Chapter Text
Nick Nelson is nearly done unpacking. All that’s left is to store away his hoodies. He has a lot of them because someone used to steal them from Nick and wear them until his smell was gone. Having over a dozen of them worked out well when they were rotating in and out of his wardrobe at a steady clip. But when Isaac showed up one day with a sad smile and two bags full of Nick’s hoodies – freshly laundered – Nick found himself with an abundance. Hoodies are about the only thing he has an abundance of anymore.
He pulls the top one out of the bag, where it’s been sitting since Isaac made that delivery a few weeks ago. It’s a blue Adidas pullover with three white stripes running from the shoulders down the arms. He remembers Christmas, more than a year and a half ago, when he had shown up at Nick’s door in the dark wearing this jumper, dripping wet from walking in the rain. Nick had pulled him inside, hugged him, and kissed him on the lips and then on his nose where a raindrop stubbornly hung on. That had always been a really special memory for Nick, but now, like every memory of him, it just makes him feel sick to his stomach and short of breath.
The whirlwind of packing for uni had done a lot to distract him the past few days, and this new setting will help so long as he ignores that box, the one that contains almost everything that has ever really been important to him. The one he had thought about binning or leaving behind but couldn't bear to. It’s now nestled in the back of his new wardrobe. Kind of ironic, since the person whom the contents came from was the reason he came out of the closet in the first place.
That’s the kind of joke that would have earned Nick an eye roll and a shoulder punch a few months ago. Now it just makes Nick’s throat constrict as he thinks it in his head, alone.
He glances up at the giant bisexual pride flag Sarah has bought and hung proudly above his bed. Nick resolves that despite everything, he’s still going to live his truth. He could go back in the closet, if he wanted. He could revert back to a time before him and start all over again. Go back to being a head-in-the-sand, straight-passing rugby boy. It would be easier, in a way, to shut that part of him down, let it die with his relationship, but he doesn't want that. He's bi and so what? That's just him, regardless of the fact that he'll never love again.
He knows he should probably talk to someone about this. A therapist maybe, or even a friend. It turns out, though, when you leave for uni, you leave a lot of your friends behind. Elle is studying art in Berlin now, although their communications have waned recently anyway. Tara and Darcy plan to take a gap year together. Imogen has landed a spot at NYU and subsequently spent the summer talking Nick’s ear off about Brooklyn (the place, not her dog). He thinks she'll be happy there. And the rugby lads have all spread out – Otis to Oxford, Sai to St Andrew’s and Christian to Cardiff.
And then there’s Harry.
Nick glances out his open door, where he can see Harry in their shared living space rearranging the expensive bottles of spirits he’s brought with him, as if they’re going to sit around with snifters of brandy while everyone else spends freshers week burning away brain cells on whatever rebranded paint stripper is on sale at Asda. Beyond Harry, the Greene family butler, Monty, is in Harry’s room making the bed. Nick assumes since Monty is going home with Mr and Mrs Greene that this is the last time Harry’s bed will be made – or, probably, the bedsheets washed – for the rest of the year. It’s too bad. Having a butler for the flat would have made living with Harry much more tolerable.
Harry is the only other person Nick knows from Truham who ended up at Leeds, and when they’d ventured here for the university open day, Nick hadn’t felt any fight in him when Harry hooked an arm around his neck and declared they would be flatmates. The Greenes had nodded, remarking it made sense as they were both going to be keeping rugby team hours. Sarah smiled at the announcement, though her eyes glanced at Nick quizzically. Later she’d asked him if it was what he wanted and he just shrugged. That was his response a lot of the time now, no matter the question, and she hadn’t pressed further.
Nick looks back down at the jumper still in his hands. He holds it up to his face, knowing he’s going to get a noseful of detergent odor, but at this point the ritual of smelling it provides the iota of familiarity he needs to keep going. He shouldn't use this as a crutch, though. He needs to treat this as a fresh start. It’s still warm enough that he won’t need his hoodies for a little while anyway, so Nick stands and shoves it with the rest, out of sight.
Their front door opens and he sees Sarah and Mrs Green stumble through, laden down by what looks like half the contents of a Marks and Spencer. The mums had said earlier they were popping out to buy some essentials for the kitchenette – really just a short galley along one wall with a fridge, tiny oven and stove, microwave and sink. Enough for two guys and not much more.
Nick rushes over to help, taking several bags from Sarah with a grunt. Harry groans when his mum sets the bags on the table and it disrupts whatever design he was making with the Tanqueray, earning Nick another subtly raised eyebrow from Sarah.
“Good lord, Mette, you know there are other students in this town who will need to buy food,” says Mr Greene from the couch, where he sits tapping away on his phone. Nick’s sure it will be work, it’s always work, though after knowing Mr Greene for the past decade or so, he still has no idea what he does, only that he makes a shit ton of money. Not enough to compete with Mette’s family fortune, Nick knows from the many and colourful snide remarks he's been witness to between the pair over the years. Honestly, Nick is surprised Mr Greene has come to drop off Harry at all. He suspects they’ll next cross paths at their graduation ceremony.
