Archive of Our Own

Nick used to get migraines a lot when he was a kid.

There wasn’t a lot that he could do to stop them. Painkillers, ice packs, even essential oils; nothing seemed to do the trick. He just had to get used to the pulsing, aching pain that formed behind his eyes on what was probably a much too frequent basis, and suck it up until it went away.

Luckily, he hasn’t had a migraine as bad as the ones he had as a kid in many years.

That is, until today.

It came on so quickly this time, so fast that he hadn’t even seen it coming. Only a few hours ago he was at the Paris trip meeting, laughing and chatting with his friends. If anything, he was actually feeling really happy at that time - watching Tao profess his feelings for Elle had left him with a warm and fuzzy feeling in his chest that he had expected to last the rest of the day.

Apparently he was wrong to have hopeful expectations, because that warm and fuzzy feeling has steadily been replaced with pain, pain, pain.

The throbbing behind his eyes thumps in time with his footsteps as he walks by Charlie’s side, trekking through the woods to get to the end-of-GCSEs party. He thinks he hears Isaac, Tori, and Tara saying something in front of him, but he can’t register any of the words they’re saying.

Looking around, he can’t see any of the rugby boys just yet, but it still feels as if they’re breathing down his neck. As if they’re just waiting for him to show up, for him to finally say what he’s been dancing around for months now.

James comes over to them, but Nick can’t focus on his face. Everything starts to look a little blurry if he focuses on it for too long, so he tries to keep his gaze moving, never staying still. As Isaac and James run away to a location he’s sure was said aloud, he just completely missed it, he tracks their movement to keep the blurriness at bay.

“Look after him, or you die.”

Now that he hears clear as day.

He turns to look at Tori, her face slightly distorted in his vision. He can see very clearly from the stern look in her eye that she is not joking - which, okay, slightly terrifying. But justified.

“Tori!” Charlie protests, and he lets out a little huff of breath that makes Nick want to reach for his hand. Can’t. Not now.

“Okay,” he manages to say, although he’s surprised he even manages to get that single word out. Every sound makes his head hurt more, and the music echoing through the trees is certainly not helping.

Tori leaves briskly, and again, Nick tries to watch her go, just to give him something to focus on. Normally, he’d focus on Charlie - on the slight upturn of his lips, the soft cadence of his voice, the sweet smell at the nape of his neck - but now he’s worried that even the slightest glance at him will render the other boy’s features foggy and wrong. He only ever wants to see Charlie clearly; unapologetically himself.

(And he doesn’t want to feel himself fade away with Charlie’s eyes on him. He doesn’t want Charlie to watch him hurting; because even though he would obviously do anything to try and hide it, he has a feeling Charlie would see it, anyway. Charlie sees a lot of things that others just don’t have the capacity to see.)

“What’s up?” Charlie still notices, obviously.

Nick forces himself to look at him, preparing to dart his eyes around Charlie’s face, never keeping them stationary.

Instead, when he sees Charlie’s face - his beautiful, wonderful face - every feature is clear. It’s just…Charlie, gentle and concerned and glowing.

“I’m fine,” he says, surprisingly smoothly. He feels his lips quirk without meaning to. “Just, um…headache.”

He looks away briefly, feeling the need to scan for prying eyes, and when he looks back, Charlie’s brow is furrowed. Nick clenches his fists to stop himself from doing something stupid, like smooth out the wrinkles with his thumb.

“We can leave, if you want,” Charlie suggests.

“I’m fine,” he replies softly, this time feeling almost genuine, even through the persisting pain in his skull. He does feel fine, when he’s looking at Charlie. “I promise,” he adds, just to drive the point home.

I can do this, is what he really means. I swear, Char, I can do this.

“Well, how about we go somewhere quieter?” Charlie suggests, because he is never not wonderful. “Maybe your head will feel better if we just sit for a bit?”

Nick smiles. He could tell Charlie that it’s useless. Nothing will work; you name it, he’s tried it. But truthfully, he wouldn’t mind getting to sit with him in private for a bit anyway. Just to relax a little, and maybe give him some time to figure out where the rugby lads are before they can sneak up on him.

So instead of saying all of that, he just says, “okay.”

