Ghostcat shenanigans

[technicallyhellbound]

It had been a few weeks since they'd started this arrangement, and so far the Cat had, in fact, been a surprising amount of help. Enough so that Charles had stopped being mostly on-guard while in his presence and had even taken the 'puppy' nickname in stride, though he still hadn't really looked too deeply at why it didn't bother him as much as it probably should.

That particular day was neither a Monday nor a Friday, and was in fact a Wednesday, so while it wasn't one of their scheduled briefings, it was a visit that had been arranged in advance, a few hours while Crystal and Charles were at a concert, the kind of thing that while Edwin enjoyed being invited to, really wasn't the kind of thing he actually enjoyed going to, and the others both knew it, which was why they continued to invite him, even if he always declined.

It was late afternoon, not yet early evening when he stepped out of the mirror into the cannery, tugging at the collar of his slipover in much the same way he did the lapels of his usual jacket. He'd been branching out from his usual look, just a little, in bits and pieces, and now had something of a range of shades of those softer jumpers, this one was a deep bottle-green and was nearly a cowl-neck, but definitely less severe than his usual look.

It had been raining in London, or rather it had been misting heavily, and he wasn't quite sure if it was still raining here or if it had just finished, there wasn't the same kind of moisture in the air, which meant that if it was raining it hadn't been doing so for long, and all he knew was that the Cat had something planned for them to do, he was only now considering that he probably should have asked a few more questions beforehand.

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[catting]

He isn't sure if he regrets the request once it's out of his mouth, but he does feel a strange little pang, the sudden desire to run from such weak vulnerability, as if doing so will protect him from having to come face to face with it. That is, of course, until Edwin replies with such a soft tone that it's almost heartbreaking, and the Cat closes his eyes, succumbing to the feeling before it even happens.

Edwin is still so real against him, so present and so faintly warm, like the residual heat of electricity, or the spot on a pillow where a cat was once sleeping, now gone and left to slowly cool. He can feel him without the ley line's influence, of course, but this is different in that his energy isn't immediately recognisable as that of a ghost; the hum of feedback is missing, the slight fizz of static, the undefined boundaries that make the Cat want to push and test his hands against them. But God, this has its appeal, too.

His mind and heart are a jumble, but against Edwin's chest — because the Cat had every intention of hooking his chin over his shoulder, but found himself instead using their slight height difference to his advantage, tucking his face in against Edwin's collarbone instead — he feels a brief moment of pure blissful thoughtlessness. A purr starts to rumble through him, tentative and quiet, as a slow settling breath leaves his lungs. Ah, his senses seem to say. There's something you didn't know you were looking for.