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1) 1992
Charles had been dead for three years and they were some of the best years of his life. He was just grateful that he hadn’t been dealt shitty cards in death as well as life. It had taken a good year to get used to being a ghost and knowing all of the ghost rules there was to know. He had Edwin to thank for that.
Edwin. The boy who had comforted him and stayed with him while he passed. The boy who had just escaped Hell and yet showed Charles the light, reading to him until he fell into his eternal slumber. The boy who had taught him everything he knew about what being a ghost had meant for them; a soul forever running from Death.
Edwin was also the same boy who he had opened a detective agency with. It hadn’t taken much convincing, much to Charles' surprise, and soon they had rented out a room in central London with an estate agent called Hob Gadling who could actually see ghosts, and had made a promise to never let anyone living try and rent it instead.
By 1991, they had settled into a comfortable routine of being in each other's company and helping wandering ghosts move onto their afterlives. It wasn’t until two ghosts came in one day in 1992, that Charles realised that he knew very little about his Edwardian counterpart’s life.
The door opened and two young ghosts poked their heads around the door nervously. Charles seated himself on the corner of their desk while Edwin sat up straighter in his chair (if that was possible).
“Come in,” the older ghost called, trying to sound encouraging.
The two ghosts murmured to each other, something Charles couldn’t make out, before entering the room and closing the door behind them. They shuffled forward until they were about a metre away from the desk.
“Now,” Edwin cleared his throat. “How can we help you?”
The two ghosts stared at him before conversing amongst themselves again. Charles frowned as he observed their strange behaviour. The ghosts only looked young and appeared to be related in some way. He turned to Edwin, about to voice his concerns when Edwin held a hand up to stop him.
Edwin cleared his throat again, louder this time in order to gain the ghosts attention, before starting again. “Yr wyf yn cymryd nad ydych yn siarad unrhyw Saesneg?”
Charles froze, looking at Edwin incredulously and trying to identify the strange language that left his lips. The ghosts, however, stared at Edwin in shock and joy before stepping closer and talking to him so rapidly that Charles couldn’t even distinguish the gap between the words spoken.
After their speech ended, Edwin frowned. “Ti’n meddwl i ti gael dy ladd gan dy frawd dy hun?”
The ghosts nodded vigorously to whatever Edwin had said and gestured to themselves before talking again.
Charles had never felt so out of it. Was this what it felt like to his father when he and his mother would exchange small, quiet words of Hindi? Maybe that’s why he forbade it and threatened to beat the shit out of Charles if he dared to converse with his mother like that again. But Charles couldn’t help but stare at Edwin as the beautiful language flowed so naturally from his lips, causing smiles to the ghosts standing opposite them. The younger ghost knew Edwin was smart, the so-called brains of the two of them, but he had no idea that that intelligence extended to the fluidity of multiple languages.
Charles zoned back in to hear Edwin ask a final question.
“Da iawn, byddwn yn derbyn eich achos. Gawn ni drafod taliad?”
Charles quickly assumed that his partner had asked about payment as one of the ghosts nodded again and drew out a wad of notes before asking, “Ydy hyn yn ddigon?”
Charles stared at the huge pile of cash the ghost held, before looking at Edwin who gulped and nodded hastily. “Mae hyn yn fwy na digon. Rydych chi’n hael iawn. Diolch.”
The pair bid their farewells before phasing through the door. Silence enveloped the room for several moments before Charles turned to look at Edwin with a faked offended expression.
“So, when were you gonna tell me that you could speak fluent gibberish?”
“It is not gibberish, Charles,” Edwin chided, leaning back in his chair slightly. “It was Welsh.”
“Welsh sounds like that?” Charles marvelled. “I thought it was just accented English.”
“Nowadays, that seems to be more common,” Edwin said almost wistfully. “The Welsh language is old and complex and not many schools, even in Wales, teach it fluently. It has been quite a while since I have heard it myself, never mind spoken it.”
“So, how did you learn it?”
“My mother,” Edwin said after a small pause and Charles blinked in shock.
“Your mother was Welsh?”
“Sort of,” the older ghost mused. “Her father was Welsh but moved to London when she was just an infant. While her mother taught her English, her father taught her Welsh in an attempt to keep it going. She, in turn, passed it down to me.”
