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Usually, Edgar appreciates how many paintings line the walls of the manor. Most of them are well made and from respected artists, many that Edgar even knows of. He can name every single one by name.
(There are some disgusting paintings here made solely for the purpose of money by those greedy pieces of shit who don’t understand the true meaning of art— but that’s not the point.)
The point is that there are paintings everywhere in this manor.
And on days like this, that is a horrid curse.
Edgar keeps his eyes on the ground, refusing to look at the walls, walking quickly. He knows where he’s going, he’s been there a thousand times before. He stubbornly ignores what he hears. He won’t give them the satisfaction of looking up.
He reaches his destination. He knocks on the door. “Victor?” He asks, curtly. He hopes the other doesn’t think he’s mad but he can’t control the tone of his voice like this.
The door opens, and the postman peers out at him. His face morphs into one of concern. Edgar knows why. It’s because Edgar is shaking, and because he’s a mess. He hasn’t slept in… he can’t remember. He couldn’t sleep.
“Can I… come in?” The painter asks carefully, ignoring the noises he hears as they scream and jeer at him. He hopes Victor lets him in quickly.
Luckily, Victor is always merciful. He steps aside and invites Edgar in. Once Edgar is in, he closes the door behind him.
Edgar sighs in relief as the world finally becomes quiet— or at least as the voices are muffled.
He knew this place would be safe. He knew it. He knew better than anyone that the only painting Victor keeps in his room are ones of sunflowers and buttercups and dandelions, the ones Edgar had painted for him.
Nature scenes are safe. Landscapes are safe. Animal paintings are safe.
He can’t appear in those, because those are Edgar’s domain.
Victor leads him to the bed and sits him down, drapes a blanket over him. ‘Are you okay?’ The postman finally signs. He looks so concerned for Edgar, unlike the paintings.
Edgar takes a moment to speak. It takes a while to find his voice at all.
The four of them have been together for a while, haven’t they? Luca and Andrew are in a match and will be for a while, and honestly it’s a curse as well. Luca would be the perfect buffer, the perfect one to explain to the other two what’s going on, to translate Edgar’s world into words they can sympathize with.
But the paintings couldn’t wait for the inventor to get back, so Edgar will have to handle this himself.
“If I tell you this, I need you to promise me two things. If you don’t promise both, I can’t tell you, and I’ll have to leave.” Edgar tells him solemnly.
Victor takes in the words, and nods.
“One is that you can’t tell anyone. Not a word of this can get out. It can’t. I won’t be able to handle it if it does.” Edgar lays out. “And second is—“ His voice cracks, shakes, goes small and wobbly. “Please don’t look at me like I’m crazy.”
Victor blinks once, and then nods rapidly. ‘I agree to both. I won’t tell a soul.’
Edgar nods back. He wants to say he’s relieved, but plenty of people have said what Victor’s said and they betrayed him once they heard the truth.
Still, Edgar loves Victor. He wants to tell him. So he takes in a deep breath, and spits all the words out like poison.
“The paintings are talking to me, and my abusive mentor is appearing in them and staring at me. It’s only the ones with faces in it that talk, and those are the only ones he can appear in. If I get too close to any of the paintings with faces, he’ll pull me in and kill me or worse. The paintings that can talk are mocking me and telling me to hurt myself, to hurt others, but I don’t want to, Victor. I really don’t want to.” Tears sting his eyes, and his voice cracks again. “I don’t want to hurt anyone again. I don’t want to hurt myself again. It only makes everything worse.” The words come out rapid, stilted, frenzied.
Victor stares for two seconds. Then, carefully, he pulls out the string stitching his mouth shut. “C-c… can I hug you?” He asks, quiet, unsteady, hoarse, but with no judgement, and his eyes match it. Edgar knows better than to think that Victor stutters out of fear of him. He stutters even when he’s completely relaxed.
Edgar nods rapidly, and the tears finally spill over. Victor gathers him up in his arms, and pulls him into his lap, pulls him to lay on top of him on the bed. Victor holds him tightly around the torso, hugging him as close as he possibly can.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” He whispers to Edgar. And then— “Sh-should I turn around the—“
“No, the paintings in here are fine. They don’t have faces. The ones without faces are my domain. He can’t enter them, he’s not powerful enough to.” Edgar says confidently. “And… could you let me stay here for a while? Until they stop? They always stop eventually. They get tired and shut up eventually. He’s too weak to stay in them forever.”
Victor nods into his shoulder. “Of course. Y-you can stay as long as you need to, and longer. I’ll h-hide you. I’m here for you. It’s g-going to be okay. I love you, Edgar.”
All of those words broke Edgar, but the last four shattered him. He muffles a sob into Victor’s shoulder, clutching at his shirt tightly in his hands. His sobs are loud and ugly and riddled with hiccups, but Victor holds him tightly through them, petting his hair the whole time. Edgar clings to him like a lifeline, because he is right now.
How long had it been since anyone other than Luca had comforted him while he was like this? When was the last time someone was concerned for him when he was like this and not themselves besides Luca? When was the last time he’d been like this and no one had tried to restrain him and sedate him? When was the last time he’d been allowed to spend these horrible moments of his life in peace?
Finally, after a long time, he was exhausted by the force of his crying. Finally, he went to sleep in Victor’s arms.
When he woke up a bit later, he was afraid— afraid he’d be strapped to a hospital bed. But he saw he was still in Victor’s room, and he saw, even better, that Luca and Andrew were here too, in bed with them, the three of them surrounding Edgar.
The fact that all three trust him enough to sleep in his presence, even while he’s like this, breaks him again.
He can’t help but smile as he breaks down again, this time quietly as not to wake his lovers.
He’s really damn lucky, isn’t he?