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Tonight is going to be the night that Charles Rowland dies. On his way to Brad and Hunter’s Halloween party, no less.
It wouldn’t have been his first choice, you know, if he had a choice in the matter. But unfortunately, that seems to be how this particular cookie crumbles. At the very least he gets to look at Edwin as he goes.
“Do I look that ridiculous?” Edwin asks, an edge of worry in his voice Charles immediately wants to rid him of entirely. Among other things.
Edwin’s assessing himself in the mirror, so Charles has no other choice but to go over the image in front of him once again. Edwin, his hair both coiffed and slicked back, though different from the typical Edwin-like way. He’s dressed in all black, the trousers he’s wearing hug every single curve and bold line of him. The t-shirt leaves nothing to the imagination, either, hugging his chest and cut high on his shoulders to show off his biceps, and his waist—Charles can’t take his eyes off of Edwin’s fucking waist. It’s so—grabbable like this, his hands are itching. Charles hasn’t managed a full sentence since Edwin knocked on the door of his room to ask his opinion.
“Oh my god, you look so good!” Niko cries, emerging in the doorway. She’s dressed in an identical skin tight, black outfit. Her hair pulled back into a ponytail—Charles had asked her earlier why she hadn’t tried to curl it to properly match with Edwin and she had laughed right in his face.
“Some battles aren’t worth fighting," she had said.
She circles Edwin, assessing him from every angle, and claps her hands. “I think this might be some of my best work.”
“I don’t even know who this ‘Danny Zuko’ character is,” Edwin mutters.
“From Grease, mate,” Charles manages to speak around the weight of his tongue. “It’s a musical.” Two full sentences, he thinks, that’s points for him.
“You told me I could choose whatever I wanted,” Niko reasons, a bright smile on her face. “It was either this or Fred and Daphne.” She turns to Charles. “What are you, anyway?”
Charles points to his headband. “I’m a devil.” He bought the horns at Poundland and was wearing his favourite red t-shirt and matching jacket. Not particularly creative, but he has never been a big costume guy.
“Oh,” Niko says, unimpressed, but would never say it. “That's nice.”
“Niko, surely I can’t go to the party like this,” Edwin says, looking back in the mirror. He’s angling his body around, like he’s trying to look at it from all sides. He isn’t the only one. “Everyone will be looking at me.”
Charles reckons that might be the point.
“That’s the point!” Niko cries. “There’s bound to be some cute boys there, get yourself back in the game. Maybe Monty?”
Edwin sighs, barely containing an eye roll—which says something, because Edwin never gets annoyed at Niko. “I thought I’ve made it clear that I have no interest in a romantic relationship with Monty.”
Niko just shrugs. She comes up to Edwin and stands on her tiptoes, like she’s trying to get a closer look. She fusses a little with Edwin’s hair a bit, smooths out little fly aways and pulls a strand from the coif and pulls it so it curls gracefully over Edwin’s forehead. Her hands are all in Edwin’s hair and Charles is—
Perfectly fine with it. Because Edwin is his best mate, has been since they were in primary and he saved Charles from the bullies who said his mum’s food was too smelly. No one had ever stood up for Charles like that, and they’d been inseparable since.
“I believe Thomas should be there tonight,” Edwin says, suddenly, and far too casually.
Niko eyes flick over to Charles for the briefest of moments, before looking back to Edwin. “Are you…wanting to get back together? Again?”
Edwin makes a face. “Of course not. But I thought it best to mention that he will be in attendance.” He wasn’t looking at Charles. “So that you are aware.”
So that Charles is aware, he means.
It’s not that Charles hates Thomas King. No, the feelings run much deeper than hatred. He properly despises the lad, he had shown up in what was supposed to be his and Edwin’s sparkly first year of uni and proceeded to mess around with Edwin’s mind. Before Thomas, there had never been any secrets between them, and then suddenly Edwin was staying tight lipped and going out on dates for the first time. Which Charles would have thought was great! Except for Thomas was a total arsehole, so.
All in all, they dated on and off for the entire year, and Charles just had to sit there and watch as Thomas would flirt with Edwin right in front of him, kissing him hello and goodbye and just one more before I go—which, again, wouldn’t have been a problem to Charles, if Thomas hadn’t acted so god damn smug about all of it.
