.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Overture

Edwin taps his pen thoughtfully against his notebook as he watches Charles usher their newest client out the door.  Early morning light through the window casts bright squares and shadow lines across the desktop, highlighting the latest notes added to his notebook.

Closing the door, Charles turns to Edwin with a frown.  His earring glints gold in the sunlight.  “So that makes three, now.”

Edwin sets his pen aside and leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers thoughtfully.  “Yes, and three deaths in three nights is most certainly a pattern and not merely an unfortunate coincidence.”  He studies the neat lines of writing on the page. 

The first he might have been willing to write off; an elderly man who fell asleep and passed quietly away during a performance at the Milleflora Opera House.  Unfortunate for all involved, but in Edwin’s admittedly jaded experience the elderly die quite frequently and with little regard for place or purpose.  The echo of Charles’ chiding voice, “mate, bedside manner,” causes him to sigh internally.  It wasn’t the old gent’s fault, of course, and he had seemed legitimately perturbed at the occurrence—enough that he didn’t pass on, and also almost immediately sought out the agency.  Plenty of ghosts linger around the old theater district, several of whom had been all too happy to send the man straight to the Dead Boy Detectives.

“Not the first time I drifted off at the theater, it was always more Marie’s thing than mine but it made her happy to drag me along.  I think I was dreaming, though, most realistic dream of my life.  Something from years ago now, girl I used to know when I was a young man.  Long time ago, now, long time.  Haven’t thought of her in ages.  Can’t remember many of the details, mind, of the dream I mean.  Then I’m waking up, except not quite if you follow, and my Marie’s in tears, and well.  Here we are.”

The man had insisted he was in good health and sobriety, and that there was no reason for him to have passed that way, nor so suddenly.  Edwin remained skeptical—the man was eighty-seven, for God’s sake—and they politely let him know they would consider his case and get back to him shortly whether they would take it.

Edwin had intended to pass it by, in favour of a much more interesting case regarding the sighting of a black dog south of the city, seemingly gone wild; local lore stated this particular beast was usually a guardian, guiding people home late at night.  Lately, however, it’s begun chasing ghosts and leading townspeople astray.  Plus, well, Charles always likes the cases with dogs in them.

Except the next day brought another face to their door, this one a young man with a suspiciously similar story to the elderly gent—attending the same opera, falling asleep, experiencing strangely realistic dreams followed by death before dawn, without ever waking.  He did admit to ingesting a not-insignificant amount of cannabis prior to the show, but Crystal was quick to point out that this might cause some confusion of memory but was unlikely to cause death in someone otherwise young and healthy.

Edwin does not like coincidences—he believes the world simultaneously too random and too orderly—but he accepts that they do, on occasion, happen.

But this morning brought a third ghost to their door in as many days, this time only minutes after the sun has even risen.  A third ghost to have slept and dreamt and died before sunrise at the very same opera, well.

That is most emphatically not a coincidence.

Charles nods his agreement.  “So we’re taking them all on, then.  One big case.”

“Indeed.”  Edwin plucks a case card from his desk drawer and scrawls the three names down, along with ‘The Ghosts of Milleflora Opera House’.  He stands from the desk and circles around to the case board, slipping it into the Open Cases column.  Turning to Charles, he tents his fingers together at his waist.  They will have to fill Crystal in later anyway, when she arrives for the day, but no reason not to get started.  “Your initial hypothesis?” 

Charles bites his lips thoughtfully, which Edwin does his best not to focus on.  “Could be a curse, or maybe an angry ghost hanging out causing trouble?  The Milleflora is a pretty old theater, right?  An’ every actor I’ve ever met, living or dead, was right dramatic.”  He begins to wander the office as he thinks out loud, picking up their unsolvable Rubiks cube to fiddle with as they toss theories back and forth in a well-practiced exchange. 

With Charles preoccupied, Edwin allows himself a moment to admire the object of his affections.  Subtly—or at least he hopes he is being subtle—as he would never want to make Charles uncomfortable.  But sometimes he simply…cannot help himself.  Charles is so handsome, and lovely, and vibrant with the early morning sunshine catching on his earring and touching his curls with gold, his eyes bright and movements charmingly energetic.  With such a vision in front of him, how is Edwin supposed to look away?

They have talked about it, a bit.  About everything that happened in Port Townsend, and particularly what was said on their way out of Hell.  Partly at the urging of Crystal, banging on about communication and honesty and so forth.  But Charles and Edwin also both decided, in the wake of everything, that they might be better served talking about the hard things a little more often.  It is not easy, but they have been trying.

So Edwin had asked, halting and uncertain, whether Charles would prefer Edwin…well, keep it to himself, as it were.  To hold back on expressions of affection and admiring glances that strayed beyond those bounds typical of their friendship.

And Charles, wonderful Charles, said it was okay.  That Edwin could be as affectionate as he wanted.

Not that Edwin has taken advantage, as such, still far too tentative to let the full force of his affections loose on Charles.  Not least because if he starts, he’s not sure he will ever be able to stop.

But if he indulges, once in a while, in a lingering glance or a few extra seconds of contact, at least he knows Charles will not mind. 

Still, right now they have a case to solve.  Edwin clears his throat quietly and pulls his attention away from Charles’ loveliness and back to his words. 

“All this trouble starting after the start of a new show, though, that’s pretty suspicious, too.”  Charles shrugs. 

“You’re quite right, Charles.  A curse, or a cursed object, sounds likely—either something laid on the building, or perhaps something our clients have touched.  Maybe someone involved in the show.  And yes, the theater has been on that property for nearly two hundred years.  Plenty of ghosts about after all that time.”

Charles glows from Edwin’s praise, grinning wide.  “Guess we should pop down and ask around, then?  Surely one of them will have seen or heard something useful.”

“With any luck,” Edwin replies.  “I suppose we ought to wait for Crystal, though.  She’ll complain endlessly if we don’t.”  Charles laughs at the unserious complaint, and Edwin smirks back.  But he also adds with more sincerity, “And I suppose if there is a curse or dangerous object on the premises, she may well be able to sense and identify it.”

“Aces,” Charles says, tossing the little toy cube from hand to hand.  By the looks of it, he managed an entire side in green, this time.  “Well, she won’t be in ‘til ten, that gives us what, about three hours?”  He winks playfully at Edwin.  “Guess that means it’s time for your favourite part of a case.”

Edwin smiles back.  “Research.”

“Research, mate.”

Recitative

They spend the hours waiting for Crystal in researching the history of the opera house, looking for any suspicious or supernatural happenings in the area both recently and historically.  They don’t find much, however.  Aside from being some two and a half centuries old and generally a popular gathering spot for spirits of an artistically inclined nature, the place itself appears to be otherwise fairly mundane. 

Well, solving the case wasn’t likely to be quite that easy.

When Crystal arrives at quarter past ten with a terrifying large coffee in hand, they fill her in and make a tentative plan.  By early afternoon they’re standing shoulder to shoulder on the sidewalk outside the building. 

The façade is stately and ornate with a great deal of Baroque detailing though it is at least partly in imitation, as Edwin learned from his research on the history of the building.  The original façade had been badly damaged during the Blitz, and though it was restored quite skillfully the newer details were nevertheless not quite the same as the old. 

The theatre is closed at the moment, a sign next to the entry stating that the box office opens at five p.m. and the performance begins at eight p.m.  But that’s hardly an obstacle to ghosts.  They begin their investigation outside in any case, interviewing the spirits loitering around.  Even with a pair of spirits in the group who are regular contacts of the agency—the young twins by the names of Darby and William who once hawked newssheets on the sidewalk and now gather news and gossip from all over the city—there is little new to be learned, as no one here appears to know anything more than the agency learned from their clients. 

“Inside we go, then,” Edwin states, and nods to Charles, who steps through the locked door to open it from the inside for Crystal.  He waves her in with a playful flourish, and grins at Edwin as he follows.    

As they are on a bit of a time crunch, divide and conquer seems the best strategy.  Edwin and Charles leave Crystal to speak to some of the living staff about the events of the last few nights, and make their own way through the lobby to speak with more ghosts. 

When they reconvene, however, they aren’t much further ahead than before.

“No one’s happy about the last few nights, to be clear,” Crystal says, brushing a stray curl out of her face.  “But the victims are all too different.  The staff just think it’s some tragic coincidence.  No one thinks this is some grand plan to ruin the show or, I don’t know, some rando who just hates singing.  There were no problems during practices or dress rehearsals, the first victim was opening night.  Honestly, the only difference between this show and the previous one is that the company hired a new lead soprano.  Everyone else in the show has been with the Milleflora for at least a few years.  I couldn’t get close enough to read her directly, but everyone else seems to like her well enough, and no reports of her acting weird.” 

“Hmm.  A new face is noteworthy, but aside from that we’re not much further ahead,” Edwin sighs, flipping through his latest notes which largely amount to nothing much.  None of the few ghosts they found so far lingering inside had anything of use to add, either. 

Charles looks especially pained, glancing frequently at the large decorative clock on the wall of the lobby.  Edwin understands the concern; every minute pushes the likelihood of another victim higher. 

“Mister Payne, Mister Rowland,” a low voice drifts through the air followed by the ghost of a stately woman appearing through the lobby wall.  Her full skirts sway dramatically as she sweeps toward them.  “It’s been some time since you graced this fine establishment, I do hope you both are well.  I hear you’re asking about the recent events at my theater?” 

Edwin nods politely, mentally searching his memory for a name—ah, Margaret “Maggie” Bellwood, once a performer here in the late 1850s, and a source of some help on a case some ten years ago.  “Miss Bellwood, have you information to share with us?” 

“And it’s nice to see you again, miss,” Charles tosses in with a grin, nudging Edwin with his elbow. 

“Yes, of course, my apologies.”  He nods again, but also pulls his notebook and pen out of his coat pocket.  No time to waste, after all; in his opinion, manners can wait.

