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Charlie looks up at the large, grey student accommodation before him. Leeds. Finally. Fucking finally his world can expand beyond Truham Grammar School for Boys and the knobheads contained within it. He's going to make so many amazing new friends here. Interesting, adult, queer friends to do interesting, adult, queer shit with. He takes a puff of his berry vape as he assesses his new surroundings.
One large tree in the courtyard. Oak is it? Fine. Bish better not drop leaves on him, but fine. One bench. Also fine. He will sit on that occasionally when the mood strikes. One big metal thing. He squints at it and uggh. Is that a damn trampoline in… his courtyard? Gorl, no. That will have to go. He'll have to get to the bottom of this. He can't have trolleyed first-years bashing their heads in on a fucking trampoline while he is revising his first conjugation verbs. Confirmare! He pockets the vape and goes to check-in. The sooner his things are in his room, the sooner his parents fuck off back to Kent and he can see if the local shop sells Beyond Mince.
Once checked in, he grabs a box labelled ‘mushroom jumpers’ from the boot of the family car and heads up to his new home for the next year. He hopes he can move all his stuff in quickly. Jane is seriously pissing him off today and he's had to stop himself telling her directly to her face at least four times so far. Historically, “can you shut up and stop annoying me, thank you,” hasn't gone down well, and is best avoided.
Charlie re-enters the building and bumps into someone on the staircase. Someone with colourful Vans and thick thighs. Someone with a broad chest and large arms. Someone clearly built for moving boxes from old cars to new rooms… Charlie has been told repeatedly by his therapist that asking for help is okay and he briefly considers listening to this advice, before he sees the face attached to the frame. Nope. He cute. Not talking to him.
“Hi,” says Cute Guy, blushing and looking slightly awkward. Okay, they are talking. To him, apparently. Charlie offers a hesitant “hi,” in return. Why is he hi-ing? Why is he so cute? What is his deal?
"Do you, erm… need help moving in?" the Cute Guy asks as he fiddles with his fingers. Charlie notices he’s got a Spiderman plaster on his middle finger. It’s a little crusty and has definitely been there for a while.
"Actually… yeah. Yes, please. Flat 214."
"Okay. Cool," the Cute Guy nods his head in a rapid motion. If he nodded any quicker, he’d take off.
He follows Charlie up the stairs to drop off the box of clothes, and back down to the car like an obedient puppy. Charlie somehow resists the urge to say “good boy” and stroke his head as he plonks a few boxes in his arms. May as well give him the heavy boxes and put those huge arms to good use, he thinks. Jane clearly agrees as she takes a box labelled ‘pillows’ and heads towards the building.
He spots his helper reading the names on the boxes in his arms; 'expensive skincare', 'everyday skincare', 'cheap skincare', 'SPF', and the last, 'pride things'. The lid pops up on the pride box, a handmade sign that simply states ‘Queer as in FUCK THE TORIES’ poking out at eye level. Charlie realises this 30-second connection he’s had with Cute Guy could blow up in his face if it turns out he’s a right-wing homophobe. Charlie bites his lip and waits for the penny to drop.
Cute Guy smiles at the sign and then smiles at Charlie. It’s a big smile. Not a fake one, Charlie confidently assesses. Charlie hides his own smile as he closes the box and reapplies the loose tape. He then turns to the flats and guides the way to his room, pointing to an empty spot where Cute Guy can put down the boxes.
They find his mother in there, unpacking boxes with the ferocity of a drill sergeant. “Charlie, this lamp doesn’t go with your new curtains. You need new ones,” she says, holding up a lamp he’s never seen before.
“Mum, I don’t need new curtains. I didn’t even know I had curtains,” Charlie replies, rolling his eyes as he grows more exasperated by the second.
Jane ignores him, and marches into the tiny shared kitchen with a box labelled ‘toastie maker and vegan bolognese sauces’, muttering about colour coordination and Feng Shui.
Cute Guy gives Charlie a sympathetic smile, and Charlie’s heart does a little gay flip. “Sorry about her. She’s apparently decided to redecorate the entire flat. It’s like she’s nesting, but for me. I don't know why and I would very much like her to stop,” Charlie explains, gesturing towards Jane, who is now arranging throw pillows on the couch with military precision.
