A Heartstopper Fanfic

Chapter 14: A Drunken Discovery

(Charlie's POV)

Sure, sentimental moments are nice, but wild ones to tell the kids when they're older? Those are a thousand times better. Nick and I have wracked up plenty, (some of which we can't share though, like when we did it for the first time in a pillow fort), because they're not something a parent should share with their kids, you know? I'd rather share the stories that'll have them laughing, the ones that'll cause Nick and me too to look lovingly into one another's eyes. Basically, I want to have one of those cliche scenes in a movie where the kids are like "what were you and dad like as teenagers?" To which Nick and I look up, smile, then go, "well..." Does that make sense?

The dreamy look on my face fades when the clang of a fancy wine glass practically being slammed onto our kitchen island startles me, causing me to jump a tad. Standing in front of me is my bulkily built, and tall, boyfriend. His dirty blonde hair is awry as he energetically sticks his tongue out, throwing his head forwards and backward like he's at some rock band's concert.

Faintly playing in the kitchen is of course Dumb by Nirvana. Considering that he just broke out a sizable bottle of vodka the song choice is fitting. Fixing my posture to peer at his phone I notice that he's playing music from my playlist on Spotify, the one that I jam out to. It's full of songs that I have down, even full albums.

Thanks to how quickly Nick's moving his head there's a slight red tint to his face, bringing out his honey-colored eyes and pink, plump lips. Eventually, he begins to shimmy a tad in his socks but quickly chooses to abandon that idea due to nearly slipping. I don't know if I would've laughed or panicked if he did end up landing on his ass.

"I think I'm dumb, or maybe I'm just happy." He says with his whole chest, proceeding to repeatedly say, "I think I'm just happy" for as long as it does during the song as it continues to play. Judging my humanized golden retriever from afar, I suddenly choose to voice my stance on what he's doing, "Aren't health gurus meant to promote drinking water instead of alcohol?" Sassily, he raises a finger in the air, wiggling it as he dramatically opens our fridge, "I'm mixing it with homemade lemonade, so it's different."

Suddenly I'm eager to join him, so I lower myself off of the red barstool, "since when did we have homemade lemonade?! I thought that we finished all of it." Skeptically yet eagerly I make my way over to Nick who's now looking at me like a child who just got tangled in his web of lies. Assertively crossing my arms doesn't make him feel any better, so I instead choose to tap my toe against the tile like an upset mother, "someone's in a pickle, aren't they?" He nods, slowly pulling out a jug of lemonade from earlier this week, his eyes fixated on the floor. My mouth falls open as my eyebrows furrow. What a betrayal!

"It's just so good! I had to save the rest for myself. It's not my fault that you're a god at making homemade goodness." He argues, pouring both him and me a glass of his lemonade, instantly adding some vodka once our cups are half full with lemony goodness. "That's unfair! You put it at the very back of the top shelf." Bending over to pull open the freezer to get us some ice cubes, Nick chuckles. "Hiding it might've been selfish of me, but you rarely make it and I'm crazy for your lemonade, you know this! Don't get me wrong, I also love your pink lemonade, but the original version of anything is always superior! Classics are just unbeatable."

We made pink lemonade too, (well- he helped me, but I did most of the work because he was too busy kissing my neck.) The pink lemonade conveniently hadn't gone missing. Recalling the fullness of his lips on anything but my own causes me to shiver, as well as instinctively rub where he ate me alive. Nick smirks, knowing that he's making me dizzy with lust, causing my very slight anger with him to dissipate.

"I promise to not hide it again...but only as long as you make a whole gallon next time, okay?" I roll my eyes, amused by his words, "it's hard to get the different amounts of the ingredients right when you're making me hard, Nicholas. Also, I barely got any because you were too busy smothering me with your lips once the lemonade was done and you had a few cups. Next time I make lemonade I'll make a gallon, fine, but I'm claiming half of it for myself."