Chapter 31
Nick feels... off.
Not sick, not exactly.
Just wrong somehow.
Like his skin doesn't fit.
Like something inside him is buzzing and hollow all at once.
Wrong. Bad. Ugly.
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
He feels wrong.
Gross. Bad.
He’s lying there, propped against Charlie’s pillows, while Charlie sits cross-legged in front of him, dabbing foundation across Nick’s cheekbones and humming along to some playlist that Nick can’t seem to focus on.
Normally, he’d love this.
Besides the makeup. Because this is gross. And heavy. And he feels like he is gonna have acne for days.
But Charlie is close! Charlie is here.
Is Charlie mad?
Charlie, with his concentrated furrowed brow, his thumb brushing over Nick’s jaw as if sculpting him gently out of clay.
The feeling of being cared for like this—hands on skin, soft brush bristles, tiny affirming sounds.
It should feel warm. Safe.
Happy? Home?
But right now, something curdles under Nick’s skin. Something sharp and uncertain. His fingers wrap around Elphie, tugging the soft plushie into his lap with more force than necessary.
Not okay? Too much?
Safe? Happy?
Happy but weird.
Charlie pauses. His eyes flick up, all that ease in his expression softening into concern.
“Hey,” he says quietly, brushing his thumb against Nick’s cheekbone again, this time without a brush. “You okay?”
Nick opens his mouth to lie.
He could.
He’s good at pretending when he needs to be.
At saying yeah, fine, or just tired, or nothing important. But for some reason, the lie catches in his throat and won’t come out.
Okay but weird.
Emotional.
Sad? No, not sad.
Just okay.
He shakes his head.
“Hey. What’s wrong?”
Nick swallows. Looks down at Elphie. “I don’t... I don’t know.”
Happy but worried?
Happy but okay?
Okay?
Yes, okay. But still worried.
It’s not a satisfying answer. But it’s honest.
Charlie shifts closer, waiting. Patient. God, he’s always so patient, and that just makes Nick feel worse.
Why are you patient with me?
I'm wrong.
He sucks in a breath. Tries to name it.
The discomfort. The tightness in his chest. The voice in his head that’s been whispering you ruined it on a loop ever since they got back to the dorm.
“I mean,” he says slowly, “I just had sex with a guy. And that’s... kind of terrifying?”
Bad? No, not bad.
Happy, really happy.
But also, scary?
Scary?
Very scary.
Charlie stays quiet, letting him speak.
“It’s not that I didn’t like it,” Nick adds quickly. “I did. I—God, I really did. But I also just... I don’t know. I feel... ugh.”
His nose scrunches at the word, and he pulls Elphie tighter to his chest like the plush might give him the right vocabulary.
It doesn’t.
“It doesn’t make any sense. I’m sorry.”
Sorry I didn't say enough. Sorry I was so emotional. Sorry I was so confused. Sorry I was so into it.
Gay? No, bi.
He likes Charlie.
Charlie is a boy.
He likes a boy.
He had sex with a boy.
That's okay.
You're okay.
Don't change.
Charlie’s eyes widen. “Woah, hey. Nick, no. You don’t have to be sorry. Shit, baby, did I—” he exhales, the panic starting to rise in his voice. “Did I do something wrong? Did I—fuck, I should’ve asked more, or waited, or talked about it with you. I didn’t mean to—”
No. No.
He's okay. Happy.
Just a lot.
Many emotions.
Happy but emotional.
Okay but scary.
“No,” Nick says quickly, reaching out to touch Charlie’s wrist. “No, Charlie. It’s not that.”
Never that. Never that. Never.
I'm ok. We're ok.
Just.... Confusing?
“You didn’t do anything wrong. You were... you were wonderful. Kind and sweet and—” Nick’s voice falters. “I just... I think it’s me. I wanted to do this right. Like, properly. And now I feel like we... skipped ahead, or something. Not because it wasn’t good, but because—”
He frowns, frustration building in his chest.
He's ugly. His skin is too tight? Too much?
He's confused.
“Because it feels like sex on the first night is bad. Not bad, just... it can be. It can get messy. People say it makes things messy. And now I feel like my skin is too tight and too loose all at once, and that’s terrifying. That’s the part I didn’t think about. You seeing me vulnerable."
