Chapter 19
Nick is pretty sure he wants to die.
Because what the fuck is he supposed to wear?
And why the fuck is it taking him forever to figure it out?
It’s a movie night. A casual event. A chill gathering. But, well... it’s also with the LGBTQ+ club he never thought he’d be a part of.
Does he dress up in rainbows?
Fuck, who is he kidding? He doesn’t own anything with rainbows. And also, what the fuck, Nick, that’s mildly homophobic to assume that rainbow is all queer people wear.
His closet is filled with exactly what you’d expect from a rugby guy—team hoodies, sweatpants, muscle tees, maybe a few button-ups for the rare formal event.
Nothing that screams "hey, I think I might be bi and I'm having a crisis about it, but I also really want to impress the queer kids so they don't think I'm a total asshole."
He could ask Charlie for help.
He should ask Charlie.
But he’s a fucking idiot and didn’t tell Charlie anything.
Not “Hey, I’m going to a queer movie night, be proud of me.”
Not “Oh, and I found out about it because I kinda, theoretically, hinted to Tara that I might not be so straight.”
And definitely not “Help me feel worthy.”
Yeah. No. He didn’t tell Charlie.
Because he doesn’t need the praise. (Even though he really fucking likes it.)
But besides the point, what the fuck does he wear?!
He’s still frantically searching through his wardrobe when he lets out a very undignified shriek as his door bursts open without warning and Harry and Otis come barging in.
(Of course, they don’t fucking knock.)
Harry slings an arm over his shoulder, grinning like an idiot.
"Jesus, man, where the hell were you last night!? Derek almost got in another fight, and Sebastian was so blackout drunk we had to call an ambulance."
And yes, Nick does feel a little worried for Sebastian.
But Sebastian did that to himself. Sebastian knows his limits—or, well, should know his limits. And two, Nick is not Derek’s babysitter.
So instead, he just shrugs. Casual. Unbothered. Normal.
He's trying to not be like them anymore.
"Is Sebastian okay?"
Otis leans against Nick’s desk, crossing his arms. "Besides the fact that he spent all night throwing his guts up and is probably gonna feel like absolute shit for the next few days? Sure."
Nick hums. Feigns interest. Shrugs again.
Hold your own, Nick. Be yourself. Hold respect.
Fuck it's hard, though.
"Well, I got busy. Sorry."
Harry snorts, shoving Nick’s shoulder.
"Busy? Fucking busy? That’s—" He pauses, eyes narrowing. "You’re fucking lying!"
Nick blinks. "Huh? I was busy. My body was fucking dead from the match. I’m allowed to rest, man."
"Jesus Christ, don’t need to get so defensive," Harry scoffs, rolling his eyes. "Or fucking lie. Look, if you wanted to hook up, you could’ve just said so—"
Nick’s head snaps toward him, his entire body tensing.
Huh? What?
Sure him and Charlie made out, but no... No way he knows?
Fuck, what does he do if he knows. No, no, no.
Captain position, gone. Pro chances, dismissed. Friends, none. Fuck!
"What?"
Harry just smirks.
Nick turns to Otis, frowning.
"Otis, what the fuck is he talking about?"
Otis, to his credit, looks slightly apologetic before gesturing vaguely at Nick’s neck.
"I mean, Nick... you kinda have a little something."
Nick freezes.
A what. A little something.
His stomach fucking drops.
His hands fly up to his neck.
Charlie.
Oh, fuck.
Charlie.
Harry leans back against the desk, arms crossed, head tilted, studying Nick like he’s some sort of puzzle he’s trying to solve.
"I swear, Nelson. The last two weeks, you’ve been... different." He pauses, eyes narrowing, a smirk playing at the edge of his lips. "So, what’s up? Got a new spring fling or something?"
Nick shrugs, forcing nonchalance. "Sure, whatever."
He grabs the green hoodie from his bed and pulls it over his head, tugging at the hem as if it’ll help ground him.
Fuck, his hands are shaking. His pulse won't settle. He needs to get out of here before he says something stupid.
Fuck, stop. No, no, no!
Get out of here. Stop it all. Don't show your cards.
Breathe. Nick. Breathe.
"Look, man," he continues, tone light, dismissive. "I've got places to be, sights to see—"
Otis, ever the voice of reason, throws a look at Harry. "Yeah, Harry, I think Sebastian probably needs some help."
Good. Yes. Perfect. Maybe they’ll leave.
Otis, I could kiss you right now. Thank you. Love you. Please save me from this.
But of course, Harry ignores him completely.
"No, no, no. I wanna know who the lucky girl is," Harry says, grin widening. "A cheerleader? Or is she a volleyball girl?"
