Work Text:
Charlie Spring is, to not overstate it, more stressed out than any other human being on the planet has ever been.
He’s not even fucking exaggerating.
Okay, maybe just a bit. But, work is a shitshow the past few months with the end of year. He's got editing deadlines that he won’t be able to scrape out unless he works overtime for the next seven-hundred years, and the breakroom coffee machine broke. To add insult to injury, their management has insisted all the editing staff be in office rather than remote, which they typically allow, to increase “collaboration” efforts and help ensure deadlines are met.
He’s worked until well into the evening the past two weeks. It’s just a rough spurt, and he knows it’ll pass, but he’s finding it incredibly difficult to stay positive.
Nick and he have just moved into a new flat, the holidays are coming up soon, and all of these things happening all at once have been… ugh.
It’s easier on Nick this time of year. Primary school kids' curriculum tends to wind down at the end of November. He’s told Charlie that they’ve been doing quite a bit of “educational” movies in the afternoons, as his class is so far ahead. It’s a credit to Nick’s teaching, no doubt.
It’s also not something Charlie can relate to. In fact, he’s rather bitter about their career choices at this juncture. Even though he knows, in more ways than one, his job is much easier than Nick’s. They can have a toe-to-toe debate about it the next time Nick’s got a new batch of year three’s who’s parents don’t want them to learn about pronouns in class because it's “not appropriate”. They seem to forget it’s simply part of grammar.
Okay, he’s a bit off track.
Today was a long one, and it shows in his silent drive home. He doesn’t even have the desire to pop in a disc and bob his head along with the music as he normally would on the commute. No, instead he grips the wheel with white-knuckles and blearily tries to keep his eyes on the roads. At least he’s home before dinner tonight, a rarity as of late.
The one bonus is their new flat is about twenty minutes closer to the office, and much closer to Nick’s school. He takes solace in that as he parks the car and climbs out, encumbered by his bag and half-empty reusable water bottle. Nick insists he always bring it when he works away from home.
Nick also usually packs both of them lunch. Charlie hasn’t had the heart to tell him he’s not eaten much of them for the past week.
He’s keeping an eye on it, using all the coping mechanisms he learned over a decade ago when he was first hospitalized for his mental health struggles. He hasn’t had a relapse in ages, though it’s not like he’ll ever be completely cured. Things are good, he’s happy and healthy and he knows it will never be as bad as it was that one cold, awful winter.
But sometimes, once in a while, life becomes too much, and he finds himself teetering on the edge of falling back into dangerous old patterns. Usually Nick or himself will catch it before it goes too far, and they’ll get him back on track together.
He’s so lucky to have a partner who understands his needs so intrinsically. The benefit of so much time and experience together, he thinks.
When Charlie enters the front door he’s greeted by the pattering feet of their three-year old dog Butcher. He’s a mix of…something, Nick would know better. He’s proper adorable though, chunky little legs, a fat belly and back rolls underneath scruffy brindle fur. His collar is space themed with little planets decorating the dark blue background colors. Nick’s got his eye on adopting another puppy from the shelter, a girl this time that he already knows he wants to call Daisy unless she’s got a name already. Charlie will probably end up agreeing, once they’re settled. Nick is hard to say no to.
Charlie squats down beside him, grinning as he ruffles his fingers through the soft down of his fur. “Hi baby! I missed you today!” He’s used to working from home and keeping their pup company.
“Ah, only missed the dog then?” Nick appears in the doorway, smirking as he crosses his arms across his chest, eyes lovingly glossing over the pair.
Nick gets better looking every day, really. It’s quite unfair. He’s so tall, broad-shoulders and thick arms straining the green jumper he’s wearing underneath his kitchen apron. Gray joggers tapered at the ankle, showing off his thick thighs and muscular calves, the scruff of his groomed facial hair, the short crop of his auburn hair. Those big, warm brown eyes that invite you in with earnestness and genuine affection.
“Yes indeed,” Charlie replies with a teasing grin. “I was telling everyone at work that I have a needy little fella at home who I’d rather be attending to. I forgot it was actually two.”
Nick snorts out a laugh, and Charlie gets to his feet. They move together in synchrony, Nick’s arms wrapping around him tightly as if instinctual. They embrace for a beat, breathing in the other’s warmth and familiar presence, Nick pressing a firm kiss to the top of Charlie’s curls.
“I’m glad you’re home in time for dinner,” Nick murmurs into his hair. “I’ve made a roast, with your favorite cauliflower.”
Charlie sniffs the air delicately, finding he does indeed smell fragrant wafts of a familiar and personal favorite meal coming from their attached kitchen. Garlic, onions, butter, proper seasoning and the tender aroma of slow-roasted, juicy meat. He does love the way Nick prepares a roast, it’s always perfectly cooked and flavorful.
His first instinct is to gleefully reply that fuck yes, he’s starving, he’d skipped lunch, and he is in desperate need of Nick’s comforting cooking. Before he can get the words out, there’s a surprising voice in his head, a voice he hasn’t heard in so long.
For a half-second, the voice tells him it’d be better if he skipped dinner. Everything in his life is so out of control right now. He could skip dinner and go unpack the boxes in their spare room. Yes, that’s what he should do.
Then, he glances up at Nick’s expectant face, the taller man’s eyebrows pulling together a bit worriedly the longer Charlie takes to reply.
“Char?” he prompts.
“Sorry.” Charlie pulls back from their embrace and presses a quick kiss to Nick’s mouth. “Can’t wait. Just let me change out of these.”
“And into something of mine, no doubt,” Nick mutters as he waves a hand and heads back for the kitchen. Charlie chuckles and jogs down the corridor to their bedroom.
He makes it a point to change quickly into a pair of checkered pajama pants and one of Nick’s familiar blue jumpers. He needs to start the fireplace in the living room, it’s bloody freezing in their flat as the frigid winter air begins to replace the gentle cold of autumn.
