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Ed is aware that of the two of them, Oswald is the one more inclined to touch others.
It’s evident in the way he has no qualms with stepping into another person’s space, though the reactions to the move largely depend on the situation’s context. In his underground dealings, he’s seen Oswald somehow loom over people several inches taller than him, a sharp smile on his face as he outlines the exact terms of their compliance with what looks like a too tight grip on a shoulder or forearm while his target either scowls their reluctant agreement or immediately nods in a show of fear-driven assent. As mayor, people openly seek Oswald’s attention. A handshake, a simple pat, an arm around someone’s shoulders as they pose for a photo, the ever-coveted brief hug, all of them are met with thankful smiles and happy faces.
Unless he happens to be dealing with a particularly difficult, dense, or insistent individual, Oswald seems to have no problem with the contact, especially knowing the effect it has on others when appropriately applied.
Yet, he largely refrains from touching Ed.
Obviously, there are the occasional accidental brushes of hands or shoulders, or an appreciative tap against his elbow in thanks, but outside of that there is little other contact to speak of.
Ed hadn’t paid it much attention at first, grateful that someone was both finally respecting his general inclination to keep his hands to himself. In spite of that, once he had adjusted to his new living arrangements and helped it adjust to him, he’d found himself edging into Oswald’s space more frequently. It says something about how comfortable he feels in his place as Oswald’s friend and right hand. Even better, Oswald has yet to brush him away when he moves in to correct any tiny imperfection that’s slipped out of place and hasn’t told him off when he’s turned to find Ed directly behind him.
But he’d noticed the lack of reciprocation soon enough. And while he appreciates that Oswald hasn’t taken Ed’s growing ease with physical contact as an open invitation to invade his personal space, he’s also noted that while he’s developing an almost reflex-like compulsion to reach for the other man, Oswald’s behaviour, hasn’t particularly changed.
At some point, the quiet observation turns into an equally quiet, if jarringly possessive, jealousy. Oswald lives with him, Ed reminds himself, so being jealous of constituents and minor crime lords is ridiculous. It’s foolish, laughable. Oswald shares meals with him and Ed is the one that can, sometimes unwittingly, draw a laugh out of him. A genuine one, not the disdainful ones he inflicts upon anyone that displeases him.
Still, it niggles at him. It bothers him while he watches Oswald smile and shakes hands down a line, and it bothers him when Oswald embraces yet another stranger with a grating sense of familiarity.
How can Oswald stand to be so chummy with people he’s never seen before and not treat Ed, his friend, the same way?
He’s touch-starved, Ed realises with a start. Of course. He hasn’t had much in the way of non-hostile contact with another person since… Well, since the last time he and Oswald shared living quarters, really. And then there had been Kristen before that. That’s why this is annoying him so much. Ed is touch-starved and Oswald happens to be the only person that he’s comfortable enough with to actually want anything like a hug from.
That’s all it is.
---
No, he decides bitterly some time after enduring another endless parade of people crowding for Oswald’s attention after they arrive at the Gotham Museum of Art. He may be touch-starved, but Ed is also most definitely jealous.
---
Ed resolves to try something.
When Oswald is blessedly done with his meet-and-greet, they head onstage, waiting for the museum’s curator to settle the excited crowd and introduce the mayor. As per usual, Ed stands at Oswald’s side, hands clasped in front of him. This time though, he shifts minutely until he feels his arm press against Oswald’s.
Oswald is warm even through the fabric of their suits, Ed notes distantly.
He’s in the middle of congratulating himself on the small step forward when he catches Oswald casting him a puzzled smile. Turning his head slightly to quirk an eyebrow at him, Ed’s expression freezes on his face when Oswald takes a small shuffling step in the opposite direction, robbing him of the reassuring pressure against his arm.
The other man’s smile remains infuriatingly benign as he returns his attention to the conclusion of the curator’s speech
Ed barely notices when Oswald is called up to the podium, hands automatically going to clap when the crowd’s applause registers with some part of his brain. He’s too focused on the sharp pang in his chest.
---
On the ride home, they always sit side by side, the small gap they keep between them allowing for a sense of familiarity while not encroaching on each other’s space. Ed tries again.
