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Edwin tells himself that this isn’t the worst outcome of a case they’ve had this year. They’ve had setbacks before; needed to retreat, regroup. Even if this case is unfinished it is not a total catastrophe – their client, quite frankly, is a little too superior and a little too dismissive for Edwin to feel sorry for. No, it’s on Charles that he trains his attention, the sharpened lines of his back.
“I have found a mirror.”
“Brills, mate.” Charles says. He flashes a smile as strangled as his voice. “Lead me there?”
Edwin keeps his eyes on Charles’ face, the flickers of masked expression. It is understandable, that he is not happy, after catching that spell meant for Edwin. It is only that this topic has never been raised, and so Edwin has no guidance as to how to proceed. He did do research in 1990, he recalls, however relevant that information is now – he doubts that to be enough.
“Mate?” Charles is shifting on his feet. He’s bundled his jacket over his shoulders and around his front, shoulders overly hunched.
“Come on,” Edwin says, softly.
Charles follows close behind and though Edwin wants to reach out, he does not. Charles is not injured – the spell, from what Edwin could hear as it was yelled, was more psychological than anything else. Which is to say that Charles is likely hurting, but not in a way that Edwin can address with a well-constructed healing spell.
The warehouse of this bookstore that their client had owned – had, according to her account, been killed for – is dusty and labyrinthine, with its piles of books. Edwin picks his way through carefully until they come to the staff restrooms. Their opponent (who, it seems, cursed their client and forged her will to get her store) has been temporarily banished to another continent, and will have to take the long way back.
“Here it is,” Charles says, faux-brightly.
“Shall I go first to-”
Charles steps through, and Edwin curses and follows.
-
Crystal and Niko were supposed to complete some paperwork. It seems they’re watching something on one of their portable telephones instead. Edwin bites away the reprimand, which fades anyway when Niko smiles at him.
Crystal whistles. “Charles, what happened to you?”
Charles’ shoulders ruck right up. “Got cursed, didn’t I?”
“You got cursed to be a girl?” Niko asks, eyes intent.
“Well-” Edwin begins, stops. They all look at him.
“Who curses someone to become a girl?” Crystal’s a little heated.
Charles sighs and grabs the rug from behind Crystal and Niko’s backs, from its place draped on the back of the couch. He tucks it around his shoulders so nothing below his neck is visible.
“Hey.” Crystal says, softer. “Charles, you look fine. It doesn’t change anything – and we can fix this, right?”
“It changes a fucking lot,” Charles grits out, and he kicks the leg of their desk. Edwin, who’d been standing motionless and silent, steps forward to tuck his blanket carefully around his chin, and under his palms Charles is shaking.
“There’s nothing wrong with being a girl,” Crystal says, standing up now. There's a warning there, under the forced calm of her voice. Edwin, automatic, steps between her and Charles. Her eyebrows rise even as he himself winces – he is aware this is not necessary, but he feels like a loaded rifle at the moment, like the one his father took out hunting, capricious and liable to fire any which way. His father, too proud or too ill to admit he couldn't afford a better rifle, that he wasn't truly one of the upper classes. Edwin's mother had always sat, thin-mouthed, by the window when he went hunting, and her shoulders only loosened when he was back inside.
“Girls are brills,” Charles says through tightened teeth, “but Crystal, I am not a girl.”
Crystal looks at Edwin, wide-eyed, questioningly. He looks back, a little deflated, then shrugs almost pointedly.
“I know you’re not,” she says.
Edwin inhales. “We need to resolve the curse.”
Crystal just looks back at Charles. "Charles, what-"
“It’s been a very trying day,” Edwin says, “how about you both take the rest of the day off-”
“Do you know the antidote?” Niko pipes up. It’s Niko so it’s impossible to tell if she’s being pointed or merely kindly curious.
Edwin closes his eyes. “No.”
“Surely there’s only so many gender-changing spells.” Crystal voices. Niko seems perhaps too interested by this; she's perched on the arm of the sofa, fingertips pressed together.
“Didn’t change my gender.” Charles mutters, almost belligerently.
Crystal tilts her head. “Charles, since when do you know about sex and gender being different things? And what’s got into you?”
