Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Nick's head was killing him. That was the first thing he could remember thinking as he gradually drifted into consciousness. His head was throbbing, his brain feeling too big for his skull, and a consistent pounding pressed against his temples.

The next thing he noticed was a soft beeping sound coming from somewhere to his left. Nick blinked his eyes open, wanting to investigate the sound, and he immediately regretted it. Harsh white light assaulted his retinas, a sharp stab of pain shooting behind his brow. He blinked slowly, trying to adjust to the light.

He seemed to be in some sort of hospital room. The mattress beneath him was rubbery and firm. The beeping came from a monitor hanging next to his bed, multicoloured squiggly lines stretching across. He hoped the squiggles meant he was okay. His bed was tilted up at an awkward angle, and there was an uncomfortable plastic brace strapped around his neck, forcing his chin straight. His arms rested at his side, a small tube snaking out of one forearm. He had to fight the urge to pull it out. There were bleached white linens stretching over his body. And there on his lap, a head.

Nick squinted. There was a boy, about his age, lying perpendicularly across the bed. His face was pressed into Nick's thigh, only a thin blanket separating them. His arms were folded underneath his chest, his upper body draped across the mattress and his long legs tucked into a chair that had been dragged to be flush with the bed.

The boy seemed to feel Nick's stare and he shifted slightly, exposing his profile. Nick couldn't drag his eyes away. Even in sleep, with his face relaxed, the boy was captivating. There was something ethereal, elegant, in the curve of his lips and the sharp lines of his cheekbones. His eyelashes fanned delicately over his olive skin, and his gentle curls cascaded over his forehead, casting shadows that danced as he moved. Nick had the strange urge to thread his fingers through those curls. They looked so soft.

Nick hadn't meant to, but he shifted slightly and jostled the other boy. When his eyes shot open, Nick was only more enthralled. He was sure he had never seen anyone with eyes quite that colour. A stormy blue that grew and consumed his pupils as they dilated in the light. A small part of Nick was pretty sure he was staring like a creep, but he couldn't help it. The boy scrambled up.

“Nick, you're awake!” he exclaimed. His voice somehow fit perfectly, a soft cadence that soothed Nick. He should probably be panicking right now. He was in hospital after all, and his head was still throbbing incessantly. His only company was a complete stranger and he had no idea what he was doing here. And yet, Nick felt calm. He wasn't alone.

Nick cleared his throat, but the other boy didn't seem to need a response. He was already pushing himself up to his knees in the chair, leaning over Nick and brushing the hair out of his eyes.

Nick's eyebrows shot up, the gesture felt a little strange, a bit too familiar for a boy he just met. The boy didn't seem to notice.

“How do you feel? Should I go and get the nurse?” he asked anxiously.

Nick shook his head then winced as pain lanced through it at the movement. “No, er, that's okay. My head hurts, but I'm alright.”

The boy frowned, his hand shifting down to cup Nick's cheek. Now that was definitely odd. Nick tried to shift away slightly without actually moving his head. It was made more difficult by the neck brace.

“Hm, they said it would probably hurt when you woke up, but I can go and ask anyway. Maybe they can give you more painkillers.” The boy shifted away finally, scooching his chair back so he could move to stand up.

Nick had the sudden urge to keep him there. This boy might have some answers, and Nick had no idea what was going on.

“Wait,” Nick said, and the other boy paused. Nick just stared at him stupidly for a moment, trying to figure out how to ask what he was wondering. “How… I mean–what happened?”

The boy's face softened. He came back and perched on the edge of Nick's bed. His hand came up to rub little circles onto Nick's shin. It was quite distracting.

“You were in an accident during your rugby game.” His voice was soft, steady. “You got a knee to the head and passed out, so we brought you to the hospital. They need to rule out a brain bleed or something, so we're waiting for you to get some scan done.”

The other boy tilted his head, studying Nick. Nick looked down at his lap, needing a moment away from those piercing blue eyes. He was reeling slightly.

Brain bleed? Brains didn't seem like the sort of thing that should be bleeding. Nick's head throbbed more insistently. Maybe he did want that pain medicine after all. He clenched his jaw, but that just made the pain spike.

“Hey.” The boy gave Nick's leg a tiny squeeze. “It's a lot. How are you doing?”

That's when Nick noticed how the other boy, this kind stranger, looked a bit shaken himself. The delicate skin around his eyes was red and there were dark bruises under his lids. His cheeks were flushed, his complexion splotchy, and his nose was slightly pink. Had he been crying? He was giving off a calming energy, but there was tension in his shoulders, an anxious urgency in his eyes.

Why would this stranger be crying over Nick? It didn't make any sense. Frustration bubbled up in Nick's throat. What was he missing?

“I'm just… confused,” Nick said lamely.

The boy's eyebrows drew together. He leaned forward into Nick's space again, sliding his hand up Nick's chest to rest over his heart.

Nick shifted back, a wave of dizziness clawing at him from the sudden movement. Nick tensed, waiting for the black spots to recede.

The other boy frowned deeper. “What do you mean, Nick? Talk to me.”

“I don't…” Nick swallowed, his throat closing up. He felt confused, overwhelmed. “Er–who are you?”

The boy flinched back as though Nick had burned him. Nick's chest felt cold without the pressure of the other boy's hand resting there.

Nick couldn't help but cringe. Hearing the words aloud made them sound so much more hurtful. This boy seemed so invested, so caring. Nick didn't want to hurt him. Maybe they were old friends and it had been a while since they'd seen each other? Maybe the boy was a new teammate? He felt like a dick for asking, but he also couldn't go on without understanding who this captivating, confusing stranger was.

Or maybe he should have kept his big mouth shut, Nick thought, as the boy's face drained of colour. He went completely still, his lip trembled and his eyes turned glassy with unshed tears.

“What do you mean, Nick?”

“Well, I'm sorry, I don't remember exactly. Are you new to the rugby team?”

Immediately he knew it was the wrong thing to ask. The boy's eyes widened with panic.

“Rugby? No, Nick, it's me. Charlie.”

Charlie. It really wasn't the time but Nick couldn't help but mull the name over in his head. It suited him. He wanted to try it out, feel the shape of the syllables on his tongue.

“Nick,” Charlie spoke firmly, snapping Nick back to attention. His gaze was trained on Nick, a tinge of desperation seeping into his voice. “Do you not know who I am?”

Nick hesitated a moment. He wracked his poor, throbbing brain one last time for some memory of the boy in front of him. He wished so badly that he could tell Charlie something else, anything else, and not cause him more anguish.

“No, I'm so sorry. I don't remember you.” And then, because he couldn't seem to stop his big mouth. “Should I?”

Charlie squeezed his eyes shut tight, but a few tears still slipped through. Nick tracked them down his face.

“Okay. Well, I'll just go talk to the nurse.” Charlie's voice was hollow, detached in a way that it hadn't been before. “See if she has any idea what's going on.”

He wiped his hands on his trousers and pushed himself to his feet, avoiding Nick's eyes the whole time.

Nick felt more lost than ever. He could sense that the Charlie who had woken up with him was gone. There was an emptiness in his face, a hopelessness. What was going on that he could cause so much harm without even meaning to. And how could he make it right?

Charlie made his way out of the room, scrubbing angrily at his eyes. Nick wanted to call out again, but he was sure he would only make things worse. His head ached. He just wanted to go back to sleep and start over. Maybe then things would make sense.

Nick closed his eyes, pushing down the frustration.

The door shut behind Charlie with a sharp click.

Chapter Text

“Amnesia?”

“Well, retrograde amnesia, but yes,” the doctor explained patiently.

“But… I thought that was only a thing in films?” Nick was reeling. This couldn't be right.

“I know it's a lot to process. It's not uncommon with head injuries of this nature to have some confusion.” The doctor tucked a sheet of notes back in her pocket, all business. “We should know more when we get the head CT back.”

“Do you know when that will be?” Charlie asked softly. He was tucked into a chair on the far side of the room. His long legs were folded neatly to his chest with one arm slung around to hold them up. He seemed to be trying to make himself as small as possible, as though he could blend into the wall behind.

Since he had first gone to notify the nurses of Nick's apparent memory loss, Charlie had been at Nick's side. Well, not directly at Nick's side. He had been keeping his distance, always hovering in Nick's periphery but never actually with him. It was especially frustrating because they still wouldn't take the brace off Nick's neck, so he couldn't even turn his head properly to seek out Charlie. He only knew the other boy was there when he would ask a question or fill in some detail about the accident. Otherwise, Charlie seemed to float just on the edge of Nick's view, never coming into focus properly.

Nick was thankful, still, that Charlie had come along for the CT, watching from a side room as the terrifying whirrs and whooshes of the machine washed over Nick. He still wasn't quite sure who Charlie was to him, but he was glad not to be alone. Nick wasn't sure he could handle this on his own.

He was desperate for a chance to talk to Charlie in private. He needed to find out how they knew each other. He wanted answers. He thought he should apologise for his insensitivity, or perhaps for forgetting the other boy in the first place? Nick wasn't sure. Either way, the conversation didn't feel possible when doctors and nurses kept flitting into his room.

The doctor currently standing at his bedside checked her watch. “The CT was about an hour ago, so maybe another hour before it's analysed.”

Nick’s heart raced, beating a tattoo against his ribcage. He knew what he needed to ask next, but he dreaded hearing the answer for fear he wouldn’t like it.

“Will I…” Nick began, having to clear his throat. “Will I get the memories back?”

“Head traumas are unpredictable, so it's impossible to know,” the doctor said. Nick's face must have revealed the sinking feeling in his stomach because her face softened. “It's very likely you'll remember everything with time. Your brain just needs to heal. In the meantime, we're going to try to figure out exactly what's wrong so we can treat it, if possible.”

Nick swallowed. He would be more reassured if she could promise his memories would come back, but he supposed this was the best he would get for now. He nodded and managed a wobbly smile.

Charlie looked up from his phone. He had been pulling it out and typing occasionally. “Is it a bad sign? The amnesia, I mean. Does it mean that he might have permanent brain damage?”

“Not necessarily. I wouldn't say that the confusion and memory issues are a sign of anything more serious at this time. We'll just have to see what the scan shows.”

Both boys nodded, like this information was helpful in any way.

“Do you have any other questions?” the doctor asked.

Nick declined, and the doctor made her exit. The door had barely swung shut behind her, when a familiar face burst through.

“Nicky, baby, are you alright?”

Nick could have cried, he was so happy to see his mum. She looked exhausted, slightly disheveled with her hair mussed and her clothes wrinkled. If she was as tired as she looked, she didn't let it slow her down. She was at his side in a heartbeat, brushing the hair off his forehead and straightening out his sheets.

“I left as soon as Charlie called me, but I got stuck in traffic. How are you, Nicky?” His mum's face was lined with concern.

Nick glanced at Charlie, surprised that he had thought to contact Sarah. It took a moment for her words to process in his sluggish brain. He realized he didn't actually know where they were. If it had taken this long for his mum to arrive, he could only assume he wasn't in Kent. Why weren't they in Kent?

“I'm alright. My head hurts and I don't remember much, but I guess I'm okay.” He tried to smile, but his lips trembled and tears pricked his eyes.

Sarah tutted, pulling a chair up to the bedside and stroking his hair softly, the way she had when he was small and had trouble falling asleep. Nick almost missed it, but he noticed Charlie slip out of the room from the corner of his eye. There went his chance of speaking to him alone.

All his confusion, all the frustration from the past few hours, paired with the incessant pounding in his skull, bubbled up. A sob forced its way out of Nick's throat, tears streaming down his face.

His mum took it all in stride, leaning forward to wrap an arm around his chest and pressing gentle kisses to his temple. She whispered into his hair, sweet comforts that were meaningless but lightened the weight on his chest all the same.

Nick wasn't sure how long he cried. It felt like a while. When his choking sobs finally tapered off into quiet sniffles, his chest ached and his eyelids felt raw and stiff. His neck was sore from where the brace dug into his skin. His body had wanted to curl up while he cried, but the harsh plastic hadn't allowed it, digging into his chin instead. Nick wedged a finger under the unforgiving material, trying to shift it, but his mum slipped her hand into his, tugging it gently back to his side.

“Leave it, baby.”

Nick sighed, letting his head fall back onto the rubbery mattress. “I don't know what's going on, Mum.”

“Well, maybe I can help with that. Charlie was texting me as I drove, and he said you have some memory gaps.” She gave his hand a squeeze. “Do you want to ask me questions and I can fill in some details for you?”

Nick swallowed. Where to start?

“Where are we?”

“Leeds. This is where you go to university.”

“I'm in university?” Nick's voice came out louder than he meant it to. His hand clenched down on his mum's. He forced it to relax. “How old am I?” he asked quieter.

“You turned twenty last month.” She brushed her thumb over the back of Nick's hand. “How old do you remember being?”

Nick paused. How old was he? He opened his mouth and closed it again. Swallowed. “Er… I'm not sure? I think I remember bits of my eighteenth birthday?”

