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Ed sighed, blowing his hair out of his face. It fell directly back down to where it had been before, so he blew a harder puff of air, catching Oswald’s attention. The hair, yet again, flopped right back down to its original place and Ed groaned in frustration. How was he supposed to concentrate when-
“I could cut it for you.”
Oswald’s voice came from right behind him and his breath stopped dead on its way out of his throat. He could hear Oswald’s heartbeat, rhythmic thump-thumping coupled with his soft breathing. He smelled like mint and whiskey, the kind that leaves you absolutely lost after one smooth sip. Why were they always so close? And why didn’t Ed mind that they were always this close? Well, he knew why he didn’t mind. He was just trying to ignore it.
“Excuse me?” Ed asked, finally, turning his head half an inch, only managing to see the outline of Oswald in his periphery.
“I could cut your hair for you.”
So he had heard right, it wasn’t just some weird fantasy Ed had randomly decided to come up with.
“Like I used to do.”
Those five words had no right giving Edward as many emotions as they did. Memories of Oswald’s political campaign came back to him, with it images of Ed sitting at Oswald’s vanity in his room, facing Oswald, back to the mirror, as he hummed to himself, concentrating and snip snipping away with his scissors, far more precisely than Ed ever could.
“I’m working,” Ed finally said, clearing his throat and stepping forward, leaning against the desk and going back to drawing up the submarine’s blueprints.
Oswald, to his credit, seemed to get the message right away and he backed up, turning and going back to where he’d been sitting at the other side of the room, shrugging.
“It looked to me like you were distracted by it. I only want you to do the best work you can. So I—we—can get away from this place.”
Oh. Well, if that was the only reason Oswald had offered to cut it, if he was only doing it for his own selfish reasons to make sure Ed didn’t screw the submarine up, then he supposed it would be okay. He sighed, setting down his pencil and turning to face Oswald. “Just do it quickly.”
The smile on Oswald’s face made Ed want to take two steps forward, lean down, and kiss him. Fortunately (unfortunately?), he didn’t do this, and instead stood still, watching as Oswald stood up and gestured for Ed to sit back down at his desk, which he did.
“You can’t rush perfection, so no promises.” He reached behind Ed and grabbed a pair of scissors, pulling out a comb from his suit pocket. He reached up, running his fingers through Ed’s hair for half a second before pulling back, eyeing him suspiciously.
“When was the last time you washed your hair?”
Ed blinked at him, taking a second to process the question, his face feeling warm. “Um.”
“Honestly, Edward, just because we’re in a post-apocalyptic hellhole, that doesn’t give you an excuse to ignore basic hygiene.” He gestured for Ed to stand up and follow him down the hall, and Ed was about to protest before deciding it was useless and he probably had a point, following Oswald obediently.
They walked down the hall, Oswald leading him into what had at some point probably been a kitchen which contained a sink equipped with one of their only working sources of water that Ed had managed to rig to the river with a mediocre to sometimes downright useless filter. He pulled a chair over to it and snapped his fingers, pointing for Ed to sit, which he did.
“Tilt your head back. It’ll be cold,” Oswald said, grabbing a nearly empty bottle of dish soap and turning on the faucet.
Ed flinched as the freezing cold water poured over his head but he closed his eyes, adjusting to it.
Oswald’s hands were in his hair, scrubbing gently, careful not to tug, which Ed appreciated. He’d experienced enough tugging on his head for the foreseeable future, thank you very much. Just thinking about it made his scalp hurt, the slowly healing scar hidden under his hair suddenly searing with pain, and he wasn’t sure if it was real or imagined.
Either way, he squeezed his eyes shut tighter, trying to ignore it. It phased away after a minute of Oswald’s gentle caressing, as did all thoughts of what had happened to his brain. He couldn’t help but wonder what else Oswald could soothe away with gentle hands.
“You have such nice hair, Edward. It’s thick and curly, and… soft.” Oswald sounded like he was losing his train of thought and he cleared his throat. “You should take better care of yourself.”
