The fact of the matter was this: Stede trusted people, perhaps too easily. It was both a blessing and a curse. He always wanted to think the best of people, and Ed was far from the exception. He'd only ever thought the best when it came to him. The reputation of Blackbeard be damned - he knew the stories, had seen the drawings. He knew the man beneath the legend and, even if it was stupid of him, he trusted him not to hurt him.
Even if there had been a split second just moments ago where he thought maybe he'd gut him like a fish right there on the street. He'd have deserved it.
The walk back to The Last Resort was unsurprisingly quiet, the air between them thick with unsaid words, but it seemed they were both saving that for when there was more privacy to be had. Once they were inside his flat (gods, the purple decor was both astoundingly grotesque and also reminded him of Ed), he took in a slow, quiet breath and gestured toward the living area. "Please, um, make yourself... at home. I'll get the kettle on."