Chapter Text
What a night it's been. Stede is sitting in the country club with his kids, and Ed is smiling at him from behind the bar every time looks up, and on more than one occasion, he has to quite literally pinch himself to be sure he’s really awake.
“Stop that,” Alma says, slapping his hand away the next time Ed’s face lights up at the sight of him. “We can’t both be dreaming at the same time.”
“How do you know?” Stede says, pivoting to look at her. He brings his fingers up and makes a little pinching motion, floating them toward her like a crab on the tide, and she rolls her eyes so effectively that his little finger crab gets blasted onto the table. Twitches a couple of times, dies.
“Because not even you could dream this shit up,” Alma says, and grins. “And I definitely couldn’t, so. Guess it’s real.”
Stede’s very, very glad it it. The evening has passed in a blur. This entire day has been a wild sort of blur. There’s the growling man from the tennis courts stomping around, and he passes across Stede’s line of vision from time to time, still looking furious about his general existence. There’s Mariem, god, Stede hadn’t dreamed that she might still be here, and there’s Roach, who’s grown into a fine man and an equally fine chef.
And there’s Ed, glancing up at him with those deep eyes of his every single time Stede looks over.
What a whirlwind of a day. What an absolute fairytale of a thing this has been, beyond any imagining.
But it’s getting toward closing time, and Louis is slumped sideways over his side of the table, attempting to spoon Mariem’s ice-cream—three neat scoops of vanilla covered in chocolate sauce, of course—into his face without lifting his head at all. Alma’s leaning against his arm, and Stede’s feeling the adrenaline seep away, too. He doesn’t want this day to end, but it can’t last forever.
“You like him so much,” Alma says, where she’s pressed against his shoulder. She nudges him teasingly. “Even though you had no idea who he was.”
It feels sort of important that he didn’t, actually. That he got to know Ed without any of the baggage that a public life brings. No matter how brilliant, how famous, how adored Ed is, Stede thinks it’s unlikely that anyone’s known him for quite so long, or that, he fears, anyone has wanted to really know Ed in a long time.
Loneliness recognises loneliness. He knows the look of a man who’s grappling with who he is and where he fits. He sees one in the mirror every morning, after all.
“I do like him,” he tells his daughter. “I like him very much.”
“You kissed him,” she says, a little bit accusing.
He shifts to look at her, finds his own eyes reflected back. “How did you know that?”
She tucks her chin, all smug, and pretends to bite his arm. “You just told me.”
He groans. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re too smart by half?”
“Once or twice,” she says, even more smug. “Is he your boyfriend now?”
“Is he—" He splutters. “Alma, we just met. And also, he kissed me.”
“Semantics.” She gives him a sharp elbow to the side. “People who’ve just met don’t usually look at each other like that.”
He lifts his eyes to the bar again, where Ed’s polishing a glass, laser focussed in his direction, and even from here the longing is so distinct that it steals his breath, and it has been for hours. Stede’s had a very rapid journey today from having been—well. Theoretically queer, he’d have to say, having been on several dates, having felt not a single spark from any of them, to… this. It’s like every thought he’s held back in his entire life has been set loose in that sandbank breach, and now it’s all pouring through at once, rushing out to sea.
“He likes me, I think,” he says, surprising himself with how true it feels. “We’re friends.”
“Okay,” she says, absolutely flat sarcastic, and he bumps her back.
“None of your business, miss.”
“I think it is my business,” she says, and he clamps his mouth shut on the retort he might have given.
He remembers his own father here in this very town, making very sure that Stede was out of his hair for whatever human interactions he had up at that house. If he learned his father was a vampire with a serious habit of draining people dry he wouldn’t have been surprised, but as it was, assuming that he wasn’t and he was just pursuing far more earthly pleasures, Stede just felt… excluded. Unimportant. And Alma is very important.
“I’ll keep you updated,” he tells her in the end. “I think I have a right to my privacy, but anyone I might see will have to pass a very strict assessment from both of you before they get a promotion of any sort.”
“Deal,” Alma says. “But also, I think you should go for it.”
He doesn’t think there’s an alternative. It feels like this is the adventure he’s chosen, and Ed is, was, always has been an integral part of it, from the very beginning. “Well, thank you for your support.”
She squeezes his arm. “Like I’d tell you not to date Edward fucking Teach, dad, come on.”
