"Oswald?" Edward was in the hallway still, but he could smell the food from here, making him feel bad about running behind. "I'm sorry I'm late." Not by much, only about an hour. Nothing big interferred, he just liked to be thorough. "It takes time, picking the perfect wine. You understand."
He made his way into the room and lowered the bottle, lookimg over the feast Oswald had prepared. "Your cook has outdone herself."
After having been on edge seemingly all day, he did wonder what this could all be about. So he sat down by Oswald's side, offering the bottle out to him. "You approve?"
Gnawing down what's left of his thumbnail, Oswald considers the lavish spread of appetizers and sides and roasts under silvery domed-lids before him and can only wonder where he had gone wrong, what he had or hadn't said to be alone again. He had demanded a sumptuous banquet for Ed, not familiar enough with his tastes to know what he enjoyed most - and Olga, rolling her eyes, had slaved for hours by the hot stove to leave him with more food than there was room for in the fridge. It had to be perfect - it was supposed to be perfect and he feels vaguely sick at the thought, helpless but to watch as it all quietly goes cold.
It's while he's stealing another despairing glance at the grandfather clock when Ed's voice finds him like a knife in the dark. Oswald goes blank, snapping to attention.
"Ed...!" He says, lamely, as Ed steps in, lost and unsure and staring at the bottle held out between them for a moment too long until something clicks in his mind. The wine; of course. A giddy little laugh punches out of him, his shoulders sagging.
"Yes, of course." He gives the label only only the barest glance before looking into Ed's face. "This will do."
A smile crinkles his eyes, but it's gone as quickly as it came.
"Oh! Please--" He gestures to the food with a sweep of his hand. "You must be hungry. I didn't know what you liked most, I confess, so I had Olga prepare a few dishes that are sure to win over even the most finicky of palates."
The wine finding Oswald's approval still had him smile, even if he took note - again - of the man's oddness. The delay in responses, looking without saying anything. Decidedly odd and he didn't know what the explanation for it could be, which made him curious. He placed the bottle on the table, turning his head to the side to look over the spread Oswald assembled here. "Here I thought you'd set out to feed your entire army, not just little old me."
It was a joke, even if Oswald arguably actually had an army, but Edward knew they were expecting no one else. "I'm not overly finicky." He was a perfectionist in his own cooking, but he was a perfectionist in everything he did. "I'd hardly have survived Arkham if I was. Not exactly known for its gourmet kitchen, you'll recall."
Still, he reached over to help myself, since all this food had been prepared for him. Which, again, was odd. He halted his movement, fixing Oswald with his eyes and smiling at him, wondering if there was anywhere he had gone wrong. Any reason Oswald would have to turn on him. He knew he had poisoned people before, after all. "You wanted to talk to me about something."
A muscle flexes in his jaw. He smiles wryly. Oh, Arkham.
He remembers the humiliation at Strange's hands more keenly than the greyish gruel and bits of half-frozen vegetables slopped onto his tray. Remembers tightening straps and the headset and the pain jacked into his body in powerful waves until snot and drool and tears dribbled down his face. Pissing himself on more than one occasion before they had gotten the dosage just right for him, helpless to fight the orderlies dragging him off and maneuvering him, trembling and kitten-weak, into a new jumpsuit.
Ed's commentary pulls him out of his own head and he looks up, blinking, his gaze sharpening.
"Ah -- yes. Indeed." Wetting his lips with a nervous flick of his tongue. "But it can wait. I mean, it is a bit of a later dinner than anticipated, so what's a few more minutes, right? " Another smile, a bob of his shoulder.
Oswald is only distantly hungry, his belly hiving with nerves as all the words he rehearsed in the past hour slip like smoke through his fingers. He makes a grab for the wine before long and uncorks it with a wet pop, needing something to do. He reaches to fill Ed's glass first, hardly giving his own wine the chance to breathe before draining half of it in a single swallow.
