Chapter Text
As he catches his reflection in the mirror, Charlie can’t help but falter as he stares at the copious amount of tattoos inked into his skin, the silver jewellery decorating his ear and face. He loves each and every one of them. They make him love himself more, they give him some kind of self-gratification. But he also knows that another, truly minuscule, reason why he has them is so that, when people in the streets stare at him, he can choose to believe that the drawings are the reason they stare. Not the fact that he walks funny or smiles oddly or that his left arm sticks out. Everyone loves it when he says that he has the tattoos and piercings so the people staring have something to stare at, they laugh and call him brilliant. But, when he’s in the wrong mood, he can’t stand the laughs. For once, he just wants to be seen, for someone to realise how fucked up it is that he has that mindset.
He looks away, reaching for a t-shirt. Everyone will be wondering what’s taking him so long.
His mind wanders as he starts rifling through his t-shirt drawer. It’s not that he doesn’t love his disability and his body. If he’s honest with himself, he’s been on a journey with both. A long, terrible, rollercoaster journey of self-love and self-acceptance for being disabled as a whole. He’s always been disabled and he always will be disabled, no matter how many doctors try to fix him in the name of making life easier.
Nothing the doctors have ever done has made Charlie’s life easier.
At twenty-three years old, Charlie has more or less developed a love for his disabled identity and his disabled body. After all, his disability is what makes him him. He never wants to take that away from himself. But the one thing that always makes him stutter in himself is the feeling of no-one finding him desirable as a romantic or sexual partner, the way people write him off the minute they find out he’s disabled. As if he’s not worthy of love because of it. He thinks he’s hot most of the time. His friends always cheer him on when he comes out in his more experimental outfits, boosting his self-confidence with compliments and, on Darcy’s end, screamed proclamations that he should get laid. He loves his disabled body. Until the third guy of the month on Hinge unmatches with him at four in the morning and sets off a spiral.
He catches himself looking back at his reflection and his brain starts to whir. Fuck.
“Char?”
A knock on his bedroom door follows the nicknames only Nick gives him and silences the voices that try to echo in his brain. Because it’s Nick and Nick is his best friend, Charlie doesn’t have to bid him entry. Nick slips in with his easy smile that Charlie meets in the mirror and leans against the door, merely enjoying his best friend’s presence. Charlie tries to smile but ends up biting his lip as he goes back to scrutinising his own reflection. His next words fall out of his mouth before he realises.
“Do you think I’m hot?”
His eyes go back to Nick’s reflection in his mirror and he watches as Nick stares at him with wide eyes, clearly not expecting the question. He averts his gaze to go back to rifling through his drawer and he’s about to reach for his favourite MUSE shirt when Nick’s voice floods his ears.
“You are hot,” he says with a sense of finality.
Charlie turns to look at him, a slight smile on his face. Nick’s his best friend, he’s been in Charlie’s life long enough to see his journey to love himself in a way no-one else can comprehend, having met nearly ten years ago in secondary school, and he… He’s the perfect person to be in Charlie’s life because he doesn’t try to understand in a way he can’t. He knows he’ll never understand anything Charlie goes through. But he listens. He listens and he asks the right questions and he does things that he says are just normal friend things but make Charlie’s heart quiver like nothing else. He helps Charlie cut his food up, he helps Charlie get changed, he does up Charlie’s seatbelt when they go on drives. He does anything he can to help Charlie without smothering him. And he’s so oblivious to the way each action makes Charlie feel weak for him.
It’s no secret to Charlie that he’s in love with his best friend. Maybe his bar is on the floor because everything Nick does to help him is just basic and everyone in their friend group would do (and has done) the same but… It’s the way he’s always done it without question, without hesitation. The way that he does things before Charlie has to ask. Normally, Charlie hates that. But Nick doesn’t do it in a patronising way. He just knows Charlie well enough to know when he needs help and when to back off. Charlie’s weak heart could never win against that.
Charlie rolls his eyes playfully and makes a show of admiring Nick’s body, his toned chest, his big tummy, his strong rugby arms. “Not like you.”
Nick chuckles at him. “Char, you know you’re good-looking.”
“Well, it’s one thing thinking I’m hot and having my friends say I’m hot and it’s another thing having strangers think it.”
Though still smiling, Nick stops chuckling and stares at Charlie in earnest, in the way he always looks at Charlie when they have these types of conversation. Charlie walks away from his chest of drawers and flops back onto his bed with a dramatic sigh.
“I just…” he says. “I like how I look, I know I’m not bad-looking. I just… I feel crazy when I try to word it.”
Nick frowns and pushes off of Charlie’s door to sit on the bed beside Charlie. Charlie looks up at him before sitting up.
“Talk to me, Charlie.”
Charlie meets Nick’s gaze. His attentive, caring gaze that sparkles his brown eyes in a way that makes Charlie’s heart thud. The gaze that always gets the words unstuck in his throat. He can’t help but smile.
“Like you, for instance. I know you don’t think this happens but I’ve seen it with my own eyes, people want you. When we’re out and about, people stare at you because you’re hot and they want to have sex with you or for you to be their boyfriend. You’re desirable.”
He knows Nick wants to protest like he always does when the topic of Nick being everyone’s object of desire gets brought up and he’s grateful that Nick doesn’t. That Nick is understanding why he’s bringing this up.
“I want that. I get people who come up to me to say they love my tattoos and my piercings and I love that but…” he says, trying to keep his voice from wobbling. “I want something more. I want someone to look at me and think ‘wow, he’s so hot, I want to fuck him’ or someone to ask me out on a date. I want someone to actually think I’m worthy of something, you know?”
