Chapter Text
The sports segment always came on too loud in the café across from the stadium.
“…and once again, all eyes are on Nelson tonight,” the young reporter said brightly, her voice almost swallowed by the hum of espresso machines and clinking cups. “At just twenty-six, Nick Nelson has become one of the Championship League’s most reliable players! fast on his feet, disciplined under pressure, and quickly becoming a fan favourite both on and off the pitch.”
Behind her, footage rolled of Nick sprinting down the field in slow motion, sweat darkening his strawberry-blond hair, freckles standing out sharply against flushed skin as stadium lights caught in his brown eyes. His powerful frame cut through defenders with practiced ease, all muscle and controlled momentum.
“He’s known not just for his athleticism,” the reporter continued, “but for his professionalism, humility, and, let’s be honest, that unmistakable charm. Scouts from multiple clubs are watching closely tonight, and sources suggest this match could influence contract negotiations heading into next season.”
The screen cut to a brief interview clip with Nick laughing slightly, rubbing the back of his neck as he answered a question about pressure.
“I just try to focus on the game,” he’d said. “Everything else kind of fades out once I’m on the field.”
The camera faded back to the reporter’s smiling face.
“Kickoff in fifteen minutes.”
***
Nick:
Nick didn’t hear any of that.
The locker room smelled like antiseptic spray and damp fabric, the sharp tang of liniment mixing with the earthy scent of grass still clinging to their boots. Lockers banged open and shut. Someone laughed too loudly. Someone else taped their wrists in silence.
Nick sat on the bench, elbows resting on his knees, staring down at his boots as he tightened the laces for the second time.
His heart was already going too fast.
“Oi, Golden Boy,” Sai called from across the room, grinning as he tugged his jersey over his head. “Try not to make the rest of us look bad tonight, yeah?”
Otis snorted. “Bit late for that. He’s already got the scouts drooling.”
Christian wandered past and clapped Nick lightly on the shoulder. “You’ve got this, mate. Just play your game.”
Nick smiled back automatically, warmth settling in his chest at the familiar support. Sai, Otis, and Christian had been his steady constants through brutal training weeks and long away matches. They teased him relentlessly, but it always came from a place of loyalty.
Then a sharper voice cut through the room.
“Don’t fuck this up, Nelson.”
Harry leaned against his locker, arms crossed, eyes hard and calculating. “Big night. Big eyes watching. Wouldn’t want you slipping now.”
The words landed heavier than they should have.
Nick swallowed, nodding once. “Yeah. I know.”
Harry scoffed and turned away.
Nick let out a slow breath through his nose, pressing his palms briefly against his thighs to steady himself. He could feel the pressure coiling in his chest. contracts, expectations, headlines, his father’s clipped phone calls that always started with numbers and never with how are you.
Across the room, their coach blew a short whistle. “Alright, lads. Time.”
The energy shifted instantly, bodies tightening with focus, conversations fading into quiet readiness. Jerseys were adjusted. Mouthguards snapped into place. The door swung open, and the roar of the crowd flooded in like a living thing.
One by one, the team filed out.
Nick stayed behind for a heartbeat longer.
He closed his eyes.
Inhale.
Exhale.
The noise dulled into a distant hum. The lights waiting beyond the tunnel burned bright behind his eyelids. He wasn’t a headline or a contract or a brand right now.
He was just breathing.
Then he stood, rolled his shoulders back, and stepped forward.
As he emerged onto the pitch, the stadium erupted. Thousands of voices surged together, chanting, clapping, shouting his name. The floodlights blinded him for a moment, white and blazing against the evening sky.
Nick barely registered any of it.
His focus narrowed until all he could hear was the steady rhythm of his own breath inside his chest.
***
Charlie:
High in the stands, Charlie Spring was deeply regretting every decision that had led him here.
The crowd pressed in on all sides. Bodies too close, voices too loud, the sharp smell of beer and fried food thick in the air. Someone behind him jostled his shoulder, and a splash of something cold dampened the back of his jumper.
