Charlie
twenty-two
We were back in my narrow bed, limbs tangled beneath the thin duvet. The manor had settled into its evening rhythm—creaking floorboards, distant whispers, the occasional bang from somewhere deep in the walls. Normal haunted house ambiance, really.
I slid my hand down Bat’s chest, fingers finding the button on his jeans.
“Round two?” The hopeful edge to my voice was embarrassing, but I’d given up pretending I had any dignity left.
Bat groaned, a sound caught between desire and frustration.
“I’d love nothing more than to fuck you again, but I’m not sure I’ve got the energy.
Don’t want to disappear halfway through and leave you wanting.
” His hand caught mine, stilling my fingers against the denim.
“It takes quite a bit of energy just to manifest visibly so you can see me,” he explained.
“Even more to maintain enough physical presence that I can actually touch you. And after what we did earlier—”
“Oh.” I pulled my hand back. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Charlie—”
“No, really. Cuddling is lovely. And when you run out of energy for that, I’ll just cuddle a pillow instead.”
Bat’s eyebrows shot up. “Great to know how easily I can be replaced.”
I grinned, dropping my voice to what I hoped was a sultry whisper. “Though, if you suddenly regain energy in the middle of the night, I wouldn’t say no to being woken up.”
“Don’t tempt me.” His thumb traced across my knuckles. “But I won’t do that. You need rest after your near-death experience and the general stress of living in this bloody manor.”
We shifted, lying down properly, facing each other. The smile that spread across Bat’s face was pure delight.
“This is like a sleepover!”
“Did you have many of those?”
“A few. Though none quite like this.” He laced our fingers together. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“When did you know you were gay?”
I couldn’t help blinking at him. “Oh, um, ages. Forever.”
Bat’s eyes searched my face. “Are you even gay? I mean, are you bisexual?”
“Gay. Properly gay. I’ve known for as long as I can remember.
I didn’t talk about it until I was about sixteen, though.
My family were all very supportive. I was a bit worried about Dad, because my grandparents on his side are pretty old-school, but he totally surprised me.
He was better than Mum, actually. She clearly felt quite uncomfortable talking about it too much, but he jumped straight into it, including lectures on safe sex. ”
Bat’s expression grew wistful. “That sounds nice.”
“Lectures on safe sex from your dad?! Yeah, it was brilliant. Especially loved the bit about herpes being a lifelong disease.”
Bat laughed, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “My parents were… quietly horrified when I told them. It became one of those topics that never got discussed during my very infrequent visits home.”
The lightness between us shifted, became heavier.
“My bandmates were cool with it, though,” he added quickly. “That’s all that mattered.” He squeezed my fingers. “You must have had loads of boyfriends.”
My face flushed. “Umm… not that many, really.”
“Well, more than me. I had zero, unless we’re counting this guy Michael, who I can barely remember kissing once.”
“I had something in my twenties that lasted three years. It was long distance, though, and it fizzled out. Then a few more flings that lasted a couple of months each. Then there was Ryan.”
Bat’s face scrunched up like he’d tasted something sour.
I laughed. “Deep down, I was relieved when Ryan broke up with me.”
A flash of a grin. “Well, I can’t say I’m sorry about that.”
We fell into silence, gazing into each other’s eyes. An entire conversation passed between us without words. The weight of everything—the impossibility of this situation, the intensity crackling between us despite having known each other for no time at all—settled over us like a heavy blanket.
“Does it… always feel like this?” he asked, very quietly.
“No,” I whispered, running my fingers through his choppy dark hair. “It definitely doesn’t.”
Another pause. The intimacy felt enormous, terrifying, perfect.
Then the words tumbled out before I could stop them.
“I want babies.”
What the actual fuck, Charlie?
Bat’s entire body recoiled, his face cycling through confusion, alarm, and something that looked suspiciously like panic. His expression was so comically horrified that I might have laughed if I wasn’t busy dying of mortification.
“Listen,” he said quickly, “you know I was only joking earlier about putting ghost babies inside you, right? That’s not really how it works.”
Laughter burst out of me and I buried my face in the pillow. “Oh God. Sorry. That just randomly slipped out.” I peeked up at him. “Not ghost babies. And not babies, probably, they’re so… small and squishy. But… kids. I think I want them.”
“Okay.” His voice was carefully neutral.
