Lonely night upon lonely night, and Thompson still couldn’t sleep. He kept replaying the Brit’s last promise to him. The sheriff could almost hear it.
“I’ll write! And always remember; my offer for you to come with me stands indefinitely!”
Something about the way the British man said it got Thompson tossing and turning at night. The last-chance hopefulness in his eyes, the please-come-with-me gleam. The faltering but quickly replaced smile after the refusal. He was polite, but it didn’t take a detective to know he was going to miss the man he’d met a few weeks before.
But there was a chance Brits were just...more polite than what he was used to. He was probably reading way too much into a small collection of syllables. A moment, a few moments tops.
But Edward had a glow about him, a slight flushing in his cheeks, that seemed to take off whenever he talked to the American.
Yet Edward was from England, a place notorious for a lack of sunlight, so a sunburn was a completely plausible-
Now Thompson’s only eye hurt, dry from staring at the ceiling. He huffed, and buried his face into the pillow. Forcing his eye shut, he tried to think of what he’d do the next day. Yet he couldn’t stop imagining Edward there with him, right by his side. Smiling.
Months later, Thompson opened his mailbox. He tried not to do it too often, so as to not arouse suspicion, but a letter from his friend was always on his mind. Today he finally got one.
Seeing his own address, written in beautiful cursive, the sheriff sucked in a breath. He run his hand over the envelope, and ran inside his house to read it. He figured the running wouldn’t cause any suspicion, seeing as it was rather early and most people were still asleep.
Shutting his door, he carefully opens it with a letter opener he’d forgotten he had. Pulling out the letter, he reads it, hardly breathing.
Why was he this excited for the letter again?
“My Dear Thompson,” It read, “it has been only a few months and I seem to miss the sun already. I remember I got out of my carriage and felt the warmth spreading throughout me, it was glorious. Sadly, there isn’t any sun here.
“After I returned the Prince, I’ve been given many awards and new cases, so my schedule is very bloated. I love the challenge, but not so much the stress. Writing this letter right now makes me feel better already!
“Has anything interesting happened in Spitbucket? I hope I made things easier for you! You deserve a rest, after all.
“Yours truly, Edward Gold.”
Thompson read the letter, then read it again. He tried to find some sort of subtext in it, but it was just a friendly letter. Thompson couldn’t quite figure out why that bothered him so much. He was just his friend, and what did he expect? For Edward to say he was coming back? Of course not.
Thompson shook his head. He tucked the letter back into the envelope and got out some of his own paper. With ink and pen, he wrote out a greeting.
Several months and many letters later, Thompson still couldn’t stop thinking about the British man he’d come to love. He’d never admit this to anyone - especially not Edward himself - but the sheriff was starting to think the love was different than platonic.
He couldn’t sleep, he could barely work, (not that there were many criminals ever since Edward helped him out), all he wanted to do was re-read old letters. Or to imagine Edward finally coming back, or Thompson going to England.
Edward might exclaim his name, run up to him and hug him. Thompson would hug back, feeling soft fabric and smelling sweet, probably expensive cologne.
Thompson hugged the pillow, feeling a small shiver run down his back just thinking of it.
Another letter came in the mail. Everything was the same, Edward talked about his cases, this time in more detail, (though he probably wasn’t supposed to; confidentiality, you know). Talked about the Prince, and how his parents were arranging his marriage. But the salutation was different.
It said, “Yours forever, Edward”, instead of yours truly.
It should’ve been a criminal offense, since it robbed the sheriff of so much rest.
Wasn’t yours forever a romantic thing? People don’t just sign off like that to friends, did they? England might be different, but Ed had only done yours truly up until then.
Edward wasn’t married. That was something he would’ve brought up to his closest friend, (the 12th letter stated that; even closer than the Prince), so was he waiting for Thompson to make a move, and then got frustrated?
No, no not possibly. Edward just wanted to change things up, most likely. Yet, Thompson did return the gesture, just in case Edward was being romantic. The sheriff signed off with ‘yours forever’, to.
That night, Thompson played with the idea of visiting Edward in England. It wouldn’t be too cold, would it? And what he wouldn’t give to see the man smile, instead of just imagining it.
But it would be too long away from the town, and crime was starting to pick up again. At least his job would give him something to distract himself with.
Thompson decided to get out of bed, and re-read some of the letters again. He got out some of his favorites.
“...I found a suit in a store window that reminded me lot of you. I think you’d like it, though of course by the time you get this, it’ll probably have already been sold...”