“Oh, brilliant,” Charlie muttered under his breath, trying not to flinch.
Tao leaned closer, grimacing. “Remind me again why we’re at this terrible place.”
Isaac had already sunk deeper into his book, hood pulled low like a defensive shield against the chaos.
Darcy, however, looked delighted, practically vibrating with excitement. “Come on, guys, it’s fun! I got these tickets for free from work, remember? It’s a big deal. We never do anything like this anymore.”
Tara smiled gamely beside them, looping her arm through Darcy’s, clearly trying to summon the same enthusiasm.
Tao sighed dramatically. “What about our movie nights? Those are fun.”
Everyone turned to stare at him.
Elle reached over and patted Tao’s shoulder. “Babe… that’s not what Darcy means.”
Darcy turned to look at Charlie, eyes bright. “You’re cool with it, right, Charlie?”
Charlie forced a smile that felt slightly too tight. “Yeah.” He added a small thumbs up for emphasis.
Inside, his stomach twisted.
Rugby had never been his world. Growing up, it had been loud boys in muddy kits, shoved shoulders in hallways, laughter that followed him too long after lessons ended. He’d learned early to stay small, stay quiet, stay out of the way of lads who thought softness was something to crush.
Now here he was, surrounded by thousands of shouting strangers, already exhausted just thinking about his early shift at the hospital tomorrow. His head buzzed with noise until it felt like he couldn’t quite hear his own thoughts anymore.
Isaac glanced at him over the top of his book, eyes soft and knowing. Charlie gave him a tiny, grateful look back.
Elle squinted toward the pitch. “Do any of you even know the rules of rugby? Because I sure don’t.”
A beat passed.
“No,” Tao said.
“Nope,” Darcy admitted cheerfully.
“Not a clue,” Tara added.
Charlie shook his head. “Same.”
They all laughed — a small pocket of warmth amid the chaos.
The whistle blew.
The match burst into motion, fast and brutal and loud. The announcer’s voice boomed through the speakers, narrating plays and praising tackles.
“…Nelson breaking through the line— beautiful footwork! listen to that crowd!”
Charlie found his eyes drifting toward the player everyone seemed to be shouting about.
***
Nick:
Nick moved with powerful ease across the pitch - fast, focused, confident in a way that made the chaos bend around him instead of swallowing him whole. The crowd surged with every successful play.
For a moment, he forgot the crowd pressing in around him.
Then everything went wrong.
There was a collision, bodies crashing together in a blur of motion. Nick went down awkwardly, his leg twisting beneath him at the wrong angle.
The stadium fell into a strange, fractured hush.
Nick’s world dissolved into noise and confusion.
Shouts echoed in broken pieces. Someone was yelling his name. Hands pressed against his shoulders. Pain roared up his leg like fire, sharp and nauseating.
He tried to sit up.. couldn’t.
The sky above him spun.
Voices blurred together, fading in and out like a badly tuned radio. He caught fragments don’t move… stretcher… stay with us…”
Bright lights burned into his vision.
The next thing he knew, he was staring up at the harsh white glare of the ambulance ceiling as it rattled through the streets, siren screaming somewhere far away.
Then darkness took him.
***
When Nick woke again, everything smelled clean and sterile.
The first thing he registered was the weight in his leg, heavy, immobilised, wrapped so tightly it felt foreign, like it no longer belonged to him. A dull ache pulsed beneath the haze of medication, deep and constant.
The second thing he noticed was his mum.
Sarah sat in the chair beside the bed, her coat still draped over the back, hair messy like she hadn’t left in a while. The moment his eyelids fluttered, she leaned forward instantly.
“Oh Nick,” she breathed, relief flooding her face. “Hi, sweetheart. You’re awake.”
His throat felt dry. “Mum…?”
“I’m here,” she said quickly, squeezing his hand carefully. “You’re safe.”
A man in a crisp white coat stepped closer from the foot of the bed, clipboard tucked under his arm. He had a calm, steady presence the kind that grounded a room simply by standing in it.
