Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Nick scheduled himself to work the Priory's pride night, every Thursday, for a few reasons.

Fewer fights than on Fridays or Saturdays meant he was more likely to go home on time, without having to fill out any police paperwork. Fewer patrons recognized him from his short-lived rugby days, a "promising young star" taken out by a knee injury after only one pro season, wanting a photo that he had to politely decline - "I'm on the clock, thanks." And even standing outside all night, it gave him a connection to the local queer scene, a side of himself he hadn't been able to really embrace while in professional sport.

Plus, it meant way more options for his Compatibility Checker.

The app was all the rage. It ran some sort of algorithmic simulation something-or-other on any other user profile with their GPS in proximity, and served you up a compatibility score. Nick was sceptical at first, especially when his first set of matches were all under 20% - the app rated most matches very low for everybody. But when someone got a high number, it always seemed to be scarily accurate. Maybe it was an illusion of precision - the higher the number, the more precise the score, which made it seem like its algorithm had worked overtime to bring you and your Perfect Match together. Yet despite only being out for two years, the app's ads claimed more successful relationships than any other in history.

Being a bouncer was kind of a dream job for a Compatibility Checker enthusiast. Lots of girls, guys and everything between, around his age, passed within feet of him over the course of the night, every night he worked. He had found the job through his school friend Otis, who said they needed a good worker with broad shoulders and the ability to look intimidating. And it helped him get back into a routine again, instead of wallowing in his mum's house every day, thinking about the sport career he could have had.

He took to the bouncer job quickly, played the tough guy role easily. But it was certainly a role, not his true self. Despite his size and demeanor, Nick was a romantic at heart. He couldn't help but imagine, some night, somebody cute emerging from the sweaty club behind him, holding out their phone, a dazzling 100.00% on the screen. But it never happened, even on pride night when a chronic bisexual disaster's chances were highest.

And tonight wasn't just pride night, but the first pride night of June, one of the club's biggest nights of the year. By 10, the line outside was already packed, mostly with uni-age kids, trying to get in on the early-bird cover discount. Chappell and Charli blasted from the doors behind Nick as he checked the first few IDs. He shuffled them off to Otis behind him, who took the cover payment.

A person in line was already dancing in a head-to-toe electric rainbow getup, arms above their mulleted head. Next to them, their friend briefly locked eyes with Nick, stunning black eyeliner and cheekbone highlight set to kill. Black shirt with a white abstract cartoon pattern, and black skinny jeans that clung to him in a way Nick couldn't let his gaze linger on.

He and his kaleidoscopic companion seemed to hail from different universes.

Nick looked back down at the next patron. You're on the clock, Nelson, he thought, no thirsting.

A minute later, eyeliner guy handed him both their IDs.

"Nice shirt," Nick said, as he checked the first one, a provisional license for Charles Spring. His photo looked so different, so much softer, without the dramatic makeup.

"Thanks. It's Keith Haring."

"I know." Nick tapped his chest, where a tiny bi flag pin sat, the only color on his all-black bouncer uniform.

The next ID was a student one, from the nearby FE college. Darcy Olsson.

"No student IDs."

"What?" The mulleted blond's smile dropped away quickly.

Nick pointed to the sign that hung behind him.

18+ Only. $10 Cover, $5 before 11pm. Acceptable ID For Entry: Passport, Driving License, Provisional License, PASS ID. No Student IDs.

"But we've gotten in with student IDs before!" Eyeliner's thick eyebrows crunched together.

"New club policy. Effective June first." Nick had found it was better to deal with disappointed guests with brusqueness. An empathetic approach just prolonged the process as they tried to weasel their way in.

"Excuse me? Implementing a rule that requires a driving license at the start of pride month is rank homophobia!" Their mouth was agape, hands splayed. The contrast of sour attitude to versicolor outfit was almost funny.

"Do you have a different form of identification?"

"No, we didn't realize you'd changed the rules!"

"I don't make the rules, I just enforce them." He handed the IDs back over.

"That's what they all say." Eyeliner glared at him, seething.

"If you don't have a different ID, you're not getting in." And he folded his arms across his chest.

Multicolor waggled their head, mouth agape, while their friend looked ready to claw Nick's eyes out.

"Sounds like it's time for you to move along, before we have to make you."

Eyeliner took Rainbow Brite's arm. "Let's call Elle, she'll know somewhere better than this shithole anyway."

The pair stormed away. The next clubgoers stepped up, IDs held in outstretched hands.

By one AM, the line was all but gone, and Nick took his break, letting Otis pull double duty for ten minutes. Nick had gotten into the habit of checking the app while on break, looking through the tranche of new 10%s, 20%s, occasionally a 30 or a 35. His average on pride nights was higher, fewer flat zeroes, though still a lot of them.

Most of his friends found at least a 60% or so on occasion, good for a try but not forever. A few had done even better. Tara kept talking about their new partner, somewhere in the 90s - oh, right, she was bringing them to meet Nick tomorrow at the café.

Yet for Nick, only once in a year on the app had he gotten above a 50%. It was starting to affect his self-esteem, he knew, to think that something about himself was wrong enough that nobody was even halfway compatible with him. He had thought about deleting the app, but, for now, having hope still felt better than resigning himself to guaranteed loneliness.

After grabbing a glass of water from the bartender, he went into the staff room to sit on a spare stool, and pulled out his phone.

Compatibility Checker: New matches found!

He swiped and unlocked it, bracing himself for more low numbers. But a sparkling blue and green effect he had never seen before played across the screen.

Excellent match! 99.89%!

Nick dropped the water glass in his hand, and it splashed all over his black slacks before cracking on the concrete floor.

After a second in stunned silence, he came back to himself. He put the phone down and grabbed a fresh kitchen roll off the storage rack next to him. Did that say 99%? His heart was racing as he daubed at his trousers, then grabbed the hand broom to sweep up the glass. Who would it be? Someone he had checked the ID of, so casually, earlier in the night? Maybe they'd still be in the club, dancing to the Sabrina Carpenter remix that thumped through the break room wall.

Sufficiently dry and with glass shards in the bin, he picked the phone back up, clicked through the banner across the screen. A profile appeared, a guy with black, curly hair, seated on a beach towel in a cardigan, looking off into the distance. Charlie, 21, said the name and age beneath it.

Lack of makeup notwithstanding, he recognized the cheekbones immediately. It was Eyeliner Guy. Eyeliner Guy was a 99.89%. Charlie was a 99.89%.

Oh, fuck. He wasn't in the club. He was gone.

Nick didn't tell Otis about the match, but he did ask him to take over the end of his shift. Otis raised his eyebrows as he saw Nick's still-damp slacks - he thinks I've wet myself - but agreed, and Nick clocked out and headed home.

Usually, when the app gave you a match, the person was still nearby. It ran only on profiles in close proximity, after all, and most people had notifications on, so they could find each other right away. The internet was awash with viral videos of people meeting their 93%, their 97%, in person, moments after the app alerted them. It had been great advertising, everyone posting that moment of connection but not the reality, the complications of a relationship, or lack thereof, that followed.

Once back home, Nick changed into his pyjamas, tossing his slacks into the dryer for a short cycle. His mum was asleep, but she never woke from his late-night laundry. Sarah was amazing, and not just for being a heavy sleeper. She never complained about having her full-grown son, back in his childhood bedroom after almost six years of uni and rugby league, and on a not-mother-friendly sleep schedule to boot.

Nick lay on his bed and reopened the app. Charlie could be anywhere by this point, and Compatibility Checker only gave a first name. Nick had seen the last name on his ID, but it hovered just outside his memory, maybe Somerton? Summers? He swiped through the few photos, the cardigan beach one, at the zoo next to a lemur, on the Eiffel Tower with a set of smiling friends.

The app was free, profitability probably built on harvesting user location data. But it did have premium features, and one of those was direct messaging. If someone messaged you through the app, you could respond for free, but if you wanted to initiate a conversation, you had to pay the monthly £11.99.

He had to do it. Nick grabbed his wallet off the nightstand and pulled out his credit card.

A few minutes later and twelve quid poorer, he stared at the DM window in front of him. Send your message to Charlie, it said at the top, and Nick started to draft in his head.

The classic opener was hey, but that seemed way too casual for a 99%. I can't believe this percentage! was too excited; I'd love to buy you a coffee was too formal; How about you let me explore your 99% was too forward. You looked good in those jeans tonight, I'm glad we're so compatible, would make Nick seem like he lusted after all the clubgoers who passed through his doors.

Eventually, as he often did, Nick split the difference.

Nick: Hi. Not sure if you remember me from the club. I've never seen a percentage like this one. Would love to grab coffee and see why it rates us so highly.

He hit send, ready to turn off his phone and worry about what response he might (or might not) get in the morning. But that bubble with the three dots appeared right away. Charlie was responding instantaneously. Maybe he had seen the 99% and was just waiting for Nick to message first.

His heart dropped when he saw what popped up.

Compatibility Checker: This user has deactivated their account.

Chapter Text

The next day Nick tried to put it out of his mind. He had tossed and turned, thinking of ways he might contact Charlie, but he had nothing to go on, not a scrap. Maybe he'd come back to the club, or they'd run into each other somewhere - it wasn't a huge town, after all, though maybe he was from somewhere further afield and had only come to the club for one night. Whatever the situation, all Nick could do was hope.

Usually he woke up around noon after a shift, went to the gym after the lunch rush, then showered and headed to the café for a mid-afternoon breakfast.

But today he slept like a log until past two. When he looked at his phone, he leapt up, sending the sheets flying. He had the night off at work, but Tara was introducing him to her latest match at half three, and he had to be at least a little presentable. He shook himself, made a commitment in his mind that he wasn't going to think about the app or Charlie at all today, and hustled into the shower.

Nick went to the Meadow Café almost every day. It was a breakfast routine for him, coffee and a pastry around three, before coming back home, watching a movie or researching jobs online, and eating with his mum (lunch for him, dinner for her), then heading to the club ahead of doors at ten.

The café had a light, breezy aesthetic, white walls, potted plants, and open windows. Soft music played as Nick grabbed his usual flat white and croissant, and an herbal tea for Tara. He nabbed a table with three chairs along the wall, his back to the door.

As he sat down, the chime on the door jangled behind him. "Nick!" he heard, as Tara came around the table and dropped her bag on the chair.

"How are things?" he said, pushing the mug across towards her. "I grabbed your tea, not sure what your partner would want."

"That's all right, I'll place their order real fast and be right back."

While she stepped to the counter, Nick looked at his phone. He was tempted to open Compatibility Checker, purely out of force of habit. He checked it so many times a day, for that little rush of possibility-induced adrenaline, followed by the inevitable crush of disappointment. It was an addicting cycle, the way it rewired your brain chemistry off the power of hope.

He scrolled instagram for a few instead.

Tara returned to the table with a cappuccino, heaping with whipped cream. "They should be just a few minutes. I can't wait for you two to meet!" She was beaming with excitement, her typical sunny attitude even more radiant than usual.

"They sound great, from everything you've been telling me the last couple months."

"They are. I should have introduced you earlier, but they're a student, so schedules didn't line up until today."

"I'm glad the app worked out for you." Nick couldn't keep the edge out of his voice.

"Yeah! How's it going for you on there? I know you're like, obsessed with it."

"I'm not obsessed." He was obsessed. "It's been fine, I actually got a really good match just recently."

"Oh, amazing! Better than Imogen?"

"According to the app, way better."

"And you've met? How'd it go?" When he didn't answer right away, Tara leaned in towards him. "Nick?"

