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Charles knew, deep in the spongy marrow of wherever his bones were buried, that he loved Edwin. He loved Edwin like he wanted to love himself. He knew Edwin more intimately than a lover. Charles Rowland loved Edwin Payne. That fact would not be able to leave Charles for as long as he existed, on this plane of existence or off it.
Maybe Charles was in love with Edwin. It was difficult. Of course, Charles loved Edwin, but was it in-love love? He didn’t know how to express all of his complicated feelings. Charles couldn’t say the words out loud, not when they were so real like this.
Nothing was preventing him from singing it, though.
Charles was a huge Smiths fan. Edwin was also, stubbornly and secretly, a Smiths fan as well. Obviously, he played through Hatful of Hollow at least twice a month. Edwin had insisted on getting a vintage turntable for the office in addition to the turntable Charles already had. It was called something fancy like a victor rolla, but Charles couldn’t give a toss. Either way, the Smiths sounded loads better on it, something about the aging of the vintage turntable giving it… more.
Even before the Confession, even before Port Townsend, it was just what he did.
So, whenever his feelings got too much, he’d put on Edwin’s favourite Smiths record.
—
This Charming Man, 1990
The new year wasn’t a surprise to Charles, but it hit him hard all the same. Charles had… died in December. Only a few days before winter holiday, only a few weeks before the new year’s. He didn’t live to see the turn of the decade. He didn’t live to see a lot of things.
Everything was too much. Not Edwin, though.
He was odd, but that didn’t deter Charles in the slightest. Edwin was kind, too kind to Charles. He had mentioned being in Hell, just barely enough to imply it. Charles figured that he hadn’t been out of Hell for very long, with the way that he didn’t understand anything modern and hadn’t even heard of the moon landing. That had happened before Charles had even been born. Considering that he also didn’t really know about anything that happened after the First World War (which he still called the “Great War”), it painted a very nasty picture.
On a darker note, Edwin was still so jumpy in a way that seemed like Hell wasn’t that long ago. The poor sod was always looking over his shoulder, obsessively writing notes when he was stressed, freezing like a deer in headlights at certain sounds. Charles had only just gotten his hands on a cricket bat, but he wasn’t scared to use it against whatever made Edwin act like that.
Charles needed something to get him out of his head, so he got out his new turntable and a vinyl. The familiar sky blue album didn’t feel the same way it did in his hands around two years ago when he had originally gotten it. Even then, it wasn’t a new album, but it was new to him. Still, it was comfortable, familiar.
Edwin looked up from where he was reading a novel about mystical beings. Oh, yeah, they’d started a detective business. They’d gotten their flat from the first case they’d ever taken by sheer dumb luck. The office didn’t feel like a home yet, but it was getting there. “What is that?”
”This?” Charles held up the record. “The Smiths.”
”Who is Smith?” Charles couldn’t help but laugh at Edwin’s genuine look of confusion. “Also, what is that… device?”
”A turntable, mate.” Charles took the record out of its jacket, setting it in the turntable. “And The Smiths are a band. This is their Hatful of Hollow record.” Charles looked over the jacket at the track list, carefully counting the spaces between the grooves.
The needle dropped, and the record began to spin.
The jumpy baseline and cheery guitar felt like coming home, but real home, not his house. Morrissey’s soft tenor crooned over the speakers, full of longing and tenderness. Charles didn’t quite know this part, but he hummed along with the melody. He copped a glance at the other dead boy.
Edwin listened in rapt awe, his eyes filled with some kind of wonder. Charles couldn’t blame him; the Smiths was one of his favourite bands. He’d even put his book down, something Charles didn’t think could even happen.
“Why pamper life’s complexities when the leather runs smooth on the passenger seat?” Charles sang along. He quite liked that part, loved the way the snappy tenuto felt in his mouth. It was different now that he was dead, the words didn’t fit in his mouth the way they did before, but they filled his chest all the same.
