a million stairs and a million stares

Charles bends an elbow and leans back to drink him in; the eyes bright with a fervor neatly contained, the hands smoothing his trousers flat, the hair just slightly untamed.

Sometimes he feels like he stole Edwin, all those years ago, by being just a pathetic enough sight in hell, weeping as he picked up the knife, that Edwin had to go and drag him out, fall from grace just to keep him safe from heaven’s watchful eyes. And then there are the nights where Charles feels like Edwin stole him, when they nudge and twist into one narrow bed, and Edwin whispers of the wonders of the world, how he never felt so alive in centuries of existence.

“Tell me about it?” Charles asks, and Edwin does. About wandering the banks of the Ganges centuries ago, its waters lapping over cracked stone, the raucous laughter of children playing. The same city, now, the great grandchildren of those children’s faces turned to the orange sun sinking over the horizon.

“Sounds beautiful,” Charles says, hushed.

Christ, he’s not good with words like Edwin. Born poet, he is, though he supposes Edwin wasn’t born. Does he have a birthday? Creation day? Maybe they could pick a random day and celebrate.

“Perhaps one day you could join me,” Edwin says.

Maybe, if he’s not dead by twenty four. It only takes one hunt gone wrong.

“Maybe,” Charles stretches on a smile.

Edwin tilts his head, frowning slightly.

“What else did you see?” Charles says quickly.

“I discovered a device called a,” Edwin pauses for effect. “Hmm.”

Charles leans in, grinning.

“”Claw machine,” which resembled nothing so much as one of hells torture devices.”

Charles snorts, sides shaking with quiet laughter.

“That so?”

“Yes. Then I realized it was another instrument of capitalism.”

“Right, and how many quarters did you spend before you realized that?”

“That is irrelevant,” Edwin sniffs, haughty.

Charles snickers.

“Would you like your gift, or would you prefer to continue to ridicule me?”

“A gift?” Charles sits up. “Mate, you didn’t have to—“

“I wanted to,” Edwin says, firm in that sincere way of his that makes Charles skin itch just looking at him. (His Dad, military hunter to his core, would’ve hated Edwin if he hadn’t put a round of bullets in him first. Charles has never been so cleanly, simply glad he's gone as when Edwin glides more than walks).

“Right,” Charles clears his throat. “Let’s see it, then.”

Edwin reaches into the pocket of his deep blue overcoat and holds out—

“Hold on,” Charles blinks, “is that..”

“Yes.”

Charles reaches out and brushes the worn, floppy ear of Spot, the exact beanie baby dog he had as a kid.

“I thought,” Charles swallows, blinking quick. “Thought he ended up in a bin somewhere.” *When Dad decided I was too old for that shit, he doesn’t say.

“In a charity shop, actually. Rescued by a do-gooder. It was only a minor miracle to retrieve it,” Edwin waves a dismissive hand.

Charles swallows around tightness in his throat.

“Have I performed the ritual incorrectly?”

“Ritual?”

“Of gift giving,” Edwin pauses. “Charles, are you alright? I do apologize if—“

All the air rushes out of Edwin’s lungs as Charles tugs him into a hug.

“Nah, mate, you did good,” he says into Edwin’s shoulder. “Sometimes, humans, we cry when we’re really happy.”

“Oh.” Edwin relaxes against him, clumsily patting Charles on the back in imitation. “That seems.. contradictory.”

“Yeah,” Charles huffs, nuzzling into Edwin’s neck. “Thats us, the human race. A load of contradictions.”

“Yes, Ive found that to be true,” Edwin says. “Its a good thing I’ve grown fond of a select few of you.”

“Yeah, and who’d that be?”

“Niko.”

“‘Course.”

“Crystal, I suppose, under duress.”

“Anyone else make the list?”

“Charles, you are the list,” Edwin huffs. “There is no need to fish for compliments.”

Charles feels his face go hot against Edwin’s neck, squirms a bit in his arms.

“Truly,” Edwin’s saying, “the inhabitants of Earth will never know how lucky they are that you were one of the first humans I met.”

“Cant just say that,” Charles mutters in protest.

“Can’t I?” Edwin says, all ancient arrogance.

Charles shivers, something hot turning over in his belly.

“I am fortunate to have met you, Charles Rowland.”

He takes a shuddering breath, thinks pretty sure its the other way around, and Im so fucking sorry I dragged you down to Earth, and the nameless, tangled thing welling in his ribcage, the back of his throat—

Edwin draws back, tilting his head like he’s listening to something. “I believe Niko is summoning me. Nothing to worry about, just a small issue with tracking a vampire nest. Do sleep well.”

He darts a closed mouth smile at Charles, and between one blink and the next is gone.