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Every day had been a waking nightmare for Charles since their return from America.
Not in the literal sense. Waking nightmares did actually exist and they were quite nasty. And not even in the sense that there were real, genuine monsters in his day-to-day - although that was true, too.
It was about the torture. The torture he was experiencing presently, and also every minute of every hour of every day, standing alongside Edwin Payne and saying nothing out of the ordinary at all.
It might have been achievable, if it wasn't for the fact that most of the ordinary things Charles said to Edwin were nothing short of love confessions to begin with. How was he meant to privately pine after his best friend now, when he had been unknowingly and publicly pining this whole time?
It was making things awkward.
For example, as he was sewing a new patch to his jacket the other day, he had asked Edwin, "If I prick my finger, will you kiss it better?"
This was massively overshooting the target, not to mention so stupid that Edwin thought he was joking.
Just the day before that, he'd offered Edwin a fist-bump - which, of course, was wildly off the mark as well.
And worst of all was the way Edwin started needling him about it. (No pun intended.) He'd begun springing all sorts of prying questions at Charles when he least expected it. Passing by on the way to grab a scroll from the shelf, he would stop suddenly to pin Charles with a thoughtful look. Charles would squirm under that gaze, and Edwin would say something compassionate and sensitive like, "Charles, are you quite certain you're all right?"
Charles wasn't quite certain about much of anything, except for that he couldn't take this much longer.
This was a good thing. It meant that he was close to reaching his decision and then all of this would be over, one way or another. That was to say, either he would decide this was just a passing phase and they'd stay best mates, or he'd decide for certain that he was in love, and then they'd be best mates who also got to kiss a lot.
He had a strong suspicion he knew which way it would go, but Charles was aware that his habit of "doing whatever he felt like" was just the same reason he needed to slow down.
Way down. Down to a crawl.
Because there would be nothing worse than being wrong on this, not for Edwin and certainly not for Charles. And once he acted, he could never take it back. What cost was a little bit of eternity, just to be sure?
He needed to be sure.
--
It was awful, the way the phantom pains in his heart were not, apparently, unresolved trauma, but in fact his incorporeal body screaming to be put on Edwin's incorporeal body at once. It had been screaming like that for as long as he'd been dead. How had he never put two and two together before? He only felt like this when Edwin was around.
Which was always.
"You look sick," Crystal said, and she had a point. Yes, the pangs were familiar. But they were also much, much stronger now.
"No, I don't," Charles rebutted. Thus rested his case.
Hearing this exchange, Edwin turned from where he had been peacefully translating the writing on an ancient bowl they'd unearthed. There was ink on his nose, the menace. Charles focused on the television screen in front of him (one of Crystal's demands), where his little green man was being eaten alive by a giant flower.
"Is something the matter?" asked Edwin.
"My little guy died," said Charles. "Oh, wait, he's back."
"You get infinite little guys," Crystal reminded him.
Before she'd brought this tiny gaming device into their home, the only experience Charles had had with video games was the arcade down the street from where he grew up, and he'd never had the money to waste on it.
Edwin crossed the room like a very slow, very swishy homing missile. Bracing for impact, Charles tried to apply the correct amount of eye contact at the same time as an encouraging smile. The attempt only deepened Edwin's frown.
"You've been out of sorts for weeks and weeks," he said worriedly. His fingers flirted in front of his stomach, and Charles wanted to take them and hold them still and safe between his palms and oh, God. "I am becoming seriously concerned. It could begin to compromise your work."
"I'm fine, mate," said Charles. He would make it fine, if he had to. The point of the process was to figure this out WITHOUT hurting Edwin. "I promise."
"You need to keep holding down the button," said Crystal, leaning over to press his thumb into the joystick. "Or else you won't go."
So many weird little things to remember about video games.
Edwin's eyes darted between them, lingering on the way Crystal scooted closer to press another button. Charles just let her at it. Telling her no was like putting a coin into a machine that only dispenses unwinnable arguments. A waste of time.
"Charles," said Edwin, and then seemed to stopper himself. "Chin up."
"Idiot," muttered Crystal as Edwin hustled away.
His brain empty but for the esoteric phrase "chin up" and the image of his little green man flailing about in distress, Charles asked, "Wait, me or him idiot?"