Charlie watches something change in Nick’s eyes and averts his eyes to the ink on his arms. It’s not like they’ve not had a conversation like this in their near-decade-long friendship but Charlie will admit that he’s never been so candid. He’s never really spoken to Nick about this, he usually went to Elle or Darcy about his relationship with his body, so he’s nervous for Nick’s reaction. Like everything else, Nick will never understand the plight of Charlie’s internalised ableism and he’ll admit it. Charlie knows he won’t disregard it but… No, he’s not sure why he’s nervous. It’s Nick, for fuck’s sake.
Looking up, he sees Nick’s eyes take in his shirtless state and lick his lips and holds his breath. He resists the urge to hide his chest under Nick’s indecipherable stare, the urge to jump up and pull on the nearest shirt. Nick swallows, his eyes wild.
“Charlie, I promise you, someone does feel like that.”
The breath leaves Charlie in a disappointed cloud. He’s not sure what he was expecting Nick to say but it’s not that. Nick’s usually more articulate with his words, usually finds a way to make Charlie feel better. He looks down again.
“Never mind, it’s stupid,” he scrambles to say, getting to his feet. “Let me just find a shirt, the others will be waiting.”
He’s halfway through pulling his MUSE t-shirt up his left arm when Nick stands up from his bed, his Adam’s Apple bobbing in his throat when Charlie looks at him. A different look takes over his best friend’s face, a familiar look of determination that Charlie’s only ever seen when Nick plays rugby. He looks up at Nick with his head tilted slightly in question. Nick licks his lips again.
“Charlie, I…” he starts then steps closer towards Charlie so they’re inches apart. “I feel like that.”
Charlie’s heart stops at Nick’s words. He’s dreamt of this moment, of Nick reciprocating his feelings, for so long. He’s thought about telling Nick about the fact that he wants to be more than friends but he’s always valued their friendship more and he never wanted to lose it, to lose Nick.
“What?” he whispers, searching his best friend’s face for any hint of lies.
Nick chuckles. “I feel like that. I’ve felt like that for years. Charlie, you’re so fucking hot and I’ve been in love with you since school, I’ve been too afraid of rejection to tell you.”
His heart now pounding, Charlie continues his search of Nick’s face for any sign that he’s lying but all he can see is sincerity and lust. He’s staring into Charlie’s eyes with wide, dark eyes, his black pupils taking over the warm brown. It takes Charlie’s breath away.
“You…” he starts and swallows with a pant, his brain whirring incessantly.
“Char,” Nick’s voice breaks through the sudden fog that’s taken over Charlie’s brain. “Can I kiss you?”
Somehow, that question makes Charlie short-circuit more than anything else that’s just come out of Nick’s mouth. He stares up into Nick’s beautiful eyes and tries to fathom the idea that Nick wants to kiss him, has been in love with him for just as long as he’s been in love with Nick, that they’ve both been too scared to say anything for the same reason. A part of him wants to laugh because how are they so in sync? But he doesn’t. He just smiles.
“Please.”
Nick matches his smile and raises his hands to cup Charlie’s cheeks. Charlie closes his eyes for a second at the feeling of Nick’s calloused thumbs stroking his cheekbones before he meets Nick’s eyes again. How is this happening? Is he dreaming? Is he gonna wake up in his bed as soon as Nick leans in like he always does?
No, he’s not. Nick’s leaning in, letting his eyelids fall, and Charlie can’t stop staring. This isn’t a dream. This is a dream come true.
Charlie lets his eyes close when he feels Nick’s lips brush against his and his brain falls silent as Nick presses his lips on Charlie's with confidence. Suddenly, everything falls into place for Charlie. He finally, after over a decade of feeling like he doesn’t belong, has found his place and it was closer than he realised.
Nick is slowly consuming him in the best way possible. His hands slide from Charlie’s cheeks to his curls, tangling his fingers in them, and his lips dance effortlessly against Charlie’s. Charlie rests his good hand on Nick’s bicep so his legs don’t betray him because he’s never felt so weak in the knees.
All too soon, Nick pulls away and rests his forehead on Charlie’s as they both share pants, Charlie still staring at him like he doesn’t believe any of what just happened. Nick chuckles sweetly.
“I love you too, Nick,” Charlie whispers. “I’ve loved you for so long, I just…”
At Charlie’s confession, Nick smiles a smile that makes Charlie want to repeat himself over and over so it never goes away. Except it renders him speechless and he smiles too. He goes to lean back in, to kiss Nick again and never stop, but incessant pings start erupting from Charlie’s phone and bursts the bubble they’re standing in. Charlie groans, resting his forehead on Nick’s shoulder.
“Why did we decide to say yes to going out?”
Nick laughs more, pressing a kiss to Charlie’s head, before he pushes Charlie away so their eyes meet. There’s an unspoken moment between them, a silent agreement of more, before the pinging comes back and Charlie growls in frustration, reaching for his phone that sits on the top of the chest of drawers beside them.
“Apparently, Darcy is gonna send a text every second until they see us arrive.”
Nick snorts, helping Charlie button up his jeans. Charlie wishes he was doing the opposite.
“Sounds like them. Come on, let’s finish getting ready.”
Charlie pouts when Nick steps away, taking his warmth with him, before picking up the MUSE t-shirt from the floor. As he pulls it up his arm and over his head, he watches Nick peruse his Converse collection with a soft smile. His brain starts to fill up with unhelpful thoughts again and he falters once more. But Nick turns back to face Charlie, holding Charlie’s white pair victoriously, and everything feels right.