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“I still don’t know how you can drink that much Monster at once, Nick.”
Charlie’s voice is slightly muffled; coming, as it is, from somewhere in the middle of Nick’s single bed. In a feat of flexibility, he’s managed to extend his legs up the wall – bum resting on Nick’s pillow – and cross them neatly at the ankles. Nick’s fairly certain that if tried the same pose they’d find him dead a week later, having gotten stuck.
“We can’t all be geniuses, Charlie. Some of us need caffeine.”
He pauses.
“Or is it genii?”
“‘Geniuses’ is fine, Nick. Unless you want to sound like an arse.”
“And we wouldn’t want that, would we?”
In one graceful movement, Charlie twists until he’s laying flat on the bed again – his legs stretched out against the mattress – and pouts at Nick through long lashes. The movement puts Nick in mind of a mermaid twirling in the water; as if Charlie isn’t bound by the usual laws of physics.
Not for the first time, Nick wishes he had the guts to kiss him.
At first it was easy to talk himself out of it. He, Nick Nelson, was definitely straight. Yes, there may have been some complicated feelings for a couple of guys at rugby summer schools over the years but that was more admiration than anything else. That is, until he spent an entire party in his second year at university staring at this curly-haired boy from a distance and wishing that it was him he was pressed up against on the dance floor.
So, not straight, it turns out.
But it also turned out that Charlie was cool, welcoming, and excited to adopt a newly exploring Nick into his circle. Charlie introduced him to guys and girls at parties and didn’t bat an eyelid at the label bisexual. He wasn‘t just confused, to Charlie.
He was simply confused about Charlie.
Charlie, who went from guy-he-met-at-a-party to guy-he-spent-every-day-with without much deliberation or determination in between. It just... happened.
He never judged when Nick struggled finishing assignments, or scoffed when he confided that he thought there might be something wrong with him. He simply listened, helped him fill in the initial forms at the doctor’s and then – when it became apparent that the wait-list for an assessment would be longer than his time at uni – rubbed his back and steered him clear of the seemingly endless list of dealers that paraded campus. Apparently, they all had a sixth sense for a student who might need a little something that the NHS was slow to provide.
And boy did Nick need something.
Looking at Charlie’s pretty face and letting him drop a chocolate button directly into Nick’s mouth for every paragraph he completed was a decent enough substitute.
So who else was he going to call when yet another deadline loomed?
“How much time do I have?” Nick asks as Charlie leans forward to inspect his laptop screen before prodding one of said chocolate buttons against Nick’s lips. Nick takes it gratefully with an over exaggerated bite that catches Charlie’s fingertips – very slightly – before he jerks away, embarrassed. Charlie makes a quietly strangled noise in the back of his throat that Nick chooses to ignore.
“One hour until midnight,” Charlie’s voice quavers behind him. “Then you’re officially being docked marks.”
One hour, that’s doable. Especially now that Charlie has shuffled even closer and Nick can smell the waft of his shampoo.
“Actually,” he says slowly. “Can you read what I’ve got so far?”
Charlie sits up and scooches over on the bed. When he pats the mattress, Nick takes the hint and settles in next to him. He’d rather still be plonked on the floor in front of Charlie – just to be able to watch the way his lips move as he reads – but beggars can’t be choosers. Instead, he cranes his neck and hopes it’s not obvious that he’s staring. He still has that can of Monster to finish, so he drapes his arms over his knees and reaches for it on the bedside table.
“This…” Charlie starts slowly. “This is really good, Nick.”
The keyboard clicks a few times as Charlie makes some edits.
“You think?”
“Yeah, you just need a bibliography and then I think you’re done!”
Thankfully, Charlie has made him copy every link and reference over to a separate document ever since he caught Nick in the midst of a full on breakdown – three minutes to a deadline and three hours into trying to re-compile his sources. It’s not a habit that comes naturally to him, but when Charlie is there it makes it easier to remember. He manages to finish in record time with Charlie’s breath tickling the nape of his neck. When he hands the laptop back to Charlie to check, Nick feels warm when Charlie turns his proudest smile on him.
Click.
“There!” Nick says triumphantly. “Submitted!”
There’s an empty feeling, though, when he realises that that’s it; their excuse to hang out is gone. Nick imagines this must be what it’s like to finish a life-changing book, or watch the finale of some childhood programme. The good feeling is still there, technically, but with the crushing knowledge that it won’t be for long.
“So… I guess I should let you get to bed then,” Nick says carefully. It doesn’t escape his notice that Charlie deflates next to him.
“Yeah… I guess.”
In some miracle of pathetic fallacy, something crashes outside before the two of them hear rain pelting the window. Charlie’s halls aren’t far, but he’s definitely not dressed for a downpour.
“Or…” Charlie starts.
Nick likes or.
“I could just sleep here. I promise I won't snore.”
Charlie could sound like a chainsaw for all Nick cares, it’s not like he’s going to be able to sleep anyways – not if Charlie is pressed up against him. He stares at his single pillow on the narrow bed. They can make room.
“Yeah,” he whispers. “Stay, please.”