Archive of Our Own

Charles notices it about half a week into Crystal and Jenny’s move.

They’d volunteered to help with the move from Port Townsend to London (read: were threatened into assisting by Jenny while she was holding a meat cleaver because, as she had so clearly stated, they were technically the reason her shop got blown up in the first place), and up until this point, things had been going rather smoothly.

That is, until Charles notices Edwin wincing and rubbing his chest, almost absentmindedly, before bending over to take stock of the contents in the box at his feet. He’s still rubbing his chest, right where his heart used to beat, when he straightens up and begins scribbling in his notebook.

“Oi,” Charles calls, dropping the bubble wrap that had been in his hands onto the floor carelessly. “Everything alright, mate?”

Edwin meets his eyes, his brows knitting together. “Beg pardon?”

His hand is no longer at his chest, too preoccupied with holding his notebook and pen, but Charles knows he didn’t imagine it, or the flicker of pain on Edwin’s face. He crosses the room, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Edwin just sighs, tucking his notebook and pen back into his coat. 

“You had this look on your face, just now,” Charles starts, giving Edwin a knowing look, before continuing hesitantly, “I’ve seen it before, that look, when I found you in Hell. Like, pained, and…”

“And?” Edwin prompts, his voice tight. Clipped.

“Scared,” Charles finishes. 

His hands twitch in his pockets, and in any other moment, he wouldn’t be hesitating when it comes to pulling Edwin in for a comforting hug. But right now, Charles is pretty sure that with one wrong move, Edwin will bolt through the nearest mirror and disappear for who knows how long.

“I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

Charles sighs, casting his eyes up at the ceiling as Edwin turns away from him and crouches down beside the box, producing his pen again to scribble the words pots and pans on the cardboard. 

“Edwin, seriously? You’re really going to keep this from me?” Charles asks, noting the way Edwin’s hand stills, hesitating. 

Edwin doesn’t look at him when he grabs the box and paces the room until he reaches the front door, plopping the box down next to it for Jenny and Crystal to take and load up at their leisure.

“I am not keeping anything from you,” Edwin insists, finally meeting his eyes again, “because there is nothing to tell. Now, would you lend a hand with these instead of worrying yourself into a second death?”

“Ghosts can’t die, Edwin. And I’m still going to worry until you cough up whatever it is, yeah?” Charles offers, hoping the pleading puppy eyes he flashes will work their magic as they often do, but Edwin just bristles before disappearing out the door, muttering something about locating Crystal and Jenny.

Given that particular reaction, there is most certainly something amiss, and Edwin is just as certainly hiding whatever it is, for reasons unbeknownst to Charles. 

Charles stares distantly at the spot where Edwin had been standing only moments before, rubbing his temples as if to get rid of a phantom headache.

Well, shit.

If Charles could still smell, he’s pretty sure London would smell the same as it did thirty years prior. 

Taking a deep, unnecessary breath, Charles can almost imagine the stench of the city washing over him, missing it in a way. It was never a good stench, per se, but it was comforting when he was alive - it made the city feel like home, something he couldn’t find under his father’s roof.

He supposes he misses that, too.

“Charles, why is the window open?” Edwin’s question snaps Charles out of his trance, and he looks behind him, seeing that Edwin has returned from his expedition to find a very particular book that Charles can’t remember the name of.

Charles takes one last wistful look out the open window before closing it and locking it up.

“Just getting used to all the noise again,” Charles tells him, and it’s partially true. Port Townsend was rather quiet and still, being as small of a town as it was, and he’d grown to miss the noisy London streets. “Have these buggers always been so loud?”

“Yes,” Edwin replies easily. “London has a sizable population, and most mortals are nothing if not raucous and disorderly.”

And there it is again. When Edwin walks over to take his usual seat at the desk, his hand makes contact with his chest, rubbing that same spot like he’s attempting to soothe some sort of discomfort. Charles stays quiet, shoving his hands back into his pockets.

He’s been doing that a lot lately. Preventing himself from reaching out, stopping himself from grabbing Edwin’s hand and replacing it with his own, biting his tongue to keep himself from asking to let him do that instead. To let him assuage the ache.

Charles wants to. More than he ever has before, almost maddeningly so.

Instead of doing any of those things or reading into why he craves to do them, Charles sinks down onto the couch, flopping onto his back and stretching out while trying to ignore what feels an awful lot like longing pooling in the pit of his stomach.

“This book should provide the necessary insights for dealing with this poltergeist,” Edwin mutters, and Charles looks over to see him nose-deep in his new book, no longer rubbing his chest, as if whatever pain resides there has been forgotten again.

Right. The case. They’d gotten back into the swing of things rather easily once they’d returned to London, and the news of their return was not lost upon the dead residing here. They have an ever-growing list of cases, and it’s almost like things have returned to how they were before.

Except, now they have a medium that comes and goes as she pleases, a butcher with a stunted view on relationships who pretends she regrets all of her life decisions whilst continuing to help them on every case even despite it, and Edwin has some sort of painful baggage weighing him down that he won’t unzip his lips about.

“You were doing it again.”

Charles doesn’t know why he says it. It’s not like it’s going to get them anywhere - it hasn’t so far.

Edwin glances over at him, the shutters closing over his expression. “Doing what, exactly?”

“Do we really need to go over it again?” Charles sighs, flinging an arm over his face.

Edwin doesn’t respond. When Charles peeks out from under his elbow, Edwin is absorbed in his book again, and Charles wants to punch the air.

“Seriously, Eds. Would you just talk to me about it?”

Edwin snaps the book shut, the muscles in his jaw working as he opens and closes his mouth, seeming to find and lose his words multiple times in rapid succession.

Finally, he lands on,

“There is nothing to talk about.”

Edwin disappears from the room not even a second later, and Charles scrubs his hands over his face with a pathetic groan.

With the room now empty, the air isn’t safe from Charles’ fists.

“He won’t talk to me about it.”

Crystal picks at her meal thoughtfully, giving Charles a sympathetic look.

“It sounds like he just needs time,” Crystal offers, tossing her fork back onto her plate, forgotten. “You’ve known him way longer than me. You know how he is.”

Charles does know Edwin, better than anyone in the world, better than anyone who existed in the then portion of Edwin’s life and better than anyone who exists in the now. 

And that’s part of the problem - he understands Edwin well enough to know when he’s withholding something, when he’s lying, when something is wrong. He also knows all the fixes, all the cures and remedies, but only if Edwin talks to him. 

Charles tells Crystal as much.

“Well, maybe he’s embarrassed,” Crystal suggests. 

“Embarrassed? What could he possibly have to be embarrassed about after thirty-something years? I mean, bloody hell,” Charles gripes, running a hand through his hair. “We’ve had enough time together to experience and get over almost every possible humiliation there is.”