Nick freezes.
Fuck.
Girl.
Girl???
No, not a girl. Charlie. His Charlie. His sweet Charlie.
Harry waggles his brows. "I know you love them in the spandex, mate."
That’s it. That’s fucking it.
I can't hold my anger. I can't handle this. Stop being rude. How did he ever handle this?
How was he ever one of them? Is he still?
Fuck!
Nick slams his fist down onto the desk, hard enough that a pen rolls off the edge.
"Jesus Christ, Harry, have some fucking respect for women!"
Harry blinks, taken aback. Otis stiffens beside him.
Nick pushes forward, voice sharp, words spilling before he can stop them.
"I know you just wanna fuck them or whatever, but that’s not—fuck, that’s not fucking normal, man. That’s not okay. You talk about girls like they’re prizes to be won, not fucking people. It’s gross, it’s pathetic, and—" he pauses, inhaling sharply, his breath unsteady. "Just... just leave, man."
Silence.
Okay, good.
Breathe. It's okay.
In. Out.
Alive. Better.
Lost friends?
Fuck? Fuck!
It's okay, breathe. Hold your own.
Harry stares at him like he’s seeing him for the first time.
Nick doesn’t care.
Does he? No. No.
Hold strong. Stop being an asshole. Fight for those who are attacked but not present.
Breathe. Be good.
Stop being an asshole. Don't let it slide.
In. Out.
Is this his life? Has he been this way?
In. Out. In.
Fuck. Breathe.
Doesn’t care that his teammates are gonna start whispering about him, that Harry is gonna make some joke about him going soft, that Otis is already looking at him like he's a fucking enigma.
He doesn’t care.
He just wants them gone.
In. Out. In. Hold. Out.
Fuck, he needs his mum. Another panic attack is coming. Fuck. Fuck.
In. Our. Panic.
Stop.
He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "Yes, I’m hanging out with them."
(Not him. Too scary. Too vulnerable. Too fucking real.)
Charlie, I'm sorry I can't come out. I'm sorry I'm too weak. I'm sorry I'm scared. Charlie, I'm sorry.
Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.
Fuck.
In. Out.
"And I’d prefer if you didn’t reduce them to just a fuck buddy."
Harry and Otis share a glance. Nick doesn’t wait for whatever bullshit is about to come out of their mouths.
He grabs his bag, slings it over his shoulder, and pushes past them.
"I’ll see you at practice."
Then, he’s gone.
In. Out. Breath. Hold. Seeing.
Is this who he's been? Someone who sexualized girls? Someone who pushes people for showing their gender identity, just asking for some decent respect to live? Has he been this cruel? This ugly?
Don't.
Don't. Think.
Don't think or call mum. Mum is worried. Don't make her worried. Don't call dad. Don't call David. Dad doesn't care. Dad made him this. David enforces his. His family has made him he hateful, cruel. Mean. Not his mother. No. Not her.
Breathe. Don't panic. Hold strong.
Green hoodie and jeans it is.
Shit.
Does green mean gay?
No, right? That’s just a stupid joke, right? But… fuck, doesn’t the gay flag have green? Or was it blue and purple? He doesn’t know. He should know. Fuck.
Blue jeans and a green hoodie—he’s like a goddamn walking queer flag.
Fag. Fairy. Dyke. Homo. Fuck.
Breathe. In. Out. Don't panic.
Mum? Call mum? No.
No.
Shit, shit, shit.
No. Stop. That’s homophobic, man. Colors don’t mean shit. It’s just a hoodie. It’s just a hoodie.
And yet…
His skin burns beneath the collar, where Charlie’s mark still lingers.
Hickey? He didn't even know he had one. He wishes he could see it. See how it's claimed him? Charlie and him?
Together? Maybe. Eventually.
Yes. Breathe. Okay. He's okay.
He shouldn’t like it, shouldn’t love it. But fuck, it feels… possessive. It feels secretive, like he’s wearing something no one else gets to know about.
Like Charlie’s fingers are still there, pressing into his skin.
Fucking hell.
Breathe, Nelson. Just breathe.
Harry already thinks he’s gone soft, that he’s suddenly a feminist or whatever the fuck just because he called him out. Now, a stupid green hoodie is making him spiral because what if—what if someone assumes?
What if it’s not an assumption at all?
Bisexual. He is. Isn't he. Yes. Confident. No.
Nick groans, tugging at his hair.
Fuck, stop thinking.
He’ll work out. He’ll grab fresh clothes from his locker. He’ll throw on his dirty jersey if he has to. It’s just a fucking movie night.
