Work Text:
Charlie is pacing.
(Pacing, pacing, pacing.)
He walks from the bedroom, down the corridor to the kitchen, into the lounge, then back to the bedroom. His mind still follows him, so Charlie speeds up, trying to outpace it or train it to think about something else, anything else, except tomorrow. The interview. What he’s going to wear. What he’s going to say. Who he wants to be.
Charlie is shit in interviews because he overthinks everything. Everything.
Tao once teased him, saying, “You can’t overthink everything , Charlie, come on.”
But Charlie explained how he once went almost catatonic after an interviewer innocently asked, “how are you?”
So, obviously, he is freaking the fuck out.
And Nick isn’t home yet.
On his twelfth loop around their flat, Charlie sees the kettle and stops. Tea. He can make tea. Yes. That would be brilliant. Tea. Tea is the elixir of the passionate and moody. It would calm him a little, and the simple act of making tea might shift his mind onto another path. Because this path right now is...
Well, it’s not ideal.
Tea. Right.
Charlie panics. How in the bloody hell does he make tea? He stares at the kettle and starts thinking about the word. Kettle. Ket - tle. Where does that word even come from? At least with something like ‘pen’ it’s clear that it comes from penna, the Latin word for feather, because they used to write with quills. It actually makes sense.
But where the fuck does kettle come from? There is no such thing as a ‘ket.’ And even if there were, kettle is also a bloody verb. English is a stupid language and he’s stupid for knowing it.
Charlie gets out a tea bag to try to stop his kettle spiral. He tries to take a deep breath. Then another.
After he pulls out the tea bag and drops it into his mug, he wonders how tea gets into the bags and what they do with the ones that don’t pass quality control. What about the strings? Does someone have to spend their day cutting tiny pieces of tiny strings just so the entirety of the UK can have their fucking teabags for their fucking tea? Maybe he could work in a tea factory if he doesn’t get this job. He likes tea. He could cut strings for hours and not have to think about how much he doesn’t deserve the job he wants. He could take home the rejects and he and Nick would be stocked for life.
Then he’d be an active contributor to their household and not always have to rely on Nick.
Nick.
Nicholas.
Nicholas Nelson.
The love of his life.
Nick, who thinks Charlie is brilliant.
Nick, who loves Charlie even when he can’t find himself.
Nick, who Charlie might not actually deserve, but loves him actively. Unreservedly.
Nick, who–
Charlie swallows. (Oh shit.) His mind is clouding again. It’s going dark and he feels that teenage urge resurfacing. He–
he
can’t
breathe
A gnawing grows inside him, stabs at his resolve, and Charlie holds his upper arm, clutches it. It aches. It yearns. He needs (wants. has to.) but– no. No no no. He looks around for something, anything.
It’s–
He’s got to–
He turns in a slow circle in their kitchen. What was he doing– what was he– what?
Across the way–
Nick. Nick and Charlie. Charlie and Nick.
He looks at the photograph framed on the wall. It’s small, out of the way, but it has lived in their kitchen since they took the photo. Six months since they asked each other at the same time– since they were– since they— (promised). Two hands, joined together with rings on their thumbs. Circles. A pledge. For a vow. For a lifetime.
He reaches down and touches his ring, twists it, breathes. (Doesn’t go there. ) Slows down. Returns. His upper arm stops aching.
Charlie pulls out all of the boxes of tea in the cabinet and looks at them. They have three opened boxes of the same brand, so he consolidates and tosses the boxes into the recycling bin. Then he looks at all of their boxes and frowns. They really should organise their cabinet better. He alphabetises the boxes and puts them away that way and shuts the cabinet.
(Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.)
He opens it again. The boxes of tea are different sizes and it is absolutely not right.
So he pulls them out again.
He looks at the shelf in the cabinet where they came from and notices it’s dusty, so he grabs a cloth and wipes it out. He puts the boxes back in, size order, tallest to smallest, left to right. That feels much better. Normal. Manageable.
There. Right. What was he doing?
Tea.
Charlie fills the kettle, sets it in the base, and flicks it on. He looks around the kitchen for something to do while he waits.
He stands near the cabinets and twists his ring around. His ring. His anchor. His... Nick. He tries to breathe, tries to breathe, tries.
When Nick walks in, he feels a vague sense of dread. Charlie’s shoes are neatly lined up in the shoe tray. The blankets on their sofa are all precisely folded and stacked. He puts down his school bag and takes off his shoes.
“Charlie?” he calls softly. “You here, my love?”
He walks first into their bedroom and sees all of Charlie’s work shirts in a pile on the floor.
The interview. Tomorrow.
Nick sucks in his breath. Charlie is panicking. Fuck.
