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Chapter Text

August 2003

Charlie Spring was eight years old now, which officially made him a Big Boy.

Being an almost fully grown man, as Charlie now was, he was allowed to go exploring with Tori with no adult supervision.

Well, technically, some adult supervision. His dad was supposed to be watching them from a lounger down the beach, but not long after Tori and Charlie had left him, he promptly fell asleep.

He seemed to be falling asleep a lot these days. Mum said that was just how it was when you have a newborn. Olly would cry all night, so his parents couldn't get any sleep, and then they had to fall asleep sometimes during the day. Charlie didn't really get it. Falling asleep during the day sounded so boring. Especially on holiday. Menorca had the coolest rocks, perfect for climbing and adventures.

Mum had said “absolutely no climbing” without a grown up with them, so Tori and Charlie were instead scouring the tide pools. It was almost as cool as climbing. So far, their bucket housed three tiny crabs, a hermit crab, four sea snails, and two minnows that Charlie had been quick enough to scoop out of the water with his hands. Tori was so good at spotting all the best creatures, but she said they should leave most of them be, in case they were spikey or didn't want to live in a bucket.

(Even if Charlie had spent ages making their bucket the best home ever. It had sand along the bottom and some shells he'd collected the day before and even some seaweed floating on the top. Honestly it might be the best bucket home in the whole world, if you asked Charlie.)

Charlie supposed some animals just couldn't appreciate a brilliant bucket, and he was okay with just looking, if it made them happier. He could probably spend all day watching the colourful fish dart between the swaying sea anemones and knobbly starfish without getting bored.

He and Tori were just pulling up a heavy rock to see if there were any bigger crabs underneath when a faint voice drifted over.

“...not funny anymore. C’mon, let me out!”

Charlie and Tori looked at one another and frowned. Carefully, they lowered the rock back down together.

When you and your sibling are only one year apart, and you both have trouble making friends so you spend all your time together exclusively, you stop needing words to communicate.

They both stood frozen, ankle deep in a tide pool, staring in the general direction of the voice. Just when Charlie was about to suggest they keep searching, thinking they must have imagined it, the voice called out again.

“Please, David. Come back!”

Charlie had taken a step towards the voice before he could process what he was doing. It sounded like another boy, and the boy sounded scared. He sounded like he might even be crying. Charlie wouldn't ignore him.

Tori looked less inclined to investigate. This was one area that the Spring siblings deviated, personality-wise. Charlie was awkward and nervous, but he had a strong desire to meet new people. Tori simply didn't seem to have a desire to interact with anyone who wasn't Charlie.

She read the look on his face and sighed. “Give me the bucket,” she muttered, holding out her hand expectantly.

Charlie's face broke out in a grin and he carefully passed it over.

“I'll wait for you over there,” she said, pointing at a patch of sand among the tide pools.

Charlie tipped forward and pressed a clumsy kiss to her cheek in thanks. Tori just rolled her eyes and turned away, but he thought he caught her lip twitch as she went.

Charlie turned. Time for his next adventure. This time, a rescue mission by the sounds of it.

The voice had sounded like it came from the opposite side of the beach to where his dad had been resting. The two patches of sandy beach split by the rocky tide pools. Charlie and Tori had ventured through most of the pools, so it wasn't much further to the other beach, but Charlie was careful as he scrambled over slimy algae and sharp barnacles. The last thing he needed was to fall and scrape a knee – it would derail the whole rescue mission.

When his feet finally sank into soft sand once more, he breathed a sigh of relief. First obstacle, completed. But now where?

He squinted and held his hand up to block out the bright sunshine. Maybe he should have brought that hat his mum had been nagging him about, after all. Ah well.

This side of the beach was much less crowded. There weren't any loungers here, only a few spots where people had spread out towels or put up sun umbrellas. And most of the groups were further down the beach. There were some older couples, sleeping or reading a book, and one family with a baby. In the water, there was a large group of teenagers, throwing a ball around and laughing, but mostly just splashing each other.

Charlie frowned. He hadn't heard the voice again, and he wasn't sure what to do now. What did they do in his adventure books when the trail ran dry? It never seemed to happen in the stories.

Just when he was about to start wandering the beach aimlessly, hoping for a clue, he heard something. It was quiet, and Charlie wasn't sure if he'd imagined it at first, but then – yes! It was a sniff. The boy sniffed again. Or maybe sniffled.

