Chapter Text
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Truham vs St John’s - REMATCH
Dear all,
You may have seen on the weekly bulletin that the St John’s match has been rescheduled for this Friday after school. We’ll be travelling there on the minibus. I’ve updated the fixtures schedule with all the details. If you can’t attend, let me know as soon as possible.
Harry, if you see this please tell the others.
Mrs P Singh (she/her)
PE Teacher
KS4 Sports Teams Coordinator
It was common knowledge at Truham that no one ever checked their school emails. Not even Charlie, despite the fact he was, certifiably, an academic try-hard. Between the constant MyMaths spam and email chains from year sevens who hadn’t yet learnt the difference between reply and reply all, he’d never really seen the point. If something was important enough, he’d hear about it through the gay grapevine or Headmaster Barnes’ speaker system.
The standard student practice was this: ignore emails and collectively deny accountability when teachers asked, why didn’t you check your emails? Strength in numbers and all that.
But, as with all rules, there were exceptions. One exception, in this case. By the name of Harry Greene.
Yep. Charlie was as confused as everyone else.
It did come in handy, though. Namely in knowing when he needed to mentally prepare himself for two hours of running around and falling over in the midst of rain, mud and mild homophobia.
Case in point: he and Nick were sprawled on Charlie’s bedroom floor on a Sunday evening dutifully doing their homework (and definitely not building a dream Sims house together), when both their phones started spasming in synchrony.
“The hell?” Charlie muttered.
His phone was charging on the opposite end of the room, so they tipped their heads together to look at Nick’s.
Singhing in the rain 🏉💦
Harry
Oy lads did u see singh’s email
We’re up against the johnnies again on friday
Christian
FUUUUCK 💀
Sai
Again? It hasn’t even been two weeks??
Otis
Bruv they just wanna rub it in at this point
Christian
ACTUAL KNOBS
Harry
@Kieran you’d better fucking show this time mate
Kieran
Soz guys I’ve got another dentist appointment 😔💔
Christian
YOUWOT
Kieran
Jk jk I’ll be there
Sai
Mate we’re holding you to that
Harry
Lads we’d better bring our best game yeah?
No way I’m letting them posh bastards walk all over us again
Otis
Posh bastards?
That’s rich coming from you
Harry
stfu
Nick put down his phone as the chat descended into a debate over Harry’s poshness. “Well.” He cleared his throat. “Looks like we’re playing St John’s again.”
“Once wasn’t enough?” Charlie groaned.
“Apparently not,” Nick sighed. Usually he’d try to talk some enthusiasm into Charlie, but it sounded worryingly like he had none to give. And Charlie didn’t need to question why. Playing St John’s was like fighting machine guns with water pistols. There was no fun in being massacred.
“What’s even the point?” he said. “Like, they obviously won the first time.”
“I guess it doesn’t count as a win if the match gets ended early.”
“Love that for us,” Charlie muttered.
“At least you won’t have to play now that Kieran’s back.”
“Thank God for that. Can’t say I’m too keen on being trampled on by literal adult men.”
Nick lowered his gaze, and Charlie wished he’d held his tongue. He knew Nick felt bad about the last match, though he couldn’t imagine why. It wasn’t like Nick had been the one to charge into him like an angry rhinoceros. And it wasn’t like he’d forced Charlie to stand in the way of said angry rhinoceros either. Really, the only person Charlie had to blame for that was himself.
But he hated seeing Nick so glum. Charlie was meant to be the reluctant one when it came to rugby. Not the other way around.
So he got off his rug, yanked his phone off the charger, swallowed his anxiety and typed his first ever contribution to the rugby group chat.
Charlie
@Nick I can see you lurking 👀
where is your captain pep talk?
Messages popped up from below as the rugby lads all jumped eagerly onto the pester-Nick-Nelson bandwagon.
Otis
Yeah Nick where IS your pep talk
Sai
Call yourself captain smh
Christian
SPEECH SPEECH SPEECH
Nick looked up from his phone to gape at Charlie. “What was that for?”
“I just think we need to get into the spirit of things.”
“You’re unbelievable,” he said, but his eyes had that twinkly fondness to them, and there was no edge to his tone.
