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Charlie tugged at his tie for the third time in two minutes, scowling at his reflection.
It wasn’t like he looked bad. His hair was behaving for once, curling just the right amount instead of frizzing into chaos, and the suit fit him properly thanks to Tori threatening to burn it if he didn’t take it to the tailor. Still… prom-level good? No. And definitely not Nick Nelson level good.
“Stop glaring at yourself like you’re about to start a fight with the mirror,” Tori said from his doorway, causing him to jump a foot in the air.
"Jesus, Tori!"
She leaned against the frame, arms crossed, sipping a Diet lemonade like she was enjoying the show.
“I’m not glaring,” Charlie muttered, dimples flashing in spite of himself. “I’m… preemptively disappointed.”
“Mm. With yourself or with Tyler?”
Charlie groaned and threw the nearest object—his socks—at her. Tori dodged easily, smirking.
Tyler. Right. His date. Charming, popular, good smile… and very obviously still obsessed with his ex. Charlie wasn’t stupid. He could tell when someone was using him as emotional scaffolding. But what was he supposed to do? Show up alone while Nick waltzed in with Imogen looking like the poster couple for prom royalty?
At least this way he wouldn’t look pathetic. That was something.
From downstairs came the faint, unmistakable sound of his mum fussing with the camera.
“Charlie! Photos in five minutes!”
Charlie sighed, running a hand through his curls one last time. He was about to head down when he caught movement outside his window. His room faced Nick’s—one of the endless perks and curses of growing up next door to your best friend.
And there he was. Nick Nelson, adjusting his cuffs in the slanting late afternoon light, hair neat but still boyishly messy, broad shoulders filling out his suit like he’d walked straight out of a teenage romcom. Charlie’s heart stuttered painfully in his chest.
Of course Nick looked gorgeous. Of course he did. And of course Charlie was going to spend the entire night pretending it didn’t kill him.
As if on cue, Nick looked up, meeting Charlie’s eyes through the glass. He grinned, freckles crinkling, and mouthed, Nervous?
Charlie rolled his eyes dramatically, miming gagging himself with his tie. Nick laughed, pointing toward the yard between their houses. The universal sign for meet me outside.
Charlie pressed his forehead to the cool window for a second, trying to get his heartbeat under control. Then he straightened, plastered on his best sarcastic smirk, and headed out to meet the boy who was simultaneously his best friend, his neighbor, and the absolute bane of his emotional stability.
Charlie jogged down the stairs, ignoring his mum’s “slow down, don’t wrinkle your suit!” and slipped out the front door before she could start fussing again. The air was warm, the kind of early summer evening that hummed with leftover sunlight, and there was Nick, waiting by the hedge that split their gardens.
“Finally,” Nick said, grinning like Charlie hadn’t just spent ten minutes staring at him from his bedroom window. “Thought you were gonna hide in your room all night.”
Charlie adjusted his tie pointedly.
“No way , I'm just so desperate to spend the evening watching you and Imogen make out.”
Nick snorted.
“That’s rich, considering you’re going with Tyler fucking—what’s-his-face. Mr. Hair Gel. As if he won't be all over you.”
“Tyler Lane,” Charlie corrected, unable to stop the corner of his mouth twitching. “And I wouldn't allow myself to be pawed in public, sir. I'm a gentleman."
Nick shoved him lightly in the shoulder, careful but still enough to make Charlie stumble a step.
“Shut up. She’s my friend. There will be no pawing.”
Charlie raised an eyebrow.
“Right. No need to put on a show for the masses, save that for after I suppose.”
Nick opened his mouth, then closed it again, color rising under his freckles. Charlie smirked, though his chest felt hot and weird.
Before either of them could say more, Sarah Nelson appeared with her camera in hand.
“Oh good, you’re both here!" She approached Charlie and wrapped her arms around him in a hug that felt more familiar than his own mother's. He sank into it. "You look wonderful, my dear. So handsome. Now, stand together, I want a nice one before the chaos starts.”
“Mum—” Nick groaned, but Sarah waved him off.
Charlie rolled his eyes but stepped closer, shoulder brushing against Nick’s arm. God, he was warm. Of course he was—built like a bloody rugby hero—but Charlie hated the way his pulse jumped at such a small thing.
“Smile!” Sarah called.
Jane came out to join moments later and lined up her own camera.
Charlie plastered on his usual grin, dimples out, while Nick wrapped his arm around Charlie's soldiers and tilted his own head to rest against his curls. The click of the camera sounded like a gunshot in Charlie’s chest.
Would it be too pathetic to frame this and pretend Nick was my date?
After a few more shots, the mums finally relented.
