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Charles isn’t sure how or even when it starts.
Sometime after they come back from Port Townsend, but there is so much going on with moving Jenny’s belongings and integrating Crystal fully into the agency back in London and finding Niko, alive and well, if a little frozen, that he almost doesn’t notice that sometime in between, it changes.
That Edwin does.
He’s never been particularly physically affectionate, but over the years, the decades, Charles had managed to get Edwin to at least occasionally touch him, and to allow Charles to touch him in return.
Only that now, it stops.
It’s not that obvious, at least not at first, but at some point, Charles wants to put a hand on his arm and Edwin twists so that Charles touches thin air instead.
Then, on another day, Charles leans over his shoulder to get a peek at the book Edwin is reading from and Edwin angles it differently, so that Charles has no option but to stand beside him instead.
The next time, Edwin is sitting on their sofa, and Charles is about to throw himself down next to him, the way they usually sit (Edwin with his back as straight as if he was ballroom dancing instead of relaxing, his knees at a precise 90 degree angle, hands holding a book; Charles flung carelessly across the cushions, head pillowed by his own arms or the armrest, his legs bent at the knee or stretched out so his feet are resting in Edwin’s lap) but instead of looking up at Charles and giving him a smile, or maybe even lifting his book so Charles’ feet will fit better, he gets up like there is something incredibly important to do when Charles knows that there isn’t.
And Charles doesn’t notice it, maybe for no other reason than that he doesn’t want to, because doing so hurts, but then there’s a night when Edwin walks past him and he raises his hand like he wants to brush it against Charles’ arm – his metaphorical heartbeat picks up at that, like Charles has been waiting for this even more than he realised – but then, a second before his hand connects, Edwin pulls it back like he’s been burnt.
And that, well. That hurts too.
It becomes more apparent after that, all those little moments that Charles must have missed or glossed over because he didn’t want to see them.
He doesn’t get to fix Edwin’s collar anymore because Edwin does it before Charles has the chance to even notice, their arms don’t brush when they are walking, the one time they get stuck in a dark tunnel for a case, Edwin doesn’t reach out and wraps his fingers around Charles’ wrist like he used to.
On instinct, Charles moves to do so instead, but stops himself before he can even feel the ghost of Edwin’s skin against his.
Because no matter how much he wants to touch Edwin, he isn’t sure why Edwin has stopped wanting to be touched.
It might be nothing but a passing change, might be something more important that Edwin has to sort out for himself, the only thing Charles knows, that he promises right then and there, is that he will give him whatever time he needs to do it.
Maybe it has to do with Esther tying him up, or Hell, or that absolute wanker of a Cat King; Charles tries out every explanation he can think of but none of them really, truly fit.
Then again, Edwin is complicated on his best days, and it’s nothing he seems to want to discuss with Charles, so Charles just resigns himself to this, even if it leaves his fingers cold, and the space between his ribs empty, and his heart lonelier than it has been in decades.
“Hey mate, you find that plant you wanted?”, Charles calls out as soon as Edwin returns to the agency; he didn’t quite see him come through the mirror, but he knows Edwin is back anyway, like something in the very air around them shifts.
Go over and hug him, his mind whispers, but Charles forces the thought down, crushes it into the furthest corner of his brain.
“It’s not just a plant, Charles”, Edwin admonishes, even if gently, as soon as Charles has come close enough to see the eyebrow he has raised. “It’s a mandrake, very difficult to find, and yes, I have found it.”
He holds up a glass jar that is filled with something brown and vaguely dirty; something that doesn’t look like Edwin should be as proud of as he seems to be.
The mass even seems to be wiggling slightly, still.
“And where did you find it?”, Charles asks although he isn’t sure he wants to know; Edwin looks unharmed, so at least he doesn’t have to worry. “And, even more important, what did you have to do to get it?”
“Oh, nothing much at all.” Edwin straightens his own collar, and Charles’ fingers itch at the missed chance. “I gave them the haunted needle cushion from 2002, since I doubt we still have any use for it, and we definitely need the mandrake to restock the potion shelves.”
“Aw, I liked that needle cushion, it shrieked every time I used it”, Charles says, and doesn’t pout at all. “But I guess you are right, the potions do have priority and I can sew on patches without making the needle cushion cry out to the beat of Sun and the Rain if I have to.”