“Good morning, Mr. Nelson. I’m Mr. Ajayi, the consultant overseeing your care,” he said gently. “You’ve had surgery to repair a torn ACL and a damaged meniscus in your right knee. The operation went very well.”
Nick blinked, trying to piece the words together.
“How long…?” His voice came out hoarse.
Mr. Ajayi glanced briefly at the chart. “You’ll be out of play for at least six months. Possibly closer to seven or eight, depending on how your rehabilitation progresses.”
The words landed like a physical blow.
Six months.
Nick’s breath caught sharply in his chest. His fingers tightened around the blanket without him meaning to.
“That… that can’t be right,” he said faintly. “I’ve got matches coming up. Contracts-“
Sarah squeezed his hand more firmly. “Nick, love, just breathe, okay?”
Mr. Ajayi continued calmly, “You’ll need to remain in hospital for approximately one month for monitoring, early physiotherapy, and pain management. After that, you’ll continue recovery at home with outpatient rehab. The priority is full healing, not rushing back.”
Nick stared at him, stunned.
From the corner of the room, the muted television flickered.
“…devastating scenes last night as fan-favourite Nick Nelson was stretchered off the pitch after a heavy collision…”
Footage played his body hitting the ground, players kneeling around him, the stretcher lifting him into the air.
Nick’s stomach twisted violently.
Sarah noticed his eyes drifting toward the screen. “Oh no, no, we don’t need that,” she said sharply, standing and grabbing the remote. The television went black.
She brushed his hair gently off his forehead like she used to when he was small. “You’re going to be okay. This doesn’t change who you are.”
Mr. Ajayi nodded. “Your prognosis is very positive, Nick. You’re young, strong, and motivated. If you follow the rehabilitation plan properly, I expect a full recovery.”
Nick nodded faintly, but his mind felt miles away.
Six to eight months without rugby.
A month trapped in a hospital bed.
Sponsors. His father. The silence after the spotlight fades.
He stared up at the ceiling tiles, jaw clenched, trying to keep the fear from swallowing him whole.
***
Charlie:
Charlie’s alarm went off far too soon.
He lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling of his small flat, muscles heavy with tiredness. The night before still lingered in his body, the noise, the crowd, the accidental beer shower, the overstimulation that had followed him all the way home.
It had been more social interaction than he’d had in weeks.
As he pulled on his clothes and headed into work, one image kept flickering back into his mind: the moment the stadium had gone quiet. The way the player had gone down and stayed down.
Even Charlie had felt his chest tighten watching it.
The changing room smelled faintly of detergent and cheap coffee. He slipped into his pale blue scrubs, clipped his badge into place, ran a hand through his dark curls, trying unsuccessfully to flatten them into something resembling order
Voices drifted in from nearby lockers.
“Did you hear about that rugby player from last night?”
“Yeah, apparently he’s been brought in here.”
“Must’ve been brutal.”
Charlie paused slightly, listening despite himself.
So he really was here.
Charlie shook off the thought and headed toward the orthopaedics and post-surgical rehabilitation floor. The ward where patients stayed for longer-term recovery after injuries and operations. It was quieter than emergency, calmer than intensive care, but emotionally heavier in its own way. Healing took patience. People got frustrated. Hope wavered.
He signed in at the nurses’ station and stepped into the staff lounge where the morning handover was beginning. Several nurses clustered around the table with takeaway cups, faces tired but focused.
Mr. Ajayi stood at the front, reviewing the overnight reports.
“Good morning, everyone,” he said. “We’ve had a stable night overall. Room 412 requires additional pain monitoring. Mrs. Patel’s vitals improved overnight. And we admitted a high-profile orthopaedic case late last night. Nick Nelson, rugby player. Post-surgical ACL and meniscus repair. He’ll require close monitoring, structured physio coordination, and consistent care.”
A murmur moved through the room.
Charlie felt a flicker of recognition tighten in his chest.
So it really was him.
After the briefing, Charlie grabbed a coffee, exchanging sleepy smiles and gentle jokes with the others as they dispersed. He checked his assigned patients on the board, mentally planning his morning routine.