He was pretty sure there had been a rowdy pub night with the rugby lads. He had a vague memory of Sai, pressing another pint into his hand, and a birthday crown that Christian bought as a joke falling into his eyes. But when he tried to think of who else was there, what else they did, his mind drew a blank.

His mum smiled. “Well, I don't think it's unusual to forget some details of your eighteenth birthday party. Even if you haven't just had an injury.”

Nick offered a weak smile. “I suppose.”

They lapsed into silence, Nick's mind swirling with thoughts and questions but too mixed up to parse out the most important ones.

“I got injured playing rugby, right? So I still play?”

“Oh, you're brilliant. You've always been such a good athlete, but you've really blossomed with your uni team. You get on so well with the other boys.”

She spoke with such pride, but it just made Nick feel more unsettled. How could he have a whole team that he didn't remember? Friends, by the sound of it, that he couldn't even picture. Would he still be the athlete she described, or would he have regressed in his rugby abilities? Nick had never thought about it before, but did his skills on the pitch originate from his mind or his body? He wouldn't remember the plays or drills he had learned with this team, but he might still retain the muscle memory. Would they even still let him play if he didn't have the same skill level? Could he even play with a head injury, or was it too dangerous?

Nick’s heart pounded in his chest. He had to think of something else. The idea of giving up rugby was making him too emotional.

“What do I study?”

Sarah beamed. “Early childhood education. You decided to switch from sports sciences last year.”

Nick's frown deepened. He didn't really remember a desire to study either subject in uni, but if he remembered being eighteen, shouldn't he have had some idea of a career? He did the mental math, and assuming he hadn't taken a gap year before uni, he should be in his second year. Would he be able to continue his classes with his brain all jumbled? Did he even want to? He had no memory of being on his own in university. He wasn't sure he could do it anymore.

Then, unbidden, Charlie's face popped into his mind. The boy he had forgotten, who had his mum's number somehow and had filled her in on Nick's situation without Nick having to ask.

“I don't remember Charlie,” he murmured.

Sarah's smile dropped. “Well, if you don't remember uni, I don't suppose you would remember Charlie.”

“I didn't meet him in St. John’s?”

“No, although he is also from Kent. You met last year when you both started at Leeds.”

Nick hummed. He supposed it made sense then, that he couldn't remember Charlie. He seemed to have forgotten university altogether. Although he wasn't sure he could remember his graduation from St. John's either. Everything felt jumbled, and he could feel a headache coming on.

“So Charlie's my friend?”

Sarah's face shifted, her expression unreadable. She glanced at the door, as though Charlie would poke his head back in and answer for her.

“You two are very close.”

Nick supposed that they must be, if Charlie had his mum's number. Sai was his oldest friend and he didn't think he had his mum's number. Although, he wasn't really sure of anything at the moment.

“What do I do, Mum?” His voice sounded small, scared. He felt unmoored in a way that he hadn't since he'd woken one day to find his dad gone. Back then, his mum had held him and given him the support he needed. He could only hope that she still held all the answers. He might technically be a grown man now, but he wanted her to hold him again and make it better.

She made a soft sound, bringing her hand up to brush along his cheek. “We’ll wait to hear about your scan. I'll probably have a chat with the medical team to see if there's anything Charlie might have missed. And then, it's up to you.”

His face twisted unhappily, and she smiled, tender. “I know, baby. You don't have to make any decisions right now. We'll just take it one step at a time.”

Nick sighed, nodding as best he could with the awkward collar. He hoped they could take it off after the scan came back.

A new doctor came in, then, asking Nick questions and making him repeat his name and where he was for what felt like the hundredth time.

Sarah got distracted, asking questions in return and looking at lab results. Nick let his mind drift.

He wondered where Charlie had gone. It felt selfish to want him there. Nick had no right to ask him to stay when he couldn't even remember their friendship. He just wanted a chance to thank the other boy. It was so thoughtful of Charlie to contact his mum. And he wondered if Charlie could fill in more of the gaps. He loved his mum to bits, but he still felt a tug of loneliness. A gaping hole.

He wished he could remember what it was he was missing.

Chapter Text

The good news was, Nick's CT scan came back clean, which meant he did not have a brain hemorrhage or hernia or any of the other terrifying things they were apparently checking for. This also meant Nick was free of the bulky neck brace. The bad news was his concussion.

A concussion sounded far more manageable, but it also meant that there was no actual treatment plan. He just had to wait and give his brain time to heal, which was incredibly frustrating. He wanted a fix. He wanted his memories back. He didn't want to have to make a decision about what to do moving forward.

A concussion also apparently meant that Nick would need a fair amount of care and monitoring over the next few weeks. He would hate to burden his mum by making her take time off work to watch him. He already felt bad for forcing her to drive up to Leeds to hold his hand.

He also couldn't really think of any other options.

His mum had told Nick that he apparently lived with Charlie and that he could stay in his apartment if he wanted to continue classes. The notion was confusing and overwhelming. Who would watch him for the warning signs the doctor had explained? How would he even do his classes if he wasn't allowed to look at screens?

If he went home with his mum, what would he even do? Nick blew out a long breath. He wished someone else could make the choice for him.

A knock on the door drew Nick's attention away from his circling thoughts. His mum got up to open it, then offered Nick a small smile before slipping out.

Nick frowned, but then immediately brightened when he saw who it was. Otis grinned broadly as he slipped into the room, falling easily into the chair at Nick's right.

“Nick! What's this I hear about you knocking your head? There are easier ways to get out of class, mate.”

Nick couldn't help the smirk creeping onto his own face. He hadn't realised how much he needed this. Some normalcy. No tears, no anxiety, just a friend to laugh with.

“Yeah, well, I figured this was the best way to get out of running sprints.”

Otis chuckled. “You always were a slow runner.”

“Excuse me?” Nick gasped. “I might not remember much, but I do remember outpacing you most games.”

“Nope. You'll have to trust me on it since I'm the one with the working brain. You've always been shit at rugby.”

Nick rolled his eyes. Otis sobered slightly.

“So it's true then, you lost your memory?”

Nick shrugged. “Some of it at least.”

“But you remember me?”

Nick nodded. “I'm not sure exactly where it cuts out, there's a lot that's fuzzy and mixed up. But I remember you.”

“You don't remember Charlie, though?”

Nick frowned. “You know Charlie?”

“Who do you think called me?” Otis gave Nick a bewildered look, like he was being dense about something. “Of course I know Charlie.”

“Oh.”

“Has he been moping out in the waiting room all day?”

“Wait, Charlie's still here?” Nick wasn't sure why, but he'd assumed Chalrie had gone home. Nick hadn't seen him since his mum arrived hours ago. Didn't Charlie have things he needed to do? And if he was still here, why wasn't he actually with Nick? Had Nick offended him so much that Charlie didn't want to see him?

Otis just rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I saw him on my way in. I guess you've answered my question though. I can't believe you don't remember him.”

Nick shook his head. “Well, I don't remember any of uni, and apparently that's how we met.” Nick fidgeted with his blanket. “So, why did he call you and not Sai or Christian?”

Otis smirked. “Because I'm the only one you can actually stand anymore.” Nick's eyebrows shot up and Otis laughed. “Nah, I'm just messing with you. They go to uni down south so they wouldn't be able to come just for the day. I go to Manchester so it wasn't too bad to get a train last minute.”

“Oh,” Nick murmured. “Er, thanks. For coming to see me. It's really good to see you.”

Otis waved him off. “It's really nothing. They sent you messages too, but I guess you don't have your phone with you right now.”

“Yeah, no screens. Concussion and all.”

Now that Nick looked closer, he could see subtle changes in Otis’s appearance. His haircut was slightly different, an inch shorter on the sides. He was wearing a denim jacket that Nick remembered, but it looked slightly more worn, scuffed around the sleeves in a way that was unfamiliar. And when he turned slightly, Nick caught the glint of a silver stud on Otis's earlobe, that he definitely would have noticed if he'd had it in St. John's.

Nick shook his head, trying to move past the disconcerting changes in front of him. “So, you're at Manchester. What's it like?”

“Oh, brilliant. I'm studying history which had been so interesting. It's great not to have to slog through subjects I hate.” Otis settled back in his chair, propping his foot up on Nick's bed. “And I've joined the rugby soc. I don't really have the time or interest for the actual team anymore, but it's nice to keep it up. I'm actually in a bunch of different societies. Keeps me busy, you know?”

Nick really didn't know, but he nodded along anyway. “Do we see each other much?”

“Some.” Otis shrugged. “More at the start of uni because we were both settling in and it was nice to see someone from home. Now, not all that often.”

Nick wilted slightly. It was still nice to see Otis, but it was clear that he had moved on. He had a new life now, different from the life he had shared with Nick in Kent. Nick probably didn't even have friends back home anymore. His stomach sank.

“Honestly, you're usually the busy one,” Otis said. He didn't sound accusatory, just matter of fact. “You’ve had a lot more coursework since you switched to education. And rugby had always been a lot.” Nick supposed that made sense. Otis continued, “and then you also always want to be with Charlie, so you don't like taking trips to Manchester anymore.”

Nick frowned. “I always want to be with Charlie?”

“Yep. You guys are basically joined at the hip.”

“Because we're flatmates?”

Otis smirked. “Something like that, yeah.”

“What does that mean?”

“You really need to talk to Charlie about that.”

Nick threw his arms up in frustration. “Maybe I could if he was actually here. Everyone is saying Charlie this, Charlie that, but I've barely spoken to him. Why can't you just tell me what I'm missing?”

Otis sighed. “I'm sorry, mate, I can't. It's really not my place to say, and there's some stuff Charlie asked me to keep to myself—”

Nick practically growled.

“—I know, it's shit. Do you know what you're going to do?” The subject change was obvious and unwanted, but Otis ignored Nick's pointed look. “Charlie wasn't sure if you were going to stay here or go back with your mum.” Otis cringed when Nick glared at Charlie's name.

“Well, I kind of have to go back to Kent, don't I?” Nick ran a hand through his hair. “I need someone to monitor me and check my emails and whatever. I can't really stay here.”

Otis's eyebrows creased. “Why can't you do that here?”

Nick rolled his eyes. He really couldn't remember why he'd been so excited to see Otis in the first place. “My mum isn't here. I can't make her stay here and babysit me.”

“Well, yeah, but why does it have to be her?”

“Because she's the only one who wants to babysit me?” Nick was kind of assuming Sarah did, in fact, want to babysit him. For all he knew, she might not be able to get the time off work for the next few days.

“Charlie can do all that.” Otis said it like it was so simple.

“It's not just checking emails.” Nick stared up at the ceiling. “The doctor said I need someone to watch me for twenty-four hours after I go home. Like, constantly. And I need rest and naps during the day, I can't do things on my own for a bit, I can't go on my computer at all for a week.” He rubbed his eyes, suddenly exhausted. “It's too much to ask of a friend.”

“Charlie can do all that,” Otis repeated. He bit his lip, uncharacteristically hesitant. “Look, it's up to you, mate. If you want to go home because you're more comfortable, then that's fine. But don't go back because you think Charlie won't take care of you. You might not remember them, but you do have people here. Charlie would want to take care of you.”

Nick forgot how insightful Otis could be. He had a way of reading people that could be jarring at times, and sometimes made Nick feel too exposed. It felt insane, choosing to stay with complete strangers at a time when he was so vulnerable, so unsettled.

But the idea of going home, puttering around his house alone with his mum, while all of his friends were off becoming real adults, felt more miserable. It might be a gamble, reacquainting himself with friends he didn't know, but Nick would suck it up and try. His lovely mum would always be there to pick up the pieces if it turned out to be too much. And Nick trusted Otis. He wouldn't lie about something like this. If Otis said Charlie wouldn't mind helping Nick with his recovery, then Nick could at least ask if he could stay. Nick would just try to be as self-sufficient as possible so he wouldn't be putting Charlie out too much.

He sighed, leaning back and letting Otis chat about what the rest of their rugby friends were doing. It was nice just to let the words wash over him. Nick tried not to think too much about what was to come.

Chapter Text

Their flat was nice, Nick decided. He was sitting sideways, feet up, on an overstuffed sofa. It clearly had seen better days, but he appreciated that past Nick had prioritized comfort over looks as he sank into the cushions.

He found himself soaking in all the little details of the living room. There were fairy lights draped high on the walls, bathing everything in a warm glow. A signed rugby ball he'd gotten in year twelve sat on a shelf, proudly displayed. There were fluffy blankets tucked under the coffee table. Nick tended to run hot and avoided thick blankets, but they looked soft and cozy. When his mum tucked one around his lap, he found himself snuggling further into it.

