Chapter Text
Dating Nick Nelson was even better than Charlie could have imagined.
Even as a smitten fourteen-year-old, Charlie hadn’t dared to hope for a relationship such as this one. Nick wasn’t perfect—because of their rocky start, he was deeply insecure, especially at the beginning, and he tended to keep all his worries to himself until he couldn’t deal with them anymore—but at the end of the day, he made Charlie unbelievably happy.
The day they became boyfriends, Nick was so elated that he rushed out of the door and came back with a bouquet so big, that Charlie had to make him lower it to see who was holding it. The next day, Nick didn’t even pretend to study after he sat at his usual table in the library, where Charlie worked. He simply stared unabashedly at Charlie for thirty minutes straight, and when closing time came, he headed to the counter and made a show of telling all of Charlie’s coworkers that he was here to “pick up his gorgeous boyfriend”.
Charlie had never felt so treasured before.
So when Nick left him in bed to answer his father’s call, he didn’t think anything of it.
They were cuddling on Nick’s bed in their underwear, and Charlie was wondering why a concept such as heaven existed when such peacefulness was reachable on this plane of existence. He was sprawled on Nick’s chest, and Nick’s fingers were buried under the hem of his boxers, his palm so big that it cupped his bum cheek comfortably. The embrace wasn’t even sexual, though it had been an hour earlier, in fact, Nick’s second hand was in Charlie’s curls, and Charlie’s arms were wrapped around Nick’s neck.
“I could stay like this forever.” The confession was paired with a kiss on Charlie’s temple.
Not so long ago, Nick would freeze after letting comments like these escape, as if afraid that Charlie would look at him in horror and leave him on the spot.
Six weeks into their relationship, he was more confident when it came to expressing his devotion to his boyfriend, which was a good thing, given how prone he was to sappy declarations.
“Me too.” Charlie lifted his head and kissed Nick’s chest, right above his heart. As it turned out, he wasn’t opposed to cheesy gestures either. He blamed Nick entirely.
Nick was sighing happily when his phone started ringing.
“Sorry, got to take this,” he said with a grimace. The name “PAPA” was flashing on his screen as he turned it towards Charlie in a silent explanation.
Nick pecked his lips and headed to the hallway. Charlie pouted dramatically, rolling on his back to watch him leave. Though it wasn’t the feature that Charlie had noticed first about Nick—his arms were awfully distracting—his arse was truly fantastic. Charlie's mind wandered back to what he’d done to this pair of buttocks earlier, and let out a groan as his dick immediately started twitching in his pants. He trapped his hands behind his head with a huff. He didn’t want Nick to come back and find him palming himself in case his conversation with his father turned out upsetting.
Nick's family wasn't all bad. Sarah Nelson was one of the loveliest women Charlie had ever met. Nick called her at least once a week, and sheepishly introduced her to Charlie a few weeks after they started dating. He’d answered her call at Charlie's flat, and Sarah loudly asked if he’d finally found the courage to ask out “the lovely boy from Truham” he was “obsessed with”. Charlie later found out that she had done it on purpose—they called weekly, of course she knew about the first chaotic date and all the delightful ones that followed—so that Nick would finally introduce them, if only virtually.
Stéphane was another story. He was still mostly a mystery to Charlie, though it could be that he was a bit of a mystery to Nick, too. Charlie knew that he wasn’t the best father, ignoring his son’s messages for weeks on end and only bothering with a phone call when the mood struck, but he didn’t know a lot beyond that. In fact, Nick seemed to avoid the whole “French thing” as a whole. He became strangely self-conscious every time Charlie broached the subject, which is why it took him weeks to reveal that his dad was the reason he spoke French in the first place.
The night they confessed their feelings to each other around a game of truth or dare, Charlie had been so turned on by Nick speaking French that it’d made him furious. Convinced that he had no chance with Nick at the time, the mortification of feeling this feral over an accent, of all things, made him lash out at Nick in the most unfair way. Weeks later, he was desperate to hear his boyfriend's sexy accent again, but it never came, and the embarrassment he felt whenever he remembered his horny reaction kept him from pushing.