“Really, Crystal, it’s pretty damn obvious.”
Edwin thinks of their small collection of Butler's papers, stacked in the cupboard, and says nothing.
“Charles, can’t you-”
“Crystal. Charles has just been cursed; he’s not going to be happy about it. Niko, no, I do not know the cure, and it won’t be for a sex-change spell. It’ll be- it’ll be some sort of nightmare curse.” Edwin winces. This will do little to dissuade Crystal of the misogyny of the situation; or, worse, it will spell out Charles' secret, the one he never asked Edwin to hide.
“Nightmare curse?”
“Spell that inflicts your worst fears on you,” Charles says. He’s glaring at his feet. Edwin rubs his shoulder.
“Worst fears?” Niko asks, lowly.
“Well, not my worst worse fears,” Charles sighs, “Edwin wasn’t in its range, was he? Spell couldn’t get him.”
“But this is … really bad?” Niko asks lowly. “Worse than-”
“Are you in pain?” Crystal asks, worriedly.
“Nah. Didn’t need to do that, did it?” Charles rubs his face with his hands, blanket in between. He looks up and flashes the weakest possible smile. “Sorry for snapping at you, Crystal. It’s just been a shock, yeah?”
“I guess I – I don’t know why you’re so upset?” Crystal says slowly.
Charles quirks a smile. “Wouldn’t you be, if you were turned into a geezer all of a sudden by a random murderous sorcerer?”
“I’d be annoyed. It wouldn’t be my worst fear, though.”
“Less conversation, more assisting my research,” Edwin says, walking to the bookshelf. Niko bounds over to join him, and Charles flops onto the couch belly-down.
He’s a lump of blankets and displeasure, now. Something gentle and unrefined warms Edwin from within, looking at him there.
“You’re not helping?” Crystal teases.
“You’re better than me at research anyway,” he says, muffled.
“That is simply not true,” Edwin corrects, as he passes books to Niko and Crystal (checking this time that they’re in languages the girls can read).
“Mhm,” Charles responds.
“What’s up with him?” Crystal hisses at Edwin.
“Nothing is up with him,” Edwin says at an ordinary speaking voice, “Charles is perfectly reasonable. I do not think any of us would enjoy our bodies being changed without our will.”
Niko makes a small, noncommittal noise.
“Anyway, the quicker you read the quicker we can overcome this awkwardness.” Edwin claps his hand. “We’re looking for spells in Old English – any dialect. Charles, will you come with me?”
The top of Charles’ head pokes out from the blanket. The spell hasn’t changed his haircut, and his face is still his – maybe a little differently shaped, but Edwin refuses to think on that overmuch; he knows that would bother Charles. It did change the shape of his body; his chest; but while under the blanket all Edwin can think of is that night when he read a dying boy to death. Which is differently painful.
“Come with you?”
“I would like to do some diagnostic tests. We can go to the roof.”
“Oh,” Charles says. Slowly he sits up. “Alright.”
“Leave us to do the work,” Crystal says, but it’s teasing. As they leave Niko starts to whisper something hissing into Crystal’s ear.
“Alright mate, what sort of tests do you wanna do?”
“That was a ruse I am afraid.” Edwin spins on his heel so he is looking at Charles, standing in this corridor. “Is there something we should get to make you more comfortable while we work on a more permanent solution?”
“I – what?”
“A sweated shirt, or a ‘binder’, perhaps? I do not wish to ... presume but if there is something that could make this better for you then …”
“Blanket’s alright,” Charles says hoarsely, “how – how do you know about all that?”
“…Promise not to get angry.”
“I never get angry with you.”
“That’s simply not true.”
Charles' grin is slight; Edwin has to look down, swallowing. “I usually don’t get angry with you.”
“I went to your funeral.” It’s a confession. He cannot look up while he says it, each word like a death knell. There's silence. Slowly, slowly Edwin raises his eyes.
Charles is quiet for a long moment. "Why didn’t you tell me?”
Edwin presses his fist together. “I wanted to ensure you were being honoured appropriately, I suppose.”
Charles’ grin is now absent of mirth or any real humour. “Yeah, alright, I can see why you wouldn’t tell me after. But what’s that got to do with anything, mate?”