“Alright, go on then, don’t be late.” Sarah disappeared back inside, wishing them a wonderful night, and Jane walked back towards the house muttering something about lighting.
Charlie exhaled, tugging at his sleeve.
“I swear to God, if they post those on Facebook—”
“They definitely will,” Nick said cheerfully, shoving his hands into his pockets. He tilted his head, eyes flicking over Charlie. “You… actually look really good, though.”
Charlie blinked.
“Don’t sound so fucking shocked.”
Nick laughed, a little too fast.
“No, I mean it. I'm not at all shocked, you always look good." He looked down at his shoes, cheeks looking slightly. " It's just—Suit’s—uh—good. Makes you look… yeah. Really good.”
Heat flooded Charlie’s face. He masked it with sarcasm, rolling his eyes.
“Well, Nelson, you don’t scrub up too badly yourself. Who knew you could actually shed the muddy rugby kit and look like a grown up.”
Nick pressed a hand to his chest dramatically.
“Wow. Compliments and insults in the same breath. Classic Charlie Spring.”
Charlie smirked, but his heart wasn’t steady. Because under all the teasing, and the banter, there was this awful, impossible truth: Nick Nelson looked absolutely beautiful, and Charlie wanted to kiss him so badly it hurt.
The limo line and family photo gauntlet finally spat them out at the school gym, transformed with fairy lights and a DJ setup that was doing too much. Tyler had barely said a word during the ride, too busy scrolling his phone and craning his neck every time they passed a crowd, as if his ex might materialize out of thin air. Charlie caught Nick’s raised eyebrows in the rearview mirror and almost laughed at the obvious lasers he was shooting Tyler.
At the front of the venue, the familiar chaos of their friend group was already in full swing. Elle waved first, practically glowing in a sleek rose dress that made Tao stumble over his own feet as he tried to carry the corsage box. Tara and Darcy were locked in some exaggerated argument about which of them looked more gorgeous—Tara in her lavender ball gown or Darcy in their powder blue three piece suit —both of them voting for the other, of course.
“Holy shit,” Charlie muttered under his breath as they approached. “Did everyone else get the memo to look like movie stars?”
“You clearly got the memo too,” Nick said, voice low enough only Charlie could hear. Charlie shoved his elbow into Nick’s ribs before he could think about it—a nervous reaction more than anything.
“About time!” Tao called, already pulling Charlie into a hug before he could dodge. “Look at you, Spring, all grown up. Can’t believe they actually let you in looking this dangerous.”
Charlie snorted, but Elle hugged him next, whispering, “You look amazing, seriously,” in his ear before tugging him back to admire his suit.
Nick got mobbed on his side too—Darcy throwing their arms around his shoulders, Tara giving him a mock curtsy.
“Prom King vibes, Nelson."
While Darcy added, "Don’t get too cocky.”
Nick laughed, cheeks pink.
Meanwhile, Tyler hung a few steps back, scanning the crowd like he was on surveillance duty. He didn’t notice Elle offering him a polite smile or Tara trying to wave him over.
Charlie noticed, though. He always noticed. His jaw tightened, but he forced his dimples into place and looked back at his friends.
“You all look fucking ridiculous,” Nick said brightly. “Like, I’m actually blinded. Can’t believe they let you into a school gym dressed like Vogue models.”
“Compliment accepted,” Darcy declared, linking arms with Tara. “We’ll allow you to walk in our presence.”
Nick grinned at Charlie over their heads, that soft, secret smile that always felt like it was just for him. Charlie felt it like a punch to the chest, even as he smirked back.
“Shall we?” Elle said, sweeping an arm toward the entrance.
And just like that, their messy, glittering group spilled inside, laughing, hugging, the bass from the DJ rattling through the floor. Tyler trailed last, still craning his neck for someone who wasn’t Charlie.
Charlie pretended not to care, honestly not really needing to do much pretending. He focused on Nick’s shoulder brushing his as they walked through the doors together, heat rushing to his skin, wondering how the hell he was going to survive the night.
The gym was unrecognizable—the fairy lights and paper lanterns strung across the ceiling, lights shifting in time with the bass, balloons scattered everywhere. It was chaotic and tacky and somehow still magical.
Charlie had ditched Tyler halfway through the first song, claiming he needed a drink. He lingered by the edge of the dance floor with a plastic cup of neon punch, watching Tao and Elle attempt some sort of choreographed routine and Darcy spinning Tara in wild circles.
Then his gaze snagged on Nick.