He hurries to the bathroom to check, but nothing is out of the ordinary in there, thank god. So it’s not as bad as it could be.
He hurries into the kitchen and sees Charlie on the floor and his heart drops completely. Nick sinks down in front of him, whispering Charlie’s name.
“Charlie. I’m here. It’s Nick. You’re okay.”
When Charlie looks at him, his eyes are unfocused. His fingers twist his ring around and around. Nick breathes and waits. He touches Charlie’s hand, gently rubbing the top of it with his thumb. He’s trying to be calm and steady while also doing a quick triage of Charlie’s body and the rest of the kitchen for anything out of place. Anything like an emergency. Anything that would–
“Charlie,” he whispers again. “It’s Nick. I’m here, my love.”
It takes another long set of aching moments before Charlie says anything.
“I tried to make tea,” he says in a voice Nick barely recognises.
Nick glances up and sees the mug. Their kettle shuts off automatically, so there’s nothing wrong there. All of the cabinet doors are still shut, so this is probably a minor episode.
“Do you want your tea?” Nick asks quietly.
“No. I think... I had it already? I organised all the cabinets.”
“Okay.” Nick slides a little closer to Charlie on the floor. “Charlie, can I put my arms around you?”
“Please.” Charlie’s voice is flat, almost robotic. Nick’s heart clenches a little bit, and he gently reaches his arms around Charlie’s body. He fits Charlie’s legs over his thighs and pulls the love of his life against his chest.
Charlie’s body is stiff, boxy. Nick takes a deep breath, then another. He counts to 45 in his mind, to 78. When he gets to 127, he feels Charlie start to relax. He melts quickly, like butter in a hot pan, right into Nick’s arms and Nick is there, holding him, catching him, not letting him burn.
“Charlie.” Nick’s voice is throaty. He empties his entire heart into Charlie’s hair. “I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you. I’m here and you’re safe. You’re safe and I’m here. I am here for anything you need. You are my favourite person. My Charlie. We’re here. Together. Always.”
They sit on the kitchen floor for a very, very long time. Nick holds Charlie against him, trying to sync his breath with Charlie’s slow, almost inaudible, breaths. Nick thinks about the last time Charlie had an episode like this. It was more than four years ago and Nick can’t remember the antecedent.
But this interview tomorrow is a big deal. Charlie has been working for a publishing company for the last several years and this is a chance to finally do some editing. What he wants. What he deserves.
Charlie has wanted this for ages. But Charlie still feels those same nags of inadequacy, like he doesn’t matter, like he isn’t worth listening to. Nick wonders if something else happened today. He wonders if he should have been here, should’ve known...
Nick rubs Charlie’s back, nuzzles his jaw. “I love you, Charlie,” he whispers. “I know you’re overwhelmed. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
Charlie heaves a great sigh, then his head falls heavily onto Nick’s shoulder, and he starts to sob.
Nick’s heart breaks a little. He stays right where he is. He tangles his fingers in Charlie’s hair, rubs his back lightly and whispers quiet words into Charlie’s neck.
After a little while, Charlie finally raises his head.
“I got a little... lost,” he says in a voice still thick and woeful. His eyes are dull.
“Charlie,” Nick’s heart is beating so hard right now, “you’ve done nothing wrong. You did something to help you fix what was hurting you.”
“I can’t find...”
“I know,” Nick says. “I’ve got you, my love. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
Nick’s mind starts to race forward, planning ahead to take the day off tomorrow, figuring out how quickly he can get plans ready for a substitute teacher, but then he tries to slow his brain down. Right now: Charlie. Nick needs to be just here. Here with Charlie. In the moment. Whatever Charlie needs.
Charlie looks around the kitchen, then back at Nick. His eyes are starting to uncloud. “Nick,” he says. “You’re here.”
“I’m here,” he says again. Nick will say it again and again. Forever, if he needs to. Forever, because he wants to.
Nick presses his forehead against Charlie’s and rubs their noses together.
“My love,” he says quietly. “Last time you... got lost, a shower helped. Do you want me to turn on the water for you? Should we start with that?”
Charlie nods.
Nick stands, then reaches for Charlie’s hand and pulls him up. They walk together to the bathroom and Nick reaches in to start the shower, making sure it’s very warm. He reaches out for Charlie. “Can I help you?”
Charlie nods again. He lifts his arms and Nick pulls his t-shirt overhead, dropping it into the hamper behind him. Then he slowly unfastens the button on Charlie’s trousers and unzips his fly, slowly pulling them down. Those go into the hamper as well.
“Boxers?” he asks. “Or would you rather shower with them on?”
“Take them off,” Charlie says. Then he looks at Nick. “Will you get in with me?” he pleads. “I need... can I have your arms around me? Please?”
