Chapter Text
Nick
“I don’t feel good, Mr. Nelson,” Alex murmurs, voice muffled. Her face is buried in the crook of her elbow, sprawled out across her desk, trying to get as comfortable as possible. The classroom is empty—Alex’s classmates are at recess before lunch—and I’m giving up my lunch break to wait for her uncle to pick her up. Usually the sick kiddos wait in the nurses’ office but a wave of illness is crashing through every classroom so all the beds are occupied by other children. It’s typical in the first month of the school year.
I don’t mind; I love each of my students, but there’s something special about Alex. Since I started teaching kindergarten sixteen years ago, I’ve had a lot of kids who impacted me, both as a teacher and as a person. Some good, some bad. I always try to see the best in every child, try to encourage and support each one to reach their full potential. Some people think teaching kindergarten isn’t very important, that true learning doesn’t really begin until they are in middle or high school. But I know the truth. Everything I do with these kids can have a lasting impact, either positively or negatively, on the rest of their years in the classroom. That’s why it matters.
Which is why I don’t mind going the extra mile—lesson planning and grading late into the night, always rethinking ways to engage them in the new material, giving up my own time to take care of them when they need me. And Alex… well, she’s special. She’s tiny for her age, the smallest in her grade, but she’s incredibly bright. When she was assigned to my class roster and I read her registration information, my heart ached and I knew she’d be my favorite this year. I know, I know. I’m not supposed to have favorites. But let’s be honest, every teacher has one. We can’t help it.
“I want my Daddy,” her soft voice whines.
I make my way over to crouch next to her, placing a gentle hand on her back for a moment. “I know you do, sweetheart. But your uncle will be here to pick you up in a couple of minutes, okay?”
She sniffs loudly and wipes her nose across her arm, leaving a snotty trail behind. My knees crackle as I push myself back to my feet and make my way over to my desk to get a tissue for her. It’s only the end of September and it's already scattered with papers and books; plus all the pens and pencils that didn’t end up back in my Pride cupholder. The corkboard next to my workspace is littered with artwork from my students, as well as several 40th birthday cards. Some are sweet—the one from my mom encouraging me to “Take pride in the story you have lived, the person you’ve become and the hearts you’ve touched”—and some are silly—from Tara, the words in gradually decreasing size like an eye exam, “You still look thirty-nine from a distance”—and even some slightly mean-spirited—of course, from my brother, “40… the age your back goes out more than you do”. All are constant reminders that I’ve officially reached middle-age and nothing has gone the way I thought it would in my life.
Grabbing the box of tissues, I return to Alex’s side and hand her one. She smiles weakly up at me in gratitude, wipes her arm clean and blows her nose loudly. While some people would be grossed out, I’m used to it after so many years as an elementary school teacher. I’ve dealt with it all—pee, poop, vomit, fever, blood—you name it, I’ve seen it.
With a sigh, I fold myself into the chair next to Alex to wait for her uncle, pondering the direction my life has followed. I thought by now I would have kids of my own and a partner, who I love and loves me, to come home to at the end of a hard day. Instead, I had a few serious relationships in my twenties but none of them stuck. Maybe I’m too much, too intense, love too loudly, I don’t know. All I know is, I’ve been alone for almost eight years and I’m beginning to believe that maybe I’ll never meet the right person. Maybe I’ll be lonely forever; maybe it’s time to close my heart to the possibility of love.
I should just accept it and move on.
Moisture wells in my eyes, but I swipe it away quickly when I hear a soft knock on the open classroom door. Alex stirs next to me and cries, “Uncle Charlie!” before bursting into tears. I wrap a soothing arm around her shoulder, shifting in my chair towards the door so I can greet him properly. A man of average height and slight build, with dark curly hair and stunning eyes, as well as angular features that look like they could cut glass, hovers in the doorway. The sight of him tips my world on its axis. He barely notices me, glacial blue eyes rapidly flitting over me to rest on his niece, as he strides quickly to her. Meanwhile I’m sitting here dumbstruck, feeling like a freight train hit me in the chest when he walked in the room.
