Work Text:
Charles emerged on the left bank of the Seine from a mirrored storefront. He spun back towards it and frowned: that wasn’t the antiquarian’s boutique he was looking for. Unfortunately (predictably, a mean little voice whispered at the back of his mind) the fancy calligraphy above the door proclaimed he’d ended up at La Marmite de Marie. Charles didn’t need to speak French to know he’d missed his landing.
A sign was taped on the glass door, sprigs of mistletoe hastily drawn in each corner.
Réveillon de Noël
Le restaurant sera exceptionnellement fermé le 24 décembre
Bonnes fêtes à tous!
Exactly. “Restaurant” was the same in French and in English, so. Wrong place.
Spinning on himself once more with an aggravated sigh, he tried to take heart; at least he recognised the narrow street. The river was right here, the top of its perfectly interspaced lamp posts peaking over the high walls that surrounded it, their soft light diffused in the early evening mist that had started falling down on the city. Tasteful Christmas lights crisscrossed overhead, and a few revellers merrily chatted away as they hurried past, bundled up in their winter clothes.
Charles couldn’t say he shared in the overall joie de vivre at the moment.
He shoved a hand inside a coat pocket, retrieved the piece of paper he was looking for and unfolded it.
He squinted. Was that number 33 or 88? Ugh, he hadn’t been here since April, he couldn’t remember.
And Tragic Mick’s handwriting was atrocious. “The fella you need works there,” he’d said. “He specialises in magic jewelry. Ask for Thierry. He’s a cursed silurus.”
“Right, right. Brills.” Charles had nodded, lips pursed. “A silurus.”
“A kind of catfish.”
“You’re joking? How many cursed sea animals are there?”
Mick had levelled him a bleary look. “A few.” After that, Charles hadn’t asked. He’d simply committed the name to memory and pocketed the address. Thierry. Rue du chien qui baille. Number 33, he was pretty sure.
Somewhere near, Notre Dame’s bells started ringing. Right. No time to waste.
The number above the restaurant said 61, the one on its left said 63. His jaw clenched with resolve, Charles veered to the right. Next year–little more than a week from now–he would start working on improving his mirror travelling skills. Edwin would be thrilled, wouldn’t he. Charles’s loafers echoed against the cobblestones as he raced along the gentle curve of the river.
He only had one shot at this. Christmas only came once a year after all, and he had something to prove. To Edwin, yes, but to himself as well.
With this in mind, he picked up the pace. He ran past number 49, 47, 45, his throat closing up with every dark storefront he saw. He doubled down, though: surely a cursed silurus didn’t celebrate Christmas. When Charles had met Thierry, he hadn’t seemed the type. Stone-faced, taciturn, an extra-thin mustache that reached a little past his jawline. No, surely the antiques shop would still be open. It was only a little past seven in the evening, after all. Charles couldn’t possibly be the only tosser who waited until the last minute to pick up his order.
He really only needed five minutes. Five minutes.
In his defense, he thought as he ran by the mouth-watering offerings of a bustling, brightly lit bakery, the agency had been very busy this past month and he hadn’t had a minute to himself to make the trip.
First there had been the humbling experience of discovering that, despite having dealt with a couple of hell hounds before, capturing one never got easier. Then they had found out that hell hounds made great pets for banshees. Now that had been a surprise. They’d never encountered a banshee before, so it had been a learning moment and a half. The last nail in the proverbial coffin had been Crystal briefly siding with the banshee because the hell hound actually “looked cute, in a horror movie sort of way.” Charles could still hear Edwin’s disbelieving “they are not puppies, Crystal” ringing between his ears.
Was it really a surprise if, faster than Charles could blink, Christmas Eve was upon them? Now he might have to reconsider his plan–might have to cancel–altogether. Bloody hell.
Charles slowed down after he reached number 31, his eyes already searching for the next storefront–
Closed.
“Bollocks!”
Charles hadn’t meant to shout, but it wasn’t like he would dampen anyone’s Christmas spirit, was it?
