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His vision was cloudy, smoke dancing atop a black background drawing patterns of fire and ashes. In the distance, a faraway ringing echoed through his eardrums, retelling a warning pattern Charles found difficult to comprehend. Amidst all the loudness, a humm brought him back to his headspace, making him a simple onlooker onto the replayed memory.
That's right, a memory. Something terrible had happened yet the pieces were not binding together in his hazy mind. Piercing screaming, blaring explosions and something else. Another sensation– his hand crushed by the energy waves as it reached for something else, someone else.
The discomfort in his right hand remained, serving as an anchor for his mind to reach into consciousness. Consciousness. For it to exist it begs to a state of unconsciousness. Had Charles been unconscious? He can't recall the last time his mind rested– or rather shut off– fully as ghosts don't need and frankly can't indulge in alive comms as such.
He couldn't have been fully unthinking as, once he came to his senses and the symbolic needle pain through his bones dissipated, he could recall warmth engulfing him after all the chaos. Charles knows it was irrational; ghosts can't feel any temperature whatsoever. The warmth he had felt nestled against something deeper, something more integral to him, like his soul. He desperately wanted to find that feeling again.
As he pried his eyes open, an ugly sight greeted him.
“Oh there he is,” the witch uttered with a poisonous laced tone.
Esther Finch's eyes leering at him knocked some sense into prior events, his own eyes growing wider and wilder at the thought of what she had done. She spoke, yet the ringing at Charles' ears overpowered any projection of her voice.
“You teens are just so hard to pin down,” she spat, face nearing Charles' space.
Was she still mad about the possessing her ordeal? Was this punishment at last for Charles' reckless actions? His mistakes were finally catching up to him and, although it terrified him, he was glad Edwin wasn't here to suffer for actions he had no control over. God knows he had done enough of that already; if 70 years in hell were enough to buy yourself some healing.
“If I'm honest, I didn't want you to ruin my plan and try to rescue your pal”
Charles saw red. A feeling oddly similar to blood rushed to his ears, pressure building against his temple and the sole mention of Edwin also being here. A thunder of anger shot through his eyes, shining a light on the utter brutality powering his moves. He lunged forward, the intent to kill hiding under his nails and macabre fingers ready to gauge through skin if needed.
All of it was cut short by a painful groan when his head jerked back as forcefully as he had lounged before. A chain sizzled out from where it circled Charles’ neck, clasping around his throat as it burned through the corporeal skin. His head made a loud thud against the cabinet as he tried to get away from the cruel iron collar. His hair landed into his shoulder, looking for comfort away from that horrid feeling of being pierced by a dagger over and over again.
“Nasty sting,” Esther leaned her face to match Charles' eye position while she smirked, “choker’s iron”
A single thought stabbed his brain.
“Where is Edwin? Don't you dare–”
“Honey don't be jealous, once I get him up and screaming I'll come back and play with you” the witch sneered.
The blood was back, flooding his thoughts and glazing his eyes until all he could see was the decrepit corpse of Esther Finch rotting away under him, unrecognizable and defenceless. He kicked his right leg out in her direction with enough force to break a bone. He came up a few centimetres short, unlike the witch who didn't miss when she swung her iron cane into his abdomen.
The shrilling scream that tore out of his chest left him hollow, as if all his non-existing guts had been burned from the inside out only for them to spill out through the flaky skin around the bored hole at his stomach. Attempting to lessen the pain, Charles folded in on himself, the sting at his neck reminding him where he belonged.
“Just you wait” she sizzled through her teeth.
Twisted pointy heels chipped the wooden floor as she stalked away, taking Charles' last bit of barging away. He had hoped it was all a ruse from a crooked mind, another way of torture. Knowing Edwin was somewhere in this house, alone and far away from Charles' reach, chained away to another wall, porcelain skin burned far beyond repair. That was torture.
Oh, but it would only get worse from then on.
“Charles!” That was Edwin's voice. Edwin panicky calling for him.
His voice was so hoarse, so desperate when he screamed his name, worry dripping from every syllable. Edwin was calling but Charles couldn't reach him. He needed to reach him.
Charles struggled against the chain as if he were a rabid dog, shanking the iron right into his Adam’s apple where red flesh was showing. Another scream was coaxed out of him, only this time Charles could barely hear over another racking scream from a few rooms over.
