Chapter Text
Charlie Spring was many things, though in those three months he spent living on the corner of Clarendon Road, right where it intersected with Conway Street, he’d come to discover one more: he was someone who couldn’t sleep.
It started on a rainy day in June, when Charlie heaved cardboard boxes, marred and dampened with droplets, up three treacherous flights of stairs. His thighs ached with the straining of his muscles, more so from this morning’s run than from the weight of the crumbling boxes in his hands.
Accompanying Charlie were two of his best friends, both of whom expressed a lot of whining and frustration for people who’d offered—no, forced—Charlie to accept their help. Isaac had accidentally scratched the wall with the corner of Charlie’s drum set, leaving an ashen scuff in its wake, while Tao had overestimated how much his lanky arms could carry, accidentally dropping a heap of Charlie’s books in the middle of the sidewalk. Isaac had pretended he didn’t notice so that he didn’t have to help Tao scramble for the already sodden novels, and Charlie groaned at the loss of some of his favourites: a paperback of The Catcher in the Rye, chock-full of his analyses and highlights; a gilded rendition of The Odyssey, gifted to him by his favourite literature professor; and a compilation of poems by Sylvia Plath, adjoined with The Bell Jar.
Tao promised to repay him for the damages, and Charlie made a comment about how he couldn’t cover the cost of sentiment, which resulted in a thirty-minute period of neither of them speaking to each other, until Charlie threw a packing peanut at Tao’s face and Tao caught it in his mouth.
After Charlie’s graduation in May, he’d perused Facebook for a temporary room until he could save up enough money to live alone. Charlie had had poor roommate experiences in the past: there was Noah, who never washed his dishes—Charlie thought it to be a sick joke that after his return from the hospital for an eating disorder, he’d had to scrub crusty cheese and sauce off of various plates, thus relinquishing his appetite even more. Before Noah, he’d lived with a couple, Leo and Amy, and they’d keep him up until two in the morning with their arguments. Charlie couldn’t even eavesdrop casually because their room was above his, and he had no reason to go upstairs seeing as it led directly into their bedroom, so he fell asleep in the middle of the night to the sounds of muffled shouts and stomping.
The search for a room in the middle of May was dreary and aggravating, and so when his friend, Aled, scored a summer internship in London, Charlie thanked the God he didn’t quite believe in. Aled offered Charlie his flat in exchange for general care and maintenance, a promise to keep his plants from shrivelling up, paid electric and cable bills, as well as three hundred quid per month (this contingency was enforced by Charlie, as Aled originally asked for one hundred).
When Aled handed him the keys last week, Charlie had stopped by for a tour. The building was brick and overgrown with moss, the sidewalk overshadowed by an alignment of budding cherry trees. When he took his first step inside the flat, the first thing he noticed was the plants: bursts of verdant green, curly vines, and pearling seeds. The walls were exposed brick, and Aled had covered them in fairy lights and band posters, tacked some vines from his exceedingly long pothos across the ceilings, and hung macrame plant holders from the windows.
The flat was a refurbished studio, though marketed as a “half bedroom” due to the lofted bed above the living area. Charlie was so desperate for a place to live that he would have accepted a closet in the back of someone’s shed, though he knew better than to note this dramatisation in front of Isaac, who would’ve made some pointed joke about “going back into the closet.”
Charlie, in an effort to perfect his plant-tending abilities, had purchased a Monstera tree to display outside of the flat, next to Aled’s doormat that read, Please leave by 9pm. The employee helping him to choose a plant had advertised the Monstera as an indoor plant and suitable for beginners. Plus, Charlie liked the size of it, roughly four feet tall, almost like a tree, and how it transformed the room into a cosy, verdant space.
Charlie’s favourite aspect of the flat, however, was the sliding door right by the sofa - it led to a balcony adorned with more of Aled’s plants, sepia-coloured Edison bulbs strung across the rails, and a blue utility shelf which featured several varieties of watering devices (Charlie had never heard of a watering globe until Aled), an array of soils and fertilisers, and a succulent inside of a baby blue pot. The breeze swept his curls awry while the sun warmed his skin, still wet with perspiration, and Charlie imagined all of the times he’d stand here, looking across Brighton from the third floor.
After they managed to haul up all of Charlie’s belongings from Tao’s car, Isaac collapsed on the couch with an exasperated sigh.
“I’m never doing that again,” Isaac groaned, lolling his head back on the upper cushion. It creased underneath his neck.