Edwin smiles at that, and for a moment, it’s all like it used to be, like it should be, but then Charles moves to take the jar from Edwin’s hands like he always does; their fingers brush, and Edwin jerks back like he has been stung and Charles feels the smile freeze on his lips, feels his fingers and his heart freeze too.
They are on a case which Niko is almost too excited for, because it involves a magician (“You mean that it is not real magic?”, she asks and Charles feels a bit like he has to tell a child that Santa isn’t real when he nods. It only lasts one second though. “In that case, his sleight of hand is even more impressive. He claims he can make his entire assistant disappear!”) and while the girls are interviewing the man, Edwin and he sneak off to look around the theatre they are in.
It’s quite pretty, old-fashioned, and Charles knows that Edwin loves it without him saying a word.
“The Amazing Arnold, that’s quite a name, isn’t it?”, Charles says as they round the corner; they are looking for strange, glowing glyphs that have been left on places imbued with magic around town. “Maybe we should stick around for the performance? I think Niko would enjoy it at least, and I’ve never seen an actual magician perform.”
Edwin hums in a way that is painfully familiar, and Charles’ whole body is screaming for him to reach out and brush his knuckles against Edwin’s side, bump his shoulder into him, any kind of contact, but he doesn’t dare to.
“I think that might be -”, Edwin starts, but then the door in front of them is flung open.
“Hello boys”, the woman standing there drawls, a smile on her lips that looks both seductive and ironic, a hint of a German accent clinging to her speech. “Before you ask, yes, I can see you, there was an unfortunate accident with some real magic some years ago. Arnold cannot, the poor thing, so please don’t mention it, he feels bad enough about the whole mess already.”
“And you are?”, Edwin asks, obviously unamused by the interruption, but the woman just chuckles, her laugh the kind that comes from whiskey and cigarettes and long, long nights.
“Amina. The assistant. Quite charmed, I’m sure.” She extends a hand, but Edwin doesn’t take it, so Charles does instead.
It’s contact, not the one he wants, but some kind of it, and Charles’ hands tingle with it, even if he cannot feel her like he can feel Edwin, even if she is not the one he craves to feel.
“Quite”, he agrees and shakes her hand for maybe a second too long anyway, gives her a smile and tries not to look over at Edwin and wish it was his hand instead. “Definitely a pleasure.”
“No kiss?”, Amina asks, half joking, half flirting, before she pulls her hand from Charles’, leaving it empty, leaving it lonelier than it was before. “Oh well. I guess I will have to go to my partner for that. Anyway, can I help you darlings with anything?”
Amina turns out to be more than helpful, leading them to three different locations where runes are twinkling in their little corners like those fluorescent stars Charles used to have up on his bedroom ceiling when he was a child.
They are pretty in a way, even if they seem to be part of a city-wide spell, which never bodes well.
“Thank you so much for your help”, Charles tells her as they are parting to find Crystal and Niko, and glances at her hand; Edwin stiffens beside him, even if there is nothing around them that would warrant that reaction when Charles looks around for a cause.
“It was absolutely my pleasure”, Amina replies, and blows them, blows Charles a kiss as she saunters away, and for a moment, Charles thinks about just how much he has missed kissing.
They stay for the performance, sitting at the very back of the crowd, but Edwin makes sure that Niko is seated between the two of them, clapping and grinning and so enchanted by Amina disappearing only to step back onto the stage a minute later, that Charles almost forgets about how much he longs to lean into Edwin’ side and feel his presence next to him.
“Did you like it?”, Charles asks afterwards, as they are walking home, the girls chatting excitedly next to them.
“An adequate amount”, Edwin tells him, and he sounds strangely stilted “Although it, of course, does not compare to real magic, it was rather well done. And Niko seemed to enjoy it a great deal.”
“Don’t worry, we all know that you’re the far better magician between the two of you.” Charles thinks for a moment, then adds, “Although I suppose that means we should get you a cool nickname, too. Don’t you think? The Astonishing Edwin, maybe? The-”
“Oh, we are absolutely not doing that at all!”, Edwin cuts him off immediately, but there is a hint of laughter in his voice, something that sounds much more like him, and even though the want is still burning underneath his skin, Charles takes the thought and buries it deep in his chest, because no matter what, they’re still okay.
In the end, they find another twenty-three sets of runes, and Edwin dispels them with nothing more than a bit of turpentine, some mumbled Aramaic and a flick of the hand that Charles wants to hold.