As he watched Oswald's face, Edward frowned, seeing the unrest and - given he'd been the one to bring up Arkham - it wasn't too hard to guess the force. He put a hand on Oswald's arm, just a brief touch, hoping that it would help bring him back into the moment. They were here now, not in Arkham. Oswald had gotten him out of that hellhole and as far as Edward was concerned, he intended to make sure neither of them would ever end up back there.
That route his thoughts had taken convinced him, he didn't actually believe that Oswald intended to harm him in any way, in spite of his strange and erratic behaviour. So he finally reached out to fill his plate, but paused before he actually started to eat, raising an eyebrow at Oswald. "You must have been thirsty."
What could have the man so on edge? Edward's curiosity was gaining momentum, because usually he could predict him fairly well. Right now, he was coming up empty. "Cheers."
He lifted his own glass with a wry smile, taking a much smaller sip. Finally he was actually eating, even though his own nerves were kicking in by now as well. "...do you want to go over your schedule for tomorrow?"
He giggles off the remark, raising his glass in a salute before polishing it off. Of course, he could empty the whole bottle on his own just on an anxious impulse. But he wills himself to sit still and focus, trying to feign an interest in schedule-talk.
"Sure..." He says with a sigh, lacing his fingers. His thumbs twiddle away. "No class visits for a while, I hope?"
He'd have to build up his tolerance for being around kids who took more interest in mining for gold in their noses or staring at walls than soaking in his inspirational speeches. What was it with them and sticky fingers and their burning need to touch the tails of his morningcoat with them? His lip curls.
"Spending another day with those screeching little monsters almost makes Arkham seem preferable. I fear I might've lost my mind had you not been there at my side." Snorting softly. "Pain shared is pain divided, as they say."
He pauses a moment and looks to Ed's plate, expectant. Concerned.
Since Oswald's glass was empty, Edward reached for the bottle and poured him another drink. "A man dies of thirst in his own house. How does that happen?" A riddle, of course, but he hardly expected Oswald to answer it.
Instead he leaned back again, revising the schedule for the next few days in his mind. "No worries. Nothing with children coming up. Although I am impressed with how you almost managed to conceal your disgust. I'm glad I could support you through that tough time." It wasn't as if he was overly fond of children either. Mostly it wasn't as if he was overly fond of people ever which age, they all tended to be idiots.
"Tomorrow you have a meeting with the district attorney, then something that I assume will end in an execution, I'll run some numbers by you - both legal and illegal - and we should probably set some time aside so you can decide what to wear to the dinner party with Gotham's elite."
He looked at Oswald at his question, narrowing his eyes for just a moment before smiling. "The food is delicious. Aren't you going to eat or did you already, since I was so tardy?"
The riddle gets no answer - but Oswald offers a grateful flicker of a smile in thanks as wine gurgles into his glass, only half-listening as Ed goes on about his mayoral and crime boss obligations. He watches him, mesmerized by the play of shadow and firelight on Ed's face.
"I agree. Only le crème de la crème of Gotham are invited... which is why I would greatly appreciate your opinion, seeing as you have quite the eye for style, yourself."
Of equal importance to the dinner party, of course, is Ed's opinion of the feast, and he feels a swell of triumph in his chest when he gets the answer he was hoping for.
"Oh." He dismisses Ed's question with a careless flap of his hand. "I sampled a little here and there, for quality assurance, of course." His stomach was - and is - too unsettled to handle more than a few bites. Too much at stake to have much of an appetite. "I was worried Olga might have kept the veal and vegetables in too long. But I guess I got all worked up for nothing, huh?"
He tries for a laugh, a weak little thing, realizing his mouth's gone dry.
"...Only the best for my lovely chief of staff, yes?"
Edited (sorry, you should know I'm an edit fiend) 2017-10-11 02:28 (UTC)
Between Oswald's obvious tells of being unnerved, not eating anything and barely paying attention to what he's been saying - Edward has been ignored often enough in his life to know when it's happening - he is back to doubting again. There is no reason Oswald should have turned on him, but reason isn't always at play with a man like Oswald. Too emotional by half. Perhaps someone has been spreading false rumours. Edward smiled at Oswald, making sure he has his attention this time around while moving one of the knives next to his plate up his sleeve, just in case.
