cold eyes|nygmobblepot

Chapter Five|Enmity

Oswald walked in his room, holding bags containing several different expensive clothing items and teas (he fondly remembered Edward's love for tea, which never grew on Oswald,) only to find him still laying aimlessly overtop the covers. "I'd say you need to get up, but I'm not your mother," Oswald grumbled, setting the bags to the side.

Edward let out some strange incoherent noise, pulling himself up, hair more disheveled than before. "Why are your colleagues so... Threatening?"

Oswald's eyes widened, alarmed. "Did Zsasz pull anything? I swear-"

"No!" Edward managed, pausing. "He's just a generally threatening person."

Oswald didn't look reassured, tapping his foot uneasily. "If he does actually threaten you, let me know. I tried to make him understand you were very important, but he does enjoy pushing boundaries. I'm sure he's only joking around, for his own good."

Edward bit his lip, knowing he'd be petty if he complained about anything else Zsasz had said. He'd felt threatened not for his wellbeing, but threatened in where he was in regards to Oswald. Surely I mean more to Oswald than Zsasz does, Edward thought, remembering the same burning feeling Tom Doughtery used to give him that could only be recognized as jealousy. Oswald is my best friend that I'm starting to harbor romantic feelings for and no one else's, Edward thought angrily, hoping Zsasz was very bad at picking up signals. "Yes, I'm sure he's only joking."

"I'm serious, he knows best not to aggravate me. That would include harming you," Oswald muttered, pulling several different exotic tea bag boxes out of the bags. "Still doesn't explain why you're still not up."

"I'm just distraught," Edward whispered, falling backwards.

Oswald sat tentatively next to him on the bed, frowning. "And why are you distraught, my dear?" He mentally cringed at the word choice, remembering he'd used it as mayor and Ed still didn't pick up on his feelings then was reassuring, but it still felt a bit too far.

"I don't know," he said softly, closing his eyes. "I'm just sad."

Oswald cocked his head, raising an eyebrow. "Tell me."

"No," Edward muttered defensively, "I told you I didn't know."

Oswald opened his mouth to speak but decided against it, getting up to sort through the bags. "Well, you'd be happy to know I got you actual clothes while I was out. Suits and sweaters. That kind of stuff."

"I'll take a sweater," Edward muttered, "I have no idea how you can just wear a suit constantly, I'd go insane."

Oswald frowned. "You are insane. I watched you stab a man tied to a chair in the stomach multiple times and I know you have, like, a thing with mutilation."

"You stabbed him too! You have a thing with guns larger than yourself!" Edward hissed mockingly.

"I don't have any guns larger than myself," Oswald giggled.

"Yes you do. Or at least you struggle to carry them sometimes," Edward retorted. "Point is I want a sweater."

"Point is you're a madman," Oswald muttered quietly, throwing him a neatly folded green sweater.

"Thank you," Edward purred, moving to unbutton Jim's hideous but much appreciated shirt.

Oswald looked startled, eyes wide. "W-what are you doing?"

Edward frowned, confused. "Changing clothes..?" Oswald's face was red, nervously putting a hand over his eyes, removing it, and then awkwardly turning around. Edward bit his lip, raising an eyebrow. "We're best friends, like you haven't seen my bare chest before."