It’s later, much later, another day, and Niko has woven a few tiny braids into Charles’ hair, which had calmed a bit of the craving thrumming through his veins, even if it’s not enough and not the right person’s fingers and Charles is still missing Edwin’s touch in a way that is starting to border on physical pain.
Every day seems to make it worse by now, but Charles has borne pain before, and he will do it again without questions if this is what Edwin wants.
The braids must look ridiculous, but all in all, it was definitely worth it, if only for Crystal bursting out laughing at the sight of him.
“Charles?”, Edwin asks from behind where he is sitting; when Charles turns around, Edwin is standing there, holding a small jar of moss that Charles had brought back from a market ages ago, looking at him with wide eyes. “What on Earth is on your head?”
“You like it?”, Charles asks, grinning already; he’ll never know how he looks, but that’s okay if something so small as a couple of braids could make the three people he cares about most in the world happy. “Niko put them in there. Including the bows and the plastic bead things.”
“In fact, I do not like them at all”, Edwin says, but he is starting to smile, even if he is still trying to contain it. “They’re quite atrocious. A crime, I would even venture to say.”
“A crime?”, Charles asks, shaking his head just enough so he can feel the braids moving; finally, Edwin breaks, laughing in that soft, sweet way of his that only seems to come out when they are alone. “What against? I did allow her to do this, you know?”
And Edwin raises his hand, like he wants to touch the plastic clips, or maybe even Charles’ hair, and it’s like time slows down because suddenly Charles craves it so much it’s like the taste of metal on his tongue, the burning of a fever underneath his skin.
He can almost feel it, Edwin’s fingertips brushing across his forehead as he takes one of the beads, his touch so familiar and yet so missed, his -
Edwin drops his hand and his smile again, looking out of place all of a sudden.
“A crime… a crime against your face”, he stutters out and Edwin never stutters; he turns around and leaves and this time, Charles is too dumbfounded, too confused to even follow.
“Can we go get some coffee?”, Niko asks as they are strolling through London. She’s all in yellow today, making her look like a literal ray of sunshine, and Charles is glad for it; he needs it.
Edwin has been strange ever since the incident with the braids, if possible avoiding Charles’ touch even more than before, and while Charles had just been confused by it up until now, he’s starting to become worried.
Especially since it’s not just the touches, it’s how Edwin acts around him in general. Like he is worried what he will say, or what Charles will say, and never in all the thirty-odd years they have known each other has Edwin ever been like this.
Not around Charles, at least.
“Yes, sure”, he answers before the others can; back when he was alive he never liked coffee, but he knows that Niko does, something about the Japanese schooling system requiring large amounts of caffeine. “Over there?”
He points at a Pret A Manger on the corner, but Niko pulls a face and points to another, slightly more pretentious looking cafe two streets down. Charles doesn’t know the difference, but Crystal seems to, because she nods excitedly.
“I love Black Sheep Coffee, have you ever had one of their cinnamon rolls?”, she asks and just like that, the girls are off, caught up in a world that Charles cannot enter anymore, and while he does miss eating and drinking, he can’t find it in himself right now to mind it.
At least it forces Edwin to talk to him.
“They seems to be having fun”, Charles remarks, just to get some kind of conversation going, but Edwin just hums at that, and then something happens that Charles hadn’t expected anymore.
The hem of Edwin’s sleeve brushes against the back of his hand, something Edwin doesn’t seem to notice at all, but the sad, empty facsimile of touch runs through Charles like a lightening bolt, leaving his mind empty and desperate, and although he finally has Edwin to himself again, he can’t find a single thought to say.
Crystal gets a pistachio latte, they are told, while Niko is nursing the single biggest cup of black, iced coffee Charles has ever seen, and they look happy, while Charles is still rattled, both by the touch and by how much it affected him, by what it means.
Weeks ago, he would not even have noticed it, and yet the brush of cotton, something he cannot even feel in the true sense of the world, just knows it’s there, can now undo him like this.
Just how long has it been since Edwin has truly touched him, allowed himself to be touched?
“Did anything happen while we were gone?”, Crystal asks and Charles isn’t sure if it is because she can sense the tension between them, or just so, but he shakes his head anyway.
“Not really”, he tells the girls, and feels like he is lying to them for the very first time. “Very uneventful, us.”