“Same,” Tao echoed, assuming a similarly slouched position to Isaac on the floor, pressing his back loosely against the couch. “Looks like you’re dying in this flat, Charlie.”
“Very funny,” Charlie replied curtly. He took a seat at one of the stools by the kitchen island. “I’ll see you in three months’ time.”
“I can’t believe Aled is letting you sublet for basically free,” Isaac murmured. He lifted his head from the cushion to dart his eyes between Tao and Charlie. “Where was he when I had just graduated uni, poor and jobless?”
“Hey,” Charlie warned.
“Don’t forget recently single,” Tao added, lifting a finger as though they were keeping track.
Charlie rolled his eyes. His friends’ words didn’t sting as much as they would’ve a few weeks ago—progress on his end, mostly due to therapy and the realisation that he’d mourned the majority of his relationship with James while they were still together.
Charlie and James met in his Analyses of Literature course, approximately eight months after his tumultuous breakup with Ben. Whereas Charlie and Ben were turbulent, a crashing of waves against the shore, he and James were steady, like the blooming of flower buds each Spring, and the cascading of leaves each Fall.
The first year of their relationship was easy—a breath of fresh air after the ninth circle of Hell he’d been indicted to with Ben. James took him on dates to the cinema, surprised him with oat milk lattes in the morning, and kissed him even after their silly arguments. At one point, Charlie even thought that he was going to marry him.
They moved in together during their final year of university. A quaint, off-campus flat with one bedroom, a kitchen that only fit one person behind the counter, and James’s very loud, very demonic cat, Nigel, who hissed whenever Charlie got too close. Charlie was too enamoured with James to care, and never stopped trying to gain Nigel’s love through excess scraps of gravy and chicken off of his plate. The monotony of early morning alarms and nights spent hunched over textbooks was, in Charlie’s eyes, improved tremendously with James by his side.
He didn’t necessarily miss James - though he missed the soft glow of their bedside table lamp and the coffee stains on his pillowcase because Charlie refused to get out of bed until he’d drained his mug down to the dregs. He missed the glass coffee table that Nigel sometimes left tiny, translucent pawprints on. He missed the stupid painting of a heron that he and James had thrifted for five quid - and neither of them were tall enough to straighten it properly on the wall, so it also hung slanted just a bit to the right.
Charlie had kept his eating disorder under control until the move. Transitions weren’t his strong point, and despite his affinity for pretending that everything was fine, it was much more difficult to conceal his behaviours when living with a partner. James had made comments in the past about how quiet Charlie became at restaurants, or how he’d disappear to the bathroom conveniently during social gatherings, or how Charlie wasn’t much of a snacker. Once they lived together, though, James would discover napkins full of chewed-up potatoes and roast in the bin. He watched as Charlie swirled his fork around the plate, the metal scraping against cheap porcelain, while averting eye contact - or how he’d squeeze too much ketchup on his burger “accidentally” and have to toss it out.
Charlie’s hospitalisation was a mutual decision between the both of them, and he’d like to think of their break-up, though it occurred months later, as the same.
Throughout his weeks—months—of treatment, he came to realise details he’d overlooked about his relationship with James because he’d thought that accepting the bare minimum, in comparison to Ben, at least, was all he deserved.
James took him on dates to the cinema only after Charlie expressed that he felt like he was the only one who planned their dates - James had rolled his eyes and emphasised his exhaustion at the time, before finally relenting after a two-day period of silence between them. He surprised Charlie with oat milk lattes in the morning because of his never-ending anxieties about Charlie sleeping with someone else, and his need to relieve it by showing up at Charlie’s flat at the crack of dawn, casually perusing his bedroom to see if, by chance, another man lay sleepily across the mattress. He kissed Charlie after arguments because he liked to divert uncomfortable conversations with sex - Charlie had wrongly come to believe that there was little a mutual orgasm couldn’t fix, and he liked the way that James clung to him while they fucked, as though Charlie was his most precious endeavour.
It seemed that James held onto Charlie so tightly, sometimes, that Charlie was afraid James wouldn’t let go.
Charlie, however, wasn’t innocent either. In his efforts to conceal his eating disorder, he lied—often—about his whereabouts, about having plans when James invited him over for a home-cooked meal, about feeling ill and unable to attend social gatherings, simply because he couldn’t bear to watch other people eat so freely. He remembered spending the majority of New Year's Eve hiding in the bathroom while James hosted all of their friends, everyone pressed together in the tiny space as though they’d decided to open a club in the middle of their living room. Charlie only came out to kiss James when the clock struck midnight, but by then, James had been red-faced, stupidly drunk, and pissed off.