“Oh, it’s all right,” she bushes his impatience aside with a languid hand, “I remember what you’re like when you’re working, you busy boys.  Still, you ought to make time for a show one of these days.  Once this nasty business is finished, I mean.”

“And what sort of nastiness have you seen?”  Edwin flips open his notebook, pen poised above the page ready for, hopefully, something useful. 

“Not so much seen as felt,” Miss Bellwood begins, touching a dramatic hand to her heart.  “Half the spirits around here don’t even come inside for the performances, it’s of no wonder they were no help to you.  And my family had a touch of the Sight, you know.  A bit like you, little psychic,” she winks at Crystal. 

“Interesting,” Edwin hums, pen jotting across the page.

Charles tips his head curiously.  “So you’re feeling something different than the other ghosts, then?  And the audience, too?”

Miss Bellwood nods.  “I do believe so.  Only inside the performance hall, and only during the show.  A strange sort of weight to the air.  I cannot feel it any other time, nor elsewhere in the building.  But I have noticed it for all of the last three nights since the show opened, and never before previously.”

“That certainly sounds odd,” Edwin murmurs thoughtfully.  More importantly, the combination of at least one new star performer together with Miss Bellwood’s experience sounds like a lead.

.oOo.oOo.oOo.

With the description of Miss Bellwood’s experience in hand, they stake out a small space in the back of the performance hall.  Edwin casts a few seeking and revelation spells that turn up nothing of note, given he does not know what they are looking for, and Crystal reaches out with her abilities as well, to no avail.  Charles pokes about for a while, checking under seats and phasing in and out of walls, but eventually returns to their corner with palpable frustration.

“Nothing in the whole bleeding place, mate.”  Charles scowls and kicks at one of the seats, but his foot merely passes through it.  “We’ve got next to nothing, and someone else is probably going to die tonight.”

Edwin sets a calming hand on Charles’ shoulder.  “We are doing all we can, and we shall solve this.”  It’s a promise, and he means it.  Yet Charles is right, too.  Time, and the lack of leads, are not on their side.

“Maybe it’s not something in here,” Crystal suggests, looking around critically.  “Maybe it’s someone or something coming in from outside.”  As if to punctuate her words, the doors to the hall open and people begin to stream down the aisle and into seats. 

To that end, the three of them circle the room together, looking for anyone acting suspicious, for any odd feelings, anything out of place.  Crystal reads anyone who looks even remotely shifty, and Edwin alternately casts warding spells around the rows of seating—protection, hopefully, though without knowing the cause of the deaths his wards are by necessity generic and not guaranteed to work—and dispelling charms in an attempt to reveal anyone else with magic used by or on them.

They find nothing, nothing, and more nothing.  It is aggravating in the extreme.

They retreat to their corner as the lights go down, the curtain rises, and the show begins.

There is nothing strange at first.  The performers are highly skilled, to Edwin’s best assessment, their voices soaring through the space and filling every corner with music.  The lead soprano—the new addition to the opera company Crystal spoke of earlier, according to the program booklet Edwin swipes from a nearby seat—is a bit piercing for his taste, but not in any apparently supernatural way. 

Then Crystal makes a quiet noise, and he turns to see a frown on her face.  She catches his eye and nods, leaning close to whisper, “Do you feel that?”

At first Edwin and Charles both shake their heads, but less than a minute later Edwin pauses.

There is something.

“Charles.”

“Yeah, mate, me too.”  Worried brown eyes meet his own.

Nothing changes in the tenor of the music nor the voices of the singers, nothing alters the light glowing dimly from the giant chandeliers high above them.  Yet just as Miss Bellwood described, there is a slow, seeking weight to the air growing at the edges of Edwin’s awareness.  Definitely magical in nature, thick and syrupy and spreading invisibly through the room.  Not malevolent, as far as he can tell.  Almost rippling, as though it is moving, searching.  But it feels distant to Edwin, as though it isn’t interested in him.

“See if you can pinpoint the source,” he instructs Crystal, while himself and Charles split up to canvass down both sides of the room.  Searching the faces of the audience for anyone looking concerned, or threatening—or may heaven help them, already asleep.

The three of them share a look once the boys return to their corner, and Crystal shakes her head.  “Something’s coming from the direction of the stage, but I can’t get anything more specific than that.  It’s too vague or, I don’t know, diffused.”

Which lends weight to their theory that the newest singer may be in some way involved.  But without anything actionable, all they can do is watch, and wait, with a sinking sense of inevitability growing along with the magical weight pressing down on the room.

.oOo.oOo.oOo.

By the time they reach the end of performance, the oppressive feeling has faded along with the echoing applause, and it seems as though nothing happened.

“Maybe everyone’s alright this time?” Charles asks hopefully, but the waver in his voice gives away his uncertainty.  Edwin feels the same; they accomplished nothing of substance with their investigation so far, it’s unlikely that their presence alone would stop whatever is happening here.

They wait, tense and worried, until the audience has mostly filed out—

Edwin’s shoulders slump at the sight of a small cluster of guests still huddled together halfway down the left side of the hall, voices shifting from confused to upset to frantic cries echoing through the empty hall.  He catches a glimpse of a middle-aged man, slack-faced in slumber. 

“Shit,” Crystal sighs, closing her eyes against the sight.  Charles mutters something much ruder, turning and pacing away. 

Edwin takes a deep breath, focusing on the case and not the wretched person now asleep and likely to die before morning. 

“Come,” Edwin says quietly to Crystal and Charles, directing them back to the doors and out into the lobby.  There is little point in upsetting themselves by staying to watch as the latest victim sleeps their way to death.  Either he will wake, or more likely he will not, and tomorrow will see yet another ghost turn up at their door.

For now, it’s better that the three of them slip away, on the off chance Death will come to claim the newest ghost and he will decide to go.

By the time they’re outside on the sidewalk once more, Charles has schooled his expression to hide away most of his upset, but Edwin knows it’s still there and sets a comforting hand on his shoulder.  Crystal still looks tense, but layered over with determination.

“So now we have four victims, definitely a pattern, and a magical cause,” she states.

“And every reason to believe it will keep happening each night if we don’t solve this,” Chales finishes.

“Indeed,” Edwin says.  He studies the front of the building, options ticking through his mind, and he keeps coming back to the sensation of the magical weight being somehow…disinterested in them.  “I suspect that we may need to attend as patrons.  Properly.  Tickets purchased, dressed up, the lot of it.  If we want to experience this, whatever it is, the same way as the audience.  I don’t know how it felt to either of you, but whatever magic this is didn’t seem interested in us, perhaps because we were…crashing the party, as it were.”

“It’s as good an idea as any,” Crystal sighs.  Looking around, she nods toward a nearby café.  “It’s late, I’m going to get something to eat.  Meet you back at the office?”

“Are you sure you don’t want company after…all that?” Charles asks, but Crystal shakes her head.

“Nah, I think I need to process a bit.”  She heads off across the street.  “See you in an hour or so.”

“Back to the office, then,” Edwin says, gesturing Charles toward a nearby clothing shop that ought to have a mirror inside.  Moments later Edwin is settling into his desk chair as Charles sprawls across the sofa.  He flips slowly through his notebook, skimming his notes yet again, though they offer no new insights.  Both are silent in their thoughts, but eventually Charles breaks the silence.

“Have you ever been?  To the opera, I mean.  Before tonight.  Not that we were paying much attention to the singers.”

Edwin hums softly, thinking of those long-ago evenings.  “A few times, when I was old enough to be trusted to be attentive for the length of it.  Mostly during the Christmastime home from school, sometimes my mother would take the family.  And I suppose I expected to go often enough, had I made it through school and also by some miracle through the War unscathed.  It was quite a common courting outing for a modestly well-to-do family, and I would have been expected to accompany, well.”  He frowns a little, quiet pity for the boy he once was.  “Young women my parents might have thought a good match.”

“Yeah?” Charles looks over, expression curious.  Edwin wishes to himself, privately, that there was more than curiosity there.  “Like dinner and a show?  Not that much different than modern days, I guess.”

“Not much, I suppose.  Though in those days, of course, any evening would have been strictly chaperoned.  To prevent any, ah…misbehaviour…”  Edwin trails off, blushing.  He hadn’t quite thought that one through before speaking, and now dangerous, affectionate thoughts swirled in his mind.  Thoughts Edwin never could have let himself indulge in those long-ago days.  Thoughts of courting a boy, thoughts of courting Charles, what it might have been like to stroll arm-in-arm with him through gilded halls. 

Thoughts of the sorts of misbehaviour that chaperonage was meant to deter. 

“Misbehaviour, eh?” Charles teases, and Edwin blushes harder even knowing that Charles isn’t thinking the same things.  He’s no doubt picturing flirtations with some young lady.  But his bright smile invites Edwin to tease back, and so he does.

“Well, private boxes and all.  Terribly scandalous, you know.”  They share a laugh, and Edwin hugs that charming smile close to his heart.

Sinfonia

Edwin stands at the railing of their theater box, studying the slowly filling theater below with a casual air that Charles can tell is more of a front than not.  They’re all a bit shaken after last night’s failure and hiding it in their separate ways.  Which is to say, not very well at all; Edwin has been tense as anything all day, Crystal’s wielding snark like a blade, and Charles is stuck here worrying about them both.

Charles isn’t much better, mind.  All they managed to agree on last night as they hashed and rehashed every piece of information they have, is that there’s a good chance the new singer’s the cause.  But they don’t know how, or have any proof besides.  Charles just hopes they can figure it out tonight before anyone else sleeps themselves to death.

Before he can join Edwin and reassure him or something—not really sure what he ought to say, is he, but it feels like he should try—Crystal’s voice from behind him has him turning.

