Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Today marked exactly twenty-five years since Charles had died, but since that was a bit morbid to remember, he preferred to think of it as the anniversary of meeting his best friend, instead. At least it gave him an excuse to give Edwin something nice, even though Edwin seemed less into commemorating the day.

It meant he spent another morning trawling through Edwin’s favourite bookshops in search of the perfect gift. It was a whole quarter-century, after all. That was a big one. A bit mental to think about, honestly. But nothing was good enough for the occasion. Charles was starting to wish he’d set aside more than a few days – shared with cases, too – for his search, but it was too late for that sort of thing. Only way out was through, even if he had to dip into their working hours for it.

He finally struck gold at a strange little bookshop in Soho, nabbing a first edition Agatha Christie that he was pretty sure Edwin would like. None of the books in this shop were marked with prices, but Charles took a guess, left a decent tip on the empty desk, and whisked himself and the goods away.

There was a new client in their office by the time Charles made it home. Edwin had just started, because he always had a way of sensing when Charles was close. “Welcome to the Dead Boy Detective Agency, I am Edwin Payne. My partner should be returning shortly. Why don’t you tell me about your case?”

“Yes, of course,” said the client, perfectly politely. Charles fiddled with his book, wondering whether he should save it for after the case, or just slip it onto the desk and hope Edwin didn’t kick up a fuss. “I am seeking justice.”

“That is quite usual for murdered ghosts,” Edwin reassured him. His bedside manner was improving! Charles was so proud. “How did you –”

“No, no, I wasn’t murdered. It was an incident that has haunted me, if you will excuse my wording, for years.” A pause. “I want justice for –”

“Charles Rowland, hi!” said Charles, already wincing at his own timing. He hadn’t realised the ghost was winding up to the big reveal. Whoops. But at least that was introductions over. Charles settled on the corner of the desk, put the book down just quick enough to not be suspicious, and smiled at their client. “Sorry for interrupting, mate, you were saying?”

But their client wasn’t saying much of anything. His brown skin had gone sickeningly pale, even for a ghost. There was something familiar about his face, which Charles couldn’t quite put his finger on, until he started going through his living memories, too. Their client looked a bit like Aysar’s dad, that was it. But that was impossible – it’d been twenty-five years since Charles last saw him. He wouldn’t still look the same age.

“Charles,” said the client, shooting out of the chair, his eyes dark and wide.

Said… Aysar.

Charles’ stomach lurched. “Oh, no.”

At the sight of Charles entering, Edwin had been unable to contain some measure of relief; while he excelled at noting the technical details of cases, he was less adept at handling the ghosts’ accompanying emotions. But now, after the potential client’s sudden movement and Charles’ visible distress, Edwin wished he had remained away. Charles had made certain… comments over the years, seemingly accidental, but enough to allude to a less-than-ideal childhood. If someone from his past had come to haunt him – if Edwin had invited them in –

“My apologies,” he said curtly. “Some urgent business has come up, if you would –”

Edwin had intended to gesture the man out. Charles got there first. His arms came around the man in a grapple, and Edwin stepped out of the way so that he could be forcefully shown the door. Except they did not move. Nor was the hold aggressive enough to be called a grapple, truly. An – embrace? Could it be? But why?

Charles withdrew from it, holding the man’s shoulders and inspecting him closely. His eyes were tear-filled, his expression plainly devastated. “No, no, why are you dead? You were supposed to be safe!”

“Charles…”

Pleading now: “I kept you safe, Aysar!”

Ah.

When he knew to look for it, Edwin could recognise certain traces of the terrified boy he had seen so many years ago. Charles had rarely spoken of him since then, though what little he mentioned was invariably fond. Edwin understood. The fact of his seventy years in Hell was easy enough to discuss; the particulars less so. The events that caused it, he avoided entirely. And yet Edwin could not forget Aysar, who had been the catalyst for Edwin staying with Charles – in more ways than one. He had only meant to gift a lantern to a cold boy, after all, but Charles’ suspicion, combined with the oh-so-familiar boys prowling the school corridors, had alighted his curiosity. The explanation of Aysar’s part in the proceedings – one very much like Edwin’s had been, labelled different, labelled outcast, labelled sacrifice – had tied Edwin to Charles as surely as his every decision since. Here was a boy that, when faced with injustice, would rebel even against his own friends to stand up and say, This is wrong, and I will not pretend otherwise. I will do all I can to right it. Edwin would always hold grief for the life that Charles had lost; Edwin would always find selfish joy for having met Charles and being able to keep him, if only for a while.

He was simply lucky enough that Charles wished to keep him, in return.

Aysar was saying, “You did keep me safe, Charles. You saved me. My death was an accident, that’s all. It happens. And I had two wonderful decades before I died, which is more than you got.” His hands came up to stroke soothingly over Charles’ arms. Edwin found the motion difficult to look away from. Charles and Aysar were the same age, technically, and yet Charles appeared so young next to his own peer.

Charles seemed soothed by the contact, at least. He took a few deep breaths and wiped his tears, quickly returning to business. “Sorry for interrupting, mate. What was your case, then? Justice for someone?”

Edwin stared. Surely nothing about their conversation could be misconstrued? Yet that was Charles, thinking of everyone first and himself last. Charles had been the one to proclaim them best friends – Edwin would never have presumed – but had also immediately asked, “If that’s alright with you, mate? No worries if not.” As if being his best friend was not the highest privilege Edwin could aspire to. A task he considered to be of more import than the majority of their cases. A gift he sometimes felt unworthy of. If that’s alright with you. Hmph.

It seemed Aysar was in agreement. He frowned at Charles. “Yes, Charles, maybe the boy who saved my life? You know, my best friend, does that sound familiar?”

Oh.

Edwin didn’t… Edwin didn’t like that. He knew the meaning of best friend had changed, that it could refer to multiple beloved friends. Yet he’d felt some possessiveness of the superlative ‘best’ in relation to his friendship with Charles. Because Charles was, without a doubt, the very best friend that Edwin had ever had. Somewhat naïvely, he’d expected that fact to be mirrored. It was utterly ridiculous – it was Charles, after all, who made friends easier than breathing. His friendship with Aysar had been before he had ever met Edwin, besides, and from his stories, Edwin could glean they had known each other for roughly a year, which hardly compared to their own friendship’s comfortable twenty-five years. But some grasping, lonely part of Edwin – birthed by distant parents and fostered in Hell – feared that Charles’ gaze would turn from him completely; that Charles would rather follow his other best friend into the serene afterlife that must await them; that he would prefer to gift Aysar with his whip-smart comments and precious smiles and constant companionship. It was that part that cried out for Charles to refute the words, to point instead to Edwin and say, This is my best friend, now.

Charles didn’t do that. Charles ducked his head and smiled shyly.

Edwin cleared his throat, and Charles’ eyes snapped to him as if at last recalling his presence. His smile was still for Edwin, though. For now. Aysar watched with open curiosity.

“You met Edwin, yeah?” Charles asked brightly.

“Yes, he introduced himself,” said Aysar. “I’m afraid I didn’t return the favour. Aysar Saeed, nice to meet you.” He extended his hand.

Edwin shook it politely. “A pleasure, Mr Saeed.”

“Oh, just Aysar is fine for any friend of Charles!” Edwin rankled at the insinuation that he was a mere friend, but kept his peace for Charles’ sake. “I saw the agency was established in 1990? Were you…?”

“Yeah, we started it way back then. Brills idea, isn’t it?” Charles had returned to his usual spot on the desk. As he should. “I mean, we met in 1989, it just took a while to iron out. But we’ve been together ever since.”

Aysar’s expression did something strange. “Together?”

Edwin waited for Charles to confirm. And waited. And waited. A glance up showed Charles wearing his own strange expression, his face jarringly serious without his smile. But Charles needn’t be the only spokesperson for their friendship. Edwin said crisply, “Yes, that is the case.”

The source of Aysar’s strange expression, it turned out, was a concealed smile. Revealed, it lit his entire face. Edwin blinked several times. Aysar was an attractive man, aesthetically speaking, that was all. He said, simply, “That’s good. I’m glad to hear that.”

Charles looked away from both of them, colour high on his cheeks. He cleared his throat. “This case, then –”

“We’ll take it.”

“What?” Charles turned his entire body to face Edwin. A fact that shouldn’t leave Edwin feeling victorious. Yet here they were. “What happened to playing hardball, discussing payment, all that? We’ve reached our quota for pro bono work, mate, I know we have.” He kept his voice somewhat quiet, but not nearly enough to be inaudible to Aysar, who was staring studiously in the other direction, as if that would hide his small smile. Charles was too befuddled, it seemed, to perform their usual relocation to the closet for professional disagreements. Edwin could not fathom why.

“Yes, well.” Edwin straightened the stack of books to his right. “We can afford to be flexible with the quota, and I believe we have time to spare, do we not? Mr Saeed – my apologies, Aysar – is a recent ghost, after all. No payment is necessary.”

Charles was still frowning at him. “Flexible with the quota? Do you hear yourself?”

Was Edwin required to spell this out? “Charles, this case is of personal interest to a co-founder of the Dead Boy Detective Agency. I do believe an exception can be made.”

“That makes it a conflict of interest, if anything. Or nepotism, innit?” Charles’ smile was tentative.

“Nevertheless.”

“I don’t need it, you know.” His voice was quiet, now. Just for the two of them. How lucky Edwin was to have him.

“Then it is a good thing I wasn’t talking about you,” Edwin said, somewhat snide in pure reflex. Realisation dawned slowly and beautifully on Charles’ face. Any case involving him was of vital importance to Edwin, after all. Charles might insist on diminishing his own stake in the business, but he could hardly do the same to Edwin’s. Edwin refused to allow it.

A smile spread over Charles’ face, and it was Edwin’s favourite inasmuch as all his smiles were. Not his wide and dazzling grin, nor the saucy smile he aimed at girls he took a liking to. It was small and shy and filled with gentle warmth, an unusual fit for Charles’ animated face. It was unquestionably Edwin’s – he had never seen it worn around anyone else.

A gentle cough caused both of them to snap around to where Aysar was still sitting. Their client. Ah, yes. It was considered unprofessional, not to mention rude, to ignore clients (and other acquaintances) in favour of each other. Aysar’s smile was ever-present, though, seemingly unbothered by the interruption.

Feeling caught out, Edwin straightened his posture and steepled his fingers in front of him. “Apologies. As I said, we will be taking your case. Could you provide us with the particulars?”

“Oh – of course. Um, Charles, do you know what happened after your…”

“Nah,” Charles said easily. “We left pretty quickly, didn’t we? No good hanging around if Death’s been there recently, not when we were on the run from her.” And because Edwin had pushed for their departure, he didn’t add. Edwin had had fairly little experience as a ghost at that time, but he’d spoken to whoever he could, desperate for interactions that were untouched by Hell. Many had given him the – useless to Edwin – advice of letting living relatives go. They would move on from your death, or they wouldn’t, and the pain of either was unbearable. It was a lonely thought, even as a ghost to whom it did not apply. At least Edwin had been able to pass the advice along to Charles.

