Chapter Text
~*~
“So. A rugby lad, huh? What is this, High School Musical?”
The new guy laughs nervously. His teeth are perfect, of course, just like his stupid hair and his stupid muscles and his stupid, beautiful freckles.
He rubs the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah, kind of, I guess?” He nibbles on his lip. “Except this is a regional theatre. And I’m twenty-seven.” For a moment he just sort of stares, like he’s processing. “And we’re not doing a musical, thank god. I don’t have a musical bone in my body.” He pauses, looking at Charlie with concern. “It’s not a musical, right?”
“It’s not a musical,” Charlie confirms, feeling a bit disarmed. “They usually make you sing when you audition for those.” He looks the tall, fair-haired man up and down appraisingly. “I also don’t think the romantic leads in that film were both guys.”
“Oh.” There’s that nervous laugh again. It’s cute. Why does it have to be cute? “Yeah, I guess you’re right about that.” He holds his hand out toward Charlie. “I’m Nick.”
“I figured,” Charlie replies, taking his hand and trying not to laugh at Nick’s stereotypical short, firm manshake. “Yours was the only name on the casting announcement I’d never heard of before, and you’re the only person here I don’t recognize.”
Nick looks around at the rest of the cast, his pretty brown eyes wide. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Charlie laughs softly, taking pity on the guy. “We don’t get a lot of new actors who weren’t at least in the summer intensive. And we’ve never had one snag a lead before. But don’t worry, everyone is friendly enough. Most of them don’t even bite.”
“Oh.” Nick is surveying the room thoughtfully, apparently oblivious to Charlie’s joke.
“So, what brings a rugby lad with no acting experience to audition for a show like this? And how on earth did you land the lead?” He lowers his voice and tilts his head to indicate the handsome, green-eyed asshole brooding in the corner. “Just to warn you, Ben is quite salty about it. But I’m thrilled that it’s not him.”
Charlie remembers seeing the casting list and feeling the thrill of being cast in his first true lead role, followed by cool relief washing over him when he realized the name next to his wasn’t Ben’s. He’d gone directly to Lyn’s office. “Thank you,” he’d said breathlessly as soon as he’d pushed through the semi-open door with “Lyndon Farlough, Director” on a plastic nameplate next to it. “I won’t let you down.”
“You never have,” Lyn had answered, a fatherly grin on his face. “Congratulations.”
“Can I ask, though… who is this Nick guy you’ve cast opposite me? I know we always have some outside people audition, but I’ve never seen one get a lead before.”
Lyn’s eyes had sparkled with excitement. “Just trust me. You’ll get it when you get to know him.” He smirked. “And I think when you see him, you’ll thank me.”
Charlie had narrowed his eyes. “It’s a role, Lyn. You could cast Quasimodo and I’d still sell that I was passionately in love with him.”
“I know you would,” Lyn had chuckled. “But I have a feeling this one will make your job quite a bit easier in that department.”
Looking at him now, Charlie has to admit that Lyn didn’t oversell him. Even in an ill-fitting tee shirt and straight-leg jeans that make Charlie wonder if he’s ever even seen a mirror, the guy is incredibly fit. He’s tall and broad and just manly in a way that really does it for him. That he’s a semi-pro athlete has been a niggling concern at the back of Charlie’s mind—he doesn’t exactly have a great history with jocks, and with rugby boys in particular. But so far, he seems kind of… nice.
“Well,” Nick says, bringing Charlie back into the room. “I’m out for the season on injury, and my therapist suggested that I do something completely different to keep myself busy.” He flinches. “Ha. Um. Sorry. I didn’t mean to overshare.”
“You’re fine,” Charlie says. “I’m pretty sure almost everyone in this room is in therapy. Theatre kids, you know?”
Nick’s eyes, which Charlie had initially called “brown” but he now sees are hazel—a bright, clear amber with flecks of green—widen again. “Really?”
“Right, I guess you don’t know theatre kids. Which brings me back to, why this? Don’t you have any hobbies you could have thrown yourself into?”