He moves further along the seat than he normally would, nearly bumping into Oswald while he settles. Recognizing the confused smile appearing on Oswald’s face from earlier, Ed swiftly drags his briefcase into his lap, pops it open, and sets about explaining his notes for tomorrow’s meeting with the heads of the crime families.
The distraction works and Oswald doesn’t move away this time. He listens raptly, even leaning in to peer at Ed’s meticulous writing. Normally, Ed would hand the papers over and let Oswald skim over them while he rattles the details off from memory. He doesn’t give him his notes this time, keeping them securely in hand and taking advantage of Oswald angling toward him to scoot closer and point out the important bits himself.
They’re pressed together from hip to shoulder for the entire car ride, sorting out the exact borders of each family’s territory.
Sadly, it doesn’t last, because as soon as the car comes to a stop outside the manor Oswald is already reaching for the door handle. He takes his leave with a quick promise to continue going over the notes once inside.
Ed blinks after him and only grinds back into motion when the rapid cooling of the side that had been pressed against Oswald causes him to shiver.
---
Ed can remember the friendly, if heavy-handed, pats on the back that the officers at the GCPD gave each other in greeting. A brief recollection of seeing Bullock plant an overly-enthusiastic kiss on Gordon’s cheek abruptly assaults his mind, causing Ed to make a small disgruntled sound and wrinkle his nose. Regrouping, he recalls the gruff and likely bone-crushing hugs he’d seen some of the officers exchange on occasion.
A hug from Oswald would be different from those, he decides. Still wholehearted and firm, but fonder, nothing as brusque as the ones those overly-macho, brutish goons gave each other. The campaign trail drifts up from his memory, bringing the feeling of Oswald’s arm around his waist while they posed for photos to the forefront.
Scowling, Ed huffs in irritation.
While Oswald is still accepting Ed’s fussing with his appearance, no progress has been made since his brief victory in the car. And the sudden thought that Jim Gordon and Harvey Bullock somehow have an easier level of friendship than he and Oswald has him grinding his teeth in displeasure.
It’s not fair.
---
“Am I off-putting?” Ed finally blurts out, ignoring the book in his lap and staring intently at his friend where he sits in the armchair.
Either he has an uncanny affinity for that armchair or Oswald simply has no desire to sit next to him. Every time Ed seats himself on one end of the sofa, Oswald automatically takes the armchair instead of settling at the other end. It’s a bit hurtful, at this point.
Oswald looks up from the paperwork he’d been perusing, startled, and he even has the nerve the look around the room to see if Ed is addressing someone else before meeting his eyes. “What?” He finally asks belatedly.
Ed closes his book with a loud snap, eyes narrowing. “I asked if I’m off-putting. To you, specifically.”
Expression growing increasingly bewildered, Oswald blinks rapidly at him, mouth working soundlessly for several seconds.
“Oswald,” he prompts, a cocktail of confused hurt and irritation at Oswald’s continued avoidance of him causing his temper to shorten noticeably.
“I- no, you’re- what?” Oswald sputters. “Why would you ask me that?”
“Because you act like I am,” he returns, arms crossing defensively over his chest. “And you didn’t answer the question.”
“That’s because it’s a ridiculous question!” Oswald straightens in his seat, setting the papers in his hand on a table off to one side. “If I found you off-putting, as you say, I wouldn’t have insisted on having you live here, and I definitely wouldn’t have cared if you were at home or not.”
A fair point.
“You don’t touch me.”
“Ed-”
He can see Oswald’s jaw going slack and the colour beginning to creep across the man’s freckled face, and it’s only then that Ed realises how that must have sounded. “No! I mean- That’s not-” He makes an aggravated noise in the back of his throat and buries his reddening face in his hands. Inhaling deeply and willing the flush away, Ed drops his hands into his lap where they instantly begin to trace his book’s spine. “You avoid touching me. Since you won the election. You avoid me but you don’t seem to have any issues with,” he pauses and gestures agitatedly with one hand in front of him as if that could encompass all the things he feels excluded from, “everyone else.”
Oswald looks just as, if not more, lost as he had at the beginning of the conversation.
“So,” Ed forces himself to continue, “I can only conclude that the problem must lie with me. And how you perceive me.”