“You’re forgetting the part where he told you he’s madly in love with you while ascending the steps from Hell. That’s pretty romantic shit. And, uh, you didn’t exactly say it back.”

Charles stares at Crystal with his eyes bugged out. 

Did she notice the flash of regret that flickered across his face when her words landed? Moreover, did he?

“Not that you were required to in any way,” Crystal rushes to add. “I just think that maybe after all of that, Edwin is just… well, I’d guess he’s having some trouble bringing the more uncomfortable things to you like he did before.”

Why? Charles wants to ask, sadness flooding him all at once, coiling itself inside of him. Why would he feel like he can’t come to me? Why would his love for me change things so drastically?

Crystal reaches out, grasping his hand. “You may be ghosts, Charles, but you’re still human in many ways. Ghosts are not immune to feeling embarrassed, or lost, or any other number of very human things that we all experience. Edwin included. Things may not have changed between the two of you, but he’s changed, and he probably just needs time to adjust before he’s dropping all his problems at your feet again. Though, I’m pretty sure he wasn’t the type to ever do that in the first place.”

She’s right, of course she’s right. Charles relaxes his shoulders, nodding. 

“Thanks, Crystal,” is all he can manage. 

Crystal finishes her lunch a few minutes later, and they leave the sandwich shop in comfortable silence, Charles feeling more settled than he did before.

“Edwin!”

Charles dives to the right, knocking Edwin out of the way of a particularly powerful blast of energy produced by the poltergeist. Edwin yelps when Charles’ body slams into him, sending them both tumbling to the ground, Edwin sprawled on his back and Charles curled over him, shielding him.

Edwin looks up at him, green eyes wide, his lips parted in shock. Despite the raging poltergeist throwing a tantrum behind them, time slows. Charles feels something stir in his chest, that same small thing that always blossoms when Edwin looks at him, but this time it’s not just a singular blossom - it’s a flowering tree, growing and expanding beneath Charles’ ribs.

Charles brushes Edwin’s mussed hair from his forehead, and Edwin’s hand circles his wrist. Their eyes stay locked together, until the floor begins to shake beneath them, violently ripping them both from the quiet, peaceful moment.

“Charles, we need the quartz!” 

Trying to whip the Bag of Tricks Backpack off his shoulders while protecting Edwin at the same time is proving to be an impossible task. Edwin notices as well, pushing Charles off of him almost regretfully, and Charles starts digging through the bag.

He produces the charged quartz, something they’d obtained from a local procurer of magic that is said to be strong enough to bind a poltergeist in this plane, long enough to enchant it the fuck out of it.

Edwin snatches the quartz, preparing to crack it in half and release the binding energy, when he drops the quartz directly onto the floor, doubling over with a gasp.

“Edwin? Edwin!”

“I’m fine,” Edwin croaks, still doubled over as he scrambles to pick up the quartz.

Charles can feel the energy of the poltergeist charging up once again, ready to blast them both out of existence. He pushes his worry to the side, just for the moment, helping Edwin get hold of the quartz. They use their combined strength to snap the crystal, energy screaming out from within it, flooding the room and sending the poltergeist shrieking to the floor.

One near-earthquake, shouted enchantment, and poltergeist expulsion later, Charles and Edwin stumble through the nearest mirror back into their empty office.

Jenny had come down with the flu, and given their ample experience in dealing with poltergeists (and adjacent entities), Crystal had opted to stay at Jenny’s for a few days to help out, leaving Charles and Edwin to handle the simplicity of this particular case on their own. 

“You don’t get to tell me that was nothing,” Charles blurts after several long beats of silence. “Not this time, Eds.”

Edwin doesn’t seem to care that he’s wincing and worrying that now-familiar spot on his chest with his fingers, kneading the tips into the muscle and bone like he can massage the discomfort away, all directly within Charles’ line of sight.

“Charles, we’ve had a rather arduous evening. I do not wish to argue with you-”

“So don’t,” Charles cuts him off, throwing his hands up. “I don’t want to argue with you either, mate. I just want to help.”

Edwin sighs, his shoulders slumping as he sags onto the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose. Charles takes the seat next to him, resting his elbows on his knees and tucking his hands beneath his chin, patiently waiting for Edwin to speak.

“I am, most unfortunately…” Edwin trails off, face contorting into something unpleasant. “I am in pain, Charles. Ever since the witch, I have not been rid of it. I do not know if it is a product of her device, or a spell, or… I simply do not know. But it has not dulled, and I… I fear that it is permanent.”

Charles feels like he’s been struck. Something miserable pools in his gut, and if Charles were alive, he’s pretty sure he’d throw up on the floor. 

“You’ve been hurting this whole time, and you didn’t think to say anything? Bloody hell, Edwin, I’ve been offering to help at every turn - why wouldn’t you tell us? Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

Edwin stares at the floor, clutching the fabric of his pants like a lifeline, his fingers flexing minutely. “I thought it would fade. I believed I could handle it on my own, and I still-”

“On your own? That’s bollocks. I’m sorry, but it is. I can’t believe you would even attempt to suffer through this by yourself.”

“It is my pain to bear,” Edwin snaps, and Charles flinches. “I still intend to handle this on my own. It was never my intention to burden you any further, and I request that you do not try to interfere.”

Charles struggles to find his voice, to find the right words, to wade through the void of anger and frustration and pity that has opened up inside him. 

Edwin doesn’t give him a chance either way. He stands, and just before disappearing from the room, says, “I have no interest in burdening the others, either. Please do not speak of this to them.”

And then Charles is alone, that flowering tree in his chest shriveling, wilting and dying as quickly as it’d formed.

It is my pain to bear.

Charles mutters the words under his breath, over and over, as he paces down the relatively quiet streets. 

It’s nearly dawn, and the only individuals out right now are trudging their way home after a long night out, or slogging themselves to work through minds still thick with sleep.

Far more aimless than the other beings wandering the streets around him, Charles presses on, until he finds himself in the magic district. Things are more lively here, creatures of all kinds milling about sprawling shops and an assortment of street vendors.

Charles wanders into a shop emitting a soft, warm glow, walking between rows and rows of shelves, eyeing items he’s seen a million times before, and others that he’d be more curious about if his mind weren’t so preoccupied. 

“Your head is incredibly full, child. Bursting, even.”

Looking up from a shelf of bits and bobbles, Charles finds a woman - a white witch - staring at him at the other end of the aisle. She’s wearing a green dress that’s reminiscent of something you’d read about in a fairy tale, with long hair tumbling down her shoulders, her eyes so dark that it's unsettling.

“Sorry to disturb you, I was just browsing,” Charles mumbles, about to turn on his heel and flee the premises to avoid even the semblance of a conversation, when the woman speaks again.

“It’s difficult, isn’t it? To see the ones we love in pain, and to feel lost in our efforts to help them.”