Ed wasn’t sure how to respond to that, they were heading into rather dangerous waters and he didn’t know how—or want—to wade out of it. “I don’t like it curly. Gets in my face,” he finally said, keeping his eyes shut tight as Oswald began rinsing out the soap (which smelled like Lemon Pledge, but that was neither here nor there).
“It only gets in your face because you don’t cut it consistently enough.” He turned off the water, reaching over and grabbing a dish towel, wrapping Ed’s hair up in it and holding it there. “Trust me.”
Ed let out a hallow laugh at that, keeping his eyes shut to avoid any eye contact. “How could I possibly?” The question wasn’t an attack, more of a failed attempt at a sarcastic joke. Ed should’ve known Oswald probably wouldn’t find it funny, but he said it anyway.
Oswald didn’t say anything for a minute, but he did pull Ed up from his seating position and drag him back into the main room. “Want me to throw you out on the streets and take bets with my dog on how long you last?” He asked, snapping his fingers at the chair, waiting for Ed to sit down as he searched the desk for where he’d left the scissors.
“Not particularly,” Ed responded, swallowing as he watched Oswald wave the scissors, dangerously close to his eye.
Oswald smiled, leaning forward and unwrapping the towel from Ed’s hair. “Then mind your manners.”
“In order to mind my manners, I’d have to first have the variable ‘manners’. Unfortunately, I’m unable to solve the given equation, ‘mind your manners’, as there isn’t enough information,” Ed answered, relaxing once Oswald had stopped waving the scissors menacingly.
Shaking his head, Oswald pulled the comb out of his pocket again and began brushing out Ed’s tangled hair without another word. The scissors made a soothing sound as they chopped away Ed’s hair and he watched it fall, strand by strand, onto his lap and on the floor. He was so careful and precise, it made Ed want to grab his face, pull him down, and kiss him with all the enthusiasm he had (which was a lot, he had plenty of enthusiasm when it came to imagining kissing Oswald).
That was the second time in the past twenty minutes he’d thought very hard about kissing Oswald, and the seventh time that day. Now that was a math equation he could solve. For the given value ‘how many times he thought about wanting to kiss Oswald’, which was roughly 27.3 times per day on average, what is the probability, in a percentage, that he was in love with him?
Definitely 100%.
And what was the probability that Ed would act on his thoughts? Well, Ed traditionally acted on about 76% of his impulses, but only 13% of them when it came to impulses regarding Oswald, which resulted in a roughly 0.1% chance of his impulses to kiss Oswald being acted on. So in order to reach a point in which Ed actually acted on his impulses, he’d have to think about kissing Oswald at least 1,000 times before he acted on it just once. That was disappointing. He’d have to start thinking about kissing Oswald more often in order to up the chances of actually kissing him.
Or he could just kiss Oswald. He could do it right then, it wouldn’t be hard, he was leaning down so close to Ed’s face already, and—well, now he was just back to right where he’d been before, thinking about kissing Oswald and not actually doing it. He sighed to himself, closing his eyes and deciding to think about literally anything else for once.
By the time Ed had opened his eyes, the pile of hair on the floor had grown to about twice what it had been before, and Oswald was still chopping it off, looking extremely focused on getting Ed’s bangs right.
“Your hair dries quickly,” he commented, combing it out to make sure it was even before letting it spring back up into loose curls that rested on his forehead.
“Oh,” was all Ed could manage as a response to that, not sure what else to say. His hands twitched, itching to do something, suddenly uncomfortable with the silence surrounding them. He wanted it to stop being so… loud. Silence shouldn’t be loud. But yet here he was, trying to make silence quieter.
“Let’s see.” Oswald took Ed’s chin his hand, tilting his head up and examining his work. “I suppose it’s passable.”
“Just passable?” Ed asked, trying not to focus on the fact that Oswald’s hand was on his chin, and that his fingers were warm. He blinked, but maintained eye contact as he tilted his head up a little more.