“Spring,” Mr. Ajayi called.
Charlie looked up. “Yes, sir?”
“Could you come to my office for a moment?”
A thread of nervousness sparked in his stomach.
Inside the small office, Mr. Ajayi closed the door gently behind them.
“Spring, I’ve taken the liberty of removing the patients you were previously assigned,” Mr. Ajayi said evenly. “They’ll be covered by the rest of the team.”
Charlie blinked. “Oh, why?-“
“I want you to be the primary caretaker for Mr. Nelson during his stay,” Mr. Ajayi continued. “To ensure the best possible recovery. I trust you fully to manage that responsibility.”
Charlie’s pulse jumped. “Me? Are you sure that’s the right move? He’s… high-profile. There’ll be pressure.”
Mr. Ajayi smiled faintly. “Which is exactly why I chose you. You’re consistent, attentive, and calm under stress. Your patient outcomes speak for themselves.”
He explained the injury in more detail, outlining mobility limitations, pain management expectations, emotional support needs, and the long recovery arc ahead.
“You’ll coordinate updates with me and the other consultants, and with Ms. Zahid on evening care. You may need to take a few extended shifts. Are you comfortable with that?”
Charlie nodded slowly. “Yes. Of course.”
“Good.” Mr. Ajayi gave him a nod of approval. “I trust your judgment.”
When Charlie left the office, his head buzzed with responsibility.
He pulled up Nick Nelson’s digital chart, scanning through medical notes, allergies, mobility restrictions, and physiotherapy plans. He memorised the small details — the way he always did. It mattered.
Before heading up to the room, Charlie detoured to the cafeteria. He picked up a small tray: bottled water, a banana, a plain biscuit packet, and a soft yoghurt. Easy on a post-surgery stomach.
Maybe it would help make the introduction easier.
Maybe it would help remind the patient he was cared for, not just treated.
As he balanced the tray carefully, a flicker of self-consciousness crept in.
A famous rugby player probably wasn’t going to be thrilled about being looked after by a slim, quiet male nurse instead of one of the confident, glamorous nurses people always imagined. Charlie sighed softly and shook the thought away.
Professional. Calm. Kind.
That was what mattered.
He adjusted his grip on the tray and walked toward Room 318.
Nick Nelson’s door waited quietly at the end of the hall.
***
Nick:
Nick lay half-propped against the pillows, the steady hum of the ward filling the silence between beeps and distant footsteps. The medication still fogged the edges of his thoughts, but reality was settling in whether he liked it or not.
Sarah sat beside him, unpacking a tote bag onto the small side table.
“I brought you your toothbrush, your phone charger.. the long one, because hospital sockets are always in the most ridiculous places,” she said, lining things up neatly. “Your hoodie, the grey one you like. Clean socks. And one of your books, though I don’t know if you’ll actually read it.”
Nick huffed quietly. “Optimistic of you.”
She smiled, then hesitated slightly. “Oh. And… I rang your dad.”
Nick’s expression barely shifted.
“He busy, of course but worried.“ she continued, softer now. “He said he’ll call you later.”
She watched his face carefully, clearly expecting disappointment.
Nick only nodded once.
He didn’t feel sad. Not really. If anything, it almost would’ve been easier if his father wouldn’t call at all. His dad wouldn’t ask how much pain he was in or whether he’d slept. He’d ask about recovery timelines, physio projections, insurance, sponsors. He’d push, always faster, stronger, sooner.. even though Nick already carried that pressure inside himself.
Sarah’s mouth tightened slightly. She knew. She always knew.
Nick’s gaze drifted around the room instead. The bouquet of flowers crowded onto the windowsill, cards stacked in uneven piles. How fast were people? But it was a proof that the accident had really happened. Proof that he hadn’t imagined it.
Then his eyes dropped to his leg.
The thick brace. The bandages. The unnatural stillness.
He exhaled slowly through his nose.
Sarah reached out and rubbed his shoulder gently. “One step at a time, love.”
