Chapter Text
I was so naive
Until I turned fifteen
A living mystery
The world was one big dream
-
Nick lets out a sigh of relief as the automatic doors slide shut behind him, drowning out the screams and the shouts of those outside.
What a way to begin his long weekend off.
Someone had leaked his location by the looks of things, so when he’d turned up at the hotel in the middle of the Cotswolds that felt a good distance from anywhere, , he’d been greeted by the unforgiving screams and shouts of his fans. Part of him feels guilty that he's not grateful, because it’s still truly mind-boggling to him that people love him enough to follow him around the country – but after a fortnight of constant events, interviews, and parties on his press tour, he’s also desperate for some peace and quiet.
This is why he has no intention of leaving his room for the next four days.
His sigh must carry because Isaac, his personal assistant, grins and then pats him on the back.
“Never a dull moment, is it?”
“That’s one way of looking at it,” Nick drawls back. “How the hell did they find me?”
“No idea, but don’t you worry, I’ll be doing some thorough investigative research on it,” Isaac says loudly, then turns to glare at the rest of Nick’s entourage. Nick watches carefully as they survey Harry, his driver; Imogen, his hair and make-up artist; and Otis, his bodyguard, but none of them flinch.
Probably not one of them, then.
“It’s fine,” Nick mutters, touching the top of Isaac’s arm. “Let’s just check in and then we can all relax.”
Isaac looks like he wants to say something else, but he doesn’t. Instead, he guides Nick over to the front desk where the check in process begins.
There’s five rooms, one for each of the entourage and one for Nick himself, plus his special guest. They’ll be here all weekend and by all accounts, it’s the perfect hotel to hide out in. There’s a gym and a spa and a pool, even an on-site cinema, as well as four different restaurant options.
Nick doesn’t really intend to use any of them. What he wants is to stay in his room, watching shit films and eating junk food and spending time with his best mate who he hasn’t seen in a few months. It’ll be bliss.
“Do you know if anyone has checked in yet for my room?” he asks the receptionist quietly. Originally, they’d planned to get two rooms, but low numbers had meant they had to go for a twin room instead, which is both better and worse in equal measure.
But the receptionist shakes her head. “Not yet, I’m afraid. Who are you expecting?”
As if on cue, the front doors slide open again and a figure dashes in, past the doorman and into the foyer. The babbling crowds are clearly still out there, though when Nick peers around the corner, it looks like security are keen to press them back.
The figure pushes a hood off his head, and suddenly the slightly anxious but mostly smiling face of the person Nick loves most in the world comes into view.
There’s Charlie.
Charlie Spring, his best friend since high school, an angel in human form, and the object of Nick’s eternal affection.
Nick and Charlie had met entirely by chance, when they were assigned to sit beside each other in form in an updated, multi-year seating plan all those years ago. At first, the pair had barely spoken but gradually the ice broke and soon they became completely inseparable.
They stayed best friends through everything: from Nick going off to drama school, to Charlie ending up in hospital for a spell. Charlie’s been his biggest fan and number one cheerleader all through Nick’s journey from auditions for unnamed roles in sitcoms, through to blockbuster films and his Oscar nomination. Charlie was the first person he told when he booked his first job as Policeman #2 in Emmerdale, as well as the person he sobbed to drunkenly when he didn’t win the Oscar.
Charlie is his favourite person in the whole world – always has been, and always will be.
In an ideal world, Charlie would feel the same about Nick, but Nick is painfully aware each and every time they see each other in person that he doesn’t. After all, Charlie was the one who had suggested they get separate rooms in the hotel, and he was the one who said they should get an Airbnb instead of a hotel so they had more space to move around or whatever .
Regardless, he still opted to come even when he found out that there weren’t enough rooms for them to get their own. Isaac had been lucky enough to snag the only twin suite in the whole hotel, so they’ll get their four days of lounging in bed and eating rubbish food – just separate beds.
In a way, Nick’s thrilled about it. It would definitely be risky business, sharing a bed with Charlie, which is, funnily enough, something they’ve barely ever done – despite the fact they’ve been best friends for the best part of a decade. Nick isn’t sure why, but then again it’s probably best not to question it. God forbid he wakes up with a stiffy or something, because it would definitely have been his sleeping in close proximity to Charlie that would trigger it.