“Maybe a little better than passable.” Oswald’s hand slid off Ed’s face and he instinctually grabbed it, keeping him close. There was a short pause as Oswald stared down at the their hands and then looked back up at Ed, confusion on his face.
As Ed made to stand up, he paused while halfway there, a centimeter from Oswald’s face, and before he could even think about kissing Oswald and add to his daily tally of thinking about kissing him, he’d pushed forward and their lips were connecting. It wasn’t how Ed usually imagined kisses with Oswald, it wasn’t full of apologies and forgiveness, it wasn’t a substitute for closure. It was just a kiss, there weren’t any hidden meanings or riddles behind it—just a kiss. An incredibly passionate, fiery kiss, one that made all thoughts about impulse and probability and riddles fall to the back burner of his mind in favor of making sure the kiss lasted forever.
Oswald was kissing him back, after the half second of shock had apparently worn off and Ed’s arm wrapped around his shoulder, fingers brushing through the hair at the nape of his neck. The kiss did seem to last forever, and so did the one after that, the one in which Ed somehow managed to step even closer to Oswald, their chests resting against each other.
He was holding onto Oswald like he was the only thing keeping him from falling apart, and maybe he was. He moved his hand to cup Oswald’s jaw, deepening the kiss without even thinking about it, without even thinking that maybe he shouldn’t be deepthroating Oswald’s mouth with his tongue like an inexperienced teenager in the backseat of his parents’ car. But yet here he was, deepthroating Oswald’s mouth with his tongue like an inexperienced teenager in the backseat of his parents’ car.
And clearly, it hadn’t been a bad decision, because Oswald had no outward complaints, at least not from Ed’s perspective. Considering the fact that he was practically hanging off Ed, hands going from his shoulders to his waist, his hips, and back up again, pulling him as close as possible.
Approximately one eternity later (at least, that was Ed’s approximation), Ed pulled away and took one step back. They looked at each other, and Ed rather hoped Oswald would be the one to say something, but when he didn’t, Ed went directly back to work. Submarines didn’t build themselves, after all.
The silence that had been engulfing them was back again, even louder now, and it took everything Ed had in him not to turn around and say something.
The one who finally broke the silence was Oswald. He cleared his throat and Ed froze.
“What,” he began, taking a pause, and Ed heard his footsteps as he turned around, and he could feel Oswald’s eyes staring into the back of his head, “the hell,” his tone did not bode well for Ed’s personal safety, “was that?”
The silence stretched out again. “Um.”
What was that? I don’t even know. What do I even say? Is there even an appropriate thing to say after I just did that? See, this is why I don’t do things without thinking them through first.
And the next thing he did, he also did without thinking through, ironically. “A thank you. For cutting my hair.”
“A. Thank you.”
On a scale of things that would have been a bad response to Oswald’s question, that was probably just third to saying ‘a mistake’, or ‘what was what?’
But, now he’d committed to that response. “Yes. A thank you. For cutting my hair.” Ah yes, repeating the sentence would really help with the situation Ed had gotten himself into.
“And… you think that you should thank me by… kissing me.”
Oswald was about to start yelling. Anytime now, Ed would be on the receiving end of a tirade that would likely last upwards of twenty minutes.
But the tirade didn’t come. Instead, Oswald let out a shaky breath, his voice quavering as he spoke. “What is wrong with you?”
Ed blinked, but he didn’t say anything, choosing to remain quiet. “Do you really hate me this much?” Oswald’s voice grew a little louder, then softened again, and he walked around the table, standing opposite Ed, who was staring down at blueprints, still refusing to say a word. “If you hate me this much, can’t you at least- can’t you at least tell me you don’t want me around? I’ll stay away from you if it’s what you want. But why do you have to play these stupid games with me?”
Ed’s head snapped up to Oswald at that and he tilted his head. “I’m not playing games. Least of all, stupid games.”