Edwin was screaming. Not only screaming, he was wailing in pain. It mulled Charles' soul into pieces, the loud shrilling of Edwin’s voice breaking as it tore out of his lungs, bruised and beaten.
“No, no, no, let him go! Let him go!” Charles bellowed, trying to make sense of what to do.
Even throughout all of hell, Charles' ears had never encountered such pain from Edwin. He was meant to protect him, to make sure Edwin never went through that unmerited pain ever again. Yet in less than two days he had failed two times too many.
The pattern was relentless; Edwin's torment seemed to quiet down for a while only to pick up full force just seconds later. Each time, Charles' restraints shook a little harder, burned a little harder. The throb from the chain’s material became second on the pain scale when Edwin's screams stabbed his beatless heart with the force of a wronged lover in seek of some relief. The vivid red circle around his throat would not cope against Edwin's yelling, not when the latter was so deeply embedded into his skin that Charles suspects he'll never forget them.
Amongst all his struggling, his neck felt achingly cold, the type of blinding cold resulting from a great deal of pain after being burned repeatedly by the chains. Rapid breaths did nothing to help his lightheadedness while he watched himself slip further away from his movements, franticness dulling as he rested his head against the cabinet once again.
“Edwin” and exhale of a mumble, hoarse and small– his throat's last attempt at uttering a sound.
“Not Edwin” a higher-pitched voice whispered far out from his field of vision, “it’s me, Niko”
“And Crystal also, hi” both voices winded far from Charles' comprehension, “get yourself out of there.”
A familiar rucksack slid through the floor towards his feet, hysteric hands diving into its infinite compartments in search of a titchy toolbox. The movements should have been robotic and calculated; he had done this a thousand times. However, when the toolbox was out and his fingers got to work, it was all clumsy; the hold on the tools slipped and a few entries were missed.
Only when Edwin’s harrowing screams ceased, replaced by Crystal’s anchored voice, was Charles able to control his shaking– had he been shaking? —ditching the lock and iron collar to be forgotten until a particularly bad day would bring them back to memory.
He rose, neck tingling slightly while the warm, blood-resembling feeling returned behind his eyes. A distant whimper from Edwin set him off into action, nails scraping a knife off the counter before tearing out of the kitchen, a set path inked over his face.
The sight he was greeted with was not a pretty one.
His body boiled at the sight of Edwin’s trembling frame tied to the excrescence torture machine. His whimpers were worse than the screaming, they were digging at his insides, clawing at what was left of his heart. It was wrong. He was so limp, eyes shut so tightly you'd wonder if he still had functional sight. It looked so out of place; such a soft face scrunched in pain. Esther would pay, she would pay tenfold for every second of suffering caused to Edwin. Charles would make sure of it.
Somehow, Crystal had managed to corner the filthy witch, her face contorting at the sight of Charles, free and dangerous.
“Leave her to me” the words staggered in the air.
The knife he was holding swung with brutality, cutting the air in its wake, traces of danger dangling in the gust. The lunge pierced skin, judging by the mushy texture Charles could feel at the tip of the knife. He dug deeper, Esther's breath staggering as no sound managed to escape her already decrepit lips.
The knife was in no way stalwart; it bent inside her at awkward angles, tearing more skin as it did but for all that, Charles couldn't care less. He wanted this to be painful, she would pay tenfold.
His hands became slippery, covered in someone else's blood opaquely escaping his skin. The drip of the dense liquid covering ground brought with it a release of tension, anger being swept away yet leaving behind the underlying protectiveness.
Once more, something distant changed enough to bring him out of his tunnel vision. There was no longer an overbearing buzzing sound squeezing Edwin's soul out of him. The machine had stopped and so did the whimpers.
Edwin stood– or rather slouched– against Niko's frame, wrists burned to the raw meat beyond skin and quiet sobs wrecking his already quivering body.
“He,” Esther's croaky voice dared to raise, “was a fun toy.”
She was smiling. She was fucking smiling. His hands moved on their own accord, fuelled by Charles’ sole purpose– to protect– as they gushed the wobbly knife up into her chest and all the way through her throat, movement faltering when it caught against the silks of clothes.
Esther's dying corpse collapsed onto the floor, dragging the knife with it and away from Charles' grip. She might have screamed, honestly, Charles doesn't remember, ears too numbed with pressure he hadn't even heard his name being called.
“Charles,” Edwin mirrored a beg, a plea to come closer, to comfort away the shakes from his body.