He didn’t mean to allow her words to lure him in, but nevertheless, he finds himself in her reading room, as she calls it, sitting across from her at a small, wooden table covered in cloth.

The witch sits with her palms flat on the table, still staring at Charles like she’s peering into his soul.

“Why am I here?” Charles asks, ignoring the fact that he elected to follow her into this room entirely of his own volition. 

There hadn’t been any magic involved, that much he knows is true.

“You were drawn here,” the woman answers, her voice firm and certain. “Your troubles brought you here. I exist to resolve such troubles.”

How? Charles wants to ask again, but he doesn’t need to. The witch leans in to take his hand, and Charles nearly falls over in surprise. 

Her hand is a heavy weight in his, warm and real, and Charles has absolutely no idea how he can feel it.

“Contact,” she smiles, “is such a simple thing. But it is also powerful, yes?”

“S-sure,” Charles stutters, still staring at their hands with wide eyes.

“In this moment, I give you the power to feel it. But in other moments, despite your nature, you are able to find that power on your own. You are able to wield it in your hands, and your heart, to lessen suffering.”

“I don’t know what you’re going on about, but in case you missed it, I’m dead,” Charles tells her, resolutely ignoring the weight resting against his palm. “I can’t feel a thing.”

“And yet here you are, feeling it anyway.”

“You just said you gave me the power.”

“Let's say I brought it forth, then. And to bring forth power, it must already reside within you.”

Charles huffs, pulling his hand from hers. “Don’t you think if I had the power to feel, I’d be using that, I don’t know… all the fucking time?”

The white witch smiles, and instead of it settling uncomfortably beneath his skin, it soothes the flurry of thoughts zinging around in his mind.

“Not if you have yourself convinced that it is impossible,” she says, and her shrug is so human that Charles forgets for a split-second that she’s an incredibly powerful being, “which you seem to have yourself very convinced, despite this not being the first time you’ve felt something so intensely since your passing.”

Charles’ mind goes blank. Slowly, an image forms in his mind, constructing itself until it takes the shape of Edwin. His smile, his laugh, his prim posture and self-assured gait. 

“This boy you love,” the witch continues, “he is suffering. But you have the power to end that suffering. You need only tap into it, but in order to do that, you must believe that it exists.”

The boy you love.

Charles rears back in his seat like he’s been burned. He knows he loves Edwin, he doesn’t need a witch to tell him that. But the way her words take shape - the way they land - don't indicate that she means the love of two best mates.

They indicate, far more, that of lovers.

The worst (best?) part is, she isn’t wrong. On those steps leading out of Hell, Charles felt more afraid staring Edwin’s love in the face than he did facing a demon head-on. He knew then that his love for Edwin transcended all things, and he fled from it.

Charles is such a fucking idiot.

The witch clearly senses his distress, as she takes his hand again, squeezing gently in the way that a mother would - offering comfort.

“Have you heard the quote, ‘it does not matter how slowly you go, as long as you do not stop’?” The witch asks.

It’s not a question that needs an answer, apparently, because Charles finds himself back in the office in the same amount of time it takes him to blink, the shop and the witch and her riddles faded away as if he’d never been there at all.

Charles stands, entirely immobile, unable to shake off the feeling that he just waltzed right out of a very strange dream. Only ghosts can’t sleep, therefore they can’t dream.

So, what the fuck?

Edwin makes an appearance at the office the next morning.

Crystal has already arrived, munching on a croissant, and Charles has re-entered his couch-rotting mode, feeling confused and sorry for himself. He wishes he could feel the fluffy cushions beneath him, perhaps even sink into them and disappear altogether.

He wills the power to fill him up, like the witch said. If she said it. It could very well still be just a trick of the mind.

But it doesn’t feel that way. Despite not being able to surge himself with enough power to be swallowed whole by the couch, all his effort is not for nothing. There’s a flicker of something once Edwin is in the room, something deep inside Charles that he tries desperately to grab onto. 

It slips through his fingers, and Charles sighs wearily, dejected.

“It cannot be that dire of a morning already,” Edwin comments, not looking at Charles from where he’s seated at his desk, but it's like his eyes are on him anyway. 

Crystal hums in agreement. She’d tried to weasel information out of Charles before Edwin’s arrival, but gave up when all Charles offered was a series of noncommittal grunts and shrugs.

“Maybe not for some of us,” Charles mutters, and he doesn’t miss Edwin’s sharp intake of breath.

He doesn’t even need to breathe. So dramatic.

Charles doesn’t let his mind linger on his own dramatics, lest he begin to feel hypocritical, or something.

“So,” Crystal says loudly, tossing her napkin in the wastebasket. “What’s on the docket for today?”

Edwin gives her an appreciative look, pulling his notebook from his jacket and flicking it to the most recent page. “We have a request to investigate a series of disturbances around Stratford Station. While I am not entirely convinced they are supernatural in nature, the client is willing to pay generously for our confirmation either way. As well as the investigation, should it come to fruition.”

“That sounds interesting. Tube ghosts,” Crystal responds with a waggle of her eyebrows. “Maybe they died of boredom on the way to work.”

“The likelihood of ghosts evading the afterlife to instead disturb the Underground simply out of boredom is… actually, that is not unlikely.”

Edwin misses Crystal’s satisfied smirk, busy scribbling the potential theory in his notebook. 

“What do you think, Charles?”

Charles doesn’t look at Crystal when she asks - his response nothing more than a shrug as he continues to stare holes into the ceiling.

“Charles, if you’re quite finished with your moping, we could use your assistance,” Edwin pipes up a moment later, and Charles glances at him out of the corner of his eye.

Edwin does look - well. He looks remorseful, but in the way that it’s clear he just wants Charles to drop the matter entirely. To forget that his pain was ever spoken of, despite the fact that he’s still rubbing away at that soreness in his chest right here, right now.

“Crystal, could you give us a minute?” Charles asks, still sounding weary.

Edwin, surprisingly, doesn’t protest, and Crystal’s gaze flits back and forth between them for a moment before she groans, as if to say why do I even bother? , before she nods and exits the room. The door shuts gently behind her.

“Charles-”

“I’ve figured it out.”

Edwin stares at him like he’s grown a second head. “What?”

“Your problem, I’ve figured it out,” Charles repeats slowly. “But I need you to listen to me, and don’t… just let me finish before you start, yeah?”

“I…” Edwin trails off, like he wants to refuse, but he must see something in Charles’ eyes, for all he does is nod and say, “I acquiesce to your request.”

It’s a rather horrible sentence to follow with hey, mate, just wanted to let you know that I’m madly in love with you, and by the way, a witch told me I can ease your pain. Want to give it a shot?

So, instead, 

“I can make the pain go away.”

And oh, God, is that not so much worse? Charles immediately revisits his fruitless attempt to force the couch into consuming the entirety of his being.