“‘We’?” Aysar asked. He gestured between them. “When you say you met in 1989…”

“Yeah, Edwin’s a St. Hilarion’s alumnus too, aren’t you, mate?” Charles patted him on the shoulder. He didn’t expound on the matter, even though it was normally his favourite thing to do. Was he ashamed to tell the story of how they met in front of his old best friend?

Edwin sniffed. “Alumnus implies I managed to graduate, which was not the case.”

Aysar’s face fell. “I’m… I’m very sorry to hear that.”

It was a meaningless platitude. Yet Edwin had hardly ever been the recipient of it. Aysar’s manner of speaking even made Edwin believe that he meant it. “Yes, well, it was approximately a century ago, so no need to worry.”

“Oh.” Aysar blinked in surprise, but with a little shake of his head, he returned to the matter at hand. Edwin could appreciate the attribute. “St. Hilarion’s tried to say you ran away, Charles, but your parents insisted on an investigation. Mine did, too, after I told them what happened, and then the other parents got scared of their kids going missing. They searched the entire school grounds, and they found your… they found the body in some old attic.” He lowered his head, covering his mouth as tears mangled his voice.

This was usually when Charles would take the seat next to the client and offer some comforting words or touch, as he deemed necessary. Now he sat motionless. It was no surprise that discussing his own death would affect him so. Edwin didn’t trust himself with comforting, though, and so they remained in the uncomfortable tableau, quiet in the face of Aysar’s tears.

Eventually, he recovered enough to continue. “But the school said it must’ve been a prank gone wrong. Or a dare to jump into the creek, that kind of thing.” Charles shivered minutely. “I knew none of those boys would speak up when it meant admitting their own guilt. So I went to the principal. I told him what happened. He said… he said that it was their word against mine, and that, even if I was right, we shouldn’t ruin their futures because of one mistake.” Aysar shook his head, his eyes tightly shut. “The prank story became the official one, because otherwise parents might’ve been annoyed at their precious sons getting accused of anything. If those boys got a slap on the wrist, it would be a miracle.”

“St. Hilarion’s… covered it up?” Charles asked, his voice utterly blank of emotion.

Edwin looked up from the notes he’d taken – unusually shaky handwriting, that; he would need to rewrite it at a suitable time – to ask, “You did not attempt to contact the authorities?”

“It wouldn’t have made a difference,” Aysar said, voice hollow.

“The police weren’t exactly interested in a brown kid telling them about brown kids getting beat on or murdered,” Charles explained.

Edwin felt a flash of shame. Race was an easy concept to ignore when you were largely unaffected by it. In life, he’d been judged for his strange manner, but less so than others had been for the colour of their very skin. Never had he approached a policeman with the fear that his word would not be taken seriously, not when he had his family’s considerable wealth to give it weight. That was a privilege awarded to few, he’d come to realise. “Of course. My apologies.”

“Leaving it like that didn’t feel right, but there wasn’t much I could do.” Aysar continued, his gaze downcast. “I know you didn’t want your dad –” Something complex and unspoken passed between him and Charles. Aysar did not finish the sentence. “I spoke to your mum, let her know what really happened, so she could at least have some closure.”

“Thanks,” Charles said quietly. “I mean it, Aysar. I’m… I’m glad she knows.” Out of Aysar’s sight, his left hand held on to the desk’s edge, tight enough that his knuckles whitened, the memory of bone against skin coming to fore. Edwin was miserable at comforting people, but this was Charles. He moved his own left hand subtly closer, letting the sides of their palms brush as if by accident. If it had been an accident, Edwin would have removed his hand immediately. Instead he kept it there, letting his little finger extend to rest against Charles’ hand. Ever so slowly, the grip relaxed, the knuckles fading to their normal light brown, and Charles slid his hand up so that their fingers rested side-by-side, aligning from nail to base and base to nail.

“It really was the least I could do,” Aysar replied. Edwin felt a sense of kinship with his soft voice – the only proper response to Charles in such a vulnerable state. That anyone could see him and wish violence upon him was unthinkable.

And yet – “Could we discuss the events preceding Charles’ death?” Edwin only knew the essentials, after all, having never wished to push Charles for more. But now Charles flinched bodily, enough for their hands to separate. The space between was unbridgeable. Edwin called himself several names that were not meant for polite company. “We need not –”

“But every bit of information helps the case, innit?”

“If you need to step out, Charles…”

“I’m aces, mate,” Charles said, his smile somewhat lacklustre, but his hand nudged against Edwin’s. He bridged the distance between them so easily. He always had. “What better witness than the person it happened to? Wait a tick.” His face brightened, filling Edwin with one part relief and one part apprehension. “We should return to St. Hilarion’s and explore the scene of the crime properly!”

Edwin glanced at Aysar, and it seemed their thoughts aligned perfectly. Aysar began delicately, “I’m not sure –”

“It’s been too long since we’ve been to the ol’ alma mater, innit?” Charles interrupted, too taken with his idea to notice. Edwin neglected to tell him that he was satisfied to wait a century, or more, to return there. But Charles alternated his pleading face between Edwin and Aysar, and it seemed they shared that weakness, as well. Edwin found he would do many things, just to see that quintessential spark return to his brown eyes.

Edwin sighed. “Very well.”

With three ghosts, it took a simple mirror-hop, prepared by Edwin, to get them within walking distance of St. Hilarion’s. Charles took the middle spot and tried not to vibrate out of his skin with excitement about getting to be here with both of his best friends. He’d always thought they’d get along well. They were pretty alike, after all.

Also, Aysar was hot now?! Don’t get Charles wrong, he always thought Aysar was fit, but more in a cute, shy way. The years had been good to him, though, lending him a maturity and a quiet confidence that was weirdly attractive. The facial hair didn’t hurt, either.

When they got within sight of St. Hilarion’s, both Edwin and Aysar tensed. Charles felt a pang of guilt about insisting on the trip. They’d all had awful things happen to them here, after all. So what if Charles remembered it most as the place he’d got to meet the two of them? “If you don’t want to –”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Charles,” Edwin sniffed, squaring his shoulders like he was bracing for impact, and strode on.

Aysar shot an amused smile at Charles and followed. Bollocks. Charles hadn’t had a chance to correct that misunderstanding yet. He wasn’t exactly doing a good job of showing it with his actions, either. But after so many years of just them, he’d grown used to showing his love for Edwin in the little ways, without anyone to judge him. And now here Aysar was, too perceptive, knowing Charles far too well for how long it’d been. Charles couldn’t really stomach the idea of taking Aysar aside to tell him that the romantic love he saw was only present on Charles’ end, and entirely unwanted on Edwin’s. It didn’t matter, as long as they were together, and they were – in every way that they both wanted. Charles remembered their pinkies brushing. Bloody hell, just thinking about it filled him with warmth. Edwin wasn’t that touchy, so it meant a lot that he would do that, just to comfort Charles.

They arrived at the football field soon enough. The years hadn’t changed it much, and Charles kept an anxious eye on Aysar. This was where the worst had happened to him, after all. But maybe the field looked smaller to him, having lived so many years beyond it. Charles couldn’t exactly say the same.

“It was… around here, I guess,” Aysar said, gesturing. “I don’t remember the exact spot. I wasn’t even on the field, just walking past it on my way to the dorms, when they grabbed me. I don’t know if they just saw me and went for it, or if they would’ve done the same thing if it’d been someone else…”

Old, familiar fury rose in Charles. “No, they planned it.” Both Edwin and Aysar turned to him, but he avoided their eyes. “After football practise, they were making these comments, only I wasn’t spending as much time with them. Didn’t bother thinking about it, did I? Fuck, I was stupid. I could’ve stopped it before anything happened, instead of letting you get beat on.”

Aysar touched his shoulder gently. “Hey, none of that. You were a kid. And you didn’t let them do anything. As soon as you saw, you helped, didn’t you?” He smiled over at Edwin. “He was like an avenging angel, swooping in and tearing them off me, making sure they wouldn’t touch me again.” Edwin’s answering smile was small, but sincere.

Charles couldn’t help but smile too, even as his eyes and face burnt. “C’mon, be serious, mate.”

“I am! That’s what it felt like!” Aysar grinned. “I might’ve had a concussion at that point, but still.”

“An easy mistake to make,” Edwin said dryly, and Charles laughed, because it was either that or crying. “Charles, did you know it was Aysar before you intervened?”

“Yeah, I had a decent idea it was him.” Charles put his hands in his pockets and shrugged a little. At Edwin’s raised eyebrow, he explained, “They were, uh… screaming slurs. About him being from Pakistan. So.”

“Slurs? For being of a certain nationality?” Edwin asked, his brows wrinkling in the same way as when they’d met. “Why?”

Charles shrugged again. “Beats me, mate.”

“People will always find something to hate you for,” Aysar said, his mouth twisting. “Well, you might need to explain what happened next, Charles, because I don’t remember much of it.”

“Right, yeah.” A fucking concussion. He hadn’t even realised. What if they hadn’t all followed Charles? What if Aysar had still been there when they circled back, easy pickings? Hidden away in his pockets, Charles’ fists clenched. “They were saying some nasty shit, so I provoked them. Made a run for it, didn’t I?” He’d thought about taking Aysar along, protecting him that way, but he was pretty sure it would’ve ended with another boy bleeding out in the creek. Aysar had made it an extra twenty-five years. No need to wonder about what-ifs now.

“That sounds… dangerous,” said Edwin, frowning, like he hadn’t seen the direct aftermath of that choice. Charles didn’t reply, because what was there to say?

“What did you say?” Aysar asked. “I mean, it never seemed like they had a problem with you.”

“Apparently, stopping someone from getting beat on must mean you’re gay for them,” Charles replied, not quite keeping the bitterness out of his voice. Because that was the only reason to be a decent human being? Not that the lads had seen it that way, of course. “They were taunting me about being your boyfriend, I guess to make me back down or whatever, so I said fuck you, yes I am.”

“Oh, Charles.” Aysar’s face was heartbroken and heartbreaking, his dark eyes shiny with tears. Charles couldn’t look away from him. They’d never called it that, had they? It wasn’t the reason Charles had defended him, but it still mattered. Of course it mattered.

“It took their attention off you, at least, ‘cause they all started chasing me into the wood,” Charles continued, finally looking away. “Here, I’ll show you.” He headed for the path that would always be etched in his memories, like adrenaline had cemented every flash of it into his memory. He couldn’t successfully run away this time, either, not with the sound of footsteps behind him. Just his best mates, he reminded himself. No one else.

“I’m afraid I am somewhat confused,” said Edwin, weirdly hesitant. “Why would they care about you being Aysar’s friend?”

