but i wanna live with you.

-

Nick and Charlie -

* Credit card is in the corner cupboard, to be used for essentials ONLY. And 1 x pizza night (and one only)

* Nellie is fed twice a day and twice only - no scraps!

* Blue bin is Wednesday, green bin is Friday

* Leaving dishes ‘to soak’ is strictly forbidden

* Fusebox is in the cupboard under the stairs if there is a power cut - flick the blue switch down then up again

* Nextdoor’s cat is not to come inside under any circumstances

* No alcohol (or at least make me think you’ve had no alcohol)

* Eat some vegetables!!!!

Lots of love, Mum x

-

“Like,” Nick continues, pouring some spaghetti into a pan, “What are the chances of there being a power cut? We’ve literally never had a power cut.”

Charlie pins the note back on the corkboard, nestled between adverts for dog groomers and shopping lists and little, wallet-sized photos of Nick, chubby and cheerful through his primary school years (and not quite so chubby or quite so cheerful in his secondary school ones). Pride of place is Sarah’s itinerary for her ‘girl’s trip’ to Portugal, a little black-and-white picture of her 4-star hotel in Porto and a Google maps print out of her exact location.

“...and the cat thing,” Nick continues, absent-mindedly throwing a piece of ham on the floor for Nellie, “I don’t even like that cat. I would go as far as to say I hate that cat. That cat hissed at me when I literally saved it from running in front of a moving car.” 

Charlie sits at the kitchen table, dreamy look on his face, chin lolling in his hand.

“And I don’t leave dishes to soak, I clean them as soon as -- what?” Nick blinks at him earnestly before his lips curve into a flustered grin. “Honestly, what is it? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I love listening to you rant,” Charlie shrugs, “And watching you cook is also ridiculously hot.”

Nick is tackling a carbonara, ingredients stacked messily on the counter beside the oven top. Sarah has prepared a little care package of go-to meals in the fridge, neatly labelled with expiry dates and clear cooking instructions, like if she didn’t they would starve the four nights she’s off drinking cocktails in Portuguese sun. 

It’s sweet, really, Charlie thinks. Nick isn’t actually irritated -- it’s how Sarah shows her love, post-it notes signed with kisses and this inherent trust, that they can have this house for a few, short days and call it their home.

“Shut up!” Nick says, laughing, pointing a spatula threateningly in his direction. “I’m not ranting! I’m merely…remarking.”

“Remarking, sure,” Charlie echoes, nodding sagely. Right. He sidles away from the table and back into the kitchen, standing in front of Nick, their toes almost touching. Nick lowers the spatula - his smile is kind of goofy, because there is something heady and exciting about being home alone. “Anything I can do to help, chef?”

“Yes,” Nick shuffles closer and Charlie’s heart beats harder, like it always does when Nick looks at him like that. They inch closer and he thinks they might kiss, but -- “You can stand there and tell me how great I am.”

Charlie pushes his chest gently, exasperated. “Are you getting a bit of an ego because I called you chef, is that it?”

“You said it, not me,” Nick pouts. “I’ve got to give the people what they want.”

“By people, you mean me and Nellie, right?”

Nick shakes his head, turning his attentions back to the gently bubbling spaghetti. “I’ll send you back to yours in a minute, Charlie Spring, I swear to God.”

Charlie’s arms curve round Nick’s waist and he senses him visibly relax, his muscles easing, content. He rests his chin on Nick’s shoulder, shifting his palms so he can feel his heartbeat. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

Nick pauses for a second. “Are you listening to my heart?” 

“Maybe.” Charlie replies. He presses a kiss to Nick’s shoulder, over the cotton of his tee shirt. “Just like to remember that you’re actually real.”

“And you were the one warning me about getting an ego,” Nick chuckles. He indulges him, though, standing still for a moment. Silence only broken by their synchronised breaths and the thrum of boiling water on the hob. “I’m not, like, going anywhere. Char.”

It’s assurance enough, but for now he’ll stand and hold him a little longer, just because.

-

They eat their pasta in their pyjamas in front of an old episode of Gavin and Stacey, the one where Stacey moves to Essex for Gavin and back to Cardiff again when it starts to fall apart. Nick is laughing along between messily slurped mouthfuls whilst some uncomfortable thoughts stir in the back of Charlie’s mind, about the future and what comes after.

Nick notices his untouched plate and his forehead furrows with concern. “You okay?”

Nick’s expression is soft. His hand reaches out and squeezes his knee, strong hands across rickety bones. Charlie smiles, blinking slowly, twirling a strand of spaghetti round his fork. “Fine, yeah.”

“We can watch something else, if you like. We finally have the TV without my mum asking to watch something lame like… I don’t know, Coronation Street. ” Nick swallows another mouthful of spaghetti. “You do know that Gavin and Stacey stay together, right? It’s basically the whole point of the show.”

It’s weird, the way Nick can read his mind, sometimes. He opens the top of his skull like a book, warm eyes decoding his thoughts into feelings into actions. He’s astute to the point where it’s ridiculous, knowing just what to say and when and how, stopping him from dragging himself into a self-imposed oblivion.

“No, this is fine. It’s good.”

He would say I could listen to your laugh on loop forever, but he’s enough of a fucking simp as it is.

“Cool,” Nick says, closing the matter. He throws another piece of ham down for Nellie. “What mum won’t know won’t hurt her, isn’t that right, Nell?”

