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Chapter Text

The first time Edwin read to Charles was when he was dying. Charles didn’t know, of course – neither that he was dying nor that this would be the first of many nights spent with the other boy. He hoped there would be more; that this angel of a boy with his perfect hair and odd outfit would spend his time with him; that he would perhaps be a new (and this time true) friend… Charles had hoped, but the beaten, bruised, broken part of him had shouted otherwise.

When Edwin’s soft voice began to recite his favourite story to Charles, however, his thoughts retreated. It was as if Edwin’s voice was not only a melody rocking Charles to sleep but also a sword, battling away his fears with each perfectly enunciated word. Looking back on it, curled up in the attic of St Hilarion’s with limbs numb to hypothermia and a body decorated with more bruises than he cared to count, that may have been the first time Charles ever felt wholly, truly safe. Safe from his dad, safe from ‘friends’ who only tolerated his skin because he wasn’t a half bad shot with a cricket bat, safe from himself.

It might have been then that Charles decided he wanted to spend forever feeling that way. With someone who made him feel safe. With Edwin.

When Charles died and he followed his only friend away from the light, he couldn’t wait to feel that way again.

Chapter Text

The second time didn’t come until much later than Charles wanted.

He’d finally convinced Edwin to get a place together – a ground zero, he’d called it, which earned him one of Edwin’s curious head tilts and his eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly in a way that Charles was beginning to recognise as Edwin’s puzzling-it-out face – where they could keep all the curiosities that they’d slowly collected over their two years together. And two years: wasn’t that just something? Back in the attic, Charles would have given everything he had (maybe even the pins on his jacket) to spend two weeks with Edwin, let alone two years. Let alone the rest of their potentially endless afterlives.

If he can put up with you that long, the voices said. If he isn’t sick of you by then.

But Edwin wasn’t sick of him, not yet. He’d agreed with surprisingly little argument to take Charles under his wing (metaphorically, although Charles thought it would be pretty cool if ghosts could fly) and teach him the ropes of being a ghost. Edwin had taught him everything from mirror travel to how intentionally fall through the floor, and Charles couldn’t be more grateful. Which only made him feel guiltier: Edwin had done so much for Charles, yet here he was, still wanting more. Edwin had even tried teaching Charles magic – real life magic! Charles didn’t think Edwin could get any cooler (if that was the wrong word to use for his prim Edwardian mate, then Charles decided the word would have to change its meaning to include Edwin, as all things should). But Charles was just wasting Edwin’s time. While he’d been a natural at uncontrollably falling through the floor, it had taken him months to mirror travel without holding onto Edwin in some way (ghosts, Charles found out, not only couldn’t feel the living but also couldn’t really feel each other. They just had the ghost – pun intended – of a weight, but even that seemed safer than going into the mirror dimension alone). And so he’d decided to leave the magic to Edwin, with his powders and runes and ancient languages… in all but one part. See, Edwin had mentioned how handy having a pocket dimension in a bag would be, but that he hadn’t found one in any of their shops yet, nor did he have all the information on how to make one himself. Charles was determined to find one, though, so that he could give Edwin something in return. So that he could be of use to Edwin, for once.

So that you’ll deserve him.

But until then, they had an attic. Their attic, this time, full of their belongings in their area of London, where they needed each other and – for now ­­– no one else. Occasionally, they would give into what Edwin called their ‘more childish flights of fancy’ and find ghosts with problems to be solved before they could move on, but most of their first two years together had been spent exploring. Neither of them had travelled much further than St Hilarion’s while alive, Edwin because it had been so difficult to travel abroad in his time and Charles because his father would never have stood for the idea, let alone paid for it. So, they explored together. They’d been all over England, Scotland, and Wales; to Ireland and Northern Ireland (Edwin had been eager to learn about their split), and even hopped across the Channel to France. But each time, they gravitated back to London. It seemed to be their home base, so Charles was pretty chuffed that Edwin had pulled some ghostly strings to legally purchase a storage attic from a distant landlord.

Tonight, Edwin was finally organising the wonky bookshelf they’d picked up from the side of the road. It worked perfectly fine for two ghosts – sure, it was bulky, but they didn’t have much else to store in their attic anyway. Edwin had found far more books which caught his eye than Charles had found records or new CDs which he couldn’t play anyway. It was these books which Edwin was organising, in an order which didn’t make sense to Charles.

“Why don’t you just do it alphabetically, mate?” He asked, leaning against the wall. The attic hadn’t come with any furniture.

“I am, Charles.” Edwin sighed his name, a hand placed lightly on his hip when he turned to look at the other ghost.

“Really, Eds?” Charles pushed himself away from the wall to stand beside Edwin. “Because last I checked, the alphabet doesn’t go ‘Sherlock Holmes’ then ‘An Inspector Calls’. The letter A comes miles before S, don’t it?”

Edwin let out another long-suffering sigh, and Charles silenced the thought that perhaps this would be Edwin’s final straw when it comes to Charles’ stupidity. “Please, that would be ridiculous. It is alphabetical by author, not title. And even if it were not, I believe most people would default to sort alphabetically by genre, or perhaps one could sort by form, but certainly not by title as you have suggested. Really, Charles.” He shook his head, and if it weren’t for Charles’ two years of experience reading his facial expressions, then he would have thought Edwin was being serious. But Edwin pursed his lips when he was serious, right?

He hummed. “Alright, what subject’s this on, then?” He picked out the next book from Edwin’s pile, a recently bought book from a specialist supernatural shop. It meant they actually had to pay for it rather than it just floating out of the door when no one was looking, Charles remembered with a frown. It was blue.

“That,” Edwin plucked it out of his hand, their fingers brushing, “is a book on supernatural injuries and medicines.” Charles suddenly found himself regarded by Edwin’s steady gaze. His eyes bore into him, not in a challenging way, but with the same hunger for knowledge that Edwin carried in everything he did. “Perhaps you ought to read it, lest we come across something listed within which may cause you pain.”

Charles shifted. “Not too sure about that one, mate. Never been too good with big science words, me. Wouldn’t understand the half of it.”

“You may stand to give it a chance, Charles, it could be very useful in the future.”

Why? Charles wanted to ask. Will you not be there anymore to tell me what it says? Instead, he decided to push his luck. “How about you read it to me? That way I’ll know how to say all the words right.” He let a grin slip, looking Edwin in the eye. “’Sides, you’ve been at it for hours. Could use a break, if you ask me.”

“I do not need a break, Charles.” Edwin admonished, but Charles must not have covered his disappointed expression fast enough because he continued: “But if it would benefit you, then I am… amendable to such an idea.”

