Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Charlie wakes slowly, the way he always does when he hasn’t set his alarm and doesn’t have anywhere to be, half-drifting, half-aware, with that vague sense that he’s forgotten something important. It takes him a minute to notice what’s different. 

Nick isn’t there. Which to be fair isn’t that unusual, Nick has always been much more of a morning person than Charlie. Up early, all soft footsteps and quiet energy, opening the curtains to let the day in without making a fuss about it. But his side of the bed is empty in a way that feels recent, the duvet still rumpled, the pillow squished, like he’s only just left. 

Charlie shifts, blinking at the pale light filtering in through the curtains. The room is quiet and there’s no muffled noise coming from the kitchen, no low hum of the kettle, no Daisy snuffling at the door trying to sneak back into bed.

Ah, right. Daisy.

He exhales a small chuckle and lets his head fall back on the pillow. Of course Nick’s taken her out. He vaguely remembers the bedroom door opening, a whispered stay there, and a quick, warm press of lips to his temple. He turns his head, more out of habit than anything else, and that’s when he sees it. A note, folded once, sitting on Nick’s pillow. He reaches for it, fingers still clumsy with sleep, and holds it up to his face.

Morning birthday boy!
Took Daisy out, don’t get up. 

Nx

Charlie huffs a quiet laugh, something fond and reflexive, and lets the paper fall against his chest. He lies there for a minute, staring up at the ceiling, the note still warm where he’s holding it.

Thirty.

The thought arrives without much ceremony. Just a number at first, round and solid, but slightly strange.

Thirty.

He mulls it over in his mind, trying it on for size, like it might feel different if he says it enough times. It doesn’t, not really. He doesn’t feel thirty. Then again, he’s not entirely sure what thirty is supposed to feel like.

And then, suddenly, without meaning to, his brain shifts to something entirely different.

Thirty.

Fifteen.

Half. 

Charlie frowns slightly, the connection forming before he can stop it, numbers slotting together in a way that feels almost accidental. 

Fifteen.

That’s when…

He stills momentarily.

Fourteen when he met him.

Fifteen when… when everything shifted. When liking turned into something bigger, something sharper, something brighter and impossible to ignore.

The thought settles over him slowly, quietly, like it’s taking its time to be fully understood.

He’s been in love with Nick for half his life.

Charlie exhales, his breath catching somewhere between a laugh and something softer, something that lingers a little longer in his chest.

“Okay,” he utters under his breath, like he’s acknowledging something even though he’s not entirely sure what yet. He knows he should stay where he is. He knows Nick left him the note for a reason, that there’s probably a plan, or at least the beginnings of one. 

But also…

Coffee.

Charlie closes his eyes briefly while he’s weighing up the decision.

“Yeah, no,” he decides, pushing himself upright with a soft groan, “That’s not happening.”

The floor is cold under his feet as he grabs a pair of Nick’s old joggers and hoodie from the chair in the corner of the room, before pulling on some socks and padding downstairs. He drifts into the kitchen on autopilot and goes to grab his mug out of the cupboard, except… it’s already there next to the coffee machine, the C facing outwards and sitting beside it…

For a second his brain doesn’t quite catch up with what he’s looking at. It’s familiar in a way he can’t immediately place, recognition just out of reach, and it definitely doesn’t belong in his normal morning routine. Then suddenly he realises.

Oh.

Their memory book.

There’s another folded note resting on top of it…

I knew the lure of caffeine would be too strong, so here’s something for you to read while you become a person again.
Try not to cry before I get back,

Nx

Something for you to read. He glances down at the book again, momentarily puzzled by what Nick can mean. He looks properly this time, taking in its slightly worn edges, the familiar spine, and the way it's been set there deliberately, not left. It’s then that he sees something tucked just inside the front cover.

An envelope.

Charlie pauses, his hand hovering near the coffee machine.

“Oh,” he murmurs softly.

Because of course.

Nick writes things down when they matter.

Charlie exhales through his nose, slow and steady.

“Coffee first,” he decides quietly.

Carefully, he sets the note back down next to the book before moving them well out of the way of where they might get splashed, straightening the book almost without thinking.

Then he grabs the grinder, tipping in the beans before reaching for the portafilter, the quiet whirr filling the kitchen before fading into silence again. The gentle process has become such an automatic part of Charlie’s morning.

Except…

Thirty.

Then the other thought presses back in, gentler this time, but no less insistent.

Fifteen.

Half.

Charlie taps the freshly ground coffee into the portafilter, levels it with a quick shake, and then presses it down with the tamper.

Nick bought him the machine for his twenty-fifth birthday.

He smiles as the memory flickers past, soft and easy. Nick standing awkwardly in the doorway of the living room holding a huge wrapped box, looking equal parts proud and slightly out of his depth.

“So you were complaining about how much money you were spending in Monmouth on the commute to work and how instant stuff is a crime against caffeine, so…”

Charlie huffs a quiet breath at the memory as he locks the portafilter into place. 

Thirty.

He presses the button.

Fifteen.

The machine hums again, louder this time, and coffee begins to pour, slow and steady, a deep caramel colour dripping into the mug beneath.

Half his life.

Charlie watches as the dripping slows, then stops, before reaching for the handle, holding it gently in his hands, and using the familiar feeling of the mug to ground him for a moment. He turns back towards the counter and the book is right where he left it, waiting for him. Charlie blows gently over the mug before taking a careful sip, wincing slightly when it's too hot still, smiling to himself as the memory of Nick rolling his eyes with his now patented “one day you’ll actually wait for it to not still be nuclear before you drink it.”

“Right, awake now,” he mutters. Then, after a beat, he reaches for the book and brings it with him to the sofa, placing it beside him before curling one leg up beneath himself as he sits down, cradling the mug in his hands.

For a moment he doesn’t open it, just looks at it next to him.

Thirty.

Fifteen.

Half.

Then he gingerly sets the mug down on the coffee table and exhales slowly. He steadies himself for a minute, before carefully opening the cover.

Except for one thing, the first page is exactly as he expects it to be. 

The photo is slightly faded now, the colours softer than they used to be, but it's still unmistakable. The two of them on the beach, cropped close so it's just them—Charlie in a T-shirt, arms around Nick’s waist, Nick cupping Charlie’s teenage face like he’s something precious, something worth holding onto. They’re both smiling. Not at the camera, but at each other.

Charlie huffs out a quiet breath through his nose, an achingly familiar fondness settling in his chest as his gaze drops down to the writing underneath.

you gave me a photo of us in the snow, so here’s one of us in the sun
love Charlie xxx

“God,” he sighs to himself, as his fingers brush gently over the new addition to the page—a small yellow envelope tucked underneath the side of the photo, the same corner he’d noticed sticking out when the book had first been waiting for him on the kitchen counter.

He stills slightly.

For a moment he doesn’t move, just looks at it, at the way it's been tucked there, like it was waiting to be found. 

“Of course,” he murmurs, softer this time.

Carefully he slides it free, the envelope catching slightly against the edge of the photo before coming loose in his hand. His name is written on the front and Charlie traces over it with his thumb without really thinking, something tight and warm settling in his chest all at once.

Nick. God, he loves him.

Holding the envelope gently in his hands for just a moment, he turns it over and opens it.

Happy 30th birthday, Char ❤️

I thought it felt right to start here. 

Memory Book origin story.

