Archive of Our Own

The letter, when it arrived, was innocuously placed amongst a stack of mail. Edwin leafed through the bills, their latest clients’ thank-you notes, the occasional death threat, and only paused at the thick, high-quality texture of the paper. The envelope revealed nothing of its contents; all it bore was Edwin’s name and their address, neatly printed on the front. But Edwin’s curiosity was immediately piqued. He took the envelope in one hand and extended the other even as he asked, “Charles, the letter opener?”

“Here you go, mate,” Charles said easily, although Edwin caught, in his periphery, a glimpse of his expression – more perplexed than vexed, thankfully. Both emotions would be perfectly justified; the letter opener had been a mere metre from Edwin’s seat and certainly closer to him than to Charles. But Charles did not ask. It had become yet another one of their little routines, over the years. How could Edwin stand to explain that he simply wished to have Charles close at all times, that being a room apart was too much distance between them? That he lived for the brush of their fingertips, a lightning strike to his heart, when Charles handed him the items that Edwin asked for? It reminded Edwin of a lovely film they had recently watched, an adaptation of Pride & Prejudice (not wholly faithful to the text, but Edwin could appreciate some of the directing choices); how Mr Darcy’s hand had flexed so after a single touch from Elizabeth.

But it did not do to dwell.

He returned to the envelope, from which his attention should never have veered, and opened it with a single, precise cut. The letter opener was returned to Charles – another brief, searing touch – as Edwin carefully removed and unfolded the glossy paper. The crest in the letterhead, a bloody wound against the white background, immediately caught his eye.

“St. Hil’s, innit?” Charles, leaning over Edwin’s shoulder, confirmed what they both knew. They exchanged a dark, speaking glance. No, neither of them had fond memories of that place.

Their time at St. Hilarion’s School for Boys did not overlap, despite what the single year’s difference in their ages might imply. Edwin had left partway through his Year 11, after his… incident; Charles had transferred to St. Hilarion’s at the beginning of the next year. They had missed each other by mere months. Edwin sometimes entertained the thought of their attending the school simultaneously: would they be as close then as they had become now? He could not imagine it otherwise. But perhaps they would have missed each other by an even more heartbreakingly small distance. Perhaps they would have met at the wrong time. Perhaps they would have met at the right time.

Edwin shook himself from his imaginings. It was useless to consider hypotheticals that would never come to pass. He began to read the letter aloud: “Dear Mr Edwin Payne, we cordially invite you to celebrate the ten-year reunion of the class of 2013 – Heavens, has it truly been a decade?” It felt far longer, and yet like no time at all.

Draped over Edwin’s shoulders like a particularly exquisite scarf as he was, it was immediately obvious how rigid Charles became. “Those’re the twats that nearly killed you, then?” His voice had lowered into something dangerous and dark. Edwin valiantly suppressed a shiver.

“They hardly attempted to kill me, Charles,” he said airily. “Merely a teenage prank gone too far, you know.”

Charles snorted. “Just lads being lads, nothing to worry about!” The years had not removed the sting for either of them, Edwin suspected, but at least there was some humour to be found in it together. He could feel the line of Charles ease against him.

“I do wonder at them including me in the class of 2013, after all that trouble,” he remarked idly. One of Charles’ arms had come across his front, stroking a thumb across his collarbone in a truly distracting manner. Edwin put a hand to his forearm – to ensure that Charles did not lose his balance, of course.

“Oh, come off it, mate,” Charles replied. “You wrote your A-levels for them in the hospital and everything, didn’t you? Probably the only reason they ranked so highly that year.”

“Yes, well.” It was only a factual recounting, but it warmed Edwin to hear Charles defend him so. “The others certainly needed all the help they could get.” Charles laughed, and Edwin smiled meanly down at the letter. The date of the reunion was a month away, but they requested that guests RSVP at least two weeks in advance.

“They don’t need help, they need a cricket bat to the prick,” Charles said, and Edwin was abruptly caught between scolding him for the crude language and laughing at the imagery. “It’s true! Just send me and my cricket bat in as your proxies, and I’ll start swinging!”

“I appreciate the offer, Charles,” said Edwin, and found that he meant it. “But there is no need to consider it further. I shall not be attending.”

And that was the end of that.

They had met at university. In their shared room, to be precise. It had been somewhat of a shock – Edwin had spent his first year without a roommate and had not expected to gain one in his second year. The university went to quite some lengths to accommodate him, after all, between his stellar grades and his family fortune, and Edwin’s screaming nightmares were in no way conducive to a shared learning atmosphere. Thus, he had been convinced that it was an administrative mistake, and had attempted to gently bully the first year – who had politely introduced himself as just Charles is fine – out of his room. None of his efforts proved successful, and at last Edwin had gone for the jugular: “I’m not good with other people. And I spent the last several years in a psychiatric hospital, so I’m out of practice, to be perfectly frank.” People tended to become frightened when he revealed that sort of personal information. For once, it proved useful. The bitter taste lingering in Edwin’s mouth did not matter. “I am sure the administration will correct this error promptly.”

But the strategy had reached the end of its winning streak at the hands of one Charles Rowland. He had merely smiled charmingly and said, “Well, I’m aces with other people. Must’ve been a tough transition, going from the hospital straight to uni. Good on you, mate.”

When Edwin had turned to face him, rendered, for perhaps the first time in his life, wholly speechless, it was to the sight of Charles holding out an official document and his hand. The former showed that he was indeed assigned to this very room. The latter was thin and calloused, neat nails and long fingers and knobbly knuckles. Edwin only stared.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me,” Charles said, still smiling, still holding out his hand. Edwin had surrendered, against his own better judgement, and taken it.

Over that year, he had quickly discovered that Charles was social, loud, and possessed of a short attention span. Charles was also incredibly kind, remarkably clever, and the best friend Edwin had ever had.

(Breathtakingly handsome, too, although that did not bear mentioning.)

It began innocently enough, as they learnt to adapt to each other. Charles met his friends elsewhere, rather than inviting them over. Edwin occasionally agreed to accompany Charles out. They decided on the division of their room and how hard the limits were, only to cover every surface in textbooks and trinkets in any case. They worked out how to accommodate both Edwin’s autism and Charles’ ADHD with surprising ease, only a few of their habits truly clashing, and those were no hardship to work around. Even Edwin’s nightmares proved a non-issue. For one, Charles had his own. They spent many sleepless nights with mugs of teas, making use of the extra time for studying, or simply speaking of anything but what their nightmares showed them. For another, the intensity of the nightmares faded over time, until, one day, Edwin could not recall the last time either of them had woken the other.