Nick
Since WHEN has being captain meant giving speeches on the gc??
Sai
Uh, since Singh decided to march us all to our untimely deaths?
Otis
Come on Nick we need you
Kieran
I’ve got my popcorn ready
Nick
OKAY fine
He lifted his gaze to Charlie, wide-eyed. “Shit, what do I say?”
“Just type from your heart,” Charlie answered.
“That’s so helpful, thanks.”
Nick stared intently at the screen for a few seconds, then his thumbs flew over the keypad.
Nick
Yeah the johnnies are probably gonna win again
But that doesn’t mean we can’t make them work for it
Cause when we go crashing down
We come back every time
So let’s fucking go out in style, yeah?
Christian
WORD.
Sai
👏👏👏
Otis
Man I have tears in my eyes
Charlie heart-reacted to the message in support, then frowned. When we go crashing down, we come back every time. He’d definitely heard those words before. On Nick’s Spotify playlist. “Did you just quote Taylor Swift?”
Nick pressed his lips into a thin, sheepish line.
“Nick! Oh my God!”
“Shh,” Nick whispered. “They don’t need to know.”
Shaking with laughter, Charlie flopped onto the rug and brought up the chat again on his phone. “Cause we never go out of style,” he read aloud as he typed, “we never go out of—”
“Don’t you dare!” Nick snatched the phone from him.
“Niiiick!”
They rolled around on the carpet, tussling. It wasn’t a fair fight. (It would never be a fair fight when Nick’s arms were involved, thanks to both their muscle mass and unprecedented powers of distraction.) Charlie was all too ready to play dirty and whip out his tried-and-tested tickle strategy, but he didn’t need to. Nick’s defence was disappointingly weak. As in, he made one halfhearted attempt at dodging Charlie’s grabby hands before giving in and letting Charlie pin him to the carpet.
“Thank you,” Charlie crowed, swiping his phone from Nick’s relenting grip.
“Are you really gonna send it?” Nick asked. A sigh of resignation laced his voice, like he was already mentally and emotionally preparing himself for being Swiftie-outed.
“Nah, I was only messing,” Charlie said, slamming the backspace button to confirm it. “I doubt they’d get the reference, even if I did.”
“True. They aren’t people of culture.” Nick pushed himself off the floor with a grunt. “Anyway, it’s getting dark. I should probably head home.”
Charlie checked the time on his phone and, shit, it was already seven. Nick had arrived at twelve on the dot. The hours had flown by.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay for dinner?” Charlie asked. He was determined to drag out the day for as long as possible, because once Sunday was over, it meant Monday was next—a reality he preferred not to think about. And who was he kidding? He wanted more time with Nick. They still needed to decorate their Sims house with things that sparked joy.
“It’s okay,” Nick said. “I’m kind of tired.”
He gathered up his things, and the homework neither of them had touched (except for Charlie drawing a smiley face on it), and let Charlie walk him to the door.
The landing was empty. Nick lingered on the doormat for a second, his eyes darting not-so-subtly to Charlie’s lips. Charlie was more than willing to close the distance, but before he could muster the courage, Nick swallowed and looked up, taking a step back. The moment fizzled out like a dying spark. He cleared his throat and murmured a soft, “Bye.”
“Bye,” Charlie said, trying not to feel deflated.
This, Charlie later realised—the non-kiss, the rugby indifference, the too-quick surrender of Charlie’s phone—was probably the start of it.
Of Nick getting ill, that was.
Naturally, before this revelation, Charlie spent the rest of the day, and most of the next, wondering why Nick was so withdrawn and unaffectionate and overthinking every single recent interaction they’d had worrying he’d accidentally said or done the wrong thing. Had he taken it too far with the group chat comments? Overstepped with the smiley face on the maths homework? God, what if he’d hurt Nick’s feelings when he’d vetoed the home Sims gym on account of the fact he didn’t want an exercise torture chamber in his Sims living space?
Whatever the reason, Charlie had royally screwed up, and now Nick was probably cutting his losses and reconsidering the date-with-Imogen thing. The thought made Charlie want to bury his face in a pillow and scream.
