Chapter Text
The stain won’t budge.
“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?” Ed grumbles at it: a perfect circle on the kitchen table where he had set down a hot pan without thinking.
Having watched some cleaning videos on You Tube, and scrubbed for what feels like hours, he had expected it to be gone. But it’s still there. It makes Ed want to burn down the whole kitchen.
“Fucking useless,” he mutters, lobbing the scrub brush into the kitchen sink, and he means both the cleaning advice and himself.
He’s in one of his cleaning phases, which means he reeks of disinfectant, his fingernails are down to stubs from all the scrubbing, and he didn’t sleep at all last night. The house looks clean, though.
All that’s left is to throw out the trash and a load of washing. The machine is pumping away in tandem with whatever neighbor has been hammering all morning, giving him a headache. But it’s fine.
“It’s all good. Hunky dory.” Ed picks at the damp, ragged hem of one sleeve for a moment as he looks over the apartment, before pushing both sleeves up again—even rolled up, they keep slipping down. It’s been driving him crazy. The sweatshirt is big on him—an old one of Fang’s—while the sweatpants are too short at the ankle.
But it’s all close to being perfect. The whole point of house sitting for Fang was accountability, taking better care of himself. Ed had been slipping. As always. Start over and mess up, and repeat: story of his life.
“Not this time, though. Fang’s going to be so impressed.” Even Izzy. Maybe. Once he puts out the trash. And buys some groceries. Maybe he’ll cook something. “Something fancy. French.”
He recites random French words in an exaggerated accent as he casts an eye over the apartment for his shoes. When he can't spot them he shrugs, adjusts his haphazard bun, and grabs the bulging trash bags.
Just as he has managed to close the door behind him without letting go of the bags, something drops suddenly from the floor above, missing him by inches. It crashes to the floor in front of him with a loud bang.
"Oi! That almost killed me!" he shouts to the ceiling, without heat. Releasing the trash without a second thought now, he reaches for the offending object on the floor: some kind of jewelled, giant egg as heavy as a bowling ball. Just the right size to fit through the railing from the landing above and fall on him. "Not exactly how I hoped to die…"
"Oh god! I'm so sorry! That was terrible timing. Or excellent, really. You're alright, thank goodness." A middle aged man appears at the top of the stairs. "It's not broken, is it?" he adds, grimacing.
A surprised breath of laughter escapes Ed. "I don't think so," he replies, but he's staring at the man instead. With his broad chest and golden hair, he looks like something out of an old romance novel, the type Ed used to page through in secret in corners of the school library, avoiding going home.
He has a handsome, animated face, and large hands, Ed notices as he holds them out for the ornament. Their fingers brush as he hands it over, and Ed can’t help but feel a bit self conscious, wishing he was wearing a decent outfit to match the man’s fine sweater and expensive looking shoes.
“What is that thing anyway?” he asks. “Would-be murder weapon.”
The man has a warm, earnest laugh. “This is a rare Fabrier emu egg,” he informs Ed with a charming theatricality.
Ed obliges with an impressed sound and nodds appreciatively. It is rather striking. “Wait. Is there a dead baby bird in there?” he asks.
“No, no…” The man falters, eyeing the egg in his hand for a moment with a suspicious frown, then shakes his head. “No. I’m quite certain. It’s all stone. This is one egg that won’t crack open. Though it may crack your head open.”
Ed finds himself grinning back at the man, shaking his head in astonishment.
“Do I need to watch out for more of those?” he asks. “Get myself a helmet or something?”
The stranger chuckles. “You’re safe. It was a rare find—picked it up at an antique shop in Peru of all places. I have quite a collection of antiquities, actually. You should come up and see sometime.”
Ed goes a little round eyed, in spite of himself, all of a sudden shy at the man’s seeming forwardness. “I don’t even know your name, mate,” he responds with forced nonchalance.
“Oh, right. Yes. I didn’t think—” he stammers, before seeming to gather himself. Tucking the egg under one arm he offers Ed a hand. “I’m Stede. Stede Bonnet. Nice to meet you.”
“Stede Bonnet,” Ed mouths, trying it out. It even sounds like the name of the dashing gentleman protagonist of a romance novel. “I’m Ed. Edward. Not Edmund or… Edgar.”
Stede wrinkles his nose. “Edgar. That wouldn’t suit you at all.”
Ed nods in agreement. “So you’ve got, like, a cave of wonders up there?” he asks hesitantly. He’s curious, and eager for Stede to confirm his invitation.
