numinicious
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The man is wearing a teal suit jacket, the brightest article of clothing Ed’s seen on anyone within a mile—a peacock in a sea of pigeons—over sensible neutral dress pants and a crisp white shirt. He’s not wearing a tie but he has a fucking pocket square tucked against his chest, a splash of fuschia patterned subtly with birds or flowers or something that keeps drawing Ed’s eyes back to his broad chest. The top button of his dress shirt is undone, exposing the smallest sliver of freckled skin that Ed’s ever gotten hot and bothered over.
That insatiable urge to touch and squeeze and lick returns tenfold.
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It’s ten minutes until midnight on New Queer’s Eve, and Ed is standing up on the balcony looking down into the churning crowd, wireless microphone in his hand as he checks his watch and wiles the time away watching the partygoers below. He'll lead the countdown to midnight, flip the switch and turn on the electric kraken, triggering the bubble cannons. People will cheer, and Wee John's music will drive people to gyrate on the dance floor, drunk or high or both, until the sun rises.
Without fail, that’s the way it’s been for the past decade. Fucking exhausting. Once Ed says his piece, he’s definitely heading straight home to take a few ibuprofen and call it a fucking night. Maybe fall asleep to a Golden Girls rerun.
As Ed checks his watch for the hundredth time, willing the world to rotate faster, the spotlights sweep over the crowd, shifting and swirling. For a moment as the lights coalesce together, highlighting a gap in the dance floor. For the length of a single heartbeat, there’s a man dancing in the center of the lights, illuminated as if heaven itself were opening up to shine down on him.
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Stede tilts his head, brows arching as he studies Ed. He takes a thoughtful sip of his drink, lips curling slightly, the faintest light in the darkness. The wink of a firefly, caught in the periphery of Ed’s vision, something for him to chase and catch and cradle in his palms.
“So, how will the illustrious Ed Teach spend his final days before the entire planet goes to shit?” Stede jostles Ed’s arm, leaning more heavily against Ed’s shoulder. Relaxing, sort of.
And this could be it: the moment where Ed says, "I love you", and it all comes together like he’s imagined.
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It’s nearly noon on December 24th. Christmas Eve. Three things hit Stede, all at once.
First, that Boxing Day is in two days. Second, that Stede’s house is bereft of any kind of charming holiday feeling, and the kids are going to be supremely disappointed when they arrive to open their presents. Third, that Stede is going to be alone on Christmas.
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Ed has had night terrors ever since he was a child. He doesn’t know if they should still be called night terrors now that he’s older, but they happen at night and leave him terrified.
And while love is watching someone die, Ed thought he would have more time.
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