And so he did, leaving a trail of bloody footprints as he rushed through the room. As he got closer, Edwin's body reached for him with what strength it still had, peeling his arms off of Niko’s shoulders and into the spectating diminishing distance between them.
Their bodies collided in a tight embrace, Charles' hands gripping Edwin's white gown with all the might a murderer's hands could muster. Edwin's legs wobbled, his weight mainly resting and depending on Charles's own strength, both physical and emotional it seemed.
Edwin was supposed to be taller, but right now, as his head was tucked away at the crook of the other's neck and his limbs quaver, he looked much smaller. He felt small as well, energy drained to the brim of what would be his soul– his tortured and malnourished soul.
The hug only got tighter anytime a semblance of a sob erupted from the ghost; Charles' knuckles turned white as he seemingly tried to bring them closer together. Charles wanted nothing more than to squish them closer, close enough to where Edwin's soul could crawl into his own for safekeeping. Close enough to where any tear shed could find its way to nurturing a growing flower inside their own little nook.
“We need to go” Niko was the first to warn, soft and gentle like a hug.
“I don't know if Death or Lilith, but somebody is coming for her and we cannot be here once they do” Crystal had the magic bag over her shoulder and sorrow in her eyes.
At the mention of Death, one of Charles’ hands possessively carried towards Edwin's head, cradling the space where soft hair met porcelain skin. A shudder and a sigh, which he could feel caress his skin at collarbone height, were enough reaction for Charles to brush at wayward strands from the dishevelled hair cautiously.
“He can’t walk home” Charles stayed clung to Edwin as he spoke, “I'll carry him through a mirror, you guys go back to Jenny”
It was a tough thing to ask of them– to leave them after just having rescued them, especially when Niko wanted nothing more than to hug Edwin so tight he would need air again.
No one moved.
Above all, Nikos stayed rooted to the floor, right hand held by Crystal. Crystal, whose feet fainted to leave at one point yet her eyes remained on the bloody gutted corpse of Esther at the corner. The whole situation was frustrating; the look of disgust and fear Crystal held turned his stomach into knots, sucking his stomach from the inside and rearranging everything out of place. It wasn't fair and, as such, it forced a slight sneer out of Charles. It wasn't pretty and it wasn't kind but it seemed to convince, or rather coerce, the girls out of the house with hesitant steps and deep into the night of the street.
A quick look around gave away a slim standing mirror next to the fireplace, frame golden and well kept for god knows how long. With careful steps, Charles moved them towards the mirror, Edwin's feet dragging along in short breaths. Amidst all the distress, the rise and fall of Edwin's chest against his own did help ease the voltaic energy in Charles' system, decreasing enough to where he felt he could pull away without every fibre in his soul screaming to get back.
Edwin's steps were chary, so detached from their usual pep and eloquence it tugged at Charles' chest, a lump growing behind his bones which he's come to realize only dares to appear when Edwin's face is sour with tears.
Eventually, they reached the mirror. It was a hard task, convincing their bodies to pull apart just enough to step one after the other through it, yet they managed. Edwin's legs seemed to finally regain a bit of substance by the time he was being guided to the shiny surface and when his body merged into the reflection, only being held back by the clasped hands, Charles followed suit without a second look back at the old bloodied scene. It'd be someone else's problem to clean up.
The office was a welcomed sight for sore eyes; the street lamp light falling in through un-curtained windows, the mixed-matched decor from over 30 years of untold experiences and the pretentious yet handy bookcases. The space had waited for them, staying intact even when they had changed so much. They came home different, for better and for worse, and their office was ready to welcome them as they were.
As one ghost relished in the comfort of home, the other stood atop an unsteady footing, trying to muster all the strength he had ever possessed to get through and over it. Whatever ‘it’ meant. Edwin stumbled through some wooden furniture while trying to reach the sofa before his legs gave out, fortunately managing to not tumble into the cushions.
Charles' eyes seemed to focus back after adjusting to the comfort of safety, guarding demeanour long shaken off as no possible threat could harm them here. Nevertheless, something was missing in him, a hole at the pit of his stomach which longed. He gazed at Edwin out of instinct only to find him looking at him as well.
“Can you sit with me?” His voice was small but his eyes were compelling.
Not that Charles needed much convincing, he would have dropped sky and earth in a heartbeat if Edwin asked him to. And so he did. His answer was as simple as walking over quiet floorboards towards the sofa and as direct as sitting next to Edwin, close enough for their legs to touch. Edwin was shaking against the touch, a slight tremble letting through the phantom pain he still felt.