Photos littered the walls, some showing scenes of him and his rugby mates from St. John's, some showing him with a group of burly lads in Leeds rugby uniforms. Other photos held Charlie with an unfamiliar group of people, all of them smiling. He kept staring at one photo in particular of Charlie with a small boy clinging to his back, a tiny version of Charlie, so presumably his brother. It was strange to see the broad grin stretched across Charlie's face, his eyes lit up with mirth as he was captured mid-laugh.

Nick found it a bit odd that none of the photos had him and Charlie in them together. Maybe they just didn't take photos much? Or maybe they had some but hadn't gotten a chance to print them and put them up yet?

As Nick pondered, Charlie himself appeared, carrying two steaming mugs of tea. He had just shown Sarah out, the two whispering in the hall for longer than Nick had expected. Charlie's eyelashes were damp and his cheeks slightly flushed. Nick wondered what they had spoken about, how they seemed to be so close, but it didn't feel appropriate to ask. Nick took the tea, thanking Charlie softly as the other boy curled up in an armchair opposite him. He took a careful sip and was pleasantly surprised to taste earl grey. He usually just drank English breakfast because he didn't want to be a pain and ask for something different, but it wasn't his favourite.

When Nick had tentatively asked Charlie, back at the hospital, about the option of staying in the flat, Charlie had looked surprised but slightly relieved. It gave Nick the courage to bring up all of the care instructions and to reassure Charlie that he was under no obligation to play nursemaid. Charlie had simply shrugged, claiming he didn't mind, and then disappeared again with the promise of getting the flat ready.

Nick barely had time to wonder what on earth that meant before he was being rushed through discharge paperwork, strapped into his mum's car, and ferried back to what was apparently his home. The ride had been awful, the world whirling around him and nausea roiling through his gut. And then, saying goodbye to his mum had been even worse. He thought he would cry, but no tears came. Instead, a hollow numbness had taken hold. He'd clutched her tightly in a hug and promised to call every day with updates.

Now she was gone, and Nick was alone with a stranger who supposedly wasn't a stranger.

Nick cleared his throat awkwardly. “So, whose idea was it to get these coasters?” he asked as he placed his mug on a slightly misshapen ceramic heart. The edges were uneven and it was slightly bigger than the one next to it.

Charlie glanced down and then looked away sharply. “Er, you, I suppose. You made them for m—” Charlie broke off. “For the apartment.”

Nick laughed. It sounded slightly too high pitched to his ears. “Oh. I guess I haven't gotten any better at arts and crafts in the past couple years.”

Charlie shrugged. “I don't know. I like them.”

They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence as they sipped their tea. So much for breaking the tension. Nick had been so anxious to speak to Charlie, but now that he had the chance, he had no idea where to start.

Charlie was the one to speak first. “Your mum said you don't remember anything really, after sixth form?”

Nick frowned. “If that. I can't say exactly where it cuts off, but some of my memories of school are a bit foggy too.”

Charlie nodded, pensive. “But you don't remember any of uni?”

Nick shook his head. He swallowed. “Can you,” he ran his finger over some small cuts on his hand. “Can you tell me about it?”

Charlie studied Nick for a long moment. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

So they sat and sipped their tea, and little by little Nick learned about himself. There was something soothing about hearing it from Charlie. He had been worried that the description of a life he couldn't remember would be disconcerting or overwhelming. Speaking with his mum and Otis had made his palms sweat and his heart race. Somehow, Charlie's soft cadence and nonjudgmental tone washed over him and made him feel privy to these unfamiliar stories. He might not remember all the details yet, but the things he learned felt like they fit. They felt like they were true.

Nick learned he had picked the coffee table but Charlie had found the couch and armchair on Facebook marketplace. The blankets were also an addition from Charlie, who insisted their flat was too cold. Apparently, they always fought over the heating (Nick rolled his eyes as he heard this, claiming Charlie could just put on more layers. Charlie had laughed, saying Nick had used that argument before).

Charlie said that Nick loved his placements, always coming home with new drawings from his students that got proudly pinned to the fridge. His classes were more of a mixed bag, some tedious, some stimulating.

Nick played rugby and was friends with most of the team. He had other friends too. Charlie pointed out a picture on the wall. Nick was laughing with two smaller figures.

“That's Darcy. They/them pronouns.” Charlie pointed to the figure sitting, perched, on Nick's shoulders. Darcy's blonde hair was cropped into a ruffled mullet. “They are absolutely wild. Brace yourself for when you meet them again. And then that's Tara.” Charlie indicated the girl tucked under Nick's arm, her floral dress matching her bright smile. “She and Darcy have been dating for five years now, I think? They sort of adopted you when you first moved here. You lived on the same floor as Tara, and you guys just clicked.”

The Nick in the photograph looked so happy, so carefree. He couldn't stop staring.

“They've actually been asking after you.” Charlie pulled out his phone but didn't open it, just played with it in his hands. “I've held them at bay so far, but they'll probably show up at some point. The others as well. I just wanted to give you a moment to adjust before they all ambushed you.”

Nick finally dragged his eyes away. “They look… really nice.” It sounded lame to his ears.

Perhaps someone else would think he was being disingenuous, but Charlie just met his eyes and gave a small smile. “They are.”

Nick was about to ask about the ‘others’ Charlie mentioned, when he broke off in a wide yawn.

Charlie chuckled. “Bedtime, I suppose.”

Nick grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, maybe.” He pushed himself to his feet.

The room tilted precariously. On instinct, Nick threw his arms out to the side. Charlie was there in an instant, slipping under Nick and wrapping a steady arm around his waist. Nick found himself automatically leaning towards Charlie's warmth.

“You okay?” Charlie murmured, peering up at Nick.

“Yeah, sorry,” he responded, suddenly distracted by the stormy blue of Charlie's eyes. “I just got dizzy for a moment.”

“That makes sense, what with the concussion.” Charlie ducked his head and the connection was lost. “Do you think you can walk on your own or are you still dizzy?”

Nick was tempted, for a moment, to say he needed help even though the room had stopped spinning. He didn't feel quite ready for the other boy to move away. Which was a crazy thought. He wasn't sure why it felt so nice having Charlie's weight tucked into his side.

What the hell was wrong with him today? He supposed the accident knocked him off his axis, but it was like he was imprinting on Charlie. He felt desperate for the other boy's attention, for him to be close. He had never felt this way with a friend before. It was disconcerting to say the least.

He forced himself to take a step back, instantly feeling the cold creep in. “I think I can walk.”

Charlie stepped away too, suddenly very interested in a frayed patch of carpet. “Right, of course.” He says, pulling the sleeves of his jumper over his hands. “I'll just, er, show you your room?”

Nick nodded, and they filed down a short hallway, passing a bathroom and a closed door that Nick assumed led to Charlie's room. Charlie showed Nick into a tidy bedroom.

“So… the nurse told me some of the discharge stuff.” Charlie was avoiding Nick's eyes still, fiddling with his fingers. “She said something about…” He let out a nervous huff of air. “God, why is this so awkward?”

Nick felt heat rising to his cheeks. He has no idea what Charlie was talking about, but needed to smooth over the tension somehow. “I'm sorry, I'm so awkward, I appreciate–”

Charlie's eyes finally shot up. “No s-word.”

Nick's eyebrows creased. “What?”

“Oh, er, nothing. Just…” He tugged at the hem of his sweater. “It's not your fault. Don't be sorry.”

Nick nodded and sat on the edge of the bed. He smoothed down the duvet cover. It was green, when he normally favoured blue. He supposed tastes change.

“I just thought,” Charlie tried again. “The nurse said you need to be observed for the first few days. She told me all the symptoms to watch for. And, like, of course I'm just down the hall, and you can just yell if you need something and I'd probably hear. But I just kind of worry sometimes.” Charlie chewed on his lip. “It might be easier for you if I was closer. I have a sleeping bag, and I could be on the floor. It's not like I'd be sharing a bed with you.” A flush crawled up his neck. “Oh God, why would I even say that? I'm so sorry. Of course you don't want me in bed with you, I know that.” He trailed off, bright red.

Nick's sluggish brain took a moment to parse through Charlie's rambling. “Are you asking if you can sleep in here?”

Charlie looked pained but nodded. “I know it's probably weird, but the nurse did say that having someone with you for the first forty-eight hours was best.” One of Charlie's arms came up to squeeze his opposite bicep. “And I just know that I won't sleep, thinking you might not wake up or picturing you having a seizure.”

Bloody hell. Should Nick be worried he could have a seizure?

“I know it's not normal. My brain just won't turn off sometimes, which obviously isn't your fault. And I swear, the nurse did say that, this isn't me trying to–”

“Whoa, Charlie, breathe.” Nick leaned forward, catching Charlie's panicked gaze. “That's fine. The nurse actually said the same thing to me. I just figured you'd probably want to sleep in your own bed.” Charlie's face did an odd twist at that. “But of course I don't mind you staying. I'd really appreciate it.”

He smiled, and Charlie managed a wobbly smile in return. “Oh, okay. I'll just go get the sleeping bag then.”

Charlie slipped out. Nick almost called him back. There wasn't a real need for Charlie to get a sleeping bag. Nick had shared a bed with his mates countless times between rugby retreats and the occasional sleepover. The bed looked big enough that they would both have plenty of space. It would be silly for Charlie to sleep on the hard ground.

But then Nick thought of the gentle pressure of Charlie's shoulders under his arm. His slender arm wrapped around Nick's middle. The memory was warm and comforting. It was also terrifying.

He couldn't share a bed with Charlie. The other boy was clearly already uncomfortable enough. And going out of his way to help Nick. No, Nick would hold his tongue.

Charlie reemerged, dwarfed by a bulky sleeping bag he had wrapped around his shoulders and a lavender pillow.

“Alright, so you saw where the toilet is, if you need it. Your toothbrush is the Iron Man one—don't ask, I tried to talk you out of it.” Nick couldn't help but grin. “There’s a closet in the bathroom with towels and extra linens and things if you need it. Feel free to use anything in the shower, but the curly products probably won't do much for you.” Nick chucked at this, eyes darting up to Charlie's dark hair.

He had no idea how Charlie did it, put him so at ease when everything felt unbearably precarious. Charlie had said he would be the one to catastrophise, sleeping alone, but Nick couldn't help but be glad for the company himself. His brain felt scattered. If he was here, alone, trying to fall asleep, he was sure his thoughts would run away from him.

Nick took a quick shower and brushed his teeth, finding everything Charlie mentioned easily along with a pair of joggers and a T-shirt folded neatly on the counter. He had gotten distracted in the shower, sniffing Charlie's curly-hair conditioner. It had some sort of flowery scent, maybe jasmine, and Nick felt something tugging at his memory as he inhaled.

When he finally reemerged in his bedroom, Charlie looked up sharply, scrubbing at his eyes. He was tucked into his sleeping bag, which he'd laid out on the opposite end of the room from Nick's bed, leaving plenty of space for Nick to walk to his bed and climb in. Nick pretended not to notice the redness of Charlie's eyelids or the damp patches on his sleeves.

“I should be on the floor. You're doing me a favour.”

“Nick, you literally have a brain injury. There is no world in which I let you sleep on the floor right now.” Charlie paused. “Also, I asked to be here. It's hardly a favour.”

Nick leaned over and turned off his lamp. He curled up under the covers. They were cold, crisp, and smelled of laundry detergent.

“Thank you,” he murmured into the dark. “I'm glad you're here.”

There was no answer from Charlie's side of the room. Nick wished he could see his face, but it was too dark.

“And,” Nick's throat felt tight. “I'm sorry. I know this must be hard for you, and I feel like such a burden right now. I'm just… sorry.”

There was a crinkling sound from Charlie's sleeping bag. He must have turned over. An agonizing pause hung heavy in the air before Charlie finally spoke.

“I don't blame you,” he sighed. “I won't lie, this has been hard.”

Nick wanted to ask why, the word burning on his tongue. Nick was sure if Otis forgot him it would be hard, but he couldn't imagine being quite so emotional about it. But maybe Charlie was just a more emotional person? Before Nick could figure out a way to phrase his question without sounding like a complete prick, Charlie continued.

“It's not your fault, though. And honestly this whole thing is awful for you, so I really shouldn't be making you feel worse. Or making it about me.” He let out a long breath. “Just… don't be sorry. I want to help.”

Nick nodded, even though Charlie couldn't see it. “Right, well, thanks.” His voice came out gruff.

There was another pause. Nick couldn't decide if this one was awkward or not.

“Goodnight, Nick.” It was a dismissal of sorts.

Why did Nick suddenly feel the urge to reach out? He could feel Charlie's hurt in his bones and it made him ache. He felt like he was failing some sort of test.

He rolled over, bunching up the extra duvet and hugging it to his chest.

“Goodnight, Charlie.”

Chapter Text

Nick hadn't thought he would be able to sleep, but he supposed the concussion had to be useful for something. He was out like a light, and then he slept through until the morning sunlight flooded through a crack in the curtains. The concussion also brought with it a splitting headache.

He turned in bed to find two paracetamol and a glass of water waiting for him on his bedside table. There was no sign of Charlie. Even his sleeping bag had vanished.