…A movie night. With the LGBTQ club.
That he’s going to.
Willingly.
Nick scoffs, shaking his head.
What the fuck is happening to me?
Apparently, what happens to him means dragging himself to the gym, covering a shift he didn’t actually need to take, working out for two hours straight like he’s trying to exorcise something from his body, and then horridly attempting to fix his hair and appearance before heading to a—
A fucking movie night.
Why the fuck is he nervous?
It’s a goddamn movie night.
He’s had scouts watching his matches before, people who could literally determine his entire future, and yet this—this small gathering, this simple invitation—has his hands shaking as he fixes his hoodie, has his stomach twisting as he checks the mirror for the fifth time, has him feeling like he’s walking into some unknown battlefield.
Bisexual. Pride. Acceptance? He wants. Wants. Wants. Wants. Wants. Yes. Me??
Jesus Christ, he’s gone mental.
Nick groans, scrubbing a hand over his face.
He needs to get a fucking grip.
Whatever. It’s fine.
It’s really fucking fine. Truly.
He’s okay. He is.
Nick fixes his hair again, fingers threading through it for what feels like the hundredth time, eyes locked on the door in front of him. It shouldn’t feel this daunting, shouldn’t feel like he’s standing at the edge of some massive, life-altering decision, but the way his stomach twists tells him otherwise.
It’s just a movie night.
Bisexual. Pride. Acceptance.
Nick. Just be, Nick. This new Nick. It's okay. Breathe.
For Christ’s sake, he kissed a boy less than twenty-four hours ago. Hundreds of times. Charlie.
Not any boy. Charlie.
And yet somehow, this is what has him feeling like his lungs are caving in?
Oh.
Oh, maybe because he’s an asshole.
Maybe because people here know him.
Because these aren’t just random students who don’t care, these are people who remember him being a prick. People who have seen him be a homophobic piece of shit before, who will look at him standing in this doorway and think it’s some kind of joke.
Great. Awesome.
This is fine.
Just knock, you fucking coward.
Nick raises a fist, hesitates for a second—two—before knocking. The moment he does, his stomach sinks. He stares at his shoes, suddenly regretting everything about this decision, when the door swings open and—
Oh.
Blonde hair. Pink sweatpants. Familiar eyes widening in shock.
Imogen.
Fuck.
Don't be mad. Forgive me. I'm sorry. I love you. I want my friend back. Breathe.
Nick barely has time to register the noise inside the house getting louder before Imogen’s voice cuts through the air.
"Nick?"
Nick panics.
"Oh my god, Imogen. I am so so so sorry! I know you don’t want to hear from me, and you’ve been ignoring my texts, and I totally get it, because I’m an asshole, and I ruined your birthday, and I have been the absolute worst fucking friend, and I am so sorry, I—"
He’s cut off by Imogen stepping forward and hugging him.
He flinches, instinctively stiffening—but then melts.
Oh? Oh.
This is nice.
Home.
Safe? Safe.
His hands hover in the air for a second, unsure, before slowly wrapping around her, pressing his forehead to her shoulder, breathing.
She’s warm. Familiar. His friend.
Or at least, she was.
Imogen’s voice wavers when she whispers, “I’m still upset with what you did… but I’ve missed you. I really have.”
Nick squeezes his eyes shut.
She still sounds hurt. Still sounds angry. But she’s here, holding onto him, and it’s the closest thing to comfort he’s has and he needs it.
Needs her. Friend. Kind. Accepting.
Not Harry. Not teammate. Not rude.
He feels his throat tighten when she pulls back, hands still on his arms, looking up at him with cautious eyes.
"Speaking of… why are you here?"
Nick swallows hard, shifting awkwardly on his feet.
Uhhhh.... Because I'm Bi. Yeah, no. Breathe.
"Uh… long story?"
Imogen hums, tilting her head before punching his arm.
"Ow—Imogen, what the hell?" Nick yelps, clutching the spot she just assaulted.
"That’s for inviting the rugby team to my birthday party."
Another punch.
"Imogen—!"
"And that’s for being an asshole in general."
Nick glares at her, rubbing his arm dramatically. Jesus Christ, she punches like she’s trying to dent his soul.
Before he can protest further, she pulls him into another hug.
"And this," she murmurs, softer this time, "is for being here."
He exhales.
Nick squeezes his eyes shut, letting himself melt into the hug again because fuck, this is nice. This is good. He doesn’t deserve it, not really, but he’s getting it anyway.
When they pull away, she smiles—genuine, warm, even if there’s still some lingering disappointment in her eyes. She nudges his shoulder, nodding towards the door.
