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Charles didn’t have a name to explain the discomfort in his body. He was a ghost, and as Edwin often liked to remind him, they were afforded the small luxuries of not having to deal with human inconveniences like nausea and vertigo.
So, that left Charles at a standstill; why did his stomach twist every time he saw Edwin and Monty close together, heads leaned over one of the latter’s astrology books, on the street in Port Townsend?
Monty, in himself, was tolerable. Charles would go as far as to say that he was nice. He was a new friend of Edwin’s, someone he had met while on a trip to the library. The two of them were back in town visiting Crystal and Niko while the girls were finalising important things like international moving companies and visas. Honestly, Charles had just said they could move into the Agency’s office, but his three mates had just stared at him.
Charles couldn’t help but feel guilty about it, too. His best mate had not only come out to him after who knows how many years of repression and internalised homophobia, but had confessed his love for Charles on the steps of Hell.
He had even considered Charles’ feelings in the whole matter. ”You do not have to feel the same”, as if it wasn't Edwin’s whole moment. And here Charles was… What? Feeling uncomfortable at the idea of Edwin with a boy?
He couldn’t be! He couldn’t do that. Not to anyone, but certainly not to Edwin.
Sure, he hadn’t really taken a proper moment to think over what the rest meant, but in his defence, there hadn’t been time. What with helping Crystal, Niko, and even Jenny, close up shop in Port Townsend to find somewhere in London. They were all going to be together, like a family. And didn’t that make Charles’ heart twist even more? He hadn’t thought that he would have one, not outside whatever he had forged with Edwin all those years ago, in the cold dark of that attic, but he wouldn’t change it for the world.
He couldn't fuck it up; he couldn't risk ruining it all with his… sickness.
Charles took a breath. He had to fix it.
After a long day of helping Niko pack—and, really, just how many of those bloody manga books did she own?!—Charles stepped through the mirror in the corner of the girl’s room and back into the London office, ready to flop down on the couch. The couch where he could relax, the couch where he could have Edwin read to him, the couch where…
…Where he found Edwin and Monty crowded together, their heads bowed and touched, shy smiles on their faces as they seemed to exchange furtive looks about the stupid bloody star signs that lined the pages of the large tome that Monty no doubt had brought for Edwin. Charles narrowed his eyes and then scanned Edwin for any signs that the two had been up to more than just reading.
Not that—Not that, if Edwin wanted to, Charles had any issue with his best mate kissing boys. It was just… That’s their couch, innit? Who would want their best mate and their best mate’s, what, boyfriend(?) making out on the couch that you shared?
It was just about the principal, dammit! Charles told himself, but it wasn’t a good enough excuse for what happened next.
The sight of the two boys so close together had Charles turning corporeal. He bashed into the corner of Edwin’s desk in a fumbled mistake of the distracted nature, and at the disgruntled noise of his lack of spacial awareness, Edwin and Monty’s heads snapped upwards (since when were they so in sync, anyway? That was his and Edwin’s thing!).
A wave of thoughts crashed through Charles’ mind as he was drawn back to the idea of Edwin and Monty being…
He cleared his throat, desperately trying to dispel the image that his mind unfavourably conjured for him.
“Charles?” Edwin’s perfect and prim voice asked, laced with genuine concern and care. That, at least, wasn’t going to change now that he found someone else, Charles noted. “Is everything alright? I thought you were still helping Niko and Crystal.”
The younger ghost let his signature smile cross his face—there was no need to cause any alarm. Charles just needed some time to work out why, if ghosts could not be sick, there was an insuppressible bout of bile that churned in his stomach.
“All’s good, mate,” replied Charles easily. He feigned nonchalance as he leaned against Edwin’s desk, though his smile never quite reached his eyes. “But Niko’s got a raging addiction to those Japanese comics of hers. I swear we packed up, like, six boxes.”
“Yes, well, Niko is quite fond of her manga,” corrected Edwin like Charles knew he would. It quelled some of that ugly feeling in his chest. “I am surprised that you managed to fit it all in six boxes.”
“You think we’re done?”
That elicited a short, but genuine, laugh from Edwin, and Charles felt his smile grow. He had almost forgotten that Monty was there until the boy in question cleared his throat and rose from the seat he’d taken on Charles and Edwin’s—the Agency’s couch.