It took Charles a moment to remember Edwin’s rocky relationship with modern slang. “Oh – no, being boyfriends means seeing each other. Dating, courting, that sort of thing.”

“Ah,” said Edwin, slightly strangled, and nothing else.

The path was different, yet exactly the same. There were new saplings and old undergrowth and every plant in-between, but the trees looked unchanged, their growth too subtle for Charles’ untrained eyes. He felt antsy at their little trio’s slow pace, his brain screaming for them to run! The path stretched out into nothing, as if they’d keep walking and never reach the end, even though Charles remembered it being mere minutes before he’d reached the creek.

But there – in the distance, beyond the trees: a glimmer, like light hitting water.

Everything was going... not well (nothing to do with Charles’ demise could be described as such) but fine enough – until they reached the water.

The creek appeared natural, which meant there was a high probability it had existed in Edwin’s time. He could not recall visiting it, though. The wood surrounding it must have been denser at the time, and the school had forbidden them from entering it. It hadn’t stopped Edwin’s rowdy classmates, but it had stopped him.

Aysar approached the water, unconcerned, even though it must be frigid at this time of the year. But ghosts were not affected by things like temperature or moisture, so Edwin could hardly fault him. Still, he recalled Charles’ last moments, when the shivering had abated, and resolved to keep an eye on both of them. There was a reason Charles had led them here. In one way or another, he had ended up in the water. The only question was whether he had willingly entered it in a bid to escape, or if he had been… forced. It reminded Edwin far too much of hands pushing him down, ritualistic words clumsily recited, his terror answered with only laughter. But Charles had not been held down, or he would have died here as water filled his lungs, because boys who went too far never knew when to stop. Charles would’ve died surrounded but alone, and Edwin, ignorant of this creek’s existence, would never have met him.

The thought tore at his very being.

Why would anyone do this? Because Charles had defended an innocent boy. Because he was not disgusted at the thought of loving that boy instead of killing him. Every instinct screamed at Edwin to turn his face from that truth. Such things were never to be spoken of. But Charles had died for it. The least Edwin could do was acknowledge it.

Edwin thought (unbearably selfish), If Charles were there in 1916… if Charles and I were alive together, he would never have called me Mary Ann. Then, far worse, If Charles were present at the sacrifice, he would have defended me as he defended Aysar, no matter what shameful things they said about us, and…

And what? Charles defended with body and soul. He always had. If Charles had been there, he would’ve taken Edwin’s place as surely as he had taken Aysar’s. He would be the one splayed out on the table like a pinned insect, the one being jeered at by his peers, the one torn from existence on a technicality. Edwin’s memories of Hell were the worst things he knew, but imagining each of them with Charles in his place… It was unimaginable. Charles’ animated face growing drawn, his bright eyes losing their spark, his charismatic soul fracturing under the torture. Edwin would rather experience all of it again than allow that to happen.

Oh.

He would –

His train of thought was interrupted by a deep, hacking cough. Edwin blinked out of it, then stared. Despite watching all the while, he only now saw that Charles’ appearance had changed completely. Too many of his layers had vanished, leaving him only in his singlet and an unfamiliar pair of trousers. His skin was pale, his lips blue-tinged, dark smudges under his eyes. His hair dripped water. Most damningly, tremors wracked through his entire body. Then he crumpled before Edwin’s very eyes.

“Charles!” Edwin screamed, and ran. Charles interrupted his shivering to cough again, that painful sound that Edwin remembered only from that night, twenty-five years ago, as he desperately distracted a boy from his failing body. Charles didn’t have a body that could fail anymore. And yet. Edwin knelt and put a hand to Charles’ bare shoulder, hesitating at the lack of familiar layers, but pushed on. Ghosts could not sense temperature, and yet Charles felt ice-cold to the touch, as if his own expectations had made it so. Edwin bit back a curse. He knew ghosts sometimes reverted their appearances to traumatic memories (usually their deaths, but not always; Edwin had spent his few days post-Hell occasionally feeling blood coating his skin and matting down his hair, though he’d managed to fix it before he met Charles, luckily) and this was clearly what was happening to Charles. Because of the creek? The evidence suggested so, although anything could have triggered it. This whole excursion had been a terrible idea, and Edwin was a fool for agreeing to it.

Aysar, who must have been alerted by Edwin’s scream, crouched down beside him to examine Charles with concern. “What happened? Did he fall in?”

“No, and even if he had, it would not have drenched him,” Edwin said shortly. It was hardly Aysar’s fault, but Charles’ slow reactions and glassy stare were all too familiar. It put Edwin on edge. He quickly shrugged out of his coat and tugged it over Charles’ shoulders. By all rights, it shouldn’t make a difference, but it might matter to Charles. “Come, Charles, let us leave.”

Charles swayed where he stood. Edwin quickly clasped his left arm as Aysar did the same with his right, stabilising him between them. He was docile enough until they made to retrace their steps. “No!”

“Charles?” Edwin asked, only holding tighter as Charles fought to escape their grip.

Charles was mouthing something, inaudible under the sound of his chattering teeth. Edwin leaned close enough to feel Charles’ too-fast breaths against his ear, which tingled at the sensation. All he could decipher was, “No… Not back… Have to get them away…” Because Charles had reverted more than his appearance to his death. Because he believed that Aysar lay on the other side of that original path. Because he would not lead his predators to their original prey.

“Where do we go, Charles?” Edwin asked, as gently as he was able, and only steadied Charles as he led them in a wider route back to the school, avoiding the football field entirely.

“What is happening?” Aysar asked desperately, so much older in appearance and yet so much younger in the experience of ghosthood.

“He’s, ah…” Edwin hesitated. Aysar, as victim, had no more caused Charles’ death than Charles himself had – the blame would always and forever lay at the doors of Charles’ murderers – but one’s emotions were never rational in cases such as these. For the first time, Edwin understood why Charles had withheld the details of their meeting from Aysar. Not for shame of meeting Edwin, but to spare Aysar the knowledge of his slow demise; because the two could not be so easily extricated. Edwin had brought a lamp because Charles was hypothermic, they had spoken for hours because it distracted from Charles’ pain, Edwin had read him detective stories because it was the kindest way for Charles to die. Yet Aysar deserved the truth. “Charles is reliving his death, I believe.”

Aysar went rather pale. “His – ? He’s soaked to the bone! What did they do, throw him in the creek?” Silence, except for Charles’ coughing. Aysar’s eyes closed in defeat. “Of course they did.”

From their current position, they were just within sight-line of the football field. Edwin half-expected to see the ghost of Aysar’s younger self still lying there. He wasn’t, of course, because he would not have survived that day, had he remained. The thought of Charles’ murderers in pursuit were more difficult to ignore. Charles still led them doggedly on. Edwin could hardly believe he had managed this journey on his own the first time around, unsteady as he was. No matter; he was not alone now.

“And the coughing?” Aysar asked, after they were treated to another rendition of it. “Is that normal?”

“It was present the last time as well. But it is not a typical symptom of hypothermia, no. Combined with the bruising on Charles’ torso, I would posit internal bleeding as the cause.”

Aysar asked no further questions.

At last they reached their destination, as Edwin had hoped they would: the building where they had met. They supported Charles up each flight of stairs until they reached the attic, and Edwin separated from him only long enough to fetch an old blanket to drape over his shivering form. He settled in next to Charles, encouraging him to lean into Edwin’s side for whatever warmth his imagination could glean. At least Charles was reacting to external stimuli, which meant he wasn’t caught in a loop, as ghosts sometimes were when reliving their deaths. Edwin regretted that he had no lantern to gift him now, but his coat and company would have to be enough. He hadn’t done this, the first time: offered the clothes from his back, the physical touch that Charles considered so precious. He hadn’t thought to, not when he had hardly known the dying boy that would soon move on. Now, after being together longer than their own lifetimes, Edwin thought he would set fire to his soul if it warmed Charles but a moment.

“What happened to him?” Aysar, who had taken a seat across from them, asked. He was watching them, but not in that disapproving way of adults that Edwin was so accustomed to. There was something strangely gentle – even wistful – in his gaze. “The hypothermia, that part I get, but internal bleeding? How?”

“I am not certain, myself,” Edwin admitted. The urge to stroke Charles’ hair in comfort nearly overwhelmed him, until he remembered that only Aysar was watching, whereafter he surrendered completely. Charles’ hair was quite soft. “I only saw the tail-end of the incident. Charles entering this building and the bullies searching for him.” He smiled thinly. “I may have added to their confusion by causing slight hauntings in the surrounding buildings.”

Aysar grinned back, but the bright expression quickly faded into a frown. “I wonder why they were looking for him. Probably didn’t want him to get them into trouble.” He shook his head. “Looks like it didn’t matter in the end anyway, did it? I should’ve – I should’ve gone looking. Should’ve saved him like he saved me. Fuck, if I’d told my parents what happened sooner… But I was… I was scared. I was ashamed.” His eyes filled with tears. “I was scared, and Charles was dying.”

His words were far too familiar. Edwin was no stranger to fear or shame; how powerless they rendered you. Perhaps Aysar’s actions had affected Charles’ survival. But – “He could already see me when I met him, Aysar, which meant he was nearing death. Had your parents attempted to contact authorities, they would likely have faced the same trouble as you, and even if they succeeded, Charles would still have had to be found. The probability of his life being saved by your actions is very low.”

“I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse.” Aysar wiped a hand over his face, but he wore a slight smile once more. Edwin counted it as a success. “How did you two meet, then? I’m curious.”

Edwin darted a glance at Charles, who was still lost to the world, his eyes glazed and unseeing. He would give it his best attempt, although it would feel strange without Charles’ cheerful interjections and corrections, complaints that Edwin was making it sound too boring or sad, and finally a sigh that signalled Charles taking over. Edwin never told him – even attempted to avoid thinking of it overmuch, because it felt too duplicitous otherwise – but he vastly preferred Charles’ version, and would always tell the story in a dull enough way to ensure he heard it. Now, he could not afford to do so. “As I said, I saw him enter this building, and after distracting the bullies, I followed him and found him sitting in this very attic. He’d found a blanket but was still shivering, and I had an oil lantern that I thought could warm him. I did not know then the extent of his injuries, you see. I had thought to place the lantern there and leave him warm and perhaps questioning his senses. But… he could see me. I knew then that he would die. The bullies – well, they reminded me of my own, when I attended this Godforsaken school, and I did not wish for another victim to die alone. Not like I had.” He shrugged with the shoulder not supporting Charles’ head, a terrible habit he’d picked up from a terrible boy. “I answered his questions, demonstrated the realities of being a ghost, and read aloud to him, until he took his final breath.” Edwin avoided Aysar’s piercing eyes, instead watching the contrast of his pale fingers sweeping through Charles’ dark hair. “I expected him to move on immediately, to the Heaven that surely awaits him, but he did not. Clearly.” He tried to infuse his voice with the usual exasperation, but he only sounded fond and pathetically grateful. Good Lord, he hardly knew where he would be now, without Charles.