Closed. Bloody fucking closed.
What was he supposed to do, now? The shop reeked of protective charms, and if he focused hard enough, Charles could even see a couple of them shimmer inside the building. He couldn’t risk tripping any sort of alarm or, even worse, a curse, by entering through a shared wall.
He could always try walking in through the door, couldn’t he? The boring but effective way.
He peered at the lattice pattern of the metal curtain that ran all the way down the shop’s window, looking as old-timey as the items inside. Was it iron? If it wasn’t, maybe he could sneak in, pick up Edwin’s present, and leave through a mirror once he felt up for it. There had to be a mirror in there. What sort of antiquarian didn’t have at least one of those?
Charles rolled his shoulders back, breathed in and out, and approached the shop with a little trepidation and a whole lot of hope. This was going to suck so fucking much. He lifted a hand–
“Buggering bollocks!” he cried, shaking his fingers to dissipate the smoke.
Iron was no joke. It definitely made you feel alive, in the worst possible way. Charles was intimately familiar with that side of things, and even he knew this was going to be horrible. He would have to suck it up if he wanted to push his entire spectral form through the metal.
He could do it. For Edwin, he would.
Just then, a great boom of disembodied laughter exploded from a river boat that was gliding past. The sound ricocheted between the banks, pointed and mocking. Charles scowled. Now that he looked at it, the wooden, obviously vintage Joyeux Noël sign that hung in the antiques shop felt like a bit of a middle finger, too.
“Charles?”
Of course.
Charles hung his head and sighed, eyes shutting tight. But of course Edwin himself would be here to witness this humiliating moment, why wouldn’t he? Charles’s shame might have never reached such heights.
The instinct to turn towards this familiar, melodious voice was ingrained so deep that fighting it didn’t even occur to Charles. Not that he would have, either way. He was like a sunflower, and his sun was Edwin, always.
Edwin stood on the other side of the street, his gloved hands clasped in front of him and haloed in the passing boat’s fairy lights like a proper angel. Charles’s spine tingled. No matter how shitty the situation was, he couldn’t help the wobbly, hopelessly besotted smile that stretched his lips. Crystal always made fun of him for that one. You just had to look at Edwin to understand, though, didn’t you? The liquid eyes, the smooth, pale skin, the elegant posture, and as soon as he opened his mouth, the quick wit, the seemingly endless knowledge… Edwin, Charles found, was quite irresistible.
He couldn’t believe how long it had taken him to finally screw his head on straight and see what had been right in front of the whole time. How he had felt the whole time.
He couldn’t believe he’d messed up so badly now that he couldn't say anything.
“Charles, what are you doing here? In Paris?”
Any other day, Edwin’s complete inability to beat around the bush would’ve made Charles duck his head to hide a delighted grin. Today, though, it only served to remind him of his massive cock-up, and his dumb smile slid right off his face .
“What are you doing here?” he asked, the knee-jerk reaction of someone caught stealing Santa’s biscuits. Then he frowned, “How did you know I was here?”
Because Charles definitely hadn’t told Edwin he was off to bloody France to retrieve his Christmas present. One he had painstakingly researched for and chosen with the help of a cursed silurus Tragic Mick swore knew more about magic jewelry than any other antiquarian in this realm. Charles had wanted something special, something meaningful, and it might have taken nine months but he had found it.
It was just his luck that said walrus apparently happened to celebrate Christmas. What shop closed that early on Christmas Eve anyway? Did that bloke have no business sense?
“We never did lift the tracking spell after Hampstead Heath,” Edwin said, linking his gloved hands in front of him, and Charles could have kicked himself for forgetting about that. How does one forget about the tracking spell that was placed on them? Way to fly under the radar, Charles.
“I forgot about that,” he replied, a beat too late. He was still frozen on the pavement, pinned in place by his best mate’s confused, questioning eyes pinning him in place.