"Well, we haven't met. It's kind of complicated. We-"

The door chime jingled behind him, and Tara glanced up. Her stellar smile returned.

"Here they are!" Tara jumped up to hug the person who had just entered the café. They wore a purple jumpsuit and had a blond, choppy mullet. The same blond, choppy mullet as-

Nick choked on his own breath.

They turned from the hug and looked at Nick. Their smile dropped away, replaced by something intense but inscrutable, could be joyful or furious. "It's you! The bloody bouncer!"

"You know each other?" Tara's voice and expression were confused.

"He's only the guy who kicked us out of the Priory last night!"

Tara turned to look at him. Nick suddenly felt the need to defend himself.

"Hey, I didn't kick you out, I didn't let you in."

"Same diff!" Okay, definitely furious. "I cannot believe you know him!"

Tara was holding their shoulder. "Nick's been my friend since primary school! Here, have a seat, you'll like each other when you get to know each other."

The pair sat slowly in the wooden café chairs. Darcy continued to glare. "I highly doubt that."

"Listen, the Nick I know is lovely, friendly, sweet and kind-"

"He wasn't those things last night!"

"Well, to be fair," Nick chuckled, "it's hard to be a lovely, friendly, sweet, kind club bouncer."

Darcy squinted at him, their arms folded. "You could at least make an effort to let someone down gently when they're being excluded for not having a driving license, a perfectly normal-"

"Okay, okay, will you two stop fighting." Tara seemed truly frustrated at this point. "You are my match, and you will not disrespect one of my oldest friends. And you-" she turned to Nick, "will explain what's going on."

Tara was the one person, other than his mum, who could make Nick really feel like he needed to drop the defensive act and be honest. "All right. The club policy got changed, and student IDs aren't accepted anymore. And it's easier to let people know... sternly, rather than give an opening for negotiation."

"Easier for you," Darcy muttered.

"It sounds to me," Tara said, "like the club is the one that's in the wrong, not either of you."

Darcy looked over at her. "Why do you have to be so reasonable all the time?"

"Because I have to balance out your passionate stances on everything!" she said. But it wasn't argumentative, it was loving.

"For what it's worth, you two do seem like a great match," Nick said.

"We are. My 96%!" Tara said, and Darcy smiled, totally mollified. "Okay, let's do a proper introduction. Nick, this is Darcy, and Darcy, Nick."

"Nice to meet you, I guess."

"A pleasure. Tara's been telling me all about you nonstop for two months."

"Hopefully all good things!" Darcy took a sip of their cappuccino, whipped cream sticking to their top lip.

"Well, good enough that I would have never put together who you were based on our interaction last night." And both of them laughed.

"Actually, Nick was just telling me he might have found his own match recently!" Tara looked at him expectantly.

Oh, right. That's the other part of the Darcy interaction, the one he hadn't touched on yet. He saw their face drop yet again.

"Well, I don't think it'll work out," Nick said.

"Why not? Wait, tell me about this first. You got matched through Compatibility Checker, but didn't meet in person?"

"Yes they did," Darcy said.

"Wait, what?" Tara was even more confused than before. "What is going on here?"

"Nick matched with my friend. A really high score, actually." Darcy's eyes didn't leave Nick's face.

"Oh, that's delightful! Which friend? One I know?"

"I don't think you've met Charlie yet, he's just finishing uni so hasn't been in town. We were going out tonight to welcome him back, but Nick here got in the way of that."

"Ahh," Tara said. "You kicked them both out."

"I didn't kick-" Nick could feel his defensiveness rising, and stopped himself. "Okay, yeah, and I didn't realize about the match until long after you'd already left," Nick said. "So didn't get to talk in the moment."

"Maybe you'd have treated us a little differently had you known."

Maybe so, Nick thought. But he said, "I'd like to think I'm a professional, and treat all customers equally."

"Well, you both know Darcy, so now you can get in touch, right?"

Darcy was silent. They looked across the room at the plants by the window.

"I don't think," Nick said, "he wants to get in touch."

"Why not?"

Nick looked down at his cup. "He deleted the app."

"Okay, a lot more clearly happened last night than you both are telling me." Tara picked up her coffee mug to take a sip.

"Not really," Darcy said. "You saw my reaction to seeing Nick just now. Imagine if, after the interaction I'd had with him, I opened my phone and was told the rude bouncer was 99% compatible with me."

Tara set her mug of tea back on the table, hard. "Did you say 99%?"

"Ninety-nine point eight nine, to be exact. When Charlie opened his phone he practically burst out of his skin he was so excited. He never gets a match anywhere near that. But as soon as we saw who it was, it was just awful."

Nick felt his heart sinking all the way into his stomach.

"Wait, so you didn't message in the app? Isn't that a thing?"

"Charlie wasn't going to message someone who'd been so rude to us. He was even angrier with the bouncer," they glanced over at Nick, "than I was. So he deleted it instead, at Elle's encouragement."

Both of them looked at Nick.

"I tried to DM him but it was hours later, after my shift. I felt awful."

After a moment, Tara said, "Well, maybe there's an opportunity here. You just need to get off on the right foot."

"Ever the optimist, my dear," Darcy answered. "But I don't think that'll happen."

"You've got Charlie's phone number, right? And his instagram? Give Nick the contact details so he can reach out!"

"I don't think that's right, after last night. Charlie really didn't seem like he'd want that."

Nick felt like he had to step in. He didn't want to push any boundaries, even for a 99%. "Yeah, I don't think I'd want that either. To have such a bad interaction and then have the person texting out of the blue."

"How about this then," Tara said. "You give Charlie Nick's number, and tell him you met him. Then it can be his decision."

"I don't know about that," Darcy said. "I was one of the ones arguing in favor of Charlie deleting his app last night, along with Elle."

"Really? But I know you're a believer in it! I mean, it's worked so marvelously for us, hasn't it?" Tara gave that sweet, wide-eyed look that could put Nick (and, clearly, Darcy) at ease in an instant.

Darcy sighed but put on a half-smile. "All right, Nick, give me your number. But no guarantees."

They moved on to different topics. Nick talked about how he became a bouncer, and about rugby, dancing around the details of his injury. Darcy was Nick and Tara's age, had worked in their grandmother's consignment shop for a while before going back to school, off-cycle. They and Tara had been inseparable, and were already discussing moving in together after Darcy graduated at the end of the year.

"That's... a little fast, isn't it?" Nick asked, to which Tara answered, "Well, when you're a 96%, why not go for it?"

Nick looked down at his empty mug. "Yeah."

"Nick." He looked up at Tara. "I know you're in your head about this, like you get about everything. If things don't work out with Charlie, another great match will come along."

Darcy stared pointedly out the window.

The café was closing at half four sharp, and they gathered themselves to head out.

"It was nice to meet you, Nick. The second time," Darcy said as they placed their mug on the counter.

"And same to you. Sorry we got off on such a bad foot."

"Same. Although," Darcy smirked at him, "you could show it by letting me into the club next time."

"Let's get your ID sorted and then we'll talk."

They harrumphed lightly. "Have it your way. I wonder how fast the turnaround is for a PASS ID."

When he got home, Nick put his phone in his room. I need to let it charge, he told himself, but really, he didn't want to feel the temptation to check for a text from Charlie all night, while dining with his mum or joining her on the sofa after. He'd requested Pirates of the Caribbean, their old standby, and she queued up the first two films for a movie night.

But several times, as Jack Sparrow swung from a rope or Will and Elizabeth gazed longingly into each others' eyes, he felt himself reach for his pocket. Wow, I must be really addicted to this app, he thought, though he knew it wasn't the app his brain was itching to check.

Once his mum had headed to bed, and he changed into his pyjamas, he clambered between the sheets. And he finally picked up his phone, unplugging it from the charger.

He swiped away the Compatibility Checker notifications, the instagram mentions, and the group chat with the rugby lads. Why had they not removed him from the group chat yet? He wasn't in Leeds anymore, and wasn't coming back to the team.

One string of texts came from a number not in his contacts yet. He took a breath, and opened it.

I'm sending you this because Darcy insisted.

I understand you tried to dm me yesterday. I'm not interested.

Compatibility Checker is a scam. It manipulates you by giving you bad scores, so that when it finally gives you a good one you go all in, then credit the app with your success. Seeing your face pop up last night made me realize that. It just picks people randomly, or it would never have said I'm a match with such an obviously incompatible jerk like you.

I recommend you delete the app too. Meet real people the real way, you'll find someone you like.

Lose my number.

For the first time since uni, Nick let himself cry.

He hadn't cried when the doctors told him a double-ligament tear meant his career was over. He hadn't cried when he got back home and his mother hugged him, told him how proud she was, even though he was back in the same room with the same sheets he had when he was sixteen, and only a useless Sport Science degree to his name to show for it. And he hadn't cried when his one attempt at a relationship since, with a 58% (his highest compatibility match yet, no, second-highest now) said she wanted to be just friends - and she was right, they were great friends, but nothing more.

But that night, in his old bed in his old bedroom, he cried. He cried because he had tried, had done what everyone else was doing, gotten on this app, and gotten a job, and hoped that his life was going somewhere again. He had hoped, and thought his hopes were finally working out. And yet, here he was, rejected (justifiably!) by the best hope he had yet, and alone.

He cried for twenty solid minutes. Then he opened Compatibility Checker.

The app was still open to the empty direct message with Charlie, the deactivated their account staring up him. It had been almost twenty-four hours, the longest he had gone without checking it since his breakup with Imogen.

He cancelled the monthly subscription, double-checked it went through, and deleted the app.

Chapter Text

On Saturdays, Nick's standing afternoon breakfast date was his ex.

It wasn't a date, though. Imogen had, very sweetly, dumped him months ago. Their 58% compatibility seems to have been pretty spot-on, as solid friends but not romantic partners. So they kept their Saturday plans intact, updating one another about their extremely exciting lives.

Well, Imogen did. She somehow managed to make a rotating assemblage of less-than-part-time under-the-table jobs sound like a spy thriller rom-com farce. But Nick didn't feel like he could be excited by much today.

When he didn't even nod enthusiastically as she described her latest gig (in a flower shop that never seemed to sell any flowers, where the owner did "floral energy readings" in a back room that customers always left reeking of weed), she asked, "Nick, is something up? You're not yourself."

"I've had a week."

"You should tell me about it. I've been talking your ear off!" When she saw his shoulders slump, she reached her hands out, and took his across the table, nudging her bright pink, overly-complicated frozen blended drink aside. In a gentler voice, she said, "Or not, no pressure. Seems like you've been having a less than stellar time lately."

"I met someone."

Imogen sat up straighter. "Oh?"

"Yeah."

"Was it through CC? Have I been knocked off the top spot?"

"Unfortunately, you have." Nick tried to smile, but it wasn't even half-hearted. Maybe quarter-hearted.

"That's incredible!" Despite his lacklustre attitude, her excitement bubbled over anyway. She had been his biggest cheerleader since their relationship's ceremonious end, checking in often on how his Compatibility Checker travails were going. "Well, tell me about her! Or him. Or them, or..." she fumbled. She had taken his bisexuality well enough, admitting she was kind of new to it all. "Listen, I'm an ally! I'm doing my best." She lifted her arms into a shrug.

"He isn't interested."

The smile dropped from her face in a heartbeat. "Oh, Nick."

"I really fumbled at the start, and didn't realize I'd done so. Plus, he's made very clear he's not into me."

She frowned for a moment, then set her face back to its usual cheery state. "Don't worry, Nick, someone else will come along."