“They uh – they did not call you Charles. At the funeral.”
Charles’ eyes glass over just a little. He takes a moment. “No. They wouldn’t have.”
“For a moment I was terrified you had a sibling who’d also died, and I would have to tell you – then I realised …”
Charles exhales slowly and puts his face in his hands.
“I am sorry,” Edwin says, frantic now, “if I had known it would amount to such a breach of trust I’d have never – but then you never talked about it, and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, especially if they’d disregarded your explicit wishes.”
“So you what, you’ve known forever?”
“I did a little reading up on it; I didn’t really know about transsexuality in life,” Edwin says softly. He steps a little closer. “Wanted to make sure I didn’t – I wasn’t uncouth about it.”
“That’s how you know about binders.”
“Quite.”
Charles lifts his head up. His eyes are silvery with tears. Quite suddenly Edwin is being accosted; Charles has thrown himself into his arms. Even with the blanket between them acting as a barrier, it’s enough to make Edwin melt.
“You’re brills, mate,” Charles whispers into his ear. “You’re amazing.”
“I didn’t want to let you down.”
Charles pulls away enough to initiate eye contact. “And you never have, alright?”
“Neither have you,” Edwin says softly, “I am sorry this was done to you, I cannot imagine what this is like.”
“Being dead sucked, but at least my body matched what I wanted it to be, at last.” Charles says slowly. “I forgot what it was like, to be in something that isn’t – isn’t right.”
Edwin says nothing.
“I want – I want to tear my skin off,” Charles says, strangled. “I can’t – anyone looking at me, Crystal acting like it’s not a big deal, fuck – you.”
“Me?” Edwin asks, almost affronted.
“Well, there’s no way you want me anymore, is there?” Charles blurts. Then he looks mortified.
“Charles, I know I am from over a hundred years ago, but your sex changing temporarily does not mean I value you less.”
“I’m not – I’m not calling you a misogynist, mate,” Charles has gone all red. “Forget it, yeah?”
“But if your concern wasn’t me not wanting your friendship then what … Charles,” Edwin says, trying to maintain his temper, “no, I do not want to have my way with you-”
The boy wilts. Edwin wants to yell at him. Why should that sadden him, when he had stated so plainly and kindly that that sort of thing would not be for them?
“- because you are currently experiencing a crisis. And generally uninterested.” Edwin exhales sharply. “In any case, I do not see that it matters. You said you weren’t in love with me.”
“Nah, I said that I couldn’t say that I was in love with you.”
“Which means you are not in love with me. I do not understand your new preoccupation with semantics.”
“That’s not!” Charles pulls his blanket tighter around him and steps away. “That’s not it at all!”
Edwin recalls that Charles has just been put into the most discomforting, distressing scenario he can imagine that doesn’t involve Edwin going to Hell. And so he breathes.
“Alright. Is there anything you need?”
“Nah. If I need I’ll rustle up another blanket.”
“If you are sure.” Quickly he mutters a Latin phrase. Charles jumps.
“What’s that?”
“Diagnostic spell. Unhelpful.” Edwin sighs. “Then we return?”
Just before the door, Charles stops. His voice, when it comes, is dreading. “I – I need to tell them, don’t I?”
“No,” Edwin says, firmly.
Charles looks at him, startled. “You don’t think I owe …”
“They are your friends. They will be kind. But you owe no-one this, not me, not them. That was the other reason I never brought it up.”
“Don’t really want them to know. Not because of this.”
“I will not tell them.”
Charles' face twists, incredulous. “Obviously.”
Charles puts a hand on Edwin’s wrist, and he realises he’s been pressing his fists.
“You alright, mate?” He asks, and the intensity of his gaze – as always – makes Edwin inhale tightly.
“Quite,” Edwin says, stepping away.