“That’s amazing, mate!” Charles beamed. “I can’t remember as much of my mum's language but I think it’s cool that we were both taught the language of our identity, right?”
Edwin’s lips curled up in a small smile, observing Charles’ expression for a moment before looking down to his small notebook and reading the brief notes he made about the case.
“Although,” Charles bent down to his partner's level. “You’re gonna have to tell me what we’re facing because I have no fucking clue what was said in the last fifteen minutes.”
Edwin levelled Charles with a fond exasperated look before turning back to his notes. “Of course I will, Charles. You may wish to sit down because it is quite long winded.”
As Charles made himself comfortable on the chair opposite Edwin’s, he made a small promise to himself to ask Edwin to speak Welsh more often. Gotta help keep it alive, right? Well, as much as a dead person could anyway.
2) 2007
“I’m sorry, a werewolf?”
“Yes Charles, do keep up.”
Edwin was pacing in front of Charles, who was currently sprawled across their sofa, debriefing the case details that he had missed while on his walk. Apparently, an old woman had asked for the Dead Boy Detectives to rid her mansion of a werewolf which had resided itself there a couple of weeks after she had died. In her will, she had given the mansion to her three children and, rightfully so, didn’t want them to have to share it with a furry and murderous giant.
“I didn’t think they existed,” Charles muttered to himself. Edwin paused his pacing and stared at Charles incredulously.
“We are ghosts who sometimes have to exercise demons and dispel witches, and you don’t think that werewolves exist?”
Charles held his hand up in surrender. “Sorry, I don’t know which supernatural stories to believe, do I? So, do vampires exist?”
Edwin scoffed. “Of course not, don’t be ridiculous.”
“Mate, you just said-”
“I was joking.”
Charles smiled and raised his eyebrows. “Edwin Payne making a joke? I am impressed. My influence must be rubbing off on you, aye?”
“Certainly not,” Edwin sniffed. “Now, focusing on the case in hand, do you remember when that 19th century supernatural collector gifted you those silver weapons for helping him solve his fae troubles?”
“Indeed I do. They were nasty little buggers.” Charles rummaged around in his bag of tricks for a couple of minutes before pulling out two long knives and a pouch full of silver bullets. He showed them to Edwin who nodded approvingly. He was getting quicker at navigating his bag, managing to retrieve items from the very depths of the bag in mere minutes.
“Good, keep them close at hand as we will likely need them in this case.”
“I can’t see what we’ll need the bullets for,” Charles commented but packed them carefully anyway.
“Well, the knives may not be enough,” Edwin said with a raised eyebrow, as if it was the most obvious thing ever. “You still have that rifle from the Case of the Sodden Soldier, do you not?”
“Yeah of course, but I don’t-”
“Perfect. Then we’ll be just fine.”
Charles was about to protest that he didn’t know how to use the bloody rifle, but Edwin had already moved on to the plan.
He’d just have to tell him later.
—-------------------------------------------
Charles did not, in fact, tell him later.
He thought now wouldn’t be the best time to mention it either, as his arms were pinned by a pair of paws with ridiculously long claws. Charles strained against the beast's grip which pinned him to the floor, his bag of ticks on the other side of the room and tipped over with the rifle poking out of the top.
Charles winced as the werewolf’s claws sank into his forearms while he struggled. “Someone really needs to cut your bloody nails, mate,” he huffed, panting as he rested his head against the floorboards.
He hoped Edwin would come back soon with the antidote.
After assessing the situation from afar, Edwin had told Charles that it would be easier for both of them to try and revert the werewolf to its human state permanently rather than trying to kill it. However, if it did prove too difficult, then they would have to result to the latter.
Unfortunately for Charles, who had stayed behind to keep track of things, the werewolf had sniffed him out from his admittedly not-so-good hiding spot and chased him around the mansion. In Charles’ opinion, he thought he did quite well escaping the grasp of claws for as long as he did, continuously phasing through walls and the floors to gain some leverage.
However, the creature had had enough of his tricks and had managed to land a hit on him, causing his bag to slip off his shoulder as he slammed into the wall, breathless (even without a pair of working lungs).