Charlie grabs him by the wrist - not by the hand, never by his hand when they’re stuck in the outside world like this - and pulls. Nick follows readily, prepared to go wherever the other boy may take him.

No one looks their way, but their hands stay apart all the same.

The two of them sit for a while, away from the noise and chatter of the soon-to-be bonfire. It’s nice; so nice that Nick can almost let his headache fade into the background, the pain now feeling more like a dull hum rather than the only thing he can focus on.

He takes pictures of Charlie that he knows he’ll end up staring at later before he goes to bed. When he starts to think the idea might sound a little creepy, he remembers that this is his boyfriend. He’s allowed to admire him openly (if alone in the quiet of his bedroom counts as ‘openly’).

“Are you sure you wanna come out to the rugby boys tonight?”

Of course, even as his headache fades into the background, Charlie's concern persists. It’s a kindness that Nick shouldn’t be faced with; not from the boy who he is forcing into hiding because of his cowardice. Not from the boy who is being forced to shut himself away again just because Nick can’t face up to his own issues.

Charlie continues, “if you’re not feeling well-”

“I’m fine.” He sits up, looking at Charlie with a serious expression. “I can do this.” He does say it this time, because Charlie deserves to hear it. He deserves to no longer be a shameful secret.

“Just think about us being out as a couple in Paris,” Charlie says dreamily. Nick wants to latch onto his every word. “Holding hands in the Louvre…kissing in front of the Mona Lisa.” His smile is bright and wide, one of Nick’s favourite kinds of Charlie-smiles.

He chuckles quietly. “Yeah.”

Nick takes advantage of the small moment of silence that follows to scan his eyes across Charlie’s face. He’s still smiling, albeit softer now, and he’s got a hope shimmering in his eyes that makes Nick feel sick with himself. How could I possibly keep this a secret any longer? How could I possibly go another moment unable to show the world that this brilliant boy is mine?

He doesn’t know. It’s all so complicated and confusing. When he’s here, looking into Charlie’s reassuring, kind eyes, he feels like he really could just…say it. Tell everyone. Charlie doesn’t deserve to stay with someone who doesn’t love him openly everywhere, every second, and Nick wouldn’t expect him to. And right now, he’d do anything to keep him here. He’d rather face all the hate in the world than ever have to lose something so precious, so otherworldly.

Yet the instant he’s away from him, it’s as if nothing in the world is more difficult. It’s as if saying it, saying the truth, would make everything fall apart in front of him.

He so desperately wants there to be no more secrets; but how can that be possible when his deepest, most shameful secret is simply himself?

Charlie stands, and Nick watches his hope rise with him. “C’mon.”

The headache roars louder again, as if it can feel the impending doom on the horizon as he takes Charlie’s offered hand. He tries to blink it away, but when he’s staring at the ground instead of the boy in front of him, he is helpless to the blur that takes over his vision.

“Let’s go find them.”

Through it all, he is most helpless to Charlie fucking Spring, so he follows without question.

I can do this, he thinks, a mantra in his head that is starting to feel more like a recurring nightmare; always there, always taunting him. I can do this, I can do this, I can do this.

I cannot do this.

He has no idea how long it’s been since the last time he saw Charlie. When they had been torn apart in the crowd, lost in the sea of kids, it had still been light out. Now, as he walks around aimlessly, searching for a familiar head of fluffy brown hair, the darkness cloaks him so heavily it's weighing him down. His feet are like lead. His hands have gone numb. His chest is burning.

When he had run into the rugby boys in the crowd, he had been sure he could do it, even despite the pain that rocketed through his skull. But then Harry of all people was there, shouting and grabbing at him. It was then that he had been sure he was going to pass out, or throw up, or both.

To his surprise, he hadn’t. Somehow, he had managed to shove his way through students and make it back to the outskirts of the crowd. His brain had felt like it short-circuited and his vision was absolutely fucked…but he was still conscious and he had kept his lunch down. Surely that still counts as a win, right?

He’s choosing to go with ‘yes,’ because right now he can’t conjure up anything besides forcing himself to breathe, focusing on the ground in front of him, and Charlie, Charlie, Charlie.

