Chapter Text
The soft thrum of the electronic drum set pulsed in Charlie’s ears, the sound vibrating through his fingers as he hit each pad with precise, measured beats. He’d been practicing for a while now—long enough that the movements felt more like muscle memory than actual effort—but there was something different about today. His kit was no longer facing the corner, where he could lose himself in the rhythm and ignore the world outside. Now, it was turned towards Nick.
Nick, sitting cross-legged on his bed, wearing that stupidly endearing look of wide-eyed fascination, his headset mirroring Charlie’s. Nick wasn’t just listening to the drumming, though. No, he was staring—staring right at him. Right at Charlie, like nothing else in the world existed.
That look. It made something twist in Charlie’s stomach, a knot of heat and nerves he wasn’t quite sure how to unravel. He was hyper-aware of it now, every movement of his hands, the way his arms flexed and muscles tensed with each strike of the drumsticks. It wasn’t just the rhythm or the music anymore—it was the way Nick’s eyes followed him, the quiet hunger in them, the way his lips parted just slightly, like he couldn’t look away if he tried.
Charlie didn’t know how to feel about that. No—scratch that. He did know. It felt… good. Too good. And maybe that was the part that scared him the most.
Nick had always made him feel special, ever since that first awkward, hesitant kiss. But this? This was different. This was Nick looking at him like he was… something more. Attractive, even. Charlie could hardly wrap his head around it. The idea that Nick—ruggedly handsome, always-smiling Nick—found him, Charlie, hot. It was a work in progress, this idea. A puzzle he wasn’t sure how to piece together without fumbling.
He’d been trying, though. Trying to understand the why of it all. It started back at the petting zoo, when Nick had been so insistent, telling Charlie how much he liked him, how much he wanted him. That had been… overwhelming, to say the least. But Nick had never wavered, not once. And now, here they were, with Nick perched on his bed like he was watching the most fascinating thing in the world.
Which, apparently, was Charlie.
He hit the snare harder, the beat coming out sharper than intended, and Nick’s eyes flicked to his hands. There it was again—that look. The one that made Charlie’s pulse stutter, that made him suddenly aware of every little movement he made. Nick was barely blinking, his gaze locked on Charlie’s hands, watching them like they were the most mesmerising thing he’d ever seen.
The kit vibrated under his hands as he transitioned into a more complex rhythm, and it wasn’t lost on him how Nick’s breath hitched, just slightly. Charlie could feel it, the weight of Nick’s attention, the way it lingered on the curve of his fingers, the grip of the drumsticks, the way his hands moved—quick, precise, but still somehow fluid. Nick had said before that Charlie looked hot when he drummed, but Charlie hadn’t really believed it. Not fully. Because who even thought about stuff like that?
But now, with Nick watching him like that—so open, so completely absorbed—Charlie started to get it. Started to believe it, if only just a little. Maybe it wasn’t about the drums at all. Maybe it was him. His chest tightened with the thought, heat creeping up his neck.
Nick’s lips parted, his gaze following every motion, and Charlie felt something flicker in his stomach—a low hum of desire, one that surprised him in its intensity. He kept his eyes on the kit, refusing to look up, but he could feel it, the slow burn of Nick’s attention settling over him like a blanket. The steady beat of his drumming matched the thrum of his pulse, fast, erratic.
It was starting to make sense now. This whole thing—Nick asking him to move the kit, asking to watch him play—it wasn’t just about the music. Nick wanted to see him. All of him.
Bloody hell. The realisation hit harder than he’d expected, knocking the rhythm off for a beat before he recovered. Nick’s gaze flicked up to meet his, just for a second, and Charlie nearly stopped breathing. The intensity in those brown eyes sent a shockwave through him, a pulse of something hot and electric. Nick’s expression was soft, open, but there was something else too—something darker, more intense. Want.
Charlie didn’t know what to do with that. With the knowledge that Nick wanted him like that. That the heat in Nick’s eyes wasn’t just admiration—it was desire. And the worst part? Charlie didn’t mind. No—he liked it. It made his skin tingle, made his hands sweat, made everything feel too much and not enough all at once.
He played through it, pushing his body to keep moving, to keep the beat steady, but his focus was shot. All he could think about was Nick. Nick’s eyes on him. Nick’s mouth, slightly open. Nick’s hands, gripping the edge of the bed like he was holding himself back.
The song came to an end, the last beat fading into silence, and Charlie set the sticks down, his heart still pounding in his chest. He could feel Nick watching him, the weight of his gaze making the air in the room feel heavier, thicker.
Charlie pulled off his headset, ruffling his hair as he turned to face Nick, willing himself to look relaxed. He could feel the warmth creeping up his neck, the faint prickle of nerves dancing under his skin, but he held Nick’s gaze, trying to keep his expression steady. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, wavering just slightly as he took in Nick’s softened, almost reverent look. The words came out light, though his fingers twisted nervously around the drumsticks.
“You really do have a thing for my hands, don’t you?”