“Hi, Bean,” he murmurs in what has to be the most melodious voice I’ve ever heard. My entire body reacts, a flush rising from my cheeks to burn all the way to the tips of my ears and down my neck. I briefly wonder if I have a fever too, or if this is a dream; but no, it’s just the effect this gorgeous man has on me. As he whispers to his niece, I’m mesmerized by the slope of his nose, the way his raven locks fall over his forehead when he leans forward, his long dark eyelashes framing eyes I think I could stare into for hours, the slight shadow of stubble across his jaw. I don’t even realize how long I have been staring until Alex’s voice breaks through the haze.
“Mr. Nelson!” she rasps, in a tone that tells me this is not the first time she’s been trying to get my attention.
I blink rapidly and tear my gaze away from him—Charlie—to focus on Alex. He smirks slightly, noticing me now, and if it’s possible, I feel my blush deepen even further.
Fuck. Why can’t I ever be normal?
Having this visceral reaction to a man, who it would be just my luck is either in a relationship or tragically straight, is completely inappropriate at work.
Get it together, Mr. Nelson. Oh my God. Now I want him to call me Mr. Nelson… but not in the classroom.
“Ye-yeah, sorry, Alex,” I stammer, carefully standing up from the tiny-person-sized chair, hoping I don’t stumble and embarrass myself. “You must be Uncle Charlie,” I say, my voice rough. Offering him my hand to shake, I clear my throat and introduce myself. “I’m Nick, Nick Nelson. Fu—I mean, Mr. Nelson, Alex’s teacher.”
“Hi,” Charlie breathes and takes my hand. There’s a crackle of electricity when our palms touch, making every hair on my arm stand on end, and I swear I can feel it all the way to my toes. I have never felt anything like it before.
Am I this touch-starved? Or is it something about him?
“Uncle Charlie, can we go home now? Please?” Alex begs, reaching out to tug Charlie’s hand from mine. It feels like something is missing, something I desperately need and want, when the contact breaks.
Does he feel it too?
“Of course, Bean. Do you have all your stuff?” Charlie’s speaking to his niece, but his eyes don’t leave mine.
“Uh huh,” she sniffs again. “I don't feel good, Uncle Charlie.”
He closes his eyes briefly, like it pains him to look away from me, and steps back towards the door, Alex’s hand clasped in his. I shuffle behind them and lean on the doorframe, watching them walk slowly down the hall, a feeling brewing in my chest that somehow my life has just changed. Hope flickers in my lonely heart and for the first time in years, I feel like I have something to look forward to outside of the classroom. Just as I’m about to turn away and return to my desk, Charlie turns his head and smiles at me over his shoulder.
Well… damn.
Charlie
As soon as we are outside, Alex squeezes my hand and asks for me to carry her. I squat in front of her, wrapping my arms around her tiny waist while she grabs onto my shoulders before standing, holding her close. She tucks her face into my neck, and I feel the fever radiating off her skin. My heart is still racing from the encounter with her teacher, but now it takes off even faster. I’ve never taken care of a sick kid for more than a couple of hours, since Tori or Michael would always come to pick up Kaeden and Hunter if they became ill while they were at my house. An extended amount of time with my poorly and feverish niece will be a brand new experience for me.
What am I supposed to do with her?
When we reach my car, I pull open the door and lean into the back seat, gently placing Alex in her booster and buckling her safety belt. She hums softly, resting her head against the side, and I realize I’ll be lucky if she stays awake for the short drive to my house.
While we drive, Alex narrates the progression of her symptoms all morning, pausing to sniff or cough every couple of sentences. Apparently my uncle senses are not nearly as good as her dads’—my brother, Olly, and his husband, Alfie—because I didn’t even notice anything seeming off about her this morning when I dropped her off. She tells me how many other kids are sick in her class, and my mind flashes to her teacher, Mr. Nelson—Nick, he’d said. My heart sinks when I realize that was probably the reason for the flush under the galaxy of freckles across his cheeks; no doubt his dazed expression was due to him coming down with whatever so many of his students are sick with.
