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In all their thirty five odd years together, Edwin wouldn’t describe he and Charles as being physically close.
Perhaps in sheer proximity, yes. Often they would stand shoulder to shoulder. Rarely were they more than a room or two away. But any sort of… affection was far beyond them—and frankly, Edwin liked it that way.
Truthfully, they do not really touch anything. They merely manipulate it on a supernatural level, conforming it to their whims. It is a process that no living being could ever truly comprehend, no matter how much they think themselves capable.
The sensation is also… strange, in many ways.
The notion of something being solid died along with Edwin, back in 1916. Now, it’s as if both he and the world around him are made up of nothing but particularly persistent fog. In the early days, it took a fine amount of concentration to move any earthly object.
These days, Edwin doesn’t think twice about it. He doesn’t think twice about most things, actually, which is precisely how he’s found himself in his current predicament. At times, he has somewhat wished he was entirely incorporeal as of late.
Telling Charles of his… feelings was always a certainty in his mind. Keeping something like that from him… it was unconscionable. They have never hidden from one another. Not truly.
But sometimes, space is required.
During their stay in Port Townsend, there were times when Edwin and Charles were quite… close. Partaking in touches they normally would not. Hands on hands, gripping one another by the shoulder, embracing fully…
It was all quite a lot. Especially so in light of Edwin’s recent revelations. So, when they return to London and get the agency back on track, he simply… returns to how things were.
Perhaps he is a bit more harsh than usual. Maybe he does keep an inch or so of space between them when they stand together. Maybe he does disappear off with Niko whenever he’s given the opportunity. Maybe he does look away from Charles when he leans in and smiles that cheeky grin of his.
But really, it’s for the best. It wouldn’t be right for Edwin to… indulge himself in Charles’s attention. Clearly, Charles does not intend for his actions to be taken the way Edwin’s heart insists upon. So, it would be best for both of them if a modicum of distance was placed between them—just until Edwin can get himself back in order.
If only Charles saw it that way.
—
I
hands
—
Another possession case crosses their desk, as they are wont to do. It’s nasty work, but nothing the agency isn’t equipped to handle. Frankly, Edwin’s only concern is wrapping the entire thing up before Crystal returns from school, so as to avoid any unpleasant memories being brought up…
For once, his nonchalance does not go unchallenged. Which is entirely odd, seeing as through the years it is Charles who has become increasingly brazen in his estimations of their capabilities. But now, it’s his companion who hesitates.
Their client is ushered out with sharp movements—thrust into the arms of the regularly seething Night Nurse. Before Edwin can even really process his own confusion, hands are eclipsing his. The touch is a sharp chill that strikes itself right in the center of his chest.
He’s dragged into the closet in what is supposed to be a regularly practiced scene. But as Charles clicks the light on overhead, and slams the door shut, Edwin is left feeling unbalanced entirely. This does not feel like a normal aside.
“What are you—" Edwin splutters.
“ Me ?” Charles demands. “What are you on about, saying we’ll take this bloody case? Have you lost it?”
“It’s a minor possession! Not exactly something outside of our expertise, now is it? I don’t understand why you’ve gotten yourself so worked up about a simple demon—"
“Oh, yeah, because the last possession we dealt with ended brilliantly for us, didn’t it?”
“For some of us, yes. ” Edwin bites bitterly. “It seems to have.”
It’s not fair, and Edwin knows that. Especially so, considering that whatever… thing there was between Crystal and Charles seems to have been left behind in Port Townsend. But Edwin just can’t stop himself, just as Charles can’t stop being so good and ignoring his words entirely.
“No more of this bollocks with Hell, alright?” Charles insists. “I won’t be having it. You’ve been through enough already, we don’t need—"
“ I am quite well.” Edwin interrupts. “Really, I don’t understand where this is all coming from. It’s not as if we’re being asked to march back into Hell itself.”
It’s the wrong thing to say. Immediately, Charles’s expression is souring into something painful. He looks down and away. Despite the bare few inches between them, he suddenly feels very far away indeed.
As expected, Charles’s experience in Hell seems to have left some lasting marks on him. But they are unlike any that might be originally expected. They all seem entirely focused on Edwin .