“Oh, now who’s seeing him for his public image, hmm?”
She rolls her eyes. “He’s not just the world’s best surfer, or the world’s best surf designer. He’s also really passionate about the environment. He’s given more money to environmental charities than just about anyone on the planet. He has a foundation and everything! It really matters to him.”
So many things he’s yet to learn about Ed. So many things he’ll get to find out.
He can’t wait to get started.
Louis’ eyes are drooping over there, and Stede pushes back his own scraped-clean bowl—yes, Mariem gave him his own set of three neat little scoops, and he nearly cried in the restaurant for the third time tonight—and says, “C’mon. Let’s get some rest. It’s been a big day.”
“The biggest,” Alma agrees.
He leaves her to scurry up her brother and goes back to the bar to say goodbye to Ed, and he can’t miss the way the man stands straighter as he approaches, brightens right up. Stede’s not used to having that kind of effect on anyone, let alone on this beautiful person with his half-up silver hair and his tattoos and his apparently very famous face.
“Hello. We’re just heading on for the night, so I wanted to say… well.” He smiles, suddenly shy. “That I’ll see you again very soon, I hope.”
“Hard to avoid,” Ed repeats. “So are you, seems like.”
Stede wiggles his fingers, like a jellyfish, like a ghost. “I’m everywhere.”
“That’s good,” Ed says, beaming. “That’s really good. So, uh.”
Stede twists back to see the kids standing there, watching as expectantly as they ever have when there’s a hint of gossip available. He turns back to Ed. “I’d offer you a kiss goodnight, but…”
“The paparazzi are in, yeah, I get it.” Ed snorts, and then his face goes more serious. “Might have to rain check that one.”
He’s felt short of breath all night, and that absolutely doesn’t help. “I would love that. Please.”
“You’re on, then. I owe you one goodnight kiss.”
Stede gives the man a little salute, and heads off. He manages to make it to the door without looking back more than perhaps six to eight times, which is quite a remarkable feat of self-restraint, all things considered.
He’s in a sort of dream state as they wander back through the streets, the town sitting so silently around them that all they can hear is the distant rush of waves on the beach. He holds a kid’s hand in each of his own and swings them as they walk, the rain flecking across his cheeks, increasing, and he doesn’t care. He feels alive. Everything feels wonderful, like nothing can ever go wrong again.
They’ve made it. That’s it, struggle over, life is now good.
Which ends, of course, when they get to the front door of the shack, and he can’t find his key. “Oh,” he says. “Oh, damn, I must have—I must have either locked it in there, or lost it somewhere along the way.”
They’ve done a very good job of locking up, unfortunately, because despite several circuits of the house, he can’t find a window open so much as a crack, or an unlocked door anywhere. No spare keys to be found, either.
He pulls out his phone. “I’ll just—I’ll give Ed a quick call, all right? See if he’s spotted the keys up at the club.”
Louis has already dropped down onto the boards of the verandah and curled into a ball, because it is very cold tonight, now they’ve stopped moving. And the rain is picking up. Winter, eh? It’s so very different here to the way it is in summer.
There’s no answer from Ed. The call rings out, but at least he gets a few seconds of Ed’s voice curling warmly into his ear. Hey, you’ve reached Ed. Leave a message after the beep, or don’t, whatever, I don’t care.
“Just me,” Stede tells him. “We’ve locked ourselves out, a little bit. Wanted to see if you had the keys up there, but you’ll be closed by now, and I hope you’ve headed home to get some rest. You deserve rest, Ed—“
The message cuts him rudely off with a beep, and he resists the urge to dial through again and leave more.
“Right,” he says, turning to Alma. She’s got her arms firmly clamped over her chest, and she looks deeply unimpressed. “Solutions?”
“We could break a window,” she says.
He’d really rather not. “Maybe the caravan park can send us in the right direction. Or if not, maybe they’ve got a—a spare tent going or something.”
Alma’s expression is sliding rapidly toward thunderous. “I don’t think Louis is going to want to do that.”
“No, I’m sure he’s not.” Louis has curled himself even more tightly into his patented tiny ball of emotions, and as good a sister Alma is, he doesn’t think it’s just Louis who’s desperately keen to avoid the indignity of a canvas roof tonight. “Nonetheless! As needs must.”