“It’s just… I guess it’s something I never really let myself think about, definitely never talk about.
But it’s there, at the back of my mind. Has been since my niece got a bit older.
I love Lily so much. She’s the best. Super sassy, always in trouble at school, just like me.
But so intelligent, and witty and talented.
Somehow, she makes me want to be a better person.
Like, I want to be as amazing as she thinks I am. ”
“You are amazing.”
“And she has a such a great relationship with my sister. And… and… I want all that too.”
Bat’s expression softened. “You can have that.”
“Can I, though?” The words tumbled out too fast to stop. “I’m getting older and older, and time keeps slipping through my fingers quicker and quicker. I feel like I’m watching everyone else live their lives while I’m stuck in place.”
“You know you’re thirty-five, right? Not fifty. Like me.”
“Hey, thirty-four!”
“Exactly! Plenty of time.”
“Yeah, but I’m nowhere near all that. Nowhere. Debt piling out my ears, no job prospects, no dating life or even the bloody motivation to date.” I stared at the ceiling, feeling the familiar weight of inadequacy settle over me. “When am I going to actually change my life?”
“Now?” Bat propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at me with sudden fierce intensity.
“Charlie, listen to me. You think time is slipping away, but you’re alive.
You can do anything. Go anywhere. Meet people, fall in love, have those kids you want.
I’ve been stuck here, watching the same wallpaper peel for twenty-seven years, and you’re worried about being behind schedule?
” His hand gripped mine even tighter. “You’re not stuck. You’re just… paused. But pauses end.”
I wanted to argue, to list all the reasons why it wasn’t that simple, but the part of me that loathed myself for moaning about my unperfect life to a dead person shut me up.
“You deserve all the babies, Charlie.” Bat’s quiet, sincere voice told me. “And I hope you meet someone amazing who you want that with.”
I had to look away then, because it was so silly, but I had this ridiculous image flash through my mind—Bat sitting cross-legged on a living room floor, a young, dark-haired child in his lap, tiny fingers plucking at guitar strings while Bat guided their hands, both of them laughing…
“Thanks,” I said, swallowing around the lump in my throat. “Sorry for being an insensitive asshole.”
“You’re not an insensitive asshole,” Bat said, his voice soft but with a hint of that familiar mischief creeping back in. “In fact, we both know your asshole is very sensitive—”
I whacked his chest, repressing the urge to giggle like a teenager. “Shut up.”
He grinned, unrepentant, but I was already drawing him closer. The joke had done its job—cut through the heaviness, brought us back to this moment.
We didn’t talk after that.
Bat slipped his hand under my stupid Spider-Man pyjama shirt, palm coming to rest against my chest, directly over my heart.
His touch was strangely reassuring. My pulse thrummed steadily against his skin—did he feel it too?
This proof that I was alive when he wasn’t, this reminder of everything that separated us.
But his hand didn’t move away. If anything, he pressed closer, and I let my fingers find their way into his hair, stroking through the slightly translucent black strands.
They were softer than they looked, silky between my fingertips.
I wanted to memorise the texture, the way his hair caught the moonlight filtering through the moth-eaten curtains.
My eyes grew heavy, lids fighting to stay open.
The exhaustion of the day—hell, the exhaustion of my entire bloody life—was washing over me like a tide I couldn’t hold back.
I tried to fight it, tried to stay present in this perfect moment with Bat’s hand over my heart and his solid body against mine.
But sleep was stronger than my will, and despite every part of me wanting to stay awake, to not waste a single second of this impossible thing we’d found together, the darkness pulled me under.
Brad and I ate breakfast in complete silence, the tension thick enough to cut with a butter knife.
He stabbed at his cornflakes like they’d personally offended him, the scraping of his spoon against the bowl grating on my nerves.
Every few seconds, he’d glance up at me with this look—like he suspected something but couldn’t quite put his finger on what.
I kept my eyes firmly on my own bowl. The cornflakes had gone soggy ages ago, but I kept eating them anyway, focusing on the mechanical crunch-squish rather than Brad’s increasingly hostile stare.
“Right.” Brad slammed his spoon down, making me jump. “We’re going in with the aggressive approach today.”
I looked up, trying to arrange my face into something resembling interest rather than the “oh, for fuck’s sake” expression that wanted to break free.