Nick’s cheeks flushed a soft pink as he pulled off his own headset, and his eyes flickered down with a bashful smile. He didn’t deny it, not one bit, and something in Charlie’s chest swelled with warmth. They’d reached this point, this place where they could talk about these things, admit things, even if they weren’t ready to go further. They were getting there. And that felt good. Not just good—amazing.
Nick looked back up at him, lips quirking as he tried to find the words. “Okay, yeah, I do… have a bit of a thing for your hands,” he admitted, shifting on the bed, tugging on his shorts in a way that sent a wave of heat down Charlie’s spine. “But it’s not just, you know—like that.” Nick’s grin turned softer. “It’s… everything. You’re just so… expressive with them.”
Charlie bit his lip, feeling his cheeks warm as Nick spoke, letting the words wrap around him like a warm blanket.
Nick kept going, his voice a little breathless, but sure, “You’re just… good with them. When you’re drumming or drawing or even just… talking, you’re always using your hands, like… they’re this extension of you. I dunno, they’re… you.”
Charlie’s heart pounded as he let that sink in, and he found himself grinning, biting down on the inside of his lip to keep it from stretching too wide. Nick’s gaze was so sincere, so unfiltered, and even though the words were almost too much, he couldn’t get enough.
“Yeah, like… also that way,” Nick added, his cheeks flaring pink again as he shifted in place. The movement, casual but laced with an intensity that made Charlie’s skin prickle, was loaded with a hint of something he couldn’t ignore. The air between them felt charged, and Charlie held his breath, unable to stop a tiny shiver of anticipation.
He loved that they could talk like this now. Sure, it made his stomach flip and his heart stutter, but they were hinting at things—real things—without tiptoeing around them. They could say they found each other attractive, that maybe they sometimes… thought about more. About the possibilities that lingered somewhere in their minds, ideas worn into something familiar but unspoken. It felt incredible to share that with Nick, almost as good as the snogging itself.
And, maybe predictably, that’s where they ended up—pressed close together, the warmth of Nick’s mouth against his filling Charlie’s chest with a rush of something too big to name. Nick’s weight settled over him on the bed, grounding him, and his hands found Nick’s bum, his fingers flexing around it. Soft, but still firm, just like he remembered, and Nick let out a low, pleased sound, a groan that hummed into the kiss, sending a thrill through Charlie’s veins.
Nick’s hands moved up, fingers tracing under Charlie’s shirt, warm against his skin, making his breath stutter. Then Nick’s hand settled over his chest, right on his tit, and Charlie felt the slight squeeze, playful but somehow so very much intimate.
His breath caught, and Nick’s hand paused, his face still so close that Charlie could feel the soft exhale against his cheek. Nick’s eyes searched his, silent but asking, his fingers resting, waiting.
“Yeah?” he asked softly, barely a whisper.
Charlie’s voice felt trapped somewhere in his throat, but he managed to nod, the word coming out in a breathless murmur. “Yeah.”
Nick’s hands continued their gentle exploration, his fingers warm under Charlie’s shirt, brushing across skin and leaving sparks in their wake. Each touch felt like something precious, the way Nick was so careful, so utterly absorbed in him. Charlie’s grip on Nick’s bum tightened just slightly before his hand moved up Nick’s broad back, earning another breathy sound from him, the kind that made Charlie’s pulse hammer in his throat. Everything between them had this slow, almost reverent pace tonight, like they both wanted to savour every second. Ever since that day at the petting zoo, their closeness had grown bolder, reaching those delicious edges of something more—but tonight, it felt quieter. Not exactly tamer, but… intimate. Soft.
Somewhere between breaths, they shifted, limbs relaxing, hands still resting on skin but with less urgency, less of that quiet thrill that had filled the last few moments. Nick’s weight eased beside him until they lay nose to nose, faces so close Charlie could feel every faint brush of Nick’s breath on his cheek. They were wrapped up in each other now, legs tangled, Nick’s arm a solid, grounding weight across his waist.
Charlie traced slow, lazy circles along Nick’s back with his fingers, his mind already drifting to the trip tomorrow. Paris. It seemed unreal, really, this chance to go away together with so many others from their school. The idea made his stomach clench, the edges of excitement blurring with anxiety.
“So…” Charlie began softly, barely more than a murmur. “You ready for Paris?”
Nick’s eyes lit up, even in the dim light. “Yeah,” he said, the word thick with something bright and warm. “A bit nervous, I guess, but more excited. It’ll be nice to be… out there, y’know? Just you and me and—well, okay, almost the entirety of Year 10 and Year 11. But it’ll be us, properly.” Nick’s hand tightened slightly on Charlie’s waist, grounding them both.
Charlie swallowed, nodding. Us. Yeah. It would be the two of them—together. Properly. Only this time, it was public. This wasn’t just being out online or with their small circle. It would be for everyone to see. A nervous prickle crawled up his spine, a ghost of Year 9 whispers and cruel laughter echoing in his head. But he pushed those thoughts down, keeping his expression calm, relaxed. Nick didn’t need to know all that.
