Work Text:
Freezing cold rain spraying up into his face, mud streaking the dark green of his uniform, having to grip as tightly as possible to the ball as he ran across the pitch.
It was the best feeling in the world.
Despite the buckets seemingly being poured on his head, Nick couldn't help but smile as he pulled in long, deep breaths after the referee whistled for half time.
Not just smile, but smile at the stands where Charlie was smiling back, offering a raised hand as a greeting under his black umbrella, falling in love all over again like he had every single day since he was sixteen.
Nick may have just turned twenty one two months prior, surrounded by his friends, but there was no end in sight to the high he was on.
He and Charlie had just gotten their first flat at the beginning of October, both of their university courses were going well, he had started out his third rugby season as the team captain and he had slowly, carefully, started to prod Charlie with the idea of adopting a puppy from the animal shelter.
Nick was on cloud nine and he never wanted to get down.
He made his way to the bench, his mouth extraordinarily dry despite the rain falling around him as he instantly went to the large cooler, topping off his water bottle before taking a long swig.
"Nelson, a word?"
Nick turned instantly at the voice, face to face with Coach Henderson.
"Yes, Coach?"
"You feel okay still playing out there? Weather's only going to get worse and with it pissing down hard enough already-"
"I play unless there's lightning," Nick said, stopping to look up at the grey storm clouds before turning back to look the middle aged man in the eyes, "and I haven't heard any thunder."
"I know, it's just…we're winning and injury risk is high, for all of you."
Nick paused, taking a glance at the scoreboard that announced Leeds being ten points ahead, knowing that it wasn't enough; Manchester was a tough opponent, and while he wasn't a thousand percent sure that he had heard the muffled shouts from the other side of the locker room correctly, they had sounded nasty enough that he was looking forward to taking them down a peg or two.
"I'll keep an eye on the team," he insisted, hearing the squishy footsteps of converse behind him but keeping his attention where it needed to be, "but with all due respect, coach, we need to keep playing."
"Alright, Nelson," he agreed, tapping Nick's chest with the clipboard, "but if you boys slide around too much, I'm calling it off."
Nick nodded, waiting until Coach Henderson walked away to turn, seeing his smiling boyfriend looking up at him expectantly from under the umbrella.
"Are you taunting me with that now?" Nick questioned, wiping some drops from his forehead to no avail.
"Oh yes, I climbed all the way over here in this piss poor weather and got my shoes soaked through-I'll change my socks on the train home," Charlie cut himself off as soon as his gaze fell to the ratty, doodled on converse before his brain could even start to formulate thoughts of blisters, "to taunt you with the umbrella and definitely not to give the team captain a good luck kiss for the second half."
"Um…" Nick trailed off, growing self conscious in an instant, a way that he hadn't since high school, catching a glimpse of purple uniform in the corner of his eye before turning back to Charlie, "is…is a hug okay? I just heard some of the other guys in the locker room and I love you, so much, but I-"
He was cut off by Charlie letting the umbrella fall to the side so he could wrap both arms around him tightly, which he instantly reciprocated by tucking his head against Charlie's collarbone, breathing in the soft, lingering scent of coconut-scented shampoo.
"We don't have to do anything you don't want to, even if you get me coated in mud. Do you want me to report the players?" Charlie offered, "wouldn't be the first time, you know."
"No, I don't know if they said what I think they said, and I don't know which one said it," Nick insisted, finally pulling away so Charlie could cover his curls with the umbrella, "I just don't want to cause any issues since it's their turf and all, but we will kiss so, so much when we get home. I swear."
"I know. I'm hoping that there will be more than that when we get home, you know. You did just get my shirt wet, I'll probably fancy a shower."
"Yes, you cheeky little shit, of course," Nick couldn't help but laugh, both of their faces turning up in wide grins as the whistle blew, "I have to go. I love you, be safe getting back up into the stands, don't want you to slip."
"I will be," Charlie nodded as he started to walk, turning around and adding a "good luck" before dissapearing back into the bleachers, forcing Nick to get back onto the pitch.