Edwin was smiling. It warmed Charles, more than he thought could even happen. “I would go out tonight, but I haven’t got a stitch to wear—“
”You dress quite well.” Edwin said, a little offended in the way that only an upper class bloke could be. The compliment made Charles grin all the same, especially at the next line.
“This man said, “It’s gruesome that someone so handsome should care.”” Charles lavished in the way that Edwin rolled his eyes.
“I do not care for this… modern noise,” Edwin drawled stubbornly, but Charles’s eyes caught how one of Edwin’s delicate fingers was tapping along to the beat. “My mother once took me to see the London Symphony Orchestra; that is proper music.” It was said with all the posh of someone several thousands above his tax bracket, and Charles would scoff if anyone else said it.
Charles made his way over to Edwin, leaning on the desk just to be a shit. “You’re just tossed that you like this modern noise,” he teased. Edwin sat up straight, fixing Charles with a signature glare.
”I believe you will find that I firmly do not.” Edwin was an absolutely terrible liar, Charles was sure.
—
Hand in Glove, 1998
Charles didn’t know what possessed him to bring the Walkman on a case with him, but he did know what made him hand over an earbud to Edwin.
Some absolute ghostly creep was making comments to Edwin. The kind that Edwin either didn’t notice was off or was purposefully ignoring. The kind that Charles did not appreciate. They were in downtown London trying to stake out a potential exorcism case. After their first possession, they quickly learned that it was absolutely required to observe the allegedly affected individual and determine if they were actually possessed by a demon or by something else that was wholly unaffected by the summoning circle they’d drawn.
Right, the creep. He, Josh(?), was, technically, their client. He’d insisted on tagging along, mostly to make off-colour comments to Edwin. Claiming that they didn’t know what they were doing. Making remarks about Edwin’s habits. Things that Charles was gritting his teeth at because Edwin said he had to play nice.
The Walkman sat heavy in his pocket, Hatful of Hollow spinning within the device, Handsome Devil having come to its end. Charles already had an earbud out, but he hadn’t thought to offer it to Edwin until he stiffened at Joshward saying something about “fitting in with that bloody odd costume.” Fuck playing nice, Charles was doing what he did best.
“Right then.” Charles interrupted, silently handing the right earbud to Edwin. “I’m gonna ask you to bugger off now.” A strong baseline and harmonica played through the left earbud. Edwin was fidgeting with the wire of the earbud, clearly not interested in admonishing Charles for this. Good. That was all the approval Charles needed.
John-Jimmy-Josh blanched. “What?”
Charles grinned wicked sharp, all teeth. “I said, sod off. You don’t get to fuck with Edwin like that.”
James-something rolled his eyes, putting up hands in mock surrender. ”Christ forbid I just want a job well done—“ Hand in glove, the sun shines out of—
“That isn’t sodding off.” Charles fixed him with a glare. Jack-whatever took a moment to glare at Charles, absolutely glower at Edwin, then leave. No, it’s not like any other love, this one’s different because it’s us.
Charles turned to Edwin, who was still staring down at his own gloved hands. Well, Hand in Glove was as good a sign from the universe as any. Charles placed a hand on Edwin’s. “Song’s good, innit?” He tried to distract from the thought of J-name wanker. “And everything depends upon how near you stand to me,” Charles sang.
Edwin laced their fingers together. They had to keep a closer distance to prevent the earbuds from falling out. “It is passable.”
Charles grinned. He could do this, he could do smiling and silly and keeping the anger at bay. “And, if the people stare, then the people stare.” He offered his open hand to Edwin. They locked eyes, a quick roll of them from Edwin, but then Edwin accepted the offer. “Oh, I really don’t know, and I really don’t care.”
Charles spun them around on the sidewalk. “I should teach you the jive.”
”What?” Edwin’s furrowed brow was unfairly adorable. In a normal, best mates way. His grey-green eyes glinted in the afternoon sunlight, the shadows on his face accentuating the slope of his nose, the hard line of his brows. The Cupid’s-bow of his lips had a particularly fascinating shadow, almost prompting Charles to reach out and touch it.