So yes, Charlie would be lying if he said he wasn’t a tiny bit disappointed that he didn’t get to hear Nick speaking French, but he got it. His relationship with his dad was complex. Hopefully, there would be other opportunities for Nick to speak French in front of him.
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The first opportunity came sooner than expected, and Charlie had Tao's sacred movie night to thank for it. Tao, however, wasn't happy.
“Seriously, Elle? Bridgerton?” He whined. “I would have been okay with bending the no-series rule of movie night for a highly acclaimed show like Severance or Succession, but Bridgerton?!”
Elle paid him no mind as she queued up the show on her boyfriend’s laptop. “Shut up, Tao, I won the bet, so I get to choose. Tonight, I’m craving romance and flamboyant dresses.”
“Hell, yeah! Stop being sexist, Tao!” Darcy exclaimed. They were sprawled on the blanket-covered floor of Tao and Charlie's flat, their legs on Tara's lap. “I want to watch rich people being mopey and sexually repressed on TV!”
“I’m not being sexist!” Tao protested. “I have nothing against the genre, this show is just objectively bad! Isaac! Say something!”
Isaac didn't even lift his head from his novel. “I didn’t care for the books, but I’ll never say no to a night of romance!”
Charlie laughed softly as the Netflix logo appeared on the projected screen. For the first time in years, Charlie was entirely, unadulteratedly happy. He’d been content for years, satisfied and grateful for the life he had, but he’d never felt so utterly fulfilled before. The bliss didn’t come from grand romantic gestures—though they did happen from time to time—it came from simple moments like this one, hanging out with a friend group that had gained three delightful new members, and cuddling his boyfriend of almost two months.
They were sitting side by side on the sofa, Nick’s right bicep engulfed in Charlie’s arms. “Come here,” Nick whispered, before hoisting Charlie on his lap. Charlie hummed happily and wrapped himself around Nick’s strong shoulders, nuzzling in his neck and taking a deep breath of his favourite smell. He loved how openly Nick expressed his affection, both in front of their friends and in front of strangers. Perhaps Charlie just loved Nick, full stop. Actually, he more than likely did, though this particular conversation would have to wait.
“I think my mum was watching this when I was home for break. I kinda liked the ballroom scenes.”
“Oh my god, Nicholas! You totally watched it with her!”
“Shut up! I only watched the first episode. Anthony is kinda cute,” Nick grumbled.
He was so adorable that Charlie couldn’t resist pecking his cheek. “I know, right? He reminds me of Henry Maddox, actually…”
“Does he?” Nick answered distractedly, his attention already back on the screen.
The first few episodes flew by, punctuated by gasps and occasional catcalls from Darcy. Nick was completely reclined against the backrest, and Charlie was playing with his left hand, tracing random shapes by connecting his freckles with the pad of his index finger. He was so captivated by the vein running from his knuckles to the inside of his wrist—a dune in the sandy beach of his arm—that Nick’s sudden burst of laughter made him jump.
“What?!”
On the screen, Marina Thompson was speaking French to Geneviève Delacroix (the modiste who pretended to be French), threatening to reveal the truth to the good society. It was a bold move, but Charlie failed to see why it was so funny.
“Was she supposed to be speaking French?” Nick kept on laughing. “That was incomprehensible!”
Charlie raised an eyebrow quizzically. This was the first time Nick willingly referred to the fact that he spoke French fluently. “Really?!”
“Didn’t she say her mum was French?” Tao asked. He’d stopped pretending not to care at the end of the second episode and, since then, had been the most invested of all of them.
“Well, the actress’ mother obviously isn’t!”