A knock sounded at the door.
“Come in,” Sarah called.
A moment later, the door opened, and a nurse stepped inside.
He had warm, kind eyes and short dark curls, one rebellious strand falling perfectly over his forehead. His uniform was crisp, his posture relaxed but confident. He balanced a small tray in his hands, smiling softly as his gaze landed on Nick.
“Hello, Mr. Nelson,” he said. His voice was gentle, steady. “And hello.”
He nodded politely toward Sarah.
Nick blinked once, a strange awareness flickering through him.
“Um hi,” Sarah replied, smiling back.
The nurse stepped closer. “My name is Mr. Spring. I’ll be your primary caregiver while you’re here and will be helping you through your recovery.”
Nick’s eyes drifted to the tray automatically.
Only then did he realise how empty his stomach felt.
Charlie followed his gaze and smiled slightly. “Yeah, I thought you might be getting hungry. There’ll be a warm breakfast round in about an hour, but I brought you something light for now.”
He set the tray gently on the rolling table beside the bed - juice, yoghurt, a banana, biscuits.
Sarah’s smile softened even more. “That’s very thoughtful. Thank you.”
Charlie nodded. “Of course.”
He turned back to Nick, expression attentive. “I’ll be checking your vitals regularly, helping with mobility as we start physio, managing pain levels, and making sure you’re comfortable. If anything feels wrong or overwhelming, you tell me straight away, alright?”
Nick nodded slowly. “Okay.”
Charlie hesitated slightly. “I’m just going to check your leg positioning, if that’s okay.”
“Yeah,” Nick said quietly.
Charlie’s hands were warm, unexpectedly so as he carefully adjusted the brace and gently tested stability around the padding. His touch was professional, controlled, but the heat of his palms sent an unfamiliar awareness up Nick’s spine anyway.
He swallowed.
Charlie spoke softly as he worked, explaining what he was checking and why. Nick barely absorbed the words.
Their eyes met briefly.
Nick found himself looking straight into striking blue eyes focused and calm.
Something settled strangely in his chest.
Charlie seemed to notice the pause too, blinking once before shifting his attention back to the brace.
“All looks good so far,” he said lightly.
Sarah stood. “I should head off soon. The dogs will be wondering where I’ve gone, and I’ll pop by your flat to grab a few more things.”
Charlie smiled politely. “I can walk you out and show you where the lift is. I’ll come back and help Mr. Nelson get settled afterward.”
“That would be lovely, thank you.”
Sarah leaned down and kissed the top of Nick’s head gently. “I’ll call you later, alright?”
“Thanks, Mum,” Nick murmured.
He watched them leave, the door clicking softly shut behind them.
Nick picked up the juice and took a slow sip, then nibbled at one of the biscuits. His stomach accepted it gratefully.
Mr. Spring seemed kind, at least. Calm. Steady. The sort of person who made a room feel quieter just by being in it.
After a moment, Nick reached for the remote and turned the television back on.
Sports footage flooded the screen immediately.
His accident replayed in slow motion.
The reality hit again, heavy and unavoidable.
Nick stared at the screen, jaw tightening, the echo of the stadium roar ringing faintly in his ears.
***
Charlie:
Charlie returned after walking Sarah to the lifts, watching her wave once more before disappearing behind the closing doors. He was a little surprised by how much he’d liked her. There was something unmistakably genuine about the way she spoke about Nick. The soft worry behind every sentence. It was obvious how deeply she loved him.
Not everyone had that.
Charlie shook the thought away and headed back down the corridor.
He knocked gently on Nick’s door and waited a few seconds - protocol - before pushing it open.
The sports channel was now on.
“…a frightening moment for fans as Nelson collapsed after the collision—”
Charlie paused just inside the doorway.
Nick sat half-reclined in the bed, eyes fixed on the screen. His expression had shifted since Charlie had last seen him — the earlier fog of medication replaced now with something tighter, more unsettled. His jaw was clenched slightly.
Charlie spoke softly, careful not to startle him.
