Archive of Our Own

There's some soft little touches on his cheek. It's hard, but not unkind. Then there's a brush of feathers near his neck, a small sigh from a tiny body and then an equally tiny head rests its weight near his pulse after adjusting. It quickens for a bit, normalizing again when it recognises what, or best, who it is. He doesn't need to open his eyes to know that it's Poe. His familiar. Companion. 

But then again, it isn't Poe, is it? Poe's not here anymore.

Suddenly, Edgar opens his eyes. The faint warm glow he could sense behind closed eyelids is gone, the feeling of fulfillment and whole going just as quickly. His mind is playing tricks on him, very, very unfair tricks. He should've known it wasn't really Poe. Affection without conflict wasn't their thing. 

Yet, with Poe gone, it's– it's easier to imagine him softer. Kinder. It soothes the need Edgar still feels of having something not let him sleep. But now, instead of it being Poe's annoyance, it's his opening. It's the way they seemed to be getting more at ease with each other, more comfortable with their unusual situation, as Edgar would often describe it. But all of that just had to be right when–

Um. 

Right before Poe…

And it shouldn't make sense for him to be feeling like this. They didn't even like each other. Hell, they shouldn't have liked each other's company. But recently, Edgar knows they'd somehow managed to walk past that line and connect, in their own way. Poe had just started to feel like part of him. Like this is what was supposed to happen all along. Like normal.

But reality works in different ways, and now Poe’s gone. And along with him went a part of Edgar. The biggest part, if he's being honest.

Now it's not what Poe did that doesn't let him sleep, it's what he meant. It's what they could've become through each other that keeps Edgar awake. What he could've done for Poe if he’d allowed it. What Poe could've taught him if he'd listened. 

What Poe's very existence screamed in silence to him every moment they shared together. What Poe made impossible for him to ignore and what he repeated back to Poe with a bitter tone, feeling raw. Too seen.

Why couldn't you just be what you were meant to be?

Hypocrisy is a funny thing, Edgar does recognise eventually. He blamed Poe for not being what he should be, but then is Edgar? 

What his family wanted for him surely isn't what he is now. His father? His grandfather? Would they understand even if it goes south from what they already are? What they always have been? What his family is and what they have to be?

Even his name sounds wrong now that he thinks of it. Being an Allan means certainty. He always knew what was expected of him and, trust him, he still does. 

But– but is he? Can he? 

Sounds impossible when he thinks of it. Every time his friends call his name, every time he talks about himself, every time he–

And it's just so much. Too much to bear alone. And the worst thing is that he isn't alone. Kevin, Roland and Monty are there, real and listening and there for him. So why does this feeling never get better? He feels horrible for thinking that they aren't enough to make him feel better, selfish for having such amazing people besides him and still not feeling better about– about what, exactly? 

Poe? Himself?

What even is wrong with him?

The only thing he knows about himself is that the word wrong sounds about right. There’s never been a single time before Poe where he thought of himself concretely, like he knew exactly who he was. And then when Poe showed up, he just. Accepted that that was it. This is why. But he never got around to the what of it. 

Maybe this doesn't even make any sense and maybe he's also been thinking way too loud and now Monty's stirring in his bed and Edgar worries that he'll worry about him. Fuck's sake.

“Edgar? You awake?” It's a soft whisper, raw around the edges because Monty doesn't talk much anyways. Sleepiness just makes him purr a little.

“Y-yeah just… thinking.”

“About Poe?” He's sitting now, rubbing his eyes to see Edgar better and Edgar feels awful already.

“It's– it's okay, n-nothing much. You should probably go… Um. Back to sleep.”

“Is it making you feel bad, though?” And Edgar, for some reason, didn't really expect that. Small droplets form in the corner of his eyes, blurring his already bad vision, but the sting is nothing compared to his chest. It's a little hard to breathe and Monty notices. Always does.

“Edgar?” And that's what does it. His name. And he loves Monty's voice, why wouldn't he like hearing him say it? The quiet raspiness blends well with the composition of the word. He likes the way Monty pronounces his d's and he's told him that. Monty said he’s a word nerd and they laughed because Monty kept saying it over and over. Edgar, Edgar, Edgar. Tinged with love and friendly easiness. 