“Oh, Nick, can you say the line, please?!” Tara clapped her hands enthusiastically. “Elle, put the French subtitles on!! Nick, say it like a real French person, I need to hear the difference!”
That is when it seemed to dawn on Nick. His face turned pale, and his eyes widened comically. Whatever had been holding him back from speaking French for the last few weeks, Nick was reminded of it now.
“Oh, hum, no, I don’t…” He shot a panicked look at Charlie.
“I’ve taken French classes for years, and it drives me nuts that my accent will never be as good as yours when you hardly ever speak French!” Tara continued.
“I don’t think… I’m not…” Nick was rigid under Charlie. His hand flew to the back of his neck in a nervous gesture, dropping Charlie’s hands in the process.
“How come you never speak it? I wouldn’t shut up if I were you!”
Charlie frowned. He was the first one to campaign for Nick speaking French, but wasn’t it a bit insensitive to point out that he never spoke the language of his absent father?
On the corner of the room, Isaac put his book down. Apparently, this was more interesting to him than the show had been.
“Hum…”
“Oh, come on!” Tao complained with an eye roll. He liked to pretend that he didn’t care much for rugby lads like Nick, but the two of them had formed something akin to a tentative friendship in the last seven weeks.
Nick did seem painfully uncomfortable, though, so Charlie wrapped his arms around him protectively. He didn’t need to know the reason for Nick’s discomfort, at least not right now. Charlie would always protect him, even from their well-meaning friends.
“Tao,” he said firmly. “Nick said no.”
“Yeah, it's probably for the best. Charlie would explode if he ever heard you speak French!”
Charlie didn’t think it was possible, but Nick grew even paler upon hearing Darcy’s jest. Tara swore and elbowed her partner softly.
“What, it’s true!”
It was true, Charlie thought as his face went up in flames, but Nick didn’t need to be reminded of that. He would confide in Charlie when, and if, he wanted to. Charlie just had to find the courage to bring it up with him in private.
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In the end, Charlie wasn’t brave enough to broach the subject directly. He was afraid of what Nick’s panicked reaction meant, and decided to try a different approach. He was sitting on the kitchen counter of Nick’s flat, drying the dishes that Nick was washing in the sink next to him, when he finally took the plunge.
“You know that… technically…” Charlie interrupted himself, biting his lower lip as he threw a careful glance at Nick, who immediately put down the plate he was washing to give his full attention to Charlie.
“What? What’s up?”
God, have mercy on me. These golden brown eyes will be the death of me.
“W-well,” Charlie stuttered, “I just thought we could go out to dinner on Saturday? Because… Well. It will be two months since we started dating.”
Nick’s eyes softened, their colour sparkling in the relative darkness of the kitchen. An enamoured smile crept up on his lips, until it was splitting his entire face. “As in, it’ll be our two-month anniversary?”
Charlie felt himself turning red and shook his head self-deprecatingly. “It’s stupid when you put it like that, but I thought…”
Nick didn’t seem to agree. He threw himself at Charlie, kissing him all over the face with unbridled enthusiasm. “It’s not stupid. Not at all.”
“Ew, get your wet hands away from me!”
“That’s not what you were saying last night…” Nick smirked, but took a step back anyway.
“Oh my god, shut up!”
Nick giggled adorably and, after one last peck on each of Charlie’s dimples, went back to the dishes. “Absolutely, yes. We should definitely do something. What were you thinking, Char?”
The nickname never failed to make Charlie’s stomach flutter, but he had to focus. This was his attempt at finally broaching the subject. “Well. There’s this French restaurant in the city centre. A French family runs it, and it’s supposed to be very authentic. I thought it could be fun, since we went to a Spanish restaurant on our first date.”
Nick’s hands stilled in the water. “Hm. A French family. Would we have to order in French, then?”
Charlie frowned. If he hadn’t heard him speak French before, he could have been convinced that Nick’s bilingualism was just an elaborate prank. “Er… I guess so?” He didn’t want to admit that it was precisely the point. Desperate times called for desperate measures. “Do you not… do you not want to?”