“Ed,” Oswald starts slowly, a small frown creasing his brow, “I’m the mayor. The people’s opinion of me would take a bit of a nosedive if I were to become standoffish.”
“I know that! But- but that doesn’t explain…” Ed trails off and indicates the two of them with a jerky wave of his hand.
Tilting his head to one side, Oswald regards him with a troubled look that has Ed shifting uncomfortably. “I thought you didn’t like being touched,” he says after several seconds.
“I don’t,” Ed confirms before he can stop himself. “I mean, I usually don’t. When it comes to… most people.”
“And I’m not most people, I’m guessing.”
Ed scoffs at the thought of lumping the Penguin in with the rest of the population of Gotham. He sobers, determined to make Oswald see. “No, you’re not. I’m even comfortable with touching you,” he points out.
“I noticed,” Oswald replies dryly. “I’m not complaining,” he adds hastily, “I just thought that it was best to leave it at that. I’ve seen your face when people try to shake your hand, Ed. It’s… well, I figured that given that, it would be best to not touch you if I could help it.”
Momentarily mollified, he considers that for a second, touched, before shaking his head. “They’re not important, though, they don’t matter. And I’ve been trying to show you! But you keep moving away.”
Realisation dawns on Oswald’s face and it’s accompanied by a small, “oh,” of understanding. “I thought those were flukes,” he admits.
Ed arches an incredulous eyebrow.
“Fine, fine. I should have known better,” Oswald groans, head tipping backwards. “Nothing’s an accident with you, is it?”
“Rarely,” Ed agrees.
Sighing and running a hand over his face, Oswald gives a short nod. “Alright. I’m sorry I’ve been… dodging you. I didn’t know you were trying to-” He stops, fishing for the right words. “I didn’t realise you were trying to bridge the gap, so to speak.”
They look at each other briefly. Seeming to deem the matter settled, Oswald reaches for his papers again while Ed continues to stare.
Suddenly anxious, Ed drops his eyes to the other end of the sofa, fingers drumming against the book he’d forgotten he’d been holding. “Oswald,” he says tentatively without raising his gaze.
He’s met with a stretch of silence and his eyes are starting to burn from a lack of blinking as he bores a hole into the upholstery with his stare when he hears a rustle of movement as Oswald, presumably, stands. Staunchly refusing to look up, he waits, hoping that the other man had somehow understood his wordless request.
Relief sweeps through him at a dizzying rate when his view of the cushion is abruptly impeded by the familiar material of Oswald’s black and gold robe as the man settles onto the sofa, close beside him. Slowly, Ed lets his eyes travel up to watch Oswald sort himself out, shuffling through his papers to find the one he’d left off on.
Something eases in Ed’s chest when Oswald inches a bit closer to let their shoulders bump together despite the considerable space available on the sofa. When Oswald shoots him an easy smile, Ed lets out the breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding in, easing back into his seat and cracking his book back open.
Uncharacteristically, he re-reads the same paragraph three times, too focused on the warmth seeping into his right arm. It’s nice, he concludes. Comfortable, actually.
---
That evening seems to have been the breakthrough they had needed because the change is near immediate.
However, a small realisation comes with it. And while Ed is certain that his sudden revelation would largely be regarded as trivial by anyone else, it’s monumental to him.
If he’d thought that Oswald’s cavalier attitude towards physical contact extended from Oswald not assigning it any particular significance, he’d have been quickly proven wrong. There is a marked difference in the way Oswald touches him when Ed compares it to the behaviour he had previously observed. With others, the movements are calculated and only held for as long as it’s deemed necessary, intended for a specific purpose as Oswald slips into his roles of mayor and kingpin. With Ed, they’re relaxed and apparently instinctive. They come so naturally that Ed stops trying to keep track of the number of times that Oswald presses against his side or loosely wraps his hand around his arm when they confer together.
They both seem to find the contact reassuring.
He still hasn’t received a hug, though.
---
“Edward Nygma, my chief of staff.” Oswald introduces him to a the group in front of them, one hand resting against Ed’s back as they meet with the heads of Gotham’s Board of Education. Inhaling deeply, Ed summons the resolve to accept the proffered handshakes. He leans subtly into the shorter man’s touch, using the grounding point of contact to draw the willpower and patience necessary to keep a cordial smile on his face and endure.