Thus, his less than ideal position.
Charles grimaced as the werewolf growled above him, feeling a sense of deja vu as saliva dripped onto his face. “Jesus, your breath stinks.”
The werewolf didn’t seem to appreciate Charles’ comment about its hygiene, as it bared its teeth and got uncomfortably close to biting the ghosts’ head off.
Bracing himself, Charles squeezed his eyes shut and prayed to whatever high power that was out there that Edwin would either get here just in time to throw the antidote onto the beast, or have the medical knowledge needed as to sewing a ghost's head back on.
Luck would seem to be on Charles’ side (For once) as a gunshot echoed through the house, causing the werewolf to stiffen above him. With a howl, it jumped off of Charles and scampered to the corner of the room, turning around to growl at the offender.
Charles was more surprised that he would like to admit to see Edwin standing in the doorway with the rifle aimed steadily at the creature, its barrel smoking. Quickly, Edwin cocked the rifle threateningly, a cold stare freezing the room over with a tense moment of silence.
“I suggest you leave my partner alone unless you have a death wish,” Edwin said coolly, slowly making his way towards Charles and standing in front of him, the way Charles always does for Edwin. It made warmth bloom in his chest where his heart would be, and it wasn’t the blood from his wounds soaking his polo.
The creature growled, clutching its side, but it didn’t seem to want to back down. Slowly, Charles watched it crouch as if waiting to pounce the moment Edwin let his guard down.
“Edwin,” Charles warned, trying to sit up without keeling over.
“I know,” came the reply, surprisingly gentle before he addressed the beast again. “I’m warning you; you’ll leave me with no choice.”
The werewolf, Charles discovered, either had a huge ego or, indeed, a death wish as it ignored Edwin’s threats and leapt out from the corner of the room. However, before its back legs even left the ground, the room vibrated with the sound of another gunshot, making Charles flinch violently.
Charles watched with wide eyes as the werewolf fell, for good this time, with a hole right where its heart was. The perfect shot.
The room was quiet for a moment, only the sounds of Charles and Edwin’s heavy breathing could be heard. Slowly, the younger ghost turned towards his partner, watching as Edwin’s grip went slack and the rifle clattered to the floor, barrel still smoking. Their eyes met and Charles forced himself to try and sit up properly without wincing.
Edwin snapped out of whatever trance he had been in when Charles let out a small grunt and he quickly made his way over to his partner, kneeling beside him.
“Careful,” he said, voice low and tainted with concern. “Werewolf scratches are nasty; they even cause ghosts to bleed. I’ll have to bandage them properly with some salve back at the office.”
“Yeah, ‘course, mate,” Charles replied automatically, almost in a daze. Edwin, his best mate in the whole world who despised fighting and violence with a passion, had just shot and killed a werewolf.
I mean, sure, the werewolf wasn’t exactly the nicest creature in the world (Charles had the scratches to prove that) but even then, Edwin was always reluctant to use more force than necessary when dealing with the supernatural. He wondered what changed.
Pushing the thoughts to the back of his mind, he tried not to make a noise when Edwin helped him up and put his arm around his shoulder. Slowly, the older ghost led them to a wide mirror at the end of the hallway.
Reaching out a gloved hand, Edwin quickly found the office and led them through with practised ease. Charles had always found mirror travel difficult, even when he was just following Edwin with the exact location in mind. Charles’ head must’ve been more foggy than he realised because, suddenly, he was sitting on the sofa with his coat off and Edwin was knelt in front of him with a tub of green-ish salve, spreading it gently across the angry, red scratches across his forearms.
Charles knew he shouldn’t ask. It could be a sensitive topic or just something Edwin wasn’t ready to address yet, but curiosity had never burned so bright. So, naturally, he ignored the logical part of his brain and asked anyway.
“So,” he started, carefully. “Where did you learn to shoot a gun?”
“It’s not just a gun, Charles,” Edwin replied with a surprisingly calm voice, as if he knew Charles would ask him about it eventually. “It’s a military rifle. I cannot just shoot any gun willy nilly.”
“Okay then, I stand corrected,” Charles huffed. “Where did you learn to shoot a military rifle then?”
