Chapter Text
CW: This chapter contains an M-rated scene that some readers may find uncomfortable. (It is NOT noncon or dubcon)
It's been seven years since we saw each other, since he dashed my heart to bits and shot a few arrows into it for good measure. At first I think I'm imagining it's him — that's happened so many times over the years, at parties, in the stands at games, in grocery stores. But here in the Gatwick airport lounge, this time I'm sure it's him I'm looking at. His curls are slightly dishevelled and he's wearing a black t-shirt that's loose on his thin frame. There's a backpack leaning against his calf and another man's arm around his waist as they stand at the bar. When he takes his drink and hefts the bag onto his shoulder, I catch his profile and know for certain that it is him. Charlie Spring, still beautiful as ever, only steps away from me.
He and his companion wander over to a table and sit to sip their mediocre airport lounge wine. I watch as the other man tries to hold Charlie's hand atop the table and watch as Charlie slowly draws his own hand back. Under the table, their ankles touch until Charlie subtly moves his chair back. He looks over his shoulder to grab something from the side pocket of his backpack, and his eyes suddenly lock onto mine.
For what feels like thirty minutes, I don't blink or move or breathe. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the other man get up and cross between us to head toward the loos, and then Charlie Spring is walking toward me.
"Hi."
"Hi," I manage. I can't think of anything else to say. I've imagined this moment so many times, practised so many speeches and rants, and now that he's here I can't manage to speak.
He asks how I am and where I'm headed, and we have a weird, stilted catch up. I'm on my way to an exhibition rugby match in San Diego; he's on his way to a conference in New York with his boyfriend. He didn't go into physiotherapy, like we'd laughed about all those years ago, together in my bed, curled around each other and giggling about him following my team around and wrapping up my busted up teammates. Instead he went into nursing and Josh, the man he's dating, is a cardiologist who'll be giving a talk at the conference. We're acting like such grownups. It's actually a little unnerving; I might as well be talking to any other old classmate from Truham and not the person I loved more than any other human being before or since.
"Well, nice seeing you, Nick," Charlie says with a small smile. "I wasn't sure it would be, honestly, if I ever saw you again after you dumped me, but it was nice."
"What?" I gasp.
"I just mean, I didn't expect—“
"No, Charlie, what the fuck, you dumped me!" It comes out a lot louder than I plan. We both stare at each other for a while.
His face closes like a door slamming. "Wow. That is so not what happened. I reached out to you again and again and you never once called or texted or came by. You don't get to just rewrite history like that, Nick."
"Oh yeah, the blank texts and the envelope full of torn up pictures?" I cross my arms over my chest. "Way to reach out, Charlie. Good on you."
Charlie's eyebrows knit together. "Torn up pictures? They weren't torn up! I printed those all out with a note and everything. And then I waited a week for you to call me, and you never did. Not one single word, Nick."
"They were though," I insist. It was like opening up an envelope of fuck-you confetti, little bits of our faces and hands floating down onto the rug.
"Not when I left them at your house, they weren't."
We both stare at each other as it sinks in. "Oh my god," I say quietly. The massiveness of our miscommunication hits like a lorry to my chest. "Charlie—"
"Charlie, we're going to miss our flight if we don't get a wiggle on."
We both turn to blink at his boyfriend — I think Charlie said his name is Josh. "Oh, yeah, right," Charlie agrees. His voice sounds like it's coming from Mars. Some part of me wants to stand up and grab him, but Josh is lifting Charlie's backpack and leading him away from me. Charlie looks back over his shoulder at me and I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Josh shoots a furious look at me and says something I can't quite make out to Charlie, but the tone is clear. His boyfriend is furious. Some part of my brain is saying I fucked up, another part wants me to go punch the guy in the face for looking at Charlie like that, another part just wants to scream until my throat hurts as much as the rest of me.
The doors close behind them and I stare at my hands for a full five minutes before I fumble out my phone and send a text to my mother and David, asking if either of them remember seeing an envelope of photos from Charlie left under my door years ago.
I hold my breath as dots appear, indicating that David is texting me back.
David: Of course I remember. Pathetic. You should have seen the ridiculous note he left too.
"Nelson, we need to get to the gate, bruv!" I can barely hear him over the sound of my heart pounding in my ears.