He quickly snaps himself out of his sordid thoughts as Charlie gets closer to him, half tempted to open his arms and pull him into an embrace. It’s been a good couple of months since he last saw Charlie in person, but they’ve spoken every single day and FaceTimed a handful of times.
But there really isn’t anything like seeing him in person.
He looks good: all cheekbones and curls and crooked smiles in that way he reserves only for Nick, gorgeous and bright and enough to make Nick weak at the knees. Once Charlie’s close enough, he reaches out and grabs his wrist, pulling him a little closer, and Charlie comes to his side easily.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” Charlie breathes out. “Your fans are mental.”
Nick groans. “Did you have trouble getting here?”
Charlie shrugs, and Nick knows him well enough by now to know that even if he did, he’ll downplay it a bit for Nick’s benefit.
“Just a bit. They nearly didn’t let my Uber through the gates.”
“Jesus,” Nick whistles. “Sorry about that. But you’re here now!”
“I’m here now,” Charlie hums. “Are we checked in?”
“All ready for you, Mr Nelson,” the receptionist says, heavy lashes fluttering in Nick’s direction. Nick has to strongly fight the urge not to frown. Charlie’s the one who asked the question, after all. “Room 505 is waiting for you.”
“Thank you,” Nick says, polite but barely sparing her another glance. “Isaac, are we good to go?”
Isaac nods. “All good, sunshine. See you in four days.”
Nick chuckles. “Hey, we might cross paths in the restaurant.”
Isaac raises one of his perfect eyebrows and levels him with a look. “Okay, babe.”
Nick’s still laughing as he leans forward to smack a kiss onto Isaac’s forehead before he grabs his suitcase in one hand, Charlie’s hand in the other, and makes a beeline towards the lift.
“How was the rest of your journey?” he starts to ask Charlie as he presses the button to call the lift. But just as Charlie opens his mouth to answer, the doors for the lift slide open to reveal two teenage girls, and the second they see Nick, they start screaming.
“Nick Nelson, oh my god!”
“Oh my god, ” Nick squawks, then he shoves Charlie behind him. “Um –”
“Nick!”
Suddenly, one of them lunges forward as if to try and hug Nick, and he stumbles backwards to avoid her, only to end up knocking Charlie to the ground.
“Fuck, Char!”
“Ow,” Charlie cries, but it’s drowned out by Otis rushing at the scene like a bullet and tackling the girl to the ground.
Nick drops to his knees, panicked. “Shit. Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” Charlie huffs, propping himself up on his elbows. “Just, like, winded.”
Nick reaches out and takes his hand, helping him sit upright as Otis carts both girls out the front door. Once they’ve been removed, he helps Charlie properly back up to his feet, then he grabs his suitcase for him as Charlie dusts himself down.
“Holy shit,” he murmurs as the two (now crying) girls are shoved outside and back into the braying rabble. “How did they even get in?”
He turns to Isaac, who is snapping aggressively down his phone at someone, his tone so curt that it makes him tense up.
“Frankly, darling, I don’t give a single shit,” he says hotly. “Find out how they got in, and find out how quickly you can get additional security to us.” A pause. “I wouldn’t care if it was Christmas morning, Steve. They lunged at Nick out of the lift and knocked his friend to the floor. Find out how they got in, or we’ll find a new security firm, do you understand me?”
He hangs up the phone without saying goodbye and turns to Nick, a stern look on his usually relaxed face.
“God, Nick, I’m so sorry,” he tells him. “And I’m even more sorry to you, Charlie. I am so mad .”
“It’s fine,” Charlie mumbles, but his tone suggests otherwise. “I’m not hurt.”
Nick feels incredibly on edge. Even if Charlie’s saying he isn’t hurt, there’s a very real chance he is and is just pretending for everyone else’s benefit.
“Doesn’t matter,” Isaac spits. “I’m getting to the bottom of this now, and then I’m getting to the bottom of a bottle of sauvignon blanc.”
“Sounds good,” Nick says vaguely. All he can think about is getting Charlie out of the public space and into the safety of their room. “Hey, Otis, thanks!”
“All in a day’s work, boss,” Otis says with a salute. “I’ll see you up to your room if you want?”
But Nick waves him off. “We’ll be okay. The room is on its own floor so we’ll be fine, but thanks.”
“Sound, boss,” Otis says, then makes a beeline right for the bar.