He stumbles, the leaves crunching under his shoes with each step. The sound somehow sounds deafening and nonexistent all at once. This is a really bad migraine.

“Charlie?” He thinks that’s his own voice - it would make sense, considering that name is all his brain is thinking right now, too. “Charlie?”

It’s then that he sees the tent that Tori had brought to set up as the night went on. She had said something about only being here for Charlie, and not actually wanting to get involved. Therefore, tent. In Nick’s pain-addled mind, that tent suddenly becomes a shining beacon of hope.

Charlie has to be in there. He has to be.

As he approaches, crouching down to peer into the opening, he is proven horribly wrong.

“Hi,” Tori says, staring at him with what can only be disapproval. He feels his rapidly pounding heart sink to his toes.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, because what else is there to say? She of all people knows the secrets he’s hiding. She’s the one who told him to look after Charlie.

“Um-” he tries to continue, not really sure what he’s planning on saying. Tori cuts him off before he has to figure it out.

“Where’s Charlie?”

He can read between the lines: where is my brother, who I specifically told you to take care of? It’s the least you could do, considering all you’re gonna do is hurt him and hide him from everyone. The least you could do is not fucking lose him in a dark crowd.

But of course, he had, because he can’t even do Charlie right in the simplest of ways.

He stutters around meaningless words, none of them enough to excuse his complete inadequacy. The world blurs again, this time the most intense it’s been all night, and for a moment it’s like he’s completely underwater, everything muted and dull. He blinks, trying to sharpen everything again.

“I, um…I lost him. Sorry.” He sounds so pathetic. It’s a weak excuse for his weak actions.

“You said you’d look after him,” Tori says pointedly.

I know. I know, I know, I know.

You sure have said a lot of things, a louder, crueler voice in his head adds. You’re ‘bi,’ and you’re going to tell people, you’re going to come out, you promise! But you never follow through. Are you ever going to tell the truth? Are you ever going to keep a promise? Or are you happy lying to yourself and hurting everyone around you in the process?

The voice is deafening, its taunting tone hurting far more than his headache ever could. He can’t tell if it sounds like himself or somebody else, somebody like David or Ben or…or Charlie, worst of all. Charlie, the person he owes the most to and yet has given the least to.

“Not very good at keeping your promises, are you?”

Not very good at keeping your promises, are you? The voice repeats Tori’s words, making them intertwine until he can’t tell who is even saying them anymore - if Tori actually continues, or if it’s just the voice alone. It’s a wonder Charlie’s even putting up with all your bullshit. You can’t even stay by his side at a party, and he’s supposed to believe that you’ll stick by him by coming out? By keeping your fucking promises? Yeah, fat chance.

“...You don’t look well.”

That is definitely Tori’s voice, breaking through the deafening whirlwind with a strange concern Nick is sure couldn’t possibly be for him. Maybe she’s just freaked out that you can’t focus on her. Maybe she doesn’t want someone like you around her brother. Someone who can’t even function through a simple headache.

The world sways drastically, and of course, Nick offers yet another promise, because he is a never-ending broken record - the shattered, broken reflections of a young boy who first started getting migraines when his father was no longer across the hall to soothe them.

“I’ll find him. I promise.”

Another lie, the voice drawls.

He forces himself to get up and keep walking, because otherwise, the weight of his own failure might actually swallow him whole.

Tori doesn’t say anything. Nick can guess the things she would have said, anyway, every last scathing insult - and he wholeheartedly agrees.

Perhaps it’s fate, or merely just an unfortunate coincidence - but for whatever reason, Nick runs into Tao.

A distressed Tao. Nick has never seen the other boy quite like this. If he didn’t know any better, he might say that he even sees tear tracks on the other’s face through the blurry haze.

“Tao?” He asks, sounding slightly incredulous. “Aren’t- aren’t you supposed to be on your date with Elle?”

Tao visibly winces, and Nick feels the action cause a reactionary twinge in his own chest. “Yeah, uh…I was.” He doesn’t give any further explanation, so Nick doesn’t push.

“You- have you-”

“Are you okay?” Tao cuts him off, a strange inflection to his voice that Nick can’t identify through the noise surrounding them, along with the noise inside his head. “You look- not good.”

