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Some were...?

[Go on, please and thanks? He leans forward slightly, like he can figure out the manga mystery by just getting a good look at Charles' face. It doesn't work, but as a person who has read manga, he can only assume this response is because Charles accidentally looked at something kind of saucy and racy and not plastic-wrapped for sensitive eyes, which is both very funny and somehow endearing of him, so.

Well, he could needle about that, but! Ah, he knows small detective guy manga,] You really like detective stuff, huh. You know they're still publishing that one? It's going to outlive the universe.

[And he didn't read it, but whatever. He takes a moment to push himself back to a more upright sitting position.] If you ask me, the mobile suit stuff is usually the best.

[ to the initial question, he just mumbles something unintelligible under his breath, and when he's not asked to clarify he actually lets out a small, relieved sigh.

and he'll blame that relief for what he says next, not really thinking about it, ]

Well, yeah. When I was dying, Edwin read me some Max Carrados, and I guess I've just liked detective novels since then, you know?

[ anyway, that nice little tidbit about his dying moments aside — ] Do I wanna ask what mobile suits are?

[Ah—well, that kind of stops his plucky delight about Gundam in its tracks. He tries not to visibly falter, opting to go for a slightly-longer-than-necessary sip of beer, but he still manages,]

Like— mecha. Big robots with a pilot. There's a ton of series about 'em, you've got to have seen at least one.

[He'll even accept just walking by a Gundam DVD in a shopfront, that's enough. It'd be best to let the other topic face gracefully into the background, he knows, that's easily the neater and tidier option, but Junpei has never been anything but graceless, so before that can happen—] Your, uh, you...

[—it comes out in the wrong register, too abrupt, and he flips the corner of the notebook pages a few times before he tries again, softer,] It took a while? Sorry, that's— that sucks.

[That's what bothers him, he thinks; there isn't a cool and fun way to die, but quicker is better than not.]

Oh! [ now he gets it! it's even visible in his eyes, the spark of recognition. ] Yeah, once had a client who had all these collectibles, like, giant figures of these robot things. Haven't seen any movies, though, maybe we can put those on the list? You know, along with 80s records and city pop.

[ their little list to find things here and introduce each other to them, he likes that.

and then it dawns on him, what exactly he said, and he feels a bit like kicking himself, because while he's pretty nonchalant over his own death (or, more accurately, has learned to talk about it as if he's nonchalant while burying his actual feelings over it very, very deep), it's... not exactly a topic that living people tend to appreciate.

instead of apologising, charles shifts in place, moves his leg just slightly so it's pressed up against junpei's there on the floor, like the contact might help with what's going to follow. because then he tilts his head back, eyes focused on the line between wall and ceiling, and talks, quiet and yet terribly matter-of-fact, ]

There was this new guy at school, Aysar. From Pakistan. St. Hil's was, I told you, stuffy, right? And the lads, well, they weren't... great, always, but they'd never treated me like I was too different. But for some reason — anyway, saw them beating him up one day, like, it was real bad. So I pulled them off of him, told them off, because if they beat him for being Pakistani, well, how was I any different, yeah?

[ he chuckles, then, or maybe scoffs — it's hard to make out which the sound is supposed to be. ] Well, turns out I wasn't, not when I wasn't going along with them. It was November, and — they threw me in the lake, threw rocks, and — well, we were all in the cricket team, so the lads could throw. [ and yet, charles hadn't really realised how bad it was; not with the cold of the lake numbing him to the worst of the pain, not with thinking i've had worse, i've had worse, remembering the time his dad had thrown him down the stairs — in any case, he'd thought he'd be fine. sore, but fine. ]

I hid in an attic, you know, thought I'd just stay there for a tick. But it was real cold, and I couldn't dry off, and... well, turns out hypothermia kills just as much as internal bleeding does. [ he sighs. ] Not sure how many hours it took.

[Bootleg Gundam classics, right, add those to the list. Junpei nods but doesn't say anything, waiting for, well—the other thing. He keeps flipping the page corners, to stop himself from interrupting - until he isn't anymore sometime around "in the lake," and then he sits there and stares at nothing, somewhere between the notebook in his lap and their legs pressed together.