For the first time in their 30 years of afterlife, Charles was at a loss. At a loss of words, which seem to all fall short at the mere thought of what to say. At a loss of jokes, when for once he found no amusement or remark. And at a loss for how to comfort. There's no denying the two of them were very affectionate, but far from the conventional affection one might think of, they had always leaned more into an unspoken comfort the mere presence of each other brought.
Somehow, right now it didn't seem enough to comfort either of them.
Charles had noticed how Edwin flinched away from any type of contact, even if he had always reciprocated every hug, every brush of arms and hold of hands. However, Charles needed reassurance more than ever, he needed to know Edwin wasn't going anywhere, that no one could take him away as long as he was in his arms. So, from a selfish desperate place behind his sternum, his arm moved slowly resting lightly on Edwin's uncharastically slouched back.
Charles was expecting the other to stiffen his back, closing off as he often did when Charles reached out. Instead, to his relief, Edwin leaned into the touch with a fatigued sigh, eyes falling shut. Gradually, Edwin's shoulder dropped lower to the side until his head was fully resting against Charles's shoulder. Charles' arm instantly clutched tighter against the quivering waist, allowing Edwin’s head to fully rest against the faint memory of a heartbeat.
Charles believed he could have spent the rest of eternity sitting like this, with Edwin in his arms as a constant comfort, foreign warmth gingerly filling the space. Maybe it wasn't exactly the warmth he was feeling but rather what he imagined hugging Edwin would feel like; warm and safe. The concept of touch as a ghost was not as much about senses as it was a manifestation of feelings in the form of timid wonder. So Charles figured he was indulging in that wonder, the ‘what it would feel like’ merging with the ‘what it feels like’ to form this warmth unique to them.
“It was as painful as the first time…” Edwin’s voice trailed off so small Charles almost missed it, “that machine felt the same as when I was taken to hell for the first time”
“You are not going back there.” Charles had begun drawing small circles on top of Edwin’s stomach, fingerprints catching in the ragged material of the shirt.
“‘I’m aware.” Edwin's proper voice was despondently tainted.
“I wouldn't let that happen.” Charles insisted.
“I know.” It was final.
Silence arose. What else could they say? They knew everything there was to know about the other, about intentions, about dependability and trust. Then again, Charles thought he knew about their feelings but then one confession on some haunted stairs came to turn his view upside down. Maybe that was their problem, they assumed they knew everything because they knew so much already. They were so comfortable in understanding each other that they never thought to look further. Until Edwin did. Edwin had looked further for both of them and dragged Charles along with him to new possibilities. He had talked about feelings– his feelings– so perhaps it was time Charles did the same.
“I couldn't get to you Edwin, I'm so sorry” Charles knew he was opening a dangerous dam but better it be under his terms than watching it overflow.
As Charles's irises dampened, Edwin sat up to stare at him, faces inches away from each other. If he focused enough he could almost feel– imagine– how their breaths would have collided with each other if they were still alive.
“Listen to me carefully,” Edwin's tone was the most stable it had been all night, ”none of what happened warrants your guilt.”
Edwin's hand had made its way to the other’s shoulder, patting down to further his point until it got engraved in Charles' soul.
“Doesn't it?” it was sarcastic, misplaced venom arising from his own despair, “Cause it seems that no matter how hard I try I always fail to protect you”
The hand around Edwin’s torso was becoming tighter the more he spoke as if pressure would make it all better, would make it all go away.
“You saved me today,” Edwin's free hand reached down to his waist to rest on top of Charles’, “you are protecting me now.”
Charles finally gave in. There was no use in punishing himself for the ‘what was’ when the ‘what is’ was in front of him, so inviting to comfort. So warm.
It wasn't clear who started this hug but did it really matter when they both needed it? Does it matter who hugs first, who kisses first, who touches first when you both need it, you both crave it? Edwin was once again in Charles' arms, making them feel like a latch had been undone in both their chests.
It was a familiar pattern, the same way their office was. It had always been there, in each hug, each smile, each glance, it just took another lighting to be able to truly notice it. But now that he did, Charles doubts he can go back. He doubts he wants to go back.
