Chapter Text
The first time it happens, it’s a total accident. They usually hang out in the living room, playing Mario Kart or watching films together while sitting at opposite ends of the sofa. And sure, Charlie might drift off occasionally during a movie, especially if Nick has given him that really fluffy blanket he has, or if it’s particularly warm in the flat, or if it’s a Marvel film, but he always wakes up before the credits have finished rolling, no big deal. This time though, they’re not in the living room because Nick’s flatmates are home and they’re watching something involving teams and rules and a ball on the tv. So Nick and Charlie are in Nick’s room instead, on his bed, sitting up against the headboard and watching a film on his laptop, which is propped on a chair that Nick has dragged over from his desk.
Charlie had thought it might be a bit awkward at first. A bit too intimate for two friends, two fairly new friends for that matter, to watch a film in bed together. Well not in bed, exactly. On bed. But now that he’s here, he finds it isn’t at all. It’s quiet and comfy and just nice. There are two cups of tea on the bedside table, one sweet and milky and one strong with just a splash of milk and no sugar. Sometimes they have a few beers when they hang out, or gin and tonics, but usually tea. Nick has a ridiculous abundance of pillows and they are all propped up against the headboard to make a big, squishy pile to lean on. The pair are both turned to one side to face the screen, Charlie is closest to it and Nick is behind him. They’re not touching, but they’re close enough that Charlie can feel the warmth radiating from Nick’s body, hear the steady rhythm of his breathing. It’s comforting. Nick picked the movie tonight. It isn’t Marvel but something equally as mind numbing with lots of CGI and mild peril that will inevitably be resolved by a rugged looking man with a stupid catchphrase. Charlie doesn’t mind. He never minds what they watch, being twenty four going on fifty four, he’s just grateful to have found someone who appreciates a night in over a packed pub as much as he does. The only problem is that tonight the film isn’t holding his attention, and the room is warm and dark, and the bed is comfy and all the pillows smell like Nick.
Charlie wakes to a kind of stillness and silence that can only exist in the middle of the night. It’s pitch black. The laptop screen has gone dark and there is no noise coming from the living room down the hall anymore. The only sound is the soft snoring coming from behind him. That and his own heartbeat, which is becoming increasingly loud in his own ears. He slowly lifts one hand from the bed and extends it gingerly into the darkness towards where he knows the bedside table is. His fingers land on the wooden surface and feel around as gently as possible until they find his phone and bring it up to his face. It’s dead. He takes a few deep, slow breaths while trying to formulate a plan. He’s still wearing all his clothes so that’s good, there’s nothing else of his he needs to locate in Nick’s room. He’s been to the flat enough times that he’s pretty sure he’ll be able to find his shoes and coat in the hallway without switching on any lights, and then he can just slip out the door. He won’t be able to get an Uber without his phone, but it’s only a twenty minute walk. Easily doable, if a bit scary at this time of night. Slowly, carefully, he starts to peel himself away from the pile of pillows he’s nestled into, pulls himself into an upright position and plants his feet on the floor. So far, so good. But when he lifts himself off the mattress, the regular pattern of Nick’s breathing falters. Charlie hears him stirring and then a quiet, scratchy voice.
“Char?”
He freezes. He’s facing away from Nick but turns his head back over his shoulder. “Sorry, I fell asleep,” he whispers.
“S’okay. What time is it?”
“I have no idea.”
Charlie hears the rustling of cotton as Nick’s hand feels around blindly. Softly thump, thump thumping different spots on the bed until suddenly his face appears out of the darkness, illuminated by the light of his phone. His hair is sticking up wildly and his eyes are barely open as he squints at his lock screen. “It’s half three.”
“Shit. Sorry. Just go back to sleep.”
Nick tilts the phone away from his face to cast more light into the room, catching Charlie trying to tiptoe towards the door. “Where are you going?”
Charlie stops again. “Home?”
“What? Don’t be silly. Just stay.”
Charlie finds the thought both tempting and terrifying. He turns around, away from the door and towards Nick. “Really?”
“Yeah, ‘course. Come on.” Nick reaches across the bed for the corner of the duvet and pulls it back, creating an inviting little pocket for Charlie to climb into. Charlie has never wanted anything more in his entire life, but he’s not sure he should. He takes a tentative step towards the bed. “You can change, if you want. Borrow whatever.” Nick gestures vaguely towards his wardrobe with one hand as he rearranges some of the pillows to make them flatter, before lying down properly and rolling over, away from Charlie, towards the wall. His phone is lying face up in the middle of the bed, the screen still emitting just enough light to allow Charlie to see what he’s doing as he slides underneath the covers next to his friend. Nick lets out a contented hum as he feels the mattress shift behind him. “Mm. Night, Char.”