That's when Charlie noticed a bright sun umbrella he hadn't originally seen. It was angled low to the ground, wedged between two higher rocky outcroppings and tilted to the side to allow the person behind privacy.

Charlie frowned. If someone didn't want to be disturbed, maybe Charlie should stay away? But then another sniffle came from the umbrella, so Charlie steeled himself and went to investigate.

He stopped about a metre from the umbrella. There was definitely the sound of muffled crying coming from this umbrella. Charlie's hands were sweating.

“Er… hello?” Charlie called, putting every ounce of brave adventurer and mighty hero into his voice. “Is someone back there?”

There was a sharp intake of breath, a pause, and then the voice said, “yes, I'm here.”

Charlie hesitated. “Are you okay?”

There was slightly strangled sob from the stranger. “No, please help me.”

The other boy sounded anxious and small. Charlie rushed forward, ducking under the corner of the umbrella to find something very odd.

In front of Charlie was a head. A head with no body in sight. The head had sandy blonde hair that flopped into his honey brown eyes. His round cheeks were scattered with freckles. The skin under those freckles was flushed an angry red, and there were tear stains streaking his face.

Now, most eight year old boys would have run screaming from a disembodied head, but Charlie had watched lots of scary films when Tori snuck them from his parents DVD collection. Besides, Charlie was on a rescue mission, and headless bodies seemed more in need of rescuing than heads that already had bodies.

Decision made, Charlie dropped to his knees.

“What happened?” he asked.

The other boy’s face twisted in anguish. “My brother said it would be funny to bury me, but when he was finished, he hid me behind the umbrella and ran off.” He choked on a sob. “And David said the sand is full of crabs and that they're gonna crawl into my swimming trunks and pinch me.”

Oh! Charlie knew about the crabs!

“There are crabs on this beach!” Charlie piped up. The other boy's eyes widened and he started twisting his head from side to side. The sand around his neck barely shifted. “But don't worry!” Charlie rushed to add. “They're really small and when I held one in my hand it didn't pinch me or anything. I think these crabs are all nice.”

The boy sniffed. “Really?”

“Really.” Charlie nodded.

The other boy chewed his lip nervously. “Do you… do you think you could dig me out?”

Charlie smacked his forehead. How could he have gotten so distracted from his rescue mission?

“Of course!”

Charlie started scooping handfuls of sand away from the other boy's neck, exposing equally freckled shoulders. He was careful not to push sand into the boy's mouth or eyes.

“I'm Charlie, by the way.”

The boy sniffed. “I'm Nick.”

“Hi, Nick.” Charlie beamed down. Nick's sobs had stopped but he was still subdued, avoiding Charlie's eyes. “Er, Nick, are you sure you're alright?”

Nick's lips wobbled, his eyes turning glassy once more.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” His voice was barely a whisper.

Charlie frowned, head tipping to the side in confusion. “Why would I not be?”

Nick tried to shrug his shoulders, but his arms were still pinned too firmly to his sides. Charlie jumped back to action, hauling sand away with both hands.

“It's just,” Nick swallowed, still not meeting Charlie's eyes. “My brother won't even help me. Why would you? We're not even friends.”

Charlie paused. Was this the part where the other boy said that Charlie was too small, too odd and off-putting, and they shouldn't be friends?

He swallowed. He'd been brave all day, and he had to keep being brave. It's what all the adventure heroes would do. “I mean… we could be. Friends, I mean.” A nervous giggle bubbled out of his throat. “If you wanted.”

Now the other boy did finally look up at him. His eyebrows drawn together, confusion written over his splotchy face. “You want to be friends with me?”

Charlie kept digging to have something to do with his hands. And to avoid eye contact with Nick. “Yeah, of course.”

Charlie had dug down to Nick's elbows now, and Nick was able to wriggle on arm out of the sand. More freckles danced down his forearms and across his knuckles. Charlie was transfixed.

“But, I don't get it,” Nick said. “You found me crying like a baby, trapped in the sand. Why would you want to be friends with me?”

Nick's other hand had come loose now. Charlie sat back and studied the other boy for a moment. “I don't mind that you were upset. I would have been really scared, stuck here alone.” Charlie paused. “My sister says crying is good for you. It helps get all the bad feelings out.”