He shuffles awkwardly. “Not really? I mean, I bake, but you can really only bake so many things and pawn them off on your friends before people stop answering the door when you pop by.” He chuckles self-consciously, and Charlie pictures him in a ruffly apron holding a tray of pastel cupcakes. Unfortunately, his brain doesn’t supply any clothing under the apron, so he has to suppress that image immediately. “Um,” Nick goes on, oblivious to the fact that the room just got five degrees warmer. “My mum used to always tell me what a good actor I was when I was a kid, and I did some little school plays or whatever. But, uh, rugby sort of took over my life at some point. Until now, I guess.”
Charlie nods, understanding. Nick seems nervous and eager to be liked, and it’s adorable. Unfortunately for him, Charlie is a little shit and he can’t resist the urge to test him, to see how hard it is to get him off-balance. “Even still, I’m surprised you decided to try out for this show. You’re straight, right? Are you nervous about taking on a queer role?”
It’s fascinating to watch as Nick processes his words. He looks almost confused at first, then a little bit afraid. Charlie waits, taking a slow sip of his coke. It may have been a bit bold to just assume the guy is straight, but at the same time…
I mean, look at him.
Nick’s face finally settles into a look of determination. “Yeah,” he admits, refusing to let Charlie intimidate him. Which is hot. Which Charlie should not be thinking about. “I am. Straight, I mean. And nervous. But I can do it.”
Hm. That confidence looks good on him.
“I hope that cockiness isn’t unfounded,” Charlie says airily, “because this is my first lead. If I’m ever going to make it to the West End, I can’t have you lumbering about, ruining all of my scenes.” He barely raises one eyebrow, holding eye contact as Nick registers the challenge. “Have you ever even kissed someone who wasn’t a girl?”
Nick nearly splutters. Charlie clocks the surprise on his face, the slight flush that creeps up his pale neck. But he pulls it back almost instantly, instead squaring his shoulders and standing up taller. And it’s not at all distracting, having to tilt his chin upward to maintain eye contact.
“No. But it’s just a kiss. How hard could it be?”
I see. Is this your game face, Nick Nelson?
Refusing to let on that he’s impressed with Nick’s confidence, distracted by his appearance, and totally disarmed by how charming he is, Charlie keeps his voice noncommittal. “Huh. Well, I guess we’ll find out. See you at rehearsal?”
Nick nods, taking a long sip of his water. “See you at rehearsal, Charlie.”
On his way out, Charlie can’t help but turn back and search for Nick in the crowded room. He’s not hard to find, off in one corner, chatting with Tara. Charlie can’t blame him. He doesn’t know Tara well, but she’s one of the best dancers in the company. And beautiful too, he supposes, if women are your thing. They’re obviously Nick’s thing. He’s leaning toward her, his fingers resting lightly on her upper arm, giving her his full attention. And she’s beaming up at him like he’s best thing she’s seen all week.
Girl, join the club.
Feeling absolutely nothing about it, Charlie pulls on his coat and slips out into the cool night.
.
.
.
Their first rehearsal is only a couple of days later. It’s a blustery, gray afternoon, the kind where the air is saturated and heavy but it refuses to rain.
Charlie has been studying his lines religiously, even more determined than usual to be the first one in the cast to go off-book. He’s been beyond distracted, and he hasn’t seen his friends since the casting was announced. Except for Tao, because he’s the assistant director.
“You know it’s going to be weeks before everyone else drops their scripts, right?” Tao is saying as they make their way to the greenroom. “You’ve already got the lead. You don’t need to keep working so hard to prove yourself.”
Not in the mood for Tao’s brand of blunt-force therapy, Charlie scoffs. “I know. But I’m going to keep doing it anyway.”
He’s standing in front of the hooks on the wall, unwinding his scarf from his neck, when he feels it. The subtle shift of energy in the room. The commanding presence behind him. The eruption of butterflies in his stomach, announcing their intention to be really fucking irritating about this.
Not turning to look at him, Charlie keeps putting his things up and waits for Nick to appear beside him. When he does, Charlie can feel the heat radiating off of him. He can also smell his cologne, which is unfortunately not the scent of a meathead asshole.
It’s the scent of a man who’s going to become a problem.