“Brills!” The younger replied, retreating to slide down the wall and gesturing for Edwin to do the same. Truthfully, he expected Edwin to remain on the other side of the room, but he blinked owlishly before joining Charles on the floor, ensuring his clothing remained clean and uncreased in the process. Once they had settled, they were less than a ruler’s length away from each other: Edwin with legs crossed and posture proper like he was still in school; Charles with his weight concentrated on the balls of his hands or the wall interchangeably. But when Edwin cleared his throat unnecessarily and began to read, Charles settled, slowly lulled into stillness by the sound of Edwin’s voice.

When Edwin later asked him what he thought of the various ways in which ghosts could be harmed, he had to stutter out a lie that made it seem like he’d heard anything but Edwin’s voice.

Chapter Text

Perhaps Charles should have listened to what Edwin was saying, after all.

It had been two months since Edwin read Charles the book about ghostly injuries, and they’d begun to explore the more supernatural side of London. Inspired by the mystery novels weighing down Edwin’s bookshelf, the pair started calling the problems they encountered ‘cases’, and Charles would happily follow Edwin as he tried to solve them. They couldn’t always find a case to work on, which left them with enough downtime for Edwin to stick his nose in a new book and Charles to keep up to date with the living’s pop-culture. Overall, though, they had just enough cases to keep them busy. One had been about a boy and his train set, another of a recently deceased couple desperate to ensure their children’s safety, and a few encounters with supernatural beings in between. Those were the ones which Charles enjoyed most. Of course, he would never turn away anyone in need of his help, no matter what they needed of him (Edwin would probably have something to say about that, given his new habit of demanding payment from their wealthier-looking clients), but supernatural encounters sent a pleasant chill up his spine. With cut-and-dry bad guys, he didn’t have to worry about hurting anyone innocent. He could just wait for the go-ahead from Edwin and then… go ahead. Some light cardio to get his heartrate up, a few evasive manoeuvres and hits that he learnt as a living child and boom – bad guy down, case of the fortnight sorted. He enjoyed the adrenaline rush, he told himself, getting caught up and lost in the real moment instead of lost inside his head.

Liar. They hissed. You just like the scared look on their faces as they flinch away from you. Maybe you’re more like your father than you thought.

Charles did his best to ignore them, but he hadn’t managed to silence them on his own just yet. He tried to, sure, by listening extra attentively to Edwin each time his insecurities got a little too brave, but it wasn’t the same. They hadn’t been truly quiet since the last time Edwin read to him, always returning with a vengeance whenever Edwin quietened. Charles continued to fight plenty of other things off, though! Psychics, poltergeists, witches, and especially demons – if anything so much as looked at his best mate wrong, they were met with the end of Charles’ trusty cricket bat. Edwin would sigh and comment on Charles’ impulsiveness, but it was all okay in the end. They would both get out unscathed, thanks to Edwin’s massive brain and Charles’ useful brawn.

Until now.

He should have seen it coming, really. Should have jumped out of the way before the spell hit him and he was blown backwards into the warlock’s kitchen counter, back slamming against his decades-old iron stove and flailing arms banging into the open shelving, causing two cast iron pans and one matching pot to fall onto him as well. The pain was instantaneous, a sharp, mounting sensation on his back, arms, and head that had Charles clenching his jaw tight to stop from screaming. His father always hit him more if he cried out.

“Charles!” Edwin screamed on his behalf, and the injured boy peeled his eyes open to see his best mate ignoring his spell book, eyes boring into Charles. “Are you alright?”

Great, now you’ve made him worried. The thoughts hissed, pain in Charles’ mind joining the pain in his body. Fat lot of good you’re doing, stressing him out.

“All,” Charles gasped, “All good here, mate!” He forced a smile, trying for reassurance but probably ending up with a grimace.

Edwin didn’t reply, but he did turn his piercing gaze away from Charles and towards the cackling warlock separating the pair. Relieved, Charles squeezed his eyes shut again and focused on breathing through the searing pain in his back, arms, and head. He hissed when he tried to shuffle away from the iron stove still digging into his back, falling forward and bracing his forearms on the blissfully cool, cracked marble tiles. Foremost pressure relieved, he could hear Edwin’s rushed Latin and a final scream from the warlock before the only silence that remained was Charles’ shallow, uneven breathing.

Heavy footsteps rushed towards him, and Charles flinched at the memories of a warm leather belt. But his father’s hands were never soft, never hesitant, never a light, grounding pressure that picked him up from the floor and placed him gently onto a wooden stool. Paul Rowland’s voice was never quiet, never caring.

“-arles? Charles, can you hear me?” Edwin called to him.

“Yeah, mate. All good.” He opened his eyes and saw Edwin hovering close to him, dark eyes boring into his with scrutiny. Charles watched him, following the other’s (rather mesmerising, actually) gaze as he studied Charles’ face, arms, and back. He must have found what he was looking for because their gazes met once more, and Edwin nodded sharply. The open concern was gone, replaced by thin lips and a clenched jaw.

“Stand up, please, Charles.”   

The injured ghost obeyed, losing the staring contest in favour of studying the floor. Oh, now you’ve really fucked it now. He finally hates you! The voices laughed. Neither boy said a word as Charles rose, knees nearly buckling as the movement stretched the burnt skin on his back. Edwin’s hands held onto Charles’ shoulders, his grip less comforting now that Charles’ brain was back to battering him. But he didn’t dare flinch away, stiffly following as Edwin led him out of the kitchen and towards the mirror in the warlock’s hallway. They passed the warlock on the way, twitching on the floor and awaiting his afterlife. As Edwin pulled him into the mirror – you can’t even get back to the office yourself, you useless thing – Charles heard the telltale tearing of a wall and the scream of terror that marked a souls’ journey to hell. He felt Edwin stiffen but only Charles stumbled as they made it into the office, leaving the warlock’s screams behind them.

“Lay down on your front, please.” Edwin’s tone was clipped as he steered Charles towards their newly acquired sofa. He obeyed wordlessly, biting his tongue when his skin stretched. The burns on his arms were beginning to fade and heal, but he could still feel his back smouldering and his head was hurting like something evil was trying the claw itself out. Just like how Edwin’s going to kick you out, now. He’s probably throwing all your junk into a bin bag right now, sending you on your way like he should have done years ago. You’re no help, just giving him more work to do.

Edwin would be better off without you.

Charles winced, more from his emotional turmoil than his physical pain.

You’re a worthless protector, a worthless friend, a worthless son-

Charles hissed as a cold cloth dabbed near his spine, wincing when the fabric continued brushing against his wounds.

 “Hold still.” Edwin commanded, tone clipped. “You must allow me to clean the burn to prevent the blisters contracting any infection. Once this is over, we will bandage your torso, then you may rest.”

“Rest?” Charles’ voice was muffled from where his face was pressed into the arm of the sofa, too quiet for Edwin to hear his confusion. Any other day, the position would have been uncomfortable, but Charles was uncomfortable enough as it was. Only his mother had ever cared for his wounds, and even then, her ministrations were hurried and inexperienced. Edwin, however, was quick yet precise – before Charles knew it, gentle hands were helping Charles to lower his braces without him having to move.