Nick pursed his lips. "I doubt it, since I deleted the app."

Imogen looked stunned. "Deleted the app? Who will I commiserate with about another week of horrible scores?"

"I need a break from it. I think it's not the best for me." Why did his eyes itch? A stupid app wasn't worth crying over. At least any more than he already had.

She must have been able to tell, since she didn't press the issue. "Perhaps you're right. If the app's not doing it for you, why not try a different way of meeting people?"

"I really don't think dating is right for me right now." It felt like he was breaking up, not with Imogen, and not with Charlie, but with the idea of romance itself.

"You can't just give up hope like that!" she said, incredulous. "You're Nick! Kind, lovely, beautiful Nick. If anyone in this world deserves love, it's you!" When he looked at her, she quickly added, "Not from me, though. I mean, I love you as a friend! But we're not getting back together. Right?"

He couldn't help but laugh. "Definitely not, don't worry."

She mimed wiping her brow, then took his hand again. "I do worry, though. I care about you. And whoever this loser is, who can't see how wonderful you are, well. He's not worth his salt, and not worth the pain I can clearly see he's put you through."

Nick just stared down into his half-empty cup.

Suddenly, Imogen smiled. "Well, I have an idea."

This was always a bad sign. Imogen was infamous for her 'ideas.' "Imogen. I don't think-"

"Nick, I know you can't resist a challenge. Remember when I challenged you not to kiss me for two days? I've never seen you more determined."

"You're not going to challenge me to get on another dating app instead. I'm not getting back on Tinder." She was fully smirking now. "And I'm absolutely not downloading Grindr!"

"No, Nick, not Grindr, good golly. Even better." She shook her head, her loose waves, pinned with vintage butterfly clips, shifting around her. "I challenge you, Nicholas Nelson, to ask someone out in person."

He felt his mouth go dry. "In person?"

"Yes. And with a time limit: seven days. By the time we meet back here next Saturday, I want you to have asked someone out. Someone you meet at the grocery, or while walking Nellie and Henry, or even at the club!"

Half his brain wanted to reject the dare out of hand. He hadn't asked someone out in person in years. Not since uni, before he went pro. And even back then, he flubbed it almost every time.

But the other part of his brain, the part that could never say no to a dare, was speaking up now. He'd once eaten eight hot peppers in one go on a dare. Hell, he'd come out during a truth or dare game at the start of uni. And if he didn't even have the guts to try, what good were his chances of ever finding someone?

"Hello? Earth to Nick?" Imogen had leaned towards him while he spaced out.

"I can't ask someone out while I'm at work. It's not professional."

Imogen's eyes crinkled, like she knew she had won. "That isn't a no, Nick." She lifted one finger, reached out and booped him on the nose. "You're taking the challenge."

He took a deep breath. "You're on."

While he worked the door that night, the challenge began to permeate his brain. Maybe he could ask someone out. There was no way he was letting Imogen down. He seemed to see every person who handed him their ID in a new light. Could this be the person he asked out? No, he couldn't risk it, had to keep it professional, this bouncer job was all he had.

Imogen hadn't said they had to say yes. He could just ask anybody, they would say no, and he would report back, challenge successful.

So why did he feel so nervous?

He felt nervous on Sunday, grocery day, as the cashier rang up his leeks and caster sugar. She was cute enough, maybe he could ask her out?

After he tapped his card, then took too long bagging his groceries with sweaty hands, he glanced up and... she was already ringing up the lady behind him. Not the right moment to interrupt. It's okay, there are still six days left.

He felt nervous on Monday, taking Nellie for a short walk in the evening while his mum was sautéing leeks for dinner-lunch. As he looped the park, a jogger passed him twice, sweaty and sort of his type, tall and lanky with dark curly hair matted to his forehead.

Maybe Nick could ask him out? Is that intrusive, to ask someone out while they're jogging? But once he considered it, and reconsidered it, circling the park with Nellie one more time, the guy had disappeared.

He felt nervous on Tuesday, in line at the farmers' market to pick up fresh berries for the scones he was making the next afternoon. The person who ran the berry stand was always so nice, and had such cool tattoos, falling leaves running down their arms. Maybe he could ask them out?

But as he got to the front of the queue, they briefly turned and asked their co-booth-operator, "Could you bring out more blackberries from the cooler, love?" and hearing that word, love, made Nick second-guess it all. They were probably partners, running the booth together. He bought his berries and said nothing.

He felt nervous on Wednesday, as he brought his fresh-baked berry scones to the crochet club meeting. Nick loved to crochet, it had gotten him through some of his toughest times in uni, but he dropped it during his rugby era for fear of his teammates catching him. Though he knew they wouldn't intentionally leak anything to the media (Nick Nelson: Rugby King to Crochet King, the tabloids would scream), the locker-room mockery would never have ended.

Now that he was uncomfortably retired, he'd joined the local crochet club, mostly to have an excuse to be out of the house for a bit on Wednesday afternoons. Nearly everyone was at least thirty years older than Nick, but it was so nice to get to sit quietly, working on a doily placemat set for his mum, and hear the latest town gossip, or the gossip of generations prior.

When Imogen had handed him this challenge, the first person his mind went to was a young woman who came every week with her grandmother. They were adorable together, often working on matching projects, and she seemed so sweet. Maybe he could ask her out? He didn't think she'd make it awkward if she turned him down, he probably wouldn't have to flee crochet club and never pick up a hook again.

But when the grandmother walked in, her granddaughter wasn't there. He asked after her, and apparently she was on holiday in Spain for three weeks. So that was a no.

He felt especially nervous on Thursday. This week, it was Drag Night at the Priory. Every attendee went all out, every style of fashion and makeup over-the-top, every combination of outfit (or lack thereof) represented, and every expression of gender under the sun. He bit his tongue several times while checking IDs, so as not to blurt out, Hey, this might be weird coming from a bouncer, but are you free for a date tomorrow night? This whole week felt like Bisexual Disaster: Extreme Edition, and tonight was the final boss.

He made it through to his break. One of the local queens, with whom he was vaguely acquainted, sat with him in the break room while he drank his water. Well, her intense corsetry and giant purple feather train made sitting a challenge, but she vaguely leaned against a stool beside him. She made a joke about the break room having much better air con than the dressing room. Her makeup was gorgeous, and he told her, and she thanked him, squeezing his shoulder. Could he ask her out?

She'd probably take it as a joke. He should keep it professional. She went back out for her next number, and he sighed.

He felt nervous on Friday, back at the park. The jogger was back. He was in a grey sports vest, his shoulders out, gorgeous shoulders. Nick felt his heart thumping, even though he wasn't the one exercising.

As the guy circled towards him, Nick waved. He continued jogging in place as he pulled out an earbud. "Pardon?"

Nick stared for a moment, do I ask him, what do I say, before he heard "Oh, sorry, do you have the time?" come out of his own mouth, somewhere far away, and then the guy was saying something, and jogging away, and was gone.

By Saturday, he felt the most nervous about Imogen. He would have to tell her he failed the challenge. She wouldn't let herself show her disappointment, he knew, she'd be loving and supportive as always. But he would feel it anyway. Maybe she'd give him a week extension so he could try again with the jogger, or a month til crochet-club granddaughter returned from Spain, or a year, so maybe he could fix his life and his confidence and-

The jangling door chime broke his train of thought. He'd gotten there early, to brainstorm how he would break the news of his failure to his friend.

As he stood waiting for his flat white, he looked around the café. A few people chatted at the bench along the window, one man read the newspaper at a table, someone with big headphones on working on their laptop across from him. And, in the corner, was a young woman.

He had seen her in the café often before; she seemed to set up shop there many an afternoon. She had a severe haircut, and her expression always hovered in the space between blank and dour. Sometimes she worked on a tablet, but this time she had just a notebook, a nice one, bound in leather or maybe imitation.

Perhaps facing this aloof stranger would be easier than facing Imogen's disappointment. Last chance, he thought.

Nick grabbed his coffee from the counter, and walked over. He stood, nervously, too close to her table, until she looked up, pen in hand. He mumbled, too fast, "Doyouwanttogooutwithme?"

She stared at him, unblinking.

He tried again. "Um. I was wondering. If you'd like to go out. On a date. With me."

She continued to stare like he had seven heads. They both stared, in fact, Nick feeling sweat along his brow, unable to move, a deer caught in headlights.

"Why are you asking me out?"

Okay, breathe, Nelson, breathe. "Because I want to." He swallowed.

Her eyes narrowed. "I don't believe you." He felt like she could stare into his soul.

Nick caved instantly. "Okay, I'm sorry," he blubbered. "My friend challenged me to ask someone out, and the deadline is approaching. I'm so sorry to disturb you, I can tell her that I did it and that you said no. I'll never disturb you again, I prom-"

"Yes."

Nick stammered, "W- what?"

"Yes, I'll go out on a date with you."

He heard himself ask, "Why?", then realized that must be the most ridiculous thing he could have said.

"If you're going to ask someone out on a dare, you deserve to live with the consequences. You're taking me out on a date. Someplace nice."

He just blinked at her.

"Are you free Thursday evening?" she asked.

"Oh, er, I can't do Thursday, I'm busy Thursday nights. And this week it's Throwback Pride Night, everybody has the best outfits."

She looked at him, processing this contextless information. "Who will you be dressed as?" Her questions had remained completely deadpan.

"The bouncer."

They continued to stare at each other. Nick thought that maybe the best option, rather than asking this woman out or facing Imogen with his failure, would have been to run away into the woods and never return.

Well, he was in this far. He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck again. "Er, how about Friday?"

"I can do Friday. Give me your number. I'll text you and you can tell me where to meet."

She passed him the pen and her open notebook. His hand was shaking as he jotted down his digits, and scrawled Nick underneath them.

"See you Friday."

Nick sat at his own table quickly, moments before Imogen came in. She grabbed her Barbie-pink beverage and joined him.

"Well, you look ill."

Nick laughed at her directness. He must have been pale as a sheet, having just experienced the most mortifying exchange of his life. Who knew that asking someone out and getting a yes could feel so much worse than getting a no?

"I won the challenge."

Imogen's eyes went wide. "You did? Who did you ask? How did it go?"

"I don't want to speak too soon. But I have a date on Friday."

"That's brilliant!" She was absolutely beaming. "I knew you could do it, Nick. And see, it wasn't so hard to ask someone out without the app!"

His eyes wandered, and he spotted the woman peeking at him over the top of her notebook. She looked down at the page quickly. He realized he hadn't even learned her name.

"I don't know about that. We'll see."

Chapter Text

Nick hoped she wouldn't text him. Maybe she'd forget, or had humiliated him enough, and he could tell Imogen he got ghosted and it'd all be well and good. When his phone dinged, a few hours later as he changed into his all-black uniform, and saw this is Tori, your date, he groaned and threw himself onto his bed.

That's how, Friday night, he found himself standing outside of Le Dôme, the nicest French restaurant in town, in a dress shirt and his bouncer slacks. Tori stepped out of the back of a car, and walked over to him. She was shorter than he thought, and he realized he'd never seen her standing up.

The first thing she said was, "This is sufficiently fancy."

"Ahh. Great." Maybe this was going to be punishment the whole way.

"Why did you pick French?"

"Well, I'm part-French. So I guess it counts as... comfort food?" He rubbed the back of his neck.

"A bit chi-chi to be comfort food."

The most awkward silence continued to hang between them. Nick broke it with a, "Well, shall we?"

