"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.
"Almost." With that, Edward steps forward, reaching out to right the knot of Oswald's tie, which naturally brings them into close proximity to each other. He looks at the fabric in his hands and lets his gaze drift up to Oswald's eyes, giving the tiniest of knots. The man's eyes are one of his strongest features, it really makes all the difference when he wears something to draw them out. For a few seconds he just looks into them and then he suddenly leans forward, bending down to kiss him on the lips.
Not a deep kiss, but more than a peck. A lot more than 'innocent', if anything of that description could even exist between them. But still, it doesn't last much more than a moment before he steps back and heads right for the door, not looking back until he's opened it, so Oswald can walk out and talk to the awaiting reporters. "It's showtime, Mr Mayor."
He goes very still, breath bitten back, when Ed stops in front of him, when his hands find his tie and some part of him waits for the knot to pull tighter like a noose. But it doesn't. They just look into each others' faces, expectant, the air trembling with all the things left unsaid, until Ed moves to close the distance, lips touching.
Oswald goes blank.
He hears himself make a noise in his throat, his hands hovering, half-raised. But he's too stunned to resist or to know if he even wants to, his body crackling with fear and adrenaline, more than he knows what to do with. There's no manual for this, no more of a frame of reference than there had been when he had confessed his love, and it doesn't feel real, even as Ed's breath ghosts his skin, prickly-hot. Even as he blinks his eyes open and sees Ed pull back, sees the damp on his lip before he turns and makes for the door, opening it for him.
Oswald hangs back a moment, panting soft, as the room fades back into awareness, almost touching his fingers to his tingling lips. But there's no time to work through the jumble of feelings pulling him every which way and he hobbles forward in a daze, flicking a glance Ed's way before heading out to face what would no doubt be a very long day.
As they step outside, Edward appears unfazed. Of course, he has the luxury of keeping to the background and staying silent and so the only possible proof of anything that has transpired is that his lips are slightly shinier than usual, which isn't much of a give-away, since people other than Oswald don't have nearly the same investment in staring at his lips. He watches as Oswald answers questions, quietly amused by his determination to stay focused.
When the conference came to an end, Edward stepped up to Oswald and put a hand on his shoulder, leaning down to speak into the microphone. "Thank you very much for your interest, ladies and gentlemen. We hope to see you again next time."
He turned around immediately to follow behind Oswald and brush past him, so he could open the door and let him walk through first. Once the door was closed, he leaned back against it, smiling at Oswald, but perhaps there was an edge to it that made it more of a smirk than a smile. "That went really well, don't you think?"
The door has barely shut behind him when he whirls around to confront him, his tone vicious, accusatory.
"What was that?" He asks, feeling sicker with the near-certainty that Ed's smile holds the answer. Not the one he ever wanted, but the one that makes the most sense while the memory turns over and over in his mind. The lips soft on his and the giddy, freewheeling craziness of it; the feeling like it meant something, like he had meant something.
His fingers tighten around the head of his cane, his leather glove creaking.
"A press conference," Edward stated matter of fact, "You seemed a little distracted at times, but overall I can't fault you. Well done, sir."
Obviously that wasn't what Oswald was talking about and obviously Edward knew that, but he just looked at him as if oblivious, until he bit down on his lower lip while watching him, eyes drifting down to his hand around the cane. There was a good reason he was leaning against the door, he honestly didn't know how this would go and it seemed wise to keep anyone else from coming in while also being able to slip out quickly, should he have to.
Finally he settled on looking at Oswald's face again, tilting his head to the side a little. "I'd say more, but I was told to keep my mouth shut."
had to cut oz off early for a chance for ed to get a word in, bc oswald
The room begins to spin, his head swimmy and thick. For the first time in his life, he hadn't wanted to be right about Ed, about the fear of this all being just a cruel knife-twist of a joke. But when he looks to him now he sees shades of the bullies he used to know, bullies who cornered him in hallways and in the schoolyard, pushing and kicking and drawing blood, jeering at his helplessness. His eyes sting, his whole body shaking with the furious urge to slap Ed's glasses off his face and make him hurt. It's hard to think, to breathe.
Blinking, he marches towards him, resolute. Cane clicking over tiles.
