Chapter Text
Out of sheer boredom on the Friday night before they both plan on making their epic return to the Daffodil market, Charlie decides to start pestering Nick with questions because as it turns out…
A Sicilian orange cake uses the whole orange and Nick has been bitching and muttering on and off in French for the better part of an hour, completely ignoring Charlie's entire existence as he sits at Nick's kitchen island making wax decorations for the last of his candles.
Strawberries and cream of course, Saturday is Valentine's day after all.
He can hardly complain about the situation with Nick though because right now, Charlie has an excellent view of Nick's back and behind. He's wearing an apron and the ties nip in so sweetly at his plush waist…
Sometimes, Charlie just wants to grab Nick by the face, shake him, and shout: "DO YOU KNOW HOW SEXY YOU ARE? JESUS FUCKING CHRIST." But he may only want to do that because he's been eating more carbs this week than he's eaten in the past six months, so…
"Do you have a hated vegetable?" Charlie asks, making little wax swirls of cream on the countertop.
Nick hums for a moment, "I dunno. Probably baby corn."
"Baby corn!?"
"I would rather just eat adult corn and the texture is never consistent, plus it tastes weird. Do you?"
"Brussel sprouts."
"I make good roasted brussel sprouts."
Charlie laughs, "I know you would know how, but no thanks. I hate the texture more than the flavor. Opinions on air fryers?"
Nick ceases his orange grating and says, so sharply that Charlie actually flinches, "They're literally just rebranded toaster ovens for three times the cost and everyone acts like they're God's gift to appliances. There's nothing you can cook in an air fryer that you can't cook in an oven and do not even get me started about the lack of food safety in some of those online recipes. Fucking ridiculous."
Biting his lips so as to avoid laughing, Charlie asks, "What do you mean about the food safety bit?"
"Do you own an air fryer?"
"Er… no."
"Good," Nick huffs, going back to his grating at a furious pace. "You can't clean them properly— I mean, it's just a pain in the arse. The inside stuff comes out but they come with a terrible nonstick coating that grease, ironically enough, loves to cling to. They're not exactly built well for washing and that's not accounting for all the internal bits. If you don't wash the trays after every use, you're fucked. Imagine weeks or months of residue build up— it's disgusting."
Charlie bites back a giggle. Apparently, air fryers are the hill Nick Nelson is willing to die on and something about that is just so hilarious and dumb that he can't help but grin like an idiot about it. He'll make a t-shirt for Nick. #1 Air Fryer Hater. Yeah, that'll be fucking hilarious.
"I think you're being a bit cruel to Big Appliance."
Nick finally turns to look at him with a look on his face as if he's just bitten into a lemon. Charlie purses his lips at him, "What?"
"Cruelty to Big Appliance isn't even a thing. When has a truly new appliance come out? Big Appliance piqued with the invention of the immersion blender and has yet to top it— well, maybe a Kitchen Aid, I guess."
"Oh, so immersion blenders are the top in this scenario?" Charlie wheedles, sitting up on his knees a little bit.
Nick laughs, "Char— ew."
"No, no. I'm thinking of hot kitchen appliance sex now—"
"Shut up, ohmiGod." Nick's face blooms scarlet before he turns around witrh a shake of his head. "You're ridiculous, do you know that?"
"Mm, you're the only one who's called me that, so no. I'll keep this in mind though, for the future. Maybe I'll write a hot erorica— It's Hot in the Kitchen—"
"Shut. Up."
Charlie doesn't shut up, mostly because he can't. Needling Nick like this is actually quite difficult as Nick is just generally the sort of go with the flow person that Charlie rarely is. It's fun, pushing his buttons a bit.
"Do you reckon a Kitchen Aid would be a bear?"
"Charlie," Nick hisses, not turning around.
"Because I think an immersion blender would definitely be a twink who's secretly a strict top and a Kitchen Aid would be a big, bratty bottom. A whisk is definitely a switch of course, same for a rolling pin, but a refrigerator is definitely a mean dom—"
"Jesus Christ—"
"Hey, I'm just spitballing here."
"Stop spitting, then!"
Charlie giggles, he can't help himself, "Christ, you're easy to rile up. It's terribly adorable of you."