In the end, Charlie’s lies spurred James’s anxiety about infidelity, (despite the fact that Charlie had never once cheated on a partner), and Charlie’s hospitalisation solidified the notion that they’d be better off apart than they were together.
They came to this agreement on a windy day in April, just a week before Charlie’s graduation, which had been pushed back a year for Charlie’s hospitalisation. The timing couldn’t have been poorer: the flat he split with James had proven to be incredibly fiscally convenient for a jobless 23 year-old, and considering the flat was signed under James’s name, his career having been already kick-started, it was Charlie’s obligation to move.
He and James hadn’t spoken since the break-up, another mutual decision that, Charlie would soon discover, ripped his heart out from the inside of his chest. The last time they saw each other, Charlie held his final box in his hands, the corners pressing uncomfortably into his forearms. James had kissed him on the cheek, a surprising lack of emotion in his gaze. Charlie even stared at Nigel one last time, watching as he slinked away as though hunting for prey, despite the fact that he ate organic canned tuna from the specialty pet store down the road. When Charlie walked out, he glanced behind him once, just to check if James was watching.
He wasn’t.
Sometimes, Charlie opened up James’ instagram page to see if he’d kept the photos of them up. Sure enough, as of last night, he had. Charlie wondered how he’d feel if - or when - he thumbed to his account and saw all of them deleted. Even the prospect made his stomach tighten.
“God, how I wish Elle were here,” Charlie sighed. “Much less of a bully than you lot.”
Coincidentally, Elle had gotten sick a few days ago and was rotting away in bed. Charlie jokingly chastised her for the poor timing, though he felt bad afterwards for kicking her while she was already down, and brought her some chicken noodle soup (from a can which advertised low sodium, but she didn’t seem to mind).
“She bullies you just the same,” Tao replied, leaning back so that his head rested just by Isaac’s bent knee. “Just not to your face.”
“Rude as fuck,” Charlie said, rolling his eyes. The barstool squeaked as Charlie crossed one leg over the other.
“Can we order some takeaway?” Isaac pleaded. “I’m starving.”
“Yes, please,” Tao agreed with a sigh. “Where from?”
“Don’t look at me,” Charlie said, raising up his hands in defence. “I’ve no clue what’s around here.”
The sound of something—multiple something’s—skidding across the carpeted hallway reverberated underneath Charlie’s door. Tao raised a confused brow, and Charlie tiptoed over to the peephole, curiosity piqued. He had to stand on his tiptoes to see, though nothing extraordinary entered his view except for the door to the flat across from his, a gold number embossed on the front: 32.
“Daisy, Jesus Christ, please slow down,” someone shouted in between bouts of panting.
“Maybe we can ask him,” Tao said, turning to Isaac as if to garner his agreement.
“We’re not going to ask a stranger for takeaway ideas,” Charlie murmured. His calves had started to ache from the strain of standing on his toes, but he powered through, curious to match the voice of his neighbour with a face.
A ball of golden fluff bumbled into view, spinning in erratic circles in front of door 32. A pink tongue lolled out from its tiny snout, panting, as a tall, clearly distressed man caught up with it. Before Charlie could observe the man’s features in more clarity through the blurry fish-eye lens, he watched as the ball of fluff turned towards his Monstera, lifted its leg, and peed right in the pot.
Charlie was already laughing when the man’s mouth went agape in panic. “Daisy!” he huffed. “Oh, Daisy. Fucking hell.” He sounded close to tears.
“What’s going on?” Tao asked.
“A dog just peed on my plant,” Charlie snorted.
“Maybe you should introduce yourself instead of spying like a twat,” Isaac said, rising from the couch. “It sounds like he’s going to start crying.”
“Comforting a stranger was not on my to-do list today,” Charlie said, taking a step back from the door. “Now, takeaway options? Someone look at Yelp.”
The sound of the door opening and closing across the hallway further proved Charlie’s point of disagreement.
“Do y’think he’s gonna leave the piss in the pot?” Tao asked, scrolling through what Charlie could only pray was Yelp on his phone. His stomach had started incessantly growling and at a certain point, he’d become irritable to a point of no return.
“Maybe,” Charlie said with a shrug. “That’s what I would do.”