A living person passed by, but Charles didn’t mind. “But we’ve something they’ll never have.” He drew them closer at this line, chest to chest so Charles couldn’t see Edwin’s face.
”What is the jive?” Edwin’s voice asked in his ear, the one without an earbud in it. Charles could almost imagine his warm breath, the thought sending prickles down his neck.
“It’s a kind of dance, mate. Nothing like the stuffy ballroom dances you learned in the Dark Ages,” Charles explained, trying not to stumble over his words. He could almost feel Edwin rolling his eyes.
“In case you forgot, we are meant to be on a case right now.” Edwin moved away ever so slightly, but their faces were so close that Charles could count Edwin’s eyelashes. Could see the way the light fractured into a kaleidoscope in Edwin’s eyes. Mere centimetres away, close enough that Charles could kiss him. Not that— not that Charles would kiss him. They were both blokes after all and even though two blokes could like each other, Charles liked girls and Edwin didn’t seem to be interested in dating—
Edwin began to pull away, and Charles squeezed their hands together tighter. Tried to hold this moment before it slipped between his fingers. “It can wait; the song’s almost over.” He grinned, and led them into what Charles remembered a waltz sort of looking like. Edwin wasn’t protesting, so Charles took the invitation. “Hand in glove, I’ll stake my claim, I’ll fight to my last breath.” An awkward moment where Charles stepped on Edwin’s toes, losing his balance a bit, to Edwin’s amusement. “If they dare touch a hair on your head, I’ll fight to the last breath.”
”We don’t need to breathe,” Edwin reminded. It was Charles’s turn to roll his eyes fondly. A car drove by, past them; a couple passed by, holding hands.
”It’s the principle of it, innit?” Charles ran a thumb over the leather of Edwin’s gloves. Maybe he should have worn his gloves today to match Edwin. Then again, the song wouldn’t have worked as well as it did if he had. “Yes, I know my luck too well.” The next part of the song was a downer and not at all accurate to his current situation. “And I’ll always want to see you again,” Charles sang instead. That felt right aces. “I’ll always want to see you again; I’ll always want to see you again.”
Edwin seemed to flush at the words. Charles meant every word of it. “That’s not in the song,” Edwin settled on, almost stuttered.
”It’s what I mean, though,” Charles retorted. The song finished its course, swinging into the cheerful harmonica of Still Ill. Edwin removed his earbud, handing it back to Charles.
”Really, though, we should return to our case,” Edwin reminded with a stern look that was undercut by the fond smile beneath it. Charles invited Edwin to lead the way with a flourish, matching his stride as they romped through London.
They never did stop holding hands, though.
—
Handsome Devil, 2005
Charles was staring.
Edwin, unaware of this, sat on the couch. Sat on the couch with a book in his hands. Sat on the couch with a book in his hands with full length trousers and a vest and a collared shirt and a bow tie on. Sat on the couch with a book in his hands in his normal outfit but with a notable exception: his sleeves were rucked up to the elbows.
Cripes, Edwin only had his forearms exposed when he was reading a book, and it was unfairly sexy. What? Not sexy, no. Just… objectively attractive. They were nicely shaped forearms! Charles was a perfectly normal bloke, of course he was staring at his best mate’s forearms because he wanted to have them on his body. Not on his body like that—
Charles felt like a bloody Victorian getting hot under the collar at an exposed ankle, and Edwin was Edwardian! It was so unfair. He needed to do something before he said something stupid.
So, as one does, Charles put on his record. He’d played this one so much he didn’t even have to look at the jacket or really count the spaces. An energetic guitar beat filled the office. Charles began to jive along to the beat, getting a feel for it. “Spin with me!” Edwin rolled his eyes and did not get up. Charles groaned dramatically.