Anyway, he lost.
--
Agony waited for Charles every morning and accompanied him through each night. It wasn't only mental, either. It was physical, or as physical as it could be. And it was only getting worse.
The ache had been a constant companion since his death, so all in all, Charles wasn't too bothered about that. It was the CRAVING that was recent, the craving that was creeping through his body like the tendrils of a climbing rose bush on a lattice. Here, it was blooming in the pit of his stomach. There, on the tip of his tongue. He believed that Edwin must have planted it there with his confession on the steps of hell. It must have been then, because when Crystal had kissed him goodbye in the butcher shop, the day they lost Niko - it had felt like a lot of nothing.
More so than the usual amount of nothing ghosts felt, anyway.
Since then, with the return to London and the death of Niko and the permanent addition of the Night Nurse, Charles hadn't had much opportunity to talk it over with Crystal. It felt like a petty thing to bring up, after everything, and she hadn't even tried to kiss him again.
Until today.
Charles had been helping her practice some of her older powers, the ones buried deep in her memories and long forgotten, the ones that had the potential to do a great deal of evil in the hands of someone else. But this magic was Crystal's, and he knew he could trust her, no matter what she thought of herself.
They'd been at it all morning, passing bones and crystals back and forth, positioning themselves at various points around the symbols she'd drawn on the floor. Her eyes would go white. She would fall back. She would wake and relay what she'd learned. Rinse and repeat.
Exhaustion finally won out around lunchtime, and Crystal sat on the edge of her bed while Charles busied himself cleaning up. They chatted back and forth as he went.
"I really think you're getting the hang of it," he said, sweeping up the last of the rosemary sprigs sprinkled across the floor. Part of him registered that it must have smelled nice, but he couldn't recall the specific scent of rosemary. "We're lucky to have you on the team."
The way Crystal was scanning him up and down was familiar. Flirtatious. Charles paid it no mind - he cared for her very much, but it wasn't as though he needed to do anything about this. Far be it from him to hide from positive attention.
It wasn't until she had grabbed him by the arm and hauled him close that he realized he was in serious danger of being snogged.
He could feel the dimpling pressure of her nails on his arm, not squeezing hard; not a threat. Her legs bracketed him on either side, an invitation to step closer that he didn't take. A nervous laugh bubbled out of him.
"Need something?" he asked, and could have slapped himself about it. He sounded like he was flirting back. He always did. A curse, his natural charm.
"We don't have to talk," said Crystal. Her other hand was sliding up his chest, a fingertip hooking on the chain around his neck, tugging. Charles shut his eyes tight against it.
"Um, I'm so sorry," he managed. Stumbled back a step and nearly tipped onto the floor. Crystal let him go. "I mean it, I'm so sorry, Crystal, but I can't."
Though he lacked a beating heart, he was aware of its racing all the same. Such a funny thing to cross the barrier of death.
Crystal was never knocked off-kilter for long, and as soon as a scowl of confusion appeared on her brow, it was gone again. "Don't be sorry," he said. She sat upright, leaning forward to get a better look at him. "Should I be sorry?"
Christ, why should she? "No," said Charles. "'Course not."
"Okay. Then - here we are, both not sorry." Pensive, she tapped her nails against her chin, and this time when she looked him up and down, Charles felt it like a chill. "Is this a one-time kind of issue or are we, like, never doing this again?"
"Probably never again, if I'm honest. But it's not anything to do with you!"
She nodded slowly. "It's because of Edwin, huh?"
Shit!
"Um," said Charles, butterflies hatching in his stomach. There was no easy way out of this, so he went all in. "Yes, I think so."
If this offended Crystal, she showed no sign of it. To Charles's great alarm, she smiled. Stood and gave his shoulder a supportive pat. "Yeah," she said, "I figured."
She figured! thought Charles. What the hell was that supposed to mean?
But just then, as if summoned, Edwin appeared from the other side of the wall. He had adopted that stiff kind of posture he always had before asking a formal question, which had Charles grinning before he even got a word out. Lacing his fingers together, Edwin cleared his throat and said, "Crystal, I would like to learn more about the homosexual civil rights movement."
For Charles, this was the mental equivalent of falling down the stairs, finding a box of chocolates, and then getting hit by a train.