“I think you should go check,” Alma says. “I’ll stay here with him, okay?”
She is 16. She’s been babysitting other people’s children for a couple of years now. They’re in a town of 150 people that’s utterly silent on a night like this, and there’s no reason not to trust that they’ll be fine. Goodness, when Stede was between their ages he was living in this very house on his own.
Still, it’s an effort to nod, and to turn away from them. The rain is absolutely sheeting down now, and the car keys are attached to the house keys, so he can’t drive. There’s nothing for it. He tugs his collar higher and dives out into the rain, and heads for the caravan park.
It’s really just down the road. Three minutes’ walk at best, but that’s more than enough for him to end up absolutely soaked through, wetter than he was at the beach this morning, by the time he rocks up at the Tourist Information hut.
Which is, of course, closed up tight.
He wanders around the side, but there’s nothing. There is, though, a little manager’s cottage up the back, and there’s a light on there, and a man sitting on the dry porch strumming a guitar, the sound muted by the rain.
Stede jogs over, hand up in greeting, and the man jolts upright in his seat, the music ending in a discordant twang.
“Oh, lord above, come on, out of the rain with you.”
He’s glad of the permission to rush up the stairs and under the verandah roof, though he’s also suddenly very conscious of just how much water is rolling off him, and just how very cold he is. He’s very glad the kids didn’t come with. “Hello. Hi. I’m so sorry to disturb, we’ve just—we’ve locked ourselves out, and I was wondering if there’s a locksmith around, or something?”
“Right, yeah, no, no locksmith,” the man says. “I’m Frenchie, by the way.”
“Frenchie,” Stede says, trying not to despair. “Lovely to meet you, I’m Stede.” He turns back to face the rain, hands on his sodden hips. “D’ you think there’s anyone who could help? Anywhere we could stay? I’ve left my two kids back at the house. Teenager!” he rushes to add. “One’s an older teen, they’re fine.”
“Course they are, they’re in Cloudburst,” Frenchie says. He’s got an easy smile. “John?” he calls, over his shoulder.
A tall man pokes his head out the door, knitting clutched in both hands. He’s got an incredible swoop of silver hair, shaved up the sides, stars tattooed on his temple. “What is it?”
“Think you could give the mayor a call? Got a bit of a locked-out situation.”
“Aw,” John says, sounding sympathetic. “Yeah, ‘course, I’ll give him a buzz at home.”
“God,” Stede says, as the man disappears back inside. “No, really, I don’t think you need to—“
“Dab hand with a lock, is our mayor. No trouble at all, considers it a public service and all.”
Stede’s going to shrivel up and die of mortification, in fact. He’s going to have to leave town tomorrow. Ed’s going to be very sad, but he’ll understand, surely, how unsurvivable it is to have to call on the mayor of the town to unlock your house for you a single day into living here. Stede’s going to learn to pick locks, he decides on the spot. He’ll be a fantastic lock pick, and he’ll never have to bother anyone for a key again in his life. He’ll devote himself to breaking and entering and—
“Been waiting all year for that,” Frenchie says, nodding out into the dark. “Beautiful.”
Stede turns back to the river, where Frenchie had nodded. There’s a strange electricity suddenly running over him, lifting the hairs on his arms. “What—is that—?”
It’s intensely dark, but there are lines of dim street lights along the shore, and with the houses up the hill that’s just enough to cast specks of light across the water, enough to make out the shape of it. The river is really thundering over there in the rain, the current rushing like Stede’s never seen it before, rushing—rushing out. Wait.
Wait, the river is rushing out.
“Excuse me,” Stede says hoarsely, already walking down the stairs, ignoring whatever vague warning Frenchie calls after him.
There are a scant handful of caravans and tents in the lot tonight, not a very popular spot in winter, and it’s all quiet as Stede walks across the packed dirt and toward the grass on the edge of the river, the rain still drumming down across his back, tapping at his cheeks. It’s a wide, winding body of water when it’s full, far more impressive in winter, and despite the dark, and the clouds, and the rain, the light is just enough to pick out see the lines of it, the currents, the actual waves.
It’s rushing out.
The river bar has broken.
He makes it to the grass, trips over a low wooden railing as he goes. Stumbles down the sandy path to the riverbank, squinting through the night, holding up a hand to ward off the cold of the rain and the wind whipping in from the ocean. The noise is a full-on roar as he gets closer to the edge of the sand, but not too close. No, he’s read the warnings. He’s watched the videos, in fact, he knows the pure power of this natural process.