“Of course you would,” Tao said, rolling his eyes. “Anything to avoid a confrontation.”
Charlie crossed his legs on the barstool, throwing a glare in Tao’s direction. It’s not like he was wrong, but Charlie would rather not unpack his cycle of anxiety and avoidance after a tiresome and semi-chaotic afternoon. Especially when his stomach was roiling with hunger, basically eating itself.
“There’s a pizza place that has good reviews,” Isaac suggested, glancing up to search for his friends’ confirmation.
“I had pizza last night,” Tao grumbled.
“Who cares?” Charlie chided. “You’re on thin fucking ice anyways.” He gestured towards the array of books on the floor which were currently air-drying, pages spread open, alongside the heater, and Tao sighed.
“Fine,” Tao acquiesced. “I’ll take pepperoni, please.”
“Cheese for me,” Charlie added.
As Isaac went to work on their orders, the sound of a knock on Charlie’s door sent him wide-eyed and frozen, only able to turn his head slightly to make eye contact with Tao. It was a look they’d shared many times throughout their seven some-odd years of friendship, one that communicated, Please do something about this because I cannot.
Tao stood up from his position on the floor. He meandered over to the door with much less enthusiasm than Charlie would have liked, resulting in yet another knock from the hallway. Isaac, too, appeared confused, though resumed the tapping on his phone to presumably finish their pizza order.
Charlie wasn’t sure what he was expecting when Tao pulled open the door, but it certainly wasn’t a view of, perhaps, the most attractive man he’d ever seen in all twenty-three years of his life. If he thought he was frozen before, he was paralysed now, his hands gripping the edge of the kitchen island as if he’d perish into the blazing heat of his cheeks.
The man was all soft edges and hard muscles, sculpted brilliantly against the confines of a tight cotton shirt. Strawberry blonde hair parted neatly to the side, jeans cuffed neatly at the ankles, a collection of freckles scattered like constellations travelling across his nose and cheeks, lips parted and eyebrows softened in momentary concern—Charlie couldn’t find it in him to look away.
“H-hi,” the man said, running a hand nervously through his tidily kept hair.
“Hello,” Tao said suspiciously. Now would have been a good time for Charlie to explain that this was his neighbour from across the hall—the one with the puppy who’d peed in his Monstera—but when he opened his mouth to speak, nothing came out except a strained breath.
“I’m uh… I live across the hall,” he said, gesturing to the door labelled thirty-two. The cadence of his voice remained soothing despite his evident distress. “I actually came to, er… apologise. It appears my dog isn’t as potty trained as I’d originally hoped.”
“Ah,” Tao said, taking a casual step backwards. “Yeah, Charlie over here–” he paused to gesture towards Charlie’s tense position on the barstool, “–mentioned that earlier.”
Charlie’s cheeks flushed a shade akin to the colour of his rain-sodden cover of The Catcher in the Rye. Isaac snickered from the couch, his eyes still glued to his phone, and Charlie hoped—no, begged—that the man was too distressed to notice the implication of Tao’s response - that Charlie had been watching him from the peephole.
“I’m really sorry about that,” the man said, accompanied by a nervous laugh. “Really an awful welcome to the building, isn’t it?”
Charlie swallowed. If he didn’t say something now, he’d never recover from this encounter. He and his neighbour would avoid each other for the next three months, and Charlie would deliberately plan when to take out the trash bins for when his neighbour was out walking his dog.
Tao interjected, “He’s not normally this quiet.”
“No, quite the opposite, actually,” Isaac added from the couch. Charlie gritted his teeth.
“Doesn’t stop talking once he starts,” Tao added. “A real nuisance. Especially when he’s drunk.” Tao paused to stare at Charlie again. “Or, God forbid, high.”
“Except when he’s just woken up,” Isaac continued. “Not a morning person at all. Like a cat who’s just been dragged out by its tail.”
Charlie sank deeper into the bar stool, his cheeks flaming. At this point, he wasn’t sure he’d ever speak again.
“Oh, that’s okay,” the man said. “I’ve made this… incredibly uncomfortable, haven’t I? With the dog piss in your…” Charlie watched as he examined the plant’s pot in more detail, releasing a soft wince as he noticed the price tag still attached. “...Your brand new plant, it seems.”
In a moment of strength amidst a whirlpool of shame, Charlie cleared his throat and said, “It’s not, um, brand new.”