Nick turns to Charlie. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
“Please,” Charlie exhales quietly, and Nick can see that he’s gripping his suitcase almost aggressively tightly. “Yeah, please.”
Nodding, Nick guides them over to the lift, presses the button for his room and swipes his keycard so they head up to their floor. The ride in the elevator is silent and a little tense and fuck, this is absolutely the last way Nick wanted their relaxing long weekend to kick off. It feels anything but relaxed right now.
Once they get to their floor and the lift doors ding open, there’s another door they need to swipe through to get access to their main suite door. Nick opens it with the key card and holds it open for Charlie to squeeze past him. Once inside, he makes sure to lock the door safely and securely behind him.
The sigh of relief that Charlie lets out as the door slams closed behind them is a loud one.
“Fuck me,” he exhales. “Your fans are, like, proper mental.”
“Yep,” Nick agrees, popping the P sound. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to it.”
“I mean, you shouldn’t have to,” Charlie says, and there’s a tightness to his voice that wasn’t there before. “That’s unfair, unhinged, invasive behaviour and the fact it’s been normalised is…”
“Hey,” Nick cuts in, reaching over and resting a light hand on the top of Charlie’s arm. Charlie goes quiet with the touch. “I know, but it’s part of this world I’m now a part of.”
“Well, I hate it,” Charlie snaps, with unexpected vitriol. Nick’s eyebrows shoot up. “I can’t imagine being part of that world and it shocks me that you’re so, like, so willing to be a part of it.”
“Woah,” Nick says, taken aback. “Woah, okay. I mean, what do you expect me to do?”
Charlie puts his hands on his hips. “I don’t know! It’s not your fucking fault, obviously, but I really could have done without being knocked down in the middle of a hotel lobby on day one of our little break.”
Nick’s face falls. “I know, I know. I’m really sorry, Char. I’m mortified.”
“Look, I’m not trying to make you feel bad,” Charlie insists gently. “I’m just, like… you choose this, not me. And I hate that it affects you because it’s now affecting me.”
“I don’t care about me, I care about you, ” Nick emphasises. “Are you seriously okay?”
“I’ll be fine,” Charlie says dismissively with a wave of his hand. “Come on, let’s forget it and go and explore this room.”
It’s only then that Nick realises they’ve barely ventured over the threshold at all. He abandons his suitcase to one side and follows Charlie down the hallway of the suite. It’s got very high ceilings and abstract art hung up down the walls, and the archway at the end of the landing opens into a huge living room area with two ginormous, extremely comfy looking sofas. On the far wall, a huge TV with expensive speakers is mounted, and there’s a small kitchenette with a fridge and a sink on the other side.
It’s extremely luxurious, even for Nick’s standards. Over the past couple of years, he’s not been a stranger to the finer things in life, including hotel suites. But rarely does he get to stay in one so grand, and he’s pleased that this is something he can share with Charlie.
“Holy fuck,” Charlie whispers under his breath. “This room isn’t real.”
Nick chuckles. “It’s real, my friend.” He flops himself down on one of the sofas and kicks off his shoes. “Bliss! Pure bliss.” Now barefoot, he hops back up and practically skips over to the kitchenette. “And if Isaac has been the little gem that I know he is then…” He opens the fridge and it’s fully stocked with all his favourite snacks. “God, I love that man.”
Charlie giggles and joins him, looking in the cupboard next to the fridge. “Oh my god, he even got spaghetti hoops! Are those specifically for me?”
“Of course. I gave him a very tailored to us shopping list,” Nick grins, pleased that Charlie seems to be okay after all that happened earlier. “Shall we go and see what the bedrooms are like?”
“Do we have our own bedrooms?” Charlie gasps. “How big is this place?”
“It’s essentially our own flat,” Nick says, then he trots over to the two doors just tucked around the corner from the TV. He opens the first one, then frowns when he sees that it’s just a bathroom inside. It’s a very nice, sparkling white bathroom, but there’s meant to be a bedroom in here with an ensuite attached. “Hm.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” Nick replies, then opens the second door to reveal…
The bedroom. The singular bedroom.
There’s only one bedroom.
But worse than that –
There’s only one bed.
One gigantic, sprawling king-sized bed with a dozen frilly pillows and a stark white bedspread. It looks gloriously comfy, it really does, but there’s two of them , and only one of it.