He stops as close to it as he can get, just him standing there by himself, the whole night his own, and watches the water leap and twist and thunder through the new gap in the sandbar, charging out to sea.
He watches it for a long time, no longer caring how wet or how cold he is, just caught up in the magic. He doesn’t even realise he’s crying until quite suddenly, there’s someone standing beside him, a familiar hand pressed against his back.
The voice is urgent, concerned, rumbling, warm. “Stede?”
He twists to find—yes, Ed standing there, eyes gleaming in the dark. “The river,” he says helplessly, around chattering teeth. “The river has breached.”
“Yeah, mate, John told me. On the phone to say someone had locked themselves out of their house, and the next minute he said oh no, he’s gone down to the river, and you know—“
“Ed,” Stede says, gripping his own elbows. “Wait, Ed, are you—are you the mayor?”
Ed frowns at him. “Yeah?” He takes in the look on Stede’s face and says, “Did I not—did nobody mention that?”
He’s back to that old combination of half laughing, half crying again. “No, it didn’t come up.”
“Ah,” Ed says, and there’s a smile fighting to get out now. “Yeah, okay, that’s—that’s why I’m always doing all the things. Not for the fucking fun of it. Mostly not.” A beat. “You locked yourself out?”
Stede is suddenly… very, very tired, in addition to being very, very cold, and also very, very wet. And Ed is right there, and yes, he’s well on his way to being just as wet, but he’s radiating warmth, and Stede just—leans in, and Ed’s arms come around him, and he lets himself be hugged. Held. It’s been a very, very long time since anyone held him so gently, and it melts something inside him that he didn’t even know was frozen.
“I’ve waited all my life to see this,” he says, voice muffled against Ed’s neck. “I needed to see it. I thought—I thought it might be symbolic of clearing away all the blocks in my life, letting everything flow again, feeling free.”
“And now you’ve seen it,” Ed murmurs.
Now he feels like part of it standing here, the vibrations rumbling through the sand beneath his feet, all that water pouring in front of him, sweeping away the past.
“Now I’ve seen it,” he agrees.
Now, he thinks, his life can truly begin again.
And this man right here is a vitally important part of his new beginning, and it’s right that they’re standing here together.
~
Stede’s kids are curled up on the verandah when they get back to the house, and Alma looks mad as fuck. But her face softens when she sees Ed, and then a little more when she catches sight of her dad, hands tucked under his arms and shivering an amount that’s actually kinda concerning to Ed.
“Hey, kid,” he says, and she throws him the shaka again, making him chuckle. He holds up his lock picking set in return. “Here to let you in, mate.”
She hops up, dragging a mildly protesting Louis with her, and they watch as Ed slides the picks in and works it over quickly, undoing the latches maybe faster than he’s ever managed. He should’ve been breaking into this place all along, probably; he might’ve learned to do this with that in mind, then never convinced himself to follow through. Could’ve been halfway to adversely possessing it by now himself. The last of the tumblers catches and rolls, and the lock clicks open. Ed turns the handle, shoves it in, and sweeps a hand. “After you.”
They all shuffle inside, and he follows them through. Might not be invited, technically, but fuck it, he’s got responsibilities, like he said. Can’t have Stede going into literal hypothermia out here, when the nearest hospital’s sixty kilometres away.
“Can you boil the kettle?” he asks Alma, and she frowns a touch at the note of concern in his voice, but nods sharply and heads off to the kitchen.
Stede’s fussing around in the living room, and three steps in there, Ed finds himself frozen on the spot, suddenly smacked with an absolute wall of memories. Fuck, it even smells the same in here. Good memories, mostly, of sitting in front of the wood stove—which Stede is opening up now, trying to get a match struck with shaking hands—but not all good.
“Hey,” Ed says, voice uncertain and small. He clears his throat and steps over the threshold, into the room where he last saw his father alive. “Hey, Stede, let me do that. You need to go have a warm shower, okay?”
He makes it to Stede’s side in time to pull the box of matches out of his hands, and Stede blinks up at him, hair plastered across his forehead, lips pale. “Yes. All right, yes, thank you.”