“You were keeping him company,” Aysar said, and when Edwin looked at him, it was to find a smile on his tear-stained face. “That’s the most important thing. I’m really glad he had you. And for what it’s worth, I think you two are good for each other.”

Edwin reeled. Good for – of course Charles was good for him, he was Charles. But Edwin? How could he be good for Charles if he could not even prevent something like this? During his death, Edwin had remained with Charles before knowing him, but afterwards, he would not have remained for a quarter-century, nor planned to remain much longer, with any other person. But sometimes he had the sinking feeling that Charles merely felt grateful, that he would have stayed with anyone that played Edwin’s role. However, this place, so sacred to them, was wholly unsuitable for that particular worry. “I – thank you.” And then, because it was too frivolous a question to ask during an active investigation, but Edwin was so bloody curious: “How did you and Charles know each other before the attack? You seem to have been familiar.”

Aysar’s smile was a soft thing. “We were in the same class, so I saw him around. But we became friends after I started teaching him Urdu. He sneaked us out to a couple of concerts, too. I was so shocked the first time! He must’ve thought I was such a goody-two-shoes.” Aysar laughed. “It wasn’t really my type of music, but Charles liked it.” Edwin understood that perfectly. Over the years, they’d acquired several records that were unquestionably Charles’, but Edwin could never truly mind them, not when they brought Charles such happiness. “And Charles was good – really good. At, you know…” Edwin could not say he did know, but he nodded nevertheless. Aysar continued blithely, “Yes, I was a teenager, yes, I had almost no experience, but still! There’s only room for improvement, right? Definitely on my side, I can tell you that.” Aysar looked away, his cheeks darkening. “All that to say, you’re lucky, yeah? Don’t take it for granted. Don’t take him for granted.”

“Never,” Edwin vowed, because he might be somewhat puzzled, but that was one thing he could always promise.

“That’s good,” Aysar said, sitting back. He grinned. “Aces, even.”

“Brills indeed,” Edwin replied dryly, and they both laughed. Goodness, Edwin hadn’t laughed with anyone except Charles in quite a while. For a moment, he imagined that Charles was laughing with them, rather than reliving the worst moments of his life.

Except Charles truly was rousing. Not laughing, but blinking open glassy eyes that slowly sharpened, his skin beginning to return to its usual light and unbruised brown. The sight was as precious as his mirth. Charles’ voice, when it emerged, was hoarse and slurred. “Wha’ happ’n’d?” He shifted, causing Edwin’s coat to slip in to his lap, and he looked slowly down at it. The motion reminded Edwin that his hand was still settled on Charles’ head. He removed it faster than if Charles’ soft curls had transformed to iron.

“You had a flashback of your death,” Aysar explained gently. “We brought you to a, uh, safe spot to recover in.”

Charles gazed around once more, and now seemed to recognise the attic. Most ghosts would become distressed at seeing their site of death, but, if anything, Charles only relaxed, leaning back and into Edwin with a small smile. “Oh. S’alright, then.”

“Charles,” Edwin tried to scold, but he couldn’t contain his answering smile.

Charles only blinked up at him, appearing nonplussed at their unusual positioning. “Hi,” he said, still with that smile. “Happy anniversary.”

Edwin’s heart transcended every ghost rule by clenching painfully in his chest. He had noted the date – they had met exactly twenty-five years ago, after all – but the joy of their first meeting was always eclipsed by the sorrow of Charles’ death. Charles never took well to this time of the year, throwing himself into casework and otherwise escaping the office for lengthy periods. If he brought Edwin gifts on the day itself, they were surely only another attempt at distracting himself. But – Happy anniversary. Could their first meeting possibly mean as much to him as it did to Edwin? He cleared his throat. “Yes, well. Happy anniversary, Charles.”

This time, when Charles shifted upright, Edwin had the presence of mind to help him up. Charles glanced down at himself and the coat he was still clutching, then to Edwin. “Flashbacks steal clothes now?” he joked. It was jarringly casual after how unresponsive he’d been mere minutes ago, but that was Charles for you.

Edwin couldn’t forget so easily. “Here,” he said, taking his coat back and helping Charles into it, tugging at the lapels to ensure it lay neatly. Charles’ eyes were rather wide. “You were cold.” Phantom blood rushed to Edwin’s cheeks at the inane comment. Ghosts could sense neither cold nor warmth, and so Edwin’s coat would have no effect on Charles’ temperature. But Charles appeared too vulnerable, wearing only the clothes he had died in and clearly in no state to be changing that.

“Cheers, mate,” Charles said, too careful. “Sorry. Wouldn’t’ve suggested this outing if I thought that was a possibility, now would I?” His face fell. “My backpack – I must’ve dropped it –”

Edwin had been too concerned by Charles’ state to spare a thought for his bag-of-tricks. “It should still be there, either Aysar or I can go fetch it –”

“You mean this backpack?” Aysar asked, slipping Charles’ bag-of-tricks off his shoulder, where Edwin hadn’t even noticed it. “I saw you drop it when you went all… spacey, and I thought it might be important.”

“It is,” Charles said, with another of those precious smiles. “Thanks, Aysar.”

“Right then,” said Edwin, clasping his hands in front of him. Now that they knew the sensation of holding Charles up, they hungered for more, even though Charles seemed steady enough on his feet now. “It might be best to return to our office and discuss the future of this case, yes?”

Charles’ face drew into a frown, which was the very last thing Edwin wanted. In an undertone, he said, “I fucked this one up for reals, didn’t I? I’m sorry, mate.”

Edwin was shaking his head before Charles had even finished speaking. “You misunderstand me, Charles. We have gathered all the necessary information from this place, and I believe it would do us all well to leave. Furthermore, your wellbeing is more important than a case. Always.”

“Alright,” said Charles, his face lightening. “The same for you, innit?”

“Very well,” said Edwin, because it was easier than arguing.

When they turned around, it was to find Aysar standing next to a mirror already, watching them with quiet amusement. He gestured. “After you, gentlemen.”

Their office was comfortable, theirs in a way that even the St. Hilarion’s attic wasn’t, and Charles felt better just from walking into it. Although Edwin’s coat might play a role in that, too. It wasn’t Edwin, but it was of Edwin, and Charles could feel the tingle of their souls brushing. Then there was the coat itself, brown and elegant and high-quality, an item he’d seen Edwin wear nearly every day for twenty-five years, and it was brushing Charles’ bare arms and shoulders and neck with warmth that was more memory than sensation. There was even the memory of smell, if Charles concentrated very hard (and ignored how creepy he was being) – ancient books, petrichor, a hint of lavender. He wanted to nuzzle into it, which was absolutely not on, because Edwin had given it to him out of friendly concern.

But it didn’t look like that from the outside, did it? Aysar’s amused expression was enough to confirm it. Giving someone your clothes was a classic dating move. Doing it in front of an ex? That implied more than a little possessiveness. Like Edwin wanted people to know Charles was his. Charles’ stomach flipped. It was the truth, after all. Charles was Edwin’s in any way he wanted him. But the reverse wasn’t true. Charles might daydream about getting Edwin to wear his black coat, so different from his usual clothes, but Edwin would never agree if he knew why Charles wanted it.

Charles was settled enough by now to remake his own clothes, including said coat, but he was a selfish git at heart. He’d just hold on to Edwin’s coat for a bit longer. Besides, he didn’t want to interrupt the conversation, now did he?

“I am uncertain as to our next steps for this case,” Edwin was saying, frowning down at his notebook. “We’ve gathered all the necessary information, but there is no mystery to solve. We already know who the killers are.”

“No,” Aysar replied, quiet and intense, “I don’t.” Edwin glanced at Charles’ usual spot on the desk, then corrected to the seat Charles had chosen to perch on instead, and they shared a confused look before they both turned back to Aysar. “Because I didn’t run in those circles, and my parents pulled me out of St. Hilarion’s right after everything happened. I don’t know their names.” He met their eyes seriously. “The chance of getting justice among the living is pretty low, I know that. But there’s nothing wrong with some good old-fashioned ghost justice, is there?”

Charles and Edwin exchanged another look, this one much less confused. “Oh, hell yeah,” Charles said.

“That is brilliant, Aysar,” Edwin said, and his smile was wicked. “How do you plan to find them?”

“Everything’s on the Internet these days,” Aysar said easily. “If Charles tells me their full names, I can Google them and it should tell me what they’re up to.”

Google had been after Charles’ time, but he’d heard enough people talk about it to get an idea of what it was in relation to the Internet. Edwin, however, immediately frowned and noted it down. Ah well, Charles could explain later. But first – “Just one problem, mate, we don’t have a computer or anything here.”

Aysar raised his eyebrows at all their clutter. “Nothing?” Charles shrugged. Edwin shook his head. Aysar sighed. “Well, I know a place.”

That was all he would say, even as Charles plied him with questions. ‘A place’ turned out to be a house in a totally different part of London, small but nicely decorated. There was a PC that Aysar logged into with no issues – interesting fact, that – and after Charles told them the five full names, Aysar and Edwin descend fully into researching mode.

Wasn’t that funny? Charles had long ago forgotten the taste of his mum’s cooking, the smell of his first girlfriend’s perfume, the touch of his teammates after a victory, but his murderer’s names? Those lingered like bloodstains.

He wandered through the house in an attempt to distract himself. He’d done his part, after all. Not like he was contributing to the efforts. At the moment, the house had no living people in it, but the rooms were clearly lived-in, and more recently than Aysar’s death accounted for. Dishes in the sink, clothes in the hamper, the bed half-heartedly made. But Aysar had lived here, going by the photos of him on nearly every wall. He was often shown with his arm around another bloke, the two of them smiling at each other. Charles smiled to see it. Was that Aysar’s boyfriend? He felt a pang of grief, imagining what the poor man must be going through.

“Charles!” Edwin called, and Charles made his way back to see him and Aysar looking very smug in their own ways. “We’ve found what we require. Did you know there is a ‘website’ called ‘Linked In’ where you record your current workplace?”

“Really?” Charles grinned. “Sounds aces, mate. Time for the ol’ stakeout then, innit?”

“I think we have everything,” Aysar said, but Edwin stopped him before he could shut the PC down.

“I’ve had a rather awful thought.” Edwin was wearing that mean little smile that Charles adored. “Could you find Charles’ obituary on your Internet, Aysar?”

Bloody hell, but Charles loved him.