Nick pushed himself out of bed and scrounged around for some clothes. It was strange, seeing a few of his old clothes but mostly new things he didn't recognise. He threw on some clean joggers and a sweatshirt he recognised with the St. John's logo plastered across the chest.

In the light of day, Nick found himself noticing more of his bedroom. He didn't have any fairy lights here, instead a neon sign with the word “music” hung above his bed. He couldn't remember buying it. There were a couple of his posters from his childhood bedroom up, and a photo of Nellie and Henry sat proudly on his dresser, making him smile.

When Nick ran his finger along the books lining his shelf, he frowned. The Iliad? Pride and Prejudice? Virginia Woolf? How much had Nick changed in the past few years?

He followed the smell of sausages into the kitchen, finding Charlie in front of the hob, brandishing a pair of tongs. A plate of scrambled eggs sat ready on the counter.

“Morning,” Nick said, making Charlie flinch and whirl around. “Oh shit, sorry.”

Charlie was already shaking his head. “No, it's just me. I'm jumpy today, I guess.”

Charlie did look a bit worse today. He had dark circles under his eyes and his lids were puffy. He was dressed in a pair of sleep shorts that barely poked out from the hem of a blue sweatshirt. The jumper was huge on Charlie. Nick paused, transfixed by the way the fabric bunched and shifted over his small frame. Something tugged at his gut at the sight. Something primal, satisfied.

He liked seeing Charlie in that jumper. But why?

Nick shook his head. Trying to dislodge the confusion.

“Do you want a hand?” Nick asked.

“No, I think it's done. Why don't you grab a dish—top shelf next to the fridge—and take what you want? I made toast as well.” He pointed to a stack of toast on the counter.

Nick busied himself making a plate, leaving one out for Charlie as well, then sat at their tiny kitchen table. Charlie joined him after a moment, two cups of tea balanced in his hands.

“Aren't you going to eat?” Nick asked, noting that the plate he'd brought down for Charlie was untouched.

“Oh, I already had some.”

Nick frowned, warning bells blaring in his brain, but he had no idea why. “Are you sure?”

For the first time, Nick saw irritation flash across Charlie's face. But it was only the briefest moment before his features smoothed out carefully.

“Yes, I already ate,” Charlie repeated. His voice was casual, but a muscle ticked in his jaw.

Nick frowned deeper but let it drop, tucking into his meal.

He wasn't able to relax. Something about Charlie, sitting across from him with his plate empty, didn't sit right with Nick. His brain was screaming at him to check in, to make sure Charlie had eaten. Get Charlie to eat now. Which was insane because Charlie was a grown man. If he said he had breakfast earlier, then Nick had no reason to think he was lying.

“So,” Nick started, searching for some safer conversation topic. “Do you have classes today?”

It seemed to work, Charlie relaxing slightly in his chair. “Yeah, I have a couple lectures, but they'll be recorded, so I can take notes later.”

“Oh. Because of me?”

Charlie sipped from his tea. “Yes, but it's my choice to stay here.” A faint pink dusted his cheeks. “I don't think I'd be able to pay attention, anyway, if I was out.”

Did Charlie learn better when he studied at home?

“It seems silly, but I don't actually know what you're studying,” Nick mused.

Charlie's lip twitched. “Even before the accident, you could barely remember. Classics with a minor in maths. Pretty dull, I know.”

“Not dull. Impressive as hell.”

Charlie smiled and hid behind his mug. “Well, either way it means my lectures aren't too difficult to absorb from recordings.”

Nick nodded, trying to play it off like he knew what it was like to take notes off a recorded lecture.

Charlie smirked, his gaze sharpening. “You have no idea what I'm talking about.”

Nick should be embarrassed, but something about Charlie's easy tone made Nick feel like he was in on the joke. “Yeah, okay, maybe not.”

Charlie just grinned wider. “You’ll be an expert soon enough. Your lectures are all recorded as well.” Before Nick could panic at the idea of figuring out how to find them, Charlie waved him off. “I'll show you. Maybe you can try just listening and taking notes at first since you're not supposed to look at screens? I'm not sure. We'll have to see how it goes. I can always take paper notes for you if I need to.”

“What–”

“Oh! And before I forget,” Charlie said, leaning over to grab a crisp sheet of paper from the countertop. “Your Leeds rugby team sent an email. I think they feel bad since they were all there and saw how awful the injury was. I printed it so you can read it without looking at a computer.”

Nick took it, skimming over the text. “You looked at my email?”

Charlie flushed. “No, they emailed it to me to pass along.”

His team emailed a letter for Nick to…Charlie? “Okay.”

Every member of his team had written him a short message. They were personal, touching. It was unsettling to read inside jokes he couldn't remember. Every name was signed, but he couldn't remember a single teammate. He set it down.

“I didn't read it or anything,” Charlie said. He sounded nervous.

“It doesn't really matter if you did. This probably means more to you than it does to me, anyway.” Nick could hear the bitterness in his voice.

Charlie's eyes flickered to the page. He wet his lips. “Do you want me to go through it with you? Tell you about your teammates?”

“No, it's fine.”

Charlie pulled at the sleeves of his jumper. Nick's eyes fixed on the material. There was something about that sweatshirt. He couldn't actually remember it, but it felt like he should. He could almost sense the texture of the fabric against his skin. Which was insane because it was Charlie's and why would they be sharing clothes?

“Do you,” Charlie hesitated. “Do you want me to find your lectures so you can listen to some of them?”

Nick blinked. “Oh, yeah, that would be great.”

The rest of the day went smoother. Charlie somehow already knew Nick's class list, and Nick thankfully hadn't changed his password in the past few years (Ne11ie<3), so they were able to log into his account.

Charlie parked Nick on the sofa with his laptop, a lined notebook, and a blue fountain pen. He somehow knew that Nick liked being comfortable when he studied instead of stuck at a desk. Nick was supplied with tea, snacks, and painkillers as he took notes as best he could for subjects he had never heard of.

Early childhood development was fascinating. He kept pausing the lecture and scrolling back to repeat sections as he took meticulous notes. He awkwardly squinted at his screen as he did so, as though that would keep him from actually looking at it. His language and literacy course was much more tedious, going into linguistics and physiology in much more depth than seemed necessary.

Charlie brought him a sandwich at lunch. He'd been flitting in and out all day, switching Nick's lectures to try to keep him from using his computer himself. Charlie was meticulous in his nursemaid duties, asking Nick every hour or so about his symptoms. Nick had hoped they would sit and eat lunch together, but Charlie claimed he had a lecture to watch himself and slipped back into the kitchen. Considering they lived in such a small apartment, Charlie certainly did an excellent job of making himself scarce.

By the end of the day, Nick had a niggling headache that couldn't be shaken despite his meticulous paracetamol schedule, but he felt satisfied. He discovered a sense of purpose, a clarity in his life, that had been missing since he'd woken up in hospital. Nick finally understood why he had chosen this course to study. He'd had to slog back through lectures from the start of the year, but the notion of keeping up with his classmates felt slightly less ridiculous now.

Nick was just closing his laptop and struggling out of the mountains of cushions Charlie had stacked around him when there was a knock on the door.

Charlie slipped back into the living room, his lips tilted down in confusion.

“Not expecting anyone?” Nick chirped from the sofa.

“No,” Charlie muttered. “But I'm worried I know who it might be.”

Charlie opened the front door just a crack, but immediately a foot wedged its way in. The door flew open to reveal the tiny blonde from Nick's photos. Darcy, if he remembered correctly.

They squealed and rushed Nick, pushing him back onto the couch with an “Oomph” and splaying across his lap. They peered up at him unapologetically.

Charlie screeched, storming over and yanking Darcy up so they were sitting next to Nick instead. The other girl from the photo, Tara, trailed in after them, rolling her eyes.

“Darcy!” Charlie yelped. “What part of ‘brain injury’ do you not understand?”

“It's a sofa, Spring. I don't think the cushions are going to make it worse,” Darcy deadpanned.

Tara perched next to Darcy, taking their hand. “I think Charlie might be right about this one, love. Be nice to Nick while he's healing.” She turned to Nick then. “How are you feeling?”

Nick was reeling. His brain was still rebooting from the stranger in his lap. “Er, fine?”

Darcy grinned. “See, he's fine!”

“He's not fine. He's concussed,” Charlie hissed. “This is why I told you guys not to come.” Charlie fell back into an armchair, rubbing his temples.

Darcy was unaffected by his vitriol. “You shouldn't be worrying about us. You should be worrying about Elle and Tao.”

Charlie's face drained of colour. “They're coming?”

Tara grimaced sympathetically. “I think they're just worried, Charlie. You haven't been responding, so they wanted to check in with you both.”

Charlie scowled and burrowed into his sweatshirt.

“Wait,” Nick interjected. “Who are Elle and Tao?”

Silence. All eyes were on Nick, he tried not to squirm. Darcy’s grin finally dropped from their face, confusion spreading across their features. Tara's eyebrows drew together with concern. Charlie's eyes were impossibly wide, his face somehow growing paler. Nick swallowed, nervous.

“What do you mean, Nick?” Tara murmured.

Nick looked at Charlie, unsure. “Charlie?”

Charlie grimaced. “Tao and Elle are more of our friends.”

Nick nodded, but the tension still hung heavy in the room.

“What the fuck is going on?” Darcy finally burst out, breaking the silence.

Nick tilted his head, turning to Charlie again. “You didn't tell them?”

Charlie tugged the sleeves of his sweatshirt over his hand. He looked so small, curling in on himself in the enormous armchair.

“Tell us what?” Tara asked, her eyes kind, imploring.

Charlie clenched his jaw. Nick thought he might be trembling. He felt the strange urge to reach out, comfort the other boy in some way. It didn't seem like Charlie was going to speak, but Nick didn't want to overstep. Was there a reason that he hadn't said anything to their friends? Should Nick hold his tongue?

But hadn't Charlie said that these people were his friends first? Didn't that mean that Nick was allowed to tell them? How was it any different than Charlie knowing about his memory loss?

Fuck it.

“Er, I got in an accident during a rugby match,” Nick started. He was studying Charlie's face for some indication of how the other boy felt. He didn't want to make things harder for him. Charlie was completely still, no reaction.

“Yeah, we heard about that. You have a concussion, right?” Tara's voice was calm, soothing. It gave Nick the courage to keep going.

“Well, it's not just the concussion.” God, Nick hoped he wasn't fucking something up. Charlie just looked so freaked out. “I, er, I lost some memories.”

“Just, like, minor things?” Darcy asked, but their face was serious, scared to hear the answer. Nick had known them for all of three minutes, and even he knew this was out of character for Darcy.

“No,” Nick forced out. “I can't remember anything after St. John's. Everything from uni. I can't remember any of you.”

Chapter Text

“Okay, one more time from the top.”

“Darcy, I don't think hearing the shitty news for the fifth time is going to make it any less shitty.” There was an edge to Tara's voice that Nick hadn't heard before.

Darcy was sprawled across the couch, head tucked next to Nick's leg and face scrunched up as they glared at the ceiling. Tara had migrated to the carpet. She sat criss cross, facing Nick, and looked close to tears.

Charlie was not there anymore. Why was he never fucking there?

Charlie had gone completely still after Nick's big amnesia reveal. Thankfully, Nick was saved from the heavy silence that followed his words by a brash knock on the door.

Tao and Elle had barely stepped through the door before Darcy spilled the beans (at least Nick didn't have to say the words again, and Charlie certainly didn't seem to be volunteering to explain). Elle gaped. Tao glared at Nick as though it was a personal offense. And then things got weird.

“What do you mean, amnesia?” Tao scowled.

“Like, he can't remember anything after sixth form,” Charlie muttered.

“That's insane,” Tao said. He turned to Nick. “You remember Charlie, though.”

It didn't sound like a question, but everyone turned to Nick expectantly, desperately.

“Er, no?”

“Shit,” Darcy breathed.

Tao gaped at Nick. “You don't remember your—”

Charlie let out a high pitched squeak. He leapt over the armchair to grab Tao from behind, wrapped both arms around the taller boy's face, effectively mauling him into silence.

“Charlie—” Tara tried.

“Nick does not remember me. He doesn't remember any of us. We're all his friends. I'm his flatmate.” Charlie's tone was firm.

Everyone gaped at Charlie. Nick's eyes darted between each figure, completely lost.

“Charlie, you can't—”

“Darcy, I swear to God—”

“Charlie, I think we all just—”

Charlie finally released the flailing Tao, grabbing both him and Elle, cutting her off mid-sentence. “We're not doing this here.”

He shot a murderous glare towards Tara and especially Darcy then dragged the other two down the hall, pushed them into Nick's room, and slammed the door shut behind him.

That had been a good twenty minutes ago. Nick had heard raised voices a few times since they disappeared, but nothing clear enough for him to decipher.