It drove Charles crazy, almost like he wanted Charles to see them. Like one time, Charles came back to the dorm from the library and found them kissing—fine, good on Edwin and all that. Charles had frozen where he stood, Edwin’s back to him (who hadn’t heard the door opening) and Thomas had opened his eyes and looked right at Charles, all while kissing, a feline glint to his eye he could never quite forget and then started kissing Edwin harder. Charles had turned heel and ran, then came back an hour later to a giddy looking Edwin with a mark blossoming on his neck.
“How do you even know he’s coming?” comes tumbling out of Charles’ mouth before he can stop it. “You aren’t texting him again are you?”
Again, Edwin sighs. Charles watches his hands as they come to his waist—looking for something to adjust, no doubt. Which means he’s probably uncomfortable with the topic and Charles should back off a smidge. Edwin adjusts the belt on his hips, and then brings his hands together in a nervous fiddle.
“No, Charles, we are not texting, but I cannot help the fact that we have many of the same lectures. It is how we met, after all. He approached me after our English Literature lecture to ask if I was going to be in attendance tonight, and I told him I was.”
Charles kicks the floor mindlessly. “Right,” he mutters.
“I’m…going to go get my things together…” Niko murmurs, before making an escape out of the room.
Edwin crosses his arms over his chest. “I do hope you will be civil to him tonight.”
Charles shoves his hands in his jacket pockets and shrugs. “I’ll be civil if he’s civil.”
Edwin raises an eyebrow, clearly disbelieving, his mouth drawing together. “Fine.” He turns back to the mirror, and Charles can tell by the look on his face he’s still feeling a bit unsure about the whole thing. He turns back to Charles. “Niko is probably waiting for us—I believe by now we are what the two of you would deem as ‘fashionably late?’”
Charles checks his phone. It’s almost quarter to ten so, like, yeah. “Yeah.”
“Then let us depart.” Edwin takes a step toward the door, the way he moves is in direct contrast to the 1960s bad boy energy he supposedly is supposed to be giving off, but it’s working for Charles anyway. Anything Edwin does works for Charles.
As Edwin breezes past him, Charles’ hand shoots up and grabs Edwin by the bend of the elbow—his skin cold to the touch without a jumper. In fact, Edwin usually wore a jumper, or a jacket, or at least something with sleeves, oftentimes even in the summer. To see this long expanse of skin was really something to behold.
Touch has always been an easy thing for them, despite Edwin’s general dislike of it from the rest of the general population. Charles has always put his hands on Edwin, it was sort of his thing.
“You look nice,” Charles says, eyes locked on the place where his hand makes contact with Edwin’s skin. He looks up and finds Edwin looking, too.
“Do you really think so?” Edwin asks, he sounds a little winded.
Charles plasters a smile on his face—when he’s around Edwin, it’s mostly real anyway. “Of course. And if anyone gives you any trouble, you just give me a shout and I’ll come running.”
A smile crawls onto Edwin’s face now, and he lets out a small huff of laughter. “Well, obviously,” he says.
Charles laughs, extremely pleased, and hooks an arm around Edwin’s shoulder, ushering them out the door.
***
How exactly they were invited to this party, Charles couldn’t really say—probably through one of Crystal’s friends, and he knew that Niko was friends with Maren, too. They might not have gone, but Niko was excited about it and Crystal was excited about anything that made Niko happy and so Charles and Edwin had looked at each other, and shrugged. They may as well.
The house is decorated like Halloween had thrown up on it, fake cobwebs on almost every surface, purple, black, and orange streamers hanging from the ceiling. Charles finds himself hovering close to Edwin’s shoulder, as usual, his backpack thrown over his shoulder as they make their way through the sea of people near the front and spilling into the living room.
There, they find Crystal standing with Maren, who is dressed as a pumpkin. Crystal is dressed as a black cat, whiskers drawn on her face and everything. She already has a drink in her hand. When she spots them, a smile appears, and as Maren excuses herself over to Brad (wearing a t-shirt that reads Peter Peter.)
Crystal comes up to Niko and gives her a kiss in greeting.
At least some of them figured their shit out this summer.
“You look amazing,” she says.
“I know,” Niko replies. “But you look even better!”