“Ugh, I hate the opera.”  She’s slumped in one of the fancy chairs, feet stretched out and dress trailing down to the floor.  “When you said we had to dress up I wasn’t expecting tails.”

“The opera is appreciated by the living and the dead alike, Crystal.  We must blend in,” Edwin lectures without taking his eyes off the room below.  Which makes sense, since tonight they’re meant to be audience, not investigators. 

“I gotta say, I didn’t have the opera boring people to death on this year’s bingo card,” she replies, clearly trying to get a rise out of Edwin the way she always does when she’s stressed.

And it works, Edwin turning with a judgmental look, eyebrow and everything.  “Charming.”

At Crystal’s scoff, Edwin straightens his shoulders pointedly with a disapproving glance over her sprawled form before joining them in their seats. “You’re the most in danger, Crystal.  You’re human and can fall to sleep.  That’s when she strikes.  None have woken.”

“I know, Edwin!” she snaps back.

Charles lays a calming hand on her shoulder, waving Edwin down with the other.  The last thing they need is to be causing a scene, especially since it’ll look like Crystal’s up here alone and out of her mind if she starts shouting.  “He’s saying be careful, yeah?”

Closing her eyes, Crystal lets out a slow breath.  “Yeah, I know,” she says, a lot calmer this time.  “But you both need to be careful, too.  We don’t really know what’s happening here, or what will happen when we try to stop it.”

Edwin makes an unhappy face and turns back to his watchful assessment of the theatre spread out below their box.  Charles kind of gets it; the face, that is.  They don’t exactly have much of a plan here.  Crystal bought out the box for tonight’s show and they arrived early—partly from nerves and partly because Edwin wanted to have time for some reconnaissance beforehand--but they’re playing the part of the audience tonight.  Which meant waiting impatiently in the milling crowd for the doors to open before entering the theatre proper, and following the flow of guests as they made their way to the box located high on the side near the front of the room.

It’s a good location, giving them a decent view of the audience to watch for anyone falling asleep, and close enough to the stage that hopefully they can see something from this angle that will give them a proper lead.  All they’ve really got so far is the suspicion the new singer’s involved, but suspicion’s not enough to go on.  All they can hear at the moment is the orchestra clearly, the quiet sounds of tuning instruments getting ready, and the low chatter of the audience finding their seats.

Charles never thought he’d wish for some sort of mad sorcerer shouting and flailing about, but at least that’s easy.  He knows where he stands with mad sorcerers and the like.  This tense, uncertain waiting is setting his nerves right on edge.

He steps up to Edwin’s side, joining in watching the crowd for anything suspicious or unusual, but all he sees are row after row of fancy-dressed men and women of all ages and appearances.  Which he kind of likes that part, actually.  He’s pretty sure opera used to be a lot more closed to ‘commoners’ but the crowd here is pretty well-mixed.  Everyone’s a bit fancy, sure, but there’s plenty of people who just look like regular folks having a nice night out, instead of a bunch of rich toffs.

Speaking of fancy dress, Charles slides his gaze to Edwin.  He’s just as mint as he was earlier tonight, the first time Charles saw him in tonight’s evening suit, but the effect hasn’t faded like, at all. 

It’s just that Charles hasn’t seen Edwin dressed up quite like this before.

Sure they’ve had disguises, plenty of times, and it’s not that Edwin has never had to change his usual uniform out in favour of some other outfit for a case.  But tonight, he’s….

Resplendent is the only word that comes to mind, and it’s an Edwin word for sure, not one Charles would ever come up with on his own.  It fits, though.

He doesn’t know the name of it, what Edwin’s got on for his eveningwear.  It fits tight, though, cut much closer than Edwin’s uniform, in a dark blue silk with shining gold buttons up the front and intricately swirling embroidery around the high neck of the jacket.  The throat’s open, though, and instead of his usual bowtie Edwin’s got a full proper cravat in soft white puffing out around his throat.  It matches his gloves and the lace edging from under his cuffs, all of it the same soft, spotless white.  The trousers are equally well-fitted, a definite contrast to Edwin’s usual knickerbockers, socks, and boots. 

His hair’s not so different, just somehow even tidier than usual, swept up and back from his forehead.  Except even as Charles watches—or pretends not to watch—one slightly curled lock of hair slips out of the sweep, just a little. 

Edwin always looks put together, especially compared to Charles, but this is on another level. 

He seemed to manifest the outfit pretty easily, too, which makes Charles wonder if it’s something he wore before, back when he was alive.  Edwin often says that he doesn’t remember a lot about his life, but he’s also never really seemed to not have an answer to anything Charles has wanted to know over the years, so he’s always thought Edwin remembers a lot more than he likes to let on. 

If this was something Edwin wore back then, was it because he was courting someone, or planned to?  Not that Edwin would have wanted whatever poor girl he had on his arm, Charles supposes, given, well.  Everything.  He’d even said as much yesterday.  But at the time Edwin would have had to go along with it.

If it is something Edwin wore when courting, though, is he remembering that now?

Then one of the thoughts Charles has mostly tried to ignore the last few months, ever since Edwin said…what he said. 

Is he wondering what it might be like if he were courting Charles?

The chandeliers dimming pulls him out of his thoughts and it’s just as well.  He’s only going in circles and none of it’s helpful right now, is it?  Not relevant to the case at all, which means Charles better set it aside and pay attention.

“Showtime,” Crystal murmurs, sitting up out of her slouch and then standing.

“Indeed,” Edwin nods, shifting to the side so she can join them at the railing.  Let us hope that something is visible to us from this vantage point, this time.”

Charles mentally crosses his fingers, and watches the curtain rise.

.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Intermission comes and goes, and though that same heavy feeling fills the theatre again, just like last night, once again nothing else seems to be obviously happening and Charles is getting bloody bored.  Not that the music’s not nice and all, but they already sat through most of it last night.  Charles is splitting his attention between the stage and the audience, scanning faces one after the other, but everyone looks normal and not at all like they’re bothered by whatever this feeling is. 

Edwin’s murmuring spells under his breath, one after the other, for seeking and unmasking and other things, anything that might uncover something useful.  His voice and words are measured, but he’s got his hands all crunched up again, his only sign of the tension they’re all feeling.  None of them want to fail again and see another victim fall under whatever spell or trick is going on here. 

Charles wants to reach over and unclench Edwin’s hands, try and get him to relax.  Edwin’s got nice hands, all elegant and stuff, and even though Charles knows ghosts can’t pop a knuckle or anything seeing Edwin’s fingers all twisted up always looks a little painful. 

Though if he’s being honest, what Charles really wants to do is give Edwin a hug.  Maybe that’d help them both relax; it would sure help Charles.  But it’s hard enough to get a hug out of Edwin on a good day, he’s definitely not going to talk him into it in the middle of a frustrating case.  Which kind of sucks, because Edwin’s hugs really are the best ever.

He stifles a sigh.  Ever since Port Townsend and Hell and the stairs, Edwin’s been even twitchier about hugs than he was before.  Charles kind of gets it, knowing about Edwin’s…feelings for him, and the way Charles hadn’t known how to respond.  And even though Edwin did ask Charles about the whole ‘showing his affections’ thing, if anything it feels like Edwin’s been even more distant after that.  It makes Charles worry, sometimes, that there’s a distance growing between them that some day they might not be able to cross.

He doesn’t really worry about that, most of the time.  But once in a while, yeah.

But mostly, he just really, really wishes Edwin didn’t feel like he has to hold himself back.

Wincing at a particularly shrill soprano note, Charles rubs at his eyes.  Ghosts can’t get eyestrain but he swears he feels that tightness behind his eyelids pulsing with every note. 

But when the singer’s voice descends again, giving way to something quiet and moody, Charles thinks—

Cocking his head, he focuses on the soprano again.  She’s gesturing slow and sweeping as she glides across the stage.

He hears it again, something just underneath the soaring sounds of the orchestra and singing voices, but he can’t quite make it out.  “Edwin, Crystal, do either of you hear that?”

Both of them turn to Charles whip-fast and any other time it’d be a little funny.  It’s usually him and Edwin doing the simultaneous-reaction thing.  Seeing it from the other side makes him want to laugh—if they weren’t in the middle of possibly the first real break in this case.

“No.  Charles, what do you hear?” Edwin demands.  He whips his notebook from his pocket.

Crystal’s staring at him, intently.  “I don’t hear anything except the music.”  Her hand’s half-raised in his direction, like she’s ready to read him, but she holds off for now. 

“Yeah, it’s not…”  Charles struggles to pick the thin faint sounds out of the surrounding orchestral noise.  “It’s real quiet, kind of…  Like it’s woven in, or piggybacking on the music.  It’s not part of the music though.” It’s not in the singer’s voice, either, but is she still involved somehow?  He can’t tell.  He pulls his chair closer to the railing, trying to get away from the wall so that he can hear as clear as possible. 

“What does it sound like?  Words?  A tune?  A spell?”  Edwin snaps the words out, staccato sharp. 

“Mate, just, I’m trying to listen, give me a mo’, yeah?”  Waving a hand at him to get him to wait, Charles closes his eyes and tries to concentrate on the thin little sound underneath everything else.  “Keep an eye on the audience for me.”  Edwin huffs in annoyance, but keeps quiet for now.  But he stays close, standing just at Charles’ shoulder.  Right where he’s supposed to be.

With his eyes closed, the music surrounds him in the way music always has, filling in all the gaps to block out everything else.  It’s one of the reasons he loves music so much, really.  They’re on a case, though, and counting on Charles to figure this out so he does his best to focus on whatever extra little sound he keeps hearing.  

If he can just find it and follow it back, he knows he’ll find the answer—

“—arles.  Charles!”

His eyes fly open and he blinks, hard.  The music has faded into applause filling the theatre. 

“Charles, are you listening?  She did not strike tonight.”  Edwin’s at his side, looking down at Charles as he adjusts his gloves. 