"I gave you a chance to make amends--" He says through his teeth, staring unflinchingly into Ed's face. "I could've forgiven you. And how do you repay my patience, my friendship?! By throwing it in my face!"
Edited (sorry, no more edits I swear) 2017-10-17 16:31 (UTC)
On the one hand, it's not really the reaction Edward expected. On the other hand, he has no idea how he could have honestly expected anything else. Irrational when led by emotions, as always. Edward supposes he should worry about an attack, especially given Oswald has his cane on him, but for now he doesn't change his stance, thinking carefully about the right response. Someone here has to be the smart one and obviously that falls onto him.
"I knew I should have pencilled you time for a tantrum in."
Or, yes, he could keep antagonising him, that actually sounds more like him. It's at a point where this has become difficult to backtrack. How had it gone off the rails like that? Simply because he asked a question. He always asked questions, that was kind of his thing.
"To clarify, when you say that you "could have forgiven me"--" Complete with air-quotes. "--you mean regarding my question yesterday." A simple why. "Today the question I keep asking myself is reversed. Why do I love you?" It is quite the mystery.
"Because I do. I love you, Oswald. Why else would I have kissed you?"
He narrows his eyes at him like he's struggling to place a name to his face. Looking at him long, searchingly, until his shoulders hitch and he laughs a breathless little laugh, as if everything is like it should be.
"Wow." Oswald grins, nodding to himself, though none of the amusement reaches his eyes. They've gone cold, glittering dangerously. "I'd hate to crush any dreams you may have of pursuing a different line of work, but--" An apologetic twist to his lips. "Newsflash? Your acting sucks. Sorry."
He gives it a chance to sink in before rising on the tips of his toes and leaning in, bringing his lips close to Ed's ear.
"Like I said - do yourself a favour and stick to your day job."
Drawing back, he claps a hand over Ed's shoulder, squeezing just a touch too hard to be polite before letting go, turning away.
Obviously it's not the insult to his acting capabilities that brings on the pain. He hasn't been acting. Perhaps if he had, it would have worked. That has essentially been what he's done for the majority of his relationship with Kristen Kringle. He hasn't thought of doing it with Oswald, although he clearly should have, given the utter lack of comprehension he's been faced with from the moment he asked that cursed 'Why?'.
His chest hurts in a very uncomfortable way, making it difficult to breathe and Ed does wonder if he's coming down with something, but files that thought away for later. Right now he has to deal with the situation at hand and he honestly has no idea how exactly he's supposed to do that. He senses that it has gone way off the rails. Emotions are easier to figure out when his own aren't involved.
"Oswald?" He does not like his voice like that, uncertain and shaky, and he's also not actually sure how to proceed past this, so he just stares at Oswald's back, not even entirely aware of how stricken he looks. No, he's not good when his own emotions are involved.
There's something unfamiliar to Ed's tone, now, the way it wavers, closer to a plea than he thinks he's ever heard it. He almost turns to look. But he finds the bitter resolve, instead, to hunch his shoulders against it and keep on his path. Ed had had a good old laugh at his expense; he could surely find a way to make the time pass on his own.
Oswald holes up in the manor's living room, sifting through his records with trembly fingers before settling on some mellow jazz to fill the silence. Then he sinks into an armchair with a sorely-needed shot of some hard stuff; only one to smooth over his nerves and help carry him through the rest of his mayoral obligations. Just a few more hours and he could loosen his cravat and slough off the day.
"Ah. It's you." Of course it is Oswald, who else is going to sit in the man's living room and turn on music? Other than potentially Victor Zsasz, Edward doesn't really see any other even remote possibilities. He just wants to say something after walking into the room and looking at him, wondering what to do with all that.
Oswald is ruled by his emotions, often overruling all rational thought. He isn't sure if he can relate to that, but at this point he sees only one way to go forward. And so he sits down two green envelopes in front of Oswald before stepping back again. "Look inside if you want to. Then you can decide which one to react to and which one to burn."
With that he turns around again, leaving Oswald to make his choice. Even if the choice is to burn both envelopes without looking inside, he supposes he can see that possibility too. But that would also give him an answer.
The contents of one envelope are simple enough, just his resignation, for Oswald to sign. The other has a list, under the already telling header: Why?
- I asked because I've never been loved by someone for who I am. Familial love was not a factor in my upbringing and you are my first and best friend.
