Thank you for reading!

Nick spun them both around a few times on the way to the stairs before putting Charlie down on the landing. "There we go."

Charlie put his hand out, Nick took it, and they hurried upstairs to his room, where they kissed for a bit and then just lay there together. Nick closed his eyes and he could feel himself drifting away, perfectly and utterly content to fall asleep with Charlie in his arms.

Unfortunately, that wasn't to be. After a much too brief time, Charlie said softly, "I need to go home soon."

Nick didn't want to open his eyes. He shook his head and pulled Charlie closer. "No."

"My mum will get annoyed if I'm late."

"Hmm." He wished that wasn't true, but it really was. She was coming round to being okay with Nick, but it would take longer if they broke curfew too often.

But then there was Charlie, so close, and Nick couldn't help but kiss him again, lingering and clinging to him until Charlie laughed. "I see what you're doing."

"Argh! My plan's been foiled."

They laughed, and Charlie got up, walking across Nick's room, in no more hurry to leave than Nick was to have him leave.

"You've got so many rugby trophies," Charlie said, pulling one down from the shelf.

Nick wasn't sure why they were all up. It had been a long time since they'd meant anything to him. Sure, he loved rugby, and he wanted to keep playing, but the trophies weren't the important part. "That one's from summer camp."

"You went to rugby summer camp?"

"When I was twelve. I think I had a crush on the instructor." He'd been tall, thin, dark-haired, and very smart, and when the kids had talked, he had listened, his face serious as though everything was important.

Charlie laughed at that. "Oh, my God."

"You know, I didn't realise it at the time, but looking back now, I was obsessed with him, so I tried really, really hard and, uh, got that trophy for being the best team player."

"That is so adorable." Charlie put the trophy back and sat down on Nick's beanbag chair. So much for having to leave.

Looking at him there, Nick wanted to know … everything. About the bullying, and the eating, and everything. He wanted—he wanted to know Charlie, and those things were Charlie just like the MarioKart and the drums and the exceptional kissing were Charlie. "Now your turn," he began, his heart pounding, afraid to say the wrong thing.

"What?"

"Tell me something."

"Like what?"

"You never told me about—" He hesitated. It had been a beautiful night, and if he pushed Charlie, he could ruin it all. But he didn't want to leave it any longer. He wanted Charlie to know it was okay to talk to the people who loved him. "The bullying. What that was like."

Charlie's face went from intently interested to blank and sad, and he dropped his eyes to the floor. He did that a lot, Nick realised, when the conversation was hard. "We don't need to talk about that. Everything's fine now."

"Is everything fine?" Nick asked, thinking of the untouched meal, and the refusal to stop for lunch today, and the barely eating anything while they were raiding Nick's pantry earlier. When Charlie didn't answer, Nick kept on. "I know you like everything to be fine and happy and perfect all the time, but you don't have to be perfect with me." Nick shifted off his bed so that he was sitting with Charlie. He took his hand in both of his. "Charlie. We said we'd tell each other things. After you told me about your … eating thing."

Charlie dropped his eyes again, and Nick could see him struggling, trying to decide whether he could speak. He hated to put Charlie through this, but … he couldn't see Charlie suffer and not try to help. Not at least know what was happening inside Charlie's head.

"Someone just heard Tao talking about me coming out. I think it surprised me how homophobic people were. I thought things were better nowadays." His mouth quivered. "People would just call me disgusting to my face."

Nick hated to hear this. He hated that Charlie had gone through it. But he had to hear—someone had to. Charlie had been carrying all of this alone for too long.

"And it went on for so long that I think I started to believe what they were saying. It made me really hate myself."

Tears stung Nick's eyes and it took everything he had to be patient, and wait, and let Charlie speak at his own pace, and not just wrap him up in his arms and hold him close and promise that things would be better.

"So much that I …" Charlie looked at Nick and then away again. "I used to … I used to cut myself sometimes." He pressed his lips together, trying not to cry. "I don't want to feel like that anymore."

Now Nick did move, pulling Charlie in close, wanting to tell him with everything that he was that he never had to feel like that anymore. Little as Nick knew about mental health issues, he knew it wasn't that simple, but this was what he had to offer, and all of it was Charlie's.

They were both crying, clinging to each other.

"Do you still do that now?" Nick asked into Charlie's shoulder.

"No." He pulled back, looking into Nick's face. "Sorry."

"I thought we'd banned the S word."

Charlie smiled a little, which was what Nick had hoped for.

But he couldn't get the knowledge of the pain Charlie carried, how deep and strong and sharp it was, out of his mind. "Can you promise to tell me if it ever gets that bad again?" He didn't know what he could do, but he needed Charlie to know that he wasn't alone anymore, that he didn't have to carry these burdens by himself.

Charlie's face quivered as he fought tears and fought the impulse to duck the question. "I just don't want to annoy you or burden you. I don't want you to think I'm some fragile, broken mess. Like you need to fix me. I would hate that."

Nick understood that, or he thought he did. "You're not, and I wouldn't." Charlie was amazing. Beautiful and smart and funny and kind and so many other things. This was part of him, but only part. He had no words for the ways that Charlie had healed him, parts of him he didn't even know needed healing. And he wanted to be there for Charlie that way, too, to help him heal. Because he loved him. "But I've done so many things that were scary in the past few months because you were there, holding my hand. And I want to be that for you, too. Like … you're my boyfriend. Char. Can you just please, please promise me?"

This time, when Charlie's eyes dropped, they lifted again, looking into Nick's. "Okay."

Still looking into his eyes, Nick put a hand around the back of Charlie's neck, his fingers in Charlie's hair, and pulled him close, kissing his forehead. Then he rested their foreheads together and kissed his mouth.

When the kiss broke, he couldn't quite seem able to take his hand out of Charlie's hair. He loved the way the curls wrapped around his fingers, the soft texture. "I love your hair so much."

"Nick. I really need to go." But Charlie was smiling. He clearly thought Nick's obsession with his hair was a little ridiculous.

"I love your eyes," Nick said, looking into them, unable to count all the gradations of colour.

"For God's sake."

"I love—" Nick caught himself. He did. God, he did. He loved Charlie more than he had thought it was possible to love someone. But … this had already been a pretty intense day. Maybe this was one step further than they were ready for.

Before he could decide whether to finish the sentence, they heard the door downstairs. "Nicky! I'm home!"

Well. Prom night was over, and Charlie really did need to go home. Nick insisted on him wearing one of his jumpers. He walked Charlie to the door and they kissed good-night, not wanting to stop.

At last, Charlie said softly, "I'll text you when I get home."

"Okay."

Apparently that meant Nick had to let him go. Reluctantly, he did, leaning against the door as Charlie started down the walkway, turning after only a few steps. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Bye."

Nick leaned against the door, watching Charlie go, thinking how lucky he was and how much he loved him.

He went into the kitchen to help his mum clean up. "You have a nice night, Nicky? Looks like you all had fun."

"We did. We really did. Mum?"

"Yes, darling?" she asked, rinsing out a glass.

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her, but … not until he'd told Charlie.

"Nothing."

"Good-night."

'Good-night, Mum."