Edwin cleared his throat, wiping the last of the salve off of his fingers and closing the tub. “My father taught me the basics. He was obsessed with hunting. I hated it.”
“Yet he made you go and be a perfect shot anyway?” Charles asked with his eyebrows raised. He tried so hard not to ruin the moment; it wasn't everyday you got Edwin Payne to do something as exotic as opening up.
“That was St Hilarians.” Edwin corrected, slightly tense as he got up to put the salve away and fetch some bandages.
“Wait, what?” Charles blinked. “What do you mean?”
Edwin raised one eyebrow as he knelt by his partner again. “We were an all boys boarding school during the mid 1910’s. It had gotten to the point where all boys at the school, age fifteen or over, got the training in preparation for the war.”
“Fuck.” Charles stated. He hadn’t exactly forgotten that Edwin had grown up in war time, but he hadn’t realised it had had a bigger impact on him than he had realised. “So you’ve got proper training on how to use those things?”
“Correct,” Edwin replied, keeping his hands busy on making sure Charles’ bandages would last for a few days while the scratches healed. “I hated every second of it, as you can imagine, but it was compulsory. I wasn’t the only one.”
“I can’t really imagine you like that,” Charles admitted. “You know, like, a soldier? Fully kitted out and everything with guns and shit.”
“It was not the life I wanted,” the Edwardian commented. “But I died before I got my calling up papers. I suppose I should look at the very few positives about my death, considering that I probably would’ve died in the trenches anyway.”
“Don’t say that.” Charles shivered, trying not to think of Edwin, his kind, gentle and caring Edwin, in the dreadful conditions that were the trenches. “Just - I’m glad you didn’t have to experience that.”
Edwin gave him a tiny small, merely an upturn of the lips, yet it made Charles’ heart soar. “Thank you. As am I.”
Charles wiggled his eyebrows. “I mean, it’s really sick thinking about it. Imagine, in future cases? The culprit underestimates us and you pull out this huge gun-”
“Rifle, Charles-”
“- and just shoot ‘em down! How epic is that?”
Edwin pursed his lips, trying to force down a smile at Charles' enthusiasm. “Believe me, it will not be a regular thing. It is not really my style and I would only ever use it in extreme cases.”
“And me being pinned down by a big dog was extreme enough?” Charles asked incredulously, thinking back to all the other times that he had been in a bit of a tiff but Edwin had found a way out without violence.
Edwin looked away from Charles’ sharp and inquisitive gaze. “Of course it was. Werewolves are tricky and can cause serious harm to ghosts. You were in danger - that's more than enough of a reason.”
Charles felt his throat tighten, Edwin’s words having a weird effect on him and his long dead heart. Damn his partner for making Charles feel loved and cared for. From that day forth, Charles swore to try and make sure that Edwin didn’t feel forced to result to using the rifle but-
He did look pretty fit.
3)2016
“See? My disguises always work.”
“So they do.” Edwin agreed, lightly. “But if we keep using the same one over and over again, we are bound to be recognised.”
“You worry way too much, mate,” Charles snorted, dumping his bag of tricks (carefully) down the side of the sofa and flopping down onto it with a sigh.
They had just wrapped up a relatively easy case, you know the one; a client comes to them, distraught that an item which was once in their possession is missing, and requests that the detectives find it and return it. Easy peasy. Job officially jobbed.
Sometimes, however, these cases required talking to living people, which would be rather difficult considering ghosts aren’t visible to the average human. The disguises that Charles insists on using every time are of an older man and woman, probably late fifties to early sixties. It is never spoken about who is who, it just happens.
In order to blend in with the public, Charles usually pretends to read a copy of The Sun or do the crossword (which he often gets distracted with and takes it back to the office to complete later) and Edwin pulls out a ball of wool and a pair of knitting needles. There is always, Charles observes, a length of knitted material already on one of the needles, so he assumes that Edwin merely pretends to keep it going until they can break character. Someone like Edwin wouldn’t know how to knit, right?
Wrong.