“Wha—It’s over?”  Charles rubs his eyes, glancing out to the stage, now hidden behind curtains as the guests begin to trickle out, then back to Edwin.  “Did I…fall asleep?”

Edwin straightens his back, folding his hands together at his waist, and gives him a judgmental look, eyebrow and all.  “Of course not, Charles.  Ghosts cannot sleep.”

Charles supposes he deserves that look, for asking dumb questions and for clearly failing to pay attention.  “Right, ‘course.”  He rubs his forehead, trying to find a bit more alertness.  “Just got really caught up in the music, I guess.”  He looks out over the emptying seats.  “So nothing happened?”  The last of the applause has faded and the lights come back up as the audience below them moves out of their seats and toward the exits.  No sign of anyone acting strange.

“Nothing of note.”  Edwin straightens his gloves again with a small tug.  “I suggest we return to the office and regroup.  The theater is closed for the next two days, so we have a bit of time.”

“Yeah,” Charles mumbles, pulling himself up out of the seat. He rubs his forehead again, trying to remember his earlier train of thought.  Lucky no one else got bespelled tonight, he supposes.  Though he thought at the start of the night that he’d been pretty sure it would happen.

“Are you all right?” Edwin asks with a concerned frown.  One white-gloved hand flutters up to Charles’ temple, his fingers briefly tangling with Charles’ own.

Surprised, Charles catches Edwin’s hand and tugs it down, but he smiles reassuringly.  “I’m fine.”

Though Edwin doesn’t quite look convinced, he doesn’t push, turning to lead the way to the exit from their box.  As they exit the theatre to the street, though, Edwin slows enough to draw even with Charles and brushes their hands together before threading their fingers.  It catches Charles off guard enough his own grip goes slack.  But Edwin doesn’t let go, only runs his thumb over Charles’ knuckles soothingly and starts recounting the case facts from the evening the way he likes to do.

Charles hardly hears him, though, all his attention gone to their connected hands.  It’s not that it isn’t nice, but he does sort of wonder why Edwin’s chosen now to reach out this way.  No warning, and in the middle of a case.  Because they don’t do that and Edwin’s never been a hand-holder sort of bloke, aside from one or the other of them grabbing a wrist while running from some sort of trouble. 

But he doesn’t pull away, either, and doesn’t think too hard about why.

Aria

Edwin holds his hand the whole walk home.  It’s…nice.

Well, it’s a little odd, is what it is, but really it’s nice.  Not often Edwin lets himself get a little touchy; it makes Charles feel warm every time he does.  He remembers those early years, when Edwin shied away from every touch and kept out of arms’ reach as often as he could.  So if Edwin wants to hold his hand the whole way home, for whatever reason, then Charles is more than happy to go along with it.

Plus it’s kind of mint, yeah?  Edwin’s got nice hands, Charles has always thought so.  Long fingers meant for holding books and fancy pens in a delicate grip, or flying through the air casting some sort of magic (or punctuating his complaining, bless him).  No callouses and scarred-up knuckles like Charles has got.

So he’s honestly a little disappointed when Edwin finally unclasps their fingers as they climb the stairs to the office.  Not that he’s gonna say anything, ‘cause it’d probably come out wrong and then Edwin might think he’d done something wrong when he didn’t.  Of course he didn’t.

Edwin shrugs smoothly out of his fancy evening coat and hangs it on the coat stand in the corner.  “Well, the performance was lovely, but how disappointing to make no real progress in our case.”  He fusses with the way it hangs, twitching the sleeves out to prevent wrinkles.

“I mean, no one else died, right?” Charles removes his own coat and hangs it next to Edwin’s.  The contrast makes him smile a little; the soft blue of Edwin’s next to the deep wine-red of Charles’ beside it.  Matched set, complementary.  “I’m happy to take that as a win for tonight.  And the theater’s closed for the next few nights, so we’ve got ourselves some time to figure out our next try.”

“True.”  Edwin hums thoughtfully, pacing across the room once, twice.  As he passes Charles he pauses, reaching out to tweak the collar of his shirt and straighten the line of his tie.  His fingers tangle in the thin gold chain linking his collar pins, tugging playfully.  “I know I’ve said it already, but I feel it bears repeating how handsome you look tonight.  All gussied up,” Edwin teases, his smile full of affection.  His hand lingers, resting on Charles’ chest with a familiar cool comforting pressure.

Like the hand-holding, it’s nice.  A little unusual for Edwin to hold such contact for so long, and Charles realizes he’s blushing a bit.  It’s not as though Edwin is stingy with the compliments; he likes to praise Charles often, actually, for all sorts of things.  But even after their slightly-awkward conversation a few months back, Edwin’s not been all that demonstrative when it comes to the feelings Charles knows he has.  Charles, I’m in love with you.  As more than a friend, I’m afraid.

The echo of the words from the staircase, coupled with the fact that Edwin’s still touching his chest, has Charles blushing even harder.  Ghosts shouldn’t even be able to blush, but that’s sure not stopping him right now.  He swallows, hard, and tries to pull it together.  “Thanks, mate.  You look right nice, yourself.”

Edwin gives him a pleased little smile, the one Charles thinks of as his secrets smile, and for a lingering second his attention seems to drop to Charles’ lips before he pats his chest twice and steps away to resume pacing. 

Charles thinks about that look for a very long minute, his own hand creeping up to rest over the same spot, and then tries not to think about it at all. 

They have a case to solve, don’t they?  Wondering about why Edwin’s decided to finally act a little more forward can wait.

Which would be a lot easier if Edwin didn’t…keep doing it.

To be clear, it might be putting Charles a little off-balance, but he doesn’t mind.  He’d told Edwin it was okay if he wanted to be more openly affectionate, and he meant it.  Doesn’t mean he’s not a little surprised that Edwin’s actually doing it.

But as the afternoon winds on and the two of them work through the facts of the case, search Edwin’s books, and try to figure out what could possibly be doing this, Edwin keeps….

Well, Charles isn’t sure what else to call it except flirting.

He catches Edwin sneaking teasing glances over the top edge of a thick tome, those moss-green eyes glowing and soft as anything as he takes in Charles and shares his latest hopefully-useful fact.  Feels the warmth of that look slide over him as Charles tosses his football from hand to hand.

Or the way Edwin moves around him on the way to the shelf, with a firm but gentle hand at Charles’ hip or the center of his back, or trailing a line from shoulder to shoulder before slipping away. 

Again, Charles reminds himself, it’s not…unheard of for Edwin to touch him, carefully when they are relaxed or urgently when their circumstances are dangerous.  But he doesn’t usually linger.

So it’s a little unusual, but same as the hand-holding on their way home, it’s…nice. Charles certainly doesn’t ask him to stop.  He doesn’t think too hard about why.

They’ve been at it a few hours, words and theories blurring in Charles mind, when Edwin sighs deeply and closes the latest book.  He sets it on the desktop with a decisive thump.  “Well.  I don’t know where else to look at the moment, so I daresay it’s time for a break.”

“Really?” Charles turns to Edwin in surprise.  He does want a break—the afternoon’s been starting to feel endless—but usually he’s the one who has to pull Edwin away.  “You, Edwin Payne, voluntarily saying we ought to take a break?  In the middle of a case?”

And there’s that smart little smirk again, the secrets smile.  “I have been known to do so,” he teases.  “Especially when there is something sweeter on offer.”

There’s a tone in his voice Charles doesn’t recognize, but which strikes a chord somewhere in his chest.  “Oh?  And what’s that, then?”  He’s not sure what Edwin means by sweeter, but the way he said it…

Still smiling, Edwin leaves the desk in favour of the corner with their record player.  A minute later something slow and jazzy spills out into the room.  “Dance with me?”  His expression is somehow both confident, and sweetly hopeful as he holds out a hand.

Charles is moving before he even realizes, drifting to meet Edwin in the middle of the room.  As if he could ever say no when Edwin looks at him like that.  When Edwin’s being brave enough to be so demonstrative.

When they fit together, it’s a little like coming home.  Makes sense, since Edwin’s the one who taught Charles how to dance this way, the proper old-fashioned way.  Raised hands clasped together, the other on shoulder or hip.  It’s something like a waltz, but with most of the formality lost over the years in favour of familiarity.  They circle the middle of the floor in a slow rhythm to match the music.

“Been awhile,” Charles says, hushed and strangely shy.  It has been a long time since they last danced.  Not really surprising given all the excitement of the past year, even if he can’t bring all the details to mind at the moment.  But it feels different, too.  Like there’s something more to being this close to Edwin than there was the last time they danced.

“Indeed it has,” Edwin murmurs back.  He squeezes Charles fingers, leading him in a slow turn across the rug.  “We really ought to make time for such things more often.”

Which surprises Charles more than a little, though he’s certainly not against it.  But all he manages is a slightly delayed, “Yeah, mate.”

Edwin laughs softly, the sound just brushing Charles’ ear.  “Such enthusiasm.”

The song changes from one slow number to another as they turn slowly around the room.  Charles barely hears the music over the rush of his thoughts.  He can’t remember the last time he and Edwin were so close for so long that wasn’t something ridiculous and case related, like the time they got trapped in a warded crate, or got tangled together with a binding spell.  All of those times Edwin was pretty clear in his complaints that while he didn’t oppose to being near Charles specifically, the extended proximity alone got him all tensed up right quick, ‘til he was nearly vibrating with the need to get some space. 

Now here he is—here they are—close as anything.  Chests and arms and knees brushing through the movements of the dance.  Hands folded together comfortably, familiar.  Like a hug that lasts an hour.

After everything in Port Townsend, in Hell, everything Charles now knows about Edwin’s feelings, he would have thought he’d feel awkward about this.  He’s been flattered, pleased, you name it whenever he thought about Edwin’s words on those stairs.  But he hadn’t realized, really, how it would feel to actually experience Edwin’s feelings.  To experience being the person Edwin shows that love to.