Nick was out there with Imogen, and even from across the floor, he was unmistakable—tall, broad-shouldered, laughing at something Imogen said as they swayed. Charlie smirked, caught his eye, and raised his eyebrows in the most exaggerated oh look at you, Mr. Perfect Prom Date way possible.
Nick immediately made a face back—tongue out, eyes crossed—so undignified that Charlie almost snorted punch through his nose. Their eyes caught again as Charlie laughed, lingered just a fraction too long, and for a heartbeat it felt like there was no one else in the room.
And then Tyler reappeared, tugging Charlie’s arm.
“Come on,” Tyler said, flashing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Dance with me. Over here.”
Charlie let himself be dragged, but it was obvious what Tyler was doing—positioning them right in view of the bleachers where his ex sat with her friends. Tyler looped an arm around Charlie’s waist and leaned in close, just enough to make it look convincing.
Charlie stiffened.
“Subtle,” he muttered under his breath.
“What?” Tyler said, still smiling toward the bleachers.
“Nothing,” Charlie lied, swallowing the irritation rising in his chest. He let Tyler twirl him once, mostly because fighting it would be embarrassing, but his eyes darted back across the dance floor.
To Nick. Always Nick.
Nick, meanwhile, was trying to keep up polite conversation with Imogen as they swayed in their own bubble of music and chatter.
She grinned at him, a little wry.
“It feels like everyone thinks we’re supposed to get married someday, doesn’t it?”
Nick barked out a surprised laugh.
“God, yeah. People have been saying that since, like, Year Eight. Nelson and Heaney, the inevitable love story.”
“So weird of them, to be honest,” Imogen said cheerfully, then softened. “Don’t worry. I’m not holding out for it.”
Nick blinked.
“You’re not?”
She arched an eyebrow.
“Nick. You’re clearly not into me like that. I appreciate you coming with me, but you don’t have to pretend.”
His ears went red. He rubbed the back of his neck, fumbling.
“I—uh—I do like you. I just… not… you know. Not in the romantic way.”
“Exactly,” Imogen said, laughing. She leaned in conspiratorially. “Honestly? I wanted to come with you. You're a sweet guy, Nick. I knew we'd have fun but... I actually think Sahar is pretty hot. Like, really hot. Don’t tell her I said that.”
Nick grinned despite himself, relaxing for the first time all night.
“Your secret’s safe with me.”
Imogen’s eyes flicked past him, toward the other side of the dance floor.
“So, now that we've cleared that up… who is it you've been staring at every five seconds?”
Nick froze, the smile slipping, and for the briefest moment, Charlie’s laugh rang out across the gym as Tyler spun him around. Nick’s chest tightened.
Imogen followed his gaze, lips curving.
“Oh,” she said softly, amused. “Oh.”
Nick felt heat crawling up his neck, all the way to his ears. He dragged his eyes away from Charlie, back to Imogen, but she was already giving him that sly, knowing look that only she could pull off.
“Imogen…” he said weakly.
“Oh, don’t even try to deny it,” she cut in, grinning. “You’ve been staring at Charlie all night. Honestly, I’m amazed he hasn’t noticed you drooling on the dance floor.”
“I wasn’t—” Nick started, then groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Fuck. Okay, maybe I was. But it’s not like that.”
“It’s exactly like that,” Imogen said, sing-song, clearly delighted. “Nick Nelson, hopelessly in love with his best friend. I knew it.”
Nick laughed nervously, though his chest was tight.
“You don’t get it. That's the problem. If I—if I said anything and it went wrong, I’d ruin everything. I’d lose him.”
Imogen’s expression softened. She nudged his arm gently.
“Or you might find out he’s been waiting for you to say it.”
Nick swallowed hard, the thought lodging in his throat.
“I don’t know if I can risk it.”
“Nelson,” Imogen said firmly, dropping the teasing for a moment. “You’ve been in love with him forever. It’s written all over your face. And newsflash? He looks at you the exact same way.”
Nick’s eyes flicked across the dance floor before he could stop himself. Charlie was standing stiffly near a table, drink in hand, smile strained, eyes darting around like he’d rather be anywhere else. Nick’s stomach twisted.
Imogen followed his gaze, then leaned closer, lowering her voice.
“Ask him to dance. Just one song. If I’m wrong, if he shoots you down, you can blame me for it forever.” She grinned again. “But I’m not wrong.”
Nick shook his head, lightly.
“Come on... You keep looking at Charlie like you’re in a bloody Netflix drama. And trust me, he’s looking back.”
Nick’s head jerked.
“I’m not—”
“You are,” she said firmly, tugging at her hair as if re-securing an invisible crown. “And before you argue, let me just say—who cares what anyone else thinks? You two… it’s like obvious. You’re happier when you’re around him. It’s sickening, actually.”