Crystal, who had apparently been plotting revenge for all of the last ten seconds, turned on him at once. "If you want to learn about queer history, you should talk to Charles," she said. "He was alive during the AIDS crisis."
Obediently, Edwin looked to Charles, which was one of the worst possible things he could do at this moment. Charles put up his hands as if he could stop this speeding locomotive of horror through sheer force of will. "Whoa, hey! I didn't - I never paid any attention to that kind of stuff. Except for Freddie Mercury, I mean. Obvs."
"Obvs," Edwin agreed.
"RIP," said Crystal.
All told, they sat through four documentaries and six YouTube videos, Edwin taking copious notes all the while. Privately, Charles marked the day as a point in favor of love. "Understanding bisexuality." Tick.
--
The suffering really was unending. Naturally, the suffering in question was nothing to do with Edwin - or at least, nothing he could be blamed for. Edwin was behaving just as he always had, just as kind and brilliant as ever, and so what if that made everything all the more difficult for Charles? That wasn't Edwin's fault. It was something Charles intentionally inflicted upon himself, and for very good reason.
Even so, the torture for today was mostly the literal type: paperwork.
The Night Nurse, who had been affectionately dubbed "Auntie" (the "Charlie" veto was introduced by Crystal and quickly co-signed by Edwin), apparently had a lot of excuse-making to do on her way to accounting for the team's actions on their most recent case. Charles let her scolding flow over him without sinking in, but he knew it included words like "very important beetles" and "counting thoraxes" and so on.
Crystal proclaimed she would have exploded them no matter what. Edwin, with a good deal of unease, backed her up. After all, he pointed out, the giant bugs had tried to eat Edwin first. It wouldn't have been pleasant to begin with, but for him it was a very grim scene, given his history.
If anything, the aphid incident only reinforced for Charles the consequences of his upcoming decision. There was no world, no universe, no dimension where he and Edwin would be separated. It would kill him - metaphorically speaking.
And breaking Edwin's heart - that would kill him even more.
"And don't think I didn't see your reports on the Young family case!" Auntie was saying, finally reaching a pitch shrill enough to drag Charles from his thoughts. "If I see ONE MORE doodle of a dinosaur or President Abraham Lincoln on ANY of my official forms, there will be hell to pay, and I can mean that as literally as I like!"
Shamed silence fell over the group, broken only by the sounds of Auntie furiously patting the stacks of paper into neat lines.
"And no more penises, either," she added.
Crystal put her hands over her face as if she could weep.
Now robbed of dinosaurs, the stacks of paper in front of Charles loomed ever larger, as miserable a slog as a trek through the Swamp of Sadness. And he hadn't even liked that movie very much.
Of course, Edwin never doodled. He was fastidious in that way, and capable of such an intense focus that Charles believed it bordered on supernatural. It would be a tossup if he'd help the others once his own paperwork was finished. He might just tell Charles this was what he deserved for his delinquency. It would be charming when he did it, too.
Glancing up from his work, Edwin raised an eyebrow, eyelashes in an imperious flutter. He gave Charles's blank paper a pointed tap with his pen. Start writing.
Charles made a face. Don't want to.
Edwin tilted his head towards the stack of files. It will go faster if you help.
Charles winced and clicked his pen. The things I do for love.
Crystal leaned in from across the table. "You're staring at each other again and it's freaking me out," she whispered.
"Sorry," said Charles, not looking away. Edwin broke first, straightening his bowtie with a cough.
Elegant fingers, thought Charles. Edible, even. What?
The thought put him back on his heels. Even with the one girl he'd managed to hook up with before his death, he hadn't thought anything so bluntly lascivious before. Nothing with an image so clear in his mind as there was now, of Edwin sat astride him, his fingers in Charles's mouth -
Was he turning into a letch?
To Crystal, he said, "I think I'm hitting ghost puberty."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" hissed Edwin.
Auntie slammed her palm down on the desk, loud enough to startle everyone into silence. "If you're talking, I can bet you're not writing!"
Edwin put his head down and got straight back to work. In the corner of his eye, Charles watched Crystal draw a little heart with the word "gay" inside, and an arrow pointing to him.
"Bi, actually," he muttered, and finally turned back to his own papers.