”I know what my hands are for, and I’d like to help myself,” Charles sang, spinning about the office, humming half-words to the parts he didn’t know. “And I would like to give you what I think you’re asking for, you handsome devil, oh, you handsome devil.” He went behind the couch, laying his head back onto Edwin’s shoulder, his mouth mere inches from Edwin’s ear. “Let me get my hands on your mammary glands—“
“Charles!” Edwin drew himself upright, closing the book sharply and setting it on the table beside him. “That is—“
”Brills, aces, mint,” Charles joked. “C’mon, mate, you’ve been at it for hours. When was the last time we danced?” He knew he had gotten to Edwin with the way he was beginning to stand, relaxed despite his unimpressed tone.
”Two days ago when we visited the aquarium and you wanted to waltz beneath the shark tank.” On the surface, it was annoyed, but Charles could tell that beneath, Edwin was fond.
”So ages ago!” Charles held out his hand to his best mate, trying not to salivate as Edwin’s forearms flexed. He wanted to have those forearms, for sure. That had to be why his brain focused on them so much. “Oh, you handsome devil,” Charles sang along. Edwin rolled his eyes, but made his way around the couch either way. Charles had done his best to teach Edwin the modern jive, but he was too uptight. He himself had learned the dance ages ago when he’d had a week where all he could think about was the ballroom jive, which turned into learning the modern jive too.
Instead, they danced the worst combination of a traditional waltz and Charles’s best attempt at a ballroom jive. It was imperfect, but it was theirs. “When we’re in your scholarly room, who will swallow whom? You handsome devil,” Charles teased as they spun around the office. Edwin was humming along to the tune, something he would insistently deny if Charles were to tease him about later.
Charles sent Edwin into a dramatic dip. If Edwin had been in theatre, he would have been the star of the show with the way he matched Charles’s energy perfectly. “There’s more to life than books, you know—“ Charles sang, teasingly. Edwin gasped in mock shock.
”Impossible,” Edwin scoffed. Charles grinned, pulling himself up and spinning them around wildly.
”Oh, you handsome devil.”
—
You’ve Got Everything Now, 2016
It was a bad case. Dolls, as Charles had known for years, were the one thing that Edwin could not shake. Charles had been the one to encourage Edwin to look into some kinds of therapy for that kind of trauma, not because he wasn’t willing to do anything that would make Edwin feel safer, but because Edwin didn’t deserve to constantly be reminded of Hell.
Charles did his best, but there was so much he could do aside from support Edwin. Over the years, he’d managed to curb some of his milder triggers, like children laughing (that one still didn’t make sense to Charles, but he would never ask Edwin to explain), and he’d found habits to prevent the bigger triggers (like mazes) from turning to spirals.
It never quite worked for the dolls, though. This case had a doll they had to retrieve, one that belonged to a girl who had drowned in the Thames when she went in after it. She had insisted that she needed her “favourite toy” to move on. Neither of them had known that “my toy friend Rosie” was a cracked porcelain doll in a tattered fabric dress.
It was a hard case for both of them. Because of the drowning. Because of the doll. Because she was so bloody young. Because Charles couldn’t protect Edwin. Because Edwin had been hurt.
The job had been jobbed, but nothing felt over.
Charles had the Walkman (Edwin had gotten it for what would have been Charles’s 18th birthday) quietly playing his Hatful of Hollow CD over his headphones. It had been around half an hour, based on where in the album he was. The songs were getting more mellow, now. This Night Has Opened My Eyes played its final chord, its remorseful tone ringing in his ears.
They weren’t talking to each other. It wasn’t anything personal, which was why they were sitting next to each other. Charles didn’t want to talk about his feelings right now. Edwin was too overwhelmed to hold a full conversation.
The next track started. As merry as the days were long, I am right and you are wrong.
Charles sighed, letting the music wash over him. But you’ve got everything now, and what a terrible mess I’ve made of my life. Charles lifted a leg up on the couch, letting his chin rest on his knee.
He really did have everything now. No more shit dad beating him. No more quiet mum who loved him but not enough to save him. No more dumb mates whose absence was enough of a threat that he’d gloss over every off-colour joke they’d make.