“I am sorry,” Edwin ended up saying, eyes dropping to the cobblestones, leather cracking as his fingers twisted together. “I did not mean to spy on you or intrude in any way, I simply wondered if you were alright. It is only–it isn’t like you to disappear without–without telling me. Not that I should be apprised of your whereabouts at all times, naturally–”
Oh, wow.
“Edwin!” Charles cut in, hands up in front of him like he could physically stop the flow of Edwin’s flustered rambling, unusual as it was. “Mate, slow down, you’re good,” he added softly as Edwin’s jaw clicked shut.
Charles ached to cross the street and go smooth out the frown that hardened Edwin’s features. It smarted that he couldn’t, now that he’d messed up. Fuck, he was such a loser.
“I just,” Edwin started again, his mouth twisting like he was unhappy with his next words, “I suppose I was worried. I know Christmas can be… complicated, for you.”
Charles’s eyes instinctively darted away from Edwin’s all-too-knowing gaze, throat immediately closing up. Any other year, Edwin’s hunch would’ve been correct. He absolutely would’ve seeked some alone time to reminisce about his fucked-up childhood. To think about his mum and wonder if she thought about him at all as she hung garlands around their run-down flat. Yeah, thinking about it right now definitely lodged a lump in his throat. This year, though, his mission had taken precedence–just… not enough, evidently.
No matter. Charles injected some steel into his spine, looked up and pasted a smile on his face and hoped against hope it was at least semi-convincing. “You don’t need to worry about me, mate.”
Edwin crossed his arms and raised a single, stern eyebrow. “Not worry about my best friend?” At Charles’s reluctant huff of amusement, the eyebrow went back down and Edwin’s expression melted into a lopsided smile. “I cannot exactly help it.”
Charles’s answering smile was much more earnest than his previous one; he couldn't exactly help it. He should’ve been ashamed of himself for being so needy, but he had to admit that it felt good, knowing that Edwin cared. He kept on falling short of deserving it, no matter how hard he tried, and yet Edwin, in all his benevolence, never failed to extend his… well, his love, wasn’t it? He kept on extending his love to Charles, always.
Tears pricked at his eyes, so he looked away and pretended he was scanning their surroundings. Just in case his detective of a best mate wondered. A handful of feet away, a reveller tripped over a cobblestone, the shopping bags he carried in both hands flying every which way. The woman who accompanied him burst into giggles even as she threw an arm out in front of him to prevent him from faceplanting. She watched, gleeful laughter making her shoulders shake, as her friend recovered, then turned around and started copiously insulting the road. When her laughter had somewhat subsided, she slung an arm around his shoulders, took one of his bags with her free hand, and dragged him away.
The distraction was very effective: when Charles finally felt strong enough to look back at Edwin, he was also watching the scene, the fond and amused smile lighting his face not unlike the one that now adorned Charles’s.
Then Edwin seemed to jolt out of the good cheer, sobering up with a fortifying breath. “Were you perhaps here to… visit someone? A friend?”
“What?” Charles’s nose scrunched up. “No? Who would I be visiting in Paris?”
“I don’t know,” Edwin huffed and gave an elegant flick of his wrist at the building behind Charles, “whoever lives here? You seemed pretty intent on going in.”
Charles reflexively twisted around to look at the shop, finding it as unforgivingly closed as a few minutes earlier. That iron curtain was still taunting him, painting him a coward for failing to push through the pain earlier. But this time, Charles also took note of the upstairs. The two upper floors of the old building were illuminated from within, and he wondered if Thierry lived there.
“Right,” Charles cleared his throat and shook his head. “No. I don’t know anyone here.”
Edwin frowned, lips parting on a follow-up question, before he seemed to think better of it. He simply nodded and… stood there, like he didn’t exactly know what to be other than relentlessly inquisitive.
It was… extremely endearing, unfortunately.
Charles sighed, his shoulders sagging under the heaving breath. Then he cursed under his breath–cursed how weak he was for Edwin’s eyes, how weak he was in general–and finally crossed the road to join his best friend on the other side. Three simple strides across; it felt like ascending to the gallows, it really did. He wondered what would hurt him the most: if Edwin openly showed how disappointed he was or if he told Charles it was nothing, that he didn't care about the present anyway.