“It’ll be great,” he said, and he tried to mean it, tried to infuse the words with the confidence he knew Nick needed to hear. “Our friends know, and… they’re good. Most of the rugby team’s good. And if people like Harry or Ben are… you know, being cocks, well…” He trailed off, managing a little smile. “It’s the two of us against the world.”
Nick smiled back, eyes soft, and for a moment, it was just them, wrapped up in the warmth and safety of this little cocoon they’d made. But Charlie’s mind kept circling back, worry nibbling at the edges of his resolve. Nick deserved this—this sense of freedom, this chance to just… be. It had to be good for him. Needed to be good for him, because that feeling of coming out had been anything but good for Charlie. He’d stumbled through it with bruised ribs and darker nights than he wanted to remember.
Nick’s fingers brushed along his side, bringing him back to the present. “You really are nervous, aren’t you, darling?”
Charlie opened his mouth to respond but hesitated. He wanted to say, no, not really, but Nick’s gaze held a soft determination, the kind that told him there was no point hiding it. So he gave a little shrug instead. “A bit. But I’ll be fine,” he said. “It’s Paris. We’re going with friends. It’ll be fun.”
“Yeah,” Nick murmured, his voice full of something tender. “And… we’ve got each other, right?”
Charlie’s chest swelled, a mix of joy and protectiveness tangling inside him. They did have each other—Nick, always so warm and steady, and Charlie, still trying to believe he could be someone strong enough to hold onto this. “Right,” he whispered, nudging his nose against Nick’s. It’ll be okay. It has to be.
He kept that thought close as Nick closed the gap between them, brushing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips, like a quiet promise.
Charlie was still basking in the warmth of Nick beside him, his body soft and relaxed, when a low knock sounded from the door—followed immediately by his dad’s face peeking through the small crack. He was barely surprised to see Nick still there, tangled up with his son, but his eyebrows lifted in a bemused, slightly reproachful way. Charlie felt his ears heat up as his dad gave a quick, pointed knock on the doorframe that he’d already opened, his gaze landing meaningfully on the two of them.
“Charlie,” his dad said, barely hiding a smirk, “remember the door stays open when Nick’s over.”
Charlie managed an awkward nod, grateful that at least it was his dad and not his mum. There was something in the quiet amusement in his dad’s eyes that made him feel safe, as if he were saying, I see you, but I’m not about to make it weird. He’d take that over his mum’s wide-eyed surprise any day.
“Got it, Dad,” Charlie mumbled, not moving an inch from where Nick’s arm was still draped over him.
His dad gave them one last raised eyebrow, then nodded toward the door. “Alright, boys, long day tomorrow. Nick, let’s get you headed home so you two can actually get some sleep.”
Nick groaned, halfway out of the bed, before flopping back on top of Charlie, pressing a sloppy, exaggerated kiss to his cheek, which made Charlie squirm and laugh as his dad let out an amused sigh from the doorway. When Nick finally pulled himself up, mumbling a quick “G’night, babe,” he brushed his hand down Charlie’s arm before following Charlie’s dad out, leaving Charlie grinning and sinking into his duvet, which smelt faintly of Nick.
And as the door closed and his dad gave him a wink from the hallway, Charlie buried his head in his pillow, groaning at the utter mortification of it all, though he couldn’t hide the smile stretching across his face.
Sleep came surprisingly easy that night, warm and tinged with a soft happiness, but morning arrived too soon, dragging him out of his dreams with a crash of noise from the kitchen.
Charlie pulled himself out of bed, rubbing his eyes and heading toward the whirlwind that was his family in the mornings, especially with Olly wailing on the stairs, “Charlie! Don’t gooooo!”
His mum was already setting out bowls and toast on the table, checking her watch, while his dad dashed up and down the stairs, calling out last-minute reminders to everyone in a voice that sounded somewhere between concerned and panicked.
“Charlie, have you packed your chargers?” his dad asked for what felt like the tenth time, practically juggling Charlie’s duffel bag down the stairs.
“Yes, Dad, everything’s packed,” Charlie said, not for the first time, barely concealing a grin.
Tori appeared, bleary-eyed and looking distinctly unimpressed. She leant against the wall, coffee mug in hand, her dishevelled hair a testament to how early it was. “What time even is it?” she muttered, scowling at everyone with a glare that could probably melt glass.
“Nearly seven,” their mum answered, brushing past her to help get Charlie’s things together. “And you’ll miss your brother soon enough, Tori.”
“Doubtful,” Tori replied, though she softened for a moment, giving Charlie an encouraging twitch of her lips.
Meanwhile, Olly clung to Charlie’s waist, looking up at him with big, wet eyes that nearly undid him. “I don’t want you to go, Charlie!” he sniffed, his small fists clutching the fabric of Charlie’s shirt.
“Hey, I’ll be back in a week, yeah?” Charlie said, crouching down to ruffle Olly’s hair. “I’ll bring you something from Paris.”
“Promise?” Olly asked, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.
“Promise,” Charlie said, holding up his pinky. Olly linked their fingers together, satisfied, but his face still creased with worry.