“She reminds me of this woman I watch on TikTok. She cleans and organises other people's houses. It’s mesmerising to watch, although I imagine it’s a little different when it's your mum. I’ll err- I’ll send you the link. You might like them.” Cute Guy looks incredibly shy. It's adorable.
“I probably would like them, I do love a before and after. But, I can’t play fucking TikToks anymore without an account and I refuse to get one. I go back and forth wanting to delete Instagram, and that’s the only social media I have.”
Cute Guy nods like he’s filing away the information. “Good to know.”
They continue bringing boxes up from the car, Charlie noting that the car, unfortunately, stinks of piss after he removes his box labelled wellbeing loose tea. Well, great, he thinks, his special packet of stomach-cramp-and-fart-reducing tea must have spilled down the seats when they were unpacking the car. He sighs. Jane is going to demand he pay for a valet now like it's his fault he has IBS.
He speeds up the moving-in process to try and get rid of her quicker. His composure is wearing thinner and thinner with every snide remark and repositioning of his already perfectly well-placed items. He's seriously going to strain something in his eye muscles from rolling if this carries on.
“You know, there is a wonderful bakery not far from here that sells the most amazing pistachio croissants. They’re cube-shaped and when you rip them apart all of the cream comes leaking out. It's left then right then left then left again,” Cute Guy says at the speed of Lightning McQueen. Charlie tries not to grin at the adorableness of him. Is he nervous? Charlie thinks, surely not. Just then, Charlie catches his reflection in the microwave, well, I do look fit today.
“Yes?” asks Jane, pausing her lint-rolling rug mission to offer him a frown.
“Uh- well, I was thinking, maybe the two of you want to grab something to eat before you leave? Surely you must be hungry after such a long drive and,” he points to Jane, “all that amazing decorating you’ve done,” Cute Guy babbles, cutely.
Ah, Charlie thinks. He’s trying to help me.
“You’re so right, I’m exhausted from all this work! Would you mind fetching us some?” Jane asks, looking expectantly at Cute Guy. God, she is so entitled.
“Mum, we can’t expect a stranger to get us lunch! But I do really like the sound of that croissant. You know how much I love nuts.” Charlie directs the statement at Jane but hopes Cute Guy understands. Charlie turns to find him sporting a raging blush that hides his beautiful freckled skin. Charlie smirks, feeling like a smug little cunt and Jane nods curtly and stomps off to get the croissants.
“Thank you for that. I know you don’t know me, like, at all, but I’m sure you’ve gathered from the 45 minutes that you’ve been here that I struggle with her.” Charlie explains, receiving yet another smile in response. This guy!
They unload the last few boxes and by a stroke of luck, Jane still isn’t back by the time they're finished. Charlie checks his Find My Friends app and finds that she's ended up going in the complete opposite direction of the bakery. Cute Guy's rapid-fire directions must have bamboozled her. Very good. He sighs in relief at the Jane reprieve. He likes knowing where she is, especially when she's far away. He might microwave some salted popcorn and watch on the app as she drives all the way back to Kent later.
He’s been using his ability to track her to his advantage for years now. Especially when he met Alastair the Scottish beefcake at a drag club night a few months ago and he made sure to show him every crevice of his room while Jane was at Olly's PTA meeting. What can he say, Scottish men are hot. Thank the Gay Apple Corporation Gods for the feature that allows you to only share a location one-sided though. He'd hate her to track all the exploits he knows he'll have up here, once he settles and finds his social circle.
Cute Guy finishes folding down the last box and stands with his hands on his hips, looking proudly at the pile of Charlie’s belongings. “So what are you going to do with the rest of your day?” he asks, inspecting a water bottle decorated with rays of sunshine and leaves.
“Well, after I eat my croissant and kick my Mum out, I think I'll practise my cat-cow pose now that I’ve got my pigeon down to a T. Then after yoga, I’ll probably eat an entire bag of lentil chips and fall asleep watching H2O.”
Cute Guy’s eyes light up. “Cool, cool. Well, uh- I’ll let you get on with it then. I’ll see you around…”
“Charlie. It’s Charlie.”
“Charlie,” Cute Guy repeats.