It gets better over the next few days, which is a relief, even if Charles is still not sure why it had gotten worse in the first place.
But he thrives on it anyway, treasures the first smile Edwin gives him like he had the very first one from three decades ago, stuffs the first affectionate eye roll into the depths of his heart and the crevices of his mind, holds the little well done, Charles Edwin mutters in the palms of his hands until they are back at the agency, turns it around and around until he has absorbed its glow.
There are no touches still, but it’s something, and as much as Charles craves more, he’ll take whatever he can get.
Another thing: now that he is not getting to touch Edwin any longer, Charles is twice as aware of everyone else Edwin touches.
It’s not a lot of people, but not too long ago it had only been Charles, and as horrible, as mean and as selfish as it feels, part of Charles misses it, almost as much as he misses the feeling of Edwin’s thumb brushing across the back of his foot, the rest of his fingers carelessly circling his ankle, like that is where they belong.
The thing about touch is that it works so differently now that he is dead.
When he touches Crystal or Niko, or one time, even Jenny, it’s like he feels it in his head; there is pressure and his nerves are firing although there is nothing there to feel.
It’s better with other ghosts, less static and more like a memory of a sensation.
It’s different with Edwin.
It makes sense, because Edwin is different, Edwin means more to Charles than anyone else ever will, but it’s also just because Edwin’s touches have always, from the very start, felt the most real of all of them. Not quite like Charles remembers it feeling when he was still alive, but close enough that sometimes, he forgets that something is missing at all.
And maybe that’s why that now that he isn’t touching Charles anymore, it almost feels like dying all over again.
“That was quite an astute observation”, Edwin tells Crystal, and there was a time not too long ago when Charles would have been proud of him for it, but now the only thing he sees is Edwin’s hand on Crystal’s shoulder, the only thing he can think of how much he wishes it was his shoulder instead.
Crystal, Niko and Jenny are having a girls’ night, watching a show called Love Island and the two of them have been expressly uninvited (“You would hate it, Edwin”, Crystal tells them, crossed arms and an expression on her pretty face that doesn’t allow for disagreement. “And you, Charles, you might end up liking it too much.”) so it’s just Edwin and him in the agency.
Usually, Charles wouldn’t give the fact a second thought, because that is how it has been for more than half of his existence, but nowadays, every opportunity to be alone with Edwin is rife with tension, with hope and with the craving brewing under Charles’ skin, the hunger that is getting harder and harder to contain.
He’s sorting through the contents of his backpack, but less because it needs sorting and more to give himself a reason not to join Edwin on the sofa.
Not because he doesn’t want to, he is aching for it, but to prevent himself from doing something stupid, something like moulding his body against Edwin’s side and pressing as close to him as their spectral forms allow, like begging Edwin to at least lay a hand on his knee as they are sitting next to each other.
“Charles?”, Edwin calls out to him and pulls him from his thoughts with a single word. “Shouldn’t you be quite finished with the backpack by now? Or is there something you need assistance with?”
It’s so kind, it’s so Edwin, it’s so how they have always been, and when Charles looks up at him from where he is sitting on the floor, something hits him that feels like nostalgia, like loss, like desperation.
“Nah, mate”, he says and forces a smile onto his face, even if it feels like lying, too. “It’s all good, just trying out a few new placements.”
And he thinks about crawling over and hugging Edwin’s legs, pressing his face against his kneecaps, resting his head in his lap and finally finding peace.
Edwin holds out his hand and Charles puts the spanner he is looking for into it; for a moment, a split second, Charles fingertip brushes against his palm, and it takes all the strength Charles possesses for him not to grasp Edwin’s hand between his and never let go again.
Niko is a bright spot of colour in their otherwise slightly dreary office, illuminating the room although rain is pounding against the windows, the sky so dark it might as well be nighttime.
She’s cradling a cup of tea in her hands, listening intently to what Edwin is telling her.
“...it turned out to be a mirage completely! A good one, I have to admit. It was only because Charles came up with the idea of using a mirror that we realised it. Even if he was a little proud of himself, it was quite a genius idea”, Edwin explains the Great Fae Chase of 2006, and Charles should jump in and offer some opinion of his own, maybe some background information, but he can’t.
