Work Text:
August, 2014.
“ Bill ,” Franks chastises with a gentle smile. He places the newly opened paint brush down next to the newly opened palette where the newly opened paint sits, but it won’t dry, not yet — it’s oil. “What did I say?”
Bill cranes his neck like he’s going to crack it but they both know it’s so he doesn’t have to make eye contact, “sorry, I’ll stop.” He can’t seem to be able to sit still and he’s wondering if the little paint set was a bad idea for a gift, not that Frank didn’t love it, he made it clear on multiple occasions and in multiple ways that he was extremely grateful for the set, Bill just hadn’t taken into account that he would be the subject of so many paint and paper tests, though yesterday Frank took charcoal from the grill and drew a beautiful flower on the sidewalk (Bill made sure not to wash it away when he watered the plants).
“I haven’t tried this set yet and the turpentine—” another gift from Bill that took him weeks to perfect from old art books he didn’t understand “—is making it so smooth!”
“I won’t move,” Bill tries to affirm, taking a more stationed spot on his stool, “swear.”
“Hon, you can move,” Frank gets up and Bill’s form immediately drops into comfort, “you just have this look .”
Bill scoffs and tilts his body away from Frank who approaches, “I don’t have a look ,” he rolls his eyes, “my look is fine.”
Frank's hands rub at his shoulders before his thumbs dig into Bill’s neck, “one portrait and I’ll never mention it again.”
Bill huffs, dropping his head and letting his lover’s fingers dig into the muscles in his back, “okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yes, one portrait and then I’ll start making lunch.”
“Pork sandwiches?”
Bill smiles, “of course.”
Frank’s hands still, he presses a kiss to the back of Bill’s head as he exclaims: “Perfect!”
Bill sits for at least an hour before Frank tells him he’s good to come see the final piece, “I’m not much of an artist.” It’s a lie, of course, Frank had told him about his artistic endeavors pre-world ending and the college art degree he would’ve gotten if he hadn’t dropped out, Bill assumes this preface of a warning is in case he won’t like it, but how could he not? Frank painted it.
“Ready?” Frank questions and suddenly there’s a worried look engulfing his handsome features.
Bill nods, “as I’ll ever be.”
Frank turns the canvas with an unsteady ta-da as he smiles above the canvas, “so?”
The canvas is small (10x10) and when Bill found it in the attic of the boutique it was yellowed and dusty, he was surprised Frank hadn’t found the pull-down ladder but it is no longer dirtied and Bill stares at himself, painted so beautifully across the canvas he can’t believe that is how Frank views him, like an art to be viewed. It was cropped to a bust with the piano behind him, the paints he used were monochromatic browns mixed perfectly to create a depth that Bill was jealous of.
“So?” Frank repeats at Bill’s sudden silence.
“It’s…” what could be the right word to continue? What would express his love for both the portrait and Frank? “Beautiful.”
And that leaves Frank at a sudden loss for words. Bill had only used the word beautiful in the context of a well-cooked animal or when they repainted the guest bedroom that was reserved for Joel and Tess. “It’s because it’s you, isn’t it?” Frank teases.
Bill flushes, rolling his eyes and walking to stand by Frank’s side so they could view it together, “right.”
“Think you’d ever try painting?”
Bill snorts and holds out his calloused hands which he deems unworthy to hold a brush, “think I’ll leave that to you.”
Frank takes one of his hands and kisses his knuckles, “I could teach you?”
Bill laughs, “don’t think that’d be a very good idea.”
Frank brings his hand down and holds it tight to his chest, “I think it’s a wonderful idea.”
Bill bends down and kisses him.
October, 2015.
Joel and Tess hadn’t seen the new paintings Frank had been working on but Bill kept moving the conversation in that direction until his lover finally relented and showed off his finished and unfinished works (one of which was supposed to be the dog he had when the world fell, but he just couldn’t get her fur right).
“Frank, these are amazing,” Tess says her eyes scanning his little studio, the walls lined with watercolors, she focuses in on one of Bill tending to the garden, “would you do one of Joel and me?”
Joel immediately tries to interject, “Tess—”
“I have some charcoal left over,” Frank beams and Bill loves when he looks like that, “give me half an hour.”
Frank sets up his drawing board and implores Bill to bring out some stools for their guests to sit in. Joel’s complaints are limited to a huff here or there but with a smack to the leg by Tess he quiets down immediately.
“You two staying the night?” Bill asks as he stands beside Frank with a glass of wine he only opens when they’re over.
Tess and Joel glance at each other before looking back, “maybe,” Joel says, “depends on if it rains.”
“Work detail,” Tess adds, rolling her eyes before sipping the wine that had been sitting on her lap.