He has no plans of hurting Oswald, but should Oswald attack him, he at least won't allow him to get the drop on him. Once he has him subdued, he can probably talk sense into him.
"You've only ever shown me the best since I joined you," Edward agrees, while ensuring that the knife is hidden, "Lovely indeed."
What is going on? He needs to know, but he can't press. Either way, he is prepared now. "You did get all worked up for nothing." Since the knife is securely hidden up his sleeve, only the tip against his palm so he can pull it out quickly if need be, Edward uses that hand to grip Oswald's shoulder. "Relax, Oswald, will you?"
"Your schedule for the day." Edward places the itinerary in front of Oswald at the breakfast table, avoiding so much as to even glance at the man. He does sit down however, since he really doesn't feel like standing the entire time and for better or worse, this still falls under his job description. "You have an open window between three and four thirty, shall I pencil you in a temper tantrum?"
Just asking, of course. He does finally look at him, now that he feels as if he's ascertained his position as the mature one in this entirely ridiculous situation, leaning back while he watches Oswald.
He hasn't slept the last night. Not badly, just literally not. It's not all that unusual, his brain often doesn't stop working for long enough to get some rest, but usually it concerns itself with less of an emotionally tangled web. Logistic puzzles are much easier to solve.
It took all he had just to drag himself out of bed in the pale morning light, aching and miserable and too frayed around the edges to handle Olga's surliness gracefully. Not that anyone could while she scraped plate after plate clean as loudly as possible while dumping every last trace of her hard work into the garbage. With the table cleared it's just one less reminder of a gutting failure in a manor full of them. A small mercy.
Oswald passes on breakfast for now, settling for a Bloody Mary in the hopes of washing away a sick, lingering taste, the bitterness of words gone to waste, turning to ash in his mouth. He's nursing it listlessly, not all there when the schedule is put in front of him and Ed sits down. Scrubbing at his face, his burning eyes, he drags it closer to him, giving it a desultory glance before sliding it aside. It's not until Ed takes a jab at him that he comes alive, his head snapping up and whipping sideways, shooting a glare that could cut steel.
But he feels a dull pang in his throat when their eyes meet. Ed's different now. His face changed in a way Oswald can't place, as if his features have all shifted very slightly out of alignment. And it's wrong, everything's wrong.
"Perhaps you are in need of reminding that being a brat is not part of your job description. FYI?" His eyebrows go up. "If you're actually looking to get paid in full this week, you should stick to your job and keep your mouth shut unless I ask you a question - got it? ...Or do you need a minute to take it all in?" He holds up a hand, nodding, before lacing his fingers neatly over the table. "I'll wait."
this is a short tag, because I already fit too much immaturity into it
What a brat. It wasn't exactly a surprising reaction, given how well he knew Oswald, but that didn't make it any more charming. But, obviously, as Oswald had pointed out, Edward was perfectly capable of being a brat as well. Which was why he now slowly raised a hand and then curled in most of the fingers, until he was literally flipping Oswald off. Hey, he wanted him to keep his mouth shut.
With that incredibly mature gesture completed, he ended up running his hand through his hair instead, his eyes never leaving Oswald.
Of course Ed won't let him wallow in bitter triumph for long. He stares back at him, chest heaving, before canting his head and willing a droll little smirk on his face, surprised he expected better of his friend.
"I assure you, friend, the feeling is mutual." He reaches for his glass. "Just do me a favour and at least try to grow up in time for the press conference at noon. Can you do that?"
"I've four hours yet. Should be sufficient." The doubt is more in how long it may take Oswald, he supposes, given the other man is a few years older than him and - in his opinion - boundlessly less mature. But since he has been told to shut his mouth unless asked a question, he decides on pointed silence instead, knowing how much can be said with a look.