Charles tosses a cricket ball above his head, catching it until the last possible moment. A serene tranquillity fell upon the boys as they relaxed, the adrenaline and excitement from wrapping up a case slowly fading and leaving them rather drowsy. It’s nights like these where Edwin usually reads to Charles on their sofa, his legs in Edwin’s lap and his eyes closed as if he could actually get some shut eye. Or they pull out one of their many versions of Cluedo and have a couple of games to pass the time.
Tonight, however, Charles noticed that Edwin made no move to pick up a book and squeeze next to him on the sofa, and he didn’t get up towards the cupboard to ask Charles what he wanted to play this time. No, instead, Charles watched with morbid curiosity as Edwin pulled out some needles and thread and placed them on the desk. Then (from pockets Charles didn’t even know he had) he started to pull out lots of little knitted squares. Blues, greens, reds, oranges, and every colour you could ever think of was knitted into these squares.
Charles felt his jaw go slack as Edwin ended up with about fifty knitted squares stacked around him.
“Uhh, Edwin,” Charles started, hesitating, “where did you get all of them from? And what are you doing?”
Edwin looks over at Charles as if just remembering that he was there. “Well, you see Charles, sometimes we wait hours in those disguises so I do something to pass the time. For the last year, I have been making these.” He held one up in demonstration. “Admittedly, the first few are not up to standard but I feel I’m rather good at them now. As for what I’m going to do with them, I’m not too sure.”
Charles tilts his head, taking in all the squares, some patterned, some plain. Suddenly, he was hit with an idea. “Well, I mean, my nan used to knit me blankets when I was little. Maybe you could sew them into a blanket and we could put it on this bad boy.” He taps the back of the sofa with a cheeky grin. “What about that then, eh? It’ll add a bit of colour, won’t it?”
Edwin’s eyes softened, as they often did when Charles revealed something about his life he didn’t know before. “I think that is a splendid idea, Charles. I can certainly sew better than I can knit.”
And with that, Edwin got to work, poking the thread through the tiny eye of the needle and tying it off with a small knot. Then, he went about the repetitive motion of threading the squares together. In, out, in, out.
Charles found himself watching, enamoured with the way his partner worked. He mentally added knitting and sewing to the list of skills Edwin had that he didn’t know. It was getting quite full.
“Where did you learn?” Charles couldn’t help himself. “To knit and sew, I mean. It doesn’t seem the type of thing you’d know how to do.”
Edwin raised an eyebrow at Charles' last comment and the younger ghost panicked, quickly trying to amend his words. “Not that you can’t! That’s not what I meant, at all. I mean, I just meant that it doesn’t seem like the stuff the school would teach to boys back then.”
Edwin flashed Charles a small smile before looking back down at his work. “It wasn’t. I learnt to sew myself as my clothes would sometimes get a bit damaged but I did not want to get rid of them. I also had a few younger siblings who had enough energy to run around the world and not tire. They often tore things and my mother… was not often able to fix them herself.”
Charles nodded with a small smile on his face. He loved learning about Edwin, often because the older ghost would disclose so little, even on a good day. He wanted to know all that there was to know about his partner, good and bad. He knew, however, that this would take decades, centuries even.
But he was willing to wait that long.
“Oh yeah?” Charles chuckled lightly. “Bet you were patching ‘em up all the time, then.”
“I was.” Edwin said, his tone annoyed but his expression showed an evident fondness. “Damn troublemakers, they were.”
“How many siblings did you have?” Charles pushed as much as he dared, trying to make this conversation last as long as it could. He would stop as soon as Edwin expressed any discomfort.
“I was one of seven.” Edwin sighed, adding another square. “I was the third oldest and I had one older brother and sister, and four younger ones. They were quite a handful.”
Charles gaped. “Seven? For reals?”
“It was a normal family size back then.” Edwin said, his eyes slightly fond as they looked at Charles’ surprised expression. “You had no siblings?”
Charles blinked at the sudden question but quickly replied. “Uh, no, I didn’t unfortunately. I always wanted to be an older brother but…” He trailed off slightly, not sure if he wanted to say that he was glad his father couldn’t pick on anyone else to take his anger out on. Charles would get in trouble a lot more often if he had a younger sibling that was always beaten black and blue. “But, I had a lot of cousins.”
“Really?” Edwin looked surprised. “Have you met all of them?”