“Thanks,” she says. She turns to Charles. “You didn’t get the all black memo.”
“There was a memo?” Charles asks.
“I also did not receive such a memo,” replies Edwin.
“It’s a joke,” Crystal says, a roll to her eyes. “You all look great. Charles, let me guess, Poundland?”
Charles grins. “You know it.”
“Is anyone going to get a drink?” Niko asks, and Charles is already swinging his backpack off his shoulder and opening it, where inside they’ve packed a few beers (Charles’) and mixed drinks (Niko’s). There’s two sparkling waters, too (Edwin).
The evening passes with relative ease, and for the most part the four of them stick together as they usually do. There’s music blaring, people are dancing—but mostly spread across the house in conversation with each other. There’s the fair share of people kissing, or laughing, or fighting, typical uni shit, really. Through it all Charles sticks by Edwin, when he isn’t dragged away by Niko or any other friends Charles can recognise. Crystal, too, sticks by Niko making it diffcult to nab her away and so Charles is left to his slow descent into madness.
He watches the way Edwin moves. Though he doesn’t seem uncomfortable, maybe like Charles, he seems all too aware of how different these clothes are on him. Others notice, too, if the amount of people coming up to Edwin and complimenting him on his costume is anything to go by.
Charles has always had his own thing going on, mostly punk with the occasional hint of goth. Casual. He blends in now, not as if he’s dressed any differently, but he always gets a little wave and a chat with all the uni mates, too.
Typically, Edwin dressed in all his layers. His soft jumpers, cardigans and collared shirts, well fitted and tailored to perfection, the epitome of posh and prep. Charles’ brain gets stuck on the contrast. He loves the way Edwin is, loves absolutely everything about him. But there’s something about this tonight, the way Edwin is almost shy and bashful in the face of all the compliments, and the sharp lines of his body. He looks hot, sexy and sweet wrapped up in one neat package for his viewing pleasure, and Charles truly and genuinely thinks he will never be able to recover from it.
It’s too much. Charles is about ready to find a couch to sink down into and lament his sexy, sexy woes when Edwin and Niko are stuck in a conversation with Shelby, Charles looks over to find Crystal dazed out of the conversation and takes his one chance.
“Crystal,” Charles says, grabbing her by the arm and dragging her into a corner, her drink sloshes around in her cup.
“Jesus fuck,” Crystal spits out, wrenching her arm out of Charles’ grasp. “What the fuck is it?” Her swearing is getting out of control, she’s been spending too much time with Jenny.
“Edwin,” Charles hisses. “Fucking hell, Crystal, look at him.”
Crystal’s eyes go across the room, her eyes flicking up and down, probably taking Edwin in. “Okay, he’s Danny Zuko so what? That’s like Halloween 101, it’s barely even creative.”
“His biceps are driving me bonkers,” Charles blurts out, looking away. “And have you seen his hair? It’s so—” shiny, voluminous. Different than how Charles is used to Edwin looking and oh, how he likes it. Would like to mess it up, too, maybe. That would be something, wouldn’t it?
Definitely.
“Okay,” Crystal says, judgement all over her face.
“Like you haven’t been drooling over Niko since the second she walked in,” Charles retorts with a huff.
“At least Niko and I are actually heading somewhere. You know, going on dates, texting, kissing a little—you’re the one still pining after Edwin as if you don’t already know he’s totally in love with you.”
In love with him three years ago when they were sixteen, Charles doesn’t say.
Edwin had confessed in the aftermath of their GCSEs, emerging from the literal hell that was their final exams. Charles hadn’t known what to think—he was on barely any sleep from the night before, he had known Edwin was gay but he really hadn’t expected to have any part in that equation. So he ended up spewing something about always being there for Edwin, how much he valued their friendship, and the two of them had chugged along as they always did.
The next few years were a slow descent into a crash into madness with Edwin at the centre of it. He wanted to punt sixteen-year-old Charles across a field—how could he not have told Edwin he was desperately in love with him, too?
There had been every intention of telling Edwin the moment he figured his shit out, but there was home stuff, and then A-Levels, uni applications, and actually starting uni. Then it was as if the second they settled, Edwin started dating Thomas, and then he wasn’t and then he was and by the time he wasn’t for real this time, Edwin had started hanging out with Monty all the summer. So. Charles could take a hint when one was shoved in his face.