“I, um…” he started, then groaned when the right words escaped him.
“Charles?” Edwin said, brows furrowing with concern. Charles shook his head.
“No, I’m alright, I’m alright. Just–I came here to pick up your Christmas present and the shop was closed,” he said, as dispassionately as possible. Facts, not feelings.
“Oh?” Edwin breathed, eyes flaring wide for a second before he ducked his head to hide a… a pleased smile? What? “Well, you can come back after Christmas, I’m sure I will enjoy your present just as much after the holidays.”
“Right. Right,” Charles nodded. A very sensible outlook, very Edwin, not the least bit surprising. ‘But the gesture?!’ Charles wanted to scream, the protest stuck under his ribcage.
“Will this present not be available anymore?” Edwin went on, probably sensing that his answer hadn’t been as comforting as he’d hoped.
“No, no, it will. You’re right, mate, as usual,” he chuckled, but the sound was too brittle to fool Edwin.
He took a step closer, his gaze searching Charles’s face for clues. Two pigeons landed on the lid of a trashcan next to them, providing another excellent distraction for Charles. Eyes sliding away from Edwin’s shrewd assessment, he watched as one of the birds puffed up its chest and started cooing at its mate, chasing it in circles and drumming a little song with the pitter-patter of their feet on the metal lid.
Except this time, Edwin didn’t take the bait.
“Charles, you look upset. I assure you, I will enjoy whatever you chose for me just as much after the holidays. Besides,” he added, his eye curling in a way that made the back of Charles’s neck tingle way too pleasantly, “you already gave me a book just last week.”
Charles choked on nothing, outraged. The sound was enough to scatter the pigeons into a panicked flight.
Okay, yes, this was indeed a fact, Charles had given Edwin a book. Except Charles gave him books all the time, not only in the hope that Edwin would read them to him out loud because it reminded him of Edwin’s impossible kindness, but simply because they made his friend happy. And yes, technically, regular presents and Christmas presents were presents no matter what, but this Christmas present was supposed to be different.
And for some reason, it was suddenly imperative to Charles that Edwin knew that. At least that.
“Yeah, no, I–” he ran a hand down his face. Too many thoughts, not enough words. Or at least not the right ones. “Bloody hell, I–It was a totally different thing, yeah?”
“I don’t understand. The book was not a present?”
“No, yes, of course it was, but a different kind of present.” Edwin tilted his head, confused all over again and–fair enough, Charles would have been confused, too. He just wasn’t good at speeches, was he? He let his head roll back on his shoulders. Above them, the Christmas lights twinkled away. He couldn’t give up, though, he needed Edwin to understand; so he tried again. “It’s just that–this present? The one from tonight. It was supposed to be special. To mean something. To mean more.”
“Oh?” Edwin breathed softly. It made Charles less scared of meeting his eyes. And God, but his eyes were so bloody kind, why did Charles ever believe Edwin would be callous with him? “What was it supposed to mean, then?”
So Charles just–blurted out his failure, his voice choked with tears. “I messed up, mate. I wanted to–wanted to give you the perfect present, and I had it, but then we were busy and I forgot to pick it up and now the shop’s bloody closed and I need to–I need to get inside but–”
Edwin’s eyes hardened at the same time he grabbed Charles above the elbows, hands fisting in his coat. “That curtain is made of iron, Charles.”
“I know, it’s fine, I just really need you to have the signet ring so you can tell I really mean it–” When his brain caught up to his words, he ground to a halt and squeezed his eyes shut. Why couldn’t he do anything right? Fuck. A car passed by, blaring some Christmas song or other; a quick wave of homicidal rage washed over Charles that he only managed to ignore thanks to present company.