Tara and Darcy had stayed with Nick. They explained who Elle and Tao were. Friends, although it didn't feel like it at the moment. Both of them were shell shocked by the news, peppering Nick with questions and piecing together the story since he'd woken up the day before. How had it only been the day before? Nick felt like it had been years.

Now, Darcy slammed their head against the couch cushion, huffing angrily. “Everyone knows amnesia isn't real. It just happens in films.”

“That's what I said!” Nick exclaimed.

Tara managed a weak smile. “So, Nick, how are you really?”

Nick swallowed. Her deep brown eyes bored into his own. He felt like Tara could see straight into his soul. THe felt tears clawed at his throat, but he swallowed them down.

“I mean, I'm alright. I have a bit of a headache.”

Tara reached up to place both hands on his knees. The soft pressure grounded him, made it slightly easier to meet her eyes.

“Nick, I know it's probably weird to talk to us since you can't remember our friendship,” she started, rubbing her fingers along the inside of his knees. “But we really do care about you. You have to be struggling with all this. I know I would be. There's no pressure, but if you want to talk, we're here.”

Nick let out a shaky breath. He had to duck his head or he was sure he'd start bawling. He definitely had no memories of these two, but he could see why he would want them as friends. The balance between Darcy's lack of filter and chaotic bluntness and Tara's understanding eyes and uncomplicated comfort put him instantly at ease.

Or as much at ease as he could be while his entire world had been upended and the rug kept getting pulled out from under him.

“It's been so hard,” Nick whispered. Tara's eyebrows tilted sympathetically and Darcy slipped their hand through his. “God, I don't even know where to start. I feel so lost. I don't know how to belong here when I don't even remember anything. It's like, I chose to study education or whatever, so I guess I wanted to become a teacher, but I don't remember any of that. So do I still want to be a teacher? And if I do, then how the hell do I keep up with people who actually remember their first year?”

“Uni really isn't actually that hard—” Darcy started, but Tara shushed them, focusing back on Nick.

“And, like, I hurt myself playing rugby. I love rugby!” Nick threw his arms up, flopping back against the couch and then wincing when it made his skull throb. “But now, I don't know if I can even play anymore. Which is a lot. But even if they do clear me, how could I possibly keep up with my teammates? I'd be some pathetic sixth form level player going up against real university athletes. They'd fucking destroy me.”

“Nick, I'm sure—” Tara started, but Nick wasn't finished. It was like a switch had been flicked, and now that he was allowed to talk, his mouth wasn't under his control anymore.

“And all of that would be manageable if I didn't feel so fucking alone. Don't get me wrong, I can already tell you're both incredible, but it's pretty weird to suddenly have best friends I've never met.” He glanced down the hall, dropping his voice. “And Charlie's doing so much for me, I'm the most ungrateful twat there is, but I feel like I'm always saying the wrong thing. And it's like my mere presence is agony to him. I don't want that. I barely know him, and all I want is to be around him. But he doesn't want that, and how can I blame him?” Nick let out a wild laugh. “I'm not sure he even wants me here. It feels like he's just too nice to tell me to piss off. I'm such a fucking burden to—”

Darcy poked Nick hard in the stomach. He broke off with a yelp, looking down at them indignantly.

“What the hell?”

“We are here to listen, and we can listen to you vent all night if that's what you need.” Darcy arched one blonde eyebrow. “But if you're going to spew such utter bullshit about my two best friends, then I'm going to smack you. And I don't think Jonesy will let me smack you right now, so you got a poke.”

Tara rolled her eyes fondly. “They're right. I don't want anyone hitting you.”

“But what if it's one of those ‘one bonk, lose your memories; two bonks, memories come back’ sort of situations? How will we find out without giving him another hit?” Darcy asked, lolling their head over the side of the couch to stare up at Tara beseechingly.

Tara smacked Darcy lightly across the head. “No hitting Nick. That's final. We don't need Charlie banning us.” She turned back to Nick and took one of his hands in both of hers, stroking her thumb across his skin. “My insane partner was right about the other part, too. Nick, look at me.”

Nick huffed but gave her his full attention. Tara smiled gently. “You are not a burden.”

Shit. Now Nick really was going to cry. Darcy sat up, winding their arms around Nick from the side, and he found himself leaning into their warmth as the tears finally spilled over.

Tara wasn't done. “It might feel hard to believe right now, but you are so loved. By me and Darcy and Elle and even Tao. But none of us loves you as much as Charlie.” Nick must still be a smidge bitter about Charlie's disappearing act because he let out a small huff. Tara's expression turned stern. “I mean it Nick, he cares about you so deeply. He gets a bit in his head about things, which is probably why he's trying to give you space. If you don't want it, then just tell him.”

She made it sound so simple. “I keep making things worse,” he murmured helplessly. “Like just now, I can't tell if he's upset about the situation or if he's mad at me for telling you guys about this. And this morning, he said he ate and I asked if he was sure and he kind of seemed annoyed? I keep—”

“Charlie's not eating?” Tara's voice was sharp. He looked up, startled.

“Um, I guess he ate breakfast before I woke up. That's what he said.” Shit, was Nick putting his foot in it again?

“But you haven't actually seen him eat anything? Today or since you woke up yesterday?” Tara was solemn, eyes boring into Nick's. Even Darcy had sat back, frowning.

“Well, I guess not. But he's been busy today.” Why did Nick sound defensive?

Darcy bit their lip. “Nick, Charlie has some—”

“Darcy,” Tara warned, but her partner waved her off.

“Okay, okay, I know.” Darcy rolled their eyes and placed both hands on Nick's shoulders. “Charlie needs to eat dinner. Even if he gets aggy, you need to help him eat.”

“Er, okay?”

Tara leaned forward to speak, but was interrupted by Nick's bedroom door slamming open.

“You need to leave.” Charlie stormed through the living room and opened the front door. He turned expectantly to Tao and Elle who were, trailing after him. Tao looked furious, a storm simmering behind his eyes and his arms crossed tightly. Elle’s eyes were was brimming with tears, her gaze darting anxiously between Charlie and Tao.

“Charlie, please—”

“Elle, I don't want to hear it. Please go.”

Tara stood up. “What happened?”

“Charlie is being an idiot,” Tao snarled. “He won't tell Nick about them. You should see the fucking bedroom. It's ridiculous!”

Charlie was shaking. Nick stood, needing to go check on him but not wanting to get in the middle of something. Although it sounded like he was already involved.

“Charlie?”

Charlie's eyes shot to Nick, terrified.

Tao's eyes flashed angrily. “Stay out of this, Nelson. You've done more than enough.”

Nick shrank back. He'd never been on the receiving end of such vicious ire.

“Whoa, back off.” Darcy jumped off the couch, landing in front of Nick protectively and squaring off against Tao, despite being over a head shorter. “None of this is Nick's fault. Go take your hissy fit somewhere else.”

“So you're saying you agree with what Charlie's doing?” Tao hissed.

“Of course we don't,” Tara jumped in. “But yelling isn't going to help, is it?”

“What do you mean, ‘of course you don't,'" Charlie sniped. He swung the door open further. “You two can leave as well, if that's how it's going to be.”

Tao rolled his eyes. “Grow up, Charlie. We're just trying to help.”

“Well, you're not helping!” Charlie yelled. His hand came up, clenching onto his bicep. His fingers clenched rhythmically, some self-soothing motion.

Tao’s voice climbed to match Charlie's. “If you want to push yourself to a relapse, then—”

“Enough!” Elle cried. Every head swivelled towards her. Her voice echoed through the small room. “That’s enough, Tao!” She squeezed her eyes shut, and a flood of tears streaked down her face. Tao sobered immediately, his face pale.

“Elle, I—”

“Enough,” she repeated, quieter. “Charlie's right. We should go.”

“We'll join you,” Tara murmured.

The silence was oppressive as the guests collected their coats. Tao bit his lip before slipping past Charlie to wait in the hallway as everyone else said their goodbyes.

Darcy pulled Nick into a tight hug. Tara lifted to her toes to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Don't forget what we talked about,” she whispered before releasing him. Nick nodded, dazed.

He was surprised when Elle pulled him into a warm embrace. “I'm so sorry you got hurt, Nick. I wish we'd gotten a chance to speak about it properly, but I am here if you need anything.”

Nick nodded, emotion welling again. People needed to stop being so sincere while making so much eye contact.

Then they were gone, the door clicked shut. Nick would need days to parse through that argument. His head throbbed angrily, making it hard to remember everything he'd just heard.

Charlie turned, seeming to realise they were alone. He opened his mouth then closed it. His arm was still clenched around his bicep.

Squeezing, releasing, squeezing.

Charlie took a breath, as though he was going to speak. Instead, a sob tore out of his throat.

And finally, Charlie broke down.

Chapter Text

Nick had no idea what to do.

Charlie was curled against the door, arms folded across his knees and head tucked in so he formed a ball. His shoulders were shaking with silent sobs.

Nick had never been good at offering comfort. It never came up with his friends—rugby lads were hardly known for being in touch with their feelings. And his mum had always exercised a stiff upper lip, to a fault.

Nick blamed his dad. Sarah's husband walked out on two young children, forcing her to toughen up and keep a brave front for her struggling sons. She'd never quite broken the habit. He now knew that she'd lost a close friend to cancer when he was twelve, and there had been some bad investment when he was fifteen that almost cost them the house. Yet, Nick never heard about any of it growing up. Sarah Nelson didn't show her pain, or at least she didn't come to Nick for comfort. So Nick saw her as an example for caring compassion, but he'd never had the chance to practice.

His dad and David were far from good examples. He had tried comforting his brother growing up. It was obvious his father's continual absence affected David, but when Nick reached out he was met with scathing replies and biting insults. He learned to stop trying. He's not sure how his dad would respond to the same attempts.

So Nick was out of his depth. His body screamed at him to help, but he was wracking his brain for what was the appropriate response.

Would Charlie want physical contact? Did he want to be left alone? Would he be embarrassed if Nick witnessed his vulnerability? Nick couldn't imagine Charlie yelling at him the way David would, but a lot of Charlie's behavior today was unusual.

Charlie let out a strangled sob. He curled even further into himself.

Fuck it. Charlie needed help. Hopefully, if Nick followed his instincts, he wouldn't make it worse.

Nick slid down the wall next to Charlie, his legs stretched out in front of him.

“Charlie?” he murmured, so softly he wasn't sure the other boy would hear.

No response.

“Charlie?” he tried, a bit louder.

Still no response.

Nick reached out an arm slowly. His hand grazed Charlie's shoulder closer to him and the response was immediate. A shudder wracked through Charlie's body.

Nick panicked, about to yank his hand back, when Charlie leaned ever so slightly into Nick's touch. There was no break in his cries. Nick swallowed and pressed his hand more firmly to Charlie's shoulder. He could feel the tension in Charlie's muscles as the other boy trembled under his hand.

“Charlie, I'm going to put my arm around you,” Nick murmured. He was sitting close enough to see the brown undertones in Charlie's curls. He might have imagined it, but he thought Charlie shifted slightly closer.

He kept his hand firmly against Charlie's jumper, inching it along his back until Charlie was tucked into Nick's side. Another tremor rolled through Charlie's slim frame, before he relaxed into Nick. He turned his body into the embrace, his knees tilting over Nick's thighs. He continued to cry, awful, anguished sobs, but now Charlie's face was pressed into Nick's chest, right under his collarbone.

He felt guilty, but the feeling of Charlie in his arms was magical. The pressure of Charlie's legs against his, his hip bone digging into Nick's abdomen, the fruity smell of his hair products. All the sensations swirled around Nick, wrapping him in warmth and contentment. Having Charlie in his arms just felt right.

It was agonizingly bittersweet. Charlie was distraught. His tears were gradually painting a wet stain across Nick's sweatshirt. He still shook like a leaf. Every sob tore through Nick's heart, Charlie's pain was a living thing in Nick's chest. Subconsciously, he pulled Charlie impossibly closer.

It wasn't enough, he needed Charlie closer. Irrationally, his body seemed to think he could squeeze the sadness from Charlie if he just held him tightly enough.

Charlie seemed to agree. He pulled back half an inch, a break in his cries, and then Charlie was clambering fully into Nick's lap.

Nick had to clench his jaw to keep it from dropping open like a cartoon character. He hoped Charlie couldn't feel his heart hammering in his chest. At least he couldn't see the shock on Nick's face since Charlie had tucked his into Nick's neck.

Nick tried to force himself to relax. It wasn't that it didn't feel nice. Charlie wasn't too heavy. He was sitting across Nick's lap, his arms wrapped tightly around Nick's shoulders. The weight felt comforting, like when Nellie would sleep across his stomach. Charlie's curls tickled Nick's nose, the fruity scent he'd noticed early becoming intoxicating. The closeness, the intimacy, it was divine. So why were his palms sweating and his breathing shallow?