Charlie swallowed nervously. He wasn't used to people paying him so much attention. It made his throat feel tighter than normal. “I don't really have any friends. People say I'm too quiet.” He fiddled with his fingers. “So maybe you don't want to be friends with me.”

Nick wrenched his other arm free and placed both hands on the sand by his hips. He pressed down, shimmying his body until the sand came loose and he pulled his legs out. Nick was dressed only in bright orange swimming trunks that were now caked in clumpy sand. He was bigger than Charlie. Probably a bit older too. It had been hard to tell with only his face visible, but he was probably closer to Tori’s age than Charlie's.

Charlie sat back fully on his bum, pulling his legs up and wrapping his arms around them protectively. This was the part where he got rejected. Nick might be polite, thank him for setting him free and then go find his brother. Or maybe he would just ignore him, he got what he wanted, and now Charlie had revealed himself as a friendless social pariah. Why would this older, sporty looking boy want anything to do with him?

“Charlie?” He looked up to find Nick's face hovering close to his, a tentative smile dancing on his lips. “I'd really like to be your friend.”

Charlie's eyebrows shot up. Nick grinned wider and it tugged a smile onto Charlie's lips too. “Yeah?”

Nick beamed. “Yeah!”

They crashed into a hug. It was messy, a tangle of awkward, kid limbs and knobbly joints, but they both held on tight. Somehow, even though he'd only just met this boy, to Charlie it just felt right.

When they finally pulled back, Charlie awkwardly cleared his throat. “So, er, I'm not really supposed to be this far from my dad.”

Nick's face fell. “Oh, right, of course.” He sat back on his knees, wringing his hands.

“Would you maybe…” Charlie swallowed. “Would you want to come and play with me and my sister? We were catching sea creatures in the tide pools. I can show you the crabs I was talking about.”

Nick's face lit up. “Really? That sounds amazing!”

After digging around in his brother's shorts for David's phone, explaining he was just texting his mum to say where he would be, the two boys headed off.

Tori was not thrilled to have a new friend added to the group, but after Charlie explained what David had done, her face softened.

“You can carry the bucket,” she said, and Nick practically glowed to be given such an important task. Then Charlie had practically glowed when Nick fawned appropriately over the magnificent ecosystem that was Charlie's bucket.

The three kids spent the rest of the day exploring, swimming, building sand castles, and just playing. It was the best day of Charlie's life. Nick was so nice. Charlie would forever love Tori's quiet, steady presence, but he didn't realise how much he had craved someone who got excited about things too. Nick shouted even louder than Charlie when he found a new starfish. He loved to run and splash and he even was able to carry Charlie around on his back when Charlie got cold and didn't want to be fully in the water anymore. Charlie had pressed close, hugging Nick's shoulders tight, basking in the joy of being with his first true friend.

The next morning, Charlie had been so excited to go play with Nick again, he even got up early to make sure he was ready. His mum had taken one look at him, dressed in swim trunks and goggles pushing his hair up on his forehead, and she let out an exasperated sigh.

“Charlie, I told you we're leaving today. We don't have time to go to the beach.”

Charlie's whole world came crashing down. Leaving? Today? That couldn't be right. He needed more time with Nick. He hadn't even asked the other boy what part of England he was from. He could live anywhere. He never got Nick's phone number or email; he had no way to contact him when he got back home.

His one true friend, slipping through his fingers, lost.

Charlie had kicked and screamed, cried and begged. It only seemed to aggravate his mother further. Tori had even tried to explain, as always coming to her brother's defence. Their mother had sighed and apologised, but she explained there was “simply not enough time” and “Charlie can make other friends back home, but we have a flight to catch.”

Charlie had turned, tear-stained and desperate, to his father, ever the softer touch, but he had barely heard. Olly was in the throes of an epic tantrum, and it was taking his father's full concentration to contain the situation.

So, Charlie was loaded into the car and the beach faded, smaller and smaller, behind him. He tried not to think of Nick, waiting for him in the tide pools. Probably thinking Charlie had forgotten him. Maybe hating Charlie for it.

The tears kept falling, a steady river down his cheeks. Somehow, Charlie knew he would never find a friend like Nick. Nick was something special, and now he was gone.

Charlie hunched lower in his seat and let the sorrow wash over him.

Chapter Text

October 2008

“Hey, did you hear some year nine has come out as gay?”

Nick buried his head deeper into his maths homework, trying to tune out the voices.

