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Edwin is beginning to hate the circus.
He was never exactly enthused by it in life, of course, as it was far too loud and far too bright for his tastes, but the lost ghost of the ringleader chasing after himself and Charles seems intent on leaving an even worse impression.
“This way!” Charles shouts as he grabs Edwin’s arm, pulling them both into a glittering building.
It hosts a number of shining mirrors, which would likely have had a much more dazzling effect if either of them were humans with reflections. Instead, as ghosts, it simply shows the rather unimpressive entryway that they had come through.
“Back to the office to regroup?”
“Well-” Edwin wants to protest that they really should try to handle this, no matter the fact that they are in a bit over their heads, but he is cut off by a roar from outside. The single human voice of the ringleader doubles, and then triples, multiplying with the voices of all the beasts and curiosities that he had populated his circus with.
Charles grimaces, gesturing towards the mirror, and Edwin nods.
He knows that he should take his time with this and make sure that they will come out the other side as they are supposed to. He does not have the time to take, though, as the cacophonous bellowing rises in pitch behind him, and so he reaches out to the nearest mirror. He stumbles forward when his hand meets nothing, some illusion from the orientation of the mirrors placing it further back than he had thought.
He falls through its surface with barely a ripple, and the last thing he feels as he is swallowed by the mercurial reflection is a tugging on the back of his coat as Charles follows him through.
The moment of weightlessness stretches like taffy, catching Edwin in its pull until there is nothing beyond himself, and even that tug on the back of his coat has vanished.
Then, everything snaps back into place, and he stumbles out onto the wet, decidedly not office ground where the small side-view mirror spat him up. Edwin gives a short, displeased sigh. He’d thought he was getting better about jumping under duress, but here he is in the outskirts of the parking lot beside the ghostly circus that he was attempting to get away from. At least it is less bright out here, trailing spotlights traded for flickering streetlights that hold back the cloudy night. Then, he hears Charles’ voice behind him.
“Oi, who the hell are you?”
“Who the hell am I? Who the hell are you!”
Edwin’s eyebrows furrow at the second, identical voice, and he turns to look back to where his friend should be. He still is, in a sense–doubly so.
Standing before Edwin are two identical copies of Charles. They glare at each other, sizing one another up, but as soon as they notice he has turned to look at them, they both begin to speak over one another.
“I don’t know-“
“Look, mate-“
“But this is all-“
“Still gotta get out-“
“Bunch of mirror weirdness-“
“This is a mess, but-“
“But I swear-“
And then, in perfect unison: “I’m the real Charles!”
Edwin forces himself to inhale, exhale. “This does make things more difficult.”
The two copies of his friend are back to glaring at each other. It is remarkable how exact they are, down to every elegant eyelash. The pins are correct on the jackets of both versions, the slices cut into the left side of his hair identical on both. Edwin had hoped that the mirrored version might be a bit, well, mirrored, but the two are indistinguishable, even to Edwin, even after he has spent the better part of thirty years committing every detail of his friend down to memory.
“Look, you know it’s me,” the one on the right says, and his opposite scoffs.
“Of course you’d say that. Mate, it’s me, and we should really get out of here.”
“He’s probably just trying to get you to take him back to the office-”
“Oh yeah? How’d you think of that one, huh-”
“Will you please be quiet,” Edwin snaps, and, miraculously, it does work. “I just need a minute to think.” He does not know the rules of these mirrored doppelgängers or how detailed of a copy they are in matters beyond their physical appearance. As is so often the case, Edwin wishes he was back in the office. He is sure that one of his books would know of some clever trick to make the fraud reveal itself, and he would have the space to address one problem at a time. At least the ringleader has not picked up on their new location, which is a small mercy.
“Look, Edwin, ask me anything you want to know,” says the Charles on the left.
“Oi, he said to give him a minute,” the Charles on the right says, crossing his arms.
Left Charles makes a face at him. “Yeah, like we ever actually do that. See? I’m the real one.”
“Seriously, you can’t believe that-“
“Charles!” Edwin snaps, and both copies shut their mouths in eerie unison. “I will allow you both to argue your case, without interruption, and then we will take matters from there.”