- Love can often be a weakness, but our friendship has proven to be nothing but a strength. I don't see why that wouldn't extend beyond that.
- I admire you. No, I'm in awe of you.
- Yet you need me, just as I need you.
- I believe there has to be more to how I see your eyes when I close my own than just wanting to match your ties to them.
- I have never had any interest in ruling Gotham, but I have immense interest in making you fulfil any and all of your goals.
- You have shown me who I am. Who I can be and who I should be. Part of what I want is to be by your side.
- You might not like riddles, act incredibly immature at times, be prone to tantrums and overall be reminiscent of a spoiled child, but somehow you have harnessed all of these flaws into strength, into your indomitable ability to lift yourself up above any obstacle.
- The way you look at me is empowering, but it's your smile that I can't resist. I always smile back.
- Fun fact: Magellanic penguins are monogamous. The penguins have the same mates for their whole lives.
He sees Ed off with a wary look and eyes the envelopes stacked over his ottoman for a while, chewing down his nails. But he resists the itch to poke through them until later, when he can give them his undivided attention and avoid the risk of working himself up before a ribbon-cutting ceremony. He's nothing if not a quick learner after handling - or not handling - the shock of a first kiss sprung on him.
In the evening, when he shuts himself away, hangs up his morningcoat, and finally takes a slim letter opener to one of the envelopes, what he finds is worse than the riddles he's used to. A letter of resignation. Another dirty little trick. Only he isn't sure if it really is one, deep down, even though it doesn't feel right, doesn't feel possible, for Ed just to up and quit while under his wing with much left to learn, no less. Oswald has even less of an idea of what to expect from the second envelope when he slits it open and slides out a list long enough to warrant a gulp of wine, first.
He reads it through, pausing only at the backhanded compliment. Then rereads, over and over. Five, six times, until his eyes tire and his head throbs dully and he lays the sheet over his lap, letting the words sit with him while he stares into the fire.
It could be a few minutes or an hour later when he scrubs his face and pushes to stand, seeking Ed. The ball's in his court this time around, making things marginally less nerve-wracking.
"So." He begins, lightly tossing both envelopes onto the nearest table. "It's love or bust." There's no real bite to his tone; it's more worn around the edges than anything else. "Say what you will of my approach, but even I can tell you that ultimatums aren't very romantic. But, you tried!" He giggles, reaching with the intent of poking Ed's chest as if pressing a sticker onto his suit. "A gold star for you! ...Tell me, though..."
A conspiratorial grin tugs at the corners of his mouth.
"Did you actually think it'd sweep me off my feet?"
"No." Edward stands up and just looks at Oswald steadily, although he lowers his head at the imaginary sticker being pressed to his chest, fists clenching. Damn it. But that's his own issue and not something he's about to project onto Oswald right now, so instead he gives a slight shake of his head and focuses on Oswald again, pushing away any unwelcome thoughts. This situation needs his full attention.
"I'm not much of a sweeper and I've never been good at romance." Well. "I can be good, but it'd be an act. I've always just been myself with you." There's no need to try for that normalcy that he has never actually achieved. "But it's not really an ultimatum. If you want to leave it at this, fair enough. I'll continue working for you. If you want me gone, you have the means. I just wanted to find a way to actually make myself understood."
Since his other attempts like that clearly failed for various reasons. "Although if you tell me to keep my mouth shut in that manner ever again, we'll have a problem. I've gone through too many years of being told to shut up to have to listen to it from you as well."
He gives a roll of his eyes, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose a moment.
"And I wouldn't have had to ask that of you had you not made it your priority to mock me first thing this morning." His eyebrows shoot up. "So you kind of brought it on yourself. You realize that, right?"
But he doesn't wait for Ed's acknowledgement, pressing on instead.
"Putting it simply, I'm having a hard time believing your... 'deeper feelings' are what you they say they are. And, I'm sorry, but it'll take more than a piece of paper to lay my doubts to rest." A beat. His gaze falls to Ed's tie pin, hazing over. Lingering there. The angles and edges of his face soften a little with more than tiredness. "I need to know that I'm not wasting my time looking for something that isn't truly there."
He wants to believe it, is desperate to believe it with every needy fibre of his being, but it doesn't feel like a sure, safe thing to pour so much of his energy into.