He’d been downright overbearing when they’d first returned to London. Constantly hovering, and not in his normal manner. At Edwin’s slightest need, he’d pounce into action—retrieving books and moving furniture and generally trying to make things easier. When questioned, he’d simply spout some nonsense about Edwin’s ordeal and that’d be the end of it.
Naively, Edwin thought things had gotten better, but it seems Charles is now allergic to Hell entirely, all on Edwin’s behalf.
Perhaps he should be cross, and insist himself not to be a damsel in need of rescue. But as Charles pouts, Edwin feels himself weaken. All his love for this bull-headed boy comes crashing together at once and Edwin suddenly feels very full . As if he could be more than simple mist and thought and supernatural force.
It’s only then that Edwin realizes their hands are still connected.
Following Charles’s gaze down, he finds the other boy playing lightly with his fingers. A deep freeze pools in all the places that Charles grazes. The soft movement of his own hand in Charles’s is somewhat intoxicating. Suddenly, the closet is feeling much too small.
Ever since Edwin became acceptant of his feelings towards Charles, he’s been keenly aware of the other boy’s hands. Or, more accurately, all the ways that his hands interact with Edwin’s. Brushing as they walk to an investigation, lingering when he hands Edwin things, encompassing him entirely as they work at the cork board…
It’s all nonsense, of course. Nothing more than Edwin becoming aware of all the very normal things he wasn’t before. Suddenly making a fuss about the way it’s always been…
But no matter how much he tries to convince himself otherwise, this touch is decidedly unusual.
“Charles…” Edwin’s voice is thick.
“You’re sure this is alright?” Charles asks, looking back up at him. “Not just you playing big man, pretending it doesn’t bother you? Because I saw what you dealt with down there and it’s perfectly understandable if—"
Edwin’s insides soften further. Yes, Hell has shown him horrors beyond comprehension. It also has shown him the perfect way to get Charles to shut up . Pulling himself from Charles’s touch, he brings a hand up to cover the boy’s mouth—effectively stopping his ramblings.
“Thank you.” Edwin is surprisingly strong as he holds Charles’s gaze. “But I am fine. I know that Hell cannot get me here. And even if it somehow did…”
The rest doesn’t need to be said. There’s a fire in Charles’s eye just at the thought. A breath of pressure encompasses the fingers that Charles still has hold of.
Something thick sits at the back of Edwin’s throat. He’s on the verge of doing something very, very stupid. This is exactly the sort of thing he’s been trying to avoid with Charles, he’s not supposed to—
Clearing his throat, Edwin removes his hand from Charles’s mouth. Despite the tight space, he attempts a step back to put some distance between them. But still, Charles won’t release his hand.
And still, Edwin is too selfish to pull it away.
“Settled then?” Edwin asks.
It takes Charles a long moment to respond, for reasons Edwin isn’t paying attention enough to parse.
“Yeah, alright.” Charles mutters, shoving the closet door, dragging Edwin along behind him.
Their hands remain stubbornly connected until the job is done.
—
II
head
—
Were Edwin still alive, he’d be in quite the spot of bother.
As it stands, their encounter with the banshee has left him in a state of discombobulation. Vaguely, he understands the whole business has been resolved. But the specifics are elusive, as he sits heavily on the pier.
Next thing he knows there’s cold engulfing him, holding him by the jaw and enveloping his ears. Shakily, Edwin lets out a breath. Stay right there , he wants to say. Stay .
Evidently, he doesn’t have to. That chilled grip on him is tightening, shifting, maneuvering his head up. It takes a moment for him to recognize Charles in front of him. Ah, now that sharpness in his chest is making sense.
“…alright?” Charles is saying. “Edwin. Hey, c’mon, stay with me. Just focus on my voice, or something, I don’t fucking know, this is supposed to be your deal—"
“I’m fine.” Edwin manages, and he feels himself smiling. “Simply catching my breath.”
Charles grins that awful grin of his, and Edwin suddenly feels more out of breath than he did before.
“You’re a ghost, mate.” Charles teases. “No breath for you to catch, now is there?”
Unable to stop himself in time, Edwin snorts lightly. There currently isn’t enough energy being sent to his brain for him to come up with a rebuttal, so he lets Charles have that one. Letting his eyes fall shut, he allows him to sink into Charles’s touch.
