Nick POV

"I told you, Mum, David and I arranged for me to take the cottage for Christmas," Nick told his mother for what must have been the seventeenth time. "Besides, this clears your schedule to see Aunt Diane for the rest of the month. I know you've been wanting to see her, since we don't go on our yearly holidays to Menorca anymore."

Sarah sighed on the other end of the mobile. "I know that, Nicky," she answered. "I just hate the idea of you spending the Christmas holidays alone."

"I'm not alone," replied Nick, sounding mock-offended as he picked up a round, old pug. "I've got Henry with me."

"You know very well what I'm talking about," Sarah lightly scolded him. "I just wish that things with Grace had worked out; I really liked her..."

"Mum, Grace and I called it quits over six months ago," Nick responded patiently; he'd been with Grace Lewisham since his third year at uni, right after his dad had died, but she hadn't wanted a family, and was put off by the fact that he was bisexual, something he'd discovered in secondary. "We just weren't right for each other. Nothing anyone can do about it."

"I know that you and she didn't see eye-to-eye about the whole marriage and children thing, and how much that meant to you," Sarah said gently. "Well, don't mind me... At least promise me that you've got plenty of groceries."

"Mum, town is only ten minutes away—"

"Nicky, I'm your mother," Sarah interrupted, "and, as your mother, I reserve the right to worry about you, and David. Don't think I didn't cross-check the weather reports for where the pair of you are currently spending your holidays."

"What's Vermont's weather going to be like, then?" Nick asked, allowing Henry to get out of his arms and curl up in a ball on the other side of the couch.

"Graham, Helena, Rosie, and Felix will be very pleased by the fact that snowy days are very popular over there," Sarah answered, and Nick knew she was smirking as she mentioned his nieces and nephews, David's children with his wife, Cecilia, whom he'd been married to for almost five years.

"They certainly will," Nick replied, knowing entirely well that six-year-old Graham, five-year-old Helena, three-year-old Rosie, and one-year-old Felix would be very pleased with the gifts he'd sent along for them. Of course, Graham and Helena were dogs, Cavalier King Charles Spaniels to be exact, which Cecilia brought into the relationship, whom David had fallen in love with nearly as much as his wife.

"You're in for a snowstorm yourself, Nicky," Sarah warned him a moment later. "Now, I'm sure the power won't go off, but I need to know that you've got plenty of groceries so that you, and Henry, of course, won't starve."

"As long as it doesn't prevent me from starting at Kingston Grammar in January, I doubt that will be an issue," Nick told her. "I'll call the rental car company if the roads become hazardous, and I'm sure they'll understand..."

"You tell me what they'll want for the fee and I'll pay it," Sarah said quickly.

"Mum, I can't ask you to do that!"

"You can and you will, Nicky," Sarah informed him firmly. "I won't have you losing your nest egg from minor-league Rugby before you even start out in your teaching career."

"Mum, you've already helped me out with the cottage in London," Nick said, shaking his head; while he loved the sixteenth-century, Tudor-style cottage he'd found, he hadn't fully agreed to his mother paying for half of it.

"Nicky, you're a wonderful son," Sarah said gently, "and I can certainly afford it, given that my two boys are out on their own, and I don't have any dogs to worry about."

Nick's voice caught for a moment as he looked over at Henry, who seemed to sense the way their conversation was going, and whined. "I miss her, Mum... Nellie."

"I know, dear," Sarah said softly, "I do, too."

Nick looked around the living room; it really did look nice, given that he'd chopped some wood to make a roaring fire, purchased a Christmas tree, and decorated it with the decorations that he and David had accumulated over the years. "I did do groceries," he said at last, wanting to reassure his mother, "and I knew about the weather. I stocked up, just in case, and the tires are equipped with chains, in case I need to go to the shops, but the weather is snowy."

"I don't want you to even think of driving if it turns into a blizzard, Nicky, and they're saying it just might," said Sarah on the other end of his mobile. "I don't want anything happening to you, do you hear me, Nicholas Luke Nelson?"