“Oh,” said his neighbour.
“A week old at most,” Charlie added.
The man stood in the doorway nervously, eyes searching those of Charlie and his friends to determine if he should laugh or not. Instead, he released an apprehensive grin, and Charlie thought his insides might combust with the way he found it so utterly adorable.
“Anyways,” the man said, dropping his gaze to his shoes. “I’d be happy to buy you a new one, or at least change the soil for you. I don’t really know how to, but nothing a YouTube video can’t teach, right? In fact, one of my students got expelled last week for searching up how to build a bomb, but he was just curious because he likes to— oh God, sorry, I’m rambling, aren’t I?”
Charlie smiled next, despite Tao raising a teasing brow in his direction.
“That’s okay,” Charlie assured. “Aled is a big plant person, so I’m sure I can re-pot it with some of his supplies.”
“Right,” he replied. “Well, um, I completely understand if you never want to speak with me because of this…” He trailed off. “But if you need anything, or have any questions, or need something to instantly annihilate one of your plants… Just let me know.”
“Oh, he will,” Tao said, flashing a shit-eating grin. If Charlie were next to him, he’d step on his foot. “What’s your name, by the way?”
“Nick,” he replied. “Nelson. Nick Nelson.” He paused. “Um, you probably didn’t need to know my surname.”
“Tao. Xu,” his ex-best friend echoed, holding out his hand to shake Nick’s. Nick took it with a nervous smile, averting his gaze from Tao’s, which Charlie thought to be a wise decision. Charlie briefly considered smashing his head into the marble countertop.
“Isaac,” he shouted from the couch. “Henderson.”
Charlie remained silent, too busy plotting a double homicide.
“This is your new neighbour, Charlie Spring,” Tao said, gesturing to the seething man sat at the kitchen island. “Feel free to stop by anytime.”
“Tao,” Charlie hissed. He heard Isaac stifling laughter from behind him.
“Right, well, have a lovely night,” Nick said, offering a polite wave. He disappeared back into the hallway, his door clicking behind him. High-pitched whines resonated through Charlie’s flat as Daisy welcomed him back.
“Fucking Hell,” Charlie groaned, covering his face with his hands. As soon as Tao closed the door, his friends burst into obnoxious laughter.
“God, you are so smitten,” Isaac said.
“No,” Charlie seethed. “I’m not.” He stepped off the barstool and shoved Isaac with a couch pillow.
“Sounds like something that someone who’s smitten would say,” Tao added, joining them in the living area.
“Don’t be embarrassed Charlie,” Isaac added. He’d caught the pillow with one hand and planted it onto his lap. “He’s pretty.”
“Okay,” Charlie said, crossing his arms like a child in primary school. “So are loads of guys.”
“He’s pretty and endearing,” Tao added.
“What are you suggesting ?” Charlie huffed. “That I shag the next door neighbour?”
Isaac and Tao gasped melodramatically. “We never suggested that!” Isaac said, at the same time Tao replied, “You absolute slag.”
“As soon as this pizza arrives, I’m kicking the both of you out,” Charlie snapped.
“Why? So you can have the place to yourself? To invite a certain someone–”
“Enough,” Charlie groaned, searching the room for another pillow to chuck at someone’s face.
The sound of Tao’s phone ringing interjected their unrelenting banter. “It’s Elle,” he announced. “Shall I put her on speaker?”
“Absolutely,” Isaac said, waggling his eyebrows, before Charlie could protest.
“Hi Elle,” Tao said. His tone immediately brightened, his features softening accordingly. Charlie found it a bit disgusting with how in love with each other they were - something he let them know as frequently as he could. “You’re on speaker with Charlie and Isaac.”
“Hi everyone,” Elle replied. Her voice sounded raspy and ragged through the speaker, like a version of herself on low battery, and a pang pierced Charlie’s heart at the fact she was still sick (especially now, when he wished it was Tao instead). “Just checking in to see how things are going.”
The sound of Elle blowing her nose crackled through the speaker.
“Things are going wonderfully,” Tao said with a mocking grin. “Wouldn’t you say so, Charlie?”
“Just wonderfully,” Isaac echoed, leaning over to better project his voice into Tao’s phone.
“We’re great!” Charlie chirped superficially. “Talk to you later, Elle. Love you lots.” He blew a kiss into the speaker.
“What’s going on over there?” Elle said, sniffling. “I feel like I’ve missed something.”
