Then Nick kissed him. It was clumsy, a little off-center, and tasted faintly of the strawberry Chapstick Nick would later deny owning. It was perfect. Charlie melted into it, his back against the cold metal, Nick’s hand cupping his jaw like he was something precious.
I told my mum. I told my brother. I told Imogen. I’m going to walk into school tomorrow, and I’m going to find you, and I’m going to kiss you in the middle of the courtyard. Not because I want to prove something to them. But because I need you to know that you are not a secret. You are not a phase. You are the only thing that makes sense.
I’m not asking you to take me back. I’m asking you to let me show you I can be the person you deserve. Nick and Charlie
Charlie set his book down. He looked around the cluttered flat—at the pile of Nick’s rugby kit, at his own drumsticks on the coffee table, at the framed photo of them on Brighton beach, Nick’s arm around Charlie, both of them grinning like idiots in the rain.
Charlie felt the ground vanish. “What?” Then Nick kissed him
“Yeah, Nick,” he whispered. “We’re more than okay.”
He thought of the nervous boy in the art block. The terrified boy at the gates. The letter. The thousand small, brave acts of love that had built this life, brick by brick. Charlie melted into it, his back against the
It was about Nick learning the contours of Charlie’s anxiety—the way he’d tap his fingers when a crowd got too loud, the way his breathing would shallow before a spiral. And Nick learning to be a harbour: a warm, steady presence that said, I see you. You’re safe.
Charlie knew he was in trouble the night Nick fell asleep on his shoulder during a movie marathon at Charlie’s house. His mum had taken a photo. Charlie’s heart had become a trapped bird, thrashing against his ribs. He was falling, and there was no one to catch him.
Their friendship built itself out of small, tectonic shifts. Rugby balls thrown too softly in PE so Charlie could actually catch them. Shared earbuds on the bus home, Nick’s playlists a chaotic storm of indie rock and 80s power ballads. Texts that started with “Did you do the maths homework?” and ended with “Goodnight, Char xx” at 1:47 AM.
ABOUT US
Steel Assault is the debut title of Zenovia Interactive, a game studio based in New York City. The team is international, consisting of Western pixel artists behind games such as Blasphemous, Japanese pixel artists from the doujin scene, and the musicians behind games such as Devil Engine and Xydonia. You can contact the team at .