Charles’ lips press together – Edwin focuses on his own hands, flattening them at his side. Since Charles mentioned his tell once too loudly, now Niko notices too, which is a little frustrating and a little endearing, because it is Niko. Niko, who told him about her Dad and her first crush on a girl back in Osaka. Niko, who listened to him when he finally talked about those confusing, infuriating meetings with the Cat King – he knew that if he told Charles the boy would be hard pressed not to go at the being with a bat. Niko had quite solemnly explained to him modern ideas of consent; that the Cat King’s flirting toed a line he shouldn’t have approached. Which hadn’t been expected from Niko, who saw everything with such rose-tinted glasses even when she wasn’t wearing rose-tinted glasses. And it hadn’t been new information to Edwin – what had been new was the idea that people, generally, cared about that sort of thing nowadays. Of course Charles would be bothered, but he was protective – Edwin would say to a fault, except, of course, that he did have rather formidable enemies. Certainly, at some point Edwin would need to talk to Charles about that, but he simply did not want to right now.
Charles protecting his virtue is not something he could wish for, with his rejection still recent enough to ache.
“You sure?”
“Of course, Charles. I simply wish to ensure you are comfortable.”
“Thanks mate, let’s go back in.”
-
“Edwin, are there sex-changing spells?”
Edwin peers over the top of his book at Niko, who’s looking right back at him. She slurps her ‘smoothie’. It’s a concerning green colour.
“Yes.” Edwin says slowly.
“Hmm.” Niko looks back down at her tome, which Edwin hopes she gets none of her drink on. He had spent a considerable portion of the 90s finding it. Charles hated it, because part of the exchange for its ownership had resulted in a trek through a haunted swamp in northern Queensland and he’d gotten into a fight with a ghostly pack of cane toads, who seemed to attack ghosts for the thrill of the chase. This had been before Charles had admitted how much he hated water like the lake he’d half-drowned in; Edwin hadn’t made the connection, with the water being tropical and lined with mangroves and less tepid, until Charles had spelt it out.
Charles and Crystal were out somewhere. Edwin had been halfway through translating a particularly gnarly passage in Old English, and hadn’t processed whatever they’d said before departing. He’d looked up and they’d gone, and he felt that stab of cold again, and went back to reading.
He tries not to console himself that there are things he knows about Charles that Crystal would never find out. It’s a cruel thought when one of those things is weighing particularly on Charles at the moment. What joy should he get, from something distressing to Charles, from something he’d always meant to hide?
When Charles had spoken of wanting to rip his skin off, Edwin had felt a familiar frisson. He did not share Charles’ struggles and yet – and yet –
He recalls his ninetieth, perhaps, body. It’d been a slow death that time and he’d woken whole and he hadn’t felt … he hadn’t felt real. It hadn’t felt like he fit anymore, in his body – his hands feeling heavy and unnatural on the ends of his arms, his legs too light, his head fogged in a dangerous way. He couldn’t focus – floating above himself almost, in a way that felt too distant and too visceral all at the same time.
When he emerged out of Hell he’d realised, suddenly, that nothing of that boy from 1916 existed anymore. Whatever he was now, whatever he’d become, was born out of almost a century of blood. He’d felt more creature than human, then, Hell-born. And then he’d met Charles, and that had saved him.
Feeling floaty, almost, now, he raises his head. Niko is holding herself tightly, and she doesn’t look at him.
“I can show you the spells, when we have cured Charles.” Edwin says carefully. Articulation is a challenge, in this moment. “There are temporary ones, more permanent ones too.”
Niko looks at him. Her eyes are bright.
“Is there-” He clears his throat carefully, gestures vaguely. “Would you like me to change how I treat you at all?”
Niko tilts her head a moment before her eyes clear. “Oh. Oh Edwin.” Suddenly she’s rounding the desk and hugging him tightly. He permits it, leaning his head against her shoulder. “You’re so lovely.”
He pats her elbow, bewildered. “You did not answer my question.”
“Not yet,” she says softly.
“Alright. If you – if that changes, you can tell me. Or Charles. He was very good with me when I spoke of my more – hm, my inversion.”
“Inversion,” Niko’s voice rises, “you mean being gay?”
“My mental state has little to do with it, Niko.” He sighs when she just stares. “That was joke. Yes, as you say, ‘being gay’.”
“Of course Charles was good about you being gay! He loves you.”
