almost entirely set, and Nick himself supposed that he looked crazed to any potential onlookers. He couldn’t be damned though, Nick pressed the doorbell, waiting anxiously as he heard Charlie’s mum shout for him to grab the door.
When it opened, everything Nick had prepared to say during the run from his house fell from his mind like the soiled raindrops dripping from his soaked hair. His mouth opened and closed frantically a few times before Charlie grabbed his hand and tugged him across the threshold.
Charlie looked Nick up and down twice, shaking his head at Nick’s bedraggled appearance and overall lack of clothing for such a cold night. He was in cotton shorts, a thin t-shirt that was entirely soaked through from the downpour, and he could feel the wetness of his socks squishing in his canvas Vans sneakers with every movement he made.
“Did you forget a coat and an umbrella?” Charlie raised, the typical joy present in his tone with Nick absent for obvious reasons.
“Oh, um, yeah…I guess I didn’t really look outside before I left.” Nick anxiously ran his fingers through his sodden hair, realising the mistake he made when he attempted awkwardly to tamp off the water on his equally wet shorts.
“Where is your car? Did you walk here?”
“Well, I ran….but yeah.” Nick admitted sheepishly, only able to relax slightly when he noticed the teasing smile cracking through the seams of Charlie’s frown.
“Idiot,” he mumbled, shaking his head and crossing his arms over his chest. The enormous sleeves of his oversized jumper hung over his hands in an almost comically large manner.
“Probably.”
“You’ve been ignoring me since you were here last.” Despite Charlie having begun to let his guard down, Nick could sense the hesitancy and hurt in his friend’s voice that gauged an aching hole in his chest knowing that he’d been the cause of it.
“Yeah…I have been,” Nick admitted, knowing there was no way through this other than brutal honesty, even if it hurt them both in the end.
“Are you here to tell me why?”
“Yeah…could we—could we maybe go up to your room?” Nick pleaded, looking anxiously past Charlie and hoping that no member of his family were lurking around a corner listening in.
Charlie nodded, pulling Nick towards the stairs by his hand but dropping the hold halfway up the climb. Nick's heart sank at the action even though he knew he was deserving of it. Charlie had no reason to believe Nick would want to be holding his hand right now. He made a stop at the bathroom to grab Nick a towel to dry off with before his limbs began turning blue. When they finally made it to Charlie’s room, Nick fell face to face with the reality of the situation, that it was now or never.
“Can I go first?” Charlie asserted out of the blue, once his bedroom door had been shut behind the two of them.
“Oh, um, okay?”
“Look, I just want to apologise. I’m so sorry if I made you uncomfortable with how touchy I’ve been lately. I don’t think I really noticed how much more tactile I’d been with you as of late and that was really unfair of me when I spent practically our whole first year of friendship promising you that I’d never make you feel like I was trying to make a move on you. I let myself get too comfortable and that was probably confusing as fuck for you so—”
“Charlie…”
“—I just needed to let you know that it was never my intention to bombard you like that and make you feel—”
“Charlie.”
“—like I was going to kiss you. Now you probably don’t want me being that close to you anymore which I completely understand, but I just hope that—”
“ Charlie! ” Nick took Charlie’s reddened cheeks between his palms, stepping into his space and leaving no room for him to continue his monologue. “Charlie…” Nick whispered again, breathless and feeling a little wild with courage.
Charlie looked up at him through his thick lashes, cerulean eyes illuminated by the neon sign above his bed and the mushroom shaped lamp switched on at his bedside. The warmth in Charlie’s eye’s, along with the admission that he had thought to have been the one leaning in to initiate the kiss, filled Nick with a rampant glee.
“Charlie… I was going to kiss you .”
“What?”
“That night, I ran off because I wanted to kiss you , and I thought I’d made a terrible mistake when I leaned in…I thought I’d ruined everything.”
Charlie let out a shaky exhale, similar to the one Nick noticed before their almost kiss a few days earlier. “ You wanted to kiss me ?”
“ Want,” Nick clarified. “I want to kiss you, Charlie.”
“Since when?”
“I’m not really sure if I’m being honest. I began realising that I didn’t just see you as a friend anymore when we started rehearsing together. Everything between us just started to feel different and I couldn’t understand why because I knew it didn’t make me uncomfortable… Everything just sort of clicked whenever we would be going over the kissing scenes and you’d blow me a kiss, or kiss me over your script, or kiss my cheek. It just hit me that I wanted you to do it for real…”
“You want to kiss me…” Charlie repeated again, his eyes were wide with shock and the red of his cheeks under Nick’s touch had only darkened.
“Yeah…can I?” Nick breathed out, throwing caution to the wind before he could lose the nerve.
Charlie just nodded and Nick sucked in a final breath before closing the gap between them and pressing their lips together in a short, tender kiss. It was chaste and light, just a gentle press of lips that served to test the waters between them. No sooner than Nick had begun to pull away to check that Charlie truly wanted this, Nick’s head was pulled back down with two arms hooked around his shoulders and neck. The second kiss was stronger and more explorative than the first had been. Charlie’s lips were warm and inviting, everything that Nick had dreamed a first true kiss to be.
The others that came before—a rushed first kiss with Tara at their Year Six dance and the few pecks with Imogen on stage as Romeo and Juliet shadowed in comparison to this.
The world of puzzle pieces around Nick all seemed to fall into place, all the cracks dissolved together and left a perfectly set image of he and Charlie suspended in that moment. As the kiss deepened, Nick felt Charlie’s hand run up the nape of his neck and comb through his rain-dampened hair. Nick let his own hands drop to Charlie’s waist, holding him delicately, afraid that this might all be a dream and that moving too hastily would startle the two of them back to reality.
When they both pulled back, breathless and in need of air that wasn’t shared, Nick rested his forehead against Charlie’s, his eyes fluttering up to meet Nick’s gaze.
“I’ve wanted to do that for so long…” Charlie admitted, caution long thrown to the wind.
“I guess we have a lot of kissing to make up for then?” Nick teased before beginning to pepper Charlie’s cheeks, nose, and forehead with dozens of kisses.
“Damn right, Romeo.”