THE BRAWN

He's soft , quiet . He's ADMIRING this moment between the two of them && wondering why it had taken so long for them to communicate about this . Maybe it had just been easier to pretend they were normal , that they didn't have these THOUGHTS && fears floating around - that they didn't feel the need to hesitate when somebody asked them what colour their eyes were . G R E E N - he'd relearnt that recently . Did Charles look into that green && like what he saw ?? Lord he wished he would , && there's a tiny little part of him that wishes he'd tell him too . But he's trying to teach himself to WANT things like that less , move past them .

He continues to watch Charles as his gaze drops away . As he always does when he's not being observed , he lets his OWN expression fade into something easy && gentle. No need to perform when the one person that watched your performance was looking the other way .

❝ well that is ... ❞ REASSURING . LOVELY . Actually it felt rather more important && life-changing than it should . ❝ .... hmmm .... ❞ He pulls a slow breath into his lungs && presses his palms into his knees . Something about the way that the other boy is so FOCUSED on his bag that makes him want to panic , to reach out && grab his fingers maybe - check that he's still there .

GREEN HAD EASILY BECOME HIS FAVORITE COLOR, AND CHARLES HADN'T REALIZED FOR A VERY LONG TIME AS TO WHY. Then one day he looks up and it hits him like a truck, it settles somewhere in his ribcage. He'd chalked it up to him being his BEST MATE, the person he owed so much to. The one being, in the entire world, that he would go to any lengths to protect, to help, to save. Because that's what he'd done for him, wasn't it ?

Charles is burning a hole in the gritty material of his bag, fingers even tighter as he shifts it up and onto his lap for a moment. The weight of it is COMFORTING, perhaps one of the only things he can really understand at the moment. There was a lot BUBBLING within him, threatening to escape.

A lot that he thought he'd BEEN through, compartmentalized somewhere out of sight and mind. How long ago had he looked at Edwin the way the other boy was doing to him now?

Charles ? Edwin's voice breaks through his thoughts, snaps him BACK INTO reality. He blinks, and the hands tight around his bag loosen enough where it slips between his knees and falls to the ground. His own leg BUMPS against Edwin's, and if he could breathe, he knew it would be so stuck in his throat he'd blur over his own speech. But he was dead, and there was no need to worry about how his voice sounded, or if the other boy could see the effect he had on him. There's a BLISSFUL ignorance in Edwin's face, when his dark brown eyes wander over his expression again, a smile on his own.

If he had been asked when he was alive , when he was a LITTLE boy , asked if he had to see one face for the rest of his existence - for an existence spanning over a century && perhaps further , he would have had an answer. He would have said one of the beautiful faces painted upon the walls of his father's home . But those perfectly constructed features had NOTHING on the face in front of him now .

Edwin could paint him from memory he thinks . Those soft curls bouncing at his forehead , dark eyes sparkling as though they CONSISTENTLY hold a joke . That steady , solid line of his nose ( ... ) jawline that could cut through paper . Even the COLOUR of his skin is perfect - warm && cool at the same time somehow .

GOOD GOD - he was staring . He hadn't noticed that he was staring . At least this time , it appears appropriate as they talk about faces .

❝ My face ?? ❞ eyebrows raise && he's FIGHTING off one of his eyerolls . Mint . That word was a strong one coming from Charles - things were mint when he really admired them . Edwin for just a moment ( ... ) feels MINT . What if -

HE WASN'T LYING WHEN HE SAID HE KNEW EDWIN'S FACE BETTER THAN HIS OWN. Sure, there were pictures of him somewhere, but he had yet to go back to his childhood home, something HOLDING himself back from ever stepping foot in there again. Though he watched, every once in a while, checking in on his mum, and dad. In case he needed to go BACK.

He'd had thirty years of looking at Edwin, which was longer than he'd been alive, and years longer than his own brain even REMEMBERED looking at himself. His own hadn't matured, still in the bouts of youth before he died and now it was stuck that way, forever. The other boy's face was... nice.

Familiar.

So he nods, a large grin slowly spreading over cheeks as the other speaks. A surprise in his tone that he has begun to like in the newer ADVENTURES they've had. Who knew all it took was adding another person to the team, to bring on new sides of each other. Besides, they were safe now, they had TIME. Just as he'd promised Edwin, that day where they'd climbed those steps taken each other's hands. Time to figure out the rest.

Everything in his body is TENSE , as though his muscles have been electrified && he couldn't move if he wanted to . Eyes are fixed on Charles , watching him as he rummages . Frustration BUBBLES && he wants to cry out with it - to tell Charles that he's being stupid , that he's being RECKLESS . That he's threatening what they've built here together && if he keeps bringing people in that He might ( ... ) he might LOSE him .

But the other boy is looking so INTENTLY for something , his eyes are glinting && his curls are falling across his forehead - Edwin sucks in a deep breath as though it could calm him like it did when he was living , his frame softens . He pushes up from the desk && takes a few steps around so that he's on the same side of it as his friend .

Bare forearms CROSS over his chest , leaning back to perch himself on the edge of the surface - continuing to try && rein in the panic that was bubbling within him .

He couldn't . Of course he couldn't . Because Charles Rowland was a good man . Charles Rowland wouldn't let anyone suffer , he wouldn't even let an OLD ghost exist in an attic by himself .

CHARLES KNOWS HE HAS A LOT TO EXPLAIN TO HIS PARTNER. That there are plenty of things he could say, that Edwin will simply wash over, already having excuse after EXCUSE on his tongue as to why what he's doing is bad. But he can't HELP it.

A part of him missed being alive SO MUCH, that even being AROUND the living set him at ease. Watching them, following them, trying to understand the NEW MUSIC, new technology, new-ness. Besides, on the occasion he finds one that can SEE him... well, it didn't hurt to befriend them. To let them in on a few secrets and gather a few of his own. Especially when they are kind and HIS AGE.

He's holding up the casette like it's a prize to be won, the grin on his face STRETCHING until he's all cheeks. He's hoping this is enough for forgiveness, for the other ghost to SMILE back at him with that look on his face that settles down DEEP in his chest.

❝ Cause you haven't heard this one yet, mate. ❞ He stands, tall, chin quirking and looking at him with those BIG, doe-like brown eyes. Charles wanders over him, at his sleeves rolled up, the stance full of an anxiety he can only HOPE to quell. ❝ Want to hear it, or are you going t'lecture me some more? ❞