“All set?” their mum asked, her gaze flickering over the bags, then back to Charlie with a slight frown, as if she still couldn’t quite let him go. “You’ve got everything?”
“Yes, Mum,” Charlie said, trying to ignore the tight feeling in his chest at the way she looked at him, like he was still six and not a year shy of sixteen.
“Okay,” she sighed, her voice softer. “But remember, it’s not like you can just come back home if you’ve forgotten something. I don’t fancy sending any extra money your way if you run out of clean pants. If you need to buy some, it comes out of your allowance.”
Charlie rolled his eyes, smiling as he hefted his bag. “I know. I’ll survive.”
As they headed toward the car, Charlie bent down to give Olly one last hug, but his little brother clung tight, face buried against Charlie’s chest. “Olly, I have to go,” Charlie murmured, half laughing, half touched, as he tried to pry him loose.
Olly only tightened his grip, muttering a muffled, “Don’t go, Char…”
“Come on, Olls,” Tori said, reaching over to gently ease him back. “You’ll get him all to yourself when he’s back.”
With a huff, Olly finally let go, his eyes shiny but resigned as Tori gave Charlie a small, approving nod. Charlie slipped into the backseat, waving at them through the window as his parents pulled away from the curb. A swell of excitement and nerves mixed in his stomach, and he couldn’t quite believe it. Paris was just a bus ride away.
The school lot was a hive of activity, with two massive double-deckers lined up in a row, chaperones waving clipboards, and parents milling around like anxious bees. Charlie’s stomach twisted as he scanned the crowd, the early morning chill sinking through his clothes. But then, through the sea of students and luggage, he spotted him—Nick. Even from across the car park, Nick stood out, golden hair catching the light, and the sight sent a thrill of warmth straight through him.
Then Nick saw him, and his face split into a wide, utterly heart-melting grin. Within seconds, he was making a beeline for Charlie, weaving through parents and students with barely a pause. Before Charlie could even process, Nick was right there, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pressing a quick, warm kiss to his lips.
The whole world seemed to fall away, just for that moment. Nick’s mouth was soft, gentle, and everything familiar. Charlie let himself melt into it, just for a breath. But as they pulled apart, the warmth shifted, replaced by an awareness prickling over his skin—the eyes on them, the subtle but unmistakable whispers. He could practically feel the stares, and his cheeks flushed as his eyes darted around. And there, of course, were his parents, standing next to the car, his mum looking surprised, his dad watching with a mildly bemused smile.
Nick must have sensed his sudden discomfort because he stepped back, giving him space, his expression softer now. “Want me to grab your bag for you, darling?” he asked, voice casual but with that light lilt of humour, like he knew it would make Charlie’s insides twist in that good, heart-flipping way.
“Yeah, okay,” Charlie mumbled, trying to muster a smile as he turned back toward his parents. His mum was already at his side, fussing over his hoodie and collar, then licking her finger to wipe a speck of toothpaste from the corner of his mouth. Charlie barely stifled a grimace, casting a quick look at Nick, who was politely pretending not to notice.
“Remember to call us when you’re all settled in, alright?” his dad said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. Charlie managed a nod, caught between embarrassment and affection. His dad’s hand lingered just a second too long before he finally stepped back.
As Charlie turned, Nick was there, already hefting his bag with an exaggerated flourish, bowing a little like some old-fashioned gentleman. “Shall I, good sir?” Nick said with a grin, eyes sparkling with playful mischief.
“Cut it out, you dork,” Charlie muttered, though he couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him. Nick’s dramatic bow only added to the ridiculousness, and he managed to stifle his grin as Nick turned to lift the bag into the compartment. But as Nick bent over, his shorts clinging just right, Charlie’s eyes drifted—almost instinctively—downward. There it was, Nick’s gloriously perfect bum, positioned at exactly the right angle to be absolutely unfair.
When Nick stood up again, he shot Charlie a knowing, utterly smug look. It had clearly been deliberate. Charlie’s face flushed as he glared, trying to look unimpressed. “You’re such an utter cock,” he muttered, his voice somewhere between exasperated and giddy.
Nick only grinned wider, leaning in to plant a quick, breath-stealing kiss on his lips. “Can’t help it if my boyfriend’s completely obsessed with my bum,” he whispered, the low tease sending a delightful shiver through Charlie’s spine.
They boarded the bus, Charlie hyper-aware of the whispers around them. It was a mixture of curiosity, surprise, and… well, he couldn’t quite read it all. But Nick’s hand brushed his as they walked down the aisle, warm and reassuring. And despite the twinge of nerves, something steadied in him.
Charlie settled into a seat near the back of the upper deck, with Nick pressed close beside him, the warmth of his leg brushing against Charlie’s in a way that made his stomach do quiet flips. He let himself lean into that feeling, even as nerves still fluttered around the edges. Nick’s hand drifted over to his, and their fingers intertwined. Charlie glanced over to find Nick watching him, eyes soft, that familiar warmth in his gaze. Nick leant in, pressing a quick, gentle kiss to his lips. When Charlie shot him an inquisitive look, he murmured, “Just wanted to,” before pulling back with a small, satisfied smile.