Happy but scary.
Too fast?
Slow it down?
Maybe. Yes.
Voice your thoughts.
“I’m so sorry. I should have checked in, I—fuck, Nick, I didn’t—” His breath hitches, horrified realization sinking into his features. “Oh, fuck, look, we don’t have to do that ever again. If you don’t ever want to have sex, I don’t either! I should have checked in, made sure you consented! I am so sorry, Nick. Fuck! And now I’m putting makeup on you when that’s probably the last thing you want—”
“Charlie,” Nick cuts in, grabbing his wrist gently, grounding him. “Stop. It’s not that.”
Charlie stares at him, wide-eyed, breath shallow like he’s bracing for something terrible.
Nick shakes his head. “I definitely do want to have sex with you.” The words come out more blunt than he intended, but it’s the truth, and Charlie needs to hear it. “I want you. I just... maybe we can wait a bit? I’m still so new to this, and—” he exhales sharply, trying to untangle the knots in his chest. “It’s just a lot.”
Want? No, need, crave, desire you.
I need you, but just... Desire for a man makes him partly gay? Yes? No.
He's bisexual. He likes girls and he likes Charlie. (And maybe Jonathan Bailey, but that's another story for another day)
He likes boys and girls and he's okay with that.
Okay? No, he's thrilled with that.
This is you, Nick.
Embrace it.
Charlie nods instantly, too fast, too eager to reassure. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.” His voice is soft, but his fingers are already moving, reaching for a makeup wipe. “Let me just—here, I’ll wipe this off, I—”
Nick catches his hand again before Charlie can pull away.
“Noooo,” Nick whines, stretching out the word dramatically, pouting at him. “I want to look pretty.”
Keep it.
Keep touching me.
Hold me? Love me?
Care for me?
Charlie blinks at him.
Then, just like that, the tension breaks. Charlie’s shoulders drop, and a breathless laugh slips out of him, like he can’t believe what he just heard.
That laugh. I want to soak it up and drown in it.
Nick tilts his head, batting his lashes playfully. “I do.”
Charlie exhales, shaking his head fondly. Then, with a barely-there whisper, he leans in just enough for Nick to feel the warmth of his breath and murmurs, “You always look pretty.”
And fuck.
Nick swears he stops breathing.
Pretty? Enough!?
You think I'm pretty and enough?
That's new.
Nick tilts his head, studying Charlie with playful scrutiny, before pouting dramatically. “Am I pretty enough for you to tell me what’s wrong?”
Why are you sad?
Open up to me.
Who is Ben?
Why the need to be confident?
Why?
Open up your heart and I swear I'll love it all.
Charlie huffs out a breathless laugh, but there’s hesitation in his eyes. “Nothing’s wrong, baby,” he says quickly, too quickly.
Baby.
Baby.
Baby.
Oh, that nickname makes him want to melt.
Nick narrows his eyes, unimpressed. “Mmhmm. There’s definitely something very wrong,” he muses, tapping his fingers on Charlie’s thigh as if deep in thought. Then, with exaggerated offense, he adds, “I mean, you haven’t even given me a kiss—and here I am, with foundation and sparkles, looking this stunning.” He gestures at himself with a flourish. “I deserve a kiss.”
Charlie snorts, shaking his head. “Oh, you deserve it, don’t ya?”
Oh a hundred percent.
I deserve every kiss from you, and you deserve every kiss from me.
We should kiss. We should love.
We should just be.
Charlie and Nick.
A perfect pair in a perfect crafted version heaven.
Nick nods sagely. “Mmhmm."
Charlie hums, pretending to consider. “Well, I do feel bad…”
And then, just as Nick planned, Charlie leans in, closing the space between them, lips soft and warm against his. Nick sighs into it, melting, his hands tangling in the fabric of Charlie’s flannel pulling him closer, just a little.
Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
This is my home.
Forever.
Forever.
Happy.
Forever.
Mine.
And then, with Charlie’s focus completely on his lips, Nick dips his fingers into the glitter eyeshadow palette, scooping up a generous amount of shimmer.
