Archive of Our Own

March 5, 2023, 9:48 p.m., O’Hare International Airport

“Ok, see you tomorrow, Nick!” 

“Yeah, see ya.” Nick throws a half-hearted wave at Madison and Jacob as they walk out past the little ridiculous waist-high half-fence (meant to keep the unpaying riff-raff out of the fancy sit-down dining area? unclear) towards gate F9. He sighs and turns around with his hands on his hips, surveying his little kingdom: Chili’s Too, ORD Terminal 2, the place where overpriced margaritas, awkwardly-scheduled layovers, and dreams go to die. His eyes roam over the bar, the tables and the condiments area, and he decides the closing cleanup was actually done well by his crew while he was cashing out in the back. He can now officially get the fuck out of here and head home.

He flips off the main lights at the control panel near the manager’s office, trying not to think about the fact that he has to close again tomorrow after what will surely be a horrific midterm exam that he’s barely had time to study for. Deep breaths. Just one more week until spring break. During which he will not be partaking in any ridiculous stereotypical spring break activities, but rather just going home to his mom’s, hugging Nellie, and doing nothing for one whole week. He loves the nursing program at UIC, but it is without a doubt kicking his ass.

He’s grabbed his coat and bag from the office and is doing a last check of the restrooms when he thinks he hears a noise coming from one of the stalls. In fact, as he turns towards it, it half-opens, and he catches a glimpse of curly black hair framing a startled face, a pair of deep blue eyes opening wide as Charlie sees him and gasps. That is Charlie, isn’t it? It looks just like him, and that gasp on seeing Nick, frankly, is tell-tale. 

“Char?” Nick says, moving forward. The door slams shut. “Hey, sorry man, didn’t mean to walk in on you!” Nick looks at his watch. “I didn’t even know you were here, but are you almost done? I need to leave, like, now-ish if I’m going to catch the 10:08 blue line. They only come like every 15 minutes at this time of night, which sucks ass.” Nick waits a beat and hears nothing. “You ok in there?”

He had stopped in his tracks when Charlie retreated back inside, but now his curiosity gets the better of him and he approaches the stall door again. “Charlie? Seriously, when did you even get here? I didn’t even see you come in!” The silence is weirding him out and when he stands close enough to the door that he should be able to spot Charlie through the crack, his coat brushes it and it swings open noiselessly.

What the fuck? There’s no one there. He shakes his head and turns around, scanning the room. “Char? Are you here?”

There isn’t a sound other than the eternal background hum of every single electrical thing running at once in this behemoth airport, and no sign of anyone else alive in here, anywhere. A quick check of the other bathroom, the office once more, and the kitchen turns up exactly nothing. So….this is weird. 

Nick definitely saw someone, although now he’s doubting his eyewitness skills and wonders if it was really Charlie. If it wasn’t though, it’s even worse, because what the fuck was a disappearing stranger doing in his bathroom long after closing, and where did they go? The last flight out of this terminal was the 9:35 p.m. puddle jumper to Milwaukee, long gone. 

He doesn’t have time to get worried though, if he wants to get to the L station quickly. He pauses for only the briefest of moments to text Charlie and ask if it was him (they haven’t spoken in a while, not since….. that day , but he still has his number saved, same one since high school), then stashes his phone in his pocket and heads out.

He’s looking back into the dark interior one last time as he leaves the dining area, mentally debating whether or not he should go alert airport security, and not paying attention to the terminal outside the restaurant. When he passes the fence and swings his head forward, what he sees stops him in his tracks.

*****

March 5, 2023, 9:48 p.m., University of Chicago, Woodlawn Residential Commons

Charlie slams the book shut and pushes it back on his desk, crossing his arms in a huff. This is categorically not working. Midterms start tomorrow and he is so far from ready that it’s comical. So much for 2023 being a new start, a new leaf turned over, a new chance to wipe Nick Nelson out of his brain and build his own goddamn life.

He certainly hasn’t done an amazing job of that so far. Well, half-heartedly, maybe? After a couple years of high school spent crushing on his childhood friend, he was fairly fed up with himself and had absolutely no plans to follow Nick anywhere. It wasn’t his fault that the University of Chicago was one of the best known anywhere for majoring in mathematics, that they accepted him early decision, and that they gave him a decent scholarship. It wasn’t his fault that his mom actually liked the option, since it meant he was staying in state (but going far enough away that she wouldn’t be tempted to visit–or require him to do so–every weekend from downstate). It wasn’t his fault that Nick also ended up studying in Chicago . Jesus Christ.

And his first year had gone decently–maybe more than decently. He had met some amazing new friends and was doing well in his courses, working part-time at Eckhart Library and enjoying his morning runs up and down the Midway or along Lakeshore Drive. The Chicago skyline was always beautiful, no matter how many times he saw the sun rise against it. 

And he honestly had felt like there was a part of his life growing past the bounds of ‘just thinking about Nick Nelson.’ They were going to different schools, living in different neighborhoods. They texted fairly regularly, maintaining their close friendship from high school but also exploring new realities and social environments. They saw each other at a few parties, enough at least for Charlie’s new besties from the GenderQ group, Isaac, Elle and Tao, to each form their own opinions of Nick and decide whether or not to pester Charlie about his obvious feelings for his best friend. (Respectively: yes in a chill way, yes in a hopeful way, yes in a begrudging way–well, maybe. ) 

Their summer back home after freshman year Nick and Charlie slipped easily back into their friendship, spending every day doing nothing together and loving it, subtly noticing how each had grown and changed at school; no complaints from either one.

And when their sophomore year started and Nick moved in with his friends Darcy and Tara up in the so-called ‘lesbian neighborhood’ of Andersonville, the whole gang started hanging out at their apartment on the semi-regular. Frankly it had way better food options than Hyde Park, even if it meant a long-ass L ride home. But that had all changed last month.

Fucking Valentine’s Day . Really, Nick Nelson? Really? This absolute jerk, this complete asshole in any universe, had chosen goddamn Valentine’s Day  to confess to Charlie that he’d had feelings for him all these years. What the fuck. Or better put, why the fuck. Why hadn’t he mentioned it literally ever before ? Charlie conveniently forgets that the same could be said for himself, and once again his irrational irritation with Nick is getting the best of him. 

Of course he could have avoided all this irritation by confessing in return. By telling Nick that his feelings have been reciprocated, since forever. But that didn’t happen, did it? Charlie choked, and not in a good way, staring at Nick with mouth agape and just far, far too many aggressively negative thoughts pummeling his brain. For everything Nick said, Charlie’s traitorous heart had a rebuttal. 

“My life is better because I met you, because you exist.” Nah, doesn’t convince Charlie, who’s spent too many days vaguely contemplating how much easier it would be to not exist at all. 

“I know people have hurt you, and I can’t promise I’ll always be perfect, but would you accept me trying, anyway?” Oof, that one is so hard because Nick is really attempting to be open and honest, but Charlie has run from risks of pain for so long that he can’t flip that 180 degrees in an instant.

“You’re my favorite person, and I need you to believe me–you’re my chosen family, Charlie.” Rings hollow against the backdrop of his experience with his actual family. They had let him down, it kind of burned into his psyche, and there was no denying that.