It was a slow couple of days, like stakeouts sadly tended to be. They knew where their targets worked, thanks to LinkedIn, but they still needed to find the exact location, and then wait around until end of day to follow the men home. For now, they only marked down each address and moved on to the next one. There was no way of knowing how much contact happened between the five of them, and Charles didn’t want one of them to tip off the others and ruin all their plans. Still, he wondered. Did they stay in contact? Was an incident like that the kind of thing to break a friendship, or tie them together more closely than ever? Was Charles their last victim, or just their first? Had James figured out that his mates were the kind of white tossers who would ignore your race until you stopped taking their shit? He was still alive, so either he was still playing along, or he’d found himself some better friends.

After five days and five stakeouts, they knew where everyone lived. Now came the fun part.

All of them had done well for themselves. Unsurprising, really, since St. Hilarion’s was so posh. They could get into any uni they qualified for, and their rich parents could buy them into the rest. Would Charles have had a chance like that, if he’d lived?

Not to mention how unfair it was that Charles and Aysar were now both dead, and yet all five of their tormentors still lived. Life was real fucking unfair, sometimes.

They started with Andrew, who Charles was pretty sure had been the one to throw him in the creek. Aysar cast a long look at the spotless white walls and said, “Do we have anything that looks like blood? Red paint, maybe?”

“Do you one better, mate,” Charles said, digging around in his pocket dimension until he found the vial of pig’s blood he kept around for certain rituals.

Aysar eyed it. “I’m not going to ask.” But he still took it, then used his fingers to paint a visually striking message, with some bloody splatters for good measure. REMEMBER WHAT YOU DID.

Edwin, on the other hand, went for very specific psychological horror. Everywhere he could find a spot, he’d put a printout of Charles’ obituary. In drawers, bathrooms, under technology, even hidden in the pages of books. Andrew would be finding them for months, if not years. For all that the thought filled him with sick glee, Charles couldn’t bear looking at his obituary too closely. He didn’t want to know what they wrote about him. Stupid enough to die of a prank, maybe. Beloved son – what a laugh. Not to mention the photo, an old black-and-white thing that left his nose too faded and the sides of his face too dark, his expression way too serious. Was that really what he looked like?

Instead, he wandered around the house, generally making a nuisance of himself. The haunting classics of throwing around chairs and flickering lights felt rude when the rest of Andrew’s family had done nothing wrong, but he hid a few important-looking things, moved all the furniture five centimetres to the left, and fiddled with some of the door and window hinges for maximum creaking.

When the three of them were satisfied, they moved on to the next, and the next, and the next. It was easy enough to settle into the pattern of it. Maybe Charles should be doing worse to his literal murderers, but part of him remembered his life and all the shit that he’d let slide. He could’ve become one of them so, so easily. Maybe that was why he still carried their names: to tell himself, Don’t ever let this be you. It was difficult to dredge up the appropriate rage in the face of that.

Besides, he had Aysar and Edwin for that, with Aysar writing increasingly disturbing shit in the animal blood Charles kept him stocked in, and Edwin finding more and more inventive places for Charles’ obituary, like tucked under Finn’s pillow or embedded into Henry’s wall with a kitchen knife.

And then they reached the fifth and final house: Tucker. Just thinking about him had Charles’ rage simmering. Tucker had been trouble from the start, picking on the younger kids and making off-colour jokes. He’d been the one to escalate the fight just when Charles was breaking it up. Come to think of it, he’d probably been the one making jokes about Aysar in the first place. None of the others had clean hands, but Tucker had played a much larger role. He’d been the one to suggest tossing Charles into the water. Charles didn’t know who’d thrown the first stone, but he would hardly be surprised if Tucker suggested that one, too.

So while Aysar and Edwin headed for their – by now familiar – tasks, Charles instead made his way to Tucker’s room. At least he lived alone, so there was no one else Charles could accidentally traumatise. He started out easy, flicking the light on and off a few times. The lump in the bed groaned and shifted. “Yeah, wanker, time to wake up,” Charles said, hearing his voice go low and vicious. He did nothing to stop it. Tucker couldn’t hear him.

But someone else could. “Charles?” Edwin asked from behind him.

Just as Charles was about to turn to answer him, Tucker finally got up, scrubbing at his face and glaring at the ceiling. Without meaning to, Charles stumbled back and into Edwin. Sure, Tucker was recognisable from the boy Charles’d known, but way taller and bulkier. Like St. Hilarion’s creek, Charles couldn’t look at him without remembering every horrible moment – Aysar’s blood-stained face to a desperate sprint to freezing water to stones and jeers thrown with equal malice. But it was more than that: the way Tucker towered over him, his beard and pale eyes, about the same age Charles’ dad had been the last time Charles saw him in person. The fear of both of them combined and mingled into something monstrous.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Edwin’s face turn from him to Tucker, fine lines forming between his furrowed brows. “Did you know,” he said, needlessly quiet, “that during the so-called ‘witching hour’, the living are occasionally able to catch glimpses of us? Especially in the dark.” He patted Charles’ shoulder, an unusually forward gesture for him, and strutted to the one wall, his finger poised over the light switch. An offer. “Oh, and a change in appearance may be in order, don’t you think, Charles? Though without reliving your death this time, perhaps.”

Charles loved him so goddamn much.

He concentrated. Tucker hadn’t witnessed his true death, so Charles focused on his memory of the creek instead. His hair became a heavy mass plastered to his forehead. His jacket and coat dragged down with the weight of water. When he looked at his hands, the skin there was horribly blue. None of the stones had actually struck him in the face, but that was more luck than anything. Charles let the skin of his cheek form a lurid bruise, then set it bleeding freely for good measure. Nothing wrong with some artistic licence, right? He took a deep breath. “Now.”

The room plunged into darkness. Tucker cursed. He seemed shocked by the sudden darkness more than reacting to Charles’ presence. Charles could change that. What did the classic haunting ghosts usually do? Intention. With every bit of willpower he had – and there was plenty – Charles wanted Tucker to see him, to see what he’d done, to remember. He wanted justice.

He’d closed his eyes without noticing. When he opened them, the room was no longer fully dark, but glowing with spectral energy. Charles glanced at Edwin first, instinctively, and saw the pale blue reflect in his eyes, which were trained on him completely. Remembering what they were here for, he turned back to Tucker. Now his face was drawn with horror. With a click, the light switched back on. Tucker blinked around, disorientated. The light switched off. Charles hadn’t moved, watching with satisfaction as Tucker’s eyes returned to him and widened. He shook his head desperately, backing away. “No. No!”

“Look what you did,” Charles snarled, and imagined a whisper of it passing into the living world.

Tucker’s eyes were wide enough to show the whites all around. Edwin chose that moment to switch on the light, causing Tucker to hiss and slam his eyes shut. Charles thought quickly, dropping his coat and jacket and leaving himself in the undershirt he’d died in. It had the bonus of baring his arms and all the actual bruises on them. He stepped forward.

The light switched off.

“You died!” Tucker said. Something in his eyes was wild, now. “You’re dead!” At the last word, he snapped, swinging at Charles with desperate force. Only years of practice kept Charles from flinching. Nothing happened, of course, just the uncomfortable sensation of living and ghost atoms mingling for the second it took Tucker to stumble through him. It was worse for the living, though. Charles didn’t mind it one bit.

But like this, Tucker was way too close to Edwin for Charles’ comfort. Charles took his usual spot between Edwin and danger. “Yeah, I am,” he said, just in case it was still in doubt.

Tucker had at least given up on attacking them, sinking to the floor with his head lowered and his palms together. Charles suppressed a snort. What, was he praying now?

Edwin leaned around Charles to blink down at Tucker. Charles thought for a split second that he might suggest leaving him to his prayers. But they had both been chewed up and spat out by the same Catholic school, hadn’t they? Edwin delicately separated the clasp of Tucker’s hands with a finger, and slipped Charles’ obituary into the resulting space.

A tremor went through Tucker at the first touch, and he abandoned his position entirely when the paper appeared between his hands. Edwin switched the light on, very helpfully. Tucker turned the paper over like it was a ticking bomb. His eyes flicked over the picture and the accompanying paragraphs, then to where Charles was still standing, invisible in the light. The last blood drained from Tucker’s face. “God, forgive me.”

“Because God is famously merciful to child-killers,” Edwin remarked dryly.

Charles let out a snort of laughter, which ended up sounding more than a little hysterical. He turned away from Tucker, savouring the last image of him looking whiter than several actual ghosts, and focused on the much more pleasant sight of Edwin. “C’mon, we’re done here.” Edwin hummed agreeably, but flicked the light off – startling a scream from Tucker – and then on again, leaving Tucker looking at the face he’d murdered. Charles smiled at him. “That was just overkill.”

“I shall be the judge of that,” Edwin sniffed, tugging his coat straight. No – taking it off. Charles couldn’t deny that he’d been thinking about that coat, but he’d promised himself to refuse if Edwin offered it again. He was fine to recreate his usual outfit; anything more would just be taking advantage. But Edwin didn’t offer. He swept his coat up and over Charles’ shoulders, like it was just a fact of the universe that Charles had to wear it.

“You don’t have to –” Charles started, wanting to give Edwin the out, even as he melted into the comfort of it.

“Hush,” Edwin said affectionately. He led them to the living room, where Aysar was still enthusiastically painting, HIS BLOOD IS ON YOUR HANDS. He’d even added some bloody handprints, dragged down the wall like someone had painted the whole thing in their own blood. It was pretty metal.

“That’s aces, mate,” Charles said, stepping back to take in the whole thing. “Very thematically appropriate.”

“Indeed quite fitting,” Edwin said, nodding.

Aysar finished the last stroke before turning to them with a grin. “Thanks!” He took in their outfits, and his smile only went wider. “What’ve you been up to, then?”

Fuck. Charles felt distinctly warm, and it wasn’t just the coat. He knew what this would look like, but he’d gone ahead with it anyway. Classic Charles.

Much more calmly, Edwin said, “Spiritually torturing a man, if you must know.” Charles and Aysar burst into helpless laughter, and Edwin’s especially pleased smile appeared. He and Aysar really were getting along, if Edwin was cracking jokes this quickly. Charles was too happy about it to question when that happened.

“Speaking of, do you still want to do your thing, Edwin?” he asked. Edwin had found him pretty quickly, after all.

But Edwin shook his head. “I’ve used up all the pages.” His smile was smaller and sharper. Charles’ breath caught a little at the sight of it.

He cleared his throat and clapped his hands together. “Then, gentlemen, I believe we are done,” he said, in his best Edwin impression. It made Edwin scoff and Aysar laugh, which meant it was basically perfect. They traipsed out of the house, unwilling to use any of Tucker’s mirrors for travelling. When they were a good distance away, Charles gave the house a one-fingered salute that relied heavily on his middle finger. Aysar laughed again, looking lighter than Charles had seen him in far too long, and followed suit. “C’mon, Edwin!” Charles started, only to be confronted with the sight of Edwin carefully copying him.

A cute flush crept over Edwin’s face when he met Charles’ gaze. “I assume the meaning is somewhat crass?”