“What are we gonna do with the fake?” Right Charles asks, glancing over to his duplicate, who throws up his hands with an exasperated look to Edwin.
“We will get there when we get there,” Edwin says. The truth is that he does not have a solution to that yet, but his first priority is uncovering the duplicate. He may not know how this illusory double functions, but he fears that the longer it goes undetected, the better it may become at imitating Charles, and he will have no chance of telling the two apart until it is too late.
He does not know what too late may entail, but he has heard enough stories of wolves in sheeps’ clothing to want to find out.
Edwin forces out another unnecessary breath and plucks at the hems of his sleeves, setting himself back to rights. “Charles-“ Both copies look to him with identical expressions, a single eyebrow raised. “Ah, yes. Well, you,” he says, gesturing to the Charles on the left. “Make your case.”
“You know I’m rubbish at debate,” Left Charles says with a laugh, and the sound is so familiar that Edwin is almost convinced by that alone. “As for how to convince you that I’m actually your best mate, well…” He pauses and then cracks a smile, pleased with himself. As he speaks, he begins to count his points off on his fingers. “You found me when I was dying, and I refused to leave you alone ever since, so I’m definitely not going to start now. You’ve got your stress hands on, which means you’re handling this about as bad as the Cat King Crisis of ‘23, and I know you’re trying not to correct me that it should be badly and not bad, because Crystal got on your case last week about the grammatical corrections.” Edwin makes a face at that, and Left Charles just laughs. “Nobody knows you as well as I do, mate.”
“I was not going to correct you,” Edwin lies, as Right Charles scoffs.
“That can’t convince you,” Right Charles says. “Sure, he knows stuff about you, that doesn’t make him me!”
“Oi!” Left Charles scowls at his mirror. “Edwin said I’d be uninterrupted.”
Right Charles makes a face back at him. “You already said your bit, don’t get pissy with me because you did a poor job of it.”
Edwin sighs, short. That was not helpful. Whatever magic has created this duplicate might have been able to copy Charles’ memories as well, and he is just left feeling more lost than before. Both of the copies are looking back at him, though, expectant, and so he nods and gestures for the second Charles to say his piece.
“Alright,” Right Charles says, running a hand through his hair as he chews on his words. He hesitates, grappling with something, before he continues. “Maybe that not-me knows stuff about you, but I actually know myself.” He takes a deep breath, eyes closed, before exhaling and looking deep into Edwin’s soul. “I am Charles Rowland, and I am in love with you.”
Edwin’s ears ring. He feels as though boiling water has replaced the blood in his not-veins. He looks at his friend’s face, open and soft and so very gentle. One hand rests on his chest while the other is extended forward for Edwin to take. His smile is like the one Monty had worn after their kiss, vulnerable and hopeful with his heart bared on his sleeve.
Edwin strides forward, takes hold of Left Charles’ wrist, and runs.
The Not-Charles behind them calls out, chases after them, but Edwin has spent his entire afterlife running, and his Charles has learned to keep up. He doesn’t let go of the vice grip he has on Charles’ arm, can’t hear whatever he may be saying, only that echoing voice repeating I am in love with you.
Edwin does not know how long they have been running for before Charles pulls him to a stop. The footsteps have faded behind them, the Not-Charles left behind, and he can no longer hear the roar of the circus.
Charles is panting despite not needing to breathe, darting glances behind them, but when he looks up, Edwin can’t meet his eyes. He fixes his gaze somewhere over his friend’s shoulder, hands folding in on themselves as he keeps seeing that open expression, the moment of vulnerability shattering into heartbreak when he grabbed the other Charles and turned away. He can’t hear himself think like this, the rushing in his ears rising and his chest tightening like it will implode, a black hole opening up beneath his ribs.
Charles–his Charles, the real Charles, the one who knows him inside and out and so of course does not love him–is saying something. His hand is on Edwin’s shoulder, although he could not say when it landed there. Everything feels very far away like this, a deeper numbness than the usual ghostly incorporeality leaching through his soul.
Charles has moved to make eye contact with Edwin’s unfocused stare, which is kind of him. His mouth is moving, words drowned out by that static filling Edwin’s skull, but he nods along.
Whatever Charles is saying must be important.
