Work Text:
When Charles returns from a grueling all-day scouting trip for their current case—Crystal had gone straight home with a sullen remark about at least trying to get a few hours of sleep—he finds Edwin sitting on the sofa with a thick book in his lap, eyes fixed on the page, not reading. He has shedded his vest and jacket, with his shirt sleeves rolled up to show pale forearms and his bow tie hangs untied at his neck. Charles is filled with a fondness for what could be named Edwin’s research getup.
He must have been at it for hours, because when Charles left this morning Edwin had set out to find answers through research and it’s well past midnight now. Ghost don’t sleep, and they don’t exactly need it, but they do need rest, even if Edwin sometimes does not act like it. And it’s not just today, he has been nose to the ground since this case began two weeks back. Charles knows him well enough to be certain that the lack of new clues is making him frustrated and even more determined to do whatever it takes to solve the case. After all, that’s what a good detective does.
Right now, Edwin looks like a candle wick right after a pair of wetted fingers has pinched it out. Or something, Charles isn’t the one with great literary talent. Point is, Edwin looks exhausted. Even if he were reading, none of it would probably stick very well.
Edwin doesn’t look up until Charles is standing right in front of him, seemingly not having noticed him before now. Even through the exhaustion, Charles can gleam the usual happiness of seeing him.
Gathering the book in his arms, Edwin yawns widely and stretches out his legs in front of him. Doing so, and because Charles is so close, he catches one of Charles’ legs between his ankles.
For a moment it looks like Edwin might move to stand, but then that glazed look returns and he slumps a little. The sight of it squeezes at Charles heart. It’s not like he never sees Edwin like this, but it hurts just as much every time to think that his best mate drives himself to this state. Ever the dedicated detective, Edwin will put a case over anything including his own comfort and rest. Charles wishes he could just shake him or maybe just hold him tight enough to get some sense into that beautiful brain of his that he needs to think of himself too. He wishes he could wrap himself around Edwin to shield him from the world and its challenges so he might relax and feel safe.
Maybe that is what makes him reach out and cups his hand against Edwin’s cheek. Maybe it’s something else.
“You look rough, mate.” His voice is barely louder than a whisper but it easily cuts through the dusty quiet of the office. In fact, if Charles didn't know for certain that he has no beating heart, he could have sworn that he can hear a tha-thump coming from his own chest. That can't be right.
Edwin doesn’t say anything, but he turns his head ever so slightly, turns it into the caress and lifts a hand to circle around Charles wrist. There is no doubt now that something is stirring in Charles chest, threatening to overflow and spill out. Unsure what the hell is going on, Charles shakes his head as if to clear it and focuses back on Edwin. His face feels soft and somehow warm beneath Charles palm. Tha-thump! No, that isn’t working. Focus, Charles.
“Do you think you could be persuaded to rest for a just a tick? I think you really need it. I could put one of your violin concert on or something and we could lie down on the sofa together,” Charles suggests and god why does he feel so selfish saying it?
Edwin looks like he’s gonna correct Charles to say that it’s not called a violin concert, but instead he just nods.
“Yes, I’d like that.”
It’s physically painful to remove his hand from Edwin’s face—for Edwin too, if his expression is anything to go by—but Charles has to do it if he wants to reach the record player. He makes quick work of starting the music before returning to drag Edwin down with him on the sofa. They have to curl up somewhat to both fit on there and so that is how Charles ends up on his side with Edwin’s back practically pressed against him. Which in turn is the reason Charles' brain is currently whirring frantically in an attempt to figure out why his body is reacting like this. Why his instinctual reaction to seeing his weary mate was gently caressing his cheek. Why all he wants to do now is hold Edwin tight and place a kiss on his hair and—
Bloody hell.
It hits him like a train. The realisation that he might actually be in love with his best mate who confessed his feelings on the steps of Hell. Who is already the most important person to Charles. Who is currently too exhausted to stand up and probably in the midst of drifting off into the trance-like state that is the closest ghosts get to sleep.
So instead of doing anything rash, Charles settles for wrapping an arm gingerly around Edwin’s waist and letting himself drift off with soft thoughts of the boy in front of him. The rest can wait until the morning.