“Hi!” Nick says, all sunshine and rainbows for some reason.
Oh. Right. He’s not the one who’s going to have to spend the next several months fighting off a totally ill-advised crush on someone who has zero chance of liking him back. Of course he’s in a good mood.
“Hi,” Charlie replies, turning toward him, determined to be a professional in spite of the universe actively challenging him. “Are you ready for this?”
The big, dopey grin that lights up Nick’s face, combined with his fair hair and brown eyes, suddenly gives Charlie the distinct impression that he's talking to a golden retriever. “Yeah! I’ve been practicing my lines like crazy. I’m a lot more excited than I thought I would be.”
Charlie resists the urge to glare at him.
A lot more excited than he thought he would be. To land a lead role. The thing I’ve been working for my entire life. Not all of us have had things handed to us all our lives, Nelson.
“Well, I’m glad to hear it,” Charlie says, his attempt at nonchalance coming out kind of bitchy. “Just because you’re new, doesn’t mean we’re going to cut you a lot of slack. The rehearsal timeline is tight, and even though this is a small theater, we take our shows extremely seriously.”
Rather than be put off by Charlie’s haughtiness, Nick smiles even wider, a glint of defiance in his eyes. “That’s great. I take everything I do extremely seriously. So hopefully I’ll fit right in.”
Charlie laughs. “Oh, no chance of that.” Without meaning to, he looks Nick up and down. “Doesn’t matter how good you are. You’re definitely going to stand out.”
Nick’s eyebrows pinch together and his smile falters. Charlie wasn’t actually trying to put him off-balance with that comment, and he definitely shouldn’t feel elated about it… but he does. He’s not going to let some gigantic, hot rugby lad come into his space and intimidate him with his unfounded confidence and his gigantic, hot muscles.
So he turns on his heel with a smirk. “Come on, Nate. Let’s get to work.”
Nick’s voice comes from behind him, because he’s following Charlie like a puppy. “It’s Nick!”
“Oh, is it? Hm. Sorry about that. I’ll try to remember.” He’s glad Nick is behind him, because he’s barely keeping a straight face at the stupid bit.
Then Nick is suddenly really close behind him, his body heat enveloping Charlie’s back, and his voice from this proximity feels like a finger stroking his ear. “I’ll make sure you do.”
And just like that, Nick has regained the upper hand.
But he doesn’t need to know that.
This is going to be a long few months.
Charlie glances over his shoulder at Nick, who’s looking at him like he’s a puzzle to be solved. He smirks.
It might also be a lot of fun.
.
.
The problem with Nick Nelson is that he turns out to be, much to Charlie’s absolute chagrin, really good.
He’s nearly memorized not only his lines for the first act, but also the sparse stage directions. And he seems to have a knack for reading his scene partner’s body language and anticipating their movements. So even though this is basically a glorified read-through, Charlie and Nick are active during their scenes together. Despite the fact that the only thing on the stage is the one set wall the theatre keeps between productions, wheeled to the center of the stage and locked firmly in place, they’re both imagining the set and the props they’ll eventually have, moving around one another in a sort of half-choreographed, half-improvised dance.
Nick has a natural way of holding his body so that he’s projecting toward the audience while giving the appearance of being completely focused on Charlie. Or, rather, Charlie’s character.
He seems to have a really good grasp of his character, too. The play itself is a bit predictable—two young men meet, one gay and one straight, polar opposites become best friends, and the “straight” one subsequently experiences a bisexual awakening—but Nick is bringing some life to it that catches Charlie off-guard.
Right now, Charlie is standing just offstage, watching Nick read a scene with Ben. The two men have chemistry that can only be described as prickly. Coming from Ben, it makes sense. He’s furious that some “nobody” came in off the street and “stole” a role he was convinced was his. He also clearly doesn’t want to see Charlie with anybody else, even on stage. Even though it’s been over a year, and Ben is the one who broke it off between them in the first place.
But Charlie hasn’t quite figured out the answering energy coming from Nick. It’s partly good acting, obviously, but the two men have been emanating chilly dislike every time they’ve been within ten feet of each other all evening.
