Logically, They're In Love

Red

(Author's Note: There are a few references in this chapter to a story on AO3 that I read a few days ago called 'Some Tricks of Desperation', and I just had to pay some homage to it because of how good it was! Go read it if you haven't already!)

Riddle me this:

   What most appeals, between a two, but only when others say it does?

Correct! Friendship.

Other acceptable answers would've been:
Comradery
Partners

Now, riddle me this:

   When one finally achieves a good friendship, how does one keep it alive?

¿?

   The first thing Ed saw when he walked into his lab at the GCPD was a small glass vase sitting on his desk. It was filled with roses. They were lush and red, and there were quite a lot of them.

   Despite how confused he felt at their sudden appearance, they brought a small smile to his lips. He walked over and gently ran his fingers over one of the petals. It was soft. As red as blood.

   But who had sent them? Nobody ever sent him nice things. Insults, and cruel pranks, maybe - but never nice things.

   He spotted a small card wedged in between two of the rose stems, so he picked it up, his curiosity peaked. It was white, covered in spindly, jagged writing. On one side it read: To my dear Edward Nygma, and when he turned it over, there was scrawled:

   'Though we've not met for days on end,

   I continue to be your feathered friend.'

   Ed felt himself grin. It was a riddle.

   Choppy, simple, more poem than anything else, but still a riddle.

   They were from Oswald, then. It was a lovely gesture, and it didn't fail to give him a warm feeling all throughout his body. The riddle-like couplets only increased it.

   It had been exactly 27 days and 6 hours since Oswald had left (Ed couldn't stop himself from counting; he was good with numbers), and while he hadn't exactly been an ideal roommate - he was grumpy, and demanding, and he'd eaten everything, and he'd kept randomly bleeding - the company had been nice.

   Really nice.

   They would have a nice dinner every night, and Ed would pick the wine, since Oswald insisted he always picked the best ones, and they would talk about their different experiences in various things (including crime, and romance for some reason).

   Sometimes Ed would play a song on the piano, and tell Oswald to guess which one it was, and Oswald always got it right. He would sing as Ed would play, and Nygma always found himself loving the other's voice.

   They had been something similar to partners, Ed couldn't stop himself from thinking, or, at least, what he imagined partners might be like.

   He missed the Penguin a lot.

   Once he had healed, he went off and started doing his own thing, leaving Ed all alone again - in the insufferable silence of his apartment that was broken only by the whir of the fan and hum of appliances.

   Ed decided there was no use dwelling on it - as the card said, Oswald was still his friend. His feathery one. His friend-in-crime.

   Gently squeezing the small card, rubbing it over in his fingers, he slid it into his front shirt-pocket for safekeeping, then looked back at the vase of roses. They kept bringing a smile to his face despite how lonely he always felt now. They would be a good reminder of Oswald, he thought, however.