“Do you have the energy to dematerialise your undershirt, please Charles? I fear that lifting your arms to remove it manually may irritate your skin further, and I wish to cause you no more harm than is necessary.”

Charles blushed, but his mind was reeling from the idea that Edwin didn’t want to hurt him. After a few (too many) moments of concentration, his undershirt was gone. He had little time to feel embarrassed through his haze of pain and exhaustion before Edwin was wrapping cooling bandages tightly around his torso, protecting his blistered back from the office air. A few moments passed and he sighed, relaxing slightly into the furniture as the pain subsided somewhat.

He stiffened again as Edwin began to speak.

“Charles, you really ought to be more careful.” He reprimanded, hands tightly wound into each other when Chares weakly raised his head. “You needn’t be so protective of me, not at the expense of your own safety. I can handle myself – I have spent over 70 years in Hell, for Gods’ sake.”

“I know.” Charles inhaled sharply as he finally sat up, owing Edwin his full attention at the very least. “You can, mate, but you shouldn’t have to. You shouldn’t- I should-”

Be better. Be stronger. Be braver. Be a man, you fucking fa- Chrles refused to let his breath hitch. He refused to cry.

“Charles.” Edwin’s tone was sharp again, and Charles didn’t – he did not, okay? – hunch his shoulders to his ears. “I understand you feel an… obligation to protect me, but you ought not to. Not at any risk to yourself.”

Charles’ mouth stretched into his signature smile. “Guess we’ll just have to agree to disagree there, huh mate?”

He could tell Edwin intended to give him a further rebuttal, but decided against it when Charles’ grin slipped into a flinch again. His head was throbbing, even if he couldn’t feel any burns blistering on his scalp, and he really needed a lie down. God, he wished ghosts slept like the living did.

“What do you need?” asked Edwin. “I think I have enough ingredients for a simple painkiller, if you so desire? It will take some time to concoct, but I should-”

“No.” Charles usually didn’t make a habit of interrupting Edwin, but he didn’t want the other boy to talk himself into a spiral. “No drugs.” He could hear his father’s voice, berating his son for hanging around the ‘wrong’ people, the older rude boys who went to punk concerts and drank at parties that his father’s fists disapproved of.

“Then what?” He pushed. “I should like to help you. Please.”

“Read to me, mate?” Charles hurried, before he lost his exhaustion-induced nerve. The adrenaline from the fight had long worn off, and all he wanted to do was to rest.

Selfish. Needy.

With a quiet brain.

Edwin’s tight forehead softened. “Of course, Charles.”  

He watched as Edwin picked a book from one of his shelves, a newer acquisition to their little library. Charles didn’t really care what Edwin read him, so long as it was in his voice. Clearly satisfied by his selection, Edwin made his way back to Charles and settled in the corner of the sofa, book resting delicately on the armrest in which Charles’ face had been buried. He beckoned to Charles, who laid on his side hesitantly, head facing the centre of the sofa and legs handing off the other armrest. When he looked up, he saw Edwin raise an eyebrow discontentedly, tapping his thigh twice instead. Confused but without the energy to argue, Charles acquiesced. His head found a place on Edwin’s thigh, eyes meeting Edwin’s in hopes for reassurance that he was doing this right. He received a nod in response, and relaxed a little into his new pillow.

“Is this okay?” Edwin whispered.

Charles hummed happily, focusing on the rustle of pages as Edwin began to read.

“In the year 1878 I took my degree of Doctor of Medicine of the University of London, and proceeded to Netley to go through the course prescribed for surgeons in the army. Having completed my studies there, I was duly attached to the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers as Assistant Surgeon. The regiment was stationed in India…”

Charles’ eyes slipped closed. He was comfortable. Edwin was safe. The voices faded away.

Chapter Text

It didn’t take long for Edwin and Charles’ case-solving escapades to catch the attention of other supernatural beings in London. In a few years they had amassed a large enough reputation that others had started seeking them out, so it only made sense to convert their home attic in London into an office able to accommodate more than just Charles and Edwin. While Edwin preferred to take complex or interesting cases, Charles was happy to take any case at all. If people needed their help, and they could give it to them, who was he to refuse?

You want to refuse though, don’t you? You want to tell them all to bugger off and deal with their problems themselves, right? So that you can kick back on the sofa with a beer and watch the football, just like him. You’re just like him.

And so, the two were busy. They had commissioned a sign from a psychic blacksmith who owed them from when they prevented his forge from being consumed by Greek fire, and the post-ghost had taken surprisingly kindly to delivering the influx of letters. Cases came to them at all times of day or night, which did wonders for distracting Charles from the mundanities of his afterlife, but it did mean that they had no designated ‘off-the-clock’ time.

But that was fine. Charles enjoyed helping people, he enjoyed defeating the villain of the week, he enjoyed the small, satisfied smile on Edwin’s face as he copied down the details of another job successfully jobbed into his notebook. He smiles more at that notebook than he does at you, most days, the voices teased.

Shut. Up.

After every meeting with a client, Edwin would ask Charles’ opinion on the case presented to them. Typically, Charles would reply with his signature enthusiasm and half a dozen ideas as to what they could do to help their newest charge; sometimes Edwin would nod his head in agreement or probe Charles for more details about his spit-balled ideas. He’s just doing it to laugh at you. He doesn’t really care – not about you, certainly not about your stupid ideas.

One morning, however, Edwin didn’t seem to care for Charles’ theories. Not that he would have been able to give it: the 80s boy hadn’t heard enough of the newly deceased grandmother’s words to pinpoint what the case even was, let alone how to solve it. It was something about inheritance and family feuds, but no curses or supernatural villains involved for Charles to fight. Which means that Edwin doesn’t need you. You’re only useful for hitting people things, and Edwin doesn’t even need you for that. He’s been through literal Hell; he can protect himself better than you can. Who knows why he even keeps you around? Maybe you remind him how clever he is. Maybe he just tolerates you out of pity. Maybe you’re just so clingy that you’re more effort to get rid of than to ignore.

“-arles? Are you listening, Charles?”

“Yeah mate!” He lied, grinning. “All ears, I am. Could you just repeat the last bit, though?” He asked, trying for endearingly cheeky but ending up as the annoying, insufferable, insecure mess that you are.

Edwin sighed. Great. “I was merely remarking on how simple Mrs Atkins’ case ought to be. We will simply bring her the documents from the safe, I shall allow her use of my enchanted ink in order to sign them,” Charles saw how Edwin straightened with pride at the thought of the eternal ink he had acquired, “And then we will return them to her home. None of her relatives shall be any the wiser that she did not sign her Last Will and Testament before her death, and she shall be able to move on knowing that her affairs have been settled. How does that sound?”