Crystal flicks him in the forehead. “Whatever you’re thinking, don’t,” she says.
“Ouch,” he says, rubbing his forehead.
“Go tell him how you feel,” Crystal says. “He’s single, he’s here, he looks hot. Now is the time, Rowland.”
He finds Edwin across the room, eyes shamelessly looking down the lean line of his body, Edwin’s backside angled mostly toward Charles’ view, which was very nice indeed. The happy feelings stop there, of course, because Edwin isn’t with Niko anymore, of course he’s not. No, now he’s talking to fucking Thomas, shirtless and dressed in a fur jacket with a matching fur ruff. Was he supposed to be some sort of lion? That was fucking stupid.
They were talking easily, like conversing was something that came naturally to them. It was something that Charles was intimately familiar with Edwin, too, but sat weirdly in his gut to watch from the outside. Edwin says something that makes Thomas laugh, his head falling back and exposing his neck, in the same motion a hand comes and holds Edwin’s forearm.
“I’m gonna kill him,” Charles mutters.
“Calm down,” Crystal scoffs. “Wait—no, Charles!”
Charles has already taken two strides across the room, and in a few more he slides right up next to Edwin, a hand coming around and wrapping casually around Edwin’s body. He watches as Thomas watches where Charles’ hand cups Edwin’s hip.
“You having a good time?” Charles asks Edwin, voice low.
Edwin, face red, nods.
Charles turns his head, and grins. “Hiya, Tom Cat.”
“Charles,” Thomas smiles. “It is such a pleasure to see you again.”
Charles’ returning smile is sickly sweet. “Oh, the feeling is so mutual, mate.”
“Edwin looks fantastic tonight, doesn’t he?”
Charles feels his throat tighten, rage bubbles up behind his ribs and he sucks in on his cheeks, and his jaw clicks from the effort to keep it under control. “He always does,” he answers truthfully.
“Well,” Edwin breathes out with a huff. “Thank you both, I suppose. Thomas, it was, uh, lovely to chat with you again, but I think it’s time for Charles and I to,” he looks around the room, not meeting Charles’ eye, “mill about.”
Thomas looks undeterred. “Of course. I hear Brad and Hunter have a punch that’s simply to die for.”
At that, Charles practically drags Edwin away, but in a totally chill and normal way. Edwin lets him, but Charles doesn’t mistake the huff of breath that escapes.
“You don’t want any of that punch, mate, trust me. I have some more drinks in my backpack if you’d like—”
“You really don’t like him,” Edwin mutters.
Charles sucks in a breath. “What? I—“
“I figure that’s as close to civil as the two of you are ever going to get,” Edwin says—a muttering that seems to mostly be to himself, before he sets his eyes back on Charles. “I knew you didn’t particularly care for him, but that little stunt back there was exceptional, even for you, Charles.”
“Stunt?” Charles says. “What are you—”
“That little display to get my attention and to get me away from Thomas,” Edwin says. “We were just talking, Charles. Can I not talk to people?”
Not him, Charles thinks. He runs his tongue over his teeth.
“Charles,” Edwin says. “Speak your mind. What precisely is your issue here?”
“He practically drools over you, it’s pathetic,” Charles bites out. “It’s as if he thinks he has any chance of getting with you, which he should know by now he doesn’t. You dumped that mug for a reason.” Charles scoffs, hauling his backpack strap up higher on his shoulder.
“I was not the one to end my relationship with Thomas,” Edwin says. “He ended things with me.”
Charles can only blink. “You said—”
“No,” Edwin says. “You simply assumed.”
Charles remembers that night, Edwin had gone out for “date night.” He had worn a particularly nice jumper which he always described to Charles as “salmon” and had taken Charles’ advice to wear his hair more natural for once—soft waves, still pushed back and parted in the typical Edwin way, though. He had looked so, so lovely.
Edwin came home earlier than usual. Charles remembers how Edwin had looked a little sad, and had said—he had said, well. Um. Admittedly, Charles can’t quite remember exactly what Edwin had said, because his ears had tunnelled in specifically on the words “Thomas” and “it’s finished” and “for good.” Charles had half the mind to drop to his knees and confess to Edwin right there, but there was a tinge to Edwin’s cheeks which matched the pink of that lovely, soft jumper which hinted to Charles that Edwin had cried, just a little, so he had made them a hot chocolate and they watched one of those depressing history documentaries Edwin liked so much before going to bed.