Something twists in Charles’ face, and then he takes a deep, exaggerated breath in. He holds it, and then exhales, just as intentionally. He brings one of his hands to his own chest, showing the way it rises and falls with his breathing, and keeps the other as an anchor on Edwin’s shoulder.
It is very kind. In this moment, Edwin knows that he chose the real Charles.
Charles continues his slow breathing, and Edwin is drawn along by the weight of his dark eyes, finding his own chest rising and falling in response.
Charles inhales. Edwin inhales.
Charles exhales. Edwin exhales.
That rushing tide filling his ears begins to fade as he hears the drag of air through Charles’ nose, out through his mouth. It is familiar, albeit strange if he ever stops to think about it. There are no lungs to act as bellows, no nostrils for air to be forced through, no real way that the ghostly form should be able to interact with the atmosphere, but it does even so. Edwin breathes in pace.
After some time has passed, Charles speaks again, and Edwin is able to make out the words. “How are you feeling?”
Edwin forces out another breath. In the comedown, as that wholly consuming numbness begins to leave him, Edwin starts to feel foolish. He is lucky that Charles had not responded so poorly to his own confession of love; they would likely both still be in Hell if that were the case.
Charles still wears that concerned expression, grip comfortable and solid on Edwin’s shoulder as he rubs his thumb over the coat. As ever, he is kinder than Edwin can bear. “I am fine,” Edwin says, before carefully making eye contact with Charles. His words need to be heard, and this is the best way he knows to make sure that they are. “Thank you, Charles.”
“Anytime,” Charles says, smiling, but there is an unreadable current running beneath the word. He pulls his hand away from Edwin’s shoulder, who finds himself missing the contact. “Are- well.” He works the words over before giving a short laugh, continuing. “I’m glad you grabbed the right me, but.” Another pause, and Edwin looks away. “What tipped you off?”
“It was quite obvious,” Edwin says, and his voice remains carefully steady. “It made a cruel appeal to my emotions, but I know that you do not feel the same way, and so.” Edwin gestures with his hand, expansive. Simple as that. “I do still take umbrage with your claim that I would have corrected your grammar.”
“Mate,” Charles says, laughing, but he tapers off sooner than he normally would. There is a beat of silence, and then: “That was really it?”
“It was too good- well.” Edwin cuts himself off, redirects. He does not wish to make Charles feel guilty for not being able to reciprocate his love. “We both know how things stand between us,” he says, and gives Charles a smile.
One that is not returned. There is a strange, distant look in his eyes, brows furrowing, and Edwin turns. “We should continue on our way. We will need to return to the office and do a bit more research if we are to take on the ringleader with any more success than tonight’s attempt. I would normally suggest mirror hopping, but…” He trails off, and Charles nods.
“Agreed. No more mirrors tonight.”
“Fantastic,” Edwin says, and sets off into the city.
Charles, as ever, follows.
Charles’ head is a mess.
He’d seen that replica of himself–which was a real trip, especially given that he hasn’t seen his own face for more than a brief glimpse since he died. He’d seen it confess to Edwin, and his first thought was you fucked up, I’d never use my confession as leverage, Edwin deserves better than that. His second thought was oh God, what if Edwin believes it?
Edwin didn’t, which was good. He’s glad he didn’t get left behind for some smiling copy.
Instead, Edwin handled the false confession so poorly that he had the worst panic attack Charles has seen in a decade, and tried to reassure Charles that he knows he doesn’t feel that way, which.
That stings.
Charles loves Edwin with everything he is, and he’s been trying to figure out exactly what that might mean. Edwin, in his attempts to give Charles the space to work it out, seems to have made the decision for him that nothing more than what they currently have will ever exist. Charles thought that he’d have more time to work it all out.
Charles pinches the bridge of his nose as he walks. Edwin, a pace ahead and lost in his own world, does not notice. “Edwin?” He starts without knowing what he will say next.
Edwin hums in acknowledgement, glancing over before returning his eyes forward. There is a clipped pace to his gait, one that says just let me get back to the office, please, let this night be left behind us. Charles loves his friend, and so he ignores the unspoken message.
“Mate, you wanna talk about what happened back there?”
“No, I’m quite alright.” Edwin’s expression is strained, a professional smile he wears for clients.”All that needs to be said has been said.”