Charles blinked. “Sounds aces, mate! What do you need me for? How can I help?”

“I do not think your skills will be strictly necessary for this case, Charles.” He felt his heart drop from his throat to the basement several stories below their attic. “Of course, you are more than welcome to join me on the excursion to the Atkin residence; I offer no complaints regarding your company.”

He’s just saying that so you don’t cause a scene. He’s lying. You’re just going to ruin everything if you make him take you along. The only way you can help Edwin is by leaving him alone.

“That’s alright, mate.” Charles grinned. “I’d best practise my boxing anyway.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive, mate. You go solve this case, I’ll be aces.” He lied. With nothing more than a stiff nod, Edwin donned his posh outer coat and replaced his notebook into his inner breast pocket, before slipping into the mirror without so much as a backwards glance.

Why would he look back at you?

Charles tried to drown them out, but even the blood drumming in his ears wouldn’t silence the storm battering in his skull. The punching bag creaked like his dad’s footsteps on the stairs; its swing on the chain mirrored the swing of his father’s fist, your fist; you’re the one punching.

Right. Annoying.

Left. Useless.

Right. Pathetic.

Left. Worthless.

Right. You couldn’t even protect yourself.

Left. What makes you think you could protect him?

Right. He doesn’t need you.

Left. He doesn’t want you.

Right. No-one ever has.

Left. Why would he think of you any differently?

The bag hurled towards Charles and he stumbled back, bracing himself for fists. They never came. Instead, the bag’s momentum slowed and came to rest in the centre, creaking like the victory march of footsteps returning upstairs.

Jaw clenched, Charles grabbed his rucksack from the floor beside the mirror. He’d figured out the mechanism after some impressive months of (relatively) focused research, but when he’d presented the gift to Edwin, he had refused it. Originally, Charles had hoped the other boy was just being humble – but as time wore on, he kept refusing. Eventually, Charles got the hint: Edwin didn’t want it.

Edwin didn’t want him.  

His bag contained almost all his belongings, from the blanket he died under to the set list he’d snagged last time he went out to see one of the new punk bands playing twenty minutes away from their office. Edwin had joined him once, but Charles thought his wide eyed look was more one of shock than awe, so hadn’t forced him to come along again. As he hurriedly packed the belongings of his that still littered Edwin’s pristine office, Charles couldn’t help but worry. Edwin had been gone for a while – was he okay? Maybe the house was warded; maybe the little old lady had lied; maybe the safe was iron and Edwin was sat somewhere, screaming as his hand blistered and burned without anyone to wrap his wounds like he had taken so much care to do for Charles.

If he’s hurt, then it’s all your fault.

Charles was unpacking the ghostly first aid kit which Edwin had put together before he could even finish his thought. His bag was left open beside their mirror, possessions neglected where they were in favour of his new stressor. When Edwin got back and wanted to be rid of him, Charles would run, but only if Edwin was okay beforehand.

You think you can take care of him better than he can take care of himself? Can you help him, when you’re only made to hurt?  

A metaphorical bell toll shocked Charles into dropping the gauze, turning abruptly on his heel as Edwin reappeared in the mirror. His trousers were still starched, not a hair out of place and he was removing his coat with his perfectly white, unburnt, pianist’s fingers. Charles’ shoulders sagged; wind sucked out of his sails as he saw Edwin was as unharmed as usual. He avoided his gaze, shoving things back into the medical kit in hopes that Edwin wouldn’t realise how much Charles had doubted him. Of course he can take care of himself, he thought. Does he only get hurt when he’s with me?

Edwin gave Charles a look, once which had him shrinking further into himself. He couldn’t hold his only friend’s gaze, not as it continued to pierce into him like one of Charles sewing needles when they slipped into his thumb instead of the fabric of his jacket. Edwin finally stopped glaring at him, turning away as if he couldn’t stand to look at Charles for even a second longer.

Charles couldn’t blame him.

“I have the paperwork she needed right here, and Mrs Atkins will be around tomorrow to sign it before we can return it to the safe.” He placed the paperwork onto their desk, a neat pile which looked nothing like the mess Charles had left beside the mirror, beneath where Edwin’s coat now hung. “Which means, Charles,” his head snapped up, watching Edwin’s lips curl into the smallest of smiles – he can hardly bring himself to fake it around you anymore – above his marble jawline, but avoiding his eyes. Charles didn’t want to drown again. “That we have finished with our business for the evening.”

Charles had heard plenty of dismissals in his lifetime, so knew when he was unwanted even in death. But he couldn’t bring himself to move, a small ember of hope had burrowed into him and rooted his heels to the floor. He would leave as soon as Edwin told him to, but his heart hoped against every other part of him that it wouldn’t be tonight.

Edwin was opening the door to the apartment, one which went unused except by their rare living clientele. He had a piece of perfectly starched paper in his hand, but Charles couldn’t read it from his place on the other side of the room. Had he written ‘Dead Boy Detective: Edwin Payne’? Did he finally see that Charles was only weighing him down?

Of course he sees that – he sees everything, you lout. Charles’ mouth was dry.

“-to sit down for me please, Charles? Just on the sofa would be fine.” Edwin asked, voice soft as Charles waited for the final blow. When he was settled, Edwin continued, and Charles couldn’t help but admire the kindness Edwin was offering, even when he would never see Charles again after tonight.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

“Huh?” Charles replied eloquently. “I’m aces, mate. Completely, utterly, perfectly aces.” He winced at how soft his voice sounded, weak and feeble instead of the bravado which he had been so experienced in summoning in his lifetime.

“Are you sure? Please answer me honestly, Charles. I only wish to help.”

He breathed. “I’m fine, mate. Promise. Just… having a bad day, is all,” He pointed to his head with a glass grin, “up here. Y’ know?”

Edwin only hummed, rising from where he had put himself beside Charles on their small sofa. You’re a wuss. His head screamed, and he couldn’t help but agree. Bad day? Up here? Bullshit. Stop offloading all your problems onto Edwin, he deserves better. Better than you. Pathetic. Look, he’s leaving.

And Edwin was leaving, but only to the bookshelf. He returned with a slim orange volume that had probably once been bright red, hanging his blazer on the back of his desk chair and rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt. Charles’ eyes lingered on the pale, unblemished skin as Edwin nestled himself into the furniture – tonight may be the last time he saw Edwin so relaxed. He must be happy to be getting rid of you.

I can’t blame him.

He was sat in the corner furthest away from Charles, where he had been all those years before when Charles had last gathered the courage to ask Edwin to read to him. He savoured the memory with a pang, knowing it would not happen again.

He began to doubt his knowledge when Edwin tapped his own thigh twice, the same gesture as before. What have you got to loose, looser?