Home. Safe. Kind. Accepting.
"Come on, Nelson. You’re already here. Might as well not stand outside like an idiot."
Nick follows her in, stepping inside and immediately feeling the shift in the room.
The moment he crosses the threshold, there’s a change in the air.
It’s not immediate. It’s not obvious. But he feels it.
Conversations slow, a few glances flick his way, voices drop just slightly. It’s not full-on record scratch, spotlight on him, interrogate the straight boy, but he notices.
Fuck.
Right. Okay. Awkward.
Stay calm. This is fine.
Nick inhales through his nose, exhales through his mouth, and forces himself to look up—
Charlie.
And Charlie—bless him, curse him, ruin him— fucking lights up.
Nick doesn’t even get a second to prepare before Charlie is grinning, gasping, moving—
And then he’s hugging him.
Full-force, all-encompassing, arms around his neck, squeezing him like he’s been waiting for this moment his entire life.
"Nick!"
Nick stumbles back a step, completely thrown off, because what?
Nice. Kind. Open. Accepting. Open. Bi. Nice. Warm. Oh.
Charlie is hugging him.
Charlie is so fucking happy to see him.
Charlie—the boy who makes his head spin, who kisses him like it’s the most natural thing in the world, who laughs at his panic and soothes it all in the same breath— is hugging him.
And Nick?
Nick thinks he might actually die.
"You actually came!" Charlie exclaims, still grinning as he pulls back just enough to look at him.
Nick, utterly dazed, blinks at him.
"Uh… yeah?" he says, a little breathless. "Hi? Surprise?"
Charlie bounces on the balls of his feet, practically vibrating with excitement.
Cute. Kind. Open. Accepting. Warm. Bisexual. Okay. Happy.
"You didn’t tell me you were coming!" he accuses, lightly shoving his shoulder.
"I, uh… yeah. I mean—sorry? For not, uh, telling you?" Nick rubs the back of his neck, suddenly hyperaware of how warm he feels. "Surprise?"
Charlie laughs, eyes practically glowing with delight.
"God, I—" He stops himself, shakes his head, then grabs Nick's wrist again. Nick is never recovering from this.
"Come on, I'll introduce you to my friends!"
And Nick—Nick lets himself be dragged.
He follows obediently behind Charlie, barely able to process what’s happening as Charlie pulls him into the kitchen.
He should feel out of place. He should feel like he doesn’t belong.
But with Charlie’s hand still wrapped around his wrist, it’s hard to feel anything other than warmth.
"Guys!" Charlie announces, stopping in the middle of the kitchen. Everyone turns, their conversations pausing as they take in the sight of Nick fucking Nelson standing in the safe haven of their friend group.
Charlie beams, gesturing dramatically. "This is Nick! Nick, the grumpy one is Tao—he's just a bit protective but really kind deep down."
Tao, who has been staring at Nick like he’s grown a second head, crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow. "Is no one questioning why Nick is here?"
Right. Not accepted. Cold. Wrong.
Charlie, completely unfazed, ignores him and moves on.
"Next to him is Elle, best artist I know, and keeps Tao in line."
Elle, perched on the counter, waves. "Hey, Nick."
Nick hesitates before nodding back, unsure if she’s actually okay with his presence or just being polite.
Wrong. Rude. Not accepted. He's bad. He's a dick. He's not meant to be here.
"Then we have Issac, my roommate. Doesn't talk much, but you might have seen him at your game," Charlie continues, motioning toward Issac, who is flipping a page of his book.
Nick blinks, eyebrows furrowing. "Wait, you were at the game?"
Issac glances up. "Mmm. Charlie forced me to go."
Charlie huffs, crossing his arms. "I did not force you, you willingly went for the atmosphere! And you left me!"
Issac shrugs. "Yeah, you will giving him googly eyes."
Nick actually chuckles.
Oh, cute. Safe. Found? Warm?
Enough? Maybe he's enough.
Charlie grins at him before continuing, "Then we have Imogen, which, obviously, you know, and Darcy, who I think you talked to at the party—"
"Nick??"
Tara’s voice cuts through the introduction as she pushes her way forward, blinking in what looks like genuine surprise. "You actually came?"
Nick smiles sheepishly, feeling an odd sense of relief at her tone. "Uh… yeah. Hi. Uh… everyone. Uh, sorry I'm... Hi."
Charlie looks at him, and the warmth in his eyes is enough to settle some of Nick’s nerves.
"Everyone, please be kind to him," Charlie says, voice softer but still firm. "He's... working on it."
Tao scoffs immediately. "Sure."
Oh. Okay. Breathe. In. Out. Breathe.