“I, uh, I should probably get back,” Monty said, an awkward expression on his face. He looked down at Edwin with something fonder, then accepted the book that the ghost returned to him. “But I’ll make sure to have that reading for you tomorrow, Edwin.”
“You do not have to.” Charles watched as Edwin tried to deny the boy’s offer, but it seemed that it was going to happen regardless. Monty’s tone brooked no argument, and he nodded firmly at the Edwardian before he offered Charles a friendly parting of his own before he stepped aside and disappeared in a cloud of smoke.
Stupid fancy bird magic, Charles thought bitterly.
“Are you sure everything is quite alright, Charles?” Edwin’s voice sliced through the bitterness with its tenderness, and Charles felt his phantom heart squeeze. Edwin was looking up at him from the couch, his green eyes shone with concern, and Charles thought, for a moment, that he might pass out.
Blinking away the confusing haze and mess of thoughts that swarmed Charles’ mind, he pulled out another one of those smiles and then sauntered over to the couch. He collapsed in his typical spot on the right-hand side, his back leaning against the cushion and armrest, while he swung his legs over Edwin’s the way he always did.
Edwin raised an eyebrow but did not comment. Instead, he settled back against the couch, too, and let his hand rest gently atop Charles’ shin. “I apologise for not letting you know Monty was to be here. It wasn’t planned. He simply wanted to show me his new book on astronomy. We lost track of time.”
“Nah, it’s aces,” said Charles through a forced smile. God, the sick feeling returned full force, and Charles hated that he felt it. “It’s good that you’ve got a friend, Eds. He just better not become your new best mate, or I might just have to fight the crow.”
Edwin’s eyes softened and so did his face. He gave Charles’ shin a gentle squeeze of affection, and his voice dropped lower as he murmured, “No one could replace you, Charles. You are far too important to me.”
Nope. Not crying, Charles thought sharply as he sucked in a breath. He blinked once, then twice, then let his body deflate. He reached over, patting the hand on his leg with affection, then replied, “You’re important too, yeah? Don’t forget that.”
The smile that Edwin returned made the moment leading up to it worth it, Charles decided.
“Now. I think you were readin’ me Max Carrados, weren’t you?” The question was coy and it had Edwin rolling his eyes in faux-exasperation. He never found it a chore to read to Charles, and he reached for the novel that was perched on the side table.
Soon, Edwin regaled The Last Exploit of Harry the Actor to Charles as the young ghost curled on his side, letting the mellifluous voice of his companion wash over him. His eyes closed, and Charles felt content.
He hadn’t meant to disrupt. Or pry. Or spy.
Charles knew his nature as a detective, but when people wanted privacy, he was more than happy to give it to them. It was just a little hard to realise when people want privacy when you were halfway through stepping through a mirror, wasn’t it?
He had been right; it wasn’t six boxes. It was nine. Poor sods who had to get those in the back of the moving van and then on the plane, Charles bemused. Even though he wasn’t really in pain, he still cracked his back and stretched like he would have done were he alive. Lugging boxes of manga can ruin one’s posture, Charles was certain.
It was because he was so distracted by the phantom ache that he felt in his back that he hadn’t realised what was happening at first. When he finally stopped trying to crack his limbs and raised his gaze across the office, ready to finish more of Max Carrados, Charles froze.
Monty was there. Again. Only this time, he was pressed up against Edwin. A hand rested on the ghost’s shoulder (and, hey, again, that was Charles’ thing!), and the long-haired boy was pressing his lips against Edwin’s. It didn’t seem rushed, or frantic. In fact, Charles thought it looked rather tender and loving, and—
Oh, God, he was going to be sick.
He was going to be the first recorded case of ghost sickness ever, and Edwin would want to write it down and experiment, maybe work out the cause, and Charles would have to—he would have to tell Edwin why and then he would be hurt, all because of Charles, because he was—
He stumbled back through the mirror before either of the boys knew he was there.
Dazed, Charles wandered into Crystal’s temporary place above Jenny’s and sat on the sofa. He was confused and hurt and had a strangely guilty feeling buried somewhere deep in his abdomen.