Nick: Yes. I SHOULD HAVE seen the note. Did you tear it all up?
Mum: David, what is Nick talking about? Did you tear up something Charlie left for him?
David: I did you a massive favour. Do you think you'd be a professional rugby player now if you'd stayed anchored to that ridiculous fairy?
Garcia is grabbing my arm and yanking me toward the door. "I don't know what's happened, pet, but we need to move." I let him drag me along and after a few minutes, I remember to take my rucksack from him. He gets me onto the plane and flags down a flight attendant to bring me some water. "What's happened? Is your mum okay? You look like someone died, Nelson."
All I can manage is to shake my head. I look down at the phone, but my eyes won't focus. "Nick? Nick! Shit, I think he's going to pass out."
"He's having a panic attack," I hear another voice say. "Breathe with me, Nick." It's Coach, I realise, he's got his hand on me, and I instinctively draw breath until his hand rises along with my chest. "That's it, Nelson. Now out, slowly. Now again."
After a few minutes, I can feel my fingers again, not to mention a sense of deep embarrassment. "Sorry about that," I manage. "Bad news from home," I fib. "I just need a minute."
Coach returns to his seat and I realise they've had to stop boarding the plane while I was having this episode, and now I just want to hide under a rock for a dozen years. Instead, I try to shrink myself into the business class seat next to Garcia, who is petting my shoulder and looking at me like he's afraid I'm going to start crying, which I am, as soon as they dim the cabin lights.
When we land in Chicago for our layover, I numbly follow Garcia into yet another airport lounge and let him talk me into eating a bag of crisps. I make up some story about a distant relative dying, since I can't tell anyone the truth, and everyone makes sympathetic noises. I assure them all I'll be fine and excuse myself to the loo to wash my face and to send David a message telling him I will never see him or speak to him again before I turn my phone off.
I collapse into my hotel bed in San Diego and order room service rather than join my teammates in the hotel bar. I know I have to eat, even though the chicken burger tastes like sand. Reluctantly, I plug my phone in and turn it back on. Dozens of texts and missed calls from David and my mum, from my girlfriend who was expecting to hear from me when I landed, from Garcia saying he's just down the hall if I need to talk. And in the middle of all that, one I'm not expecting, one I never expected to see again.
Charlie: Hi.
~~~~~~~~~~~
“Who was that?” Josh asks again as we wait for our bags. I’m not sure how to read his tone and I’m exhausted after the flight. I was able to dodge the question earlier because he was so focused on getting to the gate so that he could be one of the first to board. Josh may have slept soundly in business class, but my last minute economy seat experience was every bit as miserable as I expected.
“Just someone I knew from school,” I say, as lightly as I can manage. Happily my suitcase comes around at just that moment, providing a nice distraction. When Josh begged me to come along, I couldn’t justify paying for the much higher-priced tickets. I got lucky and the person in the aisle seat never materialised, so I was able to scoot over and get slightly more room to stretch out. Even so, my legs are still cramped from the eight-hour flight in steerage, but at least being separated from Josh for the flight gave me time to process seeing Nick for the first time in years.
It felt like having my heart smashed to pieces all over again when he told me someone tore up the pictures and the note I wrote. All these years, I thought he saw them and nevertheless determined never to speak to me again. I know he’s not lying — Nick is too good to lie like that, not to mention his face would have given him away. And god, what must he have felt to open that envelope and find all those beautiful pictures of us shredded to bits. The thought of him finding them that way breaks my heart for him too.
I don’t know what I hoped to accomplish, or even whether I think it’s a good or a truly terrible idea. I only know that I can’t help myself. I opened my phone as we taxied to the gate, unblocked that old contact, and sent him a simple ‘Hi.’ Now, I check my phone again as Josh grabs his own bag; no response. I decide not to read too much into it — he might not even have landed yet. Josh grabs my hand. I want to think it’s because he missed me during the flight, but the way he tugs me along I think he’s just impatient for me to follow him.
We grab a taxi and I struggle to stay awake on the twenty-minute ride to the hotel. Even though I’m dimly aware of riding past the famous landmarks Josh is trying to point out, I am too exhausted to absorb much of it. Once we get checked in, I glance at my phone again and see that it’s nearly nine here, and there are no new messages. I am starving; I couldn’t stomach a bite of the meals they served on the plane, aside from the roll. Even the fruit looked horrifying. I had thought to pack some cheese and nuts, despite Josh’s eye rolls. But that’s all I’ve eaten since breakfast nearly 24 hours ago.