“He's getting a lot of shit for it, I think.”

Nick pushed himself to his feet, stuffed his papers in his school bag, and left, mumbling something about an early meeting.

Sometimes he hated the way his friends spoke. They seemed to care so deeply about school gossip in a way that Nick didn't. He'd been hearing about this year nine for weeks. Learning countless new slurs that he wished he could scrub from his brain. He'd even been privy to a few of the older boys on the rugby team, Mark and Jonah, bragging the other day in the locker room. They had been so proud of themselves for stuffing increasingly threatening, homophobic notes into the gay boy’s locker every day for a week.

It made his stomach twist. Especially from the older rugby boys. When he'd first joined the team, those boys had been his idols. They had taken him under their wing and offered him a community. A community he had desperately craved. Then, after hearing that story, just thinking of them left a sour taste in his mouth.

It was the same sour taste he got when Harry threw things at the younger students and all his friends laughed. Or when Kieran went on about some girl or other blowing him off and acting like a tease.

Honestly, the problem wasn't that his friends and teammates cared about the school gossip. It was that they didn't seem to care about the person they were gossiping about.

Maybe Nick was being ungrateful. He had never had to question where to sit at lunch. He'd never had an unflattering rumour about him float around school. He always had an invite to any party and didn't have to worry about who to hang out with once he was there. But still, all those friendships lacked something. Nick yearned for a friend that he could connect with on a deeper level.

Nick's thoughts drifted to salt damp curls and sparkling turquoise eyes. He thought of Charlie far more than he probably should. The mystery beach boy who had shown up, out of the blue, and rescued him. It wasn't the rescue itself that Nick thought about most days. Usually he thought about the other boy's kindness. He yearned for the quiet, contemplative boy who had told him it was okay to cry. The boy who had found him, hidden, buried, and sobbing, and didn't even consider laughing.

Nick could still remember how he had felt that day. He had been so delighted to get to play with David. Usually his big brother ignored him or shoved him aside, but that day David had been the one to suggest they dig a hole together. And then David had said it would be funny if they buried each other. It had definitely sounded like a funny idea, Nick could just picture him and David, two heads tucked away between the rocks. He couldn't wait to tell his mum about it. But then, when David had packed down the sand so tight, too tight, around Nick's neck, Nick was confused. He hadn't quite thought this part through. How was he supposed to bury David without his arms? He had opened his mouth to ask his brother, when he noticed David dragging their beach umbrella over.

It had all gone downhill from there. David had ignored him, running off claiming he didn't want to hang out with a crybaby. Nick had fought off the tears at first, but the weight of the sand, the threat of the crabs, and the loneliness all pressed in on him. It was too much, he felt claustrophobic. The tears had come, then the sobs, then the begging. The panic had clawed at his throat, making it hard to breathe. And the sand compressing his chest didn't help. Nick had worked himself into a right state before the scrawny younger boy had crawled under the umbrella to save him.

When he felt panic creeping back up again, Nick still thought of Charlie's open gaze and understanding words and it soothed him. When his dad didn't come home for Christmas, or David bragged about leaving for uni and finally being done with Nick, he thought of what Charlie might say. When he had been with Charlie, Nick didn't have to push down his tears and anguish, or tamp down his laughter when his joy bubbled out. He could just be.

Charlie was Nick's saviour, and an enigma to boot, but what Nick truly craved was the way that Charlie had seen Nick, all of Nick, and had not balked.

Nick sighed, scrubbing his eyes and trying to shake Charlie out of his head and he made his way aimlessly down the halls. It was no use wishing for Charlie. He was gone. And Nick would probably never get the closure he needed.

It had never made sense to him why Charlie had vanished the next day. He had wondered, more than once, if he had made the other boy up. He might think he had invented Charlie, if it weren't for the small seashell that Charlie had found for him that day, now tucked away in a special box in his room. But if Charlie was definitely real, then why had he not come back to play the next day?

Charlie had claimed that they went to the beach most days, so Nick had begged his mum to let him go play with his new friend. She was puzzled but delighted and agreed easily, joining him on the sandy shore.

There on the shore, Nick and his mum waited all day. They spent the morning firmly planted in the rocky outcroppings where Charlie had first found Nick. He thought it would be the easiest place to meet. Then the sun rose a bit higher, and Nick worried that he had misjudged the location. But no, this was definitely where he had been buried the day before. The hole was still there. He thought about searching along the shore, but he didn't want to move and then have Charlie miss him. His mum had tried to distract him with swimming or playing a game, but Nick brushed her off.