A few minutes later, they were sat in a booth. The tablecloth was spotless, a single rose drooping slightly in a vase between them, next to the salt shaker.

"What do you recommend?"

Nick looked up from the menu. "Oh, I haven't been here before."

"But you're a French food expert." Tori seemed not to be able to say any sentence that wasn't completely deadpan. Or maybe she just hated him as much as he was hating this experience.

"Oh, right." Nick asked about her preferred flavors, and she said she tended to go for bland when eating someplace new. He pointed out the nouilles à beurre monté. They fell back into silence until the server came over.

"Bonsoir," he said, in a very not-French accent. He could have been about their age, but it was hard to tell with his stiff demeanor, oversized glasses perched on his nose. "Have we considered a beverage tonight?"

Nick opted to place his full order, wanting to keep the evening moving as fast as possible. He asked for the saumon à l’unilatérale and a glass of merlot, Tori got the nouilles with a salad and a lemonade.

Once their menus were gone, they only had each other to stare at.

"My brothers are shocked I have a date."

"You have brothers?" The idea that this woman was related to any other humans seemed incomprehensible.

"Two younger brothers. One lives with me, he demanded to pick my outfit tonight." She was wearing a simple dark green dress, long-sleeved.

Nick tried a compliment. "Well, he has good taste."

She looked at him, unblinking. He had just accidentally complimented his date's brother. Mortifying.

"The other is still in secondary," she said, rescuing him from the moment, "he lives with our parents."

"I have an older brother. He lives in Scotland."

"Ahh."

As Nick took a sip of water, she said, "Tell me about this dare."

He almost choked, swallowing before he could do a full spit take. "Oh, erm, it doesn't matter."

"I want to know."

He took a deep breath. "Well, it's because of a dating app." Tori squinted at him, lowering her eyebrows just slightly. "For a long time I've only gone on dates through dating apps - well, one dating app. And it's gone really badly lately, so I deleted it. My friend challenged me to ask someone out in person. To prove I could do it, since I'm incredibly awkward."

"I see." I see that you're awkward, is obviously what she meant, thought Nick.

"Sorry you had to be the unintended victim."

"I'm not complaining. I get a free meal out of it."

The server arrived with their beverages, and gave Tori a straw upon her request.

She took her limonade in both hands. "What app?"

Nick pursed his lips. "Compatibility Checker. I don't know if you've heard of it."

"I have. My brother was obsessed with it for a while."

"It's very addicting."

"That's why I've never used it. Or any dating app."

"Good choice."

"Why don't you like to ask people out in person?"

Well, he was never going to see Tori again. Might as well spill. "I've been such a stereotypical bisexual disaster, I've never really been able to approach anybody." She didn't flinch at bisexual, nor at disaster. Time to go for the trifecta. "The added layer of being niche famous doesn't help."

"You're 'niche famous'?" Tori asked.

"Yeah, I was a pro rugby leaguer for a year."

"Oh. Not my scene."

"Not my scene anymore either. I tore up my knee something awful, that's why I'm back home now."

"But the viewing public doesn't get that." She held her glass close to her chest, slurping through the straw.

"Right. It meant trying to approach anybody is hard, since I didn't know what the reaction will be, or if they'd just use me to feel close to fame. So when the app came around, I jumped on it. It took out the guesswork."

Before he could continue, their server showed up, plates in hand. "Be careful, they're very hot," he said, placing the salmon and noodles in front of Nick and Tori, respectively. With a bon appétit, he left them to their food.

After their first bites, she asked, "Why did you delete it?"

"I had some bad experiences." One bad, bad experience. "And I think I had become... dependent on it? Not to meet anyone, since I wasn't doing that much, with the app or without it. But to give me a reason not to put myself out there unless I found a match."

"And you didn't find anyone."

"Right. Instead, I just had a new excuse. If nobody matches with me, then it doesn't matter, there's a reason outside myself that I'm single. Instead of having to figure out why I'm so awkward."

She nodded, and took a bite of her side salad.

"And it got in my head."

"How so?"

"I don't know if you've seen how it works, but it gives you a match percent with everyone you pass. It shows you exactly how incompatible you are with everyone around you." Keep it together, Nelson, it's not polite to cry into your fancy salmon on a first date. "I was tired of seeing how bad I would be with every person I met."

"Maybe you're most compatible with people who don't use apps like that, then?"

It was such a logical answer, and he sat a moment, processing. He thought he saw her smile, just slightly, as she took a bite of noodles.

He took a risk. "You tell me, then. You're someone who wouldn't use the app. Are we compatible?"

She put her fork down. Her cold stare was back. "No, I don't think so."

Oh, right. "Yeah, agreed. Sorry."

At just that moment, the server stepped up to the table, obviously having overheard their last exchange. "Well," he said, more than a touch of awkwardness in his voice, "your evening seems to be going well! Anything else I can get you?"

After he left, they sat in silence for several minutes, eating. Nick thought maybe if he scarfed this salmon fast, he could get out of here before embarrassment took over his entire body.

But eventually, the dead air between them got to him, with only the faint sound of some sad French song playing from across the restaurant. Maybe, on a date, one should try having a conversation about something other than why you both don't want to be on the date.

"So, what do you do?"

Tori was a writer, it turned out, and that's why she was in the café so often; it was her preferred writing spot. She mostly did freelance copywriting, but had been working on her first novel, and was shopping it around to get published. When Nick asked what it was about, she used several long words he didn't recognize but was too embarrassed to ask for their definitions. (He made a mental note to look up "decontextual dadaism" later - or was it "dadaist decontextualism"?)

He talked briefly about being a bouncer, how he had shifted his whole sleep schedule to be able to work five nights a week, and she said she was a night owl too. She asked about Throwback Pride Night, and he described the Thursday pride nights at the club. The evening prior he had seen some great outfits, especially the classic queer icons: an incredible Billie Holiday, a Patroclus and Achilles foam-sword-in-hand-in-hand, a young Elton John and a current Elton John, and more Chers than he could count.

He was surprised when she said, "I would go as Jackie O. She was a gay icon."

"That would be great! You could really pull of her look. You should go, next year!"

"Nightclubs aren't my scene."

"What is your scene, then?"

"Tumblr. And AO3."

By the time their plates were being cleared, Nick had learned about niche corners of the literary internet and what a life without dogs was like, and Tori had learned about the different ways you could tear your knee joint and the importance of hook size in crocheting. They had both learned that, though they weren't compatible in the way an app wanted or Nick's heart still hoped to find, they weren't destined to be enemies either.

After the check came, the server brought them each a chocolate on a paper napkin.

"So romantic," Nick said, now finally comfortable enough to make a joke like that.

"Maybe so." Tori had turned pale. Okay, maybe he shouldn't have made the joke.

But she held up her napkin. The server had written his number on it, and Call me for a better date.

He'd never been on a date before that flopped so hard the waiter had to step in as a backup option.

"You should go for it," Nick said, before he allowed himself to think.

"I don't think so."

"Your choice. But consider it a challenge." He smirked as she narrowed her eyes at him.

"I'll consider it."

Outside, Nick offered Tori a ride home, but she said she was a modern woman who preferred to arrange her own transport.

"See you at the café?" he asked, as her ride pulled up.

"See you at the café."

Chapter Text

They were right. The next afternoon, he spotted Tori at the café. She was alone, as always, at one of the four-person tables in the middle of the bright, airy space.

He sat in the seat across from her. "Hi."

She put down her tablet. "Hello, Nick."

"I wanted to say thank you again, for putting up with me."

"I wasn't putting up with you, I wanted to go."

"Really? I didn't put you through the most awkward experience of your entire life?"

"You have to stop talking down about yourself, Nick." He still wasn't the best at telling the minute differences between her emotional expressions. His best guess was that this one wasn't teasing, but caring.

"Yeah, you're right."

"And I've learned a lot about you. You're very... thoughtful."

A nice way of putting 'an overthinker', he caught himself thinking. Then he did his best to take her request to heart.

Before he could say anything, a bubbling Imogen plonked herself into the seat between them.

"Well, hello, Nick! And who's this?"

"Oh! Imogen, this is Tori."

"Yes, I've seen you before!" She smiled big, while Tori sat utterly still and silent. "You sit here and read all the time. How lovely!"

"She's writing, actually," Nick said.

"Ah. Well that's lovely too!" She smiled at Tori, and at Nick, then took a sip from today's magenta beverage of choice. "So, how was your date?" She waggled her eyebrows at him.

"It was fine," Tori said, before Nick could stop her.

Imogen's eyes went wide. "Wait, you were his date?"

"Yes, and?" Tori held her gaze, still unblinking.

"I wouldn't have thought..." She trailed off, then shook her head slightly, putting the smile back on. "Well, how did it go? Are you going out again?"

"We decided we're better as just friends," Nick said.

Imogen looked over at him, and nodded. "Right, right. I love that! Friends is amazing! Do you have any friend plans coming up?"

"We hadn't discussed it," Tori deadpanned. Nick could feel Imogen, or the universe, pushing him and Tori into a friendship on terms neither of them wanted.

Imogen turned to Tori. "Well, Nick doesn't have work tomorrow, maybe you could visit each other? Have a board games night or something?"

Tori made eye contact with Nick, an unspoken is this serious? passing between them.

He had to rescue the situation. "I think going to hang out at one of our houses one-on-one still feels a little too date-like."

"Oh! Of course." Imogen got that look on her face, like she was having another of her ideas. "Well then, I could come with you! You've always seemed so... intriguing, Tori. I'd love to be friends too! I'm Imogen." And she stuck out her hand.

Tori looked at Nick like she wanted literally anything in this world other than to be friends with Imogen. But she turned, and shook her hand.

That's how, the next evening, Nick found himself outside Tori's house. It was only ten minutes' walk from his place, but he'd spent a few extra minutes thinking of ways he could plausibly cancel at the last minute, so showed up a few minutes past the seven o'clock arrival time Imogen had declared as she roped them into this "new friends hangout."

A heartbeat after he rang the doorbell, Imogen burst forth. "Nicky! Come on in."

Tori stood behind her, stock-still and wide-eyed, like Imogen was the world's most vivacious jumping-spider.

"Tori ordered pizza for us, it should arrive soon." And Imogen led him into the sitting room.

Tori had some sort of slow rock music that Nick couldn't identify playing from a speaker in the corner, too quiet to make out the lyrics.

"Would you like anything to drink? I have tea, lemonade, and white wine."

Imogen asked, "Is the wine sustainable? I'm trying to do my bit."

"I'll check," Tori replied, flatly.

Nick requested a lemonade, and Tori crossed the hall into the kitchen, as the other two sat on the couch.

"She's terrifying, Nick," Imogen whispered to him as she leaned close. "We've been staring at each other awkwardly for ten minutes. I can't believe you asked her on a date."

"Are you regretting joining our friend get-together?" Nick couldn't help but smirk.

Imogen leaned back, flustered. "No, it's nice to be friends with all sorts of people! I just would never expect her to be your type."

"Well, she isn't. So you can stop making a deal about it now."

Tori came back in with a glass of white for Imogen and a lemonade with a straw for Nick. She stood, staring at them, until Nick scooted over into the middle of the couch to make room.

The three sat in silence, sipping their beverages, as Nick looked around the tiny room. A groovy seventies-style lamp stood on the bookshelf, and several well-manicured plants sat beside the window.

"Nice plants," he said.

"They're my brother's. I can't keep a plant alive for shit."

Nick chuckled, but neither of the other two did, so he stopped.