Well, best friend of the fucking year award. What kind of mate is he, really? He couldn’t even get out of his own head long enough to comfort his friend.
“Mate, I—I’m sorry—”
“It’s fine,” Edwin mutters. “It was months ago, and it was long overdue. But we can be civil, and I should be able to speak to him without you acting like he’s going to whisk me away and do terrible things to me.”
“So what happened? What did he do?” Charles asks, suddenly angry for a whole other reason. Thomas the Tosser hurt Edwin, that was grounds for a kick in the balls.
“He did nothing,” Edwin whispers, dropping his chin and shaking his head. “It was nothing, it was all me. It doesn’t matter, Charles.”
“It does matter,” Charles says, taking Edwin’s shoulders in his hands. “Whatever that wanker said to you, you did nothing wrong, Edwin.”
Edwin laughs a little hysterically, a hand coming up to rub at his forehead. “No, I suppose he would say it was all you, in the end.”
Charles blinks. “Me?”
Edwin gasps, clamping his mouth shut. “Never mind that,” he says quickly.
“What about me?”
”Edwin!” Niko appears from absolutely fucking nowhere. “We found Maren, and we totally stole Brad’s phone, and I got You’re the One That I Want in the song queue! It’s going to be up next, come on!” and drags Edwin away by the arm.
“What is going on?” Charles mutters to himself, and then turns to find Crystal at his shoulder again—“Christ, Crystal! Where the fuck are you all coming from?”
“Hi again,” Crystal says. “That was a really embarrassing little dick measuring contest you did back there.”
Charles glowers. “Shut it.”
Crystal passes him her cup with a promise that’s not the party punch. Charles takes a swig—something sweet and fruity and very delicious—and passes it back to her.
“Why would Thomas blame me for him and Edwin breaking up?” Charles wonders aloud. “I always left them alone, never gave them any trouble, didn’t I?”
Crystal doesn’t say anything, just takes a long drink from her cup.
“You know something,” Charles says.
“No,” Crystal says, unbelievingly. “Not for sure.”
“Do you know what happened?”
“You know Edwin doesn’t tell me stuff like that,” Crystal says. “But apparently he’s also been tight lipped to Niko about the whole thing, which sort of only confirms my suspicions—”
Charles grips her arm. “Tell me.”
Crystal sighs, her head tilting slightly to the side. “Charles.”
“What?”
“Come on.”
“What?”
Crystal sucks in a breath, her shoulders adjusting. “If I could tell that you and Edwin were disgustingly in love with each other within the first five minutes I met you guys, I’m pretty sure his boyfriend would have been able to as well.”
Charles shrugs. “So?”
“So, that makes you pretty hard to compete with. Thomas is kind of an ass, and yeah him and Edwin are way better off broken up. But I’m sure that trying to form some sort of lasting relationship when the guy you like is in love with someone else would be, like, really shitty.”
“Edwin’s not in love with me, though,” Charles mutters—and Crystal barks out an honest to god laugh at him. “If he was so in love with me, why is he spending so much time dating guys like Thomas and Monty?”
“Maybe because he’s also operating under the delusion that you don’t feel the same way, and so he’s trying—and very much failing—to get over you.”
Charles’ mind suddenly feels very, very empty. He blinks at the ground a few times.
“Look, I’m not going to spell this out for you.” Crystal sighs. “Go talk to Edwin if you want to know so bad. Once Niko’s done tossing him around like a sack of flour, I’m going to ask her if she wants to get out of here. You should do the same.”
“I don’t think Niko would be very keen on going home with me, what with the lesbianism and all,” Charles says, just to be an ass.
Crystal laughs, though, and shoves playfully at his shoulder. “You know who I mean.”
Yeah, Charles thinks, stomach churning. He does.
He lifts his head to spot the two in question—Niko, indeed, spinning around the living room with Edwin, to the sound of, ooh, ooh, honey—the one that I want! Charles tunes out the lyrics. He doesn’t need some bloody song to point out what he wants.
