Chapter Text
Being a gravekeeper - or perhaps just this particular gravekeeper - was lonesome. He didn't have many ways to occupy himself. His life was dull, and besides the unfortunate dirty work he did on the side, he didn't get much human interaction. When he did, it wasn't exactly pleasant.
It wasn't like he minded being alone - well, not too much, at least. He was used to it, and with his poor social skills interacting with others brought him much unneeded anxiety.
But one man could only stand so much solitude; sitting alone with your thoughts for too long was hardly ever a good idea. The gravekeeper had a hobby, though, and that luckily kept him busy for when he didn't have any graves or .. side work .. to deal with; and that hobby was painting. He wasn't very good at it, however he wasn't bad, either. The cabin he lived in that sat atop a hill overlooking the graveyard was filled with canvases lining against the walls and shoved into the little storage cabinets he had. He mostly painted landscapes and things he could see out his window, including the graveyard, which was constantly in his sight. His favorite work hung above his bed; a pair of crows he had seen perching atop the chapel's cross on the roof, during the evenings sunset. It wasn't his best, no, but it was definitely his favorite. Maybe because he really liked crows.
His best was probably the painting he'd done when he when he brought his canvas and brush and paint down to the graveyard himself and painted a grave with one of the prettiest designs. It turned out lovely, but... the gravekeeper stared at graves enough he didn't need to be looking at one inside his house, as well. He stored it away after he finished it and hadn't brought it out since.
It was evening, now, and the gravekeeper could hear the pattering of the rain outside his window, sending streaks down the glass pane. He sighed with a small smile; he liked the rain- as long as he wasn't getting wet. It was noisy, certainly, and he hated noise, but this type of noise was nice. Reminded him of white noise. It was comforting.
He always painted when it rained, but he'd never painted the rain itself. He supposed he would attempt that today.
Bringing out his chair from the small table he used to eat, he pushed it on it's side against the window. The easel was already in place in front, which he placed a canvas upon.
He chose the colors he'd be using and put them on his palette, taking his seat in front of the window, hissing a little at the jab in his back as he bent. Fuck, he was like an old man. That's the sort of pain he got from digging and lifting, he concluded. Didn't help he hauled bodies he wasn't supposed to be moving, as well. Karma, maybe.
He started painting, his eyebrows furrowing as he always did when he was concentrating on something. He got about thirty minutes into the work when he noticed something moving outside the rain, obscured by the streaks going down the window.
No, not something, someone.
The gravekeeper squinted, focusing in on whoever was out there. Why would someone be standing at a hill, right next to his house, in the middle of the pouring rain? He saw the person had an umbrella, at least, but it was still odd. The ground would be soaking wet right about now, so he doubted the person outside was comfortable. Yet they just stood, looking out at the graveyard. Odd. They probably didn't know the gravekeeper was inside, or they wouldn't be standing right in front of his house.
Perhaps he would paint him, but... he was already too into what he'd already down, and he knew if he tried to add a human figure he would mess it all up. He watched the person for a little while longer, and when they didn't move and he began to grow more irritated, he opened the door.
"What're you doing?" No introduction. No time for pleasantries, he was in the middle of something and this person was an unwanted distraction.
The gravekeeper's words seemed not to register in the other for a moment, before they turned to him with a faint looked of surprise. "Oh. Someone actually lives here? It looked deserted. I see I was wrong."
Well. Certainly a friendly greeting. The gravekeeper would admit he wasn't... the best at keeping his house looking presentable, but he didn't care. Nobody came to his house, anyway, so why would he? He kept his lights off almost always, as well, counting on the light from the sun. Explains why this person didn't see him through the window.
He was about to respond but stopped when the other opened their mouth. "Your name?"
Why did they want to know?
"Uh... Andrew."
"Andrew..." The other let his name roll off their tongue, seeming bored and unamused. Andrew felt a prick of annoyance at the other's attitude. "Hello, Andrew. I'm Edgar. Now that we're acquainted, is there a reason you called out to me?"
"I just asked what you were doing. You haven't answered me yet," muttered Andrew, only partially out the door to where he was still sheltered from the rain.
"What does it look like I'm doing?"
"Can you just answer me?"
"Answer me first."
"You.. I asked y..." Andrew sighed, taking a deep breath and mumbling a few curses in German until he calmed down, looking back at the man and seeing that same bored expression. Asshole. "Nevermind. I'm not wasting my time with you. Move out of the way of my window. I need the view." He was pretty sure he heard Edgar say something else, but he ignored them as he slammed the door and locked it behind him, muttering and dusting off the front of his shirt which didn't need to be dusted.