“Yeah, it’s basically a gesture for fuck you,” Charles explained, watching him with interest.

“Hmm,” said Edwin, and in an elegant twist, flicked both middle fingers up at the lit window of Tucker’s bedroom window.

Aysar cheered. Charles shouted with laughter. He grabbed his two best friends in the world and tugged them into his arms, holding on as they kept furiously flipping the house off. If any ghost, psychic, feline, or being otherwise supernatural could see them now, they’d look absolutely mental. Charles found he didn’t mind it in the slightest.

A week later found them returning to the house Aysar had initially shown them, celebrating as best ghosts could. For them, it took the form of recalling the highlights of their hauntings, and reading the article, published a few days after their attempts, which detailed how two high-society men had confessed being culpable in the death of a schoolmate in 1989, an incident that was clearly not as accidental as it had originally been classified.

“Depending on the nature of their confessions, they may be charged with either murder or manslaughter by gross negligence,” Edwin explained, drawing on his limited knowledge of living justice. “Their pursuit of you leans more in the direction of murder, Charles, but they may be careful as to what they confess. Either will lead to a significant prison sentence.” He smiled. “It seems you received your justice doubly, Aysar.”

“If they don’t buy their way out,” Charles quipped, but he appeared lighter of spirit than Edwin had seen him in far too long. He was tempted to check that Charles’ feet were still touching the ground. None of them had expected the living to do anything, after all. It was comforting to see that the law sometimes performed its function.

“The courts don’t look too kindly on the deaths of minors,” said Aysar. “And they’ll be implicating the other three with their confessions. If anyone tries to lie, they’ll be caught out quickly enough. Their best bet is to be honest.” He cracked his knuckles; a gesture that was utterly meaningless for ghosts except as an ingrained habit. “Now, they probably wouldn’t have reported their own little incidents to the police, but it’s still safer to not have them all linked to one computer right before it happened. I’ll just delete the search history, and then we should be done.”

Edwin nodded, pretending any of the words made sense in this context. He was saved from having to think of a reply by the sounds of someone entering the house. The three of them stared at each other with wide eyes.

As was typical, Charles acted first. “I’ll distract whoever it is, you two get rid of the evidence!”

Aysar huffed out a breath and called, “It’s just my husband!” But Charles was already gone. “Distract him. Because this is going to take so long.” With several efficient movements, the screen cleared, then went dark, as they had originally found it. Nothing else appeared out of place.

Edwin could not appreciate it, because Edwin’s brain was utterly blank. “Husband?”

“Yeah, this was our place,” Aysar said, waving his hand as if he wasn’t implying something wholly impossible. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t say anything before, but I know your goal is to get your clients moving on, but I can’t, alright? I have to wait for him.”

Phantom blood rushed in Edwin’s ears. If he were able, he would faint. “Husband?”

Aysar’s face fell. “Oh, I guess you don’t keep track of those types of living laws? They legalised same-sex marriage earlier this year. Sekani and I got married as soon as possible, but we were basically married even before that.” He set a gentle hand on Edwin’s shoulder. Edwin was too in turmoil to retreat from the unfamiliar touch. No, more than that – he did not wish to. Edwin had never trusted an adult in his life, but he trusted Aysar. “Believe me, I know it’s terrifying after growing up in a less accepting time, but we have nothing to be ashamed of. We deserve the right to marry as much as anyone, don’t we?” In the way of so many others before him, Aysar had seen Edwin’s differences before he, himself, knew them. But Aysar did not wish to hurt or shame him. The opposite: he recognised Edwin, because – impossibly – he was like him.

They were interrupted once more as a stranger entered the room. Aysar turned to him in the manner of a flower to sunlight, helpless to their natures. The man – Sekani, Aysar’s husband – did nothing to disprove the analogy. He was an attractive man, his skin a brown several shades darker than Aysar’s, his hair falling down his back in several thin plaits that were black at the roots and faded to gold at the tips. No resemblance to Charles, in other words, and yet some element of his animated face and the line of his bright smile was so familiar and dear that Edwin’s very soul ached with it.

And there was Charles, trailing Sekani into the room. “This your husband then, Aysar? He’s right fit, innit?”

“Thank you,” Aysar said, his mouth twitching into a smile. His eyes did not waver from Sekani. “I did see him first, you know.”

“Awww,” said Charles, pretending to pout.

Edwin watched Sekani move around the room, humming slightly. He was not acting in the way Edwin would expect of someone who had recently lost his – his husband. Sekani walked towards them, causing them all to rapidly jump out of the way, and he straightened the skewed desk chair with a chuckle. “Aysar, darling, are you –”

Oh.

Sekani realised his mistake rather quickly, sitting heavily in the chair he’d only just fixed. Devastation and desolation spilled openly over his face, equal only to the worst of Edwin’s memories of Hell. It was painful to witness, yet more painful to ignore. Sekani’s hands covered that despairing face; his shoulders wracked with sobs. Aysar went to him immediately, placing a comforting but incorporeal arm around Sekani, making gentle shushing sounds that went unheard.

Edwin thought that, should he lose Charles, he would react in the same way. Their office carried as many memories of them as this house did of Aysar and Sekani. Edwin was too used to calling for Charles and getting an immediate reply, to handing him items and receiving them back, to having him stand between Edwin and their latest foe. What if, one day, that foe proved too much for Charles? What if Edwin returned to their office and habitually spoke as if Charles were still there, only to face the despair of losing him all over again? Except that no ghostly form of Charles would be comforting him through it.

Not one moment of Hell could compare.

He turned to Charles, but found himself arrested by the sight of Charles already looking back, his fine brows drawn in concern. “Let’s leave them to it, yeah?” His voice was quiet, despite Sekani’s inability to hear them. Edwin nodded. On their way out, Charles made a detour to Aysar, resting a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, Aysar. But come visit us, alright? Don’t be a stranger.”

Aysar only nodded, all his attention fixed completely on Sekani. Edwin wanted to tell him the dangers of staying attached to the living, if only to spare him the pain, but Charles took his hand and drew him away, shaking his head slightly. Sometimes, he knew Edwin far too well.

The return to their office was easy. Forgetting the case was a sight more difficult. Part of it was, of course, having to remember every detail for their case file. Charles suggested the rather too lengthy title of the Case of Haunting Murderers Until They Confess After Twenty-Five Years. Edwin preferred the (much simpler) Case of Justice.

“Just ‘Justice’?” Charles asked, one eyebrow raised. “We have a bunch of cases that involve justice, how’s that a good name?”

“Only one involving justice for a co-founder of the Dead Boy Detective Agency, Charles, do keep up,” Edwin sniped back.

“And what if we have a case involving justice for the other co-founder?” Charles’ second eyebrow joined the first.

The very same demon that had collected Edwin’s soul had destroyed all of his murderers, almost an entire century ago. “I’ve had more than enough justice, thank you,” he replied, and Charles laughed like he’d made a joke.

Eventually, they compromised and called it the Case of the Justice Hauntings, the card slipped in with countless others in their Closed Cases section. That was where the trouble came in. It was usually the point, after closing a case, when Edwin would relax with a book and Charles with anything but. Yet Edwin found his eyes… lingering.

“Charles,” he said, hesitantly. It was impossible, yet too much evidence supported it. “Were you and Aysar…”

“…dating?” Charles finished. He did not appear to take offence, at least. “Yeah, sort of, as much as we could back then. We snogged some, if that counts?” He smiled as if it were the easiest thing in the world. If that counts. As though kissing a boy was of no great import. “Sorry I didn’t tell you when we met, mate. Didn’t know how you’d take it, did I?”

The implication that he now knew how Edwin would react was staggering, since Edwin was not too certain about it himself. He was unaware of pressing his knuckles together until Charles gave them an affectionate tap. Edwin separated them hastily. “I… am not sure either. It was not something allowed when I was alive.”

“That’s a load of tosh,” Charles said, still with that easy grin. “It wasn’t allowed when I was alive, either, but that didn’t mean people weren’t doing it. It shouldn’t matter who people love except to them and their loved ones, right?” He shrugged. “Easy enough to say after I figured it out, though. Probably wouldn’t have acknowledged it without Aysar, would I?”

“Yes, I.” Edwin stared at his hands. “I could say very much the same thing.”

Charles blinked. “Hopefully he didn’t go about it the same way.” Finally, his smile dropped. Edwin immediately missed it. “Wait, mate, you’re serious? I thought you were… well, not into the whole dating thing.”

After nearly a century of ignoring any romantic inclinations he felt, perhaps that statement should’ve pleased Edwin. It did not. Far too many people had known Edwin’s deepest, darkest secret after barely interacting with him, and yet his companion of two decades, the only one he would willingly divulge his secrets to, had no idea. “What created that impression?”

“You – you never looked like you fancied anyone,” Charles said, stuttering for the first time that Edwin could recall. Edwin opened his mouth, but Charles barrelled on: “And I asked you directly, didn’t I?”

Edwin had no recollection of that, either. “When?”

“Somewhere in the ‘90s,” Charles said, waving his hand vaguely. “I asked you about… courtship, or something, I don’t know, I was trying to translate it to Edwardian speak. The point is, you said you ‘have no desire’ for it.”

Ah, yes. Edwin might have been a tad harsh in that conversation – Charles made no secret of his own love life, so when he had asked something in that direction, Edwin’s imagination had filled with nightmarish scenarios of being forcefully paired with any vaguely Edwardian ghostly maiden they came across. A pantomime of the very obligation that he thought death had freed him from.

At his silence, Charles continued, near desperate now: “There are terms for that now, you know? Aromantic, asexual. Loads more than that, too.”

“Oh?” Edwin reached for his notebook. “What are their definitions?”

“Aromantic’s feeling little or no romantic attraction for anyone, asexual’s the same but with sexual attraction,” Charles explained. Edwin blinked down at his notes. One half of his brain was connecting these terms to the opinion on courtship he gave Charles, and drawing the conclusion that Charles had no idea about his true nature because he deigned to listen to Edwin rather than assuming he knew better. The other half was caught on the sound of sexual attraction in Charles’ low voice. “Then there’s demiromantic and demisexual, which – Wait a tick, this is supposed to be about you.” Charles folded his arms and frowned, as if Edwin had deceived him. “What did you mean about courtship, then?”

Edwin slowly put his notebook away, grieving what little protection it had provided him. “Firstly, I don’t believe courtship is an accurate synonym for dating, as I understand it. Courtship had a very specific set of rules, was expected to conclude with marriage, and always occurred between a man and a woman.” He cleared his throat. “The last was my primary issue with it.”

Charles raised an eyebrow. “Because it was with a woman?”

It required every shred of courage that had survived Hell, but Edwin held his gaze. “Yes.”

“And if it’d been with a man?”

