Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Nick wipes his hands on the fabric of his black dress slacks for the third time.

He looks into the car mirror, and combs that one bit of his fringe back into place. He’s pretty sure that his fringe is causing him issues today on purpose just to make his anxiety worse. He starts fussing at himself over it, trying to think if there’s something he could have done to keep it under control. Charlie might have had something for it in his cabinet of hair related magic potions, but he hadn’t thought to look. He had spent so long debating whether to go with the grey slacks or the black slacks that it left no time for his hair. He’s still not entirely convinced he’d made the right decision on that either.

He forces himself to stop looking at the mirror. Looking at himself makes him feel so, unbearably, young. Something about this outfit and the way his hair is behaving today is making him feel 15 and lost again. He’s even becoming convinced that he’s got the beginning of a spot on his forehead now, even though it’s probably nothing.

*They’re going to take one look at me and know that I’m not meant to be here. I’m not going to cry. That will only make it worse.*

He drags himself out of the car like he’s dragging a sled through snow. He definitely isn’t, though. August smacks him in the face the moment he’s got the door open. He’s dressed for formality over comfort, so he’s ill equipped for the last dregs of summer settling on his shoulders.

“It’s fine. Maybe they’ll even think I just look this flushed because of the sun and not because I’m drowning in my own nerves right now.”

He heads up to the front door and shifts around a bit awkwardly. The door is locked, and it takes him a frankly embarrassing amount of time to notice the call button beside it.

“Hi?”

“Good morning. Are you here for today’s interviews?”

“Um. Yeah.”

The door emits a low buzz that startles Nick a bit. He tentatively grabs the knob, which has unlocked on its own.

He comes through the door to see a woman in a cardigan with tightly woven braids. Without looking up, she directs him.

“Yellow sign in sheet. Write your legal name and the date and time. It’s the 4th day of August. Clock is behind you. Leave your driving license or other government issued ID on the counter and sit back there on those chairs.”

She’s clearly given this spiel so many times it may as well be written on her head. Nick quickly does as he’s been told and tries not to think about that.

*Surely, they’re interviewing plenty of other people with a lot more experience than I’ve got. Maybe I shouldn’t even be here.*

Before he has a chance to back out, he’s hearing his name from above his head.

“Nicholas Nelson?”

“Hi. Uh. Yes. That’s me.”

“You’re early.”

He starts to apologize, but gets cut off.

“No no, it’s excellent. You’re my last appointment before lunch! I’m ready to begin if you are.”

“Ready as I’ll ever be?”, he says, hoping it sounds more funny than terrified. People like a sense of humor, right? She laughs, which he hopes is a good sign. That or she’s laughing at him.

No, that would be unprofessional, and this woman looks about as professional as they come. Pressed plaid pantsuit, perfectly coiffed hair, and heels. She didn’t have to tell him she was in charge. He just knew.

He feels himself melting into his socks. The only comfort in his brain right now is that Charlie will find this amusing. Nick basically shuts down in awkward obedience at literally any display of authority. He insists it was grilled into him from years as an athlete, but Charlie insists that it’s just as much who he is as his freckles and his bisexuality. Nick isn’t used to feeling small, and he shorts out when it happens.

He emerges out of his brain tangent in a small office. It feels sterile in a building otherwise decked from floor to ceiling in color.

*Ah yes, a boring adult room for boring adult conversations. I can do this.*

The first few questions are fairly self explanatory. He got his certifications in primary education from Leeds. Yes, he does actually speak French natively. He wants this job because he’d like to work with varying age groups and determine what might be the right fit for him long term.

*This is his scripted professional answer for the real answer that he has no idea what he’s doing other than “uhhhh something something not letting children get hurt something something tiny rugby?”*

The headmistress takes a lot of notes. She’s scribbling all over a printed out copy of Nick’s résumé, which Nick didn’t even write. He babbled at Charlie for an hour or two and Charlie made his babbling sound like it came out of a profesional person who’s ready to have a full-time job. Charlie’s always been good at that. Taking the garbled mess of thoughts that spill out of Nick and helping to fumble through it all until it makes sense. Nick has quite literally never known what he wants without Charlie helping to spell it out for him. Even applying for this job was more Charlie’s idea than his.

*Charlie thinks this is a good idea. He thinks I can do it.*

He repeats that mantra to himself as he sputters out answers to all of the scenario questions.

“That was straight out of a textbook.”, the headmistress says when he’s finished walking through his extremely thorough answer to the question “What would you do if you found that a student was being bullied?”

He gulps briefly, trying and failing to push away thoughts of Charlie and all the pain he hadn’t been there to prevent.

“That’s what we’re here for, isn’t it? Obviously, we’ve got to teach them maths and writing and all of that, but if we can’t keep them safe, then what are we even doing here? What’s the point of any of it if they’re miserable? Nobody’s learning to do calculus if they’re afraid to go to the bathroom or eat lunch or… exist anywhere. We don’t expect fully grown adults to put up with that. Somebody’s gotta do something about it.”

He pauses for a moment.

“Sorry. That just slipped out.”

“That’s absolutely fine. It was a pleasure meeting you, Nicholas. I’ll be in touch.”

*I just entirely fumbled this, I think.*

**************************************

Around 4pm the same afternoon, Nick’s phone rings on the countertop. He’s gone to take a shower and clear his head, so Charlie picks it up.

“Nick, get in here.” Charlie stands outside the bathroom door, smiling to himself. Every time he listens to Nick in the shower, he’s reminded again of how much his heart can overflow itself. Sometimes he just neede to say that he loves him, right now.

“Nicholas, get out here, you lovely idiot.”

Charlie’s got a massive, ridiculous grin on his face as he hands over the phone and moves to hold Nick in his arms. The next chapter of both their lives is starting, and he’s really looking forward to this one.

Chapter Text

Nick wakes up the next morning to Charlie already up and playing with his hair. This doesn’t usually happen, since Charlie is clinically allergic to waking up before 10AM. Based on the amount of light in the room, Nick assumes it must be later than that, and he’s massively overslept.

To be fair, neither of them exactly went to bed on time. Charlie was intent upon making a fuss over Nick’s new job. Nick was honestly too freaked out and confused and in denial to process that, but Charlie suggested they get dinner, and Nick makes a conscious effort to say yes whenever Charlie suggests a food related activity. There was a long time where that never happened, and Nick is always willing to encourage this sort of progress.

*******************************************

Nick had managed to get all the way to his dessert before he freaked out.

“What if they’ve made a mistake, Charlie?”

“About what?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they meant to call somebody else, or their first choice turned them down, or maybe… I don’t know the other guy got hit by a meteor?”

“Nick. Look at me.”

Charlie smiles at his nervous little idiot of a boyfriend, who whips his head up to look him in the eye. His chin is covered in chocolate syrup, so Charlie grabs a cloth napkin and wipes it while he talks.

“They called you back within 6 hours. That basically never happens to anyone. I know you think you ruined it, but whatever it was that you said, clearly they liked it. You are going to start the car and get the air going, so I don’t melt when I get out there. Well, me and the ice cream.” Charlie laughs to himself, “I’m paying the tab. You’re not going to argue with me about it. We’re going home, and I am going to do whatever it takes to get you to stop panicking about this and muttering nonsense about meteors. Go.”

Let’s just say Charlie wasn’t satisfied with himself that he’d completed this directive until somewhere around 3 o’clock in the morning. Nick honestly could not tell you exactly. He couldn’t tell you much of anything, which seemed to be the goal.

*******************************************

Turns out it’s actually about 11AM when he wakes up, and the first words out of his mouth are just “I have a real job?”

Charlie can’t help himself from laughing at that, saying, “As opposed to an imaginary one? Yes, Nick, I’m quite sure it’s real.”

“Yeah, I mean. I know that. I just. Like it’s a Real Adult Job.”

“Yeah. Congrats. Are you ready to be happy about it now?”

“Almost, I think? I’m going to like. Actually be able to pay the rent on this place.”

(Sarah had been paying for it so far, and Nick had been more than a little insecure about that, no matter how many times she said she didn’t mind.)

“You are. Meanwhile, I’ll just be a bump on a log over here hogging the duvet.” Charlie’s dramatic tone gives away the fact that he’s not actually bothered by this arrangement in the slightest.

“Of course not, you’re a very serious university student. You’ve got extremely important research to do about people making love in Roman bathhouses. I, for one, can’t wait to hear it. Anyways, I need somebody to pack my lunch.”

“First of all, my thesis on gender and sexuality in bathhouses of the late imperial period actually is serious. It’s critical to our understanding of the influence of Jewish and Christian rhetoric on sexual behavior and stigma in later antiquity, which continues to affect us today. Second of all, I can’t tell if you’re joking about your lunch or not.”

“I know I know historical notions of sexual propriety have had lasting effects on society and understanding the origins of homophobia allows us to better tackle it. I was just fooling around. And uh. I mean if you want to I wouldn’t mind that. It feels very coupley to do that I think. You don’t have to though. I’ve packed my own since I was about 10, so it’s not like I don’t know how I just. I don’t know. I like carrying around things you made. That sounds stupid. I just…”

Nick gets cut off.

“Of course I can. As long as you don’t mind me doing it the night before, because I’m not getting out of bed for that.”

“Deal.”

*******************************************

Nick gets up, makes them both some lunch, and spends the afternoon filling out a frankly unnecessary amount of documents. Tax things. Background check things. A couple he’s not even sure he understands. There’s spots on every document that require information he can’t remember, and it’s honestly causing the self doubt to creep back in. He brushes it off the best he can, until he reaches a form he has no idea how to answer.

“Charlie?”

Charlie looks up from his laptop and takes his headphones off.

“What is it, darling?”

“Do you want to be my emergency contact?”

“Am I not… already your emergency contact?”

“Well, I never knew how to ask you, so it’s always just been my mum, which is fine. You don’t have to.”

“Nick. We’ve been through this. I’m your boyfriend. I live here. My name is on the lease for this flat. You can put me down as your emergency contact if you’d like. You’ve been mine for like, three years or something.”

“Wait really?”

“Yes, Nick. Be thankful it hasn’t come up.”

“Well um. In that case. Uh. So my phone is dead…”

“And?”

“Well, I don’t um. Can you come over here?”

Charlie moves his research materials aside and untangles himself from the nest of blankets he’s created on the couch. He’s not exactly sure why Nick has decided he needs to get up, but he’s willing to take the free opportunity to walk over to the kitchen island and kiss him. Once he’s satisfied that they’ve both gotten their daily reminder that they do actually love each other, he looks at the form.

Nick has already written down his full name, relationship: partner, and his address, which is just the same as his own. There’s a blank after it. Nick has laid down one of his fancy annoying fountain pens next to it.

“You really don’t know?”

Charlie makes a show of writing down his phone number painfully slowly. He’s intent on making sure Nick remembers it after this.

“Hello student. See this number? This is a zero. Uh huh?”

Nick blushes, covering his face. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.” Charlie pries Nick’s hands off his face and taps the paper with the back of the pen, directing him to pay attention. “Now after the zero is a one. That’s one more than zero.”

“Yes Charlie, I know.”

Charlie continues like this for every single last digit of the entire number. Then, just to rib Nick a bit, he fills out Sarah’s information in the section below.

“Just in case you can’t reach me.”

“Why do YOU know my mother’s phone number?”

“Because I’m your boyfriend and I care about you? I’ve called her before?”

“For what?”

“You think I manifested that Christmas cookie recipe from thin air last year?”

“Oh. I do remember that actually.”

“I would hope so. Prepping the dough alone took all afternoon. Sarah offered to call your aunt to come help me, since I’m not exactly a baker, but I didn't want to trouble her.”

The memory of Charlie and his mother conspiring to make sure he had the Christmas cookies he liked while she was out of the country on holiday makes Nick all mushy, and he immediately begins to cry.

“Not on the paperwork, Nick.”

Charlie guides him to bed, not because he plans to do anything more than hold him, but just because his own notes are all over the couch, and he’d prefer that they don’t get cried on either.

“You’re a better boyfriend than I am.” Nick blubbers into his chest.

“It’s not a competition, and even if it were, I ardently disagree.”

“I didn’t even know your phone number and you know mine and my mum’s!”

“You know those aren’t the only metrics in a relationship, right? I didn’t fall in love with you for your incredibly mediocre maths skills.” Charlie plants a kiss to the top of Nick’s head.

“You cleaned the entire flat top to bottom last week, Nick. Hell, you also found this place, set up the tour for it, and moved everything in. You’re literally about to be the sole breadwinner of this household. I can be in charge of remembering long numbers as well as making your lunch. Can I be in charge of two whole things?”

“Mkay.” Nick mumbles semi-coherently.

“Any other long numbers you need reminders about?”

“Yes. More cuddles first, though.”

Nick pulls the duvet over both their heads and settles down for a nice long snooze on Charlie’s chest.

Chapter Text

The next two weeks pass in a blur of mandatory trainings that range from “mind numbingly boring” to “actively triggering”. There was a module on student mental health that Nick closed and restarted about four times.

Realistically, he should have known reviewing this sort of content would be required. He’s glad about it. More teachers understanding the signs that a student could be struggling and hiding it will reduce the number of cases that slip under the radar. He just can’t listen to it without the inside of his brain buzzing.

