Starlight and Cider

The house was already loud when Nick and Charlie walked through Tara’s front door. Warm light spilled from lamps draped with scarves, making everything glow amber. The bass of a girl in red song thumped through the floorboards, and the air smelled like cheap perfume, crisp cider, and someone’s vanilla candle.

Nick grinned, his hand still loosely holding Charlie’s. He was practically vibrating—shoulders relaxed, smile wide. “This is going to be so good.”

Charlie squeezed his hand. “You said that about the last party. And then you spilled dip on Tao’s jumper.”

“That was an accident.” Nick was completely unbothered. “And he forgave me. Eventually.”

“He brought it up last week.”

“Because he loves me.”

Charlie laughed, letting Nick tug him through the crowd. They passed a cluster of people on the stairs, someone laughing loudly in the kitchen, and a couple slow-dancing in the hallway to a song that was definitely not slow. The living room was packed with familiar faces—Tara laughing with Darcy, a few rugby lads by the window, and Tao and Elle curled together on the far end of the couch.

Elle spotted them first. She sat up, beaming. “Nick! Charlie! You made it.”

Tao gave a small wave, his expression softening when he saw Charlie. “We were starting to think you’d bailed.”

“Never,” Nick said, releasing Charlie’s hand only to clap Tao on the shoulder. “I told you I’d be here. I am a man of my word.”

“You’re a man of many words,” Tao muttered, but there was no bite.

Elle stood up to hug Charlie. “How was the walk over?”

“Cold,” Charlie said. “Nice though. Nick bought us hot chocolate on the way.”

“Of course he did,” Elle said, her eyes crinkling.

Nick puffed out his chest. “I’m a good boyfriend.”

“You’re an okay boyfriend,” Charlie teased, but his hand found Nick’s again.

Tara appeared from the kitchen, holding a large glass bowl filled with something bright red and ominous-looking. “Punch!” she announced. “Homemade. By which I mean I dumped a bunch of juice and some questionable decisions into a bowl.”

“She means vodka,” Darcy said, appearing behind her with a grin. “Lots of vodka. Be careful—it sneaks up on you.”

Nick’s eyes lit up. “Punch? I love punch.”

Charlie gave him a look. “You’ve never had punch before.”

“I’ve had juice. This is juice. With decisions.” Nick grabbed a plastic cup from a stack on the side table and held it out. “Hit me.”

Tara poured him a generous amount. Charlie watched, brows drawn together. “Nick, maybe take it easy.”

“I’m easy,” Nick said, taking a sip. He coughed. Wiped his mouth. “Wow. That’s… strong.”

“Told you,” Charlie said softly.

But Nick was already taking another sip. And then another. And by the time Tao started telling a story about his disastrous attempt at making sourdough, Nick was on his third cup.

Charlie noticed. He noticed everything. The way Nick’s words started to slide together, the looseness in his limbs, the way he leaned just a little too heavily on Charlie’s shoulder. He touched Nick’s elbow. “Maybe switch to water?”

Nick looked down at him, eyes a little glassy, smile too wide. “But I’m having fun.”

“You can have fun without the punch.”

“I’m having *more* fun with the punch.”

Charlie sighed, but he couldn’t help smiling. Drunk Nick was a handful, but also sweet. Sappy. Unfiltered. The kind of drunk who told everyone they were beautiful and meant every word.

Before Charlie could nudge Nick toward the kitchen for water, a familiar voice cut through the noise.

“Oi. Look who showed up.”

Harry Greene leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, that smug smile plastered across his face. He looked from Nick to Charlie, his gaze lingering on their linked hands.

Charlie tensed. The familiar annoyance coiled in his chest.

“Nick. Charlie.” Harry said their names like they were a punchline. “Didn’t realize this was a bring-your-boyfriend party. Cute.”

Nick blinked slowly. He seemed to process Harry’s words, his brows furrowing slightly. But instead of snapping back, he just smiled. Goofy. Unbothered.

“Thanks,” Nick said, his voice slurred but sincere. “He *is* cute. Isn’t he? He’s the cutest.”

Charlie’s cheeks flushed. He tugged lightly at Nick’s sleeve. “Nick, let’s go get some air.”

“I’m just saying,” Nick continued, oblivious, “like, objectively. If you looked up ‘cute’ in the dictionary, it would just be a picture of Charlie. And maybe a puppy. Mostly Charlie.”

Harry’s smirk faltered. He looked confused, like he’d prepared for a fight and gotten a compliment instead.

Charlie rolled his eyes and steered Nick away. “Come on, love. Let’s find you some water.”

“But I wasn’t done,” Nick protested, stumbling a little as Charlie guided him through the crowd. “I had more compliments. I had a whole list.”

“You can tell me later.”

“Okay. But I’m warning you. It’s a long list.”