“Sewers?” Frank prompts.
“Walls, we have to clear off the dead infected,” Joel says.
“Eugh,” Frank laughs, “good luck with that.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
He finishes the sketch, Joel and Tess sit with anticipation and it reminds Bill of a caricature booth, however, Frank’s art is so much better. “Ta-da!” He turns the board around and the couple examines themselves stained onto paper.
“That’s so good,” Tess says, taking the piece from him and getting a closer look.
“Yeah Frank, wow,” Joel affirms, “you even got Tess’ crow's feet.”
Tess slaps his chest with the back of her hand, “it’s great, Frank, really.”
“Why thank you,” Frank grins, he’s always loved an audience, Bill can tell.
“How much for it?”
Frank puts the drawing board behind him and Bill, leaning it against a few smaller unfinished canvases for a bird series he wanted to hang in the living room, “don’t worry about it, consider it a gift.”
Tess gets up and hugs him, “thank you.”
Frank laughs, “it’s not a problem.”
“Should I start dinner?” Bill questions, placing his now empty glass on Frank's work table.
“I can help,” Joel volunteers, as he stands he whispers something to Tess before kissing her cheek. He follows Bill inside. “What’s for dinner?”
“Filet mignon, broccoli, steamed carrots.”
“What can I do to help?”
“Grab the pinot from the table.”
It starts to rain when they sit for dinner, Bill and Frank sit towards the window while Tess and Joel sit towards the kitchen. “Guess we will be staying after all,” Tess says, relief present in her voice.
“Great!” Frank says, he takes a sip of his wine, “we’ll have eggs in the morning! Toast sounds good as well…”
Bill puts a hand on Frank’s knee out of sight from their guests and squeezes, “I’ll put on some bacon too.”
Joel smiles, “looking forward to that.”
Frank reaches under the table and squeezes Bill’s hand.
February, 2016.
In his hand sat a small, poorly painted canvas. He had done it as a Valentine’s gift for Frank and he immediately regretted it. He was bad with paints and he doesn’t know why he thought it would be a good idea.
It was supposed to go with the portrait Frank had done of him over a year ago and it looked so much better in his head. He used the oils Frank had but he hadn’t taken into account the drying time, so when he deemed the piece done (even if it looked like a muddied cave painting) he had to hide it in the attic where it sat for a week and was still a little wet around the edges.
But now it’s in his hands as he sits at the dining table, Frank insisted on making him breakfast and Bill can hear the clatter of plates when Frank pushes open the door, so he leans the canvas against his chair. He looks incredibly handsome, a deep red apron he uses for his painting sessions now clean and tied tightly around his waist, “bon appétit!”
Frank places french toast in front of him, sliced strawberries cover the bread and create a pink puddle that pools on the plate. Frank sits beside him, the same dish.
“Try it,” Frank encourages.
Bill looks at it for a moment before grabbing a knife and fork to cut off a little piece, he takes a bite.
“Well?”
“Delicious,” Bill smiles through a mouthful of food.
Frank sighs in relief, “thank god,” he takes a bite, “man, am I good or what?”
Bill laughs, “yeah, real good,” it comes out as a joke, but he means it.
When breakfast is done he realizes it’s his turn to present his gift, his head hurts and he can’t feel his heart, “ready for yours?”
Frank smiles, caught off guard, “of course.”
Bill can tell he’s trying to hide his excitement and it only makes him more nervous, he starts to pick up the canvas, “don’t laugh.”
Frank’s smile softens as he leans forward slightly before whispering, “I would never .”
Bill huffs, he holds the canvas out and lets his lover take it, “ta-da?” He says, mocking Frank a little. But Frank doesn’t notice, or if he did he didn’t say anything, instead, he stares at the poorly done portrait. Silence falls among them and it only makes Bill’s nerves worse. “Do you hate it?” he laughs, self-deprecating.
Frank looks at him, tears well in his eyes, “oh, Bill, of course I don’t.” He reaches across the table and pulls Bill into a chaste kiss, holding him there for a moment before pulling away, an inch of space between them, “I love it, and I love you.”
Bill smiles, kissing Frank again. He tastes like strawberries.
April, 2016.
“How do you feel?”
“Naked,” Bill says.
Frank laughs, “I’d imagine so.”
Bill lays on the couch completely nude, save for the blanket wrapping around his middle that isn’t completely exposing him. Frank sits in a chair across the room with his sketchbook in his lap, pencil moving to immortalize Bill.
“How is it looking?
Frank smiles, “it looks good, and so do you.”
Bill’s cheeks burn, “I’m old.”
“You’re sexy.”
“Sure.”
The conversation falls silent, the room filling with the scratching of Frank’s pencil. Then Frank speaks, “could you remove the blanket?”