“Oh, not much,” Tao smirked. “It’s just that… Charlie wants to snog the next door neighbour.”
Charlie groaned, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. A flush painted his entire body the colour of the cherry tree seedlings outside.
“Tao, come on,” Isaac said. Charlie thought, finally. They’ve had their fun and they’re going to leave it alone now. “Charlie wants to shag the next-door neighbour.”
“I don’t!” Charlie shouted. He was almost delirious with frustration, only further exacerbated by his gnawing hunger.
“Ooooh, tell me about him,” Elle crooned.
“Well,” Isaac began, dramatically clasping his hands together on his lap. “Nick Nelson lives in apartment—32, is it?” he asked, looking at Charlie for confirmation. Charlie only glared.
Tao continued, the cheeky smile evident through his tone, “And you’ll never guess how they met.”
“Oh?” Elle asked curiously.
“His dog,” Isaac said, slipping into a fit of giggles, “pissed in Charlie’s plant.”
“Can we please talk about something else?” Charlie whined. Clearly, anger wasn’t working, so perhaps pity would derail their conversation.
Elle started laughing, which turned into coughing, and Tao’s expression pinched with concern. Charlie faked a gagging motion, and Tao shot him a glare.
“Alright, fine, fine,” Tao relented. “We’ll continue this conversation when Elle’s feeling well again.”
Charlie released a sigh of relief while Isaac wiped a fake tear from his eye. Tao hung up with Elle shortly after, directing her to get some more sleep, before letting her know that he’d be home in an hour or so. Charlie braced himself for his friends to slip back into their banter after the phone call, but the pizza arrived just five minutes later, and the three of them, too exhausted and starving to talk, devoured their slices in near-silence.
“So,” Tao said, wiping greasy fingers on a paper napkin. “What’re your plans for Saturday?”
“Job applications,” Charlie muttered.
He felt more inadequate about the prospect of career-finding than he had when applying to universities. At least then, he knew where he stood: top of his class, excellent grades, and a plethora of extracurriculars to adjourn his resume with. When Charlie picked literature as his area of study, his mum had rolled her eyes, telling him, “When you’re poor for the rest of your life, don’t come complaining to me about it.”
University was hard for a multitude of reasons. Yes, there was the medical leave he’d had to take for his hospitalisation, as well as the striking realisation that uni courses were much more challenging than his courses in grammar school. Additionally, the impending doom that he’d never find an adequate career loomed on his mind incessantly throughout.
Now that Charlie had graduated and ended a two-year relationship, he found the notion of job applications exceedingly overwhelming. Whereas his mum said there were no career options for degrees in literature, Charlie found the opposite; he could go in a multitude of directions—editing, journalism, freelance, publishing, or content management. He figured he’d send out applications in several areas of interest, though the thought of writing cover letters made him want to smash his head into the keyboard of his dying laptop.
“Well, assuming Elle’s feeling better by then,” Tao said, “We’d love to throw you a flat-warming party.”
Charlie snorted. “No, that’s unnecessary,” he muttered, toying with the leftover pizza crusts on his plate. They’d been burned to a crisp, and Charlie hated the taste of charred anything.
“Why?” Isaac asked, nudging Charlie’s calf gently with his foot. “A celebration is certainly in order.”
“We already went out to the pub for my graduation,” Charlie said. “I’d hardly call bumming around in my friend’s flat worthy of a celebration.”
“Charlie,” Tao said, in a tone that he’d become familiar with over the years. Whenever Charlie made a self-deprecating comment, no matter how subtle, Tao would grit his teeth and say his name like a disappointed father scolding his son. “We’re going to celebrate your accomplishments. This is your first time living on your own.”
“Yeah,” Isaac added. He’d taken another bite of pizza and his mouth was full.
Charlie shrugged, crumbling up a paper napkin in his palm. “I just don’t feel very accomplished.”
“Okay,” Isaac acknowledged. “Let’s rephrase, then. Can Elle, Tao, and I come over on Saturday night, have some drinks, and order takeaway?”
Charlie bit his lip in contemplation. He hated any amount of attention on him. That being said, he also wanted to take advantage of seeing his friends when he could, seeing as he’d no longer live a mere twenty-minute tube ride away.
“Fine,” Charlie sighed, dropping the torn-up napkin on his plate.
“Excellent.”
Charlie couldn’t sleep that night.