The rest of the time, Nick has been hovering around Tara. Charlie has been trying really hard not to be jealous. The man is straight, after all, and Tara seems sweet. Someone should get to enjoy this glorious specimen, even if it’s not him.
It’s time for the last scene of the first act. It’s just Nick and Charlie, center stage, facing one another, neither of them even glancing at their scripts. And Nick is killing it, actually. He’s exuding so much tension and need with his body and his voice that it’s almost distracting.
“Why have you been avoiding me?” He projects his voice really well.
Charlie spins toward him, putting on his character’s defensive posture and the grimace of a man pushed nearly to his breaking point by someone he can’t have. Relatable.
“I haven’t! I’ve just been living my life—which, you may be surprised to learn, doesn’t revolve around you!”
The way Nick flinches, the hurt on his face so blatant you could see it from the cheap seats…
God. He really is good at this.
“I never asked for it to! But we haven’t spent any real time together in weeks and I… I miss you. You’re my best friend, Gabriel. I miss you. And I just want to know what I did wrong.”
Charlie deflates and turns away, three-quarters to stage right. They’ll have microphones during the actual performances, but in the meantime, he prides himself on the fact that he can speak “quietly” in a way that still projects into the house. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Rowan. I did.”
Nick moves toward him, his stride confident. Demanding. “If you think you’re the problem,” he says, practically matching Charlie’s quietly powerful delivery, “why am I the one being punished?”
He puts his hand on Charlie’s shoulder. It’s not in the script, but it feels right, even though it’s so big and hot against Charlie’s skin that he nearly flinches for real. But Gabriel would turn and gaze up into Rowan’s face, stricken and aching, so that’s what Charlie does.
“Trust me,” he says, flooding his voice with pain. He doesn’t have to dig deep for that one. “I know you don’t get it. But I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you if I didn’t have to. If I had any other choice.”
Nick’s hand drops. He’s angry and hurt. Or… Rowan is, and Nick is embodying it brilliantly. His eyes are nearly glistening with tears.
Where the hell did this guy come from?
“Bullshit. You have a choice. You’re choosing to abandon me. Our friendship. You’re choosing to hurt me! And after all this time, I at least deserve to know why!”
“I’m protecting you! I’m protecting our friendship! Maybe with some space… maybe if I can stay away from you… maybe someday things can go back to how they were.” Charlie pushes past Nick, back toward center stage, then stands with his back toward him. “I can’t keep pretending, Rowan. I can’t keep it in.” His throat is tight and he lets his voice break as he says his next line. “It’s too much. I’m going to shatter.”
Nick moves toward him, the tension palpable, affection and pain rolling off of him in waves. “Gabe. Please.” He sounds legitimately heartbroken, and Charlie represses the urge to turn and gape at him. “Please. Just talk to me. Whatever it is, we can get through it together. I… I don’t want to lose you.”
In the script, this is the moment where Gabriel breaks. Charlie spins to face Nick, who’s so close, taking up so much space, it almost startles him. He stays in character, playing off the shiver that runs down his body when Nick reaches toward him, eyes and body pleading.
Charlie knows what his voice sounds like when he’s choking down despair. He’s been there. Lived it. So he calls it up, the raw roughness in his throat, the way the words sound when they’re being dragged out of his mouth by their ankles, every syllable fighting back.
“There’s no getting through this.”
On impulse, he grabs fistfuls of Nick’s shirt and spins him, pushing his back against the lone set wall and pinning him there, gazing up into his face. Nick looks shocked and confused. Which is probably not entirely pretend, because that little move was also not in the script. But he’s playing along. There’s a brief pause, the moment where Gabriel could stop himself. And in that moment, for one split second, Nick almost looks scared.
Then all at once, Rowan is gone completely, and Nick is his big, dopey, jock self again, extricating himself from Charlie’s grasp with one smooth sidestep. He looks toward where Lyn is sitting, even though he’s almost impossible to see with the stage lights shining in their faces. “And then it’s the first kiss, and Gabriel storms off, and the first act ends on Rowan alone in the spotlight, looking like his whole world just imploded around him. Right?”
