Under a Steady Lamp

The Friday evening air coming through Charlie’s window was cool enough to keep him from nodding off. His desk lamp made a little island of light around scattered notes, highlighters, a mug of tea that went cold an hour ago. He sat cross-legged on his bed, highlighter tucked behind his ear, staring at a Tudor timeline without really seeing it. His brain kept replaying the text he’d sent Nick: *Ready when you are. I have biscuits.* And the reply: *On my way. Bringing emergency snacks. Hope you like salted caramel.*

He did like salted caramel. Nick remembered from last time, when Charlie polished off an entire bag of mini pretzels without noticing. That made him smile. He shook his head, forced his eyes back to the page. *Henry VIII, six wives, break with Rome…* But the words blurred. He was too busy listening for the doorbell.

When it finally rang, Charlie nearly tripped over his chair getting up. He caught himself, took a breath, forced himself to walk downstairs at a normal pace. His mum already had the door open. Nick stood on the step, a canvas tote over one shoulder, looking a little flustered.

“Hi, Mrs. Spring,” Nick said, a bit breathless. “Sorry I’m late. Got held up by a dog.”

“A dog?” Charlie’s mum raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, golden retriever outside the corner shop. Wanted to say hello, then his owner started talking about the weather, and I couldn’t just walk away.” Nick shrugged, grinning. “You know how it is.”

Charlie appeared behind his mum, smiling. “You got distracted by a dog.”

“A *very* friendly dog,” Nick said, holding up the tote. “But I brought snacks. Salted caramel brownies and those weird gummy things you like.”

“They’re sour cola bottles,” Charlie said, stepping aside. Their eyes met a second too long. “Come on. I’ve got the Tudor timeline laid out. I think I’m starting to see Henry’s wives in my dreams.”

“That’s either dedication or concerning,” Nick said, following him up. He nodded at Charlie’s mum, already retreating to the living room with a knowing smile.

In Charlie’s room, Nick dropped the bag on the bed and let out a long breath. “Okay. Exam in three weeks. We’ve got this. We’re gonna ace it.”

Charlie sat at his desk. “You sound confident.”

“Because I have the best study partner in the universe. And my mum made me flashcards last night. She laminated them.”

“She laminated your flashcards?”

“She’s a primary school teacher, Charlie. It’s in her DNA.” Nick pulled out a stack of shiny cards, fanned them like a poker hand. “Behold. The Tudor dynasty, preserved for eternity.”

Charlie laughed, easy and light. It was always like this with Nick — the pressure of exams, the weight of the day, all of it seemed to lift when Nick was around. Even studying, usually tedious, became something to look forward to.

They settled into a rhythm. Nick quizzing Charlie on dates, Charlie explaining the English Reformation. Words flowed easier than expected. Nick listened, nodded, asked questions, jotted things down. Every so often his knee brushed Charlie’s under the desk. Neither pulled away.

Twenty minutes in, Charlie was mid-sentence — “And so the Act of Supremacy in 1534 officially established the monarch as head of the Church of England” — when he noticed Nick’s hand drifting toward the edge of his notes. Charlie kept talking, but his concentration wavered as Nick’s fingers curled around a pen and made small marks in the margin.

“What are you doing?” Charlie tried to peer at the page.

“Nothing,” Nick said innocently. “Just adding some… annotations.”

Charlie leaned over. On the corner of his neatly written timeline, Nick had drawn a crude cartoon of two stick figures holding hands. One with a tuft of ginger-blond fluff, the other with dark curls. Underneath, in tiny letters: *“Nick + Charlie 4eva”* with a little heart.

Charlie’s cheeks went pink. He bit his lip to hide a smile, but it was useless. “That’s going to be real helpful on the exam. ‘What was the significance of the Act of Supremacy? Well, let me refer you to the stick figure illustration of my boyfriend and me.’”

Nick’s grin was wide and unrepentant. “You’re welcome. Visual aids improve memory retention. I’m basically a teaching genius.”

“You’re a menace,” Charlie said, no heat in it. He reached across the desk, snatched the highlighter from Nick’s hand. “If you’re defacing my notes, I’m defacing yours.”

Nick’s eyes widened in mock horror. “You wouldn’t.”

Charlie flipped open Nick’s textbook to a page on the Wars of the Roses and drew a curling, extravagant mustache on a portrait of Henry VI. “There. Improved.”

Nick gasped, clutching his chest. “You’ve ruined history. That’s a priceless historical document. My mum’s going to be so disappointed.”

“Your mum laminated flashcards. She’ll survive.” Charlie capped the highlighter, laughing now — breathy, happy.

