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Charles is really starting to wish that the flowers would at least do him the courtesy of manifesting at his lips, or even just in his mouth. They're on day three of hanging around the greenhouse looking through the hedge-wizard's spell notes trying to figure out what the fuck is happening to Charles, and the sensations of the flowers down his throat and into his lungs are really starting to wear on him.
"Still can't believe he called himself a hedge-wizard," Crystal mutters to herself, pacing as she reads. One of the pots holding a gardening experiment has the audacity to be in her path, and she sullenly knocks it over with one foot.
Isaac Windsor (no relation), recently deceased and posthumously irritating, spent his life reading anime (which Charles can respect) and experimenting with plant magic (which Charles can also respect). Somehow this turned into working on a series of spells with slight variations all involving people – or ghosts – coughing up flowers whenever they feel an emotion (which Charles cannot respect and also bloody hates).
The resentment coalesces in Charles as he seethes, and he tries to breathe past it.
It's too late. Something sharp tickles the back of his throat, growing up along the roof of his mouth like it's a trellis, and he gags. It turns into coughs, and the flower rips its way up, petals catching on his teeth until enough of it is out that he can grab the head and pull.
His sinuses fill with the smell of copper as the flower catches on every last bit of Charles's throat that it can, and once he manages to get all the ticklish little roots out, he sees why: it's a long-stemmed rose, a single-bloom bush, complete with thorns.
"Oh," says Niko, sounding a little disappointed from the other side of the room. "Charles, were you thinking negative thoughts again?"
The rose is a deep burgundy, curling to black at the edge of the petals.
Charles spits, or tries to – whatever magic is making him be able to feel every last millimeter of the flowers and all the associated senses, whether it's the weight of spit in his mouth or the smell of blood, hasn't actually given him anything other than the flower itself. Even though he would swear down that he can feel something congealing at the back of his sinuses, there isn't anything there.
God, he fucking hates this.
He clears his throat and redirects his attention before another black rose can manifest. His voice is hoarse as he asks, "Any progress?"
Edwin, who has been standing on the far end of the greenhouse and watching with thinned lips and wide eyes, shakes his head wordlessly. Charles looks away as fast as he can.
The thing is, if he looks too long at Edwin, flowers start happening. There's a whole wide range of them: globes of tiny magenta petals exploding into spheres, puffs of delicately fringed pale green, waxy pink bell-shaped drops, even dandelions one time which caused an unsubtle panic and an aggressive consultation with Niko's sprites. Edwin has been able to identify most of the flowers, while occasionally waxing poetic about the modern disconnection from nature. Lavender, gorse flowers, forget-me-nots, and one that he identified as love-in-idleness and set aside for their magic pantry.
What he doesn't tell the others – what he can't tell the others, because then it'll really be happening – is that he's getting tired. Not just emotionally, obviously, but each time he pulls another flower out of his mouth he can feel, like, a bit of himself go with it?
There's no getting something from nothing, after all, and the flowers may be made of the same ghost-stuff as Charles but, well, they're still made of ghost-stuff. It's not exhausting the way he remembers getting when he was alive, or how he felt when he was sprinting up the universe's longest staircase on the way out of Hell. It's more like there's a tiny bit of distance between him and the world, and it's increasing. The colors aren't as deep, the brights are a bit dimmer, and thoughts are starting to take a second to filter through his head.
"Charles?" Crystal repeats, loud and pointed enough that it clearly isn't the first time, and Charles whips his head around to look at her.
"Yeah, what?" he says, the words sharp-edged as he tries to cover his sudden dizziness – but it doesn't work. His vision sways, doubling, and he scrambles back to one of the benches to steady himself.
"Charles!" This time when his vision clears, Crystal is kneeling in front of him, with Niko and Edwin piled behind her, all looking worried. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," Charles says, and immediately there's a catch in his throat. He turns his head just in time to be racked with coughs, something slimy and long clinging to the back of his throat. It takes a few tries to get it up and out, but a long, broad leaf spatters its way onto his hand, curled around a bulbous green stem that looks almost like a caterpillar.
"Adder's-tongue," Edwin says quietly, as Charles shakes it off his hand and onto the hard-packed earth of the greenhouse floor.
"That sounds ominous," Niko says, also staring at it, and then frowns, looking back at the black rose.
Crystal's voice is hard with impatience as she says, "Want to tell us what's going on?"
Charles clears his throat, or tries. It still feels like there are roots in it, waiting. "I, um," he says, and clears it again. "I think the flowers might be…bad for me."
"How bad are we talking?" Crystal demands before Edwin or Niko even have a chance to react.
Bloody hell – Charles starts to cough again. It's happening more frequently now, and he can see from everyone else's reactions that he's not the only one who's noticed, but he gets distracted pretty quickly by the feel of another flower making its way out.
Except it isn't just one this time. He pulls a poppy from his lips, and then another, and another, the fuzzy stems prickling along his tongue.
They land, bloodred and black, on the ground. Charles sees that and can't stand it anymore – he squeezes his eyes shut and puts his face in his hands and tries to keep his thoughts very, very quiet. If he doesn't think anything, doesn't feel anything, then there'll be nothing to make the flowers, right? Niko's bang-on – the flowers happen when he's got big feelings, so he just…won't.
"Why are they different every time?" Crystal says, her voice heavy with frustration. "How are we supposed to figure it out when the flowers are different every time - "
"Crystal," Niko says suddenly, her voice about as sharp as it gets for Niko. "Do you still have his laptop? Can you read the password off of it?"
