to your joy I tether not

“I’m not in love with you.”“Ah,” says Edwin, succeeding a pause that goes on longer than he plans it to. “I see.”“Shit, no, sorry, that’s not what I—”“Charles, you mustn’t apologize—”“No, Eds, wait, wait. That came out all wrong.” And Charles clutches Edwin’s hand tighter, so Edwin clutches back, taking strange comfort in the curve of Charles’s fingers, the ridge of his knuckles. Terrain that is somehow more familiar to Edwin than the paths he’s carved through Hell. “What I meant is, I’m not ever gonna be, like, in love with you. Romantically. I just—” His inhale is a juttering scrape of breath excavated from deep inside, and Edwin feels it as though it is his lungs that draw it in. “I love you, Edwin. I’ve always loved you. And after you confessed in Hell, I thought—well, I thought what I felt for you had to change. But it didn’t, and it won’t. I’m never gonna have a romantic notion towards anyone in the entire world, and I love you, and it’d be aces to kiss you.”[ or: an aromantic awakening, a kiss, several bouts of crying, and a long cuddle on the couch. more or less in that order. ]