Nick leaned in, chair scraping closer. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, warm and teasing. “You know, for someone who’s supposed to be the clever one, your artistic skills are tragic. That mustache looks like a caterpillar crawled onto his face and gave up.”

Charlie’s breath caught. Nick’s face was inches away — he could see flecks of gold in his eyes, the faint freckles across his nose. The teasing words hung in the air, but the tone was soft, intimate. Charlie’s heart thumped loud in the quiet.

“Your stick figures aren’t exactly museum quality,” Charlie managed, voice barely above a whisper.

“No,” Nick agreed, his eyes dropping to Charlie’s lips for a split second. “But they’re full of love.”

Charlie opened his mouth to respond — something clever, flustered — but at that exact moment the lamp flickered. Once. Twice. Then with a faint *pop*, the room went absolutely dark.

For a long moment neither moved. Just the hum of the house settling, the distant murmur of TV downstairs. Charlie blinked, saw nothing. He could feel Nick’s warmth beside him, smell his shampoo — something clean and citrusy.

“Well,” Nick said out of the darkness, shaky but amused. “That’s dramatic.”

“I think the bulb blew,” Charlie said. He reached out blindly, hand brushing Nick’s arm. “Or maybe the fuse box? Hallway lights were fine when we came up.”

“Stay put,” Nick said. “I’ll try to find the desk lamp and — no, wait, that’s what blew.”

Charlie heard him fumbling, a chair scrape, a muffled curse. “Nick, careful. You’re gonna knock over my mug.”

“I’m not gonna knock over your —” A clatter. “Okay, maybe I knocked over your pencil case. Sorry.”

Charlie giggled — a nervous, giddy sound bubbling up from somewhere deep. “You’re a disaster in the dark.”

“I’m a disaster everywhere,” Nick admitted. “But I’m *your* disaster.”

Charlie felt a hand brush his knee, then his side. He reached out, fingers finding Nick’s wrist. “Over here.”

“Found you.” Nick’s voice was closer now. Charlie could sense his shape, a darker shadow against the black. “You okay? Not scared of the dark, are you?”

“No, just… disoriented.” Charlie’s fingers slid down, lacing with Nick’s. Warm palm, slightly calloused. “You?”

“I’m good.” Pause. Then Nick’s voice right next to his ear, a whisper that sent shivers down his spine. “I can’t see your drawing anymore. But I can feel you.”

Charlie’s heart stopped. Then started again, twice as fast. He turned his head, searching for Nick’s lips in the dark. Didn’t matter that he couldn’t see — he knew where Nick was, could feel the warmth of his breath.

Their mouths met, soft and searching. Not their first kiss, not even close, but it felt new. No self-consciousness, no worry about who might see, no nagging voice telling him to pull away. Just the two of them suspended in the dark, the rest of the world forgotten.

Nick’s free hand came up to cup Charlie’s jaw, thumb brushing his cheekbone. The kiss deepened, slow and tender, tasting of salted caramel and the faint sweetness of those gummy cola bottles Nick had snuck earlier. Charlie sighed into it, fingers tightening around Nick’s.

They broke apart after an eternity and a second all at once. Charlie could feel Nick smiling against his cheek.

“See?” Nick whispered. “No distractions.”

Charlie laughed, soft and breathless. “Except for the power cut.”

“That’s a distraction I’m willing to accept.”

They stayed like that, foreheads pressed together, hands intertwined, breathing each other’s air. The darkness felt safe, cocooning. Charlie could have stayed there forever.

But of course, the universe had other plans. With a hum and a flicker, the lamp sputtered back to life, flooding the room with soft golden light. Charlie blinked, momentarily dazzled. Nick’s face swam into view — flushed, lips slightly parted, eyes bright.

They stared at each other for a beat, then both looked away, grinning like fools.

“So,” Nick said, clearing his throat. “Should we… get back to the Tudors?”

“Absolutely,” Charlie said, but he didn’t let go of Nick’s hand. He picked up his highlighter with the other, pretended to examine the timeline. The mustache on Henry VI looked even more ridiculous in the light.

Nick reached over and gently poked the stick figures on Charlie’s notes. “You know, I think I’ve mastered historical portraiture. This is going straight to the Louvre.”

“Only if they want to showcase the decline of Western civilization.”

“Rude.” Nick flicked Charlie’s ear, but he was still smiling.

Charlie’s phone buzzed on the desk. He glanced at it. A text from Tao: *“How’s the study session? Still alive? Did you actually learn anything or are you just making googly eyes at each other?”*

Charlie snorted, typed back quickly: *“Distracted 😘”*

He pressed send before overthinking it. Tao would probably respond with a million laugh-cry emojis. Didn’t care. This was worth it.

