Archive of Our Own ^beta

There are precious few constants in Edwin Payne's life. It is something he has come to tolerate, but in moments of distraction he has always wished his world—and the people in it—to be ever so slightly more reliable.

Even so, there are some things Edwin can trust will always be true.

Charles Rowland, at his own stubborn demand, is one of those things. Edwin had tried to resist, but as soon as he had seen Charles’ face in Hell he'd known the game was up.

It is precisely because of Charles' constancy that Edwin is so determined to provide as much in return as possible. After Hell, he is certain Charles will not leave, and that leaves Edwin with the daunting realization that he must be better—be the partner Charles deserves or, at least, ensure that Charles can find support elsewhere.

Charles kisses him and Edwin is ecstatic up until Charles pulls away and says with an upbeat, somewhat dismissive smile, “God I've missed that. It's just not the same with the living. I mean, I can feel it. Sorta, at least.” He squeezes Edwin’s hand as if to prove his point. “It's nice.”

Edwin manages to stutter out a convincing enough response, but his heart (or his memory of it) is caught between the fast-beating thrill of a desire realized and the aching slowness of a terrible thought:

Charles needs to touch and be touched by someone he trusts and can feel.

The list of candidates for supernatural beings that Charles trusts in such a way is low. In fact, Edwin would wager there's only one name on it—his own.

Of course Charles would kiss him now that he knows Edwin is interested in the same sex. 

It isn't about love, not the way it is for Edwin. It's about intimacy, touch.

Charles kisses him again and when he pulls away his smile is so blindingly bright that Edwin decides he doesn't care what it’s about. He will offer whatever he can to Charles for as long as Charles wishes to take it.

It will be enough. It must be enough.

And when the time comes, if the time comes, that Charles finds another, more suitable intimate partner Edwin will return to his position as best friend and business partner.

He ignores the way his knuckles ache with the desire to grind them together.

----

"Oi, I get you didn't like the club, but you coulda told me you were headed back the office, mate."

Edwin glances up from the book he was reading looking annoyingly surprised as if Charles had been the one to run off suddenly. He holds back a scowl.

"Charles," Edwin says, calm and unexpecting, "I truly did not think you would be back so soon, what with your new..." he clears his throat, "ah, friend."

Wait, what? Charles frowns.

"The hell do you mean 'my new friend'?"

"The man you were conversing with at the bar," Edwin clarifies slowly, brow furrowed. "I thought your intentions were fairly clear once you followed him out of the establishment. Was I mistaken?"

"My intentions?" Charles repeats, still completely lost. "The bloody hell do you mean by that?"

"Honestly, Charles, are you going to make me say it?"

"Yes!" Charles says, "Because I have no idea what the hell you're on about, mate."

Edwin sighs, adjusting his coat and looking away. "I was under the impression you intended to engage in... amorous congress."

Something in Charles' brain shorts out. Surely Edwin can't mean what he thinks he means.

"You thought I was going to have sex with him?"

"Must you be so crude?" Edwin complains, but Charles does not have time for this because what the fuck.

"Edwin."

"Oh, alright," he huffs. "Yes, I thought you were going to have sex with him so I went home to read a book. I presume I was mistaken?"

"Yeah, you were bloody mistaken, Edwin. You thought I was cheating on you and you just, went home to read a fucking book?" Charles throws his hands about as he speaks, needing to get the absurd energy of this conversation out somehow.

“No need for dramatics, Charles. You would not have been ‘cheating' on me," Edwin says with a hint of fond exasperation. He stares at Charles for a moment before his frown deepens. "Charles, are you alright?"

"No! No, I am not alright." A terrible thought occurs to him, dread pooling in his gut. "Have you been shagging other blokes?"

Edwin blinks, taken aback. "No! Of course not, Charles. Even in the very unlikely event that I would truly desire someone other than you, I would never betray your confidence."

"So, you don't think we're in some kind of-of open relationship, or whatever?" Charles asks hesitantly, some part of him still unable to believe they're even having this conversation in the first place.

"I am not certain what is meant by 'open relationship', but I have not and have no intention to start engaging in intimacies with anyone other than you."

Charles stares at him uncomprehendingly. "So, you don't think we're in an open relationship—" incredulity begins to build in his tone, "—but you were perfectly fine thinkin' I was taking that bloke out for a proper fuck without even saying a damn thing? Literally ditching you at the club I fucking dragged you out to in the first place?"

"Well, I certainly would have preferred a 'heads up' so to speak," Edwin admits, "but I understand how that could have been... awkward given what I assumed your intentions were. I imagine it would have made your paramour uncomfortable."

"It would have made my—" Charles cuts off with a curse, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes. "Edwin, are you saying you were fine with me leaving with some random without saying a word to you because it would have made the man you thought I was cheating on you with uncomfortable?"