When midday rolled around and Charlie still hadn't found them, Nick had dragged his mum across the tide pools. Charlie had said his family usually went to the other side of the beach. Nick felt silly, of course Charlie would be waiting on the far strip of sand. He was sure they'd have such a laugh about how they were both waiting for the other.

But when he reached the other side, Charlie was still nowhere to be seen. They searched, they sat, they searched some more. His mum asked gentle questions: did Nick have Charlie's phone number? Did Nick know where they were staying? Did Nick know Charlie's age, surname?

Nick felt so silly. It hadn't felt important to ask those questions the day before. He knew Charlie. He didn't need to know his surname. But now he just felt foolish.

When the sun had dipped firmly behind the horizon, his mum cleared her throat. She was gentle about suggesting they head back, but Nick still burst into tears. He was so confused. Did Charlie not want to play with Nick again? Had Nick been too much after all? His mum had bundled him into her arms and rocked him back and forth until he tired himself out. He had been ten at the time, a bit old to be crying on his mum (or at least that was what David had always said), but he let himself soak in her love. He needed it after the loss of Charlie.

The years passed, and he'd been sure that Charlie would fade from his mind. He had, to an extent. The lack of a goodbye certainly didn't sting now the way it used to. It still confused Nick to no end, but he no longer felt so emotional about it.

What lingered was the loneliness. It felt cruel for the universe to send him the perfect friend, just to snatch him away again after just one day.

Nick turned a corner and realised he was in a part of the school he barely recognised. If he had to guess he would say it was the English block for some of the younger students. He must have really needed to clear his head if he wandered all the way to this section of the school.

Nick was just turning the corner, heading back towards his own homeroom, when he heard something that made him pause.

“Oi, Spring! We were talking to you.”

“Are you deaf? Come here.” There was a dull thud and a sharp exhale.

Nick was already moving. He knew those voices. He turned the corner to reveal Mark and Jonah, Nick's rugby teammates. They were huddled in front of someone they had pinned against the lockers, and Nick heard another thunk as they shoved the student again.

“What's your problem, Spring? Seems like you've been avoiding us,” Jonah sneered. Mark snickered and pulled back his arm, fist cocked.

Nick was there, though. He grabbed Mark's wrist and twisted the older boy around, an angry jibe on his lips.

But as he shifted Mark out of the way, Nick stopped dead. His fingers still clenched around Mark's wrist, both of their arms stiffly raised, but his jaw dropped and he just stared stupidly.

There, standing in front of Nick, was Charlie. His Charlie. Menorca Charlie. The boy he had spent years missing. The boy he had wracked his brain over, trying to come up with some way to contact. And here he was, standing in Nick's school.

It felt like the wind had been knocked out of him.

Charlie was older now, his tiny frame had stretched into the gangly stature of teenage years, his limbs slightly too long for his body. His face was sharper, morphed into high cheekbones and an angular chin rather than the baby fat that had softened it all those years ago. His hair was shorter, clipped neatly around his ears, but still curled delicately over his forehead. He was older, different, but unmistakably Charlie.

Charlie's face was tilted down, his body curled inward protectively, starting diligently at his converse. Jonah hand dug into Charlie's shoulder, pinning him against a locker, but the older boy turned to Nick, bemused.

“Nelson? Something you wanted to add?”

“You here to see the queer for yourself?” Mark added. He yanked his wrist free of Nick's grip but didn't move away. Both older boys were crowded too close to Charlie.

Something clicked in Nick's mind. Charlie must be the year nine everyone was talking about. The kid who had come out as gay. Somehow, it was the least important revelation at that moment. The fact that Charlie was gay was another thing about his personality that Nick would love to learn more about. He wanted to know everything about Charlie. He didn't mind that the other boy was apparently gay.

What did matter about this information was that Charlie was the student that everyone had been tormenting for the past few weeks. Charlie, the boy who had saved Nick from his personal bully, was now being harassed by countless older kids.

It made it all so simple. Nick had been conflicted and uncomfortable for weeks as he heard about the bullying. He looked up to these boys and wanted their respect. Wanted to be part of the group. He didn't want to rock the boat or upset anyone, especially his friends and teammates. But this was Charlie.