Just one bed.
Nick laughs nervously, scratching the back of his neck.
“Um. Right. Maybe this is the wrong room?”
He glances over at Charlie, who looks just as frozen as he does. His lips are parted, like he was about to say something and the words got lost on the way out, and his thick brows are furrowed together adorably.
Nick nervously continues, “Shall I, um, ring down to reception?”
Charlie nods, almost frantically. “I would… I mean, I think… yeah. Yeah. We…”
He trails off and then spins on his heel, towards the bathroom.
“I’m just going to explore the rest of the room!”
It feels like a lie, but Nick is too dumbstruck to challenge it.
There’s only one bed.
If this is actually their room, whether it was a genuine mistake or some admin error, he can’t stay here. He can’t share a bed with his best friend, the person he’s been in love with since he realised what love was. It was going to be torturous enough sharing a room with him for four days, seeing him in ways he’s not used to, like fresh out of the shower or just awake before his coffee, but he definitely can’t share a bed with him.
Definitely not.
And by the sounds of things, Charlie feels the same, and why wouldn’t he? He’s given up a whole weekend to spend time holed up in a hotel room with Nick, only to find he’s not going to get the rest and relaxation he deserves. Instead, he’s lumbered with sharing a mattress with his oversized best friend who snores and farts and probably talks in his sleep.
No, they can’t have this. He needs to get this sorted.
He strides back over to the kitchenette and, after rifling in a couple of drawers, finds the booklet with all the room information in it. After all the drama earlier, he’s pretty sure Isaac will have his hands full, so if he can solve this on his own then he will.
“I’m going to call reception,” he tells Charlie, heading back towards the bedroom. “I’ll see if they can sort this.”
“Okay!” Charlie calls back, still tucked away in the bathroom. “Let me know how it goes!”
Sighing, Nick perches on the edge of the bed, pulls his phone out of his pocket, and dials.
He has to get this sorted, for both his own sanity and Charlie’s.
*
They can’t get it sorted.
This particular suite is the very last suite available because apparently there’s some major sports event happening close by, and rich folk from all over the world have travelled for this. They were lucky to get this suite, apparently.
The poor lady on the reception desk barrels out apology after apology. In the end Nick ends up apologising to her because he feels so bad for how genuinely distraught she sounds at having inconvenienced the Nick Nelson, especially after what happened in reception earlier. After fifteen minutes of trying to find another room, her manager comes to the phone and starts apologising profusely herself, and by the time the phone call has ended, Nick has been on the phone for almost half an hour and he’s done away with unlimited complimentary drinks for the duration of their stay and a three-course meal down at the Michelin star restaurant the next day.
Once he’s hung up the phone, he groans and collapses onto the bed next to Charlie, who came and joined him about ten minutes into the conversation, covering his face with his hands.
“Nope. No other rooms.”
“Fuck,” Charlie curses. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” Nick moans, then uncovers one eye. “Pain in the arse. This isn’t what you signed up for.”
“Maybe not, but it’s not drastically different to what I actually signed up for. I’m sure we’ve shared a bed before in all the years we’ve been friends, right?”
Nick blinks a few times, thinking.
“I’m not sure we have, you know.”
“Hm,” Charlie hums, then lies back so his head is resting just inches from Nick’s. Nick feels his heartbeat quicken. “That feels like a lie.”
“It’s not,” Nick pouts. “I think we’re just… like, not those kinds of friends.”
There’s a pause, then Charlie shrugs and sits back up.
“Well, which side of the bed do you want?”
“I like the left side,” Nick says, twisting his head so he can see Charlie properly. “It’s usually the side closest to the window.”
Charlie smirks. “Lucky for you I tend to favour the right side of the bed. Usually the one closest to the door.”
It’s almost like we fit together perfectly, Nick thinks, but doesn’t say.
“Perfect,” he says instead, hoping his voice doesn’t come out too strangled. “What do you wanna do now?”
Charlie waggles his eyebrows and then hops off the bed, moving back through into the living room to where his bag is. Nick cranes his neck to watch as he unzips the front pocket and pulls out a handful of things, then he returns to the bedroom with a lighter in one hand and a tupperware in the other.
“Wanna get high on the balcony?”
“I would love nothing more,” Nick groans happily, making grabby hands for it. “God, you’re my hero. You always know exactly what I need.”
