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Chapter Text

It's not a good night, Charles has to admit to himself. It's nothing in particular that makes it not good, it just is, as it sometimes happens.

It didn't rain, the club was alive but not unbearably crowded, Andrew, the bouncer, had let him in, same as always, and Charles is wearing his favorite jacket. He's even managed to go the whole night without getting a drink spilled on him. Really, it should've been a perfectly okay night.

He just isn't feeling it.

It's one of those times when he wondered why he kept walking so far only to be at a club with a different clientele than the people he served all day. Was it worth it being around all those rich kids he didn't even like for an overpriced drink that he could barely afford? Wouldn't it have been better to just stay at home with Edwin?

The point is, it's not a good night and so, at only 2 am, Charles leaves the club through the back door, pats Andrew on the shoulder when he passes him by having a smoke in the alley, and thinks that maybe he won't be coming back for a while.

There's other people leaving, just like him, if maybe a little drunker. Charles knows better than to burn all his money on alcohol, he's mostly there for the social life.

As he walks past the entrance a couple catches his eye. He tries not to get too much in other people's business but Edwin always says he has a sixth sense for trouble, so he can't look away. He watches as the man stumbles his way out of the club, grabbing the girl by the shoulders and clutching her closer. His grip on her is firm, Charles notices, and it seems to be the only thing that's keeping her on her feet as she sways against the man.

A drunk girl with her boyfriend, nothing new. Except that Charles sees how the man's free hand is making its way down her thigh, right below the hem of her sparkly black dress. For a moment Charles thinks that maybe he's just attempting to carry her, but the hand stays where it is, just pressing harder, fingers sinking into her dark skin and the man leans closer to her. He seems to whisper something in her ear and then laughs so loud that Charles can hear it from where he stands, several feet away from the pair. 

A thought is starting to form in his head and it's not a good one. Charles takes note of the girl's appearance, analyzing the situation before he does anything. He can hear Edwin's voice in his mind, telling him to think before he jumps. He really, really tries to. 

Her long brown hair is a mess framing her face, straight and frizzy closer to the roots and messy where curls begin to form as it gets to the tips. She's clutching a tiny purse against her chest with her left hand and holding onto the man's jacket with the other one. As she's slumped forward, her head lolls intermittently as if she's trying to gain some balance. The closer Charles gets to her the better he can see that her eyes are unfocused, not really looking at anything.

The man doesn't stop touching her.

When did Charles get so close to them?

“Oi! Everything alright?” he half shouts as he approaches the pair.

The man doesn't really look up from where he has his mouth against the girl's neck before he answers, “Yeah, yeah, we're good.” He laughs and the girl seems to become aware for a brief moment.

“David, where're we goin’?” she asks, the words slurred and barely audible. 

David only laughs again and not once does he look at Charles.

“She's not looking good, mate.” Charles tries again, but that dangerous fire inside of him is peeking its ugly head around. This whole thing feels wrong and he can't shake it off. 

Finally, David stops laughing and lifts his head to look at Charles.

He really doesn't like judging people by their looks, and maybe in another context Charles wouldn't think much of this guy, but there's something about his eyes–so dark he can't tell where his irises start and the pupils begin–that has all sorts of alarm bells going off in his head. 

“How ‘bout you mind your own fucking business, mate? ” By the way he says the word it's obvious that he's trying to mock Charles. It's not the first time it's happened since getting to the States. It doesn't usually bother him much, it does even less now.

There's only one thing in Charles' mind: wrong answer.

That's how a not-good-night turns into a fucking mess, he figures. 

Before he knows it he's shoving David back. It's not difficult to make him stumble, the guy's clearly had some drinks as well and Charles has the advantage of being sober. The girl just only barely reacts to the movement with a confused grumble and it reminds Charles that he has to be careful as to not hurt her.

David doesn't seem to share the same concern for her wellbeing, though. He lets go of her shoulder to grab her by the arm instead, trying to steady himself, even if it leaves her swaying precariously on her feet.

“What the fuck do you think you're doing?” he snarls. 

Charles is not intimidated by him, but he does find the wild look in his dark eyes unsettling. He takes a second to really look at this guy, something he should have probably done from the start. David seems to be about his same height, although Charles has a couple of extra centimeters on him, courtesy of the platforms on his boots. There are other aspects he notices as well: the curly light brown hair, the tanned skin, the gold chain around his neck, not so different from his own, and the black denim jacket the girl is still doing her best to hold onto. Charles thinks his own clothes are much cheaper than David's, and he could never stand the feeling of denim on his body. But still, finding the slightest of similarities between him and this piece of trash fuels the already present urge to get him out of his sight.

“I don't think you should keep touching her like that,” Charles says, knowing full well there's no backing out of this one now.

“I think you should mind your business and leave me the fuck alone!” David pushes forward so abruptly that the girl has no option but to let go of him. Charles watches her finally stumble back and down until she falls and lands on the ground with a startled cry.

He doesn't have time to think about her, though, because in a second David is on him, grabbing Charles by the lapels of his jacket and pushing him back. He barely feels it. It's an automatic response to grab the hands holding on to him before they let go and use them to return the shove and make David grunt as he loses balance and falls on his ass, straight to the ground. 

“I just asked you to be nice to her. Shouldn't be that hard now, should it?” 

He towers over David and watches his face twist in an ugly frown before he shouts, “Why do you even care about some chick you don't even know? She's mine, I'll do whatever the fuck I want!” Charles is already angry, this bastard should not be pushing his luck, but he seems to be unaware of that as his expression changes into some kind of manic amusement and he lets out an exaggerated laugh. “What? Do you want to fuck her too? You could've asked, dude, she's so high she can't tell the difference.”

Really, no one could blame Charles for the way his fist collides with David's face after he hears that. Or for how he then ignores the pained yelp David lets out. Or how he lifts David by his jacket and throws him to the side, away from the girl, but mostly away from Charles because he doesn't trust himself to not beat the living shit out of this asshole, right there on the street.

There's a moment there where he doesn't know exactly what to do next. Is one punch to the face enough to keep this asshole away? Are the people around them watching? Is the girl alright?

That last thought wins over the rest. He turns in the direction where David left her and finds her sitting on the sidewalk, a hand over her head with her eyes tightly shut in a frown. Her purse is laying next to her, forgotten for the moment. 

Charles walks the few steps over and slowly kneels in front of her, keeping his distance. 

“Are you alright?” He gives her a once-over. There aren't any visible injuries that he can detect at first glance, but she's wearing a purple jacket that covers most of her arms, minus one shoulder that has been left exposed with all the tussle.