Nick smiled; his mother was truly a wonderful woman. "Yes, Mum, I hear you," he answered; he wouldn't drive if it was a blizzard outside, of course not. He had enough food for a fortnight if it came to that, so he was well-satisfied with how ahead he'd planned.

"All right," she said, obviously calming down. "How is the weather now?"

"It's..." Nick scooted further along the couch and pulled back the red curtain which bracketed the large bay window of the living room, and raised his eyebrows. "Oh, my... It's actually really coming down already. I guess it could turn into a blizzard, Mum."

"Well, you and Henry stay indoors, then," Sarah informed him, her tone still firm. "Henry's old enough as it is without Old Man Winter making a play for his life."

Henry huffed indignantly from his side of the couch.

"Henry would like me to tell you that he doesn't appreciate that, Mum," Nick said, smirking at his canine companion.

Sarah laughed. "Sorry, Henry," she called out. "Promise me you'll be careful, Nicky?"

"I promise, Mum, I'll be careful," Nick said gently. "I want you to give Aunt Diane and Uncle Rich big hugs from me, all right?"

"Of course I will, Nicky," Sarah replied, "and I'll be sure to bring your presents for them."

"Thanks, Mum. I love you."

"I love you, too, darling," Sarah said. "Speak soon, all right?"

"All right, Mum. Bye," he said, and cut the call, turning to look out the window. "Man, Henry, it's really coming down," he mused, and chuckled as Henry walked across the couch to get back into his lap. "Look, look," he said, gesturing towards the window, and Henry watched, seemingly fascinated, as the sight of the snow falling. He presses a kiss onto Henry's head, before setting him aside and getting to his feet. "What do you say to some lunch?"

Henry let out a soft woof and hurried after Nick to the kitchen, which was just off the living room, separated by a hallway, with the front door to the left, plus the three downstairs bedrooms, and the loo, to the right. The old pug watched as Nick retrieved a small scoop of kibble, appropriate for a senior dog, and put it into his ceramic bowl, before setting it down on the ground carefully. Henry waddled right over, sticking his face into it, inhaling the scent of dried meat, and began to eat.

Nick watched Henry with a small smile, before he washed his hands and cobbled together a sandwich, crisps, and orange squash for himself. He'd unpacked that morning after his arrival with Henry, taking up the master bedroom with the en suite upstairs. Henry even had his own little duffel bag, too, with a bone stitched around his name. Although Henry was all right with jumping off places (sometimes) climbing lots of stairs had proved to be an issue with his old age, so Nick had become happy to carry him around his cottage back home, or whenever he brought him here to Brittany.

Nick had opted for a bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich, as there was still some bacon left over from his late breakfast. He ate it standing up against the sink, which his mother had always scolded him for growing up, but he didn't feel the need to sit at a table, let alone lay one, if it was just him eating. As he stared out the kitchen window, perfectly positioned above the white ceramic farmhouse sink, he considered what he could do with himself while he was here for the holidays, if leaving the cottage was off the table, due to the weather. Had it just been a light snow, he could have easily walked or driven to the town nearby, but, given the dangerous road conditions, the shops would likely be closed for business. Not that he blamed the proprietors, given that they themselves needed to be safe, too.

Nick washed his plate and knife before setting them in the drying rack, and brushed the crumbs into the sink. There were a plethora of Blu-Rays on offer in the sitting room, and David had splurged for Netflix, Disney+, Peacock, Paramount+, Amazon Prime Video, Hulu, Apple TV+, BritBox, BBC iPlayer and ITV. One of the rooms upstairs was a home gym, something that Nick had contributed to the house, with a treadmill, exercise bike, a variety of weights, a squat rack, a rowing machine, dumbbells and kettlebells, a pull-up bar, and a cross-training machine. He had also managed to install an indoor pool, hot tub, and sauna to what once had been his father's home office, something that both David, Cecilia, Rosie, and Felix absolutely loved.