And he likes it.  Kind of a lot, actually.

It’s not just something nice, to have Edwin close like this.  It’s everything.

Charles lifts his head—when had he let himself lean so low, forehead nearly tucked into Edwin’s neck?—and angles back enough to meet Edwin’s eyes, warm and dark and smiling, the green nearly eclipsed by widened pupils.  Ghosts can’t really blush, but Charles is pretty sure if they could, Edwin would be flushed pink right now, high on his cheekbones to match his little smile.  His hair’s come a bit loose from its pomade, freeing slight waves and a lock hanging down over his forehead.  Their dance slows to the point they’re barely moving, only the slightest sway back and forth in each other’s arms, while Charles just keeps staring like he’s never quite seen Edwin before.

It’s not the first time Charles has realized Edwin’s a fit bloke, he’s got eyes, yeah?  But actually letting himself think about it makes it different.

He doesn’t get the chance to think about it for long, though, before Edwin’s leaning in and it startles Charles enough that he turns his head just slightly, leaving Edwin’s lips to brush against his cheek instead. 

“Mate?” squeaks out before he can stop it.  He doesn’t mean to sound quite so surprised, but he is surprised.  He starts to stammer out…anything.  An apology, an excuse, he really has no clue what he’s gonna say, but is saved from the almost certain embarrassment by Edwin’s voice.

“Apologies, darling,” Edwin whispers, but there’s no annoyance in his tone and no upset in his expression when Charles dares to look at him again.  He’s only smiling softly, with a bit of a teasing edge, like he’s sharing a secret between them.  “I know it’s still new; I don’t mind at all.”

“Don’t mind what?” Charles croaks out, confused and a little lost in what just happened.  Edwin kissed him, on the cheek and barely touching, yeah, but still a kiss.

Edwin leans closer, whispers it like a secret into Charles’ ear.  “That you’re still a little shy.”

“Right,” Charles manages to say through a suddenly tight throat.  “Still shy, me.”  He’s torn between relief that Edwin is close enough they’re cheek to cheek and therefore can’t see Charles’ face, because god only knows what expression he’s wearing, and the desperate desire to rabbit out of the room until he’s had a chance to process the face that Edwin just nearly kissed him.

Charles hadn’t even been sure, until this very moment, whether Edwin was interested in kissing at all.  He’d certainly never mentioned it, not even during some of their careful conversations talking around what they’d said on the stairs out of Hell.  And look, maybe Charles hasn’t been sure what to do about all that, but he has seen enough and talked to enough people to know that being ‘in love’ doesn’t automatically include kissing.  He’d halfway thought Edwin was just one of those people who wasn’t all that interested in the physical stuff. 

To find out that maybe Edwin is into that, and so unexpectedly, Charles figures maybe he can be forgiven for…fumbling a bit.

“Sorry,” tumbles out of his mouth then, mostly because he doesn’t know what else to say.  But the word has Edwin tutting gently, and pulling back enough to meet Charles eyes again.  He runs the back of his fingers along the edge of Charles chin, traces a thumb along the curve of his cheekbone.

“Never apologize for that, darling.”  The scold is as gentle as his touch.  “You know I would never ask for more than you’re willing to give.”

Which Charles does know, and says so.  “Yeah, I know.”

“What I will do,” Edwin continues, a low, teasing lilt entering his voice, “is make it clear to you what I would like.”  His thumb slips down to the corner of Charles’ lips, and his eyes drop to follow, the green nearly disappearing behind widening pupils.  “And then leave it up to you, love.  To decide what you would like to do.”

Charles feels like his breath is caught in his chest, his gaze dipping down to the curve of Edwin’s lips like iron to a magnet.  Edwin’s words echo on repeat, burying all his other thoughts beneath the realization that what he wants, right now, is for Edwin to kiss him proper, and Charles to kiss him right back. 

Because it’s not just nice, is it?  Edwin’s sweet words and soft touches, his flirtatious glances and the brush of a kiss.  It’s not just that Charles likes it when Edwin’s confident enough to reach out this way.

No, Charles wants it.  Charles wants desperately to be the focus of Edwin’s attention, his flirtation, his desire.  It’s that when Charles told Edwin earnestly, honestly, that it was okay to touch or flirt or stare, what he really meant was ‘please show me how much you love me’ and ‘make me understand’.

And bloody hell does Charles understand now, with the force of the sun, that he wants those things from Edwin, with Edwin, because he’s so in love with Edwin he’s—well, a bit stupid with it, isn’t he?  All these thoughts he’s been not letting himself think—since the stairs, since Edwin asked ‘is it okay’, since tonight seeing Edwin in that fancy suit—and all it’s been doing is keeping him from the person he loves most in the whole universe.

He’s been afraid Edwin was pulling away, but he wasn’t, was he?  No, he was just giving Charles the space to figure himself out, like he promised he would.  He’s just been waiting for Charles to catch up.

Charles feels suspended in the moment—golden sunlight, the quiet office, their lips only inches apart and waiting—holding Edwin’s gaze and burning with the realization that Edwin loves him and Charles is in love with Edwin, too.

It is the perfect moment, and the words itch at the tip of his tongue.  I’m in love with you.

But you can’t take the detective out of the boy and all that, and the sense of this being too sudden, too simple, too perfect—of Edwin being so forward kind out of the blue, exactly how Charles needed, wanted—how this is all happening in the middle of a case—won’t stop niggling at the edges of Charles’ mind. 

Sunlight glints off something over Edwin’s shoulder and draws Charles’ attention.  Something small and silver hangs on a fine chain from Edwin’s desk lamp, and Charles knows every single one of the trinkets, toys, and magical ephemera they have in their office, and even though he’s having the strangest difficulty focusing on it, he still knows he’s never seen this before. 

He leans out of their embrace—reluctantly—and reaches past Edwin to pick it up.  “Mate, what is this?”  Even holding it, it’s as though he’s looking at it through bad glass, unable to determine anything except a vague round shape and the brightness of silver.

With an indulgent look and a fond hand to his shoulder, Edwin steps around Charles to the bookshelf.  He pulls down a slender volume with a dark purple cover that Charles is pretty sure he recognizes as one about charms and hexes.  Returning to Charles’ side, he flips open to the middle of the book.  “Do you remember this one?  We looked through it yesterday.”

It’d been one of a dozen they read while trying to figure out what was happening at the opera, but Charles does remember it.  Strange, though, that he can’t get the words on the page to focus.  It’s like the page is written in ancient Greek or one of those other old languages that Edwin likes so much, instead of the perfectly fine if a bit archaic English he remembers.  Instead of struggling with it, he just nods.  “Tell me what you found, then.”

Edwin takes on his lecturing tone, running his finger down the page as he reads.  “A lovelorn charm is a trinket, typically given by or belonging to someone’s beloved, intended to give its keeper visions or dreams of said loved one.  People often use them to remember loved ones who are far away—”

“Or who’ve died,” Charles finishes slowly, because yeah, he does remember hearing Edwin read these pages out yesterday.  “People try to use them to try and get someone to fall for them, too, like getting them to think and dream about them.  I remember you said…”  He casts his mind back to the memory of Edwin’s voice reading the text out loud yesterday.  “The charm can’t create emotion, only show someone bits of what they—  What they already feel.”

He looks up at Edwin, then around the office at the perfect golden sunlight, the perfect song still playing on the record player.  A perfect afternoon with Edwin, full of unexpected actions that were also perfectly, exactly, what Charles didn’t know—or never let himself know—that he wanted.

Because that’s what the charm was supposed to do.

“Ah, bollocks.”

Charles is caught in a dream by a lovelorn charm, which shouldn’t have worked on ghosts anyway except clearly it did.  He has no doubt Edwin will figure out why.

Turning the silver thing in his hands, he studies it as best he can.  Seems a bit large for a locket, like on a necklace.  Now that his detective brain is back in the game, he figures maybe the details are vague because it’s only a dream construct.  Probably because whatever’s got the charm on it is the link between this dream and reality.

As he holds it, he acknowledges that even if there’s magic involved, and he might be embarrassed later that it took all this for him to sort himself out, he still knows his feelings are real.  Because it’s not really the first time he’s had these thoughts about Edwin, is it?  He just usually ignored them, or set them aside, or told himself it’s just the way he ought to feel toward his best friend after three decades.

Those were all just evasions and excuses, though, weren’t they?  The way things felt tonight, even in this dream, he knows that he loves Edwin properly, in just the same way Edwin loves him.

He closes his hand tight around the charm and closes his eyes and repeats the words to himself, feeling the truth of them ring through him.  I’m so in love with him.

And then everything feels like it tilts a bit sideways.

Bravura

Edwin swears afterwards he only turned away for a second, attention shifting from Charles’ intently listening expression to the theatre beyond their box.  Crystal had snapped to attention, too, eyes going white as she reaches out with her powers, searching for whatever Charles seemed to be hearing.

He will be able to tell himself later that rationally he knows it would have happened anyway, whether Edwin was watching Charles or not.  He feels the guilt of his moment of distraction deeply nevertheless. 

Because when Crystal pulls out of her powers with a sharp breath, the words quick on her lips, “The stage, it’s the singer, or no, not her but something moving through her or…or using her song—” Edwin spins back toward Charles with a determined smile now that they finally have a solid lead to work with—

Only to find Charles slumped back in his seat, head tipped toward one shoulder, for all appearances asleep. 

Which should not be possible.  Ghosts do not, cannot, sleep.

Cold, staticky panic fills him, buzzing beneath his skin. “Charles.”  Edwin grabs him by the shoulder and shakes, at first gently and then more firmly when he doesn’t wake, doesn’t even flinch.  “Charles.”

But Charles only sits there, limp with every indication of being deeply asleep, and does not react to Edwin’s increasingly frantic attempts to wake him.