There’s some uncouth words thrown back to where Edwin assumes Crystal is dealing with the last remnants of the banshee. Terrible things they are. This isn’t the first time Edwin has endured one of their screams, but he surely hopes it is the last.
From the force of Charles’s expletives, it seems he would concur.
Edwin is jolted back to awareness with the tentative touch of fingers brushing his hair. It seems that Charles has abandoned his face in favor of carefully combing his wind abused fringe back into place. His breeze of a touch is entirely polar to the gust that disheveled him.
There’s a careful pinch to Charles’s brow. With every brush, his touches grow bolder, more deliberate as he attempts to make Edwin presentable. Yet, not once does he tug uncomfortably at a strand of hair.
All Edwin can do is stare, dumbfounded. His encounter will the banshee has been completely forgotten—Charles has become the sole reason for his current state of disarray. That familiar ache at his center is back, begging him to fall forward and—
An entirely undignified squeak leaves his lungs as his cheeks are suddenly smushed together. Charles is grinning again, that awful, dangerous grin. Whatever serious thoughts he was having seem to have vanished as he seems intent now on squeezing Edwin’s face.
“ You ,” Charles taps his fingers against Edwin’s temples. “Are brilliant.”
His eyes are bright, his smile brighter. It hurts to look at him, just as it hurts to look at the sun, but Edwin can’t stop. Only unlike the sun, he’s fairly certain that Charles could— does— leave him a blind fool.
“Okay.” Edwin replies smartly.
If possible, Charles’s grin grows just a little wider. He gives Edwin’s face one more squeeze. Then, he’s gone. Leaving Edwin just as windswept and dazed as the full force of a banshee’s scream.
—
III
waist
—
From then on, Edwin puts his walls up entirely.
He’s carefully deliberate in keeping a foot or so between them where they usually would stand side to side. Whenever Charles tries to lean over his shoulder, Edwin simply passes him the book. If Charles leans in, Edwin leans away.
It should be that simple.
It would be that simple, were he not dealing with Charles Rowland.
The boy is incessant. He easily closes any distance erected between them. When Charles hands him a book, he lounges against Edwin’s side while he reads. If Edwin leans back, he grins like nothing happened at all.
More than that, he’s developed some kind of obsession with Edwin’s hands . Wherever it could even mildly be seen as appropriate, he’s latching onto Edwin’s fingers. More often than not, Edwin is being dragged around by their linked hands.
Some form of hex has surely befallen Charles’s eyesight as well. At least once a day, he’s reaching out to adjust Edwin’s hair—as if there is ever a strand out of place. Edwin is much too refined to let such a thing happen.
Parallel to that, he’s also found some sort of sick obsession with messing with Edwin. Massaging his temples when there’s a particularly gruesome problem staring them down. Tugging on Edwin’s ears to get attention. Clasping his jaw to celebrate a case well solved. It’s downright vicious .
It’s not fair to either of them. Not when Edwin is left in such disarray, not when Charles means it so innocently… The fact that Edwin is taking his own secret pleasure in it, taking advantage of his friendship with Charles is enough to twinge Edwin with self hatred.
And yet, he can’t bring himself to actually tell Charles to stop.
It only gets worse from there.
The first time Charles touches his waist, Edwin nearly sends himself off to the afterlife with no need for Death at all. They’re facing down a prospective client, an older woman of fine, late Victorian dress with her hair pulled back so tightly Edwin is sure her hairline is receding even in death. She’s something like an echo of one too many of Edwin’s cruelest teachers.
As she coldly assesses them, demanding to know if they really are the detectives she’s heard so much about, Charles grabs hold of him. His arm is a sharp, cold weight along his back—fingers barely a breath against his waist. Quite proudly, Charles declares that yes, yes they are.
The second time is in front of everyone . It occurs on one of their moving picture nights, something Crystal and Niko are enforcing as a matter of law within the agency. They claim something or other about bringing him and Charles into the new age . The whole ordeal is undeniably silly, but also quite fun—even if Edwin doesn’t understand the projections most of the time.
Amidst the chaos of the night, Charles sidles past him. As he goes, he leaves a featherlight touch against Edwin’s side. From the look Niko gives him, Edwin knows that she saw. If he were able, Edwin would be flushing down to the roots of his hair.
The third time is much less… wholesome .