*What would have happened if I weren’t around?*

*Did I make things better or worse for Charlie?*

*Could I have lost him?*

*How many Charlies didn’t have somebody?*

*Oh god, what am I going to do if something happens on my watch?*

*I can’t even think about the theoretical scenario where something might happen, what if I just… fall apart when he’s depending on me. I mean the children. I can’t fall apart when the children are depending on me.*

*What if one of them gets hurt and it’s my fault?*

*It’s my fault my fault my fault.*

The fourth time is the worst. Charlie’s started classes for the semester, so he goes through his calm down routine as if he’s had one of his nightmares. He runs a bath as hot as it’ll go, dumping in half a bottle of Charlie’s soap like bubble bath. Charlie’s aware that he does this from time to time, and he blessedly chooses not to question it. Nick shoots him a quick text that he may want to pick up some more on his way home, and his heart rate noticeably drops from where it had been pounding when Charlie just shoots back.

“Use as much of it as you need, love. Yesterday’s jumper is on the foot of the bed. Kitty could use some cuddles too.”

Nick’s heart swells that Charlie already knew he’d be looking for that, but it’s not yet time.

First, he slips into the searing water and lets the heat scald off the top layer of his thoughts. He lets the memories that are crowding his head float to the ceiling with the steam. At this temperature, the water burns his skin deliciously, but the smell of the air keeps him grounded in his body. It’s as if the air sings sweet comfort into his ears and his shattered brain.

*Charlie will be home soon.*

*Charlie lives here.*

*Charlie is safe.*

*Charlie lives with me.*

*I haven’t lost him.*

*Charlie lives.*

*Charlie lives.*

*Charlie lives.*

He lets the soothing refrain wash over him as he sheathes his body in the bubbles and lathers even more of the soap over his heat reddened skin. After a while, he runs his head under the tap and lets it rinse the last of the delusion from his head. He doesn’t live in any of the worlds where Charlie is gone. He lives in the one where Charlie gets home just after dark and hangs his keys on the hook by the door because this is his home too and calls out to him gently because he knows that Nick gets jumpy when he hears movement if he doesn’t know someone’s in the flat. He lives in the one where every so often Charlie comes home with a pastry he bought just because he wanted it, and he eats the whole thing without getting twitchy or running off. He lives in the one where sometimes he can’t sleep unless Charlie rocks him for a while and talks at him with that voice that comes out so sweet and soft that Nick can’t find it in himself to wallow in guilt from keeping him up.

After a long while, the water cools, and Nick drags himself out of it. He steals Charlie’s towel and absconds to bed to get himself into that jumper and curled up in bed with Kitty as quickly as possible. He simply must be cloaked in Charlie as much as possible or his brain will start screaming again. Nick does not make the brain rules, but they do not take well to being broken.

Before he drifts off, he mutes the laptop and lets the module play while he sleeps.

When he wakes to take the test, he aces it quicker than any person should be able to do.

If Nick knows anything in this world, it’s how to detect that someone is slipping away into the broken bits of themselves. He took quite literally every class on every possible mental illness to ever exist in order to ensure that nobody in his life could possibly ever get ill without him noticing it and fixing it immediately somehow. In a totally normal not clinical anxious way.

That’s a lie.

***********************************************************************************************************

The anxiety was not much of a surprise. He’d basically known about his anxiety for years. He was just too anxious to get his anxiety assessed by a doctor until university.

Unfortunately, as they’d learned with Charlie, mental illnesses travel in packs. You never have just one. That would be far too easy.

His aunt had referred him to a psychiatrist she knew. He admitted that he’d finally come in because he’d basically quit sleeping entirely since he’d moved.

Since he’d been away from Charlie.

He felt like he needed to be awake at all hours.

*What if Charlie gets hurt while I sleep?*

*What if he calls for me and I don’t answer?*

He had to keep his ringer on in class, even if it got him punished.

He had to have his car keys in his pajama pockets.

He knew the train schedule inside and out if his car broke down.

He had to be able to get to Charlie.

He had to keep his eyes open.

If he so much as blinked, the ambulance lights spun behind his eyelids.

*It would be my fault.*

*Again.*

The doctor suggested a PSTD diagnostic test, and he vomited on the spot, which, to be fair, did not support the idea that he was doing okay. The doctor hands him a bin with the look of a person who was quite used to this sort of response.

“Why? Nothing’s happened to me? Nobody’s hurt *me* or put their hands on *me* and I’ve never…”

The doctor scribbled some notes, noting how he was emphasizing his sentences.

“Some people develop post traumatic symptoms as a result of witnessing someone else’s pain. Would you say that has happened to you? Did seeing someone else in pain hurt you, Nicholas?”

The room spins at the very idea. He had been trying with every fiber of his being not to have this thought spiral for days, but now he couldn’t avoid it. Nick loses his grip on everything other than the record scratching thoughts in his brain. His brain plays the sounds that Charlie makes when he’s injured back to him like a fractured symphony.

“He’s hurt. He’s hurt somewhere. I know it I know it.”

Nick starts rubbing his hands together, like he’s got something on them he’s trying to wash off.

“Could you tell me who he is, Nicholas?” the psychiatrist had tried her best not to initiate this reaction, but it can be nearly impossible sometimes.

“Charlie. He’s hurt, I know it. I know it. I need to get to Charlie.” Nick started hunting around for a way out, but he was so out of it that he was struggling to find the door. He was shaking like he’d shot gunned half a dozen energy drinks.

“Nicholas, hold on. I’m a doctor. Remember? Look at me.” Nick had just mentioned Charlie and how he’s currently in Kent in sixth form and coming to visit on the weekend, so the doctor knows that whatever Nick’s muttering about must be a flashback.

Nick stops his frantic movements a moment. “You can help?”

“Sit here and breathe with me, and then tell me what’s wrong with Charlie.”

“Oh… okay… if you can fix him. Please fix him. I can’t lose him. I can’t. I won’t make it.”

“It’s alright, my boy. Let me help you.”

“You… you mean help Charlie?”

“Shhhh… The sooner you relax, the sooner we can help. We can fix this, but you need to breathe.”

By the time Nick knows where he is again, he’s overwhelmed by the pain in his stomach and his throat from screaming and crying. He agrees to the assessment, and they quickly start him on a cocktail of medications.

“Will… will I ever stop being this afraid?”
”I don’t know. But we’re going to try, okay?”

“Okay.”

************************************************************************************************************

Charlie comes home to find Nick asleep again next to his laptop and absolutely does not believe him when he says he’s okay, so they order takeaway pizza and watch *Dead Man’s Chest* and get drunk enough for Nick admit what’s bothering him.

“Maybe I’m not made of strong enough stuff for this job?”

Charlie just sets the remains of the pizza aside and climbs over to sit in Nick’s lap and goes to run his fingers over Nick’s arms.

“I don’t know, Nick, these seem pretty strong to me.”

“Char, that’s not the point.”

“I know. Do you think talking it through is actually going to work? Because, we can, but I know my boyfriend already knows how I feel about this. You do, don’t you?” Charlie taps Nick’s forehead like he’s knocking on a tiny door, “Nick, I know you’re in there. I know you know I believe in you.”

Nick’s brain cleaves itself apart a little bit as the anxiety grows spikes. This happens when the anxiety disorder feels threatened by something so trivial as logic.

“I…Yes…But…”

“But your brain thinks I’m wrong and it’s very loud?”

The nod is almost imperceptible.

“Well, I’m glad your brain is trying its best to keep you safe, Nick. I am too. I wouldn’t let you do something that wasn’t safe. Remember when you wanted to buy a motorbike?”

“It was cool and shiny and hot guys ride motorbikes and I just think it would have been a lot of fun, okay?”

Nick completely floats out of reality for an unknown amount of time thinking about that damn bike.

“Yeah. It was cool, but you,” Charlie points into Nick’s chest, “have no idea how to ride a motorbike. Even if you did, they’re so bizarrely dangerous that I’m not sure who would end up in A&E first, you from breaking something or your mum from having a heart attack. Or, frankly, me from having a heart attack.”

“Yeah yeah, I know, and you have the worst blood type for getting hurt.”

“What can I say? My bloodstream has expensive taste.”

Nick laughs in a way that makes it clear that he’s going to be fine and that he probably stop drinking.

“Anyways, Nick. Everyone knows hot guys don’t ride motorbikes.”

“Huh?”

Charlie turns and adjusts so he can reach Nick’s ear and explain to him in detail exactly what he thinks hot guys ought to ride.

Nick has never scrambled to turn off a television faster in his life.

Chapter Text

After a frankly excruciating wait, it’s finally, finally time to actually go back over to the school. It feels like it’s been a million years in a couple weeks as Nick has scrambled to terraform himself into a working professional.

Headshot for ID badge? Check.

More pairs of professional looking trousers? Check.

A bag that looks like it belongs to an adult? Check.

Lots of little prepackaged snack foods and yogurt cups and such that probably don’t look like they belong to an adult? Check.

Nick is as ready as he’s going to be come Monday morning. By seven o’clock in the morning, he’s already in front of the mirror panic shaving for the second time because he feels like he probably missed a spot the first time.

******************************************

Charlie picked his outfit out last night. He dug out a sherbet colored button up from somewhere back in the closet and paired it with one of the new pairs of khaki pants.

“Why, Charlie? Are you sure I don’t look silly? I was thinking black or maybe dark blue…”

“It’s August. If I put you in dark, dreary colors, you’ll sweat to death. Anyways, I think your new coworkers deserve to know who you are, and you couldn’t be a dark, dreary person if you tried.”

Nick covered his face, “My god you’re a sap.”

“Change if you need to in the morning, alright?” Charlie said as he tucked himself into bed.

*******************************************

Nick keeps the khaki and sherbet number, as he will admit that it looks quite nice. Charlie’s right that he’s more of a khaki and sherbet kind of guy. It’s better not to give people the wrong idea about him and then leave them disappointed later.

On his way out the door, he grabs his lunch, already made, off the counter and leaves a muffin and a bar of dark chocolate in its place. At some point, Charlie will wake up and need to eat, and he’ll find it.

The school is just up the road round the corner. When he arrives, the car park is halfway empty, which Nick takes as a good sign. He’s not so overeager that he’s arrived before anyone else, but he’s certainly not behind the pack either.

He decides that taking any more time in his car today will actually make this more stressful, so he’s just got to get out there.

He walks up to the door at a measured pace and heads for the call button on the door. Unfortunately, he’s so preoccupied with finding the button that he runs headfirst into a walking stack of color coded bins.

*Hehe, I ran directly into the rainbow. Am I in year eleven again?*

Remarkably, none of them fall to the ground. A head pokes out from behind.

“Oh my god, I am so so so sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going because I was trying to find the button for the thing and now I just…” Nick starts into an anxiety babble.

She cuts him off.

“Oh hello, sorry about that… I don’t know you. Oh gosh let me just. Could you unlock the door?” the woman says, speaking a million light years a minute.

Nick rubs the back of his neck. “Um, no. Not because of you or anything. I just haven’t got a key. I was trying to get to the button thing.”

“Right, of course, of course, why would you? Right, okay. Could you hold these then, and I’ll find my key.” She looks well dressed but disheveled. Frankly, her lack of poise puts Nick at ease. Maybe, he isn’t the only person who is nervous today.

“That I can do.” he reaches over and hoists the bins with ease. The poor woman had been struggling mightily with them, and he can practically see the relief come over her as she rubs at her arms before starting to rummage in her pockets.

“Nope. Nope. Not those keys. Why is that still in there? Oh! Yes! I was worried a moment that I’d lost them again.”

Nick takes a couple steps sideways and lets her unlock the door.

“Go on, I’ve got it.” She says, holding the door.

The receptionist looks up at the commotion. “Good morning, Eleanor.”

The as of yet unnamed woman waves quickly, and Nick makes a mental note of her name. He quickly realizes he may need a physical notepad for that here soon.

“Hello, um, where are these going?” Nick peeks around the stack he’s carrying.

“Christ, right, I can take those back.” Eleanor immediately tenses up.

“I don’t… I don’t mind carrying them, I just don’t know where I’m going.”

The receptionist butts in. “Eleanor, you’re in room 31 this year. Building C up past the library. You can help her get settled, right after I print off your badge. The permanent one hasn’t come in the post.” she turns towards Eleanor, “He’s the new assistant. We had the funding for a third one this year.”

Nick watches as the receptionist taps away on her computer like she’s searching for something.

“Crap, you need my ID again, don’t you?” Nick says, trying to think of how he’s going to fish that out without dropping anything.

“Nope, already in the system. Nicholas Nelson, right? There aren’t a whole lot of people who look like a Nicholas around here, so it’s not terribly hard to remember.”

Nick isn’t sure he understands the joke, but he giggles anyways and hopes it isn’t at his expense. She seems to sense his discomfort.

“Pardon, that was rude of me. I just meant that we haven’t got a lot of male members of the faculty at the moment, and I know the others, so process of elimination.”

“Right, got it.” He takes the badge and starts scampering off towards room 31. Maybe. He’s really not sure where he’s going, but luckily Eleanor is following.

“I’m so sorry I went quiet back there. I just realized I’d handed you all this stuff and forgot to so much as ask your name.”

