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“I thought you’d be better at keeping still, considering your work with dead bodies.”
“And I thought you’d be better at capturing movement, considering how much you brag about your artistic abilities.”
The painter stared at the embalmer begrudgingly, rolling his eyes at his subject’s poor manners. Edgar could smell the cigarettes and formaldehyde on his clothing, a smell that he was sure would never come out of his bedsheets.
It started as something casual, a night spent wandering and the comfort of a kindred midnight spirit. Aesop wasn’t one for company, and neither was Edgar, and their mutual distaste for people led them to one another, somehow.
Edgar could hardly describe what he had for Aesop as affection. What they had was comfortable, familiar. He could trust that Aesop wouldn’t drone on and on for hours past his tolerance for small talk, and Aesop knew that Edgar would only touch him for their transactional human comfort.
The painter had a craving for touch, to be wrapped in the warm embrace of someone, anyone. Despite his disdain for others, he found himself missing being fawned over, caressed, and nuzzled by the nannies who loved him more than his own mother.
Aesop wasn’t warm by any means, but he didn’t make a fuss about it. He wouldn’t tease him in matches, he didn’t gossip with the other survivors. He was cold, his body nearly as stiff as the bodies he handled, but he hummed as if he loved him, and caressed his head as if they had been lovers for a lifetime.
The dissonance was…strange, to say the least.
“What are you staring at?” Aesop asked, lifting a gloved hand and waving slightly. “Your body is failing you already?”
Edgar huffed, shaking his head at him. That stupid blank look on his face while he expressed concern. It wasn’t as if Edgar had memorized it, or looked forward to the other man’s stoic expression as they idly chattered.
“It’s nothing,” The artist looked down at his sketchbook, wandering scratches of his pencil rendering Aesop’s flyaway hair on his page. “I just got a little lost in thought, is all.”
“You…have those?” Aesop teased, the slightest sign of mirth on his face. Between their two bedrooms, he left his mask on the bedside table - the careful curve of his cupid’s bow carving its way into Edgar’s mind.
The painter scoffed, tossing his sketchbook to the floor as he climbed into the bed, crossing his arms.
“I’m done with you. You’ve insulted me for the last time.”
“Oh. That’s unfortunate. I suppose I’ll be leaving then.” Aesop stood, dusting off his pants with his gloves. Edgar turned his back to the man, facing the wall.
“Fine then, leave.”
“Okay.”
There was the quiet click of the door closing and Edgar sat up immediately, turning his head towards it in disbelief. He scrambled towards the door, opening it and seeing Aesop halfway down the hallway.
“Where are you going?!”
Aesop paused for a moment, not turning around. “You told me to leave.”
Edgar scowled and grabbed Aesop by the hand, dragging him back toward the room and pushing him toward the bed. The embalmer hardly liked being manhandled, pushed around, or touched in general, but for some reason, the bratty painter didn’t phase him.
He blinked slowly, yawning as he gestured to the side table.
“I wasn’t really leaving. I left my mask here.”
“You…!”
“And to be fair, you told me to leave, so I left.”
Edgar rubbed his hands down his face, sighing as he kicked off his pants and began to undress, looking at Aesop expectantly, as if to encourage him to do the same. The embalmer only removed his outer coat, unbuttoning a few buttons at the top of his button up and crawled next to him.
The two assumed a familiar position in Edgar’s too big bed, the brunette crowding the other man against the wall despite the plethora of space around them. He placed his head on Aesop’s plush chest, nuzzling his face in his softness. The amused mortician rolled his eyes, placing a hand on Edgar’s head, stroking his hair in their familiar rhythm.
It was strange to be placed in such a role, never being sought out for comfort or his soft edges. When working with clients, they never looked to his gray suit as a shoulder to cry on - nor did they expect more than the average formality.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
Aesop was hardly ever truly sorry, it was another job to do, and another opportunity to do what he did best. The quiet between a person’s death and the delivery to the church’s doorsteps were the moments he savored. Rarely did he receive thanks, nor did he desire it. It was simply his duty.
“Thank you,” Edgar murmured, as he always did, and Aesop made a noise of acknowledgement, knowing Edgar would continue his sleepy babbling as always.
“I know you don’t really like doing this sort of thing,” He paused, as if waiting for Aesop to correct him. When he didn’t, he continued. “But… it helps, a lot. With the nightmares and…falling asleep..stuff.” As he trailed off his voice became quieter, whispering into the sheets.
“I don’t mind it.” Aesop said for once, looking down at Edgar pressed against his chest.
“I can’t really fulfill my other duty here so… this is a task only I can do.” Though his gloves remained on, he could feel the warmth of Edgar’s back. He wondered when he had become so accustomed to the living.
“A second chance at purpose, if you will.”
Edgar’s cheeks flushed at the admittance and he tucked his face further - denying the nagging feeling that their arrangement would become complicated if he pried any further into the words that Aesop left hanging in the air.
Being with him like this…gave him purpose?
“Don’t leave tonight,” Edgar opened his mouth for the last time to make a request, and Aesop’s brow arched at the demand. “I want to wake up like this.”
Typically the painter only made such a request in the throes of a night terror, but Aesop wouldn’t comment on it, only nodding his head and reaching for the blanket to pull over their shoulders.
“Goodnight then.”
But there was no response, as the tired artist had already drifted off to sleep…leaving the embalmer to wonder about the hammering in his own chest.
Just this once, the reminder he was alive wasn’t all that unwelcome…