You’d surprised me with that zoo trip with everyone for my 17th birthday and we were back at mine that evening when you handed me a spotty bag. I genuinely thought to start with you were literally just giving me back all the jumpers you’d “borrowed” and was a bit like er, okay! But then you said they didn’t smell like me anymore and clearly I had to tease you about that (and it's not like that’s become a thing or anything?!) so then I gave you back the one I’d had on that day, because, well, you know how I feel about you wearing my clothes.

Thinking about it, I’m not sure if I ever mentioned how much that day threw me. Like in a good way… because well, nobody had ever done anything like that for me before. Which I realise probably sounds silly now, but you know my birthdays before that were usually pretty quiet. Takeaway pizza, a film with Mum, and then maybe seeing some of the lads in the park or after rugby if people were around. Which was fine, I wasn’t unhappy, it just wasn’t… this. Not people planning things and everyone just… wanting to be involved, wanting to show up to celebrate, well…me. I guess I just thought maybe you and I might go out somewhere together, but when Tao let slip at school that Elle was coming, I just. I don’t imagine you realised at the time how much it meant. Like it was a really big deal to me Char. And I just don’t know if I ever told you that.

It was after all that, like it was an afterthought, that you mentioned there was an actual present in the bottom of the bag. Your version of the snow day photo, but rather than just the photo, it was a whole book waiting to be filled with memories. And here we are fifteen years later seriously in danger of needing volume two! I know you said it was cheesy, but honestly, at the time I just thought it was the best present I’d ever been given. And now? Well, now it’s full of our life captured in photographs, so yeah. Still the best present I’ve ever been given. 

Writing this has made me think of things I haven’t for a long time. Like how I’d known for a while I wanted to talk to you about what was going on, but I hadn’t known where to start. Did I ever tell you I talked to Tara that day? Not in any detail, she just mentioned about finding Darcy living with her a lot at times, and I told her I needed to talk to you about something important but it was difficult to find the right words. I think what I’m trying to say is that I’ve always thought that, despite all of that, the fact that this was the photo you chose to put in the book really speaks volumes to who you are as a person, Char. 

I’ll be honest, I’m not 100% sure if it was taken before or after our conversation in the sea. I’m inclined to say before as your T-shirt isn’t wet and I remember it took bloody ages to dry afterwards (which, to be fair, I was secretly quite glad about at the time because it gave me a very valid excuse to keep you warm). Not that I ever needed much of one did I?! And I guess I just wanted to keep you close that day too. I knew something wasn’t right, despite what you said when we talked, and even though I maybe didn’t know how to help yet, I just knew how much I wanted to. And I think that’s part of why this photo means so much to me. Because your strength has always been (and will always be) one of the most incredible things about you. That you could look at a photo that for most people would just remind them of a time after which things got really tough for a while, but you chose to just focus on the photo. The two of us. Clearly absolutely head over heels in love with each other. Even if we hadn’t said it…yet! 

That despite everything else, it was still the one you chose. 

You and me in the sun.

Nx

P.S. Maybe you should carry on flicking through…

Charlie lets out a quiet breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding. His fingers are still resting on the edge of the page, just beneath the photo, like he’s been trying to keep himself anchored there for a moment longer. 

“God,” he breathes softly. 

He remembers. Not just the beach… the heat, the sand, Isaac next to him under the umbrella… all of it. The way the day had felt off at times, the conversation he and Nick had in the sea, wishing he’d been brave enough to say how he was feeling out loud.

But then he had been. Later.

Charlie huffs out a small, embarrassed laugh, dragging one hand briefly over his face, remembering how his heart had been racing so fast he was sure he was going to pass out, but being unable to hold the words in any longer.

“While you were in the shower,” he mutters to himself, shaking his head.

He can still feel it, even now—that moment of just saying it. Standing at the bathroom door, looking down at Nellie at his feet, and having the courage to tell Nick that wasn’t what he’d been going to say to him in the sea. Just… needing to get it out before he lost his nerve again. And then the silence.

Christ, the silence.

His chest tightens slightly, but then softens almost immediately, warmth settling in its place instead at the memory of Nick, half dressed and out of breath, catching up to him on the street by the lamppost.

Charlie’s gaze drops back down to the page, to the photo, and the familiar curve of Nick’s smile captured in time.

“Idiot,” he says softly, more fond than anything else.

Then, after a moment, he picks the note up again, rereading the last few lines, something soft settling deep in his chest. 

You and me in the sun. 

But not just a single moment in the sun, countless ones. Every time he’s with Nick, warmth settles over him—soft and steady, like sunlight soaking into his skin.

“You and me in the sun,” he repeats softly.

Charlie smiles to himself, small and private.

“Yeah,” he says under his breath.

His eyes drift lower, catching the last line again.

Maybe you should carry on flicking through…

He glances at the book beside him again, suddenly more aware of it somehow—the weight, the thickness of it. Years of photographs, years of them. Holidays and birthdays, ordinary Saturdays and huge life moments, all pressed between the pages.

It feels fuller than he remembers, but maybe that’s ridiculous. Maybe it's just because he hasn’t held it in a while, because these days it usually lives on the shelf in the living room. Pulled down for anniversaries or lazy evenings and then tucked away again.

But still. The spine bows slightly more than he remembers, the pages don’t sit quite as flat, and it feels heavier in his hands.

Like there’s something waiting in it.

Charlie’s fingers rest hesitantly on the next page. There’s a strange kind of anticipation now. A quiet pull. Not just to remember, but to see.

To know what else Nick chose to write down.

Outside, somewhere down the road, he hears the faint bark of a dog and the distant sound of laughter.

Nick won’t be back yet. Which is good, because Charlie has a feeling he’s going to need a little more time. 

Chapter Text

The beach photo smiles up at him as he flicks past it. 

He lets his eyes rest there just a second longer—the two of them, sun-kissed, bright and young, clearly absolutely gone for each other. You and me in the sun. He huffs a small, fond breath, before he gently turns the page

Charlie sits back for a moment, letting the weight of the memory book settle against his legs. It’s strange, he’s looked through these pages so many times, but this morning it feels different somehow. Quieter maybe, and more deliberate. Like Nick has left a trail that only he can follow. 

The house is quiet, the way it always is when they’re both out. No Daisy, nails tip-tapping on the floorboards, and no Nick, humming absentmindedly in the kitchen. But the book fills the space in a way that means he doesn’t feel alone. It sits warm and solid on his knee, familiar in the way that makes the silence feel companionable rather than empty. Almost like it's keeping him company while he waits for them to come home. 

The room is snug and cosy in that early-morning kind of a way. He can still feel the trace of the envelope in his hands, and the way it’s nudged something loose inside him. He exhales softly, his thumb brushing the edge of the book. That tug of anticipation returns, sharper now, threaded with something warm and familiar. Carefully he turns the page.

The next photo is smaller, older too—the colours a little softer now with time, the edges a little worn, but still the burst of white hits him the same way it always does. The three of them lying down in the snow. Nick and Charlie smiling so widely at each other, and Nellie on Nick’s lap looking up at the camera, clearly having the time of her life. 

“The first one,” he murmurs. Something soft tugs at his chest as he recalls the day Nick got another copy made and put it in the book, insisting it belonged here too. His thoughts moving to the day Nick had given him the original, his fifteenth birthday at the bowling alley. Nick telling him it had been one of his favourite days ever. 

His fingers trace the edge of the photo gently, before pausing. There is something tucked behind it. He tilts the page just enough to see it properly.

Another envelope.

Hey Char,

So this one had to be next.

The first one.