Because Niko is sitting next to Edwin on the sofa, and her delicate little hand is resting on his knee like it is meant to be there, her head on his shoulder, and Charles’ palm is burning up with jealousy, his head too heavy with need.
“Are you missing something?”, Niko wants to know later, apropos of nothing, and it hurts and it stings that it must be so obvious and yet Edwin doesn’t seem to notice, or maybe just doesn’t care enough to do something about it.
Because if someone knows how tactile Charles is, it’s Edwin, isn’t it?
“Yeah”, he answer, because he wouldn’t know how to deny it, not when asked so directly.
Niko just looks at him for a moment, then takes his arm and cuddles up against him; it’s everything Charles needs and yet not enough.
“I hope you find it”, she tells him, and Charles knows she means it, knows that it’s nothing either of them can influence.
“Me too, Niko. Me too.”
It’s just that everything that Edwin does now is overlayed by a layer of longing to the point where Charles catches himself staring at Edwin in the breaks between conversations, the space between words, the quiet hours when the girls have gone back to their respective homes.
Even before this, Charles was always aware of Edwin, how he looked and the sway of his walk, the elegance of his gestures and the nuances of his expressions. Only that now it’s like Charles cannot look away sometimes, the longing that is burning across his skin so vicious that it feels like looking at Edwin is the only balm that makes it bearable.
Because watching Edwin is the closest he can get to physical touch.
And Edwin, well.
Edwin is easy to watch.
There is grace to every of his motions, beauty in every slope, every plane, every curve of his features, and Charles knows that the affection, the devotion he holds for Edwin is tinting his vision; it doesn’t matter.
Edwin is handsome, but he is beautiful in Charles’ eyes, above all other beings.
So, Charles watches Edwin hold his notebook while he writes in it and traces the tendons that move underneath his skin with his eyes, wishing he could follow them with his fingertips instead.
He takes in the gentle slope of his shoulders and wishes he could rest his head against it until the memory of doing so is suffocating him, choking him with a need that feels almost visceral.
He watches the shadows play across Edwin’s cheekbones at night when the only light left are a few candles they have lit and he wants to reach out and feel them on Edwin’s skin as well.
Charles watches and he watches and he watches until his fingers are burning with the need to reach out.
He doesn’t.
“Are you quite alright?”, Edwin asks at night and Charles wants to say no, wants to beg for a single brush of his hand, but whatever has made Edwin withdraw from him like he has must be big, must be important enough to change their dynamic completely. And if Edwin doesn’t want to touch him, then Charles won’t force him to.
So, he answers, “Of course, mate. Everything’s brills.”
And smiles.
Edwin is talking, explaining something about a case, or a spell, or something completely different, and Charles is trying to listen, but his gaze is fixed on Edwin’s lips instead, barely hearing a word that is falling from them.
Because Edwin’s lips are blushed pink and look soft as they wrap themselves around the vowels, the tip of his tongue peeking from between them occasionally, and Charles wants to trace them, wants to kiss them and lick into Edwin’s mouth, nip at them until they are red and plump with all the love Charles has for him.
The thought comes so naturally that Charles doesn’t even notice it at first, because its flavour, its longing has become so familiar within these last weeks, but then Edwin pauses for a second, and in that break between words, Charles thinks of teasing Edwin’s lips open with his tongue, and…
Oh.
For a moment, Charles wonders if it just the fact that he wants Edwin to touch him so badly by now, because that need is burning under his skin like nothing ever has before, but then Edwin’s lips wrap around an o, part again for a th and no, it’s different.
He wants Edwin’s fingers stroking his hair because it makes him feel calm and loved, he wants to rest his head on Edwin’s shoulder because it makes every burden easier to bear, he wants Edwin to hug him like he used to, stilted at first, with all his heart once he has gotten used to it, because it’s the place in the world Charles feels safest, cradled in Edwin’s arms.
But he wants to kiss Edwin because… because he wants to kiss Edwin.
It’s a new feeling, utterly unfamiliar and yet one that feels like the most natural extension to the love he has felt for Edwin for more than three decades.
It’s new, but it feels vast enough to be mistaken for something ancient; a potential finally fulfilled, an eternal maybe that Charles had not been aware of, but that fills his chest now, pumps through his spectral veins like lifeblood, chanting yes, yes, yes.
The realisation is a supernova, filling him with something almost indistinguishable from bliss, because when he was telling Edwin that they would figure the rest out, this is what he had been hoping for.