---
The day runs long, far longer than anyone had anticipated. They’ve been in and out of meetings for hours, and as soon as they return to their respective offices they’re both confronted with unusually large stacks of paperwork. Dinner turns into a rushed affair consisting of take-out that is promptly forgotten and remains half-eaten, having long grown cold while they holed up in Oswald’s office.
By the time they trudge their way out of City Hall the sun has set, Ed is sporting the beginnings of a headache, and the pain in Oswald’s leg has gotten bad enough to make him resort to using both his cane and Ed himself to stagger down the steps to the waiting limousine.
Twin groans of relief fill the enclosed space as soon as they collapse into their seats, exhaustion rendering them both mute while they listen to the faint sounds of the engine starting.
“That was,” Ed starts, attempting to think of a suitable adjective. He can’t. His head hurts.
“Appalling. Draining,” Oswald finishes for him in a mumble, and he can only nod his agreement, staring tiredly up at the car’s ceiling.
His limbs feel leaden and his upper back is sore from being hunched over, inspecting the never ending mountain of documents. Rolling his head from where it’s dropped back against the headrest, he looks over at Oswald.
The man is rubbing half-heartedly at his knee and, going by the heavy drooping of his eyelids, in immediate danger of falling asleep.
Almost as if deliberately confirming Ed’s thoughts, Oswald’s head falls forward only to snap back up while he blinks owlishly.
“You’re going to hurt your neck,” Ed observes idly, movements sluggish as he tugs his glasses off his face to wipe away the smudge he’d just noticed.
Oswald shoots him a blurry glare. “Well, it just so happens that I left my pillow at home. I didn’t think I’d need it in the car.”
Absorbed in the thorough cleaning of his lenses, Ed doesn’t respond.
Looking up from his task when he hears a dull thud, he feels a small grin tug at his lips when he makes out the following jerk of movement and that the fuzzy and aggravated Oswald beside him is rubbing at his temple. He’d probably hit his head against the window after allowing himself to slump again.
Inspecting his handiwork by the light of the passing streetlamps, Ed suddenly becomes aware of Oswald shuffling along the bench seat. Right leg stretched out in front of him in a bid to ease the pain, Oswald promptly tips over, head landing solidly on Ed’s shoulder.
Ed freezes with his glasses still held aloft, stunned and a little worried that Oswald had actually passed out on him.
Oswald’s quiet voice settles that debate. “Is this okay?” He asks without looking up at him.
“It looks uncomfortable,” Ed remarks, stiffly placing his glasses back on his nose then turning to address the top of his head, tired mind still trying to process the new development.
“It’s better than the window or breaking my neck,” Oswald retorts, fatigue undercutting the intended edge.
Ed mulls the situation over.
Taking the prolonged silence and Ed’s tense shoulder as an objection, Oswald starts righting himself, only for Ed to catch his jacket’s sleeve and give it a sharp tug.
“It’s fine,” Ed declares decisively. He answers the bleary tilt of Oswald’s head with an encouraging nod.
But as soon as Oswald lowers his head again, Ed moves, muttering, “wait, no.”
“Ed, please. Yes or no?” Oswald groans as he pushes himself back up, exasperated.
Continuing to shift in his seat for another few seconds, Ed finally stops when he deems himself comfortable, turning to indicate his shoulder. “Ready, Freddy.”
Meeting Oswald’s incredulous stare with a smile, he’s pretty sure he sees him mouth, “ready, Freddy,” as he drops his head back onto Ed’s shoulder.
Oswald doesn’t last long once he’s settled, promptly falling asleep against him and Ed listens attentively to his breathing while it evens out.
He stays like that for another minute, glancing out of the corner of his eye at the feathery hair brushing his jaw.
Tentatively, Ed lets his head come to rest against the top of Oswald’s. When the other man doesn’t react, he blows out a soft sigh and closes his burning eyes. Pleasantly warm, he loses the battle the stay awake but between the gentle motion of the car and the solid weight that is Oswald asleep on his shoulder, he can't bring himself to care.