“Are you sure you should be watching that?”
Nick blinked, as if pulled out of a trance. He reached for the remote and flicked to another channel, then muted the volume entirely.
“Probably not,” he admitted, offering a half-lopsided smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Charlie moved closer to the bed. “How are you feeling?”
Nick hesitated. “I mean… fine, I guess. As fine as you can feel when half your leg doesn’t belong to you anymore.”
Charlie smiled faintly at that. “That’s fair.”
They exchanged a few moments of light small talk, how the pain was sitting, whether the food had helped, whether Nick had slept at all. Charlie could tell the question wasn’t an easy one to answer. It felt like Nick kept drifting between honesty and deflection, like he wasn’t sure which version of himself he was allowed to show yet.
Charlie shifted gently into explanation mode.
“I’ll walk you through how things are going to work,” he said calmly. “Showers will need to be assisted for now. We’ll use a chair and make sure the brace stays protected. Same for the toilet, at least until your balance improves. I’ll also be checking in regularly with your pain medication and coordinating with physio during the day.”
Nick listened closely, nodding.
“And if anything feels uncomfortable or overwhelming,” Charlie added, “you tell me. We’ll adjust.”
“Okay,” Nick said quietly.
And just like that, the rhythm of it began.
***
Nick:
Nick’s first assisted movement session was clumsy and humbling. His muscles remembered strength, but his knee didn’t cooperate yet. Charlie stayed close, one steady hand hovering at Nick’s back, the other ready at his elbow.
“Slow,” Charlie encouraged softly. “You’re doing great. Don’t rush it.”
Nick clenched his jaw as he shifted his weight forward, sweat breaking across his forehead from the effort alone. His breath hitched when a sharp twinge shot through his leg.
Charlie adjusted immediately, already anticipating the angle before Nick even had to say anything. “There, try that instead.”
It helped.
Nick stared at him afterward, a little stunned. “How did you-?”
Charlie shrugged lightly. “You tensed before the pain hit. Your shoulders gives you away.”
Nick laughed weakly. “Brilliant. I’m transparent.”
But something warm settled in his chest anyway.
Nick learned quickly that recovery was not something you powered through.
It was something you surrendered to.
Charlie became the constant in those long hospital days during the first week, always arriving with soft footsteps, a calm voice, and a steady patience that never felt rushed. He explained everything before touching him, always making sure Nick felt in control, even when his own body refused to cooperate.
***
The first shower had been the hardest.
The hospital bathroom smelled faintly of soap and disinfectant, steam fogging the mirror as warm water hit tile. Nick hated needing help. Hated the exposed vulnerability of it, even with his lower body carefully covered.
Charlie adjusted the chair and checked the temperature.
“Tell me if it’s too hot or too cold,” he said gently.
Nick nodded, jaw tight. “Yeah. It’s… fine.”
Charlie stayed professional, his back when Nick adjusted himself, handing him the sponge rather than doing it for him when possible. Still, Nick was painfully aware of every movement Charlie made behind him, the warmth of his presence, the quiet concentration in his breathing.
At one point, Nick tried to reach the shampoo bottle and nearly lost his balance.
Charlie’s hands caught his shoulders instantly.
“Careful,” Charlie said, voice steady but close now.
Nick laughed awkwardly, adrenaline buzzing. “Guess I’m not exactly match-fit.”
Charlie laughed softly with a warm smile, and Nick noticed it then.
The dimples.
They carved into Charlie’s cheeks unexpectedly, softening his serious face completely.
Nick blinked. “You’ve got dimples.”
Charlie froze.
“What?”
“Dimples,” Nick repeated, amused. “Did you know that?”
Charlie’s cheeks flushed pink instantly. “I— no, I— I mean, people have mentioned it, I suppose.”
Nick grinned. “They’re nice.”
There was a beat of silence.
Charlie cleared his throat and gently released Nick’s shoulders. “Alright. Let’s, uh… finish up here.”