Before Charlie can register what’s happening, Nick drags the sparkles across his cheek with a mischievous grin, pulling away just in time to see Charlie’s eyes widen in betrayal.
Oh, you beautiful beautiful beautiful boy.
Oh you absolute beauty.
Silver looks so good on you.
“Nick Nelson!” Charlie gasps, staring at his reflection in disbelief.
Oh, full name bases? What about Nick Nelson-Spring?
Nick grins triumphantly, holding up his hands in surrender. “What?"
Charlie narrows his eyes, lips twitching upward. “Oh, you bastard—”
Nick shrieks as Charlie tackles him onto the bed, laughing so hard his stomach hurts.
Nick gasps dramatically, clutching his chest. “Oh, I’m the bastard?”
Charlie smirks, eyes glinting with mischief. “Mmhmm. Pretty bastard.”
Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty.
Mine.
Yours?
Mine.
Mine mine mine.
Us, together.
Pretty together.
This is home.
Nick barely has time to react before Charlie swipes a handful of shimmery eyeshadow and smears it across his cheekbone, the cool powder pressing against his skin.
“Oh, damnit!” Nick groans, laughing as he wipes at his face. “You menace!"
Charlie grins, unapologetic. “You look better with sparkles anyway.”
Nick snorts, shaking his head. “Unbelievable,” he mutters, but before Charlie can respond, Nick grabs him by the shoulders and pulls him down, pressing their bodies together.
Charlie lands with a soft “oof,” his hands instinctively finding purchase on Nick’s chest.
Nick hums, pleased. “Mmhmm. You’re mine now. No escape!"
If I hold you long enough, will you stay here forever?
Forever with me?
Charlie exhales a soft laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners as he shifts to nuzzle against Nick’s neck. “Mmhmm. I’m always yours,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss just below his jaw. “And I’ll always be yours, as long as you have me.”
Nick tightens his arms around him, holding him impossibly close, lips brushing against the crown of Charlie’s head.
“Yeah,” he whispers, voice full of quiet certainty. “Forever.”
---
Charlie feels terrible. So terrible it makes his stomach twist, makes his chest tighten like he's shrinking into himself.
He forced Nick to do something.
He is like Ben.
Sure, he's laughing. But in reality, he is extremely upset.
He hurt him.
Like Ben.
He's just like Ben.
He pushed Nick too far. He didn't pay attention, didn’t ask, didn’t check in. He messed up.
Charlie swallows hard, leaning against Nick, fingers brushing against the shimmer still clinging to his skin. He wipes at the sparkles on Nick’s cheek, more a nervous fidget than anything else. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles.
Sorry for being a mess.
Sorry for everything.
Nick hums softly. “Hmm? For what?”
Charlie sighs, dropping his gaze. “I’m… I’m not great at intimacy.”
That's an understatement, idiot. You forced Nick into it.
You're like Ben.
Asshole.
"Charlie, it’s okay. I’m okay, promise.”
But what if you weren't?
What if it was too much.
What if I didn't hear your no's?
What if it wasn't okay.
“No, that’s not—” Charlie stops, exhaling sharply. “We never talked about what we were comfortable with, and I just… kept going. For my pleasure. For my sake. That’s not…” He closes his eyes, willing the guilt away. “I’m sorry.”
Sorry for being like Ben.
Sorry for not checking in.
Sorry for everything.
“Charlie, really. I’m okay. I don’t hold it against you. My emotions are just a bit everywhere, but that is not on you.”
But it is, isn't it?
You're confused with your sexuality because of me.
You're questioning your future of going pro because of me.
Your friends hate you because of me.
Im the mistake. I'm the problem.
Me. Me. Me.
“No, but I… It’s not an excuse, but intimacy was never a strong suit for me. I, uh…” His voice falters, but he pushes forward. “Ben was never very kind to me. And intimacy was always… his thing. If he wanted it.” He swallows thickly. “If he didn’t…”
Ben.
You said it.
It's out there
It's there for the world to know.
Ben.
Ben.
Ben.
Ben.
Ben.
Ben.
He doesn’t finish that thought.
He can’t.
Nick’s expression shifts, something soft and knowing and just Nick in the way he looks at Charlie. There’s no pity, no forced sympathy, just quiet understanding.
