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You remember the first time you saw him.
The car rolled solemnly to the grand but gothic tower, once a part of Wayne Manor, with a strange adult driving it who seemed overly friendly and smiley. The other orphans and children staying there were nice enough to you, offering their toys, to join in with their games, sit with them, be a part of their secret clubs. But you were too sad, too wary. You crept up to the attic that night, expecting it to be empty, but the hollow tube of light that streamed from a torch caught your attention immediately. The light’s direction moved from a book in a small, hunched figure’s lap to right in your face, and you squinted at the brightness, quickly shying away.
The light snapped off when the figure noticed your movements to leave.
“Wait,” a soft, young boy’s voice spoke up, and you eyed him cautiously from your spot, trying to make him out in the darkness. “Sorry. You can stay. If you like puzzles. You… you’re new.”
You nodded slowly, still hesitant, hands bunching up your top nervously. The boy got up from where he was sitting, put down his book and steadily made his way over to you. You could make out his features a bit clearly when he was in front of you properly – wide, thin-rimmed glasses, straight brown locks to just past his chin that swept over his forehead neatly. He looked similarly shy, a studious, observant look in his green eyes, which widened noticeably as they took in your features too. If it wasn’t so dark, you would have noticed the blush that dusted his cheeks pink.
“Hi,” he murmured, a sweet smile tugging at his lips. “I’m Edward. Edward Nashton. Who are you?”
You loved the way he asked, as if he were in awe of you being there, ending up in such a place, no matter how rich and pretty it might have seemed for an orphanage. You told him your name, avoiding the topic of how you ended up there. You both ended up just talking into the night, and from then on, you were inseparable.
You remember the first time he flirted with you.
He was pretty good at it, even though you were both pretty young. You were sat comfortably together, in the attic again, a much better place to talk in peace than the shared bedrooms. Edward was answering riddles in the book he had saved up to buy after earning money from chores. He had helped you pick out books too, delighted that you were interested in the riddles and puzzles he loved so much, unlike everybody else.
You looked up from your book to watch him press his pen into the paper ‘ANGEL’ in the answer box.
“Angels don’t belong in orphanages, do they?” He’d questioned, looking up at you curiously, and you frowned, shaking your head.
“I don’t think so.”
Edward had smiled then, a look of confidence and fondness harmonising with his next comment.
“Then what are you doing here?”
You were flustered instantly, and he grinned, staring at you for a long moment before returning his attention to his puzzle book, as if nothing had happened.
You remember the first time he held your hand.
Thomas Wayne gave his electoral speech while you sang Ave Maria as a child’s choir in the background. Edward seemed to look up to Thomas, believing in his promises, and thought he might favour his son, Bruce, too.
But that was before Bruce Wayne had smiled at you.
He’d just glanced behind him casually, his eyes meeting yours for a second or two, a friendly enough smile at you before he turned back around. You didn’t smile back quickly enough, distracted by the whole event going on around you, but Edward’s hands balled up into fists so tight, his skin went pale, and he glared daggers at him for the rest of the event. You noticed halfway through, and tentatively brushed your own hand against his, offering it to hold. He relaxed a little, eyes softening, and he took it, lacing his fingers with yours.
You remember the first time he hugged you.
The news of Thomas and Martha Wayne’s death was splashed over every paper and channel. You almost felt sorry for him, but you saw it all through Edward’s eyes too. The building collected rubbish and cobwebs and lazy, uncaring workers. After a while, the rats started invading, ruining your favourite spot in the attic. Chore money wasn’t provided anymore, and the cold was unbearable. The babies felt it the most, and that was one of the things that really got to you.
But then there was Bruce Wayne, quite literally on top of the world, and you were withering away in what used to be a part of his home.
Eddie and you stayed as close as possible to stay warm, especially at night, and on one of those nights, you couldn’t help the tears from sliding down your face. He’d noticed straight away, and sighed shakily, his expression practically heartbroken. You felt Edward’s arms around you a moment later, and you leaned into his embrace as he hushed you, burying his face in your hair.
“Lies,” He’d hissed, shaking his head and glancing out the window accusingly. “I can’t- ugh, no more lies!”
You remember the first time he threw a tantrum.
A couple had come over, for you. They smiled wearily when you were introduced, and you looked between them apprehensively. You didn’t want new parents. All they wanted you for was to boost their social status, to be admired and praised. You’d grown used to seeing the familiar, uncaring, selfish stares that nearly everyone in Gotham held.
Edward had watched from the door, his jaw clenched in anger and protectiveness. He didn’t get a say when papers were signed in a blur, and neither did you. They were happy to have to provide for one less orphan now you were someone else’s problem. The workers announced it tiredly the next morning, and the look on Eddie’s face is one you’ll never forget.
The screams, the cursing, the kicking and squeezing and lashing out when he was restrained and sent away with an adult to calm down. He was crazed, really, not at all like the innocent little boy he appeared to be. And it was all because they were trying to separate the two of you.
You remember the first time he kissed you.
You were in tears, just like him, when the couple signalled for you to get in their car impatiently. You didn’t know what to say to Edward Nashton, the first true friend you’d had in ages. Was friend even title enough for him?
He hugged you tightly, breathing in your scent deeply, wanting to remember it forever.
“I’ll see you again,” he promised you, grasping both of your hands desperately. “I’ll find you.”