Perhaps if he knew sharing his room would lessen his nightmares, he would not have advocated so strongly for a single room in his previous year. Perhaps not. After all, Charles was wholly unique.

That year as roommates occurred by pure chance. The next one occurred by choice. So did every year after, as each of them graduated, completed the BPTC and then their pupillage. Now, there was a small two-bedroom flat with both of their names on the lease, and it had been filled with trinkets and books anew. (If Edwin privately missed their shared bedroom – well. It was a secret best kept to himself.)

When Edwin’s pupillage was completed and he, perhaps predictably, was snatched up by the sort of law firm that bartered in souls, it was Charles and their shared flat that kept him grounded, in the brief moments of peace he could snatch there. It was Charles who offered to intern at Alastor & Sallos so that Edwin would have at least one friendly face there. It was Charles who succeeded in his endeavour, despite (or perhaps because of) Edwin’s warnings. It was Charles who suggested they escape to begin their own law firm.

But it was Edwin who took his hand once more – back to their flat, then their office, and then far beyond it.

All in all, in the words of F. Scott Fitzgerald: They slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered.

Perhaps selfishly, Edwin prayed it would remain so forever.

At least, that was supposed to be the end of that. They were kept busy with a new case all through the next two weeks, one where the client had either a sad story or a pretty smile – or both – in an attempt to convince them to take their case pro bono. It had almost worked on Charles, but Edwin had persevered in the face of his charming adversary. He would not go to this level of effort for no compensation. There were still bills to pay.

When they collapsed on their couch by the end of it, a spill of kicked-off shoes and overlapping limbs, Edwin’s tie loosened and his sleeves rolled up, Charles’ suspenders shrugged off – well, the invitation should have been the very last thing on his mind.

“This one’s a bloody mess, innit?” Charles was saying, voice muffled as he wrestled his way out of his red polo, then tossed it away, crowing in victory when it landed neatly in the doorway of his room. The process flaunted his singlet, which did a rather poor job of concealing the lean torso beneath it, never mind the shifting of his muscles as he moved. Edwin did not consider it too closely. Nor did he appreciate the gleaming contrast of Charles’ gold necklace against the white. And his eyes certainly did not linger on where the hem of the singlet had rucked up to show a tantalising flash of skin. Good Lord. “Be keeping us busy for a while.”

“Ah – certainly,” Edwin said. Work. Yes. “A good few weeks, by my estimation.” The perfect distraction from… well. Everything.

“Nah, we’ll get it done in a couple of ticks, won’t we?” Charles grinned easily, resting his head against the couch’s backrest. But as soon as he saw Edwin, the smile dropped, his whole expression softening into concern. “You alright, mate?”

It was only when Charles reached out that Edwin noticed, with a start, that he was grinding his own knuckles together. A nervous tic he could never quite unlearn. But Charles did not force his hands apart, only brushed his fingers over them, the soothing repetition reminding Edwin to take a deep breath and unclench his fists. The relief was immediate.

“I didn’t think this one was so rough on you,” Charles said, his brown eyes shining with concern and what Edwin sincerely hoped was not guilt. His hand still rested on Edwin’s, a fact that Edwin was not keen to draw attention to, lest Charles remove it. “If you need to take a break, we can, yeah? We’re not the only barristers in town, we can refer the client to someone else easily enough.”

“No, it is not the case that caused this,” Edwin said, desperately fumbling for an explanation.

Charles knew him far too well. His gaze immediately sharpened, as if he were in court and had suddenly discovered a chink in the armour of the opposition’s defence. It was terribly attractive. “Is this about the reunion? You’ve been off since you got that letter. Is it still bothering you?”

“I suppose it is, despite my best efforts,” Edwin admitted. “It is only… Declining the invitation feels akin to allowing them the victory over me.”

“That’s a load of tosh,” Charles said immediately, his fiery expression at odds with his gentle tone. “My ten-year reunion’s next year, would you think less of me for not going?”

“Of course not! But that is rather different; those awful boys nearly drowned you! If it hadn’t been for Aysar…” Edwin could not bear to complete the thought.

“And these awful boys held you down and tortured you,” Charles said, utterly serious. “They don’t deserve one bit of your attention, yeah? Neither does fucking St. Hil’s.”

“That is a fair point.” Edwin inclined his head. “But I would appreciate the closure, I suppose.”

There was another, far more selfish reason for it: Edwin wanted to show them that he had emerged the victor. He had survived the worst they could do to him and come out stronger on the other side; he had completed an education in a famously challenging field, while most of his schoolmates would have had their parents pay their way through; he had a successful, fulfilling career that improved the world in infinitesimal but important increments. Most importantly, he had Charles. Who else could say that the best person on Earth chose them as a best friend, a partner, a companion to share in nearly every aspect of their lives? At times, Edwin gave himself over to the fanciful thoughts of coming across an old classmate on the street and their witnessing Edwin and Charles’ ease with each other, the shock and envy they would feel that Edwin could receive this privilege.

No, Edwin knew he reigned victorious over his erstwhile bullies, by any metric.

“If you want to, you know I’m right behind you, mate,” Charles said. “Guess you’d better RSVP for yourself and your plus-one, then.”

Edwin blinked. He had not noticed the option of a plus-one on the invitation, though of course there would be. St. Hilarion’s would not dare snub the high-society ladies that had, for some reason, married their alumni. But Edwin had already resigned himself to going alone. “My plus-one?”

Colour spread across Charles’ cheekbones. “I mean – if you didn’t want to take someone else…”

Understanding dawned. “There is no one else,” he said. Hearing himself, he quickly added, “But you need not –”

“Sorry, no version of this where I wouldn’t come with you, is there? There’s no one else I’d go to Hell on Earth for,” Charles said easily, even as their eyes caught and held for a long, electric moment. A shiver danced down Edwin’s spine. Just as quickly, the moment broke, the charge grounding in Charles’ averted eyes, the thunderclap of his hands, the separation of his body from Edwin’s as he settled back more properly in his seat. Edwin felt cold with the loss of him. “Still got to show those tossers what’s what, don’t I?” Some of Charles’ cheekiness remained, at least.