“Don't know,” she says pitifully. “I don't feel so good.” 

Don't look so good either, Charles thinks. Being this close, he's surprised to find that she doesn't smell too strongly of alcohol. Not what he would expect from someone acting so intoxicated. 

He looks behind him over his shoulder to see David slowly standing up.

Time to act.

He turns his attention back to the girl, “I'm Charles, can you tell me your name?”

She opens one eye first, slowly and looking around as she does it. Then the other, until she's blinking with a frown. Eventually her eyes settle on Charles' face and she blinks again.

“Crystal?” She says it like a question and Charles doesn't know exactly what to make of it.

“Alright, Crystal,” he tries giving her his most reassuring smile, although it's not clear how much she's able to see at the moment. “I’m gonna help you stand up. Think you can do that?”

The girl– Crystal –looks down at the ground, her eyes widen slightly. “I’m on the ground,” she says, as if it's a great discovery. “That's so fucking stupid.”

Charles chuckles at that, “It's a bit silly, innit? Give me your hands and I'll help you up, yeah?” He offers his hands as a prompt.

She nods slowly and brings her arms in front of her. Her hands waver around Charles' for a second and she frowns, like it takes a great deal to focus on the simple task she's been asked to do. Taking pity on her, he closes the distance between their hands. Gently but firmly, he grabs her by the forearms and starts slowly standing up with her, making sure that she stays upright.

“There you go,” he says when he's mostly sure that she won't immediately fall back on her butt. “Much better now.” 

“Hey!” A shout comes from behind him, Charles doesn't need to turn around to know who it is. “Listen to me, you asshole!” Charles doesn't.

He continues to hold Crystal upright, she's starting to shake a little bit and her eyes keep darting around.

“You can take her home tonight but it doesn't matter, she's gonna crawl back to me anyway.” David's voice is loud but doesn't seem to be getting any closer. Charles dares a look in his direction one last time and sees him starting to walk away, muttering something to himself and wiping at his mouth. There's a glimpse of red on his hand when he pulls it away.

“S’that David?” Crystal's question pulls him back to what really matters.

“Yeah, listen, Crystal,” he sighs, looking at her wide, unfocused brown eyes, framed by smudged purple eyeshadow and red eyeliner. Under the streetlights he thinks the pupils might be dilated. “I know I don't know you, like, at all, but I don't think you should be around that guy right now.”

Belatedly he realizes that he's a total stranger and, to her, potentially just as, if not more dangerous than what David had seemed to Charles. 

He expects her to maybe protest, to put up a fight or try to defend her maybe boyfriend. Instead, she nods and immediately winces, closing her eyes for a moment before looking down at her feet.

“Fuck” she says all of a sudden, and Charles worries there might be something wrong. That is until she gets one arm free of his hold to point at the ground. “My purse.” 

Priorities 

“I'll get that for you.” He hesitantly lets go of her for a moment, watching her stay on her feet, and then quickly bends down and picks up her purse and puts it in her hand. “There.”

Crystal clutches it close to her chest again.

Charles wonders what could be in there for it to be so important to her. Maybe her cellphone.

Oh, right.

“Is there anyone you can call to give you a lift home?” 

She shakes her head, staring blankly ahead.

“My friends suck.”

It doesn't take a great effort for Charles to believe that. Leaving her alone with that David douchebag. Sounds like they do suck.

“I'm sorry about that,” he says sincerely. He knows all about shitty friends, and wouldn't wish it on anyone.

He looks around them, trying to figure out the next move. It made a lot of sense when he first intervened. There was a girl in trouble, a man getting frisky when he couldn't be told not to. It was simple math. Except now Charles is left with a girl he's starting to think might be more than just drunk and has no idea what to do with her.

“Brills,” he whispers sarcastically. 

Suddenly Crystal manages to stumble on her own feet, even though she's not walking, and her head bumps with Charles' chest. The unexpected collision knocks a huffed breath out of him and Crystal steps back on wobbly feet with a grunt and a confused expression.

“The fuck.” She closes her eyes for a moment. When she opens them again, Charles notes the glassy look on them. It's almost like she's getting less present with each passing minute.

“Crystal,” he tries getting her to look at him. It takes a second, but eventually she does. “Is there anywhere I can take you?”

She seems to think this over, but Charles isn't sure how well her brain is working at the moment.

“Hotel” she simply says and closes her eyes again. 

“Oi,” he calls to her, as gently as he can when he's quickly realizing that the situation is more complicated than he had predicted. “Do you know the name? Is it far?”

She hums, her body is getting closer to his and he urgently tries to keep her steady while touching her as little as possible as she wobbles on her feet. 

“Crystal?” 

“‘M’ tired,” is all she says before almost fully collapsing against Charles.

All his attempts to keep his distance fail when he has no choice but to grab her to keep her from falling. She holds onto his jacket just like she had done with David’s, using the hand that isn't holding her purse. He's back to gripping her by her arms just above her elbows but she's very much using his chest as a pillow.

“Bollocks,” he sighs in defeat.

Looking around he doesn't see many people walking around, mostly the ones leaving the club, looking more or less drunk, but not paying much mind to him and Crystal.

He doesn't know whether to be glad for the lack of attention or angry at people's disinterest over a potentially dangerous situation. Maybe someone had noticed when he was clearly hitting David, but certainly no one intervened.

Fine, at least that means no police, and for that he is infinitely grateful.

There's the matter of the incoherent girl he's now acquired and what he should do with her, though.

An idea pops into his head and he immediately knows it will bring him trouble. 

Unfortunately, there aren't many other options he can think of at the moment. And maybe he is a little bit drunk after all. 

“Right,” he says mostly to himself. “I'm sorry, Crystal, my place is a ways from here and you are stuck with the only bloke in town that can't drive to save his life.” He maneuvers her body with care until she's holding onto his side instead of his front. A much safer position. “It's a whole thing, really. I'll tell you all about it if you don't hate me in the morning.”

He knows there's one person who will definitely be cross with him, though. He winces at that. Nothing he can do to avoid it now.

Crystal hums again. 

With that they start walking in the direction of the apartment he shares with Edwin. It's a slow process and halfway through Crystal simply refuses to continue walking on her own two feet. No explanation, just stubborn denial. She's probably tired though, so Charles doesn't blame her. 

Of course, that means he has to carry her on his back the rest of the way. She isn't too heavy, and he continues to ask himself how drunk he is or isn't, because he doesn't stumble even once.