Honestly, he's not even sure how things have escalated to this degree. Wounded pride on both sides. The maddening thing is that he still doesn't know how he should have responded. How does he feel? Love. Somehow he hasn't ever suspected that could be where this was going.
He snorts and looks away, a muscle rippling in his jaw.
In an hour he'd draw himself up, chin tipped up and shoulders back, like a soldier bracing for war, wearing his cool, charismatic mask for the press while quietly falling apart. But for now there's nothing left to say, to do. Just too much time to think while his old demons swarm him like sharks to blood, taking chunks out of him, fighting over what's left.
"That'll be all," he sniffs, swirling his glass a while before lifting it and drinking deeply, knuckling his chin dry. His eyes are lidded, distant. "You can go now."
Edward gives a curt nod and got up, figuring he might be better off grabbing breakfast somewhere later or just getting something out of the kitchen. He doesn't really want to sit around here after having been dismissed. So he just pushes his chair back and takes a few steps away, hesitating near the doorway to look back at Oswald over his shoulder.
"You know, sometimes a little bit of patience can yield much more satisfactory results."
With that cryptic remark, he headed out the door and it wasn't until it was time for their first joined appearance of the day that Oswald would see him again, not that he said a word. He still had a point to make about being told to keep his mouth shut, after all. Instead he was silent as he checked his watch and then walked around Oswald slowly, looking him up and down to ensure that not a hair was out of place for the press conference.
Oswald shifts under the weight of Ed's gaze, jutting his jaw.
Only yesterday - what feels like lifetimes ago, somehow - he knows he'd have welcomed Ed's attention, even basked in it, appreciating his eye for detail, his commitment to helping him look and be at his best. But the silence between them is now more than he can stand, a silence like an ice-crusted lake just before it snaps underfoot. He can feel the hum of nerves under his skin and he bunches his hands into fists, every line of his body tightening.
His leg first, of course. A murmur of pain that starts at his ankle and spreads, throbbing, to engulf his kneecap. Not bad enough to start his day fumbling around for an aspirin but enough to shake him, little by little, out of his sleep-fog.
He spends a while just riding out the slow trickle of his thoughts, staring hazily at the wall until his mind opens up and takes in more of the room, the pale slit of light slicing through a gap in the drapes. Goosebumps sweep his arms and he shivers despite the heat ghosting the back of his neck. The manor is old and drafty but It's colder in the bedroom than he expects. It takes him a moment to grasp that his shirt is gone but the why is slower to dawn on him until he looks down and notices the arm curled around his side. He blinks, wide awake, a trembly-electric feeling hiving in his chest as he twists around to look.
"Ed...?" There's an edge of fear to his voice, as if someone else might answer - or no one would at all, somehow, his mind playing tricks on him.
"Hm?" Not a very eloquent response, but while he's woken up earlier, he's just fallen back into a light slumber and so he's not the most aware when Oswald says his name. It takes only a second for him to wake up further, enough to smile and lean his head forward, lips pressing against Oswald's neck. No kiss, just a presence, then he pulls back enough to speak. "Yes."
Obviously. "Do you sleep with others so frequently?" The teasing is gentle, clearly no sting to it.
It's not until he rolls over to face him that relief washes over him, smoothing over every tense line etched into his face. Then all of last night and everything he felt comes rushing back, crashing over his head and pulling him under, his mouth opening, helpless. It's hard to think, harder to breathe as his heart swells and crowds his ribs. Ed's joke never reaches him. But it doesn't matter; nothing matters but Ed because he's still here. Because he chose to stay, unasked, unthreatened, still finding something worthwhile in Oswald other than his fierce cunning. Something that had kept him alive this long, but could never fill the parts of him that life in Gotham had gouged out.
Oswald takes his face in his hands and looks at him long, smiling brittly. Appreciating his eyes, the cut of his cheekbones, and all the little things he never took the time to think about before. And while sweeping a thumb over Ed's cheek, stroking him over and over, he laughs a soft, choked laugh, not any better at knowing what to say but hoping Ed can forgive him for that. Hoping Ed can understand, when he brushes away a stray hair from his forehead and leans in to kiss it like mother used to, the way that made everything right for a little while.
