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Charlie groaned his way to wakefulness and pulled the duvet up over his head, hoping he could escape back into whatever he'd been dreaming about. He couldn't recall the details, but his muzzy brain knew it had been nice — much nicer than the chilly reality of his flat three days before Christmas. Outside, traffic trundled by under his window, and kids on the pavement shouted at each other as they splashed in puddles, dads loudly fussing at them not to ruin their clothes. He gave up on going back to sleep and threw off the covers.
His face in the mirror looked bleary, hungover, remnants of glitter and eyeliner smeared across his skin. A little hint of gold sparkle had transferred to the collar of the jumper he was wearing.
Nick's jumper.
Nick's Leeds University jumper.
It was all he was wearing apart from his pants and a pair of fuzzy socks, the ones with the penguins in Santa hats. Also a gift from Nick. His chest clenched. God, he was pathetic. James had practically dragged him out by the hair to a Christmas party, plied him with drinks, and forced him onto the dance floor, trying his best to stop Charlie spiralling over how different this Christmas was from last year. And Charlie had tried; really, he had gamely tried to have fun — or, at least, not be a drag. He had danced with a few men, even let one buy him a drink, but he'd refused to give out his number or be led into the alley to get better acquainted. Shortly after midnight, James had signalled him from across the club that he'd found a ride home for the evening. Charlie had waited until he was sure James was gone before he snuck out as well.
He had only the vaguest memories after that. Warm white wine, watching The Holiday and crying, snuggling into warm comfy clothes, and stalking his last three hookups on Instagram. Well, at least he hadn't sent any regrettable texts.
Except…
…oh, fuck.
Fuck, fuck, shit, fuck, no, nononononono. No.
Yes
There it was, in the messages tab of Instagram, Nick's account right at the top. Sent at 2:08am: an image of him wearing Nick's hoodie and the words 'I miss you.’ And, underneath, the word Seen.
Charlie dropped his phone and hugged his knees. It was noon. He had sent that message almost ten hours ago, and no response. That was probably for the best, right? Nick was just doing him the courtesy of ignoring his desperate drunken missive. Why was he like this??
He needed a shower, a shower and a gallon of water, and preferably some blunt force trauma that would cause him to forget any and all acts of the last twelve hours. Also some toast. Or a muffin. First though, a shower.
Once he was clean and glitter-free, he pulled on a pair of corduroys and a clean tee, and then found himself staring at Nick's jumper for a full minute before sighing and pulling it back on. He fired up the moka pot and chugged a glass of water while the coffee brewed. Since it was past noon, Charlie decided to forego breakfast and instead tucked into a takeaway box of leftover pasta cold, hoping the carbs and congealed alfredo sauce would help soak up the previous night's overindulgence.
Charlie cautiously picked up his phone again, not that he was expecting anything from Nick. Of course not. But he might have other messages. Indeed, James had checked in to see if he was alright; Tao wanted to confirm that they were still on for their annual watch of The Muppet Christmas Carol; Isaac had a book recommendation; UNICEF wondered would he help feed starving children this holiday; Mum wanted to know if he was absolutely certain he wasn't going to make it for Boxing Day brunch this year; Olly wanted to let him know exactly what he thought of the plan not to show for Boxing Day brunch; his local was offering a Boxing Day buffet; James checked in again, slightly more urgently. But nothing whatsoever from Nick.
Which was fair; what hadn't been fair was the way Charlie had ended things, abruptly and painfully, when Nick had decided to keep his job in Leeds despite Charlie finding a job in London after finishing his degree, just like they'd been planning for years. Years. Because what was the point in saying they were going to be together if they were never going to be together. Long distance only worked if it had an expiration date. 'Someday' was not good enough.
