Work Text:
OCTOBER: TAO
“Charlie's in hospital. He’s… he's been diagnosed with an eating disorder. He said I could tell you guys.”
Nick's words land like a lump of lead in my stomach, and I feel like I may actually vomit.
Wait, WHAT?
Oh my God.
I think back over the last few months, everything suddenly slotting right into place in my mind like the last pieces of a jigsaw puzzle:
Charlie not eating at the beach and Nick covering for him.
Charlie looking so unwell and drained at the zoo and Nick seeming uncharacteristically tense and agitated when I asked him about it.
Charlie snapping at Isaac and me at the picnic benches when we asked him if he was okay because he looked so pale and tired.
And yet I didn't know.
I didn’t see what was right in front of me.
Because I was so preoccupied with Elle.
Elle takes my hand now, snapping me out of my spiral. I look dazedly at her face and her big brown eyes reflect my fear.
Eating disorders are bad. Like, scary bad.
Could I lose him? He's my best friend, I can't–
Elle squeezes my hand and takes a purposeful deep breath. I nod and imitate her, the fresh intake of oxygen soothing my frayed nerves and churning stomach. The sound of my friends’ worried chattering rushes back to my ears; everyone is speaking over each other, peppering Nick with question after question. I look over at him now, and he looks terrified. His usually ruddy complexion is completely drained of colour and it hits me for the first time how unwell he looks, too.
“Guys,” I hear myself say, my voice coming out louder than I intended it to. Everyone stops talking and looks at me. “Leave Nick alone, yeah? I know we're all shocked, but like, give him a minute.”
Nick's face sags in relief and he shoots me a weary but grateful smile. It doesn't meet his eyes, which look dull and exhausted.
God, he must be so worried.
I don’t think I'd cope if it was Elle.
I feel a sudden, unexpected rush of warmth towards Nick. I know we haven't always seen eye to eye – I may have threatened several strongly-worded DMs in his direction in the past – but even I can see how much he loves Charlie. How scared he is. How much he must have been holding these last few months.
I need to look out for him now.
And that's when it starts.
Over the next few weeks, I try to keep a surreptitious eye on Nick as much as I can. I watch him wandering around school, looking lost and low without his other half. I watch him drifting off from conversations, like the day we all hang out at the park after school and try to put together a care package for Charlie. He's distracted and absent – like he's a million miles away – and I wish I could help him but I just don't know what to say. I know he hasn't spoken to Charlie yet, and that must be driving him up the wall with worry. I cannot imagine not talking to Elle for more than a few hours at a time, never mind weeks, especially if she was ill. I'm not sure how Nick is still functioning at all, actually.
Which is why I'm a bit surprised when he actually turns up at Sahar's Halloween party. I didn't think he would, and I wouldn't have blamed him. There's a slight chance I'm marginally tipsy by the time he walks into the kitchen, finding myself giggling inanely at a ‘cow being abducted by aliens’ lamp as I film it and make spooky noises.
Fine. I'm not always super mature, okay?
So sue me.
I'm pleased to see Nick when I turn around, and there's a hint of a smile on his face, which is nice. I pull my Frank mask back down over my face and gesture to the camera.
“I’m making a video for Charlie so he knows how much we all love him,” I tell Nick. “You should say something.” I go into film director mode. “Nicholas Nelson… What do you have to say to your boyfriend, Charlie Spring?”
Nick seems to zone out for a second, his eyes going a bit fuzzy and out of focus, but then he inhales sharply. “Hi, Charlie,” he says softly. “I love you.”
His lips quirk into a hint of a smile, just for a split second, and it's the happiest I’ve seen him look for a while. I want to say something nice, but I'm drunk, so instead I just turn the camera towards my own face and quip, “Well… you heard it here first, folks. Nick Nelson loves Charlie Spring.”
Nick rolls his eyes and brings his hand up to push the camera down. “Alright, that's great, thank you,” he says, and he sounds so fed up I feel a bit bad for a brief second, until Isaac appears.
“Oh, Tao! Cool rabbit costume!” he says.
I instantly forget about Nick's plight as fury rises up in my chest. I whip my mask off and glare at Isaac.
“I'm clearly Frank from Donnie Darko,” I righteously inform him.
He looks confused. “What?”
Is he for real?
“We watched it last week!”
“No, we didn't!" he protests.
Hang on..
“Were you asleep again?” I demand.
Isaac brings his fist – grasping tightly to his book, obviously – up to his mouth and his eyes are full of mischief. “Ooh,” he squeals. “I might have been asleep!”
I'm half-laughing, half furious as I chase him out of the kitchen, shouting at him.
No one respects my theatrical choices.
Once I've lectured Isaac enough for his complete lack of appreciation for the fine art of filmmaking, I suddenly remember I’m supposed to be watching out for Nick. I spy him grabbing a drink in the kitchen and figure he's okay for now, so I take the time to have a good canoodle with Elle. The night continues in an increasing blur – nothing to do with the punch that Darcy keeps slipping me, I'm sure – but I catch sight of Nick a few times; he's standing off to one side with some of the others when Isaac and I accidentally film Imogen and Sahar snogging really rather indecently, which violates my documentary code of ethics so naturally, I have to stop filming. I'm so distracted by wrestling the camera off Isaac that by the time I think to check on him again, Nick has vanished. The next time I see him, he's in the kitchen again, popping the lid off another bottle of beer – clearly still okay, I tell myself, and allow Isaac to whisk me off to film some more.
The last time I see Nick, though, I suddenly feel a lot less drunk, my vision coming back into sharper focus and my heart doing a little skip in my chest.
He's not okay.
He's not okay at all.
He looks awful, sitting between two plastic skeletons on the sofa, eyes glazed and unseeing, beer bottle dangling uselessly from his fingers. Before I can push through the crowd to get to him, he rises to his feet, swaying unsteadily, lurching off in the direction of the hallway. I fight my way through the swarm of partygoers and head out into the hall, looking wildly around for any sign of his Captain America costume.
Then it hits me.
He and Charlie always escape parties to hide away together, always needing a quiet little moment to reconnect and settle.
Except… Charlie isn't here.
Shit.
I bet he's gone upstairs to have a minute.
I should check on him.
I head up the staircase, my vision swimming slightly, becoming aware of the ringing in my ears as I head away from the pounding bass of the music.
Sure enough, as I step onto the landing, he's there, sitting with his back against the wall, looking absolutely bereft. My breath catches in my throat.
He's really, really not okay.
He must sense me there and he looks up at me with big, doleful eyes.
“Mind if I join?” I ask quietly.
He nods and forces a half-smile. “Yeah, go on.”
He shuffles over a little, making space for me. I squeeze my lanky frame into the gap next to him and heave a sigh, wanting to be there for him but not having a clue – especially in my punch-addled state – what to say. I look over at him and he turns his face away from me so I can't see his expression, but I can tell by his breathing that he's trying desperately not to cry. I sense the grief rolling off him in waves, and I feel utterly helpless. I don't know what else to do so I surprise myself – and Nick, no doubt – by wrapping my arm around his shoulders and pulling him into a hug.
He nestles his face into the fluffy material of my costume and breaks – wracking sobs shaking his entire bulky frame.
My heart absolutely shatters into pieces for him in that moment – seeing someone so big and strong fall to bits like this feels incredibly painful to watch, somehow. So I just hold him, and let a few tears of my own quietly escape.
Charlie, we need you – please come back to us.
You're too far away.
And then it hits me.
He's been far away for a really long time.