Charles laid down as before, head meeting Edwin’s trousers. It was nice, but was this really what Edwin wanted?

The book opened crisply. Charles couldn’t read the title upside down, but he didn’t recognise it as one which Edwin had read before. Before he could think too deeply about it, however, he felt Edwin’s hand in his hair. It was firm enough to be grounding, but Edwin was delicate as ever, never pulling on Charles’ unruly curls as he carded through them.

They made eye contact briefly as Charles looked up at him, confused, but catching a fond smile from Edwin before the Edwardian boy’s eyes returned to the page and he began to read.

“The intense interest aroused in the public by what was known at the time as “The Styles Case” has now somewhat subsided. Nevertheless, in view of the world-wide notoriety which attended it, I have been asked, both by my friend Poirot and the family themselves, to write an account of the whole story. This, we trust, will effectually silence the sensational rumours which still persist…”

Charles knew he would have to talk to Edwin about what was happening in his head one day. He’d have to tell him about the memories that cropped up after every case involving a dead child; why he bit his lip every time they walked into a basement. He knew he needed to tell Edwin why he was so desperate to protect him, even though he knew Edwin didn’t need his protection. He would tell Edwin one day, he promised him silently.

But not tonight. Tonight, they had no more cases to worry about. Tonight, though rain was hammering onto their roof like when the two met, they were warm and dry. Tonight, Edwin’s voice was all Charles could hear. Tonight, they were calm. They were happy. They were home.

Chapter Text

“Charles, draw it towards Crystal so she can deduce what spells the creature is under!”

“On it!” Charles leapt backwards, away from the dripping maw of the oversized fox. Crystal was guarding the back door of the hut to stop the creature escaping, while Niko was stood before the front door so that it couldn’t get out the way they’d come in. Edwin stood beside her, flicking through a heavy volume of counterspells. “Brace yourself, Crys!” He rolled between the creature’s legs as it lunged forward; Crystal reached up to hold its head between her hands, folding down the snarling creature’s ears as her eyes went white and the creature whimpered before collapsing.

“Wait, Niko.” Edwin’s arm shot out in front of Niko, stopping her from rushing towards the large beast. “It’s still dangerous. Charles?”

“You’ve got it.” Shooting an apologetic look at Niko, he readied his bat in case the animal attacked when Crystal retreated from its mind. He didn’t intend to hurt the animal – it may have been five times the size of regular fox, but it was still an innocent creature. It wasn’t the fox’s fault that it had been used for supernatural animal testing and promptly neglected when the so-called ‘scientist’ passed, after all. When Crystal gasped and released the creature, Charles pushed her out of the way and took her place, ready to hit the fox over the head if need be. It didn’t lunge at either of them, but it did swat Charles’ bat away before whining and resting is large head on the ground before Charles’ feet. “Rude.” He grumbled, but smiled as his now-empty hands sunk into the fluffy red fur. Edwin and Crystal were flicking through the book near the door when Niko came over to join him, cooing over the poor beast.

Charles swung an arm around her, the other still petting the not-so-little guy. After a moment Niko leaned into him, returning an exhausted smile. They’d grown closer since their return from Post Townsend – helping Niko move into her and Crystal’s flats opposite Jenny’s new shop; exploring Camden market; he’d even beaten her at Mario Kart once! That being said, his favourite nights were when they finished a case and relaxed by cooking, often just the pair of them while Crystal finished her schoolwork and Edwin their paperwork before joining the Charles and Niko to watch cartoons.  Charles couldn’t say that he enjoyed those evening with Niko, or even the nights with all four of them, more than his time with Edwin. When the girls were asleep and the day’s case solved, Charles and Edwin would return to their place, for the pair to listen to Charles’ music on their record player while Edwin did some research. When the record stopped turning, Edwin would join Charles on the sofa and read to him until the sun filtered back into their home.

That was always his favourite part of the day.

……………………………………

Edwin watched Charles out of the corner of his eye while he and Crystal bookmarked the last few pages of counterspells. He had been pleasantly surprised when Charles and Niko began to spend more time together after their time in Port Townsend – his two favourite people were currently petting the oversized vulpes vulpes as it dozed before them, clearly exhausted. The various curses performed upon it still remained, but none of them had been the cause of its viciousness. It was simply a wild animal, mistreated by its unrightful owner. For a brief moment, its rampage had reminded Edwin of that evening at the lighthouse, when the Night Nurse provoked Charles: a beautiful creature motivated by righteous anger.

“And the final spell was the one to enlarge him. He escaped and killed the guy right after that – serves him right if you ask me.” Crystal interrupted, thumbing through book’s the index.

“Precisely.” Agreed Edwin, interrupting Crystal to flip to page 605 where he knew that particular counterspell resided. He recited each incantation, not sacrificing precision for speed, and watched his friends’ reactions as the fox changed. First its crimson-all-over colouring changed: its chest and muzzle became a soft white; its tail a deep brown; the rest of the creature reverted to its natural, burnt-orange hue. Its fur coarsened, teeth sharpened, and snout elongated once more. Finally, Edwin spoke the counterspell to return the animal to its appropriate size. His mouth curled into a delicate smile when Charles and Niko were left cradling an exhausted, underfed creature between them.

Crystal elbowed him in the ribs. “You’re secretly such a sap.” She teased, but her eyes soon flicked back to the pair when Niko called them over.

“We can’t keep him, can we?” She asked. “We’ll have to take the poor baby to a vet.” She was scratching behind the animal’s ears as she spoke, unafraid of its sharp teeth as it yawned.

“Indeed.”

Niko sighed and cradled the hurt animal entirely in her arms as Charles swung his arm around Edwin’s shoulders. He noted that Charles was leaning more weight on him than usual, which Edwin had no complaints regarding. In the months since his confession to his partner on the stairs out of Hell, the Edwardian had expected a change in their dynamic: perhaps Charles would become more distant, putting space between the pair as he clearly did not feel the same way as Edwin. That had not happened. Instead, Charles seemed to be more physically affectionate with Edwin than ever. But this time, it didn’t seem that Charles was leaning on him simply for the physical contact. Edwin watched as Charles’ form flickered for a moment, only stopping when the boy clenched his jaw in concentration.

He was exhausted.

While Edwin had been researching the supernatural side of the case (and ensuring that this could not happen again to another blameless creature), Charles had been tracking it. During the night in which Edwin was sat at his desk with a teetering tower of books, Charles was outside in the Kentish countryside, finding the fox and keeping it out of further harm’s way until Edwin and the girls could meet him the next afternoon. With the case now closed and everyone safe – including the ball of fur which both Niko and Crystal were now adoring, though the latter with some hesitation – Edwin knew Charles’ adrenaline would be wearing off. So, he straightened his bowtie and cleared his throat, trying to cool the gentle heat rising to his cheeks.

