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Summary
The bed is a twin, so naturally there’s room issues when nighttime rolls around. It has been Edward’s since the age of nine and there is really no reason to replace it. It's been easier with Oswald no longer needing an IV, though; less cold sweat and tangled limbs in cords and neck pain upon waking up. Edward might hesitate to say he does not miss it.
“Do you want me to brush your teeth?” Edward asks, sitting upright on the white sheets with a chipper disposition. Let me scrub out every bit of ugliness within you in reverence. Make you atone and dirty you up after.
Oswald frowns. “I can brush my own goddamn teeth.”