“I fear they won’t allow your cricket bat in, now that you are no longer their star batsman,” Edwin replied, smiling at the laugh his comment garnered. There was still one worry that niggled at him, though. “Charles, if we show up together… They have always suspected that I…” He could not quite finish the sentence.

“Oi, you could’ve told me,” Charles said gently. “So that’s why you didn’t want to ask me to come with?” He brought a hand up to Edwin’s shoulder, nudging him so that they faced each other once more, his smile almost sweeter than Edwin could bear. “Don’t matter one bit to me.”

Edwin smiled back, because what else could he do? He never had properly come out to Charles, that was true. He hadn’t thought it necessary. Everyone else in his life had seemed to sense it, no matter what he said. Surely the only person that Edwin had never hidden from could tell? At least Charles seemed accepting, though that had never been in question. Edwin considered pressing further, confirming that Charles knew and accepted that everyone would assume them romantically involved, but he had no wish to throw off the new equilibrium between them.

Then Charles, ever fearless, raised the hand on Edwin’s shoulder to his hair – and ruffled it from its careful styling. Edwin hissed and batted his hands away, but Charles only took it as encouragement to try harder, laughing like a madman the whole time. “I don’t – Charles! – I don’t see the use of this exercise, no matter how many times you repeat it.” A lie: Charles would back off as soon Edwin truly put his foot down. But there was something about the glow of Charles’ face, his gentle grip on Edwin, the sheer playfulness of the fighting so different from a bully’s callous tormenting, that Edwin could never quite resist.

“Hoping to annoy you enough one day that you give me a proper fight!” Charles replied, wriggling through every gap in Edwin’s defence. “How else am I gonna train you to protect yourself?”

“I don’t need to protect myself. I have you,” Edwin said. Abruptly, the wrists caught in his hands went slack, causing his attempt at pushing Charles down to be both more forceful and more successful than intended. They spent a shocked moment in silence: Charles flat on his back, Edwin kneeling over him and pinning his wrists above his head, both of them panting from the exertion, their chests expanding and contracting in tandem. Edwin took the opportunity to transfer his grip on Charles’ wrists to one hand and half-heartedly ruffle Charles’ hair with the other, taking care not to damage the curls. They were exquisitely soft between his fingertips. Edwin expended quite some effort to prevent himself from lingering. “There,” he said briskly, “I do hope you’re satisfied now.”

Charles spent another wordless moment watching him with dark, lovely eyes. “Good start,” he finally admitted. “But –”

He moved too quickly for Edwin to notice, never mind defend against. All that Edwin knew was that he was quite suddenly on his back, blinking away stars, as a smirking Charles hovered over him. He was kneeling on Edwin’s thighs, far too close, and yet not close enough.

“Don’t leave someone’s legs free, next time,” Charles said, the words cocky in a way that Edwin should perhaps disapprove of. But how could he, when Charles’ tone had dropped into something low and honeyed? His necklace and earring swung freely in the space between them, a dazzling dance in the late-afternoon sunlight. Edwin wanted to close his teeth around them.

Instead, he chose the far more acceptable option of looping the necklace around a finger. “And my arms?” he asked belatedly, because Charles had not secured them, only braced himself against Edwin’s shoulders. To illustrate his point, he gave Charles’ necklace a sharp tug.

Charles did not answer the question, because Charles’ eyes were slipping shut and his lips were parting around a pretty gasp, the necklace slackening under Edwin’s finger as Charles followed the motion down –

The doorbell rang.

They sprang apart as if electrocuted, Edwin releasing Charles’ necklace before he accidentally choked him, Charles tumbling off the couch and nearly landing flat on his face. “I’ll get it,” Charles said, something unknown seeping into his tone. Edwin employed every bit of his manpower so as not to beg him to stay. At his silence, emotions flashed over Charles’ face like an old reel of film, too rapidly for Edwin to identify any. “I’ll – yeah,” he finished weakly.

Only when he was distracted at the door – the person said, “Mail call!” as soon as the door opened, thus identifying himself as their sporadically-seen postman, and Charles only replied, “Bloody hell, mate, what hours do they make you work?” – did Edwin beat a hasty retreat to his own room. His heart was hammering in his chest, his face must be an unattractive red by now – he peered into his mirror and grimaced at the confirmation – and his entire body felt alight, the brightest at his head and shoulders and thighs, where Charles had touched him directly. His trousers felt tight. Edwin could only pray Charles had not noticed.

He dug his nails into his palms and closed his eyes, but it only brought the recollections into sharp relief: their easy conversation and Charles’ offer. His hand in Edwin’s hair. Edwin’s hands on his wrists. Pinning him down before Charles had used that disgustingly smooth manoeuvre to reverse them. Being pinned down. Reaching out for that necklace, Charles letting himself be caught so easily. The tug and the answer to the tug. Charles tilting toward him. What would have happened, had the doorbell not rang?

But it had, and all these thoughts were not at all helpful for… certain matters. Edwin would not touch himself while Charles was under the same roof. He refused.

Perhaps if he sent Charles out on an errand…?

And so it went.

“We really don’t have to,” Charles reminded him, for perhaps the thirtieth time that day, his concern palpable. “We can tell them an emergency came up. Or that I got really bad food poisoning. What are they gonna do, not invite you to the next one?” Notably, he made no move to leave the car and approach St. Hilarion’s iron gates himself.

Edwin took one last deep breath, unclenched his gloved fists, and opened the passenger door. “We are already here, Charles,” he said, when Charles joined him outside the car. “As you very well know, St. Hilarion’s waits for no man.”

Together, they walked into the source of their nightmares.

It was… fine, really. The school seemed smaller than Edwin remembered, although its appearance had changed little. The same historic buildings, sprawling grounds, and arrogant young men everywhere he thought to look. The class of 2013 greeted one another as if meeting old friends after far too long. Edwin could not relate. Most of his peers were unfamiliar to him; the few that were not, were familiar to an uncomfortable degree.

Fortunately, St. Hilarion’s wished to begin with the formalities, directing all of them to the assembly hall. Edwin and Charles trailed after them, but when it came to their turn to choose a seat, Edwin froze. The sea of faces swam before his eyes. Who would recognise him? Who would he recognise?