But right now it feels wrong. Makes his skin feel like it isn't his. Like he isn't– 

And Monty's there in a heartbeat. There’s surprisingly strong arms around him and a hand on his neck, guiding to a shoulder and he doesn't know what's wrong. Doesn't know why here, why now. But what he does know is that Monty would never judge him. He'd be honest, like always, but never judgy. Edgar trusted his mind to him in moments like this. To pull him out of himself.

“It's okay to miss him, y'know?” He's slurring his words a bit, sleep still in mind but body very much present in comforting because his friend needs him. It makes Edgar's chest squeeze in a good way. “I miss him.”

Edgar's cheek is pressed against his shoulder, firm and grounding. Monty is so warm all the time, and the feeling starts sinking into Edgar's skin on every point of contact they have. 

“I do miss him. S-so much… and it just. Feels like I'm not myself anymore.” There's a soft self-deprecating laugh and a sigh, deep enough that he can't deflect it with a bad joke. “Don't know if I ever was, t-to be honest.” And that makes Monty frown a little, Edgar can feel it in his body language.

“What d'you mean?” He says and turns, Edgar's head still on his shoulder but now Monty's back is against the bed frame. He picks Edgar's right hand and plays with his fingers. Soft pressure on his fingertips, light pulling on his knuckles. He feels it bone deep, any touch is always so much but Monty's okay. He can. Knows how to because he's the same. He can talk about it.

Monty's other hand is a comforting weight in his shoulder and he can do this. It's ok.

“Have you ever– ever felt l-like you're not… you?” Monty's frown deepens and it makes Edgar want to cry a little when he turns to look at it.

“Like I'm not me?” And he pauses, thinking about it, waking up a bit more. It gives Edgar some time to breathe, to remind himself that it's Monty. Of course he can talk about it. “I guess I have. When– when the wolf. And, um. After, when you guys have to tell me about things I did that I don't remember doing. I don't like it.”

“Neither do we… but it's temporary, i-isn't it? The feeling. F-for you.”

“I guess. Sometimes I don't really feel like a boy, either. Since the whole wolf thing, I– spiral and think I'm a monster when I do bad things but it's more than that, I think. It stays when I come back, but in a different way.” And that makes Edgar sit up, because what does Monty mean? He feels weird for relating and he doesn't know what it is that he relates with. 

“Don't feel… like a b-boy?” His mouth replies before his mind catches up and. Oh.

“Yeah. Sometimes it feels like it's all rubbish, don't you think? Like, I’m already a wolf and a boy at the same time. Why can't I just– be nothing?” 

And Edgar's hyperventilating.

Nothing? Is that even an option? His father would say it's improper. He can't even think about what his grandfather would say. How did Monty think of this? Has he always felt this way? But Edgar didn't tell him either. But then, are they going through the same thing? Why is he so calm about this?!

“I've been thinking about it for a while now.” And shit. Fuck. Edgar said it out loud. He's a mess and Monty has to deal with him like this, and oh God.

He needs to breathe.

Monty doesn't push. In a way, Edgar's glad he's having a breakdown with him, even if that sounds weird. They work so similarly, both guided by touch but hesitant at the same time, so when there's need for comfort they just. Crash into each other. It's nice to not need to explain yourself for once, at least in times like this.

But he does need to explain himself, at least a little. Monty's talking but Edgar's sure he doesn't understand what they're talking about as a whole. Even he doesn't know where he's going with this.

“I don't– d-don't know who I am. What I am. Never have. Poe was... everything. And now he's gone and I have to find out what I actually am and I– can't. It's just s-so hard, Monty. I can't do it.”  

“Why do you have to be anything, though? If it hurts you, then why should you be anything at all?” And Edgar breathes. Puts his forehead on Monty's shoulder and properly breathes for the first time in a long while. Probably all his life.

“Don't know. F-feels like I need to be. Something. Anything.” He's whispering, saying it like it’s a bad thing. Afraid.