He spotted an old-school gaming console attached to the TV, controllers balanced on top of it.

"An N64? I haven't seen one in ages," Nick heard himself gushing. "Do you have Mario Kart?"

"Of course we do. We're a Mario Kart family."

"We should play!" he said, if only to have something to fill the awkward silence.

After an unspoken moment in which Imogen realized she was outvoted, the three of them turned it on and set themselves to VS mode, so all three could play. Tori beat Nick on the first track by a hair, and Nick won the second by even less. He felt the tension in the room slowly easing. "You really are from a Mario Kart family," he said.

"It's nice to have a good, fair challenger. My brother beats me every time."

"Where is your brother? Does he work evenings?"

"He's at a friend's movie night."

"Gotcha."

Imogen finally crossed the finish in a distant third. "Whoo! That was fun. When's the pizza getting here?"

At that, they heard a sound at the door.

"That must be it!" Imogen said.

But the front door opened on its own, and they heard a voice calling out.

"Tori! I'm home early, Tao got locked out of his Letterboxd account and was having a meltdown so we rescheduled. Don't let me disturb your friends, I'll just-" and he rounded the corner into the sitting room.

It was him. The last person Nick expected to ever see again. Charlie, in the flesh. Well, in eyeliner, and a different pair of skinny jeans, and an oversized hoodie with the logo of some band Nick didn't recognize.

They stared at each other. What was he doing here?

"What is he doing here?" Charlie barked at Tori.

"What do you mean?" she answered, clearly just as confused as Nick was.

"I cannot believe this! That's the fucking bouncer, Tori. The one I told you about!"

Tori looked at Nick, up and down. "The bouncer?"

"Yeah! The one who wrecked my whole month. Don't tell me he's your new best friend?"

Tori sat stonefaced, processing. Nick had no idea what to say or do.

Suddenly, Imogen piped up, defiant. "Um, hello? Nick's not the only new person over, I'm here too!"

Everyone ignored her, as Charlie continued.

"You listen to me ranting about this guy for two weeks, and then you bring him over?"

Finally, Tori found her voice. "I didn't know it was him! You clearly weren't detailed enough in your description."

"Not detailed enough? How many tall, broad, strawberry-blond bouncers named Nick do you think there are in this town?"

"You talked about him nonstop, but you never said his name was Nick."

If it hadn't already been running on slow mode, Nick's brain was now seizing up completely. Charlie had been thinking, talking, about him for two weeks?

"Oh, my bad, I guess," Charlie retorted, dripping with sarcasm. "And you never said your new bestie was named Nick either."

They stared each other down for a moment. Nick tried to say something, but his mouth was bone-dry, so he just opened and closed it like a dying fish.

"Well, clearly we've intruded, maybe it's best we get going," Imogen said, with a pained fake-smile on.

Charlie glanced at her, then back to Tori. "Wait a minute," Charlie continued, "is Nick the one you went on a date with?"

Tori didn't answer him, just sat with her mouth firmly shut.

"Oh my fucking god, how is this happening to me!" Charlie threw his arms up in the air. "You are the worst sister in the entire world!"

"Hey!" Nick's voice came back all in a rush, his need to defend Tori overwhelming his stupefaction. "Don't say that about her."

"Oh, and who are you to tell me what to say? I haven't even gotten to you yet."

Without meaning to, Nick felt his legs lifting him up off the couch. The controller clattered onto the floor. "It's not right to say that about your sister. It was an honest misunderstanding."

"You'd know something about honest misunderstandings. And how to blow them completely out of proportion."

"What are you talking about?" Nick was flummoxed.

"I'm talking about how rude you were at the club! How much of an obnoxious jerk you were to us, for something that wasn't Darcy's fault!"

Seeing the belligerence in front of him, Nick's bouncer training started to kick in. First step, keep calm, though something about Charlie made his heart pound against his chest. "I got the message when you texted me, you don't have to rehash it."

"Well, if you show up at my house unprompted, I clearly do!" They had taken a step towards each other, and Nick could see the fury bubbling out of Charlie, the same fury as when he got denied entry to the club.

Imogen was still catching up with the backstory. "Wait, texted you? What happened?"

Nick ignored her. Step two, ignore distractions, focus on the problem patron. "Charlie, you don't know me at all. You've got all these preconceived notions because we spoke for two minutes, one time."

"I know enough to know that I'd never let you around my sister. If I'd have known-"

"You'd have what? Told her not to be my friend? Sounds awfully possessive." The third step of an ejection was lining itself up in Nick's musculature. He felt his fists balling, his forearms tensing, ready to subdue Charlie, pick him up, and haul him out of there, like he did with the drunken and disorderly night after night.

Charlie's mouth fell wide open. "As if you have any right to talk about my relationship with my sister!"

"As if you have any right to berate her for a situation that isn't her fault!"

Nick heard a soft "Please, don't," from Tori behind him. Charlie's eyes were filled with a defiance like no other, almost a rage, but he gritted his teeth. They glared at each other, daring the other to speak.

The eyeliner and the fury made Charlie's eyes look such a deep blue.

But this wasn't the club, it was Charlie's house, and Nick fought against everything he'd learned. He knew he had to get out of here before this altercation escalated further. He stretched out his hands, and took a breath, trying to keep his voice level. But he couldn't help himself from getting in one more jab.

"I know you're right about one thing, Charlie. I'm glad I deleted the stupid app, it got you so wrong. You're the least pleasant person I've made the acquaintance of in a long, long time."

"All right, that's it. Get out of my house!"

"Gladly." And Nick pushed past Charlie, bumping his shoulder as he went.

He heard a gasp from behind him, as he turned towards the front door. He slammed it open, and almost ran full-force into the pizza delivery guy walking up the steps.

"Oh, goodness!" the guy said, taking a step back to regain his balance, clutching the pizza box in both hands.

"Sorry," Nick grumbled, as he stomped away, back down the street towards his mum's.

Chapter Text

Nick sat in the café on Tuesday afternoon, his back to the wall. It was bright and sunny in a way that held a deep wrongness to him. Since the fight on Sunday, Nick's emotions had been like a cartoonish dark cloud following him around for a day and a half.

He had texted Imogen when he got home, and learned she left shortly after he did, escaping what she described as "the incident." She made the smart move not to pry for more details of what all that was about, but he suspected he'd have to explain further when he saw her on Saturday, if not sooner.

He wanted to talk with Tori, to apologize and say maybe it was best for them not to spend time together, given his barely-controlled display towards her brother. But the text apologies he drafted all came out wrong, and she wasn't there on Monday to talk in person, or this afternoon either. He was starting to suspect she was avoiding him. He wouldn't blame her for not wanting to see him ever again, but felt the pang of guilt from potentially keeping her away from her favorite writing spot.

He thought about bringing out his crochet hook to calm his nerves. The current project sat in his bag, for days when he thought he might be afternoon-breakfasting alone, but he never took it out, still too embarrassed to be sighted in public with a fiber craft in his hand. Just in case someone recognized him from his rugby days.

So he stared down into his mug, until somebody sat across from him.

He looked up and saw Charlie.

"Hi."

He had on a green knitted jumper that hung a little loose in the sleeves. His curls were messy in that unintentional-but-perfect way. He had no eyeliner today, giving his face a more open, soft look.

Nick felt his breath catch in his throat. He could deal with a fight at the club, but wasn't ready for a knock-down drag-out altercation in the middle of his favorite café. How could he defuse the situation before coffee mugs went flying?

He opted for a tentative, "Hi?"

They looked at each other for a minute. Charlie seemed like he was about to say something - of course he was, why else would he be sitting across from Nick in a café he'd never been seen in before - so Nick maintained his silence.

"I know you hate me," Charlie finally said, "but please hear me out."

I don't hate you, you're just awful, Nick wanted to say, but he set his jaw and listened.

"I want to apologize. For my behavior on Sunday." He took a breath. "I was horribly rude. It wasn't right to lose it at you."

So maybe he wasn't here for a fight. Nick looked down at the table.

"I'm really sorry."

"You were caught off guard," Nick said. "I understand."

"Still, it wasn't right. I said some really awful things to both you and Tori."

Nick took a breath. "I was cruel, too. I'm not usually like that. I'm sorry."

Charlie glanced down. "I don't need you to say sorry. I'm not apologizing for my own sake." He looked around the café, bright and inviting. "I'm here for Tori."

"Tori sent you?" Nick squinted at him.

"No, but she helped me see how childish I was. If that was it, though, I'd just leave well enough alone."

"Then why are you here?" For the briefest moment, Nick felt some tiny corner of his heart wishing the answer he'd hear would be, Because I want to try again.

"I'm here because I don't want me, and my behavior, to be the reason you aren't friends with Tori." Without the black eyeliner, his eyes seemed to be just slightly rimmed with red. "She doesn't have a lot of friends. Even though her date didn't work out romantically, I was so excited for her when I heard she was bringing some new friends over. And then I had to absolutely ruin it."

"You didn't ruin anything. I was just as rude to you, and then I stormed off."

"That doesn't matter. I'm still sorry. Please don't stop being friends with her because of me."

Nick sat for a moment. Charlie seemed sincerely contrite, and kinder than he'd have imagined from any of their prior interactions. Nick could tell he genuinely cared about his sister.

And Nick didn't have it in his heart to say no to the adorable man across from him.

"I'll accept your apology, on one condition." He saw Charlie's eyebrows crunch down, like he was bracing himself for something bad. "Prove it."

"Prove what?"

"You have to show me that we can have a calm conversation, with no animosity. Because if we can't, then I need to know I can't come round Tori's again."

The look on Charlie's face was... relief? "Of course, that makes sense. A trial interaction."

Nick nodded at him.

"How's right now?"

"I'm here til close."

"Let me grab a drink." Charlie hopped up, and got in line.

As Charlie stood at the counter, Nick's eyes drifted to his legs. He had shorts on, and long, runner's legs stretched out from them, calf muscles defined. Gosh, he really was exactly Nick's type.

No, Nelson, you can't do this, he thought. He's your new friend's brother. He already rejected you several times. You almost punched him two days ago. Leave it alone.

So he looked out the window and put the legs out of his mind.

As Charlie sat down, he placed a mug of something electric green in front of him.

"What is that? It's green." Nick kicked himself, obviously it was green.

"Matcha latte. Matcha's very trendy right now."

"Makes sense for you to be on trend. You've got a great sense of style."

As Charlie answered, Nick thought he saw him turn just the palest shade of pink.

Talk turned from Charlie's outfits to their respective music taste to Nick's bouncer job to Charlie's editorial internship to living with Tori and her aloof attitude ("She's truly overflowing with love, Nick, she just doesn't know how to show it.") He was eloquent, sarcastically funny, and sweet, and even giggled once at some bad pun Nick made, a giggle that clogged up Nick's brain for a solid thirty seconds. They talked for an hour, until the café was almost closing, and it flowed like they weren't monthlong enemies, but new friends.

Nick grabbed both their mugs and brought them up to the counter. When he sat back down to get his bag, Charlie said, "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For being open to staying friends with Tori."

Right, he remembered, this conversation was for Tori's sake. "Well, I think we've proven we can tolerate each other. So you're welcome, and apology accepted."

Charlie smiled broadly. "And I'll tell Tori she might see you here tomorrow?" His eyes were filled with hope, and Nick couldn't stop himself from imagining they sparkled.

"Ahh, well, she won't. I have a weekly activity on Wednesdays."

"What kind of activity? Something tough and impersonal, or is that just for work?"

He considered lying. It wasn't really becoming of a bouncer. "Well, if you consider crochet tough, then yes."