“Don’t think that’s true,” Charles says, eyes on Edwin’s profile, and he catches the brief flicker of a wince.
Edwin keeps striding forward. “This was an uncomfortable experience for both of us, and I recognize that,” he says, words as clipped as his pace. “However, I ask that you would extend me a bit of grace, given…” He trails off, face tightening.
“Look, there’s-” Charles has to pick up the pace to keep up with Edwin, his noodly legs carrying him further away with each step. “Can you stop running away for just a minute?”
Edwin freezes, turns to face Charles with a haughty expression, but he fixes his gaze somewhere over Charles’ shoulder. “Say your piece.”
Charles groans. “This isn’t how I wanted this to go, it’s-” He drags a hand through his hair, pulls at the curls. “I wanted to do this right, that’s the least you deserve after everything. I’m not just doing this because I feel like I have to, you know?” Edwin’s jaw tightens, hands pressing together, but he does not interrupt as Charles flails for the words. “I wanted to take my time with it, I didn’t- well, I didn’t have a plan, exactly, I was still working on that, but I didn’t want it to be some fucked up leverage thing, or some supernatural puzzle, or-”
“Please,” Edwin says, wets his lips. “Do not drag this out longer than you must.”
“Alright, look, mate. I am in love with you.” As soon as the words are out of Charles’ mouth, Edwin flinches. His chin raises, defensive, and his eyes go hard.
“This is a cruel trick to play.”
“It’s not-” Charles’ brow furrows in confusion. He doesn’t know what response he had been expecting, but it wasn’t this. “Edwin, it isn’t a trick. I- will you look at me?”
Edwin does. His chin is lifted, throat straining, but there are tears welling in his eyes. “Were neither of you truly Charles in the first place?”
“What?” Edwin’s gaze is burning, and Charles shakes his head, slow. “Edwin, it’s me.”
Edwin scoffs. “What is the point of this game?”
“There is no game!”
“What do you hope to gain from this?” Edwin continues. “You steal my friend, and then use his face to-” He cuts himself off, turning away. “I do not know why. ”
It’s Charles’ turn to feel like the breath has been stolen from his incorporeal chest. Of all the ways he imagined his confession could go, none were as nightmarish as this. “It isn’t a game, Edwin, it’s-” He swallows, drags in a breath. “It’s me. I’m not lying to you.”
“Why should I believe you.”
“It’s me,” Charles repeats, desperate. “I don’t have anything else I can offer you. I know you could logic your way out of anything I say, but I’m just asking you to trust me. Please.”
Edwin continues to face away, hands folded in front of himself, and for once, Charles can’t guess at what he is thinking.
“The last thing I would want to do is hurt you-”
“Which is why I can’t understand why you would do this.” Edwin’s voice is sharp, and Charles wants to sob. There is nothing more that he can do beyond beg Edwin–stubborn, clever Edwin–to believe him.
Charles bites back his desperation and steps closer. “Is it that hard to believe that I’m telling the truth?”
“I-” Edwin cuts himself off again, and Charles can see the movement of his throat as he swallows. “I cannot risk having this taken from me. You cannot tempt me with hope, and then rip it away.”
Charles nods, slow. “Right then. Well, good thing I don’t plan on letting that happen.”
"You can't-" Edwin shakes his head. “Why now?”
Charles blinks at the redirection, but tells the truth. “I couldn’t let you think that I don’t love you. I do, it’s- some days, it’s the only thing I'm certain of.” He tries to cut the words with a laugh, but he knows it falls flat. The line of Edwin’s shoulders is ramrod straight. “Can you look at me?” Charles asks, trying not to plead. He doesn’t think he succeeds.
Edwin, mercifully, takes pity on him. He holds himself together with such force that Charles can see all the emotions straining to break through the cracks, but he turns and looks to Charles with an unreadable face.
“This isn’t how I wanted to do it, if it’s any consolation?” Edwin does not respond. “I- look, Edwin. I love you. I’m in love with you. You’re the most important person in the world to me, and I didn’t want to do this if I wasn’t sure, and I also didn’t want to do it if it wasn’t perfect, because you deserve the best confession after I made you wait for it, but-” Charles swallows, searching Edwin’s impassive stare for any response. “I couldn’t live with myself if I let you keep thinking I don’t love you.”
