Chapter Text
Charlie was not grumpy.
He was just knee-deep in his second week of Freshers and feeling a little worse for wear.
Actually, that was probably an understatement.
He was loving his time at Leeds University—far more than he'd expected to—but nobody, not a single person, had warned him about Freshers' Flu. It had taken approximately 0.2 seconds for some mystery germ to infiltrate his immune system and knock him flat on his arse for the entire weekend.
Now it was Wednesday and, despite still feeling like death warmed up and decidedly not being in the party spirit, Charlie was determined to make up for lost time.
His flatmates were around somewhere, but Charlie had wandered off to the bar alone to throw back another vodka Red Bull in a desperate attempt to stave off the inevitable wave of exhaustion that was due to hit him around 10 p.m.
He paid for his drink and spun on his heels, attempting to search for his friends, only to find himself cornered by a gaggle of burly lads.
God, they were loud.
Charlie could hear their annoyingly gruff voices shouting at each other over the thud of the music.
They clearly didn't have an ounce of concern for personal space either. As Charlie attempted to squeeze past, the group somehow managed to shift and expand until they were practically surrounding him at the bar.
Ugh.
The overpowering scent of Dior Sauvage was burning his nostrils and why were they all so tall?
Charlie found himself at eye level with an alarming number of bulging biceps. Everywhere he looked there seemed to be another rugby player looming over him like a muscular skyscraper.
Sickening.
And hot.
God, maybe he needed to lay off the cold and flu meds.
He'd been pretty blasé about the rugby culture at Leeds. Everyone seemed to be obsessed with it and, despite having played rugby himself at school—all in the name of impressing a boy and decidedly not because he enjoyed being tackled by giant men—Charlie couldn't have cared less about the sport.
That said, he knew a rugby player when he saw one.
They could be spotted a mile off. Partly because they were vain enough to wear their stupid rugby jerseys everywhere, but even without them, there was something unmistakable about the way they carried themselves.
Loud.
Obnoxious.
Dickish.
Charlie could think of plenty more words if given the opportunity.
The bottom line was that he wasn't a fan. Even less so now that they were blocking his escape route.
He ducked his head, attempting to navigate his way out of the maze of toxic masculinity before one of them inevitably tried to rope him into whatever chaos they were currently causing.
Unfortunately, he didn't make it very far.
One of the larger guys turned abruptly, a hefty arm colliding with Charlie's shoulder and sending his drink flying from his hand.
'Shit—'
The man immediately spun around.
'Fuck, I'm so sorry.'
Charlie watched in horror as his vodka Red Bull splashed across the floor.
'I'll buy you another one,' the guy offered instantly.
'Don't bother, dickhead,' Charlie muttered, brushing down his clothes to check none of it had landed on him.
The man blinked, clearly a little pissed himself, before holding his hands up in surrender.
'Alright,' he said, a hint of sarcasm creeping into his voice. 'I said I was sorry. No need to be so grumpy about it.'
Charlie glared.
He was not grumpy.
He was sleep-deprived, recovering from Freshers' Flu and currently mourning the loss of a perfectly good vodka Red Bull.
There was a difference.
With one final glare, Charlie shouldered past the objectively hot knobhead and marched off in search of his friends.
'Charlie!' Elle screeched his name as he made his way over.
His friends were perched on a cluster of stools overlooking the dance floor. He was lucky to have met this lot in halls. They were the perfect bunch of misfits and, although the clubbing scene wasn't really their thing, they'd collectively decided on the first day of uni to make the most of it.
So that was exactly what they were doing.
Well. Sort of.
Isaac looked seconds away from falling asleep where he sat, his head propped up by one hand.
Tao, meanwhile, looked exactly the same as he always did—inconvenienced by the fact he was expected to be there at all.
'We thought we'd lost you,' Tao quipped.
'I got accosted by a bunch of rugby lads,' Charlie replied with a shudder.
Tao scrunched his nose in response.
'Ew,' Elle said dramatically, grabbing his hand. 'Let's dance. These two are being so boring.' She shouted over the music, gesturing towards Tao and Isaac behind her.
'Fine,' Charlie relented, allowing himself to be dragged into the thrum of the crowd.