--
The delicious misfortune Charles was facing today included such agonies as Edwin standing close to him, Edwin speaking to him gently but firmly, and Edwin in general.
At least this time it was none of Charles's own doing. It was Edwin who had approached him, given him a disapproving little frown, and said, "We ought to practice your mirror-jumping skills before we have dire need of them."
This was his very polite way of saying that Charles sucked at it, and also that Edwin worried about him.
"I know how to do it just fine," Charles argued. "Not all of us can be as good as you."
"Flattery is appreciated, but I'm afraid it won't work this time."
Damn. Flattery really was one of the most reliable weapons in Charles's arsenal. At the same time, he didn't really want to put up a fight. Watching Edwin pop in and out of mirrors never got old.
They didn't go straight into practice, at first. Edwin wanted to iron out the entirety of Charles's technique from beginning to end. They stood together before the floor mirror Charles referred to as "The Big One," Edwin gesturing to its empty reflection.
"The important part is narrowing your focus entirely upon the place you wish to go," he said. "If you allow yourself to become distracted, you could wind up anywhere."
For Charles, the urge to roll his eyes was tempered only by the growing desire to be kissed at some point in the future. "I know that."
"Then why," said Edwin, "don't you do it?"
The snarky words held no venom, and it was that unassuming bluntness that Charles loved most about him. That, and the way his brows furrowed when he was about to be extremely, dangerously clever. And the softness of his voice. And the selflessness of his heart.
If the universe was Charles and affection was a cricket bat, he was presently beating himself to death.
"I'm not as good at details as you are," he said. They both knew this was true.
Edwin studied him thoughtfully, a faint smile bunching the corners of his eyes. "Do not underestimate yourself, Charles. I will not stand for it. Now, as you look into the mirror, I want you to devote everything you have to your imagination."
Oh, Charles could use his imagination all right. He thought of the sound of Edwin's bow tie as he untied it, on the evenings when it was just the two of them and he needed to dress for no one, the hush of fabric sliding over fabric. The top button coming undone. The second.
"Are you thinking of a place?" asked Edwin.
Thinking of a lot of places, Charles thought. "Yeah," he said. "Got one."
Absolutely no location came to mind whatsoever.
"Right, then," said Edwin, trusting him completely, which was as good as calling Charles a monster to his face. "Let me know where you'll go, and I'll follow you there."
He needed to stall for time. "The problem is that when we're being chased or someone's on fire or something, it's a lot harder to get a picture in my head. I'm paying attention to too many things at once."
"Fair point. But establishing a solid foundation for the basics is the best method for overcoming more difficult challenges. I believe I've heard you refer to it as 'muscle memory.'"
"I reckon," said Charles. "Couldn't you at least bang some pots and pans together or something?"
And this was how, in the end, they wound up in the middle of a Tesco in the dead of night, breathless from running and screaming, carrying a bagpipe and a flyswatter.
--
The fact that every day was torture had been well established by this point.
Though this particular day was otherwise uneventful, Edwin and Crystal spending most of it in deep conversation about their mutual disdain of dolphins and Charles jumping in and out of mirrors, there remained one last twist of the knife waiting in the wings.
It happened in a flash, when Edwin stood to fetch Crystal a glass of water. Charles was crouched upon the floor, just to catch his breath. He clocked Edwin passing close by and thought no more about it, until he was surprised by the brush of fingertips along his back. Shoulder to shoulder as Edwin walked by.
Edwin didn't even look. As if this was natural as anything.
Charles waited desperately to see if he would do it again on the way back, but he didn't.
Torture.
--
So far, it hadn't been all too terrible a day - if one's measure of "terrible" began and ended at "being whisked back to hell in the clutches of a boy-eating spider." Compared to that encounter, everything else was aces forever.
Charles considered his standards of "terrible" to be much more within the normal range. And according to him, things were going very terribly indeed.
This was because he was alone with Edwin. Again. Passing the hours until Crystal woke from her (frankly decadent) six to ten hours of sleep. That was one thing Charles definitely didn't miss, falling asleep. Not just for death-related reasons, either.
Most nights, they spent the time Crystal slept to work on more dangerous aspects of their job. Mixing explosives, for example. Practicing risky maneuvers until they became instinctive. Talking to literal demons. That kind of thing.