Charlie bounds back down the stairs and finds Nick finishing setting the table. He smiles in spite of himself at the image. His tall, broad husband, wearing a little apron and carefully doling out portioned roast dinner he’d lovingly made from scratch. There are candles lit on the entryway table, giving the room a gentle, romantic ambiance.
Nick glances up at his entry, flashing him that warm, beaming smile that’s always sort of been reserved for Charlie. His eyes shine, his lips part in a giddy grin, his cheeks dimple and his nose crinkles.
It’s an amazing thing, to still be loved so fiercely after this many years, after this much pain and struggle. They’ve been through so much together, coming out, mental health struggles, long distance at uni, and the chaos of finding yourself in your early twenties.
Through it all, no matter what, they’ve found each other side-by-side, facing it as a team.
This is what makes Charlie sit down at the table and pick up his fork.
It isn’t always this easy. Sometimes being loved is not enough to combat the violence in his brain. Sometimes he needs that, and all his coping mechanisms, and all the years of therapy and practice to pull himself from the pits.
But tonight, he sits across from Nick, who loves him more wholly than any one person deserves to be loved, and he enjoys his dinner.
Tomorrow might be tough, but tonight, with his husband’s beautiful face glowing in the candlelight, Charlie feels like there’s nothing he can’t overcome.
The end of year means nightmarishly stressful days at the office, which is bad enough on its own. But it also means holiday parties, which for some reason, never seem to occur without the presence of food as the centerpiece.
Charlie has always felt safest eating when it’s just Nick and him. He’s worked through that. He can manage restaurants most days, even his entire group of friends. Extended family is tough but he usually gets through it with little to no mental duress.
Work has always been a hard one, though he isn’t exactly sure why. Maybe it’s the miserable fluorescent lighting, which always seems to highlight a person’s worst features and make one feel like they’re under a microscope. It’s hard to feel comfortable filling his plate when he’s got the mental headspace of a deer in headlights.
Still, he’s strong and he knows he can get through this. He’s made it through holiday work parties before, and once he gets this day over with, they’re all back to remote work like before. They’ve met some end of year deadlines, and management is placated enough to send everyone back home to enjoy the holidays without the morning traffic.
So, he joins his colleagues in the breakroom, listening to the banter about year end nonsense and who’s going where for the winter holiday. With all they’ve got going on, Nick and Charlie decided to just stay home for this season rather than traveling back to visit family. Nick’s mum Sarah is coming round for Christmas, and Tori and Olly have both promised to be in attendance at their New Year’s Eve celebration.
“Charlie!” His colleague Martha greets him with a big gummy smile. She’s got a piece of celery in her teeth, that he tries to subtly let her know about so she can pick it out, but she talks over him too quickly. “Where are you and the boyfriend going for holiday this year?”
Charlie resists the urge to sigh. Martha is not his favorite coworker. They don’t work together much since she’s not in his department, but she always finds a way to annoy him during any workplace gatherings.
“He’s my husband,” he reminds her, for maybe the ten-millionth time. “We’re staying home this year, we’ve just moved into a new flat and all. A lot going on.”
“Ah.” Martha nods thoughtfully. She takes a large bite of the casserole off her paper plate, wiping at her mouth with a tissue. She speaks again before she’s done chewing. “He’s a caretaker, isn’t he? Little ones?”
Charlie clears his throat, his grip on his own paper plate tightening. He sees another colleague of his, Becky, who’s company he enjoys much more. She’s pouring herself a drink. He silently sends her a prayer to come save him from this interaction.
Unfortunately, she doesn’t seem to hear it. Smart woman.
“Nick is a teacher. Year three.” Charlie offers Martha a tight smile.
Martha hmms thoughtfully, taking another bite of casserole. “I see. Not a high-paying profession, is that?”
Just get through this day, then you won’t have to see Martha and her celery teeth until the next ridiculous party.
“I always think the hardest working people deserve to be paid fairly,” he manages to reply without wringing her neck.
“I’ve seen the photos of him on your desk,” Martha continues, chewing more loudly than one would consider polite. “He’s a handsome lad. Is he a coach as well? Seen the one of him and all those little ones on the field.”
“Yes, he coaches children’s rugby recreationally as well. The kids love him to death.” Charlie purses his lips, a bit smugly. “He is very handsome.”
Martha nods thoughtfully, and takes another bite, following it up with a hefty sip from her paper cup. It registers then to Charlie how much her drink smells of alcohol.
“Well, good on ya’. He’s no scientist, but he’s bloody good eye candy. You’re smart to have locked it up. My Earl is no brainiac either, and he doesn’t have half the body your boyfriend does.” Martha winks at Charlie, as if she’s just paid him a great compliment.
For a moment, Charlie’s in utter disbelief. It takes him a few breaths to calm down enough to try and mitigate a coherent, work-appropriate response to this woman’s tipsy, rude buffoonery.
“Martha,” Charlie says through his teeth, “Nick is my husband . Not my boyfriend or some hook-up or some…some trophy or whatever it is you’re insinuating. We are a married couple who have been together for over a decade. Not to mention, he’s brilliant- he’s one of the smartest people I know. Smarter than most of the other people I interact with. He’s selfless, kind and- and he’s just wonderful. I’m done sitting here and listening to you disrespect him.”
With that, Charlie shoves past her and drops his plate in the bin by the break room door, ignoring the murmured whispers of their colleagues. Becky must notice his sudden departure, because he hears her calling his name and trailing behind him as he makes for his desk to collect his things.
“Charlie?” Becky asks worriedly as he grabs his laptop and begins shoving it into his bag with visible frustration.