A gentle hand on his elbow. Charles was leading them away from the crowd, to the seats in the backmost row, away from the judging eyes of Edwin’s schoolmates. Edwin could have wept with relief. He settled for a press of his knee against Charles’, and a half-smile when Charles immediately smiled and returned the nudge.

The headmistress began with a clearly practised speech welcoming their alumni back, congratulating them on their successes, and expressing gratitude for their generous donations over the years. The speeches that followed were, by some miracle, even less interesting. Good Lord, but Edwin had forgotten the utter tedium of such events. He allowed the words to pass him by. There was nothing said that he cared to hear.

Next to him, Charles shifted in his seat, evidently equally bored. But the press of their knees was a constant, as if he knew how desperately Edwin needed it. Edwin suddenly wished for one of their many boardgames – a magnetic chessboard designed for travel, or a full Clue board, whyever not – so that they could do something productive with this time, at least. The naughty schoolchildren skiving off in the back row, giving themselves away with their giggling, shameless in the face of the teachers’ scolding. It was a wholly unfamiliar role for Edwin, who had spent his school assemblies sitting properly in the front row, where the bullies could not reach him – not that it helped, in the end. He vastly preferred the current experience.

“Remind me, next time, to bring a pack of cards, at least,” he whispered to Charles, who immediately shook with laughter. Sometimes Edwin thought Charles understood him better than he himself did. He turned back to the stage, letting his smile linger on his mouth for a moment longer, like the taste of something sweet, and wondered whether the arrayed teachers were glaring at them for their insolence. It mattered little. What could they do to two adult men? Edwin had escaped their halls, and they had no more power to hurt him.

Of course, when all the speeches were completed and Edwin remembered what came next, he abruptly wished they had dragged on even longer. Because now it was time for the most dreaded part of the day: socialisation. Mingling, if one wished to be polite; networking, if one wished to be realistic. At least the gathering had been provisioned with hors d'oeuvres and champagne that befitted their attendance fees. Edwin took a flute each for himself and Charles, never mind his own pathetic tolerance for alcohol. He would need it to survive the next few hours.

But the interactions went more smoothly than Edwin could have expected. Not enjoyable by any means, no, but he had Charles at his side: Charles, who bore the brunt of the niceties, who utterly charmed anyone they spoke to, who laughed at Edwin’s blunt remarks and egged him on as soon as they were left alone. Charles made all the difference.

And this all without mentioning the matter of Charles’ outfit. In their office, Charles tended to more casual outfits – polo shirts, athletic jackets, a beloved coat covered with pins and patches. Over the years, it had caused quite a few raised eyebrows from clients and the like. But what did it matter, when Charles always showed up to court impeccably dressed (in Edwin’s professional opinion), when he won judges and jurors over with a few well-placed words and a warm smile, when their firm’s success rate spoke for itself? Why, he could almost make Edwin think of a horsehair wig as an attractive accessory.

Charles’ current outfit fell somewhere between the two extremes. He was wearing one of his classic black-on-white suits, but had foregone the formality of a tie in favour of leaving the top few buttons of the shirt undone, his necklace dangling beneath it, his court-approved studs exchanged for starry earrings of disparate lengths. Every time Charles moved his head – which was often – the earrings swung to follow, winking at Edwin as if to beckon him closer. He could not obey in the current setting, more’s the pity, but the mere sight of Charles was enough to keep him in good spirits, at least.

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As for the rest of the guests, Edwin could say very little. Of those that came to speak to them, some were flabbergasted at the idea that they might need to work for a living, instead of merely being handed a ceremonial position in the family business; the others were initially impressed at their being barristers – at least, until Edwin and Charles revealed that they ran their own small firm, rather than working for one of the big-name firms. “Perhaps his only aim in attending the reunion is to find a barrister willing to represent him for his white-collar crime charges,” Edwin remarked dryly after another incident of the latter, perfectly timed so that Charles choked on his champagne as he spluttered an inappropriate laugh.

They couldn’t leave it at that, though. Soon they were concocting all manner of stories about who was caught up in which scandal: murder, embezzlement, art thievery, there was no limit to it. That one’s wife had married him for the money but was secretly in love with his sister; this one had a dull office job by day, but dressed up in latex by night – only they were too shy to make an appearance, which was why London had no known vigilantes. Each time Edwin succeeded in making Charles laugh, a bright sound that deserved far more than these haunted halls, Edwin’s smile broadened. If it also kept other guests away from them, staring at them as if their joy was a particularly infectious virus, then that was simply an added bonus. Edwin had no need to speak to anyone else, not when he already had the best person he knew at his side.

Unfortunately, not everyone received the message. Their latest conversational partners, a tittering couple that resembled each other to an uncomfortable degree, were the type to turn up their noses at even the mention of careers, instead prattling on about their love of golf and galas. Charles nodded politely. Edwin did not bother. These people cared for little beyond the sound of their own voices.

Then the wife’s eyes caught on where Edwin and Charles’ arms brushed together. “Oh!” she said brightly, her smile wide and patently false. “Are you two…?”

And here was the moment Edwin had been dreading all day. Charles had accepted him, yes, but there was a difference between knowing your best friend was gay, and being mistaken for a couple with him. He doubted that Charles would be cruel – he could never – but his staunch refusal would still ache like a blow to the chest.

Edwin had been prepared for Charles to laugh it off, to say, Nah, he’s just my best mate, I don’t swing that way, maybe a wink to really lay on the charm. Edwin had not been prepared for the heat of an arm encircling his waist, a proprietary hand on his hip, and an easy, “Yeah, we’re legally partners!”

“Congratulations!” she simpered, while her husband watched on with a sour expression. Edwin could vaguely remember him: not one of his main bullies, no, but certainly not opposed to them. He found he did not mind the man’s discomfort, even leaning into Charles’ touch and allowing his true feelings to show on his face for a moment. The couple quickly made their excuses and moved on, perhaps in the hopes of a more golf-focused conversation.

“You alright, mate?” Charles asked as soon as they were out of hearing distance, removing his arm from Edwin as quickly as he had placed it there. Edwin missed it already. “I know you said they’d assume, but sorry for springing it on you like that.”

So he had understood what Edwin truly meant, then. “It is perfectly alright,” Edwin replied, sounding stilted even to his own ears. “It is only the truth, after all. Very clever, Charles.”