“I don’t care about getting into fights or pissing off my mates or anything like that, I know it’s possible for us to be together and be ourselves and not give a shit what everyone says if we’re happy.” Hardest one of all. Learn to stand up for himself and be himself no matter what abuse it could attract? Might be an impossible ask.

So instead of sinking into the one relationship he’s always wanted, he fought it away tooth and nail. And has spent the following three weeks just going over and over the conversation in his head. There is plenty to reckon with there, more than enough to help him avoid thinking about the fact that they haven’t spoken since, and that he’s likely ruined not only their friendship but also the group that was getting along so well together. 

Again. This is getting him nowhere. He can’t study like this. With an explosive sigh, he pushes back from the desk and stands up, heading to his drum set in the corner of the dorm room. Although he tries not to drum when his roommate is around, he is grateful that Isaac understands that it helps Charlie in his worst moments, channeling anger or fear into something physical, something he can feel pound against his soul and drag attention away from anything else that might be battering it. Isaac even bought him a bit of drum-related parephernalia last week, probably trying to hint that Charlie hadn’t been doing great since Valentine’s Day, and would he like to try banging it out finally for the love of fuck? You know, in that understated way that Isaac always utilizes to make his finer points.

Charlie sits down on his stool and studies the new toy for the first time. Something called a Dr. Beat portable metronome, it has lots of fancy buttons and can probably do any number of amazing things, but Isaac probably also knew the first thing Charlie would use it for would be to just help him pound out his feelings, faster, faster, faster. 

He switches on the main power and starts up a slow beat. He isn’t watching the digital display as he gradually speeds up, and he certainly isn’t aware of any strange, cosmic activity originating from the device when his beats per minute pass 88, and he disappears in a poof.

*****

May 27, 1979, 5:16 p.m., San Jose, CA

Charlie may have disappeared in a poof, but he reappears with a crash, appearing in the back of what seems to be a storage closet and tripping immediately over a stack of mops and brooms leaned against the wall. Strangely he falls onto something soft, breaking his fall into a giant pile of clean rags and dish towels, for some odd reason fashioned into a shape almost like a bed. Why would there be a makeshift bed in a storage closet?

After thinking about that for about 2 seconds, his brain shrieks at him to pay fucking attention and freak out about why he’s in a storage closet to begin with, when in fact he was just literally sitting at his drum set. In his dorm room. Not anywhere near any storage closet or, as he’s beginning to surmise based on the items in the closet, any food and beverage establishment. 

He hauls himself off of the towel pile and peeks around a shelf laden with napkins, paper towels, and take-out containers. Seeing no one, he approaches the door to the closet and cracks it open. It leads to what looks like a restroom hallway in the back of a busy restaurant, noise and smells wafting back to his hiding place. There isn’t anyone walking by right at the moment, however, so he feels safe to slip out. 

The only thought in his mind is finding an exit and getting out of here, but unfortunately it looks like the dinner rush is just beginning and there is a crowd of people between him and the door. Stepping out of the way to let a rushing waiter pass by with a giant tray full of empty dishes, he sits back with a thump onto a bar stool. 

His heart is still beating rather quickly and he can feel the adrenaline. Where is he? And how? And why? He presses a hand to his chest and thinks maybe it is better to be seated for a minute, before he rushes out to–where, exactly? And again, how and why.

He slowly turns around so he’s facing the bar, intent on blending in until his heart-rate slows a bit. A busy bartender sees him out of the corner of her eye and tosses a menu in front of him almost automatically, the jumbled words “I’ll-be-right-with-you” falling out of her mouth as she tends to four other diners at the same time. His eyes drift down to the menu, which appears to have been drawn by a child on yellow card stock. The logo and name at the top, however, are unmistakable.

Chili’s? He’s in a fucking Chili’s? OK, sure, the universe has transported him through some kind of invisible drum-propelled wormhole…to a Chili’s. Because he needed more things to remind him of Nick. He rolls his eyes and starts to turn away from the menu in disgust when he notices the prices. The burgers are all two dollars and change? You can add a side of fries for 85 cents? A frosted mug of beer costs 3 quarters?? What kind of weird practical joke or bizarre promotional scheme is going on in here? 

Charlie can almost see it being like a “back to the 70s night” or something, especially based on the way people are dressed all around him. He hasn’t seen this many bell bottoms since Darcy insisted they do a Bee-Gees-themed party for their 20th. He couldn’t get Stayin’ Alive out of his head for weeks afterward.

He shakes his head now with impatience. Pay attention, brain! Who gives a fuck right now about fashion trends from his parents’ generation? How about, where are we and why! Well, actually, apparently the where is answered. He’s in a Chili’s in San Jose, California, if the menu is to be believed. The fine print on the liquor license posted by the cash register confirms it. He takes a deep breath. So the questions of how and why remain. And of course–how the fuck to reverse whatever happened.

He’s still trying to stretch his mind between fantasy and reality about 20 minutes later, nursing a beer and taking deep breaths, when someone sits down heavily on the stool to his left. Charlie can almost palpably feel the exhaustion and worry rolling off the man, who looks to be about 30, 35 years old, but with an age-old weariness in his eyes.

The man orders a beer and when he gets it, simply holds it between his hands as his shoulders slump forward. Charlie is trying not to stare but he can feel and hear it when the man begins to sob. It’s a bit beyond him to offer help to this stranger while mired deeply in his own predicament, but he sits nearby without moving, hoping his presence provides something. In a few moments the bartender appears anyway, and isn’t this a part of her job description?

“You alright, hun?” She stands back but has a caring look on her face as she pushes a strand of hair behind her right ear. When he makes a non-committal grunt, she adds, “come from the hospital?” He nods his head and is taking a picture out to show her before she can say ‘two dollar margarita’. Charlie is so close that he is somewhat drawn into the conversation, too.

“This is my boy, Julio. He’s only six years old, and he’s not….I mean we’re not sure….” The man breaks down into sobs again and Charlie can’t help himself, he reaches out and pats the man’s back without even thinking twice. It’s while he’s doing this that the puzzle pieces start to fall into place and his hand stills, then falls back to his side.

Wasn’t his dad, Julio, born in California? And around the mid-70s, too? ( Shhh , Charlie tells his brain, now isn’t the time to waste energy feeling guilty not knowing dad’s actual birthday .) Who is this guy, anyway? He tries to sneak a closer look without being too obvious and the profile does remind him somewhat vaguely of his grandfather Roberto. Charlie obviously never saw him this young (a father of a 6-year-old?) but there are definitely things that seem to confirm the identity.

But also–no. That’s insane. How is it physically possible that Charlie was in his dorm in Chicago in 2023 one minute, and the next he’s sat at a bar across the country, half a century earlier? And that on top of that, he happens to run into family? What is this, Hill Valley? His head is starting to spin and he puts his hands on the bar to steady himself, while tears of fear and confusion prick his eyes. The gentleman next to him sees and mistakes it for sympathy.

“Hey, thanks, friend. I didn’t mean to cry in front of you, obviously, hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.” He attempts a half smile and sticks out his hand. “Roberto, nice to meet you.”

Charlie feels like he’s going to be sick. His desire to flee comes back tenfold and he takes a steadying breath while willing his body to stay put. As much as he is dying to wake up from this fucking bizarre nightmare, he also needs some information before he takes off into the abyss.