Nick soon realized that, on top of several indoor activity options (not even considering the rather large library across the hall from the home gym) he would also have to prepare meals for himself and keep the house clean. In the summer, whenever he'd come up, he and Henry would walk to the village and have at least one meal out. Henry, although an old man, still loved attention from anyone and, given his regular trips to the doggy salon, was always in tip-top condition. Nick also had to consider how he was going to exercise Henry; he and David had taught Henry to swim when they still lived at home, and the condition for him being allowed in the pool here was to ensure that Henry had been bathed recently, and that the pool was drained and cleaned afterwards so as to not keep his hair loitering about.

Of course, given that it was wintertime, Nick likely wouldn't take Henry into the pool, but there were pieces of exercise equipment for him, Graham, and Helena up in the home gym, so it wasn't as if he would go wanting. Henry, meanwhile, was looking up at Nick with large eyes, as if he wanted to leave the kitchen. Nick smiled down at his pug companion; he loved the fact that he could always read his expressions.

"Come on, then," he said, and moved to walk into the living room, with Henry eagerly following him. "We'll have some more cuddles before your nap."

Henry whined from behind him.

"Don't even try," Nick told him firmly. "You need a nap, otherwise you'll be cranky later."

Nick sat on the couch with Henry and switched on the telly, knowing entirely well how easy it would be to fall down the rabbit hole of Netflix's Christmas offerings. He smiled at the notion that Henry seemed to like them, always calming down with the American female protagonists talking away, as if attempting to rationalize the notion that falling in love with some European hunk in a matter of days was not going to happen. Ultimately, as everyone was a sucker for happy endings, with the holiday season as its backdrop, love happened.

Nick smirked; after he and his secondary school girlfriend, Imogen, had called it quits, he had had several casual flings with boys after coming to the realization that he was bisexual. When he began at uni, he hadn't wanted a serious relationship right away, and had had more flings with both men and women, in an attempt to find himself. Then, he'd met Grace, and they were serious for quite a while, even meeting each other's families. Grace's father was a successful barrister, and had sneered at the notion that Nick wanted to go into education. A head teaching position would have been fine, he'd told Nick, as he would have been in charge, but a teacher was merely a cog in the entire operation, and not something he needed his daughter putting up with.

Nick shifted slightly on the couch; things seemed to be going uphill for him when he broke things off with Grace, despite the notion that he'd had no long term romantic prospects since then. Of course, professionally, he was doing very well for himself, and was looking forward to his full-time teaching position come January. He knew his mother was pleased as well to see him settled into a good career, but she did want him to find a good romantic partner, as she was fully aware that Nick wanted that for himself as well.

He vaguely paid attention to the film Netflix had picked for him—something about two strangers, who just so happened to be doppelgangers, at Christmastime, in a foreign country with a kingdom that looked vaguely German and Scandinavian. It ended happily, of course, with a wedding, and Nick found himself hating that notion, for nothing really worked out that way. He switched off the film once the credits rolled, as the snow became heavier, and he scooped up Henry, who was now fast asleep.

"Let's get you upstairs for a proper nap, eh?" he asked, and walked slowly up the staircase, just off the hallway, not wanting to disturb him. Nick had just settled Henry in his doggie bed in the master bedroom when a knock at the front door startled him. Pressing a kiss to Henry's head, and feeling slightly relieved for his partial, old-age deafness, he left the bedroom and hurried down the stairs, wondering who on earth could possibly he there, as he approached the door, peeked through the spyhole, and, to his shock, saw a young man, about his age, standing on the threshold, covered quite a bit in snow.

"Er, sorry," the stranger said quietly, shaking his raven-haired, winter-cap covered head with awkwardness. "My Uber got a flat, and I was looking for Le Relais de Brocéliande?" he asked, looking unsure, as if thinking that Nick potentially only spoke French.

Nick smiled, knowing that, in this scenario, the correct thing to do would be to put the poor, snow-covered, ridiculously attractive guy out of his misery. "Yeah, that's about three miles that way," he answered, pointing.