And before you could say anything, he pressed his lips to yours. It was a small, innocent kiss – you were still kids – but you’ll never forget how right it felt, and how softly he’d smiled.
…
That was the last time in years that you’d seen him.
That adopted family, of course, were in it for the popularity. But not anymore. They had a “death by misadventure,” you made sure of it, as soon as you were old enough to leave home. And you didn’t shed any tears.
You were waiting for the right moment to do something, anything, about this city. You’d practised on those social climbing pigs; you could do it again. You couldn’t help thinking of Eddie’s tantrum from when you were a child, how naturally aggressive he was. He promised he’d find you. You knew that promise would come true, one day soon.
A little sooner than you expected.
The Riddler had popped up on the streaming site you use, a dark green masked man with clear-framed glasses who’d claimed to have killed minor corrupt people of Gotham, ones who had so far gone unnoticed. But he had a plan.
There was something about him that just made you think. Why did he seem so familiar? His voice was deepened and distorted through his mouthpiece, and his face was hidden, so you couldn’t be sure.
Riddler…
Riddles…
Edward.
Could it be? Seriously?
So you tried your luck last night, lingering over the send key on your keyboard as you glared at your message, before eventually sending it.
I grew up from a seed, as tough as a weed. But in a mansion, in a slum, I’ll never know where I come from.
The Riddler had stopped speaking abruptly as he looked down at the chat. Suddenly, he was finishing the live stream, and a message popped up in your inbox straight afterwards.
What did I promise you?
He wanted to know it was you, you knew it, and replied eagerly.
You’d see me again. You’d find me.
He didn’t respond for several moments, though you could tell he was still online and on the chat.
Where are you?
So you replied with the address of your apartment, almost beside yourself in excitement as he went offline. You couldn’t stay put, and pulled on some trainers and a denim jacket before leaving, hurriedly closing the door behind you as you ran down the stairs, shoving your keys in your pocket as you stepped out into the fresh evening air, alive with dimly glowing streetlights. The wait is agonising now, even though it’s only been ten minutes or so.
Heavy footsteps sound from the nearby beginning of your street, and your breath catches in your throat as you caught sight of an all-too-familiar man. It’s definitely Eddie, your Eddie, but he’s grown up just like you have. His hair is somewhat shorter, neatly cropped and parted, clear glasses that suited him pretty perfectly, and those green eyes that could go from innocent to crazed depending on the situation.
They go round as saucers when he sees you standing outside the building, mouth agape, and a couple of stunned, breathless chuckles leave his throat. Then he’s running towards you, and you copy him, until your bodies smash into and envelope each other completely. Edward lifts you off the ground, spinning you with a surprising amount of strength, and you laugh into his neck, holding him impossibly tighter.
He puts you down, parting just enough to look into your eyes, trembling hands reaching up to cup your face, thumbs grazing your cheeks adoringly.
“You’re here,” he whispers, forehead pressed against yours. “You’re really here. I… it’s been so long- I couldn’t find you, I’m so sorry-”
You shake your head dismissively. “No, no, it’s okay. I’m not… I keep a low profile so… but then I saw someone called The Riddler, and just had to make sure it was you. I knew it was.”
“Of course it’s me,” he coos, rocking you gently back and forth, pulling you both closer to the building and away from the middle of the street. “It’s always been me. And you’ve always been such an angel, remember? My angel…”
Your fingers move up to weave through his hair, and he leans into the touch with a hum of contentment, rubbing his nose against yours with a wide smile.
“So, this is it, then? You’re not leaving after this?”
“Leaving?” Edward repeats, laughing in disbelief. “Never. I shouldn’t have let those… that scum take you away.”
“It’s alright,” you assure him, not hesitating to tell him the truth, especially as you know he’s the Riddler, a killer. “They can’t do any damage to anyone now. I made sure of it.”
Eddie grins in realisation, hysterical giggles escaping him. “Oh, well done. You’re amazing, angel, you really are-”
He cuts himself short, an idea reflected in the way he gasps shortly.
“You need to join me,” he tells you giddily. “We’ve always been perfect together. We can show Gotham’s true light together. You and me. The Riddler and The Angel.”
You laugh at that. “Yeah, okay. I’d love to.”
He wastes no time in pulling you even closer, until his lips are on yours once again, except this time, they part boldly, needily. You return the kiss fully, and he whines when you break away, chasing your lips.
“We can go inside,” you prompt, and he nods, wrapping an arm around your waist as you lead him to the door, pushing it open. You unlock the front door to your apartment, and he steps in, eyes scanning your things, posters, pictures, with a fond smile.
“I missed you, Eddie,” you admit, and he tugs you back into a hug, pressing kisses into your neck.
“I missed you more,” he mumbles, before looking up at you earnestly. “I love you, sooo much, angel.”
“I love you too,” you respond, and he smiles as you sit back into your couch, Eddie crawling on top of you and nuzzling into you with an airy moan.
“What are we gonna do?” you ask him with a half-smile, and Edward sits up, guiding you onto his lap, where he cradles you as if you’re the most delicate, precious being in the universe.
“It can be cruel, poetic, or blind,” he starts, leaning in close so that his warm breath tickles the side of your face, “but when it’s denied-”
“It’s violence you may find,” you finish, and he starts giggling again, breaking out into full-blown manic laughter. You can’t help laughing with him, in his arms, where you belong.
You’ll remember this, forever, and so much more.