Chapter Text
In the room Andrew resides in the dark, the fading sun of dusk covered by black curtains. A strong knock sounds from the large door— Andrew slowly walks to the door, dreading having to talk to someone.
Edgar stands in the doorway, “Let me paint you.” what? The presence of the smaller man was not wanted, but Edgar jams his foot into the door frame before he can close the door. He makes an annoyed ‘tsk’ at Andrew’s response. His shoulders are always so tense, Edgar notices, like he’s expecting to be attacked at any moment. It makes it quite obvious that he was not treated the best wherever he grew up. While the painter likes to push others boundaries and invade the personal space of others— Andrew tries to make himself as small as possible, which was a strange sight because the man was one of the tallest survivors in the manor. The grave keeper went out of his way to avoid Edgar, the prodding painter was a nuisance to his thick boundaries he set around others. However, it seems like Edgar has finally cornered him— no way to avoid this confrontation.
“Go away Valden.” Andrew fidgets with the lock on the door, staring at his feet, the intense blue eyes too much to look at.
“Not until you let me paint you, my usual models are not available right now.” More like he was such an insufferable prick that everyone refuses to listen to Edgar’s words to get a painting done. Which would make Andrew a likely target, he is quite the pushover.
Pursing his lips Andrew thinks for a while. If he agreed to this would Edgar let him go? “How long will it take?” Spending more than an hour with the man just sounds like a nightmare.
“It will probably take all evening, however you have no choice but to come. I am free tonight and I have decided I will paint you, consider yourself lucky that I have even considered you.” The painter gives the door a shove, knocking Andrew off balance. Regaining his stance, the pale man has barely any time to think before he is dragged to Edgar’s room. “H-hey wait! I never said yes!” Andrew yanks his hand back, just from that physical contact alone his mind is buzzing with anxieties. The two of them were outside of Edgar’s room, the nameplate says his full name and the title given to him by the manor.
Edgar has a neutral expression on his face, calculating, but not judging. “Do you really not want to be painted that badly?” It wasn’t exactly that, it is more like spending that long of a time with the painter would honestly just be a huge pain. He also didn’t want to be perceived like that… like he is someone actually worth looking at, that the precious oil paints Edgar has should be wasted on the grotesque figure of a broken man.
“Well… not really, surely there must be someone else more worthy of your time?” Even with a rude person like Edgar, Andrew still feels inferior, something barely human. All of the people at the manor talk to him like he is something more than a rotting animal beneath their feet, somehow he must have tricked them to treat him nicely, because even Edgar is treating him almost like an equal… in his own rude way.
“Why would I even bother asking you if I didn’t want to paint you?” Edgar then decides he doesn’t want to hear anymore of Andrew’s self depreciation and he leads the grave keeper into the warm room. Blinking his eyes a couple of times to get used to the bright lighting, Andrew can tell Edgar has probably made many modifications to his room. Requests can be made for room renovations, Andrew hasn’t bothered with that other than the blackout curtains. The room is large and spacious, easels are scattered here and there. The bed at the end is neatly made, like he doesn’t sleep in it much. There are many different kinds of lights and stands for people to supposedly model on. It was overwhelming and so much different to his own room, unfinished and masterfully completed paintings hang on the wall— Andrew can even tell a few of the survivors and hunters have been painted, particularly the one of The Violinist in a dramatic lighting, playing some kind of melody with his sinister smile covered by his ever-flowing hair.
“Oh wow…” There was genuine awe in his face at the scene, Edgar huffs and says. “Stay focused, we have a long day ahead of us. Frankly speaking, you are a mess, and if you are going to be painted you need to look like you didn’t just come out of a blender.” He is probably referring to Andrew’s hair, he hasn’t cut it in awhile. The last time he cut it was in a garden shed, the knots had gotten too large to comb out with his fingers, so he took the shears used for cutting plant leaves and cut his hair. It made it look choppy and uneven.
