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."
Something happens, changes, when Ed talks and Oswald sets aside his hurts and his pettiness just long enough to listen. By the end of it, while the last word hangs in the air between them, he's quiet still, dazed, like he's watching someone else's life unfold, hearing someone else's thundering heart filling the room. The hand on his shoulder is all that keeps him rooted in a strange reality where he's being given everything he ever wanted, given what he had never won through manipulation or bribery or intimidation, and it doesn't make sense, none of it does.
But here they are, standing together on the trembling edge of something new, a whole world of possibilities opening up before them. Too good to be true, even for someone nearly too desperate to refuse.
They're all they have; and after a day fraught with missteps and misunderstandings he's wrung out, too tired to stay angry. Too tired to question whether Ed chose him or just settled for him because he had no one else.
"Yes... you're mine," Oswald says slowly, testing the words, how they sound.
A shaky breath of a laugh punches out of him - relief or amazement or gratitude, a shimmer to his eyes - and he can already feel himself giving in, see himself reaching and curling an arm around Ed, then the other, carefully pulling himself close. His hands settle over Ed's back, soft and unsure, holding on with a child's grip.
Finally. Oswald's defences crumble and perhaps now Edward can allow himself to be anything other than certain, pushing down his own insecurities. Probably not, his desire to do just that is easily outweighed by fear of another chain reaction by now. He's not good enough at gauging and predicting emotions to risk something like that. So instead he focuses on faking deep conviction, his own arms sliding around Oswald in turn.
Perhaps this time then it's the right move? Either way, he risks it, leaning forward to meet Oswald's lips for another kiss, this time a slower one, giving him the time to decide whether he wants to kiss back or not.
He's no more ready for it than he was the first time, painfully unfamiliar with a gentler world of touch. But he's trying, his jaw loosening into the kiss, the press of his mouth a careful, sexless thing. Soft, like he's seeking permission.
Ed's first to pull away - and Oswald lets him, his eyes closed, basking in the afterglow he can feel to the tingling tips of his fingers. But the dream doesn't end when he opens them. And that Ed's still there, waiting, makes something twist up in his chest and he doesn't know whether he wants to laugh or cry.
He swallows instead, his eyes wide and full of wonder.
"...yes." He answers under his breath. Mesmerized. Then again, soft but surer: "Yes."
That is really all he needs to hear, isn't it? At least for now, for the moment. He might not fully comprehend the why, but he has finally determined just what Oswald is looking for and what he is offering. Everything and anything. He can do that, gladly. He can give and he can take and he kisses him again, as he struggles to express his feelings otherwise.
Edward may not me vastly more experienced than Oswald, but he has some experience and a lot fewer inhibitions, especially when the mood hits. So it shouldn't be that much of a surprise that he pushed Oswald back the few steps he needs to pin him against the wall, moving one of his hands to press down on his chest. He pulls away again, his forehead against Oswald's as he rests his fingers just above his heart, feeling it beat. "If you break me, I’ll not stop working. If you can touch me, my work is done."
He flinches when his back hits the wall, eyes flying open, flickering with animal-fear. The crush of claustrophobic panic lasts only a moment - but a moment long enough for his hands to shoot up defensively and for one to press into Ed's shoulder, giving himself room just to breathe - sucking in soft, shuddering breaths against Ed's skin - until his mind catches up to the rest of him and he comes to his senses with a twinge of embarrassment.
Ed slowly swims back into focus, a non-threat. He blinks, swallowing, pulse jittery in his throat. The heat of Ed's palms leeches through his shirt.
"Your heart..." He pants out, lifting his own hand away to curl his fingers around Ed's wrist, keeping him there. He strokes him with his thumb, thoughtful. "After last night's disaster of a dinner, I was convinced your intentions were only to ridicule me." His lashes flutter low. "...I see now that I couldn't have been any further from the truth."