“But why?” And the emphasis gets to Edgar. Monty sounds exasperated at the idea of just having to be something. The tilt in his voice is an indication he firmly believes in what he's saying and that makes Edgar melt. 

Why does he need to be anything, again? Where did this come from, anyways?

“And how… how do you d-deal with this?”

“With what?”

“Not being? Um. I don't know. How do you n-not be anything?

“Just– By existing, I guess?” Monty's smiling a bit, tiny and full of things Edgar can't quite wrap his head around yet. “I'm your friend. And Kevin's friend. And Roland's friend. Isn't that being enough?” 

He's saying so much. And Edgar feels like crying again because of what he said to them when Poe passed. The way his words made them feel like they weren’t enough. Not enough to make him stay.

Being your friend is no curse though, is it?

But Poe wasn’t a curse. After all they've been through, it feels awful referring to him like that. Like something wrong, not good. He was a part of Edgar, made Edgar realise he wasn't only one thing. Quite literally pierced that through his head.

But Edgar didn't listen. Didn't pay attention. God, just pathetic, isn't he? It was right there all this time. He was right there all this time. Poe just showed him to the mirror.

“Y-yeah... it– it is. Just enough.” And this time, he believed it a little more.

It's in the middle of Crafting when Kevin notices it the first time, later on the same day Edgar talked to Monty.

He saw them in the beginning of class talking to Mr. Hebden very quietly, Edgar looking almost ashamed to be asking for something. And Mr. Hebden was looking at him with big soft eyes, like he was afraid of Edgar just melting to the ground completely, looking so sympathetic that it almost hurt. Monty was there the whole time, clinging to Edgar's arm as support, Kevin can only guess.

Mr. Hebden squeezed Edgar's shoulder and guided him to a crafting station near his own, whispering quiet affirmations in between them that made Edgar relax a little and allow himself to receive support for the time being, Monty giving him a tight lip smile and sliding off to his own station.

Kevin didn't want to intrude, knowing Edgar was very particular with the way he did things in Crafting class. But curiosity was stronger, and he found himself gravitating towards his station more than he'd like to admit. One of those times, he lingered close enough to see long, flowy dark fabric that looked so, so soft to the touch that it made him want to work with it. 

But he saw Edgar struggling and it made him confused. Edgar was good at Crafting, why was he having difficulty with this? Was it his first time sewing? Why didn't he ask Kevin for help? He could sew. Hell, he would say he’s the best at sewing in his class, having Drama club as an extensive back up for experience. Why didn't Edgar come to him with this?

And then it clicked. That was a lot of fabric, and Edgar didn't seem to be making something practical, like a pouch or another bag of some sorts. Kevin scanned his station and saw patterns already cut up, very reminiscent of the ones he uses to sew garments for upcoming plays. These are much longer, though. Fits Edgar's stature quite well. Were they cut up to measure? Edgar's measure? But he was–

He was making a skirt. 

Edgar, his friend, was making a skirt. For himself. 

And that was honestly… not as surprising as Kevin would've thought. He remembers a play they did in Drama, where the costumes were kind of gothic and dark, flowy like the fabric Edgar's handling and Kevin thinks he would look really nice in them. The darkness of the fabric would compliment his paler skin very well, and would also make a great pair with the boots Edgar's been wearing so much recently. If the pattern he's following looks like the costumes Kevin made, then it would be a match made in heaven.

“I did some stuff like this for a play recently. Yours looks cooler, though.” Edgar's head turns so quickly that Kevin worries a little if it hurt his neck. His eyes are big, filled with hesitance and something Kevin doesn't really have the words to describe yet. He looks shocked, a bit taken back by Kevin's casual tone. “Sorry for intruding.”

“N-no, it's– it's okay. I, um… Yeah.” 

“Need help?” And then his shoulders drop a little, Kevin just watching him scoot over to the side, as if inviting him to sit with. 

To be honest, Kevin didn't exactly know where Edgar was going with this or why he was sewing a skirt for himself in the first place. At the same time, he wasn't dense and could feel that this was personal and maybe deeper than he thought, if he interpreted Mr. Hebden checking-in far more occasionally on their shared station now that he was helping Edgar correctly. 