“Pish,” Mrs Greene replies, waving one hand at her husband dismissively. “Monty, if you’re done in there…”
“Yes, ma’am,” calls out the butler, stepping out of Harry’s room and beginning to unpack the groceries.
Sarah starts pulling cans of soup out of a bag, prompting Mrs Greene to place a hand on her arm to stop her. “Oh, Sarah, no, let Monty do that,” she says. “He’s so good at this, like that game. With the shapes. You know what I’m talking about.”
Sarah and Nick glance at one another. “Tetris?” Nick ventures.
“Yes!” Mrs Greene calls out. She checks her Cartier watch. “Liam, we should really get going, we don’t want to miss our flight. Oh, I’m so sorry, you’re not flying back with us, Sarah! It’s really so much better than that long, long drive.”
Sarah shakes her head. “I don’t mind it. Gives me a chance to catch up on my audiobooks.”
“How marvelous,” Mrs Greene says, her mind clearly already moving on to other matters, probably something like whether they can call ahead and have cocktails waiting at the British Airways lounge. The Greenes aren’t bad people, per se, but they live in an entirely different world than he does.
Sarah places a hand on Nick’s shoulder, guiding him toward his room. “Come on, darling, let’s give them some privacy and make sure you’re all ship shape, hmm?”
They step into Nick’s room, which, like Harry’s, flanks the shared living area in the middle. Out there is a couch and a couple of armchairs, a small dining table for two and the galley kitchen. Along with the 65-inch telly Monty installed earlier, it's everything two uni guys could need. Nick’s bedroom mirrors Harry’s – a double bed, a desk, a serviceable wardrobe and dresser. Each of them have an en suite bathroom, so at least Nick has that amount of privacy. He wonders who’s going to clean Harry’s bathroom throughout the year. Certainly not Nick.
Sarah closes the door behind her.
“I didn’t mean to buy quite so much, Nicky, but, well, Mette just went a little wild and I didn’t know how to stop her,” she says. “Fortunately she also insisted on paying.”
Nick smiles wanly. “You can never have too many snacks.”
Sarah’s eyes scan over the wall decorations Nick has put up around the giant bi flag. It’s mostly taped-up photos of her and Nellie and Henry, one of David, and half a dozen of Nick with the girls or the rugby lads. There’s a large space left over, but Nick had a much smaller album to pull from than he had anticipated, hence the big blank spot.
“That’s perfect for all the friends and memories you’re going to make,” Sarah says, nodding at the conspicuous void.
Nick nods silently and perches on the edge of his bed, studying the ugly, beige floor. Sarah sighs ever so slightly and sits down beside him, taking her son's hand between her own.
“I know this isn’t how you pictured today going,” she says warmly. “Or the past few months, really. But you can be happy, again, Nicky. In fact, you will be, someday, I know it.”
Nick’s stomach twists. It’s hard to imagine ever being happy again when he’s shrouded in these dark clouds.
“Mum,” he says haltingly. “What if I said… that I wanted to go back home and take a gap year and never get out of bed?” He blinks back the moisture gathering in his eyes.
He can hear Sarah gulp beside him, her lips smacking before she speaks. “If that’s really, truly, what you want, then I would support you,” she finally says, gently rubbing Nick’s hand. “But if you want my opinion…” – she pauses for a moment before proceeding when Nick doesn’t object – “I think this change will do you a lot of good. I really do. And I know it’s scary to go to a new uni far away where you hardly know anyone, but you’ve done so many brave things, and I know you can do this, too.”
Nick sighs. He did all those brave things when he had someone to hold his hand. Once Sarah leaves, he’ll have no one. No one except Harry, who has just started playing mumble rap loud enough to annoy him from two rooms away.
He sucks in a shaky breath and uses his free hand to wipe away his tears. “Okay. I can stay,” he finally says, his voice quavering, though Sarah doesn’t comment on it.
“I love you so much, Nicky,” Sarah says, pulling him into a tight hug. Nick allows himself to sob a little, lets a couple of tears run down his face, because he feels his mother’s love and it’s overwhelming. And if some of those tears are because he thought there would be a second person here today saying the same thing that would have overwhelmed him in a completely different way, so be it.
They break apart, and Sarah – wiping away tears of her own – says she wants to use the loo one last time before the long drive back to Kent. Nick steps out into the living space, which is now empty of the Greenes and Monty, who Nick assumes has to fly coach. Nick looks curiously through the now-stuffed cupboards, then raps a knuckle on Harry’s ajar door.