Before Charlie could properly respond, Aled appeared, plopping into the window seat across the aisle from them. He gave a wry smile, crossing his arms. “So, it’s non-stop snogging now, is it? Gotta say, it’s adorable. Happy for you two.”
Charlie’s cheeks flushed, but he managed a small grin, squeezing Nick’s hand just a little tighter. “Thanks, Aled,” he said, hoping his voice didn’t sound as giddy as he felt.
Aled gave them an approving nod, settling into his seat and pulling out his phone. Just then, Elle arrived, slipping into the seat beside Aled, her expression a mix of amusement and frustration. “I swear, I am never trusting Tao again,” she announced, sighing heavily as she tossed her bag onto her lap. “His alarm didn’t go off, and he hadn’t even packed properly. Had to get him moving like it was some kind of emergency drill.”
Aled chuckled. “Maybe this will be the lesson he finally remembers,” he said, earning a dramatic scoff from Elle.
“He even promised he’d pack last night! See if I ever believe that again,” she muttered, rolling her eyes but clearly more amused than genuinely annoyed. She saved the seat behind them for Tao, casting a quick look over her shoulder as if expecting him to come dashing onto the bus any moment.
A few minutes later, Tara and Darcy came bounding up the steps, Darcy’s eyes lighting up as she spotted Nick and Charlie. “Oh, look at them, Tara! Worthy gay-in-laws,” she proclaimed, loud enough for a few glances to dart their way. “Snogging in front of the whole school like scandalous degenerates—children were gasping, mothers were clasping their pearls, and fathers—well, they were probably choking on their cigars.”
Aled cast a glance out the window. “Pretty sure there aren’t any cigars in sight, Darcy.”
Darcy waved him off, unbothered. “Oh, they materialised for the scandalised display, trust me.” Charlie shifted, cheeks warming again as Darcy grinned unrepentantly. But Tara, rolling her eyes fondly, pulled her girlfriend back to their seats and offered Charlie a gentle smile.
“You’re incorrigible,” she whispered to Darcy, who grinned wider, entirely pleased with herself.
Isaac followed soon after, settling in beside Tao’s saved seat with a grin. “So, anyone want to come bookstore hunting in Paris with me?” he asked, glancing around hopefully. “I’ve been wanting to check out this shop—it’s supposed to be one of the best.”
Aled perked up immediately. “I’m in.” He looked over at Nick and Charlie. “You two?”
“Definitely,” Nick said with a smile, nudging Charlie’s shoulder.
“Yeah, count me in,” Charlie said, feeling a twinge of excitement that cut through his nerves. A bookshop sounded exactly like the kind of quiet escape he’d appreciate.
As they talked, Imogen arrived, practically bouncing up the steps with a girl in tow who she introduced as Sahar. “Guys, this is Sahar! She’s my roommate for the trip,” Imogen announced, her voice as bright as the morning sunlight streaming through the windows. She talked at a mile a minute, recounting everything she’d packed, her excitement about seeing the Eiffel Tower, and her plans for breakfast pastries each morning in Paris.
Charlie was both amused and grateful for her enthusiasm. For a moment, with Imogen’s bright energy filling the space, he didn’t feel the other eyes on him and Nick. Her chatter earned a few annoyed glances from further up the bus, but their group didn’t seem to mind. In fact, Nick flashed Charlie a small, understanding smile, as if he’d picked up on the tiny sigh of relief.
A little later, Christian, Sai, and Otis arrived, taking the seats in front of them. Sai caught Charlie’s eye, waggling his brows before letting out a loud, exaggerated sigh. Christian rolled his eyes, giving Nick and Charlie a sympathetic look. “Ignore him. He’s just a bit of a lout,” he said, shoving Sai lightly. Sai grinned, unfazed.
And then, as the last of the parents were beginning to leave, a sudden commotion caught their attention. Charlie looked out the window just in time to see the Xu family car hurtling into the car park, Tao himself looking thoroughly dishevelled as he stumbled out of the car, hauling his suitcase behind him in a mad rush. They watched as he flung it into the luggage compartment of the bus beside theirs and dashed up the steps.
Elle’s phone buzzed, and she snickered, typing a quick message into the group chat. A minute later, Tao re-emerged from the wrong bus, his face reddening as he finally jogged over to theirs, wheezing as he stumbled into the seat beside Isaac and collapsed against his shoulder.
Their laughter bubbled up all at once, filling the back of the bus, and Tao let out a groan, burying his face in his hands. “You’re all horrible,” he muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched as he tried—and failed—to suppress a grin.
With everyone settled in, their friends surrounding them like a warm, protective bubble, Charlie felt a sense of ease, even as nerves buzzed quietly under his skin. The chatter was light and familiar, laughs bouncing around their little corner of the bus, but there was a strange, distant feeling settling over him, like he was just a beat off from the rest of the group’s rhythm.