He checked the watch in his breast pocket. It was 4:28pm, and the sun was already setting in the winter sky. “We ought to deliver it to a veterinarian soon, before they retire for the evening. Crystal.” The girl’s head inclined in acknowledgement, drawing hier attention away from Niko and their charge. “Would you use your mobile to locate the nearest professional, please?”

“’Course, I’ll google it.” Crystal showed him address of a veterinarian clinic in the nearest town, to which they hurriedly made their way before it closed at 5pm. Charles separated himself from Edwin’s side for only a moment to swing his backpack over his shoulder and reclaim his cricket bat, but they brought up the rear for Niko and Crystal (and the fox, whom Niko had named George) with Charles’ arm wrapped around Edwin. He was lighter than when he had last leaned on him, back among the injuries of Port Townsend, as if he was trying to keep from floating away. Edwin knew the feeling, and leant into Charles with some welcome pressure in return.

It was 4:54pm when they arrived at the nearest clinic, where Niko handed over the dozing fox with a final scratch. Chares and Edwin remained outside, peering through the glass doors lest there were any cats inside to take offense at their arrival, while Crystal used her parents’ card to leave a hefty American-style tip (much to the vet’s delight).

“We’re gonna eat some food before we get the highspeed back to London.” Niko announced when they returned. “See you in the office in two, two and a half hours maybe? Or I can call you when we get back and we can chill at mine – you guys haven’t seen the film Fantastic Mr Fox, right?”

“Don’t think we have, huh mate?” Charles finally spoke, voice almost sluggish with fatigue.

“Correct, Charles.” Edwin looked back at the girls. “I believe a calm night in the office would be fitting, for tonight.”

“Okay.” Replied Crystal, linking arms with Niko and turning in the direction of the local station.

“See you soon!” Niko waved back.

The ghosts travelled via a mirror in a nearby barbershop, and were back in the office within seconds. Removing his coat and blazer, Edwin watched Charles’ chest inflate when he took a needless deep breath before he dumped his belongings unceremoniously beneath Edwin’s. His own jacket and shirt joined, leaving Charles in only his undershirt within moments. Edwin let his gaze linger, eyes drawn to the stark white of his undershirt, then roaming up to the shine of the golden chain against Charles’ sharp collarbones. Only when his eyes trailed further up the long contours of Charles’ neck and to his face did Edwin look away, meeting Charles gaze and watching the boy flicker once more with a faint red glow as Edwin cleared his throat.

“Make yourself comfortable, Charles.” He asked. For once, Charles didn’t protest, making Edwin even more sure of what was about to happen. And he was right, of course – someone as observant as Edwin didn’t spend thirty years with only one other person and fail to recognise when he was utterly exhausted.

Edwin retrieved a book from their bookshelf – Shakespeare’s Tragedy of Hamlet, the lengthy first folio edition – and settled himself on the sofa beside Charles. Immediately, Charles’ head was nestled in Edwin’s lap, eyes closed and breathing deeply. Edwin was unable to hold back the smile from his voice when he began to read, a hand drifting to play with Charles’ beautiful, soft curls between page turns. “Who’s there?” He read.

“Nay, answer me: stand and unfold yourself.

“Long live the King.

“Barnardo?

“He.

“You come most carefully upon your hour.

“'Tis now strook twelve, get thee to bed Francisco.

“For this relief much thanks…” Edwin continued, voice dancing through the meter of the famous play as Charles fell silent under his hand.

Edwin enjoyed these moments immensely. It was a calm reprieve from the mountain of cases which the Night Nurse had been piling upon them since her agency’s official pardon. Despite all the changes in the last year – Port Townsend and the whirlwind of new connections that came with it – these moments were reminiscent of the time before, when it was just the two of them with infinite time for each other. It was comfortably domestic, and Edwin wouldn’t give it up for the world. Call him selfish, but these moments? They were his; they belonged to himself and Charles alone.

He continued reading, one hand in Charles hair and the other on the book, until he felt Charles’ weight fading from his lap. Edwin looked down not a moment too soon and caught a glimpse of Charles content smile: a small, gentle one which took place more in his eyes than his lips. Then, in a puff of reddish smoke, Charles was gone.

A maroon orb balanced beside him instead, perfectly round and rather cool to the touch. Edwin reached for a velvet throw pillow with a button centre from the other side of the sofa, which Charles had been resting his knees upon, and placed his partner delicately in its centre so that he would not roll away. He placed the cushion on his lap, positioned the book behind Charles, and continued to read to him.

Edwin’s smile only faded during the players’ rehearsal, when he heard a knock and soft giggling outside their office door. “Come in.” He called, trying to keep his voice low enough not to disturb the cloud of comfort which settled around himself and Charles.

“Hi Edwin!” Niko squealed as she entered, followed closely by Crystal. The pair had with them a projector and Niko’s laptop, both lovingly decorated in floral pink and orange stickers. “Where’s Charles?”

“He’s here.” Edwin replied calmly, bookmarking their page and laying the book aside to reveal the orb glowing slightly in his lap.

“That’s him?” Crystal asked, an eyebrow raised. “Is he… okay?”

“Oooh, he’s glowing!”

“Yes, and he is perfectly fine.” He replied as the girls deposited their belongings. “Ghosts can take on what Charles calls our ‘orb forms’ when we wish to truly retreat from the world. While I have relaxed this way many times, Charles only does so when he is truly exhausted.”

“I thought ghosts couldn’t sleep?” Asked Niko.

“True. This is our equivalent, so to speak.”

“Can he hear us, then?” Said Crystal.

“To some extent. I have never been able to remember precisely what happens when I have retreated, for example, but I can recall the atmosphere, so to speak.”

“The atmosphere? Like, the temperature?”

“More like… the ‘vibe’, as you two would say.” The term felt strange coming from Edwin. “Charles will ideally experience feelings of comfort and safety while he is in this form. It is my – our – job to protect him in this time, as we are rather vulnerable.”

“So… we get to look out for him, for once?” Crystal grinned, nudging Niko, who squealed in delight when Edwin nodded. Before he could protest, Niko was crowded between himself and Crystal on the small sofa, laptop on her lap and projector set up against the office wall. Crystal threw a blanket over their legs, curling up into Niko’s side as she began typing into her machine.

“Let’s leave Fantastic Mr Fox for another night – Charles can’t miss that one, it’s too cute!” She decided. “So, we’ll just watch Scooby instead, okay?” Edwin nodded; Crystal didn’t seem to mind either way. “Awesome. Edwin, have we shown you any of the live action movies yet?”

