A Collection of Heartstopper Oneshots

the only exception - charliesnelsons

Summary:

A surprise visit from Nick might be just what Charlie needs.

or, charlie won't talk to anyone about what's going on. but nick is always the exception.
Notes:

For charlienick.
hi!

this is a short little hurt/comfort oneshot i got the inspiration to write while listening to paramore (hence the title).

this fic is for windy, who is a love of a person and an incredible writer (so go read their fics if you haven't already!!!)

content warnings: language
(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:
"Charlie. Open up, please."

Jane Spring's voice grated through the door like nails on a chalkboard – at the sound of it, Charlie sank deep into his sheets, Kitty tucked in the crevice of his elbow as though to protect his disheveled stuffy. Even the feeling of his fur, matted with all of the childhood love that Charlie hadn't any other outlet to give, did nothing to dull the ache in his chest.

Maybe, he thought, he could pretend to be asleep for a bit longer. He had been, anyway – up until a minute ago, when his eyes flew open to the sound of his mum's footsteps creaking up the stairs. Even half asleep, it yielded an immediate, crushing tension in his muscles, his breathing slowing while his chest pounded.

The harsh neon of his clock blinked at him – it was nearly midnight. There was no reason that Jane Spring would ever wake him this late unless it was something urgent. The thought alerted his brain, sharpening his senses a bit more.

"Charlie," his mum said again. Her voice was firm, though it lacked the usual edge of condescension that blurred between the consonants. "Someone's here to see you."

The thrum of his overdriven pulse steadied momentarily – because there was only one person who'd show up at Charlie's house this late at night – but that same person, the one Charlie would've given anything to see, was also hundreds of miles away in Leeds.

"Come in," he croaked, nearly trembling with the anxiety of the unknown.

"Keep the door open, please," his mum said – to the visitor, Charlie believed – and then the doorknob twisted, and the hallway light illuminated a sliver of a person.

Charlie almost burst into tears at the sound of his voice; by the time he reached Charlie's bed, his skin radiating the bitter cold of the dreadful winter air, Charlie's lip was quivering with the threat to release a sob.

"Hi, sweetheart," Nick murmured, kneeling on the plush rug beside the bed. Their hands intertwined instantly, a shiver wracking Charlie's body at the unforgiving frigidity of his touch. The scent of him, warm like cinnamon sugar, earthy like petrichor, brought him home.

The room was drenched in darkness, the only light source coming from the cracked door – though Nick's eyes radiated light, too, birthing the sun in the breathtaking gleam of his irises.

"Nick," Charlie whispered. He squeezed his hand once more, verifying his presence, breath swept away in disbelief. "What are you–" At the sound of his voice cracking, he paused, shuddering as a quiet sob drifted past his lips. "What are you doing here?"

"Seeing you." Gently, he lifted Charlie's hand to his lips, brushing them so softly across his knuckles that Charlie, had his skin not instantly bloomed pink from the warmth, may have thought he imagined it.

"But you – you have classes and, and–"

"Not anymore, I don't," Nick said simply. As Charlie's eyes adjusted more in the darkness, illuminating his natural glow, he noticed the worry lines between Nick's brows, the slight wobble of his bottom lip, the mist forming in his eyes.