“You sure?” Charles asked, sounding rather worried now. “You’re looking a bit peaky.” He made an aborted gesture, as if to raise his hand to Edwin’s forehead and deciding against it at the last moment. Why was it so easy for him to touch Edwin under the gaze of others, but not when they were alone? “Stay here, I’ll get you a few snacks.”

As soon as the crowd swallowed Charles up, Edwin pivoted and walked away. For once, he did not wish for Charles to find him, if only for a single moment. His thoughts were all in a whirl, catching again and again on Charles’ easy acceptance of a stranger’s assumptions. He had no destination in mind, only the vague feeling of away, which made the sudden appearance of the headmistress quite the surprise.

“Good day, Mr Payne,” she greeted him immediately. “I must say, it’s a pleasure to have you within these hallowed halls once more.”

She was certainly the only one to think so. Many of the staff members were new to Edwin, but those that remained from his time seemed to be doing their level best to avoid him. Edwin could even understand. How uncomfortable, to be reminded of the boy you had once staunchly refused to believe was bullied, only for him to end up in a psychiatric hospital because of an incident that occurred on your school grounds. Edwin hoped they choked on their shame.

“Good day, Headmistress,” Edwin returned the greeting by rote. He did not say, It is a pleasure to be back, because he did not make a habit of lying to others. Only to himself.

She took his reticence in stride. “I’m no longer your headmistress, Mr Payne. I would prefer you to think of me as… a friend.”

Edwin wanted few things less, but it did not pay to spurn powerful people. “As you say, Ms Després. Farewell.” He made as if to walk past her.

“Farewell, Mr Payne. Until we see each other once more,” said Ms Després. For a moment, something hungry seemed to flicker within her deadened eyes. A trick of the light, surely. “All the best to you and your Mr Rowland. Do tell him he has also been missed.”

The short conversation left Edwin more discomfited than any other part of the day. When a hand suddenly grabbed his arm and pulled him to the side, he flinched and whirled around immediately.

“Easy!” said, of all people, Simon Mould, once the ringleader of Edwin’s tormentors. He held his hands up as if that was in any way a comforting gesture. “Sorry, I just – I wanted to talk to you while you have a minute.”

While I am alone, Edwin’s brain filled in. While I am away from Charles. What could Simon possibly want, after all these years? “And where is your wife?” he deflected.

For some reason, the question caused Simon to smile, boyish and unexpectedly handsome. “I don’t have one,” he said. “Funny you should mention that, actually. I wanted to tell you – do you remember that blue cap you used to wear?”

Edwin blinked at the non sequitur. “I remember you snatching it off of me,” he answered, with perhaps too much venom.

But Simon only smiled, as if they were sharing fond childhood memories instead of one amongst a litany of bullying attempts. “You looked very smart in that cap.” His smile dropped. “But when I tried to tell you, you just… walked away. You never spoke to me. I got so embarrassed, thinking that we… that we were the same.”

It both was and was not a surprise. At St. Hilarion’s, Edwin had sometimes read deeper meaning into the way Simon smiled at him, but an uptick in bullying would invariably follow. Afterwards, Edwin only thought about Simon in the context of his nightmares. But his empathy for Simon’s situation paled in comparison to his fury. Edwin hissed, “You were embarrassed? I was terrified. You chose to torment me all my years in this bloody school, and thoughts of you continued to do so even after I left!”

Simon’s smile returned, broader than before. Edwin revised his previous opinion: such a grating expression could not rightly be called handsome. “You thought about me a lot?”

“Simon, you and your friends pretended to sacrifice me to a demon, whilst chanting homophobic slurs at me, mind you! Need I remind you of my mental breakdown, which caused me to finish school from a psychiatric hospital? It’s not exactly difficult for me to remember when I still sometimes scream myself awake from the associated nightmares!”

Colour bled from Simon’s face, leaving him a pale grey. In a hoarse whisper, he asked, “Do you – do you think it has to be torture, being the way that we are?”

“Being queer? I refuse to believe it.” Edwin studiously straightened his own sleeves. “But need I remind you that, despite both of us being closeted at St. Hilarion’s, I managed not to become the ringleader of a pack of bullies, nor to torment someone for what I thought was broken in me. Queerness is not to blame for that, Simon, so perhaps you should consider what is. Because I only kept to myself. Do you know what the best person I know did, when his own friends were hurting someone he felt kinship with? He stepped in, even though he nearly lost his life for it. Now, I would not dare call myself a fraction of the person he is, but it is something to strive towards. Perhaps you should do the same.”

Edwin wanted Charles suddenly, was desperate for the sight of him. How could he have been so foolish as to leave him behind? He turned towards the table of hors d'oeuvres, where Charles was still hopefully none the wiser to his absence, but a desperate hand on his wrist arrested him. Simon’s eyes were shining with tears. “That’s it? You won’t even think about forgiving me?”

“I don’t recall you issuing an apology,” Edwin said tightly. Simon’s touch was making his skin crawl with the memory of far worse. “Let me go.”

“I’m sorry,” Simon said, close to pleading now, but did not release his grip.

And then a hand closed around Simon’s wrist, pressing in such a way that Simon let go with a shocked intake of breath. “Think the gentleman told you to let go, bruv.” Charles now stood between them, dazzling and divine as an avenging angel, with all the righteous rage to match. With his wrist now freed, Edwin immediately retreated behind him. “Alright, love?” Charles asked gently, turning his back on Simon in a deliberate slight. Charles opened his arms slightly, freely offering his embrace, and Edwin fell into him without hesitation. He was certain no one on Earth hugged half as well as Charles Rowland, who clung to Edwin as if to prevent the universe itself from separating them with the strength of his arms alone. Edwin clung back with equal fervour, hoping the embrace provided Charles with at least some of the comfort he himself drew from it.

Unfortunately, when they ended the embrace after a long – but not quite long enough – moment, Simon had not taken the opportunity to slink away. Instead, he frowned deeply at Charles. “Hang on, I recognise you. You were the transfer, a year below me. Didn’t you get into trouble for that prank with some immigrant kid?” His eyes widened. He faced Edwin completely, ignoring Charles except for a thumb jabbed disrespectfully in his direction. “The best person that you know is him? Really, Edwin, you do deserve better than some charity case, you know.”

Charles made a noise of disgust. “Oh, you’re one to talk, mate.” But that was all he said, except for, “Let’s go, Edwin.” Always so willing to defend everyone but himself.

Edwin did not go.