Iron connects with Edwin’s abdomen. The slash of the iron rod leaves a familiar, paralyzing sting that digs right down to his spine. But Edwin bears it with nothing more than clenched teeth.
Meanwhile, Charles cries out just behind him—as visceral as if he were the one to take the blow. Which is exactly what Edwin was trying to avoid by pushing him out of the way. There’s just no winning with this boy, is there?
For a moment, his vision whites out, which is to be expected. Edwin learned a long time ago how to stay on his feet as the pain passes through him. What he still fails to account for is Charles.
By the time he regains his wits—hardly a second or two later—Edwin has already been dragged away from the tussle. All the movement leaves him more dazed than the blow itself. There’s a hand in his and pressure against his side, that’s all he knows in the moment.
Next thing he knows, he’s being leaned against the brick wall of an alley. Charles is in front of him, expression far too serious. His hands press desperately against the place Edwin was hit in the abdomen—as if it were a bleeding wound for him to staunch.
“Why would you do that?” Charles is demanding. “You don’t just—You can’t just—You’re not a fucking martyr, Edwin! Stop trying to make yourself one!”
“I can handle the pain better than you.” Edwin replies, still missing most of his decorum.
“Oh, yeah, you handled that brilliantly by nearly passing out right in front of that psycho exorcist, didn’t you?”
“We’re ghosts, Charles, we can’t pass—"
“Well you nearly did! Then what? You can’t be doing that, mate, I couldn’t handle it if—"
“And if he’d hit you? If you’d been torn in half or disintegrated entirely? You think I could handle that?”
“I could’ve taken it.” Charles grumbles, petulant, and Edwin knows it’s best to take his silent offer and call it a draw.
By now, Charles has stopped pressing on Edwin’s imaginary wound. Instead, his hands have migrated to Edwin’s sides—holding him firmly by the waist. Realizing their position, Edwin’s thoughts halt momentarily.
He coughs, pulling himself back from where he’d been unconsciously leaning into the touch. Charles snaps his attention from where he was glaring in the direction of their foe, giving Edwin a look that is indecipherable. For some reason, he feels oddly guilty.
“We should…” Edwin tries—and fails.
Charles understands anyways. “Yeah, you’re right. Bet it’s all dealt with by now. Crystal was right pissed at that bastard when I was pulling you away. Doubt he lasted long.”
Before Edwin can really process it, Charles is grabbing onto him again. He slings Edwin’s arm around his shoulder, hand against his waist as he begins dragging them from the alley. He makes sure to forcibly lean Edwin’s weight on him, hobbling him along as if he were some wounded frontline soldier.
“Charles, I am quite able to walk on my own, this is—"
“Sure, mate.”
“ Charles—"
All of his protests fall on unwilling ears. The few times he tried to pry himself from Charles’s grasp, he isn’t allowed to get far before Charles is manhandling him again. If Edwin fought a little harder, he knows Charles would leave him alone. But every time he feels Charles hand on his waist, he goes entirely pliant.
Charles holds him like that all the way back to the agency.
—
IV
chest
—
Soft classical music drifts up from the glass dome, along with muted chatter from the party below. The night has been dreadfully boring. They’re staked out on the rooftop of some prim gathering space, and Edwin has begun to hope for some unprecedented paranormal event to liven up the evening.
Reportedly, there’s an errant, vengeful ghost roaming the halls of the venue. However, in the hours he and Charles have spent watching from the roof, down through the skylight, they’ve seen no such apparition. Perhaps it is too shy to disrupt a gathering of this magnitude. Edwin would not blame it for that.
As to be expected, Charles has been growing restless. He does not do well with these sorts of cases. In fact, a failed stakeout is probably the worst place to bring him to. Edwin has been waiting for the fallout, but thus far, Charles remains shockingly well behaved.
He simply lounges against the slope of the glass, long since given up on spying on the party below. Instead, he’s taken to watching Edwin. It’s starting to make his skin crawl—a sensation he didn’t know his ghostly form could replicate.
Just as Edwin is about to snap at him to get back to their work, Charles’s gaze finally leaves him. He cranes his head back, peering down to the party below. Edwin very pointedly does not allow himself to linger on the curve of Charles’s throat when he does so.
“Are they still just dancing?” Charles demands.
