#YOUR DRAWING HAS BEWITCHED ME I HAVEN'T STOPPED THINKING ABOUT IT I NEEDED TO WRITE. something. get it out of the system

[idliketobeatree]

"No, no, Edwin, stay with me, c'mon," Charles mouths, his hands blissfully cool on Edwin's cheeks, them – and the forehead pressed against his own – the only things still tethering Edwin to consciousness.

But he can feel himself slipping away. Second by second, the wiry black threads of the witch's curse seep into the edges of vision like poisoned tea leaves in hot water. It would almost be soothing, he thinks, this strange, stock-still lake blackness, were it not threatening to swallow Charles whole too.

His mouth trembles when Charles presses his thumb to the lip, frowning.

"Has it gone into your… God, Edwin, can you speak?"

Edwin tries. He really does, but what comes out is a warbled attempt at a name that fails to reassure Charles.

"Shit. Shit. Hey, no, it's fine, you're okay, I'm sure we can… Crystal will…"

Charles' eyes widen slightly.

"You and Crystal. You'll know what to do, won't you? You're both the brains."

And something determined and desperate crosses his face, a deep consternation that Edwin recognises as Charles wrestling between two equally bad choices. In their line of work, it happens almost weekly.

To think, he takes to stroking the apple of Edwin's cheek.

It's a soothing gesture. Almost reverent.

Edwin could cry from it, if only the curse let him.

"Please forgive me," Charles says. Edwin thinks it's Charles, even though he doesn't sound much like Charles anymore.

And there is a swipe of a cool tongue, a complete, mind-numbing shock of a different quality than what Edwin's been fighting with for the past several minutes. An apology and a blessing pressed to his lips. It lasts a short forever, the quiet before an explosion of Charles sucking Edwin's lower lip in and biting. Edwin moans into the pleasure-pain of it, something like ink leaking out from the split, covering Charles' full, reddened lips and seeping through them, taking root, his coal-dark eyes fluttering shut. The next time they open, half of Charles' whites are throbbing and pulsing with disease.

It works, the twisted transfer, Edwin sees as clear as day. He shakes his head before tears can blur it all; Charles sinks to the floor right there, in his arms, in uncontrollable convulsions.

“Come on, come back to me, Edwin”