(The saucepan is also busy soaking in the sink but, Charlie muses, Sarah doesn’t have to know that either).

-

“This feels like a scene in a rom-com,” Charlie says, catching Nick’s eyes in the mirror as they clean their teeth. He spits toothpaste into the sink, Nick mimicking him seconds later. “Like one of those montage sequences.”

Nick throws him a towel, smirking. “All we need now is a pillow fight and one of those weird close-ups where we stare longingly at the camera under the covers.”

“That’s more man-reminisces-about-his-dead-wife-through-old-video-tapes than rom-com,” Charlie comments, wiping his face. “Trust me, I know the difference. I’ve sat through enough questionable movies with Tao to know the difference.”

Nick sits on the side of the bath, brows furrowed in thought. He’s wearing an old rugby shirt and boxer shorts, hair hanging low in his eyes. “Are there any movies about people like us that aren’t super depressing?”

“People like us?”

“Boys who like other boys,” Nick replies matter-of-factly. “It’s always either a…weird age dynamic, or someone cheats, or someone dies. I just want something with a happy ending, you know?”

“I’m sure there must be,” Charlie says, sitting down next to him. Their bare feet sink down into the soft material of the bath mat, loosely imitating the sand at the beach, almost feeling the salt and grit between his toes again. “Or we could just…make our own. Our story is the only one that really matters to me.”

Nick leans across and cups his face, smiling before ducking in for a kiss. He tastes fresh, like spearmint, their foreheads touching.

“See, new trope established. Midnight make-outs on the edge of the bath.” Charlie murmurs. “Nick and Charlie: The Movie, coming soon to a cinema near you.”

“I think I like the sound of that movie,” Nick says before kissing him again. It’s long and slow, like he’s deliberately dragging out their run-time. “Come on, let’s go to bed.”

-

He wakes the next morning to sunlight bleeding underneath Nick’s curtains like overflowing bathwater and a tragically empty left side of the bed. He stretches out and grasps nothing but empty space, although Nick’s scent still lingers in the sheets -- beechwood, honeysuckle, charcoal, bitter cherries. 

He’s about to call out Nick’s name, but he hears stumbling down the hall and the bedroom door creaking open, followed by heavy footsteps and the clinking of two ceramic mugs.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Nick grins, his russet hair a scruffy halo round his head. He rests a mug carefully on the bedside cabinet, hissing as some of the liquid jumps out and runs down the side of his hand.

Charlie slowly begins to sit up, blinking in disbelief. “You made me tea?”

“Yeah. It’s what people do, isn’t it?” He climbs over Charlie’s legs carefully, trying not to make the same mistake with his own mug. Triumphant, he tucks back under the sheets, brushing his limbs as close to Charlie’s as possible. “I was going to get a newspaper, but I thought that might be a bit too cliche.”

Charlie laughs at the thought. The two of them, a random Thursday morning in August, drinking tea and doing The Guardian crossword in bed. Well, maybe that’s what it will be like, in fifty years time. It’s not so ugly a dream.

“So,” Nick takes a long sip of tea, gasping when his tongue burns. “What do you want to do today?”

The bed is warm, the world is quiet, and he has his arms spooned round Nick’s waist and his head curled into his chest. It’s pretty obvious what his answer is going to be. “Staying here sounds like a good plan to me. Maybe making out a bit.”

“Hm,” Nick rests his mug on the window sill. His eyes dart to Charlie’s lips and Charlie watches how his mouth curves effortlessly into a smile, so beautiful and warm and in love with him. “Yeah, can’t really fault that plan, either.”

Their mouths inch closer, closing the millimetres of distance between them, when they’re rudely interrupted by the heavy thud of a collie bounding into the room.

“Nellie!” Nick exclaims, spluttering as she enthusiastically starts licking his face in an energetic attempt to say good morning. Charlie laughs loudly, but he’s Nellie’s next target -- jumping on his chest and drowning him in adoration.

“I think that answers my question,” Nick grins, dragging Nellie away by her middle and letting her rest in the centre of the bed. Charlie doesn’t mind, really. Kisses from a dog are almost as good as kisses from a Nick. “Should we go to the park, Nell?”

Nellie darts down the stairs like a bullet, presumably waiting excitedly by the front door.

“She’s crazy, honestly,” Nick says, drinking back the rest of his tea. “She’s only this mental when you’re around. She’s more obsessed with you than I am.”

Well. If you could open Charlie’s ribcage like a filing cabinet and rifle through the open draws, you’d find that the Nelsons take up an obscene amount of space, so. The obsession thing is definitely not one-sided. 

-

Sarah FaceTimes that evening from her hotel room, the Wifi connection alarmingly good considering the 1200 mile distance between Porto and Kent. She’s wearing an outlandishly large pair of sunglasses and an equally large straw hat, sipping on what looks to be a mojito from her balcony, truly living her best life.

“And how’s Charlie?” she asks, taking a long sip of her drink through a bright pink straw. “I hope you’ve been looking after him. I’ll be frightfully mad if you haven’t.”

Nick rolls his eyes, shuffling closer to him on the sofa so Sarah can see him in the camera. “Look, he’s fine. Still alive. Satisfied?”

“Oh, hello, Charlie!” Sarah says, waving affectionately. She looks like the main character in a rom-com -- maybe him and Nick would take supporting roles, after all. “How are you, sweetheart?”

