Chapter Text
Charlie has never really pondered the concept of karma, but walking through the park in the chilly evening, with the sun just starting to disappear over the horizon, painting the sky in beautiful pink and orange hues, he thinks he must have saved a lot of kittens in his previous life for the universe to grant him this. Nick is walking alongside him, smiling brightly, as they make their way home after spending the whole afternoon together.
It’s unusual for them to go out randomly on a Thursday, but Nick presented him with two tickets to an Ancient Greek pottery workshop earlier in the week, and Charlie was so thankful for the sweet gesture, he almost jumped into Nick’s arms in his excited state.
Nick picked him up from his office in the city earlier in the afternoon, all dressed up, and when he hugged Charlie hello, Charlie could almost imagine that they were going on a date. They weren’t, of course, on the account of Nick being presumably straight.
Charlie knows it’s not right to assume. He doesn’t want to put Nick in a box, but they have known each other for a few months now, and if Nick was queer, he surely would have said something by now. And, okay, maybe Charlie never explicitly came out either, but Nick had seen Charlie’s pride flag not long after they moved into their shared flat. Charlie was a bit apprehensive when they first met that day, but it wasn’t like he would be able to hide his sexuality for long. That’s why, after only a beat of hesitation, he displayed the flag proudly, and when Nick saw it, he beamed and flushed adorably.
So, not homophobic, maybe just slightly caught off guard.
Charlie quickly deducted that Nick was safe, an ally, even, what with his two best friends being lesbians. Therefore, he has never shied away from using specific masculine pronouns when talking to Nick about his exes, and Nick never seemed uncomfortable around him, even briefly mentioning his own previous relationships. Based on their names, they seemed to all be women. And it’s not like he couldn’t be queer, even with a history of dating exclusively women—Charlie is not biphobic. Or panphobic. Or omniphobic. Or anything-phobic, in general. Maybe arachnophobic, but that’s not problematic—if he was able to get within two feet of a spider, he wouldn’t kill it. He would catch it and release it, because he is not a monster (hence all the good karma, he reckons). Alas, he cannot, but that’s beside the point. The point being that he is not problematic.
He doesn’t have an issue with Nick being straight. Nick is very sweet and caring, and a great best friend. He is a perfect housemate, never leaving dirty dishes in the sink, always putting his shoes away, replacing the toilet roll when it’s finished, even hanging it the correct way—with the loose end hanging over the roll, not uselessly flopping against the wall.
The only issue is that Charlie, against his better judgement, is falling in love with him.
Charlie would like to believe that it isn’t Nick’s fault, really. But that’s untrue. He kind of brought that upon himself with his charm, and those biceps, and amazing sense of humour, and interesting personality, and delicious forearms, and kindness, and his triceps that look so biteable, bulging whenever he lifts himself off the couch, and his warmth, and his handsome face, and thoughtfulness, and has Charlie mentioned the arms? Okay, so Charlie does dabble in a little bit of victim-blaming. And objectifying. Maybe he is problematic. He is using up all his good karma in this lifetime and screwing it up for his next iteration. He will most likely be reincarnated as a pebble at this point.
Either way, he is grateful for the way his life has improved ever since he met Nick. He is okay pining from afar, even if Nick doesn’t make it any easier for him with all the soft looks and casual touches. But Charlie is a big boy, and he can deal with it. What else is there to do? Move out and lose his new best friend because he can’t take a few casual hugs? Definitely not. He can’t give up the low rent and proximity to the tube line that takes him straight to his office four days a week. The technique of acting like the adult he is and repressing his feelings has worked for him so far.
He has feeling Nick will find a girlfriend soon. They talked a little about their love lives last week and Nick mentioned being ready to start dating again.
Charlie can recall their conversation perfectly. It was a Saturday evening, and they were sitting at the dining table long after they had finished eating, neither in any rush to retire to their bedrooms, since neither had to be up early the following day. They talked about their days—Charlie about meeting Tao and Elle for a day of shopping around Camden, and Nick about his day trip to Kent to see his mum. He recounted going charity shopping with her in search of quirky photo frames, then helping her put them up on the walls. Charlie gathered that Sarah missed her sons, now that she lived by herself, and wanted some more family photos around the house. Nick talked excitedly about them baking together, watching a movie after lunch and taking Nellie for a walk, all while showing Charlie tens of photos he had taken throughout the day.