Nick rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks burning under the colored lights.
Nick gave a short laugh that didn’t sound happy at all.
“But, Im... People have… expectations.”
“Like me, you mean?” She tilted her head, smiling softly now. “Nick, no one’s holding you hostage in some fake prom rom-com with me. I’m not your destined soulmate. We've established that. And honestly? I’d rather you be with someone who makes you light up. Especially if it’s Charlie.”
Nick stared at her, throat tight.
“…You really think—”
“I know,” Imogen interrupted, her eyes glittering with sincerity. “So stop sulking and do something about it before Tyler ruins his whole night with his petty revenge mission.”
Nick glanced across the floor. Charlie was sitting now, still stiff as hell, his jaw clenched. Their eyes met again—accidental but charged—and Nick’s stomach flipped like the whole room had tilted.
Imogen bumped his shoulder.
“See? That’s not nothing. That’s practically a fireworks display. Go. Before someone else notices and scoops him up instead.”
Nick’s heart was pounding so hard he thought it might crack his ribs. He let out a shaky laugh, trying to disguise it as casual.
“You really think I should?”
“I think you’ll regret it for the rest of your life if you don’t,” Imogen said simply.
Nick stared at her, stunned into silence by how matter-of-fact she sounded. Then, slowly, he smiled. Nervous. Hopeful. Terrified.
“Thanks, Imogen,” he said quietly.
She winked, giving him a little shove toward the other side of the dance floor.
“Go get your boy, Nelson.”
Charlie sat slumped in his chair, arms crossed, pretending to be fascinated by the pattern of streamers taped up along the gym wall. Across the dance floor, Nick and Imogen were laughing, twirling clumsily, Imogen clutching her stomach from giggling so hard while Nick grinned that huge, stupid grin of his. It was… unfair. Like, actually unfair how good he looked in the cheap colored lights, hair catching every flicker, golden eyes shining brightly.
Charlie’s stomach twisted. He tried to ignore it, but his chest felt hollow, scraped out. Why the fuck had he come tonight? His “date” had just disappeared with zero explanation, probably with his tongue down his ex’s throat, and now he was sitting here like the world’s biggest idiot, watching Nick and Imogen look like they were having the time of their lives.
Pathetic. That was the word for it. Pathetic.
He pushed up from the chair, muttering something under his breath, and wove through the crowd toward the snack table. If nothing else, he could drown himself in shitty punch.
Harry Greene, of course, was standing there, arguing with one of the chaperones who had just yanked a flask out of his blazer pocket.
“Wasn’t even mine,” Harry protested, way too loudly, slurring already. “Someone shoved it on me.”
The teacher gave him a look that said try harder.
Charlie sighed, reached for a cup, and poured himself some punch anyway. If Harry had managed to spike it before getting caught, maybe that was the one mercy of tonight. He took a long swallow, half daring it to burn on the way down.
“Having fun?”
Charlie nearly choked, spinning around. Nick had appeared out of nowhere, his cheeks still flushed from dancing, hair damp at the temples.
Charlie barked a laugh, bitter, sharp.
“Oh yeah. Tons. Pretty sure my date’s off making out with his ex, and Harry Greene might’ve just gotten me drunk. Living the dream.”
Nick’s smile faltered.
“Oh my God. Tyler’s such a prick.”
Charlie shrugged like it didn’t matter, though his grip on the cup was too tight.
“It’s whatever.”
“It’s not whatever.” Nick’s voice was firm, gentle but insistent. His brows knitted, like it physically hurt him to hear Charlie brush it off. “You deserve way better than that.”
Charlie opened his mouth to make some sarcastic jab, but the words jammed in his throat. His ears buzzed. Nick’s sincerity had a way of hitting him sideways, like he didn’t know where to put it.
Then Nick cleared his throat, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“Hey. You think maybe… it’d be better if we had a dance together?”
Charlie blinked. His first instinct was to scoff, to deflect, to toss up some wall of irony.
“Wouldn’t want you ditching Imogen,” he said, voice low.
Nick’s lips twitched into a half-smile.
“Nah. She’s busy working up the courage to ask Sahar to dance.”
Charlie’s head snapped up.
“Oh?”
“Yep,” Nick said easily, like it was obvious. “Honestly, I kind of encouraged it. So, I guess both of our dates ditched us.”
For a second, Charlie just stood there, cup in hand, heartbeat thudding way too hard. Then, shyly, almost against his will, he nodded.
“...Okay. One dance.”