And then he saw him—Ben, stepping onto the upper deck, his gaze immediately zeroing in on Charlie, eyes dark and fixed. A chill crept down Charlie’s spine, and he instinctively shrank into his seat, memories flaring up like old bruises that hadn’t quite faded. Ben’s pretty words and polished smirks, his hands pressing too tight, the wall against Charlie’s back when he’d said no, the times Ben had found him, cornered him, made his heart pound in all the worst ways.
Beside him, Nick must have felt the tension ripple through him, because he squeezed Charlie’s hand, grounding him. Nick’s thumb traced a small, soothing circle, pulling him back, and Charlie met his gaze, grateful for the anchor. Nick’s eyes followed Charlie’s line of sight to Ben, and his expression darkened. He sent a sharp, nasty glare Ben’s way, one that wiped the smirk right off Ben’s face, making him falter for a moment before he regained himself.
Imogen squealed from across the aisle, waving Ben over, much to Charlie’s dismay. Ben hesitated, glancing between Imogen and their group, but at her insistent gestures, he finally made his way down the aisle. As soon as he reached her seat, Imogen jumped up and kissed him. Ben’s mouth curled in a half-smile, but his eyes darted to Charlie even as he kissed her, something dark and unsettling in his gaze that made Charlie want to disappear into the seat cushions.
Nick shifted beside him, subtly positioning himself between Charlie and Ben. Charlie let out a soft, shuddering breath, snuggling further into Nick’s side, finding solace in his steady presence. “Thanks,” he murmured, his voice barely audible above the hum of the bus. Nick pressed a gentle kiss into his curls, a silent promise that he was here, that Charlie wasn’t alone in facing these ghosts.
And then, with a proud grin, Imogen turned to the group. “Oh! I meant to tell you guys earlier—Ben and I are dating now!”
There was a brief, stunned pause before congratulations erupted from their friends. Aled offered a warm smile, Elle and Darcy both cooed in delight, and even Tao gave an exaggerated nod of approval. Nick and Charlie forced smiles, exchanging a glance that said everything neither of them could say aloud. Only they knew what Ben really was—the parts of him that had pushed too far, the quiet harm he’d woven into Charlie’s life.
Ben, still holding Imogen’s hand, glanced over the row of heads and shrugged, muttering about there not being enough room before slipping further up the aisle. Charlie’s eyes followed him, noticing Harry sitting close by, arms crossed and scowling at their group, his eyes sharp and fixed. Harry threw a dark look at Christian, Sai, and Otis, who were too busy chatting to notice the glower aimed their way.
A heavy tension settled over Charlie as Nick leant close, voice low. “You think… I mean, Imogen and Ben?” Nick’s voice was laced with quiet concern, his brows drawn together.
Charlie sighed, biting his lip as he considered his answer. “Yeah, I know. It’s… not great,” he whispered back. The thought of saying something, of warning her, hovered at the edge of his mind, but the weight of Ben’s stare was enough to keep him quiet. Any hint would be too revealing, too risky.
They shared a brief, tense look, both knowing exactly how powerless they were in this, how one word out of place would mean dragging everything into the open—outing Ben, and, worse, the memories Charlie had fought so hard to bury. They were stuck, both of them bound by the weight of secrets they couldn’t share.
“Oi, you two,” Tao’s voice broke the moment, smirking at them from across the aisle. “Could you be any more lovey-dovey?”
The comment drew laughs from around them, and even Nick chuckled, his hand squeezing Charlie’s a little tighter. Charlie tried to join in, but the laughter caught in his throat, the familiar pressure building in his chest as more eyes drifted their way, full of smiles and jokes he was struggling to mirror.
But he took a breath, holding onto Nick’s warmth beside him, and managed a small, wavering smile. He could keep it together. For Nick, for himself. He had to.
The final count was called, and after Mr Ajayi’s slightly exaggerated but entirely charming safety announcement, the buses rumbled to life. Outside, parents waved them off, some calling out last-minute reminders and goodbyes. Charlie’s mum gave an enthusiastic wave he could just about make out from the window, and for a moment, something soft and small settled in his chest, an unexpected comfort. Then the bus lurched forward, the engine’s vibrations buzzing faintly through the glass.
Excitement filled the bus, an electric charge in the air. Voices blended into a blur of chatter and laughter, with occasional squeals or groans from somewhere in their group, every reaction adding to the giddy energy of this impending adventure. But as the drive stretched on, that early buzz of energy softened, simmering down as everyone found their own way to settle into the journey.
Around him, their friends divided into smaller clusters. Isaac and Tao, sharing Tao’s iPad, were fully engrossed in some animated movie, Tao occasionally tossing popcorn into Isaac’s mouth with questionable accuracy. Elle had pulled out a ball of yarn and a pair of crochet needles, and Charlie watched as she showed Aled how to hold them, her hands guiding his as they crafted small loops and chains. Otis, Christian, and Sai had arranged themselves in a makeshift gaming group, Switch controllers in hand, eyes flicking up now and then to shout good-natured insults or cheer each other on. Tara was curled up against Darcy, attempting to read, her focus occasionally disrupted by Darcy’s excited whispering.