“Really just a mountain of knicknacks,” Stede replies, looking sheepish. “But… well, there are one or two interesting things, I suppose.”
“That’s something. I’ve just got a bunch of trash,” Ed says, deadpan. It feels true in more than the literal sense, but Stede giggles and in that moment Ed doesn’t feel half as bad about it.
“I’ll walk you down, shall I?” Stede tells him with a smile. “I have more boxes downstairs. I brought a friend to help me move in, but he’s impossible. He did warn me,” he adds in a discontented mutter. “Lucius! You can’t still be on the phone, can you?”
When he bounds on ahead, Ed is left in a bit of a daze. The last thing he expected when he stepped outside the apartment was a near death experience and a new handsome, fascinating neighbor.
From the van parked out front of the building a younger man gives Stede an unconcerned wave, making no move to put down the phone he has glued to his ear. He only rolls his eyes when Stede raps his knuckles on the window.
“I’m going to order thin crust on his pizza, see if I don’t. And pineapple!” he pronounces in a loud voice, but Lucius ignores him.
“That will show him,” Ed says with affected seriousness.
Stede titters. “It’ll be soggy. He’ll hate it.”
Ed watches him as he heads over to the back of the van, hands on his hips as he contemplates the stack of boxes and odd piece of furniture.
“I can help,” he blurt out.
“I couldn’t impose like that, Ed.”
“No, it’s fine, I don’t mind.” It’s the truth. He wants to poke around Stede’s things—and get close enough to smell him again. He had made out hint of lavender earlier in Stede’s warm and masculine scent.
“Let me throw this out.” It stinks by the bins as he throws in the bags, dispelling thoughts of Stede knocking on his door asking for a cup of sugar, and Ed inviting him in, insisting he stay for dinner…
“You’re a good neighbor, Ed. Thank you.” Stede beams at him when he returns to the van.
“Don’t mention it.” Ed peers at the labelled boxes. “Summer linens,” he reads, amazed. There’s a great number of boxes for books too.
“That one shouldn’t be too heavy. But we may need to make a few trips for clothes alone, I’m afraid,” Stede tells him with another sheepish grin. “I had a walk-in closet before, I’m not sure how it’s all going to fit now…”
Ed can’t resist reaching over to finger the soft material of Stede’s sleeve. “Is this cashmere?” he asks in a low voice.
“Merino wool, actually. I do have a rather exquiste cashmere in one of these boxes, if you’d like to sample it. It’s softer, but less durable.”
Ed nods absently. He remembers his mother taking him to work sometimes, helping her fold stacks of school uniforms she used to wash and iron for rich children. There was no doubt Stede belonged to their class. But, like the cashmere, he seems softer than they had been too.
“Let’s do the heavier stuff first,” he suggests, pointing at a tall chest of drawers, solid wood by the looks of it. “That thing looks like a back breaker.”
“While we’re fresh. Good idea,” Stede responds enthusiastically. He glances at Ed’s bare feet uncertainly. “Ed, are we thinking no shoes is a good idea… ?”
“Sure. I’ll have a better grip,” he says, wiggling his toes.
“Alright.”
Without getting off the phone Lucius calls out advice and encouragement as Stede and him manoeuvre the piece of furniture out of the car and into the building. “Way to go, guys.”
When Stede gives him a long look, he winces. “That sounded sarcastic, but it wasn’t, promise.”
“Thank you, Lucius. Very helpful.”
Ed laughs under his breath, then finds himself blushing when Stede grins at him across the chest of drawers.
“Ready?” he asks, muscles in his neck and arms straining as he lifts. Ed gets a flash of how Stede might look, holding himself over Ed while fucking into him, sweating and panting. It makes the back of his neck hot, and he quickly focuses on their task as they reach the first set of stairs. One of the drawbacks of an older building is the lack of elevator.
“Been here long?” Stede grunts, shifting his grip on the chest of drawers.
“Just a couple of weeks. I’m house sitting.”
“Oh…” There’s no mistaking his disappointment. “Will you be staying long? I rather liked the idea of knowing someone in the building. A friendly neighbor.”
“I—Not sure yet,” Ed replies dumbly, flustered by Stede’s smile.
Carefully walking up the stairs backwards, Stede nods distractedly. “I don’t know where I’m going to put everything in this new flat, but I couldn’t get rid of this, it’s been in the family for generations. And my wife wanted all my things out of the house. Ex-wife, I should say,” he rambles as they creep up to the first landing. “You ever been married, Ed?”