“Hey, I’m Charlie.” He takes the proffered hand for a moment and then gestures at the photo which now lays on the bar, clearly a class photo and presumably the first one, if his dad (!!) is only six at this moment in time.

“Is everything…I mean, is he ok? What’s wrong?”

“Oh,” Roberto chokes back a sob and leans forward, his right hand on his knee and his left pounding the bar slowly, silently. After a moment he speaks again, in a low voice, as though willing it to not be true. “Car accident. Crossing the street on the way home from school.” His voice is almost a whisper now, and Charlie struggles to read his lips when he swings his face up to stare straight at him. “He’s not doing great. We’re not sure….We’re not sure if he’s going to make it?” 

The last statement sounds like a question and Roberto is clearly struggling to hold it together. Charlie himself has sucked in a breath and is feeling quite light-headed. His dad? In the hospital, not doing well? He looks around the room, willing it to come into focus, but lights dance around the edge of his vision and people are blurry and seem to move slowly. 

Not only is he worried for his poor dad, and how scared his grandparents must be, but there’s also the low hum of existential fragility. He doesn’t remember ever hearing about his dad being in a car accident as a child. Has he somehow triggered some weird, horrible deviation from history by appearing here–not that it was his choice, mind you–and now he’s going to somehow take part in snuffing out his own entire existence?

Suddenly there is a commotion behind him, and he turns on the bar stool to see a kid burst through the crowd and come running up to Roberto. Ohhhhh , thinks Charlie, this kid looks exactly like my Uncle Miguel. Charlie looks at him with wide eyes, no longer hiding his staring, as the 14-year-old grabs his dad’s arm.

“Papi, come quick! Mama said to come get you, that Julio is out of surgery, that he’s going to be ok!”

“He is? He is!” Roberto grabs his son by both arms and his eyes light up. “Oh, m’hijo, let’s go!” He’s fishing frantically in his pockets when the bartender shoos him away. 

“Get out of here!” she says. “Beer’s on the house.” 

Roberto throws one teary-eyed grin at Charlie and then he’s gone in a whirlwind. The bartender shares a smile with Charlie too, but then she clears away the beer glasses and moves to help someone else, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Charlie sits, contemplating how his heart hasn’t stopped pounding with adrenaline since the moment he arrived here, and all of a sudden it clicks. Yes, his heart is pounding. That means–he’s alive. He exists. He almost didn’t. If this surgery had gone the other way? He wouldn’t have. And for a split second, he feels the burning truth of it–he wants to.

The thought has barely formed itself in his mind when he’s gone in another poof .

*****

November 28, 2002, 3:17 p.m., Champaign, IL

Charlie has his eyes closed and feels that he’s jolted back to reality sitting in a chair, which makes him half-hope that maybe he’s back at his dorm room desk and this was all just a weird fucking dream. But at the same time, he doesn’t trust his luck any farther than he can throw it, so he seriously doubts it.

Opening his eyes confirms that he continues to hurtle wildly through the universe with no control whatsoever. He is in a chair sitting at a desk, but the similarities end there. He now appears to be in some kind of an office, dark wood paneling and papers strewn all over the place. His brain subconsciously notes the cases of tiny salt and pepper packets towering in the corner, but he doesn’t make the connection quite yet. He does see the door to the office, however, and eyes it warily. When he walks through it, what kind of emotional nonsense is going to be waiting for him this time? WIll he be literally in a hospital, or worse? 

No way to find out other than going out there, he supposes. As he grabs the doorknob, he briefly notices a couch that seems way too big and comfy for the size of this office, but then pushes it out of his mind and heads out.

Once outside the office door things feel all too familiar. Yeah. This is definitely a restaurant hallway yet again. There to the right are the restrooms and to the left the din of the dining public. What the hell. How has he somehow stumbled into some kind of casual-dining-time-portal? Then he hears it—the sizzling sound of an order of fajitas being paraded around the room before being delivered to the table. He groans. Is he seriously in yet another Chili’s?

Charlie ventures down the hallway, eyes scanning the room to find a safe corner bar stool to tuck himself into and observe and breathe. As he slides into one, however, he spots a face that chills him to the bone. Is that his mother seated in a corner booth right next to the bar? 

Charlie whips around on his stool automatically, at the same time registering that her face looks much younger than he remembers, and who knows what the fuck year he’s in. He goes to reach for his cell phone in his pocket, before remembering that he left it on the floor next to his drum set. All the better probably, likely wouldn’t have done well slip-sliding about on the space-time continuum like this. However that still leaves him very unsure as to what date it is…as well as where in the world he is. 

Ah, never mind. The where is easy to answer. Having spent the majority of his life there, he quickly recognizes the team spirit shit on the wall for the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign. And actually, that somewhat answers the question of when, as well. They still have up plenty of banners with that fucking racist mascot Chief Illiniwek, which was officially retired in 2007. 

Charlie subtly looks over his shoulder at his mom again, and as she shifts in her seat he notices her pregnant belly and a baby in a high chair seated between her and…yep, that’s a younger version of his dad. He is unsure how to feel about this and his stomach twists a bit in response. Yay that his dad survived his childhood car accident, eek that for some reason he is spying on their early family life? With apparently Charlie himself present in fetus form? Assuming that’s Tori in the high chair, but he wonders how he might tell if an infant has older sister magic and a biting but perceptive wit.

So if he’s assessing everything correctly, it should be somewhere around 2002. Also, at any other restaurant in town it might have been obvious to him more quickly, but the lack of relevant decorations at the Tex-Mex joint meant it didn’t occur to him that it was Thanksgiving season until he saw the sign describing the November Margarita of the Month. And suddenly he realizes he’s actually hearing his mom delivering a diatribe about Thanksgiving (had he already been using his ‘tune-out-mom’ gift, before he was even technically born? impressive).

“Honey, it’s OK, seriously!”

“It’s not OK, Julio, and I’d ask that you take this seriously, please.” Charlie hears a sniffle, a pause and then his mom blowing her nose. “I feel like an utter failure.”

“Except you’re not. It was a crazy idea, thinking we could host Thanksgiving with an infant and you in your second trimester. Worst time for all the symptoms, really.” 

Charlie is sneaking a glance at them in the mirror over the bar, and sees his mom pause her embarrassed bitterness momentarily to toss a thankful glance at Julio, and cover his hand with hers on the tabletop. Then her eyes harden again.

“But I went along with it. I said it was fine. And then look what happens! Complete and utter disaster.”

“But they’re fine, honey, they’ll be fine.” Julio has turned in his seat now, to grip Jane’s hands as they stretch across the table in front of the high chair. “They all understand what it was like to be a first-time parent, they all can relate!”

Jane has buried her face in her hands and Charlie has to strain to hear the muffled words. “Julio. I. Forgot. To order. The damn. Turkeys.”

If Charlie didn’t know better, he might think Julio was stifling a laugh while his mom wasn’t looking. It’s been many years since he’s seen Julio show anything but stress and panic when Jane is upset, and it’s quite interesting to see him try and deal with it rationally and calmly. Speaking of strange reactions, Charlie almost falls off the bar stool in shock when he hears his mom chuckle as well. 

She still hasn’t raised her head but he can make out through her groan: “I literally had to tell my mother in law that I forgot to make the holiday meal I invited her over for.”