The spell of the scene broken, Charlie becomes aware of how quiet and still the theatre has been the past few minutes. Normally, there would have been some quiet chatter backstage and from the folks scattered around the house. But it occurs to him that he hasn’t heard a peep for the past several minutes when Lyn starts clapping from the darkness beyond the stage.
“Lads, that was gorgeous.” He vaults up onto the stage to join them. “Did you two rehearse together already?”
Charlie blinks at him. “No? I just studied the script like I always do.” He peers at Nick. “And I suppose this one must have studied his as well.” He smirks playfully. “But of course he’s benefitting from my stage presence and experience leading a scene. Good work reading my cues, there, Rugby. You may just be able to pull this off after all.”
Nick rolls his eyes, obviously trying not to smile. “Okay, Spring. Sure. You can have the credit for that.” He looks at his nails as if he’s bored, but his jaw is twitching with repressed laughter. “I’m perfectly confident in my skills without needing to feel superior to anyone.”
Charlie’s jaw nearly drops at Nick’s uncanny ability to take his legs out from under him with a few well-chosen words. “Um, excuse me! How dare you!”
Charlie can’t keep the stupid grin off his face. Nick is starting to seem like the perfect person to play opposite to. He’s smart and dedicated and, somehow, an insanely talented actor. And he’s keeping up with Charlie’s verbal sparring, matching him point for point and refusing to let him feel in control of their dynamic.
He’s also really fucking hot.
Who knew this meathead would be so annoyingly complex?
“Nick,” Lyn cuts in, indifferent to Charlie’s internal chaos. “Do you have a minute to chat before you head out?”
“Yeah, sure. Everything okay?”
“Everything is fantastic.” Lyn looks at Charlie. “I’d also like to chat with you briefly, if you don’t mind sticking around for a few minutes?”
Charlie narrows his eyes at Lyn. This isn’t something he normally does. Usually, Lyn likes to give his feedback in front of the entire cast and crew, purportedly “so they can learn from it, too.” He’s a gifted director, but a bit of prat.
“Of course,” Charlie replies, “no problem. I’ll be in the greenroom.”
“Perfect.” Lyn looks around in the general direction of the rest of the main cast, who are all lurking nearby. “That’s a wrap for today. We’ll do act two on Thursday.”
Nick stays with Lyn, and Charlie heads back to the greenroom with the rest of the cast.
Five minutes pass, then ten. Everyone else is gone, and Charlie is still sitting in the greenroom, sideways in an old padded chair with his legs draped over the arm, twiddling his thumbs.
Finally, the door opens, startling Charlie back to a normal sitting position. He was expecting Lyn, but it’s Nick.
“Oh, hey, Rugby,” Charlie says. “Finally done with your ‘one minute’ chat?”
“Yeah…” Nick plucks his hoodie off the hook on the wall and pulls it over his head, then hovers near the doorway, fidgeting with the cuff of his sleeve, uncharacteristically hesitant.
Charlie tilts his head to the side to try to catch Nick’s eye. “Is Lyn coming here, or is he waiting for me in his office?”
“Oh. He’s gone,” Nick says, his voice seeming kind of tight. “He uh. Asked me to ask you to lock up on your way out.”
“What?” Charlie stands up, vaguely annoyed. “Why the hell am I still here if he’s gone? Do you think I can still catch him?”
“No… Um, he left, like, ten minutes ago probably? Sorry…”
“What a prick,” Charlie groans, heading for his coat. He’s not really mad, but he is going to give Lyn shit about this the next time he sees him.
“No, he didn’t just—I mean, he told me to come talk to you instead.”
“Really?” Charlie waits expectantly, but when Nick doesn’t elaborate, he adds, “…Why?”
“Well, um. He wanted to talk to me about the uh, the kissing? He was worried I didn’t want to do it.”
“Oh. Okay. Well… Do you?”
“Yes!” Pink climbs Nick’s throat and onto his cheeks. “I mean… I want the role. I know I can do it. And the kissing part—doesn’t put me off.”
Fighting off the urge to smirk, Charlie casually says, “Okay. Great. Is that why when we got to that part of the scene you practically levitated out of the theater?”