“It’s alright, I mean, I ran into you. Not to mention I didn’t remember to ask either. I’m sorry about that again by the way. The running into you and the not asking and wow it’s been 10 minutes and I am already so rude.”

She lays a hand as close to his shoulder as she can reach. She’s quite a small woman, so it’s not quite up there. However, she’s about the same age and build as Nick’s mum, so he finds it comforting regardless.

“Hey, hey, no. Nicholas, is it? A rude person wouldn’t be carrying all of this stuff for me. I’m quite certain you’re not rude at all.”

Once she’s caught up, she walks ahead of him. “It’s far too hot outside, so I recommend taking the shortcut through the library to get to the back half of campus. Just make sure you don’t do it while they’ve got children in there. Nobody does today though. We’ve got a week to setup.”

“I uh. I know.” Nick feels a bit awkward about having things explained to him like a toddler, although he can’t say he doesn’t appreciate the help.

“Of course. I just mean in the future.”

The library feels instantly familiar. There’s something about school libraries that makes them all the same in a way that feels strangely safe to Nick. The plush carpeting and the old book smell and the posters on the wall are new to him yet the same as he remembers from his own years as a student, digging through the graphic novel section.

He watches the librarians shuffle around. The younger of the two women looks about his age, which soothes him a bit. He doesn’t yet have the nerve to say hello, though. They’re too engrossed in what they’re doing to care.

Once he pops out of the back exit of the library, he scans the area until he locks in on the right room number, even faster than his companion, and scurries over to it. He has to wait a moment, though, as he realizes he still doesn’t have keys.

*That isn’t going to get annoying at all.*

Eleanor starts jogging a bit faster, and as she does so, Nick can tell it’s hurting her.

“Slow down before you hurt yourself.”

She arrives a moment later, panting, “Sorry, I just don’t have that youthful vitality.”

He gets a sense that isn’t the whole story, but he’s absolutely not the type to ask.

As soon as he gets in, he looks around for the place these bins are meant to go and sets them down. He also says the first thing that comes into his head, against his better judgment.

“Wow, the chairs here are tiny.”

“If you think the chairs are small, you should see the children.”

Now that he finally has use of his hands again, Nick buries his face in them and lets the embarrassment wash over.

“I knew that.”

Before he has a chance to freak out about it, Eleanor is right in front of him with her arms open.

“Come here, my boy.” She wraps him up into a hug, rubbing his back gently, “You’re not meant to know everything. Nobody expects that of you. This is a place of learning, son, we don’t expect that of anyone.”

“But…”

“I know, son, you’re a grown man and you feel like you’re meant to. Well, my boy is older than you are, and he called me up in tears asking how you’re meant to wash belts this morning.”

Nick is entirely distracted from his meltdown by his curiosity. “Wait… people wash belts? Are… how often do you wash belts?”

She chuckles to herself. “Sit down. Let me fix you a cup of tea for your trouble, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

“I’m… I’m supposed to be assisting. I think?”

“Then help me find the kettle.”

Chapter Text

“Okay, son, I need you to remember one thing. If anyone in charge asks, this isn’t here.” Eleanor says as she opens a nondescript cabinet where she has installed a microwave, refrigerator, hot plate, and coffeemaker. The wiring alone must have taken an hour, and she’s clearly taken a saw to the shelves to make it all fit. It’s a miracle she can get the door to close. Nick knows very little about the school’s safety protocols, but something in his gut tells him that this project violated at least seventeen of them.

“Understood.” Nick wonders for a moment what else this woman has clandestinely built into the cabinetry, but that question will wait for another day. For now, he’s actually quite excited about the prospect of tea. He’s disappointed that he hasn’t got his own mug with him, but there’s a rather impressive collection of them lined up atop the microwave. He quietly selects one that looks plain enough that it’s unlikely to be expensive or sentimental and waits as the water boils.

“Is this… I can be more helpful?” A worried voice in Nick’s head is saying that he should be doing his job, and an even more worried voice is saying that he doesn’t actually know how.

“I know that you can, but I believe that you were asked to help me get settled in, and I would like company to sit and have tea.”

That was, to be fair, the direct order he’d received. Hm. Okay.

“Is that usually what you have assistants come in here to do?”

“I mean. It won’t be the first time. I’ve got a bit of a… special dispensation for it right now… You can’t be punished for doing something I’ve asked of you.”

The conversation gets interrupted by scraping in the lock of the door. It pops open, and another woman pokes her head in. She looks to be somewhere in her thirties, although Nick would be the first person to admit that he’s not incredible at guessing ages.

“You’re back!” she says, barreling into Eleanor’s arms.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

There’s pain behind that joke. An alarm goes off in Nick’s head. He was still trying to figure out what would give someone a special dispensation for having tea with the assistants, and he’s starting to put it together. He resolves to very politely figure out what has gone very wrong to make everyone act like this woman is made of glass. Right after the tea. Wait right. Nick makes a move to close the secret cabinet.

“Don’t worry, my boy, Clara here is well aware of my penchant for illicit tea.”

“Who’s this?” The new woman who Nick makes a note to remember is called Clara appraises Nick at the cabinet.

“I uh. Hi. I was just. Want some tea?” Nick fixes his shirt. He’s never sure what to do when people stare at him.

“Sure?” Clara seems to be hitting a 404 error in her head.

“Nicholas is the new instructional assistant and seems to be a bit of a do first talk later panic the whole time type.”

“Ah. First day jitters, huh? On my first day, I walked out in front of the principal with my fly down, and I’m still here, so it’s probably going to be okay.”

Nick hesitates, wondering if he’s supposed to laugh at that. Clara seems to think it’s funny. His brain goes into babble mode in response.

“One time in grammar school, I blew up a fountain pen on myself. At least that hasn’t happened yet today?”

“Oh you think that’s bad? One time when I was about 15, this guy I fancied snuck up on me and scared me so badly I pissed myself.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“He stopped talking to me, so I went for his twin brother instead.”

“See, always a problem solver!” Eleanor chimes in.

Nick almost snorts his tea. “God, did the brother ever find out about it?”

“Yeah, he did. At the wedding!”

“WHAT?“

“Yeah. Turns out the first brother was a bit of a dick, but the twin was just as fit and quite a bit nicer, so I kept him.”

“Oh my god, actually?”

“Yep. And he didn’t even run screaming from this idiot he married when he found out.”

Eleanor sets her empty mug down. She’s made a lot more progress on drinking her tea during this exchange than the other.

“You’re not an idiot, Clara.”

“I was at 15, Eleanor.”

“So was everyone else.”

“She’s not wrong.” Nick takes a long sip of his drink.

“Oh really, what were you like at 15, Nicholas?”

“Oh god. I was an absolute mess. I spent most of my free time googling absolute nonsense like ‘is it normal to fantasize about holding hands with your friends?’ and ‘how do you act normal around your crush’”

He considers his wording carefully. He’s never quite gotten to a point in his life where he feels like he can just be out in the world. He’s not like Charlie that way. He’s not built for being himself for the world. He is himself just for himself and a select inner circle, of which Charlie is the King, Prime Minister, President, and Emperor. He doesn’t even mind people knowing, but his mouth fills with foam when he tries to say it.

“Poor thing. You were down bad, huh?”

“So bad. It’s a miracle I didn’t flunk out of year eleven.”

“Oh no, year eleven is a bad one to be in hormone hell.”

“Oh no, hormone hell was sixth form… Oh. Wow. I just said that out loud.”

The women grin at each other in a way that either looks like satisfaction or latent vampirism, and Nick isn’t sure which he’s more afraid of.

“I very much agree. My mum started suspecting me about it when I insisted on doing the washing. That was an awkward conversation.” Clara throws back her tea like she’s taking shots. The entire scene feels off, like Nick accidentally kicked the threshold and tilted the world off its axis on his way in.

“I’m sorry, it’s so stupid, but I feel like I cannot have this conversation here right now.”

Nick looks around the room at the tiny chairs under tiny desks with huge pencils and crayons and covers his eyes with his hands.

“Do you need Eleanor to turn the stuffies the other way around? I’m always saying she ought to do that when she’s looking at photos of her gardener again.“

“Your gardener?” Nick swallows his surprise with a heavy gulp of now cold tea.

“The stuffed animals keep secrets, Clara.”

“Cheers!” She raises her mug and they all clink them together in the air over the halfway arranged desk. “To the stuffed animals that know all our sins. May they never gain the ability to speak!”

“I sure hope not!”

“Oh, have you got your own at home, Nicky?”

“Good God, do not call me that. Only my mum can call me Nicky. Nick is fine. Or Nicholas. I don’t mind that. And yes, but Kitty’s not mine. Not that there would be anything wrong with it if Kitty were mine. I used to have to hide the thing in the corner against the wall before I could take my clothes off. Like Kitty was going to sell my teenaged nudes on the internet on something. Sixth form, am I right?”

“Aw, you’re still seeing the sixth form hormone awakening?”

Nick did not consider that this information would come out this way, but alright. Sure. This is happening.

“Uh. Yeah.”

“Fucking yes, kid! High five!” Clara throws her hand in the air.

Nick can’t think of any way to describe her energy right now other than to say that some people live like they were born a little bit drunk. Darcy would like Clara, but they both give off a vibe like they might accidentally commit arson and get Hello Kitty tattoos together. He’s always admired this quality in other people, although he’s fairly certain he would self destruct before he would ever be that loose with his personality.

For now, he’s just loose enough to return the high five and stifle his laugh as Clara hollars “NO STDS BABY!” loudly enough it could surely be heard down the hallway.

“Some of us have to try out a few men on a free trial before we sign on the line, alright Clara? Now, would you like to see new pictures of the gardener or not?”

“Obviously.”

Eleanor turns her phone around to a picture of a man trimming some hedges outside a frankly impressive house, but that’s not what leaves Nick coughing pathetically.

This man is trimming hedges with his shirt completely unbuttoned.

He uh…

He looks like Nick wants to get his gym routine written down and laminated. Along with an instructional video. A very, very long instructional video in 4K Ultra HD.

Good God, what is a man who looks like that doing trimming hedges shirtless? Actually, what is he doing trimming hedges at all? He looks like he should be doing boudoir shoots at the Olympic Training Center. Training for all the sports. All of them.

This is fine. Nick is fine. His chest hurts, and there will definitely be tea in his lungs forever now. He might get pneumonia and die. What a way to go.

Clara pats his back hard until he stops spluttering.

“Yep, that’s the usual reaction. You’re going to fit in just fine here. Trust me.”

Chapter Text

Eleanor has quite the knack for hiding appliances in the cupboards, but there’s no dishwasher hidden back there.

“No water hookup.” she’d shrugged, “Not that I didn’t check.”

She hadn’t asked Nick to wash the mugs, but she also hadn’t argued with him when he offered. He was starting to get antsy to do something that felt like working again. He really doesn’t mind the chore, and not just because it’s something simple that he’s confident he can do well.

Nick’s always been a massive fan of water. He dunks his arms into the steaming, soapy sink and scrubs away his spiraling thoughts. He slips away as he feels it wrap around his skin and slide down his forearms in rivulets, drawing the hair on his wrists into patterns. He takes grounding breathes of lemon scented dish soap and hints of long dried acrylic paint nobody’s ever tried to get rid of.

Charlie likes to refer to Nick as his disappointed merman, because he insists that Nick would live in the sea if he could take Charlie with him. He wouldn’t, though, because Charlie’s opinion on water is very much the opposite. If he could quite literally never touch water ever again, he wouldn’t. He runs cold, and any time his hair gets wet, he shivers for hours. The sensation that Nick finds so comforting instead makes him feel like his skin is crawling with beady droplet beetles that won’t leave. Unfortunately for Charlie, he’s chronically unable to remember to wear a raincoat or pack an umbrella. His brain gets stuck like a train on a track sometimes, and he can’t quite reach through the windows to the coat closet. To help him, his raincoat and umbrella now live on the back of the door instead, right next to the white board they use to communicate. The train has to run right through it to get outside, so he’s a little more likely to grab at least one or the other. If he’s worried about it, Nick will write a note on the board about it too.

“It’s pouring out there!

Love, Nick
(obviously)”

Today was dizzyingly sunny, so the whiteboard only contains Charlie’s class schedule, his meal plan for the week, and the note that he’d left last night.

“Wake me up if you need me to drop you off. Try to resist clinging to my leg for too long. I’ll be here when you come home.”

Nick only briefly considered it. He did consider it though.

Initially, he was trying to stand up and do the dishes, but the craning over was already doing a number on his back.

“There’s a cushioned mat on the floor beneath your feet. It makes it easier to muck about back there.” Eleanor comments, seemingly without even looking up from her laptop. She said she had to review curricular documentation for the semester.

It takes Nick a minute to figure out what she’s suggesting. He tentatively gets down onto the floor and approaches the sink on his knees. She’s right. This is a much better angle. Nick goes back to his task. He checks a few times to make sure she isn’t sitting over there watching him, but she’s entirely engrossed in her reading. She only pauses periodically to sigh or mutter something about educational standardization.

Everything in the room is just a little shorter than he expects it to be. Not enough to be a big problem for him, but enough to be slightly jarring. To set things down on the tables, he has to bend a little more than he’s used to. To walk between them, he has to walk toe to toe like he’s auditioning for Cirque de Soleil. He realizes his new formal trousers might not actually accommodate the amount of crouching he’s going to need to do. Besides the headmistress, he hasn't seen anyone dressed as formally as he has.