Charlie felt his throat tightening, thinking how he wished he had that sort of relationship with his own mother. He was happy for Nick, he really was, but he still couldn’t help but feel a little choked up when Nick showed him a photo of himself, his mum, and Nellie all curled up on the couch, smiling at the camera, a soft glow from the TV illuminating their faces.
“God, I can’t tell if your love language is acts of service, quality time or physical touch.” Charlie hoped that the joke would help ease some of the tightness in his chest.
“Oh… um,” Nick looked a bit flushed at that. “I think it actually might be two? Physical touch, definitely, and… what was it?” He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, looking away for a beat. “Words of affirmation, that’s it,” he added quietly.
“You think so?” Charlie didn’t understand how the atmosphere in the kitchen became so tense all of a sudden.
“Well… I don’t really understand this whole love language thing. Like, is this how I express love or how I prefer to receive it?”
Charlie stared at him blankly for a few seconds. Talking about love languages to a person you have a massive crush on seemed like a rather ill-advised idea. He really couldn’t bear this awkward tension, though, and maybe it would be a good opportunity to get to know each other better. “I actually don’t know either. Maybe we should check!” he said enthusiastically, while getting up from the table to quickly get his laptop from his bedroom.
Fifteen minutes later, they found out that Nick was right—his love languages were predominantly physical touch and words of affirmation, although the split between all five was quite even.
“I guess you just have a lot of love to give.” Charlie looked up from the screen with a teasing glint in his eye.
Nick ducked his head and sighed. “I guess I do. I haven’t been in a relationship for a few years now, and sometimes I just…” he trailed off, and Charlie could see him fiddling with his cuffs where his arms were resting on the table top. “I miss it sometimes, you know? Having someone to hold and—”
Charlie waited for him to finish the thought, but the only sound filling the kitchen was the hum of the dishwasher. “Have you thought about, you know, dating again?” he offered quietly, selfishly hoping the answer was no. He didn’t know how he would cope if Nick ever announced he had found a girlfriend.
“I don’t know,” Nick said, still looking down. “I don’t really fancy the idea of downloading the apps and swiping on people based on a few photos and a curated description, you know?” Nick’s voice sounded a little strained. He cleared his throat, and finally raised his gaze, looking at Charlie with an undecipherable expression. “I always kind of hoped I would meet someone organically, you know, maybe form an easy friendship that would eventually turn into something more.”
An easy friendship that would eventually turn into something more. God, Charlie wants that as well.
Charlie tears his gaze away from the pink hues of the sky, and looks down at his shoes, swallowing around the lump in his throat. That evening he hoped Nick would tell him he wasn’t ready to start dating again, but now… Charlie isn’t so sure anymore. Maybe repressing his feelings and hoping they would just fizzle out is not the best method to cope with this issue. He would have to deal with Nick finding someone to love eventually, so maybe it would be easier to face the inevitable fallout sooner rather than later. Maybe the certainty of misery would be better than the misery of uncertainty.
He shakes himself off. He shouldn’t taint the future memory of this incredible day with musings on his impending heartbreak. Nick tried so hard to make this day special, for reasons still unknown to Charlie, and he shouldn’t mourn their time together before it ends.
Charlie tries to think positive thoughts. When they showed up at the museum earlier in the day, it quickly turned out that the workshop was catered to a slightly… younger audience, but they still had a great time designing their own vases, even if they were mostly surrounded by children. It’s not like they brought the average age down that much (if you counted the parents and chaperones).
Afterwards, Nick announced that he had also booked a table at Charlie’s favourite tapas restaurant, and the fun continued as they shared a meal and some wine. Nick even pulled out Charlie’s chair for him like a true gentleman, and even just the memory of that makes Charlie’s stomach flutter.
So now, heading home, despite his brief spiral, Charlie is on cloud nine, barely restraining himself from skipping. He feels so giddy and so grateful to have such an amazing best friend, who occasionally forces him to go out and have some fun. The heartbreak might be inevitable, but that’s a thought for another day.
