Chapter Text
Charles is bored.
It’s the all consuming boredom that makes his skin itch in a way that nothing can satiate it. He’s not able to focus on anything and god has he tried: the words of his book are swimming off of the page and escaping him as he tries to focus so he abandons that, the paperwork does the same thing, and even reorganising his bag of tricks holds no joy so he leaves it half unpacked, trinkets and tools scattered across the floor.
He’s bored.
Monty seems to not be having the same problem though, because this entire time he’s been sitting peacefully reading some book on astrology, curled up in the armchair next to Niko’s bed.
And unfortunately for him, Charles is going to change that.
He doesn’t mean to, but he can’t help himself, he’s so mind-numbingly, achingly, devastatingly bored and Monty is right there and he still really knows nothing about him. They’ve barely chatted after their first interaction, and really Monty was rather rude and dismissive of him - if he does say so himself - but god does he want to at least get to know him. He likes to tell himself it’s just because he likes being friends with everyone, but deep down, in the part of him he doesn’t like to acknowledge exists, he knows that it’s because as a person Charles just desperately needs everyone to like him and it that it really really sucks not having Monty be one of those people.
So what better time to change it?
He stands, then stretches, and Monty’s eyes flicker up momentarily from his book, before he settles back into the chair. He’s so flighty, so reactive to everything and Charles doesn’t really understand. Monty’s almost reminiscent of himself, the way he flinches when they get a little too loud, when doors are slammed too hard, and especially when Esther’s name is brought up.
It’s confusing, Monty is confusing, but it makes sense. A boy involved in a car accident and thrown into a coma, who’s left seeing ghosts and things he doesn’t understand now suddenly being involved in everything the Dead Boy Detective Agency brings, of course he’s a bit of a mess. But it does make Charles wonder.
Who is Monty really?
Monty doesn’t react as Charles crosses the room, but as he perches on the edge of the bed next to him, he looks up, his brows knitting as he sets his book down.
“Hi..?”
“Whatcha reading?”
Monty raises an eyebrow, and for a moment it seems as if he’s going to snub him, but then he smiles and it’s something so fleeting and shy as it dances across the corner of his lips.
“It’s a book about astrology, and more particularly about the language of the Earth and the relationship between the planet and the stars.” He explains, turning the book so Charles can see the cover.
Charles leans in, inspecting it as he rests his chin on his fist.
“I don’t know anything about astrology, actually.” He confesses, “But maybe you could tell me about it?”
Monty’s expression morphs into one of genuine delight, and it’s the most excited Charles has ever seen him as he tucks the receipt he’s using as a bookmark in between the pages and sets it down on the table.
“ Okay, well, there’s - where to start?” He leans forwards to match Charles, his eyes bright as he clasps his hands together. “Well it - no, I know, could I do your star chart?”
Charles nods immediately, even though he has absolutely no idea what he’s getting himself in for other than that it’s astrology-related, and Monty’s expression somehow only grows brighter.
He’s quick to his feet, stretching up on his tiptoes for a moment (he looks like a bird about to take flight, Charles thinks) before he finds a notebook and a handful of pens and he deposits himself not back in his chair, but cross-legged on the bed facing him as he deposits his handful onto the sheets.
“Okay, I need your date of birth, where you were born, and roughly what time in the day - if you know.”
So Charles tells him.
It takes almost an hour, and Monty explains everything in such detail as he draws out the most confusing and complex chart that Charles has ever seen. He takes such care with it, carefully doodling star symbols and little lines and a handful of stars and moons and suns and little annotations around the page. It hardly makes any sense, but he nods along anyway, listening carefully and attentively throughout. He asks questions, and Monty beams every time he does, re-explaining or going on tangents with the same gentle passion that Eddwin always carries when he and Charles discuss things like this.
It’s fun, genuinely fun, despite the fact he doesn’t understand half of the words coming out of his mouth and as Monty carefully tears the chart out, he realises an hour’s passed without him even realising.
“That was brills mate, seriously. What about yours?”
Monty’s sparkle fades a little, and Charles feels something bitter inside of him twist at the sight, worried that he’s said something wrong, but then he smiles again.
“Um, it was actually my birthday a couple of days ago.” He says, and Charles looks up in surprise.
“Mate, happy birthday! Why didn’t you say anything?”
Montry shrugs, twisting his hands together. “It’s a bit weird to tell strangers that it was my birthday, um, and I’ve never actually really celebrated before… I don’t know, it’s whatever.”
He brushes it off, but Charles’ attention is piqued now, and as they fall into another indulgent conversation about astrology and the stars, it sits in the back of his mind.
Three hours later, Edwin and the girls walk in to the two boys both lying on the floor, pages of star charts and astrology doodles and books splayed out across the floor around them. Charles is lying on his back, his chest shaking as he laughs and Monty is propped up on his elbows with his face buried in his hands, his giggles muffled by the skin of his palms. It’s such an unexpected sight, the dynamic between them so vastly different from how it had been that morning when they’d been left alone in Niko’s room, and the three seem genuinely taken aback as they stand and stare.
It’s Charles who notices them, who reaches out and knocks Monty’s forearm as he grins up at them.