He’s honestly just glad that the doorways are normal in height, or he’d have a permanent scar across his forehead by October.

Once he’s finished, he sits back on his heels against the counter and fishes for his phone. It’s been buzzing his back pocket for a couple minutes and driving him absolutely mad.

“How are you holding up, love?”
“I saw the clothes are missing. Good choice.”
“Had your lunch yet?”

Nick would usually spend way too long considering and reconsidering his responses, but he doesn’t want to be seen texting on the job for too long.

“Holding up okay. I mean it. Not just saying that.”
”Not sure when lunch is, actually. I’ll ask in a minute.”
“Gotta stop skipping leg day. My thighs are killing me already.”

He snaps a quick picture of himself.

The reply comes too fast, honestly. He knows better than this. Charlie only types that quickly when he's about to say something a little unhinged.
Nick shoves his phone back into his pocket and sighs.

“Eleanor?”

”Yes, son?”

”Do you know when we’re meant to be having lunch?”

She goes quiet except for the sound of her laptop slamming shut. It’s very clearly school issued, and she doesn’t seem too fussed at this moment about the chance that she might break it.

“Follow me.”

She’s in the threshold before Nick’s brain stops buffering.

“Are we late to something?”

"Not yet. Move."

Nick scrambles for the door a little too quickly...

Chapter Text

Nick was not expecting his first interaction with the canteen staff to be politely asking them for a plastic bag and directions to the ice maker.

He didn’t expect his first interaction with the school nurse to be her telling him that his nose probably isn’t broken, but he ought to come to the clinic later in the week for her to check on the healing. She started walking away, and Nick had to flag her back down to tell him where the clinic actually is, and also, um, what her name is. She got his for the paperwork. Apparently this whole disaster counts as an occupational injury. First occupation, first occupational injury. Figures.

He really didn’t expect his first conversations with most of his new co-workers to start with expletives.

He’d arrived late to the staff luncheon covered in blood and sobbing, so he can’t exactly blame them.

It goes like this.

“Oh shit, how’d you do that?”

“I tripped. Sorry that it’s not any more interesting.”

“Goddamn, who’d you piss off?”
”A tiny chair.”

“Fuck, are you okay?”
”Um, I think so? Doesn’t feel great, to be honest.”

“Goddamn, never seen you before. Are we teaching martial arts here now?”
”Clever.”

At least it’s a conversation starter, he thinks to himself. He’s able to tell himself that he’s a zoo animal getting fussed over because he’s bleeding out of his face, not because he’s new or young or male. The fact that not a single person who has walked into to curse at his condition has been a man does not escape him. He remembers the receptionist having said something about it, but walking into this room is entirely overwhelming.

After a handful of introductions, he excuses himself to the men’s room, where nobody can follow him.

At least, he thinks nobody will follow him.

He locks himself into a stall, and he’s blessed with silence and the perception of privacy for a minute or so.

He debates texting Charlie, but he just finished telling Charlie that he’s okay, and he hates the idea of having to immediately redact that statement. Realistically, Charlie’s going to know that something went wrong. Even if he really believed that he could hide his feelings from Charlie, he cannot hide this. He will have to go home later, and Charlie will be the swearing person.

Nick wants to be the swearing person. He wants to scream every word he knows and then go home. He can’t, though. His brain won’t allow it. He needs to do this new job thing right. He has to.

His thumb lingers over his phone.

He can’t call Charlie, but he can’t do this alone right now. He hates his next decision as he’s doing it.

Nurse Emma hears half the conversation from outside the cracked door, facing another direction and waving people away. Her brain fills in the gaps and lulls.

(That was her name, by the way. It got added to a note in Nick’s phone. He hasn’t had a chance to get a notebook or anything, so he’s had to resort to 21st century notetaking.)

“Mum?”

“I… I don’t feel well.”

“No no, nothing like that. I… fell.”

“No, my leg’s alright. Remember, the doctors said no permanent damage. I just. My head hurts and my nose is bleeding pretty badly. Hold on. I just. I’m sorry I’m going to be ill.”

“You really don’t need to do that. If it’s bad, Charlie can drive me home. He’s got Mondays free anyways.”

“Mum, I really don’t think my head’s that bad. Or, well, I don’t think it hit the ground that hard.”

“Yes, I have. Charlie checks the pillbox. He fusses at me if I don’t.”

“I think they’re in with my lunch. I haven’t looked.”

“Okay. I promise. I love you, too. It’s just. Everything is a lot right now. Sorry for bothering you.”

”I know, I know, Mum. Go back to work. I’m going to be okay.”

“Go. I need to go. I gotta go, Mum.”

Nick hangs up and immediately faints.

Chapter Text

As he begins to regain consciousness, Nick’s body immediately starts to wriggle around in search of Charlie or Kitty within his reach. Around him monitors beep quicker than they had before. There’s a rumbling too, and voices. He's not awake enough to make sense of them.

He hears a cascade of unfamiliar footsteps around him. Not Charlie footsteps.

The Not Charlies surround him. He feels Not Charlie hands on him and metal against his heart, and the beeping gets faster. He can’t handle the beeping. It floods his mind, and he feels the very beginning of the slip. Reality melts under his touch, as if he’s clinging to the cliff’s edge of a glacier.

An alarm blares as his mind leaves this place and slips into another.

He finds himself unexpectedly lying down. He considers it and lands on the conclusion that he must have fallen asleep next to the door. He swivels around looking for it. He knows it’s somewhere close, because the beeping is so loud. The beeping is Charlie. Charlie must be where the beeping is coming from.

His eyes land on a door, and it shapeshifts into the door he’s looking for in his head. It’s so real that he could count the stripes in the wood grain. If he reaches out, he could trace them with his finger.

That is not what he does. He bangs on the door as hard as he can with his fists.

“Whoa, okay, what’s going on?”

A Not Charlie crowds between him and the door. He sees a woman in a security guard’s uniform. She's not actually in a security guard's uniform, but he sees one.

“I need to get through this door.”

“Not right now, you don’t.”

Two more Not Charlies grab him and try to guide him backwards.

They’re taking me away, he thinks. I can’t let them do that. I can’t leave him.

He shrugs them off easily.

“You don’t understand. It’s my fault. He’s in there, and it’s my fault.”

Voices from each side bubble in. Their mouths contort around the words, like a poorly done CGI film, but Nick can’t yet process why.

"What's your name?"

"Nick Nelson. I really don't have time for this. Please. Let me in."

“Nick. That's right. Do you have any idea where you are?”

“I’m in the hospital. Why are you asking me that?”

”I didn’t ask where we’re going. I asked where we are right now.”

”I know.”

The Not Charlies form a circle and begin whispering fervently.

He grabs onto what looks to him like a door handle. More Not Charlies are on him in a flash. This time, they seem better prepared, and he can’t quite get loose. He throws his body weight around, jostling one of them into a wall with a thud that sounds a little too metallic.

He looks at his own hand for a moment and screams. It’s drenched in blood. He believes that it must be Charlie’s blood. He keeps frantically pulling at the door handle, but it won’t budge.

“We really, really can’t have you do that.”

“Do we sedate him?”

“I don’t think we’ve got a choice.”

He keeps kicking as he’s dragged into a seated position. A couch manifests itself into his reality for the job.

“Try to stay still. You’ve hit your head. We need you to sit, or you’ll make it worse.”

“I hit my head?”, he softens a little.

“Twice, actually. You’re in an ambulance. That’s where you are.”

His brain turns over this information, inspecting it as one would a priceless jewel they don’t believe to be genuine. In the warped world that Nick thinks he lives in, this is the best possible news. He feels the wall next to him and focuses as hard as he can on the texture and the temperature. Slowly, the plaster he’s been seeing peels away to reveal a cold metal surface.

“So nothing’s wrong. I’m just confused?”

“You seem to have a concussion or something else of that sort.”

Nick relaxes into this knowledge like sinking into a well worn out recliner. Nothing is wrong with Charlie. His brain recalibrates, seeing the medic in her real clothes. She grabs his hand gently in her own.

“Do you think you can stay here with us until we get there? It’s just a little bit longer.”

“Do you… Is my phone here?” he digs back into his pocket, but he can’t find it.

Another medic produces a plastic bag out of a cabinet.

“It’s a bit cracked, I’m afraid. I imagine you dropped it when you collapsed.”

“That’s fine. Doesn’t matter.” Nick traces the unfamiliar cracks with his fingers, letting the tactile stimulus keep him in the ambulance world. Then, he makes his second phone call of the day.

The answer comes immediately.

“Missed me too much to wait until you get here?”

Nick crumples back into his seat and sobs. He’s fully arrived back in the real world, which unfortunately sucks tremendously at the moment. It all comes over him at once. He rapidly regains the ability to feel a stinging in his hand from hitting it so hard, as well as the pain circulating through his head. It’s hurting from two different places: the bridge of his nose and the side by his right ear. On top of that comes the humiliation. The last thing he can remember is projectile vomiting tea flavored bile into a child-sized toilet while calling his Mummy for help like a real child.

“It’s okay, Nick, I know you’re hurt, and I know you get triggered easily when you don’t feel good. So just listen to my voice and do what the nice medics ask of you. We’re going to do some of our breathing exercises…”

Nick tries his best to follow along with Charlie.

“Good job, I can hear you calming down on the monitor. You’re doing so good. Tell me, what do you see, baby?”

“I uh. There’s a lot of metal stuff. Silver and white mostly. There’s one of those rolling bed things. I… um don’t remember what they’re called. But I’m pretty sure that’s not a concussion thing. I think I just don’t remember, generally? My brain’s only coming up with the French word for some reason. Anyways. Um. It’s quite warm. Or maybe I’m just warm. And I’m not alone. I guess that’s fairly obvious. But um. There’s three people. One is with me. She’s nice. Her name is… Candace.”

“That’s right.” she supplies. Nick’s not so jostled that he can’t read.

”Then, there’s the others. One’s rubbing some kind of salve on the other. He’s got a teensy bit of a bruise starting up above his hip, like he got shoved or... Oh god. Hold on.”

A wave of guilty revulsion washes over him. He puts the phone down and tries to get up, but the kindly female medic grabs his arm gently as a reminder that he’s not supposed to be moving about.

“I am so, so sorry.”

“S word, Nick.”

”Charlie, I accidentally went mad and threw the poor guy at a wall.”

”Alright, then. S word exception granted. Sorry from me as well. He can’t help how he gets. Sometimes he doesn't know where he is or what he's doing. He’s usually a teddy bear.”

“Charlie!”

”I’m right, and you know it.”

“It’s okay, man, seriously.”

The injured medic looks over the as of yet unnamed bed thing at Nick, opting to interrupt the bout of flirtatious bickering. They’re about the same age. Maybe the medic’s a bit younger. More Charlie’s age, perhaps. He’s wearing a uniform with no name stitched onto it. “I wouldn’t trade your first day for mine.”

Nick stares into his lap as he talks, “Guess so. Least tomorrow won’t be the first day anymore?”

“How’d you get so ripped? Like, obviously you’ve got a boyfriend already, but goddamn.”

”He does, but no hard feelings for the fact that you aren’t blind.” Charlie’s firm response rings loudly and clearly through the phone.

“Yeah. Right. To answer your question, I played a lot of rugby. I was looking at going out for a National 2 squad, did the negotiations and everything, but decided against it. Ironically, because I thought I’d get hurt less teaching. Bloody lot of good that did.”

He cries again, but this time it comes packaged within a fit of laughter. It takes a special sort of person to get through a decade of serious rugby without a concussion and then get one anyway doing something entirely mundane. All three of the medics snicker one after another, seemingly debating whether it was inappropriate and deciding either that it wasn’t or that they didn’t care.

The nameless guy medic finishes nursing his bruise and lowers his shirt back into place. “I want you to know that I will be going out to the nearest gay bar tonight and telling guys that I got this because I got body slammed by a super fit rugby player.”

“Nearest one is Lavenders. Ooh, that sounds like fun, actually. Charlie, can we go?”

The sigh is audible over the microphone.

“Nicholas Luke Nelson. You are such an idiot that it’s making MY brain hurt. I love you so much. From what I've been told, you might be concussed, your nose might be broken, you might have banged up your leg that you just had major surgery on six months ago, you’ve definitely been ill, you've definitely fainted, you've definitely had a panic attack, and you’ve all but admitted that your delusions are back, considering I cannot think of any other scenario wherein you would report that you've ACCIDENTALLY thrown someone at a wall...”
The volume and cadence of this tirade becomes louder and more stilted as it goes on. All three medics busy themselves with tidying up, content not to get involved in whatever lovers' quarrel is going down over the phone right now.

“Sorry.”