Climbing stairs while carrying someone is a lot harder than it might seem, or perhaps Charles simply overestimated his own strength and this is common sense. Regardless, he makes it to their door without dropping Crystal and that's a win.

He tries to be as quiet as possible, it is quite late and he still doesn't know what he'll tell Edwin. Waking him up is the last thing he wants to do at the moment.

He carries Crystal to their small couch in the living room. She goes down without a fight and barely makes a sound as her face lands rather brusquely on their only cushion. 

Charles just stands there looking at her, mind momentarily blank now that the task is completed. She's breathing, at least. He feels almost as exhausted as she looks, with her tousled hair and messed up makeup. 

For a moment he lets himself feel some amount of pride. He's certain that he did the right thing, even if he didn't have all the information. 

He doesn't have long to pat himself on the back, though, and most of that certainty fades away pretty quickly.

He sees the movement out of the corner of his eyes first, and then hears the footsteps.

He's in trouble.

“ Charles ?” Edwin's voice is a quiet yell in the night. 

Charles doesn't even want to turn around, but when he does he's met with the exact expression he had anticipated.

Edwin is at the kitchen door, in an old blue sweater and–are those Charles' black sweatpants? The sight would be endearing at any other time. Charles is always happy to see him, truly, Edwin lights up his day no matter how shitty it's been. Except that now those beautiful blue-green eyes are wide and alarmed and his dark brows are set in a frown that radiates judgment. 

“What is the meaning of this?” 

Charles can only grimace. 

“Didn't think you'd be awake, mate.”

Of course, that's the wrong thing to say, it only makes Edwin look even more alarmed, if that's even possible.

“That is not an explanation.” He stays where he is, as if he's afraid of getting any closer. “What is an unconscious girl doing on our sofa?” He dramatically points at Crystal.

Charles dumbly turns to look at her, as if he wasn't the one to put her there. 

“Right.” He turns back to Edwin, who raises an eyebrow. “Hear me out, before you freak out–”

“I'm afraid it's too late for that.”

“She was in trouble, alright? I had to help her.” 

Edwin crosses his arms and addresses him with a look of disbelief. “What sort of trouble required you to bring her here, then?”

Charles sighs and steps closer to him, hands raised in front of him, like he's trying to appease a wild beast. 

“She was leaving the club with some knobhead, maybe her boyfriend, I didn't ask. He was bad news, was trying to get frisky with her.” He can see Edwin getting ready to argue but he doesn't let him start. “I just went to check that everything was alright. But she was acting funny and he didn't care.” He takes a deep breath, trying to calm down. Just remembering the situation has him getting worked up. “It wasn't okay, at all. So I had to intervene.” He says the last part more quietly.

Of course, Edwin catches it immediately.

“Charles,” he says carefully. “What did you do?”

“I tried being nice at first, I swear!” Charles interjects as soon as Edwin's scowl deepens. “He wouldn't let up, alright?” He pauses. This next part is harder to say out loud. Suddenly the floor looks much more appealing than looking at Edwin's disapproving face. “So I punched him.”

“ Charles! ” Edwin hisses, scandalized. “That sort of violence is unlike you. What were you thinking?”

“It wasn't that bad!” Charles looks up, even though he's a bit terrified. “He walked it off, promise. I didn't know what he was gonna do to her, and no one else cared. Wasn't gonna let him take advantage of her, was I?”

It makes his heart skip a beat when instead of disappointed, he finds that Edwin, although still looking upset, is shaking his head at him with something like fondness in his eyes. Charles only recognizes it because he has seen it a million times before. He chases that look with his very soul each day, will do anything to see it. Of course he knows what it means. 

Why he deserves it now, he's not sure.

Edwin sighs then and looks over Charles' shoulder. “What was your plan, then? Bringing her here.”

Charles shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair. His fingers almost get stuck in the tangled curls. The night is getting way too long.

“I didn't think that far.”

Edwin rolls his eyes. “Of course not.”

“She could barely remember her name when I found her. She'll be fine tomorrow and she can just go home.” Charles turns around to follow where Edwin had been looking.

Crystal is out to the world, only half of her body is actually on the couch, while her legs are awkwardly crossed over each other and falling over the edge. Now looking at her, Charles notices the strap on her left heel has come undone and, how did she even walk with those on? The platform is almost twice as thick as the one on Charles' boots and the heel itself must be about 15 centimeters. 

All in all, she looks incredibly helpless, vulnerable. This unconscious, possibly drugged girl is what that David asshole was taking who knows where to do who knows what and it makes Charles feel itchy and like he has to go back and punch him again for good measure.

“Fine,” Edwin says behind him and for a second Charles has to actively try to remember what they were even discussing.

Letting Crystal stay the night, right.

“Fine?” he asks, just to make sure that they're talking about the same thing.

“Fine, she can stay tonight,” Edwin confirms. He's still standing with his arms crossed, looking at the couch with a frown, his lips set in a straight line. “She’s not going anywhere at the moment, anyway.” 

“Right,” Charles says dumbly.

He watches Edwin walk past him and towards the couch and kneel in front of Crystal's face. 

“Hopefully she didn't take anything that will require a call to the emergency services. God knows we won't be paying for an ambulance.”

The thought has Charles' stomach sinking. He didn't think about that, how could he forget? What if she has a bad reaction or she was given too much? He only thought about getting her out of a bad situation and completely forgot about what could be happening inside.

This is why I brought her to Edwin , he thinks.

Edwin who now has Crystal's wrist between his middle and index finger, who then leans forward and tilts his head with an analytic look in his eyes while Crystal breathes against his ear. Edwin, who hums pensively as he turns to face her and without hesitation reaches with his hand to gently force one of her eyes open. She stirs but doesn't seem to fully react to it.

Regardless, whatever Edwin sees must be enough because he lets her eye close again and stands up elegantly from the floor in one move. He turns to Charles with a flourish. “I believe she's fine enough,” he says, and Charles believes him without a doubt. “Although nothing can spare her from the terrible hangover she will surely have when she wakes up.”

Charles grimaces just thinking about it. “Great. Thanks.”

Charles keeps his eyes on Crystal, relieved that she doesn't seem to be in immediate danger. What he'll do in the morning is still a mystery to him, but that's a problem for tomorrow's Charles.

“Charles?” Edwin's voice startles him and he's surprised to see that he's much closer now, looking back at Charles with assessing eyes and his lips set in a thin line.

“Hm?”

“Are you alright?”

“I'm aces, mate.”

Edwin raises an eyebrow at his answer and Charles can only smile in return.