"Oh, um," the stranger replied, and moved to back away.

"No, wait," Nick said quickly, hoping he sounded non-threatening. "I can't let you go out there again. Come in," he said, and stood back.

The stranger hesitated, obviously debating whether or not Nick was a serial killer or something, before the temptation of staying warm won, ultimately leading him to stumble awkwardly over the threshold. "I really am sorry about this," he said, kicking the excess snow off his boots before Nick shut the door behind him. "I'll just stay until the blizzard lets up, and then I can go."

"It's supposed to last until after Christmas," Nick said quietly.

"Right, of course it is," the stranger murmured, and took off his boots, once he saw that the man was in stockinged feet, and placed them beside the door. "Sorry, I'm Charlie, Charlie Spring," he told Nick, taking off his hat and holding out his hand.

Nick smiled and moved to accept the handshake, thinking it was impossibly cute that snowflakes had stuck to Charlie's raven curls. "Nick, Nick Nelson," he said. "Come in, you must be freezing. I'll put you in one of the spare rooms and you can get some dry clothes on, then we can decide what to have for dinner."

Charlie followed. "You're British," he observed.

Nick looked over his shoulder at Charlie and grinned. "Yeah," he replied. "I'm from Kent, from this little town called Truham," he responded, not thinking that anyone outside the area had heard of it.

Charlie, meanwhile, nearly stumbled in shock. "Wait—you too? My Uber driver was from there, but they went to Higgs. I'm guessing you didn't go there."

Nick chuckled. "No, can't say I did. I was supposed to go to Truham Grammar, but I got a last-minute try-out for St. John's, so I ended up going there."

"I went to Truham Grammar," Charlie said as Nick led him past the living room and down the hallway.

Nick opened a door, revealing a moderately-sized bedroom with a queen-sized bed, large windows, wardrobe, and desk. "Will this be all right?" he asked, moving out of the way so that Charlie could inspect it. "The other room down here only has a double, and then the room at the end of the hall has two singles, whereas I sleep upstairs in the master..."

"No, this is great," Charlie assured him. "Why do you have a house here, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Oh, that," Nick said, shuffling slightly. "My dad was French, and he lived in Paris. This was his holiday home, of sorts, that he bought after he divorced my mum," he replied, finding it very easy to talk to Charlie, and so, he kept doing it. "He died when I was at uni, and me and my older brother, David, share it. He's married with kids now, so they use it, but his wife, who's American, persuaded him to take the kids with her to see her family in Vermont in the States for the holidays. So, I got the house this year..."

Charlie blinked. "Well, I'm sorry about your dad..."

Nick shrugged; wondering if he'd said too much to Charlie, who was still, technically, a stranger, despite growing up in his same small town. "Don't be. We didn't see much of him in the divorce, and David was his favorite out of the two of us. He never really..." He shook his head, knowing that he could potentially scare Charlie off with all this information. "Doesn't matter. Why don't you get settled in? You can have a shower if you like, to warm up, and then we can decide what to make for dinner, all right?"

Charlie nodded. "All right," he replied.

"I could take your clothes for you," Nick continued, wanting to be useful. "I have a washing machine and a tumble dryer by the kitchen."

Charlie smiled at him. "Sure. Just let me change into my dressing gown."

Nick nodded. "That's fine. I should check on Henry anyway..." He didn't really need to, but he also knew he would up the creep factor as a host if he loitered when Charlie changed.

Charlie blinked. "Henry?"

"Sorry, my pug," Nick said with a smile, hoping that it wouldn't freak Charlie out that there was an animal in the house. "I got him ten years ago for Christmas, actually, and, after I got out of uni, I took him with me..." He hesitated, looking at Charlie's expression, which wasn't fully readable, much to his dismay. "Do you do well with dogs? I mean, he's old now, so he won't bother you if..."