He wondered if this ploy was a remnant of what Simon had been taught in these very halls, whether St. Hilarion’s had brought it back or if it had never left him: the urge to win favour by degrading others. Edwin had spent rather a lot of time on the other side of it, after all. He almost felt sorry for Simon. But not sorry enough to hold back. “Please hear me. Insulting Charles will do the opposite of endearing me to you. Yes, he’s the best person I know, and it would do you well to examine why you doubt that. I’m certain the answer will be a potent mix of racism and classism.” Simon was rapidly turning red. Edwin did not dare turn to Charles, but he could feel his gaze focused on him. “Charles is the best person I know,” he said again, more quietly, feeling the weight of each word but helpless to stop their flow, now. “In fact, he deserves far more than me or what I can give him. But I am a selfish man. I will take all that I can get, and more.” It revealed only a fraction of Edwin’s feelings, and yet his chest felt ripped open, his still-beating heart excavated by his own hand and held out for all to see. He prayed that Charles would not notice; he hoped that Charles would. But this was not wholly about Charles. Edwin collected himself as best he could, returning his attention to a still-speechless Simon. “Do not presume to know our business, Simon. I am willing to accept your apology. I do not forgive you.”

Gentle hands alighted on his shoulders, turning him around, and because they belonged to Charles, Edwin only relaxed into them. He could not quite make himself meet Charles’ eyes. What would he see in them? Acceptance, hopefully. Mortification? Pity? Disgust? Edwin could not bear the thought.

But – “Edwin,” Charles said, and Edwin was powerless to resist him. When he raised his eyes, it was to find Charles wearing an awestruck expression, staring at Edwin as if he were the only thing in existence.

“Charles, I…” What could Edwin say? An apology? He was not sorry for loving Charles. He could never be.

It did not remain a dilemma for long, because Charles slid his hands from Edwin’s shoulders, over his collarbone, to cup his neck, and then drew Edwin into a kiss. It was a clumsy sort of thing: their noses were pressed uncomfortably close together, their lips not quite aligning, and Edwin, for whom this sequence of events was wholly unexpected, had frozen completely in his shock. It was the most perfect kiss of his life. Edwin could not resist what he had wanted for so long, melting into the kiss with a soft sigh against Charles’ mouth, his hands raising cautiously to Charles’ back.

Of course, it was precisely then that Charles extricated them, his dark eyes wide and luminous. “Edwin, I’m sorry, I… I couldn’t stop myself. You can hate me for this forever, now –”

“Charles,” said Edwin with commendable patience. “Do not be sorry.” Charles’ face, like the morning sun, was too bright and lovely to gaze at directly. Edwin lowered his eyes and adjusted the lapel of Charles’ suit jacket. “I could never hate you when I love you far too well. When I am…” He cleared his throat. “When I am utterly in love with you.”

He had been wrong to compare Charles to the sun before. Light broke through the clouds and into Edwin’s life with the force of Charles’ smile. “That’s got to be the best thing you’ve ever said, love,” he said fervently, and kissed Edwin again. This time, Edwin was somewhat prepared for it, throwing his arms around Charles’ neck to clutch him close, kissing him back with all the overwhelming love he could now let himself feel. It managed to be an even more perfect kiss than the previous one, especially when Charles mumbled, “I’m completely in love with you, too, in case that wasn’t obvious,” against his lips.

Someone pointedly cleared their throat next to them, but Edwin had far more important matters to consider. He noticed the loss of one of Charles’ hands, though, and then an indignant splutter as the throat-clearer was presumably shown the finger.

Edwin lingered in the kiss for a moment longer, to aid in proving the point, before drawing away only enough to rest his forehead against Charles’, his fingers coming up to stroke mindless patterns across Charles’ cheeks. The answering smile was smaller than Charles’ norm, and heartbreakingly tender. “Let us leave,” Edwin whispered into the sacred space between them.

The corners of Charles’ eyes crinkled as his smile broadened. “You don’t want to scandalise these wankers with more PDA?”

It was a compelling thought, and Edwin gave it all due consideration, but eventually concluded – “I would rather be with you at home.”

Charles swallowed. Edwin wished to follow the bob of his throat with his teeth. “Objection sustained,” he said, somewhat strained, and led them to the exit. His arm slipped around Edwin’s waist as easily as if there were nothing novel about it. For his part, Edwin only nestled closer. They did not bother with farewells, to his relief. He could feel gazes resting heavily on them, but if any or all of them were disapproving, Edwin could not find it within himself to give a single fuck. He was walking out with the best person here – the best person anywhere – on his arm. What more could he want?

Only at the door did Charles briefly turn his head back. “That Simon bloke is glaring up a storm at us, love,” he remarked, sounding inordinately pleased about it.

“Let him,” Edwin said. Simon was the very last thing he wished to think about. After all, he had just recalled something else he wished to share with Charles. “There is one more thing, before we leave.”

Earlier, a tour of the school had been offered to the alumni, but Edwin had declined it then. The only place he wished to visit would form part of no formal tour.

They made the trek to one of the outermost buildings, holding hands all the while, and climbed all its many stairs until they reached the top. Edwin pushed the door open and led them into the attic. It looked exactly how he remembered it, out of place against the rest of the school’s amenities. The old wooden beams of the ceiling were still exposed. The floor was covered in boxes and chests, which looked to be untouched for a good thirty years or longer. Tucked in a corner was an antique lamp, unlit. Edwin pivoted slowly, taking it all in, before turning his gaze back to where Charles had been patiently watching him. “I used to come here,” Edwin felt the need to explain. “When everything became too much. None of the others knew about it. It was… my safe haven, I suppose.” Perhaps that was why he felt the need to show it to Charles. It was only right that his old safe haven should meet his new one.

Charles, of all things, laughed. Edwin blinked at him in bemusement, waiting to be let in on the joke. “Edwin, mate. Love,” Charles said, stepping closer and fitting his hands to the sides of Edwin’s face. “Any guesses where I ran to from my own bullies?”

“Surely not,” said Edwin, already feeling a disbelieving smile pull at his mouth. “What a strange coincidence!”

“I think some part of you got left here, and you saved me,” Charles confessed, glancing away as if embarrassed of the fanciful thought. “Aysar found me here, but none of the other lads did.”