Oh, gods, Edwin does not know what to do, thoughts spinning with questions about what this means, what might happen to Charles, if he’s been ensnared by whatever spell this is.  Ghosts should not sleep but Charles is asleep—

“Charles!  Charles!”  He doesn’t realize he’s nearly shouting until Crystal hisses at him. 

“Edwin!  We only have until morning!”  Her words are sharp with the same fear echoing through Edwin, her eyes wide and worried.  “Get it together!”

It doesn’t lessen the panic, but having her take charge of the moment is enough, barely, to get him to take an unneeded breath and try to think.  “Right.  You’re right, if we are to go by the experiences of the others, then by morning…”  He shakes his head, in denial, in uncertainty.  “Well, I don’t know, given this should not have affected a ghost in the first place, but regardless of the outcome I doubt it will be anything good.”  It’s all he can bring himself to say, because he refuses to put voice to the worst of the possibilities.  He cannot seem to drag his focus away from Charles’ face, but does not need to look at her to know she understands.

He very badly wants to believe that a spell involving sleeping magic to kill will be ineffective on a ghost who is already dead.  He doesn’t want to lay all their hopes on that possibility, however. 

Dammit, he just needs to think. 

Applause fills his ears as he flips madly through his notebook, trying to find whatever connection he’s missed.  Because a spell such as this shouldn’t affect a ghost but clearly it had.  Which, honestly, this fact narrows the options considerably but there’s still a link he’s missing – between the sleep, the music, the dreams.  But his thoughts are filled with the repeating refrain, it should not be possible.

Please, not Charles.

He has no idea what will happen to Charles if they are unable to fix this, but none of the possibilities are good.  Eternal sleep, or spiritual destruction. 

He’s vaguely aware of Crystal’s tense voice beside him.  “Okay, the performance is over and I’m trying to read the crowd but there’s just…a lot of people.  But I don’t think anyone else is asleep, so—”

“It’s just Charles,” Edwin finishes.  He doesn’t have it in himself to be glad, just now, that no one else is in danger.  Not when Charles is the one at risk.

Kneeling at Charles’ side, he attempts a few spells, to no avail.  He’s left with his notebook in one hand, and Charles’ fingers clutched tightly in the other, as Charles sleeps on.

At least he doesn’t look upset, Edwin thinks.  He is likely not trapped in nightmares, given the slight smile tilting Charles’ lips, so that is a small mercy at least.  Honestly, if it weren’t for the circumstances, Edwin might have been glad of this.  Charles has always missed properly sleeping and dreaming; the way ghosts rest simply isn’t the same.

Squeezing Charles’ hand, he feels a small twitch of his fingers in reaction.  But there’s no sign of wakefulness.  “Oh, Charles.”  His words are thin and scared, low enough he’s not even sure Crystal can hear him.  “Please wake up, please.”

The theater empties around them until the noise of people dims to a wide, echoing quiet.  Crystal is still standing alert at the side of the box, eyes shifting to white and back to brown over and over as she reaches out with her powers.  Charles is silent, too, and Edwin’s run out of words even as his thoughts churn in search of something else to try.

Suddenly Crystal stiffens and whips around, skirt flaring out with the force, her attention zeroing in on Charles.

“What it is?” Edwin demands.  

She shakes her head, brows pinched as she stares at Charles.  “I thought I heard his voice, or, I don’t know.  Just now, just for a second.”  Crossing the box, she crouches next to Edwin on the other side of Charles’ slumped figure. 

“He hasn’t spoken,” Edwin argues.  He certainly would have noticed.

“Not like that.”  She taps her temple.  “In here.”  She reaches out her hand but hesitates before making contact, waiting for Edwin to nod.  She doesn’t need his permission, but the protective worry currently filling him appreciates the gesture. 

Her eyes turn white as she makes contact with Charles’ shoulder.  Edwin waits impatiently, resisting the urge to demand to know what she’s seeing; the distraction won’t help.

When she finally lets go with a gasp, Edwin demands, “What did you see?”

Crystal shakes her head.  “It’s not very clear, I’m sorry, like.  It’s not the same as when a living person’s sleeping, it feels like everything’s going on at once, almost.  He’s in the office?  Looking at something.  Lovelorn?”  She rubs her forehead.  “Does that mean anything to you?”

Edwin starts to say no, except he does know that word, he read it only recently— 

And he understands suddenly what they need to look for.  They have been looking in the wrong direction this whole time.  They thought it was the music, or the singer, a spell carried on the musical notes or voice.  The music was part of this, yes, but it was not the cause.   They’d thought someone was doing this on purpose, when instead it was— 

Thoughts racing, he catches her wrist to draw her attention back from her visions.  “Crystal!  I need you to go down and search for something, most likely on or near the stage where you sensed something earlier.  Possibly hidden.  It will be something small, a token, such as a locket or some other piece of jewelery.  The magic is still active, and now that you have read Charles and seen a glimpse of the dream ensnaring him, I believe you should be able to sense it when you get close.”  When she hesitates, he adds, “Please.  I’d rather not leave him right now.”

Her face does something complicated, frustration and fear, but she finally nods.  “Okay.”  Gathering up her skirt with one hand, she rushes out of the box, and Edwin listens to her quick footsteps fade down the hall. 

Edwin renews his efforts to wake Charles, shaking him by the shoulder and calling his name, because maybe if Crystal was able to hear Charles, there’s a chance he could hear Edwin.

And because right now, Edwin doesn’t know what else to do.  He hates the sense of helplessness he feels, how adrift he is without Charles to ground him and spark solutions off of his clever, clever mind. 

His spiraling thoughts are interrupted by Crystal’s voice shouting up from below.  “Edwin, I think I found it!  There’s something underneath the stage, I can sense it but I can’t reach it.  You need to come down here and help me.”  When he peers over the edge of the box, he sees her crouched at the front center stage, both hands struggling with something on the floor.

The theater and orchestra pit are all empty, and he can’t spare the consideration of whether she had to use her powers to convince any stragglers to leave.  He only hopes, selfishly, that she does not wear herself out before they solve this.  For now, it’s enough to reassure Edwin that they will be as safe and uninterrupted as they can be while they metaphorically—and possibly literally—ransack the place. 

“Up you come, darling,” Edwin murmurs to Charles, the endearment slipping out without his meaning to, though he cannot regret it.  He picks Charles up gently with an arm beneath his knees and behind his shoulders.  Charles’ forehead falls to the crook of Edwin’s shoulder, and Edwin wishes he could feel it in any other situation besides this one.  He hugs Charles a little closer, just for a moment.

Even though ghosts can in some manner feel each other, being unconscious and unable to control his corporeality means Charles is virtually weightless in his arms.  Turning easily, Edwin phases through the box railing to jump from the edge and float-fall down to the edge of the stage, landing lightly a few feet from Crystal’s position.

“Fucking ghost rules,” Crystal mutters, watching them wide-eyed.  “Never gets less wild seeing you do that.”

Ordinarily Edwin would make some comment back, but he’s too preoccupied with worry.  Crouching down, he carefully lays Charles down on the floorboards.  “Show me.”

“It’s here,” she says, pointing to the space in front of her.  If he’s remembering correctly, it’s very nearly the same spot where most of the singers would stand during at least some point of their performances.  Especially the soloists.  “There’s a trap door thing but I can’t get it up.  It’s locked or jammed, I don’t know.”  She yanks futilely at a small handle tucked flush into the wood. 

“Quite right.”  He kneels down next to her, testing an area of the floorboards with one hand phasing through the wood to the space below.  No sting of iron, just empty space beneath a few inches of wood.  He checks on Charles nearby—yet asleep and so, so still—and glances up at Crystal.  “Keep an eye on him, please.”

At her nod, Edwin lets himself go fully incorporeal and phases down through the stage floor, dropping easily into the space below the stage.  It’s nearly pitch black, only a few faint hints of light through gaps in the construction.  With a muttered word, Edwin summons a small magelight to his hand.  It’s clear no one has been down here in a very long time, the space littered with broken bits of stage dressing and ancient set pieces between the struts and posts supporting the stage. 

But with the aid of the magelight and Crystal rapping above the spot she’s sensing, it doesn’t take him long to find a small, dusty box begrimed with dirt and time.  This close, with the box in his hands, Edwin can feel the pulsing thrum of some kind of magic.

“I’ve found it,” he calls up and hears Crystal’s muffled response.  He cannot phase back through the floor with a solid object, however, and a quick examination of the trapdoor reveals hinges long welded together.  But at this point Edwin has lost any semblance of patience, and with a frustrated string of Latin he shatters the hinges, the frame, and the wood of the trapdoor entirely.  Crystal’s frightened yelp is almost lost in the noise.

“Goddammit, Edwin!” she shouts as he climbs up onto the stage floor.  “Warn a girl before you bust up the floor she’s standing on!”

“You’ll forgive me for being in a hurry!” he snaps back.  He’ll feel bad for the actually quite extensive damage he’s done to the stage at a later date; he’s got more important things to worry about at the moment.  Assuming the theater is not complicit in all these happenings, no doubt Charles will insist on recompense.  They keep a number of valuables in the bag of tricks for just such occurrences. 

But that is all dependent on solving this, and waking Charles.

He attempts to brush the dust off the box and get a better look.  It’s nothing ornate, simple wood with an inlaid pattern, and was likely rather pretty before time and damp dulled the finish.  It’s not the box that is the source of the magic he feels, but whatever’s inside. 

“Okay, so we found this whatever-it-is, what now?”  Crystal demands. 

“I will need to examine it, or have you do so, but we’re better off doing so at the office,” he replies turning the box over in his hands and listening to its contents shift inside.  “We’ve protective warding and such.  I don’t expect it will be needed, but just as a precaution.  And I need my books in any case.”