Charlie looks over at Nick and finds him already staring. His hair is slightly tousled by the wind, the warm glow from the setting sun casting shadows across his face, and Charlie could melt under his gaze.
“Had a good evening?” Nick asks, beaming, and Charlie’s heart stutters in his chest. He is so in love it’s honestly quite embarrassing.
“The best, thank you so much.”
Nick’s smile widens impossibly, and he steps closer, their hands brushing, and then throws his arm around Charlie’s shoulders in a side hug that lasts way too long for Charlie’s poor heart to handle. Charlie is sometimes worried about his cardiovascular health when Nick is around. That pebble life is going to come much sooner than expected if Charlie’s heart keeps fluttering in his chest like that. He waits a few seconds for Nick to pull away, but Nick’s grip only tightens, bringing them closer, and it’s a little uncomfortable walking like this, but Charlie will definitely not be the first one to pull away.
They continue like this all the way home, and Nick only removes his arm when it becomes clear they won’t both fit in the doorway. They make their way upstairs, and once in the flat, Nick turns to him with his hand raised slightly.
“Wait here,” he says, toes off his shoes (and puts them away on the shoe rack like the perfect housemate he is) and disappears into the kitchen, as Charlie stays put, slightly confused. After only a few seconds, Nick comes back out and—what is this? “I got those for you earlier, but I didn’t want you to have to walk around with them all evening.”
He holds out a small bouquet of flowers wrapped in brown paper and tied together with a length of raffia ribbon. Not a supermarket purchase, then. Probably one of those expensive flower stalls. Oh, god. Charlie gawks at him, eyes flicking between the gorgeous flowers and Nick’s shy smile, and—is Nick blushing?
“Th-thank you,” he stutters out, takes the bouquet with his shaky hands and clutches it to his chest.
Nicks reaches out, lightly grips Charlie’s upper arm and strokes it with his thumb. “You’re welcome.” He smiles, then slides his hand higher, over Charlie’s shoulder and onto the side of his neck, where it stops, and now his thumb is stroking along Charlie’s jaw, tips of his fingers lightly scratching the short hair behind Charlie’s ear, and Charlie has so many questions, but as he opens his mouth no sounds come out, and maybe it’s not just his cardiovascular health he should be worried about, maybe he needs to see a neurologist because he is, quite literally, speechless right now, or maybe it’s a matter for a gastroenterologist because his feels all fuzzy beneath his ribs and his stomach is somehow filled with static, and this isn’t how human bodies work, and he is frozen stuck in this position until he realises that he has been staring off into space, so he looks up into Nick’s eyes and this is so much worse because the gaze is so intense, and he tries to swallow but his mouth is suddenly dry, and he can’t recall what specialist he should see for this issue, and this is so confusing and so much all at once that all he can do is break eye contact as he hangs his head to stare down at his shoes, and then he hears a giggle and, oh, it came out of his own mouth, and—why is he giggling?
Nick chuckles quietly, and with a last swipe over Charlie’s jaw he takes his hand away, while Charlie fights a shiver at the cold air he can now feel on his skin. Nick then turns back toward the kitchen. “I’ll make some tea and bring a vase for the flowers,” he says as he walks away, and all Charlie can do is nod even though Nick can’t see him.
Fuck.
Charlie squeezes his eyes shut, jumps in place one, two, three times, and wiggles his whole body in hopes to rid himself of this embarrassing, fuzzy feeling beneath his skin. His fingers feel numb clutching the flowers, and when he flexes them he sees sweaty imprints on the kraft paper. He finally toes off his shoes and takes off his coat, then heads straight to the living room and collapses on the sofa after placing the flowers on the coffee table.
He can’t stop his thoughts from racing. He wonders briefly if he somehow forgot it was his birthday, but that is definitely not happening for months. What does this all mean? Is Nick about to break some horrible news? Did he actually meet the love of his life? Is he planning to elope and move overseas? Are the flowers meant to say I am sorry for leaving you on such short notice, hope the next housemate the agency finds isn’t a massive wanker?