“See? Everyone always likes me eventually.”
The topic of birthdays doesn’t come up again that afternoon, but Charles doesn’t forget about it. He’s plotting, and he knows Edwin picks up on it because he cocks an eyebrow at him, and he just grins at him in response.
As Monty gets ready to leave, Charles hugs him, something easy, slinging his arm around him, and Monty goes completely stiff in his embrace before he awkwardly pats him on the back. It’s a little weird, almost as if he’s never actually been hugged before, but Charles chalks it up to him just still being a little unfamiliar with them all.
The girls busy themselves with looking through their purchases from the day and Edwin corners Charles, evidently not having forgotten.
“You’re planning something.” he says cooly, and Charles laughs, leaning back against the wall.
“I might be.”
Edwin raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by this answer, and Charles cracks.
“We missed Monty’s birthday, apparently it was like right about when we met him, and I thought that maybe… well, maybe we could get him some presents or something and host him a little birthday party tomorrow? I don’t think he’s ever really had any friends before, and… I don’t know, he seems like he’s lonely.”
There’s a heavy pause between them before Edwin reaches out and smooths Charles’ collar.
“Charles Rowland, you are truly the kindest person I know.” He says softly, steely grey eyes meeting deep brown. “I think that is an excellent idea. Have you told the girls?”
—
It’s Charles really who does all the work. He pops back to London, searches every crack and crevice of his backpack, and even drags Niko out early in the morning to go and buy a cake from the supermarket which he then very shakily decorates with her help.
When Monty arrives that afternoon, he’s greeted by the four of them wearing party hats, Niko’s bedroom covered in bunting and streamers and some carefully hand-cut and painted cardboard stars dangling from ribbons from the ceiling.
“Surprise! Happy birthday, mate.”
Monty just stares at them, his brown eyes wide as he takes all of it in - the decorations, the ridiculous party hats, the small pile of poorly wrapped presents on Niko’s bed, and how happy the four of them are - and for a brief moment it seems as if he’s about to burst into tears, but then he beams. It’s something so bright, so innocent and pure and overwhelmingly gleeful that everything just feels right.
“You guys -” he whispers, a little awestruck. “You did this… for me?”
Even Edwin’s smiling, and while he’s still clearly a little uncomfortable with it all, he looks more at ease than Charles has seen from him around other people in - well -, forever.
“Of course. Charles informed us that we missed your birthday and insisted we celebrate.” He says, and Monty turns to him, his cheeks colouring with the faintest dusting of pink as Edwin speaks to him. His gaze flickers to Charles at the mention of his name, but his attention is on Edwin, on the way he’s smiling at him and it’s a fucking wonder that Edwin is still in denial over Monty’s crush on him when he looks at him like that.
He’s looking at Edwin like he hung the moon (and actually it was Charles who hung up the stars and the moon in Niko’s room thank you very much) and Charles finds that for some reason, he has to look away. It’s odd, because yeah okay, he and Crystal kissed and that was aces, but it never went further than that, and this is nothing more than Monty having an unreciprocated crush on Edwin, but something about it makes him a little bitter and he doesn’t know why.
Monty’s welcomed in, and he takes his time admiring all of the decorations, his gaze lingering on the stars and the moon above Niko’s bed, before he sees something and he gasps, then turns to Charles and he swears he can still the stars shining in those big brown eyes.
“You made constellations?” he asks in genuine wonder, and Charles feels the tips of his ears warm up in smug satisfaction (and a touch of humiliation at Monty publicly noticing how much effort he’s put in).
“Yeah mate, wanted it to feel sort of real, didn’t I? Sorry it’s a bit shit.”
“No! It’s not shit at all, it’s beautiful actually, thank you.”
If anyone notices the way Charles’ cheeks darken a little as he smiles bashfully at the floor, they don’t mention it.
Niko suggests they play a couple of party games, which they do (although never have I ever seems to be a little awkward given the fact that Crystal cannot remember her wild years with David, Edwin is… well, Edwin, and both he and Charles died too young, and as Monty says, he was never particularly social before his accident, and the car crash and coma scrambled his memories of the past few years a little. It’s only Niko who’s done anything really, and her experiences are rather tame for what the game calls for.
So they give up on that, and Charles decides instead that Monty ought to open his presents.
“It’s not anything serious mate, I’m sorry, we didn’t have a whole lot of time -” Charles starts, but Edwin interrupts.
“What he is trying to say is that we hope you enjoy them, but you are more than welcome to part with whatever does not catch your fancy.” The look he gives Charles is pointed, but then he smiles at Monty, and Monty giggles.
“I’ve never actually ha-” he stops himself, the words dying in his throat as he suddenly shakes his head. “Um, I didn’t actually get any presents this year… well - I guess my mom gave me this jumper?” He looks down at the purple sweater he’s wearing, then shrugs. “Sorry - just ignore me.”
They don’t bring it up, but Edwin and Charles share a look, something brief that somehow covers an entire conversation between them.
