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If Edwin weren’t such a polite gentleman, he would surely explode.
They’re walking back from a case — a six-year-old boy looking for his favourite teddy bear — when it happens. One minute, they’re talking normally. The next, Charles’ hand is clasped palm-to-palm with Crystal’s, and Edwin’s heart tears itself apart.
They look perfectly happy, if a bit stiff. Charles’ fingers look slightly wrong around Crystal’s, probably from the meshing of living and nonliving matter. He wonders, dimly, what it must be like for them to kiss. Does that feel wrong, too?
He keeps reassuring himself, over and over again, that it’s fine. It’s clear they’ve cultivated a special relationship, a loving relationship — who is he to judge?
He wishes, mind aching, that Charles would take his hand one day, hold it tightly. He wants it so badly that the pulse points in his neck and wrists, long unused, start to ache.
Recently, Charles had gravitated closer and closer to Crystal instead of Edwin during their weekly movie nights. He had even, once, given Crystal a hug when she was having a rough day with her parents.
Stop being selfish, he reprimands himself. Since their return from Port Townsend, he and Charles have shared a few moments: a night playing Clue on the couch, endless hours spent discussing cases, little moments when Edwin is left to gaze at his friend in peace. It’s still not enough.
He watches as Crystal nudges Charles gently, and they both giggle. It’s sweet.
It’s sickening.
“You okay, mate?” Charles asks, albeit absentmindedly. “What were you saying, about the snakey-bird-type thing?” Crystal giggles. Edwin’s stomach turns.
“Erm,” he starts, rather eloquently. Panic seizes him. “I—”
Charles loops an arm around Crystal’s waist, pulling her snugly against his side as they walk. Edwin’s words get caught in his throat. “— never mind,” he mumbles.
There’s a strange pull in his soul to tear them apart, hoard Charles for himself and never let him go. But if there was anything that would make his friend hate him, it was that.
He sighs inaudibly, trying to attribute the whirling in his nonexistent stomach to something.
Back when he had lived, such open displays of affection had been strictly taboo. The Edwin of 1916 would have run and hid from such a heinous demonstration. The Edwin of 2024 also wants to run and hide, for a completely different reason.
I wish that were me.
He shakes his head. Whatever intimacy Charles and he could share must be behind closed doors, shuttered windows. Nobody must know.
…………………….
The young woman behind the desk stands. “Thank you for your time,” she says, shaking Edwin’s hand briskly. “I appreciate the advice.”
She had come in two days prior, past a surly-looking Night Nurse, to ask for mirror-travelling advice. (Certain parts of her body were being phased to different places. An ear and her right toe had ended up in Bangkok’s Chinatown, in the attic of an old opera house.)
Charles stands from his seat on the edge of the desk, a smile lighting up his handsome features. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Carla.” he smiles, reaching out a hand. Instead of shaking it, though, Carla slips a piece of paper into his outstretched palm, winks, and phases through the mirror.
“What did she give you?” Edwin asks quietly, a bit worried. What if it’s a hex or a curse? What if she—
“It looks like she gave me her number,” says Charles. He hands the slip of paper to Edwin.
;) I WONDER WHAT’S UNDER THAT POLO ;) 66-867-5309 XOXO CARLA
“What?” Edwin asked. “Why would she — Charles, why is she asking what kind of vest you wear?”
Charles shifts uncomfortably on his feet. “Edwin, mate… I think she’s asking what’s under the vest.” Edwin stares at him blankly. A look of realization passes over him.
“Charles,” he asks, horrified. “Did — did our client just proposition you?”
The shorter boy nods hesitantly. “I think so, yeah.” He looks into the distance. “Well, that’s just brills.”
Edwin almost falls out of his chair. How could Charles think that? It was unprofessional, it was— it was cruel, it was —
“I’m sorry,” he says. “Are you— will you—” he struggles to find the words. That’s been happening, lately. “Are you going to call her?” Are you going to kiss her? Are you going to hold her hand? Are you going to fall in love with her, and forget all about me?