And I know we’ve talked about this day enough over the years, God we’ve laughed about it so many times, but every time I look at this photo it’s like the feelings still hit me square in the chest all over again, even now. 

I still remember sitting in form, showing you photos of Nellie on my phone, and before I could really think about what I was saying, “Are you free on Saturday,” just tumbled out of my mouth, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. And I remember thinking afterwards, oh… that was easy. Which probably should have told me something even then. But you know me, I was very still firmly in my this is completely normal platonic bro behaviour era at that point.

And on the day itself, I opened the door and managed to completely forget how to speak properly for a second. Before uttering the now immortal, “You look—it looks great” clanger of the century, which yeah… Smooth Nelson, real smooth. Totally normal heterosexual reaction to your friend getting a haircut.

So after that we went up to my room and played what will go down in history as the first in a very long line of times you’ve utterly destroyed me at Mario Kart over the years. I remember telling you you were good at everything, and you got all defensive about it like I’d said something bad. And I think it struck me then that that wasn’t just you being modest. That you really didn’t see yourself how others did. I’m so proud that you believe that now though Char. I know it took you a long time and a lot of work to get there, but you did. Because you always achieve what you set out to do. 

But back then, you just told me to shut up and put your hand over my mouth. (Which, now that I think about it, might have been the start of a pattern…) And admittedly it wasn’t like the first time you’d ever touched me or anything, but I think it's the first time I remember my heart jumping at the contact. Obviously looking back now I can totally see it for what it was. Me having a ridiculous crush on the best friend I’d ever had. But then? Then my brain was still stuck in its default setting… this is completely normal, nothing to see here officer. So yeah, that was definitely the start of when things began to feel different for me. Or at least the first time I noticed it. Not in a big way… just enough that it stuck.

And then it started snowing. 

So we went downstairs and I gave you my old green hoodie. It was way too big for you, but you just slipped it on like that was a completely normal thing to do. It’s like if the beach photo is the memory book’s origin story, then this moment is another one. It was like the universe aligned in that moment. Charlie Spring wearing Nick Nelson’s clothes. Check. I remember not fully understanding this fluttering feeling in my chest at the time. Fifteen years on and I still get them when you wear anything of mine. Every. Single. Time. The only difference being I know exactly what the feeling is now. 

You looked ridiculous by the way, ridiculously adorable.

And we stayed out there for ages. Snowball fights, snow angels, Nellie running between us like she didn’t know who to follow first. And then we just…stopped. Lay down side by side talking, with her wedged between us. I remember this unshakeable need to capture the moment. The peace and calmness, the absolute rightness of it all. I didn’t really think about it, just knew I wanted to keep hold of the moment somehow. Which you know, apparently became a theme.

I will never forget that day as the day I let myself start to think about what it might mean for me. The way that I liked you. Then later, after you’d gone home, Mum said you seemed lovely. Which, you know, I’m fairly sure she’s reminded us of at least once or twice since! How different you were to my other friends and how much more myself I seemed around you. And Char, since that day, that feeling of being more myself… it’s never left me.

And while I obviously didn’t figure it all out that day, it was definitely the start.

I just don’t think I realised quite what it was the start of.

Nx

Charlie doesn’t realise he’s smiling until his cheeks start to ache.

“God…” he stops himself, huffing instead. “We were so unsubtle.”

His thumb brushes lightly over the edge of the photo, lingering there for a second. 

He remembers it all, of course he does. The way he’d tried not to react to the whole you look great thing, even though it had stuck with him for days after.

Charlie huffs out another small laugh.

Then the memory shifts into something softer.

Having to pull the sleeves of the hoodie down over his hands; they were so long. But how warm and cosy it felt around him, compared to the cold, sharp air that hit his lungs the minute they stepped outside. The sound of Nellie barking somewhere between them. Snow catching in his hair, and Nick brushing it away so gently.

Then, after the snow angels, just lying there. Not saying anything important, not really. Just… being there.

Charlie’s expression softens, something quieter settling in its place. 

“The start,” he murmurs. 

The words feel bigger than he expected, like they echo somewhere deeper than the room around him. Charlie closes his eyes for a moment, letting the memory settle, feeling the warmth of it unfurl slowly through his chest. God they were so young. And yet… the shape of them was already there. Not all of it, not the years that followed and the hard parts or everything they still had to learn. But something. The beginning of it, the first moment everything tilted, even if they didn’t have the words for it yet.

Charlie opens his eyes again and looks down at the note still resting in his hands.

When he first realised Nick had left the memory book out for him that morning, Charlie had assumed it would feel like it always did—nostalgic, sentimental, and a quiet trip through old photographs and old versions of themselves. And it is that, in a way, but it’s something else too. 

Because this isn’t just remembering. He’s looked at these photos hundreds of times, and they’ve talked about this day more times than he can count, laughing about how big the hoodie was, about the whole you look—it looks great disaster, and how spectacularly oblivious they both were. He knows how Nick felt. At least he thought he knew anyway. But there’s something about seeing it written down like this, chosen and deliberate and careful, that makes it land differently. Like Nick has taken something that Charlie thought he already understood and shown him a new way to hold it. Because while the beach day may have been the beginning of the book, this day was the beginning of them. The snow, the hoodie and the sixteen year old boy who knew he wanted to capture the moment somehow, even if at the time he didn’t fully understand why. 

Charlie smiles to himself before carefully folding the note and sliding it back into the envelope. 

“Okay,” he says softly, picking up the first envelope from next to him and placing them both down on the coffee table, “Let’s see what else you’ve got.”

And with that, he turns the page.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

Charlie reaches for his coffee and settles back into the sofa cushions before turning the page.

The next few pages move quickly. Photos he knows so well. School corridors, group selfies, lunchtime at the picnic tables, more birthdays. Little moments that had felt big at the time, and somehow still do.

He pauses on a few of them, caught up in the memories, but there’s nothing tucked behind them. No yellow envelope waiting, just the photographs. Which somehow makes the next one feel bigger.

The light is different, brighter, warmer. The sea stretches out behind them, endless and blue, the water lapping at their feet at the shoreline. Just the two of them, their backs to the camera—Nick in a pair of swimming shorts, Charlie beside him in shorts and one of Nick’s old t-shirts, both of them turned slightly towards each other. Sarah must have zoomed in, because the rest of the beach has fallen away entirely. It’s just them, the sea, and the sky.

And Nick’s hand in his.

Charlie’s breath catches, just slightly. His eyes trace the familiar line of Nick’s shoulders, golden freckles scattered across them. There’s always so many more in the summer, bought out by the sun in a way that Charlie has never quite been able to stop noticing.

“Menorca,” he whispers.

Something soft settles in his chest, familiar and warm.

He remembers the moment they slipped away from everyone else that first time. The noise of the beach fading behind them as they walked along the shoreline hand in hand. The feel of the sand under his feet, the sound of the waves, and a moment that was just for them.

It’s then he sees a yellow envelope tucked near the top of the photo; he pulls it out gingerly, holds it for a moment, and then opens it.

Hola bonita Char,

So obviously I had to choose this one. How could I not? The first time you came to Menorca with us, the summer before I went to Leeds. I remember thinking at the time that you were so casual about it, well after you’d got over the shock of your mum actually agreeing to let you come in the first place! Whereas I was just worried you were going to feel out of place. New country, my whole family, Leo and Tillie being well… Leo and Tillie. But you weren’t. Or if you were, you never let it show.