“It’s okay,” Nick says gently. He pauses, then adds, “Do you want to… talk about Ben?”
no.
But I forced you to be with me, so I should force myself to talk to you.
Charlie lets out a shaky breath, playing with the hem of Nick’s hoodie, where the fabric pools at his wrist. “I mean… you’d have to hear about it eventually.”
does he?
Will he?
Will they be a thing?
Probably not.
Not anymore.
You have fucked it up.
“Um… okay, uh… Well, Ben was my first boyfriend,” Charlie starts, voice a little unsteady. “We got together when I was… 14? Uh… We dated until I turned 17, and since then, I’ve just… Well, you know, silly crushes and all that.”
Silly stupid crushes and stupid one night stands where he gave blowjobs to men in stalls and felt dirty afterwards.
Stupid.
Silly.
Charlie.
Charlie exhales sharply. “Ben wasn’t… He kind of… I don’t think he ever fully accepted being attracted to men.” His fingers tug at a loose thread on Nick’s sleeve, his voice dropping. “Anyway, we, uh, dated, and he was a bit mean.”
Mean.
Mean?
That's the word you use, mean?
Mean!?
Nick stiffens beside him. “What do you mean, mean?” His voice is careful, but there’s an edge to it, something tense brewing just beneath the surface. “Charlie, did he—?”
“No, no!” Charlie cuts in quickly, shaking his head. “He never… He just… would hold me too tightly sometimes or want things I didn’t want to do, but it wasn’t that bad!” The words come out rushed, too rehearsed, too much like a defense he’s told himself over and over.
Shoves. Yells. Tightened hold. Scary words. Harsh kisses. Harsher sex.
But it could have been worse.
He's lucky.
“Charlie, don’t sugarcoat that. Please.” His hand finds Charlie’s, steady and warm. “That’s not—” He hesitates, choosing his words carefully. “What do you mean he held onto you too tightly?” A pause. Then, quieter, more serious—“Did he leave bruises?”
Fuck you, Nick.
Stop asking questions.
The answer is one you already know.
Charlie opens his mouth, then closes it again. His throat feels tight, his heartbeat uneven.
It was years ago. It doesn’t matter anymore.
Grow up.
But Nick is looking at him like it does matter. Like it matters a lot.
Charlie swallows hard and forces himself to meet Nick’s gaze.
And for the first time, he tells the truth.
“…Sometimes.”
Charlie feels his throat tighten, his chest aching in a way that’s both sharp and hollow at the same time.
He doesn’t know why he feels the sudden urge to cry. He shouldn’t feel like this.
It’s been years.
It shouldn’t matter anymore.
“Sometimes?” Nick echoes, voice low, controlled—but barely. His fingers tighten around Charlie’s hand, gentle but firm, grounding. “Fuck, Charlie, that’s not…” He exhales sharply, jaw clenching. “Char, what he did to you, what he forced you to do—that’s not the same as me and you, okay?”
Thats a lie.
I don't like liars.
Don't be rude.
It will matter.
Either you'll hurt me or I'll be too much.
Don't lie.
Nick shifts, his free hand coming up to cup Charlie’s cheek, warm and steady. “What we did, I wanted that,” he says, voice rough with sincerity. “Okay? Don’t you dare think I didn’t.”
Thats a lie too.
A lie.
And a liar.
A match made in hell.
Nick’s thumb brushes over his cheekbone, soft and reassuring. “We just… We just need to talk about it next time, yeah? Make sure we’re both okay. But I promise you, I fucking swear on my life, I will never lay a hand on you like that. I will never hurt you. Okay, baby?”
Baby?
Baby?
I can't be your baby.
I'm too ugly.
To many scars.
To many secrets.
To much shame.
“You don’t deserve that,” Nick whispers, voice breaking just slightly. “You never did.”
Mmhmm.
Lies.
And that’s what does it. That’s what makes Charlie’s chest cave in, his breath stuttering, his fingers gripping onto Nick like he’s afraid to let go.
He doesn’t say anything. He just buries his face into Nick’s shoulder and lets himself feel.
It's a lie.
It's all a lie.
But if lies are his doom, maybe he'll find a nice meadow to lay in until his corpse decays.