“Yes, short for Charles, but please don’t call me that. Only my Abuela calls me that. And the bank.” Charlie says.
Cute Guy laughs. “No problem. See you soon Charlie, not Charles.”
Charlie walks him to the door, and as it closes behind him, he hears Cute Guy singing under his breath.
“'Cause I'm no ordinary girl, I'm from the deep blue underworld…”
Charlie grins like the Cheshire cat, then frowns almost immediately. Oh for fuck’s sake, he thinks, I don’t know his fucking name.
//
Charlie spends the next few months figuring out uni life. He establishes the quickest route to the Languages campus, learns the layout of his local Tesco, and finds a cosy hiding spot in the library where he's best placed to observe people and choose who he wants as his new friends. He establishes a routine of sleeping in, attending lectures, yogaing, cooking his way through all of vegan recipe insta and watching Schitt’s Creek. He gets used to the cries of the idiots who insist on breaking their limbs on the trampoline. He spends some time setting up an elaborate pulley system, whereby his ensuite bathroom door pulls closed when he shuts the shower door so that all the steam doesn't escape the room when he showers due to the weak door latch. Normal uni stuff.
And he bumps into Cute Guy semi-regularly.
He learns Cute Guy’s name when he knocks on Charlie's door one afternoon a few weeks later as he's about to go for a run. Charlie quietly hopes he's come to ask him for a shag until he sees the clipboard.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“Um, Charlie, not Charles, right?”
“Right…”
“I have a petition. I need everyone in the building to sign and then they'll-”
“Get rid of that stupid trampoline?” Charlie enthuses, grabbing the fountain pen from Cute Guy's hand and signing his name next to 214.
“No, it's to get them to fix the vending machine downstairs. It steals pound coins when you try to buy Orangina.”
“Ahh. That's important, sure sure. But the trampoline is much more pressing. Here,” Charlie says, crossing out the words ‘fix’ and ‘vending machine' and replacing them with ‘remove’ and ‘trampoline’. “All better.”
“But sixty people have signed for a necessary change…”
“And they'll get one…”
“Nick. It's Nick.”
“Nick.”
“Yes, short for Nicholas, but please don’t call me that. Only my brother calls me that. And the dentist.” Nick states, looking adorably proud of himself.
Charlie shakes his head fondly and exits his room, letting the door close behind him as he walks towards the stairs, looking back over his shoulder to say “Bye Nick, not Nicholas.” He's sure he hears Nick laughing as he sings his way down the stairs,
“Land or sea, I've got the power if I just believe… ”
//
The next time he sees him is another week later when he’s deep in the midst of a dopamine craving and has booked a small addition to his growing tattoo sleeve. He wants something that screams freedom, but without being too obvious. And it needs to be fairly basic because the only tattoo artist he could find in his price range isn't exactly rated. Maybe a bird in flight or something?
He sits on the bench, contemplating his options and begrudging the fact that he hasn't made friends yet to talk him out of getting a tattoo on a student budget, when he feels a weight drop down beside him.
“Hi, Charlie not Charles.”
“Hi, Nick not Nicholas.”
“Why are you trying to inspect your elbow?”
“I'm not. I'm looking at my arm to decide where to position my new tattoo.”
“Oh cool! There's a gap there?” Nick suggests, pointing to a patch of plain skin between a fancy mushroom and two hearts in speech bubbles.
“Mmm. That's a good suggestion actually.” Charlie hums, not having thought of that particular spot.
“What are you getting?” Nick asks, looking genuinely interested.
“Something to celebrate leaving home and branching out, I think…”
“Like a leaf?”
“A leaf?” What does a leaf have to do with anything?
“Yeah, you know… when it blows off a tree and the wind carries it away?”
“I like that, actually.” Charlie smiles at Nick, and Nick smiles back, and… his fucking phone rings. The tattooist had finished up early and can he come right now instead of in an hour so she can pick up her boyfriend from the airport later? He raises an eyebrow at Nick, who is definitely close enough to hear the voice booming out of his phone. Nick nods and shrugs, and Charlie answers yes as he turns and sets off at pace to the bus stop.