“Best friend intuition,” Charlie grins as he sets the tupperware down on the chest of drawers and pulls out a grinder. “When have I ever not known what you need?”
Nick bites his lip to keep from groaning.
You have no idea.
*
One hour and an unexpected April shower later, the pair of them are lying atop their shared bed, watching TikToks on Nick’s phone. The rain had come down on them quick and heavy, so they’d been forced to abandon the last bit of their joint in favour of taking shelter back inside.
Now they’re scrolling through an eclectic save folder that Nick has of funny pet videos, and they giggle and twitter like idiots as they watch cats and dogs do all sorts of stupid things. He doesn’t even realise his phone has low battery until it dies on him, and then when he explains to Charlie that he’d forgotten to charge it last night, they both keep laughing until tears pour down their faces.
It definitely isn’t that funny, and Nick can’t explain it other than everything is simply better and funnier when Charlie’s around.
He shoves his dead phone on the bedside table and then flops back down, staring at the ceiling for a few moments before he turns to look at Charlie.
“Are you hungry?”
Charlie shrugs. “A bit. What were you thinking?”
Nick thinks for a moment. “We could call down to reception for room service. Or we could order a takeaway?” He waggles his eyebrows. “Or we could have spaghetti hoops on toast?”
Charlie makes a happy noise that, unfortunately, makes Nick feel things that he’s not proud of.
“I would love some spaghetti hoops on toast,” Charlie hums. “Though there’s only four tins in the cupboard if I remember correctly, so you’re not allowed one.”
Nick gasps. “Why not?”
“What if I want a tin every single day we’re here?”
“I’m rich and famous,” Nick scoffs, only half joking. “I’ll get some couriered in.”
“You’re insane,” Charlie bursts out laughing. “That’s not a good use of your millions.”
Anything that makes you happy is a great use of my millions, Nick can’t help but feel.
He sits up and shrugs. “I don’t care. Come on, let’s get us some spaghetti hoops.”
“You can’t steal my spaghetti hoops!” Charlie gives him a playful shove. “I’m sure you have your own food in the cupboard, dickhead.”
Nick doesn’t even like spaghetti hoops that much, but teasing Charlie is just so fun.
“I do, but now I just really want to eat some spaghetti hoops.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Charlie drawls, then he throws his leg over both of Nick’s and pushes him down onto the mattress. Too slow to react, Nick goes where he’s moved to, positioned underneath Charlie’s smaller frame. His grip on Nick isn’t particularly tight, but Nick has no desire to be released from it.
He watches, hyper vigilantly, as Charlie swallows and then slowly moves his hands from around Nick’s wrists down, up the length of his arms and over to his shoulders.
Nick can barely breathe as he does so.
Charlie gulps again.
“Have you, um… Have you been working out?”
Slowly, Nick nods. “I have a personal trainer that joins me on the road sometimes.”
Charlie mirrors his nod. “Yeah. I can tell.”
Nick isn’t really sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. He makes the move to sit up while not jostling Charlie too much in his lap, sliding his arms around Charlie’s waist, in a move he’d never in a million years have the balls for if he was sober.
“Hi.”
Charlie leans back a little, not pulling away, more like he’s making himself more comfortable, and takes a deep breath.
“Hi.”
“Is this okay?” Nick has to ask.
Charlie’s Adam’s apple bobs against his throat.
“Yeah.”
Nick nods, just once. “Good.”
Suddenly, they’re kissing.
Nick feels so spacey that he almost doesn’t realise what he’s doing at first, but then Charlie’s hands cup the back of his neck and pull him closer, closer , so their chests are flush and their crotches are pressed together. It takes a moment for Nick’s mushy brain to catch up, but once it does, he slides his hands up Charlie’s back and kisses him back with all his might.
Once his body registers that he’s kissing Charlie, he brings his hands up to clutch at his face, holding him firm like this moment won’t seem real if he doesn’t. He feels hot all over, and he’s sure that if Charlie rests his hands over his back or his hips, he’ll feel how damp he is through his shirt.
It doesn’t perturb him, though.
He has no idea how long they snog for before they separate, both of them panting, their lips chapped and spit damp. Nick can’t look away from Charlie’s flushed face, still in disbelief that this is truly happening.
He’s truly beautiful , he thinks. I don’t think it’s possible for me to love him more.