Charlie found a quieter corner near the back hallway, away from the main thrum of the party. The music was muffled here, the bass a distant heartbeat. He sat Nick down on a low ottoman and crouched in front of him.

“How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Nick said, eyes half-lidded. “Really good. Really, really good. You’re good. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Charlie said, cupping Nick’s cheek. His skin was warm. “But you’re very drunk right now.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m a little drunk,” Nick conceded. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Charlie’s. “But I still love you. That part’s true. The drunk part doesn’t change the true part.”

Charlie’s heart did a complicated flip. “I know.”

“Good.” Nick pulled back, his smile soft and unfocused. “Because I wanted to make sure you knew.”

Charlie stood up, offering his hand. “Come on. Let’s find you some water and maybe some food. Tara’s got those little sausage rolls.”

“Sausage rolls,” Nick repeated dreamily. “You’re a genius.”

“I know.”

They shuffled toward the kitchen, Nick’s arm draped heavily over Charlie’s shoulders. He was warm and solid and smelled like Christmas and cheap vodka punch. Charlie didn’t mind. He’d carry Nick anywhere.

The kitchen was less crowded, but Tara and Darcy were there, refilling the punch bowl and snacking on crisps. Tara looked up as they entered, her face softening.

“Oh no. Is Nick okay?”

“He’s fine,” Charlie said. “Just… punch.”

“Punch,” Nick confirmed, nodding sagely. Then he nearly stumbled into the counter.

Darcy snorted. “Yeah, he’s punch-drunk. Classic.”

“I’m going to get him some water.” Charlie guided Nick to a chair and eased him down. “Stay.”

“I’m not a dog,” Nick mumbled, but he stayed.

Tara handed Charlie a glass of water from the tap. “Do you need help? We can kick people out of the back room if you want somewhere quieter.”

“Thanks, but I think he just needs to hydrate and sit for a bit.” Charlie knelt beside Nick, pressing the glass into his hands. “Drink.”

Nick took a sip. Grimaced. “Water is boring.”

“Water is necessary.”

“You’re necessary.” Nick took another sip, bigger this time. “See? I’m doing it for you.”

“I appreciate that.”

Darcy leaned against the counter, grinning. “He’s cute when he’s drunk. Very affectionate.”

“He’s cute all the time,” Charlie said.

“Yeah, but now he’s *extra*. It’s adorable.”

Nick set the half-empty glass down and reached for Charlie’s hand. “Can we go somewhere? It’s loud.”

Charlie looked at Tara, who nodded. “The back room’s empty. There’s a couch. Take your time.”

“Thanks.” Charlie helped Nick up, steadying him as they made their way down the hall. The back room was small, cozy—a worn velvet couch and a lamp casting a dim, honey-colored light. The curtains were drawn. It felt like a cocoon.

Nick collapsed onto the couch with a heavy sigh. Charlie sat beside him, their shoulders touching.

“Better?”

“Mm.” Nick leaned into him, his head falling onto Charlie’s shoulder. “You’re warm.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Same thing.”

Charlie laughed softly. He ran his fingers through Nick’s hair, feeling the soft strands slide between his fingers. Nick hummed, pressing closer.

“I love your hands,” Nick said, his voice muffled against Charlie’s collar.

“My hands?”

“They’re nice. They draw. They hold mine. They’re good hands.”

Charlie’s heart swelled. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it.”

“I do.”

They sat in comfortable quiet for a while. The party hummed around them, muffled and distant. Somewhere in the house, someone turned the music up, and the bass shook the floorboards. But in this small room, everything was still.

Nick’s breathing slowed. He was getting sleepy, his body heavy and relaxed against Charlie’s.

“Don’t fall asleep,” Charlie murmured. “You’ll get a headache.”

“M’not sleeping. Resting my eyes.”

“That’s the same thing.”

“No, it’s not.” Nick’s voice was thick with drowsiness. “One is a state of unconsciousness. The other is a tactical pause.”

Charlie snorted. “Did you just make that up?”

“I’m full of wisdom.”

“You’re full of something.”

Nick laughed, a low, sleepy sound. He turned his face into Charlie’s neck, his breath warm. “I love you, Charlie.”

“I know.”

“No, like… really.” Nick lifted his head, eyes open now. They were blurry, unfocused, but earnest. So earnest. “I love you so much. And I don’t say it enough. Or maybe I do. But I mean it every time. Every single time.”

Charlie’s throat tightened. “Nick…”

“I’m serious.” Nick took Charlie’s hand, pressing it to his own chest. “Feel that? That’s my heart. It beats for you. That’s gross and cheesy, but it’s true.”

Charlie laughed wetly. “You’re making me cry at a party.”

“Crying’s good. It’s emotional release.” Nick grinned. “I read that somewhere.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And you love me.”

“I do.” Charlie leaned in, pressing a kiss to Nick’s forehead. “I really do.”

Nick closed his eyes, a soft smile on his lips. “Best night ever.”