“Yep,” Charles grinning, turning around to lie on his stomach and prop his head up on his arms, “I went to one of my uncle’s weddings in India. They are, like, massive affairs. Every single one of them was there.”
Edwin’s hands slowed as he focused on Charles fully. He looked interested in what Charles was saying which made the younger ghost swell with pride.
“You went to India? By boat?”
“Nah, mate. Me and my mum went on a plane. It was aces.”
“Tell me about it,” Edwin said, rather suddenly. “Your family there, the wedding. You can tell me about it. I am rather curious about how different things are over there.”
Charles positively beamed at the idea, forgetting his worry about opening up about his life, and launching into the whole event. He had been eleven at the time and his father refused to go. Charles was surprised that he had even let them go in the first place but hey, who was he to complain about a whole week away from his dad?
Charles' mother had three sisters, all of whom had multiple children. Some of those children had children of their own, meaning that Charles’ cousin list was long. All twenty six of them went to the wedding as his uncle, the youngest of the bunch, got married.
It was the most fun Charles had had in years. There were times where he felt a little left out as his Hindi wasn’t as good as everyone else's, but he enjoyed the food, the atmosphere, the henna, and re-connecting with relatives he hadn’t seen in so long.
As Charles slowed, his tone went slightly wistful. He missed being able to experience events like that, but if dying meant that he could spend the rest of eternity with Edwin, he didn’t regret it one bit.
When Charles had finished his story, he looked at Edwin’s hands which were also slowly coming to a stop. Edwin hadn’t interrupted him once, only nodding and humming to something he found particularly interesting. Charles had failed to notice that Edwin had managed to sew all the squares together while he was talking and looked up at him with a smile, a few hints of pride woven into his expression.
Charles sat up as Edwin walked over to the sofa, holding the blanket out to him. It wasn’t very big, if Charles wrapped it around his shoulders, it would only go down to his waist, but it was beautiful.
“I may not possess the same skills and expertise of your nan,” Edwin started up, slightly hesitant, “but I hope this will do.” He held it out to his partner who stared at it in awe. Slowly, Charles ran his fingers along to stitches, wishing for the hundredth time that he could feel the soft fabrics and gentle threads.
“It’s perfect,” he whispered, “Edwin this is amazing.”
The Edwardian boy shuffled his feet, looking slightly embarrassed. “I- thank you, Charles.”
Charles turned in his seat and spread the blanket over the head of the sofa before standing back and looking at it proudly. “There. In its rightful place.” The younger ghost turned to Edwin, a huge smile etched across his face. “Thanks, mate.”
Edwin’s eyes softened again, knowing that Charles wasn’t just referring to the blanket. “Of course,” he replied.
“Anytime.”
…
“You should knit more often, you know?”
“Only if there is nothing to do. Otherwise I fear we may have too much to know what to do with.”
“We could just make one huge blanket and use it as carpet!”
“You are ridiculous sometimes, Charles.”
1) 2024
“You want my partner and I to perform? With you? To a non-existent audience?”
Edwin failed to see where this was going. The man sat in front of him was in his late twenties and was, apparently, a singer songwriter. He had died in a car crash on his way back home from a rehearsal, killing him before he got the chance to perform the final production.
“Yes.” The man, Nathan, said firmly. “Besides, the audience won’t be non-existent. There’ll be ghosts and shit there.”
Nathan had had a near death experience before, meaning he was able to see ghosts. The performance he was rehearsing appealed to the supernatural beings who wished to come along, which was, apparently, a lot.
“I’m quite a hit in the ghostly community,” he said with a big grin before it faltered. “At least, I was.”
Edwin rubbed his eyes and tried not to lose it. Charles was currently shopping for ingredients with Crystal, leaving Edwin alone to mind the office. After the whole Port Townsend debacle, Edwin had discovered that they were running very low on potion supplies and had sent Charles to the market that was on every Sunday to pick up some stuff.
Unfortunately, Edwin often relied on Charles to talk to clients in the most effective manner in which he often lacked the skills. While his partner was out, Edwin prayed that he would be able to deal with this potential client as best as he could.
“Well,” he began, willing to hear the client out, “what will this performance entail for us to do?”