//
The next time Charlie runs into Nick he doesn't realise it's him at first. He meanders around the Tesco's near their building, headphones blaring Renée Rapp in the fruit and veg aisle, Little Mix in the chilled goods section, and Troye Sivan in the cleaning aisle. He keeps to himself until he sees another hand reaching for the last vegan garlic bread in the freezer aisle.
He's about to slap the hand away and tell its owner to “go piss off gorl” when he notices the Power Puff Girls plaster on the ring finger and the abundance of freckles surrounding it. That hand can only belong to Nick not Nicholas. Charlie finds his hand pulls back completely of its own volition at the realisation and darts up to check his curls, leaving Nick to claim what is objectively the best item in the entire shop. Except for maybe the Raspberry White Claws. Charlie would genuinely fight him for those.
“Hi,” Nick stutters, looking every bit the hot, nervous guy that Charlie remembers from the few interactions they've shared.
“Hi. I didn't know you were vegan, too.” Charlie says, peering into Nick's shopping basket out of curiosity and seeing nothing but pineapple and grapes. Eww. Charlie does not like pineapple or grapes. He can keep those.
“Oh, I'm not, I just really like gazza b. Like a lot.” Nick witters, looking adorably earnest.
“Well yeah, everyone likes gazza b.”
“Yeah…,” Nick nods, before dumping it in Charlie's trolley and literally running away. Charlie looks at his firm retreating arse fondly before switching his gaze to the gazza b with equal fondness. He laughs and shakes his head. What a sweet little dork Nick is.
//
One magical day, Charlie wakes up late. He showers, dresses and updates his mindfulness app, arranging his tasks for the day. He opens his tragically-mismatched-to-the lamp curtains and finds the trampoline has finally gone. He can now look out of his window and see the bench, which is a minor upgrade. Minor, until Nick not Nicholas ambles over and takes a seat and it becomes a major one. Charlie doesn't mean to watch him pull a baguette out of his bag and eat the majority of it in three easy bites. Nor does he mean to get a flutter in his balls at what that implies about Nick's oral capacity. Damn. Charlie's glad it's lunchtime and he's on his own.
He likes Nick, the prettiest of his acquaintances. After six months here, all he has are acquaintances. This is not what he had planned for uni. He just hasn't clicked with anyone on a deeper level quite yet. There was one guy in a coffee shop one time that he asked for and received the life story of, but that was only because he was in a queue and needed to do something to pass the time. He rests his forearms on his window ledge and settles in for some totally innocent people watching. Okay, specific person watching.
Nick’s maroon hoodie looks cosy and warm, like something he would very much care to snuggle into. He’d also quite like to snuggle into those slim-fit grey joggers, albeit not for the warmth. Nick takes off his hoodie to reveal a fuchsia pink top that says “Hot girls have IBS”. It's enough to make Charlie certain that this is the first person he wants to upgrade from acquaintance to… something else.
So he does. He grabs his keys and walks out to the bench, sitting next to Nick and smiling at him. He was thinking he would say something like “Hi,” or “I like your t-shirt.” instead he says, “Fuck it's cold. Can I borrow your hoodie?”
“Yes. Definitely,” Nick says, enthusiastically enough to make Charlie briefly wonder if this was a mistake. He puts it on anyway. He was correct, it is warm. It also smells delightful. Like fresh boy and baked goods. Hmm. No, it's not a mistake; he wants to keep smelling this particular combination.
"Wanna be friends?" Charlie offers, poking his hands out of the long sleeves to toy with and twirl a black ring on his finger.
“Are we not already?” Nick asks, looking somewhat put out. Babes, it's just language. No need to be offended…
“No, we're acquaintances. I'm studying Languages – I know the difference.” Charlie nods, sagely.
“Okay, well then yes,” Nick smiles, “let's be friends! I'm Nick.” He holds out his hand to shake like a dork.
"Yes hot girl, I know that.” Charlie rolls his eyes. “Tell me your trauma so we can bond!"
"Erm…” Nick bites his lip and looks up at the sky like he’s thinking really hard. Cutie. “Well, my nipples are exactly 20 centimetres apart? Does that count?”
Charlie smirks. “We'll circle back to that.”
“Okay… I don’t know if Cascada is German or English. She both claims and denies to be both in various interviews and it bothers me…”
“Mmm. I can see how that could be distressing. Wanna head to my room, curl up platonically and spitball wild theories about Cascada’s nationality and general life?”
