Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Charlie Spring was having a nightmare. One he's had before.

He was standing inside a closet. A literal one. It was dark and cramped and uncomfortable, but he was too afraid to leave. He stared through the open doorway into the room outside. There was a crowd of shadowy figures moving around out there. The figures turned their heads, they noticed Charlie standing inside his closet.

The shadowy figures smiled. They weren't pleasant smiles.

('Don't look at me . . .')

Charlie heard them whispering and snickering at him. He pulled the door closed in a panic. It was hard to close, like he was struggling against a strong wind. Their whispering and laughing grew louder as they pointed at Charlie inside his closet.

('Don't look at me!')

He finally pulled the door shut. But there was no latch, so it slipped open. Charlie pulled it shut again. Every time the door slipped open, the dangerous sound of those people came through again. The door wouldn't stay closed unless Charlie was constantly pulling at it with all his strength. Then he lost his grip and tumbled backwards. He hit the back wall of the cramped closet.

Only in this version of the dream, after he bumped against the wall, it swung open. The back wall of the closet was actually a second door. Charlie stumbled backwards and fell down. He pushed himself up to his elbows and looked around in confusion. This wasn't the same room he was trying to hide from. This whole time, he could have gone out to a completely different room.

('. . . Oh.')

.

It was the first day of class after the winter break. Students casually walked around the room and chatted with each other as they found their seats. This semester, the seating arrangement had two students sitting at each table.

As the other boys moved and made small talk, Nick Nelson was already sitting alone at his table, patiently waiting for form to start. He stared into space and thought of nothing in particular. Over the chatter of the room, he just barely heard the teacher mention his name.

'. . . Next to Nicholas Nelson. He's in Year Eleven, so only a year older than you.'

He turned his head to look. He watched as Charlie Spring walked over and sat down next to him.

Nick smiled at him and said, 'Hi.'

Charlie smiled back and said, 'Hi.'

The thing was: Charlie was exactly Nick's type. A nice slender frame. Blue eyes. Dark curly hair that looked so soft it made you want to reach out and touch it. Best of all, a wide happy smile framed by Dimples with a capital D.

It just wasn't fair. Nick was, in his opinion, up till now, stealth. He had known about his orientation for a while. And he had done a good job of not making a big deal out of it. Keeping that private part of himself to himself. But starting now, he was going to spend each morning sitting only a few inches away from someone like him.

What was a closeted gay boy to do?

.

For all the panicking butterflies in Nick's stomach, not much happened over the next few days.

Each morning Nick said, 'Hi.' And Charlie smiled and said, 'Hi,' back.

One morning Nick mixed it up by asking, 'All right?' And Charlie shrugged and all right, 'All right.'

If Nick happened to see him walking down the halls, he said, 'Hey.' And Charlie replied, 'Hey.'

And that's really all there was to it. They didn't have any deep conversations at school. Nick was able to keep his focus on the teacher, even while sitting next to Mister You-are-the-proof-I-like-guys-and-I-will-never-doubt-that-again. After the initial shock wore off, the hot infatuation went down to a warm simmer.

Nick realized he was silly for thinking he couldn't handle it. After all, he had no problems changing clothes around his teammates in the locker room. (Then again, none of those lads were Charlie.)

It wasn't a crush. Not really. Charlie was just Some Guy who happened to be good looking. It was no big deal. Really.

.

Nick ate lunch outside with all his friends from the rugby team. Today, the conversation turned to the new seating arrangements in form. 'I'm next to Charlie Spring,' Nick said casually.

'Is he the guy in that band?' Sai asked. 'He plays drums, right?'

(He's a drummer, Nick thought. And his opinion of Charlie went a tiny bit higher on the Crush Spectrum.)

'I saw him on the drums in the school orchestra. But I don't think he's in a "band" band,' Otis responded. He looked at Nick. 'Is he?'

'Uh . . ." He shrugged. 'I dunno. We don't really talk much. We just sit together.'

'I heard a rumor he was gay,' Harry said flippantly.

'What?' Nick asked, in a totally normal tone of voice. He didn't sound shocked or extremely interested (so he thought).

'I don't think that's true,' Sai replied.