These boys had bragged to Nick and the rest of the team about badgering and threatening Charlie. These boys had now cornered Charlie in the hall, one still holding his shaking form pinned down, the other tried to hit him. Nick wanted no place among these boys.

“Leave Charlie alone,” Nick said. His voice was steady, sure. And at the sound of it, Charlie's head snapped up.

His eyes were the same striking blue that had haunted Nick for five years.

There was a split second as Charlie and Nick met eyes, Charlie full of trepidation. Then, Nick clocked the exact moment that Charlie recognised him. His eyebrows bunched together, then shot up to his hairline, his eyes widening to the size of dinner plates. He gaped at Nick as the seconds stretched, mouth opening and closing a few times.

Then, he seemed to register the hand digging into his shoulder, the bullies circling like sharks. Charlie's face twisted with emotion, shock, fear, shame… hope? Nick tried to pour every ounce of comfort and reassurance into his eyes.

The other boys didn't seem to register the intensity passing between Charlie and Nick.

“What's your deal, Nelson?” Jonah crowed, giving Nick a shove on the shoulder that was just slightly too hard to be friendly.

“I said,” Nick forced out, “leave Charlie alone.” He tried to make his voice firm, unyielding. Nick forced his way past his teammates and planted himself firmly in front of Charlie.

Nick's hands were shaking slightly. He tried not to think about Charlie's slight frame, just inches from his back. He could feel the other boy's breath fanning across the nape of his neck, bringing goosebumps to the surface.

Mark and Jonah gaped. Nick had to fight the urge to duck his head. These boys were his teammates. His senior teammates. They had more experience, more clout among their peers. Nick had always deferred to them in the locker room, and the urge was there now as well. He didn't like conflict. It would be so easy to laugh it off, smooth things over.

But there was something far more important than social niceties at play. Charlie was more important. He had been there for Nick, and Nick would be there for him. It was poetic, in a way.

The older boys had shifted from shock to outrage. Their faces were both flushed and twisted. It was a rare humiliation to be told off by a measly year ten. He could see them sizing him up and Nick drew himself up to his full height. Both boys were older, but Nick had filled out the summer before. Long hours running drills at rugby camp had molded his body into a new shape. He was no longer baby fat and fumbling clumsiness. He had also shot up like a beanstalk and now had a few centimeters on the older boys. He still fluctuated somewhere between boy and man, but Nick knew he was an imposing figure.

The other boys seemed to realise the same thing.

“Whatever,” Jonah muttered, turning away. Nick blew out a breath of relief. He was sure that rugby later would be awkward as hell, but at least the confrontation was over before anyone started yelling. Nick felt the tension drain from his shoulders and sagged slightly. He turned slightly towards Charlie and opened his mouth, to say what he wasn't sure. What do you say to the boy you've been yearning to see again for five years?

It turns out, Nick didn't need to figure that out. Before he could make a sound, Mark's fist connected with his nose.

There was an odd snap. Nick staggered back from the force, throwing his arms out to stop himself from mauling Charlie into the lockers, and pain exploded across his face.

Then, all hell broke loose.

Chapter Text

The events that followed were a bit fuzzy for Nick. He remembered hands on his back, holding him steady. Students were shouting , pressing in from all sides. Nick was jostled roughly. There was laughter, jeering, His hands had quickly become slick with blood as he clutched his face. He didn't think anyone threw another punch, but Nick was shoved and kicked enough in the ruckus to feel bruises forming.

He had tried so hard to use his body as a shield for Charlie, but in the mayhem it was hard to keep track of the smaller boy. He wanted to reach out and grab Charlie's hand, but he was afraid to stand too close and risk crashing into Charlie himself.

The chaos had raged on until a teacher finally ran into the hall, calling for silence and breaking up the mob.

Now, Nick sat perched on a chair outside the headmaster's office, clutching some toilet roll to his nose. It had stopped bleeding, but he wanted something to do with his hands. His nose throbbed, the pressure from his sinuses pushing on his eyes.

Jonah and Mark sat on his right, Charlie on his left. They had all just gotten an earful from the headmaster. A standard lecture about Truham’s “no violence policy” and how fighting on school grounds was “irresponsible and reprehensible” and blah, blah, blah.

