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It was past dark by the time Edge returned home from work. The lights in the main room turned on automatically as he stepped inside, closing the door against the chilly evening air. He hung up his jacket in the closet, keys deposited in a decorative bowl on a small table by the front door, shoes lined up carefully on the mat.
Dinner was waiting for him, already prepared in the crock pot which in his opinion was one of the best inventions Humans ever developed. Perhaps some gourmands would be rolling in their graves if they were forced to taste his modified version of beef bourguignon, but if so, they could keep their complaints beneath the ground.
He changed before he ate, hanging up his suit carefully and dressing in a soft pullover and jeans. When the workday was done, it was best to get out of that mindset and a simple change of clothes helped to keep him from turning Embassy issues over in his head all night long.
He ate at the table in silence, washed his plate and set it in the drainer.
Mettaton was on and he watched the variety show. The detective movie. Even the Quiz show. If he were asked tomorrow what any of them were about, he wouldn’t have been able to think of a single word.
His sockets felt dry and grainy by then, exhaustion starting to pull him down; he was tired and tomorrow would be an early day, technically today, and--
But his cell phone ringing cut off anything else.
He waited for the second ring to answer, “Hello.”
“heya, bestie,” The voice on the other side of the line was low and amused. “didn’t wake you up, did i.”
Edge relaxed back into the sofa cushions and closed his sockets, allowing that husky, malted voice to roll over him. “Would you care if you had?”
“nah. we both know you were waiting by the phone.” Rus said it teasingly, unaware of the uncomfortable truth.
“With bated breath,” Edge said dryly.
“heh, well, you can cut your fishing trip short cause here i am. told you i’d call when i got home safe.” The blurred, liquid quality to his laughter implied several drinks over the course of the night. His eye lights would be bright from the alcohol, faint orange bleeding into the normal soft white. There was the sound of rustling, perhaps blankets, it could be that Rus was lying in the unmade mess of his own bed, looking up at the ceiling with Edge’s voice in his skull.
“At 2am?” Distantly said, the words weren’t ones he wanted to think too closely about. “Burning the late-night oil, were you.”
Rus made a rude, scoffing sound, punctuated by the creak of the bed frame and there was a soft thunk, quickly followed by a second; he must be kicking off his shoes. “it was a date, not a tinder hookup! gotta take a little time, you know, get to know them, takes a few hours. isn’t that what a date is for? getting to know someone, making a match, letting someone light my fire.”
“Knowing your jokes, he was probably ready for the burn unit by the end of the night.” Perhaps he took an Uber home, alone, perhaps he’d allowed his date to take him. A last few teasing jokes before he got out of the car or perhaps leaning in through the driver’s side window. Perhaps, perhaps—
“ouch, okay, i’m hanging up, i need to report a murder,” Rus laughed, then his voice dropped low, secretive. “speaking of fire, might not make it to the third date rule with this one, whoa, momma, he’s igniting something, all right.”
The low growl that escaped was not of his choosing and Edge stifled it immediately.
“didn’t catch that, what did you say?” More rustling sounds, Rus’s voice was muffled, likely pulling off his sweatshirt. There was a heavy flump of it hitting the floor and Edge could see it very clearly. The clutter of dirty clothing littered around with the occasional empty honey bottle sprouting through, a trash flower blooming through fabric. Rus lying back on the sheets, rib cage bare, the path of his spine leading to his pelvis where his pants interrupted the journey. Or perhaps not, perhaps he’d already kicked them off to join their brethren, another patch in his laundry garden. Perhaps he was dressed only in his own bare, lovely bones, perhaps--
"Oh, I was just thinking,” Edge said lightly, “that you might try playing a little hard to get. That is, if you’re hoping for something past date three.”
“we’ll see,” doubtfully, rich with amusement, “anyway, i’m home safe, worry wart, didn't end up in any stranger's dust pan. you can get some sleep now. night, edgelord, see you tomorrow.”
“Good night, Rus.”