The film adaptation was by no means the greatest work of art, and the alien-esque dog unnerved Edwin (“It’s called CGI, man.” Crystal had drawled. “You’ll get used to it.”), but he found himself chuckling at numerous moments. Charles seemed to enjoy it as well – he glowed a little brighter with each joke from his new position between Niko and Edwin. Crystal had asked to hold him partly through the film, but Edwin soon decided that her angle (legs half off the sofa, upper body nestled into Niko’s) was not nearly safe enough to prevent Charles from hitting the floor. Crystal had rolled her eyes but made no verbal protest as Niko’s hand slipped into hers.

As their entertainment reached its conclusion, both girls were stifling their yawns and Charles had been returned to his (rightful) place in Edwin’s lap. He offered polite goodbyes when they left, before opening the book again. It wasn’t that he disliked Niko or Crystal’s company – in fact, Edwin rather enjoyed their television watching nights. However, he preferred his time spent with Charles above all else. They spent three decades with only each other, after all… three decades which Edwin wouldn’t give up for the world.

 He resumed reading. “Dost thou hear? Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice and could of men distinguish, her election hath sealed thee for herself. For thou hast been as one in suffering all, that suffers nothing, a man that fortune’s buffets and rewards hast taken with equal thanks; and blessed are those whose blood and judgment are so well co-mingled that they are not a pipe for fortune’s finger…”

……………………………………

Charles reappeared, still smiling, to the sound of Edwin’s voice. Calm but energised, he uncurled himself and his gangly legs came to rest beside Edwin’s. They were touching. Charles was in Edwin’s lap, and while Charles couldn’t feel it quite like he imagined he would have if he was alive, the position filled his head with pleasant vibrations, warm and melodic like someone – Edwin – was humming in his ear. He wasn’t, obviously: only the faintest intake of breath betrayed that the other ghost had even noticed Charles’ new position; he kept reading the Shakespeare play in the same quiet tone that Charles drifted off to. Charles didn’t have to strain to hear him, but poured all his attention into his partner’s words nonetheless.

He never enjoyed Shakespeare in school. Not only would his friends have ditched him far sooner if he did, but the teachers weren’t any help either. They never saw the plays performed, and were forced to read aloud without knowing how to say the old-timey words, let alone what they meant. But when Edwin read Shakespeare (or when he read anything, to be fair), he had all of Charles’ attention. Edwin performed the words, emphasising like it was his second nature. And it likely was. Charles’ English curriculum revolved around Shakespeare and a few newer texts, which probably hadn’t been written when Edwin was alive, let alone studied. It was no wonder Edwin read so enchantingly, given how much practise he had.

No matter how or why, Charles enjoyed it. Edwin’s speech only halted when Charles moved, leaning back to see his partner’s face with Edwin still sat between his legs. It had been a busy few months since Hell, but Edwin’s confession played on his mind every day. Each time he looked at Edwin he could see the light blush form on his pale cheeks; each time Edwin looked at him, he could feel heat rise to his own face. It was not the familiar burn of embarrassment or shame, nor the sting of an open-palmed slap. Instead, as Charles and Edwin’s gaze met, his smile couldn’t help but grow.

Charles had nearly drowned before, and it had not been a pleasant experience. But now, he decided he wouldn’t mind drowning again. Not if it was in Edwin eyes.

Chapter Text

They fell back into their routine after that. Every other night – or every night, if they weren’t busy solving a case or Edwin doing paperwork after the fact – Charles would hang out with Crystal and Niko before returning to lounge on their small sofa. Edwin joined him sooner each day, taking his place on the other side of the furniture and resting his wrists holding their current read on Charles’ ankles.

But tonight, Charles didn’t lounge. He couldn’t sit still, not even to wait for Edwin. Instead, he’d spent the last month thinking, planning, and overthinking. And then thinking some more. Ugh.

Every time he tried to sit still, his brain screamed at him. You’re wasting his time – he’s going to fall out of love with you any moment now, if he hasn’t already. Did he ever really love you in the first place, or was that just Hell talking? Did he mean it? Why would he, when he could have anyone, want you?

He does, though. Charles breathed. Edwin loves me. ‘Why’ doesn’t matter. He just does.

At least he had Niko and Crystal to talk to. Not that he did, of course – he couldn’t burden them with his presence any more than he already did. His problems were his own, so a real man, not a fragile piece of shit like you he had to handle his problems himself. With your fists. But that didn’t mean Niko and Crystal didn’t help by simply spending time with him. The two had become nearly inseparable in the last few months, sharing looks between each other that Charles couldn’t begin to decipher. He wondered if he and Edwin ever seemed that close to their clients; if they had seen Edwin’s misplaced infatuation with Charles years before.

He wondered if their clients, or maybe even the living girls, could see Charles’ infatuation with Edwin grow.

……………………………………

It reached a boiling point one afternoon in late September, when Edwin almost got hurt during a case. It was Charles’ fault (of course): he’d been so busy admiring his partner’s keen gaze as it swept around the room that he didn’t notice the malicious ghost approaching them from behind. The girls were away – Niko had convinced Jenny to become her emergency contact, which meant she could now return to school with Crystal – so it was up to Charles to swing his bat over Edwin’s head, screaming at him to duck as he did so. Almost a moment too late, Charles’ bat made contact with the ghost and sent the iron poker it was grasping hurling back into the wall behind them. Edwin was safe, already muttering in an ancient language under his breath as the ghost smoked from its reckless decision of weapon to hold, but he may not have been. As soon as the ghost was gone, Charles wrapped Edwin in his arms and held tight, unwilling to let go.

“Charles!” Edwin exclaimed, muffled by Charles’ shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, mate.” He replied, the words he really wanted to say lodging themselves in his throat. Only when you are, he wanted to say. I need you to be okay, always. Don’t know how I could go on without you. “Long as you’re fine, then I am too.” Is all he could choke out.

He eventually released him, though Charles’ stomach flipped when he felt Edwin’s hands linger for another moment before pulling away. When they returned to the office, Edwin resigned himself to his paperwork and Charles had a sudden idea.

“I’m gonna go see if the girls are home yet,” he claimed, still wearing his coat and backpack, “I’ll be back soon, alright?”

“Alright, Charles.” Edwin looked up from his paperwork with a smile reserved only for him, and he would be lying if he said the butterflies in his stomach didn’t dance in delight. “Stay safe.”

“You too.” With that, Charles was back through the mirror, slipping into Niko’s apartment to see that it was – as expected – empty. Crystal’s room proved to be the same, so Charles did as he had originally planned and walked to the coffee shop nearby, a mostly empty one where the smells were strong but the music loud and indie. Charles had left Edwin not with the sole purpose of hanging out with his friends (although he had made it so that what he said to Edwin wasn’t a lie), but to write.

If his thoughts were on paper, then he could read them to Edwin, surely? It was once way of repaying Edwin’s kindness for reading to him so often, after all.