He swallows thickly, trying to conjure up enough words to respond like a normal person, rather than a wimp who, for some reason, self-destructs whenever he feels a little poorly. “Yeah. I’m- I’m fine.”

Tao narrows his eyes skeptically - but he himself looks very ‘not fine,’ so Nick’s not so sure the action is all that justified. “Do you need me to find Charlie?”

Nick doesn’t have time to think about why Tao suggested that. All he knows is that yes, that is exactly what he needs, please help.

He nods shakily, and Tao sets his jaw, looking determined.

“I just saw him. C’mon.”

Tao grabs his shoulder to pull him along, and Nick has the gentle realization that this is the first time the other boy has ever willingly initiated any contact with him.

He is brought to the utmost furthest point on the outskirts of the crowd, standing right where he stood with Charlie mere hours ago, walking into the party with dread and trying to blink away a pain he knew he was hopeless to fight against.

“He was just here,” Tao mumbles, almost to himself. “We can wait, I guess. He’s bound to come back.”

Nick shakes his head without even thinking. “No. No, I have to- I have to find him. I have to do something.”

“Do…something?” Tao inquires, squinting at him in confusion.

He nods. “I said I would come out to the rugby boys tonight,” he explains, his voice sounding rough even to his own ears. “I need to find them.”

“Nick,” Tao starts, “are you sure you’re, like…in the right headspace to do that?”

Are you sure you can do that? It certainly seems that you’re incapable of keeping a promise - why would you start now?

“Yes,” he blurts, the word catching in his throat. “Yes, yes, I can.”

Tao looks at him strangely. “Okay, okay. How about you sit for a second?”

Nick can distantly feel his breaths escaping him faster and faster, but he doesn’t spare them a second thought. “No. No, I- I gotta find Charlie.”

Tao purses his lips. “Fine. Let’s stay here, then. It’s better that way, then you’re not both moving around. He’ll find you.”

“But-”

“Nick, just stay here, would you?” Tao interrupts, exasperated.

Nick clamps his mouth shut. “Okay,” he replies, because this is one of Charlie’s closest friends, someone who has known him for much longer than Nick has. Perhaps he’s onto something; and even moreso, perhaps he owes him something, for being who he is and bringing all of it into Charlie’s life when Tao had been there first, trying to protect him from all of it.

“Good,” Tao says, conclusive and short.

They stand for a moment in complete silence, the cheering of the party the only thing to be heard other than their quiet breaths.

The world feels clearer over here; somewhere he knows that he and Charlie stood together, and with someone he knows is truly kind (despite his grievances with Nick). He can breathe a little easier, even though every inhale is just as excruciating as the last. It’s because of this that it’s Nick who eventually breaks the silence.

“What were you doing over by the tents?” He asks quietly.

Tao stills. “I- Ugh, I was looking for you.”

That is just about the last thing Nick had been expecting. “You- what?”

“Don’t make it a thing.”

“No, no, it’s not a thing,” Nick assures, although it most certainly is a thing. “Why were you looking for me?”

Tao grimaces. “I was going to leave.”

“O-kay,” Nick drawls, a little confused. “What does that have to do with-”

“I was going to leave, but I came back because Charlie looked…off, and you-” he groans, “you calm him down. You help.”

Nick’s first thought is, I help? The delight from that, however, is quickly squashed down by the second part of what Tao had said. “Wh- he looked off? In what way?”

If you hadn’t lost him, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. Now Charlie is hurting. Because of you.

“Anxious, I guess. Just- not good.” Tao sighs. “I found you, clearly, but you’re certainly not faring any better.”

“No, no, I’ve just got a headache. I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh,” Tao hums, disbelief coating the sound blatantly. “You look fine.”

Nick sighs. “I am fine.” He takes a deep breath, probably the deepest in hours. “You have no room to talk, really. What happened?”

Tao blinks rapidly with eyes that are still red and swollen. “Look, just,” His shoulders sag. “The date went…well, it went.”

“Ah. I see.” Nick frowns in sympathy. “Not what you thought it’d be?”

“I think more like I’m not what she thought I’d be.”