Edge disconnected the call and sat on his sofa with his phone in his hand for a long time.
Once, he’d been the one on the verge of date three, all of Rus’s teasing flirtations forging a direct path to it. Edge was the one who stopped things there, halted them at the crossroads to choose a different path.
He could still clearly remember Rus’s face when he’d told him; the bland acceptance complicit with the way he blinked a little too often, a fraction too hard. There would be no third date, but when Edge offered friendship, Rus took it eagerly, and now, months later, they were best of friends despite their differences.
It was for the best, Edge knew, necessary, the only choice Edge could make. He’d needed to break things off before he learned how Rus’s mouth tasted, before he ever felt him in his arms.
Dates were a chance to get to know someone, Rus said, a learning experience of sorts, and what Edge learned all too quickly was that Rus deserved better than he could offer.
Truth be told, he should have cut him off entirely, kept his distance rather than endure this slow, aching torture. It was a weakness, Edge supposed. Too weak to properly let Rus go, but at least like this the only person he was hurting was himself.
They were friends, the best of friends, and it was enough. It was.
The next morning Edge got up with his alarm. He went to work, did his job, came home. Left his shoes lined up by the door and listened when Rus called him to let him know he was home safe from his date.
Wash, rinse, repeat.
“unf, how do you always make the best stuff for lunch,” Rus said around his current mouthful. His chopsticks were delving back into his bowls, scooping up more noodles before he’d even swallowed the first round.
They were sitting together in the Embassy cafeteria as they always did on their once a week meeting. It was nothing unusual, hardly a second glance was sent their way. Everyone else was focused on their own lunches and conversations, a roomful of meandering chatter
“I like eating.” Edge took a bite from his own bowl with more care. The broth was rich and salty, the noodles cooked to satisfying perfection and generously flavored with plenty of scallions.
“please, everyone likes eating. most people, anyway. not everyone raises their game to an art form like you, damn.” Rus slurped up another mouthful of noodles and Edge reached over to slap him lightly on the back of the skull.
“Show some manners or you’re going to get banned from the museum,” Edge told him dryly. He looked down into his ramen bowl, swirling his chopstick through the broth. “Speaking of which, the Embassy is sponsoring an event this Friday at the Ebott Art Institute. Did you want to come?”
“can’t,” Rus said around a mouthful of soft-boiled egg. It should have been the furthest thing from charming. “got another date.”
“Date number three, isn’t it?” Edge said idly. As if he didn’t know very well. “I’m sure that will be far more entertaining than ‘Monster and Human Art Trends Through the Ages’.”
“might be, i’m a little more into current events. ‘specially when its currently in my bedroom. eh, don’t worry, edgelord, i bet you won’t have any trouble getting someone else as a go along.” Rus offered him a sharp grin and cast a glance over the room, his eye lights touching on various Monsters consideringly. Edge didn’t follow his gaze.
That would only be true if one considered his shadow a companion.
Edge didn’t answer him and asked instead, “You’ll call me when you get home?”
“wouldn’t dream of not, captain concern.” He ran his tongue over his teeth, banked heat hidden in his eye lights. “might just be a text, though. could be busy.”
“Of course,” Edge said crisply. He took another mouthful of noodles, too soft beneath the force of his teeth.
“you’re an idiot, you know.”
Edge stopped just inside the door of his office, sighing to see his brother sprawled out on the sofa. Instead of at one end, Red chose to lay on the middle cushion so he could prop his filthy boots up on the arm.
“Yes, please do instruct me on how I’ve failed you this time.” Edge took hold of the untied laces and yanked those boots roughly off the fine leather. Red only rolled with it, shifting to sit upright. His coat needed washing and Edge absently began making a plan on how to get him out of it long enough to do it.
“ain’t failing me,” Red scoffed. He pulled out a slender vial, tipping a toothpick into his hand, and the faint smell of cinnamon rose in the air. “too busy failing yourself.”