Edwin tries not to wince, he cannot read that sentence enough to tell if she is implying something other than platonic. She’d stretched the vowel in ‘loves’ a little too far. “Well, Niko, we love you as well.”
Niko kisses his cheek, then squeezes him in a hug. “I love you two too!”
Edwin smiles. They go back to research.
-
Crystal stalks in with Charles trailing her. She jabs a thumb behind her at him. “Talk to him, Edwin.”
Edwin puts down the book. “Hello Charles.”
“Hi mate.”
“Is that sufficient?” Edwin looks at Crystal. Charles has forsaken the blanket and instead put his overcoat on, zipped to the throat, under a red and white scarf Edwin had gifted him some time ago. For what occasion, Edwin cannot recall. His arms are crossed over his chest and he’s shifting from foot to foot.
Crystal makes a sound like a dying goat, or perhaps a sheep, and drops on the couch. Charles hunches his shoulders.
“Did you two have a fight?” Niko asks brightly.
Charles’ eyes are wide and panicked. “I don’t know!”
“No,” Crystal grits out, “you’re just being British about this all.”
“What?”
“Tell him if you won’t tell me! Just stop walking around with a cloud around your head refusing to talk about it – it’s giving me a migraine.”
Charles’ voice is suddenly tight. “Mate, you didn’t use your-”
“Fuck off, Charles, I didn’t mind read you.”
Charles looks even smaller.
“Crystal!” Edwin snaps.
“Mate, don’t-”
“It is clear something is bothering you, but you have no need to speak to Charles that way. In any case, he has already spoken to me about it.”
“He has?”
“Quite. I believe he has been experiencing distress from his body no longer matching his self-perception, something like what some transsexuals experience before transitioning. It makes sense, even if Charles is experiencing the inverse of the norm.”
Crystal screws up her face. “Huh.”
“Is that right, Charles?” Niko asks, gently.
“Huh,” Charles tilts his head, playing a very good impression of someone hearing the concept for the first time, “yeah, mate, that sounds about right! You’re brills, you are.”
“How did you hear about that?” Crystal says.
“I have been attempting to learn about ‘the queer community’ since I – I came to terms to some things.” It’s not even a lie, it’s just unrelated.
“Had a trans friend in school, back when I was being a Mega Bitch. Think she mentioned something like that,” Crystal’s lip curls, in that way it does when she begins hating herself too much, “I wasn’t great about it.”
Niko makes a quiet noise.
“And I haven’t been great about it now, have I?” Crystal says softly.
Charles nudges her feet until she lets him sit beside her. He pulls his knees to his chest and tightens his arms around them. It’s defensive, a pose like that.
“Crystal, did I do something?” Charles asks, heartbreakingly quiet.
“You’re allowed to be grumpy,” she mutters, curling into her own bundle.
“Then why did it bother you, so?”
“Guess – guess it – I felt defensive.” Crystal mutters. “When you said you hated it so much.”
Charles winces. “I didn’t mean it like – it’s not about girls! It’s about me … There’s not much I can control, being dead, but at least I controlled what I look like. Now I can’t even do that.”
“You do a lot more than that,” Crystal says hotly. “You save people. You saved me.”
“Cheers.”
“Crystal – when did you last sleep?” Edwin asks, the thought having been niggling at the back of his mind the whole conversation.
Crystal begins counting on her fingers, which feels inauspicious.
“Alrighty then!” Charles bounds to his feet, grabbing Crystal’s wrist and tugging her to her feet. “Bedtime, little one!”
“Shut the fuck up.” Crystal yawns.
“I’ll walk her,” Niko says, slipping to Crystal’s side. Crystal’s tired belligerence melts into a tired smile, and Edwin turns away before he has to – again – recognise how like him Crystal is.
It’s absolutely unhelpful and frightfully self-indulgent, to wonder if an accident of sex is the only reason that Charles lacks a particular sort of love for Edwin. It also makes Edwin feel suddenly and deeply ill.
“Want me to come with?” Charles asks.
“You need a lie down too,” Niko says firmly. “I have an oodie if you need something more comfy – hop over to my apartment if you need it.”
“What on earth is an oodie?” Edwin asks himself. It surely isn’t some sort of drug – those were so often given new names that Edwin has given up on keeping up – because Charles can’t take drugs anymore.