“Yes.” Edwin sighs. “And very unimaginatively at that. They seem afraid of anything more than a simple waltz. Back in my time, we were much more diverse.”
Apparently, it’s the wrong thing to say. Once more, Charles’s attention is on him. Edwin refuses to look over at him, but he can still tell there’s that something in Charles’s carefully blank expression. Even despite all their years together, Edwin still has no idea how to read it—a conundrum he very rarely faces with Charles anymore.
“Well.” Charles slaps his legs, pushing to his feet. “We should probably try to fit in, shouldn’t we?”
It takes Edwin a moment to notice the proffered hand. Then another to realize just what exactly Charles is proposing. Were he able to flush, his entire face would be hot to the touch.
“You cannot be serious.” Edwin scoffs, refusing still to look at him. “We’re meant to be working , Charles.”
“There’s been this brilliant new invention since your time called worker’s rights. It means we’re entitled to a break every once and a while.”
His hand is right in front of Edwin’s face now, fingers waggling. Knowing its best just to humor him, rather than let Charles spin himself out, Edwin lets out a heavy sigh. Begrudgingly, he allows Charles to drag him to his feet.
Immediately, Charles pulls him back from the skylight. Edwin keeps his eyes down, unwilling to linger on the beaming smile that Charles is giving him. It does bad things to his levels of corporeality.
With gentle hands, Edwin’s hands are drawn to rest on Charles’s shoulders. Then, a newly, painfully familiar weight presses against his sides. They’re dreadfully close now. Knees knocking and chests threatening to brush.
Edwin knows he should stop this right now. But as Charles starts to sway them along to the music trickling out from the party below, he can’t. Not when Charles is exaggerating every moment, entirely teasing, blessing Edwin with that impish grin…
“Is this what passed as dancing in your time?” Edwin asks, genuine in his curiosity—and a bit disgusted—as they sway back and forth with no real purpose.
“Sure.” Charles shrugs. “It’s all I’ve ever known. Then again, I only ever saw it in films. Never got to prom, did I?”
Neither did Edwin. Mostly due to the fact that the so-called prom wasn’t really a concept back then. But he did learn to dance, just like all the boys had to. It was all quite dreadful back then. But now…
“This is abhorrent.” Edwin decides. “Here, just—"
Edwin doesn’t know why he does it—or more importantly how . But he takes Charles’s hands from around his waist, curling one in his own. The other is carefully placed on his shoulder. In a fit of blind boldness, he settles his own hand against Charles’s waist.
It sends a shiver through his whole body, like he’s just been dusted with snow. Holding Charles like this is entirely foreign—something Edwin hasn’t even allowed himself to fantasize about. But here, now, actually entwined with him this way, it feels right. Like maybe it was always meant to be this way.
Wishful, foolish thinking, but Edwin allows himself to revel—just for now.
When his chest is singing like this, there’s simply no other option.
Edwin clears his throat. “Now, move your foot here…”
He has to kick Charles a few times to get the boy to move. There’s a certain slack to his expression. Just as Edwin begins to worry that he’s overstepped, pushed things too far, he snaps into action and follows Edwin’s instruction.
They continue that way, with Edwin nudging his feet into the right positions. As they go, Charles’s grip loosens. His hand falls from Edwin’s shoulder, trailing down to settle on his chest. It lays right over the place he feels that terrifying, beautiful stabbing sensation he always does when Charles gets too close.
“Then, we repeat.” Edwin continues in his instruction. “So, we move like—"
As Charles steps into position, he closes the space between them further. Their chests are now flush. Charles’s hand is pinned between them, and Edwin counts the cold pressure of his fingertips. Hardly a breath serves to separate them.
“Like this?” Charles questions, lips quirking up.
It takes a long second and a few coughs but Edwin manages a nod.
“Yes.” He whispers. “Just like that.”
Finding the beat of the soft classical music, they begin to dance properly. It’s clumsy. More than once they step on each other’s toes. Charles keeps missing the same part over and over. They almost topple each other all together a couple of times.
It’s absolutely perfect.
—
V
lips
—
Edwin finally breaks in the midst of a case.
Really, it’s not a good time. Even in the heat of it, Edwin knows that. But things have really, truly gone too far now and if Edwin doesn’t say it now, he’s not sure he’ll ever be strong enough to.
