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Edwin Payne has always been painfully aware that he was entirely too much. He thought too much, he noticed too much and, when it came to other people, he wanted too much. Until school, life had mostly been solitary. His older siblings dismissed him as an irritant; and his parents were entirely too busy. Luckily, he was a quick study and as soon as he could read, books became his solace. He favoured adventure books where boys like himself teamed up to solve mysteries, to overcome obstacles and to take on anything that the plot threw at them. There was nothing they could not overcome. They spent all their time together, never resting and never tiring of each other. They laughed and explored and lived together. As soon as Edwin knew what it was to want something; he wanted that. He wanted someone to be everything to him.
He had optimistically hoped that school would provide him with the opportunities he had missed out on so far in life. He would no longer be ignored or dismissed, he would be accepted. However, Edwin quickly learnt that it was not just his family who considered him too much, but people as a whole. He quickly learnt that his peers did not warm to the boy who blurted out the answer to every question in class and that his teachers did not appreciate small boys who pointed out their mistakes while they were teaching. He adjusted rapidly to become less of himself; to make himself smaller. He divided himself into bite-size pieces and then still watched on as people choked on what he offered.
Edwin watched as the other boys quickly and effortlessly made friends. They played football and did not comment when the rules were not followed. They listened to tall tales and never pointed out glaringly obvious issues that indicated the teller was lying for effect. They formed packs and moved around together, never letting an outsider in. Edwin tried to mimic them. He tried to tell them interesting facts about the insects he had studied at home but was told he was weird, that no one cared. He tried not to take the insults to heart; tried to bury them down deep and not let them see when he cried. But no matter how he changed, he was never enough. He wished there was a book he could read that would tell him how to make people like him. He made notes on how the others interacted. Taught himself not to interrupt, to repeat small things that people had said to him to make sure they knew he was listening, to spend no more than five minutes speaking to someone before moving on to someone else, to look but not stare, to never correct unless asked. And yet still, with all these skills implemented, he still found himself alone at every lunch, without a partner on every school trip.
When his parents came to collect him at the end of the first year, they spoke to the headmaster. Edwin sat there in the corner as they spoke. His toes dragged back and forth across the floor as he sat in the too-tall chair; and Edwin tried to focus on the sensation of the leather hitting the floor to drown out the voices. But then they adults stood up to shake hands and Edwin looked up, listening for his next instructions.
“Yes, very polite young man you have here. Incredibly intelligent. Unfortunately, he is just not good with other people.” All the adults looked across at him, and Edwin felt like the words were burnt into him. Not good with other people. Not good with other people.
It made sense, it was not the other boys who were the problem- it was him. He was not equipped to deal with other people. He would never have what he longed for, never have someone to accept him. He was resigned to that fact for a long while. Then John had arrived. He was new and shy and also ignored by the other boys. Edwin had desperately wanted to be his friend; it felt like a physical pain inside his chest. He wanted a companion, someone who would not flinch from his company. He tried often, in small ways, to make his desire known. He smiled often over at the new boy, making sure he always had a space next to him at the table. He watched what he did, and what he ate- and he learned all of his favourite things. He remembered each moment when John spoke to him and ran those small conversations over and over in his head- analysing what had gone well, worrying if he had inadvertently said the wrong thing. Had he laughed too loud, missed an important point in the conversation? Had he seemed too desperate? He wished people would tell him.
John was polite and he smiled back but he knew often people did not say what they meant, they agreed to things when they did not want to, and then complained about it behind the person’s back. How do you ask someone to be your friend? How do you know if they would reply positively, or mean what they said when they did? Was it weird, to ask out loud if someone liked you? Edwin waited, and he watched. And he gave him small smiles. But it was not enough. Before he had been able to collect enough data to see whether they could potentially be friends; John had been snatched away by the other boys. They boys who did not count how many times they smiled in a conversation- who knew how to respond without practicing their replies in their heads. And Edwin was left alone.