“Yes!” There's that enthusiasm again. Charlie could get used to that actually. Sure, it’s a bit overwhelming, but it's sweet. His new friend is sweet. They stand and Nick gathers his baguette wrapper and tosses it into the bin by the bench. “Shall we, Charlie not Charles?”
“We shall, Dorkie not Dork.” Charlie leads the way back to the building, making sure to maintain the conversation as they go, “Have you ever tried yoga? I bet you’d look great in downward dog…”
//
“Wow, look at this space! You’ve done so much with it since I’ve been here,” Nick awes, looking around the space.
“Well yeah, I need my space to have a certain aura and zen about it,” Charlie says as he tweaks the frog and mushroom trinkets on his sideboard. “I spend so much of my time here, eat sleep uni repeat.”
“I had noticed that I haven’t seen you at many of the socials, or just around really.” Nick twiddles with his fingers.
Bless this cute freckled cinnamon roll, Charlie thinks. I could do so much with him.
"I haven't really found my people yet. I also sometimes get really overwhelmed with big social situations, and I need to scope out the place beforehand to make sure I know where the exits are. So unless I'm really up for it, I mostly just prefer the comfort of my own company," Charlie explains. He speaks with a hint of nervousness, revealing a vulnerability as he opens up about his struggle with social interactions.
Nick nudges Charlie lightly, flashing him a small cute smile, “Well I’m honoured to see your safe space. I really love it, it's a vibe. It’s very you. And, who knows, maybe you’ll find your pers- people sooner than you think.”
After putting Nick's large muscles to good use in frothing up some espresso to make a fancy iced oat latte, they sprawl out on Charlie's couch, bathing in the flickering light of the TV. "How to Train Your Dragon" plays, but their attention is more on each other than on Hiccup's quest to train a dragon that Charlie is adamant is just Nick with wings and a tail. The popcorn bowl rests between them, mostly forgotten, as they lie side by side. Nick's arm drapes casually over Charlie's shoulders, and their fingers interlace lightly, though neither seem willing to acknowledge it.
Charlie’s heart does somersaults. He can feel Nick’s warmth seeping through his shirt, and every time Nick’s fingers twitch, Charlie has to suppress a shiver. “Toothless is so cute,” Charlie says, trying to focus on the dragon and not the butterflies in his stomach.
“Yeah,” Nick agrees, but his eyes are on Charlie’s profile, not the screen. “Totally adorable. Even though he actually does have teeth, but we’ll just let that one slide.” He gives Charlie’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, and they both pretend it’s an accident.
Charlie shifts slightly, his head resting more comfortably against Nick’s chest. “I wish I had a dragon,” he murmurs, barely aware of what he’s saying.
Nick chuckles softly, his breath tickling Charlie’s hair. “I’d probably name mine something ridiculous. Like…Toothbrush.”
Charlie laughs, the sound more nervous than amused. “Toothbrush? Really?”
“Hey, it’s a solid name,” Nick defends, grinning. “But if you had a dragon, you could name it something cool, like…Shadowfly.”
Charlie feels a blush creeping up his cheeks. “Or…Thunderpaws,” he suggests, trying to match Nick’s playful tone.
“Thunderpaws it is,” Nick agrees, his voice softer now. He squeezes Charlie’s hand, his thumb brushing over Charlie’s knuckles. “You’d be a great dragon rider.”
Charlie’s heart skips a beat, and he turns his head to look up at Nick. Their faces are inches apart, and for a moment, everything else fades away. “You really think so?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Absolutely, you would be a super badass boss bitch during the day, like world-changing shit. Like stopping work from having 2-hour meetings at 9am kind of shit. Then during the night, you’d be this amazing and gorgeous dragon rider, fighting crime and kicking homophobe arse,” Nick replied, his eyes locked on Charlie’s. There’s a moment of charged silence, both of them too nervous to move, too afraid to break the spell.
Then, a loud crash from the movie startles them both, and they jump, breaking apart with nervous laughter. Charlie’s heart pounds and he’s pretty sure Nick can hear it. “Dragons are so unpredictable,” he huffs, trying to regain his composure.
