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Lazy Sundays like this are what Charles lives for. Or un-lives for. He’s lying with his head on Edwin’s chest, the both of them propped up against the armrest of the couch. Edwin has one hand running through Charles’s hair and holds a book in the other, which he’s been reading aloud for the past two hours or so. Charles basks in the familiarity of it, the steady rhythm of Edwin’s voice lulling him into a hazy half-sleep.
It reminds him of the night he died, in the best way possible. The comfort of having Edwin nearby, Edwin’s kind, gentle voice, the feeling of being properly cared for for the first time in his tragically short life. He’s so blissed out it takes him a few moments to process that Edwin’s free hand has drifted down to draw lazy circles on his chest over his vest, and a few more minutes after that to realize that he’s stopped reading.
Charles drags himself halfway back to consciousness and glances up at Edwin, who’s gazing down at Charles like he’s trying to puzzle out a particularly challenging case.
“What’s with the thinky face?” Charles asks. He bites back a laugh as Edwin startles, looking caught.
After a hesitation, Edwin asks carefully, “May I ask a rather nosy question?”
Ah. Charles has been wondering when this would happen. Edwin hasn’t asked any questions since Charles came out to him as trans, and while Charles certainly doesn’t mind not having to answer uncomfortable inquiries about his gender and body, the lack of curiosity from his normally over-inquisitive boyfriend was getting worrying.
“Sure, babe,” Charles says, trying to keep his tone light. “Ask away.”
Edwin hesitates once more, so Charles takes the hand that’s lying on his chest to encourage him to spit it out.
“You don’t have to answer if you do not wish to,” Edwin finally says, “but I was wondering. You said that telling anyone about being transsexual would have been dangerous, and yet you attended an all-boys boarding school. I’ve been reading quite a bit about transgender people— that’s what they call people like you nowadays, by the way— and it did not seem like the 1980s were a particularly welcoming time. Did the school not know?”
“Nah,” Charles says breezily, though his heart is pounding and he’s sure Edwin can feel it, what with the way their hands are resting right above it. Out of all the things Edwin could have asked about, why did it have to be this? “I was pretty good at hiding it, wasn’t I? Never changed around the other lads or anything.”
“But your parents must have enrolled you, yes?”
Damnit, Edwin. Why must he always find the questions Charles least wants to answer?
“Forgive me if I’m being presumptuous,” Edwin continues, “but from what I know of your parents, they do not seem like they would be so… open-minded.”
Charles squeezes his eyes shut, trying to block out the lingering sound of his dad’s screaming, the sting of his belt against his back. He’d had a lot of terrible nights in his life, but never one as bad as that one.
Edwin squeezes his hand, pulling him back to the present. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “We don’t have to talk about this.”
Part of Charles wants to take the out, but… this is Edwin he’s talking to. If he can’t talk to Edwin about this, then who can he talk about it with?
“No, it’s okay,” Charles decides. He sits up and Edwin follows his cue, though they keep their hands linked. “It’s, um, it’s not exactly a fun story, though.”
“You need only tell me what you’re comfortable with,” Edwin assures him, “nothing more. And if that’s nothing, then that’s fine.”
Charles nods, taking a deep breath. He keeps his eyes fixed on their intertwined hands, feeling Edwin’s thumb tracing calming circles over his knuckles. “I always knew I was a boy, yeah? Like, ever since I was little. I don’t know how to explain it. I just… knew. ”
“That makes sense,” Edwin encourages. “Similarly to how I knew I liked men, even if I did not know the word for it.”
“Right,” Charles nods. “When I was six, I tried to tell my parents. Mum was trying to get me into a dress for church and I just… I broke down. Told them I wanted to be a boy. Dad…” He hesitates, swallowing hard. “He didn’t like that. So we all just pretended I never said anything.”
Edwin shifts to wrap an arm around him, and he leans into the embrace.
“I couldn’t just ignore it though, could I?” Charles continues. “When I got older, I started cutting my hair real short, wearing boy’s clothes. I got a hold of some steroids, you know, to make me look more manly or whatever.”
“‘Got a hold of?’” Edwin asks. “I was under the impression that steroids are heavily regulated.”
“Yeah, probably wasn’t the smartest thing I ever did,” Charles admits sheepishly. “There was a bit of a black market for lads like me.”
“Foolish,” Edwin scolds lightly, “but I am glad you were able to feel more comfortable in your body.”