He wracked his brain for a time that a friend had been so tactile with him. Boys were all over each other in rugby. He wasn't unused to hugs, arms thrown around him, slaps on the back. His first crush at age fourteen, Sophie Davis, had been fairly affectionate. She held his hand, ran her hands up his arms. They even shared a kiss at a party.

But that was different…right?

This was a whole different sensation. Nick's body was singing. His lap was meant to be occupied by Charlie. His brain was wired to crave this. It was like the world just made sense when they were close like this.

But it was odd for friends to be this physical… right?

Were uni friendships different? Tara had kissed his cheek. She also ran her fingers over his knees. Hell, Darcy jumped into his lap as a greeting. He knew neither of them were interested in him romantically. So, maybe that's just how his friendships were now?

It was different with Charlie. Nick felt different with Charlie. But Charlie was upset. He needed his friend. And since Nick had forgotten how to be that friend properly, he would just go with it. He hoped this broken version of himself was sufficient.

As Nick's thoughts slowly branched out and tangled and his stomach twisted into knots, Charlie's cries died down. Nick ran his hand in broad strokes over Charlie's back until, finally, he quietened completely.

Charlie let out a shaky sigh. Nick rested his cheek lightly on the top of Charlie's curls.

“Hey,” Nick murmured.

“Hey,” Charlie whispered into Nick's skin. Goosebumps formed where Charlie's breath fanned.

They sat together, their little bubble of comfort tucked away from the world.

“Do you feel any better?”

Charlie pulled back abruptly, eyes wide. He blinked, pushing back on Nick's chest and scrambling out of Nick's arms. Nick frowned but let him go. Charlie looked slightly panicked again, but at least he wasn't crying.

“What is it? Are you okay?” Nick wanted to reach out, touch Charlie's arm, but the other boy was giving off the energy of a spooked horse. One touch and he might bolt.

Charlie kneeled across from Nick, staring at him like he had grown an extra limb. He shook his head, curls swaying.

“Yeah, sorry.”

“No s-word.” Nick muttered.

Charlie blinked. “What?”

Nick tilted his head. “What?”

Charlie studied Nick, thinking. “You heard me say that the other day?” he asked slowly.

“Er, I suppose so.” Nick couldn't remember why the phrase had popped into his head, but honestly, Charlie apologised far too much.

Charlie nodded, staring down at his hands in his lap.

“Do you,” Nick murmured, trying to channel his inner Sarah Nelson. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Charlie sat back on his bum, shoving his fingers into the roots of his curls and crossing his legs against his chest. “Not really, but I suppose I should. I feel like I owe you an explanation.”

“You don't owe me anything,” Nick said. He shifted to sit crisscross and mirror Charlie. “You've done so much for me. But I am definitely confused, so if you want to talk about it, I'm all ears.”

“Right,” Charlie murmured. “Where to start.”

Nick couldn't help it. He reached out and squeezed Charlie's knee. Charlie offered him a smile, so Nick left his hand there.

“Right,” Charlie repeated. “So we met last year. I told you that Tara was basically your first friend here. I met her and Darcy through the LGBTQ soc, and then—”

“Wait, what?” Nick interrupted. “You're queer?”

Charlie's face tightened, his eyes going flat. “Yes, Nick. I'm queer.” Charlie squared his shoulders. “I'm gay.”

“Oh.” Something bright, hopeful, bloomed in Nick's chest. Charlie was gay. Did that mean he wasn't uncomfortable with how touchy Nick had been? “I guess I was supposed to know that already.”

“It's not your fault.” Charlie sounded forced.

A thought occurred to Nick that made his stomach sink. Charlie was so incredible. He was probably seeing someone. A sour, acrid feeling twisted in his gut. Nick pushed it down. He and Charlie were friends. Good friends. He should want his friend to be happy. He was happy for Charlie.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Nick forced out, grimacing.

Charlie glanced up at the ceiling, his face pained. “I…” He looked back at Nick, stormy eyes imploring. But Nick had no idea what he was supposed to be connecting.

“It's okay if you don't want to talk about it,” Nick said, stroking his thumb along Charlie's knee.

“I…” Charlie glanced down at Nick's hand, then back up to his eyes. “I had a boyfriend in sixth form.”

“Oh.”

“His name was Ben.”

Loathing, sharp and cold, spiked in Nick's chest. It came so forcefully, so fast, that he gasped.

“What?” Charlie asked, his brows pinched together, and he leaned forward. “Are you okay? Is it your head?”

“No… I just…” A face popped into Nick's head. Swooping brown hair and a sleazy smirk. “I think I remember Ben?”

Charlie's eyes widened. He reared back, horrified. “You remember him?”

Something else was tickling at the corner of Nick's mind. Anger, betrayal, pain. There was something about Ben. “I don't know. It's not really clear memories. I just know I hate that guy.” He looked up, realising he might be offending Charlie. “Sorry if you guys are still friends or something.”

“No, he was an arsehole, you're right,” Charlie said slowly, his eyebrows still pressed close. “I deserved better.”

It clicked. Nick knew that. Somehow. “He cheated on you.”

Charlie blinked. “Yeah. How did you know that?”

Nick shrugged. “I dunno. I just felt so angry. I don't even really remember him properly. Have I met him?”

Charlie ran a hand through his hair, loosening the curls into a soft frizz. “Once, briefly. It didn't go well. We were home for Christmas and ran into him at a party. He said some things, and you two got into a fight.”

Nick frowned, trying to drag up some images from what Charlie described.

“Do you remember?” Charlie asked.

“No,” Nick sighed, frustrated.

Charlie slipped his hand over Nick's, which he had forgotten was still on Charlie's leg. He gave it a soft squeeze. “Don't be hard on yourself. You remembered something. That's huge.” He smiled softly. “The rest will come.”

Nick managed a smile in return. “Aren't I supposed to be the one comforting you?”

“We help each other,” Charlie murmured. “That's what we do.”

Nick gave his hand a squeeze. “Can I ask you something and you tell me the truth?”

Charlie seemed to sense the shift in Nick's tone. He eyed him warily. “Sure.”

“Have you been skipping meals?”

Charlie ducked his head and swore softly under his breath. He stared at his lap for a long moment. Nick could barely breathe through the tension, waiting for Charlie to go off at him. When he looked back up at Nick, his eyes were lined with tears.

“Shit, sorry,” Nick rushed. “I shouldn't have asked. You don't have to answer.”

But Charlie was already shaking his head. “No, it's fine. I'm kind of being a prick since I know I can get away with lying because you can't remember.” He let out a huff of breath. “But of course you still somehow know.”

Nick shrugged. He wasn't sure if he should say that Tara had helped, but he wanted to stay in this place where Charlie was willing to talk and wasn't upset.

“I have an eating disorder.” Charlie's voice was so soft. Nick could barely hear, and still, his heart was breaking. “I had it back in secondary, but it wasn't as bad. I got bullied all through year nine after I got outed. It was pretty bad. I ended up transferring schools and skipping year ten. My parents thought that if I was challenged a bit more with my schoolwork and I had a new environment then I might not get picked on so much.”

“Did it help?” Nick murmured.

“Maybe a bit. Not enough. But it meant I graduated sooner and came here, so that's something.” Charlie's voice was resigned. “And that's how I met Ben. We were in the same year then for sixth form. But he treated me like shit and made everything worse, and by the time I got to uni, I was barely eating.”

Nick reached out and slipped his fingers through Charlie's, a silent show of support. Charlie offered a weak smile before he continued.

“Coming to Leeds, meeting you and Tao and Elle, helped me so much. But I still had to spend Easter holidays at an inpatient facility. I'm mostly in recovery now. I think all this has just been making eating harder. Old habits die hard and all that.”

Nick nodded. His throat felt tight. How could this beautiful, smart, kind, perfect boy have been through so much? To think that Charlie had been through hell and still was so kind and compassionate. That he still had such a good sense of humour and could laugh with his friends. The world was too cruel for creatures as special as Charlie Spring. How could Ben treat him so badly? How could Ben cheat on Charlie? If Nick was with Charlie—

Whoa. Where did that come from? Nick didn't want to be with Charlie.

Then Nick thought of Charlie's smile. He thought of Charlie's soft curls and deft fingers. He thought of Charlie's sharp cheekbones and angular jaw. The light stubble forming on his chin. The soft lilt of his voice. The warmth of his stormy blue gaze.

Who could be around Charlie and not want him. Charlie was a force Nick was powerless to resist.

Well, shit.

“Er, Nick?” Charlie's voice wavered slightly as he broke Nick out of his pining. “I really need you to say something.”

Right. Eating disorder. Charlie baring his soul while Nick discovered his embarrassingly huge crush. Focus Nelson.

“Thanks for trusting me enough to tell me,” Nick said, gripping Charlie's hand tighter. “I'm sure it's hard to tell people. And it must be harder to tell me since I'm supposed to already know.”

Charlie shrugged, squeezing Nick's hand back.

“I have so much respect for you.” Nick continued. “You’ve been through so much, and you came out the other side. You are so strong.”

Charlie let out a bitter laugh. “I don't feel very strong right now.” He slumped forward until his fringe brushed knees.

Nick leaned closer. “No, Charlie, you are.” It was so important that Charlie heard. “You are the strongest person I know. I feel so lucky that I know you.” Charlie gave a tiny smile. “And if there's anything I can do to help you with meals, can you tell me?”

Charlie was silent for a long moment, a conflicted expression playing across his face. Finally he met Nick's eyes, determined.

“Maybe we could have dinner together?” he mumbled. Nick beamed, and Charlie sat up slightly taller. “It's easier, sometimes, if you talk to me.”

“Well that's easy, then.” Nick slapped his hands to his thighs before pushing himself up to his feet. Then he reached both hands down to help Charlie. “Let's have dinner.”

Nick underestimated how light Charlie would be, yanking him up so hard that the smaller boy stumbled. Charlie's body pressed to Nick's for just a second before he pushed back, but Nick felt every inch of contact.

“Er, sorry,” Charlie muttered with a nervous laugh. “Let me check what we can make for dinner.”

Nick followed behind him, dazed. They cooked, and sat, and ate, and laughed. It was domestic, and it was easy, and it was kind of perfect. And through it all, Nick drank Charlie in, dazed.

Nick was so fucked.

Chapter Text

62% homosexual.

The bright rainbow flag shone on Nick's face. He felt a tear slip down his cheek even as he tried not to roll his eyes. What did 62% homosexual even mean? What was he supposed to do with that?

It wasn't altogether surprising, but that didn't make it any less life-changing.

Nick had been plagued with a different Charlie dream every night that week. Plagued might be the wrong word. The dreams were far from unpleasant.

Nick and Charlie, sprawled on a blanket in the park. Laughing, chatting, kissing. So much kissing. Nick's lips were swollen and there was a hickey forming on Charlie's neck. Nick felt slightly giddy staring at it.

Nick and Charlie, in Nick's childhood kitchen. They chatted amiably with his mum over tea. Charlie complimented Sarah's new table mats, and Sarah beamed. She got up to press a kiss to Charlie's temple. Their interaction was so comfortable, so fond, it made Nick's chest fill with warmth.

Charlie in Nick's bed this time, pliant beneath Nick's large frame. Charlie was sweating, writhing, hands curled tightly in the sheets next to him. He begged Nick, please, please please. Nick just chuckled, low in his throat, as he leaned down to suck a mark into the tender flesh of Charlie's hip.

He woke from that dream, sweaty, hard enough to cut glass, and more confused than ever.

So Nick had turned to Google. Not easy with a concussion. His screen allowance was more lenient a few days after his accident, but he was still supposed to limit his use of technology. Charlie thought he was using this time for study purposes, but Nick spent every available moment on sites like this one: a BuzzFeed “Am I Gay?” quiz.

Nick let out a heavy sigh, closing his laptop. It was late, and he had classes in the morning, he knew the responsible thing would be to go to sleep. Instead, he pulled out a photograph from his bedside table drawer.

In the photo, Nick and Charlie were lying in the snow, Nellie snuggled between them. All three of them were bundled up in puffy coats. Charlie was grinning so wide that his eyes crinkled shut, while Nick turned toward him, staring adoringly at that smile. Nick was sure that the Nick in the photo was watching Charlie's dimples.

God, Nick could stare at those dimples all day long.

He had found the picture behind his dresser. He was searching for a socket to plug in his laptop when he found the sticker-covered frame wedged against the wall. He wasn't sure how long it had been back there, but it must have fallen before his accident. Nick would have remembered if that picture had been displayed when he first got back.

He wondered where they were, when it was. He had been too nervous to ask Charlie about it.

It was now day six since his accident. He and Charlie had formed a routine of sorts. Charlie was careful to adhere to his meal plan. He hadn't skipped a meal since that first day, as far as Nick could tell. He had booked an emergency appointment with his therapist, Geoff, the morning after his breakdown. They made a plan for grocery shopping and meal prepping, and Charlie was being diligent to watch for any warning signs and nip them in the bud.

Nick was so proud of him.