Becky is middle-aged, with graying blonde hair and kind brown eyes. She’s always reminded him in a weird way of his older sister Tori. While Becky is a little more upbeat, she’s got a calm, centered nature to her, and she’s pretty unflappable in the face of stress or disagreements. They’ve always got on well because of her keen sense of humor and sarcasm.
“I’m sorry for making a scene,” he says through his teeth. “Martha was just-”
“I overheard a bit,” Becky interjects, her brows furrowed. “I know she’s a twat, but she’s drunk, Charlie. Everyone’s blowing off steam, it’s been a tough year-end. Don’t let her ruin your night.”
“I just want to go home,” Charlie insists.
Becky’s lips tilt down. “You’re going to leave me here alone with all of them?”
Charlie glances over at her face, and finds his shoulders dropping. Becky reminds him of Tori in so many ways, some to an extent that probably isn’t healthy. But they’re close, they understand each other. He and Nick had helped Becky last year when she left her abusive bastard of a husband. She’s aware of most of Charlie’s mental health struggles, and even shares a few of her own.
“I don’t have much to go home to,” Becky says quietly, and Charlie knows she’s thinking of her dark, quiet flat. They’d helped her move in eight months ago, after she stayed with them for a bit. Her husband had kept their house, he’d kept everything. Becky had to start over completely.
Nick had suggested getting a dog to help keep her company, but Becky kills everything, even cactus plants. A living creature isn’t the best idea.
“I just thought we could make this more bearable for each other.”
Charlie sighs heavily, setting his laptop bag back down on the desk. He glances at the clock above the breakroom. They’ve only got a few more hours of this interminable hell. The least he can do is not abandon Becky through it, the way he’d done to Tori all those years ago on that awful Christmas during that terrible winter.
“I’m sorry,” he says again.
“Don’t apologize,” Becky nudges him gently. “Just hang out for a bit longer, okay? We’ll have a few drinks and forget about Martha. If she comes near us I’ll stick my plastic fork in her eye.”
He manages a snorting laugh. “I don’t think that would be a better end to the evening than me just leaving early.”
Becky grins. “Bit more fun, though.”
“Can’t argue with that.” He reaches out and squeezes her arm. “Alright, I’ll stay. I can’t drink much, driving.”
“I’ve already called ahead for a lift.” She lifts her paper cup. “But fine, be boring.”
“I shall.” He winks.
“And you need to eat some dinner.” Becky takes his hand and leads him back toward the breakroom. “You didn’t even touch your plate before you tossed it in the bin.”
Huh. Charlie realizes she’s right. He hadn’t even noticed. He doesn’t feel hungry at all, not after that interaction with Martha.
Regardless, he lets her lead him back into the belly of the beast.
Martha stops him in the car park with a drunk, tearful apology for her blunders and assures him she didn’t mean to be rude. He tells her he accepts her apology, and gets behind the wheel as quickly as he can.
Becky’s pissed enough that he doesn’t trust a taxi service with her, so he offers to take her home himself. It’s later than he’d intended to stay, and the worried text exchange from Nick had been what finally encouraged him to haul Becky out to the car.
NICK: Hey Char, you gonna be home soon? Should I put dinner on?
CHARLIE: sorry babe, DDing for Becky by the looks of it ill eat here dont wait up x
NICK: Okay love please be safe. I’ll save you a plate just in case. Keep me posted - x
CHARLIE: love u lots x
NICK: Love you most xx
It’s a quick drive from the office to Becky’s, and he helps her get inside and lays her down with some paracetamol and water. He stays with her for a bit to make sure she’s alright. Once she eats half a baguette and two mugs of coffee, she seems coherent enough to take care of herself for the evening.
“Talk soon Becks,” he says gently as he gets up to head for her front door.
“Charlie,” she mumbles, rolling over on her side on the sofa to look up at him.
“Yes?”
“Eat some dinner,” she tuts, “you didn’t touch a thing at the party.”
Charlie nods placatingly. “Yes madam, I will.”
“Don’t disappoint me!”
“I’d never dare.”
He leaves her in the capable hands of a Love Actually rerun, and finally, finds himself driving home.
His knuckles are white on the wheel as he navigates down their street toward the flat. It’s been quite a miserable fucking day, and all he wants is to get his pajamas on and slip into bed with Nick. He wants to watch a trash film and fall asleep to the steady thrum of his handsome husband’s heart.
He can’t handle anything else tonight, or he might just erupt.
The lights are dimmed when he walks in, and the smell of Nick’s dinner still lingers in the air. It’s half-past eight, dark outside the curtain-shielded windows of their flat. He follows the sounds of a voice and scratching claws on the floor to find Nick and Butcher sitting on the floor in the living room, unpacking a box for their bookshelf.
Normally, the sight would warm his heart in his chest, all the way down to his toes. But right now, after the bloody day -no, months- he’s had, coming home to this chaos feels like a thread snapping within him. All he’d wanted to do was come home and relax. Why’s Nick got to pick right now to unpack?
“Hey darling,” Nick looks over his shoulder at him, smiling warmly. “I think we’ve got some of Isaac’s books. Did he lend you a copy of Heartbreak in the Ancient Temple? And also, what on earth is that about?”
“It’s right there in the name, isn’t it?” Charlie replies as he crosses his arms over his chest. He meant that to come out more playful than it sounds in his tired, aggravated tone.
Nick’s eyebrows arch a bit at the sharp note to Charlie’s voice. “Right then. I’ll see if we can post it back to him.”
“I’m not done with it yet,” Charlie insists.
“Char, it’s been packed in a box for three months. When were you planning to read it?”
“Maybe when I actually have some bloody free time!” he snaps back, throwing his hands up with exacerbation. He really is not in the mood to be interrogated.
“Whoa.” Nick sets the book down in the pile, getting to his feet with a hand on his lower back, wincing. “What’s wrong?”