“Could you turn it down, mate?” he asks with a frown. Somehow it already looks like Harry’s dresser exploded in here, with expensive designer clothes all over the place. Harry, lying on his bed and playing on his phone, rolls his eyes and taps at the screen a couple times before the bluetooth speaker on his desk sheds a few decibels.
“Mummy leave?” he asks, glancing at Nick.
“Not yet,” replies Sarah from behind Nick. He turns to look at her. “Goodbye, Harry,” she continues. “I hope you boys have a lovely year.”
“Yeah, bye,” Harry replies, focused on whatever game he’s playing.
Nick huffs slightly through his nose and closes Harry’s door behind him.
“Are you sure about rooming with him?” Sarah asks as she checks her handbag for her phone, keys and everything else. “I know you used to be good friends, but less so since…”
Nick crosses his arms across his chest. “I know. I don’t know how to describe it. Like, he’s a twat… but he’s my twat?” That makes Sarah laugh. “He’s gotten better about that stuff, and at least I know what I'm getting with him.”
Nick walks Sarah down to her car. She and Mrs Greene got a great spot upon returning from shopping, right outside his building, so it’s not a long walk, which Nick finds himself ruing because it takes away an excuse to walk a bit with his mum before he’s well and truly alone. They hug again, and Sarah doesn’t let go of him for a solid two minutes or so. Nick can’t help but crack a small smile.
“Oh, I’m so jealous of you!” Sarah says when they finally part, and he can tell she’s being deliberately cheerful. “New friends, a new city, new adventures! You’re going to be right as rain in no time, my love.”
Nick ignores the way his throat constricts as they say farewell, and then Sarah’s in the car and in reverse and at the end of the street. And Nick’s standing there, as alone as he’s ever been in his life.
After a few minutes standing in the late afternoon sun, Nick’s breathing slows and he returns to his building, climbing to his floor. Just as he gets to his door, a voice calls out.
“Hey there,” says a guy who looks a little older than him, sporting a clipboard. “Are you…” He looks down at the paper. “Harold or Nicholas?”
“Nick,” he replies, sticking out his hand.
“Nick,” he nods, shaking Nick's offered hand. “I’m Jeremy, your resident life assistant, nice to meet you. Is Harold here too?”
“You can’t hear Yung Gravy?” Nick chuckles, pressing into the suite with a jerk of his head indicating Jeremy should follow. He walks over and knocks on Harry’s door.
“Oy, Harold, open up, the RLA is here,” Nick calls out.
The music cuts out and Harry’s door swings open a few moments later. “It’s Harry, dickhead,” he glares, stepping out into the living room.
“Are… you two getting along okay?” Jeremy asks, his eyes darting between them.
“Oh yeah,” Harry replies, slinging an arm around him before Nick can even start to comprehend that question. “We’re old friends. It’s just banter, you know, it’s all just banter.”
Nick bobbles his head noncommittally, but Jeremy seems placated. “Right. Anyway, wanted to introduce myself, Jeremy, RLA. I’m not your mummy, so unless the building is on fire or there’s a leak or something, you know, figure it out yourselves. Let’s see, what else… oh, yes, we’ve got a building mixer tonight, just to get to know your neighbours. Here’s a flyer.” He hands them a page with info about the party on it, and then a second piece of paper. “And here’s a schedule of freshers events this week, etc. etc. So, are you guys looking to hook up? Or are you wifed up already?”
“Us? Nah!” Harry exclaims, clapping Nick on the back. “We are single and ready to mingle.”
Jeremy nods. “Great. Well, word of advice. Be careful about hooking up with girls in the building. Don’t shit where you eat, etc. But like I said… not your mummy, so you figure it out.”
Nick scans the whole freshers flyer twice but sees nothing about any queer gatherings.
“Do you know anything about the LGBT+ Society?” he asks. “Are they holding any mixers?”
Jeremy looks down at his clipboard and frowns. “Is that not on there? Yes, I know they are… I want to say Thursday, but let me double check. You gay, Nick?”
Nick blinks. “I’m bi, actually.”
He can feel Harry smirking beside him but refuses to give him the satisfaction of looking over. Besides, it’s a smirk of amusement these days, not malice.
“Cool,” Jeremy replies nonchalantly. At least that coming out was painless. “I’ll double-check that and email you. Or you could find their table at the freshers' fair tomorrow.” He turns to leave before spinning a complete 360 on his heel and landing his gaze at the high-priced spirits on their countertop. “Dude, is that a Macallan single malt?”
“You know it!” Harry says with a wink. He reaches for the bottle and drops it on the kitchen counter, swinging open the cupboard they recently unpacked the tumblers into. “A fine eye, Jeremy. Pre-drink for your trouble?”
“Nah, mate,” Jeremy replies, waving his clipboard. “I've got a few more people to check in first, but you go ahead. Just keep it slow, yeah? The mixer isn't for another couple of hours. I know there's temptation to go wild at your first taste of freedom, but don't be that dick who turns up pissed and voms on some girl's glittery Primark heels, okay?”