The worst part is, he thinks, besides the obvious—the worst part is he can't find it in him to be surprised that something like that would happen to someone like Charles. To anyone, really, but it hits harder when he's hearing the firsthand account; Charles is a good person who did the right thing, and he died for it, and that keeps happening. Junpei takes a drink, stilted, to quiet the tightness in his chest and the profound urge to—curse or something, yell at no one, whatever.

The worst part is still how unsurprised he feels about this dreadful truth. Junpei can recall with uncomfortable clarity the bottom of the barrel, the real worst of humanity doing the most abhorrent things possible to each other, plenty of pointless deaths—and it makes him angry in a different way that what happened to Charles fits right in with his lowest expectations. Being a PI is only charming on paper; in practice it's nothing but coworkers being thrown off buildings and children being tortured and guys being thrown into lakes and stoned, like it's the Dark Ages.

He takes a deep breath, ignoring the shake in it. He says,] Fuck those guys.

[A beat of silence followed by the clink of putting the beer down again.]

Fuck them, for real, you did everything right. That's... I mean— [Well, there aren't adequate words, not really. Some people are worthless and Charles deserved better, and in the absence of anything he can think of that sounds remotely good enough, Junpei simply turns to face him and holds out his arms. A little too abruptly, again, but fuck!!]

Don't say you're fine, just bring it in.

[ fuck those guys, junpei says, and charles huffs a wry laugh at that — because, yeah, sounds about right, that. and he's ready to leave it at that, too, casting about for another topic that might take them away from this one — except junpei's not done, and you did everything right hits him right in the gut, enough so that he lets out an involuntary exhale. because — well, yeah, there's stuff he's heard before, over the decades, stuff about how the lads were terrible and how it was unfair what had happened to him and that he hadn't deserved it; he knows all that, sure.

but somehow, for some reason, no one's ever commented on the reason he died. no one's ever said that it was right, that, and even if he'd known that, too... well. feels different when it's said out loud, by someone he cares about.

and yeah, maybe he's opened his mouth and started to say, ] I — [ — what, then? i'm fine does flit across his mind, then, but heavier are the words i didn't tell you to feel bad for me, because he hadn't — he'd just wanted him to know.

instead of saying anything then, he stares at junpei and his open arms for a second, blinking, and the gut punch from earlier has shifted into something warm in his chest, something that constricts his throat at the same time as it feels far too large to fit inside whatever spectral atoms make up his ribcage.

in the end, he folds like a wet napkin, falls into the hug, his arms going around junpei in turn, his face tucked against his shoulder. ]

Sorry, [ he mutters after a second, or five, or a minute, or two — he's a bit hazy on the time, here. ]

[Junpei is ready to insist if he has to, because of course all those other things are true, fuck those guys and so on, but Junpei has faced enough uncomfortable what-ifs for a lifetime (possibly several) and he knows that sometimes the thing he most wants to hear is, yes, that was correct. Yes, you did something difficult, and it ended badly, but you were right to try.

He hopes saying it once and then demanding Charles preemptively shut up and get hugged is conveying it the way he wants, but well, he's already committed to this method.

It feels like it's working at least, the way Charles sinks into him instead of snapping at him or turning away. And it feels less strained, less sharp around the edges than back in that storage room when he'd been trying to outpace his own infected mind. Good— or at the very least, better. Junpei squeezes his arms around Charles and scoffs.]

Don't worry about it. I'm the one who asked.

[About the incident and for this hug, technically, so those are both covered. He'll stay here like this until Charles decides it's done.]

And, uh, thanks. For trusting me with it.

[ eventually, charles does decide that — well, that he's probably gone over the time limits of a socially acceptable hug by so many seconds it's better to count them in minutes, and he really should let go, no matter how comforting he finds their current position.

so he pulls back, brushing the side of his thumb discreetly against his eye before aiming a small smile at junpei. ] Nah, no need for thanks. I wanted you to know.

[ wouldn't have said it all otherwise, right? but that — well, that sort of reminds him of something else he probably should have said, way before this moment. ]

Right, so, since we're already talking about all this... I wanted to say sorry. You know, for leaving you.