It didn't take long for him to loosen up. The alcohol was beginning to work its magic, dulling the lingering ache in his head and making the music seem a little less obnoxious.
He didn't want to jinx it, but he was actually having a good time.
'Yo.' A hand landed on his shoulder, scaring the absolute shit out of him.
Charlie spun around.
A rugby lad.
Not the one who'd knocked over his drink, but definitely one of his mates.
The blonde one.
The one Charlie had privately decided was the pack leader.
Whenever Charlie spotted the rugby lot around campus, this guy always seemed to be at the centre of it all—laughing the loudest, talking the loudest and generally being the biggest knobhead of the bunch.
'What?' Charlie asked suspiciously. He really wasn't in the mood for this.
'I need your help,' the rugby lad shouted over the music.
Elle was still holding Charlie's hands and the pair exchanged a look, their eyes widening in surprise.
'Fuck off, we’re dancing,' Elle replied cheerfully, spinning them both away.
Unfortunately, the blonde twat followed.
'Nah, please!' he insisted. 'I'll buy you both a drink.'
'Absolutely not,' Charlie said, attempting to return to dancing and ignore the interruption.
He just wanted to throw his head back, sway to the music and forget that he felt like death warmed up.
The rugby lad remained stubbornly rooted to the spot.
Then Elle giggled, her eyes glinting with mischief. She was bad enough sober, but her being even slightly tipsy was a recipe for disaster.
Charlie immediately narrowed his eyes.
What was she up to?
'We'll help,' Elle said sweetly, 'if you throw in a shot too.'
The rugby lad's face lit up.
'Deal!'
Before Charlie could object, he was already pointing towards the bar and gesturing for them to follow.
Traitor, Charlie mouthed at Elle.
She responded by giggling and fluttering her eyelashes innocently.
Charlie's glare only deepened.
Now they were gathered around a table near the bar. Elle had managed to drag Tao and Isaac over on the way, turning the whole thing into a clear case of them versus the rugby lads.
Unfortunately, Drink-Knocker-Overer was there too.
Looking annoyingly handsome.
Charlie hated that.
'Hi.' The auburn-haired man slid into the seat beside him, startling Charlie from his thoughts.
'Hi,' Charlie replied tersely.
He did his best to ignore the way his pulse inexplicably picked up in the man's presence.
'How come you let Harry rope you into this bet?'
Charlie blinked.
'Bet?'
The man frowned.
'Yeah. The bet.'
What the fuck?
'What bet?' Charlie asked slowly.
He was already mildly annoyed with the rugby lads. Being blindsided by whatever fresh nonsense they'd dragged him into was not helping.
Then the blonde knobhead himself stepped in front of the group, chest puffed out as though he were about to address the nation rather than a handful of drunk students.
Charlie tried to ignore him.
Unfortunately, before he could return his attention to the ginger hottie sitting beside him, everyone was being summoned to attention, their focus shifting to the blonde rugby lad as though it were second nature.
Charlie internally rolled his eyes. Judging by the sheepish look on the ginger rugby lad's face, he wasn't doing a particularly good job of hiding his annoyance.
'Right!' the blonde rugby lad announced, clapping his hands together. 'Thank you to our volunteers.'
He gestured towards Charlie and a curly-haired girl a few seats along.
Charlie immediately frowned.
Volunteer seemed like a generous interpretation of events.
The girl gave an enthusiastic little wave.
She was all bouncing curls, bright eyes and chaotic energy.
Charlie was exhausted just looking at her.
'Hang on—' Charlie began.
'As part of this week's Freshers Challenge,' the blonde rugby lad announced loudly, talking over Charlie's attempt to object, 'me and Nick will be competing against each other.'
He gestured towards the auburn-haired rugby lad beside Charlie.
Nick.
So ginger hottie had a name.
'And whoever loses,' Harry continued with far too much enthusiasm, 'gets handcuffed to their respective partner for the next 12 hours.'
Hell fucking no.
Charlie stared at him.
'Their what?' Charlie asked slowly.
'Partners,' Harry said casually, as though Charlie had somehow missed a crucial part of the conversation. 'Me and Nick picked out who we thought was hot and then got to work on recruitment.'
Harry grinned.
'At least Nick got his first choice,' he said, throwing a wink at Nick.
Nick quite literally folded in on himself, burying his face in his hands.