At first, it had been nothing but laughter. Nick spun Charlie by the wrist with exaggerated flair, both of them nearly tripping over their own feet. Charlie doubled over laughing, clutching Nick’s arm as if they were in the middle of some grand ballroom spectacle instead of a crowded school dance.
“Best couple on the floor,” Charlie declared dramatically, hand pressed to his chest like he was receiving a medal.
“Obviously,” Nick shot back, dipping him so low that Charlie yelped. He caught Nick’s fingers brushing just a little too long against his waist as he steadied himself. Their eyes met, and for a second the teasing smile faltered, replaced by something warmer, closer.
Charlie felt it—a spark that wasn’t just from laughter. He tried to shrug it off, pretending he didn’t notice the way his chest tightened. But every accidental brush of their hands, every shared laugh that lingered too long, left him dizzy and hyper-aware.
They twirled each other again, Nick letting his hand linger on Charlie’s lower back for an extra beat. Charlie’s fingers twitched against Nick’s shoulders, lingering there when they pulled apart, not quite able to resist the contact.
Then—the music shifted. The pulsing beat faded, replaced by something slow and aching. The lights dimmed. Couples drew close, folding into softer shapes.
Charlie hesitated. His instinct screamed to step back, to joke, to escape before it got too real. But Nick didn’t let go.
Nick’s fingers stayed at Charlie’s waist, firm and grounding, but warm, tentative. Their faces were close now—close enough that Charlie could feel Nick’s breath, hear the faint hitch in it. Every nerve in his body tightened with awareness.
Charlie’s hands found Nick’s shoulders, resting lightly, unsure if he should move away or lean in. He could feel the small, electric tremble in Nick’s grip, and it made him shiver. Oh God, this was really happening.
Nick swallowed. His heartbeat drummed against Charlie’s chest, steady but urgent, and he hesitated, giving Charlie a chance to pull away—but he didn’t. Instead, he leaned slightly closer, letting his fingers drift just a fraction lower, grazing the side of Charlie’s torso.
Charlie’s pulse raced, and he had to bite his lip to stop a laugh—and a groan—from escaping. His brain was spinning: This is Nick. My best friend. And my entire chest feels like it’s on fire.
Charlie broke the silence first, voice low and teasing, like a shield.
“So... This is very gay of us.”
Nick chuckled, soft and nervous, and his thumb brushed against Charlie’s side in a feather-light caress. Then he leaned a little closer, voice trembling.
“Char I— I need to tell you something. But... I'm not sure how you're going to react."
Charlie's heart stuttered and all he could do was give a weak nod, doing his best to maintain eye contact and not break whatever spell they were under right now.
"I— God, Charlie I—I like you.” He swallowed, holding Charlie’s gaze. “Like… properly like you. Not just best friend stuff. Like, romantically.”
Charlie’s heart lurched painfully, almost too fast to catch. His hands flexed on Nick’s shoulders, thumb brushing against the nape of his neck. He whispered, grinning nervously, “That's what I was hoping to were going to say.”
Nick froze, eyes widening.
“Wait, you—?”
“Yes, idiot,” Charlie admitted, breath hitching, leaning just slightly forward. “I’ve liked you forever.”
The gym tilted around them, the slow song wrapping them in a private bubble. Nick leaned in, hesitant, letting his forehead brush Charlie’s before their lips met in a tentative, electric touch.
Charlie felt everything—the press of Nick’s chest, the warmth of his hands, the tremor in his fingers against his waist. He couldn’t help but lean in closer, lips brushing, then pressing, teasing, searching. Every clumsy movement felt precise, every touch set fire to his chest.
Nick’s hands moved carefully along Charlie’s waist, brushing the fabric of his suit jacket, while Charlie’s fingers traced his shoulders, lingering at the collar. Their laughter caught in tiny gasps, breaths hitching in the warm, crowded room.
Time stretched. People moved around them, music thrummed softly, but it all seemed distant, irrelevant. It was just the brush of Nick’s lips, the warmth of his hands, the thrill of finally closing the space between them.
When they finally pulled back, both were breathless, faces flushed, hair sticking slightly to damp foreheads. They laughed softly, a mixture of disbelief, nervousness, and exhilaration.
Charlie murmured, barely above the music, “So, not just friends anymore?"
Nick’s grin was blinding, uncontainable.
“Definitely not."
They stayed close, swaying slightly in time with the music, hands still brushing, unwilling to break the contact. The tension had dissolved into something sweeter, hotter, and infinitely more electric than either had expected.
On the other side of the room, their friends— Elle, Tao, Tara, Darcy, Imogen, and Sahar— applauded their approval with mixed shouts of "get it!" And "about damn time!"