Edwin’s spine goes straight like a rod. “Would you mind repeating that?”

“I… shit.” Charles heaves himself off the couch, though he doesn’t know where he was planning on going once upright. He just stands, wringing his hands pathetically. “That’s not what I- what I’m trying to say is- oh, for fuck’s sake, I saw a witch.”

“You saw a witch?” Edwin cries out, his hand returning to his chest and clutching the usual spot in one smooth, subconscious movement. “Charles! That is unbelievably dangerous, what could’ve possessed you to be so careless?”

Charles begins to pace the short length of the room, chewing on the inside of his cheek - a habit he’d picked up while alive and had never been able to drop. “It wasn’t intentional. I was just walking, and I ended up in the magic district, and then in her shop…”

“Oh, Charles,” Edwin groans, burying his face in his hands. “That sounds entirely intentional, and not on your part.”

“Whatever!” Charles throws his hands up in frustration. “No one lured me there - if anything, the magic of the shop was the lure. The witch just happened to be in, and, okay, maybe there was some additional luring after that. But she gave me a real solution, Edwin, and she helped me… she made me realize…”

Edwin has fallen silent, waiting on bated breath for Charles to finish his thought. “She made you realize what?”

“That I’m in love with you,” Charles finishes weakly, waving one hand in the air absentmindedly as he speaks. “I feel the same, Edwin. And she said that my love for you, our love, can be a balm for your pain. All I’d need to do is- is touch you.”

Edwin stands up so quickly that it makes Charles’ own head spin. Edwin looms over the desk, his hands steepled on the wooden surface. He’s trying very hard not to lose his cool, that much is clear.

“No,” he says simply.

“No?” Charles repeats, head still swimming.

“No,” Edwin says again, much more firmly this time, still staring at the desk. “This is… that is very unfair, Charles.”

Charles blinks at him, taken aback. “What are you on about?”

“This witch, enchantress, sorceress - whatever she is, she has filled your head with ridiculous dreams and false desires.” Edwin squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head. “This is not love that you feel, Charles. It is a falsehood created by a conniving being who most assuredly wants something from you. And it is very unfair that you have let this cloud your mind to the point where you… you would…”

“Say that I love you?” Charles finishes, his voice small. 

“Yes.”

“I’m not trying to be unfair, I’m just…”

Edwin finally looks at him, wounded in ways Charles did not anticipate in any way, shape, or form. “I know you’re not. You are a good person, Charles, and I know you love me. But you are not in love with me, and regardless, there is no power that exists to convert love into a bandage.”

“We can’t even try?” Charles questions helplessly, feeling the world begin to slip from beneath his feet.

“I am sorry,” Edwin tells him, a begging edge to his voice. “I truly am. But I will not allow this to happen this way. I cannot… I will not accept the admittance of your feelings under these circumstances. Nor can I allow you to try something utterly impossible, and kick yourself for it endlessly when it does not work.”

Charles doesn’t try to stop him from slipping through the mirror. He just stands right where he is, waiting for the floor to open up and swallow him into its depths.

“You’re not a bad person, Charles.”

Crystal’s apartment is not sparse - Charles can see plenty of things that could occupy his hands and mind. 

Instead, he opts to lay dejectedly across her chaise, groaning miserably into the fabric.

“I wish everyone would stop saying that,” he grumbles, face still squished against the cushion. 

Crystal’s eye-roll could probably be seen from the moon. Charles can certainly see it, and he’s not even looking at her.

“Seriously, Charles. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and just acknowledge the fact that he needs time. You word-vomited all over him and he needs time to process the fact that you’re in love with him and have all but offered to give him a massage with a happy ending,” Crystal says evenly, taking a seat next to Charles and patting his shoulder.

Charles groans again, feeling more miserable than he did before. “Do you think that’s how he took it? I don’t want him to think I was just trying to get into his trousers and jump him like an animal.”

“Ugh, you’re both ridiculous,” Crystal grunts, arranging herself so she can lay next to Charles, their heads on opposite ends of the chaise. “You do want to jump him like an animal, by the way. But that’s not what you said and that’s not how he took it.”

“Then he really thinks I only said I’m in love with him because some mysterious, potentially evil witch tricked me into it?” Charles whines. “Crystal, that’s worse!” 

Charles stuffs his face back into the cushion, wanting to scream into it until his lungs burst. If that were even possible.

“You’re being an idiot. He clearly said he just… doesn’t believe it under the circumstances. So, change the circumstances and make him believe it.”

“How in the bloody hell do I do that?” 

Crystal pats his shoe-clad foot sympathetically. “Honestly? I don’t know. Edwin is as stubborn as a mule. But you two have always figured everything out together, right? So why not this?”

“Because he doesn’t want to figure it out - not with me, and not on his own,” Charles bemoans. “He just wants to forget about it altogether.”

“And we’re not projecting at all here? Not even a little bit?” Crystal questions innocently, and Charles only pulls his face from the chaise cushion to crane his head and glare at her. 

Maybe he does want to forget it, though. Edwin clearly does, so why fight it? He’s been useless in this endeavor from the start - adding his newfound messy feelings to the mix has definitely not helped matters.

“Look, all you need to do is show him that it’s true, that it’s not some witchy trick,” Crystal offers. “If you know it’s real, and that the witch had nothing to do with it, then it shouldn’t be hard to bring your feelings out from her shadow and show him that they still exist when they’re beyond her reach.”

Charles hates that she’s right. Because getting Edwin to believe that what he feels isn’t the product of some witch’s spell or enchantment, given the current predicament of his endless pain and torment being caused by none other than a witch, may prove to be impossible.

They may never be able to course-correct from this. Charles spouted his confession in the heat of the moment, not even considering the implications of his revelations being made at the hands of a witch.

Edwin, from this point on, may never be able to believe that anything Charles feels is nothing more than just another horrible nightmare brought about by a creature endowed with the ability to make lies into truths at will.

“I’m so fucked,” Charles laments, his forehead bouncing a little when he slams his head back down on the chaise. “I’ve mucked it all up beyond repair. I can’t even try to take his pain away - he’ll never let me. Not now.”

“If it helps, I believe in you.”

It does help. A little. But it still doesn’t keep Charles from wishing he could go back, to set things back the way they were, and forget all of this ever happened.

Maybe he was projecting, after all.

The weeks begin to crawl by, as do their cases.

It’s harder to get things done when Edwin is constantly traipsing off to conduct his portion of the investigations alone, sending Charles and Crystal off together to complete their own tasks.

The investigations come together in pieces now, and Edwin hardly ever returns to the office other than to introduce cases, give directions, and meet back every now and then to exchange information or leads.

He doesn’t even stay anymore when a case is closed, disappearing through the mirror before anyone can think to celebrate.