What an unexpected relief, to know their time at this miserable school had overlapped in such a way, in safety for both of them. Perhaps they really would have met, had they attended St. Hilarion’s simultaneously. Now, the attic carried traces of both of them, mingling until the individual components could no longer be distinguished. “Perhaps it was protecting you,” he suggested, for once giving himself over to his own imagination. “It would know Aysar is safe for you.”

“I like that thought.” Charles’ expression became more serious. “Speaking of bullies, I’m not wrong in thinking that wanker that put his hand on you was one of yours?”

Edwin sighed. “Indeed. One of the main instigators, in fact. I believe he was the one to contribute the Satanic book they used for it.”

“That fucker –” Charles’ face pulled into a furious frown, his hands dropping from Edwin’s face as if he were readying himself to march back into the assembly hall right that moment. “Should’ve bloodied his nose when I got the chance –”

“Charles,” Edwin interrupted his tirade, for all that it selfishly warmed him to hear. He caught Charles’ half-raised fist in his hand, and, since it was in the vicinity, pressed a kiss to the knuckles. The tension in Charles’ hand slowly eased. “I do not want you to stain your hands with his blood.” He frowned in thought. “Besides, he had somewhat of a reason for it. I am given to understand he carried a bit of a torch for me.”

“He fancied you?” Charles’ expression was properly stormy by now. “Bloody hell, at least tell me he started out with a proper apology!”

Edwin could not lie to him, of course. “It must have been isolating to feel that way, thinking himself alone,” he said diplomatically. “I do feel sorry for him. Perhaps I was too harsh in my reaction?” But, in truth, Edwin felt guiltier for how little guilt he felt. Would Charles think less of him for it?

“Nah, nah, nah,” Charles immediately refuted. “Sounds like he wanted to fit in with his mates so badly that he ended up worse than them. You don’t owe him one bit of your attention or your forgiveness, no matter what his reasons were.” He scoffed again, low in his throat. “As if bullying is a good way to show you fancy someone. How stupid can he be?”

Edwin swayed into him, utterly charmed and without reasons to hide it. “What is a good way to show that you fancy someone, then?” he asked coyly, glancing at Charles through his lashes.

“Start by befriending them, at least,” Charles said immediately. “Talk to them about their interests, walk them to class, buy them books they’d like.”

“Is that not what you did?” Edwin asked with a frown. Charles raised an eyebrow. The penny dropped. “Charles, you –”

A fetching blush stained Charles’ cheekbones. “Well, it’s always been you, innit?”

Abruptly, Edwin wanted to put his mouth on every part of Charles. (He’d never stopped.) He settled for kissing Charles, deep and drugging, pushing at Charles until his back collided against the wall with an audible thump, his hand in Charles’ hair taking the brunt of the impact from his head.

Charles broke away only to laugh and say, “Where’s this energy in self-defence training, then?” The words trailed off into a moan when Edwin reclaimed his mouth and bit down on Charles’ bottom lip. His parted lips were all invitation Edwin needed to lick into his mouth and explore it as thoroughly as he had only ever imagined doing. Charles was making all sorts of delicious, muffled noises, ones Edwin could nearly taste, his hands running feverishly over Edwin’s back under his suit jacket. Edwin needed to hear him clearly. He kissed the corner of Charles’ mouth, down to his rather exquisite jawline, further down to his lovely, unmarked neck. He bit down, worrying at the soft skin with his teeth. The moan that spilled from Charles’ mouth would sustain Edwin for the rest of his life and far beyond.

Edwin buried his face fully into Charles’ neck, drunk on a few flutes of champagne and Charles’ heady scent. His cologne foremost, the one Edwin could not resist borrowing at times, with its bright notes of sandalwood and bergamot; a hint of the spices that stocked several shelves in their small kitchen; underneath it all, the scent of Charles himself – which Edwin had not the words to describe, yet knew better than himself. “Darling, I – I have wanted you for so long,” he whispered into Charles’ skin, feeling him shiver under his lips, though the exact cause was somewhat unclear. Edwin would need to conduct more experiments. At a later stage. “I never thought –”

“You could’ve had me literally any time,” Charles said, gratifyingly breathless. “Fuck, d’you know what you looked like, that first day? All prim and proper and pretty, telling me to get out of your room. I thought about getting on my knees to try and convince you to let me stay.”

Edwin’s own knees nearly gave out. Even then? His hand clenched unconsciously around Charles’ curls, but Charles only jerked against him, his head tipping back, his moan drawn-out and unselfconscious. He was hard, Edwin noticed for the first time, his thoughts curiously hazy. Both of them were. Edwin slipped his thigh between Charles’ legs, grinding up, already cataloguing Charles’ reactions: his ridiculously long eyelashes fluttering, his hips tilting into the movement, his hands on Edwin grasping and reverent and desperate, all at once. All because of Edwin; all for Edwin. He felt so aroused that he thought he might die from it.

But – “Wait, wait,” Charles gasped. Edwin immediately retreated, feeling cold fear wash over him, but Charles’ hands on his hips kept him close. “No, don’t go. Just – we’re not having sex for the first time in a dingy attic at fucking St. Hil’s.” He smiled charmingly, the effect only enhanced by his ruffled hair and blissful expression, his mouth red and swollen, his collar pulled askew to show a string of purpling love bites. It was all rather unfair, in Edwin’s unbiased opinion. “It needs to be special, yeah?”

Edwin huffed, crowding in close once more. And there he’d thought something serious was the matter. “Do stop being such a romantic, Charles,” he said, nuzzling into the side of Charles’ face, trailing one dangling earring between his fingers. The metal felt deliciously cool against his feverish skin. “Anywhere that we are is special.”

“Now who’s being a romantic?” Charles teased back, but his eyes were starry. How was Edwin expected to resist him for the entire drive back?

“Home is so far away,” Edwin made his closing argument, mouthing at Charles’ jawline. He drew away only to gesture around them. “We are already here. Why waste the opportunity?”

He had been prepared for Charles to argue back, to point out that it was a short drive and that their home would provide more creature comforts, perhaps to mention the many guests on the school grounds, any of whom might stumble upon them in an awkward moment. (Edwin minded the thought perhaps less than he should.) He had even been somewhat prepared for Charles’ – unfairly convincing – pleading expression, though no amount of preparation ever allowed Edwin to resist it.

He had not been prepared for Charles to align them cheek-to-cheek, a dancing couple without music, his lips brushing against Edwin’s ear as he murmured, low and honeyed, “You don’t want to go back to our home, to my bed, where I always get off to thoughts of you?”