“I'm serious,” Edwin insists. “Were you injured in any way?” His eyes are scanning over Charles anxiously, jumping from his face to his chest and then down to his arms. 

“I'm alright. It wasn't a big fight or anything like that.” His reassurances do little to calm Edwin's worrying as he continues to look him over, inching closer to Charles until they're standing a mere breath from each other. 

Edwin smells sweet, like chamomile and that new dish soap that looks like syrup that Charles always feels that he could drink. It makes him wonder why Edwin is up so late. He's usually already in bed by the time Charles gets home, but then again, he's usually not back until much later. 

Charles sighs and without thinking much of it, takes Edwin's hand in his. He can't help but smile again when the action makes Edwin's eyes dart up and his expression relaxes, if only a little.

“Told you, I'm fine ,” he says and brings his other hand to fully cradle Edwin's, safe and warm and soft between his fingers, and gives it a tiny squeeze. “You should go to bed now, yeah?”

“Won't you join me?” Edwin squeezes his hand back.

Yes, of course. It's what Charles wants to say. He doesn't always get an invitation, it's not every night that Edwin asks so openly, without coming up with an excuse as to why they should share his bed or stay up later than usual. He wants to seize it, wants to take as much as Edwin gives him.

“I should probably stay here, in case she wakes up,” he says instead and hopes that he at least sounds apologetic. Hopes that Edwin understands that he wants to follow him so bad it's actually painful, but this is the responsible thing to do. “Don't want her to freak out, do we?”

Edwin's expression crumbles immediately. It passes so quickly that Charles barely has time to notice it before he's fixing his face into fake neutrality. But he does notice it, because noticing things about Edwin is his full time job. It makes Charles' heart sink into his stomach.

“Right, of course.” Edwin clears his throat and frees his hand from Charles' hold. “I will be turning in now, then.” 

“Yeah,” Charles says weakly, missing the proximity as Edwin starts to walk towards the bedroom.

It doesn't take long at all, their apartment is remarkably tiny. But it feels like Charles has been standing in the living room for far too long when Edwin calls from the door at his left.

“Charles.” When Charles turns to look at him, Edwin is smiling softly. “You did the right thing, I'm proud of you.” He doesn't give him time to respond before he's turning his back and disappearing inside the room, leaving the door ajar.

Warmth fills Charles' chest in the way that only Edwin's praise can cause. He smiles to himself and inexplicably there's an odd prickling behind his eyes. 

There's an unconscious girl on their couch, he's tired and will have to spend the night in a chair or the floor, but most importantly, Edwin is proud of him and he's probably prevented someone's life from becoming incredibly miserable. 

It's not a good night, but it's getting better.

Chapter Text

Edwin is tired of courthouses. Every time he closes his eyes he can see a different judge, a different lawyer, and hear the same dismissal in his mind. He has been trying to clear his name for two years and some change now, with little to no luck. But he's finally close, so close he's afraid of hoping. 

As they leave the courtroom, he walks away from his mother and his lawyer with a quick excuse about having to take a break. They don't try to stop him, just let him walk the long green halfways and down the windowless stairs until he can no longer hear them talking behind him.

The truth is, he's more than tired. He's terrified.

He already served the time: one year in custody and one and a half of supervision at home. One could ask why he would even try to appeal at this point, when the punishment can no longer be taken back.There's no erasing the torture he received at the hands of his peers at the juvenile facility they locked him in. There's no erasing the ingrained fear of tight spaces and loud laughter. He could maybe learn how to be anything but quiet, eventually, but there's no deprogramming that can make him forget the reason he had to be quiet in the first place.

Still, he tells himself, there's value in trying to save one's reputation. If not for the right to erase an undeserved permanent stain from his record, then to get some of his dignity back.

Today maybe he will. 

Miss Knight is stubborn but efficient as a lawyer, and this new judge has been more receptive to his case. 

There is hope, and that might be the most terrifying thing of all.

Edwin makes his way to the back of the courthouse until he sees the pale yellow door he knows all too well by now. He needs to breathe, needs to see anything other than cold hallways and judging stares.

He pushes the door open with likely more force than is needed and takes a deep breath. Immediately, he regrets it, as a cloud of disgusting gray smoke fills his lungs. He coughs automatically, his body wanting to be rid of the poison as his eyes water with the smell of it.

“Ah, mate, sorry ‘bout that.”

The unexpected voice almost startles Edwin into a second coughing fit, but he manages to get ahold of his breathing in time to stop it.

Turning his head left, Edwin sees a young man leaning against the brick wall next to the door he just came through. There's a cigarette in his hand.

He is also crying, Edwin notes. It's very easy to tell by his glassy brown eyes and wet lashes, not to mention the smudged kohl around them. 

Edwin clears his throat, uncomfortable to have interrupted the emotional, private moment of this stranger.

“My apologies, I did not mean to intrude. This area is usually empty.”

The boy smiles, with wet cheeks and sniffles, like it's nothing. Edwin finds it to be a very lovely smile despite everything.

“No worries, I just wanted a breather. Ah.” The boy looks down at the cigarette in his hand and chuckles. “Maybe not the healthiest kind, though. I hope it didn't bother you too much.”

It takes Edwin a moment to realize what he means, the discovery that he's not alone in his usual calming spot having made him forget the nasty taste of smoke in his mouth.

“Ah,” he says bashfully. “No, it's quite alright. I'm afraid I've had worse.” The comment slips out before he has time to censor himself. 

He's surprised by the fact that the boy starts laughing.

“Fair,” he says, and Edwin feels himself relaxing.

There's an awkward silence then. Edwin looks around him, uncertain of the best next step in this social interaction he's found himself in. He has never been particularly good with people and his time in custody didn't help in the slightest–quite the opposite. 

He dares a look at his companion and finds him staring somewhere ahead with a distant look in his eyes. From this angle Edwin can see his profile, the long dark lashes, a sharp nose and half open reddened lips. He also notes the curiously pointy ears and a dangling golden earring. A cross, or is it a star? Edwin isn't sure. 

He is, undoubtedly, incredibly handsome. 

The thought assaults him so suddenly Edwin has no time to crush it before it's fully formed. He looks away, ashamed. 

It's a testament to how truly hopeless he is that not even captivity managed to stop his brain from having such improper thoughts. 

“I can leave, you know. Don't want you to feel uncomfortable,” the boy says, and he doesn't sound mocking or judgmental. He also appears genuine when Edwin looks at him.

Those brown eyes are fixed on him now and they seem incredibly kind, not just beautiful.

“There's no need. You were here first, after all. It wouldn't be fair.”