Nick caught the way Charlie turned slightly away, shoulders a touch tense, carefully guarded. But the faint colour stayed in his cheeks, and Nick couldn’t stop smiling to himself.
Charlie somehow always seemed to know what he needed. Another pillow before his back started aching, water before his throat went dry, a pause before frustration boiled over. It made the hours pass more gently than Nick had expected.
Nick also noticed something else.
He hated when Charlie’s shift ended.
There was a small hollow feeling every time Charlie checked his watch and said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?” even though Nick never said anything about it.
***
Charlie:
Charlie, meanwhile, found it harder than he expected to leave on time. He lingered more than he should, double-checking notes, adjusting blankets that didn’t really need adjusting, making sure Nick had everything within reach.
***
Later that same week, Charlie took Nick’s blood pressure.
He wrapped the cuff around Nick’s arm, fingers brushing firm muscle. Charlie very deliberately focused on the machine rather than the body attached to it.
He felt Nick’s eyes carefully watching him.
Charlie checked the numbers and smiled. “Well, your blood pressure is perfect. Clear to see you’re in good shape.”
Nick raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”
Charlie immediately flushed again. “I mean- the results show you’re in good shape. Medically. That’s what I meant.”
Nick chuckled softly. “At least something’s going well.”
Charlie’s smile softened, turning thoughtful. “A lot more than that, actually. Your head injury is healing well. Your vitals are strong. And everything suggests you’ll make a full recovery.” He met Nick’s eyes. “That’s a success. Things are going well, you just need time. And probably rest. Which I imagine you’re not very good at.”
Nick looked down at his leg, then back at him. “You’re good with words. Thanks.”
Charlie felt warmth creep into his cheeks again and busied himself packing away the machine. “Of course.” and actually for the first time, since working with Nick feeling relieved that he was soon done for the day.
***
Monday arrived faster than Charlie expected
Charlie stepped onto the ward in the morning and was immediately met by Sahar, one of his closest coworkers, the nurse who usually covered Nick’s evenings.
“Oh good, you’re here,” Sahar said “I swear, he can sense when you’re coming in. He’s always more settled once you’re on shift.”
Charlie shook his head lightly. “I’m sure that’s not true.”
Sahar smirked. “It is. Mr. Ajayi was right to put you with him. You do brilliant work. Even Mia’s jealous.”
Charlie raised an eyebrow. “Why would she be?”
Sahar leaned closer. “Haven’t you noticed how she acts whenever she talks about him? Or how long she suddenly takes to deliver juice? She definitely wants more than just vital checks.”
Charlie sighed, slipping his schedule from the board. “I’m sure you’re reading into it.”
Sahar laughed and waved goodbye.
Charlie headed to Mr. Ajayi’s office for a quick update meeting — reviewing Nick’s mobility progress, pain management, and emotional state. Everything was moving steadily, if slowly.
When he finished, he turned toward the staff lounge and nearly walked straight into Mia.
She had been chatting with another nurse but excused herself when she spotted Charlie.
“If you ever need extra help with Mr. Nelson,” Mia said brightly, brushing her hair back, “I’d be happy to assist. I think he enjoys my company.”
Charlie gave a polite nod. “Okay. I’ll let you know if we need anything.”
Mia smiled and walked off.
Charlie continued toward Nick’s room, a strange, uncomfortable twist settling in his chest.
He couldn’t deny that Mia was pretty. Confident. The type of person patients often gravitated toward.
It wouldn’t be the first time someone had asked for her specifically.
And yet, the thought bothered him more than it should have.
Charlie knocked, waited a beat, then entered.
Nick immediately sat up a little straighter, running a hand through his messy hair like that might somehow make him look more put together. Charlie noticed and smiled softly.
“Good morning, Mr. Nelson,” Charlie said. His eyes flicked to the mostly empty breakfast tray. “I see you’ve already eaten, that’s great. Sorry I’m a bit later today. I had to go over last week’s notes with Mr. Ajayi.”
“It’s okay,” Nick said, smiling. “I’m glad you’re here. And, uh… it would be alright if you called me Nick, actually.”