Stop it, he scolded himself. It was Sunday. Sunday meant doing the washing and the sweeping and pressing his chinos for the work week — yes, even if he was only working two days, on Zoom. He could castigate himself some more while doing all those things instead of allowing himself to stare into the middle distance. Charlie put on some music, changed his bed linens, scrubbed out the sink, threw a few quid to UNICEF, swept the dropped needles from his little Norway Spruce and plugged in the strand of coloured lights in the hopes that it would improve his mood. He flipped his playlist from moany indie to pop Christmas hits from his younger days, and there was no one to witness him using the broom as a microphone to croon along with Michael Bublé. There, he told himself, there was an upside to being alone.
A little after two, just as he was getting around to composing an answer to James, there was a knock on the door. James must have gotten worried after not hearing from him all day and was escalating in response. Charlie finished folding the last of his clean towels and patted the stack before moving to answer the door.
"Hi."
Nick stood on the other side of the door, one hand on the back of his neck. He was sporting a tight auburn beard, which was new, and an old Christmas jumper Charlie had bought for him three years ago. "Hi," Charlie managed to whisper back after blinking at Nick for a very long time.
"I... um, I miss you, too."
Charlie sucked in a breath and grabbed Nick's arm, hauling him over the threshold and slamming the door shut. "You're really here."
"Yeah, I saw your message when I woke up this morning, and I thought about how to respond for a while, and then I just.... Well, I mean, here I am."
"Here you are," Charlie repeated, and then noticed that he hadn't released Nick's arm. Nick's strong arm, which was attached to the rest of Nick, who was standing on his carpet looking almost as surprised to find himself there as Charlie was.
"We should probably talk," Nick said.
"Right. I'll put the kettle on. You've been on the road for hours." His voice sounded strange to him.
"That's a good idea," Nick agreed. But he didn't move, and Charlie didn't drop his grip on Nick's arm, and then that arm was moving so Nick could settle a hand on Charlie's hip, and his other hand cupped Charlie's face, and Charlie's heart thudded in his ears, because it was eight months since he had last kissed Nick Nelson.
“We really do need to talk,” Charlie whispered after thoroughly reacquainting himself with Nick’s lips and neck, and introducing himself to the beard, and deciding he very much approved of the way it tickled against his skin.
“Yeah, we do,” Nick said as Charlie led him past his shimmering tree to the bedroom.
Talking could wait, Charlie decided as he pulled Nick’s jumper off and let his ex’s weight settle over him. Nick was warm and familiar and knew where to touch him and where not to. Seeing other people hadn’t been entirely terrible. He’d had some fun times, but it was exhausting having to redirect men to the best place on his neck, to correct them to roll his nipples not pinch them, to get the angle just right. Nick knew all the right spots, and seemed keen on rediscovering them.
“I put in a transfer request,” he announced as he traced his fingers over Charlie’s stomach.
“What, in the last twelve hours?”
Nick laughed. “No, last month. Because you were right. I was so stupid. And I couldn't stand it any longer.”
Charlie felt a bit dizzy, but he really didn’t want to bring down the mood, especially not when Nick was unfastening his trousers. “God, you telling me I was right is never not hot,” he teased instead. “Tell me more about how right I was.”
Nick reached into Charlie’s pants and slowly stroked him. Charlie temporarily forgot about his request and was startled when Nick started speaking. “I was just so proud of myself that I’d gotten the job, and I wanted to be a good worker for them, and they offered me this pay rise, and I thought, they gave me a chance, I can’t leave after just one year, and we’ve done this for so long now, what’s another year or two, because now I owe them, and I didn’t understand why you couldn’t understand that, but then I had all this time without you, and I was so angry that at first it was sort of okay, well, not okay, but it gave me something to prove. But then the anger faded and I just—“
Charlie cut him off with a kiss, feeling overwhelmed and slightly worried that he might burst into tears. “Are you getting the transfer?”
Nick’s eyes were wet, too. “I don’t know. They said we would discuss it after the holidays, but I was going to move back to London either way, find a new job if I had to. And then I would figure out how to win you back. I had plans.”
Charlie kicked his corduroys down and off his legs, spreading them to give Nick more room to work. “I want to hear about these plans.”