The guilt clawed at his stomach as they continued to play, the rain growing more painful and colder with every play; he had dealt with this five years ago, he had promised Charlie that they weren't going to hide anymore, that he wasn't ever going to hold them back.
But as the sky grew darker and the timer counted down, his hands growing slick with mud as he tried his hardest to keep the ball to his chest while he ran, he knew that he had done exactly that.
Either way, he didn't know if it was the anxiety building in his veins or the rain and mud flicking into his face as he ran that resulted in him not beginning to weave around the opposing player until he was well on his way to the ground.
However, the last thing he expected was the feeling of his right knee shifting in his leg followed instantly by a fiery zap of agony shooting up from his knee to his thigh with a harrowing groan as he twisted in the wet grass.
With how blurry the pain crawling up his skin was making his vision, he couldn't make out the blurs crowding around him; all he could grasp was that the rain was making a chill set into his bones and every movement made nausea build in his gut.
'-looks messed up-'
'someone calling a-'
'-medic in this place-'
"Nick!"
That voice he could place, that voice he knew better than his own, the owner of that voice knew how to keep him safe and sure enough, he was greeted by Charlie's face coming into view, the smile obviously forced but still resulting in him being the most stunning person he had ever seen, "hey, Nick, hey, it's going to be okay."
And Nick believed him, because Charlie made everything okay, and maybe that was the cause of the involuntary whimper forcing it's way out of his throat with the tears falling onto the rain-soaked grass.
"Okay, I've got you, I'm right here," he could feel the squeeze against his limp hand and Charlie's voice fading as he turned his face away and asked, "can some of you back up?" before it came back, "I'm staying right here."
Nick buried his face against the sharp grass, a second whimper forcing itself free from his throat.
"Just lie still, Nick. I've got you."
And Charlie's voice sounded so ragged despite the comfort, that it had Nick pulling his vision upwards to see the genuine fear in Charlie's eyes as he gazed onward toward his leg.
But before Nick could voice anything or even think about asking a single question, he was hit with a second wave of fiery agony that had fog crowding the edges of his vision before it lulled him into a temporary escape of nothingness.
…
Florescent lights and white ceilings came in exhausting, pain filled flashes that had him fading in and out of consciousness.
The entirety of his right leg was indescribably painful, every poke and prod making his stomach turn with nausea but as a result, the rest of his body was terrifying numb in a way that made his head dizzy.
In the brief moments when he could try and focus despite the agony cycling through him, he tried his hardest to find the familiar brown curls and blue eyes he knew so well in the sea of medical professionals.
But it wasn't until he woke up for good, his eyes aching but the pain in his leg subsiding due to the IV needle secured in the back of his right hand, that he finally laid eyes on Charlie, who was pacing back and forth with his phone pressed to his ear.
"-still waiting on MRI results, I'll text them to you as soon as we know…yes, if he needs surgery on it, we'll stay there but our unit is on the second floor…if there wasn't an elevator, I would have asked if we could stay at yours-Sarah, he's awake, I'll call you back," Charlie stuttered on his last words, sitting at Nick's side and taking his left hand instantly as soon as the phone dipped into his pocket, "hey. How're you feeling?"
"Doesn't hurt so much, kinda fuzzy," Nick mumbled with a heavy tongue, taking a glance down at his legs, only to find that they were covered by a thin blue blanket, before looking back up at the eyes that were shining like diamonds, "you…you look so pretty, Charlie."
"Oh, you are high as a kite," Charlie muttered as he pressed a soft kiss to Nick's scraped knuckles, "but you aren't so bad looking yourself, even if you are a bit worse for wear."
"Who were you talking to?"
"Your mum. I had to ask her about some of your medical history, but I think I managed to keep her from coming up here immediately."
Even with the pain medication making his head fuzzy, Nick knew that keeping Sarah from worrying to the point of making her way to him was a feat even if her worry came from the fact that he had been a very clingy child.
"Good job."
"I try," Charlie shrugged softly, but Nick quickly found himself giggling under his breath to the point where he could hear Charlie muttering, "Jesus, I can't even sober you up right now."