“Shall we order room service?” I suggest as Josh unpacks his clothes into the wardrobe.
He shakes his head, puts one last shirt on a hanger, and in three strides is across the room to grab me. “Food’s not really what I’m in the mood for right now, Charlie.”
I am tired and hungry and achy from the long flight, but he’s smiling at me and looking at me with those eyes. And this is the part that still works, quite brilliantly actually. Those years at uni, I had a lot of boys, I tried a lot of things, I had — frankly — a lot of mediocre sex. Then last year, I met Josh. Older, a respected surgeon, with a jaw like Maddox, and he really, really, knows what he’s doing in bed. And while I suspect some of the things he found cute and quirky about me at the beginning have begun to cloy, he clearly still very much enjoys fucking me.
After, I get a shower to wash off the grimy feeling. Having had his own appetite satisfied, now Josh is ready to order me room service, but if I eat now I’ll never sleep and I need the rest. I slide under the sheets, pull my silk sleep mask over my face, and fall asleep with Josh’s hand resting on my shoulder.
When I wake up, Josh is in the shower. I desperately want a wee and to brush my teeth, but I’ll have to wait for him to finish up. He’s set up the ironing board and hung a shirt off it, which is a fairly clear message. Which I hate . We’ve argued about this a few times. Is it because I’m a nurse, or because I’m smaller, or because he is so firmly a top that he seems to think it’s fine to treat me like his wife or ‘the girl,’ which obviously has its own problematic connotations since even in a hetero relationship, you shouldn’t just assume that the woman is going to starch your shirts.
But it’s too early, and I don’t want a fight over a fucking shirt today, so I plug the iron in and let it warm up before I press the shirt he’s set out. I go ahead and iron the other two as well — might as well do it in one go. By the time I’ve finished, he’s done in the shower. He tries to tell me he still needs to shave, but I zip past him to empty my bladder, brush my teeth, and splash a bit of water on my face. He frowns a bit as he heads in to run his electric shaver carefully over his face. I pull on some clothes and ask if he’s going to join me for breakfast; he’ll be having breakfast with other speakers at the conference and won’t be back to the room until well after dinner time tonight. It occurs to me to wonder why he wanted me to come at all, but he kisses me and pulls me close for a moment and tells me to have a wonderful day in the city and asks me to please wait up for him.
Right, there we go; that’s why.
Downstairs, the buffet is epic. I toast a bagel and do as Isaac recommended, loading it up with cream cheese and smoked salmon and capers. It’s new for me and I also grab some fruit and a pot of yoghurt. Trying new foods can be intimidating for me and I am already more than a little on edge, but the bagel is amazing. Isaac was right, as always. I still make myself eat the yoghurt and fruit and wash it all down with two cups of coffee. The room is empty when I get back upstairs, and I throw together a day bag with my water bottle, journal, suncream, and a portable phone charger.
I take a long walk around Central Park while I wait for the Natural Science Museum to open. I’m listening to a nice young docent expound about his work on their newly-constructed ankylosaurus when my phone begins to buzz. I excuse myself to the hallway and look at the new messages.
Nick: Hi Charlie
Nick: I’m not sure what to say
Nick: I think I’m still absorbing what you told me
I hold the phone in my shaking hand for a moment and type out a reply before I can stop myself.
Charlie: Me too
Charlie: We don’t have to relitigate everything right now. Or even ever? I guess I just hoped we could maybe talk to each other. For more than five minutes in an airport lounge.
Nick: About what?
I step back into the dinosaur exhibit and take a selfie with a T-Rex looming over me and send it to Nick.
Charlie: I’m in this amazing museum in New York City today. I took a walk around Central Park earlier. Have you ever been here? It’s incredible.
Nick:...
Nick:...
Nick: Not to the museum, but to the city and Central Park, yes. If you don’t have plans for lunch you should find the nearest dollar slice place and get a piece of cheese pizza.
I look at my phone for a few minutes. I’m wary of street food. I pull up google maps; the pictures of these places do not look comforting, but I have to admit the pizza does look amazing.