At first, his sheets overheated him, and he’d broken a sweat which resulted in him shedding both his shirt and joggers. They pooled on the floor below him. Then, a few minutes later, he found himself shivering from the sensation of his bare skin on silken sheets, and he had to climb down the ladder with bleary eyes to pull on his joggers again.
When he returned to the mattress, shirtless to maintain an even temperature, his mind began to swarm with thoughts of James. He wondered what James was up to—probably laying on the couch, a film playing in the background, while Nigel purred innocently atop his lap.
That damn cat.
After contemplating James's nightly routines, he thought about the fact that he should wake up early tomorrow to embark on his job search. This spurred anxiety about him not being asleep, and he checked the time on the phone, starting a countdown in his head about how many hours of sleep he could still get if he woke up at eight o’clock.
He tossed and turned, his sheets bunching up at his feet until he pulled them up over his shoulders, before kicking them off again minutes later. When he couldn’t take it anymore, he checked his phone again—only four hours until he was supposed to be awake—and stepped down the ladder, searching his duffel bag for the only ailment he could think of.
When his fingers brushed the flimsy end of a joint, he clutched it with satisfaction, grabbed a lighter, and pushed open the sliding door to his balcony. Brighton was asleep below him, the sky starless, and the streetlights cascaded an orange glow onto the pavement where the sliver of the crescent moon could not. He flicked on the string lights for an added ambiance, and they illuminated the leaves of Aled’s Caladium, accentuating the plum hues dappled across veiny foliage.
Charlie couldn’t afford a dependency on weed, so he only saved it for special occasions. He often found that smoking made him feel light and giddy, until an hour or two went by, and he’d pass out in a dreamless sleep wherever he happened to be. One time, he’d smoked before hopping on the tube, and woken up thirty minutes later with drool dribbling down his chin, five stops too late.
The joint lit with ease, a burst of light in a mostly darkened night. Charlie positioned it precariously between his thumb and pointer finger as he took his first puff. It had been a while since he last smoked, and the inhalation burned his lungs before he spewed it out with a cough. Tears formed at the corner of his eyes from the strain on his throat, and he wiped them with his free hand.
The effects struck him quickly, though with gradual ascent, and his mind lifted from the stream of anxious thoughts about sleeping, waking, and everything in between. He saved the rest of the joint for another time before he retired back inside, the scent of burning weed following him past the sliding door.
Sleep came slightly easier after that, and he managed to stay in bed until the sunrise.
By Saturday morning, Charlie had seen—or rather, observed—Nick three more times. Not that he was counting.
The first time was the day after his move. Charlie found himself in the kitchen, brewing a shitty cup of coffee from grounds he found in the back of Aled’s cabinets (he’d made a mental note to go grocery shopping later that day), when he heard the newly familiar sound of Daisy bounding down the hallway around 7:30 in the morning. He’d tiptoed over to the peephole again, curiosity piqued and shame dissipating without the teasing eyes of his friends. He watched as Nick locked the door behind him, a red lead in hand, as he whispered “Daisy, slow down,” underneath his breath. He wondered if Nick’s seemingly forced mumbling had something to do with Charlie’s recent arrival, but thought better than to imagine his significance to a stranger.
The second time was later that afternoon. Charlie hadn’t heard much movement from across the hall before then, but he’d also been wearing headphones while perusing pages among pages of job listings.
This time, when he went to the peephole, he noticed Nick dressed more smartly than he remembered from their first introduction and this morning. Charlie couldn’t construe any specific details, but he discerned the way khaki-coloured trousers replaced Nick’s usual denim. Again, not that he’d been keeping track.
Charlie didn’t see Nick again until the following morning, Friday, when he rolled out of bed and forced himself to go for a run. Charlie’s ability to sleep hadn’t improved an inkling, and each night, he found himself on the balcony, taking economical puffs of his joint in an attempt to placate his body. He wondered if bathing in post-run endorphins might help, and so he dug out his running clothes from his dresser, slipped on his sneakers, and stepped outside for the first time since the move. The air was warm and breezy, just the way Charlie liked—heat was unbearable to run through, and the cold frosted his skin.
It just so happened that Charlie left for his endeavour at the same time that Nick and Daisy returned from theirs. Daisy spotted him first—she tugged on the lead, running without any actual advancements due to the pulling of her collar, as well as the very tall, very beautiful man planting his shoes firmly onto the sidewalk to prevent her escape.
Nick offered him a nervous wave, and Charlie hunched over on bent knees, pretending to be in the midst of retying his shoelaces.