“Of course. Anything.”
Nick quickly pulls off his clothes and steps into the shower. He reaches for Charlie and they stand under the spray together. He pulls Charlie against him, wraps his arms around the love of his life, and presses his mouth against Charlie’s earlobe. Water gushes over them, warming Nick’s back, flattening Charlie’s curls. They stand together, wrapped up in each other as if they were one entity. Charlie clings to him, his arms fastened behind Nick’s waist, and Nick can feel Charlie’s heartbeat start to level out.
After a few more minutes, Charlie gradually releases his arms and slides them up over Nick’s shoulders. He looks into Nick’s eyes and Nick can see Charlie again, unclouded, beautiful. His Charlie.
Charlie leans up and gently presses his lips against Nick’s. It’s a single, perfect kiss. It’s a grounding kiss. Reconnecting. Rebirth.
Nick presses their foreheads together again. The water falls around them, a backdrop to a love scene.
“I love you,” he whispers into Charlie’s lips. “More than anything in this world.”
“I know,” Charlie says back. “You, us, our everything. It helps me stay grounded, even when I–”
“But you didn’t.”
“But I–”
“Hey.” Nick touches Charlie’s face. “You were doing just fine when I got here.
Charlie touches the engagement ring on his thumb, twists it. He touches Nick’s lower lip and looks into his eyes. “You are the first and most enduring good I’ve ever had, that I’ve ever done.”
Nick’s eyes feel glassy.
This man. Charlie. His everything.
Charlie turns the water off, reaches for towels, dries them both off. Nick keeps touching Charlie; Charlie keeps touching him back. Nick’s skin tingles with love. With gratitude. It’s so warm in the bathroom; they don’t need their robes, don’t need towels, don’t need clothes.
They hold hands and walk into their bedroom. Nick pulls Charlie against him, kisses him again. He can’t seem to keep his body away right now, keeps Charlie next to him, with him.
“Nick,” Charlie breathes. “Nick, I just–”
“Charlie. You are worthy because.”
“Because... what?”
“Because. Because. Full stop. Because you’re a person on this earth. You are allowed to take up space. Worth is not dependent on some external judgement. You just are. You just get to be.”
Charlie’s eyes fill, spill over. Then they’re kissing. Fast, then slow. Never careful, always reverent. They’ve come together so many times in their lives, yet this is like the very first time.
They make love fiercely, deeply, then fall together, curl their bodies around each other, and sleep.
Charlie blinks. Wakes.
And it’s Nick.
Always Nick. Nick, who grounds him. Who helps him find the goodness he doesn’t want to forget. Nick, who helps him believe that he deserves this life. Their life. All of it.
When Nick wakes a few minutes later, he smiles slowly. Leans up to kiss Charlie.
“How are you?” Nick asks. His amber eyes are warm, honest, real.
“I’m... better?”
“You seem more like yourself, but how is your heart? Your brain?”
“I wish I could describe what happens. It’s almost as if I have this cloud or something. Something that grows and spreads and I can’t get ahead of it.”
Nick thinks about that for a moment.
“You did, though. This time it seemed to me – but please don’t take what I think, because it’s all you, my love – this time didn’t seem nearly as tricky as it has been in the past. And you were already on your way out when I got home.”
Charlie looks at Nick. He reaches for Nick’s hand absently, really thinks about Nick’s question. “You’re right, I was starting to claw my way out.”
He keeps thinking, trying to put himself back to a few hours ago when he was almost falling apart. Nick strokes his hand with his thumb and when Charlie looks down, he sees Nick’s ring, looks at his own.
“I think,” he says, touching Nick’s ring, “it was this – it helped keep me grounded.”
“Say more?”
“One thing Geoff told me years ago – do you remember Geoff?”
Nick nods.
“He said sometimes having physical reminders of things could help me stay grounded. It’s why Kitty was so important to me for so long. And now that we’re engaged, this ring is…” He looks at it. “It’s like, strong, Nick. I mean, I know there’s that symbolism of rings being a circle, having no beginning and no end, so there’s that, but for me it’s more like, the metal has this permanence, like we do. And it’s beautiful, and it’s you, and it’s us. It’s been us, you and me, for so long. We’ve been through everything, Nick.”
Charlie swallows, keeps talking. “So once I felt my ring, saw the photo we have in the kitchen, it kept me from going over the edge. I twisted it over my thumb, held the metal tightly, heard your voice in my head. It was you. And it was me. And I started to come back.”
Nick’s eyes are full of tears; they shine with pride. He nods along with Charlie.
“You always do.”
Charlie holds Nick’s gaze for a long time.
And this time, when they curl together and fall asleep, Charlie thinks about his interview tomorrow, about his life, and his future, and he...
He believes.