[ he doesn't specify, because frankly, does he need to? he doesn't think so. instead, he just goes on, before junpei has a chance to misunderstand, ] I would've come back if I could've. Just — I'd have never abandoned you, yeah? Never. [ and he can't bear the thought of him believing that. ]

[Hey, if he's going to cry, there will be more hugs. Fair warning. Junpei sits back only when he sees a proper smile, however small.

And—] Oh, that's not...

[Not what he thought Charles was doing, when he finally never came back? At least not with the word "abandoned" anywhere in the equation, considering how many times he insisted spending time elsewhere was the better idea. Did he assume Charles made the executive - and again, better!! - decision to look out for himself? Well... yes.

But abandoning him? No, not really.]

Sure, yeah. I was pretty in my head by then, so...

[Well, never mind anything he might have thought. That said, that "if I could've" is doing a lot of heavy lifting, isn't it?]

Kind of getting the feeling something pretty bad happened, though?

Yeah, [ charles interjects, quick and pointed, ] You were, and I told you bloody well I didn't care about that.

[ he'd have stayed, right until the end, whatever that end might have been — and the only thing, the only thing he'd regretted was that he couldn't be there for him like he'd said he would.

"something pretty bad" is not an unreasonable assumption nor is it far off the mark, and yet charles' first reaction is a defensive, ] Oi, it wasn't his fault. He was... pretty in his head, too.

[ he sighs, then, running a hand through his hair, messing up the already messy curls even more. ] I... well, I didn't tell you the whole truth about ghosts, then. For obvious reasons. See, we can be hurt, by iron. It's... not pretty. Makes us tangible, too, corporeal in a way that other stuff can hit us proper. And a ghost can die if they feel enough pain, just — disintegrate, yeah?

[ somehow, he manages to say all this like he's imparting some general knowledge on ghosts, and yet the look he gives junpei then, a kind of quiet, wordless apology there in his eyes — it says it's more than general, it says sorry i didn't tell you, it says sorry for letting that happen and not coming back to you. ]

[Junpei makes a face immediately, frowning and with both eyebrows raised, as if to say, look, was anyone not in their heads in some way? He knows.

Still. It takes a staggering amount of understanding to not immediately want to be angry, again, and if he had a direction to point that anger in, all the better.

But, okay. Understanding. He'd told Bondrewd he didn't want to put anyone's name out there after what happened to him, so he will... give this mystery killer the same courtesy. He really doesn't like doing that, but fine. They're both doing the same thing, aren't they? Keeping at least one part secret for someone else's sake.

It's all he can do to just hang his head and sigh, instead.]

Jesus, okay. I'm putting "ghost armor but it's not iron" on the list of ghost stuff to figure out.

[And he'd like to know the important ghost facts beforehand, next time, please!! Assuming he isn't going slightly insane next time, too.]

So when I asked if you were okay, you were bullshitting me about this? Just keeping track...

[ there's a number of things he could say, there, but what comes out first is, ] You have a list?

[ and despite it all, despite this entire topic of conversation, talking about dying not once but twice, all within the span of not even quarter of an hour... still, charles feels a genuine smile settle on his face as he looks at junpei, his heart feeling very full all of a sudden. ]

Not really, [ he answers then with a half-shrug, ] I really think it was better me than him, yeah? I could've fought back. I can actually use a sword and all.

[ not a ghost fact, just a charles fact. one he also probably should have mentioned before, the whole thing with him being able to do backflips with a sword quite effortlessly. but he'd chosen not to. ] Just... didn't feel right.

[Junpei does vaguely recall talking about swords... He huffs out maybe half of a laugh, exasperated - and lord knows he'd be feeling some other host of much worse emotions if he'd been there and seen it, or if he wouldn't have done the exact same thing (minus the ability to use a sword, because, haha, no). That much surely shows on his face, a melancholy that it had to happen at all and a sad kind of empathy.]

Because he was in his head about it. I get it.

[A beat.]

Don't worry, I'm not going to get on your case about it or anything, because I, uh, also... y'know. [got mcmurdered.] Apparently the infection isn't too picky after a while about who it goes after.