“Is your back still hurting?” Charlie demands, gesturing toward Nick’s hand kneading his tailbone. He’d taken a rough spill while demonstrating a play for the kids last week, and insisted he was fine, even though he’s been having on-and-off pain. It’s been worrying Charlie everytime his husband winces or huffs in pain from simple movements, though he’s no stranger to Nick having athletic injuries. He worries the later they get into their twenties, as smaller things seem to have a bigger impact.
It’s another thing he can’t bear to stress about right now- Nick having some sort of serious medical issue on top of everything else.
“My back- no? I’m fine. I’m sore. It’ll pass.” Nick removes his hand from his back. “Charlie, what’s going on? You are…” he shakes his head, faltering. “Did you have too much to drink?”
Charlie scowls. “No, I didn’t. You just held yourself like you were falling apart when you stood. I’ve been telling you to see your GP about that bloody back for days.”
“Charlie, my back is fine. I’d know if something was wrong, I’m not exactly new to rugby, am I?” Nick crosses his arms over his chest. “Why are we talking about me having sore muscles when something is clearly going on with you? Did you have a bad day?”
“Yeah, you could say that.” Charlie rolls his eyes and turns round, heading for the kitchen. He really is starving, he hadn’t eaten any of his lunch or anything at the party. He hears Nick’s annoyed scoff of offense, and he knows he’s being a prick, but he’s too exhausted to care.
Nick’s footsteps trail after him toward the kitchen until he’s in the doorway. “I left you a plate in the fridge.”
“Thanks.” Charlie’s teeth grit as he opens the fridge, practically feeling Nick’s eyes on his back as he leans in to see the neatly plastic-wrapped plate with steak, pasta and vegetables, all arranged as if Nick had taken great care to make sure the foods didn’t touch one another. Charlie hates that.
On the top is a little sticky note with Nick’s scrawly handwriting.
Just in case the party food was shit, here’s some made with love ! <3
Christ. Charlie’s a proper bellend.
He stands upright, closing the fridge as he turns to face Nick, who’s got a hand on his back again, his face slightly grimacing.
“I’m sorry,” Charlie says, voice tight to keep from welling over with emotion. “I…it’s been a long few weeks. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you like that. I didn’t mean to snap, Nick.”
Nick softens a bit, lips pulling down sympathetically. “I know you’ve been stressed.”
“I didn’t mean to be such a twat just now.” Charlie gestures vaguely to the front entry. “It’s not your fault. I love you. I’m sorry.”
Nick exhales, moving forward until his arms are wrapped around Charlie’s waist. The embrace is suffocatingly tight, but needed. Charlie buries his face in Nick’s jumper and forces himself not to cry. He’s got no reason to be so emotional. He’s nearly through the shit season at work, and Martha apologized for what she said, and they’ll be unpacked soon. Hell, that’s the whole thing he just got annoyed with Nick for trying to do.
Still, he feels so utterly overwhelmed that crying seems like the only way to let it out. Or at least, the only way his former therapist Geoff wouldn’t frown upon.
But he doesn’t want to scare Nick, or make it seem like he’s not okay. He is okay, just stressed. Once he’s off work for the holidays and they’re unpacked- it will all be back to normal.
“I’m sorry, Nick,” he sniffs out, blinking rapidly to keep his eyes dry. “I didn’t mean to. I’m so-”
“Hey, hey, shhh, s’alright darling.” Nick presses his face into Charlie’s hair, kissing the top of his head so tenderly. “It’s okay. Thank you. No more sorries. We’re okay.”
Sometimes it still strikes Charlie deeply in his chest, how loved he is. Nick’s affection and dedication is so unconditional, so freely given no matter the circumstances. When all else is terrifying and unknown, the one thing Charlie can always, always count on is Nick Nelson.
It’s the very reason he got so angry at Martha tonight for her blatant disrespect of him. How could he let himself treat Nick so poorly?
Guilt tangles up in his stomach, but he knows he can’t apologize to Nick any more. All he can do is fix this.
“I’ll make it right,” he suggests, pulling back to pop up on his toes and kiss Nick’s cheek tenderly. “Why don’t I make us some tea and help you unpack the rest of those boxes while we watch Captain America?”
Nick smiles down at him, warm amber eyes crinkling round the edges. “We don’t have to do that, Char, you seem tired. Besides, my back is aching from sitting on the floor. Let’s lie down in bed. I’ll finish that box tomorrow after work.”
God. Charlie loves him so much it could burst out through his veins.
“You go lie down, I’ll get the icy/hot and I can rub it all over where it hurts.” Charlie leans in and presses his lips delicately to Nick’s neck, making the other man exhale shakily.
“That…that sounds nice…” Nick breathes, lashes fluttering on his cheeks.
“Alright then, love. Go on, I’ll straighten out and shut the lights off and meet you there.”
Nick moves swiftly to press a fleeting kiss to Charlie’s lips. “Let me heat your dinner first.”
Charlie shakes his head, the guilt too heavy in his stomach to possibly find his appetite again. “I’m not very hungry, honestly. I’m ready to lie in.”
At this, Nick hesitates, and Charlie knows he’s said the wrong thing. “Char, you-”
“I ate a lot at the party,” he says before he can even think about it. “Promise, I won’t feel well if I keep going.”
Nick purses his lips thoughtfully, deliberating before he nods once in acceptance. “Alright. Meet you in bed then, handsome.” He kisses Charlie again before he heads down the corridor, Butcher on his heels.
Charlie stands there for a moment, watching his broad shoulders disappear round the corner. And he realizes he just lied to his husband for the first time in…in a long time. He hasn’t told a lie like this since things were really bad. One of the cornerstones of his healing was facing the truth, honestly. And Nick trusts him implicitly, because when Charlie is struggling, he’s learned to communicate that.