Nick peeked at the screen over his shoulder. “Distracted, huh? I hope that’s because of my brilliant conversation.”

“It’s because of your stick figures,” Charlie said. “Very compelling.”

Nick laughed, full and warm, and Charlie felt the sound settle in his chest like a homecoming.

He looked at the scattered notes, the open textbook, the flashcards Nick’s mum had lovingly laminated. They were supposed to be studying. Exam in three weeks. But right now, sitting here with Nick, the air still tinged with the electricity of that kiss, studying felt secondary.

“Hey,” Charlie said quietly. “Do you wanna take a break? Just for a bit?”

Nick’s eyebrows rose. “A break? From the fascinating world of Tudor politics? Charlie, I’m shocked.”

“I mean it.” Charlie bit his lip, gestured toward his bed. “We could just… lie down. Talk. Cuddle.”

Nick’s expression softened. He set down his pen, closed the textbook, pushed it aside. “I thought you’d never ask.”

They shuffled over to the bed, leaving the lamp glowing. Charlie’s bed was a rumpled mess of blankets and pillows, the soft duvet his mum bought from IKEA. Nick flopped onto it first, landing on his back with a contented sigh. Charlie settled beside him, head finding its natural place in the crook of Nick’s shoulder.

For a long moment they just lay there, breathing in sync. Nick’s hand found Charlie’s, fingers lacing together on the duvet. The ceiling was a familiar patchwork of cracks and shadows, but Charlie wasn’t looking at it. He was focused on the steady rhythm of Nick’s heartbeat under his ear.

“This is better than studying,” Nick said, voice drowsy.

“Don’t let your mum hear you say that. She spent all night laminating.”

“My mum loves you more than me. She’d approve.” Nick turned his head, pressed a kiss to the top of Charlie’s hair. “Seriously. She asked if you wanted to come over for Sunday dinner next week. She’s making that pasta bake you like.”

Charlie smiled against Nick’s shirt. “Tell her yes. I’ll bring dessert.”

“Salted caramel brownies?”

“Obviously.”

Nick hummed, content. His fingers traced lazy patterns on Charlie’s arm, drawing invisible shapes. “I was a bit nervous about tonight, you know.”

Charlie lifted his head, surprised. “Why? We study together all the time.”

“I know. It’s stupid. I just… I always want things to be perfect when I’m with you. Want you to have a good time. Want to make you happy.” Nick’s voice was quiet, almost shy. “Even if it’s just a study session.”

Charlie’s heart swelled. He propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at Nick. In the lamplight, his face was soft, open, vulnerable in a way that made Charlie want to protect him from everything. “Nick, you don’t have to try to make me happy. You just being here makes me happy. Even if we just sat in silence for two hours, I’d still be happy.”

Nick’s eyes glistened. He reached up, tucked a strand of hair behind Charlie’s ear. “You’re too good to me.”

“No, I’m not. I’m exactly good enough.” Charlie leaned down, kissed him again — quick, soft, a promise. “Now stop being self-deprecating and cuddle me.”

Nick laughed, pulling him closer. Charlie settled back into his spot, legs tangling with Nick’s. The lamplight cast a warm glow over them, the room felt smaller, safer, like a cocoon.

“Hey, Charlie?” Nick said after a moment.

“Mm?”

“I’m really glad we’re together.”

Charlie felt the words settle into him, warm and solid. He pressed a kiss to Nick’s collarbone. “Me too.”

They lay there, the night stretching out in front of them, full of potential. Textbooks forgotten, flashcards untouched. Outside, the world kept turning — cars passed, a dog barked somewhere, and somewhere Harry would make some snide comment that didn’t matter. But here, in Charlie’s room, with the lamp glowing and Nick’s arm around him, Charlie felt invincible.

His phone buzzed again. He ignored it.

“Probably Tao again,” Nick murmured.

“Probably. He can wait.”

Nick’s hand found his, squeezed gently. “Thanks for tonight. Even the dark part.”

Charlie smiled, closed his eyes. “Thank you for the stick figures.”

“I’ll draw you a hundred more.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

The lamp flickered once, and for a second Charlie thought they’d be plunged into darkness again. But it steadied, holding its golden light. Charlie was glad. He wanted to see Nick a little longer before they fell asleep.

They didn’t open the books again that night. And when Charlie finally drifted off, head on Nick’s chest, the last thing he heard was Nick’s voice, barely a whisper, full of tenderness.

“Love you, Charlie.”

Charlie smiled, too far gone to respond. But he knew Nick heard it anyway. In the quiet of the room, under the lamp’s glow, with his boyfriend’s arms around him, Charlie Spring was exactly where he was meant to be.