Chapter Text
It's late Saturday afternoon, and Charlie's doing one last editing pass on a paper that's due before the Easter holiday next week, feeling pretty good about actually being done ahead of deadline for once (albeit only because he's got another two assignments coming due at the same time that he's barely cracked on with yet). He's more than halfway through his second year of uni, and he almost feels like he's got his shit together, more or less. That will all change once exams kick off, of course. But he'll enjoy the high while it lasts. And tonight he and his flatmates are heading out to celebrate their friend Sean's birthday, so he's also pondering outfit options and trying to remember if he's still got leftovers in the fridge or if he'll need to scrounge up some dinner before they head out—
That's when his mobile buzzes with an incoming call from Nick.
Just the sight of his boyfriend's photo lighting up the screen is enough to make him smile, as always. Nick doesn't usually call out of the blue rather than texting first, apart from their regularly scheduled Facetimes. But if Charlie recalls correctly, Nick had a rugby match earlier today, which means the traditional post-match piss-up at the campus pub, which means this is probably a drunk dial. And those are always entertaining.
"Hey, babe," Charlie says, grinning. "What's up? How did the match go?"
"Hi, Charlie." Nick's voice is warm as ever, but almost…hesitant? He definitely doesn't sound drunk yet. Well, it's early. "Um, it was fine. We won, so that's always good."
"Congrats! Out celebrating with the lads, then, or—wait, it was an away match today, right?"
"Yeah, Birmingham—"
"Right!" Charlie clicks his fingers, not that Nick can see. "Are you still on the coach, then, or back in Leeds already?"
There's a very significant pause. Charlie can hear vague city sounds in the background of the call. "So, that's the thing," Nick finally says. "I might be, um, in London now. Like…fifteen minutes away from your flat?"
"Nick, oh my god."
He can practically hear Nick wince into the phone. "Sorry, I know we didn't—"
"Don't you dare apologize," Charlie laughs. He's already slammed his laptop shut and starts frantically tidying his bedroom. Not that it's particularly messy, but Charlie likes to pretend he has some standards when it comes to overnight guests (by which he exclusively means Nick). "Get over here, you idiot, I need to kiss your face a lot."
"Yeah, same," Nick says, sounding relieved. "Heading your way now. You're at the flat, then, yeah?"
Charlie raises an eyebrow, even though Nick can't see it. "And what were you planning to do if I wasn't?"
The responding silence is telling.
"You really hadn't thought that far ahead, had you?" Charlie marvels. "Did you even pack an overnight bag?"
"Not exactly? But I know I've left clothes and stuff at your place—"
He has an entire drawer in Charlie's dresser, point of fact, not counting the jumpers Charlie has blatantly stolen. Charlie has the same in Nick's room in Leeds. It's hardly the first time one of them has made an impulse train or coach ticket purchase in the past couple of years. Though they normally give each other slightly more than fifteen minutes' advance warning when it happens.
"You absolute chaos muppet," Charlie says fondly. "I'll dig up a spare toothbrush. Why didn't you tell me sooner? Like, when you got on the train in the first place?"
"I dunno," Nick sighs. "I know it's stupid. Like, Easter hols are literally next week, we're both gonna be back home in a few more days anyway…I guess maybe I was worried you'd try to talk me out of it or something. I don't know. I wasn't really thinking."
It's hard to tell over the phone, especially with all the background noise as Nick makes his way through the city streets, but there's something off in his voice. Charlie pauses tidying, taking a seat at the edge of his bed. "Nick, are you okay? Did something happen—at the match, like, or…?"
"No, no, everything's fine," Nick says quickly. "The match was fine, I promise. I'm fine. I just—I mean, Birmingham is like halfway to London anyway, right? So why not?"
The forced lightness in his tone does not exactly ease Charlie's mind. But if something is wrong, it's better to have that conversation face to face, anyway. "Okay," is all he says. "I'll see you shortly, then."
"Charlie…" Nick hesitates. "Is it okay? That I'm here?"
"Always," Charlie says at once. "Please don't ever doubt that. I love you, and I'm so glad I get to see your stupid face today. So hurry up, yeah?"
"I love you, too. So much. Be there in a few."
Nick must really be booking it, because Charlie barely has a chance to finish tidying and duck into the bathroom to quickly freshen up before the buzzer goes off. His flatmate Katrin sticks her head out of her room as he darts down the hall.
"Expecting company?" she asks.
"Just Nick, sorry!" he calls back at her, as he buzzes Nick in. "I would've given you a heads up, but it was kind of a spur of the moment thing—"
Katrin rolls her eyes, but she's grinning. "I should've guessed. All good, I know the drill. You're still coming out to Sean's do tonight, though, yeah?"
"Yeah, of course!"
"Cool," Katrin says. "Heading out around eight." And she retreats back into her room, shutting the door firmly. She and their other flatmate, Ty, are very chill about Nick's regular visits. It's part of why they get on so well.