But…he isn’t struggling. Is he? He shouldn’t have done that. Why did he do that?
Charlie glances behind him at the closed fridge door, where the lovely dinner and the darling note are waiting for him.
Why can’t he just open the fridge and eat it?
Deeply unsettled, he shuts off the kitchen lights, doing the same in the hall and living room, plunging the flat into darkness. He grabs the icy/hot from the end table where Nick’s clearly already made use of it tonight, and heads for their bedroom.
Nick’s already undressed when he steps in, and Charlie can’t help but smile at the sight of his husband in just his trunks, lying on his stomach in bed, pillow bunched up under his scruffy jaw. His pale skin is bathed in orange lamplight, familiar freckles cascading over the muscles pulled taut in his thick back. He really is so fucking perfect.
Charlie steps over Butcher, who’s already snoring in his flannel bed, and undresses himself to his trunks just like Nick. His fingers ghost over the long-healed scars on his inner biceps as he removes his shirt, and he grits his teeth, reminding himself how far he’s come. It’s been ages since he had a proper relapse. That isn’t what’s happening.
He’s just stressed. He’ll do some bad brain exercises tomorrow, and he’ll feel better. He won’t have to see Martha’s stupid face until after new years.
Charlie plops down on the back of Nick’s thighs, careful not to strain his back more than it already is, and slips his finger into the waistband of his trunks.
“Hey now!” Nick practically squeaks, a flush dancing up his skin.
“Just pulling them down for better access to your back,” Charlie replies with a smirk, rolling the trunks lower on his hips so the top of his round ass is exposed. “We’ve been together for over a decade and you’re still this shy?”
“Just warn a gent next time,” Nick mutters, though there’s a giggle in his throat.
“What fun would that be?” Charlie muses. He squeezes some medicine out onto his palm and carefully presses his hand into Nick’s lower back.
The other man lets out a low, shuddering sigh of relief as Charlie begins to work the cream over his lower back, massaging gently across his tense flesh. As he works, he feels Nick’s body slowly begin to relax, tension seeping out of each muscle.
“You were really aching,” Charlie murmurs with his brow creased. He can tell this is giving Nick some much needed relief.
Nick is quiet for a moment. Charlie can’t see his face, but he figures he’s deliberating about his answer.
“I promise not to yell,” Charlie adds, a half-hearted attempt to lighten the mood.
Nick chuckles before he sobers up and replies. “Yeah I guess it is pretty sore.”
“More than usual?”
“I’m f-”
“Don’t say you’re fine if you aren’t,” Charlie urges him. “Nick, if it’s not feeling better by tomorrow I think we should go round the doctor. Just to make sure. I know you’ve been an athlete for a long time, and I’ve seen you hurt worse, but this has been going on since last week. Your back’s kind of an important body part, you know.”
“I guess,” Nick agrees quietly.
“Why are you so reluctant about this?” Charlie asks, lightening the pressure of his hand when he feels Nick’s muscles tense. “If something is wrong, we handle it together, as a team, yeah?”
Nick sighs, his voice a bit bashful. “I just didn’t want to admit something was wrong. Easier to just pretend everything’s fine than burden you with worrying about me. But you’re right, Charlie. That’s silly. I’ll see my doctor this week.” He reaches a hand out for Charlie to take. “Thank you for talking sense into me, my love.”
And it should help. Knowing that Nick is going to have his injury checked out, that they’re going to make sure he’s okay. It really should help.
But it just makes Charlie feel like the biggest hypocrite in the world.
“I’m glad you’re going to be seen,” he says softly, finishing up his distribution of cream and pulling back to wipe his hands on a flannel.
“How about you then?” Nick asks, adjusting on the bed so he’s facing Charlie.
Charlie’s heartbeat picks up. “What about me?”
“Anything you’d like massaged?”
Oh.
“No, darling. Let’s just get some sleep.”
He settles against Nick’s side, head on the larger man’s chest, and flicks off the bedside lamp. The room is plunged into a serene darkness. Normally, it’d be a comfort to be this close, this warm and content.
Tonight, Charlie feels like there are ants crawling under his skin.
Why can’t he admit something is wrong?
Charlie doesn’t sleep well. He tosses and turns, guilt and confusion wracking his brain. He has nightmares of Martha’s celery teeth and Nick’s injured back and his boss firing him for being so behind on his deadlines.
When he awakens, it’s with a start, a quiet gasp in his throat. There’s sunlight streaming in through their bedroom drapes, though he knows he’s beaten his alarm clock.
Nick will already have left for work by now, he usually gets there by seven. Charlie doesn’t typically start work until an hour or two later.
His stomach growls angrily as he rolls over and shoves himself out of bed, sliding his feet into the fuzzy slippers Nick bought him last Christmas. He shuffles down the hall toward the kitchen, forehead furrowing with confusion as he finds Nick standing by the stove, and smells bacon sizzling.
“Nick?” he asks blearily, wiping at his eyes.
Nick startles a bit, whirling round to greet him with a sheepish smile. “Scared me, babe.”
“You’re supposed to be at work,” Charlie reminds him, arching an eyebrow.
“I’ve got a GP appointment soon,” Nick explains, “going into work after.”
“Oh they were able to get you in so fast!” Charlie closes the distance between them and wraps his arms round Nick’s waist, face burrowed between his shoulder blades. “How’s your back this morning?”
“Feels a bit better,” Nick replies. “I’ll still go get checked out, but I think I’m on the other end of it.”
“That’s good,” Charlie breathes, allowing a bit of relief to sink into his chest. He won’t be fully placated until his husband gets a clean bill of health, but it’s good to know he’s not hurting so much. “Do you want me to go with you?”
Nick hums appreciatively. “I always want you with me. I know you’ve been stressed with work. Could you miss?”
“It's nearly the holidays, I can do whatever I want.”