Charles hummed along to it quietly. Edwin shifted, but did not look at him. Still too overwhelmed for eye contact, then. “No, I’ve never had a job because I’ve never wanted one.” That made Edwin huff a dry laugh that Charles heard through his headphones. ”I’ve seen you smile, but I’ve never heard you laugh,” he continued, relishing in how it was amusing Edwin,
Edwin shifted the slightest bit closer, pressing their shoulders together. It was encouragement, a sign that this was okay. Maybe even welcomed.
”So who is rich and who is poor? I cannot say, oh.” Charles hummed along to the next bit, letting the notes travel up and down his throat. It was moments like this where Charles wished he was alive, wished that he could feel it for real.
Edwin rested his head on Charles’s shoulder, the pressure of it lighter than he thought it would be. A rare show of affection. Charles didn’t sing along to the next part. You are your mother’s only son, and you’re a desperate one. The words hollowed him. He didn’t need to be one of the psychology blokes that Edwin had strong opinions about to know that there was a reason it affected him like this. His mother’s only son, easy. His mother had been good to him, but never more than that. Never enough to stop his father, never enough to cross that line. Never enough to save him.
He was desperate. Too desperate. Charles was so bloody desperate to keep the life he had for himself, to keep—
To keep Edwin.
”But I don’t want a lover, I just want to be seen, oh.” Charles sang softly, to Edwin. Charles would go the rest of his afterlife without a girl of his own if it meant having Edwin like this. Edwin saw him, really saw him. That meant more than what any potential lover could ever give him.
Charles’s voice cracked on the falsetto of “in the back of your car.” It made Edwin snort again, curling into him more. Charles was tapping on his knee now, his other hand daring to rest on Edwin’s thigh. “Well this is true, and yet, it’s false.”
At this point, he wasn’t quite singing along so much as singing to Edwin. ”Did I ever tell you, by the way, I really do like your face.” Charles sang, leaning his head on Edwin’s at “face,” only a tad awkward because of his clunky headphones. Charles knew it wasn’t the right lyrics, but Edwin didn’t have to know that. He imagined the smile on Edwin’s perfect Cupid-bow lips at that.
“But you’ve got everything now.” This time, he knew it was directed at Edwin. He was always so put together, so… perfect. Not in the way that he didn’t have flaws, but that he was just Edwin. “You’ve got everything now.” Charles let himself stretch out the “now” a tad longer, trying to be a bit silly for Edwin. Neither of them could handle the harder feelings today.
“That isn’t in the song.” Oh, so Edwin did know this one well enough. Cheeky bastard, Charles thought fondly.
“So, you like the Smiths?” Charles teased. Edwin pushed his face into Charles’s neck.
”I do not care for your modern bands,” he stubbornly insisted. It was a game at this point. “You simply play it often enough and I am observant.”
”Whatever you say, mate.” Charles listened to the lyrics, humming to the guitar. “I’ve seen you smile, but I’ve never really heard you laugh.” He hummed along to the instrumental break, gently squeezing the hand still resting on Edwin’s lower thigh. Edwin shifted, slightly. He set down his book, and reached a hand to where Charles’s was still tapping on his shin. Their fingers intertwined, gentle.
It was so intimate, so domestic. Charles never let himself dream that he could have this. He vocalized to the Oh’s with Morrissey, softer now. “You are your mother’s only son and you’re a desperate one.”
Edwin was humming along quietly too, now. Charles didn’t tease him on it. Charles let his voice get exaggerated and proper silly with the “to the back of your car, to the back of your car—“ as Edwin tried (failed) not to laugh beside him as the song came to its conclusion.
Edwin hummed a quiet hm. “You should put the record on the Victrola.” Oh, Charles would absolutely tease him on this.
”I thought you hated modern noise?” He played with Edwin’s fingers, turning his hand over, tracing a thumb over the lines of Edwin’s palm.
”If I should have to hear the record, I would rather it not be your acapella. Morrissey does a perfectly fine job of singing it with his band.”
”So you know who Morrissey is, now?”
”No.”
