Work Text:
Nick loved the way Charlie’s words tumbled out—quick, sharp, often sarcastic. They made him laugh, made him think, sometimes made him want to argue back just to see Charlie’s dimples and smirk.
His favourite words from Charlie came late at night though, when Charlie was tired and soft. They slowed, gentled, stripped bare. Nick would lie in bed, holding him close, and listen to “I’m glad you’re here,” or “don’t let go.”
Nick knew anyone could say those words. But it was the way Charlie spoke all the others—that was how Nick knew, without doubt, he was loved.