“Probably, yeah,” Charles says. “I’d like to talk with her.” He has a strange expression on his face, eyes clouded over and mouth downturned. Lust? Is that what lust looks like?
Strangely, absently, Edwin realizes that the floor has dropped out from beneath him. Here he is, standing by while his best friend— his only friend— the love of his fucking life— walks away for a client he’s barely spoken to.
Maybe he deserves it. He’s not nearly as pretty as the blonde-haired girl, or as friendly. Even he admits he’s too… abrasive, sometimes.
Charles is too good for him.
He’s only been kissed once, by a sort-of crow on a swing set. Carla is probably much better at it, would make him much happier. Crystal, even with her rough days, would make Charles happier. He’s useless.
It’s fine, he argues with himself. Charles is his own ghost, he can make adult decisions. For God’s sake, he’s nearly fifty-one, Edwin shouldn’t baby him.
“I’m sorry,” he says, for lack of a something better.
Charles calls her anyway.
………………………….
Charles and Crystal have been gone for nearly six hours when they show up, bedraggled, back at the headquarters. “Fucking snake-bird thing,” Charles curses, hanging up his waterlogged jacket and taking a piece of kelp out of his hair. Crystal groans and heads to her flat, which is conveniently located down the hallway.
While Charles and his— his girlfriend — had gone searching for the creature, Edwin had stayed behind with the Night Nurse to bookkeep and brood. The sour feeling on his disused taste buds still hadn’t vanished since Charles’ fateful call with That Damned Carla, and it was getting… worse.
That was one way to put it.
Sometimes, the sour would move its way up to his tear ducts, making them burn and fizzle. His eyes were constantly sore and his fingernails were grown only to be bitten down again. He hurt, in the metaphysical way that ghosts could hurt.
Charles towels off his hair, looking rather handsome. There are moments like these, too, when he can look at his love and marvel. He’s so beautiful, despite his obliviousness to Edwin’s… jealousy.
That’s what it is, isn’t it? The sharp, bitter tang, the all-consuming fire. He was jealous of Charles’ lovers and friends. Once, when Charles’ coat had developed a tear, the shorter boy had taken a needle and thread to it. In those few minutes, Edwin had wished nothing more than to be a battered, loved coat, being held and mended by the person he loved most.
Charles shoots him a grin — rakish, devilish — and leaves the room.
………………..
After a handy tip-off from the Night Nurse, Edwin seeks out a conversation with Charles. It’s finally time to talk.
According to the Nurse, he’s in Crystal’s flat. Why he would be in Crystal’s flat, Edwin can only imagine. Maybe— no.
He grasps Relationships and Love for Teens, a gag gift from Jenny the Butcher, in his arms. He’s made notes and is ready to consult them if needed.
He puts his ear up to the door, lest he hear something— graphic— and almost enters when he hears Charles’ voice.
“I love you,” he says quietly. “You’re the only one there’s ever been, angel. Sweetheart.” There’s a pause and Edwin’s heart plummets to his feet. Of course. Now is the time he chooses to hear Charles’ love confession to Crystal.
“I’ve had best mates before,” he says, “but none like you. I— I want to spend the rest of my afterlife with you. If you’ll have me, that is.”
“I know you love me, alright? You already show me that in a million ways. I love being close to you, and I can’t touch you without feeling like I’m going to die. Erm, again.” Tears well up in Edwin’s eyes. He doesn’t let them fall, that would make him weak. He sinks slowly to the floor, burying his head in his hands.
“I’ve told other people I love them,” Charles says, “but I didn’t mean it. If— if you were trapped in Hell, I would come get you. You and nobody else.”
Ah.
So.
It was a lie.
How could he have been so foolish, thinking that somebody so utterly perfect as Charles could ever love him? Stuffy, abrasive, dramatic, gloomy Edwin Paine, who would’ve done better off staying in hell.
“Look,” Charles mumbles, words clouding together. “If I could choose between everything I’ve ever wanted — my friends, a family, whatever afterlife is waiting for me — and you? I’d choose you in a heartbeat.”