Alone was how Edwin learnt to operate. He pushed down the desires he felt for friendship, and for someone to accept him. He survived alone, with his whole world contained in his mind. He survived school and he survived hell. He was a good man, he was intelligent, and he was self-sufficient. He might be too much for other people, he might make them flinch as if he was scolding water. But he was enough; and he could handle the heat of his own intensity. That was, until he met Charles. Meeting Charles after not interacting with anyone for seventy years was like going from dying of thirst to drowning. But he had become used to dying of thirst. It was hot and painful, but it felt familiar, like prodding an ulcer to make sure it was still there.
His desire for Charles consumed him and terrified him. When they first met, he tried to push him away, push him towards where he should be. But Charles had stayed put. Edwin had even told him the words that were burnt into his soul- not good with people. But Charles chose to stay. And Edwin worried every day that Charles would discover exactly what that really meant. It wasn’t just that he often did not know what to say, or that he was abrupt, or that he disliked others. It was that he often wanted someone so much it consumed him. Wanted a friend; wanted to be seen. And Charles, oh Charles, Charles was the thing he wanted most of anything he’d ever seen. More than the books he collected as a child, more than the brothers who turned away from him, more than the boys who tortured him- he wanted Charles to love him, to show him he could be loved.
If Charles had left, it would have been easier. Then Edwin could have mourned him, could have moved on. He could have replayed every moment of Charles over and over; and kept him safe in his memory. But Charles would not leave. When Edwin was rude Charles smiled and laughed at him, until Edwin laughed too. When Edwin snapped at him over something minor Charles brushed it off or rolled his eyes as if everything was fine. When Edwin didn’t feel like talking; Charles would talk for both of them. When Edwin apologised for explaining things in far too much detail Charles shushed him and said that he found it interesting, fascinating, and that he wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t want to know, would he?
And still the fire that was beneath his skin was spreading and he was trying to throw water over it every day. Don’t be too much, don’t show him who you are. But then Charles caught him staring all too often for Edwin to play it off. Because Edwin wanted to capture every angle of him, memorise every smile. Because it was not enough just to observe him, just to be with him, he needed to know him; to catalogue him like species of rare butterflies. Then he remembered that you have to kill the butterflies to catalogue them, and he was so afraid that was what he was doing to Charles- he tried not to hold him too tight. And yet Charles did not flinch from the intensity of his stare but just smiled back. As if he was content to be the subject of his undivided attention. However, it must have been that he just did not understand yet: because Edwin knew no one wanted him to care that much about them.
As the world evolved around them; Edwin was jealous of the technology others possessed. He wished he could photograph Charles. He wished he had an image of the two of them together to prove that it was real, to hold forever- a physical reminder that they existed together outside of his mind. To look at when he agonised over whether he snapped too quickly at Charles, whether he looked at him too long, whether his smile had been genuine enough. He wished he could record his laugh and play it on headphones forever, to drown out the noise of the sadness of the world. He wondered what it would take to satisfy his craving for Charles. Sometimes he wanted to be inside his mind, seeing his thoughts. He wanted them to be so close no one could pull them apart. He knew he should not want these things; and he pushed them down with his desire to interrupt when he knew the answer and point out obvious lies. That is not what normal people do.
And he thought he hid it all quite well. Charles was still there. Charles looked at him like he was worthy of love. Charles complimented him. Charles gave up the afterlife to be with him, and called him his best mate. Somehow, inexplicably, he was fooling Charles. He intended to keep doing it for as long as Charles would allow. But then Crystal happened, and America and everything else that went with it. And he could not contain how much he hated Charles being away from him, being with someone else. Each time he spoke to Crystal Edwin watched his face. Is he happier with her? Does she make him laugh more? Why doesn’t he look at me like that? How could I get him back and make it better?