He lived through the eighties for God’s sake! He’d seen gayer things than two boys kissing!
Charles had been mesmerised the first time he’d seen a drag queen in his hometown. He’d stared, jaw dropped, and then quickly had to avoid the ire of his dad. But the image of the open queerness had stuck with Charles for a long time afterwards.
He didn’t understand. Why did that leave a current Charles completely different to a young Charles blown away by someone so open and free? Why did the knowledge that Edwin and Monty were most definitely kissing and holding hands make his stomach twist into knots?
He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes as he fought off the images that his mind conjured. He couldn't get rid of the sight of Monty and Edwin together, pressed close and practically intertwined.
“Trust you to come and help when all the heavy lifting’s over.” Crystal’s voice cut through Charles’ inner turmoil and his head shot upwards. The girl was looking at him with a raised eyebrow and a hand on her hip.
It was then that Charles remembered the whole packing up and moving across the world situation that Crystal, Niko, and Jenny had going on. He blinked, eyeing up the boxes and bags, then looked back at Crystal.
His face must have been in a frightful state, because any humour immediately dropped from Crystal’s, and she approached him slowly.
“Is everything okay?” She asked gently. To try not to put too much pressure on the ghost, Crystal returned to her task of bubble-wrapping the small collection of trinkets and other breakable items she had amassed in her short time in Port Townsend with Niko.
Charles remained silent and his eyes tracked her movements. How was he supposed to tell her? How was he supposed to look at any of his friends again once they knew? It made him feel deplorable, and small, and Charles wanted to disappear completely.
“I… I need to speak to you.”
Crystal nodded when she saw that this was something that was seriously stressing Charles out. She paused in her packing to sit on one of the closed and packed-up boxes, leaning forward on her knees to give Charles her full attention.
He spoke, quiet and tentative, and he could not look Crystal in the eye once as he retold her everything that had happened.
She took a breath, nodding again, and then tilted her head in thought. “You’re saying you feel… bad at the fact Edwin’s going off with Monty?”
Charles nodded his assent—that was a lacklustre synopsis of the story that he’d told Crystal, but at least she was trying her best to help him understand what was going on.
A hum of consideration left Crystal’s throat as she seemed to ponder, and then she looked over at Charles with an indecipherable expression etched on her face. He had to stop himself from gulping.
“I mean, it has to be—” Charles cut himself off, too terrified and disgusted with himself to say it out loud. “Right?”
The look that Crystal was giving him morphed into something softer, maybe pitiful. God, it couldn’t be sympathy, not with what Charles was! Crystal smiled, then bobbed her head gently. “Yeah. Right.”
Charles swallowed.
He was so fucked.
Monty hadn’t spent much time at the office lately.
Charles felt that familiar resurgence of guilt as it ate away at his stomach lining. It was his fault, wasn’t it? He was the reason that Edwin’s… friend wasn’t spending time with him anymore. Oh, God. He was the worst best mate.
Crystal might not have said those words to him, but she hadn’t needed to. Once she’d listened to him and Charles had figured it all out, they were an unspoken truth. Charles Rowland, Edwin Payne’s best friend and partner of thirty-five years, was a terrible person.
He had always thought himself supportive. Charles had encouraged Crystal when the girl had been looking to ask Niko out, and he’d even taken them both out to celebrate when they had finally got together. Had he been the same back then, too? Was he secretly just an awful human being all around?
He furrowed his eyebrows, trying to recall the day that Crystal and Niko had confirmed their relationship to the two boys. Edwin had given that tight-lipped smile that he always used around Crystal, but it had given way to something warmer and more true the moment that Niko had prodded him and wrapped her arms around him koala-style.
Charles hadn’t felt sick then. He’d felt a warmth at the smile that coated Edwin’s features, a warmth that had burned brightly in his chest and spread outwards. But that wasn’t… Was it? Had he been as bad to Crystal and Niko as he was to Edwin right now?
“Chaaarles.”
He blinked. He’d been getting too lost in his doom-spiralling thoughts lately. The soft, sing-song call from Niko caused him to look up, that worried look he’d developed due to the memory leaving a frown on his eyebrows.