"When are we…" Nick asked once the giggles in his chest settled, only to find himself tripping on words, "going home?"
"We're waiting on results, for your leg," Charlie insisted, pressing another soft kiss to his knuckles, "the orthopedist is pretty sure it's just your MCL, but wanted to make sure it wasn't your ACL as well."
That…was a lot of words, words and acronyms that he couldn't fully process due to the fuzz still fogging up his brain, so he managed to fight it long enough to ask, "summarize it for me?"
"You had a MRI to make sure you only tore one of the ligaments in your knee."
"Yeah, that…that sounds right," Nick found himself fighting a yawn, not wanting to fall asleep and prolong their stay at the hospital even if he was warm, pain free and right next to Charlie, "can you talk to me? Keep me awake?"
"Yeah, of course."
And with those three words, Nick listened as Charlie rambled, talking about Tao & Elle's latest breakup, the budding romance between two of his co-workers and the long list of book recommendations from Issac.
It was calm, collected and most importantly, kept Nick awake until there was a knock on the door followed by a middle aged woman with black hair and brown eyes with a white coat came in, which instantly made Charlie go silent.
"Mr. Nelson, glad to see you're coherent. I'm Dr. Ramirez, I'm the orthopedic specialist," she paused, walking over to the small board on the wall with a pull string that made it light up before slipping a couple of black slips of paper onto it.
"MRI results?" Nick asked softly, his mouth suddenly going dry as he realized the possible severity that came with those two slips of paper.
"Yes, indeed," she nodded, before pointing out one of the spots with her index finger, "that is your MCL, and you can see right here that you have a partial tear. The good news is that the rest of your ligaments are intact and that this tear is mainly superficial, so unless major complications arise, you should be back to playing rugby in January at the earliest."
And with those last few words, Nick felt the tension he didn't realize had built up quite so high, flow out of his like water running down his body.
Charlie's shoulders, however, were still obviously tight with stress as he ran his thumb over Nick's knuckles while asking, "so what is the recovery for something like this?"
Nick picked up on most of it; over the counter painkillers, bracing his knee, using crutches, the RICE method, and lots of PT once the pain diminished.
If anyone else had been by his side while the information was given, Nick knew that he would have been easily overwhelmed by it to the point of blocking it out.
But he had Charlie, who managed to continue stroking his knuckles and simultaneously typing everything into his notes app all while looking gorgeous despite the harsh lighting above their heads.
Of course, that fact was also the perpetrator of the guilt that had caused him to be distracted on the pitch to come back with a vengeance stronger than any of the pain medicine that was flowing through the tubing in the back of his hand.
Because Charlie was perfect and deserved the world, not a boyfriend who grew nervous about kissing him because he thought he heard a slur in a locker room.
…
"Are you sure you don't need anything else? I can get you another blanket, or a glass of water?"
Nick shook his head, allowing Charlie to finally open the takeout bags; the two of them had made the decision when they arrived to their flat that the couch was a better place for him to sleep until he was done with the prescription pain killers, resulting in Charlie trying his hardest to make the couch as comfortable as a mattress within a five star hotel.
Excluding the fact that it would be the first time the two of them fell asleep without one of them spooning the other in months, Charlie had done a bang up job, moving the coffee table closer to act as a makeshift nightstand, finding every cord despite their odd spots they had ended up and ensuring that the food delivery would be there just as they finished propping up Nick's knee.
And yet, no matter how perfect it was, he could practically feel the anxious energy radiating off of Charlie as he portioned out the takeout between the two of them, setting Nick's plate on the coffee table while he continued to grip his tightly.
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure," Nick insisted, trying to nip the nervousness that was radiating off of his boyfriend in the bud, "the only thing that I want is for you to sit," he stopped to gesture to the spot on the couch below his feet, where there was still room for Charlie, "there."
"I don't know, I don't want to accidentally hurt you or-"
"Charlie, there's plenty of room for you to sit there. Besides," he paused, trying his hardest to add flirtation to his exhausted voice, "I want the best view of my boyfriend."