It wasn’t until Monday lunchtime that he realised he was stressing over nothing.
He was eating lunch with Isaac and Tao, as usual, when Isaac bookmarked his novel and rose from the picnic bench, as was definitely not usual.
“Gotta go,” he said. “I’ve got library duty.”
“On a Monday?” Tao asked. Isaac’s shifts were on Tuesdays and Thursdays and he followed them religiously.
“James is meant to be on today, but he’s ill. Apparently there’s a bad cold going round the year elevens.”
Once Isaac was gone, Tao turned to Charlie. “You’d better stay away from those rugby lads, then. Otherwise I’m quarantining myself from you.”
“Tao, if I’m gonna get ill from anyone, it’s not gonna be the rugby…” Charlie trailed off.
“What?”
Nick, he thought. “Nothing.”
If there was a cold being passed around the year elevens, Nick could well have picked it up. What if the reason he was acting so weird was simply because he wasn’t feeling well?
The more Charlie thought about it, the more it made sense. It would explain the thermos Nick had brought today instead of his usual water bottle (“Mum made me tea,” was all he’d said when Charlie had remarked on it), and the packet of menthol sweets in his blazer pocket, which probably weren’t because Nick enjoyed the flavour, or was intent on murdering his taste buds for the fun of it, but because he actually had a sore throat.
Come to think of it, he’d been wearing a jumper today too. Nick never wore his school jumper.
When Charlie saw Nick for afternoon registration, he knew he was right. It was written all over his demeanour: the slump of his shoulders, the redness of his cheek where he’d been resting it on his fist all day, the way he tipped his head against his wrist, eyes closed, when he thought no one was looking.
A thought struck Charlie. In all the time they’d been friends, he hadn’t actually seen Nick ill. And it was… quieter than he’d expected. Maybe Nick just didn’t like to make a fuss. Maybe he didn’t think it was important enough to mention.
But it was important to Charlie.
He watched as Nick propped his cheek on the heel of his palm, causing all the freckles to squish up, and couldn’t stay quiet any longer. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Yeah, fine,” Nick said lightly, but Charlie didn’t miss the small furrow of pain in his brow as he swallowed.
Yep. Definitely in the run down sore throat stage of a cold. Charlie nudged his shoulder. “Are you sure? You seem a bit under the weather.”
He wasn’t sure what reaction he’d expected. Denial perhaps, or even admission. But Nick just smiled softly to himself, as though Charlie had said something amusing.
“What?”
“You’re cute when you’re concerned,” he whispered.
“Nick,” Charlie chided, his cheeks growing warm. Nick’s unintentional flirting had turned into intentional flirting ever since Harry’s party, and frankly, Charlie wasn’t emotionally equipped to deal with it. “Really though, are you okay? ‘Cause you haven’t been acting like yourself, and I thought maybe it’s because you’re coming down with—”
“Don’t say it, Charlie.”
“What? Why?”
“I mean, you’re right. But I’m, like, willing it not to be true. Can’t afford to get ill this week.”
“I’m not sure that’s how it works,” Charlie said gently.
Nick rubbed a weary hand over his face. “Just let me have false hope, okay?”
“What’s so important about this week that you can’t be ill?”
“The match,” Nick said, like it was obvious. Charlie had completely forgotten about it. Though, he supposed rugby was about five pages and an appendix higher on Nick’s list of priorities than it was Charlie’s.
“Tell you what,” said Charlie. “Why don’t we give homework a miss today? Then you can go home and rest and drink a shit ton of orange juice and we’ll both pray that you’ll be right as rain tomorrow.”
Despite what the word suggested, ‘homework’ had become a blanket term for hanging out together at one of their houses after school, regardless of whether homework was actually involved or not. (These days, it usually wasn’t.) Nick’s place was on the rota tonight, but Charlie didn’t want him feeling like he needed to entertain Charlie when he was poorly.
“Sensible,” Nick agreed. He nudged Charlie with a lopsided smile. “You’re full of smart ideas.”
Charlie gave a snort of denial.
“I’ll miss you though.”
“Oh my God, Nick, stop,” Charlie muttered.
(He didn’t really want Nick to stop. And they both knew it.)