“Night.” Within a minute he’s asleep again.
Charlie doesn’t usually have sleepovers with anyone outside of his oldest and closest friends from school. (Well, not platonic ones, anyway.) But they’re all far away now, and busy with their own lives. The days of all four of them getting together every Saturday night to watch movies and argue over Monopoly and sleep squished together on a couple of mattresses on the floor are long gone. Charlie gets it, the need for friendships to change and evolve, but he still misses the nights when he didn’t have to wrestle with his sleep demons alone. The overnight guests of the non-platonic variety that Charlie occasionally shares his bed with these days don’t really provide the same level of comfort. For one thing, there’s generally very little sleeping going on in their company. But also, they don’t tend to actually stay for the entire night, happy to occupy Charlie’s time for a while but then inevitably mumbling excuses about an early start or something equally as generic, before rushing out the door, leaving Charlie, once again, alone. Maybe that’s why he wakes up in the morning in Nick’s bed feeling like he’s been in a medically induced coma for several weeks, like he hasn’t slept that long, or that deep, in a decade.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” Nick says with a smile as Charlie stretches underneath the covers, all the way down to his toes, and attempts to blink his eyes open. The heaviness of sleep has settled itself so deep in his body that he can’t even talk yet, he just lets his head fall to one side on the pillow to look over at Nick, lying on his back on the opposite side of the bed, scrolling on his phone. Charlie draws in a deep breath through his nose and then lets it out in a satisfied huff. Nick chuckles. “Sleep well?”
“Mmm,” Charlie hums as he rolls over onto his side, pulling the duvet with him and bunching it up under his chin. “I don’t know how you ever get out of this bed.” His voice is lazy and thick. “Seriously, I would never leave.”
Nick laughs again gently as his eyes drift over Charlie’s sleep-softened face and fluffy bed hair. “Yeah, it’s hard sometimes.”
“Thanks for letting me stay over. Sorry, again. I don’t know what happened, I must have just fallen asleep during that film.”
“It’s fine!” Nick insists with a good-natured eye roll. “We both did, I think. I can’t believe you were going to try and sneak out of here in the middle of the night, though. What were you gonna do, call a cab?”
“Walk. My battery’s dead.”
“Charlie!” Nick cries, his voice full of incredulity. “You would rather walk home, alone, at three o’clock in the morning, than just share a bed with me? Ouch .” He gives Charlie his best puppy-dog eyes.
Charlie snorts. “Well obviously not because I did stay, didn’t I?” This earns him a grin from Nick. “I don’t know, I just thought it might be a bit weird if you woke up this morning and I was just… here. When you hadn’t said it was okay.” His eyes drop away from Nick’s, he fixes them on a random spot on the sheets between them instead.
“Well for future reference, you’re always welcome to stay. I don’t want you walking home by yourself at night. Plus, you know I like having you here.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal and flashes a sweet, close-mouthed smile at Charlie.
“Thanks.” Charlie smiles back bashfully in return.
It’s always like this with Nick. He makes everything so easy. Charlie usually finds it takes people a while to warm up to him, he’s shy and introverted. It’s not that he doesn’t try, but his diffident nature usually gets in the way. Not with Nick, though. Ironically, they met on a night out, a birthday thing for their mutual friend Darcy, who insisted on inviting everyone she had ever had a cursory conversation with to the grimiest, stickiest gay club in a twenty mile radius to celebrate. They had bonded almost immediately over their shared disdain for the music, both the genre and the volume, before swapping war stories about growing up queer at their respective posh, all-boys grammar schools. It wasn’t long before they discovered their mutual appreciation for the quieter side of life, too. They just clicked. As if they were always destined to become a part of each other’s existence, as if they had both been living their lives around a giant gap without even noticing, just waiting for the other one to come along and slot right into it.
Nick makes a noise as he sits up, a gravelly sigh at the exertion of moving, and then looks down at Charlie. “Can I interest you in some breakfast?”
Charlie considers for a moment. “I should probably go.”
“Not even a tea?”
“I need a shower.” He reluctantly begins the process of extracting himself from the delicious cocoon of Nick’s duvet.
“Alright. Well, do you have plans for dinner?”