He watched as Charlie contemplated the logistics in his head, most likely running himself through the worst case scenarios while simultaneously trying his hardest to ignore the worst of his thoughts before, finally, he took a seat on the empty couch cushion, his back rigid against the couch.
"Why don't you pick something?" Nick offered, handing Charlie the remote, "and before you argue with me, I'm stuck here for like, the next couple of weeks."
Charlie did not protest, even if he had the familiar glint in his blue eyes like he was going to for a brief moment before flicking the TV on and began to flick through one of their streaming services.
The two of them stayed silent as the film started, Nick unable to take his focus away from Charlie until the tense muscles in his back finally relaxed against the couch and he began to eat; it was a habit that had built up during the early days of Charlie's recovery, but when things grew particularly stressful, Nick couldn't stop himself from falling back into it.
"You okay?" Charlie's whisper with one of his hands ghosting over his good leg brought him out of his thoughts.
"Yeah, I think so," Nick said, his assurance lacking with the painkiller capsule on the side of his table reminding him of the fact that he had gotten himself into this mess in the first place, "I think so."
…
They settled into a routine pretty quickly, all things considered.
Both of them had been able to convince their professors that, for the time being, they needed to do as much work as possible online, allowing Nick to recover and for Charlie to help him as much as possible.
Charlie did still need to go into work in the afternoons, but in the first few days, his mum had made the trip up to Leeds and only went home when both she and Charlie were confident that Nick could look after himself in those six hour periods that he would find himself alone.
By the fourth day of being alone, however, Nick had officially been left alone for the equivalent of twenty four hours and there was only so much time he could use by doing his coursework, pursuing Netflix and scrolling on social media when that time had been used just last week with hours of physical activity that his mind began to wander.
But between the still lingering guilt from the match, the constant, radiating pain and the feeling of growing restless, the thoughts his mind conjured were nothing good.
In hindsight, he knew that it ended up being the catalyst for the fight.
The morning had started normal; well, as normal as they could be with Nick laid up on the couch, his injured, aching knee taunting him whenever he glanced at the braced wrapped firmly around it.
But he had managed to finish typing out some essay while Charlie bustled around the kitchen.
It was slowly killing Nick, not to be mobile, not to be right next to Charlie with a hand on his hip and his lips on his lips, forced to just wait for Charlie, his beloved, lovely, Charlie, to wait on him hand and foot.
That fact, mixed with the taunting voice in his mind, insisting that he was using Charlie while being too much of a coward, too much like Ben, to kiss him in front of everyone, finally forced Nick to his feet.
He clumsily slipped the crutches under his armpits, bringing them forward and hobbled into the small kitchenette.
"Oh, you didn't have to get up," Charlie said, his eyes widening in shock for a brief moment before his features softened again while he pressed a quick kiss to Nick's cheek, "I've almost got breakfast ready."
"I know, just came to make my tea." Nick assured, gripping onto the handle of the metal kettle before pivoting to the sink, the crutches wobbling precariously under him with a shot of aching up his leg.
"Are you sure that you don't want me to do it?"
"Positive," Nick snapped, bringing the kettle, now full of water, to it's base and flicking it on, only to look up to see blue eyes full of concern, "Charlie, it's a cup of tea. I can handle it."
"But you shouldn't have to," another wobble, another throb, Nick gripped tighter onto the handles, "not while you're hurt-"
"I'm hurt, but I can walk around fine and make my tea," a pause to open the cabinet and pull a mug out, "I'm not an invalid."
"I didn't say you were, I'm just trying to help-"
"And I am saying "no", Charlie!" A shout finally erupted from Nick's chest, one that had been building for days, maybe even from the moment he left the hospital.
"Why can't you just accept my help, Nick?!" Red cheeks, wrinkles of anger, but the concern still lingered heavily in the blue eyes, concern that only made Nick's blood boil like the kettle.
"Because I don't fucking need it! I've been living on my own a lot longer than you have, and I can handle it!"