"Yeah, but I already checked, he didn't write anything down about his spells – "
Niko interrupts, which is also very un-Niko-like, but Charles puts a fuckload of effort into letting that thought float away without a reaction. "I don't want to check his spells. I want to check his Internet history."
"Oh god, why," Crystal moans, but her voice keeps retreating as she walks away. "That never ends well…"
Footsteps fading. He's pretty sure, even though he knows that he'd only hear the girls' footsteps anyway, that –
"Charles," Edwin says softly, and a hand gently covers his own free hand.
"'M awake," Charles says, though he keeps his teeth gritted just in case anything tries to come out. "Just – trying not to do anything. Or think anything. Or feel anything."
"Entirely fair." Edwin's voice is dry, and Charles breathes heavily through his nose to keep from feeling anything about Edwin. It's hard, though, because they've been in each other's pockets for thirty-five years, without even breaks for sleeping. How is Charles not supposed to feel anything about Edwin when he still remembers the first time he heard Edwin laugh, and the way Edwin jerked back at the sound like it surprised him? When sometimes he feels where Edwin is the same way he feels where his own ghost-body is, so in tune with what Edwin wants that he's practically another set of hands for Edwin to work through? When he fought his way literally through Hell and back to get Edwin, when he can still feel the soft hollows of Edwin's collarbones against the pads of his thumbs as he promised there is no one else I'd go to Hell for?
When he's on the brink of maybe losing him?
It's too much. Charles is coughing before he even realizes it and he doesn't think he can stop, jerking himself off the bench so hard he rolls off and lands on his hands and knees, retching, producing blossom after blossom after blossom flowing out of his mouth like they're floating down a river.
His eyes sting and water, but past the sensations he can feel Edwin's concerned hand on his shoulder, hear Edwin making worried noises, see –
He can see the flowers. Recognizes them, too, because they keep them around for the really dangerous potions, and the inside-out-umbrella shape of the bell is pretty memorable.
Charles doesn't know much about flower meanings, but he's pretty sure that datura – extraordinarily poisonous datura – isn't a great sign.
"Charles, you will be all right," Edwin says, his mouth right up to Charles's ear. "I promise you, we will make this right – "
Charles can't stop long enough to tell Edwin to shut up. Charles needs to stop being afraid. He needs to stop worrying about Edwin. He needs to stop feeling anything, and Edwin – Edwin being around is the opposite of Charles not feeling. The things Charles feels about Edwin could more than fill a garden – they could fill acres and acres, a thousand million fields of emotion swaying in the wind, like those postcards from Holland –
He might be getting a bit lightheaded.
Another hand on his other shoulder, and other voices that he can't quite make out. They sound pretty urgent, though. Charles feels pretty urgent, too, since his chest is starting to give out and he can't quite gather enough breath to get the damn flowers all the way out – he reaches up with one hand and yanks out two more datura blossoms and – a jasmine flower? That's new.
Hands plant themselves on either side of Charles's face and his head is wrenched away from examining the flowers in his hand. Before he can say anything, before he can even move –
Edwin kisses him.
Charles's mouth is already open, because of all the flowers he's coughing up, but Edwin doesn't hesitate – just leans in and seals his lips against Charles's, smearing their noses together with sheer proximity. Charles's brain whites out, stuck on Edwin Edwin Edwin and kissing and then Edwin again, and when he starts to get a handle on things, he realizes he's kissing Edwin back.
It's not great, as far as kissing goes, like in terms of technique or whatever, but that's Edwin's mouth moving against Charles's mouth and it's maybe the best thing that's ever happened to Charles.
Eventually Edwin pulls back, staring at Charles with wide, wild, worried eyes, and Charles suddenly remembers that, a few minutes ago, he was coughing up flowers, possibly to death.
"What – " Charles starts, and then coughs, once.
Everyone goes tense – oh, Crystal and Niko are back, that's interesting – but Charles plucks a lingering leaf off his tongue and gives a few experimental clears of his throat.
Nothing comes up.
"Er," Charles says, blinking again at Edwin. "What was that?"
Edwin sags with relief, so much so that he almost seems to be dangling from where his hands are still on either side of Charles's face. "It worked," he says, sounding almost broken.
"Isaac," Niko says from beyond him, with no small measure of snugness, "was a hopeless romantic. And he had really good taste in manga!"
"And," Crystal breaks in, rolling her eyes, "he was also a huge weeb."
Niko keeps going as if Crystal didn't say anything. "He was trying to make a hanahaki spell, and it looked like he got close enough that I thought: why not try a hanahaki solution?"
Edwin informs Charles, very seriously, "I don't know what any of that means, but Niko insisted and – the situation was looking rather desperate."
"Right," Charles says. Part of his brain is thinking that at some point he'll have to get Crystal to tell him whether a weeb is an insult or something they'll need to add to their bestiary, but most of his brain is still caught up on Edwin and kissing. "Right, yeah, that's – can we have a word in private maybe?"
Crystal gets Niko out of the greenhouse somehow – Charles isn't really paying attention, though he genuinely gives it some effort, but how's he supposed to care about anything else when Edwin is cradling his face and looking at him like the first sunshine after a long winter?
"I apologize," Edwin says, once they're relatively private, "for – for taking advantage."
"I mean – seems like you saved me, so no apology needed."
"Right," Edwin says. "Of course."
They keep staring at each other. Edwin is still holding Charles's face. Charles is still incapable of forming rational thoughts.
"We should probably talk about all this," Charles says eventually.
"Yes," Edwin agrees. "Yes, we should – "
Charles kisses him again.
And again.
Then Edwin kisses him back.
They'll talk eventually.