“No S word, and do not interrupt me again. In order, we’re getting your brain and your nose and your leg checked out, getting some food, I'm thinking Chinese, into your body and mine, filling out enough paperwork that I'm going to start wanting to slam MY head into something, calling your psychiatrist about having your medications adjusted, calling your MOTHER to explain your condition AND why you LIED TO HER about the fact you were clearly and knowingly about to pass out INTO A FUCKING TOILET, after which point I am absolutely certain that Sarah WILL be coming over here to assess you personally, and then once all that mess is dealt with, I will be taking you home, stuffing you into your pyjamas, and tucking you into bed whether you like it or not before you can stumble over anything else. If you're feeling well enough, then I will let you watch Bake Off, but you're staying in that bed until you're recovered if means that I have to tie you to the fucking bedposts, and not in a fun way. Do you understand?”

“…yes, Char.”

Nick’s voice takes on a softer quality than usual. Charlie’s not mad, but he’s definitely stressed out and channeling it into mapping out the immediate future. His train of thought left the station the moment he knew that Nick was hurt, and by now it's going so fast that he couldn’t stop if he tried. Nick appreciates it, actually. Charlie’s mind clears up in an emergency, while his own gets cloudy.

“I would hope so. At this rate, you’re bound to start tripping over things that don’t exist. I’ve just seen you pull into the ambulance bay. Say your goodbyes, and I’ll be over in a minute.”

“Okay.”

“Last thing. I’m not mad that you called your mum first. But if you wanted to call me, you could have. You’re allowed to call me when you’re upset, Nick.” Charlie’s voice comes out breathy, and Nick tries to read into that, but he can’t manage that at the moment.

”Okay, Charlie. I love you. Come quickly?”

“Already sprinting, love.”

The phone clicks off.

“Not in a fun way? He sounds like a riot.”

”You cannot have him. He’s mine.”

“I know. Please don’t throw me again.”

Chapter Text

Charlie devotes every fiber of his being to ensuring his plan gets followed to the letter, and by the evening, it has. Well, mostly.

They ended up not needing to call Sarah. She got off work, and her motherly senses were tingling, so she decided to double check that nobody had checked her son into A&E while she’d been on a delivery up in the maternity ward. Unfortunately, her motherly senses are never wrong.

Sarah gets into the room just after Nick’s gone back for scans. She and Charlie chat briefly and exchange schedules. He offers her leftover fortune cookies from the food he’d gotten delivered. Charlie would have tried to fetch her if he’d realized she was just upstairs. His original plan had hinged on the idea that there was no use calling her until he could answer her questions.

In any case, it works out, because the staff wouldn’t let Charlie accompany Nick for the scans. Sarah’s his mother, and she’s credentialed in the hospital. She swiftly gets an exemption to go in there before her sweet claustrophobic boy has a panic attack in the machine like the last time.

She gets back before he does. She doesn’t particularly like leaving either of the boys alone for too long.

“Clean as a whistle, Charlie.”

“Okay. He failed the concussion test, though, I’d have to think. I gave him a ribbing last week about forgetting your phone number and mine, but now he’s getting a little mixed up counting to twenty.”

“How’d he do in the ambulance?”

“About how you’d expect. He was having one of his fits again. Medics said he tried to break down the back door to get out and body checked one of them when they attempted to intervene. Luckily, the guy was too possessed by Nick’s charms to press charges.”

Charlie groans loudly about the whole encounter. His jealousy practically steams out through his ears.

“Charlie. The man was probably just being nice to him to put him at ease and keep him from blowing his lid again. Flattery is easier than pushing a needle into his arm. Even if he did fancy him, it would take a lot more than a couple blows to the head to make Nicky have eyes for anyone that’s not you. The boy worships the ground you walk on. So hush about that.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m helping you get him home, and you’re not going to argue with me on it.”

“Already planned on it. I had to get an Uber to get here, and Nick hasn’t got the car either. We’ll have to get that sorted out tomorrow some time.” Charlie shows her the spot in his planner where he had written that Sarah would be coming for dinner. “I’m having groceries delivered. Figured we could do an extra lesson today. Any ideas in mind?”

“Well Nicky doesn’t feel well…”

“Yes, I know, I’ve already added bread and cheddar cheese to the cart. I just figured that you and I could work on one of our recipe cards. I’d… appreciate the diversion.”

“Are you well?”

Charlie hunches in a little. He’d been happy not to be asked about that for most of the day.

“I’m trying.” he pulls out the Chinese food package. It’s half full, but that also means that it’s half empty. His skin itches as he waits for Sarah to say something about it.

“There’s a microwave in the staff lounge. I could warm that back up, but I could also take it from you.”

“I…”

Charlie takes some very deliberate breaths.

“Run it through the microwave. I’ll… do my best. Feel free to take Nick’s. They said no food or drink until his scans are done, and we may as well just take him home and get him his congratulatory sandwich right after this.”

“Is it his usual?”

“Obviously.”

Sarah putters off to reheat everything. Nick is brought back in, but in the time it took to return to the room, he’d nodded off. Charlie doesn’t have the heart to wake him. Instead, he drags his and Sarah’s chairs in close and holds onto Nick’s hand.

Sarah chuckles to herself. “He always orders more noodles than he can eat. I’ll be eating his leftover Chinese food until my hair turns grey.”

Charlie puts his finger to his lips and points as she comes in. “Hush, you’re going to wake the baby.”

They both snicker quietly for a minute before digging into their leftovers and resuming the conversation in half whispered tones. Charlie hands Sarah his phone, so that she can add whichever ingredients she wants to his grocery order. She knows her recipe cards by heart, so she’s given him the paper copies.

“You’re right about the noodle thing. In our fridge, there’s usually at least one partially eaten container he’s forgotten about. It’s a huge waste of money, but I wasn’t about to have that argument today.”

“How much was it?”

“Sarah… Why do you ask when you know that I’m going to say no? You’re helping to put a roof over my head, and I’m not even yours.”

“If you think I haven’t adopted you by now, you are sorely mistaken. You’re my second favorite son. Additionally, you are the best thing that’s ever happened for my favorite son, and for that I’m inclined to keep you around.”

Charlie snorts a little too loudly, and then sits in stunned silence, his mouth half full, just long enough to ensure Nick hasn’t stirred. He very deliberately chews and swallows before he responds.

“I love how willing you are to admit that you don’t like David when they’re both out of earshot.”

“He is my son. I love him very much, but I do not presently like him with the same fervor that I like either of you. I would like David just fine if he would stop acting like…”

“Like a bellend?” Charlie supplies in his standard dead pan, wiping his face with a napkin.

“His father, Charlie. I was going to say if he would stop acting like his father.”

Sarah's amused smile gives away the fact that she’s not at all bothered by Charlie swearing. If anything, she’s proud of him. The boy used to be so afraid of saying the wrong thing to her that he clammed up half the time. She’s certainly not going to openly encourage his burgeoning potty mouth, but she’s happy to create an environment where Charlie feels like he can talk to her openly.

“I assume David is still out gallivanting across the Scottish countryside, spreading the heterosexual agenda?”

The last Charlie had heard was that David finished university with essentially no plan or prospects, but his relationship with Nick and Sarah had grown icy to the point that he seemed to spurn all of England and refuse to ever come home. This was only a little bit his fault. Charlie had gotten a bit too creative with his direction on where David ought to shove his mistletoe a few years back and burned whatever spindly bits remained of that bridge. Whatever his reasoning may be, he seemed to be bopping around Scotland, moving house whenever he pissed someone off. With what money is anyone’s guess at this point.

“I imagine so. I’m afraid I don’t know much more than you do.”

“He’s ghosting you again?”

“Last I heard he was in a rage because some poor girl he’d slept with had gotten pregnant and said it was his. He said a lot of things I’d rather not have heard. Like father, like son, I’d suppose.”

“I assume he insists it wasn’t his, then?”

“Oh, of course, but I have absolutely no reason to believe that. The box of condoms in the bathroom never got emptier when he had overnight guests, and I never found the wrappers under his bed.”

Charlie tries to play off his embarrassment as a cough as his brain supplies to him a smash cut montage of where all those condoms went and all the mini panic attacks he’d had when he realized he had no clue where the wrappers had gone. The horrifying cavern underneath Teenaged Nick’s bed had such a dizzying array of wrappers, socks, and other paraphernalia that Charlie usually had no choice but to admit defeat and tell himself that Sarah wouldn’t notice. He knows better than that now. Sarah Nelson notices everything. Including the fact that Charlie doesn’t cough like this. She almost says something, but ends up determining that Charlie’s hit his limit with this line of conversation. He’s going to change the subject in 3…2…

“Anyways! Enough about that. What’d you say to David?”

“Well, I certainly don’t want to repeat everything I said to him, but I reminded him of the little boy who set up his train set by the front door, so that he’d be the first to know if Papa got back, and that if he does that to another child, he’s not the man I raised. He went quiet and hung up. Haven’t heard a word since.”

“That sounds like it was rough.”

“At least David entertained himself. He was a self driving car by then. It was rougher dealing with a toddler who wailed if I tried to go to the loo without him.”

“Awwww. He did that to me an hour ago.”

“Crying shame he doesn’t fit in the baby carrier anymore, isn’t it?”

“If he did, we wouldn’t be in this mess!”

It’s a little too real, and they both finally crack at the absurdity of their lives and the day they’re having. They’ve both been wound up like spinning tops, and now they’ve been let loose.

Nick wakes to his mother and Charlie laughing maniacally.

“What’s so funny?”

“Don’t worry yourself about it, Nicky. We’re just here to take you home.”

“Mmmmmm. Okay. Wanna go home now.”

“We know you do, sweetheart. Your mum’s going to get you all checked out. I texted your doctor and got you a zoom appointment for tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Charrrrrrlie.”

“No need, baby.” Charlie bends down to pepper the undamaged side of Nick’s face with kisses. “I don’t mind.”

“You’re really prettyyyyyyyyy.”

“Am I? Thank you, Nicholas. I think you’re really sleeeeeeepy.”

“Maybe so. You’re still pretty though. Extra pretty. The most pretty there ever was.” Nick tries to emphasize his words with gestures, but his gestures make no sense. “Look, my mum is here. She’s pretty too. In a Mum way. Mum, you’re pretty.”

“Thank you very much, Nicky.”

Sarah has the discharge paperwork under one arm, pushing a wheelchair, which Charlie quickly takes over from her.

They ride home in silence, allowing Nick to nod off again in the car. The food is at the door when they arrive, so Sarah sets about unpacking it all into the kitchen while Charlie gets Nick into his bed.

Charlie emerges back into the kitchen a couple long minutes later.

“Sarah, do you mind if I shower, actually?”

Now that he’s run through all his to-do list items, his brain is sending him notifications again, like the fact that he’s been wearing last night’s pajamas for almost 24 hours and feels disgusting.

“Not at all, Charlie. Don’t worry. I’ve got him. When you get back, I’ll show you how to use a paring knife.”

They spend the rest of the afternoon into the evening taking turns chopping vegetables and checking on Nick until they’re both calm enough that they stop needing to check. By the end of it, they’ve made enough food that Charlie won’t need to cook again this week, and enough pastries that Nick may cry with pure joy when he wakes up.

Charlie chooses the lasagna for tonight’s meal, so Sarah shows him how to serve it without making a mess of things. Charlie then puts on his eating dinner playlist and lets the music lull the food into his mouth. Sarah just sits and watches him, remarking occasionally on how his cooking skills have been improving under her tutelage. If Nick has noticed that his dinners remind him more of home with every passing week, he hasn’t mentioned it, but Charlie takes pride in being able to use his recovery plan for someone else’s benefit as well as his own.

Afterwards, while Sarah arranges the containers in the fridge, Charlie erases the white board meal plan for the week, rewriting it from scratch, and it only bothers him a little.

“You’re doing well, Charlie.”

“I know.”

“Do you want me to stay over?”

“No. You go rest. Somebody’s gotta feed Henry and Nellie. I’ll see you in the morning to go get the car from the school. We’ll be fine.”

Charlie knows he’s doing well, because he believes that.

Chapter Text

“You really didn’t run screaming in terror after that? You’re made of stronger stuff than I thought.”

Nick turns from pretending to very carefully assess a selection of non-alcoholic seltzers at the sound of a voice he actually recognizes with more than a faint recollection. Somebody’s arranged an uncountably large number of them across the conference table, along with stress balls and little bottles of hand sanitizer, as a welcome back celebration of sorts. It’s a little too cheery for pretty much anyone at 7 in the morning, but Nick thinks it’s sort of sweet that somebody made the effort. He intends to make an effort to figure out who that was and thank them.

“Good morning, Clara.”

He’s been blaming the head injury as he’s asked just about everyone else for their name again, even though he knows fairly well he would have forgotten anyway. At least he has a notebook now, and it’s only a little bit embarrassing. He told Charlie to get him a notebook without any further directions, so he came back with a rugby-themed children’s composition book and a shit eating grin.

“Is there any point to telling you that you could have stayed home longer? Because you absolutely could have done.”

“I’m cleared.” Nick looks her dead in the eyes to prove that he’s listening and on top of things. He actually feels better than he had when he came in the first time, aside from the lingering soreness here and there. He had had some of his dosages adjusted and a blood pressure medication thrown in, so he’s chilled out quite a bit.

“Oh, I’m sure you are. I just would have taken the free excuse to miss today. We deserve real drinks, honestly.”

She snickers and grabs whichever flavor of seltzer is closest to the hand, popping it with the practiced ease of a sorority girl from a film drinking her seventh White Claw of the afternoon.