The mere thought was sacrilegious. “I would have… fewer issues,” Edwin admitted. Certainly Charles’ eyes had not always appeared so lovely and brown in the warm lighting of their office? It had never before been such an ordeal to meet them. “Although there are several other, deeply-ingrained problems in the process,” he hastened to add, in case Charles thought to forcefully pair him with any vaguely Edwardian ghostly man.

Charles’ laughter was warm. “I’m sure there are, mate.” He smiled mischievously. “Sounds like you want to experiment, innit?”

“Experiment?” Edwin enjoyed experiments both for solving cases and independent of them, but it hardly made sense in the current context.

“You know, going out with people and seeing if you enjoy it, that sort of thing. Gathering data about whether you’re into people of a specific gender, basically.”

Edwin snapped his fingers. “Yes! Yes, exactly. Charles, that is brilliant,” he said with feeling. Treating his own attractions as a scientific hypothesis? Nothing sounded more sensible. There was only one problem – “I am not good with new people, though.” But a solution quickly presented itself. “Charles, would you – ?”

Charles set his hands on Edwin’s shoulders. “Edwin, you’re my best mate and I would do anything for you.” Without quite meaning to, Edwin closed his eyes at the sensation of Charles’ thumbs stroking over his clavicle, faint as it was with four layers of fabric separating them. “But don’t ask that of me.”

Edwin’s eyes snapped open. Ah, he hadn’t even thought of what an imposition it was, simply assuming that Charles would go along with it as always. Charles may be attracted to men, but in no way did it follow that he was attracted to Edwin. He’d made a fool of himself in front of his very best friend. “I understand,” he said stiffly.

But Charles knew him too well by far. “Not looking like that, you don’t! At least, I hope not.” He was smiling, but above it, his lovely brown eyes were sad. “What I meant is, experimenting is supposed to be easy and fun and low-pressure, so it doesn’t hurt if it turns out you don’t want them. I can’t be that.” Edwin opened his mouth to refute it, because Charles had described several of his past relationships as ‘easy’ or ‘fun’. But Charles shook his head, eyes only sadder, and Edwin acquiesced. “Not with you. It’d be too much to put on you. I'd be too much.”

Oh.

Charles was – Charles had –

Oh.

Edwin swallowed back the urge to ask a desperate, selfish, Are you sure? Because Charles having feelings for him (feelings deeper than his past relationships, even) was, well… quite simply impossible. Such things did not happen, and they certainly did not happen to Edwin Payne. This was yet another layer of Hell, a particularly creative one, which had devised the illusion of a perfect boy and a perfect friendship. Of course the next step would be a perfect romance.

But Charles wasn’t perfect, and all the better for it. Hell could never have created him. He was too good for them to fathom.

Perhaps such things did not happen to Edwin Payne, but his very best friend was standing in front of him with his heart in his hands, begging Edwin not to crush it.

Edwin would rather crush his own.

He brought up his hands to clasp Charles’ wrists, and Charles startled, as if expecting Edwin to remove him bodily. Edwin only kept their hands in place. “Charles, thank you for telling me. I… I had no idea. I will not ask that of you, I promise.” He swallowed, suddenly grateful that his grip on Charles’ wrists prevented the urge to cup Charles’ cheek. “You are my best friend, and I would likewise do anything for you. The last thing I wish is to hurt you. You are far too important to me.”

Charles smiled at him with heart-breaking sincerity. It was everything Edwin could ask for.

It was slow-going at first, of course. Edwin possessed none of Charles’ easy charm, nor his way of drawing people to him like moths to a flame. Yet, when he opened himself to the possibility, Edwin found that he was not wholly without suitors.

It transpired that one such suitor took the form of a professional ghost, similar to them. The man was an alchemist that they had consulted when what the case required was beyond Edwin’s amateur knowledge of the subject. Jasper – as he’d introduced himself with a smile and a firm handshake – was rather intriguing, explaining his process to Edwin as he went, and lighting up when Edwin asked some well-placed questions. In fact, the conversation progressed well enough that it was a surprise when Jasper returned to his equipment at a critical point and Charles drew him away entirely.

“Alright then, mate?” Charles asked, his bracing smile at odds with the words.

“Perfectly well, Charles, why would I not be?” Edwin replied, though it was hardly the truth. He could scarcely look at Charles without hearing, once more, Not with you, and, I'd be too much. It should not change anything, and yet… Edwin found himself wanting to lay a comforting hand on Charles’ shoulder and reassure him, but Charles had ever been the tactile one between them. He at least kept to that habit after his admission. Edwin could only lean into it and pray that he understood.

“Brills,” Charles murmured, eyes lowering. “Look, I don’t want to make things weird, but just in case – you know Jasper likes you, right?”

Edwin scoffed. “If anything, he just enjoys alchemy.” Yet he felt some measure of warmth at the thought. It was pleasant to be able to befriend new people, even if he lacked Charles’ ease.

“Nah, he likes you, innit?” Charles laughed a little.

Edwin blinked. Certain facts took on new meaning: Jasper’s permanent smile; his unnecessary closeness when indicating the components of his latest experiment; his offer to loan Edwin any of his alchemy books (which Edwin had gladly accepted). Edwin supposed the way Jasper’s gaze had swept over him during introductions could also be re-interpreted in view of this. Even without such evidence, he’d learnt to trust Charles’ deductions on emotional matters. He was rarely wrong. “Ah. I did not intend –”

“Do you not like him?”

Did he? Professionally and personally, yes; Jasper was certainly knowledgeable, and Edwin enjoyed conversing with him. Romantically? Edwin hadn’t the faintest idea.

At his hesitation, Charles’ expression grew gentle. “Hey, hey, I just thought you might like to spend time with him… alone? Just say the word and I’ll take off, yeah?”

Edwin had no wish for Charles to take off. Even with the rare persons that initially got on with Edwin, conversations had a way of drying up. It was reassuring to have Charles, then. Yet for the purposes of Edwin’s, ah, experiments, it was ideal to spend time alone with a suitor. He had no wish to inflict the experience on Charles, who was already forced to explain this to Edwin despite his own feelings, either. “I suppose that would be best, yes.”

Charles gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. “’Course. Go get him, tiger!”

“I am not a feline,” Edwin pointed out. Charles laughed, and all was right in the world.

When they returned, Jasper’s eyes darted rapidly between them. “Business calls?” he guessed, somewhat lightly.

“Only for some of us,” Charles said with a wink. He clapped Edwin on the back in such a way that Edwin was encouraged forward and closer to Jasper. “Tell you what, I’ll go sort it out while Edwin finishes his chat with you, yeah?”

“Yes, that would be – that would be no problem, of course,” Jasper said, but he was gazing at Edwin with a smaller and sweeter smile. He was rather handsome.

Charles left with a cheery wave. Edwin turned back to Jasper and said, “Please, continue.”

It was only after every time-sensitive task was completed that Jasper struck up casual conversation once more. “So, you and Charles –” he began, clearly attempting subtlety.

“We are business partners,” Edwin filled in, but it sounded rather cold when that was the least of what Charles meant to him. He added, “In addition to being best friends.”

“Oh!” Jasper’s smile was bright. “Good. Well – not good, but I didn’t wish to cause offence, I…” He took a deep, unnecessary breath. “I should like to ask you on a date, if you are amenable to it.”

In supernatural terms, Jasper was closer in age to Edwin than Charles. The word date was charmingly distinct from his general lexicon. Still, Edwin hesitated.

Jasper’s smile faded. “If I misread you…”

“It is not that,” Edwin said immediately, then amended, “or not fully, at least. I find myself rather uncertain about such matters, what with public opinion during my lifetime.”

“I do understand that, believe me.” Jasper rested his hand on Edwin’s. Edwin had never been overly fond of physical contact except in specific cases, but between his leather gloves and Jasper’s laboratory gear, all he could sense was a comforting press. Both that and the assurance helped. Such matters had hardly been better in Charles’ time, but at least they had been admitted to. Edwin would rather be insulted than kept ignorant.

Edwin glanced once more at their gloved hands, the white of Jasper’s laboratory coat stark against Edwin’s brown leather, but stained with a variety of chemicals that plainly showed his love for his craft. “Then I would indeed be amenable to a… date, if we could schedule it after our current case is closed?”

“Of course,” said Jasper, his smile boyish and charming and lighting up his face. “As soon as your case is finished, then?”

“Of course,” Edwin said, and found himself smiling slightly.

So that was what they did: with Jasper’s help, the case was closed in a matter of days, and then Edwin went on his first-ever date. It was a walk through the streets of London, which passed as a casual outing for ghosts, and despite what Charles had said, it wasn’t easy or low-pressure. Edwin found himself weighing up every word he said, feeling his phantom pulse pick up at the thought of saying the wrong thing or acting the wrong way. Yet it was an enjoyable experience overall, and when Jasper asked whether he could take Edwin on another date, it was no hardship to agree.

Their pace was slow, what with scheduling dates to suit both their busy careers, but Edwin didn’t mind. It always took him some time to get used to new people in his life – excluding Charles, who’d settled in frighteningly quickly, of course – and the standard getting-to-know-each-other questions from his romantic research became a tad awkward when the most significant parts of Edwin’s existence were his casework and Hell. The latter seemed a somewhat inappropriate topic for their fledgeling relationship. As Edwin feared, their conversation became somewhat stilted in the face of it, without another to pick up the slack. However, Jasper adapted quickly, shifting the locations of their dates to museums and libraries, where they could speak of their own knowledge and interests instead. Those topics did not dry up quite so quickly. He enjoyed comparing his opinions to Jasper’s, as well as the verbal sparring when they, perhaps inevitably, disagreed.

At the end of each date, Jasper gifted him some item or trinket – a new piece of equipment for Edwin’s kit, a book Jasper thought he would enjoy, even a smooth, mottled red stone that he’d presented with a charming blush.

Edwin had glanced from that blush to the stone’s distinctive appearance, and made a deduction. “A piece of jasper, then?”

Jasper’s shy smile had been answer enough.

Afterwards, in the office, Edwin examined the stone more closely, the glossy surface almost cool under his fingertips. The metaphor of it was all too clear. A piece of jasper. A piece of Jasper. It was frightening to be entrusted with such a responsibility, yet a touch exciting at the same time.

“What’s this, then?” Charles asked. He’d entered so quietly that even Edwin’s fine hearing, trained as it was in Hell, hadn’t registered it. Edwin fought down a guilty start.

“A gift. A piece of –”

“Jasper, innit?” Charles interrupted. “I remember that geology museum you took me to, mate.” He huffed a laugh. “That’s a good one.”

Edwin smiled up at him. “Quite.”

Silence formed between them, viscous and strange. They hardly spent their every interaction speaking, but the silence had never before been uncomfortable. Was this the effect of an outsider on their friendship? Despite still spending most of his time with Charles, between their cases and off-time when Jasper was busy, Edwin abruptly found himself missing Charles. Or perhaps he missed the ease of their deaths before all of this, when he did not have to feel so much. But that was unfair. He was only too grateful to receive this chance, which had been so impossible in his own lifetime.