“Nah, mate.” Not even close. He hesitates, but feels compelled to ask: “What made you end it?”
“I was… uncomfortable in a married state. I suppose I found it rather suffocating.”
Married or not, suffocating in a relationship is something that Ed can relate to. Nonetheless, he feels absurdly disappointed at the thought that Stede isn’t the marrying type.
“How come… you didn’t… hire someone, or bring another friend?” Ed asks, huffing and puffing as they tackle the second flight of stars. His bad knee has made itself known under the strain, and his fingers, sore from cleaning, feel like they’re on fire.
“I might have… miscalculated… the situation, I realize now. In hindsight.”
Ed grunts, amused in spite of himself. And then his knee buckles without warning. In his attempt not to drop the chest of drawers, he takes a step backwards to counter the weight, misses a step and lands hard on his foot, in the wrong position. The pain is immediate, even sets his ears ringing.
“Fuuuck.”
“Oh god, Ed, are you alright!?”
He gives his head a shake to clear it, but doesn’t move otherwise—doesn’t feel like he can without his leg giving out on him entirely and sending the piece of furniture that means so much to Stede flying down the stairs.
“I’ll be right there. Damn this thing. I’m going to—hold on.” Ed is barely aware of what Stede is doing except all of a sudden he’s shouting at him to ‘Let go, you nut!’ And then Ed collapses on the stairs, while the chest of drawers slides past him until it hits the landing, drawers knocked out of place.
“Fuck,” Ed repeats.
“Definitely a mistake, in hindsight. I’m so sorry, Ed,” Stede says, hands flapping about as though afraid to touch him.
“It’s fine. I’m fine,” he pats Stede’s forearm, then grabs on as he struggles to get back on his feet. “Help me up, mate?”
“Can you stand? Should you stand?” Stede holds still for support while reaching for his other hand to help pull him up.
Ed makes it to a vertical position, but when he tries to put weight on his foot, pain shoots up his leg, unbearable. At his yelp, Stede gasps in dismay.
“I just need to put some ice on it,” he says, though he isn’t sure. It kind of really fucking hurts.
“What if it’s broken?” Stede shakes his head, his face a picture of concern. “Sit down here a minute, I’ll get Lucius, he’s a nurse.”
Throbbing pain stretches from his toes to his thigh, and he finds himself breathing through a bout of nausea while he waits. “Fucking furniture. Fucking stairs. Fucking knee.”
He hears Lucius complaining from the lobby and as they climb the stairs.
“Hi, I’m not a nurse, I work at a nursing home…” he introduces himself. “As a receptionist. And I don’t really do feet.” Glancing at Ed’s bare feet, he makes a moue of disgust. “Sorry.”
Frowning, Stede sits on the stairs at Ed’s feet. “They’re perfectly fine feet.” He gives his left foot a tentative poke. “Does that hurt?”
It does. Although Ed shrugs in response, Stede must notice how he tensed at the touch, because his expression grows resolute.
“I really think we should get a real nurse—” He shoots Lucius a pointed glare. “—to take a look at it.”
“I’m not sure that’s necessary, man…”
“Google says we probably should. Or your foot might fall off or something,” Lucius comments.
“We wouldn’t want that,” Stede says, jumping to his feet. “Urgent care center it is. Lucius, get the car.”
“Alright… But there’s still some boxes in it.”
“We can just forget about it; I’m fine—”
Stede holds up a hand for Ed to stop talking while he addresses Lucius. “Just clear the back seat. Lock the van, and bring the car up to the door while I help Ed here.”
Lucius salutes, rolling his eyes, but hurries off to do as Stede instructed.
Ed looks up at Stede with fresh interest, entranced by his authoritative manner. “You got him to move boxes after all.”
A self satisfied grin spreads across Stede’s face. “I did.” His expression grows serious as he slips an arm under Ed’s shoulder to help him stand. “And now we’ve got to move you. Up you go, easy.”
Stede feels strong and dependable, and despite the discomfort involved Ed takes a moment to breathe in the delicious, lavender scent of him.
By the time they get him settled in the back seat of the car, foot propped up on a bunched up coat, Ed is exhausted. But Stede keeps glancing at him, his face a picture of concern, while he gives instructions to an irritable Lucius, so he plays it cool.
“You’re not taking me somewhere to steal my organs, are you? Don’t expect to get much for my liver.”
It gets Stede to smile a little. “Ugh, I can’t stand the sight of blood. You’re safe with us,” he says grandly, reaching back to pat Ed’s knee… jostling his entire leg. The bad one.