He gradually becomes more aware of Edwin's body against his; the way his head rests against his shoulder blade, how his hair lightly tickles his ears and also the fact Edwin wasn't hugging as hard as he’d expected. Scared to have made him uncomfortable, Charles painfully detangled himself from their embrace, catching Edwin's bewildered eyes.
What Charles found, however, had nothing to do with being uncomfortable with the touch. It was Edwin's wrist, black and bruised in a neat ring around the skin.
“What’s this?” Charles’ breath was caught before every word, eyes fixated on the torn skin.
“The restraints from the machine…” Edwin trailed off, something that was becoming increasingly more common for his speech pattern, “It's nothing really, just some light phantom pain”
How come ghosts couldn't feel anything besides pain? Was it some sort of punishment for evading destiny? The price to pay for escaping an afterlife of uncertainty? Although Charles would gladly choose pain over an afterlife without Edwin, he hated that Edwin had to do the same. He never deserved suffering in the first place, so how come suffering was still seeking for him at each corner?
Charles felt red bilis rising towards his mouth, tongue ready to spew curse after damnation towards that filthy witch. Yet, something in Edwin's eyes reminded him that would do no good. They needed comfort, tranquillity, and safety. Now more than ever Edwin needed a touch detached from pain, completely opposite to everything he had ever felt in his afterlife.
Charles's hand travelled from Edwin's elbow to just under the angry scar with a light touch, fictional goosebumps arising on his skin. While his sight didn't leave those awful endurable marks, Edwin's eyes were curiously examining his face darkened by the backlight from the window. He was not flinching away from any of Charles's touch, so he took this as an incentive to caress over the scarred line. The touch wouldn't hurt him, after all, what Edwin said was true; it was nothing more than phantom pain. Still, Charles hoped his careful fingers could carry the same warmth he felt, healing other types of scars buried further beneath the skin, impregnated into Edwin's soul.
Edwin seemed to be holding his breath, too caught up in the way Charles fingertips delicately moved through his skin. He didn't need to be so gentle, so considerate with the tingling he was leaving behind and the warmth Edwin could almost feel. Still, Charles moved with the tenderness of caution over those scars and Edwin could have sworn his eyes got a bit glossy.
“Is this hurting?” Of course, Charles had noticed the wetness threatening emerald eyes. He always did, too attentive for his own good.
“No,” Edwin mulled his next words carefully, “please, keep doing it”
For a moment Charles just held his right hand, the intertwined fingers draped across his lap. The pause made Edwin fear he'd thrown it all to bushes, too eager for comfort and too needy of touch to remain behind the blurred line they had carved and uncarved in the span of one day.
Charles' movements reassured him he hadn't as Edwin’s hand was being carried upwards, timidly being inched closer to somewhere near Charles' checks, destination unclear for him. With Charles' hand sprawled under his’ for support, Edwin’s own wrists and digits rested leisurely. It felt good to let loose, to let his hand be guided knowing he who was guiding it wanted nothing more than to protect him.
It was especially nice when Charles' lips brushed against his wrist, touch bumping against the rigged scars.
“Oh” was all Edwin could muster in his haze.
It was an extremely soft touch, such that Edwin would have missed it hadn't he seen Charles' head buckling down to kiss it. Kiss. He had kissed it. He retaliated again, this time a light peck kiss moving upwards while shifting the grip on his hand. It was prominent enough that Edwin could pinpoint the exact location where lips had made contact with his skin, a small hiccup revealing his unnecessary yet poor breathing pattern.
It was enough to pry open Charles' eyes– when had he shut them? – who, without moving too far away from Edwin's arm, looked at him with a longing smile. There was a chuckle somewhere, a breathy laugh Charles only used when he felt like emphasizing a point given that ghosts don't need breath or air for that matter. What point Edwin wasn't sure, as soon enough lips were back leaving dispersed trails of soft soft soft.
His eyes were stuck in the way Charles' lips moulded against his scarred skin, mapping out their shape and consistency based on touch alone. The phantom pain was long gone, replaced by a greater, softer tug at his skin. Even if he could only imagine what it would feel like, even if he mustered only a 5% of what it actually felt like, it was exhilarating enough.
Charles' lips travelled up his arm kiss by kiss, an attempt at covering the most ground or an excuse to deliver more touch. Edwin's theoretical stomach was tingling, seemingly about to take flight every time Charles’ lips reconnected.