Mum loved having you there instantly. Because of course she did. And I think by the second day you’d already been dragged into at least three different games, been officially adopted by my cousins and claimed a spot on the beach next to Auntie Diane like you’d been coming for years. I don’t know if I ever told you this but Leo and Tillie pretty much decided they loved you after spending Henry’s first Christmas with you, something about you being so much better at Jenga than I was (whatever) and I think practically every time mum spoke to Auntie Diane between then and the summer, they wanted to make sure you were still “definitely coming on holiday with us.” So yeah, it came as no surprise as to whose shoulders they both wanted to be on in the pool games championship. The results of which I’m pretty sure I can’t remember now…

But honestly Char, what I don’t think I ever said properly at the time (what I’m not sure I even fully understood at the time) was what it meant to have you there. Obviously having my boyfriend there was always going to make it better, but you’ve always been more than that. You’re my person. You’re the one I can completely relax with, be completely myself around. So having you there made being on holiday feel different. Like I didn’t have to be the version of myself that everyone expected me to be. I could just be me. You helped ground me in a way that I don’t think I realised, until I started to reflect back on just why that holiday was so special. Like I remember thinking at some point that first evening, sitting around the table for dinner with everyone, watching you laugh at something Uncle Rich had said—I just remember thinking, oh… so this is what it's supposed to feel like.

Because Menorca had sometimes been a little bit… complicated before you came along. Clearly David and I never exactly brought out the best in each other so there was always this low level tension however much I tried, so it was something of a relief when he stopped coming. But then that just left me as the much older cousin to Leo and Tillie, who I adore obviously, but who at that point were more interested in who could do the biggest cannonball off the side of the pool than anything else. (Which is completely fair by the way, their cannonballs were genuinely impressive.)

So having you there, joining in the family traditions I’d grown up with, making new ones together alongside them, and getting to spend every night with you… I remember thinking for the first time in a long time I didn’t want to go home. 

Anyway, the photo! I don’t think we even told anyone we were going to go for a walk (because we both know there’s no way that L&T would have let us go on our own if we had) and instead just wandered off a bit, leaving them all back at the umbrellas. And well, we just headed down to the water’s edge and stood there for a bit hand in hand, before deciding to go for a drink in the bar at the end of the beach. Mum took this before we disappeared out of view, saying she just wanted to capture the moment. That we both looked so happy and relaxed. Which well, I guess we were.

I mean I know we were both totally comfortable being affectionate with each other in public at home by this point, but I don’t know that I’d really even stopped to give much thought to the idea of us being out together abroad in that sense. We just were. 

Holding your hand on a beach, any beach, just feels like the most natural thing in the world. 

And even now, all these years later, being with you on a beach will never not make me think of the first time we went to Herne Bay. Holding your hand as we walked down the street while I still had your eyes covered, then when you heard the seagulls and realised where we were, how you started running, pulling me down towards the promenade, but never let go.  And all the times we’ve gone back there since. All the memories we’ve made there, big and small, it’s always just been ours.

Holding your hand will forever be the best feeling there is Char.

Te amo,

Nx.

Menorca.

Charlie remembers how it had felt, being asked in the first place. Like something he hadn’t quite dared to expect. He knew Nick wanted him to go and that he’d asked Sarah who seemed fairly agreeable to the whole idea, but until he was over one weekend and she actually invited him to join them, he’d tried not to get his hopes up. And also, because, his mum.

“Casual,” he huffs under his breath.

Yeah, he definitely hadn’t been. He remembers the week-long anxiety of every evening being the evening he was definitely going to ask her, and then bottling out. Then eventually standing in the doorway of the kitchen after he’d asked, and she’d agreed, immediately expecting her to change her mind. Or for there to be some completely unattainable condition. But she hadn’t. And there wasn’t. And he’d gone.

“The pool games championship,” he says quietly, already smiling, “which you know full well we absolutely thrashed you in.”

His gaze drifts back down to the page, to the photo, the sunlight caught in it, and the sea stretching out in that soft, endless blue. And the two of them, just at the water’s edge. 

Holding your hand on a beach, any beach, just feels like the most natural thing in the world. 

He sits with that thought for a moment. Because it’s true. Possibly the truest thing Charlie knows, and it always has been. Not just Menorca, and not just Herne Bay, although Herne Bay most of all—always Herne Bay, with its seagulls and its promenade and the memory of Nick’s hand over his eyes. The sound of the sea getting closer, and then the moment he realised where they were and just ran. Pulling Nick with him all the way down to the water and never once letting go. 

All the times they had gone back since. All the things that had happened there, big and small, that beach woven through their whole story like a thread.

He can still feel it, if he lets himself—the warmth of the sand under his feet, the quiet rhythm of the waves, the faint taste of salt in the air. The feeling of Nick’s hand in his. That part had always been easy, had never felt anything other than exactly right. 

Charlie’s thumb hovers just above the photo before settling lightly against the page.

So this is what it's supposed to feel like.

He thinks about that for a moment. Because he hadn’t known, not really—not fully, what those holidays had been like for Nick. Of course he’d known with David there it would likely have made things difficult. And he’d known Nick and his cousins adored each other despite the age gap. But he hadn’t really understood, maybe even until now, what it had meant for Nick to have him there. 

Charlie thinks about that first evening. He can still remember sitting around the table outside, Nick slightly sunburnt, them both full of pasta, and everyone talking over each other in the way the Nelsons always do. Nick sat beside him, and it was just… easy. He thinks about Nick’s hand finding his under the table early in the evening and then not really letting go. Charlie just thought it was Nick being Nick. Affectionate, tactile, and always reaching for him.

Reading this now though, he thinks maybe it was something else too. Nick finally had his person there, and quietly, wordlessly, didn’t want to let go.

The rest of it though, the family, the noise, the way they all just… were with each other. It had felt different. Not bad, just—different. Warmer maybe. He hadn’t had a word for it at the time. But he’d noticed it. The way Sarah laughed so freely, the way she automatically included him in things without making a big deal out of it, the way it never felt like he had to earn his place there. 

His expression softens slightly. 

He thinks, distantly, that it may have helped more than he realised back then. With home. With understanding things that had never quite made sense before. With realising that all families are different, and that that’s not always a bad thing. He remembers how things had got easier. He’d tried and she’d tried and somehow they’d met in the middle. Things were never going to be perfect, but right now they are good. And had been for a long time now.

He thinks about all of it now—the noise and the warmth and the Nelsons making space for him like he’d always been there. And Nick’s hand in his on the beach, easy and certain, like the most natural thing in the world.

Because it was. And it always had been.

Chapter Text

The next few pages carry him through the rest of that summer. Sunburnt shoulders, blurry group shots, afternoons in Sarah’s garden that seemed to stretch on forever. He pauses on one briefly—Nick mid laugh, head tipped back—but there’s nothing tucked behind it.

Charlie turns the page again, and then… this one is softer, greener. No sea, no crowds, no crazy Darcy-organised group selfie, just the park. The light is warm and golden in that way that only ever happens at the end of a long August day, the kind that sits heavy and still and smells faintly of cut grass. The familiar patch of worn ground beside the old fallen tree—their tree, the one they’d gravitated towards so many times it had stopped feeling like a choice—stretches out behind them. Nellie sits front and centre, ears pricked, looking unreasonably pleased with herself. And beside her, crouched down with one hand tangled in her fur, wearing Nick’s old faded pink and blue striped T-shirt and smiling brightly, is Charlie. 

He remembers that day.

Not all of it—just flashes. The heat, their laughter over milkshakes, Nellie being her usual chaotic self as soon as they got to the park and darting around all over the place. 