"Of all fucking people, I am the last person you need to prove that to! And I am sick of you constantly suffering because you can't accept my help!"
"Then why don't you just fucking leave, Charles?! If you're so sick of me, then just get the fuck out!"
"You don't mean that." The red in his cheeks faded, bringing back the agony of his knee with the whistle of the kettle, "make your tea. Breakfast is on the counter, with your painkillers."
As soon as Charlie turned on his heel, away from his untouched coffee and his untouched breakfast, and closed the bedroom door, all of the anger was seemingly sucked away and was replaced with agonizing panic.
Nick was left with rapidly cooling breakfast, a whistling kettle, and the repeating thought of 'what have I done?' repeating over and over again in his skull.
Nick finished making his tea, the stupid thing that made him snap in the first place, and managed to get down some of his breakfast and meds before making his way back to the couch like a wounded dog.
He turned on Netflix, knowing that going to Charlie wouldn't solve anything and that all he was doing was winding himself up, making himself feel worse.
But no matter the background noise, his words to Charlie, words that had flown out of him in pure rage, words he didn't even believe, kept echoing over and over again in his head.
"Then why don't you just fucking leave, Charles?! If you're so sick of me, then just get the fuck out!"
It was over an hour later when the door to their bedroom creaked open, and Charlie slowly approached the couch, the dry tear tracks catching in the shine of the overhead light.
That did nothing to ease the regret swirling in Nick's head as Charlie sat down in the arm chair, pulling in a breath before finally speaking, "can we talk?"
"Yeah," Nick agreed while pausing the TV, not even hesitating as he prepared to grovel, prepared to beg Charlie for forgiveness that he knew he didn't deserve, "yeah, let's do that."
"I'm sorry. For anything I've done to make all of this harder on you, or more difficult for you. I was trying to…to pay you back, for all of the times you've been there for me but this wasn't the right way to do that."
"Charlie," Nick muttered softly, leaning closer but not daring to take Charlie's hand, in case he was still furious with him, "I'm the one who should be sorry. You have been nothing but perfect and I fucked it all up."
"You're hurt, you're on painkillers, you've been sleeping on the couch…I've yelled at you over a lot less," a pause, Charlie's gentle hand reaching forward and gently grasping Nick's, making everything okay for a soft, brief moment, "I never intend on leaving you, okay?"
And that, that was the thing that brought tears to Nick's eyes, that made them ache with water, reminding him that if he had just had the courage to kiss Charlie, none of this would have happened.
Charlie gently pulled Nick closer until they were in a tight hug that confirmed forgiveness, allowing him to bury his wet face into Charlie's collarbone and let every emotion fall onto his blue, knitted cardigan.
When Charlie asked, a hand still gently moving up and down his back, what the catalyst had been, Nick couldn't keep the crumbling dam together any longer; he let everything fall apart; when he finally finished speaking, his tears were all but dried up and he managed to find the strength to pull his face away from Charlie's collarbone while feeling five pounds lighter without the emotional weight continuing to hold him down.
"Nick," Charlie finally spoke, resting a gentle hand on his still-damp cheek, "all I want, when it comes to how public we are, is for us to be happy. Okay? Beating yourself up for not kissing me, especially in a potentially unsafe environment? That's just making you miserable."
"But I promised, that I wouldn't keep you a secret, that I wouldn't keep us a secret."
"That's different. Nick, I swear that you not kissing me out of fear of my safety is a whole hell of a lot different than you pretending not to even know me or to be embarrassed by me existing in your life," Charlie insisted his hand going from his face to both of them clamping around his hands, "I love you, so much. It's going to take a lot more than a couple of homophobes to make me change my mind."
"I'm still sorry."
"I know," Charlie replied before kissing him in a way that made Nick nearly melt into his hands, "but I've forgiven you. The real question is if you'll be able to forgive yourself."
And Nick, well, he didn't know if he was ready, or able, to let it go just yet, to make it stop festering within him at that moment; but he mustered up the courage to say, "I'm going to try," and for now, that would simply have to be enough.