“Yeah,” Nick agrees, his own voice a little shaky. “But, uh, maybe we should watch out for any Toothbrushes flying around.”
They settle back into their previous position, closer than before, still holding hands. A surge of warmth spreads through Charlie's veins, causing a mix of excitement and fear to flutter in his chest. He feels the heat of their intertwined friendship deepen, hinting at the possibility of something more, but for now, the unspoken connection between them is enough to fill the air with anticipation.
//
Nick and Charlie have been inseparable since, using every spare moment they have to bond and explore new experiences together. Whether enjoying book signings, hitting the bowling alley, or settling in to watch reruns of H2O, they are always by each other's side. Nick’s even joined Charlie for the half-price Friday lunches at IKEA – his most sacred ritual because money babes. Despite Charlie's growing hope for a deeper connection, Nick seems to shy away every time Charlie thinks they’re ready to take the next step in their relationship.
Now, in a rare moment without him, Charlie sprawls on his bed, lost in the middle of a new tattoo doodle when he hears an urgent knocking on his door. He frowns, glancing at the clock. Who would be visiting him at this hour, in this weather? The rain is pounding against the windows like a relentless drumbeat and Charlie can't imagine leaving now for anyone, except maybe for Nick.
He swings open the door, and there stands Nick, drenched to the bone, fringe plastered to his forehead, and breathing heavily. "Nick? What are you doing here?" Charlie asks, worry creasing his brow.
Nick looks at him, eyes wide and earnest. "Charlie, I… I don't want to be friends."
Charlie's heart skips a beat. "What do you mean?" he asks, stepping aside to let Nick in, grabbing a towel from the bathroom and handing it to him to dry his dripping… well, everything.
Nick rubs the towel through his hair, taking a deep breath. "I mean, I've been thinking. A lot. And I've just been at the library researching. There are all these different classifications of relationships, right? Like, acquaintances, friends, best friends, dating, seeing each other, boyfriends… "
Charlie blinks, a smile tugging at his lips despite the seriousness of the moment. "Nick, did you seriously run here in the rain to talk about relationship classifications?"
"Yes! I mean, no. I mean… kind of?" Nick's voice is a mix of exasperation and amusement. "I just… I want us to be something between friends and boyfriends. Something more, but not labelled too strictly yet, you know?"
Charlie tilts his head, thinking. "So, like… dating?"
Nick shakes his head. "Dating sounds too formal. Like, it's not the 1800s. Seeing each other?"
Charlie frowns, considering. "Seeing each other sounds like we're not committed at all though. I don't like that."
Nick groans, wiping his face with the towel. "Ugh, this is so complicated. I just want to be with you, but also not rush things or freak you out."
Charlie smiles, stepping closer. "Nick," he says softly, reaching up to brush a wet strand of hair from Nick's forehead. "You're overthinking this."
Nick's breath hitches as Charlie leans in and kisses him; a soft, lingering kiss that makes everything else melt away. When they pull apart they're both breathless, and Charlie smiles.
"Okay, I have a question," Charlie says, his eyes sparkling. "This will determine whether this is going to work or not."
Nick looks intrigued. "Shoot."
"What colours do you associate with the days of the week?"
Nick laughs, a warm, genuine sound. "Monday is blue, because it's a cold colour and Mondays are just not the-"
"VIBE!" they say together, grinning like idiots.
"Oh my God, yes! So glad you agree," Charlie says, bouncing a little on his feet. "Then Tuesday is turquoise because it's got Monday residue."
Nick's eyes widen. "Exactly! And Wednesday is like…. a bright yellow. Because it's the middle of the week, and we need some brightness to get through, right?!"
They giggle, the tension between them dissolving into pure joy. Charlie suddenly lets out a little fart, and his eyes widen in horror. "Oh my God, I'm so embarrassed," he mumbles, covering his face.
Nick laughs, louder this time, and does an exaggeratedly bigger fart. "Now we're even," he says, still chuckling.
They both burst into laughter, collapsing onto Charlie's bed in a heap of limbs and IBS and shared happiness. "Nick," Charlie says after a moment, catching his breath. "I don't care what we call it. As long as it's us."
Nick smiles, pulling Charlie closer. "Yeah. Us sounds perfect."