Nick laughs for the first time today. This conversation is making him feel a little bit more awake and alive again.

“Should I be afraid?”

“Oh probably not. The children are less scary than the adults… Sorry about that, by the way.”

“About what?”

That question comes from a place of genuine confusion. Nick lost the plot on that comment.

Clara takes a step and a half closer and lowers her voice a bit, in an effort to respect Nick’s privacy. Nobody else has come into the conference room, but they could. They’re rapidly reaching that threshold of the morning hour where everyone who hasn’t yet come into the office will be people who are running late and have no time to explore seltzer options, but there’s always a chance that somebody is a bubbly addict.

“Letting you get thrown to the wolves last week.” She crushes the can in her hand and banks it off a whiteboard into a recycling bin. “You got chattered to death. I should have dragged you out of there before you went mental.”

“I didn’t... Okay, maybe I went slightly mental, but that’s not on you.“

“But it is, Nick. I could tell you were unraveling and left you to it. That was shit of me.”

“Clara, it’s fine. I’m not your charity case.”

Nick snatches one of the stress balls off the table and starts fidgeting with the thing in his hand. It’s made of foam and shaped like an apple with a worm climbing out of it, which is disgusting, but for whatever reason other people think that’s cute. He’ll ditch it later. He can’t deny that it does do something for his brain to just mess with the thing a bit.

“Of course not. That’s some bullshit. You are, however, going to be my friend.“

“Seriously? I don’t need pity friendship. It’s alright. I’m not one of the children crying on the playground because nobody wanted to play tag with me. You don’t have to be nice to me.”

If he does feel that way a little bit, he won’t show it. With every passing year, he works on his tendency towards loneliness and clinginess, but it lingers. He’s been a little too lucky with Charlie’s ability to tether him and wade him into social waters.

“Too late. I’ve decided it.”

Nick eases slightly. Her tone is too snarky not to be sincere. If she were taking him on as a charity case, Nick would expect her to be more saccharine, which he actually finds obnoxious. Nick vastly prefers people who are a little harsh and stubborn on who they like.

Take Tao for example. Nick likes Tao, and trusts him, because if Tao thought he was a dick, he’d just look at Nick and tell him that. In fact, he has done. Several times, actually. Gaining Tao’s friendship was a hard fought battle that took several years, but it’s left Nick in a place where he never has to wonder if he’s just putting up with him.

“Have you, now?” Nick quirks up an eyebrow at her.

“Yep. You’re going to be popular soon, but I’ll have been your friend first.”

Nick rolls his eyes. He’d actually love it if he didn’t become popular. He’s done popular before, and he wasn’t much of a fan.

“Is baseless flattery your first language, or did you go to an immersion school?” Nick shoots back. His real personality starts kicking into gear, and a rush of satisfaction comes across Clara as she realizes that he’s ready to play ball.

“Obviously sarcasm is my first language, and my second language is calling shit like it is. Walk with me. You’re on Year 1 drop off in ten.”

“I know that. I can read a schedule. Shocking, I know.”

Nick gathers up his notebook and pen, as well as a miscellaneous seltzer.

“Not that one, Nick. Those ones taste like piss. I’d go for the grapefruit, personally. They’ve also got Orangina here somewhere, I think.”

“Wait, actually?”

The amount of beverage varieties is so staggering that it takes a minute to sift through the sea of cans and bottles, but she’s right. They do have Orangina, and Nick has to physically hold himself back from taking the whole case. He’s downed half a bottle before they even get out of the room.

“Jesus, Nick, do you have a bubbly addiction we should know about? It’s okay, you can get help.”

“Worse. I’m French.”

He giggles to himself. There’s not a lot of things that make him remember his French side these days, much to his dismay, but he could probably single-handedly keep this stupid French beverage company in business. Stephane got David hooked on it as a child, and then David passed the torch. By the time Nick was old enough to grab things out of the fridge by himself, this was almost always what he was grabbing.

“You’re right. That is worse.”

“Damn, okay then. Starting this friendship on the right foot.”

They’re weaving through the library back towards the baby end of campus. No children have arrived yet, so Nick let himself say damn. The library assistant looks up from her work and smiles, waving at Nick with a sort of confused look. He flashes her a grin.

Clara picks up the conversation again once they’re outside.

“Wait. Were you serious?”

“About what?” Nick takes one last sip and begins scanning his surroundings for a bin.

“Being French?”

“Yes? My dad is a Frenchman who lives in France? Why on earth would I lie about being French in England???? Do you think I’ve got a death wish?????? I promise I don’t.”

Nick worries for half a second about what Clara might have heard, but he manages to crush that fear and the can in his fist fairly quickly.

“I don’t know? To claim the case of Orangina on birthright?”

“Well, I am absolutely doing that, but it is actually my birthright.”

“Prove it then.”

“Nope. I’ve seen this film before. This is just an excuse to make me speak French so that you can laugh at me.”

Nick actually doesn’t love speaking French at the moment. His French gathers rust every year. At least when he was in school, he could talk to the French teachers to brush up. Not to mention he could always talk to David, when he was at home, although usually they’d only do that to have arguments without Mum getting involved. Now, he’s got nobody to share it with. He hates how English his accent sounds. He feels like he ought to have a perfectly French accent, like any perfectly French blooded child should. Sadly, blood doesn’t teach languages. People do. He hasn’t spent more than a few days in France in a decade.

“Damnit. I don’t know. Got a photo of your dad looking super French? Has he got one of those curly mustaches?”

“Funny. I barely have a photo of my dad in general. He’s a bit of an arse.”

“Let me guess. Left your mum for some posh lady in a beret with an accent mark in her name?”

“That’s horribly reductive.”

Nick sighs so heavily it looks as if he’s lost a stone of weight through his breath.

“Oh my god, he did, didn’t he?”

“Don’t bring poor Martiné into this. Mum says he was already a bit of an arse before that. I’m not even completely clear on whether that happened before or after the divorce, and I haven’t met her to know if she’s a fan of hats.”

“You were young then, I assume?”

“How do you know that? I’m starting to think you’re a stalker or something.”

“I’m not; I just literally teach looking for context clues for a living, and you constantly bleed your hand. If you were a teenager or an adult, you would know if your dad’s lady friend was involved in the divorce. Can’t imagine that wouldn’t have come up. So you mustn’t have been that old.”

They step into Clara’s classroom.

“Okay, you got me there, but I wouldn’t say I bleed my hand constantly.”

“What’s your boyfriend’s name, then?”

“What does Charlie have to do with… shit.”

“The court would like to call into evidence…” Clara begins to count on her fingers.

“Let’s see.

1. Awkwardly skirting around gender pronouns in conversation.
2. Spending teenaged years panic googling your romantic feelings.
3. Using the word ‘partner’ in a sentence and doing that weird breath hitch thing like ‘oh god I hope nobody noticed that was weird.’
4. Admitting you were in a long-term committed relationship without immediately gushing about it, instead acting like I caught your hand in a cookie jar.
5. Walking into a room full of women and not having the ‘my girlfriend is going to kill me for taking this job, isn’t she?’ look on your face.
6. Asphyxiating at the sight of a guy with incredible abs.
7. Smirking at the cute girl back there without flirting with her or panicking.

The prosecution concludes that this man is the hopelessly besotted, a little bit bisexual but happily accounted for boyfriend of the little curly-haired twink I saw lost in the car park last Tuesday. He’s cute, by the way. In a boyish ‘I listen to punk rock, but I also have raging anxiety.’ sort of way. Also, I’m willing to bet real money that the dent in the right rear fender was your fault, not his.”

“Wow. Okay. Yeah…“

Nick imagines Charlie wandering around the carpark in a frenzy trying to find the car. Nick had parked in a weird corner behind a tree in an attempt to avoid having to see or talk to anyone on his way in. Nick hopes that Charlie hadn’t been hunting for it for too long in this heat, especially given his proclivity to wear too many layers for the weather. Given the punk rock comment, he must have gone out in one of his concert t-shirts, but Nick doubts he would have left the house in one of those without some sort of cardigan over it.

As for whose fault the dent was, it depends on whom you ask. Technically speaking, Nick was behind the wheel. Charlie was the one who said something so obscene that Nick forgot to take the car out of reverse before he put his foot down. Nick maintains that he simply could not be expected to drive normally under these conditions. He doesn’t say that to Clara, though, because she would use this knowledge for evil.

“Nope, no boyfriend fantasies before drop off.”

“Alright, alright. Fine. If you’re not stalking me, explain the Orangina.”

Nick’s content to let this stalking accusation become an ongoing bit. That's how you start a friendship, right?

“You left your lunch last week when you KO’d yourself. Somebody had to dump it out before it went off and stunk up the hall for a month. Orangina and an orange?”

“Charlie…”

That sounds like exactly the sort of thing Charlie would have done. He can be a bit funny about contrasting flavor profiles within a single meal, especially when under stress. He finds it easier to eat a bigger portion of one thing rather than many different things at once. Nick refers to those days as “Chips and Chips” days in his head, because if he knows that Charlie’s feeling that way, he’ll order himself fish and chips, and then ask the restaurant to send an entire container of just chips for Charlie. That tends to work.

Charlie’s brain must have decided that indulging his beloved citrus fiend as much as possible would be the way to soothe him. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you, or whatever. It would have worked, probably, if for no reason other than the fact that it was such a Charlie decision. Charlie, who has fought through so much hell just to regain the ability to have lunch, is trying to help him.

Clara dives into the realm of chaos behind her desk and roots around back there until she’s unearthed Nick’s lunch box.

“There’s something still in there. I didn’t snoop. Scout’s honor. I really wanted to, but I was so very strong.”

Nick peeks in and sees a folded up bit of paper with his name on it.

“I praise your excellent exercise in restraint, then.”

“Truly, I deserve awards.”

There’s a tiny knock on the door.

Chapter Text

Nick goes for the door before Clara can stop him.

She sighs and mouths the words “Here we go.”

“Missus Clary?” the little girl cocks her head to the side as she looks Clara up and down.

“Hello friend! You’re a bit early.” she emphasizes the last word a little too hard, hinting as hard as she can to Nick that they could have finished their conversation, but now it’s too late. Her voice is dripping with the held back desire to say “dumbass”, but it’s clearly all in good fun.

He mouths back, “Sorryyyyyy.” as he slips out the door and hopes he’s right about how to get to Year One’s hallway.

“Mr. Nelson!”, he hears behind him.

It takes him half a minute to process that he IS Mr. Nelson. ”Yeah?”

“Tell Eleanor the acid trips hit early.”

Nicks face twists, but he decided that he’s not going to ask for an explanation. He assumes that if Clara were actually dropping acid right now, she wouldn’t say it. Although, maybe she would. If anybody would admit to doing acid at her workplace, it would be Clara, it seems.

Year One’s hallway isn’t actually a hallway. It’s technically a sidewalk with a roof over it. All the classrooms open directly into the outdoors, which is probably good for getting the little ones outside, but it sucks right now. The sun’s properly come out while Nick was inside, and he’s once again regretting his trousers. He doesn’t have much time to consider how quickly he’s about to sweat through this outfit, though, because there’s far more people out here. Not just children. Oh no. There are just as many adults and toddlers and babies screaming, and their collective gaze lands on him instantly. None of the classes have opened the doors yet. He suddenly feels like a lamb who just stumbled into a wolf’s den at breakfast time.

Nick’s schedule for this morning just says “7:40 to 8:10 Year One Drop Off Support”. He realizes very quickly what exactly they need the support for.

A few of the adults glance at him and look away, not bothering to direct any of their questions or angst towards this man who looks to them as though he’s gotten lost looking for the gym.

Several glare at him, like he’s personally responsible for all of life’s problems, and he has gone out of his way to bother them specifically. Ironically, Nick usually believes that about himself, but blaming himself for the weather is a bridge too far he’d reckon.

Only one seems properly furious.

“It’s far too hot to keep us and our children out here in this heat.”

“I’m very sorry, sir. If you or anyone else is feeling ill, you could wait at the office for the bell. I could come escort anyone who needs it.”

“This is ridiculous. We’re clearly here now. Some of us have real jobs to get to. Nothing those teachers could be doing in there could be that important.”
”The teachers are making sure the classrooms are safe and comfortable for the children.”

“Unlock the door, boy.”

Nick gets smacked across the face by a flashback he didn’t know he remembered. His father, screaming the same words at him from outside the house, after one of the worse fights between his parents. Sarah had thrown him out, although Nick’s never found out what exactly it was that he’d done to anger her so severely. Unfortunately, Nick couldn’t disobey. He never could. Nick feels his hand on the doorknob in the memory so clearly that he has to shake himself to get back into the present.

“I’m just a teaching assistant. My key wouldn’t open these doors if I tried.”

That is true, although Nick doesn’t make a move to prove it. He hasn’t got a master key to all the doors on campus yet. Supposedly, he will at some point, but that point is most certainly not today. It saves him from having to wonder for too long about whether he might crack and do what he’s being told if he could. He can tell himself he’d be strong either way.

“You don’t look like an assistant.”

Nick is glad for the heat as an alibi for how red his face must be getting.

“My apologies for failing to meet your expectations, sir.”

The man’s son looks over to see who his father is talking to.

“You have rugby on your notebook!”

The man grabs his hand, “You do not speak when the adults are talking, Tobias.”