Now they are both laughing and Jullio’s cracks as he protests: “Hey, my mom isn’t even that bad! She is not the typical monster mother in law!”

Tori squawks and they both try to calm themselves, Jane wiping a mirthful tear from her eye as she turns her attention to the baby. “What do you need, my love?”

A moment later she is out of her chair, moving towards the bathroom with Tori in her arms. “I’ll get her changed real quick. You–” she points an accusing finger at Julio. “When I get back, you better not have eaten all of my traditional Thanksgiving chips and salsa!” This sets them both off again and Jane’s shoulders are shaking with laughter when she passes behind Charlie. He feels what he thinks is Tori’s little foot brush his back and he’s in awe.

This glimpse of his parents–it’s kind of insane. They were once young? OK, he theoretically knew that. They were once full of joy? That feels like new information. They were once able to recognize their own mistakes and work through them? That….that may be the kind of thing that rips open the fabric of space-time.

He’s still marveling at this a few minutes later when his mom returns from the bathroom and leans against the bar just next to him, setting Tori to sit there as she rummages for something in her purse. Charlie is silently agape at seeing Tori like this and is frantically looking for something about her baby self that he can make fun of the next time he sees her 21-year-old self, when he hears his mom address the bartender.

“Sorry, I can’t find the wet wipes I usually keep in the diaper bag. Do you have any by any chance? Just to clean the baby’s hands, who knows what she grabbed in the bathroom.” Jane turns then and sees what Tori is grabbing now–Charlie’s finger!

“Oh! I’m so sorry, sir.”

Charlie almost spits out the sip of water he’d just taken. “Oh, no, it’s fine, no worries. And,” he starts, wondering to himself what are you doing? “Happy Thanksgiving? It’s nice that those of us who need it have a place to rest and eat on the holidays when we just can’t be at home.” He heart clenches thinking of a difficult Christmas not too long ago when this very woman drove him to run out of the house. But at the same time, something inside of himself is right now driving him to connect with her in this moment, in this place in her past when her heart still seems open.

Her smile looks genuine as she leans her head to one side and seems to ponder before answering. “That’s kind of what I was thinking. To be honest, things kind of turned into a mess at home today, and with family.” Her wide grin is an accent on her bizarre heartfelt confession to a stranger. “But I have this little girl, and this new one on the way,” Charlie feels very meta as Jane pats her belly. “And I think, what lesson do I want to give them out of screw-ups like this? That I love them anyway, you know? That I’m not perfect and I probably never will be but that doesn’t change how fiercely I will care for them.” 

Abruptly Jane cuts herself off and her face flushes a bit. “I’m so sorry! Whatever made me say so much to you just then?!”

And Charlie finds himself shaking his head with emotion as his eyes glisten. “I think….I think I just needed to hear that. So thanks to the Chili’s Thanksgiving spirit, I guess.” They both give a weary chuckle and as Jane turns to look at the bartender, who is stretching out an arm to hand her some wet wipe packets, the whole scene shimmers in Charlie’s vision and he is gone.

*****

March 5, 2023, 9:53 p.m., Chicago, IL

Ok, sure, a bathroom. A gross stall in the men’s room, why not. Charlie comes into being, as it were, standing inside a cramped stall with the door closed, dead silence all around. He assumes it’s a Chili’s and sighs heavily, wondering how many more iterations of this will bring him back to his dorm. How many Chili’s are there in the world, anyway? He shudders and pushes away the cursed question. 

Taking a deep breath while attempting to not breathe in through his nose, Charlie lifts his hand to steady himself against the wall and take a moment to just think . Literally, what the fuck is going on? Is he going completely mad, or has he been jumping through time and space, coincidentally bumping into his family members? And not only that, but having some kind of weird emotional revelation in both instances? 

His dad is alive, and he’d never contemplated the possibility of that not being true. His relief at that, along with seeing the same on his grandfather’s face, had felt deeply bittersweet. He loves his dad and would never want to lose him, and weirdly, instinctively, also does not want to lose himself. He can’t quite articulate it, but something feels different deep inside with that one. In places and details he isn’t ready to plumb yet, but is probably a very good thing.

Then, what a scene with his young mom? He never once thought of her as tender, joyful, easy-going. He feels a pang in his heart for what the years must have done to her to make her into the person he knows today, but also kind of marvels at the lesson she shared at the bar. Maybe she’s made some bad decisions, maybe we all do, but he somehow instantly trusted her, believed her that she desperately wanted the best for her family. Kind of messes with his unspoken plan to protect his heart by only loving and being loved by people who are incapable of hurting him (unclear if those people exist, but 70’s Jane just made a very convincing case for flawed humans also being decent at loving). 

Yeah, so. Philosophical meanderings to change his life, mixed in among guac and time warps. What is happening?

This has to be a dream. It must be a dream, right? This is just the kind of fucked-up, psychoanalytical dream his goddamn psyche would have, Geoff is going to love this shit next week…although, it doesn’t feel like a dream. Charlie’s heart rate has slowed since San Jose, but he wouldn’t say he feels exactly normal, so puts his hand on his chest again. He doesn’t feel asleep one little bit. He feels like he’s wide awake and alert and, possibly, going insane.

OK, let’s come at this from a logical direction. Is he sick, lying in delirium in a hospital somewhere? Has he been kidnapped by a really impressive practical joker? Is he a character in some new, weird, just morally wrong version of The Truman Show with an astronomical budget dedicated to recreating previous time periods with spot-on impersonators? 

His wild trains of thought are interrupted by the sound of the main bathroom door opening, and Charlie, for some bizarre reason, peeks out. It’s a reflex and he instantly regrets it.

Goddamnit–he sees Nick’s face in front of him, gasps, and slams the door shut again. Now fucking what, universe? Did he really need to come to Nick’s Chili’s? There’s no way he has any family member waiting out there, and he’s not ready to talk to Nick again yet. 

No sooner has he thought this than Nick’s startled  “Char?” fades away and Charlie is gone, yet again.

*****

June 7, 2029, 8:47 p.m., Chicago, IL

Charlie is still thinking to himself, freaking Nick Nelson and attempting to shake his head as he shoots through the cosmos, when he (lands? erupts? coalesces?) with a bump to the back of his head. He realizes he is seated at a booth with extremely high seatbacks ( there is exactly zero chance this isn’t a Chili’s booth , he thinks with a resigned air) and has knocked his brain against it when he appeared. Why are these seatbacks so high, anyway? What exactly do people do in this booth that needs to be this well hidden?

He realizes something else a moment later, and it’s a big one. He’s now knowable. And known. Yeah. Looks like he jumped to some year where a college-aged Charlie is no longer able to pass as a stranger.

“Charlie! Oh god, thank fuck you’re here!” His head whips up and he sees Darcy careening towards him. They crash into the side of the table and rest their hand on Charlie’s arm as they hang their head down and breathe heavily. 

“Darce? You OK?” Charlie is a little nervous about being himself without knowing exactly where or when he is, and there are some subtly changed details about Darcy that tell him he hasn’t quite returned home yet, but he doesn’t hesitate to reach back and grab their arm as well. 

They breathe for a few more seconds and then slide into the booth opposite him. Their hair is a bit shorter than the last time Charlie saw them so it doesn’t quite hide their face while looking down at their hands, and one tear is visible slipping off the end of their nose.