He went back to his chair to sit down, sighing and stretching out his fingers. He turned back to the window, ready to continue painting, uttering a very unmanly shriek as he saw something else in the window that was definitely not rain. He'd dropped his palette on the ground, luckily landing right side up so he didn't smear paint all over his floor. The person he'd requested to move away from the window had instead moved closer, peering curiously inside.
"You paint?" He heard faintly from outside his window, and then a "Let me have a closer look."
Who did they think they were? This was his house, his work, his paintings, and despite repeating that over and over in his head, he found he'd opened the door for the stranger.
"I was originally here to get a good look at the graveyard for inspiration for my next piece," Edgar drawled as soon as they stepped foot inside Andrew's home, setting their umbrella down besides the door, closing it behind them. "But I didn't expect to see another painter. Didn't expect to see... anybody living in here, actually." Andrew grumbled at that. They've put down his house enough. He got the point.
"Yeah, and I didn't expect to be inviting someone into my home, but here you are." For some reason. Why'd he even let Edgar in? "Oh, and, uh, take off your shoes. I don't want water all over my floor."
Edgar obliged, setting them neatly next the umbrella. Andrew snorted a little at the socks embroidered with flowers they were wearing, turning away when Edgar looked at him.
They walked over to the taller mans canvas, peering at it. They looked around the room, eyeing each painting on his wall like how Andrew imagined an art critic would. Edgar probably wasn't much different; they were an artist, as they'd said, and had proved to be quite the critic.
"You haven't been painting for long, I can tell." Yeah. Quite the critic.
Andrew bit back a retort, just nodding.
"Do you have any other pieces I could look at?"
"Why do you want to see them, anyway."
Edgar frowned, giving something close to a pout, which Andrew admitted in the back of his mind was really fucking cute. "If it wasn't obvious, I came out here looking for inspiration, and I figured you would at least have some things to spark my imagination."
Ah. Fair enough.
"Gonna show me the rest of your paintings, then?"
"I don't see the harm in it..." Andrew mumbled, shuffling over to the cabinet and getting on his knees to pull a few pieces out. He suddenly felt much more nervous, not having the irritation at the man to distract him. He pulled out a few pieces he liked, leaving the more private ones in as he closed the door, stack of canvases in his arms. He turned back to Edgar, who had apparently made themself at home, sitting on Andrew's bed with their hands by their sides.
"Making yourself at home, huh?"
"Was that not obvious?"
Andrew squinted. "All you had to do was answer with a 'yes' or a 'no.'"
"Yes, then."
Andrew fought the urge to roll his eyes, setting the canvases down gently onto his blanket, sitting at the side of them so they were between him and Edgar. This felt... weird. He'd never had someone alone in the house with him unless it was for.. business, and less the same bed. It felt more intimate and private than Andrew cared for. The paintings were like a part of himself, and it was like he was showing a part of himself he'd never shown to anyone else to this random painter he'd let into his house. This was stupid. He was stupid. But he wasn't going to send the painter back out into the rain, not after he'd already pulled out the paintings.
Andrew stared at the mans face as they looked over his paintings, feeling a slight warmth in his chest as he saw their eyes light up and mouth turn upwards when their eyes settled on a certain painting. Even if the man wasn't looking at him, they were looking at something he created, and something he put his time and effort and love into. It felt really good. Nobody had ever admired something he made like that before, except perhaps his mother when he made dirt cakes in the front yard.
"Um... what do you think?" Andrew questioned, voice much less guarding and more seeking approval.
"I'm a fan of this one." Edgar lightly touched the surface of a smaller painting, staring down at it. "Did you have a reference?"
The painting Edgar was referencing was of two hands clasped with their palms together, the background a soft glow from what he'd wanted to be a fire. He wasn't sure if it was clear enough to properly distinguish that, though.
"Ah... just from my, uh, limited knowledge of hands."
Edgar blinked, looking up at the taller and scoffing at comment. "Yeah, huh." They looked back down at the painting, humming just enough for Andrew to hear and tracing their finger over the outline of the pale skin on canvas.
Edgar stood up, brushing themself off and clearing their throat. They were about to say something as they opened their mouth, but Andrew interrupted hastily- "You're not leaving already, right?" His voice held a tone of desperation he didn't like; it made him feel vulnerable.
Edgar blinked, lips no longer curved into a smile but bordering on it. It seemed like they were holding it back. "I wasn't planning on it. You seem rather eager to keep me here. Planning to do something with me? To me?"