It would be better to ignore him. Eventually Red would get bored and either wander off or fall asleep, adding drool to the dirt he’d already gotten on the sofa. Either way, he’d be silent. That would be the intelligent thing to do. “How so?”
There was enough disgust in his expression to sting. “you think no one else can see it, don’t you? just cause rus can’t find his coccyx in broad daylight with both hands and a map don’t mean i’m blind.”
“You’re being ridiculous.” The noodles were long since incorporated into his magic, it wasn’t possible for them to churn within him nauseously. He went over to the coffee maker and poured out a cup.
“oh yeah?” Red’s eye lights glittered, the color of old blood, and his grin widening to border on vicious. “what about last movie night?”
Edge stilled, cup in hand.
He should have known that was what would give him away. His weaknesses would glare out for his brother, as easy to read as the daily newspaper.
Rus always sat next to him these days at the movie gatherings, the line of his body pressed lightly against Edge from their shoulders down to their knees. Sharing a large bowl of popcorn that Edge would eat too much of, glutting himself on greasy kernels until he felt nauseous for the simple reason that their hands would brush inside the bowl.
An utterly pathetic excuse for a too-brief touch and he was greedy for it, every time.
But last week, Rus fell asleep halfway through the movie. Sagging in increments, until he ended up in Edge’s lap, and Edge couldn’t remember a thing about the film. His only memory of that night was of warm weight against him, of soft, even breathing, the lingering drowsiness when Rus awoke, blinking up at him with languid temptation.
If the phone calls were slow torture, that evening was a white-hot spike through the soul, and all he’d done afterward was help Rus sit upright, let the others tease him for getting drool on Edge’s pantleg.
Red’s mouth twisted into a knowing sneer, “yeah, s’what i thought. you’re forgettin’ all your lessons, little brother.” He leaned forward and his expression was savage, gleaming teeth and blazing eye lights were of memory long past, of Underfell. “you want something that bad, you find a way to get it.” Then the fiery blaze eased, leaving nothing but soft crimson as Red sank back into the sofa cushions, his sharp-fingered hands clasped together over his middle. “unless you’re getting a little too used to the soft life on the surface, eh, boss?”
“Shut up,” Edge told him, the words felt brittle between his teeth.
Red’s laughter cut, the honest amusement at his expense. “truth hurts, yeah?”
He was gone in a shortcut, vanished before the hurled cup could hit him. It bounced uselessly off the empty cushion, hot coffee puddling on the leather.
Edge stood for too long, panting, staring at the ruined sofa, before he called down to housekeeping to send a cleaner to his office.
“home safe, edgelord, no one stayin’ over on either side.” Rus was a lot more drunk this time, all his words a soft slurry, blurred nearly to nonsense.
Edge closed his sockets, listening. It was well past three am, the Embassy event ended hours ago to muted applause and well-funded success. He’d been sitting here alone in his living room, tearing a magazine into little strips. The confetti of them flutter to the floor as he sat forward, “Are you all right?”
“jus’ fine, honey, i’m doing great. came home ‘lone, but he gave me a swell time first.”
The temptation was there to go to Rus’s home, to burst through the front door, ignore Blue’s surprised questions that demanded to know what he thought he was doing. To go up to Rus’s room, to pull him close, ignore the scent of someone else on him and— “You didn’t take my advice to play hard to get?”
“can’t play hard enough, never enough, is it. never. never ever ever,” Singsong sweet, tripping over his tongue, and it trailed into something like a muted sob, wretched and wet, “edge? why’m i so hard to love?”
He needed to say something to that, couldn’t let Rus think that, he couldn’t, he needed—
“nah, s’okay, don’ matter anyway, it don’, you listen to me, yeah? worry about me, you do, every time, all th’ time.” Rus drifted off between words, those weak sobs slowing, evening out to only the occasional hiccough.
Edge sat up for most of the night, listening to him breathe.