"...then what do you want from me?" What was he supposed to do? Asking questions wasn't what Oswald wanted, being kissed wasn't what he wanted, Edward explaining what he felt also didn't cover it and, honestly, he's starting to wonder why this falls entirely onto him. As if loving Oswald was just another service to perform as his employee and be criticised if he didn't do so satisfactory. So far, a lot of complaints and not much reason to assume that Oswald even felt what he'd claimed to feel.
Why did Oswald love him? The question that he wasn't supposed to ask and that he still didn't know the answer to. The love certainly hadn't been shining through a lot since the moment he flipped on him over that 'why?'.
Oswald blinks at the question, frowning distantly.
"...I don't know." He says, and it's a moment before he tilts his chin up and meets Ed's eyes, his own a sharp, clear blue.
Mother had been right about many things - that he was fiercely clever and determined and destined for greatness, just like all the kings and powerful men in the pages of his favourite storybooks. But her promise that he'd find someone, someday, who would look at him and see what she always had, all his worth and his shining potential, never seemed any more real than those fairy tales; it never could when he'd come home from school with a black eye or a tear in his newest sweater or bloodied gauze packed up his nose.
Too little has changed.
"I guess I'm not very good at this either, as you were very quick to point out the other night." He shrugs and throws up his hands hopelessly, letting them slap his sides. "...So, what now?"
Edward's eyes are as dark as his thoughts and maybe as heavy as his heart today, but he meets Oswald's anyway, trying to figure out what to say next. Where to take this. Oswald seems lost and he knows that he is. There isn't really a clear answer and he has played himself into a corner. If a letter filled with truths, a kiss and him just being himself was the wrong way to go, what was the right way?
For a brief second he smiles, since there is a twisted part of him that wants to just look Oswald up and down, smirk and ask: 'Wanna fuck?'
But obviously he knows better than to do that, that would hardly count as romantic either. Still, the thought alone brings some much needed levity to the situation and he ends up chuckling, nervously running a hand through his hair, not even caring that he'll end up messing it up. "All I can give you, Oswald, is myself."
He steps forward, putting a hand on Oswald's shoulder and holding his gaze once more, bending down a little to do so. "You have me. You have had me before your confession. You still have me after mine. Now tell me if you want to keep me. Because I'm yours."
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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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Not a deep kiss, but more than a peck. A lot more than 'innocent', if anything of that description could even exist between them. But still, it doesn't last much more than a moment before he steps back and heads right for the door, not looking back until he's opened it, so Oswald can walk out and talk to the awaiting reporters. "It's showtime, Mr Mayor."
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Oswald goes blank.
He hears himself make a noise in his throat, his hands hovering, half-raised. But he's too stunned to resist or to know if he even wants to, his body crackling with fear and adrenaline, more than he knows what to do with. There's no manual for this, no more of a frame of reference than there had been when he had confessed his love, and it doesn't feel real, even as Ed's breath ghosts his skin, prickly-hot. Even as he blinks his eyes open and sees Ed pull back, sees the damp on his lip before he turns and makes for the door, opening it for him.
Oswald hangs back a moment, panting soft, as the room fades back into awareness, almost touching his fingers to his tingling lips. But there's no time to work through the jumble of feelings pulling him every which way and he hobbles forward in a daze, flicking a glance Ed's way before heading out to face what would no doubt be a very long day.
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When the conference came to an end, Edward stepped up to Oswald and put a hand on his shoulder, leaning down to speak into the microphone. "Thank you very much for your interest, ladies and gentlemen. We hope to see you again next time."
He turned around immediately to follow behind Oswald and brush past him, so he could open the door and let him walk through first. Once the door was closed, he leaned back against it, smiling at Oswald, but perhaps there was an edge to it that made it more of a smirk than a smile. "That went really well, don't you think?"
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"What was that?" He asks, feeling sicker with the near-certainty that Ed's smile holds the answer. Not the one he ever wanted, but the one that makes the most sense while the memory turns over and over in his mind. The lips soft on his and the giddy, freewheeling craziness of it; the feeling like it meant something, like he had meant something.
His fingers tighten around the head of his cane, his leather glove creaking.