Perhaps the silence felt less oppressive to Charles, because he said, easily enough, “Still going well, then, you and Jasper?”

Did he want information that could hurt him? “Why must you know?” Edwin’s tone was all wrong, too harsh by far. The way he spoke to troublesome witnesses, to idiotic foes – not to Charles. Never to Charles.

Hurt flashed clearly over Charles’ face, before it vanished behind a smile that did not reach his eyes. “You don’t have to tell me. I know you’re private, yeah?”

But Edwin wasn’t, not with Charles. He sighed. “I apologise, Charles. I merely meant – I don’t understand why you would want to know. Would it not… would it not hurt?” It was frightfully presumptuous, but Edwin wouldn’t do his friend the indignity of ignoring his true feelings.

“You’re my best mate, first,” Charles said with a small shrug, but his smile reached his eyes at last. “Always will be. I want to you to be happy, no matter what, alright?”

Edwin dipped his head. “That is a fair point.” He supposed that were their roles reversed, he would rather know, as well.

So he told Charles of all of it (in the way all his research suggested people spoke of romance to their best friend): the attractions and discomfort and uncertainty. The electromagnetic forces between Jasper and him, pushing closer yet pulling away. It was freeing to speak of the lingering shame he felt for himself, for his nature.

“There is nothing wrong with you, yeah?” Charles said fiercely. “Everyone who’s said that – fuck ‘em. You’re perfect, Edwin, alright?”

Edwin was helpless to do anything but smile at him, the words strong enough that he nearly believed them.

At the end of his retelling, Charles asked, “D’you want to kiss him?” There was some strangeness in his countenance, his voice. Edwin was uncertain which answer he wished to hear.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly, glancing at his piece of jasper once more. “Things are developing rather quickly. I’m afraid kissing would only encourage it.”

Charles’ eyebrows raised. “You’ve gone on five dates over several weeks without kissing? That’s the opposite of quick, mate.”

Edwin couldn’t explain his understanding of the latest gift, not without revealing how impossible it was for him to return the gesture. He hardly lacked pieces of his soul, but each was too fractured to trust in another’s hands. There weren’t any aptly-named gemstones for him to substitute, either. The related literature spoke of giving oneself wholly to one’s lover, but Edwin couldn’t. Hell had a claim on far too much of him, after all, and the rest had been built on their agency and their office and Charles, belonging to them as much as to Edwin himself. What was there left to give?

“Kissing isn’t like that, anyway,” Charles was saying. “You can try it out and see if you like it, yeah? And if it’s going too fast, tell him. If he’s a decent bloke, he’ll back off. If not, just tell me, and –” he mimed a swing of his cricket bat, serious for a moment, and then they were both laughing. Edwin’s phantom heart raced at the thought of Charles using his cricket bat to defend him. It was hardly new, but it had always been against physical rather than emotional threats.

Still, poor Jasper did not deserve this slander. “That should be quite unnecessary, but thank you, Charles.”

“Anytime, mate,” Charles said. “You know that.”

As if Jasper had been listening in on them that day, he broached the topic on the very next date. It took the form of a shy question: “Are you interested in kissing?”

Edwin froze. Stay very very still – maybe it won’t hear you – maybe it won’t catch you – No. This wasn’t Hell, nor the reason he’d been there. Because otherwise it would mean that Jasper was meant for Hell, and so were Aysar and Sekani and Charles. It was simply not possible. Edwin forced the tremor from his voice. “I haven’t enough experience to say.”

“Oh, I haven’t either, not really,” Jasper stuttered, flushing. “But I would be interested in an attempt, if you are…?”

Kissing isn’t like that, Charles had said, and, You can try it out and see if you like it. Edwin trusted him. “Very well, I suppose.”

There was an awkward moment where they simply stared at each other, before Jasper chuckled and stepped closer to him. Here? Edwin glanced around at the crowded museum, but if anyone could see them, they didn’t let on. He supposed it was as good a place as any. Jasper settled his hands on Edwin’s shoulders quite properly, the way Charles had shown him people did during informal modern dancing. Edwin obligingly held onto Jasper’s waist. It was unexpectedly intimate. Jasper truly was handsome, his long, dark hair tied back in a neat queue, his brown eyes holding the sunlight captive, his lips full and red and curling as Edwin continued to watch them.

Jasper’s hands slipped up to cradle Edwin’s face, holding him in place as he leaned in, his eyes fluttering shut. Edwin followed suit. Despite everything, it was a surprise to feel Jasper’s mouth on his, the simultaneous twitch of his fingers at Edwin’s jaw. It was almost too much.

Before Edwin could even think of kissing back, Jasper pulled away, his eyes wide and anxious. “Was that – was that satisfactory?”

“Yes. Quite splendid, Jasper,” Edwin said, certain he must be an unflattering shade of red. “Could we perhaps repeat it?”

Jasper kissed him again in a rather more drawn-out affair, and oh, Edwin enjoyed this. It gave him ample time to study the techniques of kissing and then apply them, to internally note what each of them enjoyed, to release his clasped hands and explore more of his partner. The shirt collar was finely-woven and stiff under his fingertips. The silky hair was drawn back tightly enough to seem straight. Edwin ghosted fingers over a slightly prickly jaw to the space under the left ear, and found – nothing.

He stepped back, stumbling somewhat with sudden vertigo, and deft fingers caught his elbows and steadied him once more. The customary thank you, Charles froze on his lips as he stared into too-light brown eyes, unlined with kohl. Because this was Jasper, who did not possess soft red polos or short curls or shaved cheeks. Jasper, whose ears were not pierced, especially not with a star-shaped earring that seemed destined to get in the way and yet always caught Edwin’s eyes when it winked in the sunlight.

Jasper, who was not his best friend.

Edwin had imagined Charles in Jasper’s place, kissing him. Why? Because Charles had feelings for him? Was this some monstrous way to take advantage of those feelings, forcing Charles into something that he might want, for all the wrong reasons? But Edwin had no reason to. He had no wish to hurt Charles. He certainly did not want to hurt him by kissing him, not when he’d only just discovered how pleasurable it could be. Nor did the fantasy of kissing Charles fill him with sick glee. Rather, he felt curiosity, anticipation… desire.

Love.

Edwin gasped.

“Are you well?” Jasper asked, his brows furrowing. “I apologise if it was too much –”

It was, but not in the way Jasper thought. It’d be too much, Charles had said. I'd be too much. Because he had feelings for Edwin. How could Edwin be so foolish? Ignorant of his own love, letting Charles believe his feelings were unrequited when it was the complete opposite, realising while with someone else – it was unconscionable.

Edwin could not continue deceiving Jasper in this way. He stepped out of Jasper’s arms completely. “No, no, I am well. But I’m afraid I can’t do this again.”

Jasper’s face fell. “What is wrong? If you prefer not to kiss, I would honour your choice.”

“Not the kissing, Jasper. The dates, the gifts, everything. I apologise for – I believe the term is leading you on? Only we cannot continue.”

If before he had been confused, now Jasper was plainly hurt. “Did it mean nothing to you? Did I mean nothing to you?”

Edwin had been feeling frenetic, straightening his clothing and searching for the nearest exit, already thinking of what he would say to Charles. But the question sliced through to his vulnerable heart. “Of course not! I appreciated our dates and your gifts greatly. Besides, you were my first kiss. That matters. It is only… there is someone else, you see.”

“Your business-partner-and-best-friend?” Jasper asked. At Edwin’s shock, he gave a watery smile. “You are not the only one able to play detective, you know. I simply thought… Well. I sincerely hope he is worth it.”

He is, Edwin thought, but did not say. It would be rather rude. “Thank you, Jasper. For everything.”

“Thank you, Edwin,” Jasper echoed, his eyes terribly sad, and turned away.

As soon as he was out of sight, Edwin broke into a run. There was no guarantee that Charles should be in their office when they were not working and Edwin was otherwise occupied, but it was the best place to start. Yet somehow, now that he knew the truth of himself, every second away from Charles seemed wasted. He located a reflective-enough display, wasted another second to focus on the office, and spilled through, unusually clumsy. It was the right location, at least.

Even better – Charles was there. He was playing one of his games, bouncing a sport ball from one knee to the other, but at Edwin’s entrance, he let it drop. “Hey, mate, thought you were only coming back later.” Then, when he faced Edwin and saw his face: "Edwin? What’s wrong?”

Aware of what this might look like, Edwin rushed to reassure him. “Nothing. Nothing is wrong.” Because it wasn’t. Because loving Charles must be the best thing in the world, even if Charles did not return those feelings to the same degree. How to articulate that love was a completely different matter. Edwin had rushed here without any sort of plan, which was certainly not normal for him. It was all frightfully impulsive. Something Charles might do, even, which meant Edwin could hardly mind it. “Charles, I…”

Charles blinked at him, unaware of his own exquisiteness. His curls were disarrayed, as if by a careless hand. His eyes were nearly black in the dim light and framed by generous eyelashes. He was dressed down, as was his usual in the office, out of his coat and jacket. (Edwin remembered the sight of Charles in his own coat, and had to take a deep breath.) His curved dark eyebrows; the glint of light outlining his jewellery; the elegant line of his nose; his lips, parted by a confused smile.

“I am difficult,” was what tumbled out of Edwin’s mouth, unplanned. Charles blinked at him uncomprehendingly. “And no one has ever accused me of being ‘fun’.” Charles frowned, opened his mouth – “Except you, of course,” Edwin added, rolling his eyes. “And, though I may not feel pressure when I am with you, it would certainly hurt if you did not want me.” Charles did not attempt to interrupt again, but simply stared, his eyes shining. Edwin inhaled sharply. “I rather fear I would be too much for you, Charles.”

"Edwin," Charles said.

There was no way to determine who moved first, but it hardly mattered, because they ended up embracing as they never had before, clinging so tightly that Edwin doubted Death herself could separate them. (Not that he would chance it.) He clenched his hands around fistfuls of Charles’ red polo, could feel Charles do the same to his poor jacket, and then Charles was shifting even closer, the sides of their faces brushing. It reminded Edwin of his newfound appreciation for kissing. His face burnt.

Charles pulled away, slowly enough that Edwin could feel their mirrored longing to remain. “Just to be really clear – I love you, Edwin. Like, I’m in love with you.”

"Oh," said Edwin, as if it had been punched out of him. “I am in love with you, as well.”

“Yeah?” asked Charles, even as his face glowed with the truth of it. Edwin feared his own face was doing very much the same thing. “Not just saying that, then?”

“As if I would,” Edwin scoffed. “I love you far too much.”

He drew Charles to him. It might only be his second – or third, depending on how you counted – experience, but Edwin could not imagine that there had ever been a more perfect kiss.