It’s been a long time since he’s kissed someone, so he feels a little sloppy as he dives back in. It’s a curious kiss more than anything, both of them high and almost unsure as they both struggle with where to put their hands and how much tongue to use. Charlie tastes like weed and spearmint and something else that Nick can’t quite place, but knows he wants to keep tasting, over and over, maybe forever.
He feels like he could do this forever, that’s for sure.
He gets well and truly lost in it, the only thing he can think and feel and hold is Charlie.
And then it’s over.
Charlie pulls back and makes quick work of waving away the string of spit that stays connected between them. He leans back, just out of reach, then stares at Nick carefully before he untangles himself from Nick’s grasp.
“Right!” Charlie announces, then scrabbles off Nick’s lap before he clambers off the bed. “I’m going for a shower.”
“Oh,” Nick says stupidly. “Okay.”
“Yeah,” Charlie says vaguely, then turns his back to Nick and opens his suitcase. “Okay.”
Still too stunned to speak properly, Nick just nods and watches him go as he gathers his things and disappears out the bedroom door. The door crashes shut behind him, then the bathroom door slams, then the shower turns on just seconds later.
Fuck.
He kissed Charlie.
Charlie kissed him back.
They kissed.
For fifteen minutes straight.
And now Charlie’s gone.
He flops back onto the pillows, breathing heavily, suddenly desperate to sober up.
Did that just happen?
Really really?
He lies there, staring at the ceiling for a long old time. The shower is still running when he eventually climbs out of bed almost half an hour later.
It’s still running when he calls down to reception and orders them a couple of pizzas, the idea of even trying to cook something now a far off dream.
It’s still running when the pizzas arrive and, even though he calls for Charlie to let him know there’s food if he wants it, the calls go unanswered.
It’s still running as he eats the pizza, and it’s still running when he covers Charlie’s pizza over and pops it in the fridge.
Fuck.
Fuck .
Everything is ruined.
This was supposed to be the perfect weekend, just Nick and Charlie and no worries, no dramas and nobody else, and all that’s happened is worry, drama and kissing.
Truthfully, Nick has spent hours upon hours daydreaming about what it would be like to kiss Charlie; to hold him in his arms or on his lap and lick into his mouth like they have all the time in the world to do this and nothing else. But in that scenario, Charlie certainly didn’t run away and hide in the shower. He kissed Nick back and told him he loved him too, and afterwards they’d eat pizza together curled up on the sofa while they watched a silly film, and then they’d kiss some more.
Just a dream.
He wonders what this means for their relationship, but his brain is too high and too addled with it to put the thoughts together well enough to even think about what it could mean. Will they simply never talk about it again and go on as normal, or will the rest of the weekend be awkward and stilted and eventually, when Monday rolls around and they both go back to their lives, will they never speak to each other again?
The idea doesn’t even bear thinking about, so Nick doesn’t. He simply forces a pint of water down his throat, changes into his pyjamas and then clambers back into bed. It’s basically bedtime now anyway.
The shower finally stops running when Nick’s just about to fall asleep. Belatedly, as he hears Charlie move around the suite, he realises he hasn’t brushed his teeth or gone for a wee, but he can’t bring himself to care.
He hears lights flick off in the living room, then Charlie comes back into the bedroom at long last. He’s also in his pyjamas, and his hair is still damp and his skin is pink, like he spent a long time under the hot spray. Wordlessly, he puts his clothes into his suitcase and then gets into bed beside Nick.
He doesn’t even try to make eye contact or offer him a reassuring smile.
Nick feels his heart sink lower and lower with every passing moment.
“Goodnight, Nick,” Charlie says, voice dull. He pulls the duvet up over his shoulders, almost encasing him completely, and rolls over onto his side so he’s facing away from Nick completely.
“Goodnight, Char,” Nick mumbles, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable about sharing a bed with him. He slides down under the duvet and rolls onto his other side so he’s also facing the wall and can’t see Charlie at all.
The problem is he can still taste and smell Charlie, and he isn’t sure how he’ll be able to talk to Charlie in the morning once the effects of the weed wear off and they’re faced with the harsh reality that they kissed, and now they’re meant to spend four days in each other’s carefree company.
He flicks the lamp on his bedside table off, plunging the room into darkness, and he squeezes his eyes shut until sleep takes him over.