Chapter 28
Charlie doesn't know how long it takes to convince Nick to get out of the bathroom, but it takes a while. Too long. The seconds stretch into minutes, and every one of them feels like a knife in Charlie’s chest.
Nick’s pinkie and ring finger are still anxiously shaking by the time he finally steps out, his body tense like he's bracing for something. Charlie doesn’t know what—rejection? Judgment? A look of pity?—but he hates that Nick expects it. Hates that he’s spent long enough feeling like a burden that even now, after everything, he thinks Charlie would turn away.
Charlie won’t. Not now. Not ever.
And yet, standing in Nick’s apartment for the first time, he realizes he can’t even take it in. He should be looking around, noting the pieces of Nick’s life scattered across the space—framed photos, bookshelves, the scent of whatever cologne lingers on the air. He should be soaking in this part of Nick that he’s never seen before.
But all he can focus on is Nick.
The way he keeps rubbing at his face like he can wipe away whatever shame he’s feeling. The way his shoulders are curled inward, like he wants to fold into himself and disappear. The way his breathing is just a little too shallow, his fingers just a little too shaky.
Nick is strong. Stronger than he gives himself credit for. And he's beautiful, inside and out. But right now? Right now, he's hurting. And Charlie hates it.
He steps forward carefully, slowly, like approaching a frightened animal. When Nick doesn't move away, he takes it as a good sign and reaches for his hand, threading their fingers together, grounding him. Nick’s shaking fingers still slightly at the touch, his grip tightening just enough to let Charlie know he’s there, he’s present, he’s real.
Charlie squeezes back.
“Come here,” he whispers, tugging Nick forward until they’re pressed together, until he can feel Nick’s heartbeat against his own. Nick exhales shakily, but his arms come up, wrapping around Charlie’s waist, holding on like he’s afraid to let go.
Charlie lets him hold on. Lets him breathe. Lets him take whatever he needs.
Because as much as Nick has been there for him, it’s Charlie’s turn to do the same.
Charlie moves around Nick’s apartment with quiet purpose, trying to steady himself, trying to make himself useful. He needs something to do—something tangible, something simple—because watching Nick crumble is breaking something inside him, something raw and aching, something he doesn’t know how to fix.
Remy, at least, seems to know what to do. He’s small but so incredibly gentle, climbing onto Nick’s lap and using his tiny hands to wipe away Nick’s tears with the utmost care. Charlie hears a quiet, sniffly laugh from Nick, and then the words “Zelda” and “cool sword,” and for a second, the tension in the room eases just a fraction.
Charlie exhales. Right. Right. Keep moving.
He turns toward the kitchen, his eyes catching on the small mess of dishes in the sink, on the framed photo propped up by the counter. It’s a younger Nick, all bright-eyed and grinning, one arm slung around a boy Charlie immediately recognizes as Otis, ruffling his hair with an undeniable fondness. The words on the frame read Forever, Brothers and Best Friends.
Charlie swallows hard, blinking rapidly as he forces himself to look away.
Otis should still be here. Nick shouldn’t have to live with a hole in his heart that will never fully close. He shouldn’t have to hold onto grief like it’s a second skin.
Charlie shakes himself, turning back to the pantry. Food. Nick needs food. Something warm, something easy.
He isn’t great with food himself—he still struggles with eating regularly, with introducing new things, with allowing himself to stray from the safe, familiar things he knows won’t make him sick—but this isn’t about him. Nick needs something, and Charlie needs to help.
His fingers skim over the shelves before landing on a bag of rice and a few packs of ramen. Simple. Easy. Comforting.
He quickly sets a pot of water on the stove, watching as the flame flickers to life beneath it, and lets himself breathe.
Behind him, Nick lets out another small laugh, quieter this time, but real.
Charlie closes his eyes for a moment and smiles, just a little, before turning back to his task. Charlie smiles warmly as he hands Nick the steaming bowl of ramen, watching as Nick accepts it with a quiet hum of thanks.
Gently, he pries Remy away from where he’s been clinging to Nick like a little koala, lifting him with ease before setting him down on the floor. "Go play for a bit, bud," Charlie says softly, ruffling his son's hair.
Remy sighs, clearly reluctant to leave Nick’s side, but after a moment of hesitation, he digs into his backpack and pulls out a handful of toy cars.
Satisfied, Charlie moves to sit beside Nick on the couch, his fingers automatically finding Nick’s shoulder, kneading gently at the tension there. He can feel the tightness beneath his fingertips, the way stress lingers in Nick’s muscles, and he works carefully, slow and steady.
Nick exhales, eyes briefly fluttering shut at the touch before he suddenly frowns. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, barely above a whisper, as if the words weigh heavily on his tongue.
Charlie stills slightly, his fingers pausing for a beat before resuming their soothing motions. "For what?"
Instead of answering, Nick takes a small bite of his ramen, then glances down at Charlie’s empty hands. His brows knit together. "Char, have you eaten?"
Charlie shrugs, dismissing the concern with an easy smile. "I'll have something later," he says, but Nick doesn’t look convinced.
Charlie feels the weight of Nick’s gaze on him, steady and assessing, but he avoids it, instead focusing on the way his fingers move over Nick’s shoulder. The warmth of Nick’s skin beneath his touch is grounding, a reminder that he’s here, that this moment is real.
Nick exhales softly, shaking his head, but he doesn’t press. Instead, he lifts his chopsticks again, taking another quiet bite, letting the silence stretch between them—not uncomfortable, but heavy with unspoken things. Charlie hates unspoken things.
Silence was always a weapon in Ben’s hands, a way to keep him off balance, waiting for the explosion that would come without warning. Ben would seethe, simmering with an unnamed anger, and only after the lashing out—after the damage was done—would he finally explain. Too little, too late. Charlie refuses to live like that again.