Then he spots an envelope tucked down the side of the photo and pauses, something quiet settling in its chest.

“Oh,” he says, barely above a whisper. His fingers hover for a second before slipping the envelope free.

Hey Char,

So I remember we took this over that really hot bank holiday weekend at the end of August, the summer before I left for Leeds. We decided to go to the park—because of course we did—and the milkshake café was there for the holidays, and it was apparently “too hot to walk without one,” so we obviously stopped. And obviously you gave me a load of grief for getting a bubblegum one. But how could I not? It’s our thing Char (and don’t roll your eyes, because you know it's true!)

Anyway, I don’t think I ever told you how much I needed days like this back then.

I’m pretty sure neither of us suggested where to sit either, we just ended up at our tree like we always did. I think at some point “going to the park” had just come to mean that.  I liked that. That we had places that were just ours. 

You’d started stealing my T-shirts by then as well as my jumpers and you were wearing that old striped one of mine that day. You’d stayed at mine the night before and just rummaged through my drawer that morning like it was yours. I think by then you knew I was keeping ones I outgrew for you. You looked so comfortable in it too. Like it wasn’t something you had to think about anymore. And I just remember thinking about how far you’d come and how proud I was of you. Oh… and you looked really good in it too.

Anyway, I digress! So Nellie wouldn’t sit still for more than five seconds, and of course you kept getting up to play catch with her, and that’s when I knew I wanted to take the photo. I still remember asking you so clearly. I don’t know if I really explained why at the time. I probably just said it was for my wall and left it at that. It wasn’t though. 

So when we finally managed to get her to sit, you crouched down next to her, and you just looked so cute together. But the truth was I didn’t just want it for my wall at home. I didn’t want to go away without something of you with her. Because Nellie was my first best friend. I used to tell her everything, even when it didn’t make sense. Especially when things didn’t make sense. She’d just sit there and listen like it mattered anyway. 

And then somewhere along the way, without really noticing it happening, that became you. You were the person I told everything to. 

I think that was part of why leaving felt so much bigger than just moving away for uni. It wasn’t really Leeds itself that scared me. It was the idea of not having you there all the time anymore. Which probably sounds dramatic considering it was only a few hours on the train, but you always made me feel steadier, more confident somehow. Like being around you let me relax into myself in a way I hadn’t really known how to do before. And I think the thought of losing that, even temporarily, felt a lot bigger than I knew how to explain back then.

So I wanted a photo of the two of you. Something familiar, something that felt like home when I was going to be somewhere new. Without either of you. So I took it up to Leeds with me and I think it was the first photo I put up on the pinboard above my desk. I remember I used to look at it a lot, and it would always make me smile. Made me think of home. Even when this version of home was my favourite person wearing my old T-shirt and my four-legged childhood best friend.

Nx

Charlie’s fingers stay where they are on the page, resting just below the photo.

And then somewhere along the way, without really noticing it happening, that became you.

“Nick,” he murmurs quietly, the name barely more than a breath.

His gaze drifts back to the photo. Nellie sitting there, far too pleased with herself, and him beside her, smiling like, just for a little while, nothing else in the world mattered. He remembers how everything always used to feel so easy there, when it was just the three of them, next to their tree. 

“Hey Nel,” he whispers.

He sits there for a moment, just looking at two of them—him and Nellie, her sitting there like she owns the place. 

It’s been years now, and a long time since he’s let himself sit with the specific shape of missing her. But some things never quite leave you… the weight of her head on your knee, the way she’d just appear beside you when things were hard, like she’d decided you needed her before you even knew it yourself. She’d been doing that for Nick long before Charlie came along. 

And reading the letter now, Charlie thinks maybe he understands that a little better than he did back then. What it must have meant to grow up with something so steady beside you. Someone who listened without judgment, without ever needing things explained. 

He pictures a younger Nick sitting beside her, telling her all the things he couldn’t say out loud to anyone else. And then, slowly, without either of them really realising, beginning to tell those things to Charlie instead. Something tight shifts quietly in his chest. He’s so grateful he got to be that person for Nick, even when he didn’t really know it was happening. 

… the summer before I left for Leeds.

Charlie remembers the strange quiet ache that had seemed to sit underneath everything back then. On the surface it had all felt normal enough—days in the park, afternoons in Sarah’s garden, evenings tangled together on the sofa watching TV and pretending September wasn’t getting closer and closer. They’d talked about the practical parts of it all easily enough. Calls, visits, how it would all be fine, it was only a train ride away. But the feelings beneath all of that, the actual reality of what it was going to mean, how they both felt about going long distance, had mostly stayed unspoken. Sitting quietly in the background of everything else.

Thinking about it now, Charlie realises that afternoon in the park was probably the first time the idea of asking Sarah if he could walk Nellie at weekends had really settled properly in his mind. Watching her tear around after yet another stick Nick had thrown for her, had made him realise how much he would miss Nellie too. At the time he’d dressed it up as something practical. She needs exercise, Sarah wouldn’t mind, it would be good for him too. But sitting here now, thirty years old and reading Nick’s letter, he realises he knows exactly why.

I didn’t want to go away without something of you with her. 

Charlie exhales softly.

Nick had taken the photo for the same reason Charlie had asked to walk her. Both of them quietly trying to hold onto the same things before everything changed. Reaching for the same sense of home without even realising the other was doing it too. As if they were both holding tightly to opposite ends of the same thread.

His thumb brushes lightly along the edge of the page.

He thinks about that T-shirt too. He remembers how much more natural it had started to feel by then, no longer hiding himself in Nick's old oversized hoodies. How much more confident he’d begun to feel—in his body, in being seen, in existing without constantly second guessing himself. Looking back now he can see how much work it had taken himself to get there. But he can see something else too. How much easier that work had always felt with Nick beside him. How much safer he always made him feel. Even with something as simple as wearing one of his old T-shirts.

He lets out a small breath, something almost like a laugh, but it doesn’t make it quite that far. 

“You’re such a sap.” The words are soft, a bit unsteady.

Though he’s not entirely sure, right at this moment, which one of them he means. 

He tucks the note carefully back into the envelope and places it on the pile, a little more deliberately than the last. Then he lets his fingertips rest gently on Nellie in the photo, before turning the page.

Chapter Text

The next few pages pass in the quiet blur of colour and movement. Photos from that year flick past—small moments caught without much thought at the time, but so meaningful now. Endings, beginnings, everything shifting all at once. 

A group shot in front of the picnic tables outside Truham—just the three of them this time. Him and Tao, their arms slung around each other, ties loosened, both mid-laugh, while Isaac stands beside them, a book in his hands, rolling his eyes affectionately.

“The trio of borderline outcasts,” he chuckles softly under his breath.

Even then, their final photo on their last day, and Isaac still hadn’t put his book down. But then…it wouldn’t have been him if he had.

Charlie’s expression softens, a pang of nostalgia pulling at him for just a moment. Nick had said something stupid just before he took the photo that had made them all groan. Because of course his boyfriend had travelled down all the way from Leeds, put on his old Truham uniform (which was even smaller than it had been when he’d actually been at school) and surprised Charlie at the gates after their final exam.

Shaking his head fondly, he turns the page.

Another summer. Outside the villa this time, with Leo sitting up high on Nick’s shoulders and Tillie with her arm linked through Charlie’s as they were about to set off and walk to their favourite local bistro for dinner.

More in between—birthdays, movie nights, the kinds of days that didn’t feel important at the time but somehow ended up in here anyway.