Edward isn't used to someone greeting him in the morning as if he's just escaped death narrowly. He really isn't used to anyone ever looking at him the way Oswald is right now, with his face so enraptured. Nobody looks at him like that. Well. He supposes, no one but Oswald.
He's unsure how he feels, but there is heat rising in his face and he swallows, an ever so slight smile on his face as he feels his forehead tingling from the kiss. Edward can relate, to an extent. He remembers the first time he has gotten to wake up after kissing Ms Kringle and even though she had gone home the night prior, the memory had been enough to make him ecstatic. And now, with Oswald? That same feeling of incredulity and perhaps it's so much more poignant. Because this is Oswald. A man who knows him, who's even made him to a large degree. Loving him and wanting him. It's its own kind of high.
He pulls away slowly, feeling something clench up in his chest as he takes him in and wonders what he did to deserve him. He sniffs and blinks his eyes clear, his smile quirking wider.
"Well enough," Oswald says, finally - quiet, as if not to wake someone - though it took him long enough to drift off with his head swarming with thoughts. He's woken up hard; not unusual but a little awkwardly timed with company around and he shifts position just enough to keep a polite distance between them, not wanting to spoil the moment. "And yourself?" His eyebrows lift. "Were you comfortable?"
He had only shared a bed with mother before, weathering out the coldest of nights lying back to back while listening to their tiny space heater in its death rattles, the mattress creaking when either of them would shift or cough. If he rolled around or snored or mumbled in his sleep, he didn't know; she had never complained.
"Quite comfortable." Edward hadn't slept very deeply, but he very rarely did, too much on his mind, but he had slept well. Certainly better than the night before, after everything that had occurred and his overall confusion, making him try to figure out what all of this even meant. "I was going to get up to see about breakfast, but I didn't want to leave you."
For one thing, he hadn't wanted Oswald to wake up without him. For another, he had wanted to stay with him a while longer, holding him as he had all night.
"Can you hand me my glasses or am I too ugly with them on?"
He smiles a smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes, touched by Ed's consideration even though he knows he wouldn't have had it any other way. A smile that falls a little at the self-deprecating joke.
"Don't be silly, Ed." He turns and stretches to grab the glasses off the night-table, offering them. "You just have such lovely eyes; it's really a crime to hide them behind these things."
"You are the one with the remarkable eyes. Mine are just dark." Edward unfolded his glasses and put them on, blinking a couple of times as he adjusted. Then he lifted his head so he could look at Oswald properly, reaching out to cup the side of his face with one hand. "Look at you."
His eyes were beautiful, just as he had told him tomorrow. "What would you even call that colour? Sea-green? It's so rare, green eyes." His favourite colour, as he had stated before. "They show what you are like. Unique, strong. Admirable."
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He made his way into the room and lowered the bottle, lookimg over the feast Oswald had prepared. "Your cook has outdone herself."
After having been on edge seemingly all day, he did wonder what this could all be about. So he sat down by Oswald's side, offering the bottle out to him. "You approve?"
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It's while he's stealing another despairing glance at the grandfather clock when Ed's voice finds him like a knife in the dark. Oswald goes blank, snapping to attention.
"Ed...!" He says, lamely, as Ed steps in, lost and unsure and staring at the bottle held out between them for a moment too long until something clicks in his mind. The wine; of course. A giddy little laugh punches out of him, his shoulders sagging.
"Yes, of course." He gives the label only only the barest glance before looking into Ed's face. "This will do."
A smile crinkles his eyes, but it's gone as quickly as it came.
"Oh! Please--" He gestures to the food with a sweep of his hand. "You must be hungry. I didn't know what you liked most, I confess, so I had Olga prepare a few dishes that are sure to win over even the most finicky of palates."