Charlie's jaw fell open. "You crochet?"

"I picked it back up recently. I mostly do it to hear the gossip at the crochet club meetings."

"Oh my god! Amazing!" It was like his eyes were opening to a brand new Nick.

"Do you crochet?"

"No, but..." Charlie smirked across at him, and held up his arms. "I knitted this myself."

"Wow, that's incredible! You're way more advanced than me."

"I'm sure you're great at it, Nick," he said, and Nick felt like his name never sounded better than it did coming from Charlie's mouth. "Although," he added with a sly smile, "you should know that knitters and crocheters are longstanding rivals. Maybe that's why we're not compatible."

The soft music from the speakers stopped abruptly. From the direction of the counter, they heard a "Meadow Café is now closing, please leave mugs and dishes on your tables and we'll see you again soon!"

After the door chimes had jangled their jangle behind them, Nick waved, expecting Charlie to turn away. Instead, his eyebrows knitted together again, and he glanced around.

"Do you go for hugs? You look like you give really good hugs."

The sunlight, it must be, was making Charlie look just a touch pink.

"Yeah!" Nick said, a bit too enthusiastically.

And before he could second-guess it, he wrapped his arms around Charlie. He felt the softness of his hand-knitted jumper, Charlie's face buried in his shoulder, and the way Charlie's hands interlaced behind his back, like he didn't want to let go.

After they stepped back, Charlie said, softly, "I was right. You do give good hugs."

"Thank you," Nick said, a warmth in his chest, somewhere underneath his heart.

"Will I see you Thursday, at the Priory?"

"Oh, right, for Pride night."

"The last one in June. I skipped the last two because I-" Charlie cut himself off, and looked away, sheepishly.

"Because you didn't want to see me. I'm sorry." Nick had really sent this guy's whole Pride month into a tailspin, hadn't he.

"It's okay. I don't want to be someone who lets something like that get in the way of my plans. And my friends couldn't go, anyway."

"Can Darcy get in yet?" Nick joked, trying to break through his own regret. He didn't like to see Charlie angry, but really, really hated to see him disappointed.

"I don't think so. But Elle's coming with me this week."

"Well, I'll see you there. I'm working Thursday."

Charlie looked up at him. "Do you ever go there? Like, not to work?"

Nick thought back. "Not for as long as I've been a bouncer."

"So you've never really experienced one of their Pride nights?"

"No, other than the walk between the door and the break room. And the time I had to stop someone trying to deck the DJ for 'playing too much Madonna,' or when I broke up a lovers' quarrel in the middle of the dance floor." He shrugged, and Charlie giggled again.

"Come with us."

Nick blinked at him. "What?"

"You just have to experience the Priory on a Thursday in June. I don't want you to wait til next year."

"I'd have to change my schedule."

"Well, if you can make it happen, I'd love to see you there." Charlie's whole face was lit up, like the idea of Nick dancing in a club was everything he'd ever dreamed of. "And I guess I'll see you there either way. Try to let us in this time." And he winked. He winked.

Nick could feel his entire insides melting.

"Yeah, see you there."

Chapter Text

A quick text to Sai and their shifts were swapped. Nick was now working Friday, which wasn't ideal, but it meant he could go on Thursday, for the first time, as a patron rather than an employee.

He didn't tell Imogen he'd be going. If he mentioned he was headed to the club, she'd demand to come along and get way too drunk, and he'd be babysitting her all night.

He thought about texting Charlie, but they hadn't actually agreed to swap numbers. After the Lose my number message, Nick hadn't added Charlie as a contact, but he didn't delete the text like he had with the app. And replying to it with an I'll see you there tonight! after everything that happened in the intervening weeks would be ultimate whiplash.

He did tell Tara, and she insisted on him coming over before he went out, for a pregame drink and to put the finishing touches on his look. The theme for the final night was "Fly Your Flag", dress in colors that match your identity or identities, and she advised him on some options laid out on his bed.

Though it wasn't his typical style to wear makeup, Tara insisted on adding a dusting of blush, "to bring out your rosy cheeks," and to accentuate his selected shirt, a gradient of fuchsia down to purple. He had gotten it in Menorca several years ago, since it reminded him of the sunsets over the Mediterranean sea, and it was a little snug now on his full pro-rugby-sized torso. With his blue jeans, it turned him into a subtle but readable bi flag.

He asked her again to come with him to the club, maybe hang out there just for a bit, but she insisted she had work in the morning, and didn't want to go partying without Darcy, who still lacked proper clubbing-approved documentation. So they hugged, wished each other one last happy pride, and he headed out to the Priory.

When Nick got to the club, the line stretched around the corner. Either the place was packed, or Sai and Otis must not be as efficient at their jobs as he was. He lucked into a parking spot down the block, and got into line.

It was approaching midnight by the time he made it to the front, face-to-face with his co-workers. Sai tried to wave him through, but he insisted on showing his driving license. "Ever the professional, Nelson," he said, as he glanced down at it for the briefest moment. Otis refused to take his cover charge, calling it an employee discount.

As he stepped into the club, he saw the place was packed. The flashing lights and cacophony of outfits combined to represent every color known to the human eye, and some only visible to butterflies and shrimp. Something upbeat was playing that in three weeks, Imogen would be insisting was the 'song of the summer.' Nick couldn't really hear it, though, once his eyes settled on Charlie on the dance floor.

Through the mass of dancing bodies, Charlie shone like a lamp, and Nick was a moth. He had a striped top on, green to white to indigo, and the shortest shorts imaginable. Well, they didn't leave Nick imagining much.

He was dancing close with a woman, about their age, with long braids and a shimmering dress, like a hologram, shifting between white, pink and pale blue.

Charlie lifted his hands above his head as they danced, and Nick could see the top was cropped short. A sliver of stomach appeared, and Nick looked away fast, towards the bar. Maybe I need another drink, he thought.

Before he could push his way there, through the throng of thirsty patrons, Charlie was in front of him.

"Nick! You came!" Charlie was positively beaming. Nick could see, in addition to the eyeliner, he had on a gradient of eyeshadow, blue to green and matching his shirt. It somehow made his eyelashes look even longer. And the cheekbone highlight was back, ready to slice him open.

"Yeah, I decided to take you up on your offer."

"This is Elle!"

The woman leaned in, and gave Nick an air-kiss off his cheek. "Charlie has told me... a lot about you," she said as she pulled away.

Nick almost said, I hope it's all good things, but realized it certainly was not.

"It's nice to meet you."

Charlie grabbed Nick's wrist suddenly. He almost raised his arm to defend, bouncer instincts kicking in, but held himself still. Charlie began to tug him towards the dance floor. "It's past midnight, we gotta dance!"

And that's how Nick found himself in the thick of the crowd, surrounded by sweaty bodies, the lights and the clothing and the energy turning his vision into one giant blur. He tried to feel the music, but rhythm wasn't his strong suit, so he ended up just bopping himself along as well as he could, as Charlie and Elle wove to the beat in front of him.

The one thing he could see clearly was Charlie. He moved in a way Nick couldn't take his eyes off of, like he was brought into this world to dance.

Songs seemed to blur together, all one mass of sound ricocheting between Nick's ears. Maybe the DJ was good. Or really bad.

Then, the volume dropped back, and words in French started to play. Words Nick recognized. It was on his "French jams" playlist he listened to sometimes while walking Nellie and Henry, in order to try to keep up his practice of the language since his dad barely spoke to him anymore.

"I know this one!" Nick half-shouted, and started singing along.

J'ai toujours été têtue, mais quand c′est comme ça j′contrôle plus... I've always been stubborn, but when it's like this, I'm no longer in control...

"You speak French?" Charlie had turned to face him, and was smiling, mouth open.

"Yeah. My dad's French."

"Since when?"

"Since his-" Nick began, but suddenly, he felt Charlie's hands on his hips, through his jeans. And the words in his throat disappeared into oblivion.

The bass came in, and the chorus began. Charlie was dancing close to him, one finger in his belt loop, torsos an inch apart. Nick could feel his heart stopping, but he did his best to lean into the beat, keep himself moving so he wasn't just stock still on the dance floor, staring into Charlie's eyes.

He felt himself mouthing along to the lyrics, trying to keep his focus anywhere but the gorgeous guy in front of him, for fear of losing his mind completely.

Je sais que tout nous oppose mais, j'ai l'impression que l'on se ment ouai... I know we're totally at odds but, I feel like we're lying to each other...

Charlie was leaning even closer towards him. Face to face, eye to beautiful blue eye. Was he going to...

"Nice blush," Charlie said as he smirked that half-smirk, all dimple and cheekbone.

How could he see it, the light dusting of pink Tara had applied, under the low, flashing club light? Or did he mean the flush that had risen up Nick's face, burning hotter even than the twin heats of the dance floor and of the man in front of him?

"Er, thanks!" Nick said, far too loudly for the quiet part of the song's outro. The next beat wove in, and a new song was starting.

He had to get out of there. This was too dangerous. The signals were too mixed, and the energy was too real, too raw, he was too close to the same face he almost came to blows with less than a week ago. He glanced down at Charlie's lips, soft and shimmering, and his brain thought, I'd like to come to a different type of blows, before he cut it off.

"I'm gonna grab some water," Nick said, and started backing away. Charlie let him go, with a lingering glance, an emotion Nick couldn't identify, disappointment, or determination, or drunkenness. He turned back towards Elle, leaned towards her ear, as Nick hoofed it over to the bar.

He crammed himself into the far end, nearest the break room door, his usual spot on work nights. The bartender, Christian, handed him a glass of ice water before he even ordered it. Chris looked him up and down, before saying a quick, "New uniform?" and turning back towards the crowd clamoring for refreshment.

Nick took a sip, then a deep breath, then another sip. He rubbed at his eyes, and when he opened them, Elle was in front of him.

"Mind if I grab a spot here?" she asked, perching on the last stool in front of him.

"Yeah, sure," Nick said. He looked towards Chris, caught his eye, and he came over. Elle asked for a glass of water, and he quickly handed her one.

She grabbed a napkin off the bar, and cleaned her glasses with it. When she popped them back on, she fixed Nick with her gaze.

"What are you doing?"

Her tone was pointed, probing. Nick felt himself withering.

"Er, I'm not sure what you mean."

"With Charlie. What are you trying to pull with him?"

Nick thought he could feel his individual pores breaking back out into a sweat.

"He's been burned a lot before." Her voice was soft, but carried a weight behind it. "Including by you."

"It was a lot of misunderstanding. We got off on the wrong foot."

"I'll say. You should have seen him the night he got the match with you. He was a total wreck."

Nick gulped.

"He'd kill me if I tell you this, but he cried for like two hours." Her voice was defiant but soft, the love for her friend shining through.

"Then why are you telling me?"

"Because I think he's still holding out hope."

Nick looked out towards the dance floor, where Charlie had been so close to him a few minutes ago, but couldn't spot him. "Hope of what?"

"Hope that the app was right." Elle took a sip from her water.

"It's just an app."

Elle peered at him through her glasses. "You clearly believe in it. I heard you went through several channels to try to reach him."

"But I deleted the app, when he told me to." Because he told me to, he thought. What else would I do for him?

She tilted her head, and said, "I've never used one, you know. So I shouldn't judge."

"Never used a dating app?"

"My boyfriend and I have been together since year eleven. I found my soulmate the all-natural way."

Nick put his glass down on the bar. "I tried that too, you know. Recently. And all it did was lead me back to Charlie."