He sees the boy mouth the word fair to himself and then rub his face, wiping the tears away with one last sniffle. 

“I should get going anyway, they're ‘bout to read my verdict anytime now.”

Curiosity sparks in Edwin's brain. He knows he shouldn't, that it's none of his business. But even though he's not naive enough to think that you can judge someone's morals by their appearance, he has become incredibly good at detecting potentially dangerous individuals, and this boy does not look like one.

Without thinking much more, he asks.

“Are you worried?”

The boy looks up, with wide surprised eyes. Edwin worries once again that he went too far, that this is not something you're supposed to ask a stranger. 

“Sort of. I mean, can't be worried if I already know what's gonna happen, can I?”

“What do you mean?”

“It's just–” The boy shakes his head, the longer curls that grace his forehead dance along with the movement. “It feels sort of pointless, just a whole lot of wasted money on lawyers, bloodsuckers that they are. I already know we're not gonna win. You know?”

Edwin does know. He's felt the same way at least once every day for the past two years. Every closed door, every fired lawyer, every pound spent and so few results in return. Even now, he could still be told no. He doesn't know what he'll do if that's the case, but he has a strong feeling that it won't be. Not this time around.

“May I ask, why are you so sure that you won't win?”

The boy shrugs and crosses his arms over his chest. At some point he had gotten rid of the cigarette but Edwin must've missed it. 

“They're too powerful, we're too little,” he says dismissively. It only makes Edwin more curious.

“That's incredibly coy.”

The boy laughs. Edwin finds the sound remarkably refreshing. 

“Not tryna be, mate. It's just a lot to explain.”

There's nothing but sincerity and a touch of defeat in the boy's expression, but Edwin can't help feeling chastised.

“Of course, I'm sorry, again, I didn't mean to pry.”

“Nah, it's alright. I just don't wanna upset you.”

There have been times in Edwin's life when he's dared to imagine what it would be like to speak to others with ease, to not experience fear of their rejection, or worse, that they'll use his existence as violent entertainment. During those rare occasions, he's tried reading up on interpersonal communication and how to navigate it. He gave up on this quest eventually but something he does remember is the principle of reciprocity. Maybe if he shares something first he'll receive the same in exchange.

“I have just concluded a two year sentence for my alleged involvement in the death of a classmate,” he blurts out.

The boy's eyes widen and his eyebrows rise high on his forehead.

Edwin rushes ahead. “I received a custodial sentence of one year. I'm not saying this because I am proud, quite the opposite in fact. It's simply so that you know that regardless of how I may appear on the surface, I have seen my fair share of unpleasant things. You don't have to reveal any information you do not wish to, but if it's for my sake that you are keeping quiet, then don't.”

It's the most he's said in a row to anyone other than Miss Knight or a judge in a long, long while. He's surprised to discover how good it feels to hear the sound of his own voice.

It takes only a few seconds for the boy to compose himself. The shock leaves his face and a serious expression takes over in its place.

“Right, I'm sorry about that, mate. That sounds rough.” 

Edwin nods once, not knowing what else to say. It's the first time someone has offered their condolences, and this boy doesn't even know his truth.

“I had some friends, well I guess they weren’t really my friends after all,” the boy says with a grimace. “The details are blurry, but they didn't like some things I did and they chased me down into a lake on the school's grounds. Threw some rocks at me too for good measure.” He says everything in a rush, looking down at his shoes, and Edwin files away every detail. “It was freezing, I almost died. My folks are trying to sue the school but it's not working out, they're covering each other's arses.” 

The information clicks in Edwin's brain at once, all the pieces fitting together. He looks at this boy now and recognizes him for the first time since walking through the yellow door.

“You are Charles Rowland.”

That draws Charles' eyes back to him.

“Hold on. How do you know that?” He then groans. “Don't tell me I'm famous now or something.”

“No. Or, I don't know if you are,” Edwin admits. “But I have personally read about your case, as part of my own research.”

Reading is something Edwin's always favoured above almost every other activity. In his attempt to free himself of an unjust conviction, he's read more than ever. His detective stories had been almost completely replaced by legal documents and accounts of cases similar to his. Charles Rowland's was one he didn't dedicate much time to, as it had not yet been concluded and therefore there wasn't much information publicly available.

It makes sense now, looking at him, that he was fighting a legal battle with the school.

Edwin remembers the general information. The racially motivated harassment of a Pakistani student had led Charles to confront his friends, who in turn had seriously injured him. Landing him in the hospital for months to come. All under the school's supervision.

Edwin knows now, looking at Charles, that the two of them have more in common than he had originally estimated.

“I went to Saint Hilarion as well. My case took place there, too. I understand how difficult it can be to try to win an argument against the school's administration. It's unfortunate that you're in this position when you had done nothing wrong.” 

An odd expression crosses Charles' eyes and his brow furrows.

“Bloody hell,” he says, pointing at Edwin. “You were with the group that pushed that bloke off the rooftop!”

A shudder runs over Edwin.

“I was not with them, I assure you. It's all just been twisted into something that it wasn't.” The need to defend himself rises in a way he hasn't experienced before. This boy, Charles, had been a victim of a group of cruel bullies, the kind of people Edwin was all too familiar with and at the hands of whom he had suffered tremendously. He would be damned if he let him believe that Edwin was one of them. “But yes, I was there,” he concedes, attempting to calm his tone of voice.

Charles' eyes soften.

“I'm sorry, mate. That whole thing sounded like a proper mess.”

“Yes,” Edwin sighs, feeling the tension slowly starting to leave his body.

Suddenly there's a quiet murmur and an intermittent vibration coming from his pocket.

“Excuse me.” Edwin takes his phone out from the back of his trousers. There's an incoming call from his mother on the small screen. His heart starts pounding inside his chest. He declines the call with a rough click on the button with the faded red icon.

“I'm afraid I will also have to leave now.”

“Yeah, alright.” Charles nods. “I don't know your name yet, by the way.” 

Edwin raises an eyebrow at this comment, and Charles grins in response.

“Just saying, you already know mine, s’only fair you tell me yours, yeah?” He poses himself with his arms crossed, chin up and smiling confidently. 

It's mortifying how charming it looks.

“Fair enough, I suppose. My name is Edwin Payne.”

“Brills,” Charles says, surprising Edwin with the odd turn of phrase. “Love the phone by the way, proper vintage, innit?”

Edwin chooses not to point out that, although he's aware that he's old-fashioned, a mobile phone from the year 2010 is hardly a vintage item.

“I love old stuff, even have a walkman at home,” Charles continues.