Nick approaches very slowly.

“It’s alright, sir. I am just an assistant, after all. This is my job.”

He keeps the sass level just low enough that he won’t get told off, but in his head, he’s thinking that he’s about to do a better job bonding with this man’s son in eight minutes than he likely has in his whole life.

He drops to one knee on the sidewalk, raising his voice only slightly.

“You can come look, Tobias. It’s okay. Does anyone else want to see?”

Several other children pull loose from their parents and cluster around him, essentially crowding out the rude man whose name Nick couldn’t be paid enough to write down in this notebook. He begins to point out each of the illustrations and explain the purpose of each piece of equipment.

“Does anybody know what number this is?” he points to the jersey on the cartoon boy. Most of the children shrug or give nonsense answers like “A!” or “Watermelon!”. A few say things that may actually be the answer, but it’s hard to tell over the commotion. In any case, those aren’t the children Nick’s watching.

One of the little girls in the back keeps halfway raising her hand and dropping it again, shuffling back and forth on her feet. She’s got halfway wavy hair that looks like somebody’s tried to straighten it and given up, and a dress that looks far too uptight for such a small child.

Nick locks eyes with her.

“What’s your name?”
She glances down at her shoes, fiddling with the cord tied around the waist of her dress for a moment. She mutters something indecipherable.

“Come here.”
He gestures at the other children to part way slightly and beckons her to the front. Nick briefly scans the area for another adult watching this child, but nobody seems to be paying her any attention. He does spot a woman accordingly dressed, but she’s on the phone.

Nick bends to the correct height and flashes the little girl what Charlie affectionately refers to as a Nick Nelson Knock Your Socks Off Smile.

“My apologies. I couldn’t hear your name because everyone was talking, and that’s no fun at all. Could you tell me what it is again?”

She cups her hands around her mouth and Nick takes the hint to turn his head.

In a whisper, he confirms with her. “Lizzy?”

She shakes her head with a tiny giggle and whispers a little louder this time.

Now, Nick can clearly hear what she’s said, but he’s decided it will be more fun to act like he doesn’t.

“Hm? Lacey? Lotsy? Lollipop? I’m not sure.” He makes a big dramatic show of his confusion, dragging roars of laughter from the whole group. “Do you think her name is Lollipop?”
”NOOOOOOOOOOOO.”

She finally gets up the guts to talk normally. “It’s Lucy! LUUUUUUCY!”

“Right! Lucy! Well, I never would have gotten that on my own. Go on, then.”

“What do you mean, sir?”

“Tell us. What number is this? I think you had it.”

“Ten?”

“You’re right. Now, say it with confidence.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

Nick bristles at that, but he recovers it, with the help of the group.

“It means say it loud!”

“It means say it like it’s really really important!”

“It means say it like you need everybody in the whole world to hear it!”

“Good job, everyone. Yes! Confidence is when you believe in yourself. You know you’re doing a good job, and you get to share it with everybody else.”

“Ten!” Lucy shouts, jumping in her fancy shoes. Only that draws the brief attention of her mother, who shoots the back of Lucy’s head a death glare that Nick’s grateful she cannot see.

“That’s good! Everybody, now! What number is this?” he shouts like a coach on the pitch.

“TEN!”

“One more time!”
”TEN!”

“Say it like a roaring lion!”
This time, some of the children say “ten”, some of them just roar, and a couple just look at Nick like he’s grown a second head, but the calamity of it all makes him smile too much to care. The parents seem split in their opinions of this development. A couple have started shooting him “Keep it down!” looks, but just as many have been giving him “Thank you so much for getting them out of my hair!” looks as well. He resolves to at least attempt to bring it down a notch.

“Good job everyone. Alright, quiet down now, so everybody can hear. This boy is number 10, and that means he’s a fly half like me.”

“A fly half’s the leader.” one of the children chirps.

“Yes and no. The coach makes the big choices, but the fly half is there to set a good example for the team and help everybody else out on the field.”

“Like an assistant?”

Nick wasn’t expecting this turn in the conversation, but sure. This is how we’re playing this game today.

“Yes. The fly half helps the coach keep the whole team in line. Come on. Make a line. We’re going to fly.”

Nick leads them around an emptier bit of the sidewalk with his arms out like an airplane, making ridiculous zooming sound effects. The term fly half has nothing to do with aeronautics, but the idea popped into his head, and he was legally obligated to act on it immediately. The children, to their credit, go with it no questions asked. They’re at the age where they don’t really care why they’re doing things as long as they’re having a bit of fun with it. If only we could all stay that way forever.

The bell rings, and doors all open within seconds each other. The parents begin crowding the doors and beckoning their children. Clearly, everyone’s in a hurry to be somewhere that’s not here. It looks like it might get ugly and quick, with some of the adults literally shoving each other.

“Everyone! What did I just say about keeping the team in line? Behind me, please.”

He starts doing arm signals like an air traffic controller from a film to direct people to the correct area in the hallway.

“Yes, sir.”

Nick’s cluster of children form the beginning of an orderly line, forcing their parents into irritated cooperation in the guise of influencing their children well and avoiding public embarrassment. The rest of the child/adult pairs file in behind, along with whatever accompanying siblings and family members they’ve decided to drag along on this adventure. From there, with the map he slipped into his notebook, he can quickly direct families to the right room in a pattern that keeps any one teacher from getting too swamped at one time.

Eleanor pops her head out of her classroom at the sound of Nick’s voice. Frankly, she's shocked that she can hear anything beyond the usual screaming. She looks out at the rather organized proceedings in the hallway.

“I have no idea how you did it, but you are my favorite person right now, Nicholas Nelson. Keep it up.”

Nick makes a note to thank Charlie for his new favorite notebook.

Chapter Text

The next twenty minutes of directing families to their classrooms feels like an hour, but the moment finally comes when there’s only one family left.

“Molly and Lilly Perez.” the mother says, fidgeting a bit with her hands. She reaches up to wipe a stream of sweat from her brow with her too long for the weather shirt sleeve. Her children are dressed for the heat, so she must have known it would be this hot outside. Alarms go off in Nick’s brain. People who are okay dress themselves for the weather. People who are okay don’t shift on their feet like that and scrape their palms with their nails. They don’t sound this afraid.

“You’ve got two beautiful girls here. Let’s see where they’re going this morning.”

Nick looks up the children’s names in the roster. He finds Molly quickly, but he has to dig around for Lilly’s name. She’s listed under the special educational section of the roster, which is in a different part of building. Nick had directed a few families that way, but not a lot.

“Alright, Molly’s right here to my left. We can drop her off, and then I’ll take you to drop off Lilly here.”

“No.” One of the girls crosses her arms and glares up at Nick. They look the same, tan skin and brown curls, except that this one doesn’t wear glasses. The mother opens her mouth to object, but nothing comes out. She just bites down on her lip.

Nick realizes he will have to handle this himself.

“What’s wrong?” he furrows his brow and gets down to her level.

“I’m going where Lilly’s going.”

Right, so this is Molly. No Glasses Molly. Glasses Lilly. Nick scribbles that down in his notebook. He’s got a feeling that this won’t be the last he sees of either of them.

“How about you walk with us to take Lilly? I’ll poke my head in and tell your teacher that we might be a minute.”

Molly is in Eleanor’s class, and Nick trusts her, which gives Nick the guts necessary to tell her that he’s stealing one of her students for a little while. She just shrugs.

Nick eases the door closed so that she can commence her class, before he turns back to the twins at his knees. They are so, so impossibly small. Seriously, have five year olds always been this small? Nick tries to think back to the last time that he’s seen a five year old in person prior to today.

He has to mentally reference his child development lectures. One thing he remembers is that kids this age like to feel like they’re a little bit in charge. He can do that.

“Okay, you two, let’s show your Mummy where we’re going.”

The mother returns to earth as one of her children tugs her hand. She had clearly gone off somewhere in her head for a minute there.

“Uh huh.” is all that she musters up.

“Are you okay, Mummy?” Molly asks, and she gets a vigorous nod in response. That’s enough to satisfy the child as she begins wandering off, tugging her family behind her. Nick walks off to the side half a step ahead, so that he can subtly guide her.

“Hm, I can’t remember, do you think it’s this room or that one?” he asks the little girls. Of the two he points out, one is correct and the other is quite obviously the boys’ toilets. The two of them giggle and point at the correct door.

Nick makes a big show of pretending to check the other way.

“Silly me. You’re right. Ready to go in, Lilly?”

Lilly doesn’t respond at first.

“She can’t see you talking.” Molly chirps, before turning to her sister, holding her sister by the shoulders and articulating her words carefully, “Ready, Lilly?”

She follows the comment with a gesture that Nick assumes is some sort of twin secret handshake. The other twin repeats it back at her.

“I want to go with her.” Molly says firmly.

“Did Lilly ask you to go with her?” Nick starts, waiting to get a better understanding of the situation before he comments.

“No…”

“Then you have to let her go.”

“But who else will hear her? I’m the only one who can?” Molly looks up with the stubborn anxiety of a child who really believes that. Who knows? Maybe they really are telepathic? Nick didn’t really know any twins growing up to ask.

Nick doesn’t know what to do with her for a moment, but he’s saved by the door opening. Lilly had crept around him and pulled it open to peek into her new surroundings, rousing the attention of the teacher inside. She looks at the child, then up at Nick.

“Lilly Perez? She’s the only one we hadn’t checked in.”

“Yeah. Sorry, it took a minute to get over here.”

The woman immediately crouches in front of the child and speaks directly to her face.

“Do you know what I’m saying?”

Lilly makes a shaky, unsure looking hand gesture.

The teacher quickly switches over to gestures.

Oh.

Okay.

It’s not a twin thing. They speak sign language. The chest pointing hand shaking thing meant something.

Nick has to bite back from cursing himself at how long that realization took him. He really should have taken the sign language elective in uni.

Lilly seems to get swept up in whatever conversation she’s having. She’s waving her arms around wildly between signs and bouncing on the balls of her feet, like she has so much to say that she can’t keep it inside her body.

After a minute or two, Lilly hugs her mum’s leg, grabs her bag, and scampers into the classroom.

The moment the door closes again, Molly bursts into tears. Inexplicably, she doesn’t barrel into her mother’s arms. She plows her crying face directly into Nick’s hip.

Her mother’s face cracks, but she says nothing.

Nick pets the little girl’s hair. He still feels like he’s in over his head, but he knows that he always liked that as a child.

Moments pass by, and Nick feels a little odd just standing here letting a small child use his thigh as a tissue, but it’s honestly not the worst thing in the world. He’s glad to have made her feel safe.

“Don’t wanna go.” Molly finally whispers.

Nick carefully plans out what he’s going to say.

“Has Lilly ever been away from you?”

Molly shakes her head heavily.

“Do you think that’s scary?”

A small nod.

“What do you think will make her feel better? Being away from her twin for the first time?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“Why don’t you and I walk back to your classroom, and we can sit and talk about it? We can come up with ideas together.”

He brings his hand down so it’s on top of her hand, and she grabs it.

Nick swallows hard and looks over at the mum, who seems to be properly hitting her limit.

“I got her.”

He walks her into her own classroom, over to the pile of stuffies in the back corner silently, and they chatter on about ways to comfort a scared, lonely twin until the twin seems a lot less scared and lonely. It’s an up and down process. Any time Nick tries to get more than an arm’s length away, the poor girl gets fussy again.

Nick’s scheduled Year One Support gets rewritten into two solid hours of unicorn tea party practice. As the children prepare for their lunch, he goes to apologize for it.

“Nicholas,” Eleanor starts off quietly, “That’s what support means. Pulling the ones who are having a hard day aside for us, so they can get the one on one help they need. I haven’t got the time with the other 22 of them to fuss after. You’re just doing your job. Quite swimmingly at that.”

This job is so much harder and so much easier than Nick ever expected.

Chapter Text

Nick follows the infant classes to their lunch, during which he learns the hard way that he has no idea how to get those fancy new smoothie pouches open, and that he’s not meant to send more than three children to the loo at once.

At any given time, at least four of the children are making requests of him at once. The young ones haven’t learned hand raising yet, so they just run up to him and start asking him for things. All the noise starts making Nick’s brain buck around in his head like an angry bull. He feels bad at how robotic his responses become.

“Yes, you can go to the nurse for your nosebleed. Bring a few friends with you.”

“No, we can’t play tag in here.”

“Yes, I can clean that up for you.”

“If you want biscuits in your lunch, you have to ask your grownup at home. I haven’t got any.”

“STOP CLIMBING ON THE TABLE!”

“Wait, who is Chloe and what has she done? Actually it doesn’t matter. Tell her to stop doing that.”

“I already said no tag!”

It goes on like this for the better part of an hour.

He manages to keep all of the children alive long enough to get to his own lunchtime. Nick doesn’t usually eat lunch this early, but fetching and prepping food for a hundred tiny gremlins makes him voraciously hungry quicker than he would have expected.

He leaves and goes to fetch his own lunchbox, at which point he realizes he has no idea where to eat. He shuffles around the office area, peeking his head around corners to see if he spots anyone else eating and seemingly open to company.

Nick hears a voice he only half recognizes.

“Nick. Nick Nelson.”