[Another beat.]

And yeah, of course I have a list.

[ oh.

oh. well — ] Shit, [ he says, eloquently, because honestly, at this point, what else is there to say? it's — well, it'd probably be comical, if it wasn't so bloody depressing.

so instead of asking about it, he just mutters, ] C'mere, [ and then promptly shuffles closer so he can wrap his arm over junpei's shoulders and sort of lean against him. ]

Sorry, [ he says then, again, ] I should've been there. [ and then he adds, almost conversational, ] That's the only thing I regret, you know? I'm not — it's fine what happened, all of that, I'm just glad I didn't have to hurt someone I know. But, just... Told you I'd be there, and then I wasn't.

[ he'll get back to the list, eventually. maybe. once the part in his chest that's been doing weird little flips stops doing that when he thinks about the whole thing. ]

[They've talked about the specifics of enough deaths today, something something it's his birthday, Junpei isn't going to spout out more unless Charles really wants to know.

Instead he simply says,] Yeah.

[And he's fine, really, he's dealing with the end of that week by numbing himself to it, which will never come back to bite him in the ass at a later date. Nothing he's been through has done that yet! He thinks! So it will work now, too.

He leans into Charles' lean, thoughtfully quiet for a moment.]

You were there for, I don't know, eighty percent... That's still a B. [ahem that's stupid, okay,] ...Yeah, I get it.

[No platitudes, no "well actually it was kind of a dream kill so what could anyone have done," forget all of that; he gets it.]

Uh, well, I'm not getting on your case about that, either. Believe me, I would have by now if I was thinking about it.

[ he does consider asking — but then, it'd be him pushing, and he doesn't want to do that. he wouldn't mind knowing, no, but only if it's something junpei wants to tell him; that's the thing about trauma, innit? won't help if you're pushed to talk about it. you have to want to share it; that's the only way the wound's ever gonna start closing, even a bit. and so the best he can do is be here, just as he'd been there that week — a solid presence, so that if and when the day ever comes junpei does want to talk... well. he'll know he can.

he chuckles under his breath at being graded for his help, even as a joke — it's silly, yeah, but it's also pretty funny. and hey, b's not terrible.

his voice is soft when he says, ]

Yeah, well, you wouldn't have. You're too good for that.

[Oh, and that's not what Junpei is expecting to hear at all. He's thrown plenty of tantrums in his life, he has an uncomfortable amount of indignant anger with no outlet, so he means it when he says he'd have made it pretty clear already if he had a bone to pick with Charles. It would have followed a lot of sullen sulking and passive-aggressive mumbling, and he'd probably end up embarrassed, but oh, yeah. He's not unfamiliar with flipping out.

Then Charles has to go and say he's too good, and despite himself, a part of Junpei chafes against that. Surely he knows better by now when it comes to being the good, understanding, upstanding guy; surely that's just naïveté he can't stomach anymore, after everything. Too good? Actually?

...Well, either way. It's exhausting just thinking about getting indignant to prove a point, look at him, so tough and hardened to the world!!—he can't be bothered. He scoffs and reaches for the abandoned beer again.

Maybe this time it's fine to... enjoy the compliment? Or whatever this is, the easy comfort that comes from Charles just saying stuff like that, and not getting flustered about it, either. Jeez.]

If you say so. I'll try not to disappoint.

[ good, charles says, and doesn't mean someone who always does the right thing, doesn't mean someone who never snaps at others — because, really, it's not about that. crystal used to be mean and horrible and literally made a guy walk into traffic, and she's still sharp and her words cut like knives and yet she's still, fundamentally, one of the best people charles knows, caring and kind and wanting to do better, be better. and edwin — well, edwin's combative, sarcastic, jealous, cold and logical, and also the single kindest person in the entire world, the best person, selfless to the point of staying with a dying stranger, just to make sure he wouldn't pass on alone.

good, charles says, and means you'd never blame me for leaving you because you thought you deserved to be alone, then, means you were willing to self-isolate just to avoid hurting anyone, means you deny it and deflect it but you care about everyone so much it's easier not to face it.

instead of saying any of that out loud, though, what he says is something far simpler — easy, like he's speaking a fact, something written into stone. ]

You won't.