"Huh? That's not, why would you assume-" Andrew sputtered, waving his hands in front of his face. "I don't know what you're suggesting b..but no, I just-"I just haven't had a proper conversation with anyone for months that actually made me feel happy and suddenly I have a handsome stranger in my home thats admiring things I made.
"It's just?"
Andrew sighed, unclenching his hands he hadn't noticed were clenched from his lap. "I'm enjoying your company. I haven't, uhm, ever had a conversation with another person who paints. I think."
There was silence for a moment, before he heard Edgar speak again, "Would you like to see me paint?"
"Really?"
"Why would I lie about that?"
"You, uh..." Andrew shook his head, getting up and fiddling with his thumb and forefinger at his side nervously. I'll set up a canvas for you, if you'd like. Um, I'd really like to see another artists work, and I bet-"
"Wait."
Andrew blinked, turning to Edgar, suddenly self-conscious at how he was nervously rambling on. "Huh?"
"Shouldn't you finish this first? You don't want to lose your motivation by getting involved in watching me paint. Our style is totally different. Not like you'd know."
"Oh..." He just wanted to see the other man paint.
"Its' not good to interrupt your creative process," Edgar continued, speaking like they were some sort of teacher talking to a student. Depending on how good Edgar was, maybe it was kind of like that. "You'll lose your streak. The painting will turn out different than you wanted in the first place," They said as they placed a hand on their chest as an ending sentiment to their little speech, which was sort of funny to Andrew. They added, "I'd like to watch you finish your painting. Maybe offer some tips. I'm not a rookie, you know."
Andrew had guessed that. The man was dressed like a stereotypical artist, with a little red beret to complete the look. "Watch me paint?"
"Don't just repeat everything I say."
Andrew gave a half-hearted glare. "I was just trying to confirm what you said," he looked towards his seat by the window. "That's ok, I guess."
Edgar clasped his hands together in front of his chest, smiling now. Not a big smile, but a smile. And it was directed at Andrew. Andrew smiled back.
It was still raining - as heavy as before with no signs of letting up - , but Andrew had enough of his painting complete to where he could go off his memory and the paint already on the canvas. He took a seat, not looking back as he heard Edgar sit back down on his bed in the cramped cabin.
"Comfortable?"
"Fairly. Your bed is as hard as a rock, though."
"...Yeah. Can't really afford anything better," Andrew responded as he begun to paint again.
"I see."
The pair sat in a comforting silence for a while, aside from the rain still beating down on the outside of the cabin and the quiet rustling of Edgar shifting on the bed. Andrew knew they were watching him; he could feel their gaze on his back, but he didn't turn around. Surprisingly, he didn't notice when the other had come to stand right behind his shoulder, until he felt a light tap on his shoulder, startling him out of his concentration and almost making him drop his brush on the wooden floor.
"God fucking..." Andrew cursed, snapping his head back to the man. "What?"
"Using the Lord's name in vain? Didn't think you'd do that." Edgar was looking at the cross around his neck.
"..I don't think God minds too much," Andrew shook his head. "What?" Were they leaving already?
"Let me help."
Oh? "I... I don't need any, though."
"Firstly, you do; your skills are only half as good as mine," Edgar said bluntly, not meaning to offend but wounding Andrews pride just a tad. The man sure did love to gloat. "Secondly," Edgar picked a brush from the cup sitting on the gravekeeper's window. "I don't care if you need it or not. I want to help."
Oh. Andrew just stared at the painter.
Not hearing any objections, Edgar dipped the brush in a mixture and stared at the canvas for a minute, pursing their lips. "Ok. Start painting. I'll start after you; I want to see how you paint."
Andrew didn't object, getting back to painting. He didn't expect to be painting with a stranger this evening, but he wasn't complaining. It was nice to have some company, and Edgar was... easier to talk to than most people, strangely enough. The other painter wasn't exactly nice, and they were quite... not sure if bossy was the right word, but demanding. Blunt. Andrew thought it odd that's the type of person he'd find easiest to talk to.
Edgar didn't join for a while, still watching the gravekeeper paint from closer off, before they shifted behind Andrew, gently holding his wrist. Andrew felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up at the surprise.
"What're you-"
"You're not blending it right. It'll end up looking like a grey blob if you keep doing it like that, and I don't think you're going for abstract." Edgar leaned forward so their head was next to the gravekeeper's. "Choose a spot and start blending. I'll move your hand if you start doing it wrong, then just let me do it for you."