Charlie tries again, softer. “Darcy? Can I help with anything?”

Darcy groans audibly. “Charlie….it’s just. Argh. I can’t.” They look up suddenly, directly into Charlie’s eyes, with a wild, terrified look. “I can’t do it tomorrow. You know?”

Charlie’s mind races. Definitely he for sure does not know what tomorrow is. He doesn’t even know what year this is, or what Chili’s this is. Wow, that’s my new norm? , he thinks. What Chili’s am I in?? He shakes his head with impatience and lets his eyes dart around for a second, trying to identify any clue. Nothing, and Darcy is still staring at him. OK, let’s do this blind.

“Is there anything I can do to help? Or, do you want to just talk through things, how you’re feeling?”

Darcy’s head flops down onto the table and there is another groan. Charlie holds his breath and waits to see what happens next. Out of the corner of his eye he sees the iPad installed on the table and that is some small confirmation of what years he’s not in, at least, but that was sort of a given what with Darcy and all.

After a moment, they lift their head up, lean their chin heavily into the palm of their left hand, and try to tame their hair with their right.

“Charlie. I can say this, right? No judgment?” The eyes have slightly less terror now, more pleading.

Charlie is quick to respond as, again, whatever year it is makes absolutely no difference to the answer to that question.

“Of course. No judgment, ever.”

A deep breath in. “I don’t know if. Can I do this? I mean,” Darcy suddenly becomes very animated. “I mean. Tara is . She’s the one. A hundred percent. There is not a doubt. But,” eyes downcast again; right hand waving about in the air. “I think–I think it’s the idea that’s flipping me out? The idea of marriage, family, the whole institution. I have just...I have a really shitty past with that whole thing, you know? With literally everything about family?”

Ohhhh. Interesting. Darcy is freaking out about getting married. Tomorrow. To Tara. And they probably escaped from some group thing, maybe a rehearsal dinner– would be amazing to know what the fuck time it is right now , Charlie thinks sarcastically, but no windows to be seen from this stealth booth –and went to hide and drink away their sorrows. He absolutely can see them taking advantage of the “Three margaritas for $30!” as advertised above the bar. Hmm, definitely more expensive than in my home time period. Ah Jesus Christ, why do I know that? , he thinks angrily, then turns back to Darcy.

“So. You know Tara knows how you feel about that? And you know she loves you no matter what? Your shitty past has no bearing on her feelings towards you?”

Darcy huffs. “Sure. Think she’ll love me through leaving her at the altar? Literally not being able to walk down the aisle due to cold sweats from thinking about becoming my parents?”

“Oh Darcy, you would never–” Charlie stops at Darcy’s raised hand. 

“I know. I’m nothing like them, I make different choices, this is my life, blah blah blah. Except,” they sigh. “What if it happens and I can’t control it. What if there’s something in my DNA or something?” 

“What exactly do you think is going to be in your DNA?” Charlie prods gently. “Leaving? You haven’t done that, in all this time.” ( How much time, what the fuck year is this. ) “Physically hurting her? Also never happened.” (Taking a guess on that one but he’s 100% sure.) 

Charlie stretches his arm across the table and takes Darcy’s hand in his. “Darce? You’ve probably made some mistakes with Tara, we’ve all messed up like that in relationships.” Charlie sucks in a breath as a thought occurs to him about timelines, and he rushes on before Darcy can say anything revealing to him about his own relationships, things he maybe shouldn’t know yet. “And you learned from it, right? And you’re a good human being, one that wants things to be better and wants your love to be happy?”

Darcy sits up straighter. “Yeah, of course. I always want her to be happy. And safe. And with me.” A smile crooks up the corner of their mouth.

“OK, so, to me? You kinda sound like the perfect person for her to make a family with, then?” Charlie’s eyes widen. “Wait, that’s it, Darce! You’re making this family. You and her. It will be how you want it and no one can change that.”

Darcy’s smile grows. “Yeah, I know we say that all the time. We’re all our chosen family, right?”

“Definitely.”

“And I know that. I’ve been more supported by all of you over like, a fucking weekend than I was by my parents my entire life. I’ve known that forever.” They look up sheepishly. “Doesn’t mean it’s not scary to do this big thing recognizing it. You know? Make it official. Make it like theirs .” They scowl a bit.

Charlie leans forward. “Except….”

“Except, I know. I know it’s not theirs, at all. It’s what Tara and I want to make of it.” Another sigh and a determined look. 

“That’s it.” And here it is, the part that was for him, Charlie thinks. “When we get to choose, we can make it so, so good .”

Darcy’s answering smile somehow is both sweet and also clearly betraying smutty thoughts. “Agree. This could be very, very good.” Their eyes were roaming the ether for a moment but now snap back to Charlie. “My dear chosen family?”

“Yes, my wonderful chosen family?”

“Let’s go back to the party now? I’m going to get in a shitload of trouble for staying away even this long.”

Charlie laughs despite himself (despite his gnawing nervousness about Darcy mentioning this conversation to a version of himself who never had it. Or….does that version even exist anymore? Goddamnit, this is why time travel isn’t real, it’s too complicated .)

“I’ll meet you there? I’m going to go…change clothes.” Inspired , he thinks. “And Darce?”

“Hmm?” They look back at him as they are getting out of the booth.

“I’m glad we talked. I’m so, so glad you felt OK sharing with me. And I swear to god your feelings are natural but they can’t scare you out of this amazingness. You got this, my friend.” 

Darcy smiles and pulls Charlie into a strong hug. When they relax back, Charlie has just one thing to say.

“Just, if you never want to mention this conversation again to me, it’s fine.”

Praise be to the universe for giving him those couple extra minutes to get that out, just to calm his spiraling thoughts that are now worried Darcy is going to confuse future Charlie. He just hears them pronounce the words “OK, weirdo” as they flounce towards the door with a little wave, and he sinks back into the booth as he feels himself about to evanesce away. 

*****

October 10, 2049, 7:34 p.m., Chicago, IL

Charlie stretches as though he’s lying on a plush, comfy mattress somewhere, waking up from a refreshing nap ready to tackle life. Nanoseconds later, his left hand hits something metal and bangs up his knuckles, he feels something gravelly slip under the waist of his jeans, and he hears a skittering noise close to his head that frankly is not reassuring. Where in the hell is he now? And wherever it is, how can it be a Chili’s?

Sitting up from his prone position, the sensations start to make sense. He’s on a rooftop in what feels like a chilly autumn evening. He punched an air vent hood; the gravel from the tarred surface is what’s sneaking into his clothes, and the noise…well, that could be any number of nighttime critters, best to ignore it. The smell wafting up from below, though, and the giant neon sign rising up almost to eye level next to the building, the one with the giant red pepper, clinch it. Yep, it’s a Chili’s, and actually, it’s a Chili’s rooftop . The only question is, why .

Actually the question seems to usually be, he is realizing, who . Who, and then what–what Charlie can learn from watching his loved ones go through something that touches their soul and his. Looking around as he gets up on his haunches and brushes his hands off against his jeans, he spots someone. More accurately, someone’s back. They are seated on some generic cement block in the middle of the roof, gazing up at the moon. They seem to be a younger person and he briefly wonders if it might be Olly, but reminds himself–he could be in literally any year. 1879, 1942, 2498. The universe is a real fucking practical joker tonight and nothing, absolutely nothing, is certain. He creeps slowly closer, assuming he has to engage with this person somehow in order to ‘pass this level,’ but also not wanting to scare them.