—
Reel Around the Fountain, 2023
“Dance with me,” Charles blurted. It had been a few months after Port Townsend, after everything in their life had gone arse over tit. It wasn’t bad, but it was so different. He loved Crystal, he loved Niko, and… Edwin loved him. Edwin was in love with him.
It was so big. Charles held Edwin’s heart in his hands, and this was something he couldn’t break. It would kill him a second time, and this one would be worse than the first. He couldn’t be impulsive about this, not when it was so important. Not when it was Edwin. He couldn’t break his best mate’s heart.
Charles needed something to be stable. Something familiar. Something comforting. Edwin was already on his feet, abandoning his case notes to stand by the turntable. “Which album?”
”Hatful.” Cripes, Charles loved the way that Edwin knew him so well. He didn’t question it, didn’t need to. Just because he needed to keep it light, and was feeling a bit cheeky, he added, “I know it’s your favourite.”
It was adorable when Edwin tried to lie. “You know I do not care for modern music.” The line was expected, at this point. He rolled up his sleeves, exposing his pale forearms. Charles did his level best not to stare at them too much.
Edwin was wearing shockingly few layers, just his button up tucked neatly into grey trousers, blue bow tie undone and laying flat against his collarbones, and his smartly polished brown shoes. He only dressed like this when it was just them in the office, a sight Charles would never forget. Charles himself was wearing much less, just his undershirt, suspenders, and pants. It was nothing new, but he felt vulnerable now in a way he hadn’t before.
”Sure, mate.” Charles grinned, chuffed. “You can pick the song, though.” He knew well enough that Edwin had the order of the album memorized. The needle dropped; the record began to spin. A steady drum beat filled the office as Charles crossed the room to get to Edwin.
“It’s time the tale were told of how you took a child and you made him old…” Morrissey’s sorrowful tenor seemed to swallow him up, the guitar steadily joining the instrumentals.
Edwin lifted his arms, and hesitated. Charles didn’t, placing one hand on Edwin’s shoulder, the other on his waist. Edwin mimicked his arm placement, but placed a hand on Charles’s upper arm instead of his waist. That stung, for some reason. “Reel Around the Fountain. Right on,” Charles murmured. This song was always a tad too slow for him, but it was what he needed right now. It was proper skill how Edwin just… knew. They began to sway. “Oh, people said that you were virtually dead, and they were so wrong,” Charles sang.
Edwin huffed. “I may have chosen an awkward song—“ Charles stopped him as he tried to move away, his grasp firm on Edwin’s waist.
”Leave it.” They continued to move, less dancing and more just… experiencing. Charles could feel Edwin, could almost trick himself into believing that he was warm. His bare skin was touching Charles’s. It didn’t make a real difference, but something in his brain screamed that it did, his shoulder burning where Edwin’s handprint was branding him. They were intertwined, bodies discarded so souls could mingle. The impression of Edwin’s hand wasn’t real, but Charles wished it could be, just for a moment. Maybe Edwin’s fingerprints would be there, so Charles could have something so uniquely Edwin to carry with him.
He waited for a moment before singing again, trying to burn the moment into his memory. “Fifteen minutes with you, well, I wouldn’t say no. Oh, people see no worth in you, oh, but I do.” Edwin quietly hummed along, close enough that Charles could feel the reverberation of it in his chest.
Charles let himself lean his head on Edwin’s shoulder. He breathed, wishing he could know what Edwin smelled like. Definitely old books, maybe sandalwood or something fancy like that. Maybe salt and sea. Maybe like warm spices like his mother did. He knew almost everything about Edwin, every intimate detail, but he would never know this. Edwin was worth so much, and Charles needed to collect knowledge about him like a dragon hoarding gold.
Edwin moved his arms, letting them rest in an embrace around Charles’s shoulders. He could almost cry at the tenderness. Edwin still loved him, even if Charles had mucked up Edwin’s confession, even if Charles was bloody annoying like he knew he was, even if Charles was fucked in the head and angry and scared, but so terribly, massively in love. His arms were pinned around Edwin’s now, something that would have terrified him if he were still alive, but now it was… good. Better than anything Charles deserved.
