Chapter Nine: After

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Charlie sat on Nick's stoop, shoving his feet into his trainers. He half expected the door behind him to open at any moment, Nick bursting out with a heartfelt apology, but it didn't. He needed to clear his head. His ankle was supposed to be on rest for another week, but he didn't care. Charlie stood, holding out his coat and stuffing his hat into a pocket before tying it around his waist. He looked ridiculous, he knew; it didn't matter.

He set off down the block, his feet falling into a steady rhythm on the pavement beneath him. It was late enough that there were few other people on the street. Warm light spilled from windows as he passed; people were probably finishing dinner now. Charlie thought about Edinburgh, and what it would be like to eat dinner with Thomas every night. Who would cook, who would do the dishes, who would clean the table. Whether the light that spilled from their windows would feel as warm inside as it looked to passersby outside.

He couldn't believe the way this night had gone. For Nick to talk about the past that way had been excruciating—as if breaking up all those years ago had been all Charlie's fault. A 'test.' He shook his head and snorted as he ran.

His thoughts drifted back to the summer before his final year of sixth form, when he had faced the prospect of Truham without Nick. He had hated the way Nick had gushed about heading off to university. The night they broke up, Nick had angrily asked Charlie whether he expected him to just not go. Of course that was never what Charlie wanted. He had loved him desperately. He had wanted Nick to be happy. He just hadn't wanted to be left behind.

He had loved him desperately. He had wanted Nick to be happy. He just hadn't wanted to be left behind.

Someone was turning a complicated padlock in his brain. His thoughts suddenly felt like gears, cool metal sliding and settling into a new configuration. Charlie slowed his pace. What had he expected to happen tonight, asking Nick about Edinburgh, about Thomas?

He stopped running. He was starting to feel sick, and his ankle really was pounding. He hobbled over to lean against a stone wall that lined the block of flats to his left, lifting his aching foot and massaging circles around the bone.

Charlie stayed that way for a while, lost in thought as his breath became deeper and more regular.

Why had he called Nick, anyway? Tao or Elle would have been much more appropriate sounding boards; after all, they had been there from the beginning with Thomas. Deep down, he knew his friends would have told him to go, to embrace the new experience and the novelty of having a pleasant, effortless relationship for once. Maybe he had hoped Nick would tell him the opposite.

Was his hesitation really about Edinburgh, or was it about saying goodbye to Nick? 

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