'He looks gay,' Harry said. He glanced around the table waiting for confirmation. 'Come on, I can't be the only one who thinks that.'

(What does "looking gay" even mean? Nick actually was gay and he didn't know. Should he know? Was he supposed to know??)

'Stop being a dick, Harry,' Otis said, coming to Charlie's defense — as if being called gay was a bad thing.

'Well you never know,' Harry said.

Nick realized that — for once — Harry was actually right. You do never know! While it was true that rumors and stereotypes didn't mean anything, at the same time, there was no reason for Nick to assume Charlie was straight. He read somewhere that about 10 percent of the population was some type of queer. Those odds weren't exactly in Nick's favor, but it was better than winning the lottery.

But it didn't really matter either way. Nick didn't really have a crush on Charlie. Not in the way that he seriously wanted to do something about it in real life. It was just some idle fantasies. Charlie was just a cute guy in his form. That's all.

But just maybe . . .

.

One day, after class, Nick walked out of the building with a smile on his face. He was just one person among the huge crowd of noisy students. As random people went back and forth across his line of sight, Nick caught a glance of Charlie, and his mood automatically went up.

But the next instant his brain registered the scene. Charlie was standing by the school gate and he was talking with someone — a girl. Nick stood still and watched. They were chatting about something and giggling. Charlie had that wide happy grin that used to create butterflies in Nick's stomach.

And then Charlie leaned down and kissed the girl. On the lips.

Nick stopped smiling.

He sighed. 'Of course he is,' he mumbled.

It didn't matter. So Charlie had a girlfriend. Who cares? It's not like Nick had gotten his hopes up. He wasn't secretly pining for the boy or anything. Charlie was just a cute guy who sat next to him in form.

Nothing more.

Chapter Text

It was the first day of school after the winter break. Early morning, a little while before class started. Most of Charlie's classmates were walking towards the front gates.

But at that moment Charlie Spring was not at Truham Grammar School for Boys.

He stood at the edge of a small patch of woods next to the main road, resting his back against a tree. It was a nice secluded area and an approximate halfway point between his own school and Higgs School for Girls. Charlie took his phone out again. His phone's lock screen had a simple design, no picture or words, just the date and time on a pastel blue background. Charlie opened and reread his messages.

You: Meet in our usual spot before class?

<3: ok!

You: I'm here

You: You ok?

<3: sorry!!! running late on my way

Charlie returned his phone to his pocket and sighed. Turned his head to the side — and his face broke into a huge grin as he saw a certain someone rushing up.

'Hi,' Imogen Heaney said with a smile. She was a short girl, immediately recognizable with her dyed blond bangs against her brown hair.

'I missed you,' Charlie said.

'Me too.'

He raised an eyebrow. 'You missed you too?'

That made her laugh. Charlie loved making her laugh. Imogen asked, 'How was your break?'

Charlie kept smiling, but it didn't reach his eyes anymore. 'Not great.'

'Oh,' she replied sadly. 'Trouble with your parents?'

'I don't want to talk about it,' he said nonchalantly. 'What about your holiday? Good?'

'Mostly good, but we got a call from our house-sitter. Marmalade got sick again.' (Marmalade was the name of her dog.) 'She took her to the vet, and then we had a follow-up right when we got home. Like she's better now, but you know, she's really old, so I'm still a little worried. But anyway, it was Christmas Eve at my Aunt's house, and my cousin invites us all to this old—'

Imogen was interrupted when Charlie abruptly leaned down and kissed her. He placed his hand on the back of her neck and gently held her close. The kiss lingered for several long moments. And then he pulled back.

He winced and smiled sheepishly. 'Sorry. I shouldn't have interrupted like that. It's just . . . I'd been waiting all of winter break, and I didn't think I could hold back anymore.'

'It's okay,' Imogen said, slightly breathless, slightly giddy. She cleared her throat. 'I'll uh — I'll tell you later. We should probably head to school now. Don't wanna be late on our first day.'

'Right.' Charlie kissed her again — just a quick peck on the lips this time — and they backed away from each other. 'Bye. I'll text you.'

'Not if I text you first,' Imogen replied with a grin. She turned and happily walked off.