“I mean I’m the singer. I’ll just need someone on drums and guitar.” Nathan shrugged as if he hadn’t just listed the two things that Edwin cannot, as a matter of fact, do.
“Well, unfortunately, I’m afraid that-”
“Hey, I’m back!”
Edwin’s rejection of the client was cut off as Charles walked through the door with two plastic bags in his hands and his bag of tricks slung over his shoulder. “Crystal had to go and revise for a history exam so she couldn’t stop.”
Edwin stood and gestured to his counterpart. “Nathan, this is my work partner Charles. Charles, this is Nathan, a potential client.”
“Nice to meet you, mate,” Charles put the bags on the sofa and shook the client's hand with a grin. “What can we do for you?”
“I’m afraid it’s rather out of our league, Charles,” Edwin said with a small wince.
Charles frowned. “Why? Is it a bloody witch again? Because I swear to all things holy-”
“No!” Edwin interrupted quickly. “It’s just that… well-”
“I wanna perform one last time before I move on.” Nathan piped up smoothly, seemingly not put off by Edwin’s hesitation.
Charles’ frown flipped into a grin. “Wait really? Like a band?”
“Sure thing.” Nathan smiled. “I mean, I’m the singer and I died before I could perform next week. I just need someone on drums and guitar.”
“Aces.” Charles breathed, his eyes shining so bright Edwin almost had to squint. “We’ll take it.”
“What?” Edwin spluttered. “But Charles-”
“I’ll deal with it.” Charles put a finger to Edwin’s lips, making him thankful that ghosts cannot blush. “Trust me, yeah?”
Without waiting for his reply, Charles turned back to Nathan with his signature smile. “So, my partner only plays piano but I can help. We can pre-record one of the parts and I can play the other part live?”
Nathan’s smile almost rivalled Charles. “That’s amazing! Well, I’m free whenever you are.”
Charles nodded. “We’re taking things easy at the moment so we’re not booked up or anything. Does tomorrow sound alright?”
“Perfect.”
Edwin wanted to protest that no, we are not taking things easy and yes, we are very much booked up but the words died on his tongue at Charles’ excitement. Edwin had no idea that Charles played an instrument, never mind two… or more. He didn’t know how well he played them either. Was it just for fun? Or a potential career? Images of Charles playing drums with love and passion filled Edwin’s head. His head bopping to the beat, knee bouncing and hands that-
Edwin quickly cut himself off. Suddenly, Nathan’s case sounded a lot more appealing. He tuned back in just in time to hear Charles mention price, albeit reluctantly.
“I mean, I think I’m already pushing my luck by taking this case without him, never mind not paying so… is there anything you have to offer?”
Edwin cleared his throat to get their attention. “You are not pushing your luck, Charles. This is your case. If you feel that the client doesn’t have to pay, then that is your decision.”
If Crystal were here, she would laugh in his face, mention something about being a ‘lovesick idiot’ and leave. But, fortunately for both Edwin and his pride, she was not here.
Charles looked at Edwin as if he had just told him that he could eat spaghetti again. “Wait, for reals? My case?”
“Of course,” Edwin said, holding back a smile at Charles’ expression. “As long as I get to watch it.”
Charles was practically bouncing with energy and excitement while Edwin watched as his trusty partner and the now official client discussed deadlines.
'God I am so pathetic.'
—--------------------------------
'God this was a mistake. Where is Niko when you need her?'
Edwin sat in the corner of the studio, taking in the overwhelmingly crowded room. Instruments, music stands, microphones, and spare parts covered every inch, so much so that the boys could barely fit in the room with Nathan. Edwin had to phase through at least two drum kits and a piano to get to his seat.
They had decided to record the drums in the studio and play the guitar live as, despite how talented Charles may be in the art of music, he couldn’t play two instruments at once. Not very well, anyway.
Edwin spaced back in to see Charles sit on the stool behind the one of many drum kits. They were only doing a practice first, just to get him into the swing of things. A simple beat - Edwin could handle that.
“Right, it’s been a minute since I last played so I might be a bit rusty.” He warned them with a grin before twirling one of the drum sticks between two fingers.
Edwin gulped. He couldn’t handle this.