"I know," she said. "Quite the confrontation, I hear."

"You can say that again."

"You clearly do cause some... intense feelings in each other." Was she smiling?

Nick looked down at his glass. "Elle, I don't know what to do. I just overthink everything."

"So stop thinking and just do. Do what you know is right."

He blinked at her, at how she made it seem so simple. "I'll try."

And, as if on cue, Charlie's curls appeared in his peripheral vision, rushing towards them. Nick looked over, ready to try, to start fresh, to ignore apps and confusion and his own self-doubts, but Charlie was bawling his eyes out. Eyeliner and shimmer highlight streamed down his face, which he buried into Elle's shoulder.

"My love, what's going on?" she asked. "Are you all right?"

"I'm so fucking tired, Elle. I'm tired of this stupid night and this stupid month and-"

She pulled him close as a sob racked his body.

Do what's right, Nick thought, and that's what he did. In a heartbeat, he was guiding Elle and Charlie through the door behind him, into the break room.

"Staff only," Sai said, before looking up and seeing Nick. "Oh, Nick!"

"We need the room, sorry. Very unprofessional."

"That's okay, my break's over anyway," Sai said, as he squished past them and back out the door, giving Nick a concerned look as he went by.

They stationed Charlie on one of the stools, and Nick grabbed a kitchen roll from the rack, tearing off a few sheets for Elle to dab at Charlie's face. All three of them looked so different under the harsh, fluorescent overhead light.

"What happened?" Elle asked.

"The guy who was dancing with me earlier. He came back by and I followed him into the bathroom."

Nick felt his heart drop. If he hadn't ditched them on the dance floor, over his own insecurity and fear, Charlie wouldn't be in this state.

"I thought we were gonna, you know, have fun or something." He looked up at them. "But he kept demanding I load up the stupid app! He wanted to know if we're compatible. Everyone's obsessed with it!"

"Oh, Charlie," Elle said, her hand on his shoulder. Nick wanted to gather him up into his arms, but held still.

"I tried to be suave, Elle, I said 'I'm not here to load up an app, I'd rather load you up instead.'" Nick held back a laugh. That would have worked on me, he realized. "But he said he wouldn't hook up with anyone below a 69%."

He saw Elle roll her eyes. "I'm so sick of this damn app."

"Aren't we all," Nick said.

Charlie's breathing stilled for a moment. "Guys," he said, "I think I'm sick of something else."

And then he was retching onto the concrete floor. Elle managed to scoot out of the way before any got on her shoes, but a little bit splashed up onto the leg of Nick's jeans. This break room was officially not a safe place for any pair of trousers he owned.

Once Charlie caught his breath, he held his head in his hands. Nick reached out and started gently rubbing Charlie's back. "We gotta get you home, Charlie," he said.

"I'm such a wreck," he replied, in a soft, almost plaintive voice. "I don't want to ruin your night, too."

"You haven't ruined anything."

Elle and Nick looked at each other over Charlie's damp, shaking curls as he continued to do a mix of dry heaving and crying.

"I can get him home," Nick said. "I drove here, and I'm totally sober at this point."

"Should I come with you?" Elle asked.

"You don't have to. I know where he lives."

She nodded. "Take care of him."

"I will."

After a moment more, when the stench of revisited alcohol permeated the air, and Charlie seemed unlikely to bring any more up, Nick got his arm under Charlie's shoulders, guiding him carefully around the puddle in the middle of the break room floor. They twisted their way out the door, past the bar and towards the club exit.

He heard the throng on the dance floor whoop and cheer as some weird Fiona Apple bass drop hit. Elle touched his shoulder lightly, and turned back into the club.

"Hey mate, I gotta get him home. Sorry about the break room," Nick said as he squeezed past Sai. He hustled Charlie down the block to where he had parked, ears still thumping, with the bassline or his heartbeat.

Sai called out to him. "What do you mean? What happened in the break room?"

But Nick was already loading Charlie into his car, ready to bring him back to Tori's.

Chapter Text

"I'm back in!" he heard Tao yell across the apartment. "I finally got back in!"

Isaac rounded the corner, book in one hand, chamomile tea in the other. "And the entire building needs to hear about it, it seems."

"Let me celebrate. I've been locked out of Letterboxd for four days. Four days of endless torture!"

"And you've moaned about it for at least seventy-two hours out of those four days."

"You don't understand, Isaac," Tao said, leaping up from the dining table. "I may have a perfect memory of every film I've ever watched, but it's crucial that the viewing public understand my impeccable taste." He struck a pose like a classical sculpture, holding his own ego aloft.

"Yeah, that's why you were weeping and punching the sofa cushions on Sunday."

"I punched those sofa cushions for art."

Isaac rolled his eyes. "Well, I assume movie nights are back on then."

Tao gasped. "I have to let Elle and Charlie know immediately!"

"They're at the club," Isaac said. "They decided to have a night filled with more fun than hacking Letterboxd's servers until one in the morning. Let them enjoy and tell them tomorrow."

Tao nodded, the picture of deadly seriousness. "You're right. Thank you, Isaac, for being there for me in this trying time."

"If you need me, I'll be asleep in bed. So try not to need me."

🪩🪩🪩

Darcy hit the tile floor with a crash.

It was damp, hopefully not from something bodily, just condensation. They righted themself, brushed off their top with the black, yellow and purple lightning bolts, and picked up the pane from where it had landed next to the sink. Darcy quickly popped it back into position, no harm, no foul.

A mad dash out of the ladies' room and down the darkened hallway and they were out on the dance floor. The music was bumping, though the night was mostly over and the crowd had just started to thin. They looked around for Charlie - he had to be here somewhere, and always stood out in a crowd.

A light but stern voice said "Darcy?!" behind them, and Elle's face popped into view.

"Hey! Surprised to see me?" they said with a smirk.

"Excuse me, I thought you had no ID yet!" Elle took their hand, and dragged them off the dance floor, to a quieter and less-well-lit nook. "How did you get in?"

"I broke in, duh."

"You broke in?" Elle was incredulous. "How?"

"You doubt my cat-burglar abilities? The ladies' room window was an easy entry point. Worst part was being somewhere labeled 'ladies' for more than thirty seconds."

Elle gawped for a moment, then snapped her face back into position. "Well, I hope nobody catches you."

"They won't. Where's Charlie? I thought he was gonna be here with you."

"Oh, he headed home. Was having a rough night."

"That's a bummer. I was hoping we would dance!"

Elle looked pensive. "He went home with Nick."

Darcy's eyes went wide. "Nick? The bouncer?"

"The very same."

"I thought they hated each other! Last I heard Charlie was seconds away from punching Nick in the face, in front of his sister no less."

"Well, times change I guess." She shrugged. "I hate to say it, but they seem to get on really well."

"Maybe the app was right after all," Darcy said with a smirk.

"I'm so over hearing about that damn app."

Darcy began to pull her back towards the dance floor. "Well, I've been gay and done crime to get here. We've got an hour left before last call, and I'm not gonna miss out on the last big night of the month. Let's dance!"

Chapter Text

By the time Nick pulled into Tori's driveway, Charlie was already half-asleep, lulled by the light bouncing of the car and by being much drunker than Nick had realized.

"Come on, let's get you inside," Nick said, as he opened the passenger door. He reached his arm under Charlie's and behind his back, and pulled him upright.

He half-stumbled their way to the front door, and realized he didn't have a key. Charlie might have one, unless he'd left it at the club. But when he shook him gently and asked, Charlie just groaned pitifully. After a moment of consideration, Nick decided he would rather face the midnight wrath of Tori than start groping around in Charlie's short-shorts pockets.

He knocked.

Just when he thought Charlie might start to topple over entirely, a drowsy Tori opened the door with a deadpan "Did you lose your keys again?" She saw Nick, and her eyes went wide. Then they landed on Charlie, face streaked with dried tears and eyeliner, head leaned against Nick's shoulder. "Is he all right?"

"Yeah, he just had a lot to drink. Where's your bathroom?"

She pointed up the stairs. Nick wasn't sure how long it would take to drag Charlie up there, so he reached under Charlie's legs (Calm down, Nelson, they're just legs) and lifted, cradling him like a child or a new bride. As he glanced down to watch his step, he thought he saw Charlie gazing up at him. Nick did everything in his power not to meet his eye.

He tried to set him back down on his feet in the bathroom, but Charlie's knees started to give way, so Nick ended up planting him on the floor, back propped against the wall. Nick grabbed a flannel and wet it in the sink, then sat in front of him.

"I'm going to help take your makeup off, okay?"

Charlie looked up, face still streaked in a way that was almost comical. He just stared into Nick's eyes for a moment, then nodded.

Nick reached out and started to wipe at his cheeks. The cold cloth jolted Charlie back to full consciousness, and he blinked hard, said "Oh, oh," and grabbed the flannel, rubbing it across his face. Then he scrambled awkwardly, kneeling as he pushed past Nick, and stood, gripping the sides of the sink. "I got it."

Nick looked up at him. "It'd be a good idea to rinse your mouth out while you're up there."

After a few minutes of Charlie setting himself to rights and Nick sitting on the floor pointedly not looking at his calves, Tori knocked on the door, and pushed it open.

"I brought a glass of filtered water."

Nick hopped up and took it from her. "Thanks, I'll make sure he drinks it." And she retreated back into her own room.

As soon as Charlie made it into his room, he flung off his shirt and crashed face-first onto the bed.

Nick wouldn't look at his lithe torso stretched across the bed. Instead, he noticed Charlie's room was full of even more plants than the sitting room downstairs. Shelves of books and a desk, with an unlit neon MUSIC sign above the headboard, and a basket of yarn in the far corner, knitting needles sticking out of several skeins. It was cosy, the kind of room you could spend hours curled up in with a book or a crafting project.

He'd still only drunk half the water. Nick placed the glass gently on the side table, then sat on the edge of the bed. "You've got to drink more water, Charlie, your hangover is going to be awful."

"Don't wanna," he heard from the face buried in a pillow.

"You have to take care of yourself."

Charlie's hand reached out and gripped Nick's shirt, pulling him down onto the bed next to him. Nick propped himself awkwardly on an elbow.

"Please, Char," he said, suppressing a laugh.

But then Charlie rolled half-over, turning his face towards him. His eyes were wet with tears.

Nick felt arms wrap around him, as Charlie buried his face in his shirt. He hugged him back with his free arm as he heard a sob into his chest, and felt the soft skin of Charlie's back.

After a minute, Charlie said, softly, "Don't go." Nick felt him clinging to the back of his shirt.

"Charlie, I-"

"I don't want to be alone anymore."

And Nick didn't, either.

After a while, he felt Charlie's breath finally smooth out, and a calm set in next to him. He'd fallen asleep. Nick extracted himself from the cramped position slowly, before his tingling arm could fall fully asleep too.

He made his way back to the bathroom, to stretch, use the loo and splash some water on his face. He knew he should leave, should let Tori be the one to take care of Charlie in the morning, shouldn't overstep the first few steps of friendship, or whatever it was that was developing between them. But he wanted to stay.

He exited the bathroom, and hesitated at the top of the stairs.

"You're leaving," he heard from behind him. It wasn't a question, but also not really a statement.

He turned slowly. "Tori," he said, voice hushed.

She stood in the door to her room, in her black pyjamas.

"I'm not sure what I'm doing."

"You know he really likes you."

"He does?"

"On Tuesday evening I heard an exact play-by-play of your entire conversation at the café. He spent this evening speculating loudly, between tequila shots, on if you'd show up at the club tonight. I can't stand it."