"No, I love dogs," Charlie assured him. "My parents don't like animals, so my older sister, Tori, and I never had pets growing up. I've always wanted a dog, though, and I've been thinking about it since I got settled in my job in London."

"You work in London?" Nick asked, feeling himself perking up. "Whereabouts?"

"Kingston Grammar," Charlie responded. "I'm an English teacher for Year 10 and Year 11 students there."

Nick's eyes widened, and he definitely had golden retriever energy as he spoke next. "I'm starting there next term," he said, gleeful. "I'm sure you heard that their physical education head is retiring?"

Charlie nodded slowly. "Of course," he said, and hastily took off his coat, which Nick promptly took from him.

"I'll hang it in the hall for you," Nick said quickly, feeling like a terrible host. "And, yeah, he was old friends with my sport science professors from uni; I went to Leeds," he continued. "I was playing Rugby for a bit and then I got an injury, so I got the recommendation. It'll be so cool to know that I know someone else on staff there," he said, feeling his cheeks pinking ever so slightly at that. He noticed Charlie shivering and shook his head at his carelessness—he hardly wanted Charlie to freeze to death! "Sorry," he said quickly, "you change into your dressing gown and get into the shower. I'll come back into the hallway and you can open the loo door a crack, and pass me your clothes," he continued, backing out of the room. "There's a small linen cupboard in the bathroom, filled with towels, and there's shampoo, conditioner, and body wash in there, left over from when David was here last."

Nick whistled to himself as he walked back down the hallway towards the front door, hearing Charlie's quick footsteps as he made his way to the loo and shut the door behind him. Nick hung up Charlie's snow-sodden coat, as promised, before he turned around and made his way back towards the loo. Nick watched as the door cracked open at his approach, and Charlie quickly fed his clothes through the gap.

"I'll put these into the wash, Charlie," Nick called, turning away from the door. "You take your time, all right?"

"Thank you, Nick!" he called back, and shut the door.

Nick went into the kitchen and into the little pantry beside it, opening up the washing machine and tossing Charlie's clothes inside, after reading the labels. He set the machine to the proper settings and put in the detergent, before he shut the door and started the wash. He hurried up the staircase and peeked in on Henry, who was still fast asleep, as his phone began to ring in his pocket, so he quickly went back to the first landing of the staircase and pulled it out of his pocket, checking to see who it was, before he answered it.

"David."

"Don't sound too happy to hear from me," David joked on the other end. "Mum mentioned you were going to have some weather up there. Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, fine," Nick replied, knowing that David worried. "Don't worry. I'm sure the roof will hold since you patched it up last summer."

"That's not what I'm worried about," David told him. "Once upon a time, I may have been, and I'm glad the snow won't suffocate you or Henry in your sleep, but I certainly care more about you, little brother."

Nick smirked. "Yeah, I know," he said, knowing that David would know he was just messing with him.

"Is the snow really bad, then?"

"It's gotten worse over the last two hours," Nick confirmed. "How are things going over in Vermont? Are Paul and Violet all right?" he asked, asking after Cecilia's parents, who had been married for over thirty years.

"They're great; Scott, Lily, and the kids are here, too," David replied, mentioning Cecilia's older brother, his wife, and their children, called Molly, Newton, and Daisy.

"Well, I'm sure Rosie and Felix will have a great time with their cousins," Nick said; he'd only met all of them the once, at David and Cecilia's wedding, but they were all exceptionally friendly people, and all adored David, while Violet and Sarah talked a lot and had many Zoom meetings throughout the year.

David was silent for a moment before he asked, "What aren't you telling me?"

Nick hesitated for a moment. "How often do you meet people from Truham?"

"Truham Grammar, or Truham proper?" he asked.

"Truham proper," Nick clarified.

"Not very often; it was a really small town," David said, as if he was really considering it. "Most people who are from Kent don't even really know about it, other than maybe seeing it on a map or road sign. Why do you ask?"

"Well, a bloke showed up on the front porch a little while ago, from Truham," Nick said, and could hear David inhaling sharply.

"He what?"