Tonight, though, they were fresh off of a case solved. As a reward, they were watching television. Sitting side by side, as they ever did, instead of doing something productive and not-touching-y, like painting sigils on the back of kabuki masks. (That had been a very fun case.) It was a bit like old times, when Edwin might read aloud or put on a warbling old record, but in the old times, Charles hadn't felt like he could explode with the effort of not shouting "I love you" at the top of his lungs.
Or maybe he had, and he just hadn't noticed.
When they watched television, Edwin preferred the shows that set out to explore where various types of mosses came from, and other such nerdy endeavors. Charles didn't have the heart to complain about it. He could easily waste the time with his feet propped up in Edwin's lap, just watching Edwin react to facts about lichen and tardigrades. If he was very lucky, sometimes Edwin's fingers would brush up and down his shin. He was doing it now, eyes fixed on the little spotted gecko treacherously scaling an enormous sun-baked rock. The narrator carried on, saying something about its tiny, grippy feet, but Charles couldn't focus on it. Couldn't focus because there was music swelling in the background. The tune continued over scenes of reptiles in the rain.
"Hey," he said, sitting upright. "They're singing in Hindi."
Edwin turned to him. "Really?"
"Yeah! I recognize it because my mum used to speak it with me, a little bit. Not a lot, but - you know."
Even as he said it, he realized that Edwin absolutely did not know. Edwin's mother had been as distant and cold as a mountain peak on another continent. But rather than take offense, an expression very akin to courage crossed Edwin's face.
"Is this a fond memory for you?" he asked.
"Yeah, it is," said Charles, smiling as he thought of it. "She only ever did it when it was just the two of us and my dad wasn't around, so when I remember it, I just remember being... safe. I guess I never realized how much I miss it."
"Ah," said Edwin. He slotted his hands together in his lap, twisting at the mention of Charles's father. "Do you understand what the song is about, then?"
"I don't really speak it anymore," Charles said. "It's been a really long time and I was just a kid, mind."
Making a second conversational misstep had Edwin turning red. "It was a stupid question," he said.
No! Awkwardness Charles could take in stride, but an unhappy Edwin was beyond untenable. "Oh, hey," Charles rushed to say, "no, it's all right. I brought it up, didn't I? Let me give it a try. Just hang tight."
In the electric glow of television, they sat together and listened. The song carried high over footage of forest canopies and rocky cliffs, images of tiny lizards peeking out of crevices and caves. The singer's voice went up and down, up and down, bright and clear like a flute.
Charles's mouth twisted pensively. His fingers tapped in time on his thigh, trying to follow the lyrics, but every time he thought he had latched onto a word or phrase, he lost it just as quickly. Eventually, he had to admit defeat.
"Sorry, mate, I can't make out much of anything. All I can catch is a little bit of the chorus."
"That's all right," said Edwin.
"It's a sweet song, though, I think," Charles added, grasping for something, anything to bail water out of their rapidly capsizing conversation. "She keeps saying, 'darling, darling, darling.'"
The expression on Edwin's face was inscrutable, indicating that he in no way planned to throw out a flotation device. He was going to let them drown together. "Darling," he repeated.
Yes.
"Yeah," said Charles gamely. "That's what she's saying, here." He held up a staying hand as the last round of the chorus rang out. Smiling again, he turned towards Edwin and began to sing along. "Dar-ling, dar-ling... something something... darling."
Jazz hands.
Edwin stared at him. There was some great mechanism ticking in his formidable brain - Charles could practically see the cogs turning. It put him on edge. Whenever Edwin really got to thinking, it meant that he was about to come up with something ecstatically brilliant and equally terrifying.
It was because Charles called him darling, wasn't it? He'd thought he could get away with it, since it was indeed a lyric in the song, but no - he'd gone ahead, enamored with the intimacy of this private memory shared between them, and blown his cover.
"Anyway," said Charles. "Thank you."
Out of everything, this was what snapped Edwin back to reality. "What?" he asked, his voice an urgent hush. "What did you say?"
"Thank you. I think." The way things had been going as of late, it was entirely possible Charles had said something else and forgotten it.
"What am I being thanked for? I haven't done anything."