Charlie’s fingers slow as he moves through them, a faint smile settling on his face.

But there’s nothing tucked behind any of these.

So he keeps going, turning over the next page, and another…

He sees the corner of the envelope almost immediately as his gaze lands on the photo it’s tucked behind, slightly bent at the edge from where it's been handled too many times. He recognises it immediately.

Him, curled up on the battered old sofa in the window of Leaves and Pages. Legs tucked up underneath himself, book balanced on his knee, his other hand wrapped loosely around a mug. Sunlight spilling in behind him, catching on the edge of the photo.

Charlie feels the corners of his eyes crease as he gazes at the version of him in the photo, warm memories tipping his lips into a soft smile

He doesn’t really know why, but he remembers that day so vividly. Probably because Nick had taken the photo so the memory had stayed with him all these years. It had been an ordinary Saturday morning and he’d got there early, far earlier than he needed to, because he was at a really good part in the book he was reading, and wanted the chance to read the next chapter or two before Nick arrived. Smiling at the memory, he slips the envelope out from behind the photo.

Hi,

I think this one might be one of my favourites.

Not because anything big happened, it never did there, but just because it was our happy place.

It was only your first semester in Leeds and the novelty of seeing you there, after a year of it being the place I’d go when I wanted to feel closer to you, hadn’t remotely worn off yet. I’m not sure it ever did if I’m being honest. 

We’d had enough time to settle into our weekend routine by then though. Saturday mornings in particular. You getting here before me and claiming the same spot on the old leather sofa in the window like it was yours (which, let’s be honest, it pretty much was even then). Me coming in straight from rugby training and already knowing exactly where to look for you. 

I had the same experience every time. 

When I first got there I’d just stop for a second. 

Sometimes, like it was that day, there was sunlight coming through the window, catching on everything—your hair, the cushions, the pages of your book. You curled up in the corner of the sofa like you’d been there for hours (and let’s face it, we both knew that you had).

Other times it was raining, the windows all covered in condensation, the light inside quieter and softer. You’d still be there though, in the same spot, just tucked into yourself a bit more, like the whole place had you wrapped in a warm hug.

So every time I’d stop, just for a moment when I first arrived, and pause. Because I don’t know, like somehow I didn’t want to interrupt you. Which I know was silly as you were literally waiting for me, but I couldn’t help myself. You just looked so settled, so comfortable. So this time I took a photo. I wanted to remember that version of you. How at peace you looked. Like you were exactly where you were supposed to be. 

And then you’d glance up, like you somehow knew I was there, and just smile. 

I don’t know if I ever really said how much I relied on this place back then. Even once you were in Leeds too. I’d spent so long going there on my own as a way of feeling closer to you, that even once you were actually there with me, it still felt important in a way that I didn’t really question at the time I don’t think. 

Everything else around us already felt so busy. Different lectures, different schedules, people always around, even when we were living together. But those Saturday mornings, just the two of us, they were ours. A couple of hours where things just felt…quieter. And I think I needed that more than I realised at the time. So I never took it for granted. 

And I don’t think anything big ever happened when we were here. We just sat—you’d inevitably shift positions and curl up under my arm with your book, while I scrolled through photos of cute dogs on instagram or messaged with Mum. You’d get another coffee, I’d get a mug of builders tea, and a bit later on we’d grab a couple of toasties and just, well…stay. 

I remember you told me once, back when we were at school, about how you and Isaac often used to do that. Just exist in the same space with each other without really needing to talk. That him reading, you doing your own thing, and just being… was enough. I don’t think I really understood it at the time, if I’m honest. Back then I always thought when I was with you, that I’d want all of your attention. 

But then we had this. And I realised it wasn’t about that at all. It was just simply about being there with you. And that was more than enough. It was everything. 

Nx

Charlie’s already smiling before he’s even finished the note. His gaze drifts back to the photo, remembering how he always used to curl up on the right-hand side of the sofa. Never the left, that was where Nick sat. Which he realises is a strange statement to make since he was always the one that was there first.

He chuckles quietly to himself, “You could have just said hi, you know,” he mutters, though there’s no real weight behind it.

He loved those mornings too. So much. 

Even if, like Nick said, nothing significant ever happened, but that was kind of the whole point. It was the routine. Getting there early, ordering his coffee and on rainy days adding Nick’s builders tea, so it would be waiting for him when he came in from training. Settling into the same spot like it was theirs, because it was.

He hadn’t realised Nick felt like that about it. Not fully. Although…some weeks maybe he had. Some weeks it was like Charlie could see it—the weight lifting from his shoulders as soon as he sat down. The tension easing in the way he held himself as he sank into the old sofa beside him. The little hum he’d let out as he rested his head on Charlie’s shoulder before taking a sip of his tea.

Charlie glances back down at the note, rereading that one line that has settled in his chest, warm and familiar and full of comfort.

I never took it for granted

“Idiot,” he says softly, full of fondness. “But my idiot.”

Lazy afternoons he used to spend with Isaac slip into his mind. He knew Nick never really got what they were all about. 

“What do you mean you don’t talk to each other?” he’d said at the time. 

“Now you get it,” he whispers.

He sits with that thought briefly, before unfolding himself from the sofa and padding over to the front window in his socks. Mrs Whittaker’s cat is sitting on the garden wall opposite doing absolutely nothing with the focused intensity that only cats seem to possess. Charlie watches it for a moment, and it stares back at him with a kind of calm, unhurried certainty that he finds oddly reassuring. Before it breaks its gaze and starts idly licking its paw. 

Charlie turns back to the sofa, settles himself down, and pulls the memory book back onto this lap.

Chapter Text

The next few pages feel brighter and louder somehow. End of semester chaos. Dim pub lighting, half-blurred faces, someone laughing with their arm slung too heavily around someone else’s shoulder. 

Charlie pauses briefly on one. Nick, unmistakably in the middle of it all, grinning widely, slightly flushed, an arm around Josh from his team. Charlie himself half in frame, looking like he’s been dragged into the photo against his will.

Which he had. “The pub crawl,” he groans under his breath, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.

He remembers that… well, parts of it.

The next few pages aren’t much better. More late night group shots before everyone left for Christmas, the kind of photos you take when you’re meant to remember the moment, even if later you mostly just remember how hungover you were.

Another page, and then Charlie’s hand stills when he sees a now unmistakeable little yellow envelope tucked down the side. The warmth that hits him from the photograph is immediate. 

Nick’s bedroom.

Charlie’s lips curl into a smile as he takes it in. Him, propped up against the festive green and white pillows in Nick’s bed, wearing Nick’s red Christmas jumper, the one with the snowflake pattern on that Charlie had claimed for himself approximately thirty seconds after Nick had decided it was too small. His eyes are closed, the look of someone who had stopped fighting sleep and just let it happen. Nick’s laptop is still open at the foot of the bed, glowing faintly, whatever film they’d put on long since forgotten. And on either side of him, both having apparently made an entirely non-negotiable decision about where they were sleeping that night, were Henry and Nellie. Henry curled right into his chest in the crook of his right arm, and Nellie, stretched out fully against his other side, her head nestled into his lap. Charlie’s hand resting along her back. Behind them all are Nick’s Christmas fairy lights strung along the headboard—red, blue, green and yellow, casting everything in a warm festive glow.

“Oh my god,” he mutters under his breath and, before he can talk himself out of it, he reaches for the envelope.

Hey sleeping beauty,

You know I had to include this one right?!