“I dreamt about you last night, and I fell out of bed twice.” He never did understand what that line meant, but it felt important. It felt like something he would say to Edwin, maybe in another life. Or afterlife. “You can pin and mount me like a butterfly.” He let the words ring into the room, with the connotations he knew that Edwin wouldn’t quite understand. Charles didn’t regret it, didn’t feel like it was any less directed at Edwin. “But “take me to the haven of your bed” was something that you never said to me—“ two lumps please, “— you’re the bee’s knees, but so am I.”
Maybe if Charles acted like he didn’t say anything, then Edwin wouldn’t notice. He found that he didn’t really care. He meant it. Maybe he wanted it. Maybe he wanted Edwin as a lover in the traditional sense. He pressed his face into Edwin’s neck, circling his arms around the other boy’s waist. The only thing that gave away how this was supposed to be a dance was the gentle swaying between them. Edwin was so gentle to Charles, even when he didn’t deserve it.
”Meet me at the fountain.” That line felt more impersonal, but more raw. Desperate for just being in each other’s presence. “Shove me on the patio, I’ll take it slowly.” The connotations were back again. Charles deserved to be discarded. Edwin deserved better than someone who couldn’t make up his mind—
“Are you alright, Charles?” Edwin’s voice was soft in his ear. Close enough that his lips almost touched, the ghost of his breath fluttering over him. An arm raised to cup Charles’s cheek, lifting him up gently to stare into the green, infinite dimension that was Edwin’s eyes. Edwin’s thumb brushed under Charles’s eyes, and he realized that a few tears had slipped out.
They were close enough to kiss. With a start, Charles realized he wanted to, but stopped himself. “Good song, innit?” What could he even say to Edwin? The words got stuck in his throat.
Emotions played over Edwin’s face, but they settled for something closed off. It wasn’t enough to hide the worry. “You know you can talk to me.”
”I will,” Charles promised, and found that he meant it. He buried his face back in Edwin’s white shirt. He wasn’t strong enough to do this, not now. Oh, people see no worth in you, oh, but I do.
They were close to each other now, but it all felt so far. Charles could feel the moment slipping away, even as Edwin held him tighter. Fifteen minutes with you, oh, I wouldn’t say no.
”I love you.” It was quiet enough that Edwin shouldn’t have been able to hear it over the music.
A shaky breath. ”I know.”
Oh, I do. Oh, I do.
The song came to its end, settling into the room. “I need to go on a walk.” Edwin pulled away, gingerly. Charles couldn’t do anything but nod, and collapse on the couch.
Fuck. What was he going to do?
—
Edwin’s interlude: Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want, 2024
Edwin was alone. This, in itself, was not a bad state to be in. The office was empty. Charles was off with Crystal again, this time seeing a band that she liked. They were doing that more, and it left him too much time on his own.
He’d already read through both volumes of his Doubleday The Complete Sherlock Holmes, 1953 edition, his Folio Society 1981 edition of The Pickwick Papers, and the 1829 rare copy of Grimoire of Dark Magick.
He stood by the bookshelf, and caught sight of the Victrola. A fond memory at Charles’s early introduction to the Smiths. Even though Edwin enjoyed their entire discography, Hatful of Hollow would always hold a special place in his heart. A pang at how Charles was not here to pester Edwin for a dance or to listen to new music or just—
Gently, Edwin picked up the sky blue album, turning it over in his hands. The corners were weathered; the jacket itself no longer had its original sheen. The record worked perfectly well, though. Edwin had, unbeknownst to Charles, spelled all of their records with a durability charm back when Edwin was learning those kinds of magic. He was still waiting for Charles to notice how his vinyls had not been subject to any kind of wear over the 30 years he had owned them.
Looking at it now, it was bittersweet.
The vinyl was placed in the Victrola; the needle dropped into the last space.