"Shut." Nick still won't turn around though, he's pouring batter into three separate cake tins, the spring mold type that Charlie himself has never been able to figure out. Once again, Charlie's drawn to wear Nick's apron ties cut in at his thick waist and then the way his waist still tapers down into a fantastic ass and thighs. Charlie sighs dreamily, leaning on his arm while he rolls some wax balls back and forth— they'll be strawberries later.
He wishes he could ask him on a date and he wishes Nick would actually say yes, but Charlie knows for a fact both things won't happen. Nick and leaving the house is still quite a sore thing that Charlie really doesn't want to push too far until Nick is absolutely ready and for another thing, most dates involve food and eating said food and Charlie doesn't want something romantic with Nick Nelson to rope in his eating disorder.
They're such fucking disasters. Trying to date each other would be crazy, insane, even. There is such a thing as being too mentally ill for romance, in Charlie's opinion. He'd hate to have an honest to God relapse while in a relationship, but especially a relationship with Nick Nelson who's just too kind for his own good.
And has his own issues to boot. Charlie starts pinching the ends of his clay balls, dotting the strawberry seeds in with a toothpick, tongue poking out of his mouth while he works.
What would a date with Nick Nelson even look like? Maybe, when the weather's warmer, they could just go on a nice, long walk together, or maybe they could go to the beach. Charlie's not exactly one for swimming but Nick seems like a beachy sort if his freckles are anything to go buy. That, and maybe Charlie's just perverted enough to want to see Nick in some swimming trunks. Maybe he's so much of a pervert that the idea of rubbing sun-cream on Nick's broad shoulders utterly thrills him.
One thing at a time. First thing, getting himself well enough to actually tolerate going on a beach. Second thing, helping Nick get well enough to manage the trip to the beach without having a panic.
Easier said than done.
Nick bends down to slide the cakes into the oven, setting the adorable, egg-shaped kitchen timer that rests perpetually on his countertop. He discards the apron, hangs it up on the hook before turning around to face Charlie fully.
His eyebrows lift once he catches sight of the bitty strawberries, "Oh, these are so precious."
"Aren't they just?" Charlie holds one up between his stained fingers. Working with wax is such a hassle and Nick's kitchen is just warm enough for things to be even messier, but he finds himself not minding all the mess if it means getting to share space with Nick. "Want a whiff?"
"Yes please."
Charlie drops the wax berry in favor of nabbing one of his candles, holding it up to Nick's nose even though Nick's a fully capable adult who can grab things on his own. There's something sweet about the way Nick dips his face forward and closes his eyes, the fawnish fan of his lashes dusting the very tops of his cheekbones as he inhales slowly. God, Charlie likes him so much he feels like he could throw up; he hasn't had a crush like this since he was in secondary school for Christ's sake and it's so fucking embarrassing. Like, he's a grown adult with a job and a hobby that's not his eating disorder, and looking at Nick Nelson still makes him feel like picking dandelions at the school gate, pinching the petals off: he loves me, he loves me not.
"Oh wow," Nick exhales, fogging the glass, "That's so nice. How'd you get that smell to work so well?"
"I use a couple of different fragrance oil companies, actually," Charlie chirps, unable to help himself. Nick still has his eyes closed, so Charlie indulges himself by tracing Nick's pretty face with his eyes. Good, straight nose, apple-like cheeks, the best kept beard Charlie's ever seen on a man. Cute. Fucking. Freckles. Nice eyebrows too, not at all like Charlie's which are too thick and try to come together in a caterpillar if he doesn't keep up with his tweezing routine.
I love you, Charlie thinks, and then, because he's insane, the phrase just repeats in his head over and over again like a song with no end. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. Can Nick feel that love at all? Charlie's heart pounds against his breastbone as he reaches out, presses two fingers to the crown of Nick's head where his hair seems to grow out in an adorable swirl.
"You're kind of a strawberries and cream person," Charlie says instead of saying I love you. Nick's hair is silky against the pads of his fingers.
Nick snorts, "'Cause I'm ginger?"
"No, because you're sweet and refreshing."
"Uh-huh."
Charlie grins, returning to the task of organizing his wax strawberries and whipped cream swirl atop the candle and around the wicks. I love you, he thinks again, chancing one last look at Nick, who's smiling at him in that sunshine way of his that makes Charlie's veins go all fizzy.
I love you.
How fucking terrifying.