Ed winces, and Stede grimaces.
“That was the bad one, wasn’t it.”
“Mhm,” he confirms, voice high pitched.
“Sorry. Bugger.”
It turns out Stede is kind of ridiculous, but Ed is inexplicably, thoroughly charmed.
“How’s the pain?” Stede asks a short while later in the waiting room.
Lucius had dropped them off at the nearest urgent care center, claiming he was allergic to the smell of hospitals, but with a promise to call for reinforcements for the move.
Ed shrugs. “Nothing I can’t handle,” he replies. He’s being honest—he’s used to pain and this is far from the worst he’s experienced.
“I’m a bit of a wuss when it comes to pain, myself,” Stede tells him. “And not very fond of the sight of blood, as I mentioned,” he breathes, face contorted in horror as a man walks by with a messy head wound, blood down his front.
“You don’t have to stay,” Ed says reluctantly. “These things can take ages.”
“I’m not just going to leave you here! Alone!” Stede protests with surprising vehemence. “Unless there’s someone you wanted me to call?”
The rush of warmth at the gesture makes his throat feel tight for a second. “Um. Thanks. No… wouldn’t want to bother anyone,” he adds in a mumble. He can’t imagine calling any of his friends for something like this. Fang, maybe. But he’s miles away.
Stede only nods. “Luckily I’ve got nothing to do, so it’s no bother,” he says cheerily, as though he wasn’t in the middle of moving.
“OK…” Ed releases a stuttering breath, and welcomes the distraction when someone vomits dramatically a couple of rows in front.
“Eurgh. That stench is going to linger. Look at that, though, it reached across the aisle; got on that woman’s boots—not a great loss; what is that pattern?” Stede comments, his face comically animated as he goes from disgusted to bizarrely impressed to catty.
Ed is enchanted. “Did you see that man’s hat?” he asks in a conspiratorial undertone, pointing with his chin.
“Unfortunately. The 80’s called, and they don’t want it back either.”
Laughter bubbles up in Ed’s stomach. Somehow a long wait in the ER becomes the best time he’s had in a long time.
The pain in his foot and knee are easy to ignore with Stede, and for the first time Ed wishes the wait for a doctor to see him had been longer.
As Stede gives a small wave as an orderly wheel him away, Ed wonders if he will see him again. Living in the same building, he hopes they might bump into each other some day. He might have to think up some excuses for loitering in the hall.
After having his leg checked out and X-rayed, a doctor with wild hair and eyes informs him he has a metatarsal fracture and he’ll need to wear a walking boot for a few weeks.
“No need to amputate,” he says, almost forlornly.
They bandage his ankle, fit a boot on him, and supply him with a simple pair of crutches and a prescription for painkillers, then send him on his way.
Ed hobbles out of the building, a strange, hollow feeling in his chest. Without Stede there’s nothing to stop him from thinking about other times he’s ended up in an emergency room. The visit has brought back memories he’d rather forget and emotions he does his best to avoid feeling.
“Ed!”
He flinches, backing into the wall behind him for support as he starts to raise a crutch defensively before he realizes it’s Stede.
“What the hell are you still doing here?” he asks dumbly.
Stede tuts sympathetically, ignoring him. “Oh dear, look at you. Is anything broken?”
“Just a dumb bone in my foot,” he says airily.
“Fuck. I thought it might just be a sprain.” Stede’s shoulders slump. “I took advantage of your kindness, and broke you!”
“Stede, it’s nothing,” Ed hastens to reassure him. “I’ve had loads of broken bones. Collarbone was hell. Ribs are a pain too—” he breaks off at the look of confusion and concern on Stede’s face. “I used to work as a shark wrangler,” he blurts out in a panic.
Though looking entirely unconvinced, Stede nods slowly. “Sure,” he says, then, clearing his throat: “Shall I call us a taxi then?”
Saying no doesn’t feel like an option, and he doesn’t want to either. He can’t believe Stede had waited for him. Now if Ed can stop putting his foot in his mouth, maybe he can get him to stick around a bit longer. “Guess so. Alright. Thanks.”
“It’s you.” It’s not exactly a warm greeting, but at least Jim lets them into the car, and though they glare, it seems more annoyed than murderous.
“Jim.”
“You two know each other?” Stede asks, looking from one to the other with interest.
“Barely.”
“Unfortunately,” Jim supplies.
Stede raises his eyebrows, obviously curious. “I’m sensing a bit of tension…” he says in a slight joking tone. “If there’s anything you want to talk about…? Just pretend I’m not here.”