Charlie hesitated, professional instinct flaring but Nick kept going quickly.
“And maybe I could call you Charlie? Sahar told me.”
Charlie blinked in surprise, then nodded without thinking. “Yes. Of course. That’s fine.”
Nick somehow looked more relaxed.
Charlie smiled. “Well, Nick… what do you say we get started?”
***
Nick:
Nick couldn’t quite explain why Charlie mattered more than the others.
Sahar was great! funny, respectful, giving him space while still being attentive. Mia was kind too, always ready to chat, always smiling a little too brightly when she came in. Other nurses rotated in and out, all competent, all pleasant.
But Charlie was different.
With Charlie, Nick felt seen not as a headline, not as a rugby player, not as a broken body in a hospital bed.. just… as himself.
Which was why, during physio that morning, Nick pushed too hard.
He wanted to show improvement. Wanted Charlie to be proud. Wanted proof that he wasn’t useless yet.
Pain flared sharply up his leg when he overextended.
Nick swore under his breath, breath hitching.
Charlie was immediately at his side. “Hey! stop. That’s enough.”
“I can do it,” Nick insisted, frustration burning behind his eyes.
“Not like this,” Charlie said firmly but kindly. “You’re healing, not competing.”
Nick slumped back against the pillows, jaw tight.
Charlie rested a steady hand against the side of the bed. “You’re doing really well. Progress isn’t linear. You don’t need to punish yourself.”
Nick exhaled shakily. “Sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize.”
Charlie stayed with him until the frustration faded, grounding him back into calm.
***
Charlie:
Charlie was eating bread and nursing a coffee in the staff lounge when Brian approached him.
“Charlie, I hate to ask — can you stay late today? We’re short for evening coverage. You’ll get tomorrow off instead.”
Charlie nodded without hesitation. “Of course. I can work around it.”
Brian looked relieved. “Good. You’ve already done physio with Mr. Nelson, so take a bit of rest before the evening shift.”
Charlie texted Tao quickly to reassure him before turning his phone off.
***
Nick:
Nick kept glancing at the door as the afternoon stretched on.
Charlie hadn’t said where he was going, and that shouldn’t have mattered, nurses rotated constantly, shifts overlapped, schedules changed but Nick still found himself listening for the familiar knock that never came.
Another nurse helped him during the day instead. She was perfectly kind, efficient and polite, and Nick thanked her properly, but the room felt oddly quieter afterward, like something small but important had been removed.
His thoughts drifted.
His mum had visited yesterday, filling the room with warmth and chatter and updates from home. She’d brought more stuff from his flat, fussed over the flowers and cards lining the windowsill, kissed his forehead like she always had. She’d talked about the dogs, about the neighbours, about anything that might keep his spirits up. She’d also mentioned his team, how worried they were, how the coach had asked after him.
As if on cue, his phone buzzed earlier that morning with messages and missed calls from Sai, Otis and Christian. They’d filled him in on training gossip, injuries, Harry already soaking up the attention in his absence. Nick had laughed along, but the reality still stung. It had only been a week and the team was already moving forward without him.
It left him painfully aware of how much of his life had always revolved around rugby.
Most of his friends were rugby lads. Most of his routines, his identity, his future plans, all built around the sport. Even his dating life had always orbited that same world. He’d dated girls, models, influencers, people who looked good beside him in photos and a few guys too, usually quietly, usually late at night when cameras weren’t around. People close to him knew he was bi. Rumours had floated now and then, never strong enough to become headlines. Nothing had ever felt serious enough to fight for.
His father certainly wouldn’t have approved. His brother hadn’t exactly been supportive either, back when Nick had first tried to talk about it. Only his mum had ever made it feel simple. Normal.
And now here he was injured, stalled, suddenly forced to sit still with himself for the first time in years.
Which was probably why Charlie kept slipping into his thoughts when he least expected it.
Charlie with his quiet patience. His soft voice. The way he listened like Nick mattered even when the conversation was small.
Then the knock came.
The familiar one.