……………………………………

Writing it down was much harder than Charles expected. He assumed the words would just flow out as soon as he touched his supernatural pen to his supernatural paper, but no: the universe wouldn’t be so kind. Instead, the loose leaf sheets he’d found somewhere in his bag were quickly littered with ink blots and crossings out, scribbles and ever so little legible of Charles’ chicken-scratch words. By the time the sun set and the staff turned off the music, however, Charles resigned himself to his fate. He had written enough (hopefully it, hopefully I, will be enough) to get his message across to Edwin, and he had even read it aloud once for practise. He hadn’t sounded very good, but that would come when he was talking to Edwin as opposed to a green-haired woman’s back, he was sure.

Time with Edwin was always better than anything with anyone else, any way.

……………………………………

When Charles returned to the office, Edwin was pacing. His steps came to a still the moment Charles made his presence known, but the other boy’s heart still warned at the sight of his partner waiting for him.

“Is all well?” Edwin asked. Ah shit, you’ve made him worried now. “You have been gone for quite some time.”

“All good, mate.” Charles grinned – a real one which must have reached his eyes, since Edwin didn’t question him. “Why, d’you miss me?”

Edwin huffed and turned away, but his blush was visible where it crept slightly up the back of his neck.

Charles laughed softly, and Edwin turned to face him again. Faced with that keen, loving gaze, he wanted nothing more than to confess right there and them, doubts be damned. He shrugged off his backpack and took the papers from his pocket, wincing at the state of them. He should have laminated them, or bought a notebook, or a folder, or something. What will he think of you, now? Edwin is always so neat and tidy and put together, Edwin cares, and here you are shoving things into your pockets and taking them out as a crumpled mess. Is this how you treat him, crumpled up and stuffed out of sight as if you don’t care when really you do; you really, really do-

Edwin was watching him, an eyebrow raised in something which could have been curiosity but that Charles couldn’t help but read as judgment. He straightened the sheets, refolded them neatly, and slipped them in his trouser pocket instead. His coat joined Edwin’s.

“Want to go sit on the roof?” He asked instead.

Edwin blinked. “Of course. May I ask why?”

“The night sky is pretty, innit?” And so are you.

As they made their way to the roof of the building and took up their places near the ledge, Charles’ dead heart stuttered. Edwin was telling him about the constellations, about Cassiopeia and Lyra, but for once he was unable to focus on his best mate’s timbre. God, this is going to go so wrong. You may as well jump off the roof and start running, cut your losses. Maybe you can just give him the paper and let him read it? That’s if he can read your shitty handwriting, plus he’ll see all your spelling mistakes and why would he want to be with someone who can’t spell ‘because’ right?

“…believe that it is named after the harp of Orpheus, which would imply that Orpheus became a constellation upon his death rather than descending to be…”

Charles took a deep breath. He couldn’t back out, not now. He wouldn’t. Charles would be brave. “Edwin, I have something to tell you.”

Edwin’s gaze immediately left the sky. “What is it?” he asked, tone concerned but expression open.

Charles unfolded the letter. Unable to look Edwin in the eye, he steeled himself, and read.

“Dear Edwin,

I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you this sooner. Every time I tried, the words got stuck in my throat and I felt a little like I was dying all over again. But that’s okay – I’m telling you now. The truth is, I’ve been thinking about what you said, back then, on the steps between Hell and Port Townsend, and what I said. You said you loved me as more than a friend, and you said you were afraid, and the truth is… I was too. Still am, if I’m being honest with you.” He improvised for a moment, glancing up at Edwin to see his expression unchanged except for a slight furrow to his brow. “Anyway. You are my best mate – you have been since the moment we met, and will be until the moment we vanish from existence together. Nothing about you can change that for me. And I hope the same goes for you.”

He didn’t sound a thing like Edwin. While Edwin’s voice was always settled and his words perfectly enunciated, Charles knew he sounded anything but. Despite having the words written before him, he still hesitated, bit his lip, cleared his throat as if that would help unstick the words lodged inside of him. It didn’t, but he felt it was worth a try.

Edwin sat with him regardless, legs perfectly crossed and back ramrod straight as Charles bore his soul to him just as Edwin bore his soul to Charles all those weeks before.

“I said we had forever to figure it out, but it turns out that I only needed a few more months. I’ve known it all along, I think – like I said, there is nobody else I would go to Hell for. Not Jenny, not Niko, not Crystal. Just you. Because… I love you.” There. “As more than a friend, I’m afraid. I am in love with you, Edwin Payne. If you’ll still have me?” His voice broke as he read the last few words from his messy pages. “Eternally yours, Charles Rowland.”

Charles’ sharp breathing punctuated the silence of the roof. Edwin hadn’t said a word, which clearly means he hates you. You’re probably months too late, he’s moved on and has a crush on someone new, someone cooler and better and neater than you, someone who doesn’t need this long to get their thoughts in order; someone stronger, more useful, someone actually worth something-

“Charles.” A pale hand reached towards him, and Charles found himself leaning into the touch despite himself as Edwin nudged his chin upwards. “Would you look at me, please?”

He peeled his eyes away from his lap, where his hands were only ruining his papers more. Edwin looked back at him, inky hair haloed by stars and intelligent eyes shining with moisture. Oh no, oh no oh no ohnoohnoohNO, you’ve made him cry, that’s how disgusted he is by you-

Edwin smiled, the crease of his eyes causing his tears to spill over. Charles gasped despite himself, caught off guard by just how beautiful Edwin looked, looking at him. Seeing him.

“May I?” the Edwardian boy asked softly, hand still hovering at Charles’ face. He nodded, unsure at what he was agreeing to but trusting that Edwin wouldn’t hurt him even so.

He brought Charles closer to him, leaning towards the punk boy and slipping his arms around Charles’ shoulders. Charles leaned in without hesitation, wrapping his arms around Edwin’s waist as they hugged each other, crying softly beneath the stars.

Charles wanted to worry, to overthink the fact that Edwin had yet to respond to his confession, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t fret when one of Edwin’s hands was at the nape of his neck, the other rubbing up and down his back as Charles’ chest slowed its heaving. Edwin’s breath was blissfully warm against his neck, but chills still ran down Charles’ spine.

All too soon, Edwin pulled away. “Charles,” he smiled, dark eyes warm with affection, “You would be an idiot to ever think I would reject you after such a beautiful speech from such a beautiful man. I am in love with you, Charles Rowland.”

Charles smiled, whole body growing warm and he held Edwin’s smooth hands in his calloused ones. “Love you too, mate.” They giggled together like the teenagers they were, nestled in each other’s arms until the sun rose. Its soft yellow hue reflected onto Edwin’s skin, and Charles couldn’t help but think that it looked as if Edwin were glowing from within.

Wow, he’s beautiful. He thought, eyes meeting Edwin’s. They looked at each other with the same decades of trust, or affection, of love.

And maybe, so am I.