“I’m fine, thanks, Sarah,” he replies, waving back. Nick mutters something under his breath about being the favourite son. “You look like you’re having a good time.”

“It’s bloody lovely. Sun, sea and cocktails. And extremely handsome waiters.”

Nick looks visibly horrified, appearing back in frame. “Mum!”

“I thought you both might be interested!” she rationalises, but Nick’s cheeks only flush a harsher shade of scarlet. Charlie thinks it’s probably the rum talking more than anything else. “Don’t be like that, Nicky. It’s only a bit of fun. Now -- have you been eating the meals I prepared for you?”

Nick huffs loudly. “Yes.”

“And you’ve not let that blasted cat in from next door?”

“Yes!”

“And you put the bin out last night? The blue one.”

“Ye -- “ Nick suddenly blanches. “...Yes?”

Charlie looks over at him, fighting back a laugh. There is definitely not a blue bin outside. They have spent every single hour of the last twenty-four in each other’s company, and Nick definitely did not, under any circumstances, put a blue bin outside.

“Hmm,” Sarah hums sceptically. It’s like Charlie can hear her narrowing her eyes. “Is he telling me the truth, Charlie?”

Nick shoots him a desperate glare, mouthing the words just say yes.

“Yes?” he says, grimacing. Nick elbows him in the ribs before pointing the camera back to himself.

“See?” Nick replies. Sarah seems satiated for now. “Everything is fine. Please just enjoy your holiday. We won’t starve, or burn the house down, or let nextdoor’s cat in. I promise.”

“And no alcohol, remember.”

“No alcohol,” Nick mockingly echoes. His expression softens, then. His hand finds his way to Charlie’s, squeezing his fingers between his own. “I love you.”

“Love you too, baby. Both of you.” Charlie sees her blow a kiss with her hand. “See you soon. Miss you millions.”

Charlie’s chest swoops, a flock of swallows flying from his heart and back to sea.

As Sarah fades away -- back to Nick’s lockscreen, a photo of Charlie sat in a wildflower meadow with Nellie, daisy crowns round both their heads -- Nick rotates violently to directly face him.

“Why didn’t you remind me about the bin?” Nick half shouts half laughs, “She’s going to bloody kill me!”

Charlie pushes him so he falls back dramatically on the couch, staring at the ceiling. “The bins have nothing to do with me, thank you very much. I’m the guest.”

“That note was addressed to both of us, and you know it.” Charlie can’t help but smile as he watches his chest pulse up and down, giddy with resigned laughter. Nick throws his arms in the air and Charlie instinctively reaches out, pulling him into a sitting position. “What am I going to do now? The bins don’t get collected for another fortnight.”

“You could just…” Charlie shrugs coyly, “Shove the bags in nextdoor’s bin.”

Nick gasps, affronted, like he’s proffered assassinating the cat Nick and his mother are seemingly obsessed with. “I can’t believe you just suggested that.”

“What? It’s just rubbish. They probably won’t even notice.”

“It’s never just rubbish. I’m pretty sure that’s illegal.”

“Come on, it can’t be illegal.”

“Okay, so you’re a lawyer now, as well as an evil criminal mastermind.”

“I’m not a mastermind, I’m brainstorming solutions to your problem.” He jabs him in the chest but Nick catches his fingers, holding them close to his heart. “Fine. Face the wrath of your mum. Just don’t come crying to me when she leaves you in charge of the bins for all eternity.”

Nick pauses for a second. Eyes narrow. Charlie narrows his back. “What are you -- “

Suddenly Charlie is left gasping for air between shrieking laughter, Nick on top of him and tickling him right between the ribs.

“This -- is -- punishment!” Nick says, laughing raucously as Charlie struggles, “Say it -- say your problems are my problems.”

Charlie plays along, for a moment, whilst he still has oxygen in his lungs. “Never! I -- will -- not -- be -- defeated!!”

“Say it. Say it.”

They struggle for a moment longer before Charlie surrenders, like he was always going to. Nick is hovering over him, expectant look on his face. “Fine, fine. Your problems are my problems.”

Nick sighs, falling down next to him. Charlie twists so they’re facing each other, their chests pressing together, his hand running up Nick’s arm. God. He loves him, love the way he’s looking at him, his soul overflowing like an uncorked bottle of champagne.

“For the record,” Nick says, as their breaths slow, “It’s a two way street. Your problems are always my problems. Whether it’s something stupid or something, like…more serious. You don’t even have to ask.”

Charlie runs his hands through Nick’s hair and holds his face in his hands. Nick’s eyelids flutter closed, safe and tired and blissfully at peace. It would be rude not to kiss him, over and over and over again until the sky fades from blue to red to black.

-

They wait until one am to swap the bins over. Charlie keeps watch by the door whilst Nick sneaks out, tiptoeing in a hooded sweatshirt like he’s actively trying to play the part of a criminal. When the deed is done, he races back to the door and they quietly close it, careful not to disrupt the other houses in the street.

Nick’s face is swathed in the orange glow of the hallway light, thrilled and grinning. “Is it wrong that I actually got a bit of a kick out of that?”

Charlie shakes his head in disbelief. “You are absolutely ridiculous.”

“Hey! You were the one who dragged me into this life of crime. My mum might disown you as the favourite son after this.” Nick jibes. “If I go down, I’m bringing you all the way down with me.”

Huh. Your problems are my problems. “Well, hopefully they will let us share a cell.”