That one day, he would look at Edwin and feel his metaphorical heart speed up; that Edwin would let Charles take him out on date after date until he could look at him and say, yes, I know the answer now and the answer is yes, always yes.
That he would be able to fall in love with Edwin in return.
Because Charles loving him back would make Edwin happy and Edwin’s happiness is the single most important thing in the world; because what would be a greater gift than loving Edwin in yet another way?
The words are on the tip of his tongue, ready to be said out-loud, because even if Charles doesn’t know if he can say I love you and mean it in every way yet, he could say I want to love you and it would be the truth, could say I will love you and I am going to love you forever, and it would be just the same thing.
And he wants to say those words almost as much as he wants to touch Edwin, almost as much as he wants to kiss him.
And that is what stops him in the end.
Because Edwin doesn’t want to touch him.
Charles knows him too well to think that Edwin’s feelings towards him have changed, because if there is one thing Edwin is, it’s stable, it’s safe, and there is no way Edwin would have confessed his feelings if he he hadn’t been sure of them.
But Charles… he doesn’t know if he could take it to tell Edwin he wants him and not have it be sealed with a kiss; at the same time, he doesn’t know if he could take it if their kiss was something that Edwin didn’t want, that he was not burning up for like Charles is, now.
So he swallows the words down, and forces himself to look away from Edwin’s pretty, pretty lips and keeps the confession he wants to make so much for later.
“Edwin, is this the- ah fuck!”, Crystal starts and almost drops a priceless glass chalice which had been used for blood rituals in ancient times; Edwin is there to catch it before Charles can.
Crystal tries to do the same, and Charles watches as their fingers brush and he didn’t know it could be worse than it had been, but it is.
It’s the smallest touch, and he knows it, but it makes him want to scream, both in desperation and jealousy and to just get those words out, which he is keeping locked away in his heart.
Crystal doesn’t seem to notice the contact, and why should she?
It’s only Charles who would be willing to sell half his soul to feel Edwin’s hands in his.
Almost it feels like there is a switch in his brain that has been flipped, because it’s late at night and Edwin is sitting on the sofa with yet another book in his elegant, long-fingered hands and Charles has organised and re-organised his backpack so many times he is starting to become confused by its content’s placements, has sorted through their gallery of magical objects, has re-wrapped the handle of his cricket bat four times within a month and a half.
There is no excuse left he can find to keep himself from the temptation that is sitting close to Edwin, so he picks up a book whose contents he won’t remember, and joins Edwin like he used to.
Edwin looks up at him for a moment, an easy smile on his lips, and the switch has been flipped, because Charles thinks I want to touch you so bad, thinks, I want to kiss you so bad, thinks please tell me you will let me one day, thinks I can’t take this, thinks please, thinks please, thinks please.
Crystal takes him aside one morning, just grabs him by the arm and drags him through the door and into the small park close to their agency. She doesn’t say a word, but something about her demeanour makes it impossible for Charles to ask what is going on.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, actually?”, she asks suddenly, spinning around to face Charles. There’s no anger in her face, even if there is some seeping into her voice; she looks worried, mostly, looks confused.
“What?”
“There is something wrong with you”, she repeats, pushing a hand through her hair. “Look, I don’t know you as well as Edwin does, but I know that something is wrong and I don’t think you are doing anything to fix it. And you should. Because we’re worried, I am worried, Niko is worried, even Jenny is worried. Edwin is definitely worried. So could you please either tell us so we can do something about it, or fix it yourself?”
He can’t.
Yet, the words keep echoing in his mind every time he looks at Edwin and his brain goes blank because of how overwhelming the need to touch him is.
Fix this.
But there is nothing to fix, because nothing has broken between them, it’s just that Edwin doesn’t want to be touched any longer, and Charles has to respect that and hold out as long as he can before he breaks down and begs for a brush of Edwin’s hand, which feels like it might be any day now.
And it can’t be something that hurt Edwin into not allowing himself to be touched at all, because he hugged Niko three days ago, let his hand brush against Crystal’s just this morning, so it’s nothing that Charles can attack with a bat and a well-timed swing.
It’s just Charles, who is the problem. Who he doesn’t want to touch. Who he has been acting strange around sometimes, like there is some kind of tension between them that Edwin won’t address.
It’s just Charles.
It’s just-
Oh no.
Anything.