“Hi,” Nick shouted from across the street. He was clad in black joggers and another tight-fitting shirt that Charlie forced himself to avert his gaze from. Tao and Isaac’s teasing comments from the other day lurched in the back of his mind.
“Oh, hi,” Charlie replied, returning the wave. His voice was embarrassingly thick with sleep, and he cleared his throat as subtly as he could.
“You should go on first, so that Daisy doesn’t pounce on you,” Nick insisted. He ran a hand through his hair, tousling it with his fingers. Charlie wondered if it was a nervous tick of his.
“I wouldn’t mind,” Charlie assured, hoping to convey nonchalance despite the fact he could feel warmth blooming through his chest. “Can I say hi?”
“Oh, um, sure,” Nick stammered. In one swift motion, he scooped Daisy up with one arm. She wiggled about in his hold as he crossed the street, before promptly placing her back on the ground, right at Charlie’s feet.
Charlie knelt down to Daisy’s level, resulting in a face-full of pink-tongued licks. He couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his lips at the subsequent tickling of his cheeks. “Oh my God,” Charlie giggled. Her fur was soft and velvety in his fingers. He rotated between scratching her behind the ears and then underneath her belly, which she displayed to him by rolling around the pavement.
“Sorry, she can be a bit… Erm, suffocating,” Nick winced.
Charlie stood up to face Nick again, hoping to reassure him. From up close, he noticed things he didn’t before: like the coarse, blonde lashes splayed under his eyes as he blinked; the near-perfect symmetry of his cheekbones; the darkened circles around his eyes that made Charlie question if he, too, was exhausted.
“It’s okay,” Charlie said. “She’s adorable. So adorable, in fact, that I wouldn’t even mind if she found relief in my Monstera plant again.”
“God,” Nick replied, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I wish she could take accountability for these things so that I don’t have to, but she doesn’t even have opposable thumbs.”
Charlie snorted, and Nick flashed a brief smile. His insides warmed despite the circulating breeze.
“Speaking of, I’m sorry if she’s kept you up the past few nights with her whining,” Nick continued.
“Oh, I haven’t noticed,” Charlie replied. He’d been too busy tossing and turning and working through his past traumas on a loop until 4am, apparently. “Is she… Okay?”
Charlie didn’t have much experience with dogs, let alone puppies. He and his younger brother, Olly, had begged his mum relentlessly for a dog. At first, the excuse was that Olly would be too young to help attend to it, and then, it was that Charlie was too old, on the verge of leaving for uni, and Olly would be stuck with the brunt of its walks, training, and feeding. Jane Spring was excellent at weaving threads of condescension through her meticulously planned directives.
“She’s fine,” Nick sighed. “It’s… Maggie.”
Charlie’s brows furrowed in confusion, and then softened with disappointment. Of course, Nick wasn’t single. He was attractive, in a way that was adorable but also alluring to the point that made Charlie’s mouth water; he worked full-time (and made enough to afford a flat, which was more than Charlie could say for himself); and he was responsible enough to care for a puppy, which would, if Charlie was correct in that Daisy was a Golden Retriever, grow into a massive, energetic dog with a penchant for socialisation and exercise.
“Maggie?” Charlie asked, though he wasn’t certain that he wanted to hear Nick’s explanation.
“Yeah,” he sighed. “Fuck, I’ve just noticed the sunrise, and I’ve got to be at work soon. I’ll tell you all about Maggie later, okay?” Nick said, backing up towards the front steps.
Charlie nodded, a twinge of annoyance striking him followed by shame for caring so much in the first place. He wasn’t sure he fancied to hear Nick’s passionate odes to his partner, but wanted to be polite, nonetheless.
“Have a nice day, then,” Charlie said.
“You too.”
As Nick re-entered the building, Charlie grimaced; he couldn’t have made their encounter more awkward if he’d tried. Clearly, his years of being relentlessly teased for falling for straight men hadn’t ebbed far from the truth.
The brick pounded underneath his shoes as Charlie started his run. He reassured himself that he was, perhaps, being overly critical; he hadn’t fallen for Nick—he just thought he was cute. There was certainly a difference.
It turned out that running had little to no effect on Charlie’s sleep that night. He’d become overly familiar with the ceiling above his bed, so much so that when he closed his eyes the rough pattern of the panels adhered to the back of his eyelids.
He didn’t know it then, but across the hall, someone else lay awake too.