He heads off to the bathroom, and Ed ducks down in front of the fire to distract himself from the fact that a shower means Stede peeling off those soaking clothes just on the other side of that plasterboard wall. The wood stove is full of neatly stacked kindling and twisted newspaper, firelighters tucked between each layer, and all he has to do is light one of the long matches and touch it to the little white cubes, and up it all goes, one good flare of blue-yellow light after another.
Care. Warmth. Ed can give them that.
He shrugs off his own jacket and tosses it over the arm of the couch as he watches the flame reach the edges of the kindling, the wood lighting red, smoking, catching. Watches it all build into a conflagration, the newspaper going up hot, burning out fast, but it’s enough to let the bigger pieces catch. He adjusts the vent, lets a little more air in, and then he wedges in one of the smaller bits of wood and closes the glass door over.
Starts as he realises Alma is standing right behind him. “Fuck. Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she says, and she offers him a mug. “Thought maybe you’d like a Milo, too.”
“Depends,” Ed says, reaching out for the mug anyway, and he earns himself a real arched eyebrow for that.
“On what?”
“How many spoonfuls?”
She laughs. “God. Like, three? Four? I don’t count, I just keep shoving it in until it can’t dissolve more.”
He breathes in the malted chocolate drink, lets it warm his palms, and sighs. “Perfect. You won.”
“I know,” she says, and lowers herself into the old orange lounge, watching him. “Are you going to stay?”
He’d absolutely not planned on doing that. “Uh.”
“It’s just that I’m… kinda worried about Dad.” She buries her nose in her own Milo, and the steam curls out around her. “Just thought maybe it’d help to have another adult around.”
He raises his own brow at her. “You only just met me.”
“Yeah, but…” She looks into her drink, a little uncharacteristic shyness creeping in. “He’s known you all his life.”
That’s the way they’re spinning it. Feels right to him, too, except… they never met. They were two lonely boys on either side of spring, conjuring up an escape for themselves, for each other. And then for thirty years, they didn’t know a thing about each other instead.
“I’m not a good person,” he blurts out.
Alma just snorts. “Bullshit.”
“Bullshit?” This fucking kid. He takes another long slurp of the—perfect, actually—Milo she made him. “Okay.”
She pulls her phone out of her pocket, waves it at him. It’s fucking covered in Blackbeard stickers. She’s wearing an oversized Blackbeard hoodie, swimming in it. And he saw her out on that surf break this morning. Kid’s got actual talent.
“You a fan?”
“Everyone’s a fan,” she retorts, turning her mug in her hands. “I’ve followed your career for a long time, so… yeah. Always liked your surfing. Never believed the sh-stuff they said in the papers.”
“You’re about the only one, then.” It’s sour in his mouth, and he washes it away with a gulp of hot chocolate. “Some of it was true. I’ve done stuff I regret.”
“And now look at you,” she says, with the kind of confidence only a sixteen-year-old kid who’s never done a thing wrong can carry. “You’re the guy here. Everyone trusts you. I trust you.”
He’s worked pretty fucking hard to be trusted. She doesn’t even know the kinds of arrows she’s firing into him right now, only they’re not the wounding kind. Can you get hit with a healing arrow? One that slices through every one of your layers, but on the pointy end there’s just… relief?
Anyway, maybe it’s not the right metaphor, but still. “Thank you.”
“My dad’s not perfect, either,” Alma says, forging on. She’s staring at him clear-eyed and serious.
“Of course he’s not, he’s a Bonnet,” Ed says, and watches her face scrunch a little. Fuck. He winces. “So are you.”
“So am I,” Alma agrees. “Not perfect, either. But neither of us are anything like my grandad.”
“Yeah.” He can see that already. “Yeah, no, I know that.” Apologising hasn’t come easy over the years, but he’s getting better at it. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” She tilts her mug and drains the last bits, and he’s down to those himself now, just a thick sludge of mostly-liquid Milo at the bottom. Always his favourite bit, when he was a kid. “I used to come here,” he tells her, already walking into the story before he’s smart enough to back out. “With my mum, every winter. Used to sit next to this exact fire, and she’d make me Milo just like this. Think she doomed me to a sweet tooth, because every time I drink it I just… I think about her. Feels good. Feels safe.”