Nathan counted in the beat and (Edwin didn’t know how he knew - must be some sort of music intuition) Charles joined in with vigour.
It was loud. Very loud. Usually the sound of constant high volume would irritate Edwin, but said ghost was currently lost in the performance. The way Charles bit his lip in concentration and adjusted his grip on the drum sticks had practically caused Edwin's jaw to drop. They had only been playing a few minutes before Charles stopped (Edwin could breathe again) and looked at Nathan for approval.
Approval that was very much deserved.
“That,” Nathan started, “was fucking brilliant.”
“Cheers,” Charles rubbed the back of his neck before looking over at Edwin with raised eyebrows. “You good, mate?”
“I thought you said that you were going to be rusty?” Edwin questioned with a small smirk. “I failed to see that.”
Edwin wished that he didn’t feel so good about the way Charles brightened by his praise. Curse his heart for going soft whenever Charles looked at him. Or when he spoke to him. Or just being around him. Damn.
“Well then,” Nathan clapped his hands together and pulled out a set of headphones. “Shall we?”
—---------------
Edwin practically stumbled out of the studio after the recording was finished. He had never wanted to get out of a room so badly in over thirty years. Not that he hated the experience, in fact, it was quite the opposite. But Edwin was positively certain that if he spent another second in that room with Charles, he would spontaneously combust.
Charles, on the other hand, practically skipped out the studio, glowing like the ghost resemblance of the sun. Strapped to his back was a red electric guitar and a small folder containing the music he would need to practise. Despite Charles insisting that he didn’t have to pay, Nathan had not taken no for an answer, gifting Charles the guitar and amp that came with it. If he could, Charles would have passed out by now.
“That was brills.”
“Yes, I suppose you could say that,” Edwin murmured, still slightly dazed, causing Charles to look over at him in concern.
“You sure you’re alright, mate? I know that wasn’t your cup of tea.”
“I am absolutely fine,” Edwin said, pulling his coat tighter around him, as if to ward off the emotional awkwardness that he would likely bring to the conversation. “You are incredibly talented. I hope you know that.”
Charles rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed, but also clearly pleased with Edwin’s comment. “Nah, it’s not really all that. Just something that I did for fun, innit?”
Edwin wanted to push Charles for talking bad about himself, especially with the performance he had just provided. But Edwin wasn’t good at confronting Charles about his lack of self preservation and borderline self-hatred. Instead, he considered trying to get him to talk more and maybe, just maybe, he might see how talented he is.
“I never knew you played the drums and guitar. Was it a hobby or something serious?”
Charles looked slightly taken aback with Edwin’s sudden interest but quickly schooled his expression back to normal. “Well, it was definitely a hobby. I loved playing at school and at a few of my mates' houses who actually had the instruments. I never owned any myself. My dad would’ve killed me for the noise, even if I had headphones.”
I have no doubts, Edwin thought, silently seething once again. Edwin had been outraged at the thought of his partners’ father committing such horrible acts against his own son, so much so that the older ghost had paid the Rowland household a visit.
He left his mother alone, who was humming to herself quietly in the kitchen, and made his way straight to the demon who was his father. Mr Rowland was sat in front of the telly watching the Six Nations with a pint of beer in his hand. He was an old man now but that didn’t stop Edwin from giving him a bit of a fright and pushing him one step closer to an early grave.
The Edwardian left the Rowland household feeling rather accomplished after that. Charles didn’t know, of course.
“But it didn’t stop me from playing altogether,” Charles continued, a genuine smile growing on his face. “I just spent less time at home. I mean, I knew that I wouldn't be able to make a career out of it but -” he shrugged, “-it was a nice thought to play into.”
“I think you would have made a fabulous musician,” Edwin retorted. “Considering you didn’t even play full time, yet you made such astounding progress. I mean it, Charles.”
Charles’ pace dropped a little and Edwin slowed down with him, watching his eyes shine and smile a small curl of the lips. “You really think so? You haven’t even heard me with a guitar yet.”
“And I cannot wait,” Edwin replied easily, because doing anything around Charles was easy. And even if it wasn’t, Edwin would try his best to say the right things.
Anything to have that smile directed at him once more.