Cute.
But still...
What the fuck?
'You what?' Charlie asked.
'Picked people we fancied,' Harry clarified.
'Thanks for clearing that up,' Charlie muttered.
Then he looked around the table to see if anyone else was hearing this absolute nonsense.
Elle was watching with barely concealed amusement, a shit-eating grin stretched across her face.
Clearly living up to her traitorous nature.
Tao and Isaac were slumped together, both looking as though they might fall asleep at any given moment. Bored.
Also traitors.
Apparently nobody was concerned that Charlie had just discovered he'd been unknowingly recruited into some deranged rugby mating ritual.
His gaze drifted back to Nick.
The freckles splattered across his cheeks.
The thick forearms.
The sheepish expression.
He was extremely handsome, and Charlie could think of far worse people to be handcuffed to, but this was still absolutely ridiculous.
He had to clarify, because there was no way this walking ball of heterosexuality beside him could have chosen him.
'I'm a boy,' Charlie said, utterly bewildered.
His eyes met Nick's and the rugby lad looked as though he was about to spontaneously combust.
'We're aware,' Harry replied dryly, peeling himself away from the bouncy girl, who giggled and flicked her hair on cue. 'Bisexual people exist. Nick likes a bit of D and V.'
Charlie felt a flash of embarrassment at his own ignorance, swiftly followed by horror at Harry's phrasing. He looked back at Nick, his mouth falling open slightly.
'Fuck. I'm so sorry about this,' Nick blurted. 'You can back out if you want.'
Charlie blinked.
Then slumped back in his chair.
'What makes you think I'm going to back out?'
'Well...' Nick rubbed the back of his neck. 'Because you didn't exactly sign up for this and, um... twelve hours is a long time.'
'Oh, so you think I can't handle twelve hours handcuffed to you?'
Nick's eyes widened.
'What? No! I didn't say that. I just meant—'
'I'm kidding.'
The relief that flooded Nick's face was immediate.
Charlie couldn't help laughing.
This was fun.
Around them, the conversation had fractured into smaller groups. Elle was already chatting animatedly to the bouncy girl and, judging by the volume of their laughter, they were getting along suspiciously well.
'So, what's the challenge?' Charlie asked.
'Me and Harry are arm wrestling.'
Oh.
Charlie looked down at Nick's forearms.
Then at Harry's.
Then back at Nick's.
'Your arms are fucking massive compared to his. There's no way you're going to lose.'
Nick just shrugged, a faint blush dusting his cheeks.
'Hopefully not,' he said, though he didn't sound entirely convinced.
Charlie was convinced Nick was going to win. The odds—or perhaps more accurately, the biceps—were definitely in his favour.
And as much as Charlie didn't want to encourage any of this nonsense...
He wasn't entirely sure whether he was relieved or disappointed by the prospect of not being handcuffed to Nick.
Nick lost the bet.
He lost the fucking arm wrestle against Harry.
And now Charlie was expected to be handcuffed to this six-foot-two lump of goodness for the next twelve hours.
Everyone was cheering. Even Elle was clapping like her life depended on it. Charlie threw her an evil glare.
She responded by sticking her tongue out at him before returning to flinging her hair around and whooping alongside every other deranged person at the table.
Nick, on the other hand...
Well.
He looked about as thrilled as Charlie felt.
The rugby lad was bright red, staring determinedly at the table and avoiding eye contact at all costs.
How the fuck had he lost?
Charlie had seen the man's arms.
The evidence suggested he should have been able to arm wrestle a small car.
This was just Charlie's luck.
In fact, it felt less like luck and more like some sort of terrible omen for the rest of his university experience.
Then Harry summoned everyone's attention again.
And, like sheep, everyone flocked.
Harry dragged both Nick and Charlie to the head of the table.
For the chaining ceremony, Charlie assumed.
Great.
He absolutely loved being turned into a spectacle.
Then Harry produced a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and, before Charlie could even process the bright pink fluffy monstrosities swinging in front of his face, the crowd erupted into cheers for what felt like the millionth time that evening.
Fuck the crowd.
Fuck the handcuffs.
And fuck ginger hottie Nick.
Well.
The last one was probably dependent on how much alcohol Charlie managed to consume before the end of the night.