Niko looked at him with a mirrored expression, her hands loosely holding two copies of… Were those books on discussions of cannibalism? Charles did not want to know. Placing them on top of her rucksack, Niko approached Charles and tilted her head as she regarded him. He had been really helpful the past couple of days, what with packing up her manga collection and also helping her make sure Kingham and Litty were going to be fine to mirror-hop with him when it was time for the flight.
“Yeah, Niko?” Charles asked, a small smile on his face as he looked at his friend. “What’s up? Got another box you need me to shift?”
“You’re upset,” Niko pointed out instead. She approached him and reached for one of his hands. She sat on the floor in front of him, and he shifted on the box. Charles would never know how Niko always seemed to know how they were all feeling; the moment something shifted in any one of them, Niko was there with a determined expression and some sort of trinket for them. Last time, she had given Charles a ceramic frog with a wizard hat. The memory brought a smile to his face.
“Nah.” He tried to reassure her with a shake of his head. Charles swallowed down a lump, then decided to forgo his nervousness to ask Niko what he’d been meaning to for a while. “I just… What does homophobia feel like?”
Of all the things that Niko had expected Charles to say or ask, that was not one of them. Her mouth parted in surprise, and for once it seemed that the white-haired girl didn’t have a response.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean—” Charles cursed at himself. “I just—”
“No, no!” Niko said quickly, shaking her head. She held a hand up to stop Charles’ ramble. Then, she gave him a bright smile, one of those that caused the corners of her eyes to crinkle, and Charles didn’t know what he had done to deserve such kindness. “I think it’s sweet! You want to know for Edwin, right?”
Charles swallowed thickly. He wouldn't exactly call it sweet, but at least Niko was somewhat aware. That might mean she thought he could change. He appreciated the belief, even if he felt like he didn’t deserve it. He had to know. For Edwin.
The squeal that Niko let out didn’t seem all too appropriate for the situation, Charles surmised, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he sat there attentively and listened to what Niko had to say.
“It’s not fun,” said Niko to start with. “A lot of homophobic people are violent. Either physically or verbally, and it’s all rather mean. They say and do things that hurt, like when they push for anti-gay laws or turn up at pride events. Which is stupid, because if you don’t want to see the same gender kissing, don’t go to the place where it's going to be happening.”
Charles couldn’t help as he chuckled along. “Yeah,” He agreed weakly, and nodded again as Niko continued to speak, but his mind was reeling and his ears rang.
Violent, either physically or verbally.
It swirled around his head on repeat, images of his childhood interspersed, and the strongest wave of nausea he’d experienced surged upwards until Charles was positive that he was going to combust.
What if Charles ended up that bad?
After Niko’s, Charles wandered around Port Townsend for hours.
He couldn’t go back to the office. Not yet. He needed to… Charles took a breath and steeled himself.
He wasn’t his father.
He wasn’t going to be his father.
He promised himself that.
He would be better.
“Why are you so… chill about this?” Charles asked, his voice thick with shame. He spared a glance at where Crystal was sitting at her dresser, putting on her makeup for the night out that she and Niko were having as one final goodbye to Port Townsend. His eyes burned as he felt the overwhelming guilt fester in his stomach. “I thought you’d be, you know, pretty disgusted, considering you’re—bisexual?”
“What?” Crystal laughed, shock and confusion rife as she turned to look back at Charles, her mascara in hand. She raised an eyebrow and gave him that look that made Charles feel altogether quite small and a bit dumb. Was Crystal really going to make him say it out loud? He already felt shit enough about it as he was!
“Because I’m… homophobic,” replied Charles eventually. He shifted on her bed uncomfortably, his attention fixed firmly ahead as he stared at the music channel that Crystal put on while getting ready.
The psychic girl paused, her hand lowering from where she had been preparing to put on a second coat of brown mascara. Then, the brush clattered to the dresser top and Crystal whirled around, staring at Charles slack-jawed.
She blinked once. Then twice. Then a third time, and Charles thought he’d really dobbed himself in it now—had Crystal not known? She’d been the one to make him realise it!
The silence dragged for a minute more before Crystal’s brain finally finished rebooting. Shaking her head in disbelief, all she managed to choke out was a surprised, “What?”
Charles frowned, returning Crystal’s disbelief with his own. He tilted his head as he regarded the psychic with his own look of ’Are you being serious right now?’ as he swung his legs over the side of her bed.