Nick looked puzzled. “But… do you even like French food?”
“Can’t say I’ve tried a lot,” Charlie admitted. “Remember that Paris trip we went on?”
“F’course I do. I daydreamed about kissing you on the Eiffel Tower during the whole bus ride from Truham to Paris.”
Charlie tilted his head and smiled softly. “I wish you’d done it. I wasn’t in a great place back then. It would have cheered me up.”
Nick watched him with the same pained expression he wore every time Charlie referenced his troubled past. He knew what Nick was thinking. I wish I’d been there. I wish I’d been brave enough to talk to you then. But Nick wasn’t to blame. Charlie’s insecurities had kept them apart during their teenage years. Maybe they could have got together sooner if things had gone differently, but perhaps they wouldn’t have. Maybe they wouldn’t be together anymore, or they would be doing long-distance. Charlie had decided to stop thinking about the “what-ifs” a long time ago.
Nick seemed to know he didn’t need to say it for Charlie to understand. He leaned over and kissed his forehead, so gently that Charlie’s eyes closed reflexively. Then, he went back to work, washing the last of the cutlery his flatmates had left in the sink. Charlie watched him with a mix of adoration and trepidation. He waited for an answer to his proposition, but it never came.
“So… what do you say?”
Nick pinched his lips. “I don’t know, love. I don’t want you to force yourself to try new foods in public just because I’m half French. What about that place next to the bookstore you like? We could go there after, make a day out of it?”
Nick made a good point—Charlie didn’t particularly like trying new foods in front of strangers. It would have been worth it, though, just to hear his delicious accent as he ordered. In any case, Charlie knew a deflection when he heard one. As relevant as it may be, Charlie’s ED wasn’t the reason Nick was rebuffing his proposition; Charlie was convinced of it, so he didn’t bother to inform Nick that his offer was the furthest thing from selfless. Nick clearly didn’t want to speak French in front of him, for some reason, so he wouldn’t push again.
“That’s a great idea, babe. As long as you don’t try to eat padron peppers again…”
“Oi!!”
Nick flicked dishwater on him, drawing a very undignified shriek from Charlie.
“You don’t like that, do you?”
“Nick!! Stop!!”
Nick only laughed, before cupping Charlie’s cheeks in his drenched hands and planting his smiling lips on his. God, his hands were so big. His thumbs brushed Charlie’s cheeks like a wave caresses sand: with intent and reverence, like all things natural. Nick held Charlie like he was the entire universe.
“Thank you for thinking of our anniversary…” He murmured against Charlie’s mouth, his breath warm against Charlie’s skin.
A chill ran down Charlie’s spine. Despite the uncomfortable feeling of wetness on his face, he let himself sink into the kiss and wrapped his arms and legs around Nick’s bulky figure, opening his lips to lick into his mouth. Nick sighed against him and reciprocated avidly, burying his hand in Charlie’s curls to bring his face closer.
Needless to say, the dishes remained abandoned in the sink for a while after that, and Charlie completely forgot about his failed attempt at broaching the subject.
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“Nick! You’re gonna be late!”
“Don’t care,” Nick said, swinging their linked hands between them as they walked. “Walking you to class is my duty as your boyfriend.”
“I’m not sure that’s true. I don’t walk you to class every day.”
“Well, I’m still gonna do it, whether you like it or not. Imagine you cross paths with a Henry Maddox lookalike, and you immediately fall in love with him?!”
“Nick!” Charlie giggled. “You’re ridiculous!”
They’d long passed the science building, where Nick was supposed to have class right now.
“I’d need to be here to remind you of my existence! I know I wouldn’t stand a chance, but I’ve been practising my puppy eyes and I actually think that -” Nick was interrupted by a loud voice booming from the other side of campus.
“NICK! Nick Nelson!”