They both were attending uni classes. Nick had tried going onto campus once, but just the walk to the library had made his head pound and his vision blur. Charlie had been out of his mind with worry, sitting Nick down and calling them an Uber. Then, Charlie hadn't let Nick off the sofa the rest of the day, plying him with comfort food and paracetamol until the migraine slowly bled away. Neither of them were eager for Nick to try again.

So, Nick had been attending his classes virtually. Watching the recorded lectures was alright, but attendance counted for his grade and he wanted the opportunity to ask questions, so Zoom University would have to suffice.

Charlie had helped him send emails to all his professors, explaining the need for accommodations, and they had all agreed easily once they saw his doctor's note. Nick was able to watch the slides now without his head throbbing in protest, but he was still favouring paper notes to limit his screentime.

Charlie started going back to most of his lectures in person a few days ago. He'd made Nick promise to call if anything happened or any of his symptoms worsened, but so far it had been alright. Nick missed Charlie when he was gone, but he knew that classes were important.

It helped that Charlie no longer avoided Nick when they were home. They spent most of their time lounging together on the sofa or the plush rug adorning the living room. Sometimes they migrated to Nick's room. Charlie had started reading the books on the shelf aloud to Nick. Nick found himself loving the stories, but he loved watching Charlie's lips move more.

No matter what they were doing, it was better when Charlie was there. Studying, watching lectures, listening to music. It was just nice to be near Charlie. He liked to hear Charlie's opinion. He sat, enraptured, for two hours as Charlie explained the history of queerness relating to Jane Austen. He would have sat longer, but Charlie seemed to realise he had spoken uninterrupted and went all shy.

He loved the way Charlie's eyes lit up when he felt passionate about something. The flick of his wrist as he gestured along with his words. The soft melody of his voice. The bob of his Adam’s apple.

Nick was down bad.

That day had been the worst.

Charlie came home from classes, tired, with groceries in hand. Nick jumped up to help him put them away. Charlie threw him a grin as they moved around each other in the kitchen. They orbited each other smoothly, like Nick's body remembered this routine.

“How was class?”

Charlie shrugged. “It was fine. My professor couldn't figure out how to turn on the projector again, so we started late.” Nick had heard about this professor before, offering a commiserating look. “How about you?”

“Yeah, not bad.” Nick replied, reaching behind Charlie to put a roll of biscuits in the cupboard. “I could barely stay awake through my linguistics lecture.”

Charlie grinned. “But what's new?”

Nick rolled his eyes. “Hilarious,” he responded dryly. “So, what do you want to do tonight?”

“I actually had an idea,” Charlie said over his shoulder as he put the last groceries into the fridge. “How is your head? Do you feel alright to stare at the telly for an hour or so?”

“Yes,” Nick said, probably too fast. Sue him, he was desperate for something new. “What were you thinking?”

“Mario Kart?” Charlie asked with a smirk.

“Yes!” Nick exclaimed. “Get ready to have your arse handed to you. I am incredible.”

Charlie just smirked and went to set up the console.

It turned out, Nick was not incredible at Mario Kart. At least not in comparison to Charlie. He still couldn't figure out how Charlie managed to beat him in every game. Nick had never been able to drift effectively, so at every corner he found Charlie sailing past him. It would be infuriating if Nick wasn't so enamored by Charlie's victorious smile after each win.

Losing wasn't the worst thing, he supposed.

Now, Nick found himself comparing that smile to the one in the photograph he found. There was something looser, more carefree, in the Charlie in the picture. The Charlie that Nick played with today was slightly more reserved. Still bright and smiling, but no dimples to show for it. Nick missed the dimples.

He glanced at his closed laptop. He didn't know what to do about this crush. And he could say with certainty that it was a crush. He'd tried denying it all week, telling himself that he just spent a lot of time with Charlie, that he was closer with him because of the trauma and the shared grief. But it was painfully obvious that his feelings were far from platonic. The dreams had seen to that.

What was Nick supposed to do? He wanted to talk to someone about it, but the idea of telling anyone he was questioning his sexuality made him break out in a cold sweat.

His mum would probably be supportive, as she always was, but he had never actually had any queer friends. What if she had some hidden prejudice he didn't know about? It seemed a laughable concept. Sarah Nelson was no bigot, but that tiny question in the back of his head made him reluctant to seek her help with this. Not yet, at least.

Tara and Darcy would be supportive, he was sure. They had talked on the phone a few times since the night he met them, and they came to the flat for dinner over the weekend while Charlie was away at Tao and Elle’s. It was nice chatting with them. They were easy people to love. He found himself sharing with them more and more about the trials and tribulations of memory loss.

He already knew they would be receptive if he came to them with this. Tara would be gentle. Darcy would be ecstatic. Still, Nick paused. He didn't think he could face Tara's soft gaze right now without sobbing, and he was pretty sure Darcy’s exuberance would push him into a panic attack.

This new facet of his identity was still so new. Delicate and fragile. He wanted to cradle it close to his heart, give it a chance to grow and form. He didn't even know what he was yet. He wasn't ready to face the world. He wasn't ready to face his friends and make it more real.

The only person he really wanted to speak to was Charlie. He wanted to tell Charlie everything. He didn't think there was any topic he could bring up that wouldn't be made easier by the sweet tilt of Charlie's lips or his strong arms pulling Nick into a hug. When Charlie was near, Nick just breathed easier.

Unfortunately, Charlie was the one person Nick definitely couldn't talk to about this. How could he explain that he was probably not straight without telling Charlie why? And how could he tell Charlie, the one constant in his life right now, about these feelings?

Charlie would be so uncomfortable if he knew. Nick would wreck the friendship, a friendship that had become very important to him. Nick might even have to move out.

No, he couldn't talk to Charlie.

Nick slipped the picture frame back into his bedside table. He flicked his lamp off and curled up facing the wall. His bed felt too wide, too empty.

Nick hoped he dreamed of Charlie again.

Chapter Text

Nick woke up late the next morning. He barely had time to throw on a jumper and brush his teeth before he was logging in for his first lecture.

Charlie was nowhere to be seen, which wasn't uncommon. He didn't have early classes, but Charlie liked to go out for a run in the morning. Nick had turned bright red and fled to his room the first time they crossed paths after Charlie had been running. It had been raining and Charlie's hair was damp and his T-shirt clung to his toned frame. Nick learned quickly to wait until Charlie was back from class to attempt conversation.

His lectures were interesting that day, but he couldn't focus. He’d had a dream the night before of Charlie. Always of Charlie.

They were lying on a sandy beach, a rare find in Britain, the wind whipping past them both and a chill biting at their exposed skin. Nick didn't mind. It just gave him an excuse to pull Charlie closer. Their bodies moulded together perfectly. Charlie had pulled out some earbuds, and they were listening to one of his playlists. The melody was airy and sweet, wrapping around Nick and letting him float.

Charlie tilted his head towards Nick. “Yesterday, you said something…” He studied Nick's face. “Have you been thinking of coming out?”

Nick glanced at Charlie before staring up at the sky, thinking. “Yeah. I think I am.”

Charlie sat up, a smile dancing on his lips. “You really want to?”

“Yeah, I—” Nick pushed himself up as well. “I know I've been unsure about it for a while, but I'm definitely bisexual. And I don't want to have to creep around, pretending we're just friends.” Nick took Charlie's hand, staring down at their locked fingers. “And I'm not saying I want to make some sort of public announcement, but I want to be able to tell the people I care about.” Charlie's breath caught. “And I want you to be able to tell people too.”

Charlie blushed adorably. A nervous giggle tore out of Nick's throat. He felt giddy, wild. Swept away by the strength of his affection for this boy.

“I like you so much,” Nick confessed. He jumped up, hands on his hips. “And I love liking you!”

Before Charlie could stop him, Nick was running towards the icy sea.

“I like Charlie Spring!” he bellowed. The sea had no response, so Nick rushed to clarify. “In a romantic way, not just a friend way!”

There. It was out. This small corner of the world knew.

Charlie's bubbling laughter made Nick turn. They locked eyes, beaming, the moment perfect.

Then, Charlie's beautiful blue eyes filled with tears. He reached up to scrub angrily at his face.

Nick panicked, rushing back to Charlie's side. “Oh… Char, what—”

“S-sorry,” Charlie mumbled. “I'm just really happy.” He looked up, his eyes still gleaming but a soft smile stretched across his face now. He sniffed. “I never thought this would happen to me.”

Nick cupped his face carefully, resting their foreheads together. “Oh Char…” he felt the emotion, the adoration and care for this perfect boy, well up inside him. “Me neither.”

The words weren't enough. Nick wasn't sure any words would ever fully capture the depth of his feelings for Charlie, but he hoped that his actions would. He pulled Charlie into a tight hug, trying to squeeze every unspoken thought into the embrace.

And then Nick woke up.

Nick had been so wrapped up in the warmth of his dream that he’d slept through his first three alarms. He couldn't even be upset about it. He would rather be late for class than miss a second of Charlie on that beach.

But he made it on time for his lectures, and he did his best, all day, to focus on the course material.

When classes finally wrapped up, Nick ventured out of his room.

His mind was still half in his dream of Charlie as he started pulling out ingredients for dinner. He found a frilly apron tucked into a shelf at the back of the pantry and slipped that over his neck for good measure. It was not uncommon for him to nick his mum's old aprons when they baked together.

He found the baking drawer easily and started mixing sugar and yeast in a bowl of warm water. He covered it in a tea towel and set it aside while he threw some canned tomatoes and spices into a pot he found under the oven. Then he mixed in the flour and started kneading his dough as the sauce simmered.

Charlie had been slightly protective of the kitchen so far. He let Nick join him for meals, but Charlie usually took charge with the actual cooking. Nick didn't push it. He had never had a friend with an eating disorder, and he didn't know the nuances and idiosyncrasies that came along with it. If Charlie was more comfortable cooking for himself, then Nick would respect that.

Unfortunately, it meant that Nick didn't really know his way around the kitchen. He wouldn't be able to tell someone where the cooking utensils were, but when he needed a rolling pin, it was in the first drawer he checked. And when he needed more garlic paste, his hands instinctively gravitated to the bottom self of the fridge.

He wasn't sure if it was muscle memory from before the accident, or if he had just been instrumental in planning the kitchen layout when they moved in. Either way, it made the cooking process smoother.

Soon, his sauce was thick and smooth, no lumps, and his dough had been formed into two flat circles for the bases.

He checked the time. Quarter to five. He would have to get the toppings ready quickly before Charlie got back.

He shredded cheese, chopped veggies, and separated pepperoni slices. He organised them into individual bowls, making sure not to put too much in each one because that could be overwhelming.

He had just finished putting a handful of spinach into the last bowl when he heard the key in the lock.

Charlie pushed into the living room and slumped onto the sofa, too tired to take his coat off. His eyes fluttered shut.

Nick slipped into the doorway, resting his hip against the frame as he fought back a grin. “Long day?”

“You have no idea.” Charlie muttered without opening his eyes.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Charlie groaned, rolling dramatically onto his side and burying his face in the cushion. “Yes. No. I don't know.” He groaned again, low in his throat, into the sofa. “My professor is such an arsehole.”

Nick made a sympathetic noise in the back of his throat. It prompted Charlie to turn his head awkwardly, still smushed, but now he could crack an eye to see Nick in all his aproned, flour-coated glory. Charlie's visible eye widened, and he scrambled back up to a seated position.

“Where did you get that?”

Nick genuinely couldn't tell how Charlie was feeling from his tone. He looked tense, back straight as a board. His eyebrows were scrunched together, and his eyes traced across every stain on the apron.

“Er, the pantry.” Nick glanced down at the apron. “Why? Was I not supposed to wear it? Is it yours?”

Now that Nick was looking at it properly, it wasn't one he recognised. It was a soft lilac colour, with a white lace trip. There was a loopy cursive scrawl across the front reading “kiss the cook”. It was also larger than the ones he had worn before, covering the breadth of his chest. So, not one of his mum's old aprons, as he'd originally assumed.

He moved to take it off, but Charlie shook his head.

“No.” He batted his hands in the air, and Nick lowered his arms. “No, I'm being silly. It's yours. You can wear it.”

“It's mine?” Nick turned back to study the apron, baffled.

“Yeah, um, it was a gift.” Nick tilted his head at Charlie, who rubbed a hand on the back of his neck, nervous. “From me.”

“Oh.” Nick tried to smooth out his features of any judgment. “Oh… I like it.”

“It's so stupid. It was just a silly inside joke.” Charlie rushed out, his face flushed. “You don't have to lie and say you like it.”

“I'm not lying.” And Nick found that he actually wasn't. “I like it.”

It definitely wasn't his normal attire, but it was soft and comfortable. It was useful—he wouldn't have to steal from his mum anymore. And he thought it suited him. He just never would have guessed someone would pick this out for him as a gift.

“I really like it.” He repeated, pressing the point.