He detangled himself from Edwin and turned away. He couldn’t let Edwin see him like this, he was too ashamed. A loser with tears in his eyes that he couldn’t even manage to suppress. So weak. Edwin must have thought he was heading for the curtain, though, and swiftly grabbed him again, his hold so unexpected and rough that Charles stumbled back into him. He tried not to blush, but–well. It wasn’t every day that he got to enjoy the hard line of Edwin’s body against his. He felt so solid, so strong.
Charles allowed himself a second to bask in it… and then the guilt set in. He didn’t deserve this. Felt vaguely ill for overindulging.
When he regained his footing–and those cobblestones were every bit the slippery death traps the bloke from earlier had made them out to be, so it took a little shuffling on his part–Charles faced Edwin again.
“Absolutely not,” Edwin snapped, all clipped consonants, his chin high. “You are not going through an iron curtain to get me a present. You do not need a–a signet ring or anything else to tell me what is on your mind. Just…” Edwin cut himself off. The intensity drained from his frame. His shoulders dropped back to their habitual level, and his gaze grew fond again. “You know I care about you. You can tell me whatever it is you intended to say and I will believe you.”
And Charles was… he was all scrambled up from the touching, he was–He was quite helpless to do anything but obey.
“I love you.”
He must have sounded different, because Edwin didn’t immediately shoot back an ‘I love you’ of his own, which was how it usually went these days. They were both a lot freer with their words of affection. Incidentally, this freedom had played a huge role in getting Charles to realise that his feelings for Edwin went beyond the incredible friendship they shared. It turned out there were only so many times you could say ‘I love you’ and ignore the fluttering in your stomach when your best friend bashfully smiled to hear you say it.
“You, um,” Edwin swallowed convulsively, “You must realise how… ambiguous this statement sounds, on my end.”
Boldly, feeling very much like he was leaping out of a plane without a parachute, Charles seized one of Edwin’s hands. It stayed limp in his hold, but he didn’t let it deter him. Show some bloody courage for once, you coward. Because the truth was, he didn't know if Edwin still felt the way he did in Port Townsend. The risk was tangible that Edwin would spurn Charles and his present in the same breath. He’d thought about that for several months. Edwin’s degree of bluntness varied depending on the shade of self-loathing Charles had going on at any given moment, but yeah, he had thought about that.
And yet, now that he was here–like a wanker with no Christmas present, yes, but here with Edwin’s lovely eyes looking back at him–in romantic Paris, Charles couldn’t chicken out.
“No ambiguity; I love you.”
“No, Charles, what–What are you saying?” Edwin stuttered, blinking like the words still refused to compute.
“It’s engraved inside the signet ring, actually.” Edwin’s eyes took on the same glossy sheen as the river behind him; Charles hoped it was a good sign, couldn’t let himself believe that it was. “How it works is, you’re supposed to feel how much I mean it when I say these exact words. So you can never doubt how much I love you.”
Edwin’s fingers clenched around Charles’s like a vise. Was that positive, or? “You love me, like–”
Charles nodded. “See? That’s why the signet ring would have helped. If you’d had it on while I said that, there’s no way you would have asked. It’s supposed to be a direct link to my soul. Or something.”
“Or something,” Edwin repeated, his voice pitched higher than usual. “Your soul? Say the words again?”
Charles did him one better.
Fuck ambiguity.
A split second later, his lips were on Edwin’s.
It only lasted a couple of seconds, though: as soon as Charles realised Edwin was just standing there, frozen, he ripped away. Oh God, what had he done? How could he have read the room so wrong?
“I’m so so–”
Edwin surged up, lips first, effectively muffling Charles’s noise of surprise with his mouth. Charles forcefully shut down the part of himself that wondered whether he deserved it or not.
Charles was, at his core, a very selfish person. He was aware of that. He latched onto anyone who showed him a hint of friendliness and clang with all his might. He suspected Edwin had noticed by now, but still, he stayed. Edwin stayed with Charles.
So he didn’t listen to that vicious voice in his head that murmured that Edwin was too good for him. He knew that already. Instead he hauled him closer and wrapped himself around him with the desperation of someone who had been hoping for this exact outcome for several months–maybe longer.