It’s quite ludicrous to bring one’s arsonist tendencies to the afterlife, but this ghost managed it. They’re running through the deserted nighttime streets, flames always licking at their heels. Currently, they don’t have much of a plan other than to not get firebombed.
Spotting a side street, Charles grabs hold of Edwin and begins pulling him along. He’s got Edwin by the waist. It seems to be the only place he can touch Edwin, these days. Charles’s other hand latches tightly onto his, and squeezes.
As he begins threading their fingers together, Edwin snaps.
He pulls himself from Charles’s hold, shoving at his chest. It’s a surprisingly strong push, with Charles falling back far enough to leave a good few feet of space between them. Finally, Edwin is free of Charles’s touch or hovering presence or breathy laugh or—
“Edwin, what—" Charles begins, reaching for him but not attempting to close the distance between them.
“I have never thought you to be cruel, Charles Rowland.” Edwin vents. “Not even close . But this ? Your behavior lately? It’s detestable. Entirely hurtful, and you have zero regard for—"
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Charles speaks over him, vaguely panicked. “What did I do wrong?”
They’re walking still, only mostly having forgotten their foe. It’s gotten strangely quiet around them. They come to a car parked along the road, and separate further, trudging along either side of it. Edwin glares at Charles over the roof of the car.
“You know exactly how I feel about you.” Edwin continues. “And yet you’re still—still teasing me like this! Do you get some kind of enjoyment out of it? Getting so close to me, knowing full well that I crave such a thing, but you don’t…”
The words fade in his throat, bitter. They’ve passed the car now, but don’t drift any closer. Charles is looking at him a bit slack jawed. It hurts to look at him, but Edwin can’t focus on anything else. He watches as Charles takes a deep inhale, readying himself to speak, and he feels himself tense preemptively.
Whatever Charles might have wanted to say in that moment, Edwin will never know. There’s a flash of fire and heat just behind. Another molotov cocktail that’s just missed them. Momentarily, Edwin’s outrage fades. This isn’t just another late night walk-and-talk. They’ve a job to do.
Without having to share a word, they break out into a run again. This time, Charles is careful not to touch him. Edwin tries to convince himself that it doesn't bother him. It’s what he asked for, isn’t it?
They skid behind another car, crouching against the front bumper. Accidentally on Edwin’s part, they’ve ended up facing each other. There’s hardly a few inches between them. Yet, still, they don’t touch in any way.
“Can we talk about this later?” Charles pleads. “I know this is important, but there’s sort of this flame happy fellow—"
Of course, he’s right, but Edwin is stubborn, and none too fond of his attempt at a joke right now.
“No, I think I’d rather talk about it now.” Edwin bites viciously. “Better that than give you more time to think up some pitiful excuse for your behavior.”
They’re interrupted once more as a trash can ignites beside them, accompanied by manic laughter ringing against the buildings. Once more, they’re forced into action. It’s all too easy to fall into step beside Charles as they run. Somehow, that fact hurts.
They run between the streets for a while, before Charles slows. It’s quiet here. That doesn’t really matter because Charles is still there and as long as he is, Edwin can’t truly relax. He means to continue onward, but Charles reaches for him.
“Edwin, please .” Charles stops him with a grip on his wrist. “I don’t have any excuses to make, I… Look, I really think it would be better if we could talk about this properly, back at the agency. So, can we please just—"
Edwin pulls himself from Charles’s grip, rounding on him. They’ve found themselves in the archway between two buildings, sheltered from the rest of the world. And yet, Edwin has never felt so exposed. All this time, he’s been toyed with. He won’t have it anymore—he deserves better than this.
“You cannot run from this, Charles!” Edwin snaps. “I know you don’t feel the same as I do, and I don’t expect any differently. I’ve already come to accept things the way they are. But you cannot continue to—"
Charles is moving then, coming closer. Before Edwin can even think to dart out of his reach, Charles has taken him by the face—hands cradling either of his ears. For once, his touch is fierce and rough.
Their lips crash together.
There’s no finesse in it, little to be romanticized. As Charles presses his lips against Edwin’s, all he can do is stand there, frozen. It takes a long moment for him to full recognize what’s happening—too taken by shock to think properly.
Then again, when has he been able to think properly around Charles as of late?