“Oh,” Nick says, surprised. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

Tao shrugs nonchalantly, but it's clear in every inch of him how bothered he’s pretending not to be. “‘S fine.”

The sad look on his face just won’t do.

“Look, I don’t know much,” Nick starts, as if that isn’t the understatement of the century, “but I think it’s pretty clear to anyone how much Elle likes you.”

Tao’s shaking his head before Nick can even finish, “you weren’t there. I just- I ruined everything.”

“Not possible,” Nick protests. “If you just…care, in the way that you always do, then…then you can’t go wrong.”

The words are far from life-changing, but they may as well be from the way that Tao’s face visibly brightens. He doesn’t reply at first, the two of them just looking at each other openly. Something like a quiet understanding seems to pass between them, something along the lines of: Wow, we’re both really bad at this.

Nick thinks there’s a deeper understanding hidden somewhere in there, too, something more intense and meaningful that they’ll get to later. He has a feeling Tao feels just as inadequate as he does, a lot of the time, and no doubt looks at Elle the same way he looks at Charlie - as the most incredible, talented, kind-hearted person on the planet, while Nick and Tao are just…Nick and Tao. Nothing special.

But that’s a conversation for another time.

For now, they just stand in each other’s company - saying nothing, but hearing each other all the same.

Nick eventually ushers Tao to go home, because after all, that was his original plan, and he’s starting to look dead on his feet.

He stays in the same spot for a little while after Tao leaves, but it doesn’t last long. He can’t just stand around and do nothing. He has to put in some fucking effort.

So he pushes his way back into the crowd. Big mistake.

The brief reprieve that his visit with Tao had given him is seemingly gone in an instant the very second he’s trapped within the party again. He remembers the migraines making him feel really sick when he was little, but nothing like the way he feels now.

He feels like he can barely see. His head still hurts, but more notably now is his chest, as if his rib cage has been crushed like a soda can so much that it’s started puncturing his lungs. He’s dizzy, nauseous, and feels strangely like crying.

But that doesn’t matter. Not while Charlie is out there; especially while distressed and alone.

“What’s up, mate?”

“Mate, you alright?”

The voices filter in through the daze, and when he turns to look, it’s the rugby boys, finally.

Now is your chance, his mind screams at him. Do you wanna finally keep a promise? Are you gonna at least try to redeem yourself?

The answer is a resounding yes. “Yeah, I, uh, just- um…I just needed to talk to you guys about something.”

This is it. He’s really going to do it. He’s finally going to just say it, he’s going to show Charlie that he meant it, he truly meant his promises and he will finally treat him the way he deserves, like the special, amazing thing that he is-

‘You’re bisexual? So you’re gonna cheat on my brother?’

That’s…weird. Tori had never said that, had she? Unless…maybe I tuned her out in the tent - god, still so selfish and inconsiderate, even in the face of Charlie’s fucking sister.

‘Are you sure you’re not just gay?’

Imogen. Does she really believe that? Is she right?

“Aww, share with the group.” Is that Harry? That must be Harry. The arm on his shoulder is a familiar weight that makes him feel like he can almost smell cinema popcorn, so it has to be. “C’mon, spit it out!”

‘It’s fun, isn’t it? Sneaking around with him.’

That’s- that’s not what I’m doing. I care about Charlie. I-

‘Y’know, Charlie thinks you’re this perfect boyfriend, but the truth is, you’re just as bad as me.’

He’s right. I’m keeping him a secret, just like Ben did. I’m hurting him, just like Ben did.

‘Pick a side.’

David.

‘I should’ve known you’d turn out to be gay.’

‘He’s still lying for you.’

‘You didn’t like me because you’re gay!’

‘This is exactly why I didn’t wanna tell you!’

Through the screaming, echoing memories, he can tell he’s not breathing. But it doesn’t even matter because-

‘You promised you were gonna come out.’

Charlie. That’s Charlie’s voice - sad, disappointed, but worst of all, familiar. Charlie’s sadness is familiar.

It’s enough to make bile rise in his throat.

‘You promised you were gonna come out. You promised, you promised, you promised-’

“Nick doesn’t wanna talk to you, Harry. Piss. Off.”