If Edwin sounded sharp, it was only out of genuine confusion. Charles couldn't help smiling. Edwin was almost always so open, was only just beginning to understand how much Charles kept under wraps.
"I know we don't usually talk about this kind of thing," he explained. "We stay in the present, and I can't blame us for that, considering everything, so I'm not complaining. I just don't like to, I dunno - burden you with the rough stuff, I guess. But what you asked just now was nice. It was a nice memory. So thank you, is all."
Edwin frowned. "You are not a burden, Charles."
"I didn't say I was." His meaning was appreciated, but Charles disliked the implication that he somehow didn't know how much Edwin cared for him. In all of his turmoil, he had never doubted that. Not since their return from hell. "Listen," he said, "it's all right. Never mind."
"No," said Edwin. "I... I'd really prefer to make this perfectly clear."
That was a new tone he was taking. Charles couldn't help being intrigued.
"We've said we can tell each other anything," Edwin went on. "However, I'm afraid that's not good enough. It's not just that I CAN be told anything, but rather that I WANT to be told anything. Or everything, I mean. I'm truly sorry if I'm overstepping, but I must express this. I want to know - everything about you, Charles. Am I understood?"
He was better than understood. Edwin might not have realized it yet, but he was known.
Charles was awestruck by him, just as he'd been the first time they met, Edwin glowing as an angel in the dark. This brilliant, brave young man, who deserved so much better than what he had. Even now, there was no fear in Edwin's eyes. He knew that Charles would catch him in this trust fall. They'd been exchanging the sentiment between them all night. Since they'd known each other, even.
And that was how it clicked, at last, the final piece slotting into place. Charles felt the same.
Exactly, precisely, and entirely the same.
"Fuck it," he said, louder than intended. Edwin's mouth dropped open, but there was no stopping now, not that Charles had finally put it together, these words he'd thought of in a town an ocean away. "You know, I've been doing a lot of thinking these last few months. Like, I've really, really been putting brain power into it."
Edwin, at a loss, only nodded.
"Because you are the single most important person in the world to me, and I never want to hurt you, not ever. Because I wanted to be sure. REALLY sure. I wanted to be totally, 100% sure that I meant it. And oh, mate..." He laughed. "I am SO sure right now."
Cautiously, Edwin looked him up and down. "Sure of what, exactly?"
"I want to kiss you," said Charles. "Can I kiss you?" Then, remembering his manners, he added, "Please."
Edwin went perfectly still, a porcelain doll sat across him on the sofa. "I didn't mean to make you feel obligated by my feelings," he began, but Charles shook his head.
"You didn't."
"Oh," said Edwin. His eyes were very wide. "What changed?"
God, the questions. Of course he would have bloody questions! Who did Charles think he was dealing with?
"I told you," he said. "I just needed some time. Didn't just want to jump in without thinking, did I? Not this time."
Edwin's stare held Charles fast, but he bore it. Let Edwin's clever mind work it all out. "All right," he said at length. Straightened his cuffs to gather his strength. "Yes. I think. Yes, you may."
"Yes?"
"Yes."
Charles let out a rush of breath, hardly realized he'd been holding it, and then he had his hands on either side of Edwin's face, and he was kissing him.
There were few sensations available to ghosts, as a rule. Pressure, of course, was one - Charles soaked in the soft give of Edwin's lips against his. Ghosts could also tell when it was wet, and this was... rather wet. And there was something else, too, something difficult to define. Some third element, which Charles had described as, "not feeling, but feeling." As if Edwin was whispering into the core of him, something gentle, something growing.
Charles could hear Edwin breathing hard and a shiver rolled through him. He was aware of Edwin's hands, flapping about their heads like moths in the night, but there was nothing for it. A chuckle took him by surprise and he had to pull away, just enough to speak.
"Are you not kissing back because you hate this or because you don't know how?"
If Edwin's inexperience hadn't been so well established between them, he might have taken that poorly. As it was, he smiled, his voice shaking as he answered, "I have no idea what I'm doing."
Fondness was an infinite well for Charles to draw from. He let one of his thumbs stroke over Edwin's cheek. It didn't hurt anymore, not at all.
"There's nothing to it, mate," he murmured. "Let me show you again."