It was petty and it was jealous and he hated himself for hating them together. Especially when he got to know Crystal, found himself liking her. But he could not get the visions of them together out of his head. He heard Charles calling her name over and over, the way he wanted Charles to call to him. Edwin reimagined situations where it was he who made Charles laugh, he who Charles confided in. He wished her gone from their lives. He wished he could build them a place so far away; where no one else could find them- he wished that would be enough for Charles. But Charles liked other people. He liked puppies and concerts and noise and life. Charles alone was enough for Edwin, but Edwin would never be enough for Charles. He tried to reconcile himself to that. Tried to remind himself that a part of Charles was better than none of him, that just because Charles loved Crystal did not mean he no longer loved him. But he could not really believe it. He knew it was because there was something missing inside him which caused Charles to look elsewhere. Because, for Edwin, love was all consuming and so he had been consumed. Whereas Charles stood there, whole and unharmed by love’s flames.
Edwin had never meant to tell Charles he was in love with him. Not really. He had finally got the friendship he had waited all his life for; and now he had irrevocably destroyed it by falling in love with him. Not that his sexual desire for Charles really took him as a surprise. He had always wanted Charles in every way possible; and now he had realised this new intimacy was something he could have, of course he craved it with Charles. He wanted to give him everything, to take everything he had to offer. But he knew he had already taken more than Charles wanted to give; more than any rational person would want to give. And now he wanted to consume an area of Charles’ life that was completely off-limits. He had intended to keep that revelation between himself and the disgusted voice in his head, but then hell had happened.
Hell had happened, and Charles had saved him. Charles was better than he could imagine; Charles was better than the rest of the world combined, and he could not lie to him anymore. Charles I’m in love with you he had stammered as more than a friend I’m afraid. And he had cried because he was finally speaking aloud that he wanted more than Charles could give, finally giving him permission to leave forever. To be disgusted and to declared Edwin had gone too far, been too much. But instead, Charles had been so soft, so sincere. And he stayed.
Edwin watched Charles like a bomb when they got back to London. He tried to decipher each expression and predict what Charles would say, how he was feeling. Edwin guarded his tongue, worried of saying anything that might tip the balance away from the precarious stability they sat in. One day, Charles was deep in concentration as he moved objects from one area of his backpack to another; reorganising them in a new-and-improved system that would definitely make it quicker to find what he was looking for. Edwin was watching to be able to eternally remember the way he twirled the pen through his fingers and smiled to himself.
“Hey, Win?” Charles looked up, his smile widening as he caught his eyes. “You OK?”
“Yes, Charles. I am perfectly fine.” Edwin replied stiffly, looking away quickly and trying to shuffle some papers to look busy. He felt the sweeping wave of guilt crash over him once again.
“Right, course you are.” Charles sighed, the smile falling from his face. “Only you’re not, are you? And it might be worth us talking about it at some point. Because at the minute all we’re doing is sitting in silence and-”
“I apologise if I am making you uncomfortable.” Edwin said suddenly as he stood up, unable to contain the anxiety within him. “I am aware I am staring, and that I am being entirely too much.”
“Hey, hey.” Charles crossed over to where Edwin stood and placed his hands on his shoulders, smoothing down the creases in his shirt as Edwin let the tension evaporate slightly from him. “That’s not what I mean. I don’t care if you stare, do I?”
“Hmm?” Edwin’s eyes snapped wide open quickly, filing with interest.
“I love being the thing you are most interested in, you know that, right?” Edwin shook his head slightly, mouth falling open. “I’d be proper offended if you stopped looking at me like I’m the most interesting thing in the room. It’s not even that I don’t mind it, not really, I like it. I like the way you love me, I always have. And I know I’m not where you are, not right now, but please don’t stop loving me the way you do. Because you could never be too much for me, Edwin. You could only ever be the thing I need most.”
Edwin looked at him, unable to process what he was saying. Charles was smiling again, a small smile that lit up his eyes. Charles did not normally lie to him, Charles would not try to hurt him. If Charles said he was not too much for him, then maybe there was the slim possibility it was true. And that possibility was the best thing he had ever comprehended.