In the blur, all he can register is the fact that Charlie is here. He’s here. Thank fuck, he’s here.

Harry’s lips are moving, but Nick can’t hear anything anymore. He thinks he might be panting, but he can’t tell anymore. All he knows is he hasn’t felt this sick in a long, long time.

Charlie turns to him, and he still can’t hear anything, but his lips are easy to read: “Are you okay?”

No. I don’t know. Are you okay? I should be the one asking you that. I’m so fucking selfish.

“I feel really ill,” he tries to say. It must come out clear enough, because Charlie understands.

“I’m taking you home,” are the words that shape Charlie’s mouth, and Nick, in his self-involved spiral, wants nothing more than that. Home. Yes, please.

He lets Charlie lead him out of the crowd, the world still muted and sickness still writhing inside of him. Which particular sickness, he’s not quite sure.

“I’m calling your mum.”

Charlie has his hands on Nick’s shoulders, tilting his own head to try and meet his eyes. Nick makes it difficult by swaying back and forth with the force of his breaths.

He can hear again, but everything’s still blurry. His chest feels like it’s only getting tighter. He can’t believe he hasn’t thrown up.

“Nick?” That might be worry in Charlie’s voice - but no, it couldn’t possibly be. Charlie was disappointed in him, not worried. “Nick, hey, look at me.”

Nick tries, he really does, but everything is foggy now, even Charlie’s face. It makes tears sting his eyes; because of all things, Charlie was never supposed to go blurry.

“Nick, you’re scaring me a little. I need you to breathe.”

He attempts an intentional breath, but all he gets out of it is a choked sound escaping his throat.

“Okay, okay, shh, it’s okay. I’m right here. You’ve got me, it’s okay. You-”

You promised you were gonna come out.

“Charlie.” Nick hiccups around the precious name, feeling desperate and lost and ripped apart inside. “Charlie, I’m-”

“Shh, you don’t have to talk, it’s okay. Just focus on breathing, okay?” A hand grasps his face. “Just focus on my voice.”

Which one? He wants to ask. There’s you, and then there’s the honest one. Which one am I supposed to listen to?

“I-” He gasps, and it’s only now that he realizes his cheeks are wet. “I’m so sorry, I’m-”

“Nick,” Charlie’s voice breaks, and with it, something deep in Nick’s bones. “Nick, it’s okay, you have nothing to apologize for.”

You promised.

“I promised,” he repeats, his voice coming out embarrassingly close to a whine. He blinks harshly, trying to see the beautiful, perfect face in front of him. “I promised, I promised-”

“Okay,” Charlie says decisively, and next thing Nick knows, he’s been brought to a dark corner, somewhere in the bushes. They’re far enough away from the party that he can barely even hear the music. “C’mon, I’ve got you.”

He sits Nick down gently on the cold dirt, and Nick goes limply - partly from exhaustion and incoherence, partly from pure confusion. Their hands intertwine.

“You feel that?” Charlie prompts gently, kneeling in front of him and squeezing his palm. “Focus on that.”

Nick tries, and he finds that the pressure is actually quite easy to focus on; certainly easier than anything else that’s happened tonight. He attempts to squeeze back.

“Good.” Charlie exhales his relief. “Good, you’re doing good, Nick. That’s perfect.”

Nick forces himself to take a shaky breath and squeezes again. Charlie squeezes back, more firm and certain.

They take ten more breaths, squeezing the other’s palm after each one. The air begins to pass through Nick’s lungs smoother with each one, enough that he musters up the strength to whisper:

“I’m so sorry.”

Charlie tuts. “Nope.”

“Charlie-”

He is cut off by Charlie clambering into his lap, wrapping his arms around him and pressing their chests together solidly, so much so that Nick can feel their heartbeats against one another’s. “Nope. None of that. Keep focusing on me.”

So Nick does, honing all his attention in on the pleasant pressure against his chest.

“Good,” Charlie praises again, so easily and sweetly in the way it falls from his lips. He presses a kiss to Nick's cheek that feels even sweeter. “You’re okay. We’re okay.”

Nick lets his shaky breath out before burying his face in Charlie’s neck, arms coming up to wrap around his boyfriend’s back and tug him closer. He smells of smoke, cinnamon, and toothpaste. He feels like safety.

