Chapter Text
“Bloody hell, I’m nervous!” Charlie was wringing his hands as he witnessed the final preparations for his upcoming reading of his newest book. “I’ve done this dozens of times, and I’ve never been this nervous,” he murmured.
His husband stood smiling at his side. He gently grasped both Charlie’s arms and turned him so they faced each other. “You’re gonna be great,” he reassured him with a gentle squeeze.
Charlie sighed deeply. “I don’t know. I just feel like a fraud. What if they hate it? What if they hate me?”
Nick let go of one of his arms and stroked his cheek, looking at him tenderly. “Hey! Where is this coming from all of a sudden?” It had been a long time since Charlie’s insecurities had shown themselves so profoundly.
Charlie gave another sigh and folded into Nick’s arms, where he was held safely and lovingly. “I don’t know,” he said against Nick’s chest. “I guess because this is my first collection of poems? It’s more personal, more vulnerable.”
Nick nodded in understanding and pulled Charlie even closer. “I know how much these poems mean to you. But you’ll see they’ll mean something to these people, too. And besides,” he held Charlie at arm’s length and gave him that signature crooked smile that Charlie loved so much. “They paid good money to see you and have their books signed. They wouldn’t have done that if they hated you.” The grin shifted slightly and turned into a smirk. “You’re their Jack Maddox!”
Charlie shoved him playfully and groaned in faux annoyance. “Oh my god, shut up! No way I’m as hot as Jack Maddox!”
Nick looked at him seriously and just said, “No. You’re definitely hotter.”
Charlie burst out laughing and snuggled back into Nick’s arms.
📚📚📚📚📚
The reading had been a success. As soon as Charlie stood at the lectern, his newest book in front of him with some of the poems he had written as a teenager (as well as some new ones), he calmed down.
This is me , he thought and let his fingers glide lovingly over the page that was held open in front of him. This is me, and I want people to see all of it.
As he read some of his favourite poems from back then, the audience silent and hanging on his every word, his mind wandered back to that lonely, insecure, suffering, and sometimes angry teenager he’d been. As usual, he felt a great tenderness towards his younger self. He wished he could give him a hug and tell him that everything would be alright. He chuckled inwardly. His younger self wouldn’t have believed him. He was - Nick would say he still was - a stubborn bastard.
When he finished reading and looked out at the audience, he could see some glistening eyes and a lot of smiles. The applause was enthusiastic, some people even gave him a standing ovation. He had never been more touched by anything. Sure, his novels also carried something of himself in their words, but nothing he had published so far laid his soul and mind open in such an intimate way as his poems. Nothing would ever show more of his struggles, his pains - and his path to this successful and loved man he had become.
Teary-eyed, he searched for Nick’s gaze, who, as always, watched his husband from the side, invisible to the audience. This was Charlie’s hour, his audience, and Nick basked in seeing the man he loved so happy.
📚📚📚📚📚
After the reading came the signing. Charlie had been intimidated by this in the early days, unsure whether he would be able to stomach interacting with so many strangers. But slowly, over the last ten years, he had come to appreciate these times where he could meet people who loved his books just as much as he did. He loved hearing their little stories, why they loved his books so much and what had touched or amused them the most about his latest novel. More often than not, he found that people resonated with the exact same things he did in his writing, and he loved that. It reminded him of the time when he had first published his poetry on tumblr, back when he was living the worst years of his life. He had never been brave enough to let people comment on his poems, but gaining followers had proven to him that people were reading along. It had helped him not to feel so alone.
He sometimes wondered where they were now and what they were doing.
“Erm - excuse me?” A voice brought him back to the here and now. It was a kind voice softened with timidness and nerves.
Charlie smiled at the owner of the voice. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I spaced out there for a second. Happens more and more when you get older.”
The owner of the voice chuckled and handed over his book for Charlie to sign. “I’m sorry, but - you’re anonymous_cat, aren’t you?”
Charlie looked up, surprised.
“Sorry, I know that’s personal, it’s just… I recognised one of your poems and I… remembered how I used to read them back when I was at school.”
The smile on Charlie’s face became more genuine and he could feel himself tearing up. “Oh,” was all he managed to say.
“Yeah, I - it helped, you know? To see that someone else was - going through a hard time. Sorry, that sounded way more creepy out loud than in my head.” The voice nearly broke.
“No! Please don’t be!” Charlie hurried to say. “It means a lot to me to hear that!”
The owner of the voice grinned sheepishly. “It kind of gets even creepier? When I recognised your poem I managed to get in contact with some of your old followers.”
Charlie now noticed the small group of people around the owner of the voice, all smiling timidly at him, eyes misted over.
“I hope you don’t mind, but we all wanted to meet you and tell you how much we appreciate your work.”
A tear escaped Charlie’s eye as he looked from one to the other. His earliest fans. His lifeline.
But at the same moment he saw the line of people who were still waiting to have their books signed.
“Nick?” he called out, searching with his eyes for his husband. When he found him he smiled fondly. I should have known you would be close. You always are.
Nick stepped up behind him and gave him a quick peck on the temple. “Yeah?”
Charlie indicated the group in front of the table. “These are some old friends of mine. Would you mind looking after them till I’m finished here?” He turned his attention back towards the group. “I’d love to talk a bit more when this is over. If you have time, that is.”
“Hang on, is this - is this your boyfriend from back then?” another one of his followers asked incredulously.
“He is, indeed!” Charlie smiled. “Nick, meet my oldest fans!”
“Hi you all, I’m Nick. If you come with me we have a quiet corner where we can wait till Charlie is finished. I’d love to get to know you all.”
As the group began to follow a smiling Nick, the one who had spoken first turned back to Charlie. “I know we aren’t that many, but we all really appreciated your poems.”
“Don’t talk like that about yourself,” Charlie reprimanded kindly. “For me, you were the world.”
📚📚📚📚📚
Charlie never met them again. They hadn’t exchanged numbers or anything. Only a quiet evening with them and their stories, each as individual and amazing as every single one of them. Charlie was so proud of having been a small part of them. He remembered them often and fondly, wondering what they were doing, but also knowing that they would be okay.
As he lay in bed, lovingly looking at his sleeping husband beside him, whose hair had begun to turn white, he sent out his old prayer:
I hope you are okay. And I hope you know how much I appreciate every single one of you!