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Obviously that wasn't what Oswald was talking about and obviously Edward knew that, but he just looked at him as if oblivious, until he bit down on his lower lip while watching him, eyes drifting down to his hand around the cane. There was a good reason he was leaning against the door, he honestly didn't know how this would go and it seemed wise to keep anyone else from coming in while also being able to slip out quickly, should he have to.
Finally he settled on looking at Oswald's face again, tilting his head to the side a little. "I'd say more, but I was told to keep my mouth shut."
had to cut oz off early for a chance for ed to get a word in, bc oswald
Blinking, he marches towards him, resolute. Cane clicking over tiles.
"I gave you a chance to make amends--" He says through his teeth, staring unflinchingly into Ed's face. "I could've forgiven you. And how do you repay my patience, my friendship?! By throwing it in my face!"
omg, oz, take a chill pill
"I knew I should have pencilled you time for a tantrum in."
Or, yes, he could keep antagonising him, that actually sounds more like him. It's at a point where this has become difficult to backtrack. How had it gone off the rails like that? Simply because he asked a question. He always asked questions, that was kind of his thing.
"To clarify, when you say that you "could have forgiven me"--" Complete with air-quotes. "--you mean regarding my question yesterday." A simple why. "Today the question I keep asking myself is reversed. Why do I love you?" It is quite the mystery.
"Because I do. I love you, Oswald. Why else would I have kissed you?"
Questions, again.
no subject
"Wow." Oswald grins, nodding to himself, though none of the amusement reaches his eyes. They've gone cold, glittering dangerously. "I'd hate to crush any dreams you may have of pursuing a different line of work, but--" An apologetic twist to his lips. "Newsflash? Your acting sucks. Sorry."
He gives it a chance to sink in before rising on the tips of his toes and leaning in, bringing his lips close to Ed's ear.
"Like I said - do yourself a favour and stick to your day job."
Drawing back, he claps a hand over Ed's shoulder, squeezing just a touch too hard to be polite before letting go, turning away.
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His chest hurts in a very uncomfortable way, making it difficult to breathe and Ed does wonder if he's coming down with something, but files that thought away for later. Right now he has to deal with the situation at hand and he honestly has no idea how exactly he's supposed to do that. He senses that it has gone way off the rails. Emotions are easier to figure out when his own aren't involved.
"Oswald?" He does not like his voice like that, uncertain and shaky, and he's also not actually sure how to proceed past this, so he just stares at Oswald's back, not even entirely aware of how stricken he looks. No, he's not good when his own emotions are involved.
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Oswald holes up in the manor's living room, sifting through his records with trembly fingers before settling on some mellow jazz to fill the silence. Then he sinks into an armchair with a sorely-needed shot of some hard stuff; only one to smooth over his nerves and help carry him through the rest of his mayoral obligations. Just a few more hours and he could loosen his cravat and slough off the day.
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Oswald is ruled by his emotions, often overruling all rational thought. He isn't sure if he can relate to that, but at this point he sees only one way to go forward. And so he sits down two green envelopes in front of Oswald before stepping back again. "Look inside if you want to. Then you can decide which one to react to and which one to burn."
With that he turns around again, leaving Oswald to make his choice. Even if the choice is to burn both envelopes without looking inside, he supposes he can see that possibility too. But that would also give him an answer.
The contents of one envelope are simple enough, just his resignation, for Oswald to sign. The other has a list, under the already telling header: Why?
- I asked because I've never been loved by someone for who I am. Familial love was not a factor in my upbringing and you are my first and best friend.
- Love can often be a weakness, but our friendship has proven to be nothing but a strength. I don't see why that wouldn't extend beyond that.
- I admire you. No, I'm in awe of you.
- Yet you need me, just as I need you.
- I believe there has to be more to how I see your eyes when I close my own than just wanting to match your ties to them.
- I have never had any interest in ruling Gotham, but I have immense interest in making you fulfil any and all of your goals.
- You have shown me who I am. Who I can be and who I should be. Part of what I want is to be by your side.
- You might not like riddles, act incredibly immature at times, be prone to tantrums and overall be reminiscent of a spoiled child, but somehow you have harnessed all of these flaws into strength, into your indomitable ability to lift yourself up above any obstacle.
- The way you look at me is empowering, but it's your smile that I can't resist. I always smile back.