As he approaches them from the side, his first glimpse reminds him of Tao when they first met. Has he gone back to the sixth grade to rekindle their friendship or something? But as he rounds in front of the sitting form, who he can now see is clearly a teenager with “something in their eye” (read: sobbing silently), he realizes it’s not Tao at all. That is to say, it’s not only Tao. Could this somehow be some kind of Tao offspring? He is subconsciously looking for a beanie when he realizes the teenager has noticed him and he has to say something.

Before he can open his mouth, however, they speak. 

“Uncle Charlie, what are you doing up here?” they sniffle and wipe their nose on their jacket sleeve. Charlie contemplates. He arrives at the conclusion that the nighttime shadows up on the rooftop conceal his face sufficiently so as to make him recognizable to this kiddo, but not so glaringly obvious that he isn’t quite as old as he should be. Assuming this person is Tao’s child. Tao’s child who looks like they are old enough to drive and apply for colleges and, apparently, have personal life crises.

Charlie sits next to them, taking advantage of their obviously good relationship with him to scooch close enough that they can’t really stare him directly in the face and notice any clear difference in age. And this apparently works perfectly, because they lean their head down onto his shoulder instantly.

“How you doing, you ok? I was wondering what you were doing up here.” This is not a lie, exactly, even if Charlie didn’t know this person even existed two minutes ago. 

They sigh an awfully big sigh for such a small person.

“‘S okay, I guess. It’s been kind of tough at school this year, maybe? I don’t know.” They pick at the end of a sweatshirt sleeve nervously. “I know you understand.”

Charlie’s mind whirs. He understands. That means either this kid is about to come out or has come out as gay….or just lives the tough life of the well-known nerd. Could go either way.

Charlie puts his arm around their shoulders. “Is there anything specific that you want to talk about? I’m always here to listen, you know that.” Again, he is briefly shocked at how smooth his lying has become, except the thing is, it’s not lying, not really. He always wants to be a person who friends and loved ones can come to, to share their difficulties and be supported. 

Meanwhile he is frantically scanning anything he can see–back of sweatshirt, any bracelet or anything on wrists?, any identifying marks on backpack, thrown to the ground on the other side?–to see if a name is written anywhere. Nothing obvious, but he does spot a little pin on the backpack, a white enamel heart with gold trim and the words “they/them” in gold font. Ah. So definitely in the queer community, and certainly well supported in that by their parents, but maybe going through bullying or getting picked on at school? Charlie is chagrined for a second to realize that there is still queer-phobia in whatever year this is, pretty clearly far into the future, but then he realizes that he isn’t surprised literally at all.

“There’s just some other kids at school….” They pause but don’t lift their head. “Some of them are complete idiots, you know?”

It feels like Charlie is supposed to respond, and he huffs out a low laugh. “Oh I know. I definitely knew some people exactly like that.”

“And then,” the teenager sits up and starts to gesture with their hands, thankfully still not paying that much attention to Charlie’s face. “Some of them are just really unfriendly all the time? And I say it’s fine, and I’m honestly used to it by now, but….” they trail off.

“You shouldn’t have to be,” Charlie finishes softly, knowing that they know.

“I shouldn’t have to be.” They stand up and pace a bit. Charlie can feel some frustrated energy but also hope and determination. “I shouldn’t have to be, right? My mom and dad have told me this for years. To not let anyone make me disappear. That I shouldn’t have to get used to any bullying shit. That they support me in whatever but also–” and here they look right into Charlie’s eyes but the truth of what they’re saying hits home so hard that concerns about getting ‘found out’ fly away. “But also that I am strong enough on my own. To tell them who I am. To not disappear. To tell them to leave me alone.”

Charlie sees his own tears reflected in the younger person’s eyes. “I remember it. I remember feeling used to it, and knowing I shouldn’t have to feel used to it.” He smiles. “I also remember your mom and dad telling me the same thing, back when they were younger than you, but somehow still kinda smart?” They smile at each other. 

“Uncle Charlie? Those people have their own demons, huh?”

“Oh, you’ve picked up on that phrase too, have you? But yeah, they absolutely do. A lot of them are struggling with their own identity, and that’s understandable. We understand that, right?”

The teen nods. 

Charlie continues, “But just because they’re still figuring things out, or if they hate themselves, doesn’t mean they get to make us feel like crap.”

“I just want to be who I am…and it feels so hard sometimes. Like so much extra work that other people don’t have to do. Just to exist. Just to be seen and heard with my own me.” Charlie wants to tell them how powerful and beautiful their words are but also doesn’t want to interrupt. “I’ve just been feeling like…” They bite their lower lip and look out at the city skyline. The giant glowing chili is a silent witness, which could feel ridiculous but also feels like somehow it understands; it’s seen powerful transformations and realizations and connections before and, in its own way, supports them. Creates the space for them to happen. Weirdly.

“I’ve just been feeling like for a long time I went along with all the shit because I somehow deserved it. Somehow crappy treatment by other kids at school or even by teachers,” they chuckle softly and shake their head. “Or even by like, a boyfriend or a girlfriend? That somehow that fucking shit was the best I could hope for, that I couldn’t ask to be treated better. Certainly couldn’t demand .”

They crouch down in front of their backpack and gently touch the they/them pin with one finger before continuing, as though seeing themselves there and drawing strength from that. “I think. I think I don’t believe that anymore? Like, I don’t believe they even get to have an opinion about anything I do?” They look up at Charlie, seeking affirmation. 

And in their eyes he sees all the people that have gone before them. He sees biological family who love at some times better than others, but try with what they have; he sees chosen family who create safe spaces and celebration; he sees a life that is worth living; he sees a life that is worthy of being recognized. He sees a promise. He sees his past and his future and suddenly he realizes that what he wants for his loved ones, he can want for himself, too. 

When he hurts in his soul and cries out for peace and love for Tao and Elle’s beautiful child, he is allowed to feel the same for himself. And when Nick offers him love, the voices saying to run away quickly before Nick realizes Charlie isn’t worthy aren’t real . 

Charlie has spent his entire life listening to those voices, and they got too deep inside of him; almost too deep to see the edges cleanly enough to pry them out. But the universe really wanted him to figure it out, apparently. And dragged him around all over the place trying to shove love and acceptance and possibility into his heart, even when that could have been painful.

And now he hears some weird echo of a voice out in the waves of the cosmos yelling at him that he is worthy. And for some reason, he believes it.

They both stand up and face each other; Charlie grips the teen’s shoulders. “Maybe you thought this would never happen, huh? That you could love yourself; or believe that others could love you. Or even like you, I guess,” Charlie grins thinking about high school and timid declarations and trying to figure out when you were dating someone and how awful it all is, but how wonderful to be a part of, just the same. He wants that for this kiddo, and he wants it for himself. 

“I love you,” he says, sure that this is true even without a name to put to the face. “And I am so happy, and proud, to hear you say all these things about yourself. And you have taught me so much today.”

They giggle. “Uncle Charlie, I’m just learning this stuff! And plus, it isn’t easy!”