And then Nick is at the front door, and nothing else matters. God, five years in, and the first sight of him still makes Charlie's breath catch in his chest. He's ruddy-cheeked from the chilly spring air, his auburn hair windblown, eyes bright and warm. He definitely does not have any kind of overnight bag—not even the duffel he uses for his rugby kit. Idiot boy. Charlie loves him so much.
"Hi," Nick says, sounding a little out of breath.
"Hi," Charlie replies, grinning. "Get in here, you numpty."
Nick kicks the door shut behind him as he all but launches himself at Charlie, wrapping him into a very tight hug and burying his face in Charlie's neck. He smells faintly of sweat and that generic shower gel found in uni locker rooms all across Britain, but also like Nick, and Charlie presses a kiss to his hair and breathes in deeply. It feels like coming home, every time, no matter where they happen to be geographically.
When he starts to draw back, though, Nick shakes his head and pulls him in even closer, if that's possible. "Not yet," he mumbles against Charlie's clavicle. "Sorry, I just…I really needed this."
Charlie's heart aches a little. He cups the back of Nick's head with one hand, running his fingers soothingly through the soft, short hair there. "Of course, love. I'm here."
Nick lets out a long, shaky exhale. He kisses the curve of Charlie's neck, nuzzling there for a moment, then finally lifts his head. "Sorry," he says again, lips twisting into a lopsided little smile.
"No s-word," Charlie reminds him softly. "What's going on, Nick?"
"Nothing. I just really, really missed you." Nick leans in to kiss him properly, his warm hand coming up to frame Charlie's face, and Charlie can't help but melt into it. He opens his mouth to Nick's easily, eagerly, reacquainting himself with the taste of him, loving the soft little sounds Nick makes in the back of his throat as they kiss.
Charlie really, really missed Nick, too. He always does.
One thing leads to another, and eventually Charlie realizes that he's got Nick pressed up against the nearest wall, his thigh wedged firmly between Nick's legs while Nick trails hot kisses down along the side of his neck. They come to the mutual decision to relocate to Charlie's room at that point. Charlie doesn't even know why he bothers making his bed when Nick's coming over; he's never going to notice the neatly straightened pillows and comforter as they tumble onto them, already hopelessly entangled together.
It's not that they always jump right back into bed together the minute they reunite. But Charlie won't apologize for being horny for his unbelievably fit boyfriend, okay?
After they've made a beautiful mess of each other and the sheets, Nick collapses breathlessly onto Charlie's bare chest and snakes an arm across his middle, squeezing gently. Charlie kisses the top of his head with a smile. "So you hopped a train in Birmingham just for a booty call, hmm?"
Nick chuckles against his collarbone. "I mean, I didn't not hop a train for that, to be fair." He tilts his head up to meet Charlie's eyes, a smirk curling at the edges of his lips. Charlie has to duck in to kiss him again, of course, and they linger in it for a few long moments before Nick lays his head back down against Charlie's shoulder with a contented sigh. He traces patterns along Charlie's arm, almost meditatively. "This part's just as important, though," he adds quietly.
Charlie hugs him just a little tighter. "Yeah, I know."
They both drift off a bit in the quiet, for a time, as evening falls outside and the room grows dark around them. Charlie blinks out of a light doze to the sensation of soft kisses against his neck, and shivers happily as Nick drags his lips up to the corner of his jaw.
"What time is it?" Charlie murmurs, even as he tilts his head to allow Nick better access.
Nick sucks briefly at a sensitive spot just behind Charlie's earlobe. "Mmm. Not sure. Do you have plans tonight?"
"Unfortunately, yes." He runs a hand down along Nick's side, grasping his hip. "Friend's birthday thing. Supposed to head out with Katrin and Ty around eight."
Nick pulls back to look at him properly. It's hard to read his expression in the dim room, the only light coming from the streetlights outside the narrow windows. "Sorry, I really should have checked in with you before I just showed up—"
"Nick, shh, don't be silly," Charlie says, cupping his face and smiling up at him. "I love that you're here with me. Just means we should probably get up sooner rather than later."
"You're sure your friend won't mind me crashing their birthday party?" He sounds uncharacteristically hesitant.
Charlie tugs him in for a reassuring kiss. "Of course not. You're always welcome anywhere I'm going. And we're just going out to a gay bar, it'll be a laugh. Unless you don't want to come with?"
"I do," Nick says at once. "All I ever want is to spend time with you, you know that."
He's so fucking sincere; Charlie is just so impossibly gone for him, always. "Sap," he murmurs against Nick's lips.
They lose a few more minutes like that, just trading slow, deep kisses. But the sounds of Charlie's flatmates pointedly clattering about the kitchen draws them out of it, and Charlie drags himself upright with a groan.
"I think that's our cue," he says, reluctantly flicking on the lamp on his bedside table.
Nick squints against the sudden brightness, face screwing up in mute protest. The lamplight catches out glints of gold in his dark copper hair, which looks adorably tousled from their impromptu nap, and his fair skin is flushed with warmth. He's so beautiful sometimes that Charlie nearly can't breathe with it.
