Chapter Text
“Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards, And seal the hushed casket of my soul” (John Keats, “Ode to Sleep”)
Of the many benefits that Edwin saw to ghostly existence, mirror travel had to be towards the top of the list. As he was sure Charles would agree, there were undeniable advantages to being able to bid goodnight to Crystal and Niko, tap Niko’s bedroom mirror, and instantly return to their own private space.
Electricity crackled in the air between them as they gazed at each other, teetering on the precipice, the tight coil before the spring. Then Charles let out a long breath and reached for him, a knowing look in his eye and a sudden hunger in his fingertips.
“Bed?” he said, his voice low and hopeful.
Edwin did not answer; indeed, the question was a formality. Instead, he closed the gap, pulling Charles into an emphatic kiss as he fumbled for his waistband. Charles chuckled, dragging him through the wall and into their bedroom, pausing only to capture his mouth again, greedy and promising.
“Knew that film’d got you going,” he murmured against Edwin’s lips, inching him towards the bed. “Thought you were gonna break my fingers, you were squeezing that hard.”
They rarely watched films that were quite so explicitly romantic—it had been Niko’s choice, and Crystal had surprised Edwin by backing her up, as she was often doing lately. Still, there had been something very compelling about the couple on screen. Charles, too, had noticed it, if his reaction was anything to go by.
“And I suppose I was imagining you squeezing back?” Edwin countered breathlessly as Charles’s tongue traced the shell of his ear. “Be honest, you were just—ah!—just as affected.”
“Maybe,” Charles allowed. He sat down heavily, guiding Edwin into his lap, pulling him in to kiss him deeper. “S’just—oh, love, yes—s’just. You know. When you see two people getting it on like that—”
“It is difficult not to be moved, indeed.”
“Moved, yeah. That’s the word.”
It was the last thing of significance either of them said for a while, their speech dissolving into half-whispered endearments and occasional gasps. Charles seemed to want to lead, drawing Edwin into their bed and into his body, yielding to him with a desperate, almost demanding tenderness. Their lovemaking was slow and careful, the dance as intoxicating as it was familiar, but when Charles shook apart, his hands tight on Edwin’s waist, he felt somehow out of reach.
Afterwards, Charles tugged their blanket higher around them and rested his head on Edwin’s chest, burrowing into the soft wool like a cocoon. Edwin pulled him a little closer, his mind conjuring the comforting cinnamon-and-mint scent he had always imagined him carrying in life. They lay together in silence, the only sound Charles’s hitching breaths, which Edwin realised, with a dawning sense of dismay, was him trying—and failing—not to cry.
“Are you all right?” he asked, once there was no longer any point in denying it.
Charles took his time answering. When he finally spoke, he was very quiet, so much so that Edwin had to strain to hear him.
“Yeah, m’fine. Just…that couple in the film.”
Edwin did not follow, but he forced himself to be patient, tracing tentative circles around Charles’s shoulder as Charles collected his thoughts.
“They fell asleep, all cuddled up. Looked…looked nice, didn’t it?”
“It did, yes.” Edwin still felt he was missing something. “But—”
“Wish we could do that,” Charles blurted. “Wish I could fall asleep with you, and wake up with you the next day.”
A tear trickled onto Edwin’s shoulder, and he froze. It was the very last thing he had expected Charles to say. For the briefest instant, the image of Charles’s last sleep, grey and delirious in a frigid attic, beyond the reach of help, flickered into his head. Then it vanished, replaced by the Charles in his arms—safe and whole, though in need of comfort. But what comfort could he offer in the face of such a small, yet impossible wish?
“Darling,” he began, but Charles’s admission seemed to have loosened something, the words pouring out of him.
“M’sorry. I don’t usually mind being dead any more, right? And I love what we have, please don’t think I don’t. I just…I wish we could do that, sometimes. Sleeping together—I mean, really sleeping, and then waking up. Like the living do.”
Edwin knew it would serve no purpose to point out the practicalities, so he did not. He could not honestly say he had ever contemplated it, given the limitations of ghostly existence. Yet Charles’s desire for this made it important enough that he found himself sharing his sense of loss. In fact, his heart fairly ached with it. Tightening his hold, he kissed the top of Charles’s head, running a thumb over his cheekbone.
“Darling,” he said again, wishing he had something better to offer than platitudes. “I’m sorry.”
“S’all right,” Charles sniffed. “Silly, getting upset like this.”
“It’s not silly,” Edwin assured him. “Not at all. I can see how much it distresses you. What can I do to help?”
Hesitantly, his voice painfully timid, Charles said, “Is it OK if we pretend, for a bit? Maybe just close our eyes and stay here for a while, like…like it’s real?”
At long last, he glanced up at Edwin, his eyes wet and red. Edwin, who could never deny him anything, felt a rush of sympathy.
“Of course, my love,” he whispered, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I would like that very much.”
Charles gave another sniff and scrubbed an irritated hand over his face.
“Know I’m being daft. And it’s not like we don’t make up for it in other ways. It’s just I—”
“Dearest, you do not have to justify it.” Edwin brushed another kiss to his forehead, pressing down a flutter of unease. “If that is what you wish, then that is what we shall do. We have no clients scheduled for tomorrow. We can stay here for as long as you like.”
Charles gave a shaky, grateful sigh and curled in closer, his hair tickling Edwin’s nose. Edwin muttered soothing nonsense to him as his sobs gradually subsided, his breathing becoming deeper and more evenly spaced. Once he was sure Charles was completely settled, he shifted his position so that he could see him properly, taking care not to disturb him.
Beneath the blanket, Charles looked peaceful and very young. His dark lashes were lowered over his cheeks, and the sorrow of a few moments ago was entirely, mercifully absent. He was normally so energetic that the sight of him at rest was somehow unnatural, though he was no less handsome for it, as luminous and breathtaking as a Renaissance painting. One might have believed him truly asleep, if one had not known it was impossible.
Edwin watched him closely, noting each beloved feature, every habit-driven breath, pondering what he had said. Now that he considered the notion, he found himself practically floating on the loveliness of it: drifting off in each other’s arms after making love, secure and contented; waking hours later, still entangled, loose-limbed and drowsy, beginning again as the morning sunlight spilled across their sleep-warm bed. The idea was intoxicating. If only there were a way he could—
The thought stopped in its tracks. Ghosts did not sleep—but did this mean they could not, if induced? There were ways to compel beings to sleep. He had come across them before. There was one in particular that he could clearly recall.
True, he had never cast the spell himself, and the theory was somewhat complex, although certainly not beyond him. It was unlikely to have been tested on ghosts, yet he saw no reason why it could not be adapted, if he took care to temper it properly. It was such a tiny thing, and it would bring them so much joy. All that was needed was a slight recalibration, a minor adjustment to the invocation.
Charles stirred slightly, mumbling something and nestling into Edwin’s shoulder, and Edwin felt another pang of longing. The prospect of Charles’s delight when he realised that Edwin had found a way to give him what he wanted was almost unbearable in its sweetness. It would only be for a few hours. Quieting the last whisper of misgivings, he began chanting the spell under his breath, the words coming easily.
As soon as he had finished, an unpleasant chill brushed his skin, and he found himself being dragged into a deep, inexorable sleep; not the gentle embrace he had envisioned, but a drop, sinking like a stone into a weighty, fathomless darkness that closed over him like a shroud.
When he emerged, slow and groggy, to the sound of muffled banging and shouting coming from the room next door, Charles was still lying in his arms, a curious heaviness to his limbs. But no matter what Edwin said or did, he would not wake.