He shakes his head back, seriously. “No, it really isn’t! So, so proud of you and so, so glad you talked to me about it. Now I want us both to go back to real life–no offense to the Chili’s rooftop–believing in our value. I know there are people out there who will try to steal it from us, but we also got a pretty great family who were convinced about us before we even were ourselves.”

“And won’t let us forget it,” they chime in, grabbing their backpack off the ground. “But yeah, I think I can deal with mom and dad’s faces now. I actually really do feel better.”

“Me too.” Charlie watches as they open the stairwell door. “And I’m right behind you. I’m just going to send a quick message first.” 

Apparently that excuse still works on this generation. Charlie doesn’t have a cell phone to pull out to text or DM, but he thinks it’s probably worth sending out a message to the universe, no matter how cheesy that sounds.

“I get it.” He says calmly, looking at the giant chili and then the stars beyond. “I’m ready.”

*****

March 5, 2023, 9:48 p.m., O’Hare International Airport

Charlie kinda knew. He knew the way you know about a good melon. He knew that this time, flushing himself through the universe might be the last, might be the one to bring him home, might mean he’s ready to reckon with the all of it all. But he actually thought it would bring him literally home, back to his dorm, back to his drum set, where he was already planning to stand up with a resolute look on his face, grab his phone, and make The Call.

But the magical transporter thingy was like: nah. Let’s skip a step and go right to the airport.

The cute thing about the magical transporter thingy (maybe it had been procured at a discount?) was that it took him to the airport all right, but not to Nick’s Chili’s. Seriously, universe? The one time it really matters, the one time minutes count, you ship me to the wrong terminal?  

When he opens his eyes after the jump, he’s seated at a comfy chair inside a Chili’s, and the comfiness of that chair is how he knows it’s wrong. Also, inside? The Chili’s Too in Terminal 2 is very open concept and there is no feeling there of being enclosed in anything. Even that little half-fence feels very purposeless. 

Even knowing that this isn’t the right Chili’s doesn’t mean he has a clue where he is. Frantically looking around, he spots the departures board which tells him he’s in Terminal 1 (shit) and finally, for the first time in half a dozen universes, he knows what time it is. He knows very well that Nick is doing final closing procedures and is about to head home; Charlie’s got to sprint if he’s going to catch him. Those stupid moving walkways under the multi-colored neon lights have never felt so long. 

He finally arrives and screeches to a stop right in front of Nick as he turns to go, out of breath and face red. 

“Char??” Nick looks so, so confused. “Hey! Were you just in the bathroom?”

Charlie is ready to confess his undying love and desire and the question interrupts his train of thought abruptly. “Oh! I guess I was! Kinda.” He shakes his head. “Nick, can we talk?”

Nick looks at the time on his phone out of habit and starts to repeat the explanation about the train times, but then what is happening sinks in. “Oh! Of course. Do you want to go sit inside? Or in the manager’s office or something?”

Charlie shakes his head no immediately. There is something about now dancing in his head and his limbs. Here and now . He takes a step closer to Nick, then another. Nick watches intently but doesn’t move back. 

“Nick, I…” He takes a breath and forces himself to look into the perfect, warm brown eyes. Fuck, when did Nick get so hot? Oh yeah–forever ago. When did Charlie switch from feeling tortured by that to cautiously excited? Oh, maybe 15 minutes ago. As the crow flies.

One more step brings him close enough to reach out and grab Nick if he wanted to. Well, obviously he wants to. But he should say something first, right? Not just grab his face and start snogging him? Ok brain, think of something good to say. Something better than ‘fuck I want you’. Not that that’s bad. It’s just a bit abrupt. Ok, this isn’t helping. He puts his hand to his head which feels like it’s still spinning through time. Just because it’s now going only at the normal rate of one second per second doesn’t make things feel any more stable. Fuck. Can Nick hear his thoughts? He’s kinda giving him a strange look right now….

“Char?” Nick says softly from half a meter away. “Everything’s ok, you know? I can see something happening up in there, and everything’s ok. We don’t have to talk right now if you don’t want to?”

“No!” Charlie again feels the urgency. It cuts through the fog. He hesitates no longer.

Charlie closes the final distance between the two of them, grabs Nick’s left hand in his right, and uses his left hand to press down over his insanely beating heart. “Nick.” He hadn’t known how to start the conversation, but now it’s suddenly so clear.

“I’m sorry...” 

Nick rolls his eyes. “Char. You’re not seriously starting this conversation apologizing for something that surely isn’t your fault.”

“No, wait. I am sorry, though. I’m not saying I’m a bad person or anything. I’m just saying, I don’t think I handled it right.” He takes a breath. “Our conversation a couple of weeks ago. When you said….what you said. About what you….feel. And think.”

Nick smiles at him and squeezes his hand. “When I said that I think I’m in love with you and couldn’t stand not to tell you anymore?”

Charlie blushes, hard. “Yeah. That.” He looks down at his feet. “I…I like, debated you on it? I kept telling you why that wasn’t enough? Why I wasn’t enough?” His eyes widen as he realizes that in the moment. “And that isn’t nice? At all? Or true!”

Nick breathes purposefully as though trying to steady his spirit. “I didn’t take it as an insult, I swear. But yeah I also…I also think, or hope at least, that you are realizing that you were wrong in your evaluation. That what I feel for you–” Nick cuts himself off. “What we feel for each other, is actually a really, really fucking amazing start for whatever this could become.” 

“What we feel for each other, huh?” Charlie smirks.

“You tell me, Spring.” Nick’s mouth may be turned up playfully at the corner but his heart rate hasn’t slowed down one iota. He collects Charlie’s other hand in his. “So all that stuff, all those words you threw at me to turn me down–you’re thinking maybe,” he suddenly seems almost shy. “You might take them back?”

Bless that goddamn Nick Nelson for making everything easy for Charlie. He is so fucking lucky to have him. Squeezing his hands back, Charlie grins. “Yep. One hundred percent. I take them back so completely that I’m basically a boomerang. I’m from down under. I ride a kangaroo to class.” Nick is giggling now as they cling to each other, and Charlie follows suit.

“What the fuck Charlie, you’ve lost it!” 

“Oh, you have no idea. I’m gone! I’m so gone….I’m so gone on you.” Their laughter dies down and something shifts in the air. Charlie swallows hard but he’s not afraid anymore. He steps closer, which he hadn’t thought was possible. “Can I kiss you, Nick?”

“Fuck,” Nick says, almost under his breath. “I mean, yeah. Yes.”  And then their lips are together. A reasonable love story might have them at this point tenderly pressing their bodies closer, lips dancing, maybe mouths opening for a tentative tongue. But let’s be clear, both of these men are far beyond reason. They devour each other’s breath for a few moments and then Charlie pushes forward. He knows that ridiculous little half-fence is somewhere very close behind Nick…a few paces and there, he’s hit up against it. It’s the perfect height for Nick to lean against as Charlie disengages his swollen lips, runs his eyes and hands down Nick’s chest, and places a hand right above the zipper of his jeans. He stops and looks up to Nick, an urgent question in his eyes.

Nick’s eyes widen in surprise. His chest rises and falls raggedly. Desire is swimming across his brain. Why isn’t Charlie doing anything? Do something, he wills him silently. Don’t freeze, Charlie. 