Then Nick's stomach growls audibly, and Charlie giggles as that lovely pink flush deepens all across Nick's face and chest. Nick laughs too, despite his embarrassment. "Listen, I didn't have a chance to grab anything to eat after the game! Because I was trying to find the stupid Birmingham train station!"
"Poor baby," Charlie coos. "All right, dinner, then. I should eat something, too. Let's see if my flatmates are making enough to share."
Ty is heating up a couple of frozen pizzas while Katrin mixes them all pre-party cocktails, which gives Charlie and Nick the chance to grab quick showers first (separately, alas, since they've long since learned that showering together does not save either time or water). Nick seems to have shaken off his odd mood by the time they join Charlie's flatmates in the living room for dinner, and he chats and jokes as usual while they eat. He's been down to London more times than Charlie can easily count in the past two years, and has established a comfortable rapport with Charlie's closest friends here.
But some of that discordant uncertainty resurfaces as they pick out clothing for their night out. Nick stands in just his boxers, rifling through his drawer of Charlie's dresser with worry lines creasing his brow. "I don't really have any, like, clubbing outfits stashed here."
Charlie lifts his eyebrows. "Since when do you ever?"
Sure, Nick's been open to experimenting with his look since starting uni, as he gets more comfortable in his own skin and more involved with the Leeds LGBTQ+ soc. But he still defaults to comfort over style nine times out of ten, and that's never been an issue before.
"Yeah, but you're so…" Nick gestures at Charlie, his eyes going dark and intent for a moment as he looks him up and down. Charlie can't help but preen a little; his outfit tonight isn't particularly daring, by gay club standards, but he appreciates the positive reinforcement. "Fuck, Charlie, you look so good."
Charlie can feel his face flush, but waves it off. "Nick, seriously, have you never seen yourself? Wear whatever you like; you'll still be the hottest guy in any room we walk into." He walks over to drape his arms around Nick's neck, gratified when Nick immediately catches hold of his waist to pull him in. "Or just go out like this; I'm certainly not complaining."
"Oh, you'd enjoy that, would you?" Nick teases, but his smile fades too quickly. "Seriously, though, you know what I mean. You and all your uni friends are so…stylish, I guess? I don't want you to be, like, embarrassed to be seen with me."
"I could never." Charlie studies his face, frowning a little. "Nick, where is this all coming from? I genuinely don't care what you wear, and you'd never embarrass me, ever. We've gone out to loads of bars in just jeans and T-shirts before."
Nick drops his head to Charlie's shoulder with a sigh. "I know. It's dumb. I'm just in my head today." He presses a kiss to the side of Charlie's neck, then draws back. "Can you just—pick me something, please? So I can stop going in stupid circles about it?"
If anyone can understand the anxiety spiral of outfit selection, it's Charlie, though his own body image issues are very different from whatever's currently stressing Nick out. So he doesn't press further, just quickly digs out a pair of jeans he knows look great on Nick's arse and a plain black vest. Simple, understated, and smokingly hot, in Charlie's opinion. And, frankly, who else's opinion of his boyfriend really matters?
"Hot," Katrin pronounces them both in approval, when they emerge into the living room. Charlie smirks pointedly at Nick, who just rolls his eyes and wraps an arm around Charlie's shoulders with a reluctant smile. "Now let's get going, Sean texted he was already there like ten minutes ago."
The bar is bustling but not too crowded when they arrive, and Sean's party has claimed a cluster of couches in the back corner. Charlie doesn't really know the birthday boy that well—he's more Katrin's friend than Charlie's—but they run in the same general queer circle. Sean himself is out on the dance floor at the moment; Charlie will need a drink before he's willing to join him there. In the meantime, he and Nick volunteer to grab the first round for their flatmates, and Ty promises to save them a spot on the couch.
It's too loud by the bar to chat, the speakers pumping, but Charlie tucks himself into the curve of Nick's arm and just enjoys sharing space with him, the warm press of Nick's sturdy body all along his side. He clocks at least three different men and one woman giving Nick appreciative once-overs, and smiles smugly to himself.
"What's that look supposed to mean?" Nick asks him, eyebrow raised. He has to practically shout to be heard over the music and noise.
Charlie presses up on his toes to murmur directly into Nick's ear. "Hottest guy in the room," he breathes. His lips brush Nick's earlobe, and he enjoys the shiver that runs through Nick's body at the sensation. "I told you."
Nick shakes his head fondly. "They're all looking at you, not me."
"Only because they're sizing up the competition."
Nick kisses his temple. "No competition, love."
By the time they return with the promised drinks, there's really only one open seat available, so Charlie happily settles on Nick's lap instead. Nick gets reintroduced round to the group—he's met most of them already at some point or another—and then seems content to sip his drink quietly, keeping one arm snug around Charlie's waist, while Charlie chats with the others.