He whips his head around and finds that he’s being beckoned into the clinic by the nurse. Ah yes, he remembers her. Nurse Emma. Her name is in his phone. She’s the lady who checked out his nose last week. Nick runs that sentence back in his head and cringes to himself. Assessed. She assessed the state of his nose. And probably also the rest of his head, come to think of it.

He follows her, clutching his lunch to his chest like a life preserver. She beckons him onto a little sofa by her desk, handing him a little pop-up food tray to go over his lap.

“Don’t worry, Nick, you’re not in trouble. I got your medical clearance paperwork.”

Nick actually hadn’t thought to be worried about that yet, but he appreciates the immediate disclaimer regardless. It does leave him a little confused, though. He watches as she flicks the overhead light off and draws the blinds.

“Um. Okay. Did you need something?”

“Eat your lunch, Nick. I don’t need anything. I just figured you’d want quiet, and this is one of the quietest places you can go here.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

Nick hesitates partway through unpacking his food onto the tray.

“You’re sure I’m not in the way here?”

“I’ve got more space in here than I need. As long as you’re okay with a couple children coming in and out, you’re always welcome in here. If it helps your brain, I enjoy whatever adult company I can get.”

Nick doesn’t respond to that directly, but she’s right. It does help him to know that. If he’s doing her a favor with his company, then he can’t be burdening her. He lets himself dig into the croissant sandwich that Charlie packed up for him today. He devours it in moments. If Emma had any reaction to that, she schooled it ridiculously well. To be fair, she’s a nurse, and Nick knows they have a certain skill for that. His mum has many, many stories about keeping a straight face at the ridiculous situations her patients have come in and tried to explain as if they were normal.

“How was your recovery?”

“I spent most of it in bed like a leech, which certainly isn’t my favorite thing to do. I’ll have to make up for that, somehow.”

Nick’s brain swims with ideas about how he can apologize to Charlie and his mum for putting them through the ordeal of caring for him all over again while he munches on a packet of crisps.

“Convalescing from an injury does not make you a leech, and you surely haven’t got to make up for it.”

Nick shrugs in response without looking up from his snack. He can tell he’s about to be pushed for an answer, but a little buzzer interrupts the conversation.

“Ah, it’s just Henry.” Nurse Emma smiles to herself as she lets a young boy into the clinic. He looks to be about nine, maybe a slightly scrawny ten. He’s unstrapping a bum bag and passing it to Emma as he walks in.

“Hello, Nurse Emma.”

“Hello, Henry. You’ve shot up half a head over the summer, now haven’t you? Still doing well?”

“Yes, Miss. Mum won’t stop complaining about having to buy me new trousers. They don’t cover my ankles anymore!”

They chatter on as the boy washes his hands at the sink. As he dries his hands, he registers Nick’s presence, but he doesn’t seem to care all that much. He gives Nurse Emma the middle finger, and Nick almost has a mind to say something about it, but she’s just rolling her eyes and taking a glucose test sample from it.

“You live to do that, don’t you Henry?”

“A little.” Henry giggles.

“Don’t worry, we don’t tell anyone. What happens in the clinic stays in the clinic.”

Nick just nods and snickers. He finds himself randomly remembering the moment that his friend Isaac caught him in the clinic with Charlie getting a little too coupley. To Isaac’s credit, he’s never said a word about that to anyone as far as Nick’s aware. The nurse didn’t say a thing either. Discretion is a beautiful thing.

“What did you do to end up here, sir?” Henry asks.

“Nothing. Just avoiding the other adults.”

Henry finds that comment endlessly amusing. Nick flashes him a broad smile.

“Isn’t Nurse Emma another adult, though?”

“I’m the fun sort of adult, Henry. You should know that by now. What sort of lolly would you like?” Emma looks up from Henry’s glucose reading and pulls a jar of lollipops out from under her desk.

Henry wordlessly snatches an orange lollipop and gets right to the task of sucking it down. He plops down on the sofa next to Nick, as if he’s hanging out in his own living room. He’s just so. Unfazed.

“Good taste, Henry.” Nick smiles, popping open his second Orangina can of the day.

“It’s for my sugars.” He replies without pulling it out of his mouth. “I’m diabetic.”

“Obviously. Keeping your sugars up is terribly important. We don’t want you getting all shaky or passing out on us, do we?”

Getting shaky and passing out was Charlie’s primary hobby for a while in uni. Well, besides playing in a band. Nick has learned more than he ever thought he would about drumming and hypoglycemia as a result.

“We most certainly do not. Nobody is passing out on my watch, today.” Emma shoots Nick a look, so he mouths an apology above the boy’s head.

“I know. I know. Why’s it dark in here?” Henry mutters.

“Mr. Nelson here had a headache. Figured it would help.”

“How did you know I had a headache?”

Nick tries to remember if he’d said anything about a headache. He didn’t even entirely realize he had one until it began to abate and the relief washed in.

“She knows everything.” Henry bites his lollipop in half.

“Finish up your snacks. Both of you.”

Nick rolls his eyes, downs his drink, and pitches it across the room. It bounces off the side of Emma’s desk into the bin.

“Off the backboard! Let’s goooooo.” Henry applauds uproariously.

“If he’s good to go, I can walk our friend here back to class?” Nick looks at Emma then Henry. The boy sticks out his tangerine colored tongue at Emma.

“Back in half an hour, Henry.”

“I know. Same as usual.”

“This is going to be a good year for all of us. I can feel it.”

Chapter Text

Nick passes through the front office to figure out where he’s meant to be taking Henry, and he gets a lucky break. He’s in Year Six, who have just been let out for their recess time. Nick was supposed to be heading out to supervise recess anyway, but he hadn’t yet scoped out the play areas. Henry escorts him, walking several steps ahead to get out there sooner rather than later.

The junior’s playground is towards the front of campus by the road. Nick probably should have assumed that this playground would be for the older children, given its size. Someone must have made a sizable donation or sponsored an initiative or something to give a state school such an impressive climbing frame. Nick’s a grown man, and he’s fighting back the urge to go up there. As soon as the sidewalk ends, Henry’s taking off onto the mulch and up a ladder. Clearly, the sugar is working for him.

Looking up at it, Nick finds himself surprised by how few of the children have gone up there, although he quickly realizes why. The climbing frame is metal, and the temperature has been climbing up there all day. It’s a miracle that poor Henry and the other brave children up top didn’t scald their hands on the way. He hopes beyond hope that they haven’t. He would hate to have to escort any of them back to the clinic, even though he now knows the route.

The children too sensible to burn their hands for fun have mostly clustered over on the grass next to the climbing frame. Some are sitting out in the grass fanning themselves and catching up with friends after the summer. Others are doing somersaults and having handstand contests. A dozen or so are kicking a football around a makeshift field with rocks marking out the goals, clearly deciding teams for a game

Nick meanders over there and watches. He hasn’t watched football in ages. There were a handful of years when he was really little where football had been his favorite sport. Nick wasn’t all that good at it, but he loved it desperately. He’s never been quick or nimble. He’s too unstable and top heavy as the lads tended to call it, broad shoulders over spindly legs. He’s always had to pace himself and focus when he runs to counteract his natural clumsy streak.

Nick didn’t start playing rugby until year seven. Realizing that he wasn’t a bad athlete, he was just in the wrong sport for his body, was the best day of his life at the time. It was the first step in his ongoing, perpetual journey towards figuring out who on earth Nick Nelson was born to be. He finally had the guts to talk to other human beings, although most of his interactions still started with him saying “hi” and hoping the other person might say more words. Over the course of the year, as he rode the newfound wave of confidence he’d crashed through, he even found it in himself to talk to Pretty People. People like Tara Jones. He managed to string five whole words together the first time they spoke. He didn’t even start crying!

To be fair, those words were “Hi. Is this marker yours?” Not exactly the most creative opening line. Except that it was perfect, because she said “Yeah.” and took it and immediately patted the floor next to her in the corner for him to sit and watch her doodle on her shoes while she idly explained that these markers were the only ones she’d found where ink didn’t run every time it rained. Nick was captivated. It takes a certain sort of bravery to casually vandalize your own sneakers for self expression. He wasn’t able to articulate it then, but he finds shameless self expression infinitely alluring.

Tara handed him back the marker. She said she had more at home. Nick drew all over his Vans with it until the ink ran out. He wore them to the disco and followed her around like a puppy until she noticed him, so he could show her and get her opinion. She said he did a good job, and Nick’s poor stupid brain decided that saying thanks for the compliment wasn’t enough. One of the pretty people was nice to him and telling him he did a good job and he had to do something about this before he combusted. He looked her in the eye and made five more words come out. “Let me kiss you? Please?” Then, she was kissing him, and he was so confused but so happy, and then it was over. Tara said her mum wanted her home soon and made to leave. Nick went home shortly after and screamed and jumped up and down in the living room and retold the most dramatized, romanticized version of the story to his mum. Tara didn’t talk to him again for years, but Nick was too high off the fact that something like this ever happened to him to care about that. He just wanted to be the sort of boy that someone pretty might like to kiss, and it had happened.

It really happened. There were witnesses and everything.

He’s still got that marker in a box at his mum’s house somewhere.

Tara and Darcy have been kicking around the idea of marriage. Aren’t you meant to give brides something old and something new? Maybe Tara would enjoy finally getting her now useless marker back.

She’s said for years that what happened between them was as important to her journey as it was to his. In her words, he was as lovely as any boy she’d ever met, and she still didn’t want him. Sometimes, no is the answer you need to figure yourself out...

"Crap."

Nick silently curses himself for getting too into his head for a bit there. He wasn't sure how long he'd zoned out for. He hadn’t thought about year seven in a long time, but it’s hard not to stumble into memories when you work with kids, apparently. He blinks a few times in the punishing sunlight and refocuses on the game in front of him.

Nick can tell that these boys have a system to their play. Nick pays attention to when they call out of bounds. One sideline is parallel to a broken fence from the house next door to the school, and the other is the sidewalk by the road. On the fence side, you can see breaks in the grass where the children have clearly tried to draw a line so many times, likely to the great displeasure of whoever’s in charge of the lawn.

The Lava Monsters are playing against the Tiger Sharks. Tie game. A handful of the bigger boys had been responsible for most of the unknown amount of points on the imaginary board. Nick plans on bringing a white board out with him at the start of recess the next time to keep the score.

The Tiger Sharks are pretty definitively winning this one, even without anybody properly keeping track. Their captain won the starting game of Rock, Paper, Scissors with a commanding show of paper and got to pick his first teammate. He made a good choice. The boy he chose could probably beat the poor Lava Monsters on his own.

One of the smaller boys on the Lava Monsters finally gets the ball and tries to run up the far side of the field, but he catches his foot on an uneven bit of dirt. He stumbles, and the ball comes loose, bouncing over the sidewalk into the road.

“Look what you did, Smalls! That’s off grounds.”

The captain of the Lava Monsters starts ribbing on the poor boy but not too severely. Nick will have to keep an extra eye out for this one until he determines if it’s all good natured or if he needs to do something.

As soon as Nick is sure the boy caught himself and he’s not about to fall on his face, he’s taking off after it himself. He knows boys this age. They absolutely will run into the road after it, and if anyone’s taking that risk, it’s not going to be a child on his watch. He’s at least smart enough to look both ways as he’s hopping off the sidewalk. Luckily, this is a pretty quiet neighborhood in the middle of the day, so it’s not difficult to outrun the lost football and snatch it up.

Once he’s back on the sidewalk, he shouts.

“Tiger Sharks ball. Where’s the captain gone?”

The team captain’s head pops up, seemingly in shock that an adult had been paying enough attention to remember what team was which.

He’s one of the ones wearing proper cleats, which is absolutely a dress violation. He must have snuck them into the loo and swapped them for his other shoes. There’s probably a secluded bathroom off in a corner somewhere that nobody notices for that. That or there’s a pro sports teacher somewhere who clandestinely hosts shoe change parties. Not that Nick would know anything about any of that. Goody two shoes Nicky Nelson surely never hid his rugby boots or his football cleats at school. There’s no proof.

“Here, sir.”

“What’s your name?”

“Finlay.”

“Do you know how to head the ball?”

“I want to learn.”

“Wanna try?”

“Huh?”

“Well, you can’t learn if you don’t try. Chin to your chest, then jump.”

Nick pitches the ball into the air aimed just above Finlay’s forehead. He’s very careful to make sure that the ball will fly right over his head if he doesn’t jump for it. Nick’s not about to explain why he clocked one of the boys in the face with a ball. Getting bludgeoned over the head is no fun. He does not recommend it.

As the ball flies across the field, poor Finlay stiffens up for just a moment before taking a breath and gathering up all his resolve.

He jumps.

Cheers erupt from the whole pack of boys as the Finlay, biggest boy among them, heads the ball down the field. There’s no teams now. They completely stop the game to crush around him and try to lift him up.

“Oi, careful. Don’t drop him!” Nick runs over to break the group up just enough to make sure they don’t accidentally hurt the guy.

The revelry gets disrupted by a symphony of bells and whistles from the other staff members. The boys in cleats take off at a full sprint towards one of the buildings for no suspicious reasons, while the others begin to slowly meander back towards their teachers who have come to beckon them inside.

Nick hasn’t felt so in his element in months.