Anything but that.
They have never had a fight since they met, yet there was one time in 1994 when Charles had said something stupid (in hindsight, he cannot even remember what, only knows that back then, he should have cut his tongue out instead of saying it, it would have hurt less), Edwin had stormed out of the agency and had not come back for five days.
It had been the worst five days of Charles’ existence, and yet, most definitely, five days of torture he had deserved.
Afterwards, they had never talked about it, just going back to the way they were before, but Charles had never forgotten the sound of the door being slammed shut, of sitting there, on their sofa, waiting and waiting and waiting, alone and desperate and forgotten.
Although it’s torture, Charles waits until the girls have left for the night, because even if he wants to break down in front of Edwin and beg for his forgiveness the second he realises, he can’t bring them into it.
So, he waits for the door to click closed, waits for Edwin to turn around, and there are tears gathering in his eyes before Charles has even said the first word.
“I’m sorry”, he chokes out and the words are wet and hideous, a disguised sob, and the tears spill, but Charles’s hands are trembling so much he doesn’t dare raise them to wipe them away. “I’m so sorry. I’m not sure what I did, but if I could, I’d undo it in a heartbeat. I’m so, so sorry, Edwin, I never-”
“Charles, what has happened? Are you alright?”, Edwin interrupts him and he sounds terrified; he takes a step forward, reaching out for a moment before he snatches his hand back, and Charles’ heart breaks like it has never broken before.
Whatever he did, it must have been so momentous, so terrible, and yet he never realised it, too caught up in his own craving, his own hunger, that he never even stopped to consider that he might deserve all of it.
For what could be a crime more fitting of any kind of punishment than hurting Edwin?
“No”, he sobs, clenching his fists around the hems of his sleeves because even now, he wants nothing more than to reach out and cling to Edwin. How selfish, how despicable, how utterly undeserving of Edwin’s love, his affection. “Of course not. I hurt you and I don’t even remember it. Just tell me what I can do to fix it, I’ll do anything, just let me try.”
“What? You haven’t done anything. You’re scaring me, Charles”, Edwin tries, and his voice trembles, but Charles can hardly hear his words, because his hand twitches again like it wants to reach out, but Edwin keeps it firmly at his side, leaving Charles alone and desperate and forgotten.
It sends a fresh wave of tears down his face, hot and damning, because whatever Charles has done must have been so terrible that Edwin cannot even speak it out-loud.
“I did!”, he insists and it hurts, everything hurts. “You won’t touch me anymore, not even a little, and I am so sorry it took me so long to realise it, but I am so, so sorry, please just tell me what to do, because I can’t take it anymore, it’s driving me insane-”
He’s still so selfish, asking for forgiveness for his sake and not Edwin’s, and it’s no wonder Edwin doesn’t want to touch him any longer, who would?
Edwin looks at him like he has been struck, his eyes so wide and pained that Charles can make it out even through his tears, and yet, Charles’ hands plead to hold him; he just grips his sleeves tighter, burrowing his nails so deep into his palms he would draw blood even through the fabric; he’d deserve it, too.
“Please. Just tell me. Or if you don’t want to do that, tell me what I can do to fix this.”
“I-”, Edwin stutters, and Charles has to look away from him before he begs him for something he doesn’t deserve to ask for anymore. “Charles, you didn’t do anything wrong. I thought – I didn’t want to touch you lest I make you feel uncomfortable. With my… feelings out in the open, I didn’t want to presume you would still want to continue with the same kind of physical affection as before.”
It must be an excuse, because there is no universe out there in which Charles would ever want Edwin to touch him less, and Charles looks up to to tell Edwin just that, beg him to please just tell him what he did wrong so he can try and earn Edwin’s forgiveness, but then Edwin takes another step forwards and…
… and hugs Charles.
Hugs him like Charles has dreamed of for weeks and weeks now, with Edwin’s arms firm and secure around his waist, the point of his chin digging into Charles’ shoulder, their bodies pressed as close as physics will allow them.
It feels like nothing Charles has ever felt before.
It feels undeserved and tainted and like something Charles should not be allowed to sink into, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks until they blot out the world; it feels like heaven and it feels like a ray of sunshine after a week of rain and most of all, it feels like finally, finally being home.
