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…….
The dim light of the dark corner the two men were stood in worsened Charlie’s vision of the man in his arms, painting him in a faint shade of red. Tainting their hearing, the noises around them muffled into one large mess.
“They’ll think it’s you, sweetheart,” Charlie whispered, leaning up to Nick’s ear, his hand holding the other so that he was all Nick could hear.
Nick hummed, smiling as he swayed slowly back and forth, moving the hands holding Charlie’s waist to match.
“You know that it was me, don’t you?” he mumbled, almost incoherent. But Charlie had grown to learn how to understand his mutters.
He paused, breathing a laugh for a second.
“Oh really?” Charlie smiled, teasing. Although, he could feel the lack of sarcasm & presence of seriousness rattling in his ears. Sobriety rushed over him, starting to realise what Nick said as it replayed in his head. Something told him that Nick wasn’t joking, and he believed it. The more he’d grown to know him, the more he saw that the man would never lay a hurtful finger on him. Right?
“Mmm, really,” he slurred drunkenly. A wave of cold warmth flushed over Charlie’s forehead & back, his stomach turning. His hands fell from Nick’s face down to his shoulders, his face twisting to desperation & fear. The confidence that once exhibited in his tone faded like the colour in his face.
“Don’t look so scared, love,” he whispered, his voice softer then the amalgamated version Charlie had quickly mustered up in his head. His eyes spoke volumes, they were still the same ones that were looking back at him the day Nick had told him he was the one, that he loved him. His hand trailed up Charlie’s arm, leaving behind a cold sensation that spread across his body, finding itself tangled in his dark hair.
“I wouldn’t hurt you, I promise,” he spoke, his thumb tracing Charlie’s cheekbone. His hand slipped away from him, & he fell from their embrace. Before Charlie could say or do anything to stop him from walking away, he was gone.
…
Something had brushed over him, pushed him down the same hall Nick had left through nearly 5 minutes ago. He needed to know the lengths of his genuinity, follow it through the halls until…
if
it ended. The trust for his partner still flowed through his veins, keeping his blood pumping. If he lost it, then he didn’t know what he would do.
“Nick?” he shouted, although barely hearing himself over the blend of noises. He tried again, louder, distress crawling out of his throat unwillingly. Stumbling through the dark hallways, he found himself getting closer to quieter & then louder begs. Real ones, not the usual ones you’d hear at a party.
An ice shiver slivered down his spine, his eyes shutting & a tear dropped in response. The trail of trust ended here, his blood going cold as it did so. His fingertips reached for the door separating him from the truth, lingering on the doorknob until he collected the courage to push it open.
He didn’t need to be scared of Nick. He didn’t want to be.
For a second, he wished that he listened to Tao the day he found out they were talking. Prevent this day, stop it all together.
A voice met him at the door, although it all merged into one. He knew who’s it was, he just didn’t care to listen to it. His eyes trailed up, up to a masked figure, a knife wet with blood in hand. His eyes shot back down to the man he expected on the floor, seeing his once-white shirt stained with a patch of dark red.
For the first time in years, he felt bad for Ben Hope. A little bit.
“Charlie!” He yelled, voice breaking in between the two syllables. Charlie looked down at him, mouth that was once agape closing up & eyebrows furrowed, “Charlie you need to leave, he’ll kill you too!”
The sympathy evaporated as quickly as it condensated, the tone he knew all too well flicking pages in his head back to years before.
Charlie pivoted his gaze back up to the figure standing in front of him.
“No he won’t,” he whispered, almost as a plea. His vision was blurred, blinking through hot liquid in his angry eyes.
He couldn’t quite fathom the emotions he was feeling, all of them that he knew bled through at once.
“No, he won’t,” Nick echoed, an audible smile on his face. It wasn’t sadistic, it was genuine. Charlie had never been so confused by his feelings for a person before.
Nick’s gloved hand reached up for the mask on his face, peeling it right off. Charlie let out a breath of air, one he’d been holding for however long. His face twisted into disappointment, blinking rapidly & head gently turning to the side.
“Nick..” Charlie muttered, taking a few more steps into the room. A hand grabbed his leg - Ben’s.
“What the
fuck
are you doing,” he whispered, angry. His eyes shot daggers right to Charlie’s heart. But despite Ben’s usually impeccable aim, this time he missed.
Charlie manipulated his leg out of his grasp, - kind of poetic, really - stepping on his hand on the way out.
A laugh escaped Nick’s lips as a breath, altering to a tipsy giggle.
So, maybe he was psychotic, an encounter of such not pulling him out of his drunken state. But so what? He was the man Charlie’s heart chose, and perhaps that makes him just as bad.