Good times for a change. The longing vocals and gentle strumming of the acoustic guitar blanketed the otherwise silent office. Edwin went to lay down on the couch, his steps too heavy. See, the luck I’ve had can make a good man turn bad.
Hell. That was the only word that came to mind. Hell would do that to a person. It hadn’t done that to Edwin, though. Edwin put an arm over his face, covering his eyes.
So, please, please, please, let me, let me, let me. Let me get what I want this time.
Tears began to well in Edwin’s eyes, hidden by his shirtsleeve. The guitar break was too sweet, too sorrowful. His mind was flooding. Charles’s smile, his laugh, his spite, even his anger. Edwin loved it all.
Haven’t had a dream in a long time. See, the life I’ve had could make a good man turn bad.
He couldn’t dream anymore, only yearn and hope. He could only watch himself fall further and further in love with someone who couldn’t love him back this way. The tears were falling now, soaking into the sleeve. Edwin didn’t let himself sob, didn’t let himself get louder.
How was this fair? How could he have escaped Hell and found someone so blindingly beautiful and wonderful as Charles Rowland, someone who loved him in spite of everything, and to be told that he would be damned to an eternity of wanting more.
So, for once in my life, let me get what I want. Lord knows, it would be the first time.
Edwin put a hand over his mouth, muffling the sobs that threatened to escape.
Lord knows, it would be the first time.
The record spun, and ended. Static. Quiet. The only sound was the quiet sobs of Edwin Payne, hurt, alone, and in love with Charles Rowland.
—
+1
It hit Charles on a perfectly normal Wednesday afternoon.
It wasn’t as if something cosmically shifting had happened, quite the opposite, in fact. Charles had been sprawled on the couch, letting Hatful of Hollow spin on the Victrola. He was fidgeting with a hair tie that one of the girls had left on the couch, the ones with the extra fabric that he was half sure were called scrunchers. Edwin was finishing up their notes from the Case of the Terrible Tea Time, as Charles had dubbed it. He was sitting at the desk, coat and blazer off, bow tie loose around his neck. The boy had even unbuttoned a few of the top buttons of his shirt and pushed his sleeves up to his elbows. The sun was setting over the London spring, casting a golden light inside of the office. Outside of their window, a bird chirped, hopped, flew away. And then, Charles knew.
He was in love with Edwin Payne.
He had known it the whole time, but something clicked. Why was he hesitating? Charles knew and had known for months. He had talked it over with Crystal until she’d gotten frustrated at him, had even mentioned it to Niko on their movie nights when Edwin was distracted.
Charles was sure of it now in a way he hadn’t been before. How could he go another second without Edwin knowing?
Charles stood up abruptly, taking sure steps to the record player. How can you say I go about things the wrong wa—
The needle was lifted; the record stopped spinning.
That got Edwin’s attention. “Charles, are you quite alright?” It made sense; Charles would almost never willingly turn off his music unless someone else had asked him to. Especially not one of his (Edwin’s) favourite albums.
Charles took a breath he didn’t need, turning to face Edwin. “Edwin.” He felt himself stumbling, trying to sort out the words to say. “Do you remember what you said to me back on the steps of Hell?”
Edwin blinked, straightened. “I should imagine.” Charles took a step forward, trying not to fold under Edwin’s guarded expression. No going back now, innit?
”I told you we had forever, but I didn’t need that long.” Charles met Edwin’s eyes. “I am in love with you, too.”
”What?” Edwin stood, the chair scraping behind him. “Why— why now?”
Charles couldn’t help but grin. “Because you, Edwin Payne, are my best mate and partner, and the best bloody person I know. And you deserve to know.” Charles paused, a realization dawning on him. “Actually, I might have been telling you from the start.”
Edwin spluttered. “What?”
Charles motioned with his head to the turntable, silent in the corner. “I sing a lot of love songs to you.” He shrugged.
”You are absolutely insufferable.” Edwin huffed, in front of Charles now. “I love you.”
Charles beamed, the words all his own. “I love you too.”