Work Text:
“Seriously? Thirty nine points for one word? You’re such a little nerd!”
Nick groans and rubs his face in defeat as Charlie picks tiles from the bag and grins at him.
“It’s all about the triple word score.”
The word forever glares back at them- a perpendicular taunt running across yours and making Charlie’s heart pound. Both were a risk; Nick has so far stuck to words that he can decipher no meaning from- dog and hero and ball and all things Nick- and Charlie’s vague attempts at Scrabble flirting don’t seem to be yielding fruit. Unless he counts the scared that Nick put down with trembling fingers, earning himself his only double word score of the night.
But it was the genius that started it. Nick placing down tiles and then leaning across the board to flick the curls at Charlie’s forehead with his finger. Their skin brushing, just briefly, and then the heat of him gone. Charlie swore that he saw his cheeks flush before he settled back in his spot on the duvet. Earlier, Nick had helped to drag the camping mattress out from underneath Charlie’s bed before they turned away from one another to tug off their uniforms and pull on pajamas. Like in the locker room, Charlie fought the urge to look and won and when he finally risked turning back Nick was making himself comfortable amongst the spare blankets and pillows. Charlie isn’t at all surprised to learn that Nick still wears Iron Man pajama bottoms- a couple of inches too short where he must have had a growth spurt since he begged his mum to buy them- Charlie imagines- and they curve around his thighs like Lycra. It’s enough to send his already burning attraction into overdrive.
Scrabble was supposed to be a safe option. A bucket of ice water over rolling flames as Charlie watched Nick make himself comfortable in this space- Charlie’s space- and made it look so, so right.
Now, Charlie tugs at one of his curls and watches as Nick frowns at his own collection of tiles. There’s a little scrap of paper between them, scores scribbled down, and every time one of them reaches for it their fingers have brushed- hot and tender- and Charlie can’t bear it anymore. He grips the pencil tight.
Nick picks up one of the tiles and puts it back down, breathing deep. Charlie watches him with rapt fascination as he bites his lip and finally picks up four tiles- click clack clicking against one another in his palm- before he lays them out on the board.
Heart.
Charlie’s pounds.
“How many points is that?” Nick asks quietly, and Charlie wonders why his voice sounds so timid. It takes a while for him to look up, and when he does his eyes are wide and warm.
“Eight…” He taps the pencil against his bottom lip, watches as Nick’s throat moves slowly as he swallows. “But, you know if you’d put it over here you’d have doubled that score?” He traces his finger down a long column closer to his side of the board. Nick stares, wide-eyed.
“Right… I guess I’m not very good at this, am I?”
Charlie is so painfully aware that he’s chosen to sleep in pajama shorts, as Nick’s gaze grazes along his bare legs and back up to meet his eye. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say there was some longing in that look. But he does know better, straight boys don’t look at their gay best friends that way, and it renders the gesture confusing. He takes a breath, leans across to shift all of Nick’s tiles to their new position, and writes down a healthier sixteen on their score sheet.
“You’re fine, Nick,” he teased, grasping at something normal- their usual banter- to try and stave off the nerves. “Don’t take this as me going easy on you.”
“We can’t all be super geniuses like you, can we?” Nick laughs, gently, but there’s a little bit of sadness in the gesture.
Charlie can’t quite decipher the expression on Nick’s face. The closest he can get is the word he placed down just before forever. Scared stares back at them, a perfect mirror for Nick's shining eyes, and Charlie is desperate to understand why.
“Your turn,” Nick whispers.
Charlie has everything he needs, and the obvious next move stares right back at him from his little plinth. It’s a terrible score, which makes it all the more riskier. Nick might see right through it, and that is both the most terrifying and exhilarating thought of all.
“L-O-V-E,” he says, slowly and carefully, as each tile clicks against the board. Nick’s eyes widen again, and Charlie holds his breath.
“Only seven points though?” Nick quips, his voice breathy and quiet. “You’re sure you can’t do better than that?”
“Like I said, I’m not going easy on you. Fate gave me a bad batch of letters, that’s all.”
Nick is smart, he knows that. He’s quick and witty and he has the sort of tactical mind that Charlie can only dream of. He doesn’t need anyone going easy on him, not really. Charlie just wishes that he would realise that too. Nick is too quick to dismiss himself as a rugby lad, even quicker to point out how much smarter Charlie is.
He’s chewing on his bottom lip again, making it plump and pink when he finally releases it and grins widely.
“Sure you’re not going easy on me? You might regret it.”
“I absolutely promise that I am not going easy on you,” Charlie grins back. It’s not a lie, although every word is laced with ulterior motive. Nick shrugs and picks up all his tiles. They go down on the board, one by one, and Charlie gawps as the word tomorrow unfurls in front of him. Nick winks at him, smug and knowing, and Charlie feels his entire stomach flip.
“So…” he teases, “Do I win?”