Charlie kept on smiling as he watched his girlfriend, and then he turned around and walked quickly towards his school. As he walked his smile faded.

When Charlie was with Imogen, things were good. Everything felt . . . right. But lately, when they were apart . . . doubt crept in.

When Charlie was alone, a tiny, unidentified worm of anxiety ate away at his insides.

.

The thing was: Charlie used to worry he was gay.

He thought back to when he was in Year One. Going to school and making friends for the first time. And meeting kids who weren't so friendly.

'That's so gay,' the other boys would say to him.

(Wait, no. That wasn't Year One. It wasn't until he was older when Charlie first learned that word. Wasn't it? He couldn't quite remember.)

(Charlie deliberately tried to block out those memories in his teenage years.)

But for as far back as he could remember, Charlie had all the stereotypes. He was 'sensitive,' they said. 'Gentle'. 'Artistic'. 'Emotional'. He never had any interest in playing sports. He didn't run or wrestle with the rough-and-tumble boys on the playground. He preferred to read by himself or draw or play music. And supposedly that meant something.

'Ga-a-ay!' The other boys laughed like that one word was a big joke all on its own.

And all through his preteen years, Charlie grew up with the worry that it was a fact instead of a joke or an insult.

Because it wasn't only what other people said. The truth was, Young Charlie liked boys. Handsome boys on TV. Even some boys in his classes. He didn't really understand what he felt. He didn't have the language when he was eight. Young Charlie simply knew that certain boys were . . . cool.

As he got a little older, he heard the word 'gay' casually thrown around in his direction. Along with the less politically correct synonyms. He didn't completely understand what being gay meant. But he perfectly understood that it wasn't normal.

Charlie never talked about it with anyone. Not even Tao. Definitely not with his family. Whenever his bullies would sling the accusation at him, he would always deny it. But buried deep down was the fear that those bullies were right. Preteen Charlie spent years suspecting (assuming?) (fearing?) that when he grew up, he would be a gay man.

Then he hit puberty.

Suddenly, Charlie noticed girls a lot more. Though he didn't immediately notice that he noticed (if that makes sense). Sometimes, unconsciously, he would stare at a girl for slightly longer than was strictly polite. (Especially her shirt.) Then he would catch himself and embarrassedly divert his gaze, followed by a quick thought of, 'What am I doing? Aren't I gay?' — if he thought anything at all.

Charlie could think back to the month, the week, the exact day, when he finally made the realization. It was an early morning. Charlie was twelve, very nearly thirteen. He had just woken up from a dream.

Embarrassing as it was to admit, it was a sex dream. Charlie's very first sex dream. But it wasn't about a guy. It was about him and a girl.

And if Charlie was being honest, he enjoyed that dream.

Fully awake, he sat up in bed and stared at the wall for many long silent seconds, as his brain processed what this meant.

'. . . Huh.'

Those bullies were wrong. Charlie wasn't gay after all.

Charlie had a lot of trouble examining his feelings when he was younger. But he knew exactly what emotion he was feeling now. It was sheer . . . overwhelming . . . relief.

Charlie Spring liked girls. He could live with that.

.

Back to the first day of school. Charlie was a fast enough runner that he made it to class without being late.

This year, Truham Grammar School was doing things a little different. Students from different years would be taking form together.

The teacher read his sheet and told Charlie, 'You're over there, next to Nicholas Nelson. He's in Year Eleven, so only a year older than you.'

Charlie turned to look. Their table was in the back corner, close to a window with bright sunlight streaming in. Nick was already sitting there.

Charlie walked to the desk, committing his new classmate to memory. His hair was blond and short. (Charlie liked girls with longer hair.) He was a big guy. (Petite girls were cute.) The bump of his pecs could be seen through his shirt, but not like breasts. His thick arms filled his shirt sleeves. His face was youthful, but somehow strong at the same time. Handsome, not pretty.

In short, he was not Charlie's type. Nick Nelson looked completely different from what Charlie looked for in a girl. And yet . . .

And yet . . .

Charlie sat down next to him. Nick smiled at him and said, 'Hi.'

Charlie smiled back and said, 'Hi.'

.

Inside Charlie's recurring nightmare, a closet door creaks slightly open . . .