Alma nods. “My mum doesn’t like Milo. Dad likes tea better, but he always makes it just right, because he knows that’s how I like it.” She tilts her empty mug side to side. “He’s that kind of person, you know? He cares. He wasn’t good at showing it all the time, but it’s been better since he quit that stupid job.”
It hasn’t ever been perfect, Ed can see that. There’s hurt flowing under the bridge. But they’re all trying to do better. “Easy to see how much he loves you guys.”
“I know,” Alma says, and sighs. “He used to travel away for work a lot.” One black-polished fingernail clinks against her mug. “Sometimes I wondered if he’d actually come back. But he always did.”
He didn’t always want to, is the thought that hangs between them. But he came back for them, every single time. “My dad used to go away, too,” Ed says. He doesn’t want to lay all the horrors on a random teenager, but… “Different kind of feeling there. I always felt relieved when he went. Hoped he wouldn’t come back.”
He can almost hear the squeal of tires on the road out there, the smash of glass and crockery in here, his mum sobbing through these same too-thin walls.
“And he didn’t come back, in the end,” Alma says, reading him.
He’s about to ask if she’s psychic, but of course she knows. “Says so on my Wikipedia page, doesn’t it?”
“It does.” She slides her fingers around the mug. Black nail polish, chipped. Eyes clear and stare sharp. “I don’t think you want me to feel sorry about that.”
“I don’t,” he says.
“Then I’m sorry for all the reasons that I don’t have to be sorry about it.”
He snorts. Presses his lips together, before he can have a real emotion about the way she’s flaying him here. Real fucking philosophy hours. “Thanks. Probably wouldn’t be sitting here right now if not for all that stuff, so…”
“Ed,” Stede says, emerging out of the bedroom. “Oh, you’re still here, that’s—“
“It’s good,” Alma says, hopping up from the couch, gesturing for Ed to hand over his mug. She waltzes off past Stede, ducks up to kiss his cheek on the way. “He said he might stay, just to make sure you’re okay.”
Stede’s all pink from the shower, wearing sweatpants and thick socks and his own loose deep teal hoodie, but he flushes closer to scarlet at that. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to inconvenience him—“
“Car battery’s flat,” Ed says instantly, and there’s a hoot from the kitchen as Alma clanks the mugs into the sink. He fights really fucking hard not to break and laugh along with her. “So, yeah. Guess who’s the auto rescue guy.”
Stede comes around the couch, still towelling that hair back from bronze to gold, looking worried. “God, please say it’s not also you, Ed. Do you ever get to sleep?”
“Nah, it’s Izzy,” Ed says, waggling his brows. It’s actually true. “You don’t wanna know what he’s like if you wake him up to come jumpstart your car.”
“Eugh,” Stede says, flopping down onto the couch. “No, I don’t imagine—“ He scrunches his face. “Ed, how far away do you live?”
This town is tiny. Stand at the lookout and you can see ninety percent of it in one glance. And Stede knows this place, too. Ed can only grin, pull out the full wattage, looking up through his lashes. “Couple of streets away, but… it’s raining out.”
“You can’t kick him out into the rain when he saved your actual life,” Alma pipes up, clinking dishes as she runs the water. The old boiler clanks a bit out the back in response.
Stede’s mouth is twitching now. “I sense a conspiracy here.”
“Seriously though, you gave us a little scare there,” Ed says. All that pink is back in Stede’s lips now, in his fingernails, and he’s looking completely fine. But. Sensible. “I can take the couch, it just feels like it’d be a good idea to have someone here.”
Stede tips his head back and groans. “All right, I know when I’m beaten.” He gives Ed a small smile. “I’ll get some spare pillows and blankets and the like. And some clothes, if you need them.”
The fire’s been roasting his back for the last five minutes, which reminds him, he’s got to stuff some more wood into that. He’s mostly dry on the back, but he’s still soggy in other spots. “Yeah, might be nice.”
Stede scurries off to sort things out, and Alma gives him a little wave as she heads off to her room up the other end of the house, which makes him realise—the breath stops in his throat. Oh. Stede’s got the room, the room. Stede’s chosen the room where the frog used to live, where each of them spent their seasons willing the other to know them through that wall.
Ed should sleep on the couch, absolutely. That’s the respectable thing to do.
But—after he jams a couple more logs in the fire—he can’t see any good reason to stick to that. He pulls himself up and heads for the bedroom. The door’s wide open, and Stede’s in there digging through the old wardrobe, muttering to himself.