- Fun fact: Magellanic penguins are monogamous. The penguins have the same mates for their whole lives.
- Your lips are soft.
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In the evening, when he shuts himself away, hangs up his morningcoat, and finally takes a slim letter opener to one of the envelopes, what he finds is worse than the riddles he's used to. A letter of resignation. Another dirty little trick. Only he isn't sure if it really is one, deep down, even though it doesn't feel right, doesn't feel possible, for Ed just to up and quit while under his wing with much left to learn, no less. Oswald has even less of an idea of what to expect from the second envelope when he slits it open and slides out a list long enough to warrant a gulp of wine, first.
He reads it through, pausing only at the backhanded compliment. Then rereads, over and over. Five, six times, until his eyes tire and his head throbs dully and he lays the sheet over his lap, letting the words sit with him while he stares into the fire.
It could be a few minutes or an hour later when he scrubs his face and pushes to stand, seeking Ed. The ball's in his court this time around, making things marginally less nerve-wracking.
"So." He begins, lightly tossing both envelopes onto the nearest table. "It's love or bust." There's no real bite to his tone; it's more worn around the edges than anything else. "Say what you will of my approach, but even I can tell you that ultimatums aren't very romantic. But, you tried!" He giggles, reaching with the intent of poking Ed's chest as if pressing a sticker onto his suit. "A gold star for you! ...Tell me, though..."
A conspiratorial grin tugs at the corners of his mouth.
"Did you actually think it'd sweep me off my feet?"
Had something similar worked on Kringle?
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"I'm not much of a sweeper and I've never been good at romance." Well. "I can be good, but it'd be an act. I've always just been myself with you." There's no need to try for that normalcy that he has never actually achieved. "But it's not really an ultimatum. If you want to leave it at this, fair enough. I'll continue working for you. If you want me gone, you have the means. I just wanted to find a way to actually make myself understood."
Since his other attempts like that clearly failed for various reasons. "Although if you tell me to keep my mouth shut in that manner ever again, we'll have a problem. I've gone through too many years of being told to shut up to have to listen to it from you as well."
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"And I wouldn't have had to ask that of you had you not made it your priority to mock me first thing this morning." His eyebrows shoot up. "So you kind of brought it on yourself. You realize that, right?"
But he doesn't wait for Ed's acknowledgement, pressing on instead.
"Putting it simply, I'm having a hard time believing your... 'deeper feelings' are what you they say they are. And, I'm sorry, but it'll take more than a piece of paper to lay my doubts to rest." A beat. His gaze falls to Ed's tie pin, hazing over. Lingering there. The angles and edges of his face soften a little with more than tiredness. "I need to know that I'm not wasting my time looking for something that isn't truly there."
He wants to believe it, is desperate to believe it with every needy fibre of his being, but it doesn't feel like a sure, safe thing to pour so much of his energy into.
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Why did Oswald love him? The question that he wasn't supposed to ask and that he still didn't know the answer to. The love certainly hadn't been shining through a lot since the moment he flipped on him over that 'why?'.
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"...I don't know." He says, and it's a moment before he tilts his chin up and meets Ed's eyes, his own a sharp, clear blue.
Mother had been right about many things - that he was fiercely clever and determined and destined for greatness, just like all the kings and powerful men in the pages of his favourite storybooks. But her promise that he'd find someone, someday, who would look at him and see what she always had, all his worth and his shining potential, never seemed any more real than those fairy tales; it never could when he'd come home from school with a black eye or a tear in his newest sweater or bloodied gauze packed up his nose.
Too little has changed.
"I guess I'm not very good at this either, as you were very quick to point out the other night." He shrugs and throws up his hands hopelessly, letting them slap his sides. "...So, what now?"
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For a brief second he smiles, since there is a twisted part of him that wants to just look Oswald up and down, smirk and ask: 'Wanna fuck?'
But obviously he knows better than to do that, that would hardly count as romantic either. Still, the thought alone brings some much needed levity to the situation and he ends up chuckling, nervously running a hand through his hair, not even caring that he'll end up messing it up. "All I can give you, Oswald, is myself."
He steps forward, putting a hand on Oswald's shoulder and holding his gaze once more, bending down a little to do so. "You have me. You have had me before your confession. You still have me after mine. Now tell me if you want to keep me. Because I'm yours."
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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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