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It was a joke, even if Oswald arguably actually had an army, but Edward knew they were expecting no one else. "I'm not overly finicky." He was a perfectionist in his own cooking, but he was a perfectionist in everything he did. "I'd hardly have survived Arkham if I was. Not exactly known for its gourmet kitchen, you'll recall."
Still, he reached over to help myself, since all this food had been prepared for him. Which, again, was odd. He halted his movement, fixing Oswald with his eyes and smiling at him, wondering if there was anywhere he had gone wrong. Any reason Oswald would have to turn on him. He knew he had poisoned people before, after all. "You wanted to talk to me about something."
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He remembers the humiliation at Strange's hands more keenly than the greyish gruel and bits of half-frozen vegetables slopped onto his tray. Remembers tightening straps and the headset and the pain jacked into his body in powerful waves until snot and drool and tears dribbled down his face. Pissing himself on more than one occasion before they had gotten the dosage just right for him, helpless to fight the orderlies dragging him off and maneuvering him, trembling and kitten-weak, into a new jumpsuit.
Ed's commentary pulls him out of his own head and he looks up, blinking, his gaze sharpening.
"Ah -- yes. Indeed." Wetting his lips with a nervous flick of his tongue. "But it can wait. I mean, it is a bit of a later dinner than anticipated, so what's a few more minutes, right? " Another smile, a bob of his shoulder.
Oswald is only distantly hungry, his belly hiving with nerves as all the words he rehearsed in the past hour slip like smoke through his fingers. He makes a grab for the wine before long and uncorks it with a wet pop, needing something to do. He reaches to fill Ed's glass first, hardly giving his own wine the chance to breathe before draining half of it in a single swallow.
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That route his thoughts had taken convinced him, he didn't actually believe that Oswald intended to harm him in any way, in spite of his strange and erratic behaviour. So he finally reached out to fill his plate, but paused before he actually started to eat, raising an eyebrow at Oswald. "You must have been thirsty."
What could have the man so on edge? Edward's curiosity was gaining momentum, because usually he could predict him fairly well. Right now, he was coming up empty. "Cheers."
He lifted his own glass with a wry smile, taking a much smaller sip. Finally he was actually eating, even though his own nerves were kicking in by now as well. "...do you want to go over your schedule for tomorrow?"
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"Sure..." He says with a sigh, lacing his fingers. His thumbs twiddle away. "No class visits for a while, I hope?"
He'd have to build up his tolerance for being around kids who took more interest in mining for gold in their noses or staring at walls than soaking in his inspirational speeches. What was it with them and sticky fingers and their burning need to touch the tails of his morningcoat with them? His lip curls.
"Spending another day with those screeching little monsters almost makes Arkham seem preferable. I fear I might've lost my mind had you not been there at my side." Snorting softly. "Pain shared is pain divided, as they say."
He pauses a moment and looks to Ed's plate, expectant. Concerned.
"How is it?"
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Instead he leaned back again, revising the schedule for the next few days in his mind. "No worries. Nothing with children coming up. Although I am impressed with how you almost managed to conceal your disgust. I'm glad I could support you through that tough time." It wasn't as if he was overly fond of children either. Mostly it wasn't as if he was overly fond of people ever which age, they all tended to be idiots.
"Tomorrow you have a meeting with the district attorney, then something that I assume will end in an execution, I'll run some numbers by you - both legal and illegal - and we should probably set some time aside so you can decide what to wear to the dinner party with Gotham's elite."
He looked at Oswald at his question, narrowing his eyes for just a moment before smiling. "The food is delicious. Aren't you going to eat or did you already, since I was so tardy?"
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"I agree. Only le crème de la crème of Gotham are invited... which is why I would greatly appreciate your opinion, seeing as you have quite the eye for style, yourself."
Of equal importance to the dinner party, of course, is Ed's opinion of the feast, and he feels a swell of triumph in his chest when he gets the answer he was hoping for.
"Oh." He dismisses Ed's question with a careless flap of his hand. "I sampled a little here and there, for quality assurance, of course." His stomach was - and is - too unsettled to handle more than a few bites. Too much at stake to have much of an appetite. "I was worried Olga might have kept the veal and vegetables in too long. But I guess I got all worked up for nothing, huh?"