Edwin finds him in the back garden fifteen minutes later, kicking a loose stone around. Their eyes meet, and Edwin’s pressing his knuckles together in another nervous habit. It’s cold out, and the party is still in full swing behind them; Crystal’s leaving with Niko, and no one will be looking for the two of them.
A million things run through Charles’ mind, at least three of them are images of him gallantly striding across the lawn and kissing Edwin senseless. Instead he stays rooted to the spot, probably looking at Edwin like he was a pathetic loser, painfully obsessed with him—and it wouldn't be wrong.
“I think, perhaps, I should explain,” Edwin says.
“Did he break up with you because of me?” Charles says. “Did I ruin a good thing for you?” Because as much as Charles hates the guy—and Charles did well and truly hate him—if Edwin was truly happy, Charles would, and frankly did, put up with it.
Edwin shakes his head, he takes a few more steps closer. “No, Charles. You ruined nothing,” he says, painfully sincere as Edwin always is. “We were obviously not well compatible, and kept it going for far too long. The instigating factor was not you, but me and my—well.” He takes in a slow and shaking breath, like he’s about to say something extremely difficult. “My complete inability to love anyone other than you.”
They both seem to simultaneously suck in a breath; and just like the first time Edwin admitted this, Charles has to fight back against the burning behind his eyes.
The thing is, Edwin hasn’t exactly said it since they were sixteen. Not in those particular words. That day he had said after a considerable amount of stammering, Charles, I am in love with you, and it had been the best thing Charles had ever heard, though at the time the instinct of fear had reigned high over him. Over the next three years, it became a sort of unspoken reality between them. Edwin was in love with him, and Charles loved him, too, but in a more secret, aching sort of way, like something that was always stuck in his ribs. Or at least that was Charles’ perspective.
Then recently, with all the dating, Charles hadn’t been so sure anymore. He had assumed maybe Edwin had simply moved on, that a year or two or three was far too long to wait for Charles to get his head out of the mud. If Edwin had even known he was waiting, which he hadn't.
“Oh,” Charles says, finally. “Well, that’s good to know.”
“Is it?” says Edwin.
“Yeah,” says Charles. “Because, well, you see,”— it’s now or bloody never, Rowland—“I don’t like Thomas.”
The silence that follows would be funny if Charles didn’t feel like he was going to be sick.
“Charles,” says Edwin, bland. “I am extremely well aware of that fact.”
“He touched you,” Charles says, his hands deep in his pockets. “All the bloody time.”
“He was my boyfriend.” Edwin is wringing his hands together. “That was allowed.”
Charles looks up and away, and nods, once. “I know.” He looks at Edwin. “It didn’t make it hurt any less, though.”
Edwin’s brow draws together. “Hurt?”
“It always felt like he was rubbing it in—like he was the one who got you, and he needed to make sure I knew it. The first time he bought you those bloody flowers I thought I was going to fall straight through the floor. He got you, and all because he figured his shit out and told you first—”
Edwin’s eyes are wide now. “Told me first?”
“I was happy when you broke up,” Charles continues. “Maybe that makes me a bad person, but I don’t care. I was so excited. I was going to get myself together, and I was going to romance you all proper-like—get you better flowers, take you on better dates, and then the next thing I know Niko’s on the couch with you and you’re making a dating profile and you spent the whole summer with that Monty bloke—and he was sort of worse, you know, because I kind of at least sort of liked him—”
“Monty wasn’t—”
“And then!” Charles laughs, a little hysterical. “Tonight! You show up in my room in that bloody costume—I think Niko might hate me, too, by the way, doing that to me—with your stupid biceps and your tight trousers and your hair, mate, it looks so good. You’re like every fantasy I’ve ever had about you”—Edwin makes some sort of choking sound—“materialising in front of me, looking so bloody hot my brain might actually melt out of my ears—”
Edwin squeaks. “This outfit is actually quite cold for this time of year.”
“Edwin,” Charles interrupts, slipping his jacket off and passing it to him. “Mate, I’m trying to confess here.”
Edwin looks terribly lost. “Do you need a priest?”
“No, I don’t think he’d be particularly impressed with what I have to say right now.”
“Which is?” Edwin sounds a little breathless, slipping his arms into Charles’ jacket.