Edwin can't help but smile.

“I too, have a preference for things from the past, although I would say I enjoy even older ones, proper vintage, as you call it.”

Charles smiles widely at that. It lights up his whole face and speeds up Edwin's heartbeat. 

“We should exchange numbers! I think we'll get along great, won't we?”

Edwin hesitates, the smile fading. This interaction has gone surprisingly well, but there's no reason to think it would continue to do so outside of this short period of time and specific circumstance.

“I'm afraid I'm not good at keeping up a conversation. I don't really text much,” he hastens to explain, willing himself to not sound unkind. “And like I said, I have just finished my sentence. My social skills are rusty at the very least, you would find I'm not very good with people.”

Even though Edwin has essentially rejected him, Charles's smile does not falter. 

“Well, I'm aces with other people,” he says in another odd turn of phrase. “And it sounds to me that you could use a friend.” 

In that moment, there's something that Edwin cannot describe, an emotion, some sort of certainty that tells him, looking into Charles’ genuine eyes, that it would be safe to trust, just this once. 

Charles, a stranger that feels so familiar, with his bold jewelry and ruined makeup, so apparently different from Edwin's conservative and modest appearance. Both of them meeting right before learning how their lives will change, respectively, for the better or worse.

Maybe Charles is a good omen, maybe he should allow himself just this one temptation.

In the end he leaves with a new name saved to his contacts and a mutual promise to reach out.

Upstairs, the news greets him that finally, after all this pain and perseverance, he is no longer considered guilty of a crime he didn't commit.

No lawyer could prove that Simon and his group of ill-intentioned followers had taken Edwin to the rooftop that night with the goal of “scaring” him. They could not prove that William Cooper only had tumbled to his death because he had been fighting for his turn to torment Edwin next.

They could not prove that Edwin had been the originally intended victim.

However, when his sentence had been delivered two years prior, they had also failed to prove that Edwin had any responsibility in William’s demise. And that had finally been acknowledged. 

At least now his record did not show him as guilty of “manslaughter by an unlawful and dangerous act”, even if he had already unjustly paid the price as if he was. His name would no longer be associated with crime and death, at least not legally, even if the consequences of it would forever follow him.

After the judge reads the final verdict, a heavy weight lifts off of Edwin's shoulders. His mother does not hug him, the way he's seen other families do on these occasions. Instead she exhales with relief and thanks the judge. She turns to Edwin and nods before saying, “Shall we take our leave, then?” and walks out of the courtroom without waiting for an answer. 

Edwin follows her in silence.

In the hallway they run into another family, his new acquaintance among them.

As Charles Rowland walks in his direction, Edwin spots the dark red jacket before he recognizes his face. His expression is sullen and he's hunched over, walking with his hands in the front pockets of his trousers. In front of Charles walks a tall man in an old looking suit, his pace quick and imposing, like each heavy step is meant as a statement. His face is set in a frown.

Behind Charles there's a woman who looks a lot like him, with long brown hair and bright golden jewelry. She looks nervous as she quickens her pace to catch up to Charles.

Edwin assumes that these must be his parents.

It takes a moment for Charles to notice him, but when he does, his expression changes immediately. His sweet brown eyes brighten with a smile and he raises his thumbs at Edwin, who shyly smiles back, amused.

They don't exchange any words when they walk past each other in that green hallway, but their eyes don't let go of each other until it's physically impossible for them not to.

At home Edwin thinks about him all afternoon. He thinks about Charles' smile and his teary eyes and the way he held the cigarette between his index finger and his thumb.

He thinks about Charles when Edwin's father only nods in agreement at hearing that his son no longer has a criminal record. He thinks about Charles' unfounded trust in Edwin's innocence when Mrs. Knight congratulates him for his success. He thinks about Charles' request to become friends when he's left alone in his room on the third floor, with only his books and his studies and no one to celebrate his accomplishment with. 

He eyes his phone, old, not vintage as Charles had called it, but definitely outdated, with black, worn keys instead of a touch screen. Edwin does not like change; the past comforts him. Social media scares him as do most social connections.

Charles Rowland, though, the thought of him proposes an intriguing possibility.

Tentatively, Edwin reaches for the mobile phone. He goes into his contacts and searches for the newest addition. It doesn't take long, there are barely any names there, and alphabetically the letter C is remarkably easy to find. 

Before he can give himself enough time to second-guess, he types a simple message:

“Hello, Charles. I hope you are well. This is Edwin. I have just returned home.”

He has to toss the mobile on his bed and turn away from it immediately as a shocking wave of mortification invades him. He stands with his hands covering his eyes. The action makes him feel childish and utterly ridiculous. But the quick beating of his heart inside his chest keeps him there. Standing still.

He doesn't want to check if he received a reply. His phone is muted as usual and he doesn't think he would be able to hear the vibration as it's muffled against the soft bed comforter.

He takes a deep breath and checks anyway.

The beating of his heart takes a sudden jump in speed.

There's a notification on the tiny screen. 

One unread message from Charles Rowland. 

His hand shakes as he taps the screen to reveal the full text.

It reads: 

“Edwin! :D so glad you texted mate

How did it go today??”

Edwin's smile is so wide he thinks it would hurt to keep it on his face for too long. It doesn't go away as he types a response.

“It went well, best possible outcome, actually. The judge approved our appeal. I am happy to report that Edwin Payne is officially an innocent man. I'm finally free of this earthly hell.”

The answering text from Charles comes almost immediately.

“That's brills!!!! I'm so happy for you :D congrats you deserve it mate!”

It is only now after sharing the news with Charles that Edwin finally feels the full emotion of his triumph. Having someone validate it, be glad for him, settles the restless part of his brain that would not let him accept this victory. The part of him that got used to fighting back without ever taking a break because he couldn't afford to stop.

“Thank you, Charles, I am very pleased as well.”

He wonders about the etiquette involved in this format of communication for a moment before he dares to send a second message.

“May I ask, how did your case go? Should I be happy for you as well?”

This time the answer takes longer to arrive. Edwin paces his room anxiously for several minutes. He puts the phone down on his desk and takes it again several times before there's any new notification on it. 

He's starting to worry he somehow managed to do something wrong when there's a reply.

“Nah mate no luck for me I'm afraid

Today was a bust

We're not winning that lawsuit”

Edwin's heart aches for Charles. The sight of his teary face is summoned from his memory. He can only hope that his new friend isn't in too much pain.

“I'm deeply sorry to learn that. Will you be trying again?”

The phone buzzes in his hand.