Heat flooded every part of Edwin’s body. He was alight with it. “Charles…”

“Imagined you walking in on me once or twice, didn’t I?” Charles continued, seeming to laugh at himself. “Offering to help me out, like a good mate. Talking me through it, your hand on my prick as I came. Bloody hell, love, the things your voice do to me.”

Edwin clutched at Charles’ shoulders if only to keep himself standing, his knees threatening to give way beneath him. How could Charles say such things so easily? “You are not exactly making a good case for waiting, darling,” Edwin said tightly.

Charles drew away enough to show his sunny smile. “But you love me anyway.”

“So I do,” Edwin agreed helplessly, charmed despite himself.

Charles clasped their hands together and took off running, surprising Edwin into laughter. Still running, they retraced their steps down the stairs, back to the main campus, and to the parking area. They were both on the passenger side of their car, Charles courteously holding the door open for Edwin, when Simon exited the assembly hall and froze in place, staring at them. Edwin knew what he must see: their rumpled clothing, ruffled hair, the clear desperation of their movements, the line of love bites on Charles’ neck that he was, if anything, flaunting. What it appeared they had been doing. What they had been doing. Charles went a step further, holding his hand out to Edwin to help into the car as if it were the finest of carriages instead of a rather outdated sedan, and what could Edwin do except take his hand? The door was gently shut once he was in, and Charles made his way to the driver’s side, sparing Simon a cheery wave, before slipping into his place next to Edwin and peeling out of St. Hilarion’s grounds without a backward glance.

The rest of the drive was a study in exquisite torment: Charles’ hand, initially resting innocently on Edwin’s knee, crept slowly up, until he was tracing mindless patterns over Edwin’s inseam. Edwin did not dare return the touches, for fear of distracting Charles from the road, despite his desperate wish to.

Only when the car was safely parked under their flat building, did he give into the impulse to climb bodily over the gear shift and into Charles’ lap, adjusting the seat back so that they didn’t accidentally lay on the horn. “You are an incorrigible tease,” he panted into Charles’ open mouth, grinding down to let Charles feel exactly the effect he had. Fortunately, it seemed he wasn’t the only one.

Charles laughed lowly, his voice shot through with desire like veins of precious metal. “Yeah? What are you gonna do about it, then?”

Edwin matched his tone. “Let us go inside, and I will show you.”

They tumbled out of the driver’s side, racing each other up the stairs to their flat so that as few as possible people would witness their ravished states, their laughter echoing through the stairwell. When they finally tripped through their flat’s front door, Edwin had a mere moment to catch his breath before Charles was crowding into his space, Edwin’s back pressed to the wall this time, their fingers interlaced and raised to rest above Edwin’s head. Charles only stared at him with an awestruck expression for an infinite moment, his lovely face flushed, his eyes dark and intent. “D’you remember that time on the couch? Before the bloody postman interrupted?”

“I could hardly forget,” Edwin replied, tilting his head back as Charles lowered his mouth to his neck.

“I wanted to kiss you, then.”

“I wanted to do much more,” Edwin confessed, any shame utterly drowned beneath a flood of hot desire. “Your singlet is rather appealing.”

“Yeah?” Charles asked, and Edwin could hear the pleased smile in his voice. “Was hoping it’d have that effect.”

“Perhaps we should repeat the experiment. To ensure that there is indeed a relationship between the variables.”

Charles laughed, shrugging out of his suit jacket and tossing it over the nearest chair. Edwin would scold him about showing his clothing the proper care – later. They both fumbled with the buttons of Charles’ shirt, laughing as their attempts became more and more uncoordinated, until at last Charles tossed that aside, too, once more leaving himself in only his singlet. Now that Edwin had permission to look, he could not bear to tear his eyes away. “Gonna draw a graph of ‘how undressed Charles Rowland is’ against ‘how turned on Edwin Payne is’?”

“A brilliant idea, Charles,” Edwin said, only half-ironically. He encouraged Charles closer once more, palming at his back muscles through the thin singlet, and sighed in relief when Charles’ lips and teeth returned to his neck. He needed to shake the hand of whoever had manufactured these singlets, a faint enough barrier that Edwin could feel Charles’ exquisite body heat through it, the line of his shoulder blades, every vertebra of his spine, the slight dip of his waist. “That night, when you went out to fetch us dinner, I – ah! – I touched myself to a fantasy of us on the couch, uninterrupted.”

“Fuck,” Charles panted into Edwin’s neck. His hips rolled, seemingly involuntarily, against Edwin.

“I was promised a bedroom, first,” Edwin sniped back, and was utterly unsurprised when Charles immediately dragged them to his room. It had been the intended outcome of his remark, after all.

Charles paused in the doorway first, though, expression strangely nervous. “This is probably too fast, but – fuck it. I miss sleeping in the same room as you. Have been, ever since we moved out of our dorm, if I’m gonna be honest.”

Edwin’s heart was a river, overflowing its banks. “I missed it, as well. I sleep better with you near.” He stepped closer, taking both Charles’ hands in his. “If this is an invitation, then I accept.” He could feel his smile broaden enough to show his teeth, a vulnerability he only allowed around his closest friends, Charles chief amongst them. He teased, “I would not mind having more room to store my books…”

“Oi! I’m trying to be romantic here,” Charles said, mock-indignant. “Should know that’s all you care about.” But his irrepressible smile utterly betrayed him. “You wanna move in with me? Really?”

“I am already living with you,” Edwin said, smiling helplessly back.

“’S different, innit?” Charles pressed a kiss to Edwin’s cheek, and how could Edwin argue when the judge and jury had ruled unanimously in Charles’ favour? “Let’s not go back to another St. Hil’s reunion?” Charles asked. “Don’t get me wrong, they’ve almost redeemed themselves by getting us together, but I’d still rather not. Let’s do our own thing next year. Maybe invite Crystal, Niko, Aysar, and Sekani, yeah?”

“That sounds wonderful, darling,” Edwin replied. It was not exactly a difficult choice. If Charles wanted to attend his reunion, Edwin would of course accompany him, but he would not regret missing it. St. Hilarion’s may have been the setting of their confessions, but it had not caused the love between them. Edwin and Charles had built every part of it. “But at this moment, there are quite a few things that I imagine would be even more wonderful –”

The door shut behind them with a definite click.

fin.