I just walked in and found you like that. I’d only gone to make a cup of tea and came back and you were almost completely gone. Nellie on one side, Henry on the other, both of them looking far too pleased with themselves. And I couldn’t help myself, I just had to take a photo of the three of you, you just looked too damn cute and snuggly. I’d missed them so much, and seeing them so completely content and peaceful with you. Just… yeah, had to capture the moment, sorry Char! 

So do you remember how we’d made the plan before we’d left Leeds that we were going to try to be the grown up, responsible adults that we were, and spend nights separately. That we weren’t going to fall straight back into staying at each other’s houses all the time? Be a bit more normal about it. You know, low-key?

I think we managed one night.

And then you turned up the next evening with your overnight bag like it had always been part of the plan. To be fair, I didn’t exactly argue.

You were almost out for the count by the time I got back. Not completely asleep, just… finally still. But I get it, you were utterly exhausted. I mean I think we both were, but it was all still so new for you. The end of your first semester. And you just looked so peaceful. Like you’d finally stopped thinking for a bit. 

You told me the next morning your bed had felt cold without me, that you needed your human radiator of a boyfriend to keep you warm, that there was too much space in the bed, and you just kept subconsciously rolling over looking for me. I’d have massively taken the piss if I hadn’t felt exactly the same way. We’d spent the last, what, over two months sleeping together every night, in our room. I think it’d have been odd if we hadn’t found it weird.

Then you mentioned that Tori had said you wouldn’t last more than a night at home before coming round to mine. And you’d been so annoyed that she’d been right. But you showed up anyway. I don’t think you realised how much I loved that. Not just that you came over, but that you came over despite knowing how much Tori would gloat at being right. And you know she was only teasing Char. I could tell from the look she gave me when we were round at yours the following day, that she was just happy you were happy. 

So I think I pretty much just tried to insert myself into the cuddle pile and we all ended up going to sleep. Henry snored and Nellie kept trying to squeeze her way into the middle. I don’t think either of us got a very good night’s sleep that night if I’m being honest. But it didn’t really matter. I just remember lying there thinking about how right it felt. You there, with me, in my room. Like there wasn’t anywhere else either of us would rather be, than cuddled up in my childhood bed, dogs and all. And even though the room had always just been mine—my posters, my fairy lights, my mess—it somehow felt more like home every time you were in it too.

Nx.

P.S. And it's not like you falling asleep with a dog curled up with you has never happened again now, has it Char?!

Charlie feels like he should be affronted, but then has to concede that Nick had a point; work had been so crazily busy recently that he and Daisy pretty much fell asleep on the sofa together most nights of the week at the moment. 

“I still cannot believe I let you put this one in here,” he groans, looking at the photo again properly. Him, propped up against the pillows, practically asleep and completely claimed by both dogs, the fairly lights glowing warmly behind him.

He huffs out a soft breath, something fond slipping through the embarrassment. 

“In my defence,” he smiles to himself, sentimentality mixing with the lingering embarrassment for his past self, “we hadn’t seen them in ages, and they were being ridiculously snuggly.”

His thumb brushes lightly across the edge of the photo. He remembers it, sort of. They’d put a film on, but the warmth of the room, and the weight of everything from that first semester had finally caught up with him all at once. 

His expression shifts then, something more exasperated creeping in. 

“Tori,” he says, like it’s a personal betrayal. He shakes his head. “God, she was so smug about that. Didn’t stop me though,” he mumbles. 

Because it hadn’t felt like a choice at the time, it had just felt… obvious. Like of course he’d gone round, of course he’d stayed. Because where else would he have been?

He remembers lying in his own bed that first night, staring at the ceiling, the room too quiet and everything too still and somehow too much all at the same time. His childhood bedroom, exactly as it had always been, the same posters, the same desk, the same single bed. Everything completely familiar and yet somehow completely wrong in a way he couldn’t quite articulate.

Because by then he’d got so used to the sound of Nick breathing beside him, the warmth of him, the unconscious way he’d reach out in the night and find him there. The particular weight of his arm slung over Charlie’s chest, always holding him close when they first drifted off. Without it, sleep had just felt like something that happened to someone else. Like he’d forgotten how to do it on his own. Like his body had simply decided that the too-quiet room, the too-empty bed, the too-much space, just wasn’t right and it wasn’t going to pretend otherwise. 

He hadn’t really thought about what that meant at the time. He thinks now that he probably knew, somewhere underneath all of it. That home had already quietly shifted. That it wasn't a place anymore... not a bedroom, a postcode or a house he'd grown up in. It was a person. His person. And it had felt like that for a while by then... like that was simply where he belonged. So he’d just picked up his overnight bag the following day and told his mum he was spending the night at Nick’s. It must have been something about the way he said it, that thankfully for once, she hadn’t argued.

His thumb brushes lightly across the edge of the photo, his earlier embarrassment softening into something warmer now.

Like there wasn’t anywhere else either of us would rather be, than cuddled up in my childhood bed, dogs and all.

Charlie’s mouth curves slowly into a smile. No, there really hadn’t been.

That whole Christmas break, the first one since he’d been at Leeds, had been an utter whirlwind. Catching up with people, the usual noisy Nelson Christmas that somehow managed to be completely chaotic but also exactly what he needed, lazy afternoons on the sofa watching terrible films, and a New Year’s Eve that he’s fairly sure ended up with all of them in Tara’s living room at two in the morning eating toast and drinking tea. He’d spent as much time at Nick’s as he could get away with and as little time at home as he could manage without his mum having a strop, which to be fair was a balance he’d been carefully honing for some time by then. 

And then before they knew it, it was January and they were back on the train again bound for Leeds, feeling like the holiday had gone almost before it had properly started.

He looks at the photo one last time and knows he wouldn’t swap it for anything. 

It wasn't his finest moment, maybe. But somewhere in the photo... him drowsy and Christmas jumpered, completely claimed by both dogs, the fairy lights of Nick's room glowing warmly behind them, Charlie knew he was exactly where he was meant to be.

He tucks the note back into the envelope, and sets it quietly on the pile in front of him. 

Then, still smiling, he turns the page.

Chapter Text

Charlie turns the pages of the album through more of their university life together: nights out, nights in, rugby matches, society socials, more end of year parties, the summer they skipped Menorca and somehow ended up on a chaotic road trip instead. He pauses briefly on one, Nick in his graduation gown, looking impossibly handsome and smart, grinning widely at the camera with Charlie beside him. 

He smiles at it for a moment before turning the page.

Time moves differently here, whole stretches of life compressed into a handful of photographs, weekends back and forth between Leeds and home. Next is the flat they moved into for his final year. Nick doing his PGCE, the two of them somehow making it work around completely different schedules. He turns another page and huffs a quiet laugh, there he is, sitting at his desk, hand dramatically poised over the keyboard, his dissertation open on the screen. Nick had absolutely insisted on documenting the moment. Charlie remembers rolling his eyes at the time and then as soon as he hit enter, immediately being glad Nick had made him do it. 

He keeps going until he spots the now familiar yellow envelope tucked beneath the next photo.

His graduation.

He exhales softly, something shifting in his chest as he takes the photo in properly.

They’ve just come out of the ceremony building, he can tell from the grand stone steps behind them, other graduates spilling out around them in their gowns, a blur of shapes that the camera has somehow softened into the background. The sun is out, catching on the gold edge of a ceremony programme someone just out of frame is holding.

