Nick and Charlie

by Alice Oseman

“No, but”—he shakes his head—“you’re Nick and Charlie.” I laugh. “What does that mean?” “It’s …” He laughs too, a nervous expulsion of air. “You’re … it’s hard to explain. It’s like, if you had to provide evidence for soul mates, everyone would pick you two.”

NO BECAUSE I BELIEVE IN LOVE BC OF THESE FICTIONAL CHARACTERS

Inside the envelope is a photograph—the sort you get developed from disposable cameras. And I know immediately that I took this one. I remember the exact moment I decided to take it, walking into my room after getting a glass of water to find Charlie curled up so beautifully in my bed, the orange streetlamp light shining on his skin, and I felt like if I was going to die, this would be what I wanted to see last.

I’m ugly crying

On the drive back, Charlie falls asleep in my car. I turn the radio on and thank the universe that my life is like this.

I NEED A NICK IN MY LIFE

he just stops and stares like he’s trying to memorize every second of this. When we’re moving he keeps saying my name over and over until I find it too ridiculous and tell him to shut up, but he just grins and keeps on saying it anyway, whispering it against my skin just to make me laugh. I hold him so tight against me, as if that’ll keep us here, keep him here with me.

I’m a big puddle of tears rn