They manage to clear a spot for Sean upon his triumphant return from dirty dancing with a stranger, and he drops onto the edge of the couch beside Nick and Charlie. "Looking good out there," Charlie tells him, which is not a lie. Sean is the kind of scene queen who always looks good on the dance floor. "Happy birthday!"
"It certainly will be," Sean agrees, with a showy wink. "God, I've needed a night out for ages. This term has been brutal."
Sean's a third year, like Nick and Katrin, with graduation looming; Charlie can't remember what course he's doing. Something in the sciences, which has always seemed incongruous to Sean's flamboyant, flippant public persona. He believes in studying hard and partying harder, which, hey, whatever works for him.
Someone brings over a tray of birthday shots, and everyone shifts around the couches in the way of such things, taking shots and intermingling. When the dust settles, and some of the group have split back off to the dance floor themselves, Charlie finds himself squished into a different couch corner, this time with just enough space to keep his butt on the tacky leather cushion rather than Nick's lap. Katrin's on his other side, with Ty and Sean and few other friends across the low table from them. Charlie tunes out of the conversation for a while, letting the alcohol settle into his bloodstream, enjoying the pulse of bass vibrating through his bones. Nick and Ty are discussing some show they've both recently binged; Charlie loves watching Nick's animated gestures, the way his whole posture loosens when he's excited about something, the fine sheen of sweat darkening the hair at his temples. Nick always runs hot, especially after a few drinks.
Katrin elbows him in the side. "Hey, stop eye-fucking your boyfriend, you're making me feel super single over here."
"I wasn't!"
"You were," Ty confirms from across the table, looking amused. "It's cute, really. You'd have thought the novelty would have worn off by now, after—how many years is it?"
"Five," Charlie and Nick both reply in unison. They exchange a sheepish look as the people around them laugh.
"As of this month," Nick adds, a smirk curling the corner of his mouth as he continues to gaze at Charlie. They'd celebrated the anniversary up in Leeds, and it had been a very good celebration. They hadn't left Nick's bedroom for more than five minutes at a time all weekend. Charlie's face goes hot with the memory, and he curls his fingers around Nick's, their hands resting together on Nick's thigh.
"Sickening," Katrin says fondly. "Absolute simps, the both of you."
Nick grins over Charlie's head at her. "Guilty as charged."
"Five years, fuck," Sean says, shaking his head. "I can't even imagine. Like, aren't you bored yet? Or is this the point where you get really kinky to keep things fresh?"
Charlie can feel Nick stiffen beside him, but he just rolls his eyes. Sean doesn't mean anything by it; he just enjoys provoking a reaction. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
Ty elbows Sean in the side. "Yeah, don't yuck their yum, just because monogamy isn't your thing. I think it's sweet."
"It's not not my thing," Sean protests. "I just haven't met anyone worth the slog. Like, half the fun of the pull is the anticipation, you know? The excitement of imagining that first kiss, what they might feel like, what they taste like—" He grins, smacking a wet kiss on Ty's cheek. Ty just shoves him off, laughing. "Like, I get the appeal of guaranteed regular sex, but god, I'd hate to give up the thrill of the chase."
Charlie shrugs. "You do you. I guess I wouldn't know."
"What, never? I mean, sure," Sean says, waving a hand, "I know you're faithful and stupid in love, et cetera, but you're both proper fit in your own ways. You've still hooked up with other people before, right?"
Charlie gives him a flat look. At his shoulder, Nick says, quiet but firm, "No, just each other."
Sean looks positively gobsmacked. Beside him, even Ty looks faintly surprised. "Wait, so you've really only ever had sex with each other?"
"We started dating right before I turned fifteen," Charlie points out, amused. "Exactly how much sex did you think I was having before then?"
"I guess I never really did the maths," Ty says thoughtfully.
"Christ," Sean says. "Please don't tell me you were each other's first kiss as well?"
Charlie exchanges a wry look with Nick. "God, I wish," Charlie says. "My first kiss was with an absolute twatwaffle, unfortunately. And Nick's was a lesbian. So there's that."
Nick chuckles, and they're pressed so close together that Charlie can feel it vibrate all along his side. "We were each the second person the other kissed, though. Close enough."
Sean is staring at them with mingled horror and disbelief. "And neither of you have ever even kissed anyone else since? Seriously?"
"Nope!" Charlie says cheerfully.
"Unless you count that time Tao kissed you in Paris," Nick teases.
"We are definitely not counting that, oh my god, that was barely even a peck and it was a dare."
"Right in front of me, too, the cheeky fucker."
"That must have been devastating for you," Katrin says drily. "All right, I'm getting another round of drinks, who wants what?"
Charlie sends her a brief but fervent look of gratitude for the distraction. She just gives him a smirk in response.
"Imagine having your last first kiss at fourteen," Sean mutters, as she heads off. "Jesus, what a waste."
Charlie stiffens, starting to get genuinely annoyed. "What do you mean by that?"