It feels like both an eternity and the span of only a breath before Charles is pulling back. He goes from Edwin entirely, letting his hands fall as he takes a few steps back. Every part of Edwin aches without him.
They stare at each other, both wide eyed and out of breath for no real reason. There’s something defiant about Charles. Like he has something to prove, which considering Edwin’s accusations, apparently he does.
“Get it now?” Charles asks—quiet, teasing, fond .
Speaking is futile. Not to mention entirely unappealing. As Charles has just demonstrated, there are much better ways of conveying his emotion in that moment.
As he surges forward, Charles welcomes him readily. When Edwin kisses him with a newfound fervor, Charles kisses back just as fiercely. It’s clumsy, messy with all of Edwin’s inexperience and overflow of passion. If Charles minds it, he does a poor job of expressing it—all too eager to meet Edwin where he is.
Edwin’s back hits the brick wall. There’s a hand cradling his face, and another gripping his waist with a sort of possessiveness that is nearly new. Desperate to be as close as possible, Edwin holds tight to biceps he has so desperately tried not to stare at, and pulls their chests flush.
Really, if given the choice, Edwin would happily stay in this moment for the rest of his afterlife.
But there’s a flash of light just out of the corner of his half-lidded eyes. Both hands planted on Charles’s chest, he shoves as hard as he can. They disconnect with no decorum. Charles’s back hits the opposite wall of the archway, looking a dozen different shades of stunned.
Edwin turns out to be just in time, as another molotov cocktail flies between them. Heat puffs against his face as it goes. It splatters to the ground just off to their right, exploding in a heap of fire and light. Breathing hard, Charles looks back over at him, wide eyed.
“We’ll talk about this later.” Charles decides.
“A sound plan.” Edwin agrees, nodding hastily.
When Charles reaches across to take his hand, Edwin lets him. He tries not to linger on the icy feeling of their fingers threading together. There are more important things going on. Even so, he fails.
Together, they charge off hand in hand to close their case.
-
+I
all the rest
-
They do not, in fact, do much talking about it at all.
Instead, Edwin has ended up sprawled on the couch, lips gone numb from the frost. There are hands laced in his as Charles hovers over him—entirely hungry. He grips onto Edwin’s fingers with a certain type of ferocity that Edwin is quickly becoming addicted to.
Somehow, he’s ended up losing his jacket and bow tie, left in only his button up. Charles has reduced himself down to his tank top. It all feels rather obscene . Edwin is surprised—and quite embarrassed—to realize he finds that exciting.
Their hands unlace, as Charles instead preoccupies himself with Edwin’s hair. By now, it surely looks like he’s been through some sort of raucous storm. He doesn’t really care.
His own hands have strayed, one landing on Charles’s neck, the other holding him by the waist. At the touch, Charles hums lightly. He breaks their kiss to nuzzle at Edwin’s cheek.
It’s a strange sensation, to feel Charles’s smile rather than just admire it from afar.
Really, Edwin has no idea what Charles was talking about when he said he could feel kissing in his mind . For Edwin, it lies distinctly at the center of his chest. It’s sharp, and full, and forceful enough to keep Edwin chasing Charles’s lips again, and again, and again.
Luckily, Charles is all too willing to humor him.
As their lips reconnect, Charles’s hands find Edwin’s waist. It sends a shiver down his spine. One, because he’s so close—bare few layers between them now. But also due to the cold.
Everywhere Charles touches—which is quite a few places—seems to freeze. Cold leeches out of them both, turning each other to ice. It’s a feeling that Edwin has always relished—now he’s knows he’s allowed to chase it. He presses into Charles’s touch, back arching slightly, and it earns him an appreciative hum.
An arm loops under his waist, holding him in his entirety. Then, there’s a hand on his chest, slowly tracing down the core of him. It’s something Edwin has experienced, from someone with the right face but the wrong hands. Now, with all things as they should be, Edwin giggles against Charles’s lips.
That hand pauses. Lingers right at that spot at his center where he feels . And Edwin knows then for certain that Charles feels it all right there too. When he kisses Charles a little harder, he hopes it’s enough to convey all the things he couldn’t possibly find the words for.
With a small peck, Charles pulls back. It takes every bit of Edwin’s increasingly minute willpower not to whine petulantly. He’s eased as he opens his eyes. Just above him, Charles is staring down at him with a sort of wonderment.