He’s sure they’re quite a sight, bundled together in the bushes like this, but he can’t be bothered to care. He knows deep down that no one can see them from here anyway - Charlie never would have risked it otherwise - but even if that weren’t the case, he just can’t find it in his exhausted brain to dwell on it.

Charlie is here. Charlie’s got him. Everything else can wait.

He’s practically forced into the shower when they get back to his house, both by Charlie and his mother - ‘really, Nicky, you stink of smoke. We’ll wait for you, darling.’

When he emerges from the bathroom, toweling off his wet hair and clad in a baggy jumper, he nearly collides with his mum.

“Oh! Sorry, darling, didn’t mean to startle you.”

His heart is steady. “No worries. Y’okay?”

Sarah hums pleasantly, and Nick feels himself relax even more when he hears it. “Are you?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, just…you remember my migraines, yeah?”

“I do,” she replies softly, reaching up to hold his cheek. She brushes wet strands of hair from his eyes as she continues, “but you haven’t had one for so long. Do you know what brought it on? Were you drinking enough water? Did you eat enough?”

“Yes, Mum,” he drawls, trying his best not to sound exasperated, but most certainly feeling it. “I’m okay, really. I dunno why I had one, but I feel a lot better now.”

“Are you sure?”

Nick pauses. He feels... completely fine. Not even an hour ago he’d been using all of his energy trying to keep his food in his stomach and focus on the things that were right in front of him. Now, he’s breathing, thinking, and functioning like nothing was ever wrong.

In all fairness, he always used to get over sicknesses quite quickly. It was the exact same when he was a kid - it still feels surreal, though.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” He leans into her hand and her thumb strokes back and forth in response. “Um- did Charlie go home?”

Of course he did, why would he have stayed?

“No, he’s just in your room. He made you tea.”

“Oh." He can’t help the sigh of relief that escapes him. “He- he must be tired though, surely. I can tell him to go home, maybe, I wouldn’t wanna keep him-”

“Nicky,” his mum cuts him off. “Baby. Would you just let yourself be loved? Just for a second?”

His mouth opens and closes rapidly as he tries to muster up a response. “What? L- Um-” They haven’t said the L word yet. Charlie probably isn’t even thinking about that.

“You heard me,” she challenges gently. With a pat to his cheek, she makes to head back down the stairs. “Now, go rest. I’m here if you need me.”

“O-okay.” He pushes back his racing thoughts to simply watch her go, to drink in the kind smile on her face and the drifting smell of her perfume. She has been the one and only constant; from his very first migraine all the way to now, standing in the hallway outside his bedroom with a new constant waiting for him behind the door. He had first learned the feeling of safety in his mother’s arms, and now he’s lucky enough to feel it with somebody else, too. He’s not sure if she knows that. He’s not sure if she knows that he has her to thank for everything.

“Thank you, Mum,” he mumbles. “I love you.”

It’s not what she deserves. She deserves so much more. But Nick doesn’t know how he would even begin to find the words.

Nevertheless, she softens as if he’s said the sweetest thing in the world. “I love you too, darling. Sleep well.”

“Yeah, you too.”

He watches her until she’s completely out of sight, vanishing into the kitchen. Then, he takes a deep breath and pushes his door open.

“Hi.” Charlie sits on the bed, immediately placing his phone down at the sight of Nick entering the room.

“Hi.” Nick takes a few steps forward, motioning to the bedside table, “is that for me?”

Charlie startles a little, reaching for the mug Nick was referring to. “Yes. It’s still warm, promise.”

He hums through his smile. “Thank you. You really didn’t have to.”

“Shut up.” Charlie’s cheeks flush, and Nick watches it happen with a staggering joy.

He sits next to Charlie, taking the mug and pressing close until their sides are completely flush against each other. “How are you doing?”

Charlie takes a sip of his own tea, frowning slightly. “What d’you mean?”

“How are you?” Nick scans his face. “Wanna make sure you’re okay.”

“Nick,” Charlie chides in that playful, bashful tone that Nick loves so much. “You’re the one who just had a panic attack. I’m totally fine.”