He hands her the box and turns to lift Charles into his arms again.  He leads the way off the stage and up the center aisle toward the lobby, Crystal keeping pace with quick strides at his side. 

“I don’t know what may happen if I try to take that through a mirror-hop.  I’m taking Charles back to the office, please follow as quickly as you can and meet us there.  And don’t attempt to read the thing while you’re alone.”

“Edwin,” Crystal tries to slow him with a hand to his elbow.  “I don’t really want to leave you alone right now.”

“Which I appreciate.”  He tries to temper his tone, but now that they have a solid lead he’s regained his focus, impatient to truly get started on finding the solution.  Still, he understands her worry, knows that she cares for both Charles and himself, and he does appreciate it.  This time he’s able to soften his words.  “I do, Crystal.  But he’s too vulnerable like this, we all are.  I need him safe, and I need to begin looking for the fix in earnest, before I bloody well lose my mind.”  He holds Charles a little tighter, feeling the touch of those messy curls against his jaw.  It’s all he can do to resist nuzzling into them in search of comfort.

Crystal still looks like she wants to protest, but she finally agrees with an unhappy scowl.  “Dammit, fine.  I will be right behind you.”  Gathering up her skirt in her free hand, she heads toward the exit at a run. 

Edwin only waits long enough to see her leave the doors and throw herself into the nearest cab.  Then he’s across the lobby to the mirrored wall and stepping straight through back to the office. 

He feels the comforting magical brush of his own wards closing around them and lets out a relieved breath.  Settling Charles carefully on the settee, Edwin sits heavily on the cushion at his hip, exhaustion and worry and fear hitting him all at once.  In contrast Charles looks peaceful, that slight smile still gracing his sleeping face.  Unable to resist, Edwin reaches out to gently brush through the curls over his forehead.

He laces his fingers through Charles’ and holds tight.  “I will figure this out, Charles.  I promise.” 

His heart aches as Charles slumbers on.  Edwin had hoped that, however unlikely, distance from the charm, or the theater, or the singer would be enough to break the charm’s influence.  Though he knew it was unlikely, he is nevertheless irrationally disappointed that Charles did not wake as soon as they emerged from the mirror. 

But Edwin has a proper lead, now, and he knows exactly where to look.

Leaving Charles’ side, Edwin digs through the pile of books littering his desk until he finds the slim volume on charms and hexes that he’d gone through yesterday during their research binge.  Now that he knows what they’re dealing with, he’s able to locate the relevant pages easily.

The curling script flows across the top of the page.  A charm for the Lovelorn and Lonely of Heart.

Crystal arrives in impressively quick time given the London traffic, rushing through the door with a breathless shout.  “Here, I’m here!”  She drops the box on the desk but keeps her hands outstretched, at the ready to read the thing if needed.

Edwin has the box open a second later, lifting the contents out and turning it between his palms.  It turns out to be a pretty silver pocketwatch, etched with decorative florals and slightly tarnished with age.  He casts a quick diagnostic spell on it just to confirm what he already thinks it is—and yes, it’s a lovelorn charm.  Quite an old one, but surprisingly still quite strong.  He sets it down in the middle of the desk, grabbing up the book on charms again.

Casting worried glances between Charles stretched out on the settee and the pocketwatch on the desk, Crystal flexes her fingers impatiently.  “So what now?  Should I try and read it?”

Edwin flips through the pages on lovelorn charms with shaking fingers.  “Dammit, I don’t know!  We’ve encountered the occasional charm such as this over the years, but never one that behaved in such a way.  A lovelorn charm is typically harmless!  Merely giving pleasant dreams or memories of loved ones to the caster of the charm or the holder of the charmed item.  Not death!”  He finds a promising page and skims the cramped text frantically. 

Crystal shifts impatiently.  “What does it say?”

It’s not quite relief, but Edwin begins to feel the faint stirrings of hope as he parses through the archaic language.  “Like most charms, it seems as though disassembling it should be enough to negate the charm, as the magic is typically bound to the item during its creation.”  He flips the pocketwatch over, examining the edges, popping open the case to reveal the face with the arms frozen at five o’clock, the springs and gears beneath long run out to stillness.  “There ought to be something here that the actual spell is attached to, the watch itself or something hidden within it.”

Movement from the corner of his eye catches his attention and Edwin’s gaze flicks immediately to Charles.  He is frowning now, just a little, with the tiny pinch between his brows that Edwin recognizes as Charles being annoyed with himself.  But he doesn’t seem unduly distressed, and so Edwin drags his focus back to the work in front of him.

“Keep an eye on him, please.”  The words are directed at Crystal but he does not quite look at her.  Instead, he searches for some makeshift tools in his desk.  Their actual tools are in Charles’ bag, but he finds an array of pins and a nail, scissors and a pen and his letter opener—to attempt to take the thing apart piece by piece until he figures out what the spell is attached to.  Then he can remove it, and break the spell, and everything will be fine.

He hopes that his dismantling of the charm won’t affect Charles; it shouldn’t, aside from releasing him from the clutches of the dream.  But in truth he cannot be sure, and so it is best to proceed very cautiously. 

He’s barely started, carefully detaching the chain and front cover, both himself and Crystal on alert every second for signs of something going wrong, when Charles suddenly gasps and flails, so strongly he’s dumped himself off the settee before Crystal has time to do more than shout Edwin’s name.

Charles’ eyes immediately find Edwin, and he coughs out, “Mate, it’s a lovelorn charm!  I’m fine you just gotta—”

All the adrenaline from the shock of Charles waking transmutes in an instant.  Edwin’s hands react before his mind even catches up, and a second later he’s brought the blunt handle of his letter opener down onto the watch in a panicked blow, all finesse forgotten.  Glass and gears shatter beneath the force of it, and the case splits apart in a small shower of magical sparks.

“Yeah, that’ll do it,” Charles gasps out, caught halfway between surprise and a laugh.

Edwin stares in shock at the destruction beneath his hands, but then his mind catches up—Charles is awake, the charm is destroyed, the spell is broken—and then he’s dropping the letter opener and throwing himself around the desk to drop to his knees next to Charles still sprawled across the floor. 

“Charles!  Are you all right?”  He reaches for Charles’ shoulder, helping him sit up properly. 

For a moment Charles only stares, eyes wide and full of some unfathomable emotion that Edwin cannot identify.  Then the look, whatever it is, is hidden behind a crooked grin.  “I’m fine, Edwin.  Promise.”

Duet

The office is quiet and still in the late hours of the night.  The case is closed—successfully, despite all the stumbles and uncertainties.  Crystal went home hours ago, in need of sleep after multiple nights spent mostly awake.  So it’s just the two of them now, Charles and Edwin. 

Them, and the hovering air of something unsaid.

Edwin fusses with his case notes, making sure he’s got every detail recorded.  In the end, this was perhaps his least favourite sort of case—they solved it, yes, but more due to luck and serendipitous circumstances than, in Edwin’s opinion, true detective work. 

He manages to leave the phrase ‘fumbled about repeatedly’ out of his recording, but only just.

It didn’t help that all Charles would say at the time, about how he escaped the dream and awoke before Edwin even really had a chance to deal with the charm, was, I guess I just figured it out.

Which was not wholly satisfying, but something in the way he said it made Edwin reluctant to push. 

They’d still had a case to close, at any rate.  Once Charles reassured both Edwin and Crystal that he was awake and fine, and that the dreams had been nice and nothing bad or scary, they’d trooped back to the theatre to determine if the singer was involved.  But by this point, Edwin was not overly surprised to find that her role was essentially accidental.

It was nothing but entirely coincidence that she happened to have unknown siren lineage and the bad luck to begin performing above a long-dormant lovelorn charm hidden beneath the floorboards and long forgotten. Weeks of practice here meant the magic in her voice accumulated in the charm, and when she performed—because a siren’s power is meant for performing, for capturing a listener’s mind and heart—it all flowed outward through her into the audience—

While she sang about separated lovers pining themselves to death.

It was all just chance and happenstance and bloody bad luck.

Between their visit to the singer and Crstal’s reading the remains of the destroyed pocketwatch that housed the charm, they managed to put the sequence of events together.  When the poor singer’s latent magic activated the charm, the spell would seek out someone harbouring some sort of emotional longing and unresolved feelings.  Given the details of their dreams shared by the victims, they all appeared to have had some sort of long-lost love or unrequited romance with someone either long out of their lives or long dead, and something about being unable to resolve their emotions within the dream meant they were locked into it and died.

Honestly, Edwin’s still not entirely sure exactly how and why that was the case, and he knows he won’t be satisfied until he’s researched the phenomenon thoroughly.  But that’s a problem for another day.

All in all, this case had not been one of his favourites—not least because cases that threaten Charles are usually very low on Edwin’s list, and he’s more than ready to be done with it. 

Finally scrawling the last lines onto the card, he initials the corner and stands.  Tidying up the cards on the case board, with the addition of the latest, at least gives him some small sense of satisfaction at another case solved. 

Which leaves only one small mystery remaining, the one that lingers in the silence between the two boys: that of whatever put such a look on Charles face in the theatre while he slept, and in his eyes when he woke and saw Edwin hovering over him.  The small smile at the theater was easy enough to guess; Charles had indicated the dream was largely a pleasant one, though he hadn’t said much else about it.  But his expression when he woke, eyes dark and wide, held something Edwin has not been able to parse. 

Given what they have learned about the charm and its effects, well.  Edwin is certainly…curious.  What Charles may have dreamt about.

He glances over his shoulder only to catch Charles watching him.  As soon as he notices Edwin’s attention, he blinks hard and turns his focus back to the toy in his hands.  A flash of coloured squares between his fingers; the unsolvable Rubix Cube again, Charles’ go-to choice when he’s attempting to puzzle something through. 

There is so clearly something on his mind, and he’s doing a terrible job of hiding it. Edwin only sighs fondly.  “Charles, you might as well spit it out.”