Nick looked down at the hardwood floor. "Sorry to put you through it."

"You say sorry a lot. You two have that in common."

They stood there for a moment, at the top of the stairs, before Nick found it in himself to take Elle's advice, and do what he knew was right. He turned down the hall, towards Charlie's door.

"Good night, Nicholas."

He smiled at her, a little sheepish, and turned the knob.

When he woke, Charlie wasn't next to him.

Nick had taken off his jeans before clambering into the narrow bed beside him the night before. The small splash of sick on the leg had dried, but he didn't want to risk getting the smell all over Charlie's bedsheets. But maybe Charlie wouldn't like waking up next to him, his monthlong-foe-turned-drunken-caregiver, in just his boxers and a t-shirt, so he'd fished around in Charlie's dresser for the baggiest pair of joggers he could find. They barely fit over his thighs, but he managed to fall asleep, Charlie still breathing beside him.

But now, Charlie was gone.

He lay there for a moment, thinking how he could escape, until he heard the door open.

Charlie had changed into a hoodie and pyjama shorts. His hair was a mess, curls going every which way, but to Nick, he couldn't look more adorable.

He sat on the end of the bed and looked at the floor, where Nick's jeans still lay discarded. Nick curled his legs up to make room, and waited for him to say something.

"Sorry."

Maybe he meant Sorry I threw up on your jeans or Sorry, I need you to leave or Sorry, I don't like you like that.

"Sorry for making you take care of me last night. I was a complete mess."

"I wanted to," Nick said, before he could think.

Charlie looked up at him. "Why?"

"Because you were in need. Because you were having a terrible time, and it was at least partly my fault. Because it was the right thing to do."

Charlie blinked. "It wasn't your fault."

"It was. The whole cascade of disasters this month was because I matched with you on the app."

"That's the app's fault, not yours."

"Then it's half my fault, for being on there. You were right, Compatibility Checker really is a scam, it scammed you out of a good pride month."

Charlie shook his head. "No, maybe the app is good. It showed me you."

Nick felt his heart beating in his ears.

"The bad thing about any app is how you use it. My therapist would say, I was relying on it to validate my own expectations."

"Oh. Huh."

"My past relationships each sucked in new and interesting ways," Charlie said. "The best I could do was a douchebag, the worst were downright assholes or..." He trailed off, and Nick felt the horror of what he wasn't saying. "It definitely taught me that I don't deserve good things. A good relationship, or even to try for one. And so being on the app was a defense mechanism. When Compatibility Checker showed me a middling number, it let me go into any relationships half-heartedly, and blame incompatibility when it failed."

Nick thought back to that first Thursday, in line at the club. "But then the app showed you a 99%."

"Yeah, and that really made me spiral. Because you were such a dick, it reinforced everything I had been telling myself." Nick's heart hurt, hearing that. "Maybe I dated so many assholes because that's who I am compatible with. Maybe the app was saying that dating someone who treats me awfully is what I deserve."

Nick hung his head. "I'm so sorry."

"You don't have to be. You didn't know. And you're not responsible for the effects of my past bad relationships."

"But you do deserve a good relationship. You deserve to be loved," Nick said.

Charlie looked up at him. "It sounds so simple when you say it."

"Maybe because it is."

After a moment, Charlie said, "There was another reason the app really scared me, that night. I thought it couldn't identify a match who wasn't a jerk, but it certainly could identify my type." Nick saw just the slightest touch of pink emerge on Charlie's cheekbones.

"I'm- I'm your type, am I?"

"Yeah. To a T."

Now it was Nick's turn to flush. "Oh."

"It made things extra confusing. Because I knew it was working in one way, so why wouldn't it be working in another? And then when I deleted the app, it only got worse."

"Worse how?"

"Because I couldn't stop thinking about you. I was so embarrassed when Tori said I'd talked about you nonstop. Because it was true."

Nick thought back over this month, how the entire thing, his emotional state and Imogen's challenge and the date with Tori and the fight and the club last night, were really all about this guy he matched with on an app. "It's tough when I kept showing up, with Darcy dating Tara, and then me appearing at your house."

"Yeah, thanks for that. I lost control on Sunday because I thought I had finally gotten over it, until I saw you sitting there on the couch."

"I wouldn't have come if I'd known. Tori never mentioned your name."

Charlie shrugged. "Maybe I would have reacted better if I wasn't so frustrated with my own mind. Even a week after I texted you, when I thought I was over it, my brain had to serve up a-" Charlie stopped suddenly, like he had said too much.

"A what?"

"Nothing." Charlie stared at one of the plants on the opposite wall.

"No, you're not getting away with that. You can tell me."

Charlie was really pink now. He barely whispered, "a dream."

Nick's eyes widened. "A dream? What kind of dream?"

"A really nice one, okay? And I'm not saying more than that." He crossed his arms, but Nick saw the corners of his mouth struggle not to smile.

"Well, I'll take that as a compliment," Nick laughed.

After a moment, in which Charlie regained control over his face, he continued. "I think I was also a bit stubborn. Even when I'd heard how nice you were to Tori, and saw how you were at the café, I didn't want to believe it."

"Why not?"

"I didn't want the app to be right after all, after how I'd let it ruin my month."

"Tell me about it. The app had been ruining my life for a while already, even before it showed me-" Showed me you, he thought. "Showed me how bad it could make me feel."

"What do you mean?"

Nick thought for a moment, to compose his words. "Well, I guess I was using the app defensively too, like you said. Not exactly the same, but close."

"A guy like you, it should have been an easy time on there."

Nick's heart fluttered for a moment at that. "That's very kind, but not true at all," Nick said. "I had been having such a hard time dating, putting myself out there, especially with the pressure of being vaguely famous. So the app let me filter things out and gave me an excuse not to approach people. It let me be okay being alone."

"Well, that doesn't sound like a bad thing, if it's what you wanted."

"It ended up having the opposite effect, though. I only ever got really low numbers, Charlie, from everybody. Before you, my highest was a fifty-eight. And I'm a bouncer, I got hundreds of matches a night. It was like it was telling me something was wrong with me. That nobody out there could possibly like me for me." Nick felt his eyes begin to burn, like they were starting the tear factory up for the day.

Charlie scooted closer and reached out, taking Nick's hand in his. "That's not true, Nick," he said, so softly. "You just said it. 'You deserve to be loved.'"

Nick willed the tears to stay back. "You were right, you know. When you said I should delete the app, I knew it was the truth, so I did. It was really starting to do in my mental well-being."

Charlie had a real sadness in his eyes as he said, "I'm sorry."

"Don't feel sorry for me! I hate when people do that," Nick said. "This whole year so far has just been people feeling sorry for me. My teammates, and my friends, and my mum..."

"Have they? Or is it you feeling sorry for yourself?"

How did Charlie know how to cut right to the bone like that? Like he could see straight into Nick's soul? He couldn't help but softly laugh. "Maybe a bit of both."

They sat in silence for a moment. Then Charlie tilted his head to the side. "Wait, did you say that you're 'vaguely famous'?"

"Yeah, I played professional rugby for a year."

"Oh. That explains the strong rugby arms." Charlie reached out and touched his tricep, softly through the pink sleeve of the sunset-gradient shirt he still wore, that had been sweated through and cried on and slept in. Nick felt something electric run through his body. "I would have no idea, I don't know the first thing about rugby."

"Honestly, that's a good thing. No preconceived notions."

He saw Charlie thinking. "I feel like all of our interactions have been entirely preconceived notions."

"It's true. We should throw all that out. Start fresh, without any talk about Compatibility Checker." He saw Charlie's eyes widen. "I mean, if you want to! There's no pressure at all, I don't-"

"I'd love that." Charlie's smile was soft, but it lit up his whole face. And he kept eye contact like it wasn't burning a hole into Nick's heart.

Nick felt himself swallow. "I would too." They just looked at each other for a moment.

"So, uh, where do we start?"

"Well, how about this." Nick held out his hand. "Hi! It's nice to make your acquaintance. I'm Nick."

"Hi." Charlie took it, and shook, and Nick felt himself smiling. "Charlie. And the pleasure is all mine."

"I'm not so sure about that."

Charlie giggled softly, and Nick wanted to kiss him, or maybe to sign his life away for him. Instead, he said, "Charlie, would you like to go on a date with me sometime?"

Charlie's eyes lit up like Nick had just hung the stars. "Y- yes!" he said, "Yes, I would."

"All right, let's do it."

"Do you want my number?"

Nick realized he still had that message, three weeks old, from a number not saved in his phone.

"Definitely."

They officially exchanged numbers, and talked about places to go on a date. The Priory was ruled out right away. Charlie demanded to meet Nellie and Henry as soon as possible, and they settled on a dog-walk in the park, on Saturday afternoon. They talked about the neighborhood, and the café, and the club, and how Nick had to work that night and was not going to have a good time with how little sleep he'd gotten, let alone the consequences of leaving a disaster for Sai on the break room floor, until a silence fell between them.

As they spoke, Charlie had scooted all the way up the bed, next to Nick, and their shoulders sat flush, like they'd been made for each other.

"Nick, before you go," he said, just above a whisper, "I have one more thing I want to do. That I wish I'd done last night."

Nick saw him, his eyes so blue, his face even closer than they'd been at the club, dancing under the strobe lights.

And Charlie was kissing him. Softly, gently, then deeper, his hand reached up to hold Nick's face, and Nick's hand was in his messy hair, the other on the back of the soft hoodie, and they were kissing, and it was all just how it should be.

When they stopped, Nick laughed breathlessly. "Well, I'd say our lips at least are 99% compatible."

Charlie giggled, but said, "I thought we agreed, no compatibility talk!"

"All right, all right. But I definitely want to do that again."

Silently, Tori appeared in the doorway. They both stared up at her, completely caught, but Nick didn't withdraw his hand from Charlie's curls.

"Called it."

They sat in the café on Saturday, back at the same table where they'd agreed to try out friendship, five days ago. This time, they weren't friends, weren't foes, weren't matches on an app, but were something more, something they didn't yet have to define.

The walk had gone beautifully, the park bright but not too hot for the very end of June. They talked the whole time, and giggled, and stared at each other a little too much. Charlie accompanied Nick as he dropped Nellie and Henry back off to his mum's, and suggested they go to the café, before it closed, to grab something to drink and maybe continue to spend as much time with each other as they possibly could.

Charlie was saying something funny about his friend Tao being placed on an Interpol watchlist for hacking Letterboxd's servers. As Nick laughed, he saw a blur of pink move from the door through the café towards him. Imogen was behind Charlie, ready to pull up a chair and interrogate them. (Nick had, of course, texted her with the week's updates, and she absolutely lost it with excitement, sending a string of nonsense letters and emojis that filled the screen.) But she caught Nick's eye, and must have seen the look on his face, because she paused, and nodded, and backed away slowly.

This one was his date, not Imogen's.

She looked around, before spotting Tori, sat against the far wall, staring down at her notebook. Tori had gotten there before he and Charlie did, and made a point of not glancing up at them a single time, as far as Nick could tell.

Imogen plonked herself down across from her. Nick thought he could see the realization dawning on Tori's face, that with the events that unfolded this month, Imogen was about to become a loud and permanent fixture in her life.

Nick chuckled, and Charlie asked, "What?"

He looked across at this guy, the one and only Charlie, whom some app, or a nightclub line, or the universe, had led him to. "Nothing. Just happy to be here with you."

The look he got back wasn't 99.89% perfect, it was a solid 100.00%.