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Edwin didn’t know why he had even agreed to this farce. Why bother spending money and effort on a costume one would only wear for one night, then engaging in a quite frankly reckless amount of recreational drinking, all to wake up the next morning with coursework deadlines looming, a hangover knocking at the door, and the remnants of dried paint, fake blood, and cottony fake spiderwebs still clinging to one’s hair?
That was to say, Edwin’s response to Simon’s invitation three weeks before had been a resounding no, only for Simon to attempt several times to wheedle him into coming along with him and his friends to the city’s Gorefest the night of Halloween. Edwin had finally given in when Simon promised he wouldn’t pressure Edwin to drink, and he’d make sure none of the other boys would, either. Edwin still would have preferred a quiet night in with a good book and perhaps some discount Halloween chocolate, but he had put on his bravest face and agreed to come.
He wasn’t in costume—or rather, he hadn’t planned a costume, but Simon had taken one look at Edwin five minutes before leaving, bemoaned his lack of creativity, and then hurriedly dripped fake blood down the side of his face. “You can be a murdered librarian or something. The sweater vest definitely fits.”
The fake blood was tacky and smelled strongly of peppermint, but that was hardly the most overwhelming thing about the event Edwin had found himself in the middle of. Every student in the city seemed to be present, all of them loud, dressed up, and bedecked in the glowsticks that were being handed out at the doors. Simon had chained a few together and looped them around Edwin’s neck, a neon collar that threw soft shadows up across his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose.
“Don’t get lost,” Simon joked, and then they were immediately swept up in the crowd of partiers. The venue was outside, so at least there was no risk of the air getting stuffy, and the press of the crowd on all sides combined with Edwin’s sensible clothing meant he wasn’t likely to get too cold. The noise, however, was another issue entirely. “Come on,” Simon said, taking his hand and pulling him along in his wake, leaving Edwin with no choice but to follow.
Simon led them away from the worst of it—once they were away from the food and drink stands it got less rowdy. To the left was the fairgrounds—rides that promised to make Edwin sick—and to the right was the entrance to the haunted maze, into which Edwin saw more than a few couples disappear giggling. Faint screams and shrill yelps filled the air, punctuated by laughter.
“Want to go in?” Simon asked, tilting his head to the right. “I know you hate all the fast stuff.”
“I am not certain I enjoy the slow stuff either,” Edwin replied, but let himself be pulled along into the maze. He quite enjoyed puzzles, and this was simply a larger version of one, wasn’t it?
He quickly discovered he was wrong. From above, a maze looked simple, the winding path from A to B clear with only a few seconds of study. From within, Edwin immediately lost all sense of direction. Every turn looked the same, the scary decorations appearing far too real in the dim light. He found himself clutching Simon’s hand much too hard, and Simon hissed and pulled his hand away.
“Jesus, Ed, you’re gonna break my hand.”
“I apologize,” Edwin gritted out. “Which way—”
Something jumped out of the shadows at them. Edwin shrieked, stumbling backward as his mind tried to make sense of the thing shambling towards them.
“Edwin! It’s just an actor—Edwin!” Simon shouted, but it was too late, because Edwin’s hindbrain had already decided that he had to flee. He tore around corner after corner, desperately scrambling away. He needed out.
He came to a stop at a crossroads, the panic receding somewhat as his head cleared of adrenaline. He was hopelessly lost, and even the moon hanging high in the middle of the sky was no help.
His breath came quickly, too quickly. There was no one else around, and he couldn’t even see the carnival rides through the thick canopy of fake spiderwebs that blanketed this section of the maze.
“Hey mate, you alright?” came a voice from behind him, far too close.
Edwin shrieked again, whirled around, and lashed out wildly with his arm, not even meaning to. It connected with something with a solid crunch, pain shooting up his knuckles to his wrist, and sending him toppling wildly off-balance. There was a cry of pain from the other person—another actor, this one dressed as a zombie, who was clutching his nose, doubled over. Edwin fell backwards, trying to catch himself with his other hand, but landed on it with a sharp snap of pain. His momentum continued and his back hit the cold packed dirt. His head snapped back, striking the ground a second later, and Edwin saw stars besides the ones in the night sky.