“...I feel almost like the rain is mocking me. What I wouldn’t give to have some natural light. Then I could finally enjoy myself without having to worry about ruining my clothes...”
“...It was rather fun, wasn’t it? Finding those criminals, finding Prince Matthew? I miss it. I’m of course happy the Prince is okay, but I’d love to go on another adventure with you soon. Hey, maybe you can come here and we can endure the rain together...”
Thompson liked the last two a lot. He just found it kind of funny that Edward spoke of disliking the rain so often, especially since he had grown up with that sort of weather. Like, what, was he surprised? Eh, Thompson didn't care too much. Any word Ed wrote was one he’d want to read.
Wait...
“Hey, maybe you can come here...”
Edward wanted Thompson to come. He wanted to see Thompson.
Screw this hellhole of a town, Thompson would be gone by daybreak.
After a long and tiring journey on the boat, Thompson was finally in England. He held the envelope tightly in his hand, reading over the address again.
He called a carriage ride and asked for them to take him there. A few raised eyebrows at the man’s dialect, sure, but after that it was quiet until they reached their destination.
“Thanks.” Thompson didn’t exactly know how much the money he was holding in his hand was worth, so he just gave the carriage driver the biggest coin in his pocket. “This gon’ be nough’, or...?”
The man behind the horse stuttered and quickly scooped the currency out of his hand.
“Come back any time! I’d be more than happy to serve you again!”
“I...thanks.” Thompson walked up to Edward’s house, hoping against hope he wasn’t interrupting anything. Knocking on the door, he heard shuffling inside.
“I’ll be there in a minute!” Thompson shuddered slightly. He hadn’t heard his voice in a while, and he was just starting to appreciate how angelic it sounded. The door opened. “Hello - Thompson!”
He quickly enveloped the shorter man into a hug. Thompson felt heat burst in his chest, his head being cradled, fingers running through it softly. Thompson bit back some noise. He could smell the man’s cologne, he buried his face into his neck smell it better.
“I’m so glad you came.”
Thompson melted at those words; it was exactly what he wanted to hear.
“Please! Please, come inside!” Edward opened the door and Thompson walked in. “How are you? I hope everything is alright?”
Thompson honestly hadn’t thought this far ahead. What did he want? Telling Edward means he either gets thrown into the loony bin, or he makes life harder for both of them. What was he even thinking, Edward was just a naturally affectionate guy, he was reading way too much into it, he shouldn’t have-
“Thompson? Are you alright, you’re burning up-” Edward put his hand to Thompson’s forehead until it got whacked away.
“It’s a sunburn.” Thompson swallowed and looked out the windows, then continued on, slightly faltering, “Ya know, from all the rain.”
Edward smiled knowingly at the other man.
Edward was a detective, of course he saw right through it all. He was going to report him soon, he was going to burn all the letters he had written to him, and he was going to pretend he never knew anyone named Thompson. Edward was going to throw him out of his house soon, he was sure, he-
Edward pushed some of Thompson’s hair behind his ear.
“Oh, I knew it.” The British man smiled, a dusting of pink dancing across his features. “I just knew it.”
“Wha-what?” Thompson stuttered. He had never seen anything more beautiful, more magical, more heart-stopping than Edward’s smile. He could hardly form words, he wanted to remember this image for as long as possible.
“Just...the way you acted. What you wrote.” Edward chuckled, “Oh, don’t act so surprised. You wouldn’t have come here if you didn’t know I felt the same. And of course you got the symbolism in the letters.”
“Right...a’ course.” Thompson made a mental note to read over the letters again, in case he found something he missed before. Though he could probably just recite them all from memory. “The symbolism. The symbolism that was obviously in the letters. The symbolical letters. The symboletters.”
“You didn’t...” Edward looked slightly disappointed. “well, you’re here now.”
Things finally clicked in Thompson’s head.
“Ya...like me back?” Edward once again chuckled at that and cupped Thompson’s face with both hands. It was warm. Thompson’s eye went half-lidded.
“I love you.” It was soft, whispered, long awaited.
“I-I love ya too.” Thompson said, eye flickering down to Edward’s lips. Edward slowly closed the distance between them.
Edward moved his right hand to the back of Thompson’s head, running his fingers through chestnut hair while his other hand stayed cradling his jawline.
Thompson wrapped his arms around the other man’s torso. When the kiss was over, he shuddered and nuzzled into Edward’s neck, taking in the scent of him once again. He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of it. Edward kept stroking his hair.
