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It seemed oddly fitting, standing on opposite sides at the pier.
Only the deceiving calm of the murky water flowing under their feet were keeping them company.
"What did she have that I don't? Explain it to me, Ed, 'cause I just don't see it."
It had been sick, the way that woman wormed her fraudulent way into Edward's heart.
Her likeness to Kristin Kringle had not been a coincidence, at least not one Oswald felt inclined to accept. At first, for his friend's sake, he had wanted to believe.
She had been a friend, of sorts, too, but it had been abundantly clear to him that she hadn't been as good for Edward as he had once thought.
"Put nobody else above me," he whispered gently, cruelly. "Just admit that you love me," the gun in his hand pointing straight at the object of his affection.
Those expressive eyes stared incredulously at him, hurt shining. It wasn't that he wanted to see tears, or for his friend to be in pain.
"Tell me it wasn't you," that voice he found so mesmerizing pleaded. Even now, Edward didn't want it to be true. That, his insides purred, was so sweet.
Shaking his head, Oswald allowed a pitying smile to adorn his face. Why couldn't he see?
Isabella didn't want Edward, not for the man he truly was inside, and had tried to kill him and keep that pathetic shell of a man he would've been reduced to for herself.
She had been so selfish. Unlike him, who would've been fine giving up the man he loved if he thought it would've made him happy.
Now he knew better. That temptress had put his only friend under a clever spell, and as Edward couldn't see what was real and what was not, she needed to die.
Love all of him or not at all. She couldn't do that for him, but Oswald could. He always would.
Even with his face covered in deep red, flecks of her blood staining the glasses perched on that thin, pert nose, Edward was still breathtaking; so stunningly beautiful.
"I saved you, but by all means go on and hate me. Will you kill me, Ed? I won't regret protecting what I love."
"It is because I am your friend, Ed." Smiling with that playful smirk that once had seemed so fitting, the self-proclaimed King of Gotham walked away.
Somewhere, he could hear the faint chimes of bells, and he knew with the death of that girl, as insignificant as she had been, their friendship had come to an end.
He was to blame for that, he knew, yet he was fine with it. Even if he couldn't keep Edward for himself, he also knew that their game of life and death was just starting.
As long as he could still breathe, they'd be together. His love was all he could take with him, and it was all that he desired.
Nobody could come between them. His pocket full of bullets that would each penetrate the hearts of those trying to steal Edward away.
"He's mine," he murmured, confident in his worldview. "He belongs to me. Only to me."