Today, however, Edwin had the unfortunate predicament of needing an extra set of hands to locate a magical object and pry it from its shrine, and Crystal had business to take care of with her parents.

So that leaves Charles, and Edwin seems rather displeased by this occurrence.

Charles wants to throw up again. He almost sticks a finger down his throat, just to see if it’d still work, but refrains when he remembers he’s already walking on eggshells with Edwin.

He doesn’t need to go around stomping on them willy-nilly.

“How are you?” Charles asks, tentatively, at the same time that Edwin says, “we should split up to cover more ground.”

“Split up? I mean…”

Edwin doesn’t look at him. His hand ghosts over his chest, but it returns to his side a moment later, like he thinks better of displaying reminders that the pain he feels is still ever-present.

“Yes, we are looking for an unknown artifact in a densely wooded area. It would make sense to take different paths to increase our likelihood of recovering said artifact,” Edwin explains, a bit robotically. 

Charles sighs, squinting up at the sky like it will give him some clue of how to proceed. 

“Sure, mate. Whatever you say.”

Making a beeline for the trees, Charles almost misses the way Edwin emits his own defeated sigh. 

Almost.

When he turns to face Edwin, though, he’s already gone.

“For fuck’s sake,” Charles repeats for what he feels like is the hundredth time in the last few days.

He trudges through the woods, muttering to himself about nothing in particular. The air is heavy and silent, almost oppressive. 

Charles shakes himself free of his jacket, tossing it over his shoulder with a relieved grunt. It hasn’t actually done anything for him, taking the heavy material off, but it makes him feel less claustrophobic either way.

“Stupid magical artifacts,” Charles snaps when he stumbles across yet another fairy tale-like meadow nestled between the trees, with no artifact to be found. 

At first he’s too busy shaking out his jacket, about to fold it up and shove it into the backpack to make maneuvering through the woods easier, to hear the rustling behind him. 

When the brush behind him moves again, Charles whirls around, cricket bat already in his hand. 

Wrong move, turning around. The attack comes from behind him, latching onto his back and knocking him into the ground. Charles tries to find purchase, leverage to push himself back up, but the weight on his spine hasn’t relented and all his fingers can grab onto is dirt.

Something plunges into his side, a scorching-hot pain blazing through him, rocking him to his core.

Charles’ scream echoes through the trees.

“I need the third book to the right on the second shelf, purple cover!”

“Purple? Edwin, I’m not seeing purple! Where the fuck are you seeing purple?”

Charles is in and out, everything cloudy. He wants to get up - to help - but he cries out when he tries, a searing pain fizzling along his dead nerves, lighting them up again.

“Charles, do not move,” he hears Edwin order, but it’s panicked and rushed, and Charles starts to wonder if this is where he leaves them.

The afterlife. What a funny concept. 

There’s no Edwin in the afterlife. That thought alone keeps Charles in the here-and-now, ignoring the black spots in his vision.

He can hear Crystal and Edwin practically throwing themselves around the room, shouting back and forth about things he can’t decipher. 

Edwin’s face appears above him - he must be lying down. He presses his hands to Charles’ shoulders, and Charles wants to tell him that he feels it - bone deep. But Edwin is murmuring something to him, something that sounds a lot like stay still, I’ve got you.

Seconds later, Charles kind of wishes Death had come for him. The pain that radiates from his wound only intensifies, red and black spots bursting behind his eyelids when he squeezes his eyes shut, locking his jaw tight to keep from screaming.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Charles, it’s almost over,” Edwin is babbling, a distant voice that Charles thinks might be in his head.

The pain subsides, and Charles drifts. 

Every now and then, he thinks he feels something warm against his palm, then his forehead. In the haze of his mind, Charles imagines it’s real. 

He imagines it’s Edwin.

“Oh, thank God you’re awake.”

Charles groans and sits up, his head swimming as he does so. The office is bright, sunlight filtering through the windows.

It’s a beautiful day in London.

“What happened?” Charles asks, noting that he’s laying on top of the desk, all of the books and trinkets cleared away.

Edwin has already taken up residence by his side, hands poking and prodding at him as he looks him over.

Charles bats his hands away, and Edwin purses his lips, placing one hand on his cocked hip.

“You were infected with a deadly toxin, transferred from an object embedded with iron and into your system through brute force,” Edwin explains, before pushing at Charles’ shoulders to get him to lie back down. “Please stop moving. I need to examine you.”

A deadly toxin. Huh. Go figure.

“Ghost toxin?” Charles asks as he reclines back onto the desk, trying to smother his reactions to Edwin’s hands brushing over the entirety of him.

Edwin hums in response, his nod quick and sharp. “Yes. Something clearly did not want us to retrieve the artifact. You must’ve been close.”

“Yeah, I- wait. You’re not going back out there, are you?”

“Of course I am, Charles. How else will we retrieve the artifact?” Edwin asks, like Charles is stupid for even questioning it.

Charles wants to smack him, so he does. Just his hands, swatting at them despite the displeased glare Edwin sends his way.

“You can’t be serious.” Charles presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, willing the phantom-touch to make his phantom-headache subside. “You’re hovering over me like a mother hen because of what happened out there, and you’re ready to just stroll back in alone like nothing ever happened? Bloody hell, Eds.”

Edwin softens at the nickname, though he remains resolute in his decision. “I will take Crystal.”

“You will not!”

“Charles, you’re being ridiculous. Yes, there is danger in returning, but there is far more danger in letting this creature roam freely amongst us. Once we retrieve the artifact, we will be able to contain the beast, and be done with this disastrous endeavor.”

Disastrous endeavors seem to be following them all over the place. Charles frowns, ignoring Edwin’s protests as he sits up again.

“Look, Edwin, I get that these cases are important.” Charles’ voice is soft, quiet. “But they aren’t the only things of importance, yeah? When they put our lives at stake-”

“We don’t have lives, Charles. We are dead.”

“You know what I mean!” Charles exclaims, then groans again and buries his face in his hands. “They aren’t worth losing each other. We put each other first, always have. Now, you can be angry with me, you can ignore me and run away from me and whatever the hell else, but what you can’t do is lie to my face and say some stupid case is worth the risk.”

“In comparison to the havoc this thing could wreak, my existence is rather inconsequential.”

Charles is filled once again with the urge to smack him. “Your existence matters to us, Edwin! To me, to Crystal, to Jenny. And not for nothing, but we rely on you. If you go, there is no us. We’d fall apart. I would fall apart.”

Edwin’s lips part, forming a small ‘o’ shape. “I… Charles, I apologize if I have been… cross with you. Things have been a bit much, recently, I will admit.”

“There’s a lot of that going around,” Charles says, gesturing vaguely at nothing. His subsequent laugh is shaky and feeble, but it brings a small smile to Edwin’s face, and it’s something Charles thinks he hasn’t seen in weeks.

He probably hasn’t, if he really thinks about it.