“Oi, what do you mean ‘what?’” asked Charles, feeling oddly offended that Crystal wasn’t taking his homophobic-ness seriously. “You’re the one who basically gave me the answer!”
“WHAT?!” Crystal screeched again and stumbled forward towards Charles with a wide-eyed expression with her arms outstretched like she was trying to use her powers to seek out an answer. She paused a few feet from her bed, dumbstruck. “I never said that! Are you insane?”
“Yeah, y’did!” Charles snapped back, throwing his own hands in the air to match Crystal’s frustration. He then gesticulated at her wildly, as if she could have deciphered anything from the strange motions of her friend. “You were all, ‘Right, so you start feelin’ sick when Edwin goes out with Monty?’ and I was like, ‘Yeah, I do, and it sucks’, so you then looked at me like I was bein’ a right ol’ git, and then that’s when I realised I’m homophobic.”
Crystal just stood there, completely and utterly dumbfounded. She couldn’t even say anything; her mouth floundered as she processed what it was Charles was saying. He blinked back up at her, waiting for Crystal to remember it all, but instead, she just glared at him with barely concealed frustration.
“And you call yourself a detective,” She grumbled in a way that Charles thought he wasn’t supposed to hear.
Rude, he thought with a small pout. He might be homophobic, but he was a damn good detective!
Crystal placed her hands together and used them to jab at Charles in pointed motions as she changed her tone to something more… Like she was speaking to a toddler. “Do I really need to explain your own feelings to you, Charles? You’ve had nearly half a century!”
“I asked Niko,” said Charles, ignoring the pissed statements that fell from Crystal’s mouth. He huffed. “’Cause she’s a lesbian and she also knows about this stuff. I asked her what homophobia must feel like and she said that it’s people hating seein’ gay people together, and then I realised that ‘cause I hate seein’ Eds with that bird brain, I’m, like, the definition of homophobia. If Edwin opened up one-a his fancy books about it, you’d probably see my face.”
With a few more blinks, and a couple of breaths to remain composed, Crystal tilted her head back down to send Charles the darkest stare she’d ever given him.
“You,” punctuated Crystal, “are the stupidest fucking person ever.”
Charles’ eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he couldn’t help it when he fired back an “Oi!” as he stood up from Crystal’s bed.
“You’re not homophobic, Charles.” Crystal rolled her eyes as she let her voice drop to something more exasperated. At least she’s stopped being rude, Charles thought, but now she’s just being wrong.
“I am—”
“You’re not,” repeated Crystal firmly. “You’re jealous.”
“Jealous?” Charles couldn’t do anything other than scoff at the ludicrous notion. There was no way that Charles was jealous. Sure, he worried that Monty was going to steal his best mate away, and did he really have to try and hold Edwin’s hand all the time? Edwin didn’t even really like holding hands! It took Charles ten years’ worth of work before Edwin felt comfortable enough to initiate that sort of touch.
“I’m not jealous, Crystal. I could get loads of dates, I’ve been on a couple with ghost girls in the past.”
“Then why aren’t you now?” Crystal asked pointedly, emphasising it with a precariously raised eyebrow. She lowered the both of them back onto her bed, and she gently took one of Charles’ hands in both of her own.
She wet her lips. “You like him.” Crystal’s voice dropped again, this time morphed into something gentle and soft, like Charles were a scared animal. “You like Edwin.”
He—what?
No, he—
Charles didn’t—
His brain short-circuited and Charles fell silent. Crystal just smiled knowingly and let the boy work through his thoughts unprompted.
Soon, the pieces fell together and Charles felt like he did when a case was solved. His stomach swooped as the realisation crashed into him like a freight train, and he was bombarded with a flood of memories shared with Edwin.
The night in the attic might not have been love at first sight, but Charles knew he’d follow that boy anywhere.
How he’d do anything to keep Edwin safe, throwing himself into the fray if that meant whatever entity they were blasting was kept away from his partner. How he loved watching Edwin at the end of the day, handwriting case notes, silhouetted by the moonlight through their office window. How he looked when he let his hair remain in those loose waves instead of styling it perfectly.