Charles startles, wide-eyed yet not quite looking at Edwin. “What?”  His fingers clench around the little cube, twisting restlessly.  He’s got a side half red and half blue that he’s careful not to disrupt.

“Whatever’s got you so in a tizzy.”  Edwin crosses the room slowly.  Even though he would prefer to sit next to Charles, he senses that perhaps a little distance at the moment might be wise.  He settles against the corner of the desk instead, in Charles’ usual spot.  “We have wrapped up the case quite rightly, so am I correct in thinking something else is on your mind?”

Grimacing, for a moment Charles looks as though he may attempt to deny it.  But after a moment he merely blows out a long breath, flopping backwards on the chaise.  He directs his attention to the ceiling, though Edwin can sense him watching from the corner of his eye.  “Can’t get one past you, can I, mate?”  But then Charles makes a strange expression, nose twitching like he’s caught an odd smell—impossible for ghosts, of course—though Edwin will admit despite his worry it’s quite cute. 

But oh dear, something certainly is troubling him.

Although, perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised.  While they did complete the case, it wasn’t flawless; there were the additional victims that they were unable to save.  But when he carefully broaches that thought, Charles shakes his head sharply.

“No, it’s not that at all.  I mean, I’m gonna be upset about that for awhile, yeah, but that’s not what….”  He sighs, and lifts his head to meet Edwin’s eyes.  “I realized something, in that dream, or because of it, and—”

Thoughtful but careful, because whatever this is, it’s clearly important, Edwin says, “You haven’t said much about it yet.  What you dreamt about.  I will not pry, but I am curious.” 

Charles rolls his jaw silently, not angrily but as though chewing over what he wants to say.  His fingers restlessly spin the blocks of the toy, though the red-and-blue face remains intact.

When a minute passes and Charles is still silent, Edwin adds softly, “Charles.  Whatever it is, it can’t be all that bad.”  The distance becomes intolerable, and Edwin crosses the space between them and settles onto the sofa next to Charles as he shuffles aside to make room.  They lean against each other, knees to hips to shoulders, and when Edwin nudges Charles gently, teasingly, he gets a smile back. 

Charles shakes his head.  “It’s not bad at all, actually.  Pretty brills, really.  Just feel like a bit of a knob that it took this long and a whole case to set me right.”

.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Charles can’t help the fond smile as Edwin sits up straight, attentive and focused, hands folded primly in his lap.  Even though he’s clearly impatient, he waits very patiently, and it’s so bloody cute the way he sits there. 

It’s so ridiculously obvious, now that Charles finally knows.  How he’s clearly felt this way for ages and just didn’t realize.  Didn’t recognize all the different layers of it, because it was all just one big glowing ball of EdwinEdwinEdwin.

Charles leans back from Edwin, just a bit.  Just far enough to be able to look him in the eyes properly, because he deserves that and also Charles has to see how he reacts, whether that’s good or bad or…he doesn’t even know what.  He still hesitates.

He can’t sit here silent forever, though, not only because Edwin finally deserves to know, but also because Edwin’s stubborn enough to sit there forever waiting. 

“So, when I went under the spell, fell asleep, whatever,” Charles begins, words slow.  Making sure he says it right, that he doesn’t muck it up.  “I dreamed about us.  About you.  It was…really real.  So real I didn’t even know I was dreaming, except…  In the dream, I thought we were still doing the case, and we were back at the office, just the two of us, just like the old days.  And we.” 

He pauses, tries to find his words, but it feels like he’s starting in the wrong place.  “You were holding my hand, yeah?  Like, after the theater, and when we walked home.  And I didn’t know I was dreaming, and I just thought…it was so nice.”  He takes a shaky breath.  “I thought, oh Edwin’s finally going to let go a little and show me how…how he feels.  How you feel.  About me.  Like we talked about a couple months back, except then you never did anything about it and that’s okay, it’s really, really fine—”

Edwin blinks, looking slightly confused.  “When we talked about…what?”

Oh god, if Edwin’s straight-up forgotten he ever even asked and that’s why he’s never done anything about it, Charles is going to be so fucking embarrassed.  But he can’t stop now, either.  The only way out is through and all that.  So, blushing, he says, “When you asked if it was okay for you to…act sweet to me.  Flirt or, or touch, and—”

“Oh!” Edwin exclaims, eyes widening in realization.  “Yes, ah.  That.  We did talk about that.”  His hands come up to fiddle with the collar of his shirt, then back down as he toys nervously with the cuffs of his blazer.  He doesn’t quite meet Charles’ eyes, keeping his attention on his hands instead.  “I assure you it was not for…lack of…wanting to.  I just…”  He shrugs helplessly, but Charles knows exactly what he means. 

“Yeah, I ‘just’ too.”  He laughs a little.  “Just didn’t let myself think about it all too much because it felt so delicate.  And knowing you feel about me like that, Edwin, it’s been the best feeling in the world, and I think I was just too scared to do anything about it, or even look at it too hard, because I was so afraid of breaking it.  Of breaking us.”

That gets Edwin to look up, somehow both soft and fierce at the same time.  He reaches out to gather up Charles’ hands, holding them tight in his own.  “You cannot possibly break what we have, Charles.  Not ever, no matter what you say, or do.  It is simply not possible.”

“I realized I love you,” Charles blurts out, an uncontrolled torrent, as though Edwin’s reassurance was the last thing he needed to finally, finally let go.  “Like really, properly in love with you love you.  Because this dream, Edwin, you were flirting with me and you were holding my hand, and we were dancing closer than we ever did, and the you in my dream near about kissed me and suddenly I realized that I wanted all of it, all of those things we’ve done and might do, and more, and I want to do every one of them with you.”

Edwin is frozen still, wide eyes caught on Charles, and even if he needed to breathe Charles doesn’t think Edwin’d be doing that at all. 

The silence drags on a bit and Charles starts to really get nervous.  “Eds?  You uh, you hear me?”

“Yes, of course I heard you, Charles,” Edwin immediately counters, but the words lack their usual bite in favour of sounding like he’s been knocked off his feet and lost his breath.  “I just…was not expecting to hear that from you today.”

Cautiously, Charles says, “’kay, and was this a good thing to hear, or—”

That finally seems to snap Edwin out of it, and he says at volume, “Of course! Charles, of course I wanted to hear—”  His hands lift, fluttering like he’s not sure what to do. It’s pretty cute honestly, like so many of Edwin’s mannerisms, and which Charles can admire properly now that the vise around his chest is loosening.  Now that the words are out there, he’s said them, and it’s…good. 

A second later it’s even better, because Edwin lunges forward to throw his arms around Charles’ shoulders in a tight embrace, face buried in the collar of Charles’ shirt.  And what else can Charles do but hold him right back, just as tight. 

“I’m sorry it took me so long to figure it out,” he whispers into Edwin’s shoulder. 

Edwin sniffles, a little tearfully, shaking his head.  “Nonsense.  Charles, when you said on those stairs, that we had forever…I would have waited an eternity, and never once regretted telling you because I never doubted for a second that I would always have you.”  His hold tightens around Charles, fingers digging into his back and clutching his shirt.  “But selfishly, I’m glad that it didn’t take an eternity after all.”

Charles snuggles his own chin into Edwin’s shoulder.  “It might have taken me a bit longer, yeah, but I don’t think there’s any universe I don’t realize I love you.  Honestly, I don’t think I’d’ve made it another year, even.”

Edwin pulls back slightly, but doesn’t loosen his grip.  His eyes shine with tears, but there’s a smile tipping the edge of his lips, too.  “Is that so?”

Blushing and a little embarrassed, Charles admits, “Yeah, I mean…  You didn’t see you in that suit?  Or like, all the other times I just kind of…watch you.  How you move, or hold a book,” he pokes a teasing finger in Edwin’s chest, “or sneak a peek at me when you think I’m not looking.”

“How could I not?” Edwin says, fond exasperation in his tone.  “You’re terribly watchable, you know.”

“What does that even mean, mate?”  A laugh bubbles up and Charles doesn’t even try to stop it.

Edwin rolls his eyes.  “Oh, whatever.”  But when his attention lands back on Charles, the amusement fades into something warmer, and then his soft green gaze drifts downwards to…oh.

“Edwin?”

“You said… in your dream,” Edwin begins, hesitance warring with heat.  “That I almost kissed you…”

“Yeah.”  Charles swallows, suddenly full of nervous anticipation, if Edwin’s about to—

“And you said, that you wanted that.”

“Yeah.”

“So, if I were to kiss you…now?”  Slender fingers drift up to touch the edge of Charles’ jaw, so gently he almost doesn’t feel it except for the way he feels all of it.  “You would…want that?”

“More than I’ve wanted anything in ages,” Charles breathes out. 

And that earns him the secrets smile, just before Edwin leans in.  Unpracticed but not hesitant, cool lips touch Charles’ own, with gentle pressure.  Charles leans into it, just a little, his hands coming up to curl around Edwin’s cheek, the curve of his neck. He nudges Edwin’s head to a better angle and tips his own to match, and the kiss slides deeper.  And it’s good, it’s so good, they both lose track of themselves for a long while.

When Edwin finally slows and pulls back, and Charles manages to pry his eyes open, he’s treated to the sight of a brand-new Edwin smile, one he’s never seen before.  It’s more than Edwin’s love you smile, which Charles has seen plenty even before either of them really knew what emotion was behind it. 

This smile is wide enough to show off Edwin’s dimples, lips soft and a little extra pink.  It reaches all the way up to his eyes, adding an adoring, heated sparkle to the green. 

And Charles grins right back, wide and bright as the sun.

“So what now?” he finally asks.

Edwin tips his head thoughtfully, but his playful smirk gives him away.  “Well, you know me.  My favourite part of anything is research.”  And he leans back in for another kiss. 

Fin

.oOo.oOo.oOo.