Niko claps her hands and giggles. “Goodnight!”
“Night.” Charles says, belatedly, and the two girls leave the room. The moment the door swings shut Charles’ smile dissipates. Edwin stands, at his desk, and Charles stands on the other side.
“How is the research going?” Charles says dully.
“I have narrowed down some leads.”
“So you’ve got nothing, then?”
Edwin stands there, and if anything Charles’ face crumples further. It’s disconcerting, seeing Charles as he had looked before he died, the softness that Edwin had attributed to youth, ignoring the new sharpness of his jaw as a ghost.
“No,” Edwin says, distantly, “not nothing. I have made a start.”
Charles’ hands come to his face and the blanket tumbles to the ground. Edwin looks down at his desk and shuffles the papers, until Charles lifts his head back up.
“I’m sorry, mate,” Charles says, wretched, “I didn’t mean that.”
Edwin inhales sharply. “I am trying my best with very little information.”
Charles is wringing his hands. He so rarely does that. “I know.”
Edwin uncoils the tightened jagged pieces of himself. He fastens a smile on. “Would you like me to read to you?”
"Sounds aces, mate."
Edwin makes for the bookshelf, then pauses. He turns and pulls out a drawer of their desk. The book, that one he purchased silently in America, sits where he had left it, cover a watercolour design, the author deeply familiar.
"Would you mind if we read something a bit different?"
Charles is sitting, now. "Whatever you want, mate."
"It is only - I had wanted to read this for some time but haven't had the chance, and-"
"-Edwin, what is it?"
"It's a love story of two men. Called 'Maurice'. Written two years before - before I died."
There's a quiet, then Charles is smiling at him.
"Sounds brills."
Edwin lifts the book up, and crosses to the sofa. He starts with the dedication, and has to blink several times before continuing.
At the end of chapter one, Charles shifts. "You know I - I meant it?"
"Meant what?" Edwin asks, distractedly, eyes still tracing the curves of the letters on the pages. Sometimes he finds himself trying to classify ordinary words into their word classes, selecting the more complicated constructions, the odder phrases. It's like a game, somewhat.
"On the staircase."
Edwin closes the book.
"When I said we could work the rest out."
Edwin frowns. Charles shifts closer, under his blanket.
"Why do you look like that?"
"Like what?" Edwin asks, tersely.
"Like someone's gone and reorganised your books by colour."
"I surely don't look that bad."
"Edwin," Charles stresses. It's almost begging. Edwin looks up. Charles' eyes are deep, and wide, and so very sharply pinned to Edwin's face. "Talk to me."
"I do not understand you." Edwin says, plainly.
"What part?"
"'Work it out together'? What is there left to work out? You're happy enough with Crystal, as far as I can tell."
"Oh, this is gonna be good," Charles mutters. "Alright, Edwin, what do you want to say about me and Crystal?"
"Simply," Edwin says, piecemeal, every word a separate dagger, "that the two of you seem content."
Charles blinks. "You - what, you think we've been going off to shag?"
"Don't say it like that."
"You're the one suggesting it."
"I am not! I am not casting aspersions on your relationship, simply that it seems to run counter to any, ahem, thing to do with me."
Charles blinks. "What? We haven't-"
"You kissed in the butcher shop, before Esther attacked us."
Charles freezes, his mask slipping. "Ah. I forgot about that."
"Well I did not. I do not mind. In fact, I think you ought to pursue something if it makes the two of you happy, there is no point you remaining chaste on my account."
Charles grimaces. "Why did you phrase it like that? That's foul, mate."
"Single, then."
"Why would I do that?"
"You seemed keen on it before."
"Well, that was before my best mate told me he's in love with me!"
Suddenly it's too close, there on the couch. Edwin stands and walks to the window, pacing.
"Edwin. I'm sorry."
"Do not apologise. Why are you apologising?"
"If I knew you thought Crystal and I were sneaking off I'd - I'd have, fuck, I don't know, told you we weren't?"
Edwin presses his lips together a moment. "Does it matter?"
"I wasn't trying to fuck with you, I swear."