The painter pulls out a pair of long and razor sharp scissors, they look very expensive. Andrew jumps back, so he had planned to kill him! Scrambling backwards Andrew curses himself for not bringing any weapons, oh how he already missed the calming weight of his shovel already. “W-wait! If you plan to kill me c-can you-”
“Oh my god please shut up.” Edgar groans, now this was just embarrassing. The scissors are placed down on the table and Edgar walks towards Andrew. He opens his hands to show he has nothing hidden in them. “I am not going to kill you, just want to fix that mess on your head you call hair.” Motioning to a swivel chair Edgar brings the nervous man to it, placing him onto the cushioned seats and spins him around a few times, making Andrew dizzy. “Now… I am going to get the scissors, if you get overwhelmed or whatever, tell me to stop.” A nod comes from Andrew, he can barely even remember his own mother cutting his hair, so having an almost complete stranger do it was extremely nerve wracking.
When Andrew stops spinning, Edgar is back with the scissors. He moves slowly so as to not startle the man. “Ready to start?” Another nod from Andrew. At the first snip from the scissors the man jumps, quickly he apologizes. “S-sorry I didn’t mean to-”
“Don’t apologize.” Edgar decides that maybe he could wash his hair first to calm the man a little. Rolling the chair back, Andrew feels the coldness of the sink touching his neck.
“Close your eyes.” Comes from Edgar, quickly the blood stained irises are closed. His eyebrows are furrowed in worry, but soon enough a warm stream of water rolls through his knotted locks. Concentrated at taming the unruly hair, Edgar works his hands through them, rubbing in a nice smelling soap and freeing any dirt and dandruff he had in his hair. He hasn’t felt anything this nice before, between the steady breaths and the sturdy but gentle rubbing of his hair— Andrew becomes relaxed around a person for the first time in a long while. Edgar finds that this peaceful expression looks much better on Andrew then the constant skepticism and worry. Soon enough they are finished and Andrew is rubbing a towel through his hair.
“Was that so bad? You act like I am a murderer.” Once again Edgar tries to cut the man's hair, while he’s still a little nervous and jumpy at first— Andrew is much more calm when compared to the first time. The sensation of being cared like this is very strange to the taller man, never before had someone done something like this to him, not with the carefulness of Edgar at least, he must think Andrew looked pretty bad for him to go through all of this just for him. A comb runs through his hair and the locks are evened out, surprisingly when properly cared for it seems like his starts to curl a little—must be the soap he used because Andrew washes his hair, usually only with water and his hands though.
Both of them don’t talk much, only Edgar speaks when he needs for Andrew to turn his head. He feels a little bad to break the silence, Edgar is much easier to be with when he is not speaking harsh words. “Where did you learn how to cut hair like this? I thought you paint?”
A small chuckle comes from Edgar. “Just because my title is the painter, doesn’t mean the only thing I can do is paint, only a narrow minded person would think that way. I am quite interested in fashion and cosmetics as you can tell.” Another chunk of Andrew’s hair falls to the floor. He thinks about this for a second, how many people knew this about Edgar? Did Andrew have any other hobbies other than his grave digging and trying to survive? For some reason Andrew felt the need to reply to that piece of information with some of his own, just to be even. “I usually didn’t have enough money to go after hobbies like that but… I do like to garden at times. I am growing some wheatgrass in my window. Ann’s cat keeps trying to eat it though…” Because of that cat, often he needs to close his window. No one knew that sometimes he comes to the garden Emma takes care of and trim some of the dead leaves off and get rid of bugs eating the plants.
“Gardening? Never took you much for a green thumb, especially with your occupation dealing with death.” Andrew scowls, but Edgar didn’t see it. “Well who’s being narrow minded now? I am perfectly capable of taking care of life as I am burying the dead… i-it is almost like a balance…” This is the most words Andrew has ever said to Edgar, he is glad the painter is too preoccupied with his hair to snap sharp words at him.
“True enough Kriess…” And with a final snip he pulls away and admires his work. “Now I am done… you look much more ready for a painting now.”
Usually Andrew shys away from mirrors, however he thinks it would be rude to not look at what Edgar has worked hard on. His hair is… oh wow. Andrew’s hair now looks much more voluminous and it covers his scarred eye nicely, no longer dangling in a tangled mess, but almost floating with a certain bounciness. His hair even looks lighter than before, both in colour and in how it frames his face.