"An understandable assumption." In retrospect, anyway. He should have known at the time, but it was a matter of both their insecurities clashing with each other and neither being able to see past that. Something that he rather expects may happen again, given how very broken in different ways they happen to be. "I am not used to being loved. I'm not even used to being liked. I've accepted that."
Overall he has also decided that he doesn't mind. There were people though, people who mattered. Mainly Oswald. Namely Oswald. It all makes sense, really. Because illogical or not, he does believe in fate and this really seems like the inevitable path to be on, as entwined as their fates are. His fingers run through Oswald's hair as he looks at the man, deciding against another forceful show of passion. Slow. He can do that. But his hand stays on Oswald's chest.
sorry for oz being kind of stuck processing shit LOL he'll get better I hope
Oswald's hair is still crunchy-stiff with sprays and gels, and touching it is an offense he'd have easily swatted Ed's hand away for on any other night. But tonight he takes it, lets his eyes fall shut and relishes in the shivery thrill that runs up and down the nape of his neck and spreads, tingling, through his scalp. His face goes slack, absorbed.
That someone is touching him because they want to, because they want him to share in something crazy and wonderful, and because they want him with a pure, guileless need, is something he can barely wrap his head around. Something he might not ever be able to. The only thing more scary than finally having this thing called love in his grasp is the thought of it slipping through his fingers so soon.
"Hold me," he says, squeezing Ed's wrist, not sure if he's asking or pleading. Not caring what it sounds like, either, because he's tired, so tired. Because he'd rather let go and be weak than waste away, bit by bit, dying alone. Fading from memories and becoming just a footnote in Gotham's history.
A smile appears on his lips at that request, charmed by that unmasked need. There is something invigorating about being this desperately wanted. He thinks for a moment only before dropping to his knees in front of Oswald. Given their height difference, that makes it easy to keep his arms around his waist, turning his head to rest it against his stomach. Clearly not a position he intends to stay in for long, but it allows him to gather his thoughts and judge his own emotions in response.
Finally he leans back, hands on the floor behind him as he looks up at Oswald and tilts his head to the side, indicating the bed. "Let's lie down. If you want me to hold you, I will."
Oswald blinks at him. "What are you doing?" He asks, when Ed kneels, unasked, like a loyal subject before his king. Though his body has a few ideas - and in Ed's arms he feels a twist of heat in his guts, a hunger just beginning to wake after years of being pushed aside or, at best, dealt with quickly and carelessly until he could direct his focus towards what really mattered. He isn't disappointed when Ed ends up sitting back; only distracted, until Ed motions to the bed and the possibilities have colour flooding his cheeks.
The act of dredging up what goodness was left in him and offering it like a shiny pebble in a handful of dirt had completely consumed him; he hadn't even thought about what the rest of the night could or should look like, never mind the intricacies of life after 'I love you'.
But he asked for this, struggled for this. And after days of holding a burning secret inside his chest while it ate a hole through him, killing him slowly, he refuses to run away, to run back to the safety and the loneliness of his comfort zones. It's too late, anyway, to go on as if it never happened; love changes everything, for better or for worse, and neither of their steel-trap minds could ever let this go.
"Yes -- let's!" Oswald puts on a flaky smile, waving Ed over. "I think we've both done enough standing around, don't you?"
He hobbles to the bed and just sits on its edge, carefully stretching out his leg. Regardless of where things went or didn't from here, he could at least appreciate the chance to get of his feet.
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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.
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"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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But here they are, standing together on the trembling edge of something new, a whole world of possibilities opening up before them. Too good to be true, even for someone nearly too desperate to refuse.
They're all they have; and after a day fraught with missteps and misunderstandings he's wrung out, too tired to stay angry. Too tired to question whether Ed chose him or just settled for him because he had no one else.
"Yes... you're mine," Oswald says slowly, testing the words, how they sound.