“Someone’s feeling dangerous this morning.” Nick chuckles. “I’ll be alright, my love. You’ve only got today left and then it’s holidays off. I don’t want you worrying about work on your time off.”
“Okay then,” Charlie nods, pressing his face into Nick’s shirt and exhaling. “You smell nice.”
“I washed.”
“We’re all very grateful.”
“Ha-ha.” Nick scoffs a laugh and nudges out of Charlie’s hold to transfer the bacon to a plate.
“You making a fry up?” Charlie asks, gesturing to the various cooking utensils and ingredients out on the countertop. Nick can be somewhat of a chaotic chef, often leaving disaster in his wake, but Charlie would far prefer to wash dishes than cook, so he doesn’t complain.
“Just eggs, bacon and toast,” Nick responds easily, “I’ve got some beans on as well.”
Charlie glances over to see the empty can of Heinz on the countertop beside a warming pot. He grins. Nick’s favorite breakfast is beans on toast, he’d eat it every single day if Charlie didn’t get sick of it.
“What’s the occasion?” Charlie inquires, watching Nick plate two servings of the breakfast. He grabs two mugs and begins preparing them each a cup of tea.
“We didn’t get to have a proper meal together last night,” Nick explains as he sets the table with his carefully crafted breakfasts. “I didn’t have to rush in so early today so figured I’d make up for it.”
“Thank you,” Charlie says back, warmth filling his chest as he watches his husband. Nick is so thoughtful, always has been. He cares so much about the little things, like sharing a meal together whenever they can. Quiet, content moments over canned beans and greasy eggs.
Charlie sets the mugs beside their plates and snorts as Nick makes a show of pulling out his chair for him. Very gentleman-ly.
“You’re a dork,” Charlie teases him, though there’s nothing but affection in the words.
“But you love me,” Nick hits back, sitting beside him with a cheeky grin.
Nick dives in immediately, no qualms whatsoever about digging into his plate. He’s always been a fast and vigorous eater, growing up an athlete, it was tough for him to consume enough to sustain all the energy he expended at rugby,
That hasn’t changed, he’s still incredibly active with teaching, the rugby team he coaches and his personal gym activities. Charlie has never understood where he gets all his energy from.
Charlie’s always been on the more gradual side of things. He enjoys taking walks in the evenings with Nick and the pup, but that’s the most you’ll get out of him as far as exercising. He doesn’t care for sports or weight lifting.
As for eating. Well, that’s complicated for so many reasons.
This morning, he looks down at the plate of breakfast Nick made him, and finds himself feeling rather…daunted.
It’s a lot of food, isn’t it? Nick’s given him two slices of toast with beans, two fried eggs, three slices of bacon and some roasted tomatoes. It smells divine, looks even better. But, isn’t it a lot? He’s never had the appetite Nick does.
Though…he’s usually able to handle a meal like this.
Something unexplainable tangles in his throat. Why can’t he pick up his fork? He feels paralyzed. He wants to eat, he’s hungry, and he’s better. He has bad days sure but he-he-
“Char?” Nick’s watching him with worry shining in his amber eyes, glancing between Charlie’s untouched plate and his pensive expression. “Are you okay?”
“Y-yeah,” he manages a weak smile in Nick’s direction. “Sorry. I dunno. I just…”
Maybe, a long time ago, he would’ve lied. He would’ve told Nick he was fine and he just didn’t feel well. And maybe for a bit, Nick would’ve believed him. He might believe him now, considering how well Charlie’s done for so long.
But he knows that’s not the right thing to do. Something is wrong. And trying to handle it himself is only making it worse. He’d lectured Nick for doing exactly this last night. And it’s getting worse. If he can’t even enjoy breakfast with his husband, something’s gotta give.
He’s got to follow his own advice. Something is bloody wrong, and he can’t keep pretending it isn’t.
“I’ve been…struggling,” he forces the words out, eyes locked on the plate in front of him. “I lied to you last night. I didn’t eat at the party. I’ve been skipping lunch this week. I…I’m sorry.” With a blink, he realizes there’s liquid on his cheeks. He’s crying.
Shame wraps him up like a suffocating quilt. He’s come so far, how could he possibly let it get this bad again? How could he be so weak? How could-
Nick’s arms encircle him, replacing that shameful quilt with his own special brand of warmth and affection. His scruffy beard scratches Charlie’s neck as he buries his face into the skin there, and the feeling is so sudden that it grounds him somewhat. Nick smells like his crisp cologne and shampoo.
“I’m s-sorry,” Charlie weeps, pressing his wet face into Nick’s hair, body trembling as the sobs pull from his chest as if independent from his consent.
“Shh, no,” Nick murmurs, voice soft and tender. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for, my love. It’s okay. It’s okay. I’ve got you. Let it out, Char.”
Charlie just sobs, his frantic breathing grows more and more unstable and panicked with each moment. The edges of his vision blur to a tangled blackness.
“Hey, my love, let’s do this together. Take a deep breath for me. Come on then, five things you see?”
Sniffling, Charlie glances up from Nick’s hair just enough to spot the blue can of beans on the counter.
“B-beans,” he blubbers.
“That’s right. What else?”
Charlie blinks more tears from his eyes, trying to breathe evenly enough to sound coherent. This is so humiliating. He’s a grown man.
“C’mon Char, something else you see.”
Charlie’s eyes land on the fridge, where an invitation for Imogen’s wedding is posted.
“W-wedding invite,” he manages.
“Ah. Right. Think those two will last?” Nick’s voice has a small hint of humor.
Charlie can’t find the laughter just yet. “Hope so.”
“Something else, Charlie.”
“Butcher’s bed.” he says, voice a bit steadier.
“He’s about due for an upgrade, I think.”
“We just got that one two months ago!”