While undoubtedly good-natured, it’s audacious, and it catches Ed by surprise. It’s a little unsettling that Stede has surprised him several times already in the space of a few hours, but also refreshing.
“Is this guy for real?” Jim asks, but there’s a hint of a smile on their face.
“I’m Stede, hi.”
“Hey.”
The mood does seem lighter after that, and after a few minutes of driving in silence, Ed decides to speak. “Paint job looks good,” he says hesitantly.
Jim grunts. “You can still see some scratches. You keyed down to the metal, and it’s expensive to hire a professional. Archie did it herself.”
Chagrined, Ed glances at Stede, who has a small frown on his face but makes no comment. “How much is it?” he asks in a mumble.
“You got a new job yet?” Jim counters.
Ed stares out the window at the sunlit streets, mouth in a line. “I’m between jobs,” he says finally. “Figuring stuff out, you know. Thought I’d be a carpenter or a nail stylist. Did Annie’s nails once, and she was blown away.”
“Mhm. What happened to you anyway, pendejo?”
“It was my fault, I’m afraid,” Stede pipes up.
“Please tell me you ran over his foot with your car?” Smile razor sharp, Jim catches Ed’s eye in the rearview mirror.
“Uh no. Ed here was kind enough to help me with some moving boxes and furniture, and we had a bit of a mishap on the stairs.”
“Ed was helping you move?” Jim asks incredulously. Idling at a red light they give Stede a once over, then shoot Ed a knowing look.
“Shut up,” Ed tells them.
“Didn’t say anything,” Jim says, grinning. “So, Stede, what is it you do?”
“Well. This and that. But I’ve just got a job at a museum. I’m very excited.”
Jim hums. “¿Ah sí? Old stuff for the win…”
“Sometimes the old things are the best things,” Stede says earnestly, clearly not taking offense.
Ed stares at him—he can’t stop himself. Despite his love for the genre, he had always rolled his eyes at heroines swooning in romance novels, now he’s reconsidering his position.
“Congratulations, Stede, that’s great, mate.”
Stede gives him a warm smile. “Thank you, Ed.”
They make a quick stop at a drugstore for the painkillers, at Stede’s insistence, and Ed is glad of the fact after labouring up the stairs to his apartment. He had forgotten what a pain it is to be on crutches.
“You handle yourself well with those,” Stede says encouragingly, hovering as Ed balances on one foot to dig his keys out of the pocket of his sweatpants.
“It’s not my first rodeo. Though it’s been a few years,” Ed says distractedly. “It’s like riding a bicycle, it turns out. Maybe a unicycle.”
“Mm.” When he looks up at Stede he looks more concerned than impressed.
“I’ll get your money, wait here.”
He hobbles in to get his wallet, leaving Stede at the door. Ed has never been good with people, and he doesn't know how he expected it to be any different with Stede. It's clear he's clocked on to what a mess Ed is already.
“It's really quite unnecessary. And you were hurt helping me move! I feel responsible,” Stede says miserably when Ed presses the cash on him.
“Don’t. It was my useless fucking knee, mate,” he says shortly. “Damaged your fancy, old furniture too.”
“It’s a robust piece. I fear you got the worst of it.” Stede offers him another warm, soft smile. “And some dents and scratches add character anyway.”
“Stede, you need to…” Stop saying things like that. Stop making Ed feel like he missed a step and a swarm of butterflies has taken residence in his stomach. “You should go unpack.”
Stede gives a small chuckle, though his eyes are serious. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”
Ed flushes. “No, no... just thinking of all those boxes.”
“I’d understand if you did,” Stede says wryly. “But I hate to leave you alone, in your condition.” Pulling out a business card alongside a small pen from a handsome, leather wallet, he proceeds to cross out the printed address and phone number.
“It’s a bit out of date,” he explains with a grimace as he writes out a new number. “Call me if you need anything? Anything at all.”
Ed fingers the thick, creamy paper, tracing the elegant font spelling out Stede Bonnet, and resists the urge to bring it to his nose to check if it’s scented. “Sure, mate.”
“Nice to meet you, Ed. See you soon.”
Stede turns once to wave on the stairs—then glances back again, red-faced, when he stumbles on the next step.
Ed waits until he hears the door upstairs open and close before going inside the apartment, in a bit of a daze.
His gaze falls on the kitchen clock: it’s only noon. He still needs to take the clothes out of the washing machine.
“What the fuuuck,” he whispers.