When the door creaks he stands up, fluffy hair flying all over the place, and starts at Ed standing there, so Ed puts his hands up. “Sorry, sorry, I just—I dunno. I wanted to see this room again.”
Stede’s face goes soft. “Of course. Come in, come in.”
There’s a whole conversation here that they should probably have, about boundaries and limits and respecting Stede’s kids. He already knows there’s nothing that’s going to happen while they’re here. Knows, objectively, also, that parents don’t give up their sex lives the minute children arrive, but it’s something else waltzing in and expecting that from a guy who’s got all his attention turned to being a good dad, and in a house this small.
This is not really the time and place for that conversation, though. Ed steps through and closes the door softly behind him. Chilly as hell in here with all the heat in the living room, but at least Stede’s got an electric blanket on the double bed that’s right there, pressed up against the same wall.
They’re both staring at the spot under the window where the frog used to live. “Broke my heart to lose that little guy,” Stede says, and then he drags his gaze across to Ed. “Because it felt like losing you.”
What can Ed do with that except cross the floor to get to him, reaching out again, pulling him in for a hug.
They stand there for a long time, and it’s easy. It’s warm, it’s solid, it’s gentle, it’s calm, god, Ed feels like he can breathe, right here in this room where all his fears came for him all those years ago.
“I don’t want you to sleep on the couch,” Stede says softly against his cheek. “I think you should share with me.”
“Yeah?” He doesn’t want to hope, but Stede sounds all hopeful, and determined, and sure. “I mean, I feel like we should maybe just, take it slow, probably—“
“Of course,” Stede gets out in a rush. “Yes, no, I didn’t mean—“
“No, no, I know. I know.” He reaches out for Stede’s hand and takes it. Reassures him through touch that this is enough. It really is, he just—he wants to be close to Stede, after all the distance that’s sat between them over the years. “This can be whatever we want it to be, whenever.” He takes a deep breath, and decides to be brave. “And I don’t know, man, I just—I could use a hug. Feels like you could use a hug. Feels like maybe we could both use a longer hug, no funny business.”
Stede squeezes his hand. “Sometimes hugs are funny.”
He feels his own brow shoot up. That was either deadpan as hell or Stede has no idea what he’s doing here, but all right. “This one’s going to be real serious,” he says, fixing Stede with such a completely deadpan stare that Stede bursts into giggles. “Aw, now you ruined it.”
“I’m so sorry,” Stede says, eyes gleaming with mischief, and he squeezes Ed’s hand one more time. “Let me get you those clothes, and we’ve got a spare toothbrush in the bathroom cupboard if you need it.”
Ed takes the clothes. He heads for the bathroom, because he knows this place inside out. Hasn’t changed, other than those painted walls, in thirty years. Oh, and the bathroom is much less shitty now, at least a little bit renovated at some point in the past.
He pulls off his damp clothes—leaves the still-dry boxer briefs, for respectability—and slides on Stede’s whisper soft sweatpants and shirt. Digs out the toothbrush and eyes himself in the mirror as he scrubs his teeth. Hair, just washed yesterday, looking fucking great despite the rain’s best efforts. Skin, showing both the benefits of all that time in nature and the downsides, few sunspots here and there, but mostly smooth. Eyes, big brown and ready to deploy. Lips, moisturised, in their lane, completely ready to swerve out of their lane at the first invitation. Breath minty fresh, and he’s done.
He heads back to the bedroom, and finds that Stede’s fussing in there, already in the bed, organising the sheets and the fluffy as fuck winter quilt and the pillows just so. He’s on the window side, but as soon as he hears Ed close the door gently, he shuffles over.
And then he stops. “Oh, I should ask you which you’d prefer, not just assume.”
“Yeah, I like the window side,” he says. Somehow Stede just knew that. “Thanks.”
It’s awkward as hell, it turns out, having a slumber party with a guy you literally just met. He hovers there for an uncomfortable minute until he decides to just go for it. Crawls his way up the bed and climbs under the quilt, nestles himself down into the lovely warmth of it all, and finds himself face to face with Stede again.
“Hello,” Stede says, eyes shining. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Ed tucks his hands under his cheek, the way he used to when he was a kid. “Not that fancy, this is my room.”