Charlie let out a nervous chuckle. “Erm. Okay, well, good.”

There was a slightly awkward pause. Charlie took the opportunity to shrug off his coat.

“So were you baking?”

Of course Charlie already knew that Nick baked. Sometimes he forgot that the boy in front of him knew him so intimately when he felt like he was only scratching the surface with Charlie.

“Cooking, actually.” Nick felt nervous again. He really hadn't thought about Charlie's eating disorder when he'd started dinner. “Is that okay?”

“Of course, it's your house. It's your kitchen. Hell, most of the food in the cupboards is stuff that you bought.”

“I just wasn't sure…” Nick swallowed. “I know certain foods are harder for you. I should have asked—”

“You made dinner for me?” Charlie's eyebrows drew together.

“Um… yeah?” Nick wet his lips. “But I wasn't really thinking. If you don't want it that's fine, we can just order—”

Charlie placed a hand on Nick's chest, effectively silencing him. He smiled softly up at Nick. “I think it's so sweet that you made dinner for us. I was just surprised.”

Charlie seemed to notice his hand on Nick, jerking it back and then running it through his hair to try to make the movement look more natural.

It did not work. And now Nick's chest was cold.

Charlie wasn't finished. “It's not your job to manage my neuroses. I am particular about food, so I can't promise that I'll be able to eat whatever you made.” Charlie let out a frustrated huff of air. “Today was actually so stressful, I was just going to force down some toast. But I promise that even though I can't eat the meal, I really appreciate the gesture. It's not about you or your cooking.”

Charlie looked up at Nick, eyes pleading. And Nick was helpless to that gaze. He couldn't understand it, not really. He'd always been a stress eater. He was a teenage boy, after all (he supposed, technically he was not a teenager anymore but in his head he was so he could claim it), which meant that he had the metabolism of The Very Hungry Caterpillar.

But Charlie was different. Charlie came home after a hard day and struggled to eat. Nick could understand stress. It wasn't personal.

“Well, maybe you can save it for tomorrow?”

Charlie cocked his head to the side, something strangely feline in the gesture. “What did you make?” he asked.

Before Nick could answer, Charlie was ducking past him to investigate.

Nick turned and followed, but before he could say anything, Charlie cut him off with a gasp.

“Pizza?” he cried, whirling to face Nick. “Homemade pizzas?”

Nick nodded, and then Charlie flung himself into Nick's arms. Thank goodness for some latent rugby reflexes that allowed him to catch Charlie, because the other boy's feet definitely weren't touching the kitchen tiles.

Charlie laughed, untamed and full of glee. It was infectious, and Nick found himself joining in, swinging Charlie in a full circle before placing him back on the ground. Charlie pulled away slightly, just enough to meet Nick's eyes, but he kept his arms firm around Nick's shoulders.

“How did you know?”

“Know what?”

Charlie glanced at the ingredients lined up on the counter. “The pizza.” He looked back at Nick and his expression shifted slightly. Understanding flickered, and then something deep and tender took hold. “This is the meal that I always ask you to make when I'm having a bad brain day. The choices help. And your delicious pizza dough doesn't hurt.” Charlie brought his hands up to frame Nick's neck. “I can't believe you remembered.”

“I'm not sure I remembered. I really wasn't thinking.” He was finding it hard to think now, with Charlie's fingers warm on the nape of his neck. “I've been distracted all day and I wanted to make dinner and it just kind of happened?”

Charlie shrugged. “Even if it's not a conscious memory, I'll take it. Thank you.”

Nick had to duck away, bashful. He felt heat creeping up his cheeks. “Er, should we assemble them?”

Charlie smiled and gave Nick's shoulders a squeeze before he turned away. Nick watched as he started spreading sauce on his dough. The stress of the day, long forgotten.

Such a small gesture, making dinner. Nick would walk over hot coals to make Charlie smile that brightly. Somehow, he'd achieved it without even knowing what he was doing.

Maybe he was doing something right, after all.

Chapter Text

Nick woke up abruptly.

His heart was racing, his head foggy. He fumbled for a moment with the lamp on his bedside table, knocking over an old mug from the day before. His legs were tangled in the blanket, and he struggled to get free, claustrophobia creeping in as the dark pressed in around him.

An embarrassing keening noise clawed its way up his throat. His voice pierced the silence, too loud.

Already, Nick's dream was slipping away. He knew it had been a nightmare, and the image of David's taunting sneer was imprinted in his brain, but he couldn't remember any details.

The only remnant of the dream was a throbbing pain in his chest, an ache so visceral that his hand came up to claw at the skin over his heart, as though he could scrape the sorrow out manually. Like a surgeon cutting away necrosis with a scalpel.

Nick choked out a sob, folding into his pillow and letting the tears soak into the fabric. His body curled up protectively. Loneliness sat heavy on his shoulders, pressing him down, making him feel raw and vulnerable in a way he hadn't since he was a small child.

The door opened a crack and light spilled in. Nick tried to move, tried to force some semblance of normal human behaviour, but his body rebelled, retreating into a tighter ball.

“Nick?” Charlie's voice was soft, hesitant.

Nick wanted to reassure him, to send him away. Charlie shouldn't have to witness this. Nick needed to get a fucking grip. What kind of fully grown man bawled like an infant over a bad dream? It was ridiculous.

Instead, another high-pitched keen bubbled out. Somehow, miraculously, it didn't scare Charlie off.

“Oh, Nick,” he breathed. Then, he was there, kneeling next to the bed, his face inches from Nick's. “Hey, what is it?”

Nick shook his head, holding his breath until his lungs burned, as though that could force the sobs back down.

Charlie's hand came up carefully, the way one might approach a skittish cat. Nick just watched as Charlie gently brushed his fringe back, running his hand back over his forehead and then tracing it down his temple and cheek. His fingers came to rest on Nick's jaw, cupping it gently and turning Nick to face him.

“I've got you,” Charlie murmured, his eyes darting between Nick's. “You're okay.”

Nick snapped. The sobs he'd pushed back burst out in a rush, the cries primal and harsh. Nick's hands darted out from his duvet to grab at Charlie's oversized sleep shirt, tugging insistently. He might have been stretching it, but Nick couldn't find it in himself to care.

He needed Charlie. He needed Charlie closer to him more than he needed the air in his lungs. Charlie's hand on his face wasn't enough. Nick felt desperate, needy, in a way he never had before. He didn't care that he was crossing all kinds of social boundaries.

Thankfully, Charlie came easily. He allowed himself to be manhandled into bed next to Nick, sliding in under the duvet and resting against the pillows and the headboard. One arm slipped around Nick's shoulders, tugging him closer.

Nick let out a cry as his head found its place against Charlie's stomach. His hands held firm to Charlie's shirt, so tightly his knuckles hurt. He didn't care. Charlie's scent wrapped around him. It was blended in with his fabric softener, but it was the first time Nick could smell just Charlie without his aftershave. Nick pressed closer, inhaling, and he felt more in control of himself.

Charlie's other hand came up to card through Nick's hair, short nails scratching along his scalp. Nick’s upper body had to be crushing Charlie. He was lying half on top of the smaller boy. Nick could feel Charlie's hipbone jutting into his sternum, his own leg was tangled between both of Charlie's. But Charlie didn't complain and didn't push Nick away. Nick let out a low whine and burrowed in closer.

He wasn't sure where his words had gone, but he didn't need them right now. Charlie understood what he needed without Nick having to spell it out. And Charlie had enough words for them both.

“I'm here, Nick. I'm not going anywhere.” Charlie's voice was barely a whisper. “You're going to be alright. It was just a dream, it wasn't real. You're home. You're safe.” He kept a steady stream of murmured reassurances as Nick's tears slowly soaked into his shirt. Nick had no idea how Charlie knew Nick had a nightmare, but he was grateful not to have to explain.

Nick wasn't sure how long they sat in that space together. The heaviness of Nick's anguish still weighed him down, made worse because he had no idea what was causing it. But Charlie held him together. Nick might be sinking, but he had a tether. He wasn't alone.

Little by little, Nick's sobs died down. His hands stayed fisted tightly in Charlie’s shirt, scared that if he loosened them even a fraction, Charlie might slip away. He kept his head buried in the soft dip of Charlie's stomach as his cries turned to shuddering breaths and then silence.

Charlie's monologue tapered off with Nick's whimpers, and then they were shrouded in silence. Charlie idly twirled a lock of Nick's hair.

“Do you remember?” Charlie murmured, finally.

Shit. What a loaded question. Charlie seemed to realise a moment after the words left his mouth.

“Or, no—sorry. I mean, do you remember the dream?”

Nick let out a huff of air that would have been a laugh if he didn't still have this hollow emptiness pressing on his chest. He shook his head, face still tucked away.

It was starting to dawn on him that they were tangled in an embrace in his bed. So much for not making Charlie uncomfortable with his massive crush.

Honestly, cuddling with Charlie was the least vulnerable thing about that night. He couldn't believe he was having such a meltdown over a dream. A dream he couldn't even remember. He was no better than a fucking toddler. Heat burned along his cheeks.

“That’s okay.” Charlie brushed his hand down the nape of Nick's neck, coming to rest right at the top of his back.

Charlie's fingers brushed against bare skin.

And then, realisation hit Nick. He went to bed last night without a shirt on. He was currently shirtless.

Half naked. In bed. With Charlie.

Nick had to be as red as a tomato by this point. He wouldn't be surprised if Charlie could see the blush creeping across his neck and shoulders. His naked shoulders.

Charlie must have noticed or felt Nick tense because he brought both hands up to Nick's head. Nick let out a breath he didn't realise he was holding. He might be willing to acknowledge his crush on Charlie, but he couldn't think straight with Charlie stroking his bare back. His emotions and thoughts felt muddled, impossible to parse through.

Charlie went back to playing with Nick's hair. “Do you want to talk about it anyway? The nightmare?” His voice was soft, his fingers distracting. “Even if you don't remember what happened, we can talk about how it made you feel.”

A shudder wracked Nick's frame. He shook his head.

Charlie hummed. “Okay. That's okay.” He paused. “Do you want to go back to sleep?”

Nick thought for a moment then nodded. Sleep might help.

Charlie hummed his approval, and Nick felt a tiny bit of the weight ease. Then, Charlie shifted under him, swinging his leg off the bed and pushing softly at Nick's shoulders to move him back onto the pillow.

Panic, sharp and acrid, pierced through the dense fog. Nick whined, his arms wrapping around Charlie's torso and yanking him back to Nick's chest. Any embarrassment from a moment before was long forgotten. He didn't care that he was treating Charlie like an oversized teddy bear. He didn't care that he was being unreasonable and immature. He just needed Charlie's lithe form tucked under him. Somehow, Charlie made the weight lift.

Charlie let out a surprised squeak as he was jostled back under Nick's weight. His hands came up tentatively to cup the back of Nick's head.

“N-Nick?”

Nick hummed. Charlie knew. Charlie would know what he needed.

“Nick, you wanted to go back to sleep, right?”

Did Charlie not know? Wasn't it obvious that Nick wouldn't be able to sleep without Charlie here? The notion was preposterous.

“Nick, I know it's hard, but I need you to tell me what you're asking for right now. I don't want to cross any boundaries.”

Why did Charlie have to be so smart all the time? Communication was so hard sometimes.

“Stay,” Nick forced out, his voice gravelly and weaker than he wanted.

Charlie let out a pained sound from the back of his throat, even as he relaxed slightly under Nick. “You want me to stay until you fall asleep?”

Nick shook his head, grunting in disapproval. “Stay with me.”

The words weren't coming out right, but Charlie seemed to be able to understand Nick still. Just like Nick knew he always would.

Nick could practically feel Charlie's eyes boring into the top of his head, but he was too scared to look up and meet his gaze.

“You want me to stay with you tonight. All night. Like this?”

Nick sighed, hugging Charlie tighter. His arms were going to lose feeling if he kept them tucked under Charlie's waist all night, but Nick really couldn't care less.

“Nick, darling, words.”

“Yes,” Nick whispered. “Please, just—stay with me.”

He knew he was being selfish, and needy, and vulnerable in a way he never had been before. But Charlie made him feel so safe. Charlie's hands in his hair made him feel cherished. Charlie's scent was home. Charlie's body against Nick's was a shield against the nightmare.

Nick knew that the only real way to keep that dream from returning was Charlie. And nothing short of Charlie himself telling Nick that he didn't want to be there would prevent Nick from holding him hostage all night.

Charlie made a soft noise and settled fully into the mattress. “Alright, don't worry. I'll stay.”

Nick hummed happily, letting his eyelids flutter closed and relaxing.

Nick thought it would be hard to get back to sleep. His body still felt sluggish, and his heart was still aching. But somehow, he felt himself drifting. Charlie’s hands relaxed into his hair, gently caressing Nick's scalp.

The last thing Nick heard before sleep claimed him was Charlie's quiet voice.

“I've got you, Nick. I'm not going anywhere.”