The lecture was tedious, but they all stayed silently until their punishments were finally doled out. Mark was suspended, since he was the only one who actually hit someone. The other three got detention since the events were murky and it seemed as though they had been part of the fight or possibly had provoked Mark. Nick had to fight not to roll his eyes at that.

Nick was upset on his own behalf, since he was somehow being punished for the bruise blossoming across his face. But more than that, Nick was furious that Charlie was being reprimanded. The whole school knew that Charlie was being bullied for being gay. Nick had to assume that the headmaster was aware of the situation. And yet, when Nick had tried to explain that Charlie was the victim and shouldn't face discipline, he'd been dismissed. Was this the treatment Charlie had been facing since being outed?

While Nick was brooding, Jonah and Mark's parents came to collect them. Then, it was just Nick and Charlie, sitting on the uncomfortable plastic chairs, avoiding eye contact. Nick fiddled with a loose thread on his uniform shirt, twisting it around his finger. How was it somehow more awkward now that the bullies had left?

Nick was wracking his brain, trying to come up with some sort of conversation starter. Sorry for starting a fight that was probably terrifying and got you put in detention? Why did you ghost me five years ago? How long have we gone to the same school and not noticed one another?

Then a thought occurred to Nick. Had Charlie already known that they were at the same school? Had he purposely left Nick five years ago and then continued to avoid him around school? Had Nick come on too strong when he was playing with Charlie and Tori? Or, a more troubling thought struck Nick, making his stomach sink, had Charlie actually been judging Nick since they met? Perhaps he had never been comfortable seeing another boy break down. Maybe Nick was too utterly pathetic to be friends with someone as effortlessly fun as Charlie. He twisted the string harder, his finger turning gradually more purple.

“I'm so sorry,” Charlie blurted, breaking through Nick's spiraling.

Nick furrowed his brows, turning to glance at Charlie. The younger boy appeared to be fighting back tears, staring angrily at his own lap where his hands were fisted so tightly the whites of his knuckles stood out.

“What do you m–”

“This is all my fault,” Charlie interrupted. “I shouldn't have gotten you involved. This is my mess, and now you've got detention and it's because of me. And your parents will be here soon.” Charlie glanced up, his eyes bluer than ever, and channeling a manic sort of desperation. “I can talk to them, explain that this is all my fault. I didn't mean to get you in trouble I swear, I just–”

“Charlie, please, take a breath.” Nick laid a hand on top of the other boy's fist. Charlie was shaking slightly. He snapped his mouth shut and turned back to his lap. A tear slipped out and trailed down his cheek. Charlie didn't bother to wipe it away, so it forged on until it dripped onto his leg.

Nick was reeling slightly, trying to get his thoughts oriented with this new revelation.

“Why are you apologising?” Nick asked dumbly. His mind still felt jumbled. Maybe he'd gotten hit harder than he realised.

Charlie's face crumpled. He pulled his hand back from Nick's and shoved it under his thigh instead. His shoulders hunched in. “I got you involved. You have to go to detention. And… your face.”

Nick reached out again, laying a hand gently on Charlie's knee. “I chose to get involved, Charlie. I couldn't stand what those boys had been saying about you, and I didn't even know it was you. If I'd known that you were the year nine everyone was talking about, I would have said something far sooner.”

Nick cringed slightly, that didn't sound quite right. He felt shame coil in his gut, knowing that he should have said something anyway. He knew it wasn't right that a younger student was being bullied. He knew that being gay wasn't something to get teased over. He tilted his head to the side, trying to catch Charlie's eye.

“I'm really sorry I didn't say something sooner.”

Charlie shrugged, still avoiding Nick's gaze. “It's not a big deal.”

“It seems pretty serious to me. Those guys are dicks, Charlie. They don't know you at all. You're amazing.” He gave Charlie's knee a little squeeze. “And even if it wasn't you, nobody should be bullied for being gay.”

Charlie let out a little sound, a whine from the back of his throat, and more tears flowed. Nick couldn't help it, his arm shifted up before he was aware he was moving it, and then his fingers were brushing the moisture away. Charlie leaned into the touch, and then pulled away, rubbing at the tears angrily.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” His eyes furrowed with suspicion, but there was a raw vulnerability buried in his gaze.

Nick swallowed, his insecurities bubbling up in his own throat and making it hard to force the words out. “I thought we were friends?”