“No.” The corner of his mouth is tugged upwards, involuntarily.
“Come back later, then? I’ll cook something.”
“Yeah, okay.”
Charlie is out of the bed now, standing beside it trying to right himself, running his hands through his hair and straightening his jumper. Nick looks him up and down. “You slept in all your clothes?” So did he, to be fair, but he’s wearing joggers and a t-shirt like always, only one step away from pajamas anyway. Charlie looks down at his jeans and then back up and just shrugs, and Nick chuckles and shakes his head in fond exasperation. He gets up and follows Charlie out to the hallway, leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his chest as he watches Charlie lace up his shoes and slip his coat on.
“Bye, then,” Charlie says as he opens the front door, turning back to look at Nick over his shoulder.
“See you later.” As Charlie leaves, Nick moves to stand in the doorframe, watching Charlie disappear into the stairwell until he’s completely out of sight.
And that’s that. Neither of them expects it to become a regular thing. They had accidentally fallen asleep together, Charlie had ended up staying the night out of convenience, and for his own safety, they had both experienced the best sleep that either of them could remember ever having, and now they’ll go about their lives as previously planned. Forget about it and move on. Easy.
Except that Charlie’s body can’t forget. After that, his own bed feels so much colder and emptier than it ever did before, and each night it only gets worse. He burrows under the covers, curls into a ball and fruitlessly chases sleep, finding that his mind wanders, returning over and over again to the memory of his friend’s gentle snores, the endless, unfailing body heat he radiates. Charlie tries all his old tricks: long runs during the day, no caffeine after four o’clock, YouTube videos of guided meditations that he’s had bookmarked for years. Nothing works. His bedroom is too quiet. The silence feels oppressive, like it’s physically closing in on him as he lies in the dark, but his usual playlists, his go-to podcasts, even his old faithful rain sounds track, none of them feel right anymore. Charlie is accustomed to functioning on the bare minimum of rest. He can get through a long day on just a few hours while even still managing to maintain a fairly pleasant disposition, usually. But now, he’s struggling. And the only thing that seems to be able to provide any relief, is Nick. Or Nick’s flat, at least.
What used to be an occasional habit, nodding off while watching the tv, is now happening every time he’s over there. Sometimes he’ll be out cold within just a few minutes of sitting down, or before Nick has even finished making their tea. Nick doesn’t mind. Actually, he finds it adorable. Charlie always looks cute but something about him when he’s sleeping is particularly angelic. The way his features relax and smooth out, the soft fluttering of his eyelashes when he’s dreaming or just starting to wake up. Sometimes his face gets all smushed up on one side where he’s leaning against the back of the sofa. Sometimes his mouth falls open just a tiny bit, lips delicately parted, letting his breath escape in soft, warm puffs with the slow rise and fall of his chest. Getting to see Charlie like that, peaceful but vulnerable, makes something inside of Nick’s chest swell, so big that it sometimes feels like it might burst out of ribcage. After a while though, an uneasiness starts to grow in the pit of his stomach. It’s a Friday night, and Charlie is over for the third time this week, and sleeping on the sofa for the third time this week too, when he decides to say something. Not now, though. With the lightest possible touch he drapes the fluffy blanket, Charlie's favourite one, over him, turns the volume on the tv down a few notches and settles in on his side of the sofa to wait. It’s about an hour before Charlie stirs.
“Hey,” Nick says softly at the first signs of Charlie coming back to consciousness.
”Mm?” He tucks in on himself even tighter for a moment before unfurling and stretching his legs out. “Shit, sorry. Was I asleep again?”
”I’m gonna ban you from saying that word,” Nick warns, but it’s light and teasing.
“Sorry.” Charlie says it without even thinking. “Fuck, I mean— okay,” he giggles sheepishly and the sound draws a similar response from Nick, before he remembers what’s been on his mind and his expression turns more serious.
“Are you alright?” He asks gently. “You’ve been so tired lately.”
“S— yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” Charlie’s response is quick. Reflexive. But Nick is used to this by now. He rearranges his body on the sofa so that he’s facing Charlie directly and holds his gaze.
“It’s not that I mind you falling asleep or anything, I’m just starting to worry. Are you coming down with something, maybe?” There’s concern etched into his features; Wide eyes, creased brow, slightly downturned mouth. It tugs at Charlie's heart and makes him wish he could be better at hiding his dysfunction.