“No. They were all stupid. I needed better ones. And then you sent me that picture wearing the socks.”
“The socks!? It was the socks that did it for you?” Charlie blinked at him. “Speaking of which, you are wearing too many clothes.”
Nick gently released him and stood to take his clothes off, and Charlie took advantage of the pause to reach into the bedside table and dropped the bottle of lube and a box of condoms on the duvet. If Nick noticed that both containers had clearly been opened before, he didn’t mention it. He just warmed some lube with his fingers before running them up and down Charlie's shaft, explaining as he did.
“I woke up this morning, and it started out like a perfectly normal Sunday morning and then I saw there was a message from you. And I saw the timestamp and you had glitter on your face, so I knew you’d been out, and I thought maybe you were just messing with me, but then I saw the socks, and I don’t know, I knew you meant it. Because, like, if you were just trying to remind me how beautiful you are and how stupid I was, you wouldn’t have worn them.”
“I did mean it.” Nick was warm and naked and in his arms, and Charlie wondered if there was still some alcohol in his system from the night before because he felt that intoxicated sense of softness around his edges. “I miss you so much.”
“I’m right here.”
“Not close enough.” Charlie gave Nick an exaggerated pout, and got exactly the response he wanted, Nick cupping his face with one hand and working a finger inside him as he kissed him.
Charlie could hear the needy little noises he was making, and he might have been embarrassed except that Nick grinned at him and kissed him again. "Is that better?" Nick asked.
"No, still not close enough."
Nick watched his face so intently as withdrew his fingers and slowly pressed his cock into Charlie. He’d forgotten — maybe he’d made himself forget — how intense it was to have Nick inside him. Nick must have felt it too, because he pressed his forehead against Charlie’s and stilled. "I'm so sorry, Charlie. I'm such an idiot. I guess, I don't know, I got comfortable with how things were and I didn't understand why the idea made you so angry. And I was scared, too. Scared that you'd get sick of me if you were around me every day. Like, you would get tired of me messing up your toothpaste and leaving my socks on the floor."
"We'll get separate tubes of toothpaste," Charlie panted, wrapping a leg around Nick’s thigh. "Nick, why didn't you talk to me about any of this before?"
"You didn't really give me a chance. And I know that's my fault. I hurt you, and then I didn't try hard enough to fix it. I should never have let you walk away from me." Nick started to move. "Christ, Charlie, you feel so good. I won't do that again. Never."
"See that you don't." Charlie dug his heel into the mattress to leverage to move in tandem with Nick, meeting his thrusts. "And that you pick up your socks.” He sent his hands wandering across Nick’s chest and back and down to squeeze a handful of his bum. He wanted to touch him everywhere. "Oh, fuck, Nick, right there, please.”
Nick thrust in and out, one hand on the pillow, the other on Charlie’s cheek, his thumb tracing Charlie’s bottom lip. Charlie nudged at his arm, and Nick knew him so well that he understood, carefully rolling them so he was on his back, Charlie on top. He braced his hands on Nick’s shoulders and began to move. The last time he and Nick had made love, they’d finished like this, only now that wasn’t the last time, and this one wouldn’t be either. He leaned down to kiss Nick as he moved, moaning into his open mouth.
“Charlie,” Nick murmured over and over, hands clasping his hips to help him move. “Oh fuck, I’m going to….”
“Me too, Nick.”
“Oh, fuck, babe. Jesus.”
Charlie collapsed forward as he came, unbothered by the mess on Nick’s abs. So much for his clean sheets. Nick wiped them down with tissues until they were slightly less messy, and they settled against the pillows, limbs tangled, trading gentle kisses, until finally Charlie spoke. "I know we need to talk more, probably a lot more. But for now, can we just…."
"Yeah." Nick pulled the duvet over the pair of them and kissed Charlie's shoulder before resting his head on his chest. "Let's just."
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Thank you for indulging me in this bit of holiday puffery.