[ he considers, for a moment, moving his arm, but leaves it where it is, draped over junpei's shoulders. silence reigns, for a tick, until he says, with a hint of a smile in his tone, ] So... you have a list. What's on it?

[Well damn, now he has to try— no, no, it's good to hear. That's the kind of thing that gets him out of his head, so - even if he's not too sure about that! - he'll try. Whatever trying looks like; he hopes it involves sleeping on fewer storage room floors. He's had enough of that, and he's done plenty of disappointing things to meet some imaginary quota, so-]

Okay.

[Okay, he will try. And thanks. And ah, yes, the list, the really critically important thing. Junpei holds up fingers for each item:]

Beer's first, then spaghetti, then ghost armor. [The ones they've actually talked about, except that he was serious about trying to kill a plate of spaghetti or however it would need to be done. If time travel is real, why not the ghost of al dentes past?

And one more,] Then an mp3 player or something, unless you're about to pull one of those out of your magic pockets too.

[ so, here's the thing — he did understand that the word "list" involves several things and all, but somehow it didn't really sink in, not until junpei starts listing the stuff and charles thinks, oh. that's — the stuff they've talked about, before, sort of off-hand mentions, the drinking and the spaghetti, and is it weird that he feels touched that he remembers? that he cares enough to actually have committed them to memory?

he pushes that away, then, choosing to grin instead and quip back, ] Nope, don't got one. I wish I had magic pockets, honest.

[ every day, he misses his backpack... anyway. a pause, ] So an mp3 player, that's like a walkman, then?

[ sorry........ he could have kept with the times regarding technology, but. well, not much use for learning about computers and such when you're a ghost. ]

[Junpei tilts his head to give Charles a look, sideways, like excuse him? Those pockets produced a bottle opener and a notebook, like, twenty minutes ago? As someone who carries around maybe five bucks in a cheap wallet and nothing else, Junpei considers these pockets magic and endless. Maybe not literally.

But never mind that.]

Yeah, basically. But smaller, and you don't have to put anything into it—it's all digital. You can have all the Freddie you want.

Wait — seriously?

[ somehow, somehow, this is news to him. like, yeah, he knows that people have cellphones that have internet and games with better graphics than anything there was in the 80s, and he objectively knows there's something called spotify even though he's not a hundred percent on what it's spotting, but — ]

Mate, that's brills! [ he sounds way too enthused about this, eyes sparkling like a particularly excited puppy. ] Listening to music's my favourite thing to do at night, and that'd make it so much easier. And I've been so bored, here, there's only so many times you can walk around the entire city until it gets old.

[ #ghostlyfe ]

[New Charles lore: kept up with Now! compilations but not with iPods, alright. Junpei nods and holds his hands up to make an mp3-player-sized rectangle with his fingers - he does not put down the beer for this, so it's a rectangle only in theory, or else he'll spill.]

Yeah, like- this big? No CDs or anything. I used to have one that even picked up the radio.

[Perhaps he should put it higher on the list, for nighttime activity purposes... hmm.]

You really walked around the whole city already?

[ despite the demonstration remaining on entirely theoretical level, charles hums in understanding, privately a little glad that there's no judgment for his, you know, lack of technological know-how (unlike crystal who's ribbed them about their limited knowledge of the internet several times already, thanks for nothing crystal!).

then he just nods, like this is totally commonplace. ]

Well, yeah? I can't sleep, and since most people do, there's sort of limited options for what to do. Figured I'd get the lay of the land, see where everything is... it's not like my feet can hurt from too much walking, is it?

[ he makes a little half-shrug. ] 's a bit boring, too, on your own, but better than just staying in and doing nothing.

Now you're just making up tautologies. I mean, there's got to be more options than A. walk around bored and B. sit around bored.

[Charles did carry these drinks here, Junpei thinks, as he finally manages to finish off this beer - surely he could, uh, play solitaire? Solve some riddles? Maybe?

Something to workshop.]

Next time I'm up at 3am, I'll send you a word search or something.

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