So he’s going to help Edgar with his skirt and wait for him to talk about it. If he wants to, obviously. Above all his curiosity and emotional difficulty at times, he's a good friend. And he feels that Edgar needs him to be an ever better friend with this, so he's going to be. As simple as that.

They work together in silence for most of the time, Kevin sometimes explaining different settings for the sewing machine and how to handle the fabric better. He notices that Edgar's paying close attention and that's– honestly, a pleasant surprise. 

He's gotten into sewing because of Drama and always thought of it as a hobby he'd keep to himself, but this with Edgar feels nice. Uncomplicated. And they both like doing stuff with their hands, so it couldn't be better.

“Thank you for this.” And Kevin would reply immediately if this was any other situation, but he knows that right now it would only make Edgar stop talking and he really wants to listen. To understand.

So he waits. Knows the different silences Edgar puts himself through because he thinks he's not worth listening to, and waits. 

“It's for me… the skirt.” He whispers, tiny and private in an almost self-deprecating way. “It's a skirt and it's for m-me.”

“Kinda guessed it, if I'm honest.” Kevin replies in the same wavelength, wanting Edgar to know it's ok without him having to say it. But Edgar doesn't work like that and Kevin has to remind himself that people need to know what he's thinking, especially his friends. “I think it's really fucking cool, though.”

“Y-yeah?” And the glint of hope and acceptance in his friend's eyes is enough to make him push down his avoidance towards feelings. Edgar deserves all the kind words he can possibly muster right now, he can deal with his own repression later.

“Yeah, mate. Kind of reminds me of The Addams Family. Just– Allans. The Allans Family.” Kevin says, laughing a bit, but Edgar freezes a little and shit. He's fucked it. 

“Maybe– not your family, just you. It's very you.”

If he sees the wetness in Edgar's cheeks and the dark grey stains they leave on the paws of his blazer a moment later, he doesn't comment on it. Just keeps directing him when needed, making comments that border on dad jokes and that make Edgar giggle softly, his nose a bit stuffed and body too tired to properly laugh.

When class is about to end, Kevin looks at Edgar and takes a deep breath. Puts his hand on his shoulder and squeezes with some force on it, wanting to mirror the sympathy Mr. Hebden conveyed earlier. 

Edgar turns to him less surprised this time, a tiny wobbly smile forming on his lips as he feels Kevin's own hesitance to the touch. Kevin decides to ignore that completely though, and hugs Edgar firmly, wanting to say a bunch of things that aren't coming out because he doesn't want to assume anything.

The last thing he hears before pulling away is a wet laugh against his shoulder, and the smile on Edgar's face after is the first genuine one of the day. His glasses are all messed up because of the crying, and that makes Kevin laugh. Makes him forget for a second his discomfort with the closeness they're in. 

Edgar's still his friend. Kevin really doesn't know what he was so worried about.

“Do you want to see the costumes I told you about?” 

“I–” It's almost comical that he can practically see Edgar's train of thought, thinking correctly that Kevin's offering this as an olive branch because he doesn't know what else to say. “S-sure, why not?”

And they leave class, walking through the corridors while Kevin faces the ground. That was embarras– No, that was communication. Good communication and empathy that his friend needed. Just the hug was a bit awkward, but he can live with that when Edgar looks a little better already, why not?

If he hears a quiet thank you whispered between them and the loud voices of the boys around, he doesn't comment on it. Just shrugs and keeps walking like that wasn't also really important to him as well. He knows he looks awkward again and hears Edgar let out a tiny laugh beside him, feeling himself snicker a little. Yeah, why the hell not?

Roland is the last one of the others to notice. Well, the last one to know actually, because Edgar wanted to compose himself and properly tell someone on his own terms for once. Not that he really has a name for it, but it feels like his friends should know, anyway. He wants them to.

It's funny, because he's spent so much time overthinking on how to talk to them about it and then it just. Happened. He supposes this is better, in a way.

Edgar's on his way to tell him, wanting to seize the opportunity of their free time after dining. He's sure he's going to tell Roland without crying. Or stepping over his words. Or maybe he should wait? 