Charles has never been particularly good with words. They often got all jumbled in his mind, on the page sometimes, too. He had been doing okay so far, but now Edwin’s standing before him looking like everything he could ever want and is wearing his jacket to boot.
So Charles does what he should have done outside their GCSEs when they were sixteen. He pulls Edwin in by that fucking waist, and kisses him.
For all the build up, Edwin still seems caught off guard, like he wasn’t letting himself believe what Charles was trying to say was real. It was real, though, and it feels real to Charles, too, when Edwin gasps against his mouth; hands spasming for a moment, before they land on Charles’ shoulders and hanging on for dear life. He feels far too stiff, so Charles pulls back to look at him and is met with Edwin’s wide eyes.
“Are y—oh fuck—” Is the only thing he’s able to get out of his mouth because he finds himself gripped by the collar of his shirt and being somehow simultaneously hauled in and pushed back, with Edwin’s mouth crashing back to his.
Charles hits the fence behind them. Edwin’s mouth is hot despite the crisp night air and his hands snake up Charles’ neck, threading into his hair. Though Charles does typically have an inch or so over Edwin, he takes advantage of Charles’ stumbling. His back leaning on the fence and Edwin’s own immaculate posture allows him to angle Charles’ head just the way he seems to want it, just the way to make the kiss mind-numbingly good.
With a gentle tug on his hair, Charles is groaning into Edwin’s mouth, his mouth dropping open and Edwin takes full advantage of that and runs his tongue over Charles’ bottom lip. They’re practically flush together, Charles all but melting in Edwin’s arms. If he wasn’t already completely gone on Edwin by this point this kiss would have done him in for good.
Charles’ hands are gripping Edwin’s waist firmly, and now gracefully (whorishly) trailing down to his backside, and with a sound of approval from Edwin, slips his fingers into the back pockets to cup his ass. That perfect ass, in those perfect fucking trousers. If Charles’ mouth wasn’t in use he would be cheering. In a quick movement he’s slipping his thigh between Edwin’s legs, and in another he’s gently urging Edwin with his hands to rock his hips forward.
Edwin pulls his mouth away with a gasp, hot air rushing out between them, and his head tilting back. Charles takes advantage of the long line of his neck, and attaches his mouth—teeth and tongue—to the soft skin on the underside of Edwin’s jaw.
“Charles,” he moans.
“I am stupid in love with you,” Charles mouths against his skin, lips wet.
“Since when?” Edwin asks, a laugh mixed with curiosity.
Charles pulls back, Edwin’s hands are still cradling his head. He doesn’t need to think about it, but he pretends to. “Unconsciously? Since the GCSEs. Consciously? A bit harder to pinpoint—”
Edwin kisses him again, licking back into his mouth, a tongue curling behind his teeth; they fall back into the ease of it—Charles should have always known this would come naturally for them. Minutes, hours, even days could have passed and Charles wouldn’t have known since the only thing that mattered to him now was Edwin in his arms, and this kiss.
Eventually, they have to pull away, breathless. Their foreheads pressing together, and then: they laugh.
“I’m an idiot,” Charles whispers.
Edwin honest to god giggles. “No you’re not.”
“We could have been doing this for ages,” he whines, a bit pathetically.
“We’re doing it now,” Edwin says, giving him another brief kiss, though Charles tries to chase after it, it can’t be stopped. “We have ages to do it now.”
They both adjust themselves, Edwin reluctantly backing out and away from Charles’ arms so that he can stand up straight. He takes Edwin in, a true vision in front of him: hair beginning to fall from that perfect coif, his lips and nose red from both the cold and all the wonderful, spectacular, amazing kissing that just went on. And, still the final nail in the coffin, wearing Charles’ jacket.
“Well.” Edwin speaks so casually, like he hasn’t just snogged Charles’ face off just moments ago. “When you said I looked ‘nice’ earlier this evening…”
Charles laughs. “I meant you looked sexy as fuck and it was killing me.”
Edwin smiles, small and subtle. He looks entirely too pleased.
“Then take me home,” he says. “I believe you mentioned something about fantasies of me, and I would be extremely interested in making those a reality.”
Charles really is going to die tonight.
He takes Edwin’s hand. “Let’s go.”