Charlie huffs in frustration. Why can’t he just enjoy the day for what it is? They had a lovely time. Nick is a sweet guy. Charlie has met his mum briefly over facetime and Sarah seems like a lovely lady. Maybe she taught Nick that buying flowers is a nice gesture between friends. Should Charlie buy Nick flowers? No, that would make it an obvious quid pro quo situation.
Charlie fishes his phone out of his back pocket, navigates to the Tesco app and adds a Cadbury Oreo bar to his next weekly shop. That will do.
He glances over at the flowers again and feels his cheeks heat up as he remembers the feel of Nick’s fingers against his jaw earlier. What was that about? God, there really isn’t an ounce of toxic masculinity in that solid rugby body. If all straight guys were this comfortable with delicate friendly touches, the world wouldn’t feel like such a dumpster fire. Nick’s love language is definitely physical touch. Should Charlie be more physically affectionate? Are love languages about giving or receiving? They never checked that part in the end. That’s something to google later. Maybe he should apply scientific method and test out the waters when Nick is back. If Nick seems uncomfortable, Charlie will keep his hands to himself. But what if he doesn’t? How would Charlie even touch him without melting into a puddle of goo and immediately giving away his all-consuming crush? Lord, why does he have to be so awkward?
He is snapped out of his spiral when Nick walks in balancing two mugs in one hand and a vase with some water in the other.
“What do you want to watch then?” Charlie hopes the faint tremor in his voice is not too obvious.
“The show I told you about premiers tomorrow, so I think it’s only fair you choose something for tonight.” Nick precariously places the mugs next to the flowers, the tea sloshing dangerously close to the rim. He places the flowers in the vase, then rubs one of the orange gerbera petals between his thumb and forefinger with a small smile.
Charlie realises he has been staring, so he busies himself with finding the remote and switching the TV on. He slides his mug closer, the tea still too hot for him to take a sip and then makes himself comfortable against the couch cushion.
Nick plops down next to him, way too close considering the width of the couch, and throws his arm along the back of the sofa. Charlie fiddles with the remote, back momentarily straightening. He doesn’t want to make himself too comfortable, afraid Nick’s fingers might accidentally brush his shoulder. But then he remembers his earlier musings, and wonders if this is a good opportunity to start his love language—giving or receiving research. He shuffles all the way back in his seat, until his back presses into the worn cushion, and glances over at Nick, just to find him already looking. Always looking.
They hold eye contact for a few seconds, some nature documentary playing quietly in the background, and Charlie notices that Nick has not moved away.
Charlie drops his gaze to the collar of Nick’s t-shirt, the prolonged eye contact causing his heart to thud so hard beneath his ribs he can feel his pulse in his toes. He focuses on the gentle raise and fall of Nick’s chest, trying to match his breathing pattern in hopes it will calm him down a little. “Um… Thank you for today. I had a lovely time.” He risks a glance at Nick’s face and is greeted by the most beautiful close-mouthed smile and sparkly eyes, surrounded by the most stunning crinkles. Nick looks at him with such joy, Charlie is almost sure that there is no breathing pattern in the universe that would calm his racing heart.
“Yeah?” Nick’s gaze flickers between Charlie’s eyes, and despite the smile, there is a hint of uncertainty in his voice. He looks away for a beat, and brings his spare hand to his face, scratching his stubble. “You know, earlier, in the hallway, when I gave you the flowers… you seemed surprised? I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.” Nick looks back at him with a frown.
Charlie chastises himself for letting his complicated gay feelings cause any sort of distress to this incredible human being. “Nick, no. I am sorry, I was just taken aback. You’re very sweet, I’m just not used to anyone caring so much. And no one has ever got me flowers before,” he explains quickly, itching to reach out, to take Nick’s gorgeous face in his hands and cradle him to his chest until all the stars in the universe burn out and black holes evaporate and there is no more space left in Nick’s brain to doubt himself ever again.
Nick tilts his head and rests cheek on his propped-up shoulder. Somewhere along the way, they both shifted their bodies, now facing each other, with one leg bent resting in the small space between them, knees brushing. “So, you’re definitely okay with…” he trails off, gesturing in a wide circle with his free hand, “all this?”