“Fuck!” the voice said again, thick with blood. “You alright? You gonna attack me if I help you up?”
Edwin blinked hard to clear his vision. “I’m alright,” he lied, then tried to lever himself up. He gasped as soon as his hand touched the ground, sharp pain shooting through it. It felt not unlike the time in primary school when he’d broken it after being forced to join the other boys for a game of football.
“Hang on, just stay down for a tick, you might have hit your head.” Edwin ignored that and used his good hand to push himself up and lean against the maze wall, finally getting a good look at the other person. He was still cradling his nose with one hand—oh dear, it looked like it might be broken—but his other hand was held out as if to catch Edwin if he fell.
“Your nose,” Edwin said, misery replacing shock as the last of his adrenaline finally flooded out of his body.
“Yeah, you got me good,” the actor replied cheerfully, nasally, as if his costume were not now covered in his own blood in addition to the fake blood. “’M I still bleeding?” He tentatively took a hand away, and another rush of dark liquid streamed down his upper lip.
“That should be looked at,” Edwin said, wishing he knew first aid for a broken nose. “Which way is out?”
“Lost, are you? Not surprised, with how fast you came tearing in,” the actor laughed. “Come on, this way—we can cut through the middle, and we can get your wrist checked out too.” He held out a hand invitingly, and Edwin placed his good hand, knuckles still smarting, into the actor’s. “Promise I’m not actually a zombie—name’s Charles.”
“Yes, I know that,” Edwin said tersely, embarrassed now to be reminded of his frantic flight and subsequent fight. “I apologize. I know you were not trying to scare me, and I deeply regret how I lashed out at you.”
Charles shrugged. “It happens more than you think, honestly. Not the first time someone has gone for the nose, even.” He touched it gingerly, hissing a little. It looked swollen, dark with blood. “I hate to say it, but I don’t think you ought to come back, mate.” He didn’t say it, but Edwin heard the ‘you don’t belong’ anyway.
“I only came because my roommate suggested it,” Edwin explained, as Charles led him behind a false wall. It had been well-hidden by the fake gravestones and cobwebs strung up, but led to a long, narrow passageway that cut straight through the center of the maze. “Believe me, I would much prefer a quiet night and a good book.”
“Yeah? I like comics myself. What about you? Romance, historical drama, mystery? I reckon not horror, no offense.”
Edwin smiled. “You aren’t wrong. I do prefer the mystery genre.”
“Aces. You ever read any Batman? World’s greatest detective?”
“No,” Edwin said. As a child, he used to eye the colorful covers in the bookstores his mother would bring him to, but she had urged him toward reading material more appropriate for his advanced reading level, in her words. “Perhaps you can convince me.”
Charles laughed. “I’ll do you one better—I’ve got loads of issues laying around at home. You can have your pick if you want to borrow any. And I promise they’re not as scary as me.”
“You’re not scary,” Edwin said without thinking.
“You haven’t even seen me out of costume. I could be hideous,” Charles joked. “Actually, probably will be for a fair bit, at least until this heals up.” He gestured to his face, indeed looking worse for wear. Even without the broken nose and the makeup, though, Edwin could tell he had a very handsome sort of face indeed.
“I truly am sorry,” Edwin said again. “Will you let me drive you to A&E? It’s the least I can do.”
“Not with that wrist, you’re not,” Charles said, nodding to it. Edwin glanced down—it was swollen and turning quite an alarming shade of purple. “Looks like a visit for both of us. Bet you wish you’d gone for the book at home tonight.”
Perhaps not, Edwin didn’t say, because then I wouldn’t have met you. It was frightfully forward for someone he’d met only a few minutes ago. “At least it will make a good story,” he said instead, as they reached the end of the long passageway. The noises of the fair were at full volume again.
Charles reached out and unhooked a hidden latch in the corner of the shrubbery, and a gate swung open to reveal the entrance to the maze and the seated ticket taker. “Crystal, we had an incident in the maze. Would you tell Tom that I’ve got to get a guest to A&E?” he called, helping Edwin out of the maze and latching the gate behind them.