”No it’s— I just find it hard to sleep, sometimes. Like, at night, I mean. I haven’t been getting much lately, that’s all.” His fingers find a loose thread along the top of the sofa and he focuses his attention there intently as he talks.
“Something on your mind?”
“No, not really.” He shrugs. “I’ve just always been like this. My sister’s the same. When we were little we used to spend a lot of time in each other’s bedrooms in the middle of the night.”
”That’s cute.” Nick can’t help but smile at the mental image of a tiny Charlie.
“Yeah. It didn’t really help either of us sleep, necessarily. But the company was nice.” Tori would be mortified at the soft look on Charlie’s face as he recalls all the shared nocturnal hours of their childhood with fondness. But then his expression clouds over. Nick watches patiently as Charlie wrestles with his next words. “I err— since I slept over the other week, it’s like I can’t actually fall asleep anywhere except… here.” By the end of the sentence, his voice has dropped to barely more than a whisper. The weight of it hangs in the air between them for just a tiny moment before Charlie can’t bear it anymore, feeling exposed. “I blame your bed,” he declares, his voice returning to its usual tone. “It’s too comfy, all other beds are ruined for me now.”
“Do you want to stay over again tonight, then?” As simple as that. No mocking, no awkwardness. A genuine offer.
“Oh, no, I didn’t mean— it’s fine. I’ll be fine.”
“Char, just stay! It’s not a big deal, really. I don’t mind at all. In fact, I want you to. Please?” Charlie knows he means it. If there’s one thing he’s learned about Nick in the last few months it’s that he’s generous to a fault. He would literally lasso the moon and pull it down to earth if Charlie asked him to. He hesitates, though. There’s a familiar voice creeping in at the back of his mind, the one that’s always there to remind him of how much of a burden he inevitably becomes to everyone around him. The shame feels hot and sickly sitting on his chest. It would probably be better to say no, go home tonight and try to just push through this weird thing that his brain is doing right now, it will have to let him sleep eventually. But Charlie is tired. He’s so, so tired, and even just the thought of Nick’s bed down the hall is enough to weaken his resolve. When he looks up and meets Nick’s eyes, warm and imploring, he breaks immediately.
“Okay. Thanks.” He gives a shy smile and is rewarded with a glorious, beaming grin in return.
“Good.” Nick looks pleased with himself. Satisfied. “Now, how would you feel about thrashing me at Mario Kart for a bit?” He chucks a controller into Charlie’s lap.
“My pleasure.”
As promised, Charlie proceeds to trounce Nick for the first several rounds. He teases him ruthlessly about it between races too. But by their fourth or fifth game, Nick can tell that he’s starting to flag, his heart isn’t in it. He keeps flying off the track, crashing into stuff, and when Nick actually manages to win a race for the first time ever he can’t find it in himself to gloat. He switches back to Netflix instead and asks Charlie what he wants to watch.
“I don’t mind. You choose,” Charlie mumbles as he rests his head against the arm of the sofa. Nick picks something they’ve watched before, a documentary series about the solar system that has a presenter with a soothing voice, and by the end of the first episode it’s obvious that Charlie is struggling to keep his eyes open. Nick stretches his arms above his head and yawns dramatically.
“I’m shattered,” he announces as his arms fall back to his sides. Charlie hums in agreement without saying any actual words. “Come on, then.” Nick gets up and then extends a hand to Charlie, who blinks slowly and then takes it, allowing himself to be pulled gently to his feet. He follows Nick down the hall into his room, and then stands and watches as Nick goes straight to his wardrobe and starts rifling through it. He turns around with a little stack of neatly folded clothes in his hands and thrusts them towards Charlie. “You can’t go to bed in jeans, it’s criminal. I know it will probably all be a bit big for you, but it should be fine for sleeping. There are a few spare toothbrushes in the bathroom under the sink, as well.” Charlie nods mutely, taking the pile of clothes and shuffling off towards the bathroom.
He changes out of his jeans and thick cable knit jumper into the clothes Nick has given him, grey joggers, a t-shirt and a thin, soft sweatshirt. It’s all about three sizes too big but thankfully the joggers have a drawstring so he can make it work. He tries to ignore the butterflies that swarm in his stomach at the sight of himself in the mirror in Nick’s clothes, the familiar scent of Nick’s detergent so close to his skin, and summons the very last of his energy reserves to brush his teeth. When he’s finished the pair trade places, and Nick comes back from the bathroom several minutes later to find Charlie sitting awkwardly on the edge of the bed, staring forlornly into the middle distance.