Harry waves this off and Jeremy leaves with one last look of concern at Nick before he goes.
“Just us then,” Harry says with an ominous raise of his brow.
Nick does not trust that glint in Harry's eye. He's seen it before and knows nothing good follows it. He shakes his head, but Harry pours them both a few fingers of the matured whiskey and pushes a glass into Nick's hand. Nick looks down at the burned orange liquid, wrinkling his nose at the fruity, mildly spiced aroma.
“Come on, mate!” Harry encourages him. “That's good shit! And Jason did say not to be a pussy.”
“No, Jeremy said not to be a dick. Those are two very different things,” Nick replies, rolling his eyes exasperatedly at the idiot he tumbled into living with.
Harry necks his drink and tucks the bottle under his arm. He steps over to Nick and slips two fingers under Nick's glass, pushing it up to his face and tilting it so it hits his lips at the right angle, murmuring, “Come on, Nickypoo, here's the whiskey train, choo choo.”
It's condescending and stupid but for some reason Nick can't help but huff a short laugh and allow his friend to tip the whiskey into his mouth. It burns his throat as it goes down and Nick finds that as horrible as it tastes, he likes it. At least it makes him feel something.
“Good lad,” Harry tells him, slapping his butt as he struts on past him and into Nick's room, uninvited.
Nick's inclined to leave him alone in there but he knows Harry will just whine if he doesn't follow and he's too tired to deal with a pissy Harry Greene today. He troops after him and settles himself on his bed, watching as Harry pours himself another drink then gets to setting up the speaker that was sat neglected in a box on Nick's dresser, messing with his phone until bbno$ blares out of the little box.
Balls hanging low while I pop a bottle off a yacht
Chain swanging, cling-clang and it cost a lot
Harry turns and nods to the beat, mouth downturned and nose scrunched. He picks up his drink and his hips catch up and start rocking slightly to the high energy bop.
Bitch, I'm always after guala, yeah, and you are not
Bad-ass B, keep on going 'til you hit the spot
Woah, I'm a big bag hunter with the bow
At this, Harry draws back the elbow of his drink free arm and mimes shooting an arrow at Nick who watches on, unimpressed. Harry is clearly trying to get him in the mood to join him at this mixer, but hell no. He doesn't want to mix with anyone, no matter how glittery their shoes might be. He just wants quiet. He just wants his bed.
He just wants him back.
“Come on, Nicholas! What are you wearing tonight?” Harry demands, opening his wardrobe and rifling through the newly hung t-shirts and polos. “Mate. You have nothing even remotely designer in here. What the fuck?”
“I'm not–” Nick attempts to interject weakly.
“This will have to do mate, but tomorrow we are going shopping, man. My dad said he'll take care of all uni expenses and this,” Harry talks over him, gesturing at Nick's railing, “is an urgent one.”
“I'm not–”
“Seriously, bro. How do you expect to get that pussy if you're dressing like this? Step it up, mate.”
“Harry! I'm not feeling it…”
“You've not been feeling it since that prissy little bitch dumped you for coming to uni! It's time to start feeling it.”
“Don't call him that!” Nick shouts, rage surging through him.
Nick is surprised at the strength of his reaction to Harry’s words. But the thing is, nobody in Nick’s life has really leant into the anger side of the breakup, just the sorrow. Their friends obviously couldn’t say anything bad, and the rugby lads preferred to support Nick with a quiet presence. Sarah, of course, was a saint, and even David, who was working to rebuild his relationship with Nick, avoided a cross word about the situation.
So Nick spent months wallowing, and never delved into the anger he felt, at him, at himself, in general. Having Harry be the one to finally tap into that neglected emotion is both startling and – in a very small sense that already makes Nick feel guilty – satisfying.
“Oh, don't defend him,” Harry says dismissively. “And dude, you’re a virgin with women, you gotta get that taken care of – this is the time! Charlie said he didn't want to hold you back, right? So don't hold back.” Harry tries to tempt him, holding out the bottle of Macallan and wiggling his brows as bbno$ raps:
Ayy, lil' mama, yeah, you heard about me
I'ma pop you like a pea, yeah, edamame.
It's all too much. Harry. The music. The bed that doesn't smell like home. The thought of touching anyone that isn't him.
The sound of Charlie's name.
“Harry. Fuck off,” Nick growls.
Harry, for all his sins, hears the warning tone in Nick's voice and backs off, leaving the room, while playing it off as banter. “Okay, mate. It's all chill. Tonight's not your night, I'll go alone. But I mean it. We're getting you out and we're getting you tail.”
“Harry,” Nick calls after him as he reaches the door.
“Yeah?”
“Leave the whiskey.”