“Yeah?” Stede’s smile is so, so soft. “It’s actually mine, too.”
“How about that,” Ed says. “I guess that makes us—“
“Roommates?” they say, at the same time.
Ed snorts. “Yeah, look, I know you stole it first, but…”
“Feels unbecoming for the mayor to also be a house thief,” Stede says seriously.
“Nah, no, it’s the perfect cover, mate. Nobody’s going to suspect a thing. All part of the supervillain cover.”
Now Stede’s looking a little pissy. “I thought I was the supervillain.”
Ed shrugs with deliberate nonchalance. “There’s a fine line between superhero and supervillain, anyway. All about power and ego and all that.”
“I suppose we could get into moths, or lizards, to an excessive degree…”
Ed’s not keen on moths, so he reckons they’ve got the right divide there. He can do a lizard, though. He can match whatever batshit insanity Stede puts down.
It’s a fine line physically, too. It’s maybe three hands’ width of lonely bedsheet between them, which might as well be a river separating two banks at this rate.
Stede, though. Stede builds a bridge.
Reaches out across the gap, traces soft fingers over the Ed’s chest and whispers, “Is this all right?”
“This?” Ed says, tugging him further across, until they’re face to face, and Stede’s close enough for him to feel the radiating warmth of his body. Wraps his ams around the guy, holds him close. “This is perfect.” He squeezes Stede tighter. “And, uh. I owe you a goodnight kiss. Just one.”
Stede’s smile is the warmest thing in this room. “Oh, I’d like to claim that, yes, please.”
Ed eases closer, near enough to brush his nose against Stede’s. That little whisper of skin over skin sends tingles through him as the warmth of their breath pools together. He tilts his chin enough to brush their lips together this time and Stede moves impatiently, like he’s been waiting all his life to have this moment right here, and maybe Ed has, too.
But Ed dodges him a little, chuckling, and bumps their noses together again. Gives him the softest peck, and another. Stares into his eyes as he feels his heart swelling, the affection surging through him, amplified by the way Stede’s breath is quickening.
He can’t deny this man anything.
He closes the gap, and they sink into a soft, slow kiss, easy and sweet. In the quiet of this room, Ed can hear the way Stede breathes through it, gasping little breaths and hums, eyes squeezed closed as he chases every sensation. Ed gives them to him. Traces his tongue over Stede’s lip, catches the sharp points of his little fang teeth. Melts into his arms and lets himself be held.
“Should turn the light out,” Ed murmurs, because this insane day is catching up with him, and his eyes are starting to droop.
“And what if I don’t want to move from this very spot?” Stede’s brow is arched in challenge, enough that Ed thinks yeah, okay, maybe they can just sleep with the light on. Sounds like it’s got benefits, anyway. Anytime he wakes up in the night he can watch the guy’s face, see the years slip away at rest, taking him closer back to the boy he was all those years ago.
“I’ll be right here,” Ed tells him. “Not going anywhere.”
It’s enough for Stede to lean back with an exaggerated sigh, and switch off the lamp, plunging them both into darkness.
“I drew you this morning,” Stede murmurs sleepily, with the shadows holding them close. “I’ll draw you again tomorrow, the way you were sitting there with Alma, with your mug in your hand… gonna draw so much...” He’s fading slowly, and Ed holds him tight in this room they both knew so well.
It’s… familiar, this place. Like it hasn’t changed a bit. Same creaks of wind shifting against the roof, same angles of moonlight slanting through the curtains, same distant hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen.
It’s different, too. Because Stede’s here, touching his cheeks, his lips, breathing the same air. Out there in the house there are two kids who are loved, and safe, and fucking great. In town, Ed’s got his shop, and his club, and his friends, and the ocean, and tonight the river’s pouring out into it, and tomorrow he’ll probably surf.
And Stede’s going to draw, and he’s going to draw Ed, and there’s something about it that makes Ed feel things he’s never felt in his life. Cherished, is the word that comes to mind. Safe. Cared for. Wanted. Everything he’s been missing for years and years, all the things a famous life could never give him, not with any real depth. He's got that depth right here, years and years of it.
“I’m glad you came back to steal this house,” Ed says. He presses another warm kiss to Stede’s lips. “I’m glad I finally got to meet you.”
The only answer is a long, soft snore, and he eases into his own pillow with a smile on his face, and sighs into sleep.