Elle elbows him hard. "Be nice."
Nick tries not to shrink under the attention, shifting his weight. Then, Issac steps forward, closing his book as he takes Nick in.
Nick’s eyes widen the second he sees the title.
"Woah!? Romeo and Juliet!? Sweet! Have you read it before?"
Issac raises an eyebrow, caught off guard.
Nick, realizing how enthusiastic he just sounded, clears his throat, running a hand through his hair.
Stop acting weird. Stop being too much. Stop it. Nick. Stop. It. Stop.
"Sorry, sorry, I just... I like Shakespeare's writing style."
Issac tilts his head, interested. "No way."
Nick nods, actually grinning. "Yeah!? I have some of his quotes in my dorm, and a whole collection at my mom's house—well, my childhood house? Whatever, you get the point."
Issac’s lips twitch into something resembling a smirk. "That's so cool. Yeah, I'm trying to get into classic literature for my upcoming Poetry and History class."
Nick’s eyes light up. "No way! I took that class last semester! Honestly, the only class I enjoyed!"
Unknown to Nick, Charlie and the rest of the group exchange glances.
Charlie is watching him with something unreadable in his expression, but there’s a softness to it—a quiet kind of admiration. Tao still looks skeptical, but there’s a flicker of something else now, something more uncertain. Elle is smiling slightly, while Imogen nudges Darcy and Tara gives Nick a once-over, considering.
It’s subtle, but something shifts in the room.
For the first time, Nick doesn’t feel like an outsider.
---
Nick is here.
Nick is here.
Oh, holy shit.
Charlie grips his cup a little tighter, eyes flicking toward Nick every few seconds as he talks animatedly to Issac about Shakespeare, his green hoodie looking downright adorable on him, his damp hair curling ever so slightly at the ends from the shower, and fuck—Charlie wants to devour him.
Nick in a hoodie should not be this attractive. It’s just a hoodie. It’s just a hoodie. But here Charlie is, watching the way the sleeves swallow his wrists, how he fidgets slightly when Issac talks, that small smile gracing his lips—the one that isn’t cocky or forced but real.
And oh fuck, he’s blushing.
Charlie bites his lip to keep from grinning too wide.
"See?" he says, tearing his eyes away to glance at his friends. "He's not so bad."
Tao, predictably, scoffs. "Just because he’s here doesn’t change what he’s done or said."
Charlie exhales, willing himself not to get annoyed.
Tao is Tao.
Tao is protective, stubborn, and doesn’t forgive easily. But Charlie knows Nick. He sees Nick. The real Nick. The one who’s scared and confused and trying, even if it’s messy, even if it’s clumsy, even if he doesn’t always get it right.
"Tao," Charlie says, trying to keep his voice even, "please just give him a chance. He’s... trying, okay?"
Elle hums thoughtfully. "I think he seems quite nice, all things considered."
Tara shrugs. "I mean, if I’m being honest, I thought he was lying to me when he came up to me at the gym. I thought he would see my invite and just shrug it off, but... he's actually here. And yeah, he seems a bit... timid about this all still, but he also looks less..." she pauses, searching for the right word. "Less tense. I don’t know, it’s nice seeing him smile instead of scowling."
Darcy, who has been bouncing slightly on the balls of their feet, claps their hands together. "I think we’ve found ourselves another gay ally! We gotta keep finding them!"
Tao lets out a dramatic sigh, crossing his arms tighter. "And something tells me that hickey is from you, Charlie?"
Shit.
Charlie freezes. Tao raises a judgmental brow.
Fuck.
Charlie knows he’s blushing now.
But can you blame him? Nick with his hickey? Hot as fuck. Get in his pants, man.
His mouth opens, closes, then opens again. "...Maybe."
Tao groans. "Really? Be careful, Charlie. He’s still Nick Nelson. The Nick Nelson who has spent years being an asshole to people like us. Who has been friends with absolute dickheads. Who—"
Charlie turns to him fully, leveling him with a look.
"Tao," he says, firm but soft, "I'm an adult. And I trust Nick." He pauses, inhaling deeply before offering his friend the only thing he can give. "Please trust my judgment too."
Tao stares at him for a long moment.
Charlie can see the battle happening in his head—the conflict between his loyalty and his doubt.
Finally, Tao sighs. "Fine," he mutters, kicking at the ground. "But if he breaks your heart, I’m going to break his legs."
Charlie snorts, nudging him playfully. "Noted."
But as he looks back at Nick, watching him smile and laugh at something Issac says, the nervous weight slipping from his shoulders bit by bit, Charlie can’t help but think:
It won’t come to that.