Sean spreads his hands open, placating. "I'm only saying—"
"Hey, Charlie," Nick says, jumping to his feet. "Let's go dance, yeah?" He pulls Charlie up, taking both his hands firmly in his own, and shoots a dismissive, "Happy birthday, mate," over his shoulder at Sean as he all but drags Charlie over to the dance floor.
Nick's not much of a dancer, though he's a willing partner when Charlie's in the mood for it; it's a rare night indeed for him to take the lead like this. He must have been equally uncomfortable with the turn that conversation had taken.
"Sorry," Charlie says, ducking his head in close to Nick's to be heard. He drapes his arms around Nick's neck. "Sean can be…a lot, sometimes. But he's not usually that much of a twat."
Nick just shrugs, his hands coming to rest on Charlie's waist. His eyes slip shut for a minute as they dance, basically just swaying together to the rhythm of the pulsing music, and Charlie is briefly transfixed by the delicate brush of Nick's long eyelashes against his freckled cheeks.
"I've never thought of it like that before," Nick finally says, low enough that Charlie has to strain to hear him over the music.
Charlie squeezes the back of Nick's neck in silent query.
A small smile curves at Nick's mouth, and he opens his eyes again. "That you were my last first kiss. It is kind of weird when you frame it that way, I guess."
"Bad weird?"
"Good weird." He kisses Charlie, one hand coming up to cradle Charlie's jaw, the other pressing into the small of his back. His fingertips skim just under the hem of Charlie's shirt. "The best weird."
Charlie kisses him back fiercely, any pretense toward dancing fully abandoned. "Definitely not a waste," he grumbles against Nick's lips.
Nick laughs low in his throat. "You do realize that was meant as an insult to me, not you, right?"
"Oh, I know," Charlie says darkly. "That's why I'm so cheesed off about it. Imagine looking at you and thinking I was somehow…wasting anything!"
"Eh, you could definitely do better." It's hard to read Nick's tone beneath the noise around them, and his gaze goes distant for a moment. But then he refocuses on Charlie's face and gives him a crooked smile. "Like someone who can actually dance."
Charlie rolls his eyes, unable to suppress his answering smile, though he still feels a little off-kilter. "You know I love your stupid white boy shimmy."
Nick grins and waggles his hips in a manner that's probably meant to be suggestive, but falls far short of the mark. Charlie has to reel him in by his belt loops, giggling, drawing him back into their awkward little sway-dance, not caring in the slightest what anyone around them might think.
"You're the only person I ever want to be weird with," he tells Nick, meaning every word.
Nick presses their foreheads together, eyes slipping closed again. "Yeah. Me, too."
Charlie would have been ready to fuck off the rest of the party right then and there, but Nick insists he doesn't want to drag Charlie away from his friends, and that they should enjoy the night out together. So they get another round of drinks, and then follow the group to a different nearby club as well. It's way too loud and crowded there for any kind of conversation, but Nick wraps his arms around Charlie's waist and pulls him into another dance, Charlie's back to his front, and they grind together pleasantly for a while. Charlie's hot and loose with the alcohol, his thoughts blurring at the edges, and Nick just feels so good pressed against him. They see each other as often as they can manage, given the distance between their unis, but it's never enough. Honestly, the fact that he can tolerate mere hours apart from Nick, let alone weeks at a time, is borderline unthinkable.
He knows that this has been good for them both—going to different unis, having the chance to figure themselves out as individuals rather than just as a couple. But still, it fucking sucks sometimes.
Nick's fingertips press against his hipbones, not hard enough to bruise but still wonderfully firm, casually possessive, and his breath is hot against the back of Charlie's neck as he trails wet kisses along the sensitive skin there. Through the flashing lights and muddled press of other bodies around them, Charlie catches a few glimpses of his other friends dancing in groups or pairs. He sees Katrin pressed against an unfamiliar blue-haired girl, bodies loose and languid together; Ty pushes past with a drink in each hand, heading who knows where. Sean is nowhere to be seen, which suits Charlie just fine. He's still low-key pissed at him from earlier.
Jesus, what a waste.
All at once it's not enough, having Nick draped across his back like this; Charlie needs to be looking at him properly, to make sure he's captured one hundred percent of Nick's attention, to push the rest of this sweaty club out of his head and just focus on Nick, Nick, Nick. He twists around abruptly, Nick's hands briefly dropping from his hips as Charlie turns to face him. Nick's eyes are heavy-lidded and intent, his lips faintly parted, sweat glistening at the hollow of his throat. When Charlie wraps his arm around Nick's waist and pulls him flush against him, he can clearly feel the hard line of Nick's arousal. It makes Charlie hot all over, the obvious evidence of Nick's attraction to him; how powerful Charlie feels in this particular moment. He keeps them both dancing to the rhythm of the pounding bass, his gaze fixed on Nick's, their mouths barely an inch apart as they move together. Nick's breath comes in short pants against Charlie's lips, his pupils blown so dark in his amber eyes, following Charlie's lead in this as in everything else. God, he's gorgeous, and he's all Charlie's.