Charlie is not sure what all this is, exactly, but he finds himself nodding, sending a prayer to any gods that will listen that Nick goes back to being his carefree self upon this reassurance. “Of course I am.”
His prayers are answered—he is clearly still riding this never-ending wave of good karma—as Nick’s smile returns, and the light in his honeyed eyes along with it. It is short-lived though, as the frown reappears after mere seconds. “I can’t believe no one has ever got you flowers before. You deserve better than that, Charlie.”
Charlie immediately ducks his head, hoping to hide his blush. This might be futile though; it seems like his cheeks never return to their regular shade when he is around Nick. “Stop it, my ego is already inflated,” he murmurs.
Nick snorts. “I mean it! You deserve all the good things.”
“Nick,” Charlie says, exasperated.
“Sorry, I can stop. I know I can be too much sometimes.”
Charlie’s head immediately snaps up at that. How has he managed to upset Nick again? He places a tentative palm on Nick’s knee. “You’re not too much. Never too much. Why would you ever think that?”
Nick looks up to the ceiling and breathes in deeply. “People always say they like the fact that I wear my heart on my sleeve. But I think the novelty wears off after a while. Sam used to always complain that I’m coming on too strong. Bailey would find me overwhelming and too needy.” He shrugs, his mouth pressed into a thin line. “I’m just proving my own point right now, aren’t I? I shouldn’t be talking about my exes anyway, not today.”
“You are allowed to talk about your past, Nick. You are not too much, and I am sorry that my awkwardness brought up those bad memories.” Charlie squeezes Nick’s knee. “How about I agree that I deserve nice things, if you agree that you are not too much? And if you ever are—which, for the record, I don’t think is possible— I promise I will tell you, okay? Otherwise, feel free to be yourself. I like you as you are.”
Nick looks up at that. His frown eases, and it’s like dark clouds parting in the sky after weeks of rain to let rays of sunlight through. Charlie can almost feel the warmth against his skin. He mentally crosses his heart and sends a silent thank you to the higher powers for not letting him fuck this up this time. He breathes a sigh of relief, which he feels catch in his throat, as the hand previously resting along the back of the couch reaches out, and Nick gently strokes along his shoulder.
“Yeah?” Nick whispers.
“Yeah,” Charlie responds as he squeezes Nick’s knee again.
The conversation shifts then, flowing more easily, no lingering self-doubt to be detected in Nick’s demeanour. They talk about the strange looks they received from some parents when they joined the workshop earlier, their lack of artistic ability that became obvious when painting the vases, their favourite dishes they had afterwards, and throughout all of it, Nick’s hand stays on Charlie’s shoulder, fingers playing with the fabric of his jumper, occasionally sliding down to rub his upper arm, thumb pressing against his collarbone, and Charlie just breathes through it, hoping there is no errant vein on his forehead giving away how much his heart is pounding the whole time.
Eventually, as the conversation turns quieter, the words more often interrupted with a never-ending loop of yawns, they decide to call it a day. The TV is playing a historical documentary when Charlie turns to switch it off, all plans of watching something abandoned long ago.
Charlie stands up and stretches, his knee protesting after being stuck in the same position for way too long. He reaches for their now empty mugs, his eyes catching on the flowers, and a warmth spreads through his chest. He heads to the kitchen and pops the mugs in the dishwasher, then walks back out into the hallway, bumping into Nick as he rounds the corner.
Nick steadies him with warm hands on his shoulders and looks down at him with a soft smile, his eyes searching Charlie’s face.
“Thank you for today,” he says after a beat, and slowly leans down. Charlie wraps his arms around him in a warm hug. “Oh, okay,” says Nick softly, and for a split-second Charlie is worried that he has read it all wrong, until he feels Nick’s arms envelop him and squeeze.
“No, thank you. That was one of my favourite days ever,” Charlie mumbles into his chest, and then promptly pulls away and heads towards his bedroom. “Sleep well, Nick,” he throws over his shoulder right before he closes the door, then leans his head against it and swallows thickly.
He can’t help but feel like he is quickly hurtling towards his inevitable heartbreak.
Time to get this crush under control.