“I did not! I just didn’t think we were, like, there yet!”
The smirk wins. “Do you need me to take you out to dinner first?”
“Yeah, that would be—” Nick freezes mid-sentence. His whole face is pink now, and Charlie is fascinated by how obvious it is when this man blushes. “No! I just—What I mean is, I think it would help if we got more comfortable with each other.”
“If you need that, I’m happy to humor you. However, just to be clear, I’m good to go. I could snog the life out of you right now and not even my own sister would be able to tell it was just pretend.” He narrows his eyes at Nick. “Wait. You do know we can just do a stage kiss, right? You don’t have to break your hetero streak on my account.”
Nick’s face is kind of twitchy when he’s trying to process something. It’s cute. Which is not at all helpful.
After a pause long enough for Charlie to put on his coat and drape his scarf over his shoulders, Nick says, “A stage kiss?”
“Yes, a—do you not know what a stage kiss is?”
“No, I guess I don’t. I just thought it meant a kiss onstage?”
Charlie giggles. He’s trying to keep the upper hand, but this clueless side of Nick is obnoxiously endearing. “I could explain it, but it would be a lot more efficient for me to just demonstrate. If you’d be okay with that.”
“I—Sure, alright.”
Slowly, like he’s trying to avoid spooking a nervous animal—which he kind of is—Charlie steps closer to Nick, invading his personal space until their bodies are only a few inches apart. Nick just watches him, wary but allowing it, nervous curiosity on his face.
They’re so close that he can feel Nick’s breath on his cheek. He lifts his hands and holds them on either side of Nick’s jaw. “Can I touch you?”
Nick nods, his eyes never leaving Charlie’s.
Without meaning to, Charlie moves incrementally closer, fascinated by how charged the air has become in the space between their bodies. He cups Nick’s face between his palms, his fingers splayed over his lightly-stubbled jaw. His eyes have more green in them now than they did onstage earlier.
“I’m just going to put my thumbs on your lips, if that’s okay? I’ve washed my hands just a few minutes ago, if that helps.”
Charlie’s eyes land on Nick’s lips. They look softer than they have any right to be, plush and inviting as they form a word that floats in a ragged whisper between them. “Okay.”
So Charlie touches the pads of his thumbs to Nick’s lips, hovering at the lightest contact. His lips are even softer than they look, rosebud pink and tantalizingly full.
Drawing on everything he has ever learned about acting to hide how affected he is, Charlie says, “And then we just…”
He stands on his tiptoes, using his hold on Nick for balance, tilts up his chin, and lets his eyelids flutter closed as he presses his lips to the backs of his thumbs. The pressure pushes his thumbs into the soft swell of Nick’s lips, denting them as the sides of their noses brush.
And Charlie lingers.
Just for a breath. Just for their playful power struggle, to try to put Nick off balance.
But then he feels Nick’s hands gripping his waist, his thumbs pressing gently into Charlie’s belly, almost imperceptibly pulling him up. Pulling him in. Nick’s heat envelops him as the hand’s breadth between their bodies dwindles to almost nothing.
He realizes, after a moment, that there’s no delicate brush of air against his cheek.
Nick is holding his breath.
They both are.
Charlie stays there for two heartbeats longer than he has any right to. Then he braces every part of himself, puts on his most neutral face, and breaks away, stepping back and out of Nick’s grasp while he still can.
He forces a snarky grin onto his face, in spite of the full-body chemical reaction that’s coursing through him. “See? No big deal. And when you do it right, the audience doesn’t know the difference.” Not sure how much longer he can tolerate being on same plane of existence as Nick without combusting, Charlie lightly tosses the end of his scarf over his shoulder. “Well, anyway. My number’s on the cast roster if you need anything.”
“Okay, great,” Nick says, a chipper smile blooming on his face. Either he’s acting, too, or he’s actually completely unaffected by what just happened. “Thanks.” His smile falters for a split second as he clears his throat. “Well, see you Thursday.” Before Charlie can leave, Nick turns and strides out of the room, leaving him alone with a racing heart, a pounding head, and a thousand volts of what the fuck coursing through his veins.
~*~