"I told you, Charles, it would not have been 'cheating'," Edwin insists, frowning at Charles. "I cannot say I like the idea of imagining you engaging in intercourse with another, but I have always vowed not to stand in the way of such pursuits. I thought that was clear."

"I thought you were in love with me!" Charles demands only to regret it instantly at how Edwin's face contorts into one of grief.

"I am,” he says fiercely. “I love you more than anything. Please, doubt my reasoning if you must, but never, never doubt my love for you. Do you understand?"

"Then why don't you care?" Charles says, throat tight.

"It is because I care that I cannot fault you," Edwin says softly. "I know the way you feel for me is... different, and I will never begrudge you for it. I have been happy to provide comfort to you, but I am aware that having me as your sole intimate partner is not ideal. It is alright to pursue those you find more... suitable. I understand, Charles."

Charles stares at Edwin, the words not quite registering. When he doesn't respond, Edwin looks away, posture straight and face soft but still, as though he is waiting but unsure what for.

"You thought that our relationship was just, what, physical?" Charles manages, understanding beginning to dawn and horror along with it. "That I was using you to fuckin' satisfy myself until I could find someone I liked better?"

Edwin shifts, kneading his fists together and avoiding Charles' gaze.

"You make it sound as though it is such a terrible thing, Charles," he says stiffly yet with a distinct sincerity. "It is not. That I could provide any comfort to you at all is something I am deeply grateful for. I do not and have never required you to love me in the-in the way I love you."

He meets Charles' eyes again, so terribly determined and kind. It makes Charles want to scream and hit something.

"I do not regret a single moment I have given to you," he continues, oblivious to Charles' mounting distress, "nor should you regret what you have given me in return." His smile tightens with an edge of pain and self-loathing. "Much to my shame, I confess that I do dread the day when you will no longer have need of the physical comforts I can offer, but an experience is not worthwhile because it is unending. I will always treasure our time together."

Edwin takes a slow breath before finishing with a statement that makes Charles feel as though he is once more sitting in Ester Finch's fucking kitchen, iron collar searing into his neck and Edwin's screams driving him mad—helpless, useless .

"If it is you, Charles, I do not need to be loved. It is more than enough to be touched."

Edwin says it like he has said it to himself a thousand times before, like every time Charles has kissed him or touched him or fucked him, Edwin has had this mantra on repeat.

God, Charles thinks distantly, how could I let this happen?

He feels like he's underwater, sound dampened and cold seeping into every inch of his skin.

"I can't do this," he whispers, shaking his head as he backs away. "Fuck, I'm sorry. I can't—"

Charles' words stick in his throat until all he can do is turn away from the picture of Edwin's concerned face and run.

----

Edwin stares at the empty space that had held Charles just moments ago.

How had it all gone so terribly wrong?

While he has always been inclined to muck things up without even knowing he was doing it, this is the worst case of it to date.

Edwin doesn't think he has ever seen Charles so distressed.

Not even in Hell.

He wishes desperately that he could, just once, understand how other people work, how Charles works. Perhaps then he would be able to be what Charles needs.

A horrible part of him is still relieved that Charles isn't off with that man from the club. Regardless of the supportive, unaffected image he had attempted to project, it makes his stomach twist to think of a stranger seeing Charles at his most vulnerable.

Crystal is one thing, but some random man from a club? He would not be sensitive to Charles' needs.

Although, apparently Edwin should not be so confident that he is any good for Charles either given their most recent interaction.

He must fix this. 

Clearly, there has been some terrible miscommunication between them. All Edwin needs to do is lay out the facts. He is a detective after all.

Charles had been convinced that he was not allowed to participate in sexual intercourse with another, calling it ‘cheating’ several times. This indicates that he had been under the impression that Edwin's affection had come with strings, with some inherent demand that Charles belong to Edwin and Edwin alone.

Then, when confronted with the reality of the situation, he was upset enough to leave.

He did, at least, seem mollified by Edwin's assurance that he would never seek a partner outside of Charles.

He wonders if Charles will always expect that. If he will wish for Edwin's devotion even as he finds others who suit him better. It reminds him of the marriages his sisters had been resigned to. The life of a kept woman, ever longing for the husband who spends his evenings with the more exciting mistress. 

He feels guilty for the comparison as soon as it arises. Charles is not his husband. He owes him nothing, and if he wishes for Edwin's devotion for the rest of eternity, then Edwin shall give it to him.

Clearly, Charles had been wrestling with some kind of guilt surrounding the difference in how they love each other, and he felt he was doing Edwin real harm.

The next step is then to reassure Charles that he is not harming Edwin at all, but he thought he had done that in their conversation. He had attempted to speak to his gratitude for what Charles had shared with him, but it had only seemed to make Charles more distressed.