“Here, open this first!” Niko passes Monty the smallest present, no bigger than her hand, and delicately wrapped in… the wax paper Jenny sold her meat wrapped in. It’s bound with a piece of her meat string too, and it’s so unique and frankly adorable, that Monty wishes he could have documented it in some way.
He takes care as he unwraps it, smoothing out the creases in the paper and neatly twisting the twine around his fingers, as he reveals a little cardboard box. He opens it, and inside are a pair of little silver mushroom earrings.
“A friend gave them to me before I came to Washington, but I don’t really wear them and I thought you might, ‘cause you’ve got your ears pierced!” Niko explains cheerily, and Monty reaches up instinctively, rubbing his earlobe between his forefinger and thumb. She’s right, there are a pair of healed holes, but it seems almost as if he’d forgotten.
“Thank you Niko.” He murmurs, lifting them up so they catch the light of the afternoon sun. “These are gorgeous.”
She claps her hands together excitedly, clearly thrilled by his response. “Put them on!”
That seems to throw Monty through a loop and he stares at them, then touches his ear again, and he suddenly seems strangely uncertain. “I… um -”
“Would you like some help?”
He nods, cheeks turning pink, but Niko crawls across to him and puts them in for him without batting an eyelid.
“Thank you, um after the accident, sometimes there’s things that I… I don’t know, it’s like I’ve forgotten how to do things that I ought to know.” He tries to explain, but Niko shakes her head.
“I get it. Sometimes I forget how to do stuff with my long nails if I only have short ones for a while.” She says breezily, and the topic is dropped.
The next present Monty opens is a little bigger, this time the package soft and squishy. It’s wrapped in a taped-up paper bag, but his name has been written on the front in big swirling letters.
He’s less careful opening this one, and the tape sticks to his fingers which makes him grimace, but as he tears the paper, out falls a scarf. It’s bright red, and buttery soft, and he runs it through his fingers immediately.
“That’s from me,” Crystal says, and Monty grins at her.
“I love it, it’s so soft.” He says appreciatively, “It feels like… um, I’m not even sure, but I love it.”
The next package he opens is rectangular and wrapped in old newspaper with a peice of dark navy ribbon, and it’s obvious that this is from Edwin.
Monty unwraps it carefully, and his face lights up as he reads the cover of the book contained within.
“The power of the stars and their role within the Arcane? Edwin, this is -” he’s so overcome that he sets the book down, then surges forwards and wraps him in a hug. It’s a little awkward given the angle, but Edwin pats his back as Monty wraps his arms around his shoulders.
“Thank you.” He murmurs, and Edwin smiles as he pulls away.
“You are more than welcome Monty, it’s a book from our office, I’ve never particularly read through it but I believe you will make far greater use of it than we have.”
Again that prickle of something sharp flares up in Charles again, because he took it from the shelves, he chose the wrapping paper, he insisted to Edwin that Monty would like it and they were never going to use it really, so why be discouraged to part with it?
He squashes it away though, buries it deep, just as he did before, and instead hands Monty the penultimate gift from the pile.
“ ‘s not the coolest, but I found it at Mick’s and thought.. Well, just open it.”
Monty tears open the paper, and out falls a box. Inside, is a shiny circular crystal, smooth on both sides with little divots. He picks it up, turning it over in his fingers.
“What is it?”
“It’s something called a worry stone,” Charles explains, shifting so he can come and sit at Monty’s side. “It’s got two smoothed edges ‘cause you’re supposed to hold it when you’re anxious or scared or well, whatever really, um - and Mick said it’s charmed to have a protection or confidence spell or something, that when you need it most it’ll help you.”
Monty turns it over in his hand, before he picks it up between his forefinger and thumb, twisting it around.
“It’s so pretty,” he whispers, gaze fixed on the crystal, “it feels so nice to hold.”
Charles grins, reaching out to squeeze Monty’s shoulder, which catches his attention immediately and he looks up, awed.
“And it’s amethyst ‘cause I looked in one of your books to see what February was for birthstones and it said this one! So I got it.”
Monty’s eyes only seem to get wider, before he throws his arms around Charles’ neck and hugs him.
“Thank you! I love it, I love it so much.” he kisses Charles’ cheeks as he pulls away, and Charles is very grateful that he’s dead, given the way he knows he’d be flushing almost scarlet if he still had blood to circulate.
“You - uh - um, you’re welcome,” he stammers, and he’s not entirely sure why he’s so flustered, but something about the hug, the brief press of lips to his cheek which he could feel in a way he’s completely unused to, the closeness of Monty and his big brown eyes and his plush pink lips and -
Charles might not need to breathe, but he feels like he’s had the wind knocked out of him all the same.
They admire Monty’s presents for a little while longer, before the girls eagerly insist on moving to the cake. It’s just a plain one from the shop with icing on, but Monty lights up all the same as he blows out his candles. It’s only him and the girls who can eat it, but Jenny pops by for a slice, and wishes Monty a happy birthday.
Without any cake of his own, Charles settles to watch Monty instead, because the way he eats it is almost bird-like, pecking at the crumbs. Just like as it was with the hug yesterday, it seems as if this is a new experience for Monty.
It doesn’t make sense, not really.
Nothing about him does.