"Yours," Nick agrees hoarsely, and Charlie realizes he must have said part of that aloud. "Only yours."
Nothing about this is a fucking waste. Nick actually groans when Charlie finally closes the gap to kiss him, hard, swallowing the sound from his lips.
At some point, Katrin decides they're edging too close to actual public indecency and packs them into an Uber, which is an absurd expense given that it's only a twenty-minute walk to their flat. But Charlie's not complaining about being able to get Nick's kit off sooner rather than later. They narrowly avoid frotting against each other in the back of the car as it is; Charlie's normally more circumspect in front of strangers, and he's definitely not drunk enough to use the alcohol as an excuse, but god, he can't bear to put any space between them right now. He can't stop kissing Nick—his mouth, his neck, his collarbone; knows their driver must absolutely hate them but can't find it in him to care, too consumed by his need to stake his claim along every fucking inch of Nick's body. Nick manhandles him out of the car when they reach the flat, making his apologies to the driver as they go, but he's clearly not too fussed, given that he immediately wraps himself back around Charlie the second the car pulls away.
They snog furiously right there in the middle of the sidewalk, Nick's hand pushing up beneath Charlie's shirt and splaying against the sweat-slick skin at the small of his back, his mouth hot and needy against Charlie's. It's startlingly cold outside in contrast to the heat of the club, the car; Nick's already draped his jacket across Charlie's shoulders, but even human furnaces like Nick need more than just a vest when it's not even ten degrees out. Still, Charlie's the one who starts shivering first, as per usual, and Nick chuckles low in his chest and walks him backward toward the building entrance.
Somehow, by the grace of god and Nick's strong rugby arms, they manage to maneuvre themselves into the building and up the stairs to Charlie's flat without incident, only breaking off kissing when absolutely necessary. By the time they make it to Charlie's bed, clothing discarded in a heedless trail, they're both way too keyed up for a proper shag. Charlie doesn't mind at all. He not-so-secretly loves this, the overwhelm of it, feeling so desperate for each other that all it takes is some frantic friction and Nick's mouth on his, panting too hard to even kiss properly, muffling his cry of release against Nick's fever-hot skin. Nick's hips snap against his once, twice more, and he follows Charlie over the edge, gasping his name over and over again, like a prayer.
When Charlie wakes up, it's to sunlight streaming through his open blinds, a mild headache settling into the base of his skull, and an empty bed beside him. There are voices and clattering sounds from the kitchen, which solve the mystery of the missing boyfriend. Nick's always been more of a morning person than Charlie.
Charlie contemplates just rolling over and going back to sleep, but his mouth tastes absolutely vile, and he's in desperate need of a shower. Nick will love him regardless, but he'd rather be slightly less disgusting before kissing him good morning. So he sighs and drags himself upright. There's even a helpful glass of water and paracetamol awaiting him on his bedside table, because Nick is actually the bestest boyfriend in the whole wide world.
Once he's feeling slightly more human, he makes his way down the hall to their main living area. Nick and Katrin are mid-chat, Katrin perched on a stool at the kitchen island while Nick leans back against the counter, arms folded casually across his chest. He's just wearing a plain T-shirt and ratty old joggers, his slightly damp hair sticking up awkwardly like he ran his hand through it while it was still wet, and he's the best thing Charlie has ever seen.
"Morning, love," Nick says, cutting himself off mid-sentence with a smile as soon as he spots Charlie. He opens his arms in clear invitation. "How are you feeling?"
Charlie gladly falls against him, pressing his face into the warm crook of Nick's neck as Nick wraps his arms around him. "Tired. Headache. Could be worse."
Nick kisses the top of his head. "I made coffee."
"I love you most of all," Charlie informs him, though he can't quite motivate himself to lift his head yet. Nick's hugs are just so goddamn comfy. And he smells like Charlie's body wash right now, which is…yeah. Really nice. He can't help but nuzzle into him a bit further.
Behind him, Katrin clears her throat. "You could at least pretend to remember there's someone else in the room right now." But she sounds more amused than annoyed, so Charlie just flips her off with one hand as he burrows more firmly into his boyfriend's arms.
"Sorry, Katrin," Nick says, laughter in his voice. "He gets super clingy when he's grumpy."
"You're one to talk," Charlie mutters into his neck.
"Yeah, well, I already got an eyeful at the club last night," Katrin says. "You practically had sex in the middle of the fucking dance floor. How sloshed were you, anyway? Nick is way too chipper this morning for how hungover you both ought to be."
Charlie sighs and pulls away to face her, though he's not willing to separate from Nick entirely. Fortunately, Nick keeps one arm snug across Charlie's shoulders, passing him a mug of coffee with his free hand. It's the perfect temperature—Nick must've got it going when he heard Charlie in the shower—so Charlie all but inhales half the cup in one go. "Dunno," he finally says, trying to replay the evening. "Not that drunk, I don't think? Unless the birthday shots were a lot stronger than I remember."