Nick: I know it might be a little scary, but it’s worth it.
Charlie: Okay. But if I die of food poisoning, I’m telling Tao it was your fault.
Nick: I’d expect nothing less.
My face aches from smiling. Every time my phone lights up with a new message from him, it also feels like a kick in the gut. Nick Nelson was the best thing that ever happened to me, and I ruined it— I killed it—and all these years I blamed him. And now he’s talking to me, like we’re friends, like we are people who still have casual conversations with each other. I know I’m the one who started this, but I suddenly feel so anxious. What am I doing? Why am I texting Nick? What do I expect to happen here? Are we going to be friends? Are we capable of being friends? We certainly can’t be anything else. We don’t live particularly near each other, for one thing. Plus, there’s the little fact that I’m in a committed long-term relationship. But maybe we can just be text buddies, like I am with Elle or Darcy these days now that we’re all scattered as adults.
I skip lunch because I don’t want to leave the museum. The dioramas are fascinating. Finally I head back toward the hotel and manage to snag a sunset ticket for the Empire State Building. The view is amazing but also immediately makes me think of the Eiffel Tower with Nick, all those years ago. I snap a few more photos and send one along with the T-Rex pic to Josh. He replies that he’s glad I’m having a good day and that he’ll see me tonight. Which is his polite way of saying ‘stop blowing up my phone with your dumb pictures.’
On the way back to the hotel, I grab two slices and a coke from one of the sketchy looking $1 slice places. I sit at the little desk in the room watching the lights over Times Square blaze below me and take a bite of what has to be the most amazing slice of pizza I have ever encountered. Like, is whatever I’ve had before even pizza? No wonder New Yorkers are so pompous about this stuff!
I take a picture of my remaining slice and send it to Nick.
Charlie: I am furious at how right you were about this.
Nick: I’m in California so all my meals will be kale based, apparently.
Charlie: When do you play?
Nick: Tomorrow and the next day. Then a free day in San Diego. Then home.
Charlie: Don’t break anything
After I send it, I realise that’s exactly what I used to whisper in his ear before games back in the before times.
Nick: I’ll do my best x
Nick:….
Nick:….
Nick:….
Charlie: Nick it’s fine
Nick: …
Nick: Are you going to the Met? I think you’d like the Met.
Charlie: No baseball
Nick: not the METS. The Metropolitan Museum
Charlie: I know Nick. And yes. That’s my plan tomorrow.
Nick: good. I’m getting called for dinner. Goodnight Charlie.
Charlie: Goodnight Nick.
I eat the second slice of pizza and notice I’m grinning. I’m really not sure if this is a good idea or not. I know there’s one way to keep this all from spinning too far out of control.
I take a few screenshots of our text exchange and send them to Isaac with a request for him to call me when he can. Despite it being two in the morning back home, my phone rings five minutes later.
“Charlie, my love, what the fuck is happening right now?”
“Why are you awake at this hour?”
“You know you’re an exception on my phone sleep setting, Charlie.”
“Oh, I guess I didn’t think I still was. I didn’t mean to wake you up. I’m sorry.”
I thought after I got my own place and a big boy job and a steady guy that maybe Isaac wouldn’t be so worried about me, but really I should have known better. I tell him about the airport and the torn photos and my impulse to reach out. He listens and tells me to be careful with my heart and Nick’s. I forget sometimes that my friends loved Nick too.
I ring off with Isaac when I hear the door beep. Josh is back from dinner. He’s clearly had a fair bit to drink already, but he’s also brought up a bottle of wine for us to share. He tells me about the conference and the connections he’s made and how nervous he is about his talk tomorrow while I pour the wine and rub his shoulders. He at least gives the appearance of listening when I tell him about my day, though he teases me a bit for spending six hours in a museum. He undresses me and tells me how pretty I look with the lights from the square on my skin. I watch the ads on the giant screens as he fucks me, completely unable to be in the moment right now. I think about my plans for tomorrow, the museum and figuring out how to watch Nick’s game on my phone, and then dinner with Josh and his colleagues. Josh pets my hair when he’s done and tells me I should try to find a barber before dinner. But though it all, I just keep seeing that x at the end of Nick’s text.