“No money left for lawyers

Today was my last chance”

This information fills Edwin with an unexplainable mixture of feelings. There's sadness, so acute that it's almost as if the loss had been his. But then there's anger. Edwin feels a sudden, unrestrained anger at the inconceivable injustice of Charles' pain not being acknowledged, for the culprits, all of them, to not be held accountable.

The emotions are so overwhelming he has to take a moment just to assimilate them.

Edwin stares at the message on his phone, can't stop looking at it, wondering what he can even say to make this better for Charles. What could he offer?

Today was my last chance

And Charles already knew he wouldn't succeed. He had been grieving even before being dismissed.

In the end Edwin doesn't get to come up with words of consolation before Charles is sending another text.

“It's alright! Didn't mean to bring the mood down

I'm pretty chuffed about your thing tho

How're you gonna celebrate it?”

Edwin's hands tighten around the phone. Somehow he knows exactly what to say now. He types as fast as he can without making any grammatical errors.

“Charles, I promise I am more than capable of empathizing with you while also being relieved about my own personal success. You don't need to keep it to yourself if you're upset or disappointed at the results. 

As for my celebratory plans, I don't actually know. For the moment I am merely glad that this matter is finally resolved.”

He re-reads his words a couple of times before receiving a response. He had tried to be supportive of Charles, but now he worries he might've come off as chastising. At least Charles doesn't get to see the tension in Edwin's body this way.

“Edwin mate you HAVE to do something! 

You can't just sit there and be glad

This is a huge win!!!”

Edwin sighs at the response and smiles despite himself. He also notes Charles' decision to ignore the first part of Edwin's message.

Following along, he texts back:

“What do you propose I do, then? I'm afraid my family is all too ready to move on and are in no mood for celebrations.”

A buzz

“Tell you what

Let's meet somewhere

tell me what sort of thing you like

I'll celebrate with you”

Edwin's poor heart must be about to stage a coup against him with how many emotions he's been putting it through in such a short period of time. For the moment, it beats inside his chest at a violent pace.

“Charles, I could never ask you for such a favor.”

“Good thing you're not asking then yeah? I'm offering :)”

He can't help but wonder if this is normal behavior for someone who he just met, to be offering to take him somewhere like friends. Unless he's somehow misunderstanding Charles' intentions, but he doesn't think that he is. 

At the end Edwin agrees to Charles' offer. It hardly feels like he has any other choice. 

After that, a confusing, unexpected series of events take place.

Going to bed, giddy with joyous anxiety knowing that soon he'll be seeing his new friend.

Meeting Charles at the station and being hugged as if they've known each other for years sends a pleasant shock through Edwin's body. It's so unlike him to be this happy to be touched.

There's also Charles' undeniable joy for Edwin, clear as day on his smiling face. He has noticed that when Charles smiles, he does so with his entire being. His eyes light up, sometimes his ears twitch a little, even his earring seems to gleam brighter, as impossible as that is. 

At Edwin's failure to communicate his preferences for ways to celebrate, Charles gets to choose for them, and he chooses novelty. With every new face, every different type of food, every different park bench and tree that Charles shows him, Edwin discovers that there's an entire side of London that he has somehow never seen or known about.

When the day ends, Edwin's feeling lighter than he has in–well, he can't remember if he ever felt quite this free, before.

Parting from Charles shouldn't have been as difficult as it feels. Fortunately, the meetings continue and so do the text messages. 

Edwin gets used to seeing Charles at least once every week and their conversations are daily. But they always stick to the text format.

The first time his phone rings with a call from Charles, Edwin audibly gasps. He's sitting at his desk, reading through his notes about prospective universities when Charles' contact name appears on his screen. He looks at it dumbly for a moment, before scrambling to accept the incoming call.

“Hello?” He curses internally at how high-pitched his voice sounds.

“Hey, mate. Sorry to call you without a warning. Hope this isn't a bad time.” There's background noise coming from Charles' end and he sounds a bit distant.

“It's quite alright, I'm not doing anything at the the moment,” he reassures Charles, closing his notebook and putting it aside. “I'm merely surprised. You don't usually call.”

He hears Charles chuckle.

“Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. I can't be making that much noise at the house.” Charles seems to sniffle before continuing. “But that doesn't matter much now. And I wanted to hear you.”

Edwin's right hand tightens around the phone pressed against his ear. He looks outside his window, night has just fallen and the gardener is leaving through the service door, beginning to walk through the Payne’s ample yard towards the tall fence that leads out into the sidewalk. 

“Are you sure you're alright to talk? I didn't mean to bother you. Kinda just called you without thinking.” Charles says and Edwin realizes that he's been silent for too long.

“Of course, Charles, whatever you need.” Edwin thinks about the surprisingly small number of messages he's received from Charles today and decides to ask. “Tell me about your day, you’ve been rather quiet.”

“Not great, just-” There's a loud honk that makes Edwin instinctively pull away from the receiver. It sounds suspiciously like that of a car. “Fuck, umm. It's just not been a good day for me.”

“Charles, are you outside? On the street?”

“Yeah, couldn't be at home, my dad's being-” He cuts himself off and Edwin hears him saying something away from the phone. “Anyways, I just needed to take a walk, that's all.”

Worry starts pooling in Edwin's stomach. He can't make out all of Charles' words or what he's even trying to say. 

Almost as if he can sense his concern, Charles begins speaking in a rush.

“Don't worry about it, yeah?” He sniffles again and then coughs once. “It's all good, why don't you tell me what you were doing when I called, hm?”

Edwin frowns and looks down at the discarded notebook and the pamphlets spread across the desk. 

“I was looking through my notes, now that my chances are not as limited as they used to be. My parents are urging me to continue my education.”

“That's brills, you should do that.” There's a short pause where Edwin can hear Charles' footsteps. The noise has considerably diminished. “You're right smart, Edwin. I bet you could be anything you wanted.”

There's a sad cadence to Charles' tone. Edwin doesn't like it one bit.

“Charles, are you sure you're alright?”

There's a deep sigh on the other side of the line. The footsteps stop now as well. Edwin's worry only grows.

“I don't know.” It comes through as a quiet admission, barely audible but loud enough for Edwin to hear that Charles is choked up. “Do you think I can-” He cuts himself off again. “Can I come over?”

Edwin doesn't have time to even process the request before Charles is speaking again. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called.”

“No!” Edwin says, louder than he'd planned. “Charles, please wait. Yes, you can come, of course you can.”

“Are you sure? What about your folks?”