"You weren't off your face by any stretch," Nick agrees. "Definitely tipsy when we left the first bar, but I don't think we had any more drinks at the club. Just danced."
Katrin's pale blonde eyebrows arch up toward her hairline. "You got that sloppy sober?"
Nick glances down at Charlie with a sheepish smile; Charlie can feel himself blush furiously. "Um. I mean, we were definitely a bit buzzed…"
"But mostly just dick drunk," Katrin sighs, shaking her head. "Ugh. Boys are gross. Right, I've got a paper to finish. Try to keep it in your pants in the common spaces, hmm?"
Charlie sticks his tongue out at her. She just blows him a kiss as she swans off, taking her own mug along with her.
"I hate my friends," Charlie tells Nick, his face still a bit hot. "They're terrible people, you shouldn't ever talk to any of them."
Nick laughs quietly, tugging him a little closer. "I mean, she kind of has a point—we don't normally get that, like, intense in public."
Charlie groans and drops his forehead to Nick's shoulder. "I know. Sorry."
"Hey, no, I really wasn't complaining," Nick says. "I mean, it was super hot. Like, really, really fucking hot, Charlie."
"Yeah?" Charlie sneaks a glance up into his face.
"Yeah," Nick breathes. He ducks in to kiss Charlie, hard and fast. "I liked it. A lot. But, um, it did kind of feel like you had something to prove? If that makes any sense."
Charlie's mouth twists, and he has to look away again. "You're not wrong. I think some of the stuff Sean said, earlier, just sort of…got in my head a bit?"
A shadow passes across Nick's face, gone before Charlie can interpret it properly. "Yeah, same. But what does he know, right?" He kisses Charlie again, hand warm against Charlie's face, thumb stroking across his cheekbone. When he draws back, his smile is as warm as ever. "Anyway, breakfast? Egg on toast?"
"Fine," Charlie grumbles, because he's never going to be much of a breakfast person, but he knows he'll feel better if he does eat. Nick gives him one more kiss as incentive, which helps.
Nick handles the eggs—he knows his way around this kitchen better than Charlie's actual flatmates—while Charlie sorts the toast. Which just means babysitting the toaster while it does its thing.
"What were you and Katrin chatting about before I came in?" Charlie asks idly, watching the flex of Nick's hands as he deftly manages the frying pan and spatula. Because he is apparently the sort of person who gets turned on at the sight of his boyfriend being all domestic and shit. Ugh, he's too sappy even for himself sometimes.
"You, mostly, what else?" Nick tosses a grin back over his shoulder. "She wanted to know if we were planning anything special for your birthday in two weeks. I told her obviously not, do I look like the kind of boyfriend who remembers shit like that?"
Charlie rolls his eyes fondly. "Dork. The plan's still for me to go up to Leeds that weekend, right?"
"Yeah, if you're really sure you want to? I'm sorry, I hate making you do the traveling on your own birthday instead of celebrating here with all your friends—"
"Nick," Charlie says firmly, cutting him off. They've already talked about this. "It's fine. It's not your fault you've got a match that day, and of course I'll be there. It's my birthday, and you're the only person I want to spend it with. I don't care where as long as it's with you."
The toaster dings. Nick sighs and moves his pan off the heat while Charlie grabs the toast. They plate up their own portions side by side, shoulders bumping; Nick takes twice as much as Charlie, of course. He shovels the food in his mouth like he's never had a proper meal before in his life, as per, while Charlie munches his toast at a more leisurely rate. But the silence between them feels less companionable than usual, and when Nick's finished, he keeps staring down at his empty plate, gaze distant, like he's stuck somewhere in his own head.
Charlie's stomach twists a little, but he forces himself to continue eating normally—years of therapy have been good for something—and waits Nick out.
"I could skip the match that weekend," Nick finally says, abruptly. "It's not that important."
Charlie blinks at him. "You never skive off rugby matches. Not ever. Even that one time you literally had the flu—"
Nick's cheeks color a bit, but he still won't meet Charlie's eyes. "I probably should have skipped that one, yeah."
"Yes, but instead you practically passed out on the pitch, you absolute idiot." It's been like a year since that particular incident, and Charlie's still a little miffed about it. Nick scared the shit out of him that day. He shakes his head. "But that's beside the point. You love rugby, it's important to you—there's no reason not to play just because it happens to be my birthday."
"I love you more, though," Nick says quietly. "Like, way, way more."
Charlie pushes his plate aside, reaching up to cup Nick's face. "I know that, sweetheart." He kisses him, and is both gratified and a little concerned by the way Nick immediately sinks into it, desperate in a way he shouldn't need to be, clutching at Charlie like a drowning man grasps at a life preserver. He's practically shaking with it.
"Sorry," Nick mutters, when Charlie draws back a little. His eyes are squeezed shut.