Nick laughs, pulling his hood down. He does make a pretty hot criminal, to be fair. “Here’s hoping. Charlie Spring and Nick Nelson, infamous partners in crime. The other inmates would be terrified of us.”

Charlie grins. It would make an interesting plot-twist in their rom-com manuscript, if nothing else.

-

On Friday, a little photo of the Porto appears on Nick’s doormat, all white sand and aquamarine sea and terracotta houses. Nick snorts a laugh, handing it over to him.

“She must have sent that before she even left Heathrow,” he remarks, padding into the kitchen, his voice trailing behind him. “She’s only gone for four days!”

Charlie runs his thumb over the blue biro handwriting, the tangled vowels and consonants in Sarah’s elegant script. Dear Nick and Charlie. Having great time in Portugal with the girls. Spending every day at the beach - you’d love it here. Miss you. Love, Mum.

He wonders if Nick will mind if he keeps this one, wedging it between the records on his bookshelf when he needs a reminder. I love you. I miss you. I love you.

-

The park is always busier on hot August afternoons, the grass scattered with picnic blankets and ball games and chattering friends, drinking cold cider out of glass bottles and listening to summer-themed Spotify playlists on portable speakers. There was a time, not even that long ago, that the thought of walking amongst so many people was absolutely fucking terrifying -- in Charlie’s head they were staring at him, laughing at him, talking about him. 

But now -- his arm swings in unison with Nick’s, blazing sun on his bare skin, hands knotted together as Nellie strides in front of them. Occasionally, Nick will just look at him and smile, eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses.

“You know,” Nick starts, as they settle on a rare spare patch of grass. Nellie sits obediently next to him. “You know when I realised I was falling in love with you?”

Charlie freezes, surprised by the sudden admission. “Yeah?”

Nick doesn’t seem uneasy or cautious, nervous about unveiling his soul. He actually seems perfectly at ease, like this is just a thing -- perhaps he is, Charlie thinks, because Nick has always been better at expressing himself than he has. Nick can process his thoughts into words with natural eloquence and precision. Charlie keeps in his head, but that’s easy, too. Nick has never needed his words to know exactly how he’s feeling.

“It was when I went round to yours for the first time. We were watching a film, I can’t even remember what it was, because I was never -- anyway, you fell asleep, and I just felt drawn to you.” Nick looks up at the sky, sun casting his face in brilliant gold. “It was like there was something there under the surface that we couldn’t see, but I knew it was there, this thrumming under my skin. Like -- like we were part of this circuit that broke the minute I left. And now, I just feel so restless whenever you’re not around. You keep me steady. You keep me, well. Whole.”

Charlie let’s it wash over him, like he’s lying on a beach somewhere, buried by the tide. Then -- “I just thought you were pretty.”

It’s a joke, and it’s stupid, but really, what can he say after that? Besides, he can’t even begin to articulate his feelings -- he’s never, ever felt like this before about anyone. He’s studied Greek odes and epic verse and Shakespearean tragedies, but he’s willing to stake his life that even the greats would struggle to put poetry against this love story.

“Calm down, Romeo,” Nick teases back. Charlie thinks he looks like one of the sculptures in the British Museum, a classic ideal of beauty, existing to be gazed upon. “I think you’re the best thing that has ever happened to me. Other than the Pirates of the Caribbean movies and Nellie, of course.”

It’s funny how casually he says these things and meanwhile, Charlie is floating right up into the sky, arms tethered by the strings of a hot air balloon.

He wants to say I think of my life before you and how there was always this hole in it, and I didn’t realise that hole was Nick-shaped until we met that January. I don’t think I believe in astrology but you, us, must be a cosmic event, because I can’t think of another way to describe it. I think the universe was made just for me and you to meet.

He doesn’t, but Nick knows. Nick always knows.

“Should we get ice cream?” Nick asks, like they haven’t spent the last ten minutes analysing the philosophies behind love and fate and the universe. “I’ve got my mum’s credit card.”

Charlie chuckles. “I would argue that ice cream isn’t really an essential purchase.”

“Right,” Nick stands up, Nellie standing with him. “Ice cream is an essential purchase, actually, and you don’t have to have any.”

“Hey, I didn’t say that.”

Nick starts to walk off and Charlie scrambles to his feet, chasing after him. “It’s what I heard!”

“Okay, okay I take it back, just please get me a ninety-nine?” 

“Do you hear something, Nellie? No? Me neither.”

“A ninety-nine and a flake, preferably with strawberry sauce, or -- “

“Not listening!”

“Please, Nick,” Charlie says, catching up. “I’ll love you forever.”

Nick pauses, grinning like that isn’t a granted, anyway. “Okay, fine. I guess I have no choice.”

Charlie thinks of life-lines, the invisible string tying them indefinitely together. He doesn’t really understand fate and horoscopes, but -- if someone told him the stars are the reason why he and Nick are allowed to exist at the same time, he’d probably believe them.

-

nick_nzzzz posted a story: @ charlie_spr1 [ice cream emojis]

charlie_spr1 replied: bubblegum sauce … you heathen

nick_nzzzz replied: Charlie

You are literally sat right next to me

charlie_spr1 replied: i know

just had to share my disgust via DM as well

cover all angles

nick_nzzzz replied: I will win you round eventually

charlie_spr1 replied: over my dead body

nick_nzzzz replied: So be it!

charlie_spr1 replied: is that a thr

[charlie_spr1 is offline]

-

He goes home to pick up some spare clothes, because he’s run out of underwear and he does not trust Nick to operate the washing machine. He tosses a couple of things into his backpack before placing Sarah’s postcard neatly on his shelf, a little porthole into Portugal.