“You are my best friend, Charles Rowland, and I love you dearly,” Edwin tells him, avoiding his gaze. “I have been behaving like a fool. Is there any possibility that you can forgive me?”

“Already have,” Charles replies, without thought. 

Edwin’s smile is warm and bright, and Charles wants to scoop him up and wrap him in his arms and never let him go.

How quickly things change.

“How are you feeling?” 

Edwin balks, then laughs, leaning forward to place his elbows on the desk, folding one of Charles’ hands in his. “You were the one infected with a toxin intended to fully remove ghosts from this plane, and you’re asking me how I’m feeling?”

“Yup,” Charles says with a nod, not wavering on the matter. “I sure am.”

“I am fine, Charles,” Edwin lies, straight through his teeth.

Charles can feel the trembling of his hands, and while Edwin would likely dismiss this as residual anxiety from the previous evening’s events, Charles knows the truth. Edwin’s pain is mounting day by day, and he’s just barely concealing the effects of it.

I don’t believe you, Charles wants to say. I just wish you’d talk to me.

Instead, he says, “if you say so.”

Edwin drops his hand a moment later, clearing his throat to diffuse the tension and scooting his chair away from the desk. He’s about to stand, likely thinking of heading for his books to get lost in them, when Charles grabs his arm.

“Edwin, I don’t want to do this anymore,” Charles starts, tapering off when Edwin’s eyes go wide, looking at Charles’ hand like it’s a foreign object. “Edwin?”

“What?” Edwin sounds like he’s a thousand kilometers away, one of his hands moving to cover Charles’. He doesn’t push him away - merely lays his hand atop Charles’, his eyes fluttering shut.

Charles feels it then, too. The warm weight of Edwin’s hand on top of his, the slenderness of his arm held securely in his grip, the contraction of muscle when Edwin’s fingers flex around his.

“How are you feeling now?” Charles asks him tentatively, slowly beginning to move his thumb in soft strokes across Edwin’s skin.

Edwin looks like he’s about to faint. “I’m…”

Charles feels a soft tug, the only warning he gets before Edwin is dipping down and capturing Charles’ lips with his own.

There’s a rushing in his ears that drowns almost everything else out - almost. It doesn’t erase the feeling of Edwin’s lips on his, or the way he kisses Charles so softly and sweetly, pulling him in close and cupping his face with his free hand.

Charles leans his head into that hand, sighing into Edwin’s mouth. He can feel it from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, and he presses closer, a little desperately, something inside of him screaming that Edwin can feel the same, can feel it to the bone too, and they need more.

Just when Charles runs his tongue along Edwin’s bottom lip, eliciting a soft whimper from Edwin, the contact disappears entirely.

Charles’ eyes fly open, and Edwin is already on the other side of the room.

“This is not… none of this is possible,” Edwin groans, sounding quite miserable for someone who just kissed the (after)life out of Charles. “This is that- that witch. This is not real.”

“Edwin, if you hop through that mirror, I’m going to walk back into those woods and poison myself all over again just to bring you back,” Charles warns, more so scared than anything else.

Afraid beyond reason that when Edwin walks through that mirror, Charles will never see him again.

“It can’t happen this way, this cannot… we cannot come to be this way.”

Edwin is gone in a flash, and Charles stares at the mirror for a long while, his lips still tingling.

Charles stays with Crystal for a few days.

He’s not bound by some need to reside somewhere specific - he is dead, after all, and can in theory go wherever he likes. But he is still riddled with the very human need for company, for companionship, especially after a rather draining ordeal.

Crystal is asleep on the sitting room couch, the television still flickering before them. Charles watches the images flash across the screen but doesn’t absorb them, his mind still stuck in the office. 

Still stuck on the feeling of Edwin’s lips pressed against his, and the undeniable truth that they both felt the entirety of it, bone deep.

He wonders if it helped with Edwin’s pain, like the witch said it would. He didn’t get a chance to ask, what with Edwin mirror-hopping away from him the moment he had his wits about him. 

Charles doesn’t really need to wonder, honestly. He’s about a thousand percent sure that it did work, and coupled with the fact that it was experienced through their first kiss of all things, Charles should be more surprised that Edwin didn’t call upon something to smite them right then and there just to avoid it for the rest of eternity.

He really, truly wishes he’d never stumbled into that witch’s shop.

“I can literally feel you thinking,” Crystal grumbles, slowly rousing from her slumber. “So either you’re thinking about Edwin, or you’ve been captivated by… Love Island, somehow.”

“It’s a riveting program,” Charles comments, teeth gnawing on the inside of his cheek again.

Crystal groans, pulling at the blanket that’s tangled around her until it’s laying normally again, tucking the material under her chin.

“Let the record reflect that I think you’re both idiots,” Crystal grumbles.

Charles’ head whips over to her, and he gives her a long look. “He kissed me. How am I an idiot?”

“You just are.”

Charles leaves the conversation there, understanding Crystal growing tired of this whole situation. He’s tired of it, too. It’s not something he can feasibly blame her for.

Silence falls between them, Crystal still trying to make sense of being awake, and Charles riddled with thoughts and emotions that he wishes he could pull clean out of himself and set to the side just to find some relief.

Crystal’s phone rings sometime later, after two or three more episodes of ridiculous reality television pass them by. She lets it ring, and again when it goes off a second time. The third time it goes off, Crystal curses under her breath, standing up and stomping across the room to snatch the phone up and put it to her ear.

“What?” Crystal snaps. Charles can’t make out the voice on the other end, but it’s high-pitched and fraught, that much Charles can tell. Then, Crystal’s face goes white. “What?”

“Crystal? Everything alright?”

She looks over at him with wide eyes. “Charles, get your shit. We gotta go, now. Jenny, we’re on our way.”

Crystal hangs up and stuffs her phone in her pocket, and Charles doesn’t hesitate to rush out the door after her.

“It’s Edwin, he’s at Jenny’s,” Crystal breathes when they get to her car. “It’s going to take me longer to get there. Are you able to hop through my- okay, guess so.”

Charles dives through her rear view mirror before she can finish her thought, mind fixated on Jenny’s apartment, and on Edwin.

He falls into the room gracelessly, but Jenny is by his side immediately, helping him off the floor.

“I don’t know what happened,” Jenny starts, her voice shaking and her eyes wide. “He was- he was fine, just a few hours ago. And then he just… started screaming. He can’t move, I don’t- Charles, what the fuck is going on?”

Jenny is rambling, but not so quickly that Charles can’t keep up.

“Where is he?” Is all he asks, and Jenny points shakily to her kitchen.

Charles bolts into the room, finding Edwin on the kitchen table, his entire body seized up. He’s not screaming anymore, but Charles isn’t relieved by this - he’s pretty sure it’s only because Edwin can’t, not because he’s actively choosing not to.