He tries for a laugh, a weak little thing, realizing his mouth's gone dry.
"...Only the best for my lovely chief of staff, yes?"
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He has no plans of hurting Oswald, but should Oswald attack him, he at least won't allow him to get the drop on him. Once he has him subdued, he can probably talk sense into him.
"You've only ever shown me the best since I joined you," Edward agrees, while ensuring that the knife is hidden, "Lovely indeed."
What is going on? He needs to know, but he can't press. Either way, he is prepared now. "You did get all worked up for nothing." Since the knife is securely hidden up his sleeve, only the tip against his palm so he can pull it out quickly if need be, Edward uses that hand to grip Oswald's shoulder. "Relax, Oswald, will you?"
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now go to your room and think about what you did, young man
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Just asking, of course. He does finally look at him, now that he feels as if he's ascertained his position as the mature one in this entirely ridiculous situation, leaning back while he watches Oswald.
He hasn't slept the last night. Not badly, just literally not. It's not all that unusual, his brain often doesn't stop working for long enough to get some rest, but usually it concerns itself with less of an emotionally tangled web. Logistic puzzles are much easier to solve.
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It took all he had just to drag himself out of bed in the pale morning light, aching and miserable and too frayed around the edges to handle Olga's surliness gracefully. Not that anyone could while she scraped plate after plate clean as loudly as possible while dumping every last trace of her hard work into the garbage. With the table cleared it's just one less reminder of a gutting failure in a manor full of them. A small mercy.
Oswald passes on breakfast for now, settling for a Bloody Mary in the hopes of washing away a sick, lingering taste, the bitterness of words gone to waste, turning to ash in his mouth. He's nursing it listlessly, not all there when the schedule is put in front of him and Ed sits down. Scrubbing at his face, his burning eyes, he drags it closer to him, giving it a desultory glance before sliding it aside. It's not until Ed takes a jab at him that he comes alive, his head snapping up and whipping sideways, shooting a glare that could cut steel.
But he feels a dull pang in his throat when their eyes meet. Ed's different now. His face changed in a way Oswald can't place, as if his features have all shifted very slightly out of alignment. And it's wrong, everything's wrong.
"Perhaps you are in need of reminding that being a brat is not part of your job description. FYI?" His eyebrows go up. "If you're actually looking to get paid in full this week, you should stick to your job and keep your mouth shut unless I ask you a question - got it? ...Or do you need a minute to take it all in?" He holds up a hand, nodding, before lacing his fingers neatly over the table. "I'll wait."
this is a short tag, because I already fit too much immaturity into it
With that incredibly mature gesture completed, he ended up running his hand through his hair instead, his eyes never leaving Oswald.
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"I assure you, friend, the feeling is mutual." He reaches for his glass. "Just do me a favour and at least try to grow up in time for the press conference at noon. Can you do that?"
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Honestly, he's not even sure how things have escalated to this degree. Wounded pride on both sides. The maddening thing is that he still doesn't know how he should have responded. How does he feel? Love. Somehow he hasn't ever suspected that could be where this was going.
"Do you require anything else, sir?"
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In an hour he'd draw himself up, chin tipped up and shoulders back, like a soldier bracing for war, wearing his cool, charismatic mask for the press while quietly falling apart. But for now there's nothing left to say, to do. Just too much time to think while his old demons swarm him like sharks to blood, taking chunks out of him, fighting over what's left.
"That'll be all," he sniffs, swirling his glass a while before lifting it and drinking deeply, knuckling his chin dry. His eyes are lidded, distant. "You can go now."
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"You know, sometimes a little bit of patience can yield much more satisfactory results."
With that cryptic remark, he headed out the door and it wasn't until it was time for their first joined appearance of the day that Oswald would see him again, not that he said a word. He still had a point to make about being told to keep his mouth shut, after all. Instead he was silent as he checked his watch and then walked around Oswald slowly, looking him up and down to ensure that not a hair was out of place for the press conference.