“It’s getting quite domestic, isn’t it?”

He jumps, seeing Tori standing in his doorway, sipping iced tea through a metal straw. “What is?”

“You and Nick.” Her mouth curls into a wry smile. “You’re basically married.”

Charlie rolls his eyes, throwing his backpack over his shoulder. “No, we’re not.”

Tori raises a singular eyebrow. Charlie knows that look, knows that teasing as fucking if. “As long as I get to be bridesmaid.”

“Shut up,” Charlie huffs, but he’s smiling too, as he edges past her and down the stairs.

“You would look really cute in matching suits!” 

Charlie makes a point of slamming the door, but Tori’s cackle follows him all the way down the street -- for a moment, they’re kids again, laughing and running and circling round the back garden until mum called them in for dinner, the air smelling like sun cream and cut grass.

-

“It’s the hottest day of the year,” Nick announces loudly, dropping a crate of cans in the middle of the coffee table, “And we’re stuck inside playing Guess Who and drinking Fanta. ”

Tao shushes him noisily, analysing his row of faces with unwavering seriousness, like he's a world war secret agent trying to solve the Enigma code. Charlie mimics his expression in an attempt to throw him off, but nothing distracts Tao whilst he’s in the board-gaming zone.

“Hey, don’t knock Fanta lemon, ” Elle warns, unwrapping the cans and handing one to Nick and Isaac. “They’re discontinuing it across Europe, you know. It’s a modern day tragedy.”

“Agreed,” Isaac says, sitting next to Nick on the couch, opening his copy of The Song of Achilles.

“Okay, lemonade aside,” Nick reasons, “Guess Who? Really?”

Tao shushes him again.

“All I’m saying, it’s a bit exclusionary -- “

“Nick Nelson, if you say one more word, I will be forced to take serious action,” Tao threatens, not taking his eyes off the board. He lowers his voice. “And it will not be pretty.”

Nick pulls a wincing face at Charlie and sinks back into the sofa, wisely keeping his mouth shut. Charlie mouths sorry in his direction.

“I heard that,” Tao mutters. He sighs, his eyes flickering subtly up to meet Charlie’s. “Does your person look like one of Nick’s year eleven rugby friends?”

In his periphery, Charlie can see Nick leaning noticeably forward. Charlie snorts. “What does that mean?

“You know. Ugly. Devoid of emotion. Too stupid to do A Levels.”

Nick stares at Charlie with wide intrigued eyes. Elle stands up and takes a look at the picture propped up on Charlie’s stand, shrieking a laugh.

Tao nods, looking pleased with himself, flicking down row after row on his board. “I thought as much. Is your person Eric?”

Charlie’s mouth opens and closes like a door on a loose hinge before picking up his picture, showing it to the onlookers. Eric. Big pink face, beady blue eyes, scruffy blonde hair.

“Tao!” Nick exclaims with an aghast laugh, “That is not nice.”

“Relax, I didn’t say it looks like you. Besides, am I wrong?” Tao points dramatically in Charlie’s direction. “Look at that picture and tell me you don’t see a homophobic bully.”

“To be fair, Nick,” Charlie agrees, “Eric did just call us a homophobic slur. Look at him.”

Elle and Isaac nod pointedly, like this whole thing isn’t ridiculous. Charlie and Nick speak in glances, their own language -- you know I’m right.

“Fine! Fine.” Nick relents, leaning back on the couch. Charlie smiles as he sees Isaac giving him a friendly hug, letting him know that it’s all in jest. “But can we play a game that involves all of us now, please?”

“All right.” Tao rolls his eyes, plonking Catan down in the middle of the table. “But you’re going to regret asking me this.”

A collective groan goes round the room, other than Nick, who blinks back blankly. “Why? What’s Catan?”

Charlie throws himself on the couch next to Nick as Tao sets up the board, resting his hand sympathetically on his knee. “You’re going to find out.”

“What is it?” Nick looks so sweet and innocent and naive that Charlie can’t help but reach out, hold his chin in his hands, squeezing his cheeks together. “Charlie! Tell me! What is it?”

“Only the most convoluted and complicated game in existence,” Isaac responds on Charlie’s behalf.

“It goes on for hours,” Elle interjects, “Then hours more after that.”

“It’s not that bad,” Tao arranges an array of complicated coloured cards and pieces. “You are all just weak.”

“I’m not weak,” Nick says, “Maybe I’ll surprise all of you and actually be good at this.”

Tao starts laughing hysterically, brushing actual tears away from his eyes. “Nick, if you even understand the rules, let alone win, I’ll buy your lunch for the whole of next term.”

Nick jumps down from the couch to sit on the floor. “And what do you get out of this?”

“Watching you fail will be gratitude enough, but you can buy my lunch too,” Tao pats his hand patronisingly. Charlie curves his arms round Nick’s shoulders, resting his chin on his head, enjoying the show. “Let’s play Catan!”

“You are extremely adorable when you’re determined,” Charlie murmurs in Nick’s ear as Tao deals out the cards. He feels Nick smile against his cheek. “Although I’d start saving up for Tao’s extravagant lunches yesterday if I were you.”