Charlie's mouth twisted. He looked pained. Shit, maybe Nick had misjudged the relationship after all. He knew it was weird that he was still thinking about a boy he had played with for one day. It probably was no big deal to Charlie, and now the other boy would think he was some creep. Nick wiped his hands on his trousers, they felt clammy.

“You still want to be friends?” Charlie's voice was barely more than a whisper.

“Why wouldn't I want that?”

Charlie frowned. “How many reasons do you need?” He started ticking them off on his fingers. “I never said goodbye all those years ago, you probably hate me for that. I'm just some gay loser, it would be weird for you to want to be friends with me in the first place. I'm also being teased by the rugby team, by people who apparently are your friends, so that's a good reason. Let's see, you just got detention because of me, you are probably going to get chewed out by your parents because of me. Have you seen a mirror?” Charlie gestured wildly towards Nick's nose. “I literally got you punched in the face. It looks like it hurts like hell.” Charlie's fingers rose up and brushed, feather-light, across the swollen skin covering Nick's cheek. He seemed distracted, his words came out weaker. “You shouldn't want to be friends with me.”

Nick swallowed. The intensity that had crackled between them when they first recognised each other was back. He knew he had to choose his words carefully or he might scare Charlie off.

“Charlie, I only want to be friends with you,” Nick murmured. “None of that other stuff matters. And most of it wasn't even your fault.” Nick felt frustrated, trapped between needing to get the intensity of his feelings across, while also not wanting to come on too strong. He swallowed, and when he spoke again his voice was steady. “I'd really like to still be friends, if you'll have me.”

Charlie opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated.

“Nicky, what happened? The headmaster said you got into a fight?”

Nick jerked back. When had he and Charlie leaned in so close?

Sarah Nelson stood in the corridor. Her face was stern but concerned. She gasped when Nick turned to her fully. His face must really look awful.

“Oh baby, your nose! It's so swollen. Did nobody think to put some ice on this?” Nick tried not to cringe as Sarah cupped his face in her hands, tipping it side to side to get a better look at the bruising. She continued to tut over Nick as his stood up, throwing his schoolbag over his shoulder and leading the way out. He wasn't sure he wanted to see Charlie's reaction to his mum's fussing. He wasn't sure he wanted to see Charlie's reaction to his confession.

“Nick, wait!” A hand grabbed his arm, firm, spinning Nick around. Charlie stared at him for a moment, then threw his arms over Nick's shoulders, drawing him into a tight hug. His fingers dug into Nick's school blazer, head tucking neatly into the spot where Nick's neck met his shoulder.

Nick was caught off guard, but then his arms wound around Charlie's waist, pulling the smaller boy firmly against him. He was solid and real, the feel of their bodies soothing an anxious thrum in Nick's blood. Something about holding Charlie just felt right, a calmness settling over him like a warm blanket.

“Friends,” Charlie murmured into Nick's neck. “I’d like to be friends, Nick.”

Nick let out a breath. He couldn't push down the happiness bubbling up inside of him, and he smiled against Charlie's shoulder. Something inside his chest pressed out, demanding more, more, more. He needed more of this feeling, more of this joy, this belonging, he needed more Charlie.

But for now, he would celebrate what he had. Friends. It had a nice ring to it.

“What's your Instagram?” Nick blurted.

Maybe it was cringey to ask. Most people would just stalk the other on the app, digging through mutual friends. But Nick wasn't taking any chances anymore. Charlie had slipped through his fingers once before and he wouldn't let the other boy out of his sight now without some way to contact him.

Charlie just grinned and pulled out his phone and let Nick search his own profile and hit follow. Nick glowed.

The whole ride home, a smile tugged at Nick's lips. His mum was peppering him with questions, clearly pissed off that he was fighting. Once she got a better idea of what had happened, she backed off, reaching over to rub his cheek at a stoplight. Nick hadn't been truly worried about his mum's reaction, he knew he hadn't done anything wrong and she would understand. And honestly, having to spend everyday for a week in detention with Charlie didn't sound like much of a punishment.

He pulled out his phone and idly scrolled through Charlie's page. It was full of dimpled smiles and shining blue eyes, sparkling with humor. He followed Charlie back.

Nick felt giddy. This was the start of something truly beautiful, he just knew it. Charlie was so special.

Nick pulled up his DMs and started drafting a message to Charlie.

He still couldn't seem to stop smiling.