[ bloody hell, does charles feel terrible — he's met so many murder victims, so many people mourning their loved ones who have passed, he's seen so, so many unfair things in his time after his death... and yet, it never gets any easier. his phantom heart aches in sympathy, not least because he imagines what he would feel like if edwin were truly gone —

except he doesn't really have to do that, when all he needs to remember is the helpless rage he felt when edwin had been whisked back to hell, from right next to him, and charles had been unable to protect him like he'd sworn to do so many times.

he takes a step closer, reaches out to touch scott's shoulder carefully, hesitantly. his touch feels — not quite real, a weight there but not, and so, so cold. ]

Yeah, [ he says, lips pressed together in a half-grimace, ] I know exactly what you mean. It's not — [ he pauses, then, because this isn't about him, but then he feels bad not explaining, because it feels like lying, and he's noticed that it's easier to put their clients at ease with some personal anecdotes, makes them share their own easier, so why not try? ]

It's not exactly the same, for me. He's just not here, so I at least know I'll see him again when I go back home... just, doesn't make it any easier, does it? [ he breathes a laugh. ] Fact is, we been together for so long I don't really know who I am, without him next to me.

[ does he realise he sounds exactly like he's talking about a romantic relationship? no. absolutely not. ]