So instead of letting the question linger unspoken, he keeps massaging Nick’s shoulders as Nick eats, watching the way his brows furrow slightly, like there’s too much running through his head.
Charlie sighs. “Hey, Nick?” He knows this isn’t going to be an easy conversation. Knows it’s heavy, uncomfortable, but it needs to be said.
Nick pauses mid-bite, glancing at him. “Yeah?”
Charlie hesitates for just a second before pushing forward. “You’re okay, right? I mean… I know today has been hard, but you don’t—” He swallows, forcing the words out. “You don’t want to—”
Nick shakes his head immediately, setting his food down. “No. No, I can’t—” He exhales, running a hand through his hair before meeting Charlie’s eyes. “I won’t do that. Not to my mom, not to you, and definitely not to Remy.” He huffs out a humorless chuckle. “Plus, Otis would probably smack me upside the head if I even considered it.” His voice softens, more certain this time. “I promise, Char. I’m not going anywhere. Not dying anytime soon.”
Charlie exhales, nodding as the tension in his chest loosens just a little. “Okay,” he murmurs, giving Nick’s shoulders a final squeeze. “Okay.”
Charlie sighs, shifting closer, pressing himself against Nick’s side, wrapping an arm around his waist. He presses a soft kiss to Nick’s neck, letting his lips linger against his warm skin. Nick shivers slightly at the touch, but doesn’t pull away. “You didn’t have to keep this from me,” Charlie murmurs, his voice soft but steady.
Nick exhales, slow and measured, before shaking his head against the pillow. “Yeah? I know,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “But it feels idiotic to cry about.”
Charlie frowns at that, pulling back just enough to look at him, at the barely-there vulnerability in Nick’s features, the way he always tries to hold himself together, even when he doesn’t have to. Even when he shouldn’t have to. “What’s the shame in crying?” Charlie asks, voice gentle but firm. “I’ve cried so many times in front of you.”
Nick huffs out a breath, tilting his head toward him. “Yeah, well, you have actual reasons,” he mutters, like his pain, his grief, his fears don’t count.
Charlie shakes his head, his fingers tracing gentle circles against Nick’s back. “And you don’t?” he challenges softly. “Nick, I don’t care what it’s about. If you need to cry, you should cry. No one gets through life without breaking down sometimes. And besides…” He kisses the corner of Nick’s jaw this time, letting his lips linger. “I like taking care of you too, you know.”
Nick swallows hard, his hand coming up to brush through Charlie’s hair, his fingers tangling there for a moment before he sighs again, long and slow, pressing his forehead against Charlie’s. “Okay,” Nick murmurs. “I’ll try.”
Charlie smiles against his skin. “Good,” he whispers. “That’s all I want.” Nick hums softly, shifting slightly on the couch, his arms loosely wrapped around Charlie, who’s tucked against his chest.
The warmth is comforting, the weight grounding, but the thoughts still creep in. “I really miss him,” Nick whispers, his voice barely above a breath.
Charlie tightens his hold, pressing his face into Nick’s shoulder. “I know,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry.”
Nick sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “I... I know I need help. My mom’s told me that, my dog Shadow showed me that, I… Even David has talked about it. But I just—I’m so busy with school, and now I feel like… what’s the point? It’s been years, I should be okay by now.”
Charlie pulls back slightly, just enough to look at him, his brows furrowed. “Nick, it’s been years since I was with Ben, but I’m still seeing someone. I probably always will. There’s no timestamp on recovery.”
Nick swallows, his throat tight. His voice is quieter when he asks, “You won’t leave me?”
Charlie shakes his head, his hands reaching to cup Nick’s face gently. “Nick, the only way I’m leaving is if you break up with me.”
Nick blinks, lips parting slightly before a small, lopsided smile starts forming. “Break up? But… but I didn’t think we were in a relationship.”
Charlie hesitates, his heart sinking slightly. “Oh,” he says softly, the smallest flicker of hurt in his voice. “Do you… do you not want to be?”
Nick jolts, sitting up straighter. “No! No, I do! I like you so much, Charlie, and I love liking you!” He grips Charlie’s hands in his own, his cheeks pink with urgency. “I… does that mean we’re boyfriends?”
Charlie laughs, warmth flooding his chest as he nods. “I mean… yes? Yes!”
And before Nick can react, there’s a sudden, loud giggle, and then a small body launches onto them, sending them both sprawling against the couch cushions. “Yay!!” Remy cheers, beaming down at them as he clings to their tangled limbs. “Daddy and Papa, princes!!”
Charlie groans playfully from beneath him while Nick just laughs, his arms instinctively wrapping around both of them. And in that moment, despite everything—the ghosts, the grief, the past—Charlie feels something light, something whole. Something real.
“Yeah,” Charlie murmurs, voice heavy, “Boyfriends.”
Nick lets out a quiet laugh, muffled by the back of his hand as he wipes at his face. “I like Charlie,” he says dramatically, voice just above a whisper, “in a romantic way and not a friend way.”
Charlie snorts, shaking his head. “You’re a dork. No one can hear you.”
Nick shrugs, still grinning. “You’re wrong. Shadow and Otis can hear me.”
And there it is—the name. The name Charlie has only heard in pieces, in fragmented conversations and hushed tones. Otis.
Charlie’s teasing smile falters just slightly, just for a second, but he doesn’t let the moment turn heavy.
Instead, he reaches over, squeezing Nick’s hand gently where it rests on the bed. “Think they’d approve?”
Nick hums, thoughtful, before nodding. “Yeah,” he says, squeezing back. “Yeah, I think they would.”
Charlie smiles again, smaller this time, but real. “Good.”