Charlie sighed, letting himself lean back into the seat. He could almost relax. Nick was tucked close against his side, their fingers intertwined, and every so often, Nick’s hand would give his a gentle squeeze, grounding him. It was one of the things Charlie loved most about being with Nick, how they seemed to gravitate toward each other without needing words, always finding a way to bridge any gap, no matter how small.
But the warmth of Nick’s presence wasn’t enough to chase away the unease prickling at him, that vague, restless feeling settling like static in his chest. He could sense the eyes on them—not just glancing, but lingering, studying, taking something unspoken and quiet from him. It was the same unease he’d felt back when he was still trying to fade into the background, to avoid the looks that dissected and judged, sometimes cruelly, often carelessly.
Harry’s gaze drifted over their group more than once, cold and calculating, stirring flashes of bruised shoulders, and lockers that seemed to close in on him from all sides. Charlie tensed, the memories hovering just out of reach, and Nick must have felt it because his thumb started brushing small, reassuring circles against the back of his hand. It helped, but the knot in Charlie’s stomach remained stubbornly tight.
And then there was Ben, further up the aisle, his attention flitting toward them with an intensity that made Charlie’s skin crawl. Every look was a reminder, a fresh scrape across his memories of the times Ben had treated him like he was nothing. Nothing worth protecting. Nothing worth caring about. He could still feel the echo of that hollow ache, the way Ben’s careless words had left him feeling raw and exposed, as if every flaw and insecurity had been stripped bare.
Charlie shifted closer to Nick, subtly tucking himself further into the space between them. His gaze dropped to their joined hands, focusing on the comforting warmth, the way Nick’s fingers fit against his. He took a deep breath, letting that steadying presence pull him back, inch by inch, toward the present.
They were here together, after all. And no matter how many eyes lingered or what memories clawed their way back, Charlie repeated to himself that Nick was with him. They were here, wrapped up in a protective circle of friends who wouldn’t let either of them face those shadows alone.
The bus ride seemed endless, and somewhere halfway through Hauts-de-France, traffic came to a sluggish, miserable halt. The stillness inched along, creeping through the hours until any nerves or anxiety Charlie had left him too drained to stay awake. He let his head rest against Nick’s shoulder, his body folding easily into Nick’s warmth, and drifted off into a light, comfortable slumber. Every so often, he’d surface halfway, the soft press of Nick’s lips against his temple pulling him back into a gentle, dreamy haze, or Nick’s hand massaging small circles into his hip, easing away any cramped muscles from the cramped seats. Nick’s presence wrapped around him like a shield, warding off the hum of noise and movement until he fell fully asleep.
By the time the bus finally pulled up to the hotel in Paris, the sun was dipping low, casting the city in a warm, dusky glow that reflected off the buildings like something from a painting. The early morning excitement had drained into a kind of tired grumpiness that settled over the entire group as they grabbed their bags, shuffling inside. Charlie shot off a quick message to his dad to let him know they’d arrived safely. He knew his parents would be waiting to hear, even if the response was just an okay or a thumbs-up emoji from his dad.
The hotel lobby was sleek and modern, but with a hint of classic Parisian charm—polished marble floors, deep red accents, and golden fixtures that gleamed under the soft, warm lighting. Their group clustered together with their bags near the lobby seating as Misters Farouk and Ajayi went to the desk to sort out their reservation. Charlie shifted his bag beside Nick’s, stifling a yawn. His stomach rumbled, hunger replacing his earlier nerves, though he could tell everyone else was equally worn out, too. He could almost feel the collective ache for a proper meal and a soft bed, something solid after the endless stretch of cramped seats and highway stops.
But the momentary peace in the lobby didn’t last. A few kids from school, people he vaguely recognised but had never really spoken to, started approaching him and Nick, their curious eyes darting between them like they were some sort of exhibit. The questions came in quick succession, one after another.
"So, how did you guys, like, tell your parents?"
“What’s it like… being out and stuff?”
“Is it hard, you know, to, like, be in public?”
It wasn’t malicious, just clumsy curiosity, but each question felt like a little prick, a reminder that even here, among kids they knew, they were a spectacle, something strange to be studied. Nick’s hand found his, squeezing gently, but even that grounding touch couldn’t quite ease the twisting discomfort in Charlie’s stomach.
The fourth person—a girl he barely recognised from Maths—had just launched into a question about their relationship when Isaac stepped in, quiet but firm, cutting through the air with a blunt, “Give them some space, yeah?” He waved her off, guiding her back toward her own group with the kind of deadpan efficiency only Isaac could pull off, and Charlie felt a rush of gratitude. But by the time a fifth person tried to sidle over, their friends had clearly had enough.
One by one, they subtly formed a wall, spreading out around him and Nick like they were just casually finding seats, Christian, Sai, and Otis slipping into place with an ease that Charlie could only marvel at. He wanted to hug them, to tell them how grateful he was, but instead, he leant closer to Nick, letting his friend group’s quiet solidarity sink in.