“You alright?”
“Yeah. Just tired.” Charlie smiles up at him weakly. “Wasn’t sure if you have, like, a side of the bed?” It’s a double but it’s pushed all the way into the corner of the room, so there’s only one side you can get in and out of.
“Not really. I’ll go on the wall side though, if you want. I don’t mind. Should I put something on?” He nods towards the laptop sitting on his desk.
“Sure.” Charlie waits, shuffling his feet on the carpet while Nick sets up the laptop to play the next episode of the same documentary they had been watching before. He flicks the light switch, strips off his hoodie and then crawls onto the far side of the mattress.
When Charlie climbs into bed next to him, the relief is immediate. Tension he didn’t even realise he was holding in his body starts to drain out of him. It feels so good he could cry. He doesn’t, but he does emit a small sigh as he nestles his head into the cool, plush pillow, prompting Nick to let out a quiet laugh through his nose.
“Better?” His voice is hushed but Charlie can hear the smile in it.
Charlie barely manages to make any sound in response. “Mmhmm.”
The last thing he hears before his consciousness dissolves is Nick’s quiet voice as he whispers, “good.”
It’s the shifting of the mattress that wakes Charlie in the morning. He opens his eyes to find Nick, frozen, seemingly in the middle of crawling up his side of the bed from the foot of it. He winces as Charlie rubs the sleep from his eyes.
“Shit, sorry. I was really trying not to wake you up.” He sits back on his heels.
“S’fine,” Charlie mumbles with a croaky morning voice.
“How are you feeling now?”
“Good.” Charlie nods. A smile grows on his face as he realises that this is actually true. “More human,” he adds.
Nick has that satisfied look again. “Well, I’m going to get up, I think.” Charlie goes to sit up too so Nick quickly continues, “you don’t have to, though. Go back to sleep. Stay as long as you want.” Another half an hour is overwhelmingly tempting, so Charlie relaxes and lets his head fall back onto the pillow again. “And listen, Char, I meant what I said before. You can sleep here whenever you want, okay? You don’t have to ask, or say anything. Whatever you need, it’s fine.”
“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into, Nelson. You’re going to get sick of me.” Charlie’s teasing, there’s a smirk on his face. But there’s also trepidation, anxiety, carefully concealed just below the surface.
“I promise you, I won’t. You could stay over every single night, if you wanted to, and that would be absolutely fine with me.” He looks down at Charlie fondly with one of his classic, lopsided smiles where only one side of his mouth curls upwards. The kind that always make Charlie melt a little bit inside. “Now, go back to sleep,” Nick says sternly as he shuffles backwards off the bed. He takes a change of clothes with him as he backs out of the room, closing the door softly behind him, and Charlie dozes off again listening to the sound of the shower running next door.
Despite the open invitation, Charlie makes some rules for himself. Boundaries. He stays over three nights a week, usually, but never more than four. Never more than two nights in a row. He doesn’t leave any of his stuff at Nick’s place, either. No skincare products, no clothes, no books. Although the hours he spends on his own are still plagued with persistent restlessness, it’s manageable knowing that he is never more than a couple of days away from the next night he will be able to curl up in that delicious bed, beside Nick, and find peace. It’s not long before the accumulated hours of sleep he has been getting start to work their magic. Not only can he manage to stay awake during movie nights, but he finds the energy for other things too. He starts playing the drums again, he’s running more often, he’s even doing better at work. His job as someone’s assistant’s assistant at an indie publishing house mainly consists of updating spreadsheets, drafting emails and fetching coffee, but it’s much easier now that he’s not drifting through every day like he’s sleepwalking.
True to his word, Nick never makes a big deal out of any of it. Occasionally, on a Sunday night when Charlie has already stayed over on Saturday and Friday and a night or two during the week as well, and is insisting that he goes home, Nick will ask him if he’s sure. Sometimes he pouts when Charlie says yes, he is sure. But he never pushes it any further than that. He’s happy. Happy that the simple act of sharing his bed with his best friend seems to be doing him so much good. Watching Charlie come back to life after that couple of weeks where he could hardly keep his eyes open, seeing him thrive and flourish, makes his stomach feel warm and tingly. Lying next to Charlie in bed at night, listening to his breathing change as he falls asleep, does too. Nothing is weird or awkward between them during the day either, their friendship feels just like it always has, so there really is no downside. Everything is great. Perfect, even. Then the nightmares start.