“You aren’t living with yourself either way,” Edwin says, quiet, and there is the faintest hint of a smile.
There is a moment of pause, and then Charles huffs a laugh, surprise turning into desperate relief. “You can’t-” He breaks, laughing again. “Mate, you can’t just do a ghost joke after all that.”
There are still traces of wariness in Edwin’s face, but he just inclines his head. “I would not be myself if I let the opportunity pass.”
Charles laughs again, can’t stop himself as the dread that had wrapped itself around his heart is replaced by dizzying glee. Edwin simply watches, but there is a familiar warmth in his eyes, the smile he does not try to fight. “So it’s- you believe it’s me, yeah?”
Edwin hesitates and Charles’s heart catches in his throat, but he nods. “I do. There is no way for me to verify it, but…” He sighs. “I do.”
Charles sways back on his feet, a grin spreading across his face until it feels like it will split him apart. He could cheer–is half tempted to, even, to break the night sky open with his joy, but Edwin is still watching him with that tentative smile, knuckles pressing against one another, and so he steps forward instead. Charles reaches out to take his hand, careful, and links their fingers.
Edwin does not flinch away from the touch, just looks down at where their hands meet as though he has trouble believing it could be real even as Charles speaks. “I am sorry this is how it came out.”
Edwin’s mouth twists, lost in thought. “And you are…sure?”
Charles laughs, but turns serious at the tension that flickers across Edwin’s face. “More sure than I am about anything else. I’ve been thinking about it ever since,” and he lifts his shoulder in a shrug, you know. “I do love you, and I do want to spend the rest of our afterlives together. I’ve never questioned that, but.” He pauses. “I also didn’t think things could ever be different, you know?”
He squeezes Edwin’s hand, and Edwin squeezes back, still looking down. “We did fall into something of a routine.”
“Old married couple on acid, yeah?” Edwin cracks a smile, and Charles feels like he’s glowing. “I do want that, though. Not on acid or whatever, but, you know. That. Being something to each other.”
“We will be something to each other whether or not you are in love with me,” Edwin says. “That has never been in question.”
“Yeah, sure, but…” Charles laughs, drags his hand down his face. “This isn’t as poetic, but I do really want to kiss you.” Edwin’s head rises, sharp, and he looks to Charles with wide eyes. “I mean, only if that's something you’d want! But, you know, I was thinking about what’s the difference between what we’ve got going now and being in love, and kissing seems like a part of that, and, well.” Charles laughs again. He can’t believe he ever thought he was smooth. “I think that’d be aces.”
Edwin swallows, lifts his chin. “I would also be amenable to that.”
Charles feels himself beam, knows he’d be burning up with a blush if he had skin. “Yeah?” He asks, unable to keep the bubbling delight out of his voice.
“I-” Edwin cuts himself off, and then his free hand comes up to cradle the back of Charles’ neck, pulling him in. They collide with more force than either were expecting, teeth clacking together because Charles can’t stop grinning.
Edwin pulls back a hair, eyebrows drawn together in thought, and Charles does his best to school his expression, put his teeth away so he’s more kissable. “Let me just…” Edwin murmurs before he leans in again, slower this time. His lips are soft against Charles’ where they meet, more real than any remembered sensation his ghostly mind can conjure. Some distant part of Charles worries he might just float away from happiness as he lifts a hand to Edwin’s cheek, brushing his thumb against the skin there as he lets his eyes fall shut.
Edwin’s breath is shaky against Charles’ lips as he kisses him again. His hand is tight in Charles’, the grasp on the back of his neck solid and drawing him ever closer. Charles tilts his head as he kisses back, electricity sparking up and down the memory of his nervous system as their lips move against each other.
Some part of him believed that he would never be allowed to have this.
Edwin tries to chase after him as Charles pulls back, just enough that their lips aren’t touching, and he can’t stop smiling. His eyes are still closed as he rests their foreheads together, euphoria swelling within him. “I love you.”
When Edwin speaks, Charles can feel his breath against his skin. “And I, you.”
Fighting back a grin, Charles leans in for another kiss.