He just worries about Roland thinking he was left out because he's the last one to know. But didn't it all go a bit too fast, anyway? So, surely this is fine.

Kevin's kind of giving him a pep talk, worried for Edgar when he started looking like he was going to vomit before even leaving his and Monty's room, the said sleeping on Edgar's bed just because. Today's been a lot, and Monty always found sleeping closer to familiar smells comforting. The sight put Edgar at ease for probably ten seconds before he started pacing again. 

“Hey. Hey– Edgar, hey. It's Roland, what are you so nervous about?” Kevin says, sitting on Monty's bed while looking at Edgar. He sounds so sure of himself that it makes Edgar's mind stop spinning a little.

“You also don't need to do all of this in one day, if it's making you nervous.”

“I know, I just feel like I need to get it out before– Um, b-before…”

And Kevin sees the way he's looking over to Monty sleeping, the sound of his snoring like white noise in the background, noticing the way it puts Edgar a bit at ease, but he still looks so unsure. Sees the way Edgar's eyes return to him, eyeing Kevin almost uncertainly, almost afraid. 

Sees through the way he's hesitating with Roland, as if faltering in his belief that he'll get it or that Edgar himself will be able to explain in a way that makes sense to both of them. Reluctant. Scared.

“We're not going to leave you, you know?”

Edgar closes his eyes with force, hands fidgeting with each other, body trembling a little and Kevin hates to see him like this. He doesn't really know how the conversation with Monty went, but he knows enough that it went well. His own version of it also went fine, as far as he's aware. He knows Edgar didn't say much, but he doesn't really need to.

Seeing him like this is enough to make Kevin confirm that Edgar himself doesn't even understand much of what's happening to him. What's changing within him. The only thing Kevin's sure is that not one of them would judge him for it. They could also not understand fully, but never judge. He trusts Monty and Roland so much in this sense.

“H-how do you know that?”

“Because it's us. We're your friends, and it's okay. Trust me.”

“B-but–”

“Edgar. It's just us.”

It's just us.

But that's it, isn't it? It's them, that's why this is so incredibly difficult. Aside from his family, who he now realises was not as accepting as they appeared, he never thought other people would understand it. Him– or whatever he is. 

They're his friends. He's never had friends like this before. Or any friends, really. His family was his whole understanding of what connection and companionship should look like, but even that was wrong. 

Yeah, they're friends, but if family did him wrong in the past then why couldn't friends do as well?

He hates the thought immediately. He knows that they’re fine with it. Hell, they were the ones who said so, who is he to doubt their words? He's being irrational and he knows it, but it's so easy to overthink genuine care and affection most of the time. 

It's the past, ever so present. It's harder to forget words when they leave marks on you.

He's been thinking a lot about his family recently, and that's not helpful at all when he’s been trying to get away from their beliefs. He hates missing his father, even though he remembers all the implicit expectations he's made clear he had over the years regarding how Edgar should behave and present himself as part of being an Allan. 

He hates still looking up to his grandfather, even though he remembers all the direct commentaries on his appearance and the way he used to dress, but especially the way he used to diminish Poe.

All the times, before he came to St. Churnley’s, where he called Poe a mistake. Where he dismissed Poe’s existence as valid. Or all the times when he told Edgar to control him. To suppress him. As if not recognizing Poe as a piece of who Edgar was, and still is.

Family’s not supposed to hurt. And Edgar knows Roland understands, even if he’s going through his own process of figuring out who he is apart from his own. So, deep down, he expects this to go fine. Roland gets it, in a way.

He takes a deep breath and steps out of the room, looking calmer but still fidgety. He walks slowly, reaching Roland and Kevin’s room at a slow pace, almost subconsciously trying to delay his arrival. He didn't get to open the door, though. Roland did it before him.

Roland's standing in the doorway, looking out of breath and alert. His eyes are searching, almost as if he knew Edgar was coming. It makes him jump a little, but more than scared, he's confused. Roland's scanning him up and down, like he's adjusting his vision to actually see Edgar in front of him and Edgar has absolutely no idea of what's going on.