Bill is frozen, “really?”
Frank gives him a look, “please?”
Bill sighs, he pushes the blanket to the floor, finally exposed.
“Thank you,” Frank says, eyes lingering for a moment before looking back down.
Bill becomes very aware of the greys now replacing the hair on his chest, he knew it would only get lighter but Frank was done with his drawing, Bill could tell by the way he sat back in his chair and examines the piece.
“Can I see?” Bill asks, picking the blanket back up and wrapping it around himself as he stands.
“Sure,” Frank holds it out for Bill to see ask he approaches his chair, “what do you think?”
Frank has a way of making Bill look better than he’s ever felt about himself, “I look good.”
Frank laughs, “just drawing what I see.” He wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him close.
“Gonna hang it up?”
“For my eyes only I’m afraid,” he sighs, “same goes for the other.”
Bill scoffs, “of course.”
Frank pinches his side before undoing the blanket, it falls to the floor, forgotten.
January, 2022.
Bill sits by Frank who lays in their bed, quilt wrapped around him. “How are you doing?”
Frank smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, “peachy.”
Bill takes his hand, “need me to get you anything?”
Frank frowns.
“What?”
“I can’t feel you.”
Bill looks at their joined hands, Frank’s hands have shaken the last few weeks, he just thought it was the cold. “At all?”
“Pins and needles.”
“Should I call Joel?”
“Don’t call Joel, not yet.”
Bill then frowns, bowing his head because he doesn’t want Frank to see the tears threatening to fall, “fuck.”
“Hey,” Frank whispers, lifting his arm to try and get Bill’s attention, “I’m fine .”
They both know what it is, and there was nothing they could do to fix him. Nothing Bill could do to fix him.
“Do me a favor?”
Bill nods, wiping his tears away with the back of his hand, “anything.”
“Bring me my sketchbook?”
It takes Bill a while to find it, the paintbrushes and the dusted canvases hid it quite well. Frank smiled at him when he entered and Bill missed that look. Frank opens the sketchbook, retrieving the pencil taped to the cover, he begins a sketch with shaky lines and wide angles. “What are you doing?” Bill asks.
“I’m going to draw while you tend to the gardens and traps,” Frank says simply, his eyes never leaving his paper, “we will have lunch in bed, and then you can call Joel.”
Bill nods, “okay.”
He waters the vegetables first, the winter had been rough on them but they were making it through. Same with the fruit. He feeds the chickens, resets the wire traps and almost falls into one of his sinkholes, he waters the flowers outside the house and even sweeps the deck from dead leaves. He makes chicken sandwiches which Frank struggles to eat but he refuses any help from Bill.
“Look.”
Frank hands him his sketchbook, and across the page is a portrait of Bill, it still looks amazing despite the tremor. Bill kisses his cheek, “I love it.”
Bill plays Girls Just Want To Have Fun over the radio, Frank thought it would be funny.
????, 2023.
“So, Bill was the artist?”
Joel shakes his head, “Frank was.”
“He was pretty good.”
Joel looks at her curled up in the passenger seat, he thought she was reading one of those comics she collected, but then he sees the rings of a sketchbook, “Ellie…” he chastises.
“I like to draw.”
Joel huffs, leaning his arm against the window and resting his chin on his fist, “oh yeah?”
“Yeah, I’m not this good though,” she flips a page, “woah! He’s naked!”
Joel lifts his head, “alright, give it here.”
“Nuh-uh, I’m not done!” she flips through some more before stopping on a page midway through, “hey, is that you?”
Ellie holds it up for him and he glances, “yeah it is.” In the drawing, he’s talking with Bill who is smudged, the view is from above. He’s never seen this piece before, he wonders if there were more.
“I hope I can draw like this one day,” she says, putting the sketchbook back against her knees. She gets to the end of the pages and sighs, “shit, that was it.”
“Hm.”
She flips through it one last time like she was trying to absorb the talent, Joel thinks she might’ve been by the scowl on her face, “wish I could’ve met them.” Ellie frowns.
“Yeah,” Joel says with a sigh, before continuing, “Frank would’ve liked you.”
“Really?” Ellie peps up at this admission.
“Yeah, don’t know about Bill though, he’s nice enough. I guess.”
Ellie hums, closing the sketchbook, and throwing it into the backseat, she reaches into her backpack for her next entertainment: her knife. She stares at it and makes the light reflect stars onto the car roof. “It would have been cool to be drawn.”
Joel puts his head back on his fist, he can imagine Frank sitting Ellie down and drawing her, the same way he did with him and Tess, even if the lines would come out shaky he’s sure it would still look good.
Joel frowns, “I’m sure he would have loved that.”