"Yeah, he was looking for that ridiculously beautiful spa nearby," Nick explained. "His Uber got a flat and so he took off looking for it—"

"In a blizzard?" David demanded, nearly shouting, so much so that Nick had to physically remove his mobile from up against his ear. "Is he mad? The blizzards there are insane! Is he all right? Did you bring him inside?"

Nick blinked, amazed at David's humanitarian attitude. "I did, yes. He's in the shower now, and I'm washing his clothes," he responded calmly.

David sighed. "All right... Is he as tall as you are?"

Nick chuckled. "No, just around your height, actually, maybe a bit shorter. He's more of the bookish type," he explained.

"Ah, so not an athlete, then?" David pressed.

"I didn't say that," Nick countered. "If I were to guess, I'd say he seems more like the running type than the Rugby one," he explained.

David chuckled on the other end of the mobile. "Ah, so he is your type," he mused.

Nick sputtered at that. "What?!" he demanded. "I've only just met him—!"

"Doesn't matter, little brother," David replied, and Nick could almost see him sitting in his favorite chair by the window in one of the guest bedrooms that Cecilia's parents had in their Vermont home, of which he'd seen plenty of pictures. "You forget how well I know you. And it's not as if you're going to marry the bloke. You're allowed to find him attractive."

Nick rolled his eyes. "I never said he was," he muttered, although he was flushing, and he knew entirely well that David would pick up on that from his tone of voice.

"Dark hair and blue eyes, then?" David asked, and Nick could envision him smirking.

Nick huffed. "I do not have a type!"

"Two words, little brother, two words: Zooey Deschanel."

"You're not helping," Nick told him.

"'Helping' wasn't necessarily my objective," David replied, and his voice turned muffled for a moment as Nick heard, "Just talking to Nick."

"Is that Cecilia?" Nick asked. "Tell her 'hi' for me."

"She's telling me that breakfast is ready," David reported, "and she says 'hi' back and that she loves you."

"I love her, too," Nick assured him.

"Tell me how it goes, if you're still alive by morning," David said, and then, "Oh, Nick invited a total stranger into the cottage because he's lonely and there's a blizzard."

"He's done what?!" Cecilia cried out.

"Goodbye, David," Nick said firmly.

"Bye, Nick. The bloke seemed really nice—!" David was informing Cecilia as Nick cut off the call and placed his mobile into his pocket.

Nick got to his feet and stretched, the muscles in his back settling back into place, whereupon he turned around and caught Henry staring at him. "Oh. David's voice wake you up?" he asked, and ventured to the top of the stairs to pick up Henry. "All right, but this means an early bedtime for you tonight."

Henry huffed in annoyance as Nick carried him downstairs.

"Hey, I don't make the rules," Nick told him as he brought him back into the living room and settled him down onto the couch. "You know entirely well that your veterinary surgeon was the one who suggested it in the first place."

Nick heard Charlie open the bathroom door and make his way back to his temporary bedroom and shut the door behind him.

"That'll be Charlie," Nick informed Henry, and the little pug's ears pricked up again. "He's a lovely bloke, and he's from Truham. Funny how the world works, isn't it?" Nick looked up again as the bedroom door opened, followed by Charlie's careful footsteps down the hallway, and then he came into the living room.

"Is this Henry?" he asked, stepping forward.

Nick nodded; dammit, Charlie looked downright adorable with his excitement. "Yeah," he said, picking up Henry, while walking towards him. "Henry, this is Charlie. Charlie, Henry."

"Hello, Henry," Charlie said happily, leading the old pug let out a small, indulgent moaning sound, pawing towards him, and Charlie took him when Nick handed him over, pleased that Henry liked him so much. "You're so adorable," he cooed at him.

"You're great with him," Nick commented; perhaps the old saying about dogs knowing who was okay or not was true.

"I volunteered at various animal shelters in my uni days," Charlie admitted, peeking up at Nick for a moment before returning his gaze to Henry. "Even though I didn't have time for a pet, I wanted animals in my life. The dogs loved me."