Nick swivelled his head towards the sound, but didn’t drop Charlie’s hand. He never did. Charlie couldn’t believe he’d initially thought that Nick wouldn’t want to be seen with him. Now, he suspected that Nick would pout for an entire day if Charlie once dared to refuse to hold his hand as they walked side by side.
“Oh,” Nick said as he watched a blond, gangly man run towards them with a toothy grin splitting his face.
“Who’s that?” Charlie asked, completely lost. This guy didn’t look like a rugby player, and he definitely wasn’t there when he met Nick’s study group, but Nick looked happy to see him, if not surprised.
“Putain, Nick, ça fait longtemps ! Je savais pas que t’allais à la fac ici ! C’est fou !” The man exclaimed, before surprising Nick and Charlie both by leaning towards Nick and… kissing both of his cheeks? What the hell?
[Fuck, Nick, it’s been so long! I didn’t know you went to uni here! That’s crazy!]
Charlie watched, mouth agape, as Nick threw him an alarmed look. Then, Charlie finally registered that the man had talked in French, and nearly burst out laughing as he remembered the concept of “la bise.” French people were such weirdos.
“Hi Mathis, how have you been? It’s been, what, ten years?” Nick said with a smile. He looked genuinely pleased to see him, but Charlie noticed the tightness around his eyes, as if he was holding himself back.
“Plus que ça, oui ! On s’était vus chez tatie Marthe, la dernière fois. On avait joué à “Ni oui ni non” pendant des heures - quand on y pense, un rien nous occupait à cet âge là !”
[More than that! We last saw each other at Aunty Marthe’s. We played the yes/no game for hours - we were easily entertained at this age, when we think about it!”]
“What are you doing in England?”
Mathis chuckled. “Je fais une année à l’étranger, apparemment ça sera bon pour mon CV… T’as oublié comment parler français, ou quoi ?”
[I’m doing a year abroad, it’s supposed to be good for my resume. Did you forget how to speak French, or what?]
“I haven’t, but Charlie here doesn’t speak French,” Nick replied with a hint of nerves in his voice, dropping Charlie’s hand to wrap his arm around his shoulders. “Charlie, meet Mathis, my cousin. Mathis, this is Charlie, my boyfriend.”
“Hi Mathis,” Charlie smiled. Stéphane was such a sore subject for Nick; Charlie was glad that he had at least one friendly face on this side of the family.
“Oh! Hi, Charlie! Sorry for all the French, there,” Mathis replied with a thick French accent. “Did you know that I’ve seen your boyfriend in diapers?”
Nick turned red and shook his head vehemently. “That’s actually not true. We met when we were eight.”
“Oof, I wouldn’t admit to that, Nick!”
Charlie burst out laughing. Mathis seemed nice, but Nick’s reaction to him only made Charlie grow more curious. He’d instantly relaxed once Mathis stopped expecting him to speak French, which was enough for Charlie to decide to take action and get to the bottom of this: he wouldn’t make Nick speak French if he didn’t want to, but he would ask him what the deal was, and he would do it soon.
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Charlie was too tipsy to be subtle. He was also way too happy. How could he not be, when he was sitting on the lap of his dream man and making out filthily with him?
Nick and Charlie were at an LGBTQ+ soc party, and Charlie was celebrating a particularly good mark on an essay he’d pulled out his hair over for the last few weeks. Nick had spent the night watching him with something close to veneration in his eyes, and it was driving Charlie absolutely crazy.
The more he drank, the clingier he got, and he had spent the night attached to Nick like a limpet. Nick hadn’t seemed to mind. In fact, he’d encouraged him by providing drinks every time Charlie asked for one (though he did enforce a “one-drink, one glass of water” rule at some point).
Charlie was head over heels in love with Nick, and it was getting harder and harder not to say it out loud. They’d been dating for three months now, and Charlie was ready to tell Nick how he felt—how he’d been feeling for a long time—but the French thing was still bothering him. He didn’t want Nick to be holding things back with him, however unimportant or silly they might be.
