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Charlie was silently raging on his way back from the pub aka one of the worst dates he had been on in a very long time - which was saying something. He could kick himself for going on the app again after nearly deleting it in frustration. But his ED had been getting worse and worse (hence the pub and not a restaurant), his intrusive thoughts had once again become a constant companion, his mum was annoying as ever, and to top it all, he had just lost his job. He needed a distraction. Hence Richard. The dick that had just abruptly ended their date after his boyfriend had called to let him know that he had already found a third for their evening plans, and that they wouldn’t need their fall back plan aka Charlie anymore. Dick being a dick he had put the conversation on speaker.
Charlie grimaced and quickened his pace. All he wanted to do now was climb into his bed and draw the duvet over his head, never to be seen again. Tears of anger and desperation streamed down his face as he kicked a can lying in the middle of the sidewalk into the gutter.
“Ouch!! Bloody hell, what do you think you’re doing, mate???”
Charlie stopped, startled. The streets were empty. He couldn’t have hit somebody with the can by accident. His eyes searched for the can that he had just kicked. When his gaze landed on it, his eyes widened.
A worm was half buried beneath it, trying to wiggle free.
Charlie blinked.
The worm was still there.
He blinked again.
The wiggling continued.
He…
“Stop staring and help me already, you moron!”
In this moment several thoughts went through Charlie’s head:
- He was already at home, lying in his bed, sleeping. His brain would absolutely be able to make up a talking worm to torture him in his dream.
- A car had suddenly turned up in the empty street and hit him. He was either dead or near death. A talking worm would be a fitting guide into the afterlife for him.
- Richard Dick had drugged and murdered him. See 2) for the rest.
- The bloody awful date had made him snap and he was now lying on a stretcher heavily sedated after cutting Dick’s dick off.
“Oi, moron, I’m talking to you!” the angry voice shouted.
Charlie thought it was quite a powerful voice for a worm. “Sorry, I spaced out for a moment,” he offered lamely.
“Well, now that you’re back with us could you hurry the fuck up and free me from this bloody can?”
With a shrug Charlie accepted his fate and hurried to fulfil the worm's request.
“Ah, that’s better,” the worm sighed, wriggling around. Then he faced Charlie. “And next time you feel the urge to kick something, make sure there’s no one around you can get into trouble.”
Charlie was about to point out that looking out for a worm hadn’t exactly been on his mind when he kicked the can.
“Anyway, thanks for your help, even though it was your fault in the first place,” the worm grumbled.
“You’re welcome?”
Can worms roll their eyes? Charlie was almost certain they couldn’t, but he was also almost certain that the worm had just done exactly that before it began to slither further into the gutter.
Charlie shrugged again, shook his head, and started walking away, when …
“Wait! Come back.”
Charlie stopped dead without giving any indication of returning to the worm.
“Hurry up, I don’t have all day!”
Stiffly, Charlie took two steps in the direction of the worm which had slithered a bit in his general direction.
“Well, okay, see, the thing is …” the worm muttered.
“There’s a thing?” Charlie asked flatly.
“Shut up, I’m getting there. Well, the thing is, seeing as you did rescue me, even if it was you who got me into this mess in the first place … well … okay then, make a wish.”
“Huh?”
“I knew you were a moron. A wish. Something you want. Something special that you want. I’m hereby legally obliged to grant you three wishes.”
“Legally?” Charlie scoffed.
“It’s in the contract, shut up.”
Charlie started wondering about the quality of the hangover that would greet him in the morning. That is, if he was, in fact, sleeping.
“Three?” he tried to make sure.
“Bingo. One, two, three, and that’s it. Adios. Bye bye.”
Charlie decided to just go with it for now and racked his brain for something to wish for.
What did he want more than anything else?
Well, that was easily answered.
“I want to be healthy,” he said.
“Dude, no, no, no, the right way of making a wish is ‘I wish that …'”
“Oh, yeah, right, sorry. Can I try again?”
“Be my guest,” the worm deadpanned.
“Okay, so … I wish that all my Mental Health problems go away so that I’m healthy again and can lead a normal and happy life without being such a burden to everyone around me.”
The worm was quiet for a moment.
“What?” Charlie asked self consciously. “Was that wrong again?”