Just a fever then, not attraction to me.
It gets quiet in the back of the car and, glancing in the rearview mirror, I notice Alex’s eyes beginning to droop. We’re only a couple minutes from home though, so I prompt her to keep talking. I just want to get her home and in the guest bed so she can nap well.
“Your teacher seems really nice,” I say as we stop at a red light, biting my lip as I recall just how nice he was. At first, all I had seen was his broad, muscular back and a head of floppy, auburn hair, but then he turned towards me and a shock had ricocheted straight through me. He was undoubtedly one of the hottest men I had ever seen—honey-brown eyes I wanted to melt into, button nose and a strong jawline. The pale skin of his face was sprinkled with freckles that I subconsciously started mapping images in. Then he stood up and fuck me, his back wasn’t the only glorious part of his body. The slope of his waist, the curve of his ass, the strong, thick thighs… I was practically salivating. And the crooked smile he gave me just before I turned the corner to leave felt like it lit up something deep in my core, igniting a flame I haven’t felt in years.
“Mr. Nelson is the best!” She perks up, interrupting my silent thirsting. “I’m gonna marry him someday!”
“You are?!” I gasp, struggling to hold in my laughter, and glance quickly over my shoulder to look at her.
She nods, like it’s obvious, and I turn back around with a smile. When the light changes, I pull through the intersection before turning into my neighborhood.
“He isn’t married already?”
“Nope!” she states emphatically, popping the ‘p’.
“Well, he’d be lucky to marry you,” I concede, “because you are amazing.”
“I know,” she agrees with me matter-of-factly, then continues more softly, “Are we almost to your house, Uncle Charlie? I want to go to sleep.” Punctuating her point, she yawns widely.
“We’re here, see?” I point at the small grey-blue house with white trim as we pull into the driveway, waiting for the garage door to open. The maple tree in the front yard is starting to show signs of autumn’s imminent arrival and most of the flowers in the beds and baskets have died off. The front porch, with its big-enough-for-two swing and rainbow flag fluttering in the breeze, will soon be littered with pumpkins and cornstalks from my vegetable garden. I adore my house. I just wish I had someone to share it with; it’s quite lonely for me by myself, even though I have great friends and neighbors. Some days, I feel like I’m just fated to be alone, that it’s too late to meet someone who fits with me.
“Know what, Uncle Charlie?” Alex’s voice breaks through my reverie.
“Mhmm?”
“Daddy and Papa, and you, and Mr. Nelson all have that same flag,” she announces, pointing at the porch before covering her mouth in a loud yawn.
I’m struck cold for a moment as shock ripples through me, like I was dowsed in an ice bath.
Right, it doesn’t mean anything. It’s probably just to show he’s inclusive, especially since he has students with queer parents.
“That’s so cool,” I reply enthusiastically. “I’m glad.”
“Mr. Nelson has another one too, just like Papa’s. It has a blue, pink, and purple stripe on it. It’s so pretty.” She rubs her eyes and wrinkles her nose, before promptly sneezing violently. “I need a tissue,” she whines as I park the car in the garage, my focus on getting her cleaned up and into bed.
We unbuckle quickly and I carry her into the house to wipe her nose, depositing her shoes by the front door, before padding into the guest room that has basically become the “Uncle Charlie sleepover” room. I really love being the gay uncle to my three niblings.
After helping her into her pajamas and getting her a cup of water to drink, I tuck Alex under the covers and place a gentle kiss to her warm forehead before tiptoeing out of the room so she can sleep. I pause at the door, gazing back at her curled up frame, the sign from my old bedroom—Stand Tall, Show Them All—on the wall above her, and a wistful feeling settles over me.
It’s only after I’ve sent an email to Darcy telling them I won’t be in to the center for the rest of the week, that it dawns on me what Alex was telling me about the flags. About Mr. Nick Nelson’s flag, specifically. Something flickers in my chest, something dangerously close to expectation, maybe even anticipation.
Holy shit. Bisexual. Maybe not just a fever then. Damn.