"What's going on, Nick?" Charlie asks softly. "You've seemed off all weekend."
Nick takes a deep breath, forehead pressed to Charlie's, then opens his eyes again. His smile is strained. "Yeah, I've felt off for a little while, I guess. It's really nothing. I'm just…stressed. My research project, and work placement, and fucking rugby practice all the goddamn time when I'm already feeling behind on everything else, and I don't actually have any time for the stuff that matters." He rubs his nose against Charlie's, breath hitching a little. "You matter. More than anything."
Charlie strokes his cheek, chest aching. "So do you. I'm sorry, love, I knew you'd been a bit stressed lately, but I didn't realize it felt this bad."
"It's not that bad," Nick says at once. "Just a bit of a wobble. But I'm fine, I promise." He turns his head to kiss Charlie's palm where it still rests against his cheek. "And I definitely don't want to waste our day together whingeing about uni. I've got much better ideas of how we could spend it."
Charlie recognizes an obvious deflection when he hears one—he's a master of the art himself—and can't help but push back gently. "Is this the reason for the unexpected visit, then? You just needed a break from it all? Which is totally fine, by the way. Or was there something specific that prompted it?"
Something in Nick's expression shutters, and he drops his forehead to Charlie's shoulder for a moment. "Needed to recharge," he says, words muffled against Charlie's T-shirt. "I just…miss you, is all."
Nick's a terrible liar; his inherent honesty is one of the many things Charlie loves about him. And he's not lying now. But he's not telling the whole truth, either, and that sends a frisson of anxiety tripping down Charlie's spine.
Charlie doesn't call him on it yet, though. When Nick ties himself up in mental knots like this, it takes time to untangle them enough for him to talk about it, and he's always needed to process his Big Feelings in the privacy of his own head before he feels ready to let anyone else in. Charlie can be patient. He trusts that Nick will open up when he's ready.
"I miss you, too," he murmurs into Nick's soft hair. "So let's make the most of it while you're here, yeah?"
Nick lifts his head and smiles at him, and that, at least, is one hundred percent genuine. "Yeah. Let's."
When he kisses Charlie again, it's with obvious intent, and Charlie just barely manages to keep their promise to Katrin and relocate back to his bedroom before they get too much further.
"When do you need to get the train back to Leeds?" Charlie does ask, at one point later that afternoon, dreading the answer. Sometimes this is the worst part about a long distance relationship—when they're both actually in the same place but he's already counting down the minutes in anticipation of yet another impending goodbye.
Nick's currently got his head pillowed on Charlie's stomach, some random movie playing on Charlie's laptop that they're mostly ignoring in favor of cuddles. He twists to look up into Charlie's face properly. "My first lecture isn't until later tomorrow morning. Figured I'd get an early morning train, if that's okay? I mean, I know it would probably be more sensible to leave tonight, but…" He reaches up a hand, palm open, and Charlie laces their fingers together at once. Nick gives him a soft little smile. "I really don't want to spend any more nights apart from you than I absolutely have to."
"Same," Charlie says quietly. "I always sleep so much better next to you."
Nick brings their joined hands to his lips, kissing Charlie's fingertips, his eyes never leaving Charlie's. "Me, too."
Their alarms go off at stupid o'clock the next morning, because despite Nick's token protest, they both know that Charlie's going to accompany him as far as King's Cross before letting him go. Experience has taught them that Nick, in particular, will always wildly underestimate how long it takes to actually get from the flat to the train station, and their joint ability to drag out goodbyes for as long as physically possible means that he has literally missed his train on more than one occasion. It's a lot safer (and more cost-effective) to make their farewells at the station itself.
Nick still clings onto him until the last possible minute, his face buried in the crook of Charlie's neck. "I'll see you again in a few more days," he mutters against Charlie's skin, like he's reassuring himself as much as Charlie. "Just three more days until we're both back home for Easter hols."
"And then I'll be up to see you in Leeds the weekend after that," Charlie adds. "Christ, we're personally funding National Rail at this point."
Nick huffs out a laugh. "There should totally be a railway version of frequent flier miles. We'd be riding for free forever at this point."
The loudspeaker overhead announces last boarding for his train. Nick lifts his head enough to kiss Charlie, hard. Charlie can't help but tug him even closer, before reluctantly giving him a little push backward.
"Go on, then," he says, the words scraping at his throat.
Nick nods, brushing his thumbs across Charlie's cheekbones one last time before releasing him. "I love you. I'll see you soon."
"I love you, too. So much. Please don't miss your stupid train."
Two and a half years of being long distance, and it still somehow never gets any easier to watch Nick walk away from him.
Before Charlie even makes it back down to the Tube, his phone chimes with a new message.
Nick: Miss you already. I hate this part most of all.
Charlie: me too 😭😭😭
Charlie: but just two more months until you graduate and we hopefully never have to do this again
[Nick is typing…]
[Nick is typing…]
Nick: I can't wait ❤️️