“Oh no! Good wish, just a mouthful. Right, okay, here we go.”
Nothing happened.
“What’s supposed to happen now?” Charlie asked.
“Look down into your hand.”
Charlie looked down. He was indeed holding something, a …
“A business card? Weren’t you supposed to heal me?”
“Do I look like I can do that?” The worm asked impatiently.
It had a point.
“Okay, but shouldn’t there be … I don’t know … smoke and stuff? Like magic?”
“Ah, the old prejudice. No, dude, that’s a genie thing. Bloody archaic business model, if you ask me. We worms are going for a more realistic approach.”
Charlie stared at the worm.
The worm stared back.
Ultimately, Charlie dropped his eyes and began to study the card in his hand.
He might have just lost a staring contest with a bloody worm.
“Geoff Young, Psychotherapist” he read aloud. “What does that even mean?”
“It means that you’ll go home now, sleep off the alcohol that is still clouding your senses, and when you wake up and have taken several pills to battle this murder hangover, you call him. Trust me, he’s good.”
“How would you know?”
“Worked with him on several occasions. Without his knowledge, of course. But he’s never let me down so far. And now, off you go, I have places to be. Come back here when you’re ready for wish number two.”
🪱🪱🪱🪱🪱🪱
A couple of days later Charlie was standing in front of the same gutter. He stared into it, but the worm was nowhere to be seen.
He nervously shuffled from one foot to the other, unsure of what to do and feeling slightly self conscious.
“Er - hello?” he tried meekly. Nothing. “Worm? You there?” Okay, that might have been a bit rude. “Mr. Worm?”
“Ah, you’re back,” came a voice from the gutter next to the one Charlie had been speaking into. He directed his gaze towards the voice and inhaled sharply, trying not to laugh.
A speaking worm was bonkers. A speaking worm with glasses was hilarious.
“Sorry, must have confused the gutters,” Charlie explained. Then he couldn’t help himself anymore and grinned.
“Don’t tell me, the glasses?” the worm groaned.
“Sort of,” Charlie shrugged, trying to sound apologetic.
“I know they look ridiculous, but what can you do? We’re not getting any younger, you know?”
“Do you even have eyes?”
The mystery of the glasses intermingled with the mystery of the impossible eye roll.
“No comment,” the worm shot back. “So, did you call?”
“Yes.”
“Did you get started?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“He’s good.”
“Told you,” the worm said, sounding very pleased with himself.
Suddenly Charlie remembered something Elle had said at their last film night, and he burst out laughing. The worm wiggled impatiently.
“Sorry!” Charlie exclaimed, trying to get his laughter under control. “I just remembered my friend asking her partner ‘Would you still love me if I was a worm?’ and it made me laugh.”
“Why? Why wouldn’t you love a worm?” the worm asked indignantly.
Suddenly Charlie decided to change the topic.
“So, about that second wish …,” he started.
“I’m all ears.”
Charlie stared at the worm.
The worm stared back.
The curly haired human blinked, shook his head, took a deep breath and said, “I wish that I meet someone I fall in love with, that likes being with me and is kind and funny and - and tall.”
“Gotcha!”
Nothing happened.
As if to test a theory Charlie looked down into his hands. He was holding a folder with drawings in it that reminded him a lot of the drawings Olly had brought home from primary school. The label said, “Ella Carter, Year 3, Teacher: Nicholas Nelson. Rochester Primary School”
Charlie looked at the worm. “What now?”
“Okay, Romeo, Ella is heartbroken because she lost her drawings. Her teacher is currently trying to comfort her. You be a hero and swoop in there, saving the day by giving Ella her drawings back. You and Nicholas Nelson go for coffee, fall in love, and live happily ever after.”
“How do you know he’s the one?”
“He’s tall.”
“Gotcha.”
🪱🪱🪱🪱🪱🪱
A couple of days later Charlie was once again standing in front of the gutter. This time, however, the worm was there and had already spotted him.
“Ah, here for your third wish?”
“I wish!” Charlie groaned.
“Sorry, I didn’t catch that, try again.”
Charlie plopped down onto the sidewalk, put his head in his hands and groaned. “I couldn’t even make wish two come true.”
“Are you stupid?”
Charlie wailed miserably. “He’s just so gorgeous, and funny, and kind, and …”
“Tall?” the worm smirked.