"I didn't think you were. I understand that I do not give this impression, but I actually do not think the world revolves around me."
"I love you," Charles blurts.
"I love you too," Edwin says, bewildered, exasperated, turning to face him.
"No that's - that's why I don't want to date Crystal."
Edwin feels so tired, quite suddenly. "I don't understand."
"I, um." Charles stands now, fidgeting. "I realised I love you so much more than I would ever care for her. And that made it quite simple, really."
Edwin steps towards him. Charles looks up, shifting from foot to foot, that beloved sheepish grin lighting up his face.
"Oh?" Edwin asks.
"You want more?"
"I'll have you know I poured my heart out to you, in Hell."
"Well, I guess this is my Hell, isn't it?" Charles says, gesturing to his transformed form. "Nah, that's fucked, I shouldn't have said that-"
"-I hope this is as close as you ever get to it," Edwin says, firmly, "again."
"You better find a counterspell soon, else I'll get antsy. You don't like it when I'm antsy."
"I'll have to break all the mirrors in the pet stores."
"That puppy was lovely and you know it."
"I thought you were declaring your love for me."
Charles laughs. He steps closer. "Alright mate."
Edwin raises an eyebrow.
"Well, I realised whatever I feel for you is bigger than anything, anything else I'm gonna feel for anyone else. And I thought, why lead Crystal on then, or let her lead me on? When you're there. You've always been there. Just had my walls too up to see it."
Edwin tilts his head.
"Mate, I've been half terrified I'm gonna do something too 'girly' and out myself. Didn't want to be - well - be openly bisexual on top of that. Half our clients died in the 1800s, mate."
"There were homosexuals in the 1800s. Some quite famous ones, even."
"Yeah, well," Charles shrugs. "That's not the point. The point is, you're my forever, Edwin, and I never want you to doubt it. I'd do anything for you. I'd bury a body for you, even."
"You already have."
"But without even asking any questions."
"That is true, you did feel the need to clarify some things."
They've gotten close enough to kiss, now. But Edwin remembers - from their earlier conversation - how at odds with his body Charles feels right now. And when Edwin feels that disjunct - not the same, but similar - between mind and body, the last thing he wants is physical touch.
So he steps away, and Charles seems to straighten somewhat, some emotion squirreled away behind the tightening of his eyes.
"I shall return to the research." Edwin says.
"Oh," Charles says, quietly, "alright mate."
Edwin turns away.
"Actually," Charles blurts out, "would you mind if I kiss you first?"
Edwin's heart - dead and absent - somehow manages to thud, stomach lurching, in his chest. He's suddenly very nervous. He's been kissed once before and that was by a boy he didn't care for overmuch. Sure, he'd liked Monty, and his betrayal of friendship had rankled, but he'd gotten over it quick. Had had to, really. What with Hell, and Esther.
This is Charles. This, fundamentally, matters.
Edwin turns. "Are you sure?"
Charles looks staggered, for a second. "Am I sure?"
"Yes, Charles, are you?"
"You're the fittest bloke I've ever met." He says, still bewildered.
"You say such nice things," Edwin says, sarcastic, even though that statement does force him to look away for a second.
"I thought - it's more, are you sure?"
It takes a second to understand the underlying question, the reason he is so nervous.
"You are Charles Rowland, a little curse is not going to stop me loving you." He sees the flicker in Charles' eyes, and so he steps closer still. "Or wanting you."
Charles stammers over the start of his sentence. "I - we. You don't want this to be more special?"
"Are you stalling?"
Charles blinks, and smiles slowly. He places his hands on Edwin's face, thumbs on his cheekbones. "Nah," he says, and kisses him.
It's cautious and gentle, and much nicer the second time round. It's only a thought - lightning fast - that persuades Edwin to pull away, even as Charles protests.
"I need to go to the Archives." He says.
Charles makes his eyes as plaintive as possible. "Really, now?"
"They will help me remove your curse."
Charles sighs explosively, like this isn't the solution to a quite distressing problem of his. Edwin rolls his eyes, and takes Charles' hand, tugging him towards the mirror.
"Come on now, spit spot," Edwin says, and Charles laughs reluctantly, and follows.