The dam is about to break, he can feel it. The tears are brimming in his eyes, hearing the love of his life talk about how he didn’t — couldn’t — love him.
“I haven’t loved anybody this much in my life,” he says, sniffling, “or my afterlife. I don’t think I could love anybody except for you.”
Edwin shakes, his soul shattering into a billion tiny pieces.
Why couldn’t he be good enough for Charles to love him?
Tears flow down his cheeks. He doesn’t care much about being a man or keeping himself in line, not when his heart has been so thoroughly broken. This was it, he was over. There is nothing left except for a void where his consciousness used to be.
Footsteps, coming towards the door. Fuck, Charles had heard him.
He scrambles upright, wiping his face, just in time for the door to open.
Charles’ hair is mussed, and his eyes are rimmed with red. “Hello,” he says softly. “How much of that did you hear?”
“Enough,” Edwin says. I love you. I’m sorry. “I’m so happy for you,” he lies through his teeth.
“H-happy?”
“For you and — ah — Crystal. Of course,” he blurts, “I’m glad you’ve found somebody.”
Charles’ mouth is an O. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding, angel.”
Please, Edwin almost begs. Please don’t call me that when you know it’s not true.
Charles takes his wrist gently, leading him into Crystal’s room and sitting on the bed. “I’m not… I’m not confessing to Crystal, love,” he says. “I’m trying to confess to you.”
He must be lying. “But you hold her hand, don’t you?”
Charles nods. “Sometimes, yeah. Edwin, we’ve kissed twice, and we’re not ready for any kind of relationship.” He stops, then breathes, then starts again. “I hold her hand, sometimes, because she needs to know that she’s not some unlovable arsehole. She’s a mate, Edwin, but that’s all.”
“Wh-what about Carla?” Here he is, a one-hundred-and-twenty-three-year-old boy, crying on somebody else’s bed. Pitiful.
“I don’t like being propositioned,” Charles says. “It’s creepy and uncomfortable. I called Carla to tell her, politely, to stay the everloving fuck out of our afterlives.”
“Oh.”
“Crystal’s been nagging me to tell you for weeks, but I’ve been to scared. So she lent me her room to practice.”
“Oh.”
“I just want to tell you that you mean everything to me, Edwin,” he whispers. “More than ska or Crystal or Carla or even my old family.”
Tears were brimming again. Happy tears, this time.
“It’s always been you.”
Edwin smiles, wide. Charles’ hands are still on his wrists, but they’re steadily inching upward. It shoots electric charges through his entire being. “I— I love you,” Edwin says.
“I love you, too,” Charles says quietly. “And I’m fairly sure I’m in love with you.”
Edwin picks his hands from his lap. He brings one to Charles’ waist and one to stroke his cheek. “I think we make quite a pair,” he says, and kisses him.
Ghost lips are nothing like crow-human lips. They feel more solid, more reassuring. Edwin’s nonexistent heart is racing, and his eyes flutter between open and closed. The kiss is chaste, just a press of closed lips to closed lips, but it still leaves both of them breathless. Charles makes a happy sound, smiling.
“I love you,” says Edwin, pulling away momentarily and then closing the gap between them once more. It’s heaven.
One of Charles’ hands is knotted in the back of his hair, pulling him ever closer, while the other hand presses a thumb into his collarbone. Just like on the stairway from Hell, thinks Edwin dimly.
Charles deepens the kiss, tilting their heads so their noses don’t brush anymore. His hand in Edwin’s hair is winding tighter, and judging by the breathless sounds Edwin is making, he likes it.
Edwin remembers the rush of the cocaine the doctors would prescribe for his head colds, a high sweeping through him like a heat wave. This is sharper, more intense, as Charles teases open Edwin’s lips with his tongue. He makes a pleased noise.
They separate at the same time, hands still holding onto each other. Charles noses his way into the crease between Edwin’s neck and shoulder, soft little noises coming from him as he pushes Edwin flat to the pillows.
That’s how they rest, limbs intertwined, gently sharing kisses between them. They love each other, and there’s nothing sweeter.