A shaky breath of a laugh punches out of him - relief or amazement or gratitude, a shimmer to his eyes - and he can already feel himself giving in, see himself reaching and curling an arm around Ed, then the other, carefully pulling himself close. His hands settle over Ed's back, soft and unsure, holding on with a child's grip.
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Perhaps this time then it's the right move? Either way, he risks it, leaning forward to meet Oswald's lips for another kiss, this time a slower one, giving him the time to decide whether he wants to kiss back or not.
"Are you mine?"
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Ed's first to pull away - and Oswald lets him, his eyes closed, basking in the afterglow he can feel to the tingling tips of his fingers. But the dream doesn't end when he opens them. And that Ed's still there, waiting, makes something twist up in his chest and he doesn't know whether he wants to laugh or cry.
He swallows instead, his eyes wide and full of wonder.
"...yes." He answers under his breath. Mesmerized. Then again, soft but surer: "Yes."
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Edward may not me vastly more experienced than Oswald, but he has some experience and a lot fewer inhibitions, especially when the mood hits. So it shouldn't be that much of a surprise that he pushed Oswald back the few steps he needs to pin him against the wall, moving one of his hands to press down on his chest. He pulls away again, his forehead against Oswald's as he rests his fingers just above his heart, feeling it beat. "If you break me, I’ll not stop working. If you can touch me, my work is done."
Of course, a riddle to break the silence.
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Ed slowly swims back into focus, a non-threat. He blinks, swallowing, pulse jittery in his throat. The heat of Ed's palms leeches through his shirt.
"Your heart..." He pants out, lifting his own hand away to curl his fingers around Ed's wrist, keeping him there. He strokes him with his thumb, thoughtful. "After last night's disaster of a dinner, I was convinced your intentions were only to ridicule me." His lashes flutter low. "...I see now that I couldn't have been any further from the truth."
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Overall he has also decided that he doesn't mind. There were people though, people who mattered. Mainly Oswald. Namely Oswald. It all makes sense, really. Because illogical or not, he does believe in fate and this really seems like the inevitable path to be on, as entwined as their fates are. His fingers run through Oswald's hair as he looks at the man, deciding against another forceful show of passion. Slow. He can do that. But his hand stays on Oswald's chest.
sorry for oz being kind of stuck processing shit LOL he'll get better I hope
That someone is touching him because they want to, because they want him to share in something crazy and wonderful, and because they want him with a pure, guileless need, is something he can barely wrap his head around. Something he might not ever be able to. The only thing more scary than finally having this thing called love in his grasp is the thought of it slipping through his fingers so soon.
"Hold me," he says, squeezing Ed's wrist, not sure if he's asking or pleading. Not caring what it sounds like, either, because he's tired, so tired. Because he'd rather let go and be weak than waste away, bit by bit, dying alone. Fading from memories and becoming just a footnote in Gotham's history.
he's adorable
Finally he leans back, hands on the floor behind him as he looks up at Oswald and tilts his head to the side, indicating the bed. "Let's lie down. If you want me to hold you, I will."
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The act of dredging up what goodness was left in him and offering it like a shiny pebble in a handful of dirt had completely consumed him; he hadn't even thought about what the rest of the night could or should look like, never mind the intricacies of life after 'I love you'.
But he asked for this, struggled for this. And after days of holding a burning secret inside his chest while it ate a hole through him, killing him slowly, he refuses to run away, to run back to the safety and the loneliness of his comfort zones. It's too late, anyway, to go on as if it never happened; love changes everything, for better or for worse, and neither of their steel-trap minds could ever let this go.
"Yes -- let's!" Oswald puts on a flaky smile, waving Ed over. "I think we've both done enough standing around, don't you?"
He hobbles to the bed and just sits on its edge, carefully stretching out his leg. Regardless of where things went or didn't from here, he could at least appreciate the chance to get of his feet.
I apologise for the lateness!
no worries, sorry for the typo in the last thing. *too
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