“Yeah, it was aces,” Charles says, though it doesn’t feel genuine when he knows what comes next in the story. “At least, it was until it got to the point where I couldn’t hide it from my dad anymore. He…” He can still feel the bruises, the welts that didn’t heal for weeks. “He was proper pissed. Said if I insisted on playing pretend, he’d show me what being a man was really like.”
Charles blinks back the tears in his eyes, and Edwin rubs a gentle hand up and down his back.
Still, Charles continues, “He went to St. Hilarion’s too, and, I mean, you know better than anyone how cruel the boys there can be. Think he figured they’d sniff me out and kill me for it.” He lets out a dark chuckle. “Guess he was right about the second part.”
Edwin’s hand goes deathly still. “Is that why—”
“No,” Charles corrects him quickly. “I told you the truth when we met. I was just trying to help that kid. No one ever found out. So I guess I got what I wanted, didn’t I? To live and die as a boy.”
“Still,” Edwin says. “I am truly sorry you had to suffer so much just to be who you are.”
Charles sniffles, swiping at his eyes. “Could say the same to you.” He pauses for a moment, then finally decides to ask the question that’s been nagging at him since he came out. “Does it bother you?” he asks, “That you went through all that to come to terms with being gay, just to end up with someone the world would think is a girl?”
Edwin chuckles. “I can assure you that no one looks at you and thinks you are a girl.”
Charles ducks his head bashfully, though it does fill him with a certain sort of pride to hear. “But if they did, though. If… if someone found out what kind of body I have, or… or if someone clocks me. Or if they take us to the afterlife and change my body back.”
Edwin is silent for a moment, and Charles can see him carefully choosing his words. Finally, he says, “Well, that would certainly not be on you. But even if you didn’t look the way you do…” He nudges Charles’s shoulder playfully, “Even if tomorrow we met some horrible supernatural entity that changed the way you look… I think it would bother me more on your behalf, that they could not see the incredible man you are. But I know that man, and that is all that matters to me.”
Charles can’t help himself; he pulls Edwin in for a deep kiss, grabbing him by the neck and threading his fingers through the baby hairs there. Edwin kisses him back, his hand coming down to grip the front of his vest.
“I love you, Charles Rowland,” Edwin whispers when he pulls away, though he only goes far enough to rest their foreheads together. “Nothing will ever change that. Nothing. ”
“I love you too,” Charles whispers back. Then he fully processes what Edwin said. “Wait,” he cries, pulling away fully. “Do you think that could actually happen? Is there something out there that could turn me into a girl?”
Edwin chuckles and cups his cheek. “Relax, my love. I was being rhetorical.”
Charles relaxes and slumps back into Edwin’s side.
“Besides,” Edwin continues, “if there were such a thing, it would have to get through me first. I would never let it near you.”
“Oh, now you’re the brawn all of a sudden, huh?” Charles teases.
“If it means defending you,” Edwin answers earnestly, “always.”
Charles grins and gives him another quick kiss before pushing him back down onto the sofa and snuggling back into his spot on his chest. “Enough emotions for one day,” he gripes. “Keep reading to me.”
He doesn’t have to look to know Edwin is rolling his eyes at him. “As you wish, my love.”
Except he doesn’t start reading right away. He thinks in silence for another moment, then asks, “May I ask one more rather self-indulgent question?”
Charles lets out a dramatic sigh, flopping his head back to look up at Edwin. “If you must.”
“You said you had never told anyone. Does that include Crystal?”
Charles can’t help the smirk that spreads across his face. “Edwin Payne, are you trying to gloat over me coming out to you first?”
“Well, she did steal your first afterlife kiss from me,” Edwin replies with a sour expression, sending Charles into a fit of giggles. He decides not to remind Edwin that Charles didn’t get his first kiss either, or that Charles's real first kiss was with Millie Adams at the '88 Spring Formal. “I think it’s only fair I have this.”
“Sure, babe,” Charles laughs. “Whatever makes you feel better. It’s not like you got my first time or anything.”
“Yes, well,” Edwin says primly. “Perhaps I shall hold that over her head as well.”
“Come on, you wanker,” Charles says, shoving the book back into Edwin’s hands.
Edwin indulges him, still smiling, and it doesn’t take long for Charles to drift back off into that pleasant daze. This time it feels even lighter, though, because this time he can be content in knowing that Edwin knows more about him than ever before, and above all else, he’s still loved.