Charlie was about to say something teasing when the lights flickered. Once. Twice. Then the room went dark.

The music stopped. Voices rose in surprise from the other rooms—someone laughing, someone shouting, “Did we blow a fuse?”

Charlie blinked, trying to adjust. The darkness was absolute, only a faint glow from a sliver of light under the door.

“Nick?”

“I’m here.” Nick’s voice was close. He shifted, and Charlie felt his hand find his knee. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I think Tara probably turned the lights off for atmosphere. She mentioned something about a bonfire.”

“Oh.” A pause. Then, softer: “I can’t see you.”

“I’m right here.”

“I know. But I can’t *see* you.” Nick’s hand slid up to Charlie’s arm, then his shoulder. His fingers brushed Charlie’s jaw, light and hesitant. “Can I…?”

Charlie’s breath caught. “Can you what?”

Nick’s thumb traced the line of Charlie’s cheekbone. “I want to kiss you.”

The words hung in the dark, fragile and sincere.

Charlie’s heart hammered. “Nick, you’re drunk.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t mean it.” Nick’s voice was quiet. Steady. “I always mean it. I’ve wanted to kiss you all night. All day. Every day.”

Charlie couldn’t breathe. “Nick…”

“Please?” Such a small word. So full of wanting.

Charlie reached out, his hand finding Nick’s where it still rested on his face. He interlocked their fingers. Then he leaned forward, guided by sound and touch, until his lips met Nick’s.

The kiss was soft. Gentle. Nick sighed against Charlie’s mouth, his free hand tangling in the back of Charlie’s shirt, pulling him closer. No urgency, no rush. Just warmth and sweetness and the faint taste of punch.

Charlie’s eyes slipped closed. The darkness made it feel like they were the only two people in the world. Nick kissed like he meant it. Even drunk, even slurring, even swaying—he kissed Charlie like he was the most precious thing in the universe.

When they broke apart, both breathing softly, Nick pressed his forehead to Charlie’s.

“I love you,” he whispered.

Charlie smiled, so wide his cheeks hurt. “I love you too.”

“Good.” Nick’s voice was thick with emotion. “That’s really good.”

They sat there in the dark, foreheads touching, hands intertwined. The party could wait. The bonfire could wait. Everything could wait.

After a long moment, the lights flickered back on. Music blared from the living room, and someone cheered. Charlie blinked, suddenly aware of the rest of the world again.

Nick was looking at him. His eyes were clearer now, still fuzzy but focused. He smiled, soft and real.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” Charlie said.

“Did we just have a moment?”

“Yeah. I think we did.”

Nick grinned. “Good moment.”

“Great moment.”

The door creaked open. Darcy poked her head in, a grin spreading across her face when she saw them. “Lights are back. Bonfire’s starting. You two okay?”

Charlie looked at Nick. Nick looked at him.

“Yeah,” Nick said, still smiling. “We’re perfect.”

Darcy let out an exaggerated “aww” before retreating. “Take your time, loves. We’ll save you a spot by the fire.”

Nick stood slowly, wobbling a little. Charlie caught his arm.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Just… world is spinning a bit.”

“Drink the rest of your water.”

Nick dutifully picked up the glass from the side table and finished it. He set it down with a satisfied sigh. “Done.”

“Proud of you.”

“I’m proud of you too.”

Charlie laughed. “For what?”

“For putting up with me.”

“It’s not hard.”

Nick’s expression softened. He reached for Charlie’s hand, threading their fingers together. “Ready to go see the stars?”

“Yeah.”

They made their way outside, past clusters of friends and the dying notes of a song. The backyard was lit by the soft glow of a fire pit, flames dancing and casting long shadows. Tao and Elle were already seated on a log, sharing a blanket. Tara was passing out marshmallows. Darcy was poking the fire with a stick like a gremlin.

Ben was standing at the edge of the group, hands in his pockets, not quite looking at anyone. He glanced up when Charlie and Nick passed, but quickly looked away.

Charlie didn’t give him a second thought.

They found a spot at the edge of the firelight, a little away from the others. The grass was damp, but Nick didn’t seem to care. He sat down heavily, tugging Charlie down beside him.

The sky was clear. Stars scattered across the dark like sugar.

Nick leaned his head on Charlie’s shoulder. “Look at that.”

Charlie looked up. “It’s pretty.”

“Not the stars.” Nick’s voice was soft. “You.”

Charlie felt his face warm. He nudged Nick gently. “You’re still drunk.”

“Maybe.” Nick closed his eyes. “But I’m also still in love with you. That’s not the punch talking.”

Charlie wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close. “I know.”

They stayed like that, wrapped in each other, while the fire crackled and the stars wheeled above them. Somewhere behind them, someone started a song, and someone else laughed. But Charlie barely heard it.

He had Nick. Warm, heavy, silly, beautiful Nick.

And that was all he needed.