Work Text:
They were ridiculous.
The soft, soothing glimmer, hanging in strings above, winked at him, their bulbs dusty and faded after years disregarded. Of course Nick never took them down. As well as ridiculous, they were calming and sweet. And Sarah never dared to remove them, knowing the joy they brought to her boy.
Many a night they had shared under those lights, Nick’s fists in his hair, lips against his throat, voice in his heart. So many nights of tears bathing skin and arms wrapped tight for comfort, Nick’s arms far more medicinal than his own.
Fairy lights adorned for Christmas, and kept for the mundane, their life now excessive, yet they continued as if they knew nothing of time. Seventeen years of illumination; soft glows and clever halos, every December sparkling down over Charlie and his love, some kind of tradition, never forgotten.
What would he do without them, those fairy lights and Nick? It was an impossibility as the promise of eternity shimmered from above, the gentle gleam stronger than it appeared, strong enough to push the tear from his eye and down to the pillow beneath him.
He squeezed his eyes shut, no longer able to face the twinkling reminder of forever.
The smell of gingerbread invaded his nose, Nick’s own perfect recipe, generating scenes in his brain of the day before; the annual Christmas Eve House Construction and Decorating Competition, entered by friends and family, whoever was willing, always losers to Elle’s impeccable skill, the joy of sharing and creating and tasting, the crumbs of his and Nick’s efforts still scattered across the bed sheets as they’d snacked while watching a film, later crushing the remains under a heated escalation. A job for later, choosing to sleep amongst the mess, now a job for never.
Oh how quickly things could change in just mere hours. He rolled a tiny morsel between his finger and his thumb, grounding, distracting, an attempt at redirecting the train of thought hurtling towards reality. It crumbled, piece by piece. He was unable to keep it together, the metaphor not lost on him as his avoidance failed and he began to fall apart.
Rolling to his stomach, Charlie screamed into the pillow, Nick’s scent still strong as if he was still there. A scent never quite identified, impossible to recreate. The pillowcase would never again see the wash, preservation now a higher priority than cleanliness.
Fatigue pummelled him under the weight of too many sleepless hours, but he refused to let it win. Sleep would mean waking, and waking would be confirmation that life, the same as the shining lights above him, continued to go on as if nothing had ever changed. He would never sleep again if it meant Nick would never fade.
Anger and despair threw punches to the pillow before he rolled over onto his back, eyes still clamped shut, gripping the sheets beside him.
Breath’s memory caressed him tenderly, swirling through his curls and warming the space behind his ear. A whisper of ‘Char’ had him gasping as the taste of his lover filled him, a taste of which he would never tire, fading far too quickly, lost to the anguish sliding down his cheeks; a taste now extinct.
He opened his eyes, glaring at the ceiling’s festivity, cursing his inability for telekinesis. He hated those fairy lights.
He hated pumpkin and Velcro and distracted drivers and the colour yellow, but most of all he hated those fucking fairy lights. How dare they grin like Nick was still there? How dare they glow like the murderous phone screen? How dare anyone like anything that gave off light ever again. Phones and cars and driving and stop signs could all go to hell.
The fairy lights deserved to combust.
He pulled himself to sitting, then standing, unbalanced on the mattress, reaching, not quite tall enough to touch them. They mocked him, teasing him with what he could not have.
Surrender claimed him as he fell to his knees, groaning, head cradled in his hands against the duvet. It really was over. Finished. The end.
Christmas would never be the same. It would be lonely and fragile and dark. And Sarah would welcome him and hold him and feed him, but it would never, could never, be the same. The spark and joy of Christmas died with Nick, forever marred by what was taken from him on a day meant for giving.
A knock on the door and warm hands on his back. A soothing, maternal voice, overflowing with grief. Silence. Compassion. Understanding.
His mother-in-law drowning in her sorrow just the same.
He let his tears soak her shoulder, accepting hers wherever they fell, a shared connection of agony under the glistening LEDs.
Words were unnecessary, their conversation articulated through whimpers and an unbreakable embrace. Hell’s greatest fury could rain down upon them; it wouldn’t matter, the world had already crumbled.
His body gave out, no longer able to support himself, he fell back onto the bed, not willing to rest his entire weight on Sarah’s shoulders. She kissed his forehead and stood, a lonely tear taking the journey of the many others before it. Charlie knew it wouldn’t be the last. She left without a sound and once again he was alone.
Alone.
In Nick’s childhood room, on Nick’s childhood bed, under Nick’s childhood fairy lights.
He stared at them, refusing to blink, their blinding light burning his retinas in his stubbornness.
There was a certain charm about them, a safety. A consistency and happiness. They were strong and bright and loud and perfect. They were everything Nick was.
Nick was gone, but he could be found in the dainty, aging radiance immersing him with fondness. They had to stay. Never could they be removed. Charlie would stare at them for endless hours, just to see Nick’s face.
They were ridiculous, a single string of soft, white fairy lights. But they were his.