Edwin shuffles them over to the sofa, never letting go of Charles, even though his tears are soaking into Edwin’s suit, potentially ruining the fabric. They keep coming, too, even while Edwin guides him down onto his lap, shifting and rearranging limbs until they are so intertwined that Charles cannot make out where he ends and Edwin begins, whispering sweet nothings against his temple, into his hair.
And it takes time, might take hours until Charles can believe it, but Edwin wouldn’t hold him like this if he had committed an inexcusable crime, wouldn’t stroke his hands down Charles’ back if he felt repulsed by him, wouldn’t press the softest, the sweetest kiss to his forehead if he didn’t think Charles deserved the affection.
It dries his tears, even if slowly, and when the sun has already started to rise, Edwin pulls back a little; Charles has to hold back the whine that is threatening to spill from his lips.
“Charles”, Edwin says so softly it feels like a caress, feels like the fingers that are tracing his spine. “You have done nothing wrong. Will you believe me, please?”
And Charles nods, even if the guilt still lingers on the outskirts of his mind, etched in there by hours of mindless terror, but Edwin’s responding smile lets it melt away a little more, a glacier warmed by a supernova.
“There’s nothing that I want more than to touch you”, Edwin continues, and his smile becomes wry, like he is confessing something, like it is something he thinks he might be ashamed of. “If anything, it’s me, who wants to touch you more.”
Which is laughable, because Charles is here, in Edwin’s arms, soaking up every inch of contact between them like a dying flower would soak up water, sunlight.
It’s him who has been starving for the lightest brush, the most fleeting of contacts for weeks now.
So, he shakes his head, sending his last remaining tears flying; Edwin laughs at it, fond but still disbelieving, before he raises a hand to wipe away the remnants of wetness from his cheeks.
Charles shivers at the touch, almost turns his head to press a kiss to Edwin’s palm.
“I’m the one who is love with you, remember?”
He says it like it’s an irrefutable fact, and it warms Charles’ heart from the inside, makes it grow until it is pushing against his ribs, trying to get even closer to Edwin, to make him see just how much love it holds for him.
And from one moment to another, the words, the ones he had swallowed down before, are back on his lips, begging to take flight.
“I love you”, Charles says and lets them, although his voice is rough and torn up, and Edwin smiles again, but not in the way Charles needs him to.
“I know”, he says, but Charles shakes his head again, because he doesn’t, and making Edwin understand is the most important thing in the world all of a sudden.
Because while he wouldn’t have been able to say the words and mean them completely before, he can do so now, he realises with a start, because Edwin is holding him like he is precious, touching him like it is an honour and not a chore, and Charles would walk to the end of the Earth for a single kiss from his lips, would rip his heart from his chest to lay it at Edwin’s feet if he thought it might make him smile.
“I love you”, he repeats, voice breaking from crying, from how much he means this and how much he needs Edwin to know. “I’m in love with you. I didn’t want to tell you before, because I didn’t know if you would want to kiss me. And I wasn’t sure if I could do it without kissing you.”
Everything between them stops, the world itself might stop, because Edwin’s eyes widen and there is the light of every sun in the universe captured in them, and God, Charles never wants to stop looking at him, never wants to be apart from him for more than a second.
“I do”, Edwin finally says, after an eternity has passed, and he sounds breathless, sounds hopeful, sounds so happy it makes Charles’ heart flow over with it. “Want to kiss you, that is.”
“Although I look like this?”
And Edwin laughs at that, eyes sparkling and the hand he has on Charles’ back pulling him closer by a fraction of an inch; it sets Charles’ skin aflame like nothing else ever has, like nothing but Edwin’s touch ever will.
“Always, Charles. You could be smeared in blood and dirt and I would want to kiss you.”
Edwin looks like he means it and Charles has never wanted anything more; he leans in and Edwin does the same and there is a breathless, timeless second, then their lips meet and they are as soft as Charles imagined them to be, taste like love and springtime and bluebells and happiness.
On his back, Edwin’s fingers twitch, trying to pull him closer still, and Charles goes willingly, licks into Edwin’s mouth and tastes the happiness there, too, tastes the love. Writes his affection onto Edwin’s lips with every motion, spells it out with little nips of his teeth, promises that it is forever with every sigh that spills between them
And when tears spill down his cheeks this time, his hands are trembling so much Charles wouldn’t be able to wipe them away, but it doesn’t matter anymore; he reaches out and holds onto Edwin instead.