Edwin didn’t seem to have any complaints about it, if his own noise of approval was anything to go by. Charles swallowed it and drank it all in, the sounds of them, the warmth of Edwin’s embrace, the wet clumsiness of his kiss, the way he swore his heart started beating again, just for this.
When Edwin slowed down, his body sinking into Charles’s so sweetly that Charles almost immediately caught his lips in another heated kiss, he tucked his forehead into the crook of his neck with the tiniest whimper. Charles couldn’t help but bring his hand up to stroke Edwin’s hair; his best mate wasn’t exactly in the habit of letting other people see him be vulnerable, so this? This felt like a gift.
“So, for clarity’s sake,” Edwin enquired. He sounded a little drowsy, a little drunk. How very gratifying for Charles. “You love me?”
Charles chuckled, happiness fizzing beneath his skin. “Yeah, mate. I really do. I love you.” Edwin’s answering hum, warm and content, vibrated right into Charles’s chest and burrowed there to stay. “Wait until you’ve got that ring on your finger so you can feel how much.”
Edwin hummed again and nuzzled closer. Charles turned his head to press a kiss to the closest available spot, catching a whole lot of hair and the tip of an ear. That obviously wasn’t good enough for Edwin; he shifted until Charles was trailing kisses down his temple, the apple of his cheek, the side of his nose, the corner of his lips–Edwin whimpered again and squeezed where his fingers bit into Charles’s coat–and then Charles was sliding along a perfect jawbone, down to the column of Edwin’s neck where he latched onto the skin and–
Pop.
Pop. Pop. Pop pop pop popopopopop.
Charles only lifted his head when someone shrieked farther down the street and disturbed the important task he had set for himself.
The entire street was plunged in darkness, from the buildings to the lamp posts and the Christmas lights. Paris suddenly seemed a lot more ominous.
His eyes searched Edwin’s, set to ask if he had been paying attention to their surroundings, but he found them wide, bewildered, gleaming with a tinge of guilt. His well-kissed mouth hung slightly ajar.
“I’m sorry, I–I…” he stammered, breathless. “I didn’t mean to.”
“You did that?” Charles asked, caught between a frown and a grin. Better that than some unknown Christmas demon. “How?”
Edwin’s eyes flashed with irritation and he splayed a hand on Charles’s chest to push him back. It wasn’t as off-putting as his best friend thought but Charles indulged him and took a step back.
“Excuse me!” Edwin exclaimed, so pompously that Charles bit the inside of his cheek not to smile. Edwin straightened to his full height. “I regret to inform you that you are entirely to blame for what just happened.”
Somehow, it didn’t feel like a genuine reproach. Charles was too well-versed in Edwin talk to believe he was actually mad. A tad mortified, perhaps, and looking to hide it, but definitely not mad. Especially not with the way his eyes kept on darting towards Charles’s smiling mouth, dark and hungry.
So, “Alright,” Charles accepted gracefully. Then he covered Edwin’s hand on his chest with his own palm, moved closer again and let himself whisper into his ear, “Want to hop back home and see if we can shut London down, too?”
The little gasp that ghosted across his cheek was answer enough, and Charles couldn’t help but place a quick kiss on his cheek.
“I am not sure that is advisable,” Edwin croaked, his lopsided smile obvious in his voice. “But yes.”
It meant a lot that Edwin would go along with Charles’s terrible, naughty plan. Charles pulled back with what probably was a blinding smile, took both of Edwin’s hands in his and lifted them to his mouth to shower the gloves with kisses.
“I love you so much.”
Edwin’s gaze turned more tender. “I love you more than you know, Charles Rowland.”
Oh. Okay. Good. Trust Edwin to make him emotional to the point of tears again. He swallowed around a sob as warmth and delight and all the other things bloomed inside him.
“Brills,” Charles said, the word thick with feelings. “Let’s go find a mirror. And I’ll come back on Boxing Day to pick up your present.”
“An excellent idea, as always.”