Edwin’s smile. His real one, not the one that he often used on clients and people in general; that one was pinned back and restrained. Charles’ cheeks always ached when he returned Edwin’s smile with a blinding grin of his own.
He was smart. Edwin was so, so smart and Charles adored it. He adored watching Edwin in the throes of research, even if Charles sometimes (most of the time) found it boring. Edwin knew. Charles knew he knew. And yet Edwin still would pull the younger ghost to the couch and read through the age-old books the same way he did whenever he read Charles Sherlock Holmes.
How bright, snarky, and wonderful Edwin was, selfless and kind and caring, who spent 70 years tortured at the hands of literal Hell and still came out as the sweet boy that Charles loved.
Oh.
Oh.
Charles loved Edwin.
A type of love that was so ingrained, so intertwined with Charles’ entire being that he never even realised it.
God, had it always been obvious?
His need to have Edwin close at all times, to be touching the other boy in some way, in any way he could. Fingers would brush against shoulder, neck, and hands, and Charles loved it. He loved being able to hold Edwin close, to be able to bury his face in the crook of his neck and be completely consumed by everything Edwin.
“I’m in love with Edwin,” said Charles on an unnecessary breath out. His eyes widened as he admitted it, but it felt so right on his tongue. “I’m in love with Edwin.”
Crystal grinned widely, that bright smile of hers turned onto her friend as she squeezed his hand. “Yeah, you are.”
Charles knew that Crystal said more, that she was still speaking, but his head and ears were ringing. Her voice was drowned out by one constant desire.
He needed Edwin.
The boy shot through Crystal’s full-length mirror without so much as a goodbye, forgetting his rucksack and coat in favour of making it to the office that much quicker.
He landed in his home with a stumble, too amped up with the adrenaline of knowledge that Charles had forgotten to catch himself as he mirror-hopped; his mind too clouded by the thought of Edwin and Monty kissing.
A curl of fire licked at Charles’ stomach, and that time he knew what it was, and could identify the green-eyed monster that grew within him.
Turning his head around sharply, Charles spotted Edwin looking at him curiously from his spot on the couch. The book that he had been reading is held in place by Edwin’s lithe fingers, and Charles quickly realised that the older ghost was dressed down to his shirt.
He swallowed.
“Is everything quite alright, Charles?” Edwin asked as he took a sparkly bookmark (a present from Niko) and placed it between the pages before he looked at his friend with a worried frown. Then, he placed the book down on a side table so that Edwin could give Charles his full attention.
The boy in question was taking some rather dramatic deep breaths as Edwin’s face morphed into some deeper form of concern, and God Charles couldn’t have that, couldn’t have Edwin worrying over him—
“I’m not homophobic!”
Well.
That wasn’t what he wanted to say at all.
Edwin’s face shifted from concern to confusion, and he blinked up at his partner without comprehension.
“I… did not think you were,” replied Edwin slowly, shifting towards the edge of the couch. Had Charles been cursed somehow? Given some strange form of ghost amnesia? Edwin wasn’t sure, and he started contemplating which books he would need to start research with.
“No, mate—Shit, hang on—” Charles clammed up momentarily, staring at Edwin almost fearfully. The latter returned Charles’ look, still confused though there was a bit of fear in his features. What on Earth was wrong with Charles? “I mean, like, I’m not homophobic.”
Edwin blinked slowly. “As you have already said.”
Charles huffed—why was confessing that you’re actually also very much in love with your best mate of thirty years so bloody difficult?
He was lost for words, unable to articulate the swirling mess of thoughts. Did everyone have their same-sex awakening like this? It was too much!
Still, Charles was never one for thinking first, for summoning blissful prose that would make Lord Byron weep. He acted. So, that’s what he did.
He took long strides across the office to stand in front of the couch. Edwin’s head had followed Charles’ movements until it was tilted back, forced to look up at the boy before him.
Charles froze for the briefest moment, completely sideswiped by the beauty he found in Edwin. Those bright, green, doe-eyes staring up at him, and those soft lips drawn into a pensive expression that was just so Edwin that it was all Charles could do to lean down into his space and kiss him.
Surprise garbled out of Edwin rather unbecomingly, but it was then swiftly swallowed by Charles’ mouth.