“You’re gonna argue with me about dog needs? You don’t respect my expertise?”
“ Expertise ? Weren’t you the one who asked the vet last month if dogs can feel love?”
“Oh, no no no.” Nick shakes his head firmly. “I know they feel love. I just wanted a doctor to say it to you so you’d finally believe it.”
“And if you recall, she said, I hope so!”
“We need a new vet.”
“A new bed, a new vet,” Charlie waves a hand, managing a shaky laugh through his tear-stained, salty lips. “Why not a new dog as well?”
“Now you’re talking, babe.”
They both laugh quietly, a small moment of levity sinking in between them before the heaviness of what Charlie’s just confessed begins to settle, and Nick looks up at his face, delicately wiping away a stray tear.
“Are you okay?” he checks.
Charlie nods, exhaling deeply. “Thank you. For helping me ground.”
“You did well. We didn’t even need to go through them all.”
Running a hand through his hair, Charlie braves a glance in Nick’s direction. Worry is written all over his face, though he’s clearly doing his best not to show it.
“I’m sorry,” Charlie breathes, hands shaking.
“Char,” Nick’s voice is inarguable, confident, stern. “It’s okay to have a setback. You know that this isn’t something that just goes away forever. Things have been really stressful lately, and I’m sorry I didn’t…catch this sooner. B-”
“No!” Charlie is quick to interject. “Don’t you dare, Nick. This is not your fault.”
“I know,” Nick assures him gently, eyes soft, “but I’m still sorry for not realizing sooner. Thank you for telling me what’s going on. Now, we can work through it as a team. Hm?”
Charlie blinks, Nick’s words settling deep within him. Is it that easy, then? Work through it together?
He forgets sometimes, how much Nick has been through by his side. How well he knows him, how educated he is on just how to help in moments like this. That they’ve been through relapses together before.
When he gets overwhelmed, in his head, when things get bad again, it’s easy to feel like it’s the end of the fucking world. It’s easy to forget that they have the tools and resources to get through this.
“I have to ask,” Nick’s voice is careful, but straightforward. “You haven’t had a self harm relapse?”
Charlie quickly shakes his head. “No. I promise.”
“Okay.” Nick nods in reply, offering him a small smile. “That’s great, Char. I’m here, and we’re in this together, okay?”
“Okay…”
“Here’s what I’d like to do,” Nick offers, “and if you disagree, let’s talk it out and change the plan so it works for both of us. Sound alright?”
Charlie nods again, feeling a strange sort of relief in his body at this feeling- someone else knowing what to do, taking over, taking care of him. Nick has always given him this- so selflessly. Always cared for him when he couldn’t possibly figure out how to care for himself. He could live a thousand lifetimes and still not deserve this man.
“I think you should call Geoff and make an appointment,” Nick says, putting a hand up before Charlie can argue, “I know you don’t need to go back to treatment. But I also know he says a check in every so often is a good idea, even when you’re doing well. It’s been some time now since you checked in. I think one appointment just to talk through all the stress you’ve been dealing with would be helpful.”
Charlie considers this, chewing on Nick’s words thoughtfully. He doesn’t like the idea of ringing his old therapist and asking for an appointment, even though it is true that Geoff suggested the occasional visit even when he’s not feeling like he needs it. He supposes it isn’t a terrible idea, just to check in one time.
“I can do that,” Charlie agrees, wringing his hands together.
Nick reaches over almost instinctively, parting Charlie’s fingers with his own and intertwining their hands. He squeezes once, gently, and Charlie squeezes back.
“Thank you,” Nick says.
“What else, then?”
“I want you to tell me every single thing that’s stressed you out over the past two weeks.”
“Nick-”
“Humor me, please. I know you think you complain a lot, but you really don’t. Tell me about it. Everything that’s upset you. I want to know.”
So, Charlie does. He talks about his shitty boss and their ridiculous deadlines and the mad dash to get everything in by the end of year. He talks about how his workload is just ridiculous and it’s unfair to expect one person to finish this much work in this much time. He talks about how stressing over his job, their livelihood, has compounded on itself on top of their recent move. It all seems so superficial laid out like that, but he tries to justify why it’s gotten him so wrecked.
“And then, there was Martha .” His voice is practically a growl as he recounts her foul words last night. He can see Nick try to hide the hurt on his face when Charlie recounts her diminishing remarks about his job, but he does well at keeping his cool. He even grins when Charlie tells him how he snapped at her and walked off.
“Thank you for defending my honor,” Nick preens. “I’m sorry you had to, though.”
“I’ll always defend you,” Charlie replies without missing a beat. Nick smiles a bit wider at that.
Finally, after what feels like an hour, Charlie’s absolutely emptied all of his stress and worry and anxiety from the past two weeks- things that have felt like barbells hanging off his neck, dragging him further and further down until he felt like the only thing in his control was eating.
“But you know that isn’t true,” Nick reminds him, “you’re letting the food control you, not the other way round.”
“You’re right,” Charlie admits. “It’s so hard to see that when it gets bad like this. I feel like such an idiot.”
“Don’t say that,” Nick pleads, “you’re the smartest, strongest, most incredible person I know. If it was that easy, no one would have a mental illness. It’s okay that you’ve had a setback, Char. Telling me about it is only further proof of how far you’ve come.”
“But I let it go on so long,” Charlie insists, “I denied it and pretended everything was fine when it wasn’t.”
“We all do, sometimes,” Nick reminds him, gesturing to his own back. “That’s called being a human, Char. What matters is you told me now. You’ve been struggling and that’s okay, we know how to get you back on track. It’s all gonna be okay, my darling, I promise you.”
Charlie exhales heavily, feeling lighter than he has in weeks. He looks down at Nick’s face, earnest amber eyes and warm pink cheeks under the sparse freckles on his pale skin. He’s so utterly beautiful, so perfect.