“fuck, it’s so early. how could you sign me up for this?” Rus groaned. The darkened hollows beneath his sockets were stark, but Rus was up and moving, helping Edge carry the tables to the outside storefront.
“Believe me, you weren’t my first choice for the early shift,” Edge told him.
The fundraiser was one for a local family who’d lost all their possessions in a fire, a bake sale held by the local chapter of Wilderness Scouts group that was made up of Monster and Human children. The goal was one of more than money, it was part of a continuing an effort to familiarize the Human community with Monsters showing them working beside Humans in harmonious unity. Or at least that was the goal and as children tended towards adorable regardless of species, it seemed an excellent opportunity.
Not that Edge was planning on staying for the actual event; he’d baked an assortment of treats, another calculated move, chocolate chip cookies and rice krispie treats, familiar snacks to Humans from an unfamiliar people.
His baking skills notwithstanding, Humans tended to find his appearance somewhat unnerving. He’d volunteered the two of them to set things up for the children and after they were done, the rest would be up to the chaperones.
That was the plan anyway and Edge was hopeful.
“If we work together, we should be able to get this done quickly enough,” Edge said. Although his doubts grew on that as he watched Rus struggle with the folding table
“uh huh,” Rus grunted, finally battling the capricious thing into submission. “sorry if i kept you up last night.”
“What?” The table Edge was setting up seemed to be of a kinder temperament. “You didn’t.”
“no?” Rus unfolded a plastic tablecloth, fussing to spread it over the table with uncommon precision. “that call lasted for four hours.”
They weren’t actually talking about this, they weren’t-- “I must have forgotten to hang up.”
A touch on his wrist stilled him, cool fingertips against the slim line of bone showing between his gloves and his sleeve. His head jerked up involuntarily and Rus was standing too close, too too close, the shadows beneath his sockets garish and obvious.
"how long are we going to do this?" Tiredly, so terribly soft, too low to be heard by any passersby going into the store. Rus seemed worn, the world almost blurring around him as if he were nearly about to step into a shortcut.
"It shouldn’t even be a couple of hours,” Edge said doggedly. “Once we get set up, I think--"
"edge."
Rus didn't say another word, only his name, once. Anything else stayed unspoken and he was so close, his eye lights soft, pale, searching Edge’s face and it would be so easy to lean in, to take his mouth, to see if the sweetness of his kiss matched the rest of him, this endearing fool.
But Rus deserved so much better, he deserved a pure soul that glowed a silver to match his own, not the stony, LV-scarred one that was all Edge had to offer, the memory of murders bound within it in blood-shaded crimson. Rus deserved someone who could offer him their world.
Edge couldn’t even offer a piece of his.
Don’t do this, don’t, don’t be kind, don’t know how I feel, don’t, please, please—
He reared back, turning away to smooth the last tablecloth into place. "Let's finish getting this set up."
Rus said nothing, stood unmoving and Edge tried not to look at him, unable to bear seeing the banked unhappiness within him. Then, abruptly, "yeah, okay. guess we're gonna do this for a little while, then." Rus gathered up one of the boxes, pulling out baggies of cookies and setting them up in fairly neat rows. “we can go out for lunch after if you want, but i need to get home in time for a nap, i got a date tonight."
“You’ll call me when you get home.” It should have been a question. When Rus didn’t answer, Edge glanced at him, involuntarily, searching his face, and the taste of his desperation was flavored with shame.
Rus smiled a little, a faint curve of his mouth. “yeah, sure. i’ll call, let you know i got home okay. this is date number one, maybe i can make a good first impression, for once.”
“I’m sure you will.” Edge stood next to him, both of them piling up cookies and treats, readying them for the children to sell. They’d finish soon enough, go out for lunch, and then Edge would go home, alone. He’d line up his shoes on the mat by the door, sit on his sofa, and wait for his phone to ring. It was enough, stealing brief, borrowed moments of Rus, more than he even deserved.
Despite everything, Edge was still himself. It was all he could ever be.
-finis-