He should have known that Charlie could hear his thoughts. 

“I’m not freezing. I’m just making sure. Is this OK?”

“Ohhh,” Nick lets out his breath softly. This is happening. “This is happening, Char. It is absolutely ok.”

Charlie sinks to his knees in front of Nick, never breaking eye contact. Neither one of them thinks about the fact that they’re in a semi-public space; the universe looks out for them in the form of a night watchman who only comes around to their corner of the terminal every 28 minutes, and a huge banner advertising a comeback of a Quart of Red Chili To-Go For A Limited Time Only! , that covers them from the view of the security cameras.

Nick sees Charlie pull a condom out of his pocket and really wants to watch the rest too, but his head drops backwards involuntarily as Charlie manages to get Nick’s jeans and boxers down and rolls the condom on. Charlie sinks his mouth hungrily onto Nick; tasting everything for the first time, lighting up pleasure centers of Nick’s brain that he wasn’t aware existed.

Neither one of them have extensive experience, but they don’t have a single complaint. Charlie works his tongue in ways that make Nick gasp too soon, “Char, I’m not going to last.” Charlie doesn’t stop. He doesn’t want to. He reaches up and links pinkies in a way that Nick recognizes instantly, and Nick lets himself explode. They ride the wave together and Charlie waits until Nick has clearly spent himself, all the tension leaking out of his muscles and his head rolling to one side. Nick realizes he’s grasping at the half-fence with one hand and sags his weight more fully there, raising his other hand to run his fingers through his hair as he looks at Charlie. Charlie wipes his mouth with the back of one hand as he rises, a shy smile growing on his lips. 

“Was that….” he trails off, wanting to ask and also really, really not wanting to.

“Ah, fuck, Charlie, don’t you even dare ask if that was ok. I can’t even fucking believe that just happened. I can’t….well I can’t think much at all right now. I just want to smile at you.”

“Jesus Christ Nelson, how are you this cheesy at a time like this?”

“What kind of time is this, exactly?” Nick smirks as he pulls up his boxers and jeans. He leans back against the fence, pulling Charlie against his chest and linking his hands behind Charlie’s back, idly hoping that the fence is sturdy enough for their weight.

“Momentous? Historic?”

“Oh really, you’re that good huh?” Nick teases, and Charlie lightly slaps his arm. 

“Nah, it’s not that, I just always wanted to fuck in a Chili’s, you know.”

“Oh!” Nick’s eyes have a mischievous gleam all of a sudden. “Well, I hate to break it to you, but we’re only really leaning on a Chili’s. We’re not inside, if you’ll notice. Not sure if that counted?”

“Oh, really? Interesting. I mean, uh, supremely disappointing. My dream is as of yet unfulfilled?” Both men crane their necks towards the dark innards of the restaurant and have the same thought: manager’s office.

“I do believe it’s your turn, mon amour,” Nick intones, then grabs Charlie’s hand and heads inside. 

They laugh at how typically appropriate it is for each of them. Nick against a fence, essentially in public, not caring about anything if it means having Charlie right then and there. Charlie, on the other hand, seeking slightly more privacy in the office, on a fairly comfy couch, less pressure that someone might come by and see so they can….take their time.

And Nick does take his time. He tenderly caresses Charlie while they spend full minutes kissing softly, then building back up to a heated passion. He leans forward over Charlie so that he gently lays back on the couch, getting permission to raise his shirt and lightly nibble his chest, his stomach, his hips; then they collaborate in easing down Charlie’s jeans and boxers and the second condom of the night makes an appearance. Nick smiles up at Charlie one last time before lowering his head, leaving him with an image of that fringe of hair swinging across his forehead like always, until milliseconds later Charlie feels it tickling his belly button, and then ceases to be aware of it at all. His tingling nerves soar with the stars and he’s dimly aware of the fact that he’s gone from traversing the space-time continuum, to riding the wave of what feels like a never-ending orgasm only moments later. Nick takes Charlie into his mouth again and again, not slowing until they are both sure Charlie has enjoyed every. last. second. 

Nick sits up and leans against the back of the couch as Charlie slowly regains his sense of being, eventually pushing himself up on his elbows and staring at Nick.

“What. I mean what. What just happened?”

“Well, we definitely missed the train,” Nick laughs. “And it was so, very, incredibly worth it.”

Charlie sits up with a sudden force and grabs Nick’s face between his hands. “I came here to find you Nick, you know? I came here to tell you how I feel, too.”

Nick reflects on the fact that he just heard how Charlie feels, and felt every moan in his goddamn bones, but he can’t help it: his heart turns to mush hearing those words while looking into those eyes. 

“I know you did, Charlie. And I know how you feel. I was just waiting for you to….to decide you’d let me care about you. To decide you’d trust me to adore you.”

Charlie reddens again but nods. “Yeah. That wasn’t easy. It wasn’t easy to believe that someone as amazing as you could want me?”

Normally Nick would blush too as he says his next words, but he’s all out of bodily fluids at the moment. “I’ve wanted you for so long, Charlie. If I’m amazing then you’re mythical. I can’t believe how much time we missed and,” he leans his forehead against Charlie’s in a sweet gesture at the same time he makes a low growling sound and palms Charlie’s jeans. “I intend to fully make up for every second of it.”

Charlie hums and his hips shift involuntarily towards Nick’s touch. “Jesus Nick, again already?”

They break apart and grin. “I really and truly would not mind giving it a try, but…”

“Yeah, but. But it’s late and but we have midterms and but we need to sleep.”

“But I have a lovely half of a single bed with your name on it in Andersonville tomorrow night, after our exams?” Nick confidently makes plans and asks a question at the same time.

“Deal. I wouldn’t miss it.”

They stand up and start to get their things together, finally leaving Chili’s for good (for today). Charlie is throwing the condoms in the large kitchen trash receptacle when he notices that it’s empty other than a small greasy cardboard box. He smiles at the image of Nick shoving a tiny kids’ size pizza in his mouth in 12 seconds, his latest record for that menu item if he’s not mistaken. Well, looks like Nelson can fit a couple other things in his mouth, too, (as Charlie’s brain and lower half remind him), and it’s a fair sight more enjoyable than a Chili’s pizza. No offense, of course. Charlie’s pretty sure he’s going to have a soft spot in his heart for Chili’s for quite a long time to come.

As they push out through the fence again, Nick glances over at Charlie and takes his hand. They walk briskly towards the L station, sneaking glances at each other and smiling so hard their faces hurt. Nick shakes his head again, almost uncertain that it really happened.

“I can’t believe how lucky I am, Char. Of course, I also can’t believe how much work it took to convince you of how amazing you are and that you deserve to be happy. You remind me of one of my favorite songs. No surprise, right? But remember you don’t know you’re beautiful? ” Nick can’t help but hum the chorus several times as they finish their walk, and Charlie does in fact remember the ear worm lyrics, about how he lights up the world and can’t even see it. He shakes his head at Nick’s utter cheesiness and feels a warmth in his heart that that cheesiness is directed at him and that he can embrace it. And snog it. And do other things to it. 

Finally they reach the station. The train is pulling in with a loud screech, so Charlie can’t really hear Nick’s next words, muttered half under his breath anyway: “I shoulda just sent you directly to 2011 to a One Direction concert and that would have been that!”