Chapter Text
Nick wipes his hands on the fabric of his black dress slacks for the third time.
He looks into the car mirror, and combs that one bit of his fringe back into place. He’s pretty sure that his fringe is causing him issues today on purpose just to make his anxiety worse. He starts fussing at himself over it, trying to think if there’s something he could have done to keep it under control. Charlie might have had something for it in his cabinet of hair related magic potions, but he hadn’t thought to look. He had spent so long debating whether to go with the grey slacks or the black slacks that it left no time for his hair. He’s still not entirely convinced he’d made the right decision on that either.
He forces himself to stop looking at the mirror. Looking at himself makes him feel so, unbearably, young. Something about this outfit and the way his hair is behaving today is making him feel 15 and lost again. He’s even becoming convinced that he’s got the beginning of a spot on his forehead now, even though it’s probably nothing.
*They’re going to take one look at me and know that I’m not meant to be here. I’m not going to cry. That will only make it worse.*
He drags himself out of the car like he’s dragging a sled through snow. He definitely isn’t, though. August smacks him in the face the moment he’s got the door open. He’s dressed for formality over comfort, so he’s ill equipped for the last dregs of summer settling on his shoulders.
“It’s fine. Maybe they’ll even think I just look this flushed because of the sun and not because I’m drowning in my own nerves right now.”
He heads up to the front door and shifts around a bit awkwardly. The door is locked, and it takes him a frankly embarrassing amount of time to notice the call button beside it.
“Hi?”
“Good morning. Are you here for today’s interviews?”
“Um. Yeah.”
The door emits a low buzz that startles Nick a bit. He tentatively grabs the knob, which has unlocked on its own.
He comes through the door to see a woman in a cardigan with tightly woven braids. Without looking up, she directs him.
“Yellow sign in sheet. Write your legal name and the date and time. It’s the 4th day of August. Clock is behind you. Leave your driving license or other government issued ID on the counter and sit back there on those chairs.”
She’s clearly given this spiel so many times it may as well be written on her head. Nick quickly does as he’s been told and tries not to think about that.
*Surely, they’re interviewing plenty of other people with a lot more experience than I’ve got. Maybe I shouldn’t even be here.*
Before he has a chance to back out, he’s hearing his name from above his head.
“Nicholas Nelson?”
“Hi. Uh. Yes. That’s me.”
“You’re early.”
He starts to apologize, but gets cut off.
“No no, it’s excellent. You’re my last appointment before lunch! I’m ready to begin if you are.”
“Ready as I’ll ever be?”, he says, hoping it sounds more funny than terrified. People like a sense of humor, right? She laughs, which he hopes is a good sign. That or she’s laughing at him.
No, that would be unprofessional, and this woman looks about as professional as they come. Pressed plaid pantsuit, perfectly coiffed hair, and heels. She didn’t have to tell him she was in charge. He just knew.
He feels himself melting into his socks. The only comfort in his brain right now is that Charlie will find this amusing. Nick basically shuts down in awkward obedience at literally any display of authority. He insists it was grilled into him from years as an athlete, but Charlie insists that it’s just as much who he is as his freckles and his bisexuality. Nick isn’t used to feeling small, and he shorts out when it happens.
He emerges out of his brain tangent in a small office. It feels sterile in a building otherwise decked from floor to ceiling in color.
*Ah yes, a boring adult room for boring adult conversations. I can do this.*
The first few questions are fairly self explanatory. He got his certifications in primary education from Leeds. Yes, he does actually speak French natively. He wants this job because he’d like to work with varying age groups and determine what might be the right fit for him long term.
*This is his scripted professional answer for the real answer that he has no idea what he’s doing other than “uhhhh something something not letting children get hurt something something tiny rugby?”*
The headmistress takes a lot of notes. She’s scribbling all over a printed out copy of Nick’s résumé, which Nick didn’t even write. He babbled at Charlie for an hour or two and Charlie made his babbling sound like it came out of a profesional person who’s ready to have a full-time job. Charlie’s always been good at that. Taking the garbled mess of thoughts that spill out of Nick and helping to fumble through it all until it makes sense. Nick has quite literally never known what he wants without Charlie helping to spell it out for him. Even applying for this job was more Charlie’s idea than his.
*Charlie thinks this is a good idea. He thinks I can do it.*
He repeats that mantra to himself as he sputters out answers to all of the scenario questions.
“That was straight out of a textbook.”, the headmistress says when he’s finished walking through his extremely thorough answer to the question “What would you do if you found that a student was being bullied?”
He gulps briefly, trying and failing to push away thoughts of Charlie and all the pain he hadn’t been there to prevent.
“That’s what we’re here for, isn’t it? Obviously, we’ve got to teach them maths and writing and all of that, but if we can’t keep them safe, then what are we even doing here? What’s the point of any of it if they’re miserable? Nobody’s learning to do calculus if they’re afraid to go to the bathroom or eat lunch or… exist anywhere. We don’t expect fully grown adults to put up with that. Somebody’s gotta do something about it.”
He pauses for a moment.
“Sorry. That just slipped out.”
“That’s absolutely fine. It was a pleasure meeting you, Nicholas. I’ll be in touch.”
*I just entirely fumbled this, I think.*
**************************************
Around 4pm the same afternoon, Nick’s phone rings on the countertop. He’s gone to take a shower and clear his head, so Charlie picks it up.
“Nick, get in here.” Charlie stands outside the bathroom door, smiling to himself. Every time he listens to Nick in the shower, he’s reminded again of how much his heart can overflow itself. Sometimes he just neede to say that he loves him, right now.
“Nicholas, get out here, you lovely idiot.”
Charlie’s got a massive, ridiculous grin on his face as he hands over the phone and moves to hold Nick in his arms. The next chapter of both their lives is starting, and he’s really looking forward to this one.