Nick picks up the rules card. “I can’t believe how little faith you have in me, Charlie Spring. Guess I’ll just have to prove you wrong, too.”

Charlie kisses the top of his head. “Guess you will.”

-

A few hours later, Charlie clambers up the stairs to see the glow of Tao’s phone screen in the otherwise pitch black of the hallway, illuminating his face in spooky white light like a child telling a ghost story. Tao’s features are pained, desperate.

“What are you doing?” Charlie asks, slightly concerned.

“Googling flights out the country,” Tao replies plainly, long fingers frantically tapping out searches. “Brazil. Australia. Antarctica, if it comes to that.”

Charlie stands over him. “Why?”

Tao stops typing for a second to shoot him a bewildered glare. “Nick Nelson beat me at Catan, Charlie! Isn’t it obvious? I have no choice but to live a life on the run.”

“He’s not actually going to make you buy him lunch, you know,” Charlie chides, relieved it isn’t something more serious. Tao can be unpredictable, sometimes, blowing hot and cold at the slightest inconvenience. “Nick isn’t like that.”

Tao sighs irritably. “It’s not that — it’s the humiliation of it all. It must have been a fluke, or he cheated, or something.”

“I wouldn’t even know how to cheat at Catan.” He’d come dead last, obviously, but the competition was never really about him and Isaac and Elle. They were merely bystanders, watching the showdown unfold, as Nick played with actual tactics and Tao was too dumbfounded to respond with his usual general-like ferocity. “Look. He won’t gloat, I promise.”

“He’s within his rights to gloat. And it makes me want to die.”

It’s not the first time Tao’s said that - he remembers a game of connect four, aged eleven, and the time they played laser tag for his fourteenth birthday and got annihilated by a group of thirty somethings on a stag do. Tao correlates his self worth purely against his ability to win things. It’s awfully humbling for him when it doesn’t exactly go to plan.

Charlie offers him a hand. “Come on. The pizza has arrived. Surely there’ll still be flights to New Zealand available in the morning.” 

Tao groans, reluctantly receiving his olive branch. “Okay. I suppose you’re right.” 

-

On his way out, Charlie wraps Tao in a tight hug, Tao squeezing him back with equal vigour.

“You’re not actually going to flee the country, are you?” Charlie teasingly asks, “Life would be pretty boring here without you.”

“No,” Tao says, “Have you seen how much a ticket to Rio costs? More than Nick’s lunches, that’s for sure. Also. He hasn’t worn me down yet. There are plenty of other board games in my repertoire and I will grind him into the dirt.”

Behind them, Elle and Isaac hug Nick from either side. Nick jolts, a little surprised, before falling into a grin and holding them back. Charlie hasn’t felt warmth like it, like a forest fire is thrashing in his gut but, like, in a good way. 

Elle beckons them over. “Come on, group hug.” Tao makes a point of going towards the door. “You are not exempt, Tao Xu! Get over here.”

Charlie pulls his best friend by the arm and forces him into the embrace, their bodies a mess of imperceptible limbs and laughs and stepped-on toes. When Charlie looks up, Nick’s eyes are closed, his head resting on top of Elle’s.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough affection for now,” Tao grumbles, but he’s still slow to disentangle himself. “This evening has been mortifying enough for me already.”

Nick could tease him, but he doesn’t. “You guys should come around again some time.”

“Yeah, we totally should.” Elle agrees. She tugs on Tao and Isaac’s arms, pulling them towards the front door. “Thanks for having us!”

When it closes, Nick stands still for a second. Then -- “My mum once told me that I seemed more myself around you, but I feel like that around your friends, too. Like, I used to be so afraid that I’d say or do something that would make people feel differently about me, but I don’t feel like that around them. I just feel…so content. It’s so freeing, Charlie, to finally feel at peace with who you are. Who you were always meant to be.”

Charlie wordlessly buries him in a hug, hands splayed across his back, face buried in his shoulder.

“Maybe one day you’ll feel like that too. I hope that one day you will.”

Yeah, he thinks, hopefully. But he’s most of the way there, the pathway all but drawn in the maps app on his phone. You are almost at your destination, that jarring, automated voice says. Just a few more miles to go.

-

The evening is still balmy and hot as the time approaches midnight, so Charlie steps out into the garden whilst Nick clears up the living room. He walks barefoot onto the dry grass, the air filled with the faint pulse of a house party a few doors down and the alarm of an ambulance racing past. He slowly sits down before laying back, staring into the sky, hazy with the glow of artificial light from the street lamps lining Nick’s road.

He squints, trying to read the constellations. His dad took him to the Lake District, once, years ago, and they sat on the bonnet of the car and looked into a perfectly clear sky. Back then, he was certain that the stars were trying to tell him something in their beautiful, awe-inspiring clarity, but all he wanted was you are going to be okay.

He doesn’t hear Nick open the back door, surprised when he jumps down and rests his head on his middle so he can look upwards, too. Charlie instinctively runs his hands through his hair, massaging it through his fingers.

“There are these websites where you can buy stars, name them as gifts for people. I’ve always thought it a bit arbitrary, you know? I just -- like to think all the stars come out for you.” A beat. “I can’t tell which ones are supposed to belong to someone else.”

Charlie smiles. “Maybe the universe can be ours, just for tonight. We’ll give it back in the morning. Give someone else a go.”