Charlie huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, that too.”
“So, where’s the problem?”
“Where would you like me to start? He’s just so far out of my league, it’s not even funny! I don’t even have a job and … hang on, I need to remember that for my last wish.”
“Noted. Now please go on.”
“I like him so much already, but there’s no way he likes me back!”
“How do you know?”
“I - wha - cau - I just know, okay?”
“Sounds silly to me. Have you asked him?”
“What? No!”
“Has he told you?”
“Nah, he would never, he’s much too nice for that!”
“Does he already have a partner?”
“No!”
“THEN WHAT’S THE BLOODY PROBLEM? JUST TALK TO HIM ALREADY!”
Charlie groaned. “I know.”
“Will you do it?”
“Probably not.”
“Humans!” the worm muttered angrily. “Okay, listen up, what I’m going to do now has to stay between the two of us. Capiche? No word to ANYONE.”
“Who would I tell about any of this?”
“Oh, yeah, right, the worm thing.”
“What are you going to do?” Charlie asked suspiciously.
“Wish 2b. Technically not illegal if the wish doesn’t come to fruition on its own. But I’m warning you, no more special treatment after this!”
This time, Charlie could already feel the business card in his hands before he even looked down. It said, “Darcy Olsson-Jones. Master Meddler.”
“Fuck me,” Charlie huffed.
The worm slithered away hastily.
🪱🪱🪱🪱🪱🪱
A few weeks later Charlie approached the gutter smiling brightly. He was smiling a lot recently.
“Ah, let me guess: success,” the worm stated, startling Charlie out of his daydream of a certain freckled face.
“Uh, yeah, sorry. Or more to the point, thank you. I mean, sorry for not seeing you sooner, I …”
“Been a bit distracted, have you?” the worm smirked knowingly. “Enjoying the worm?”
“The what now?”
“Oh, you know, the worm. Dangly little thing. Humans seem to love that worm very much.”
“I … you … OH GROSS!!!”
The worm chuckled.
“Anyway, about that third wish …”
“Don’t say anything, Curly. Here.”
Suddenly Charlie held in his hand the application form for the UCL programme in Classics. He blinked.
“That’s your path, believe me. No more shitty jobs or evil bosses. Just follow your dream.”
“Err, thanks, but - I kind of already did that?” Charlie said.
The worm stared at Charlie.
Charlie stared back.
“Well, I talked to Nick about my situation, how all I ever wanted was to study Classics, but my mum wouldn’t hear of it? And made me study Maths instead? I was never really happy when I got into accounting, so Nick suggested I should try to follow my passion?”
“Blimey,” the worm groaned. “You better keep that man, Spring. He might just put me out of business otherwise.”
🪱🪱🪱🪱🪱🪱
And that’s exactly what Charlie did. For the last ten years Nick Nelson had stood by his side, in good times and in bad. When Charlie had one of his bad days (which happened much less frequent, praise be to Geoff and the worm) he was there to help Charlie through it, he cheered him on when he lost motivation for a particularly boring paper he had to hand in, and he celebrated him when he graduated. He supported him when he decided to do his PhD, and he followed Charlie when he got his first job as a research and study assistant at Oxford University. Three years later, and under much tears, he had presented a ring to Charlie.
And now, here they were. In each other's arms, having a party with all their friends, old and new, for their wedding anniversary.
Charlie felt pleasantly tipsy, already on his third glass of the concoction ‘Darcy Olsson-Jones, Master-Meddler’ had mixed together. He slung his free hand around the waist of his husband, feeling Nick’s steady presence, and his heart filled with gratitude, like it so often did these days.
Nick smiled at him and pressed a kiss to his temple.
Charlie beamed at him, and then let his gaze wander over his friends, each of them a loving presence in their lives. When his gaze landed on Elle, he burst out laughing.
“What’s so funny?” Nick asked, amused.
Charlie looked up at him, trying to make a straight face. “Nick, would you still love me if I was a worm?”
Nick stared at Charlie. Then he began to chuckle.
“What’s so funny?” Charlie giggled.
“You too, huh?”
The confusion on Charlie’s face morphed into a brilliant, knowing smile. He raised his glass and toasted his husband.
“All hail the worm!”