"I can see why," Nick said, grinning at the sight. "Henry was my second dog growing up," he continued, again marveling at how easy it was to talk to Charlie. "I also had a border collie, Nellie, for years before. She died in my third year at Leeds, and it was pretty devastating for everyone, especially Henry and my mum."

"I can imagine," Charlie said, scratching Henry's back, as he looked up at Nick again. "Are you close with your mum?"

"Yeah," Nick said, nodding. "She's still at the old house, up on River Crescent."

Charlie's eyes widened. "That's a ten-minute walk from my house!"

Nick blinked, amazed at the coincidence; then again, Truham was the very definition of a "small town". "Is it?"

Charlie nodded. "Yeah," he said, shaking his head.

"So weird how we never met," Nick observed quietly, stuffing his hands in his pockets rather awkwardly, his mind whirring with constant "what-ifs". "Anyhow, her name's Sarah, and she's a children's oncologist. Her work is helpful to her, I think, because David lives in Cardiff now with his family."

"And what does David do?" Charlie asked.

"He initially went to university, in Glasgow, for history, but ultimately decided to get an architectural degree," Nick responded. "He's got a firm out there, and is one of the big bosses, I guess you'd call it. His wife, Cecilia, is lovely, and she's an estate agent. They're one of those families that has a housekeeper, a nanny, things like that. But they want the best for their kids, so they are actually taught Welsh at their secondary school, and they have a French tutor, because David wants them to be trilingual."

"Well, as long as it's not forced, I can see why that could serve them well," Charlie said with a smile. "My father's family is from Spain, but I'm absolutely shit at Spanish, even though he made me take it as a GCSE."

"Were they very strict, your parents, when it came to academics?" Nick asked, his heart hurting at the notion that Charlie may have been hurt somehow.

"My mum, more so than my dad," Charlie replied, and Nick's heart went out to him. "I think she's just glad I didn't major in music wherever I decided to go to university."

"Oh? Music?" Nick asked, trying his best not to sound too eager.

"Yeah, I play the drums, but it's mostly a hobby now," Charlie told him.

"You play the drums? That's so cool!" Nick cried, impressed, doing his best not to think of Charlie, sweating, wearing a torn T-shirt, in some club, beating the drums as the music swelled more and more. "I literally have no musical ability, I'm just a big, giant, former Rugby lad."

"Hey, don't sell yourself short," Charlie chastised him gently. "You're also really nice, plus you're great at hospitality, and you're an animal lover..."

Nick chuckled. "That's nice of you," he said, and looked at the clock. "Shit, it's gone five. Let's see what's for dinner, then, shall we?" he asked, motioning for Charlie to follow.

Charlie followed Nick, so that they passed through the hallway and then into a wide, open-concept kitchen, which was lovely with cherry wood and exposed beams, the latter of which seemed to be a common theme, considering the living room had them, too. He watched as Nick opened the refrigerator, and continued stroking Henry.

"Do you have any allergies?" Nick asked, looking over the various shelves at his purchases from his grocery shop. "Or intolerances?"

"No," Charlie replied. "Sometimes I take a bit longer to eat because... Well, I was diagnosed with anorexia in secondary."

Nick slowly turned and looked over at him, and gave him a small, soft smile; he didn't know what kind of expression to give, so he decided to go for the nice route. "Thank you for telling me that, Charlie, really. I'm sorry you had to go through that."

Charlie smiled back at him. "You're welcome."

Nick turned back to the fridge. "I've got chicken, steak, pork chops... I've also got veg, pasta, rice, potatoes, bread, fruit... What are you thinking? I can make pretty much anything, but my cakes are to die for," he joked.

"Can you do soup?" Charlie asked softly from beside him. "Maybe chicken noodle soup with bread? On a cold night like this, it sounds perfect to me."

Nick looked up at Charlie, and Nick felt his face softening for the briefest of moments, before he spoke again. "Yeah," he responded. "Perfect."