Charles was then quickly consumed by the realisation that it was incredible.
Edwin’s mouth was soft, and despite the surprise elicited, there wasn’t hesitation in the way that Edwin kissed back. His hands had found purchase on Charles’ biceps, while the younger ghost’s hands had slid to Edwin’s shoulder and jaw. Charles pushed forward further, pulling back half an inch to collect himself before he dove back in.
They moved as one, as they did in everything, and Charles’ body sang at that thought. It made him hum in delight, feeling himself smile against Edwin’s lips, and he couldn’t help himself when his mouth trailed further afield, finding the pale expanse of Edwin’s jaw and neck.
How had he been so oblivious?
Then, after nearly a minute, and despite desperately not wanting to, Charles pulled back just enough to look Edwin in the eyes. There was a shimmer of surprise in those green irises that made Charles’ dead heart squeeze. He adjusted his hold, cupping Edwin’s cheeks as he gently stroked his thumbs along the bones.
“You are the easiest person to love, Eds,” revered Charles softly, his movements never once letting up as he finally sat down opposite his partner on the couch, though he kept his hands on the sides of Edwin’s face like it was something precious. Though to Charles, it was. “And I am the dumbest person for not realising it sooner.”
“…I fear I’m not following,” breathed out Edwin, his eyes blown wide. He swallowed thickly, tracking every one of Charles’ movements, and he wet his lips subconsciously, almost as if he were chasing a lingering taste.
Charles snorted—trust Edwin to be kissed senseless and still be, well, senseless. Smiling softly, Charles leaned in again and pressed a gentle kiss to Edwin’s forehead as his thumbs stroked gently across the other boy’s cheeks.
“I may have just realised that I am in love with you, too,” admitted Charles. Edwin’s eyes widened impossibly further. They could both hear the way his breath hitched in his throat, and Edwin’s hands had tightened around Charles’ biceps involuntarily.
“You—I—” Edwin floundered for some semblance of a cohesive sentence, but he struggled greatly. His chest was tight, a mix between hope and fear, and he desperately did not want this to be a dream. “Charles. You cannot just—Are you serious?”
“The most I’ve ever been, mate,” replied Charles easily, his hands still a gentle yet firm grip around Edwin’s face. He knelt beside his partner, and if his heart were still beating, Charles was sure it’d be drumming a death march by now.
At Edwin’s slight glare at the nickname, Charles winced and leaned down to press another kiss to Edwin’s forehead. “Sorry. Probably not the best time to say that.” He paused. “Can I call you ‘love’?”
Edwin’s mouth floundered again, his mind still seven steps behind Charles’. A minute passed, and then Edwin decided to just nod his head dumbly. Words were a struggle right now, it seemed. Charles couldn't help but laugh gently and then lean forward to bump their noses together.
“Alright,” He said. “Love, you are the most important person in the world to me, and I’m sorry that it took me so long to get here, too, but I’m serious. As serious as The Case of the Dastardly Demon-Hound, yeah?” Edwin snorted and rolled his eyes. Of course Charles would bring up a case in a time like this; especially one they had been bickering over since not long after the Agency had opened. Before Edwin could add his own combatant, Charles moved closer again. “I am in love with you, Edwin, and if we still need forever to figure out what we want that to mean—”
“Charles,” Edwin said, one of those judgemental eyebrows raised precariously. “Do shut up and kiss me again.”
Charles grinned. He moved forward to close the inches between them and pressed their lips back together. He shuffled down the couch, reaching a more comfortable position, and leaned over Edwin with desperate abandon.
Charles did have a name for the discomfort in his body. Only it wasn’t discomfort. It didn’t make him feel sick (”We’re ghosts—” “’We cannot be sick’, yes, yes, I know.”); they were the butterflies that he had been chasing in his life and afterlife, and Charles had found them with Edwin. It ached in his bones, buried itself in the depths of his soul, and thrummed in his veins the way his blood used to.
It was love, and it was beautiful—
“…What does this have to do with you being homophobic?”
Charles pulled away with a snort, his nose burying itself in the space between Edwin’s shoulder and neck. He lingered there, pressing one or two kisses to the patch of skin available just because he could, and his words were a murmur when he responded.
“I’ll tell you some other time.”