“Eds? Can you hear me?” Charles asks once he’s reached the table, taking one of Edwin’s hands and squeezing tight, willing the contact alone to fix this.

It doesn’t seem to make any difference. 

“Charles, is he going to die?” Jenny croaks from somewhere behind him.

“He can’t die, Jenny, he’s already dead,” Charles says without looking at her. “Whatever Esther tortured him with, it had lasting effects. It’s been building for weeks - if I had to wager, I’d bet that this is the breaking point.”

“And you didn’t do anything?” Jenny asks, her tone far too accusatory for his liking.

Charles tries not to bite her head off for it. He knows this is just her usual mode, and it’s only being heightened by stress and fear.

“I’ve tried - he wouldn’t let me,” Charles tells her, and his voice is a pitiful whine, but he can’t bring himself to care. “He kept running away, saying he could handle it himself. That it would fade with time.”

Edwin’s body seizes again, a choked cry spilling from his lips, and Charles wants to scream, too. 

He doesn’t know what to do. He lifts Edwin’s hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles, letting the kiss linger there. 

No change.

Jenny’s front door flies open, and Crystal comes barging in, her eyes glassy and red.

“Is he okay?”

“Does he look like he’s okay, Crystal?” Jenny shouts, and it morphs into a screaming match between the two of them.

Charles drops Edwin’s hand, only for a moment, to whirl around and face them both. “Would you two shut up and focus? This,” he gestures between the two of them, “is not helping.”

Leave it to Charles to be the only one to keep his head when the literal love of his life is writhing in agony on the table in front of him.

“What do we do?” Crystal cries, her eyes darting back and forth between Edwin’s contorted form and Charles’ helpless stance.

Charles doesn’t know how to answer that question, because he literally doesn’t know the answer to begin with.

He turns back to Edwin, taking his hand again, if only to offer some semblance of comfort.

“I don’t know,” Charles admits, his voice breaking.

Jenny gapes at him, before narrowing her eyes. “Well- fucking figure it out!”

“I’m trying! I don’t know how to fix this, I don’t-”

Charles pauses, staring down at Edwin and his striking vulnerability, a thought flickering in the back of his mind.

You have the power to end that suffering. You need only tap into it, but in order to do that, you must believe that it exists.

“Oh, to hell with it,” Charles mutters, grabbing one of the scattered kitchen chairs and pulling it up next to Edwin at the table. He sits down, keeping their hands locked together as he leans in close. “Edwin, I don’t know if you can hear me, but I need you to listen either way. I need you to listen to me when I say I love you, I have always loved you, and I should’ve known better than to leave it up to time when you told me you loved me. There is no amount of time that can change the fact that it’s only ever been you, will only ever be you. There is no witch, no creature, no entity, that can make that true or untrue. I can’t exist without you, Eds.”

Charles holds Edwin’s hand between his, touching it to his forehead like he’s raising both of their hands in prayer. 

Crystal pulls up a chair during Charles’ speech, on the opposite side of the table, taking Edwin’s other hand.

“You can’t leave me like this,” he whispers, “and you’re absolutely daft if you think you can. Listen to me. Hear me, please.”

A squeeze. Barely there, but still a squeeze. Charles looks at their entwined hands, then back at Edwin, something that feels a lot like hope clawing its way up his throat.

“I couldn’t imagine having died by anyone else’s side, or walking this Earth as a dead man with anyone but you. Do you get that? Do you get how absurd that is? I opted out of an afterlife to spend more time with you, as many years as I could get. There haven’t been enough years, mate. Not for us.”

The grip on his hand is stronger this time. Crystal looks at Charles from across the table, tears and mascara streaking her cheeks, nodding at him as if to say go ahead.

Charles leans in, using his free hand to turn Edwin’s head in his direction. His eyes are still squeezed shut, and Charles would much prefer to kiss him while he’s not in agonizing distress, but the only way out is through.

Pressing his lips to Edwin’s, wet with salty tears and all, Charles puts everything he can into it. Every bit of strength, every bit of power that he can draw from within, Charles pours into the kiss, begging God or Lucifer or fucking someone to make this work.

Edwin lies stiff, still contorted, until he doesn’t. Charles can hear Crystal’s breath catch in her throat, and Jenny’s stifled sob from the foot of the table, when little by little, Edwin’s body begins to relax.

Charles doesn’t dare move away. He just releases Edwin’s hand so he can grab both sides of his face, pressing harder into the kiss until he’s sure he’s bound to crawl inside Edwin through his mouth and take up residence inside of him.

Warmth grows where their lips are connected, and then pressure, until Charles can feel Edwin’s lips on his, the softness of them. Edwin twitches, making a soft noise that Charles accidentally swallows, given that they’re still sealed together by the mouth.

Charles smooths his thumbs over Edwin’s skin, brushing across the sharp angles of his cheekbones. Edwin is soft and smooth, unbearably warm, and Charles doesn’t know what he’ll do if this is the last bit of Edwin that he experiences.

He doesn’t need to worry about it, though, not when Edwin is stirring a moment later, groaning against Charles’ lips.

“Charles, you feel wonderful, but you are crushing me,” Edwin mumbles.

A laugh bubbles up in his throat, and Charles lets it spill out of him, along with the copious tears still slipping down his cheeks. 

He pulls back, still holding Edwin’s face in his hands. Edwin’s eyes blink open, and Charles is immediately set adrift upon a sea of green.

“You fucking wanker,” Charles splutters, pressing their foreheads together. “You- I thought I’d lost you. Don’t you ever fucking do that to me again.”

“It’s lovely to see you too,” Edwin bites back, but there is no real bite, because it’s said around a laugh of Edwin’s own.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Jenny wheezes from the foot of the table, collapsing into the chair behind her. 

Edwin gives her a sheepish look, glancing at Crystal next and giving her a faint smile, before turning his eyes back to Charles.

“It would appear the witch’s deductions were correct,” Edwin offers.

Charles just kisses him again, shaking his head.

“Fucking witches,” he hears Jenny mutter, and he feels Edwin smiling against his lips.

Jenny’s couch is quite comfortable - when he’s sitting on it with Edwin, at least. 

With their hands still tangled together, their bodies squished together on the couch side-by-side, Charles can finally feel the softness of the cushions beneath him. Combined with the distinct firmness of Edwin’s hand in his, and sparks igniting along every point of contact where their bodies meet, Charles has never felt more at peace.

It gives him whiplash, given that not even thirty minutes prior, Charles thought Edwin was going to crumple into nothingness. He thought Edwin would be consumed by the pain, leaving only empty space behind once it took him.

“Feeling alright?” Charles echoes the question he’s been asking for weeks, his eyes falling shut when he feels Edwin’s head thump onto his shoulder.

“Much better,” Edwin hums, sighing softly. “But I do fear that this is not permanent.”