"When you said paint together I didn't think you'd mean painting for me." Andrew grumbled, but he wasn't really too upset. Just flustered at how close the other was to him. And as pathetic as it was to admit, he hadn't had someone touch him in a long time, and the contact, even if on his clothed arm, was nice. He refused to look at anything but the canvas; if he turned his head he might brush into Edgar from how close they were.
"I'm not doing it for you. I'm just teaching you. There's a difference. Plus, once you figure out how to do it properly, you won't need my help. With this, at least."
"You haven't even painted yet, how do I even know you're better at this than me?" Andrew snapped, still rigid in place.
"You don't trust my word?"
"We just met."
Andrew could feel Edgar sigh through their nose, their side moving against his back. "Just start blending. I'm not staying here all night."
"Right... Sorry. Got it."
Ten seconds passed and Andrew felt Edgar squeeze his wrist. "Let me do it, now. Just remember how your hand moved when you do it for yourself."
The sitting man nodded, letting Edgar guide his hand through the paint, blending together the colors in a way Andrew hadn't done before. Andrew looked back, watching Edgar's face in total concentration. He'd noticed already, but from up close, he was really pretty. Not just pretty, he was gorgeous. Andrew felt his face heat up slightly; they were so close to him. He could practically feel the air when they breathed out through their nose.
His arm stopped moving, and Edgar turned their head to him, blinking. Andrew watched the flutter of their eyelashes. "Is there something on my face?"
Andrew opened his mouth, noticing he'd returned to his nervous state again. Or, less nervous, more flustered. "No, no I just wanted to move my neck since I've been in one place for so long. It started to get sore."
"..." Edgar blinked, and Andrew watched their eyelashes flutter. This would probably sound weird out loud, but they had really nice eyelashes. And eyes. And lips. And-
"I know my face is nice to look at, but don't you want to finish this painting?"
Andrew opened his mouth, decided it was best not to say anything, and closed it again, turning back to the painting wordlessly. He could've sworn he heard Edgar chuckle softly, but he didn't comment on it, letting the shorter guide his hand over the canvas once again. "Pay attention." That was a little difficult in his current position. Edgar guided Andrew until they were satisfied he knew what he was doing, and set to work aside Andrew at their own pace. Minutes passed, and the rain lessened up around thirty minutes into their painting right as they finished.
Neither said anything for a bit.
"I like it."
"Yeah... yeah, me too." .. "Thanks for, um, helping."
"You're welcome."
More silence.
"I need to get going. I won't have time to paint something for you today, I apologize." Edgar spoke, stretching out his fingers and sighing dramatically. "It's late."
Andrew looked out the window and saw the moon rising above the graveyard. "Yes, yes it is. Are you going to be ok walking home this dark out?" He turned to Edgar worriedly, getting up from the chair he was seated at.
"I'll be fine. I take night walks often." Edgar was still looking at the painting. "I enjoyed this. You know," they took Andrews hand in theirs, kneeling down and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. They stood back up, letting go of the flushed mans hand. "Is it alright if I stop by here again? I don't often meet many other painters. Or..." They put a hand to their temple. "I should say, painters I like."
Andrew stood dumbfounded, the kiss having thrown him off a bit. Wasn't that a thing you only did with a woman? He cleared his throat with his fist to his mouth, resisting the urge to cover his face. "Like?" He didn't think he had the most likeable personality, but then again, neither did Edgar, did they?
"Not a lot of painters are tolerable." Andrew smirked at that, knowing the other painters Edgar met probably thought the same thing about them.
"Well... to answer your question, I wouldn't mind. Uh, that is, it would be to paint, right?"
"Probably."
"Probably..?"
"I mean, there's an art gallery that I know of," Edgar looked away for a moment. "You might like to go, and since we both like painting, we could go together."
Andrew's expression melted into a smile. "Oh.. I would like that."
Edgar nodded, grabbing their umbrella. "Don't forget what I taught you." They opened the door, then looked back. "When are you available?"
"Ah... after tomorrow works. It would have to be in the evening, though. And I'd need to get back before midnight."
"Alright. I might show up. I'm very busy, but maybe I can make time for you." The comment would be seen as snarky to others, but it made Andrew happy. "..See you, Andrew."
The door shut, and Andrew looked out his window to see them walking home with their umbrella at their side. Andrew breathed out, wringing his hands in front of him. That was enough human interaction for today. Today. He did want more of it, but... only with Edgar. Edgar was nice to talk to. He turned to look at the painting, before getting out something from the drawer next to his bed. He nailed it into the wall until only a piece stuck out, and hoisted the new painting next to the one hanging over his bed.
He smiled. Normally he was a very restless sleeper, but he knew he'd be sleeping good tonight.