He will remember this sky forever, blues and purples and fluorescent white smeared across the horizon like paint on a canvas, Nick laying across him. It’ll be a different sky tomorrow, as new stars burn into existence and dead ones flicker away, but that’s okay. They’re just borrowing it.

“Yeah, okay,” Nick responds. “Another good trope to add to our library. Romanticising the shitty Kent skyline.”

“Ah,” Charlie says, “But it’s our shitty Kent skyline.”

Nick raises his hand in the air, urging Charlie to hold it. He examines the constellations of lines in his palms, wondering if that’s another unearthly tradition he doesn’t really believe in, before closing his grip with his own. 

“Ours,” Nick hums, “Ours.”

-

They spend their last full day Sarah-free eating leftover pizza in their pyjamas and watching reruns of The Office (US) with Nellie , sprawling decadently across the couch and laughing at TikTok videos and making out. Charlie wears one of Nick’s hoodies and he looks like a scarecrow, drawstrings pulled tight round his face and arms hanging loose. It makes Nick laugh so hard he can’t breathe, Charlie eventually tackling him to the floor, and he wonders -- what the fuck would someone think if they saw them right now?

“Oh my God,” Nick abruptly says, face turning white. “Charlie, whatever you do, do not look behind you.”

A flash of worry jolts through him. “What? What is it?”

“You’ll be okay, as long as you don’t look behind you.”

Of course, naturally, he looks behind him. On the window sill looking into the living room is a fat ginger cat, tail swinging languidly and green eyes blazing like exotic jewels.

Charlie’s brows furrow in confusion. Then -- oh. “Is that nextdoor’s cat?”

“Unfortunately,” Nick whispers. He starts prowling over, closer to the window. “If we move very slowly, I think we’ll just about get out of this alive.”

“Nick. It’s literally outside.”

“It doesn’t care.” Nick swiftly reaches out and closes the curtain in one fell swoop. Charlie’s sure he can hear clawing and hissing from the other side, like the cat is trying to scratch its way into the room. “Okay. All we have to do is not open the curtain for the next few hours. Its patience wears thin once it gets hungry.”

Charlie blinks, trying to process the events of the last few seconds. “Are we being held hostage? By a cat?”

“I think so,” Nick says seriously, “It’s a good job we have enough pizza and tea to last us until mum gets home.”

It’s not the first time he’s said this, and it certainly won’t be the last. “You are ridiculous.”

“Yeah, well, you’re the one who’s in love with me,” Nick reasons, “So you will just have to put up with it.”

“I would say the pros outweigh the cons,” Charlie shoots back, “But only just.”

Nick tackles him back onto the floor, and, well. Kissing isn’t such a bad punishment.

-

“This is typical,” Nick grumbles, trying and failing to find the right key to fit the lock for the cupboard under the stairs. “Of course there had to be a power cut. I think mum must have made this happen on purpose to prove I read her bloody list.”

They’d only noticed because the WiFi and Nick’s fairy lights had gone off. Charlie had been watching TikToks over Nick’s shoulder in bed and was hesitant to move, but, unfortunately, Nick rightly reasoned that electricity was probably an essential and they’d regret it if they didn’t do anything about it. 

Charlie shines the torch on his phone over the keyhole. Eventually, Nick heaves open the stiff door, coughing as dust motes whirl out. Inside, there’s a stack of winter coats, a hockey stick and a cardboard box filled with glinting Christmas decorations.

“Okay,” Nick wafts the dust away like he’s just opened an Egyptian tomb, “What do I have to do again?”

Charlie peers in, positioning the torch over the fusebox on the back wall. “Blue switch down and up again.”

“Blue switch…” Nick mutters, clambering over a packet of Tesco Christmas baubles. “There’s a red switch?”

“Nick Nelson,” Charlie says in disbelief, “Have you literally watched any movies? Do not touch the red switch.”

“Okay, okay! Fine, no red switch!” A moth flutters out, drawn to the torchlight. Charlie swats it away. “Ah -- I think I’ve got it.” Click, click. “Let there be light!”

Charlie pats Nick’s back affectionately, turning off his phone as yellow light floods in from the hallway. “Have you considered becoming an electrician?”

Nick snorts a laugh, brushing dust out his hair. “No, but maybe that’s my calling.” He knocks something with his knee that sounds like glass. “Charlie -- there’s a massive bottle of whiskey in here.”

Nick rummages around for a second before heaving out a bottle holding liquid amber, grinning triumphantly.

“And what do you plan to do with that?” Charlie asks, raising a sceptical eyebrow. Sarah’s words ring in his ears. And no alcohol, remember.

“We could try some,” Nick shrugs. “Oh, come on. She doesn’t have to know.”

“And I want to retain my position as the favourite son!”

“Killjoy,” Nick teases, unscrewing the cap. His eyes do not leave Charlie’s as he takes a generous gulp, gasping and spluttering when it burns through his throat. He wordlessly passes the bottle over to Charlie, wiping his bleary eyes with his arm.

“Yeah, a brilliant advert for underage drinking,” Charlie scoffs, grasping the glass whilst Nick tries to retain his lungs. He’s drunk alcohol before -- swigging vodka with Tao in his bedroom one misjudged half term evening -- and he doesn’t hate it, but a fear of going too far always lingers. It’s all too easy to find oblivion in a drink. When Nick is all but recovered he takes a quick drink, closing his eyes as the whiskey cascades through his insides, warmth spreading through his lungs like unfolding butterfly wings.