Briefly, Charlie has a familiar, old thought. Why on Earth does Nick want to be with him? Why on Earth does he give himself over entirely, when Charlie could never possibly give him half of what he deserves in return? Why does he put up with this seemingly neverending nightmare of self-inflicted illness?
But he looks down at his husband’s loving face, which banishes those thoughts pretty quickly.
Just because he’s struggling does not mean he’s undeserving of Nick’s love. Just because he’s struggling does not make him a bad person, or weak, or less worthy. He’s struggling because of the simple fact that, as Nick so kindly reminded him, he’s a human fucking being.
“I love you so much.” Charlie doesn’t know what else to do right now except pull Nick back toward himself and wrap his arms round the larger man’s waist.
“I love you more.” Nick’s words are muffled as he buries his face in Charlie’s hair, a trembling sigh of what he hopes is relief leaving his chest.
Charlie loses track of how long they hold each other there in the quiet of the kitchen. Surely Nick’s going to miss his appointment, and Charlie will be late for work, and their breakfast is long past cold.
But they don't care. They hold each other, clinging to familiar shapes and smells- the intimate details of a lover so well known they’d be impossible to miss even in a crowd of millions. The slope of Nick’s jaw, the gentle nudge of his nose, the breathless clutch of his thick arms encircling Charlie. The smell of his shampoo, the soft cotton of his jumper, the familiar pattern of breaths that leave his chest. Charlie would recognize these things anywhere. In a pitch black room, surrounded by strangers, he’d always find Nick through the fray. He thinks, they’d always find each other.
They hold each other, fingers combing through hair, lips hurriedly pressing kisses to any exposed flesh, bodies entwined in a way that feels so utterly intimate while simultaneously so chaste. They cling to one another as if afraid some unseen force will wedge between them and rip them apart.
It almost has before.
“Thank you for telling me,” Nick whispers, and Charlie pretends he can’t hear how thick his voice is with emotion.
“Thank you for making me feel safe enough to,” he manages to get out.
It’s a few more minutes before they finally separate their bodies, eyes meeting even as their fingers pull apart. Nick exhales, running a hand through his hair with a thoughtful look on his face.
“Sorry I’ve made you miss your appointment,” Charlie says sheepishly.
Nick frowns, reaching up to take Charlie’s face in his palms. “Look at me, Charlie. Nothing in the world is more important to me than you. The doctors can piss off for all I care.”
“No no, you’re still going.”
“I’ll ring and reschedule,” Nick assures him. “I think I’ll skive off work today. What do you say? Should we be naughty? Fuck off with our responsibilities and just lie about?”
Charlie considers this. He really shouldn’t- it’s his last day of work before holidays and it’d be better to button up all his open tasks before leaving it for two weeks. He’ll be glad he toughed it out when he returns in January.
But…ah, fuck it. He’s spent weeks wrung out to his complete end. It’s led him to have a crack in his chassis- a relapse. He owes it to himself to take the bloody day off.
“Yeah,” Charlie agrees, “I think that’s a good idea.”
Nick grins, eyes alight with warmth and affection and somehow, even so many years later, it still makes Charlie’s body tingle all the way down to his toes.
“Alright then.” Nick pops up on his feet, stretching his body and rubbing a hand across his lower back. “Do you think you can manage something to eat?”
Charlie’s eyes fall back to his now cold plate of heavy, greasy food. He swallows thickly.
“Hey.” Nick reaches down and nudges Charlie’s chin with his finger, their eyes meeting again. “Whatever you want, my love. Shall we go for tea and biscuits at that little cafe in town? Or maybe we can ignore the rules and have a bit of dessert, I could make us a cheesecake. Or, if you like, we could do a fruit salad. I’ve got those green apples mum dropped off from-”
Nick’s words are cut off by Charlie’s lips pressing against his. The kiss is blunt and passionate, a surge of emotion pouring out of him with one swift action of affection. Nick is quick to submit to the kiss, cupping Charlie’s cheeks in his hands as the embrace deepens.
Charlie’s breathless when they pull away, face flushed as he looks up into Nick’s loving gaze. “Sorry.”
“Never apologize for that , darling.”
“I think a fruit salad would be nice. Maybe I can help you dice the apples. Give me something to do with my hands instead of just sitting on my bum.”
Nick beams. “Well done.” He kisses Charlie’s forehead once before he pulls away to grab up their still full breakfast plates and discard them in the sink.
Charlie feels bad about wasting the food that Nick spent so much time and effort on this morning, but he stops himself from apologizing again. He knows it’ll do no good now. The best thing he can do is call Goeff, do his exercises, put in the work he’s vowed to always commit to, and try his hardest to eat something today.
They stand together at the counter, Nick unloading various fruits from the fridge and Charlie getting to work chopping them on the bamboo cutting board gifted from Sarah for their move. He likes to feel useful helping Nick with the meals when it gets tough like this- makes the effort feel worthwhile when he sits down to face his plate.
Their shoulders brush as they both work- Charlie chopping and Nick putting together the plates. It’s colorful with a variety of fresh ingredients, citrus and berries and crisp, crunchy apples, something easy to tackle after the uncertain few weeks he’s had.
As they work together, it’s quiet. Not in an uncomfortable way, more of a content, peaceful sort of silence that makes Charlie reflect on just how lucky he is to be in the type of relationship that doesn’t need idle chatter to fill emptiness.
They love each other, they’re safe with each other, they’ll always look out for eachother even when it’s difficult. No, especially when it’s difficult. There’s something so comforting in that knowledge that it makes Charlie smile down at the apples he’s chopping.
There’s no void, even in the quiet. No awkward space between them, no unexplainable distance. In fact, Charlie feels quite full already.
Though, not too full for some breakfast. With Nick at his side, he can definitely manage some breakfast.