Ultimately, Edwin finds himself at a loss. There is no Charles to bounce his ideas off of to set his mind straight. Just a silent office, heavy with the weight of Charles shocked sorrow.

Edwin sits on the couch. Sometimes, all there is to do is wait.

----

Charles does not end up where he expected.

He stares at the perfect characters carved into the stone.

He can't speak or read Japanese, but he doesn't need to to know what is written here.

Niko Sasaki.

In a moment of irrational anger, he wants to curse her. Curse her for dying, curse her for leaving Edwin alone, because maybe if she had still been here none of this would have happened.

She would have forced Edwin to talk about his feelings, and she would never have let him think that Charles is not completely, consumingly in love with him.

“Hey, Niko,” he says eventually, “I, uh, I fucked something up, like, bad. Really bad. It's about Edwin. We got together, y'know?” He smiles. “I think you'd've loved that. Your boys finally pullin’ their heads out their arses so they can go about fallin’ in love and kissin’ n shit.” The smile fades. “Least that's what I thought we were doing. Apparently, Edwin's thought I've just been—God, I don't even know—using him? How could he—” Charles cuts off as his breath hitches and he scrubs away the tears threatening to fall. The tears stubbornly fall anyway.

“I don't know what to do, Neeks,” he confesses near silently. “You were better at this whole love thing than the rest of us. How do I fix this?”

“I imagine it starts with going back to that boy of yours.”

The voice makes Charles jump and whirl around to find a short, middle-aged man standing before him. Something about his face and voice are tauntingly familiar.

“No offence, but it’s a bit more complicated than that, mate,” Charles says stiffly.

The man only smiles and walks until he stands by Charles, gazing down at Niko's grave with an awful ache in his eyes.

“Don’t mistake what is difficult with what is complex,” he says steadily. “That's part of what made her so special, my girl. She knew life was simple, and she helped the rest of us see it, too.”

Before Charles can respond the man has patted him on the shoulder and walked away.

With one last glance to Niko's name, Charles takes a deep breath, turns around, and sets out to the nearest mirror. The man was right: Edwin needs him, and that has always been reason enough.

----

Edwin is a trembling mess by the time Charles comes tumbling back through the office mirror, but it doesn't stop him from shooting to his feet as soon as he catches sight of his partner.

“Charles,” he says, tone a tangle of uncertainty and desperate joy.

Much to his relief, Charles seems to be experiencing a similar rush of emotion, and they meet in the middle with a rough crash of bodies and cling to each other for a few lingering moments.

“I'm sorry,” Edwin blurts as soon as they part. “I am so sorry, Charles.”

Charles shakes his head. “No, I'm sorry, love. I shouldn't have run off like that.”

“It is alright,” Edwin replies immediately, prompting a sigh from his partner.

“It's really not,” he says, “but that's not what we need to talk about, is it?”

Edwin nods and lets Charles lead them both back to the couch. Charles stares at him for a moment, eyes as sharp as they are when he takes apart a case and no less caring.

“I think,” he starts, “that I've misunderstood some stuff about-about us. Can you tell me what you think we are?”

Edwin nods. This is a good question, one he has been prepared to answer for months.

“We are best friends, partners, and currently lovers,” he says. “We trust each other completely and are both ghosts which makes us an excellent pair for physical intimacy. I am in love with you, and you love me in return.”

Charles nods slowly. “Yeah, that's true, but Edwin, I don't just love you in return; I'm in love with you. We're best friends and partners and lovers, but I'd kinda been operating under the assumption that you were my boyfriend, too.”

Edwin stares at him. “What?”

“You are not and never have been someone I've just been fucking,” Charles says steadily as if he hasn't turned Edwin's world on its head. “I told you we had forever to figure it out, and I figured it out, mate. I want you. I want to be with you. Like, forever.”

“I don't—” Edwin's tongue feels clumsy in a way that is entirely uncharacteristic. “Why?” 

“Why shouldn’t I?” 

That stops Edwin in his tracks. His shock makes a bitterness tug at Charles' soft smile.

“Been doing a right shit job of it if it's that surprising,” he says dryly.

“No, no, you have been incredible,” Edwin scrambles to assure. “Perfect, truly. I simply, well, I never let myself consider that…” 

“That I might love you the way you love me,” Charles finishes. He lifts his hands to hold Edwin's face. “I do. I love you. And I'm never gonna let you forget it again.”

He pulls Edwin's face in for a kiss, firm yet chaste, as much a promise as it is a physical gesture. It leaves Edwin dizzy with the weight of it.

“Yeah?” Charles prompts when he’s pulled away.

“Yeah,” Edwin echoes, staring at him in wonder.

They kiss again (and again, and again and do far more than kiss later) and throughout it all, Edwin does not feel a single moment of that looming fear of loss.

Instead, there is, as has been true for three and a half decades, one consistency: 

Charles.