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"Charles, you don't have to do this if you don't want to," Edwin's voice is collected, but his expression shows that emotion that Charles is so familiar with, the one that appears every time Charles throws himself into a fight without thinking.
"No, I want to, really. We agreed, remember?" Charles's lips twist into a nervous grin.
After everything that happened in Port Townsend six months ago, when too much changed and came to the surface, all of each other's carefully buried secrets now lay before them, waiting to be talked about.
It hadn't been easy for either of them, there were too many words, emotions and feelings, confessions, old scars and a few tears.
Charles remembers that evening, and his chest still feels uncomfortably tight.
He sits on their shabby office couch, burying his face in his own knees, while the tracks from his tears seem to burn his cheeks, as if he were alive and could still feel it. Edwin hangs on every word he says about why Charles never takes his shirt off, about the scars on his back, about his room in the basement, about how he felt sick at night from hunger, and why he was so good with lock picks.
Edwin holds him for a long time afterward, and Rowland feels a little better now, with another unlocked door between them.
Now that they are truly together, Charles thinks it will be easier for him. It will be easier to admit that he is worthy of love, whenever Edwin looks at him like Charles is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, and nothing else exists. Like there is something to love about him, every broken part of him that he hates. It will be easier to say the things he hasn't said, when those achingly familiar lips leave kisses on his lips.
They had a deal to keep nothing from each other anymore, no secrets, no scars spiritual or physical, so Charles knows he has to do it at some point.
Edwin doesn't insist, but Charles just wants it to be right.
He hears Edwin's small sigh as he pulls off his shirt. Rowland's back is to him and he can't see his reaction, but he knows. He can picture the puzzlement on Edwin's face, the way his emerald eyes scan his golden, scarred skin, his brows drawn together in confusion.
"They never went away after I died. A constant reminder of the life I once had. Funny, isn't it, mate?" He tries to sound cheerful, to make it sound like a joke, but it comes off as too forced.
For a moment, it feels like an eternity to Rowland when his words go unanswered and Edwin just stands there, a few feet away, his eyes glued to the myriad scars that litter Charles's skin. After all, Edwin has been to hell and seen things far worse than old scars, but somehow the distance between them feels like an abyss to Charles right now.
When the dull thud of footsteps breaks the silence in the office and Edwin's fingers brush the scars on his golden skin, Charles takes a short, quick breath through clenched teeth and closes his eyes, as if he is not used to the feel of Edwin.
He hears a small, "Oh, Charles…" As Edwin's fingers leave traces of warmth where there had always been only cold and pain. Thin, pale fingers trace every inch of once-wounded skin, and Charles feels as if there are rays of sunshine trailing behind Edwin's fingertips, something warm and comforting beneath his skin.
"I'm sorry," Edwin's voice is quiet, and he doesn't seem to know what he's apologizing for, the existence of those scars or the fact that Charles let him see them.
"It was a long time ago. You shouldn't..." Charles forces out, and a lump rises in his throat. He doesn't finish the sentence. Shouldn't what? Shouldn't apologize for something that wasn't even his fault? It's all his bastard father. For seeing this? For Charles finding it in himself to tell Edwin something he'd kept secret from him for decades?
He hangs his head and squeezes his eyes shut until tears appear at the corners. Why the hell should he cry now?
"Charles, it’s…" Edwin pauses. "You don’t deserve…"
The feel of Edwin’s fingers still sends warm sparks across his skin.
Rowland takes a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. He feels the fingers tracing the scars of the life that left him, running along his ribs, and Edwin’s arms wrap tightly around him.
“None of us deserved what happened to us, right?” He clings to Edwin’s hands and tries his best to suppress that scraping feeling of sadness in his chest, like he’s going to fall apart in his arms.
The first rays of sunlight greet London and shine through the windows. The morning light runs along the walls, bathing the room in the faint colors of the sun.
With each passing minute the feeling of arms embracing him becomes more and more familiar; chests pressed against his back, and familiar breath on his neck that he can feel if he pretends to - Charles Rowland's personal retreat, and he swears he wants to stand here like this for the rest of eternity.
Edwin presses himself closer to him from behind, squeezing him tighter in his arms and leaving a light kiss on his shoulder.
Love is when someone who even knows your scars stays to kiss them.