“Nick,” Charlie murmured against his boyfriend’s neck, before kissing the freckles he found there. They were cuddled on a garden chair that was definitely too small for the two of them, and Charlie’s vision was swimming a bit from the alcohol.
“Yeah?”
“Truth or dare?”
This was it. Charlie was doing it; he was going to ask Nick to speak French. The plan was in motion.
Nick gave him a side-eye look and smiled crookedly. “Truth.”
Fuck.
Charlie huffed, the alcohol depriving him of his usual self-control. “Why don’t you want to speak French in front of me?” He knew he was pouting childishly, but he couldn’t help it.
This certainly wasn’t a question that Nick had expected. He gaped at him, but Charlie was too drunk to backpedal. He lifted his hand and started toying with Nick’s necklace. It was a chain he’d stolen from Charlie when he visited his childhood bedroom for the first time and had refused to give back. Charlie was more than happy to let him keep it. It had a plaque with Charlie’s name engraved on it, and the sight of his name resting against Nick’s skin never failed to wake up something primal in his guts.
“What?”
“You’re so fucking sexy when you speak French, but you never want to,” Charlie complained, now kissing the ridge of Nick’s jaw. “Not in front of me, at least. Do you think it’s weird that I get so turned on by it? Does it make you uncomfortable?”
Nick stared at him with a dumbfounded look, before laughing to himself, the crow’s feet around his eyes turning into beautiful butterfly wings. “Oh my god. I’ve been such an idiot.”
Charlie tilted his head, confused.
“Je pensais que tu détestais ça !”
[I thought you hated it!]
Goosebumps erupted on Charlie’s bare forearms. Oh my god, it was happening!
“What?” Charlie squeaked, feeling himself flush already.
“I thought you hated French,” Nick explained with a self-deprecating smile. “Or me, speaking it.”
“What?! Why?!”
“You got mad at me that first night, when I was rambling in French. You told me to ‘stop fucking talking in French’!”
“Oh my god, Nick! I was mad because it made me so horny, I couldn’t think straight! And I thought you’d played a prank on me, so I was trying to be angry with you, which was made harder by the fact that I wanted to jump your bones every time you spoke French!!”
“Oh… Oh, fuck!”
Charlie let himself fall back into Nick’s embrace as they erupted in another fit of disbelieving giggles, and squeezed him against him with all his might. His boyfriend was an idiot, and he loved him so, so fucking much.
“Nick Nelson. My home-boy, my rotten soldier. My sweet cheese, my good-time boy! There isn’t a single thing I hate about you.” Charlie booped Nick’s nose clumsily.
“You’re incredibly drunk, love,” Nick hummed, his tone filled with unmistakable affection. “And you’ve watched too much What We Do in the Shadows.”
“Hmm, maybe,” Charlie laughed. He gently cupped Nick’s cheek and looked at him intently, trying to convey how earnest he was. Nick leaned into his palm, his golden eyes shining with unbearable fondness. Charlie was suddenly overcome with a love so strong, he had to let some of it out. “For real, though. I love that you speak French. I love that you get flustered when I compliment you, and I love how surprised you are when I ask you on a date, even though we’ve been boyfriends for months. I love everything about you. I love…” Overwhelmed with emotion, Charlie paused to take a breath. “I love you, Nick. All of you.”
Nick’s eyes filled with tears, but the love Charlie read in them wasn’t drowned out in the slightest. It was as recognisable as the scent of Charlie’s childhood home, and as comforting as Nick’s had come to be. Nick let his forehead fall against Charlie’s and kissed him hard enough to bruise. “I love you, too, Charlie,” he whispered against Charlie’s lips. “Je t’aime à en crever.”
[I love you to death.]
A shiver ran through Charlie’s entire body. Truth or Dare was his favourite game ever.