🔄 + 🩹 @rocksteadydeadboy
The problem about Charles is—
Edwin paused, scrapped that thought, and stuck his hand more firmly inside the unending bag of mysteries Charles kept.
The problem with Charles is—
No, he didn’t like that either. Charles was not a problem, not really. But there were… issues. Issues that could become problems. Or that were problems. Or at least they were obstacles.
There, Edwin thought as his fingers wrapped around the edge of the lantern handle. Here it is.
The problemS pertaining to Charles began and ended (well, if they truly could end) with how incredibly stubborn he was.
(Pot to kettle? Edwin thought but only for a moment)
“I need more light.” Edwin said and turned on the lantern ‘so he could read’ and then if he turned on a record he pretended not to hate…well, at least one of them liked it.
Edwin was never certain about touching Charles after something like this—when one or the other of their ghostly skins failed for just a moment, burned, and then snapped back. In the moment just past? Sure. Of course.
But home again. Safe again. Would it be welcome? Probably not. This was deeper than just a cat scratch or post iron recovery. Neither of them liked acknowledging feelings certain cases brought them. No, Charles had already smiled and brushed everything off. Oh I’m great—what a load of nonsense.
So Edwin did not try to hug Charles once back in their office. He did not tell him to talk—that hardly ever worked. Instead, Edwin turned on a familiar light and some music and sat down next to him.