Nick’s entire body tenses. “What?”

“What?” Charlie looks at him nervously, probably feeling the way Nick had immediately tensed up. “What’s wrong? Did I say something? I’m sorry-”

“We banned the S word,” he says distractedly. “You- you said I had a…”

“Panic attack?” Charlie finishes, as if it’s obvious.

“Yeah.” Nick is aware that he sounds ridiculously freaked out, but he can’t exactly hide that. What on earth is Charlie talking about? “I- I didn’t have a panic attack, Char.”

Now it’s Charlie’s turn to look at him like he’s got three heads. “What? Yes, you did.”

“No, I didn’t,” he insists. “Trust me, that’s just- that just happens sometimes.”

“Okay, what exactly is ‘that?’ What was happening?”

Nick shifts slightly. “Well, um. I had a migraine. And then I felt a bit dizzy. Nauseous, all that. It’s normal, I promise. It used to happen all the time.”

Charlie only looks more determined, which was the opposite of what Nick had been going for. “Nick, that’s not normal.”

“It is for me, then, I guess,” he says tentatively. “I- I dunno. Like I said, it hasn’t happened for a while.”

Well, other than during my exam the other day. But that one really was the first in a long time.

…Except for the first time we kissed, it happened then, too. And at the cinema, but that was a little different. That morphed into something else.

Whatever. Point is, it’s not a problem.

“When did it start?” Charlie asks, pressing tighter to Nick’s side.

“Um, probably around the time my dad left?” He thinks aloud, scratching his cheek idly. “Maybe not exactly, but- around then, yeah.”

Charlie makes a noise in the back of his throat. “Nick. I definitely think that they’re panic attacks, or at least a very severe bout of anxiety. It’s- I imagine your dad leaving was… a hard time.” He brushes a hand through Nick’s hair, as if to soften the blow of the memories. “And tonight…it would’ve been the rugby boys that caused it, right?”

“What?” Nick feels his eyes widen. “No, no, I- I was fine. I will come out, I swear-”

“Nick,” Charlie stops him gently. “It’s okay. It’s scary. You don’t have to push yourself to do anything you don't want to.”

“But I do want to,” Nick protests, and to his horror, he feels tears begin to well up in his eyes. “I swear, I do. I’m so sorry, I’m so, so-”

“Nick.” Charlie takes his mug from his hands to place it on the bedside table, his own mug following suit. “Breathe.” He grapples for Nick’s shoulders, pulling until they’re both lying down with Nick’s cheek pressed to Charlie’s stomach, Charlie’s arms around him.

“Just breathe,” he repeats, and the words rumble pleasantly against the side of Nick’s breath. “We don't have to talk about it. It’s all okay.”

Nick breathes, focusing on the arms around him and the smell of the jumper his face is pressed against. The boy beneath him, and the way his existence in this room feels so damn right.

It brings him back to a time that feels like forever ago, and yet also like it was just yesterday. Him, sitting on Charlie’s bed sopping wet. Charlie pulling him close and simply holding him, giving him a space for the ugly parts of him to spill out without remorse and still holding him through all of it. Nick looking into his eyes and feeling a reckoning somewhere deep within him; he was completely, utterly safe with this person. The eyes he was looking into meant more than shy ‘hellos’ in busy classrooms; they were a debut, a beginning to something. A something that he knew he didn’t want to see an ending to, whatever the ‘something’ was.

He breathes deeply, the air filling his chest all the way before being expelled slowly, peacefully. He squeezes his arms tightly around Charlie’s torso.

I think I love you, he aches to say. You’re the kindest, smartest, bravest person I’ve ever met and I think I love you.

“Char?”

“Yeah?”

I am so in love with you. I swear it.

“You told Harry to piss off,” he says instead, the truer words getting trapped in his throat. “I enjoyed that.”

He quietly promises himself that he’ll say the other part another time. He’ll find a way to let Charlie know how incredible he is, and how lucky Nick is to even be near that kind of sheer brilliance. He’ll find a way to make up for all his shortcomings, all his broken promises.

For now, he’s content to just lie here, laying himself out for that special something to see.

“So did I.”

And Nick finally rests.