Edwin would not allow his mind to wander– to ponder how it would feel to have those lips on his own. And so he instead allowed his eyes to wander, which was a childish idea as his eyes staggered on Charles' side profile, his neck to be precise. There, chiselled against bronze skin, was a solemn yet messy scar, irate red still throbbing in an engulfing dent reaching his Adam’s apple.
Edwin tasted sourness. Both his hands retracted to cup at Charles's head, tilting it to one side to get a better view. He fell short of words –not for the first time and definitely not for the last– at the uneven yet clear burned shadow of a choke collar.
“When you began screaming…” It was Charles turn to explain, “It drove me mad”
“I was aware you were restrained, I just didn't expect it to be this parlous” Edwin's right hand fell from the other’s jaw to the start of his collarbone.
“I had to get to you” Charles supplied as if that simple motive would answer every unfairness they had ever gone through.
But it always came down to that, didn't it? Charles follows Edwin, looking for him in a crowd, saving him from the ghastly underworld, killing Esther Finch. He had done so many things for him, for them, that it was time Edwin started repaying him.
His second round in hell had taught him two valuable lessons. First, losing your life when you had none to live for was much easier than losing your death when you had everything right by your side. Second, there's no use in wasting time, especially if you have an undefined eternity ahead of you.
And so, he didn't waste a second before kissing the side of that scar. As his lips kissed experimentally at the uneven skin, his cheek brushed against a collarbone. His face seemed to perfectly fit at the crook of Charles' neck, so confusion swept his thoughts when Charles further stretched the space between his neck and shoulder.
“Did I harm you? I apologize” Edwin had pulled back, scared of having hurt Charles; his scar did seem more vivid, so maybe it still hurt faintly.
“No you– it didn't hurt,” Charles had to clear his throat to get those words out in the open, eyes jumping from focus to focus.
Edwin had never been good at picking up cues. Clues, on the other hand, were as easy to see as a red hot air balloon in a clear sky. Clues like Charles’ tinted cheeks, his hazy eyes with the bags under them and his waiting eyes.
He wanted to help Charles; he wanted to heal that awful scar and return the smooth skin to its pristine condition– make Charles forget the screams, the pain, the guilt.
With only the faint midnight traffic noise filling the space, Edwin perched forward once again, this time resting his hands on Charles shoulders for better balance. However, when he was millimetres away from the bump of a scar, he stopped. He purposely breathed against the mangled skin, letting the air bounce off every inch of neck it could reach.
Charles sighed. Or was it an exhale? Edwin couldn't tell them apart from this close but he noticed a drop in his shoulders and an unusual rise at his chest. He was starting to like this simpler way of comforting one another, without the baffle of words and thoughts that did not translate properly. This way, by lips connecting to skin, Edwin could convey every single abstract thought and comprehend all of Charles’.
His lips found a bridge of a scar again, so he kissed it. He kissed with more intent now, sure of the motion and the effect he wanted to engrave. He was replacing all the iron touch with his touch, inevitably wetting the skin on awkward spots. Charles didn't seem to mind.
“Edwin” a one-word sentence seemingly fugitive from Charles' own mouth.
His name was being called not for the first time that day, yet it was so different from earlier. There was no worry in Charles voice, no pain hindered into the vowels or frustration floating at the sound. No, his name was being called for the sake of speaking, for the sake of Charles grounding himself in those kisses as they replaced all that scar held and represented.
Charles had gone plaint under his arms, filling Edwin's chest with content and something close to pride. They both deserved to forget today and interchange it with the bubbly feelings in their stomachs.
Edwin moved around Charles' neck as he sporadically kissed whatever his lips found, finally ending in a kiss to his Adam’s apple. The little knob bobbled under his lips as he put pressure on it. Unfortunately, Charles instinctively attempted to swallow, but as it turns out it was rather difficult with Edwin's lips at his Adam's apple.
A choked breath, mainly as an impulse as ghosts can't choke, disrupted the tender moment; Edwin backed away reluctantly, resulting in them facing each other awkwardly.
Charles was the first to break into a fit of giggles, as expected, followed by Edwin’s calmer but still amusing ones. It was familiar once again, Charles laughing in the office, just the two of them sitting on the dusty sofa.
No matter how hard they tried, there would be times when they wouldn't get to each other in time; there would be circumstances far from their control. However, even if the earth opened and swallowed one of them back into the sixth ring of hell, they'd always find each other. They would always be there to pick up the pieces and mend what had been broken one too many times. And that was enough. It would always be enough.