Edwin smiles shyly. He reaches up, pushing Charles’s unruly hair out of his face. In that moment, he just wants to see Charles properly. Even as the hair flops right back into place, Edwin’s hands stay there—slowly mussing through Charles’s hair.
That hand on Edwin's chest migrates up. Gently, Charles traces his jaw. At the curve of his chin, Charles pauses. His thumb darts up, lightly brushing along Edwin’s lower lip.
Under the featherlight touch, Edwin momentarily goes into shock. All he can do is stare up at Charles, who begins to grin impishly. Recovering his wits, Edwin pulls Charles down harshly to take his lips once more.
He’s just barely wiped that silly grin off Charles’s face when the door comes banging open.
Startling, Edwin lurches back—disconnecting their lips. Charles, on the other hand, doesn’t miss a beat. His focus turns easily from Edwin’s lips to his cheek, his jaw, his ear. And if he thought things were obscene before, they certainly are now.
“Why is it so cold in here—Oh, God!” Crystal startles, hand on her chest.
Behind her, Niko squeals. Her hands are pressed to her mouth, failing to hide her all too pleased smile. Lingering further back, also having spotted their… uncouth display, The Night Nurse looks vaguely like she’s about to call upon Death to collect her .
“They finally figured it out, Crystal!” Niko grabs hold of Crystal’s arm, shaking her lightly. “Oh, this is perfect! We should celebrate! Should I bake a cake? I’m going to bake a cake.”
“We don’t—It’s not—" Edwin splutters.
Any excuse he might try to make dies as Charles presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Slowly, Edwin relaxes under his touch. Even so, he shoves lightly at Charles’s chest—trying to get him off. The other boy doesn’t budge, simply kissing the underside of his jaw.
“Is this how it’s always going to be now?” Crystal asks plainly, unperturbed as she marches to the desk.
Finally, Charles detaches from him. “If I have anything to say about it, yes .”
If Edwin could flush, he’d be a close approximation of a tomato by now. Crystal sighs, long suffering, at Charles’s response. Niko lets out possibly the world’s longest awwh. Meanwhile, The Night Nurse—now hovering by the case board—has her eyes turned to the ceiling like she really is trying to summon Death, and perhaps the rest of the Endless as well.
“We have cases to deal with.” Crystal declares, looking between them all. “You two can make out on your own time. Right now, there’s work to be done.”
Niko gives Edwin one last sparkling, knowing look before bounding happily over to Crystal to help dig through the mail pile. Edwin sort of wishes the couch would come to life and swallow him whole. Even so, he strangely doesn’t feel like he’s done anything wrong . Not like he always did even staring at a boy too long…
Finally— regrettably— Charles clambers off of him. Thankfully, he doesn’t go far. He merely flops down against the other arm of the couch. As Edwin pushes himself into a mostly upright position, their legs tangle together.
By now, Crystal is reading out letters, trying to pick out a case. But Edwin can’t listen to a word she says. All he can concentrate on is the feeling in his chest—fulfilled and threatening to overflow into something giddy.
Vaguely, he knows Charles is staring at him. Well, it’s less staring and more beaming . Edwin is too afraid to meet his gaze, unsure of how he’d handle the emotion there. Either he’d fall over dead a second time, or he’d grab Charles by the front of his tank top and refuse to let go, even despite Crystal’s protests.
Of course, Charles doesn’t give him much choice in the matter.
Charles knocks their knees together. “Hey.”
Edwin sighs, finally looking up at him. As expected, there’s something heavy and important in Charles’s eyes. He’s looking at Edwin the same way he looks at a sunrise. Like he’s trying to soak in the beauty, like he’s glad to be right where he is, like he can’t believe he gets to witness something like it. Edwin’s insides curl, but the feeling isn’t unwelcome.
It’s somehow exhilarating.
“Yes?” Edwin tries to answer in his usual manner, but knows he comes off sounding much too fond.
“I’m in love with you too.” Charles grins.
“Really? I could never have guessed.”
Charles laughs, knocking their knees together again as if swatting Edwin. Unable to fight his own smile, Edwin looks down to at least hide it a bit. He knows he’s unsuccessful when Charles reaches across to lightly take Edwin’s hand in his own.
Edwin doesn’t think once about trying to pull away.