Warm hands, warm hearts. A Heartstopper Cofeeshop AU.

Part 6: The walk home

Charlie

An hour.

That's how long Nick and I had been sitting here, chatting. Our drinks were long finished, mugs placed next to each other on the small table between us. He'd really sunk into his chair now, despite his stature it had enveloped him, and I the opposite- sitting forward. Leaning towards him, some weird invisible string pulling me in his direction.

I don't really know what we've been talking about but at the same time, I think I could repeat our conversation word for word. I could certainly describe his lopsided smile when I said something to prompt it- how his mouth always went up higher on the right side, his teeth showing. How he'd shake his hair out of his face sometimes instead of using his hands and oh- his hands. How they'd held onto the mug, gingerly placed it down, fiddled with the hem of his shirt as he spoke...

"And what about you?" his voice broke through my thoughts. Funny, he'd done that a few times now. Interrupted my thoughts of him with, well, him.

He'd slumped so far down in his chair now that his legs had inched closer to me, and his foot tapped the side of mine, prompting me.
"What made you decide to stay here?" He asked.

Right. I'd asked him what he was going to school for and he'd dodged the subject so smoothly I had hardly noticed, giving a vague response and circling back to me.

What made me decide to stay here?

I could tell him. I could tell him about my eating, and my time as an inpatient. My therapy, and progress, and habits and meal-plans and need for control. He seems like the kind of person who would understand which is funny because still, I hardly know him. He always seemed nicer than the other rugby boys but now, in the cafe, under warm light and nestled into that chair, he seemed much softer than I'd remembered.

"I have some stuff I have to work through first I think." I decide on those words- keep it vague but truthful. He doesn't say anything, just looks at me like he's there to listen. After a moment of silence, he taps my foot with his again. Gently.
"I.. Uh. So, like, a few years ago I was going through some things and..." my voice is squeaking a bit.

"Charlie" Nick says then. Charlie. He makes my name sound nice.

"Hm?"

"You don't have to tell me. It's okay."

"Okay." I want to say more but I don't. Not now. Maybe not ever, because I know while I'm sitting here that this is temporary.

"Besides, I already know why you haven't gone off to school yet."

I furrow my eyebrows at him, questioning.
"Because you're eleven, remember?"

He's smiling that smile again.

"Shut up!" I say, and he laughs.

"Never met an eleven year old with a job before, right impressive that is Charlie."

"I'm a master at my craft, what can I say."

"Well you make an impeccable hot chocolate. I think that beats a record of some sort."

"Worlds youngest impeccable white hot chocolate maker extraordinaire?"