And there he is standing to the left, in his gown and cap (slightly wonky, obviously) frozen to the spot. The bloody stupid cap that had spent the entire morning sliding backwards and flattening his curls so they stuck out at odd angles underneath it. His mouth is slightly open, like he’s about to say something, and his whole body has just… stopped. His lips twitch slightly and his gaze shifts…to her.

Because there, just a few steps away to his right, clearly already moving towards him, is Sarah.

She’s wearing a floral dress under a pale linen jacket, her face completely lit up, arms already outstretched. Mid-step herself, like she couldn’t quite wait for him to come to her. And the look on her face—warm and certain and so completely, overwhelmingly proud—is the look of someone who was never not going to be there. 

“Oh,” he says quietly.

He remembers that moment. Not the ceremony itself, not really. Well bits of it, seeing Nick sat next to his Mum and Dad looking even more proud then they did. But other than that it all kind of blurred together. Too many people, too much noise, too many names being called out one after the other.

But this, this he remembers.

The shock of it. The way everything else seemed to fall away for an instant. But what the photo had caught wasn’t the hug, or even the moment after. It was the second before. Before he’d moved. Before he’d said anything. Before he’d even properly caught up with what he was feeling. 

Just walking out, still trying to take everything in, and then seeing her. That split second of absolute disbelief. The double take, because surely she couldn’t actually be there. And then the realisation, landing all at once. She’d come all that way, just for him.

He hadn’t thought about that day for a long time. Not like this, not as something to sit with. Then his fingers move quickly, sliding the envelope free from behind the photo.

Hey Char,

So I’d place a bet you’re feeling pretty sentimental right about now huh? I know I am writing this. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look more overwhelmed than you did that day. You tried to pretend like you weren’t, obviously. Like it was all completely normal and expected, and not something you’d worked incredibly hard for over the last three years. 

I remember thinking that morning how strange it was that a year earlier it had been me standing there pretending I wasn’t nervous, and you were the one calmly making tea and telling me I was being ridiculous. You were so good at that. You managed to somehow make the whole thing feel less overwhelming just by being there. Like as long as you were next to me, or I could see you, I’d be okay. You’ve always given me so much confidence Char.

So I think that morning I was trying to do the same for you. I’m not sure how successful I was considering at one point you were fighting with your tie like it had personally betrayed you and I was mostly trying not to laugh. I tried Char, I really did, but it’s not my fault you’re so bloody cute when you’re cross! Anyway, you let me fix it eventually and I remember thinking for someone insisting it was “just graduation,” you looked suspiciously like someone having a life moment. 

And I know you hated the gown, and the cap flattened your curls, and you kept complaining you looked ridiculous, but you didn’t. You looked like someone standing on the edge of the life they’d worked really hard for. And honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever been prouder of you.

So I took this just after we came out. I’d had my phone ready for a while actually, I was so desperate to catch the exact moment you spotted her. Mum. I know you’d clocked I was texting someone before we came out, but you didn’t question it. To be fair you were probably too busy trying to take everything else in. 

And then she was just… there. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. I don’t think I’ll ever forget how your whole face changed when you saw her and realised she’d come all that way just to be there for you. 

But she wouldn’t have missed it, Char, not for anything. I mean I know you know that now, but back then I’m not sure you really understood how much you meant to her. I mean yes she’d joke about you being her “favourite son,” but honestly… some days I don’t think she was entirely joking.

I remember seeing your mum glancing at her, just for a second, and then back at you. Like she understood. That Mum was one of your people too. I almost chose the photo of all five of us instead of this one, but honestly the look on your face. I don’t know if there are words to describe it. It had to be this one Char, it just had to be.

And I know there’s a lot of other things I can say about this day. How fucking proud I was at how confidently you were walked across that stage, how grateful I was that I got to be there too—to witness that moment. How choked up I was when you told me that if you’d hadn’t been able to get the extra ticket for the ceremony, your dad had planned to give me his. Like in what life does a father offer to give up a ticket to his son’s graduation ceremony to go and watch it on a live-stream in the university’s theatre so his son’s boyfriend can go instead? But I guess that’s just the kind of man Julio Spring is. Kind and generous and always thinking of others. Hmmm, sound like any one else we know??

So yeah, properly, stupidly proud. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to say that in a way that quite covers it. Because it wasn’t just about you graduating. It was everything that got you there. Everything you pushed through, everything you worked for, even the stuff you don’t always give yourself credit for. 

And then just… standing there. With all of us. Your family, my family, just all there for you. 

I think that’s when I realised something, maybe for the first time. 

It wasn’t really a case of your family or my family by that point. It was our family. And you were right in the middle of it. Which, if I’m honest, is exactly where you’ve always been.

Nx

Charlie exhales slowly as he reaches the end of the note, his fingers still resting lightly on the page. For a moment he doesn’t move. His gaze drifts back to the photo, him mid-step, still slightly frozen, the stupid cap slipping back on his head. And Sarah, just in front of him, arms already out, like there had never been any question she’d be there. 

“God,” he murmurs under his breath. Seeing her. How much it had meant to him that day. It had never occurred to him that she would come. Turns out, as Nick told him later, she’d been planning it for months. Combined the trip with a visit to a friend in York, had stayed with them overnight, and then driven to Leeds the morning of the ceremony. All that furtive texting that Nick had been doing, he remembers noticing, but not really registering it. 

when you saw her and realised she’d come all that way just to be there for you. 

He remembers the lunch they all went to together afterwards, at that Italian place they both loved round the corner, Sarah telling him that she hadn’t just arrived in time to see him come out. That she’d been there for the whole thing. Sitting in the university theatre with the live stream, watching the names being called out one by one. And when his name came, that she’d stood up and cheered. Properly cheered and clapped loudly enough that the people around her had turned to look. And that she’d leaned over to the couple sitting next to her who she’d befriended while they were queuing to get in, and explained, completely unabashedly, that that was her son’s boyfriend up there. That she’d known him since he was fourteen years old and that she was so proud of him she could burst.

Charlie can’t help the smile that creeps across his face, that was just such a Sarah thing to do. 

His eyes flick back to the note, catching on another line…

that if you’d hadn’t been able to get the extra ticket for the ceremony, your dad had planned to give me his.

He remembers that too. Not just the telling Nick part, but the conversation before that. Standing in the kitchen at home, the letter still open on the side, the whole thing feeling more complicated than it probably should have. Telling his Dad about the two ticket allocation and the ballot for extra tickets and how he’d just try and get another one for Nick. His Dad’s voice had been steady and calm when he’d said that sounded like a good idea, but if he wasn’t able to, that Nick should still be there. Charlie realising what he was saying and immediately telling him he didn’t have to do that. To which Julio had replied that he knew that, but that he wanted to. 

But in the end, just like Nick had said, his family was there. And maybe that was the point all along. Not whose family belonged to who. Just that, somewhere along the way, they stopped being separate things. They were theirs. 

Charlie gazes down at the page one last time, him and Sarah captured in time, and thinks about Nick standing there, phone poised, determined not to miss the moment he’d been so focused on catching. Having presumably spent weeks arranging the logistics, texting with Sarah, coordinating it all, and not saying a word. He thinks about all the things Nick does quietly like that. Just like these letters. He’ll have spent time choosing the photos, figuring out what he wanted to say. Not because he had to, just because he wanted Charlie to have them. But that’s always been Nick’s way. Showing his love in the doing, in the quiet deliberate things he does without ceremony or expectations.

Charlie folds the letter and holds it for a moment before carefully sliding it back into the envelope and placing it on the growing pile in front of him.