Charles freezes. “It’s permanent as long as we stick together. We don’t plan on changing that anytime soon, do we?”

Edwin is too quiet for a moment. And then, “no, we do not. But I… would be remiss if I did not apologize. For you being bound to me, in such a way.”

“Eds, what are you prattling on about?” Charles laughs, then sobers when he finds that Edwin is being serious.

“It is clear to me that the witch was correct in her assumptions. This touch, this love, it is powerful enough to heal wounds,” Edwin continues, and Charles can feel the brush of his lips through his shirt. “However, what she failed to mention was that the moment it is gone, the pain returns. It is not a permanent fix, therefore, it would require you to wander this Earth with me for eternity not by choice, but by duty.”

“By duty? Have you gone mad?” 

Edwin rights himself so he can sit back, looking Charles directly in the eye. “I’m simply stating the facts as they currently stand. And saying that I am sorry, truly.”

Charles stares him down for a moment, before tugging Edwin in by the hand, settling them both with a kiss. Edwin is pliant beneath him, sighing into the kiss like it’s exactly what he needed, and Charles wonders how Edwin could ever believe this to be a duty, and not an honor.

“You are daft,” Charles says when they part. “I would follow you anywhere, until the end of time itself, because I love you. Not because I feel bound by duty towards you. There is no forcing myself to endure this - there is only love, and that is something to be savored, not endured.”

Edwin is the one to kiss him this time, a quick, sweet thing that leaves Charles’ lips tingling yet again. As quick and sweet as it is, it is also heavy with words unspoken: I love you too.

“Gross. You’re both so cute that it’s disgusting,” Crystal remarks as she strides into the room, slumping into one of Jenny’s armchairs. “I’m going to throw up rainbows and glitter all over you two.”

“Whatever you do, don’t get it on the rug,” Jenny warns, having followed in closely behind Crystal, taking a seat on the remaining empty chair.

Silence blankets the room, each one of them processing the evening’s events in their own way. Crystal is the first to speak, toying with one of her curls.

“So, what’s next?” 

Edwin glances at Charles, biting his lip and pulling it between his teeth before speaking. “Well, Charles and I are destined to roam this Earth together for all of eternity in order to ease our suffering, so I suppose we start there.”

“Weren’t you doing that anyway?” Jenny asks, looking nothing short of exhausted.

“We’re doing it with love now,” Charles says.

“Again, weren’t you doing that anyway?” Crystal chimes in, sounding bored. 

Fair enough. The look Charles gives Edwin says as much.

“I suppose I do have a request,” Edwin starts, his eyes still locked on Charles. “I want to visit the witch’s shop.”

Crystal throws her hands up. “Sure, why not? Let’s just walk back into the lion’s den and start this all over again. One question though. Are you insane?”

Edwin just shrugs, Jenny produces a flask from nowhere and takes a long drink, Crystal looks like she wants to jump out the window, and Charles can’t stop smiling.

Back to business as usual, then.

The magic district is eerily quiet during the day.

There are no vendors lining the streets, no shoppers perusing the many stores, no lively music or twinkling lights or strange aromas to tickle even Charles’ dead nose.

Despite the quiet blanketing the streets and the dismal, gray skies, Charles can feel the warm glow of the witch’s shop the moment they draw close.

“This is it,” he says, looking into the dark, empty store that somehow still feels bright and alive.

“Doesn’t look like anyone is home,” Crystal comments, looking around in every direction, her eyes settling on nothing in particular.

Edwin pulls his hand from Charles’ without a word, pushing open the door to the shop and stepping inside. Charles is close behind, reluctant to let Edwin out of his sight. 

“It’s white magic,” Edwin breathes, his eyes darting around the rows of shelves cluttering the store. “You never said it was white magic, Charles.”

“Would it have made a difference?”

Edwin gives him a sidelong look. “I suppose not.”

Charles gives him some time to peruse the aisles, still trailing behind him but giving him space to move and think without being right on top of him. 

Only when Edwin’s hand goes up to rub at his chest does Charles step back into his space, wrapping his arms around him in a warm embrace. Edwin relaxes into it, his head lolling back onto Charles’ shoulder.

Charles presses a kiss to the exposed skin of his neck, before turning Edwin in his arms so he can see his dopey smile.

“C’mere, I want to show you something.”

They end up in the reading room, which is just as empty as the rest of the shop and district. Edwin makes his way around the room, touching anything and everything, taking out his notebook so he can scribble notes as he goes. He stops at the table in the center of the room, running his hands along the cloth covering it.

“Is this where…?” Edwin asks after a long stretch, his eyes meeting Charles’.

“Where I realized I was madly in love with you and would rather fade out of existence than ever face a reality without you in it? Yes, it is,” Charles confirms.

“That is not quite what I was going to say, but I do prefer it,” Edwin says, his lips curving into a small smile. It drops after only a moment, his brows furrowing as he picks something up. “Charles, was this here before?”

Charles meets him at the table, taking the object from Edwin’s hands. It’s a snow globe, fully out of place in comparison to everything else in the store, and was most definitely not on this table the last time he was here.

He gives it a shake. Nothing happens except the display of glitter raining down onto the scenery below. Charles turns the globe in his hands, pausing when he catches sight of something reflecting off the bottom.

Carved in silver, Charles reads the words aloud, “You believed and made it so. My work here has come to an end, but our time is only beginning. We will meet again. Until then, I leave you with love. Huh.”

Edwin takes the snow globe back, examining the carvings for himself, his eyebrows coming together again as the words begin to fade until the bottom is unmarked once more.

“Hm. It is more white magic,” Edwin remarks. “As menacing as the words sound, this object does not give off any negative energy. I find it disconcerting, but in the same vein, comforting.”

“I don’t want to say I told you so,” Charles starts, pausing when Edwin cuts him a look that would be scathing if it had any real heat to it.

“I would advise that you refrain from doing so.”

“But… I told you so.”

Edwin places the snow globe back on the table, smacking Charles’ arm. “You’re incorrigible.”

Charles just ropes him in with a laugh, kissing the nonexistent breath out of him. Edwin’s arms wrap around his shoulders, his head tilting to deepen the kiss, making a soft noise of satisfaction when Charles nips at his bottom lip.

“Only when it comes to you,” Charles tells him when they separate, bumping their noses together.

“Can we go now?” Crystal walks into the room, interrupting the sweet moment. “This place gives me the creeps. Some guy appeared outside and said he could sell me baby feet at a steep discount. Or at least, I think it was a guy, and not a horrifying creature of the night.”

“Human children’s feet?” Edwin asks, looking appalled. 

“I didn’t stick around to ask. So I say again, can we go?”

Charles takes Edwin’s hand in his, nodding at Crystal, and they head out onto the street. Edwin’s hand is still a warm weight in his - they can both feel it.

To the bone.