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Only yesterday - what feels like lifetimes ago, somehow - he knows he'd have welcomed Ed's attention, even basked in it, appreciating his eye for detail, his commitment to helping him look and be at his best. But the silence between them is now more than he can stand, a silence like an ice-crusted lake just before it snaps underfoot. He can feel the hum of nerves under his skin and he bunches his hands into fists, every line of his body tightening.
"Are we done?"
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had to cut oz off early for a chance for ed to get a word in, bc oswald
omg, oz, take a chill pill
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sorry for oz being kind of stuck processing shit LOL he'll get better I hope
he's adorable
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I apologise for the lateness!
no worries, sorry for the typo in the last thing. *too
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His leg first, of course. A murmur of pain that starts at his ankle and spreads, throbbing, to engulf his kneecap. Not bad enough to start his day fumbling around for an aspirin but enough to shake him, little by little, out of his sleep-fog.
He spends a while just riding out the slow trickle of his thoughts, staring hazily at the wall until his mind opens up and takes in more of the room, the pale slit of light slicing through a gap in the drapes. Goosebumps sweep his arms and he shivers despite the heat ghosting the back of his neck. The manor is old and drafty but It's colder in the bedroom than he expects. It takes him a moment to grasp that his shirt is gone but the why is slower to dawn on him until he looks down and notices the arm curled around his side. He blinks, wide awake, a trembly-electric feeling hiving in his chest as he twists around to look.
"Ed...?" There's an edge of fear to his voice, as if someone else might answer - or no one would at all, somehow, his mind playing tricks on him.
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Obviously. "Do you sleep with others so frequently?" The teasing is gentle, clearly no sting to it.
the sentimentality might be the death of ed
Oswald takes his face in his hands and looks at him long, smiling brittly. Appreciating his eyes, the cut of his cheekbones, and all the little things he never took the time to think about before. And while sweeping a thumb over Ed's cheek, stroking him over and over, he laughs a soft, choked laugh, not any better at knowing what to say but hoping Ed can forgive him for that. Hoping Ed can understand, when he brushes away a stray hair from his forehead and leans in to kiss it like mother used to, the way that made everything right for a little while.
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He's unsure how he feels, but there is heat rising in his face and he swallows, an ever so slight smile on his face as he feels his forehead tingling from the kiss. Edward can relate, to an extent. He remembers the first time he has gotten to wake up after kissing Ms Kringle and even though she had gone home the night prior, the memory had been enough to make him ecstatic. And now, with Oswald? That same feeling of incredulity and perhaps it's so much more poignant. Because this is Oswald. A man who knows him, who's even made him to a large degree. Loving him and wanting him. It's its own kind of high.
"I trust you slept well, then?"
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"Well enough," Oswald says, finally - quiet, as if not to wake someone - though it took him long enough to drift off with his head swarming with thoughts. He's woken up hard; not unusual but a little awkwardly timed with company around and he shifts position just enough to keep a polite distance between them, not wanting to spoil the moment. "And yourself?" His eyebrows lift. "Were you comfortable?"
He had only shared a bed with mother before, weathering out the coldest of nights lying back to back while listening to their tiny space heater in its death rattles, the mattress creaking when either of them would shift or cough. If he rolled around or snored or mumbled in his sleep, he didn't know; she had never complained.
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For one thing, he hadn't wanted Oswald to wake up without him. For another, he had wanted to stay with him a while longer, holding him as he had all night.
"Can you hand me my glasses or am I too ugly with them on?"
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"Don't be silly, Ed." He turns and stretches to grab the glasses off the night-table, offering them. "You just have such lovely eyes; it's really a crime to hide them behind these things."
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His eyes were beautiful, just as he had told him tomorrow. "What would you even call that colour? Sea-green? It's so rare, green eyes." His favourite colour, as he had stated before. "They show what you are like. Unique, strong. Admirable."
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Sneaking in a work tag...
the best kind of tag :D
:D
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