“Edgar, are you okay? Are– are you hurt?” 

Edgar is so, so confused. This sudden interaction is making him forget a bit of why he was so nervous coming to Roland in the first place. “I feel like I should be the one a-asking you that."

“I'm sorry, I just– I had this weird dream about you and– and Poe.” He sighs quite deeply, looking at the ground as if remembering bits of the dream. “Woke up and decided to go check on you just to make sure.”

“P-poe?” And Edgar watches Roland's expression fall and come back just as quickly. He still manages to look remorseful while smiling a bit, which in exchange makes Edgar regret pointing it out. Great, now he's made Roland uncomfortable and–

“Wait, why did you come to my room in the first place?”

Oh God. How is he supposed to do this now?

“I needed to talk– Um, s-sorry, not talk, that makes it sound weird. I n-needed to tell you something." He's fixating on every change in Roland's expression at this point, as if monitoring the ways he could react to what he'll say next.

But Roland's nothing if not eager, so he decides to overlook Edgar's anxious posture and be his usual inviting self to see if it helps. “You can always talk to me, Edgar. This is what friends are for!”

He makes a show of stepping aside and showing him to the door, as if Edgar's entering the room for the first time. It makes him snort a little, and he hears Roland giggling behind him, the door closing softly with a click.

They make their way to Roland's bed, sitting with their backs by the wall and Edgar takes advantage of the position to fold in on himself. His feet are on top of each other, fidgeting subconsciously along with the texture of his socks. His hands are on either side of hips, gripping the covers in an attempt to calm himself and manage to talk. Roland's waiting for him. He can do this.

Before he manages to say something, again, Roland cuts the silence while turning to face Edgar on the bed, his legs crossed and posture stiff. “Can I… tell you about the dream? I have a feeling it has to do with what you want to say, but you can cut me if it's not related.” Edgar actually notices now that he still looks agitated, like he's uncomfortable with himself, in a way.

Roland watches Edgar nod and sink a little more on the bed, waiting. He's trying very hard to recall the dream without triggering the Voice. The remains of it are still echoing, an unfamiliar tone making itself known by saying only one phrase during the whole dream. 

“I don't remember much of it, but there was this man. Didn't recognize the voice, but it sounded older and somehow like yours, that's why I remember it the most.” He's talking fast while looking at Edgar, wanting to see if something clicks, either for him or Edgar himself.

“He was holding a book in one hand and a feather– a black feather on the other. I couldn't see his face, but the only thing he said was a question. That's when I woke up and you got here.”

“W-what did he say?” Edgar's staring now, the memories flooding his mind all at once as Roland describes more of the dream. He thinks he knows where this is going and he doesn't like it.

Roland presses his eyes hard, mouth forming a thin line as if repressing himself. His hands come together on his lap, playing with the hem of his pants before eventually replying. “‘Is it your fault, or the crow's fault now?’ ”

The Voice still manages to mix itself in between his words as he hears Edgar suck in a shaky breath. He drops his head for good, eyes closed and chest heavy. 

The weight of his necklace makes it easier for him to bow his head, the need to know what the question means and why him burning on the back of his neck. But he's so scared to look up at Edgar and see him hurt. Hurt by his words. Shaken by his fault.

There's some good seconds of silence, and the only thing resonating in Roland's ears are Edgar's quiet attempts at crying softly. He cracks one eye open, risking taking a look at him and, to his surprise, Edgar doesn't look sad. He means, he's obviously upset, but for anything he looks mad. Resentful.

He's looking down at his hands still gripping the sheets, and Roland's not sure anymore if he's reacting because of his words.

“That would be my grandfather. He used to blame Poe for everything that was– wrong with me. Used to tell him off, to– to wish him ill. And n-now…”

“I'm– I'm sorry, Edgar. I'm so sorry. I don't know how it knows that, it scared me as well.” He's frowning now, deeply upset with himself for not being able to help Edgar cope with this. “Is it… related? To what you wanted to say?”

He watches Edgar nod stiffly, the weight of the words just mentioned still swimming in his eyes. He takes one more deep breath before attempting to speak again.