Even with their protective bubble, though, the stares and questions had left a bitter taste, a queasy churn in his stomach that had quickly overtaken any hunger he’d had. He found himself shrinking a bit, the familiar, nagging dread resurfacing in the pit of his stomach. He squeezed Nick’s hand, forcing himself to take a breath, but even the thought of dinner felt heavy, something he could barely stomach anymore.
Nick noticed—of course, he did—and leant close, pressing a soft kiss to his temple, his voice a low murmur. “Hey, we’re alright,” he whispered. “We’ll be up in our room soon, just us, yeah?”
Charlie nodded, letting that promise settle around him like a quiet balm. For a second, he closed his eyes, focusing on Nick’s warmth beside him and the steady hum of his friends around him, waiting for the churning in his stomach to settle, even just a little.
By the time they were finally handed their room keys, Charlie could barely muster any more interest in the details. Something about school trip miscommunication and worries about teenagers disturbing the hotel guests. French nonsense, if you asked him, and all he wanted was a door that closed, walls that separated them from the world, and maybe just a small chance to be himself. As they rode the elevator up, he clung to Nick’s hand, feeling that tugging thread of excitement weave through the exhaustion.
Their room was simple but spacious, with two double beds and a single, a closet, and a large window taking up one wall. It overlooked a courtyard instead of the Eiffel Tower or some stunning cityscape, but Charlie couldn’t have cared less. He dropped his bag and sat down on the bed closest to the window, his hand still tangled with Nick’s, and his heart did a strange little flutter at the thought of the two of them sharing a bed. Nick looked over at him, an equally thrilled glint in his eye, and Charlie felt a bubble of laughter escape his chest.
Nick wiggled his eyebrows in the cheesiest way imaginable. “We’re actually sharing a bed in Paris. This is… like, ridiculously cool,” he said, unable to keep from grinning as he flopped onto the mattress beside Charlie.
“It really is,” Charlie agreed, his own smile breaking out as he settled beside Nick. It felt like a secret, something they’d planned to sneak away with. Just the two of them in this new, beautiful place, without the constant weight of stares or whispers.
Isaac plopped his bag on the single bed, unperturbed as always, and Tao and Aled claimed the last double bed, Tao stretching out immediately as if he’d been deprived of oxygen the entire trip.
As everyone unpacked, Charlie found himself torn. The idea of heading down to the hotel restaurant—to eat in full view of everyone, to endure more glances and probing questions—felt about as appealing as wandering around the Louvre barefoot. It was like his stomach was tangled up in knots at the mere thought.
Nick glanced over, catching his reluctance with that quiet understanding Charlie had come to rely on. “Darling, you okay?” Nick asked softly, moving closer, his hand a reassuring weight on Charlie’s arm.
Charlie shrugged, trying to brush it off. “Just… tired, I guess. Don’t really feel like… going down there, you know?” It was only half the truth, but it felt close enough.
Nick’s brow furrowed for a second, but then he gave a small, understanding nod. “Wait here, yeah?” He slipped out of the room as the others headed for the restaurant, leaving Charlie alone in the quiet for a few minutes. And then, just when Charlie began to wonder what he was doing, Nick returned, arms overflowing with snacks—crisps, chocolate bars, some kind of packaged pastry.
Charlie’s heart swelled at the sight, and he let out a disbelieving laugh. “You raided a vending machine?”
“Every last bit,” Nick replied, looking entirely too proud of himself. “Come on, Char. Let’s set up by the window. Paris picnic for two, yeah?”
With a grin, Charlie nodded, helping Nick arrange their makeshift dinner on the small ledge near the window. The courtyard below was quiet, only a few faint noises filtering up, and as he unwrapped a packet of crisps, Charlie’s stomach unclenched just a little. The food still tasted a bit bland, but Nick made it bearable, laughing and grinning like this was some great adventure they’d planned all along.
Nick held up a crisp between two fingers, angling it towards Charlie’s mouth in an exaggerated swoop. “Incoming airplane, open up!” he said, and Charlie rolled his eyes, grabbing his wrist to stop him.
“I swear, I’m going to punch you,” he mumbled, trying not to laugh.
Nick clutched his chest, feigning hurt. “Such cruelty. And here I thought I was being romantic.”
Charlie couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up, and with a resigned grin, he let Nick feed him the crisp, rolling his eyes again. “You’re ridiculous.”
Nick flashed him that wide, soft smile, and the warmth of it seeped into Charlie, slow and steady, wrapping around him until he couldn’t imagine anything else he’d rather be doing. They laughed and talked about nothing, munching their way through crisps and chocolate, with Nick pressing small, playful kisses to his cheek whenever the conversation lulled.
When they finally climbed into bed, snuggling into the same sheets, the world outside faded away. Nick’s arm wrapped securely around him, the steady rise and fall of his chest a comforting rhythm against Charlie’s back. For the first time all day, Charlie felt his nerves settle, replaced by a quiet sense of peace.
The night pressed close around them, but none of it mattered now. Only Nick, his warmth and his heartbeat, their soft whispers filling the quiet space they’d carved out just for them. And as Charlie drifted into sleep, he held onto that feeling, hoping it would be enough to carry him through whatever awaited them tomorrow.