He hands the bottle back to Nick, who fastens the cap back on in surprise. “Well. You handled that better than me.”

“It’s a good job Tao isn’t here,” Charlie says, “He would have laughed you straight out of town.”

Charlie scrambles out of the cupboard, expecting to be closely followed by Nick, however an almighty smash cuts through the quiet instead.

“Fuck,” Nick curses, peering out with a grimace. “Mum is definitely going to kill me.”

-

Laying in bed that night makes Charlie think of endings.

He’s not very good at them, never has been, skipping the last chapter of every book and the finale of every Netflix serial. Saying goodbye implies distance, layers of time stacking up and up and up until you’re further away from the person you used to be back then, until there is nothing tying you together anymore. 

He wants to be tied to the last four days forever, treasure them in blazing technicolour rather than fading sepia, a polaroid tucked in his filing cabinet. Perfect isn’t a word to be tossed around idly, but that’s it, that’s it. 

“I think it’s been good practice,” Nick murmurs sleepily, shuffling closer, arm enveloped round Charlie’s chest. “For when we’re older.”

Charlie basks in him, for a moment. “What has?”

“This. ” Nick replies. “This. Living together. I hope this is what it’s like when we get our own place.”

Charlie shifts position so they’re facing each other, his eyes wide whilst Nick’s remain closed. He can just about make out the freckles scattered across Nick’s cheeks, flecks of watercolour on a canvas. “Yeah? You think that’ll happen?”

Nick’s eyes blink open, judging him. “Yeah. Duh.”

He reaches out, brushes a strand of auburn hair behind Nick’s ear. “What do you think it will look like? Our home?”

“Well,” Nick starts, “We’d live right next to the beach, like Brighton or something, so we could look out of our bedroom window and see the sea every single day. We’d paint all the walls blue and yellow and we’d get a dog, of course. A rescue, so we can give our love to something that needs it most, because love just pours out of you, Char.”

Nick’s right, always right. He loves only a few but he does it intensely, fervently, effervescently. 

“I love you the most,” Charlie says, in a rare moment of absolute clarity, because Nick is mostly asleep and barely separating reality from a dream. “I don’t think I could ever love anyone as much as I love you.”

He kisses Nick’s forehead and Nick smiles, fading away.

-

The flower section in Tesco is alive with delicate, vibrant blooms, pastel-coloured tulips intertwined with elegant lily-of-the-valley and opulent, cerise roses. Nick picks up a mixed bouquet of lilies and carnations, examining closely for a second, before placing them back down.

“What says I’m sorry I broke your probably incredibly expensive bottle of whiskey the most?” Nick thinks aloud, expression sincere. “Daffodils?”

“I don’t think floriography covers that exact scenario,” Charlie jokes, “But I wouldn’t go for daffodils. They’re out of season.”

“I’m not going to ask how you know that,” Nick hums, hovering over some sunflowers. “What is in season, then?”

“Oh, uh -- “ Charlie reaches across, selecting a glorious arrangement of baby blue blooms. “Dahlias, I think. Plus, they kind of look like the sea, don’t they? They’ll remind her of Portugal.”

Nick’s mouth opens and closes, astonished, placing the bouquet in his basket. “I just -- how are you so thoughtful, like, all the time? I would never have even considered that.”

A lifetime of living as a wallflower, he thinks, always putting the needs of his others before his own, requited or not. Always there. Never observed.

“I’m just really good at presents,” he decides on instead, following Nick through the fresh fruit and veg aisle. He’d been oddly excited when Nick had suggested going to the supermarket, high on the intimacy of it. Something so ordinary, so normal, but it’s what couples do, isn’t it? Argue affectionately whilst walking down lino-covered floors, debating over doughnuts or salad or soup or anything. It’s something he’d never thought he’d have.

“When you think about it, we were actually pretty terrible roommates.” Nick throws him an affronted look. “What? We broke literally all of your mum’s rules.”

Nick scoffs, grabbing a carton of semi-skimmed milk and placing it into the basket. “We ate vegetables! And the cat from hell was technically on the window sill, not in the house.”

“Nick. Vegetables on pizza do not count.”

“Okay, fine, maybe not exactly our five of day.” He peers into the bakery counter, admiring the croissants. “But we can make our own rules when we live together.”

Charlie loops his arm through Nick’s, nodding when he bags a couple of pain au chocolat. He likes this when. When they live together. Never if, always when, the future a certainty, not a possibility. He feels that invisible string tighten, drawing them closer and closer and closer.

“No depressing movies about people like us,” Charlie says, “Just stupid rom-coms about a boy and a boy who are scared of a cat and romanticise the Kent skyline and commit the odd felony.”

“Five stars. Critics say the best movie of all time.”

Nick grins, and Charlie kisses him, long and beautiful and glorious in the middle of Tesco of all places, watched only by rows of bread rolls and raisin danishes and cinnamon buns.

-

Two days later, he’s sat in his bedroom back at home, thumb caressing a string of seashells and beads round his neck, a souvenir from Sarah’s adventures abroad. There is a cardboard box in the middle of his bed. He scratches open the tape with his fingernails, revealing a bouquet of dazzling crimson tulips.

His cheeks flush, thoughts turning to a Persian love legend, a declaration of everlasting love.

The recipient is obvious, but -- he opens the card anyway.

Dear Charlie

I don’t know as much about floriography as you, but I think these speak for themselves.

Love you, forever,

N