“If I knew you had such unique hair I would have painted you sooner. Now why is it that you don’t spend more time to reach the potential that you have to be such a nice looking man? If people were to see you now they wouldn’t even be able to recognize you.” Why did Andrew not take care of his hair? Well… he just never thought that it would do much. The manor supplies almost any cleaning material you could think of, yet Andrew only showers to get the major dirt off of his body and hair. “I… don’t know… sorry?” Was this something to apologize for?
Edgar crosses his arms. “Don’t apologize, however maybe now you will take better care of it. Perhaps this will give you just a scrap of self confidence, you could use all you can get. You practically ooze sadness, it’s draining to talk to you.” Andrew could very well say the thing about Edgar and how tiring it is to talk to him.
“Well enough about this, it is time to finally get painting. Would you prefer to do this nude or clothed? I am fine with either.” The grave keeper’s mouth drops open, nude?? At the man’s reaction, Edgar laughs. “Hah, you should see your face. Like I said either is fine, I won’t show anyone if you don’t want to. I have seen so many naked bodies while painting that it doesn’t faze me at all anymore”
“C-clothed please…” Just the idea of being stared at for so long made him feel vulnerable, being naked on top is just… too much. Andrew wrung his hands together, he appreciated the haircut but, this entire situation was way out of his comfort zone. Clapping his hands together loudly, startling Andrew, Edgar says. “Great, well then let's start with some warm up sketches.” Warmup? Oh, it is going to be a long day.
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Many hours later, Andrew is sitting on a stool, the lights were dimmed for lighting and the headache that was starting to form because of the bright lights. Andrew’s eyes were always so sensitive to the lights. After doing some sketches of Andrew to get him familiar with his shape, Andrew was being painted. Edgar stood at an easel, commenting on the painting or getting Andrew to make small adjustments to his posture or how he held his hands. There was something so different about Edgar in matches and Edgar when he is painting, guess this horrible game affects everyone in different ways. It has been so long since they have started, and it finally seems like Edgar has enough details down in paint for Andrew to stand up and move around. His joints crack when he moves. The painter doesn’t talk to Andrew, at least not for a while. “When was the last time you ate Kriess? I heard your stomach growling this entire time”
“Oh hmmm… last night? I have been busy.” That was a lie, Andrew had been lying in his bed all day, switching between worry over the matches and just the general feeling of wanting to disappear.
“That is quite some time ago… I have an apple in the basket on the side table, take it as a payment for your time.” Payment… for his time? If anything Andrew should be thanking him for doing all of this. However, by now he knows arguing with the small man is pointless, the guy is so stubborn to get what he wants, probably from his spoiled background. Like Edgar said there was an apple, it was one of those green sour ones.
“Why did you do this…?” Andrew asks.
“Why? because I said I wanted to paint you. Do I need a special reason to practice what I do very well? Again with the logical response, it makes it hard to argue with the man’s logic. The albino bites into the apple and furrows his eyebrows, surprisingly, Edgar has been a lot less rude to him during this. Is it to apologize for stealing him away from his room? The guy really was hard to explain, he goes by his whims and argues and belittles anyone who will listen. But… he had been looking for someone to paint, so many people must have refused him that he had no choice but to go to Andrew.
“I guess not…”
“Mhm, well you can leave now if you want, however I want you here back again tomorrow. If you have any matches, cancel them or exchange with another person.” Edgar wanted him back? He thought the painting didn’t need him to model anymore? The smaller man is still intently adding details to Andrew's painting.
“Oh… well I won’t promise I can show up, but I will keep it in mind.” He shifts from foot to foot, the apple long finished. The sun was gone and Edgar looked much more like a dark figure framed only by a couple of spotlights that hang from the ceiling.
“Try not to lose sleep over it, I know that I can just be that great at times.” Oh there is the ego Andrew knew the painter for. However even with his attitude, for the first time in awhile— Andrew thinks about how their next meeting will be like— not with fear but rather, excitement to see the painting done and what Edgar has in store for him.