“Poe being gone made me realise I don't really know who I am. W-what I am. Without him or– or at all.” He takes a quick side look at Roland, and Roland nods, throwing a tiny smile to encourage Edgar to keep going. 

“I've never felt like– like m-me. Never knew what to do with myself or how to behave. I mean, behave properly. And lately I've been… Um, thinking.”

“About?” Roland's following along, tilting his head to the side to show Edgar that he's listening. That he's paying attention.

“About this.” He's gesticulating vaguely to himself, the movements big and shaky like he doesn't like what he's referring to. “About– about how I sometimes hate being perceived as only one thing. O-or anything at all, for that matter.”

Edgar blows out a frustrated sigh, letting his head fall back and hit the wall. Roland doesn't know how to react, afraid he'll say anything that makes Edgar stop talking or that makes him upset again. He decides to keep listening, to keep waiting for Edgar to figure stuff out as he speaks.

“Monty told me to just– be. As if that's easy, just like that.”

“Why would it not be?” 

“W-what?” And Edgar's looking at him as if he just grew another head. Roland thinks he understands a little of what this is about, and to him it's not as big as Edgar is making it to be. Not in a diminishing way, just. Sometimes Edgar's mind walks him in circles and limits him from seeing what's right in front of him.

“Why would it be hard? To just be, I mean. What's stopping you?” 

The look on Edgar's face is like an open book. He knows how he feels about himself. Understands what makes him comfortable and what doesn't. Always did. He just didn't put it into action, always brushing it aside as unimportant, be it because of his family or because of his distress about Poe not being a raven. 

Roland's point is making him realise he's been stuck in the past. Reliving things that aren't here anymore. Focusing on the things he lost, instead of the ones he gained.

Focused on renouncing his name, be it because it's a reminder of who he was or what he doesn't have anymore. Being an Allan without a Poe is unnatural. Everybody in his family has a Poe.

But Poe's still here, not physically, but in the ways he helped Edgar come to be. In the things he helped Edgar realise.

It's not your fault, it's the crow's fault.

And Edgar now knows neither of them were ever at fault, for anything. They just existed in a way that didn't really make sense to other people besides them, and that's okay.

It was never wrong, with Poe. Just different. Good different.

“Nothing… I– I have nothing else to lose.” He lets out a soft chuckle, a bit surprised at himself. “Never really did. I didn't lose Poe, I gained a part of myself. He just. Happened to be the one that gave me it.” 

And Roland's smiling, eyes shining bright with the soft warm glow of his bedside candle, but also with tears. Small ones that end up falling once he leaps into Edgar, letting himself fall on the bed to hug Edgar as tightly as possible.

Edgar's laughing, surprised and still a bit unsure but so much lighter than before. This weight, the pressure that came with having to be something before he was even himself, feels softer now. Almost gone. 

It's always going to be there as part of what made him who he is today, but he won't let it get in the way of his existence like it did for many, many years. 

Now, it's just– there.

Also existing, being. Just like he is.

Some weeks later, an egg will make itself known. Edgar will find it by his bedside, right after waking up in the morning, just nested on some sparse sticks and feathers.

He won't touch it, acknowledging its existence but not interfering with it. Letting it be.

Part of himself will wonder about Poe again, and he'll miss him. The egg will remind him of the company and the subtle understanding he doesn't have anymore. The deep bonding of having a part of yourself look back at you and yell the things you don't dare to say out loud.

The feeling will pass though, when he reminds himself of what he has now. Friendship and family, forged by all the conversations they've had to try and understand. To pick what should be left in the past to make space for the new.

Eventually, he'll tend to it. When the cracks start appearing and its shell starts breaking down on itself to become something else. He'll pick what the egg discards with care, giving it the attention it deserves as a way of coping. 

Giving it the space and comfort to become as it wants to be, be it bird or anything else. Because he and Poe didn't get that on their time, when they should've had.

On its time it'll crack, and Edgar will be there for it. To watch it hatch, and then hold them in his hands as he feels their presence. To understand what they are and what they will come to mean to him.

To give it time, later in their years together, to just exist. 

To just be, as part of him or not.