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Nick arrived in form on the later side one morning after the half-term. Charlie was already there, looking preoccupied. "Hey," Nick said, dropping his bags and settling into his seat.
Charlie turned his head and looked at him, but he was clearly not quite there, his mind off somewhere else.
"Charlie."
"What?"
"You just … spaced out."
"Oh." Charlie looked down at the desk. Clearly something was bothering him.
Nick leaned over, hitching his chair closer to Charlie's. "What?" he said quietly. He got that there was stuff you didn't want to talk about in school, but he'd thought they were good enough friends that Charlie didn't have to feel uncomfortable telling him things. "What's up?"
Charlie turned to him, hesitating before he finally spoke up. "Do you … Do you want to come round my house?"
Well, if that was all … "'Course," Nick said, smiling. "That sounds good. Saturday?"
"Yeah."
"Okay, then."
Later, he wondered if it had been something more, but if it was, surely Charlie would say something, either over text or at his house this weekend.
He showed up at Charlie's on schedule—after spending most of the morning unable to settle down to anything, afraid he was going to be late.
Inside, hanging up his coat, Nick sort of half waited for one of Charlie's parents to appear, but neither of them did. Charlie didn't talk about them much, and he didn't mention them now, so Nick didn't ask.
"Come on upstairs."
"Okay."
Charlie's room was just like him—his posters were all smart and a little bit nerdy, and there were things strewn everywhere. Not messy, just chaotic.
Nick wandered over to the drum kit. "Play something?"
"Okay." Charlie sat down and launched into a truly amazing set.
Nick was impressed. "Wow, you really are good at everything."
"No. It's not that hard. Why don't you try?"
"Me? No, I don't have a musical bone in my body."
"Maybe you just haven't found the right instrument."
"I doubt that," Nick said, but he took the drumsticks Charlie handed him and sat down, making a few experimental strikes with them. It was kind of fun, but it definitely didn't sound like music. Or anything like what Charlie had done.
Charlie was laughing at him. "You're terrible."
"I'm trying!"
"Here. Budge up, let me help."
Nick squeezed over on the seat and Charlie sat down with him, putting his hands over Nick's. It felt … nice, having Charlie hold his hands, even if he didn't have the faintest clue how to follow the rhythm Charlie was setting with the drumsticks. Charlie was so focused on playing, Nick couldn't help watching his face. It was a little bit like the way he looked when he was doing maths, so absorbed. Charlie looked self-conscious so much of the time, it was nice to see him when he forgot to be.
Realizing that he was staring, Nick looked away just as Charlie used their joined hands to hit the cymbals. He turned to Nick, smiling. "There. You're a pro now."
They were looking at each other, sitting so close together, and Nick wanted—well, he didn't know what he wanted. Something more. But what was more, between two friends? It felt vaguely … gay, and he wondered suddenly if this was the way Charlie felt all the time.
Charlie let go of his hands, and Nick was surprised how much he wished he hadn't. Standing up, Charlie said, "Well, that's probably cheating, though."
"Do you think?"
"Yeah. Besides, I think it's time for your weekly loss to me at MarioKart."
"No, no, I feel good about it today. I've been practising."
"You mean you've been hoping I'll let you win."
Nick grinned. "Maybe."
"Not today, rugby lad."
They played MarioKart until Nick had enough of losing, then they tried a few more of Charlie's games. He won most of them.
"You know, I used to think I was good at these."
"It must be a shock to you. Nick Nelson, not good at something."
"No, there are a lot of things I'm not good at—as you know, since you're better than me at everything."
Charlie ducked his head. "Don't be ridiculous."
"I'm not being ridiculous. Just trying to imagine how I got to be friends with such a nerd."
"I'm sorry."
Charlie looked serious, and Nick immediately shook his head. "Don't say that anymore. I was just joking. I like being friends with you."
"Good. Me, too." There was a softness in Charlie's face that tugged at Nick's heart and he stepped closer, wanting to—what? Hug him? Was that allowed? Would that send the wrong message? He didn't know, so he cleared his throat and stepped back.
"You want to watch a movie or something?"
"Yeah. Let's go downstairs. Are you hungry?" Charlie asked, as if it had just occurred to him.
"Little bit. Can we raid the kitchen?"
"If you want to. I doubt my parents will mind."
So they made an arrangement of snacks and got sodas and settled down on the couch under blankets to watch Ferris Bueller's Day Off. About three quarters of the way through, Nick noticed that Charlie had gone quiet. He looked over to see him fast asleep.
He was … adorable, really. Fully, completely asleep, relaxed in a way Nick had rarely seen him. Nick smiled, half tempted to scootch down and rest his head against Charlie's and take a nap himself.
But that was strange, right? Most boys wouldn't have thought of that, sitting on the sofa with another boy. He looked down, seeing Charlie's hand lying open next to him, and reached down to take Charlie's hand in his. He caught himself before he made contact, but his hand hovered over Charlie's, the fingers flexing with the strength of his sudden need to hold Charlie's hand. He could almost feel what it would be like, the smoothness of Charlie's skin against his, the way his fingers would curl around Nick's—
Nick snatched his hand back in a sudden panic, folding his arms to keep from reaching for Charlie again. Was he feeling like this because Charlie was gay? Would he feel like this if it were someone else? Was it just that there was something about Charlie?
He looked back at Charlie, feeling that strange longing to just put his head down and cuddle up. His hand stole out again, slowly, hovering there just above Charlie's. He wanted so much to lower it those last couple of inches and hold Charlie's hand, wanted it badly enough that his heart was pounding and it was so hard to breathe properly. He could almost feel the warmth of Charlie's hand on his skin, even though his own hand was inches away.
Then he took his hand back again, afraid to change things. Between the two of them. Within himself.
Nick crossed his arms again, debating whether to wake Charlie up so he wouldn't have to think like this any longer. He no longer had any idea what was happening on the screen, or even what movie they had been watching.
Charlie woke just as the end credits rolled. "Oh, my God. Did I fall asleep? Why didn't you wake me?"
"You looked so …" He caught himself just about to say 'cute' and substituted, "Peaceful. I didn't have the heart." It was dark outside, the whole day gone by in what seemed like a flash. "I should probably—"
"I suppose." Charlie followed Nick to the door, draping a blanket over his shoulders. He still looked sleepy standing there. "I wish you didn't have to go."
"Yeah, I wish I didn't, either." It was true. If there was more time, maybe he could make sense of what he was feeling. Maybe he could bring himself to talk to Charlie about it, ask him if this was how he felt. But mostly, he just wanted to be where Charlie was. Nick shrugged into his coat, looking at Charlie there in his blanket. "You look so cuddly like that." He hadn't intended to say it, but the words had come out on their own.
"Do I?"
"Yeah." Nick looked at him wistfully, wanting to just stay, and …
And he couldn't fight it any longer. If he left without touching Charlie, he—well, he wasn't sure what he would do. Stepping forward, he wrapped his arms around Charlie and held him tight, his face pressed into Charlie's shoulder, as if this was the only safe place left in the world.
Maybe it was.
After a moment, Charlie's arms closed around Nick in return. It felt so good to be standing here in Charlie's arms. It felt too good, in fact. Why did it feel so good? He lifted his head, afraid suddenly of what he felt, and what he wanted, and what it all meant.
Nick let go, clearing his throat, and without looking at Charlie again he opened the door. "Okay. See you Monday." And he let himself out into the cool night air, hoping it would clear his head.