“Then what the hell are you doing, Ed? Because from over here it looks like you’re still getting revenge on me for what I did to you, and- and maybe I do deserve it, Ed, maybe I do. I took you for granted and I was a selfish coward, but-” he broke off, swallowing down a sob before continuing. “- please don’t do this. Don’t do this to me. I love you, and God knows I wish I didn’t, but here we are, and… and the fact that you keep doing shit like this, making fun of me for my feelings, and trying to hurt me like this, acting like you’re better than me because you don’t act on your feelings, it just-”
“Oswald,” Ed finally managed, holding up his hand to get him to stop talking.
“What?”
“I can’t be bought, but I can be stolen with a glance. I’m worthless to one, but priceless to two. What am I?”
Instead of answering, Oswald shook his head, turning away and making to walk down the hall. Ed watched him go, squinting as if that would help him figure out what he was supposed to do.
“I’m not trying to hurt you,” he called after him, and received an answer in the form of a door slamming shut. His lips were tingling, they hadn’t stopped since the second he’d kissed Oswald. He looked down at his blueprints, then back up at the hallway Oswald had vanished down. Then back up at the hallway. Then back down. And back up again. Before he sighed, straightening his tie and heading down the hallway.
“Oswald?” He called, opening the first door and finding no one, heading to the second. “Can you at least tell me which room you’re in? This isn’t a small hallway.” He opened the next door before moving to the other side. Oswald either didn’t hear him or wasn’t planning on answering.
He sighed, turning the knob on the third door. It was locked, so he knocked on it and received a loud thud against the door, as if Oswald had thrown something heavy at it, as a response. “Oswald, you can either open this door for me or I can pick it with my hatpin. Either way, I’m coming in.”
After waiting several long seconds, the latch on the door finally clicked and the door slowly opened. Oswald peaked his head out, glaring at Ed.
“I’m not trying to hurt you,” Ed repeated, trying to keep his voice even despite his frustration. He wasn’t even sure what he was frustrated about—maybe the fact that he didn’t understand his actions or motivations any more than Oswald did.
“Then what are you trying to do?” Oswald asked accusatorially, crossing his arms.
“I-” He paused, stuck halfway between making up some lie on the spot and telling the truth. He decided to go with the truth. “I don’t know.” That answer was apparently not good enough for Oswald and he continued to glare at Ed, unmoved. “I know so many things, Oswald. I know how to build a submarine from scratch, and I know how to make the perfect tortellini primavera, and once I read a book on the poisonous plants of Northern Kentucky, so I’ve got us covered if we’re trapped in rural Northern Kentucky and need to know which berries not to eat. But. What I don’t know is why I’m here, standing in front of you, saying all this because I’m trying to avoid the fact that I’m not able to say I love y-” He choked on his words, looking down at his shoes, then back at Oswald, trying to find understanding in his eyes. He took a deep breath. “To avoid the fact that I’ve loved… that I’ve had these feelings for years now, ever since you stayed at my apartment to hide from Theo Galavan, but I couldn’t say anything because I didn’t know how and I still don’t know how, but I’ve wanted to try for so long. I have tried for so long. I’ve tried and tried and I’ve failed every time because I’m a coward and it’s easier to pretend I don’t have feelings for you than to act on them after all this time.”
“Say it,” Oswald challenged him. “Say it or I won’t believe you.”
Ed opened his mouth, then closed it again. “I- say what?” He knew full well what Oswald was asking.
“Say it or I’m slamming the door on you, Edward.”
“Oswald, I can’t. I want to, but I-”
The door slammed shut, although Ed’s foot was just in time to wedge itself between the door and the doorframe and he cried out in pain. “Oswald, I’m in love with you!” He yelled desperately, “now can you please stop crushing my foot?”
The door opened again, and Oswald was frowning at him. “Really? I have to crush your foot to get you to admit your feelings?”
They stared at each other for a minute before the lunacy of the situation they were in suddenly dawned on him and he snorted, right as Oswald burst into laughter, Ed joining him a second later.
“Edward Nygma,” Oswald finally said once he’d managed to catch his breath, “you are the most ridiculous man I have ever met. I cannot believe I fell in love with you.”