“My parents aren't here tonight. And regardless, I'm positive they wouldn't notice you either way.” He stands up, infused with the energy from a new purpose. “Are you far?” It would be more complicated, but Edwin thinks he can call in a favor from their second driver to go fetch Charles, if needed.

“Nah, I've been walking for a while, I can make it.”

Edwin doesn't know if he wants to know exactly what a while means.

“I can be there in 20 minutes, probably.”

“Good, I'll open the service door for you. I can see it from my bedroom window.”

In the end Charles takes around half an hour to get to the house. For all the times he's accompanied Edwin home, this is the first that Charles actually walks inside.

Edwin leads him up to his bedroom. All the way there, Charles' eyes wander around, wide and gleaming with the light from the chandeliers. 

Once they're safely locked away, Edwin takes the time to properly look at him. 

Charles is still wearing the school's uniform, minus the gray coat, and he's got his tennis shoes on, the ones he wears to play cricket. Edwin knows he hasn't been with the team since his incident.

More importantly, he's got a look in his eyes that's reminiscent of the day they met. Charles' lovely caramel eyes are glistening with tears that are no longer falling, but the stained tracks on his cheeks show that not long ago they had. He's hunched over, his hands holding onto his biceps protectively as he looks around Edwin's room, hugging himself.

They stand there in silence, Edwin's heart aching and his mind rushing to find the right words.

Charles clears his throat.

“Right, sorry again for this.” Charles smiles tightly, looking anywhere but Edwin's face. “Dunno why I asked to come here, if I'm honest.”

“I'm guessing because you did not want to go home?” Edwin ventures.

“Yeah, right.” Charles' eyes shyly meet his, then. “Didn't have to make it your problem, though, did I?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Edwin rushes to say, baffled by the mere implication. “I assure you Charles, it is no problem at all. I could very well use the company, seeing that there is no one else here.” He gestures around at the quiet house.

Charles' smile becomes less strained. “Yeah, about that, you weren't kidding, it's a nice house.” Both of them chuckle. “It's um, big.”

“Yes, quite.” Edwin smiles, feeling the tension slowly starting to fade.

It had come up several times in conversation that Edwin's family was in possession of a good number of impressive assets. Financially, they were pretty well off, he was aware. It pained him more often than not that he couldn't use his parents’ wealth to help Charles. Not that Charles would accept it, of course.

“Come on, show me those posh schools you're planning to ditch me for.”

“Charles, I am not ditching you for anything,” Edwin says fondly, already walking to his desk to show him.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, mate.” Casually, Charles sits on the edge of the desk, facing  where Edwin sits. He thinks that, if it had been anybody else, he might've told them off for their lack of manners and care for such an old and valuable piece of furniture. Of course, as it is Charles, Edwin can only find it charming.

“Are you going to Oxford, then?” Charles inquires, leaning over Edwin's notes.

“I haven't decided.” Edwin concedes, starting to flip through the notebook’s pages.

“Well, is there anything you want to do? Wanna be like a proper intellectual, or a lawyer?” Charles raises an eyebrow and Edwin can't help but smirk at him.

Charles' dislike for that particular career path is no secret. He uses any chance he gets to speak badly of them. Edwin can't say he blames him, given his past experiences with the law.

 “I think that I would like to study medicine, actually.”

Charles' eyes widen slightly and he whistles appreciatively.

It's Edwin's turn to raise an eyebrow at him. “Should I take that as approval, then?”

“Hell yeah, mate. That's the perfect job for you.” Charles says excitedly. “You're just the right kind of smart for that. Bet you'll be great at it.”

Edwin smiles and looks down bashfully.

Not even his own parents would be this pleased to know about his career dreams, he thinks. Which fits just fine, not even their praise could be as gratifying as Charles'.

“You know,” Charles starts, his eyes looking away somewhere over Edwin's shoulder, unfocused and distant. “My mum used to be a nurse, years ago. She told me all about that.”

“Used to?” Edwin watches the smile falter on his face.

“Yeah, had to quit. My dad didn't like her working that many hours. Said she had to be taking care of me or something.”

For a minute the air sours again.

Not for the first time since becoming friends with Charles, Edwin wonders about his home life. He always talks so fondly of his mother, mentions the films she enjoys, the clothes she's helped him patch, his favorite foods that are all made by her loving hands. But Mr. Rowland is rarely mentioned, and when Charles does bring him up, it's always laced with tension.

Tonight, it seems that his father is the reason that Charles can't be at home.

Suddenly Charles laughs. Edwin frowns at him.

“What is so funny?”

“Nothing. Well, I just pictured you wearing one of those white coats.” Charles is smiling again now. From his position on the desk he manages to bump Edwin's shoulder. “You'd look brills, so respectable.”

Edwin can feel the mortifying blush heating up the back of his neck. He hopes that Charles can't see it.

“Oh, bollocks. Edwin, mate, I'm sorry but I just realized. Doctor Payne sounds terrifying.”

Startled, Edwin huffs in mock offense. He hadn't considered it before but he has to admit it does sound rather ridiculous.

“I thought you had said this was the perfect career for me, Charles.”

“Yeah, well, didn't say anything about your name, now, did I?”

They both share a chuckle that progressively turns into uncontrollable laughter. By the time they're done, they're gasping for breath, Edwin's stomach hurts, and Charles has almost fallen off the desk at least twice–which had prompted them to laugh even harder.

Charles spends the night at the Payne manor. He borrows a set of Edwin's pajamas and, finally, the size of the bed becomes useful, instead of just making Edwin feel like he's floating in an endless sea. 

Charles leaves in the early morning after chatting on the phone with his mother, who sounded justified in her hysteria after not hearing from her son for an entire night.

It becomes a habit after that.

Sometimes they plan it beforehand, timed so that Edwin's parents aren't home. Not because they would be against it, necessarily, but because Edwin wants to spare Charles the encounter. But more often than not, he only gets a call or a text and next thing he knows he's opening the gates for Charles. 

He doesn't always show up crying. In fact, that is a rare event, but Edwin can recognize the look of someone who's running away on his best friend's face.

Still, he chooses to respect Charles' desire to not speak about it.

For the most part their encounters consist of going places Edwin's never been to before, while Charles laughs about all the foods he doesn't know how to eat. When Charles stays over, Edwin helps him with his studies, an area that has been severely impacted by Charles' less than ideal circumstances at school.

Mostly though, they just tell each other stories, sit in comfortable silence in Edwin's room or run around the yard, playing with the gardener’s dog.

With each moment, Edwin lets himself dream of a future ahead with Charles as his friend.

Being optimistic has never felt so easy.