“Charles, this is like the fourth ‘incident’ you’ve had. If you want to make out with girls do it on your break like everyone else,” Crystal said, then turned around and did a double-take. “Wow, never mind, what the fuck happened?” she asked, taking them both in. Edwin was sure Charles wasn’t the only one who looked a fright.
“I’ll fill out the incident report when I get back,” Charles said. “He’s hurt, though, and we should go.”
“Uh huh. I’m calling an ambulance,” she said, and proceeded to dial 999 despite Charles protesting that nobody needed one. Then she made them both sit down in the tiny break area off to the side while she fetched ice from the drink cart, calling another fair worker over to take tickets in the meantime.
“I’m sorry for the fuss,” Edwin said, cradling his wrist to his chest. It really was throbbing now. He hoped Simon made it out of the maze—he’d taken his mobile out of his back pocket with the intent to call him, but the screen was cracked and it wouldn’t turn on.
“You keep apologizing, then I’m gonna have to actually blame you, and I don’t want to do that, yeah?” Charles said easily. “You were scared, and I should know better than to get too close to guests who are freaking out.”
“But your poor nose,” Edwin said miserably. Even Charles’ eyes were puffing up, getting dark circles underneath like a boxer who’d gone too many rounds.
Crystal returned then, holding out two bags of shaved ice. Charles eyed it distastefully, but took it and pressed it to his face anyway, sucking in a breath through his teeth at the cold. “The ambulance is like two minutes away,” she said. “And I told Thomas what happened, including that you probably have a broken nose, so don’t even try to lie on the report. He already said you’re off the schedule tomorrow and Saturday.”
“Crys! It’s not like I broke my leg again,” he objected. “I can still do the job.”
“Dude, even a toddler wouldn’t take you seriously with a face like that. You look like you lost a fight with the floor.” She turned to Edwin, appraising him. “Here. Put that on your wrist, and I swear to God, don’t try and act macho about it.”
“Thank you,” he said meekly, taking the ice and wrapping it around his wrist. The cold did sting, but soon grew into a blessed kind of numbness that quietened the worst of the throbbing.
The ambulance arrived shortly, and though Edwin would have preferred to simply go home and deal with his wrist in the morning, he found himself ferried inside after Charles and shuttled off to A&E. Then followed several hours of waiting as the worse cases were treated first—Edwin did not envy the young man who had shot a nail gun through his palm trying to hang up early Christmas decorations—while he and Charles played increasingly ridiculous games of I Spy as the hours grew late and then early.
They took Edwin back first, and the doctor sent him for an X-ray and, eventually, a cast when it was discovered that his wrist was indeed broken, and not even cleanly. Edwin despaired for his future penmanship when they started to throw words like physical therapy around. They sent him off with a prescription for painkillers and instructions to come back in six weeks.
It was just gone four in the morning when Edwin was released, and he lingered in the lobby until Charles came loping out half an hour later. “You’re still here!” he said delightedly when he caught sight of Edwin, waving conspicuously with his neon green cast. “Need a ride home?”
“You didn’t drive,” Edwin asked, puzzled. “We both came in the same ambulance.”
“Nah, but I saw your phone was dust and called Crystal. She’s picking me up—ooh, we could go for breakfast?”
“You are unbelievably chipper for someone with a broken nose at four o’clock in the morning.”
“Oh, it’s not broken, actually! Just badly bruised. They said the swelling will go down in a few days, but I got the good stuff meanwhile.” He pulled a bottle of acetaminophen out of his pocket and rattled it at Edwin. Edwin, despite himself, laughed. “Anyway, I normally don’t get home ‘til late anyway, and I kind of go nocturnal this time of year anyway. Plenty of time for breakfast before bed.”
Edwin did still yearn to climb into his bed, lulled to sleep by the siren song of prescription-strength painkillers, but the larger part of him didn’t want to end his time with Charles yet. Besides, it was technically Sunday by now, and Sunday morning was a perfectly respectable time to go to brunch with friends.
“I suppose I could come. But only if you let me buy your meal, as an apology.”
Charles thrust out his hand. “You drive a hard bargain. Deal.”
Edwin shook, his cast bobbing up and down, and felt the start of something wonderful taking place.